pairing: eddie munson x older!reader (3 years age gap)
summary: you’re gareth’s cool older sister, which means eddie munson spent most of his sophomore year pretending he didn’t have a painfully obvious crush on you. five years later, a random night in hawkins brings you face to face again, and eddie isn’t that awkward fifteen-year-old anymore.
word count: 8k
warnings: age gap (3 years), some swearing, sexual content (a bit of dry humping, oral f and m receiving, protected sex. reader is described to have tattoos and a nose ring. let me know if i missed something.
also, i translated this story from italian (my first language) so let me know if there are some mistakes so i can correct them, thanks <3
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
eddie had kissed girls before. plenty of them.
some at loud parties, with cheap beer on their breath and music blasting so loud it rattled the windows. some in dark corners of bars, quick and careless, the kind of kisses that didn’t really mean anything to either of them.
but somehow, out of all of them, the one he remembered the most wasn’t any of those.
it was the first one.
a quick kiss on the cheek in a small trailer in 1981.
hawkins, indiana - 1981
it was eddie munson’s sophomore year, and by then he had figured out how to survive high school without losing himself in the process. he didn’t bend, didn’t reshape himself just to belong to some random crowd he would have hated anyway.
his old buzz cut had finally grown out into messy, uneven waves that kept falling into his eyes, especially when he practiced on the new guitar uncle wayne had given him, or when he spent hours sprawled across his bed rereading the hobbit.
that year he’d also found someone willing to play d&d with him.
gareth.
freshman. a little awkward. a head of thick, unruly hair that seemed to exist independently from the rest of him. he hadn’t even known what dungeons & dragons was before eddie took him under his wing. now their afternoons followed the same ritual: gareth’s house, dice scattered across the table, campaigns stretching on for hours.
but d&d wasn’t eddie’s favorite part of going over there.
you were.
gareth’s older sister.
seventeen, almost eighteen. senior year. you were the one who taught gareth how to play drums, the one who passed down your records, who poured metal and punk straight into his bloodstream.
if gareth had even a shred of coolness, it was entirely because of you.
band t-shirts. black eyeliner. a black nose ring, slightly bigger than necessary. and this effortless way of existing that made everyone else seem painfully ordinary.
eddie had a massive crush on you. the kind that made him forget how to breathe when you walked into a room.
that afternoon, when he and gareth knocked, you opened the door.
simple jeans. an iron maiden shirt. your hair tied back loosely. eyeliner slightly smudged after a long school day.
and still, to him, you looked unreal.
“welcome home, dork.” you told gareth in that flat, unimpressed tone you always used.
then your eyes shifted to eddie. “you again? don’t you have your own house?”
there was a hint of amusement under the sarcasm. like maybe you didn’t mind seeing him as much as you pretended.
“nice to see you too.” eddie answered, flashing a grin that was trying very hard to look casual.
you rolled your eyes. “get inside and set the table, nerds. or you don’t eat.”
“yes, ma’am.” he shot back, giving you an exaggerated salute.
you turned immediately. “don’t ever call me that again.”
eddie and gareth hurried to the dining room while you divided the pasta onto three plates.
they ate in near silence, broken only by the scrape of forks against ceramic.
eventually, you spoke, which wasn’t exactly typical of you. “so…” you said, like you didn’t care either way, “what are the big plans for today, idiots?”
“d&d.” gareth answered simply.
you sighed. “shock of the century.”
ever since meeting eddie, your brother talked about nothing else.
“you know…” eddie chimed in, “you’d make a great dungeon master.”
“i’d kill the entire party in the first ten minutes.”
“yeah.” he said, smiling a little, “but it’d be worth it.”
you looked at him for a second longer than necessary. it was enough to make his stomach drop.
gareth broke the moment. “what about you?”
you shrugged. “just hanging out with some friends. and james.”
james.
eddie felt jealousy slide under his skin.
james was an older long-haired metalhead, he was in a band with a shitty mediocre name and he walked around like the world owed him everything.
from what gareth had told him, you fought a lot. james had a way of talking down to people, of acting superior.
eddie hated him.
because you deserved someone who understood how lucky he was to have you.
someone who didn’t treat you like something temporary.
someone like…
he stopped himself.
you were almost eighteen. basically an adult.
he was fifteen. skinny. awkward. still growing into himself. it was foolish to think that something could ever happen.
after lunch, you disappeared into your room, leaving the door slightly open.
a moment later, british steel by judas priest started blasting from inside.
eddie passed by and couldn’t help glancing in.
you were lying on your stomach across the bed, posters covering the walls, cassettes stacked everywhere.
you picked up the phone.
“yeah, same spot. and tell sarah to bring her own lighter this time, because she always steals everyone else’s and never gives them back… and if james forgets the beers again, i swear i’m finding someone else.”
you laughed.
eddie lingered for a moment too long in the hallway.
then, before you could catch him listening, he pulled away and went back to gareth.
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
that night, you were hanging out in a small park in downtown hawkins. it was late and the darkness had emptied the streets, leaving the place almost completely deserted except for you and your group of friends.
the smell of weed and cigarettes drifted lazily through the air.
you were sitting on one of the swings, smoking absentmindedly, when james finally showed up carrying a case of beer, for which everyone cheered.
you stood up and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him.
right then, you heard shouting coming from across the street. your head turned automatically.
a group of guys had surrounded someone, a kid.
eddie munson.
you recognized a few of the faces immediately, some of the jocks from school, they were older then him.
“wait here.” you told james without taking your eyes off what was happening.
“where are you going?” he asked, confused.
before you could answer, one of the guys raised his arm and his fist connected with eddie’s face.
you didn’t hesitate, you crossed the street almost at a run.
“hey! leave him alone!” you shouted, drawing their attention.
the guy holding eddie by the collar, michael mclean, turned toward you, still gripping the front of eddie’s shirt.
“or what?” he asked with a smug grin.
you stepped closer and before your brain could fully process what you were about to do, your fist slammed straight into his jaw.
the hit made him stumble backward. he stared at you, shocked, maybe even a little scared, before turning and running off, his friends quickly following behind him.
the street fell quiet again and you turned back to eddie. he was wiping blood from his split lower lip with the back of his hand.
“you okay, kid?” you asked.
eddie nodded immediately, trying to ignore the pain. “i had it handled.”
a small laugh slipped from your lips. “sure you did.” your tone was playful.
just then james walked over and draped an arm around your shoulders, almost like he was marking his territory. “what’s going on?”
“nothing.” you said casually. “just a little fight club in the middle of the street.”
then your attention shifted back to eddie. “i’m gonna take little munson here home, alright? i’ll call you later.”
“sure thing, babe.” james said with a nod.
before letting you go, though, he pulled you closer and kissed you deeply.
eddie immediately looked down. it was obvious the way james kissed you was almost performative, like he was showing you off.
you gave him a quick smile before turning back to eddie.
“come on, dork.” you said. “i’ll give you a ride home.”
you led him to your car, a burgundy chevrolet chevette, a little rusted but still running fine.
you motioned for him to get in the passenger seat while you slid behind the wheel.
before starting the engine, you leaned over the back seat and grabbed a small case. you placed it on eddie’s lap. “pick whatever you want.”
when he opened it, his eyes lit up. it was full of tapes.
judas priest. black sabbath. iron maiden. mötorhead. aerosmith. misfits. deep purple.
for eddie, it was basically heaven.
you started the engine but didn’t drive right away, you waited for him to choose.
when he handed you the master of reality tape by black sabbath, you slid it into the player.
sweet leaf filled the quiet space inside the car.
“you live at forest hills trailer park, right?” you asked to make sure.
eddie nodded. “yeah.”
the drive was mostly silent.
neither of you talked much. both of you were too focused on the music anyway.
eventually you pulled up outside his trailer.
“your uncle home?” you asked, noticing the lights inside were off.
“nope.” he said as he opened the door. “he works late at the plant.”
you nodded.
the inside of the trailer was quiet. a little messy, but warm. the faint smell of cigarettes, old wood, and something fried from earlier still hung in the air.
eddie sat on the couch, shoulders tense, while you walked around like you already knew the place.
“bathroom?” you asked.
he pointed down the small hallway. “uh… second door.”
you disappeared for a moment, then came back with a small towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol you had found in the cabinet.
eddie immediately frowned. “oh come on.” he said. “i’m not dying.”
you sat down beside him anyway. “relax, munson.”
you tilted his chin slightly so you could see the split on his lower lip better. “this is gonna sting.” you warned.
“i can handle it.” but the second the alcohol touched the cut, he flinched.
you snorted. “yeah. i can tell.”
“shut up.” he muttered, trying to pull away.
you grabbed his chin again, holding him still. “stop moving, dork. unless you want it to get infected.”
he froze after that, because you were right, but mostly because your face was suddenly very close to his.
he could smell your cigarette smoke.
his ears were probably turning red.
“so…” you said casually while cleaning the cut, “what happened out there?”
eddie shrugged. “nothing.”
you raised an eyebrow. “looked like more than nothing.”
he hesitated. “they just… don’t like me.”
you hummed softly, finishing cleaning the blood. “their loss.”
he glanced at you, surprised.
you tossed the towel onto the small coffee table.
“besides…” you added, leaning back slightly, “you’ve been keeping my idiot brother alive at school.”
eddie blinked. “what?”
“gareth.” you said. “he told me about a few things.”
eddie scratched the back of his neck. “it’s not a big deal.”
you looked at him for a moment. really looked.
the messy hair. the stubborn expression. the way he was trying so hard to act tougher than he actually felt.
you smirked slightly. “still.” you said, standing up, “consider it repayment.”
eddie watched you grab your jacket.
“repayment?”
you turned back toward him. for a second he thought you were just leaving.
instead, you stepped closer. then you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
eddie completely froze.
“for saving gareth’s ass.” you said lightly.
you started walking toward the door.
he was still sitting there like his brain had stopped working.
right before stepping outside, you looked back at him and gave him a small crooked smile. “try not to get your ass kicked again, munson.” then you winked and left him alone in the trailer.
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
that school year ended faster than eddie expected.
final exams came and went, summer crept in and before he really had time to think about it, everything was different.
you graduated. there had been a ceremony outside the school gym. people cheering, cameras flashing, parents crying.
eddie hadn’t gone, he didn’t really have a reason to be there.
after that, he didn’t see you in the school anymore. not even in town actually.
around the same time, the d&d club started getting bigger: more freshmen. more little sheeps looking for somewhere to belong.
eventually the campaigns moved out of gareth’s house and into an empty classroom after school. it was easier that way, bigger table, more space, less complaining from gareth’s parents.
eddie still saw gareth every day, he just stopped going over to his house as much.
sometimes gareth mentioned you, usually while they were setting up a campaign or rolling dice across the table.“my sister started this tattoo apprenticeship in a shop outside hawkins.”
eddie would nod. “cool.”
another time he complained about you and james fighting all the time. “she and james got into another fight.”
eddie shrugged. “not surprised.”
a few weeks later gareth told him that they finally broke up.
eddie kept his eyes on his character sheet. he knew that it was eventually going to happen, that guy was too much of a douchebag for you.
eddie always acted like all of it didn’t matter. like you were just his friend’s older sister. like that night in the trailer had never happened.
but sometimes, late at night, when he was lying in bed staring at the ceiling of the trailer… he still remembered it.
the smell of cigarettes, the sound of sweet leaf playing in your car and the quick kiss you had pressed to his cheek before leaving.
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
hawkins, indiana - 1986
you were at enzo’s, waiting for your date.
scott thompson.
you remembered him from high school. over the past few months the two of you had gone out a couple of times, but lately scott had developed a habit of standing you up. he was always busy with work, always prioritizing his company over whatever plans the two of you had made.
tonight, apparently, was no different.
you had already been sitting there for forty-five minutes when it finally sank in that he wasn’t coming.
you left the restaurant without ordering anything. it didn’t make sense to spend that much money on dinner alone, and honestly, you weren’t even that hungry anymore.
all you really wanted was to go home, change into something comfortable, and watch a movie.
unfortunately, that wasn’t an option tonight.
your roommate sarah had invited her boyfriend over to celebrate their seven-month anniversary. going back to the apartment now would mean ruining their romantic evening, or worse, locking yourself in your bedroom and trying to fall asleep while pretending you couldn’t hear whatever was happening in theirs.
so instead, you got in your car and drove toward a bar by the edge of hawkins.
the hideout.
you had been there a few times when you were younger, but not since you’d moved out.
it was the kind of place where you could smell stale alcohol the second you stepped inside, the floor usually sticky from some old drunk spilling his beer hours earlier.
sometimes they hosted live music, local bands playing covers or original songs that were usually terrible, but to your sixteen-year-old self had once seemed like the coolest thing in the world.
you parked outside. there was no loud music tonight. just the dull glow of neon lights through the windows.
the moment you stepped inside, the familiar smell of beer hit you again.
some things never changed.
the place wasn’t exactly the same as you remembered, though. the lights were dimmer now, and soft rock played quietly in the background, nothing too heavy, just some radio ballad filling the room.
you slid onto a stool at the bar.
after a few seconds, a bartender approached with a small notepad in his hand.
“can i get you something?” he asked without looking up.
“yeah.” you said. “a beer would be great.”
that was when he finally looked at you.
his eyes scanned your face, and widened slightly. like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually standing there.
the expression disappeared almost immediately.
“coming right up.” he said, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap.
you watched him carefully as he came back. something about him felt familiar. you were sure you’d seen him somewhere before.
but where?
“sorry…” you said as he set the beer down in front of you, “have we met before?”
a small smile appeared on his lips. “yeah. a couple times.”
and suddenly your brain connected all the pieces it had been trying to place since you walked in.
those soft brown puppy eyes, the wavy brown hair.
a grin slowly spread across your face.
no way.
“oh my god… little eddie munson?” you asked, almost laughing.
there was no doubt about it now, it was him.
his body was broader now, more athletic. tattoos decorated his forearms, his hair had grown long past his shoulders, and there was even the hint of stubble along his jaw.
“the one and only.” he said with a laugh, clearly amused by the nickname.
“look at you!” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “what happened to the awkward kid who used to play d&d at my house?”
“he grew up.” eddie replied, leaning casually against the counter.
damn. you still looked just as pretty as ever.
“yeah.” you said, taking a sip of your beer. “i can see that.”
“so…” he continued, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, “where’ve you been hiding all these years, sweetheart?”
“well…” you shrugged. “i got a job as a tattoo artist. just outside hawkins.” then you gestured around the bar. “didn’t know you worked here.”
his movements were relaxed, confident, nothing like the awkward kid he used to be.
“and i didn’t know you were back in town.” he replied, watching you carefully.
his eyes caught the black nose ring, the tattoos peeking out from your sleeve.
“i never really left.” you said quietly. “i still live around here. i just don’t hang out in the same places anymore.”
eddie nodded slowly. “yeah, but you know what i mean. i haven’t seen you around in forever.” he leaned a little closer across the bar. “what’s it been? four years?”
“five.” you corrected.
five years.
it was strange to realize how much life had happened in that time.
eddie suddenly felt oddly aware of himself under your gaze, the tight band t-shirt, his slightly messy hair, the fact that he probably smelled a little like fried food from the kitchen.
so he shifted the attention back to you.
his eyes dropped briefly to your tattoos. “you’ve got a lot more ink now.”
you smirked. “would you trust a tattoo artist without tattoos?”
you gestured casually. “i don’t have that many, but the ones i do have are pretty cool. looks like you’ve been collecting a few yourself.” you nodded toward the tattoo on his arm, a puppet-like figure that almost reminded you of the artwork from the number of the beast by iron maiden.
eddie tugged the collar of his shirt slightly lower, revealing more ink across his chest.
“picked up a few over the years.” he said. “what’s the name of your shop? maybe i’ll stop by and add some more.”
“memento mori tattoo shop.” you said, biting your lip slightly, a habit he remembered very well. “you should definitely come by sometime.”
just then, a woman appeared from behind the bar.
“munson!” she snapped. “i pay you to work, not flirt!”
eddie glanced back at you with a grin.
“sorry.” he said. “dot gets cranky when i get distracted talking to customers.”
you gave him a reassuring smile, one that seemed to intrigue him even more.
“it’s okay.” you said. “maybe we can continue this later. when do you get off?”
eddie’s eyes lit up. you were actually asking him out after his shift.
“eleven-thirty.” he said. then smirked slightly. “why? thinking about sticking around until then?”
you leaned back slightly to glance at the clock behind him.
10:45.
you nodded with a small smile. “yeah. i think i will.”
eddie nodded slowly and turned away, wiping the bar with a damp cloth.
mostly so you wouldn’t see the stupid grin he couldn’t quite hide.
a moment later he slid another glass toward you. “here.” he said. “another beer. on the house.”
“thanks, munson.”
for most of the night, eddie could almost physically feel your eyes on him.
every time he moved, he was aware of it.
the way you watched him reach for a glass, the shift of muscle under his shirt when he leaned across the counter, the way his hair kept falling into his face no matter how often he pushed it back. even the way his black jeans fit when he bent down to grab a crate of beer from beneath the bar.
and you couldn’t quite believe the direction your thoughts had taken.
he had somehow grown into exactly the kind of guy you usually date.
you forced those thoughts away just after eleven-thirty, when he untied his apron and hung it on a hook behind the bar.
he rolled up the sleeves of his three-quarter shirt, revealing more of the tattoos covering his forearms.
he noticed you watching. a satisfied little smile threatened to form on his lips, but he held it back.
when he walked toward you, his expression was casual, but there was a spark in his eyes.
“end of my shift.” he announced.
you tilted your head slightly. “so you’re free now?” you asked, your tone teasing.
“yeah.” he said, trying not to sound too eager. then he smirked slightly. “i’m running free.” quoting iron maiden’s song.
you laughed. “hey, i understood that reference.”
eddie walked around the bar, finally stepping out from behind the counter.
“so…” he said, stopping in front of you. “you sticking around, or…?”
you met his gaze, a little challenging.
“depends. what are your plans tonight?”
eddie leaned casually against the bar beside you, though he didn’t stop looking at you. “i was thinking about grabbing something to eat. maybe smoking later.” his eyes flicked briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “why?” he added. “you got other plans for me?”
you noticed that look. you definitely noticed it.
“i didn’t have dinner either.” you admitted.
“oh yeah?” he said, clearly pleased, taking a small step closer. “you wanna grab something with me?”
his heart was pounding in his chest. five years ago he wouldn’t have even dared to imagine asking you out for dinner.
now he was doing it and, somehow, you were actually considering it.
you couldn’t help smiling. even after all these years, something about him hadn’t changed. beneath the confidence, you could still see traces of that awkward kid.
you stood up, grabbing your leather jacket from the back of the chair and slipping it on.
“i know a great place near main street.” you said. “danny’s. open twenty-four hours. they make amazing burgers.”
eddie’s face lit up. “perfect.” he said. “i’m starving.”
once the plan was settled, he grabbed his own jacket and the two of you stepped outside into the cool night air.
the parking lot was almost empty.
“so…” you asked, “your car or mine?”
eddie grinned. “i don’t have a car, sweetheart. i’ve got a van.” he gestured proudly toward it. “we should take that. it’s roomier.”
he shot you a quick wink as he opened the passenger door for you.
you almost chocked.
you never expected eddie munson to make you blush.
you climbed into the passenger seat, and he slid into the driver’s seat a moment later.
the inside of the van was a mess. empty cigarette packs, cassette tapes scattered everywhere, and the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air.
eddie glanced around and rubbed the back of his neck. “yeah… it’s kind of a disaster.”
“it’s ok, i’m a mess too.”
then he reached under the seat and pulled out a tape. master of reality by black sabbath. he held it up with a small grin.
“like the good old days?”
you laughed immediately. “like the good old days.”
a second later the tape slid into the player and just like that, sweet leaf filled the van.
exactly like it had five years earlier.
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
when you arrived at the diner, the waitress led you to a booth near the window overlooking the parking lot.
you slipped out of your leather jacket and placed it beside you on the seat, while eddie slid into the bench across from you and did the same.
you picked up the menu. eddie did too, but his eyes kept drifting back to you.
the way your hair fell over your shoulders. the way you leaned slightly forward while reading… after a moment he forced himself to actually look at the menu.
a few minutes later the waitress returned and you both ordered burgers and fries.
when she walked away, eddie looked back at you. “so…”
you glanced up. “what?”
he rested his elbows on the table. “what have you been up to?”
your eyes dropped briefly to his hands, his fingers were covered in rings now. you couldn’t remember if he’d worn any before.
“besides tattooing?” you said with a small laugh. then you paused, thinking.
a lot had happened over the last few years. you weren’t even sure where to begin.
“uh… do you remember james?” you asked. “the asshole i dated in high school?”
eddie nodded immediately. his jaw tightened slightly at the name.
“well, we broke up. like… four years ago.” you shrugged. “last i heard he’s in rehab now.” you chuckled lightly.
eddie leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms. there was something close to satisfaction in his expression, though he hid it quickly.
but one question was still echoing in his head.
“so… are you seeing anyone now?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
as if he didn’t really care, as if the answer wouldn’t matter, as if it wouldn’t stab straight through his chest if you said yes.
“not exactly.” you said. “actually i was supposed to have a date tonight.”
eddie’s stomach dropped.
“but he stood me up. again.” you rolled your eyes. “so i figured i might as well upgrade my plans.”
something shifted in eddie’s face. relief. pure, immediate relief.
“good.” he said automatically. then his eyes widened.“shit! sorry, i mean… i didn’t mean-” he tried to backtrack, suddenly flustered, which only made you laugh.
right then the waitress returned with your food.
you thanked her and took a bite before looking back at him. “what about you?”
eddie swallowed his first bite of burger, buying himself a second to think.
“i’ve been with a few girls.” he said vaguely, dipping a fry into ketchup. “nothing serious though.”
“yeah?” you asked, curious.
he nodded. he’d had relationships. he dated, he fucked, really. things that lasted a night or two.
but nothing that ever held his interest for long.
nothing that ever made him feel the way he thought he was supposed to feel.
you hummed softly, eating a fry.
after that the conversation turned casual.
you talked about random things, the band eddie played in, the one with your brother in it, stupid stories from high school, and bits and pieces of your lives since then.
eventually eddie stood and went to the counter to pay.
when he came back you were already sliding out of the booth.
“did you just pay for my food too, little shit?” you asked, half amused. you hadn’t expected that.
eddie grinned. “yeah. i did. deal with it.”
he gestured toward the door. “come on.”
“where?” you asked, following him outside.
“to your car.” he said. “it’s getting late.”
your car was still parked back at the hideout.
eddie noticed the flash of disappointment on your face immediately, even though you tried to hide it. he hesitated for a second, then he spoke again.
“or…” he said casually. “we could go back to my place.”
you looked at him.
“i was thinking about smoking on the porch. maybe drinking a beer or something.” he shrugged. “you can come if you want.”
the invitation was simple, clear. he was inviting you to his house.
and you actually considered it. really considered it.
“i… uh…” you were about to say no but then you looked at eddie again. and the more you thought about it, the more you realized you didn’t actually want to refuse.
“cigarettes or weed?” you asked, referencing what he’d said about smoking on the porch.
eddie’s grin turned smug. “take your pick.” he said. “i’ve got a whole stash, sweetheart.”
he started walking back toward his van. you followed him.
“well…” you said, shaking your head slightly. “then i guess i’ll have to say yes, munson.”
꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜ ⋆⋅꩜⋅⋆ ꩜
when you arrived at the trailer, eddie opened the door for you with an exaggerated bow. “welcome to my humble abode.” he said dramatically.
you laughed as you stepped inside. “didn’t you say we were going to smoke on the porch?”
“yeah, i did, sweetheart…” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto an armchair. “but it’s getting cold… and inside’s more comfortable.” he gestured vaguely around the room. “make yourself at home.”
he grabbed a small pot with leftover pasta and a fork from the coffee table, probably from earlier that day, and dropped it into the kitchen sink.
“sorry about the mess…” he added. “the maid took a week off.”
you glanced around, a little awkwardly. it had been years since you’d stepped inside this place. and yet somehow it looked almost exactly the same.
except for the smell of cigarettes that seemed to follow eddie everywhere.
you tossed your jacket onto the same armchair as his.
“your uncle still working night shifts?” you asked.
“yeah.” he grabbed a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the counter. “he won’t be back until morning.”
eddie sat down on the couch, spreading his legs comfortably as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it between his lips. he tossed the pack onto the coffee table. “want one?”
you walked around the table and sat beside him. there wasn’t much space between you. in fact, it was the closest you’d been all night.
“no thanks.” you said with a small, confident smile. “i’d rather start with the weed.”
his grin immediately mirrored yours. “i like the way you think, sweetheart.”
he stood up and disappeared into what you assumed was his bedroom, muttering to himself as he searched through something.
after a few seconds he returned with a small black metal lunch box.
he sat back down beside you and opened it. inside were several little bags, each labeled with a different strain.
you blinked, surprised. sure, it had always been obvious eddie smoked. but you hadn’t expected this much.
“you weren’t kidding about the ‘whole stash’ thing, are you a dealer?” you asked with a laugh.
“only part-time.” he replied playfully as he began rolling a joint. “that a problem?”
“not at all.” you said. “but i get a discount, right?”
he smirked without looking up. “discount? nah. for you it’s free tonight.”
he finished rolling and handed it to you. “consider it a welcome-back gift.”
you rolled your eyes with a smile and brought the joint to your lips. “can you light it?” you asked, leaning slightly closer to him.
eddie suddenly became very aware of how close you were.
under the dim yellow light of the trailer, you somehow looked even better.
for a second he almost couldn’t believe you were actually sitting there, in his living room, about to smoke with him like this.
he flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tip. the orange glow briefly lit up your face.
you took a slow drag, eyes closing slightly as the smoke filled your lungs.
then you exhaled and handed it back to him.
your fingers brushed as he took it.
“you didn’t get gareth smoking this stuff too, did you?” you teased.
eddie immediately laughed.
“hell no. that kid’s too much of a saint. i wouldn’t corrupt him like that.”
you smiled faintly. “i can’t believe he’s turning nineteen in a few months…”
then you paused, realizing what that meant. “and you’re twenty now. jesus christ. feels like yesterday i saved your ass from michael mclean.”
eddie chuckled softly. “it’s fucking crazy, right?”
he took another drag before passing the joint back to you.
an age gap of three years now, didn’t seem like much now… but back then it had felt enormous.
for a moment neither of you spoke.
the only sound in the trailer was the faint music from the van still echoing in eddie’s head and the quiet burn of the joint between your fingers.
after a while, eddie broke the silence. “you know… i never forgot that night.”
you looked at him, slightly confused. “what?”
“when you punched mclean.” he clarified.
you burst out laughing. “he never bothered you again after that.”
eddie smiled faintly. then he turned his head and looked at you. really looked at you.
“and the kiss.” he added quietly.
your eyes widened slightly. “you remember that?”
he huffed a small laugh. “kinda hard to forget your first kiss.”
you smiled. “that barely counts as one.”
“did to me.”
your smile softened a little at that.
for a moment neither of you looked away.
the joint burned slowly between your fingers. eddie’s gaze flicked briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.
you noticed. of course you noticed.
the air between you suddenly felt heavier, like something was about to happen and you were both aware of it.
“so…” you murmured, leaning back slightly into the couch. “that was your first kiss?”
eddie shrugged, though his eyes were still on you. “yeah.”
a small, teasing smile appeared on your face. “kinda disappointing, then.”
he raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”
you leaned a little closer, close enough that he could smell the smoke on your breath.
“yeah.” you said softly.
“and why is that?” he asked, amused.
“i’m pretty sure i could do better now.”
for a second eddie didn’t move. his brain trying to process whether you were actually saying what he thought you were saying. were you actually flirting with him?
“careful.” he murmured. he leaned a little closer without even realizing it. “i might hold you to that.”
your eyes flicked down to his lips. then back to his eyes.
“maybe that’s the idea.”
for a moment eddie just looked at you like he was trying to understand if this was actually happening. because five years ago, this would have been the kind of thing he only imagined happening.
his hand moved before he even fully decided to do it, his fingers reached out slowly, hesitating for just a moment before brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
the touch was light, almost careful, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do it.
you didn’t pull away, instead you leaned into it slightly.
that tiny movement was enough for eddie to gain the courage to close the distance.
the kiss started softer than either of you expected, hesitant, like neither of you wanted to move too fast and break whatever this was.
his lips brushed yours once, barely. testing.
when you didn’t pull away, he kissed you again, this time slower.
your hand moved almost automatically, coming up to rest against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. it was fast, much faster than he was probably hoping you’d notice.
eddie’s hand slid from your hair to the side of your neck, his thumb resting just below your jaw.
the kiss deepened slowly, but not rushed. just two people who had been circling around something for years finally letting it happen.
you could taste the faint bitterness of cigarette smoke and something sweeter from the soda he had been drinking earlier.
your fingers curled slightly into his shirt without you realizing it.
and when you shifted closer, your knee brushing his thigh, eddie inhaled sharply against your lips. that sound alone sent a strange little rush through your chest.
his other hand moved to your waist, hesitant at first, resting there like he was still giving you the chance to stop him.
you didn’t, instead you kissed him again, longer this time.
and something in eddie seemed to snap: the last bit of hesitation disappeared.
his hand tightened slightly at your waist as he pulled you closer. the kiss became deeper now, hungrier. years of tension finally catching up with both of you.
your hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, fingers brushing through his hair. it was softer than you expected.
when your fingers curled slightly into it, eddie made a quiet sound against your mouth, a sound he definitely hadn’t meant to make out loud.
you shifted on the couch without thinking, turning your body more toward him.
his hand moved from your waist to your back, fingers spreading across the fabric of your shirt, like he didn’t quite know where to put them, like he wanted to touch everything at once.
when the kiss finally broke for air, you were both breathing a little heavier.
eddie’s forehead rested lightly against yours, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.
your eyes opened slowly, his were already looking at you.
“still think that doesn’t count?” he murmured.
you couldn’t help smiling. “this definitely does.”
eddie laughed softly under his breath.
then you kissed him again and this time neither of you held back.
your hand slid down from his neck to his shoulder, pushing him gently back against the couch.
eddie didn’t resist, if anything, he seemed amused by the sudden shift.
his back hit the cushions and he looked up at you with a crooked smile.
“well damn, sweetheart.” he muttered, but the words barely left his mouth before you swung one leg over him and suddenly you were straddling his lap.
eddie blinked once, clearly not expecting that. “so that’s how it is, huh?” he murmured, but his hands were already moving to your hips.
you leaned down and kissed him again.
the new position brought you even closer, your bodies pressed together now.
eddie’s hands tightened slightly at your waist as the kiss deepened again. his fingers traced slowly along your sides.
the trailer felt warmer now, or maybe that was just the way his hands were slowly moving under the edge of your shirt and brushing the skin of your hips.
when your fingers hooked lightly into the collar of his shirt, eddie pulled back just enough to look at you, there was a flash of disbelief in his expression.
“you sure about this?” he asked quietly.
you leaned down again, your lips brushing his as you answered. “shut up, munson.”
that made him grin.
you pressed your lips to his again, there was nothing hesitant about it now.
the only sounds left were heavy breaths, and quiet chuckles every time his hair got in the way or got stuck in your nose ring.
his hands roamed down your body, grabbing your ass and squeezing it, causing you to let out a little moan against his lips.
he loved that sound, it vibrated against him. in response he made a low, guttural noise from the back of his throat.
he kissed you harder, his teeth catching on your bottom lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood.
you could feel him, that unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh, and you didn't hesitate to grind down on him.
it was bold, a calculated move to see how he’d react, and he groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist.
the friction felt electric, sparking through your body and sending a jolt straight to your core. you kept grinding, slow and deliberate at first, building the tension until his breathing was ragged and his grip on you was desperate.
his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck, kissing, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.
“take this off.” you breathed, your hand tugging at the hem of his shirt.
he paused, looking at you with darkened eyes, and then his hands went to pull up his shirt, revealing his chest, broad, soft but toned, the tattoos spilling over his skin. his stomach muscles tensed as he pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and dropped it onto the floor.
you stared for a moment, appreciating the view, and then you reached for your own shirt. you pulled it over your head and tossed it aside too, leaving you in your burgundy lace bra.
you pushed him back against the cushions of the couch and got on your knees between his legs, on the hard and cold floor. his eyes widened slightly, the lust in them making him look almost wild.
you reached for the button of his jeans, flicking it open. the metal click was loud in the quiet room. you pushed his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock. it was thick and heavy, already leaking a little pre-cum at the tip.
you wrapped your hand around the base, pumping him slowly at first, getting him nice and hard.
you lowered your head and took a long lick from the base to the tip, and it was enough to drive him crazy. then you him into your mouth, warm and tight, and he shuddered as you took him all the way in.
you could taste the faint saltiness of his precum and the musk of his skin. you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time, sucking and using your tongue to tease him along the underside of his shaft.
he groaned, his head falling back against the cushions, his hands tangling in your hair, holding you close.
you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “so good.” you whispered, and you took him back in.
you could hear him whining, a desperate sound, and it made you smirk around him. you sucked him harder, using your hand to stroke him in time with your mouth, bringing him closer to the edge.
his hips bucked upward, seeking more friction, and you swallowed around him, taking him as deep as you could, until he finally came down your throat.
“jesus, sweetheart…” he said panting, his voice almost shaky.
“now it’s your turn.” he pulled you up, his hands on your waist, as you laid on the couch. he let you remove your clothing, pushing down pants and underwear
“you’re so perfect.” he said kissing your thigh.
after that, he didn't waste any more time, he buried his face between your legs, his tongue pressing into your entrance without a hint of hesitation.
you cried out, your back arching off the couch, his hair tickling your sensitive skin.
he ate you out like a starving man, lapping at your folds, sucking on your clit, his tongue relentless and demanding. he moaned into you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your pussy, as your hips bucked upward, seeking more friction.
“you like that, sweetheart?” he teased you, while sliding his arms around the back of both of your thighs, to keep you from moving too much.
“fuck, yeah.” you cried out, your fingers pulling slightly at his long hair.
he moved faster, his tongue pushing deep inside you, then curling against that sensitive spot inside.
you were losing control, your legs shaking, your breath coming in short, all you could hear was the wet sounds of him eating you out and your moans.
“wait, i wanna feel you.” you managed to whisper.
he looked up and nodded frantically, as you pushed him back to sitting on the couch, just like before.
you reached for your jacket and took a little blue wrapper, ripping it open with your teeth. you rolled the condom on his hard cock, before sitting right on the tip of it.
you pushed down slowly, his cock stretching you out more and more.
you took his length fully, gasping as you felt him bottom out. you started riding him steadily, your hands on his shoulders for leverage. you set a slow, teasing pace, grinding down on him, making him beg for more.
he couldn't take it anymore. he gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, and urged you on.
eddie lifted one hand and unclipped your bra, letting it fall on the couch beside you. he grabbed one of your breasts and squeezed it, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking on it.
you gasped, it was unexpected and it made you clench around him. you started slowing down again, feeling every single inch on his dick against your insides.
you can see him almost losing control. “that’s it.” you praised him, his head falling back while you continue with your slow pacing. “does that feel good?”
“yes, fuck yes.” his voice was desperate. “i’m not gonna- oh sweetheart, i’m not gonna last-”
and in a few seconds, he was cumming inside you, almost rolling his eyes back for the pleasure. that was enough for you to cum around him, too.
the trailer was quiet again. eddie was lying back against the couch cushions, one arm resting lazily behind his head, the other still draped around your waist.
you were still on top of him, your head resting against his chest as you felt his cock softening inside the condom.
for a while neither of you said anything.
the only sounds in the trailer were the slow rhythm of both your breathing and the faint creak of the old couch every time one of you shifted slightly.
your fingers were absentmindedly tracing small shapes over the tattoo on his chest. not really thinking about it, just moving.
for a while neither of you spoke.
eddie could feel it, the light drag of your fingertips over his skin, and it made something warm settle in his chest, he looked down at you.
your hair was messy now, falling across your cheek, and for a moment he just watched you breathe.
his thumb moved slowly along your side. it made you lift your head slightly, and you caught him staring. “what?” you asked softly.
eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “nothing.”
your eyes drifted to the coffee table. the joint from earlier was still sitting in the ashtray, long forgotten, eddie followed your gaze.
“shit.” he muttered softly. “we totally abandoned that thing.”
you chuckled. “we kind of got distracted.”
“yeah.” he said. his voice sounded almost amused. “just a little.”
you reached over lazily, grabbing the joint and bringing it back toward your lips.
“still works” you said after taking a drag of it.
eddie pushed himself up slightly so you could sit a little more comfortably against him.
you took another slow drag before handing it to him, he took it from your fingers, his hand brushing yours again.
eddie took a pull from it, then leaned his head back against the couch.
for a moment he just stared at the ceiling, the same old ceiling he’d stared at a thousand times before.
only now everything felt… different.
he exhaled slowly.
“you know…” he said after a moment.
“what?” you asked.
his lips curled into a crooked smile. “fifteen-year-old me would be losing his fucking mind right now.”
you laughed quietly. “oh yeah?”
eddie glanced down at you. “yeah.”
he nudged your side lightly with his elbow.
“i mean seriously. if someone had told him that one day you’d be sitting on his couch like this…” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “he would’ve passed out on the spot.”
you smirked. “so what you’re saying is i just fulfilled some long-standing teenage fantasy?”
eddie groaned dramatically. “wow, way to ruin the moment.”
you laughed again, nudging him back. “i’m kidding.”
his hand slid back to your waist, pulling you a little closer without even thinking about it. your head settled against his chest again.
this time neither of you moved.
for a long moment eddie just listened to the quiet sound of your breathing, to the faint hum of the trailer’s old refrigerator in the kitchen while his fingers brushing gently through your hair as your eyes started to feel heavy.
somewhere in the back of his mind, fifteen-year-old eddie munson was still screaming.
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Content Warning: Title speaks for itself. 18+ smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, suggestive language, profanity.
A/N: Just a quick Eddie blurb to hold y’all over while I’m on vacation
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Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie is obsessed with your cunt. He believes that it’s the most beautiful pussy that he’s ever laid eyes on. He loves how wet, pink, and tight it is. Is in love with it just as much as he loves you.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie does not, under any circumstances, skip foreplay. He needed you to get off on his tongue, alone, at least once before dicking you down.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who can’t help but compare your pussy to the porn actress’ whenever he would watch dirty movies. Yours was always way prettier. No one else’s could ever compare to the paradise between your thighs.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who loves the way you taste. He has your scent committed to memory.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who loves to eat you through your panties.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who loves you in crotchless panties.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who gets so into eating you out that he practically dissociates. Not a single thought in his head besides how you taste, smell, and feel against his tongue.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie that would absolutely pull his van over on the side of the road and recline your seat back to go down on you if he notices your thighs rubbing together a little too much as you sat in the passenger seat.
“Lay back, princess. Let me take care of you. I’m not gonna start driving again until you cum on my fucking mouth.”
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who eats it from the back. No hands if he’s in the mood to show off. However, he vastly prefers to grab your ass while he’s doing it.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who, unbeknownst to his uncle, has eaten you out on practically every surface in the trailer while he’s at work. The kitchen counters? Check. The sofa? Check. Kitchen table? Double check. On top of the washing machine as it was running? Check. In the shower? Mega check. Don’t forget the bathroom sink, the bathroom floor, the kitchen floor, the living room floor. Literally anywhere.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie that refers to your pussy as “she” or “her.” And he shows the utmost respect to her whenever he is graced with the opportunity to please her.
“Fuck. There…she…is. Hello, gorgeous.” He would flirt, bowing his head down to press a kiss to your needy clit.
“God, she’s so wet. All this for me? Baby, you should’ve have.” He laughs, kissing it again.
“Eddie, can you please stop talking to my vagina?” You shake your head.
“Why? Just want to make sure that her majesty gets the proper loving that she deserves. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Another kiss “Just wanna love on her. Yes, I do.”
To which you would roll your eyes before grabbing the back of his head and shoving it into your cunt to shut him up. It works every time.
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie that keeps a vibrating bullet in the drawer of his nightstand for when you and “her majesty” were feeling extra needy.
“Okay, so, I might have done something.” He’d say.
“Uh-oh.” You sigh “What?”
“It’s not bad. I promise. I was downtown near that shop. You know the one? The one that sells-“
“Are you talking about-“
“Yup.” Eddie smirks “And I might’ve taken a look around and found something that you and ‘the lady’ might like.”
He pulls out a small purple bullet vibe.
“Sleek…compact….seven different speed patterns. Silicone molded for easy clean-up if she gets real excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows “What do you say, babe? Wanna test it out?”
Pussy-Whipped Boyfriend!Eddie who spends a whole hour getting you off with the little purple vibrator until it’s your new favorite thing.
summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.
tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words
a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)
It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in.
You’re on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you.
All is peaceful. All is quiet. It’s perfect.
And then your apartment door opens.
You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like he’s run his hands through it a million times.
That’s not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight.
He said, if things went well, he’d probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, it’s Steve Harrington you’re talking about here.
Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback.
“I’m guessing things didn’t go well, then—?” you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours.
“Take off your pants.”
You freeze.
What the—
He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door.
“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out.
“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”
The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.
“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”
“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap.
“Who said what?”
He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet.
But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth.
Heat rushes to your cheeks.
While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset.
Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours.
“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time.
Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair.
“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts.
It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”
“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”
You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side.
“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”
Oh. Okay.
Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing.
That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever.
You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?”
Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”
“Right.”
“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”
The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one.
“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”
Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”
Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?”
“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”
You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs.
You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate.
You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”
His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”
“Between us.”
Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face.
Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”
Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”
He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”
“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”
You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick.
In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space.
“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”
“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband.
Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.
“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”
Shit.
You’re not strong enough for this.
But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done.
And you should.
God, you should.
But you don’t want to.
So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak.
As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you.
His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold.
He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.
Then there’s that wet heat.
His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance.
“Oh, God,” you whimper.
His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan.
He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”
Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it.
Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind.
His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more.
You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment.
Steve eats pussy like he wants to.
You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face.
Too pretty for his own good.
A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes.
The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button.
But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down.
His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”
“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks.
Hard.
You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively.
Then, without warning, he pulls back.
You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that.
“Is that it?” You squeak.
“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down.
He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”
“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands.
He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off.
And this time, he doesn’t tease you.
Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.
As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches.
Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes.
He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations.
The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it.
The way your heart slams against your ribs.
A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing.
That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in.
That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt.
It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink.
“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”
The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks.
Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.
Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away.
When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth.
You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough.
“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours.
You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.
Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.
This one is different.
Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful.
He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious.
“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.
You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”
He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”
“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that.
“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”
His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it.
“You could do it again.”
a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol
ᥫ᭡ dividers by @cursed-carmine| steve masterlist | drop by my desk
Summary: You're pretty good at pissing off Joel Miller. He's very good at teaching you a lesson during a self-defense training session.
Warnings: +18, MDNI, dub-con, dark!Joel all the way, knife play, brat-tamer!Joel, bound wrists, Joel calls reader kiddo, darlin’, sweetheart, maybe baby girl once?, fingering, p in v (unprotected, sooo… don’t pls), no use of y/n, reader’s acting all tough but has little to no chance against our man, let me know if i forgot any…
A/N: this is the result of a trope survey I did, Joel Miller & enemies to lovers came in first (of course it did :D). If you are interested in the others just follow the link.
wc: 9.2k (Joel is a cruel motherfucker...)
My Pedro-Character-Masterlist
“You’re a spoiled brat. Somebody ought to teach you a lesson. Maybe then you’d start takin’ your damn part in patrol seriously instead of driftin’ along until the day they find you dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Those had been the words that started it.
A surprising amount of them, too, coming from a man who usually communicated in grunts and clipped little sentences. Around Jackson, most people were used to hearing two, maybe three words from Joel Miller at a time.
But that afternoon in the stables he had let loose like a storm breaking.
To be fair - if you forced yourself to be honest about it - you had pushed him there.
The last patrol together had been… relaxed. On your side, anyway. Maybe a little too relaxed. You had missed a couple signs you should have caught, let your attention drift more than once while walking the tree line. Nothing dangerous had happened, but Joel had noticed. Of course he had. The man noticed everything.
Still, the whole lecture had felt unfair.
When you rode patrol with Joel Miller, the man practically absorbed the entire job himself. He checked the tracks, listened to the wind, scanned every ridge like something deadly was about to crawl over it. Half the time he handled things before you even had a chance to step in.
Trying to assist often felt like showing up late to a fight he had already finished.
So yeah - maybe you had been less attentive than you should have been. But it wasn’t because you didn’t care.
It was because when Joel was beside you, the world felt… handled.
That realization had landed right as he was finishing his little speech.
And instead of apologizing like the sensible part of your brain suggested - maybe slipping out of the stables before things got worse - you had planted your boots firmly in the dirt.
“Who then?” you shot back, folding your arms as the words came out sharper than planned. “You're gonna be the one teaching me? I’d love to see you try, old man.”
The moment the words left your mouth, you knew the last part had been unnecessary.
Joel had a particular talent for getting under your skin, but calling him old man had been like flicking a match into dry grass.
The reaction was immediate.
He went still.
Then he released the horse’s reins without looking, letting them fall loosely over the post as he stepped out of the stall. Each step measured enough that your instincts kicked in before your pride could stop them. You weren’t even sure when your own boots shifted backward, but the space between you widened all the same.
Joel’s expression didn’t change much.
That was the unsettling part.
His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and assessing, like he was already calculating something.
“Well,” he drawled after a beat, voice calm in a way that felt more dangerous than the shouting had. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had.” Another step closer. “Been hearin’ you skipped more’n a few of those self-defense drills lately.” His gaze dragged over you. “Let’s see how tough you act when someone actually puts you on your back.”
And that was how you ended up trudging through ankle-deep snow on what should have been a perfectly quiet afternoon off.
Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
The wind dragged like cold fingers through the trees lining the path to the training barn, snow crunching under your boots with every step as you replayed the moment in the stables for the hundredth time. If you had just walked away - if you had swallowed your pride for once - you’d be somewhere warm right now.
Instead, you had challenged Joel Miller to prove you wrong.
And if you were being honest with yourself, the irritation between you two wasn’t exactly one-sided. Getting under Joel’s skin had become a strange sort of sport. The man had a way of grinding against your nerves until you snapped back without thinking.
Apparently the feeling went both ways.
Your breath curled in pale clouds as the barn came into view, the big wooden structure crouched quietly beneath a dusting of snow. No voices. No movement. Just the faint creak of wood shifting in the cold.
You reached it later than the time he had given you.
Technically by accident.
Mostly.
A small, petty part of you had slowed your pace on purpose. Let him stew a little. Pissed people made mistakes. And today you had every intention of knocking Joel Miller down a peg or two.
The barn door groaned softly when you pushed it open.
Inside, the air was colder than you expected, the structure barely insulated from the winter outside. Your boots echoed faintly against the packed floor as you stepped in, shrugging out of your thick coat and shaking snow from the sleeves.
“Joel?” you called, voice carrying through the wide space.
You draped the coat over a small wooden stool near the entrance. If this training session looked anything like the handful of drills you’d bothered attending before, you wouldn’t stay cold for long.
Movement would fix that.
The training area had been mostly cleared out. A broad patch of packed dirt and old mats where Jackson ran its combat practice. Last time you’d been here it had been crowded - laughter, teasing, half the patrol crew watching each other stumble through holds and throws.
Now the place felt different.
Quieter.
Dim light filtered through the high slats in the barn walls, dust and hay drifting lazily through the beams. A few old crates were stacked toward the back, casting long crooked shadows across the floor. Somewhere deeper inside, a loose board creaked softly with the wind.
But most notably - no Joel.
You suppressed the thought that Joel Miller was almost never late. If anything, he was the kind of man who showed up ten minutes early just to glare at everyone else.
Still.
If the universe decided to make an exception today, you weren’t about to complain.
“Joel?” you called again, already turning back toward the door as you reached for your coat. “If this is some kinda joke -”
A faint shuffle cut through the quiet behind you.
Subtle enough that it could have been anything. The wind blowing through a crack in the boards. A rat scurrying somewhere in the hay.
But your brain, helpful as ever, supplied a different thought.
What if something actually had happened?
Joel slipping on ice somewhere behind the barn. Old men did that, didn’t they?
The image made you snort a quiet laugh as you stepped deeper inside, heading toward the darker end of the building where the stacked crates sat like squat shadows.
“Joel?” you called again, tone lighter now.
No grumpy Texan clutching a broken hip greeted you. Just scattered hay, dirt, and the faint smell of old wood.
Then you noticed the tracks.
Boot prints pressed into the thin dust near the crates.
You barely had time to register them before something slammed into you from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocked the air clean out of your lungs as your body was driven backward into the stacked crates. Wood rattled violently behind you, the force of the hit folding you against it so abruptly that even the instinct to shout died in your throat.
All that escaped you was a strangled breath as the world lurched sideways and suddenly felt very, very close.
You only managed to catch yourself at the last second. Your boots slipped in the dust as the crates rattled behind you, but instinct kicked in before gravity could finish the job. One hand shot out, bracing against the wood long enough to steady yourself before you stumbled back into the more open space of the training floor.
And he followed.
“What the actual hell was that, Joel?!” you snapped, the words bursting out before your lungs had even properly recovered.
Joel Miller stepped out of the shadows like he had all the time in the world. The dim light spilling through the barn slats caught the edge of his shoulders, the familiar broad frame moving toward you with the same steady patience he carried everywhere.
He didn’t answer.
Just kept walking.
The deliberate silence set your nerves on edge faster than any insult could have.
Without thinking you took a step back - mirroring exactly what had happened in the stables earlier. Your heel scraped lightly over the packed dirt before you forced yourself to stop retreating. Straightened your back. Planted your feet.
You refused to give him the satisfaction twice.
“So…” You cleared your throat, hating the faint tremor that slipped into your voice anyway. “How are we doing this? Thought these things usually start with rules. You know. Demonstrations. Maybe someone showing the hold first before -”
A low chuckle slipped from him.
It carried about as much humor as a knife.
“You honestly think that’s what it looks like out there?” Joel muttered.
He rolled one shoulder as he moved, the motion stiff enough that you noticed it immediately. The impact must’ve hurt him too when he slammed into you. He masked it well, but the brief tightening of his jaw gave it away.
Still, the look he gave you afterward made it clear he didn’t care.
“Oh, darlin’,” he added quietly, voice dropping into that slow Texan drawl that usually meant trouble. “You’re in for a rude surprise.”
Two seconds.
That was about how long you had to swallow the sudden spike of unease rising in your chest.
Then the panic got burned away by something hotter.
The sheer audacity of this man.
You took two quick steps backward, widening the distance and shifting your weight the way you’d been taught during drills. Feet planted. Knees loose. Hands lifting instinctively toward your chest.
Fine.
If Joel wanted to play instructor like this, you’d show him you had actually listened during those classes.
Unfortunately, you were still underestimating just how serious he was about the lesson.
He moved before you could fully settle into your stance.
One moment he stood a few paces away.
The next he was on you.
Your hands shot up higher, ready to intercept a grab - because that was what the drills usually started with. Wrist control. Balance breaks.
Joel didn’t reach for your arms.
He swung.
An actual punch.
The movement came fast enough that your brain barely had time to process it. You ducked on instinct alone, dropping your shoulder just as his fist cut through the air where your head had been.
You avoided the worst of it.
But not all of it.
His knuckles clipped the side of your skull as they passed, the glancing contact sending a sharp buzz of pain through your temple that made your ears ring.
“Jesus, Joel!” you barked, staggering back a step as your hand flew to your cheek. “What the fuck -”
“Thought you might try talkin’ your way outta trouble too?” he grunted.
Another swing followed immediately.
You barely avoided that one too, stumbling sideways as the punch cut past your shoulder close enough to stir the air.
And that was when the realization finally clicked.
He wasn’t actually trying to hit you.
Not really.
If Joel had meant it - if he’d put his full weight behind those blows - you’d already be down. Nose broken. Lip split. Maybe worse.
This was controlled.
Terrifyingly precise.
“Of course not, you idiot,” you shot back, breath coming faster now as adrenaline started flooding your system. “I just -”
“You just what?” Joel cut in, circling closer. “Thought you could coast through patrols and let somebody else watch your back, kiddo?”
“I just thought -”
You never finished the sentence.
Because that was when he closed the distance completely.
One moment he was a step away.
The next his hands were on you.
His unyielding grip clamped onto your shoulders before you could react, momentum carrying straight through you as he hooked a foot behind your ankle and swept your legs out from under you in one brutal, practiced motion.
The world flipped.
Your back slammed into the old training mats hard enough to knock the air from your lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp. Dust puffed around you as your vision flashed white for a split second, stars scattering across the edges of your sight.
You barely had time to register what had happened.
Because Joel was already on top of you.
His weight settled in fast, knees pinning your legs to the ground before you could kick free. One hand locked around each of your upper arms, forcing them down against the mat with a strength that left very little room for argument.
You tried to twist.
Tried to buck him off.
It didn’t move him an inch.
Joel leaned slightly over you, breath still steady despite the scuffle, his shadow falling across your face in the dim barn light.
“Weren’t thinkin’,” he muttered, voice low and rough. His grip tightened just enough to make the point unmistakable. “That right there’s the problem, darlin’.”
“Okay, you know what -” The words came out between clenched teeth as you bucked against his hold again, muscles straining even though every logical part of your brain already knew it was pointless.
Joel barely shifted.
Still, the flash of defiance in your eyes caught his attention for half a second. His gaze dipped toward you and he made a low sound under his breath as he adjusted his weight to counter your movement.
It wasn’t much.
Just enough pressure in the right places to remind you he was still very much in control.
He waited.
Actually waited.
Like he expected some brilliant comeback to fall out of your mouth.
So you gave him one.
“Fuck you, Joel.”
The words snapped out sharp and immediate, and before he could respond you twisted your hips hard - throwing your weight the way you’d been shown once during a half-forgotten training drill.
The motion had a name. Something about breaking a mount by shifting the opponent’s balance.
At the time it had sounded like wishful thinking.
But somehow -
It worked.
Almost.
Joel’s grip slipped just enough that you managed to twist sideways beneath him. Your shoulder rolled, your body following the momentum until suddenly you were face-down instead of pinned flat.
You didn’t wait.
You scrambled forward on instinct, boots digging against the mat as your hands clawed for traction in the dust.
Behind you, Joel sucked in a sharp breath.
The knee you’d driven into his ribs during the maneuver had clearly landed better than you’d planned.
For one brief, glorious second you thought you might actually get away.
Then his hand closed around the back of your belt.
The jerk backward was violent enough that your progress stopped instantly, your body sliding helplessly over the dusty mat as the inches you’d gained disappeared in a heartbeat.
Your fingernails scraped uselessly against the ground.
“Damn it -!”
You barely got the protest out before Joel leaned forward again.
One hand seized both your wrists, yanking them behind your back in a single brutal motion. His grip tightened until your arms were forced together, the angle making it impossible to twist free.
A second later his knees settled heavily against the backs of your legs, pinning you in place while his weight pressed down just enough to make resistance feel laughable.
You opened your mouth to curse him out.
Then you felt it.
The rough scrape of something fibrous brushing your skin.
Rope.
Your stomach dropped.
“Okay - Joel, wait!” The words came faster now as the cord circled your wrists, tightening with practiced efficiency. “Hold on a second -” The rope cinched tighter. “I said wait!” The sharp edge of panic in your own voice caught you off guard.
Joel didn’t react.
“Give me one good reason,” he said simply.
“What reason do you -?” You twisted your head, trying to glare up at him over your shoulder. “This isn’t funny, Joel.”
“It ain’t supposed to be.”
You squirmed beneath him as he pulled the knot snug, the rope biting just enough to make the reality of it sink in. It was too tight for a mere training unit.
You weren’t slipping out of that anytime soon.
Your body shifted restlessly under his weight, trying again to find leverage that simply wasn’t there.
Okay.
New strategy.
“Alright,” you muttered quickly, forcing the words out before the tension crawling up your spine could take over completely. “I get it. Message received. I should’ve paid more attention on patrol. That one’s on me.” The rope tugged tighter. “This is still unfair,” you added stubbornly.
Joel’s knee slid upward slightly as he finished securing the knot, pressing into the small of your back with deliberate weight.
“Fair?” he repeated. His voice carried a faint edge of disbelief. “You think the folks waitin’ out there care about your sense of fairness?”
You turned your head against the mat, cheek scraping the rough surface as you tried to look back at him.
Joel didn’t appear the least bit rattled.
His brows were drawn together the way they always were, deep lines etched across his forehead. The familiar salt-and-pepper beard framed a mouth set in that same firm line you’d seen a hundred times before.
But there was no anger now.
No smirk either.
Just a calm, steady focus that somehow felt worse.
You weren’t sure what exactly he was determined to do, and something about that thought made your chest tighten.
“No, it’s just…” you started, words faltering as you tried to find something that didn’t sound like outright surrender. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a -”
The sentence cut off when Joel suddenly shifted.
His weight lifted from your back without warning.
Relief barely had time to register before his hands caught your shoulder and hip, rolling you over in one smooth motion.
You landed flat on your back again.
Joel settled over you almost immediately, kneeling around your legs the way he had earlier - only now your wrists were secured behind you, leaving your arms completely useless.
The position pulled uncomfortably at your shoulders, the rope tightening each time you moved. But you decided very quickly not to complain about that. Comfort clearly wasn’t high on Joel’s list of priorities today.
“- such a committed trainer?” Joel finished dryly.
You glared up at him.
“Such an asshole,” you corrected.
Your body twisted again beneath him, instinctively trying to knock him off balance. Your hips jerked upward, attempting to disrupt his center of gravity.
Joel barely shifted. If anything his crotch pushed into your center just as much to secure you.
“Newsflash, darlin’,” he muttered. “World outside Jackson ain’t exactly known for patience.”
You huffed out a breath, rolling your eyes despite the position.
“Yeah, alright. Point taken.” You shifted your shoulders experimentally against the rope. “So untie me already. Pretty sure the lesson stuck.”
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t even look like he was considering it.
Instead he adjusted his weight slightly, settling into the kneeling position like someone getting comfortable for a long conversation.
Your stomach sank.
“Doubt it,” he said. The words were calm. Almost casual. “Lesson ain’t even started yet.”
Something flickered in his hand then.
Metal catching the faint light filtering through the barn walls.
And when your eyes dropped to it, the breath caught hard in your throat.
Joel had a knife.
For a moment you just stared at it. Then - unexpectedly - even to yourself, a laugh slipped out. It started as a short breath and turned into something sharper, almost incredulous.
Because this was Joel.
Joel Miller might be a lot of things - grumpy, stubborn, occasionally insufferable - but he wasn’t some deranged lunatic who’d decided to start carving people up during a training session.
The man patched fences for neighbors after long patrols. Helped haul lumber for repairs even when he’d already pulled double shifts. Joel Miller carried himself like someone who’d seen too much of the world to waste energy pretending to be nice, but you had never once seen him be cruel.
Rough, yes.
Unfair? Never.
So this?
This had to be part of the scare tactic.
A prop.
A way to drive the lesson home.
And hell… it was working.
Your laugh lingered a little longer than necessary, the sound edged with nerves you hoped he wouldn’t notice. When something overwhelmed you, that was usually how you dealt with it.
“Alright, alright,” you muttered, rolling your eyes toward him. “You can cut the theatrics now. What exactly are you planning to do with that?” You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the tone casual. “Pretty sure the council won’t be thrilled if I walk back into town with knife wounds from a training exercise.”
You aimed for cool and unbothered. Joel’s eyes flickered briefly over your face. The faint tremor in your voice hadn’t slipped past him.
“Knife ain’t just for stabbin’ people,” he said flatly. “Might need to sign you up for a weapons lesson too while we’re at it.”
Before you could respond, the blade moved.
Not the sharp edge but the flat, dull side. Cold metal brushed lightly across your cheek.
Your head turned instinctively, trying to avoid it, but Joel followed the motion easily - guiding the blade downward along the line of your jaw and throat.
A slow trail of chilled steel.
The tip continued lower, slipping toward the collar of your shirt.
You stilled despite yourself.
The point of the knife tapped lightly against the first button of your flannel, clicking softly against the plastic.
Then the next.
And the next.
Each small contact felt absurdly loud in the quiet barn.
“Don’t see you doin’ much fightin’ right now,” Joel observed calmly. His chin tipped forward slightly, gesturing vaguely toward the position you were stuck in beneath him. “Someone got you pinned like this out there… what exactly’s your plan?”
“I wouldn’t get caught,” you shot back automatically.
Joel’s mouth twitched.
“If an old man can do it half asleep…” he said dryly, tossing your earlier insult right back at you, “I ain’t too confident you’d fare better with a group of raiders.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“If it were raiders,” you countered quickly, “I’d already be exactly where you said I’d end up. Dead somewhere in a ditch.” Your gaze flicked pointedly to the knife. “They’d want my gear. My rations. My weapons. Not my patience.”
Joel’s grin tilted sideways.
Not amused.
Just… knowing.
“You sure about that?” he murmured.
Before you could respond, the tip of the knife slid neatly between one of the lower buttons and its thread.
Your brain barely had time to register what he was doing before he twisted his wrist slightly.
Pop.
The button snapped free.
It shot somewhere over your shoulder, landing out of sight behind you.
“What the - Joel!”
Your head jerked up instinctively, more offended by the destruction of a perfectly good shirt than anything else. Still, something deeper shifted under your ribs.
Because Joel was right. Being captured out there - especially as a woman - wouldn’t end quickly.
Wouldn’t end kindly.
The next button popped.
Adrenaline flooded your bloodstream in a sudden rush and your body bucked beneath him again, instinct overriding reason.
The blade slipped. Not deep. But the point grazed your skin just enough to leave a sharp sting across your stomach.
“Watch it, jerk!” you hissed.
Joel stopped. But not out of concern.
Out of calculation.
Slowly the knife lifted from your half-open shirt and returned upward, the flat of the blade resting once again against the side of your neck.
“If I was one of them,” Joel said quietly, leaning closer, “and I had you stuck like this beneath me…” His voice dropped lower. “Best start pickin’ your words real careful.”
He was close enough now that you could see every line in his face.
Close enough that he had to see the flicker of fear creeping into your eyes.
And he didn’t stop.
Didn’t pull back.
Didn’t soften the pressure of his weight holding you down.
For one alarming second a thought flickered through your head.
He wasn’t ignoring your fear.
He was letting you sit with it.
Maybe even -
Enjoying the effect.
Your breathing slowed. When you spoke again, your voice came out colder than before. Enough that it caught his attention immediately.
“Yeah?” you murmured. Joel leaned a fraction closer, watching you carefully. “Then listen real close, Joel.”
But instead of the clever insult he was clearly expecting…
You gathered saliva.
And spat.
Right into his face.
Joel jerked back just enough that the dull side of the knife scraped lightly along your skin. The movement was quick - reflex more than intent - and for a second his brows pulled together in something close to surprise.
Then he huffed.
And laughed.
Not the dry little breath of amusement people in Jackson sometimes coaxed out of him. Not the brief exhale that usually passed for humor from Joel Miller.
This was different.
The sound came as a real laugh that rolled out of his chest before he could seem to stop it. It carried something sharp in it too - something edged with challenge that made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.
You realized, distantly, that you could probably count the times you’d heard Joel Miller laugh on one hand.
This one felt… new.
“Alright,” he muttered, still chuckling as he dragged the sleeve of his jacket across his face, wiping away the spit without much ceremony. “Go ahead. Act like a brat.” His dark eyes dropped back to yours. “Let’s see how far that attitude carries you.”
The knife returned to your shirt.
Before you could react, three buttons popped in quick succession.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The sounds echoed in the quiet barn like small gunshots, fabric pulling apart under the pressure of the blade. Within seconds only the top button still held, the flannel hanging open enough that the cold air slipped easily against your skin.
Joel rested the tip of the knife against that final button, his gaze settling back on you.
“Tell me somethin’, darlin’,” he said, voice quieter now. “When does all that stubbornness finally turn into beggin’?” His mouth twitched faintly. “Be real interestin’ to hear you whimper for once.”
The knife didn’t move.
It waited there, hovering against the thread.
“I’d rather you stab me,” you shot back immediately, forcing the words out before hesitation could betray you. “You’re not getting a single plea out of me.”
It was a lie.
You both knew it.
The tension in your chest was already tightening, nerves and adrenaline twisting together into something that made your breathing shallow.
And yet… something inside you refused to back down.
Part pride.
Part curiosity.
Because a small, reckless voice in the back of your mind wanted to know just how far Joel Miller would actually push this lesson.
Surely not that far. Right?
You gave yourself a second to remember exactly who was sitting on top of you.
Joel Miller.
The same man who had barely glanced at you that one patrol when you’d slipped in the brush and torn your shirt on a branch. The fabric had ripped at exactly the wrong place, leaving your cleavage embarrassingly obvious for the rest of the trek back to Jackson.
Joel had looked away almost immediately.
Barely a second.
Like it hadn’t even registered.
That Joel Miller wasn’t about to take things further just to prove a point.
…Right?
And if he did…
Your stomach tightened unexpectedly.
Would it actually be so terrible?
“We’ll see about that,” Joel muttered.
The knife twisted.
Pop.
The final button gave way.
The front of your shirt fell open completely, the two sides sliding apart under the pressure of the blade as Joel used it to push the fabric aside. The cold metal drifted slowly down the center of your stomach, tracing a lazy line over your skin.
Your belly rose and fell beneath it, each breath a little quicker than the last.
“Not even gonna try bargainin’?” he asked, eyes lifting back to yours.
“What for?” you muttered, a little more breathless than you meant to sound. “Don’t exactly have anything worth trading.”
Joel’s grin tilted darker.
“Oh, I dunno,” he said quietly. “Seems like I’m gettin’ a pretty decent view already of what you gotta offer.”
Something in your stomach flipped unpleasantly - and not entirely with disgust.
“Try me, old man,” you shot back, the insult coming out sharper than intended. A thread of nervous energy slipped into the words despite your effort to sound confident. “Bet you wouldn’t even be able to.”
You held his gaze stubbornly, your own grin tight with defiance.
There was plenty of spite in it. Plenty of tension too. Because you still weren’t completely sure what Joel actually wanted here.
To scare you? Or rather something else entirely…
The jab made him chuckle again, deeper this time. His shoulders shifted slightly as the sound shook through him, his weight pressing more firmly against you for a second.
Then he leaned forward.
The knife disappeared between his teeth, clamped carefully by the handle so both hands were free.
Your stomach dipped as Joel’s fingers hooked into your belt.
Opening it took him almost no effort at all. He worked the buckle loose with the same calm efficiency he seemed to apply to everything, his other hand planted beside your head for balance. The knife still sat between his teeth, the metal glinting faintly when the dim barn light caught it. The grin around it was unmistakable - broad, wolfish, the kind that showed just enough teeth to make your stomach tighten.
Your breath hitched the moment his fingers found the button of your jeans.
That was when the realization finally settled in fully.
He wasn’t bluffing.
“Joel…” The word slipped out before you could stop it. It wasn’t exactly a plea - not yet - but it carried something close. A last attempt to catch his attention before the line you’d been dancing around disappeared completely. His head tilted slightly at the sound, like he was waiting for the rest. Waiting for the begging he had predicted earlier.
“You don’t have to,” you added, quieter now. “I get it.”
The sharp edge of your usual sarcasm had faded from your voice, replaced by something more honest - tension, a flicker of fear… and an uncomfortable thread of anticipation you didn’t quite know what to do with.
Joel’s mouth curved slowly at one corner.
The grin that followed wasn’t kind.
His fingers finished undoing the button, lingering a moment at the metal of the zipper without pulling it down. Instead, the back of his knuckles brushed lightly across your center through the layers of denim and cotton, the casual contact enough to make your body twitch in surprise.
Your hips jerked instinctively, trying to shift away from the touch even though the movement accomplished very little.
Joel adjusted his weight slightly, leaning back just enough to free the knife from his teeth. The blade slipped back into his hand, the flat side drifting lazily across your exposed stomach again.
“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” he muttered.
Before you could respond, he leaned forward again.
The knife drove suddenly downward, the blade burying itself in the mat right beside your head with a dull thunk that made you flinch hard enough for the ropes around your wrists to bite.
Joel’s chuckle rumbled low in response.
“Besides,” he added calmly, shifting his weight again, “I ain’t convinced you actually get it yet, kiddo.” His free hand returned to your jeans. “You’re still thinkin’ I’m gonna stop here. Scare you a little. Let you walk off and hope the lesson stuck.”
His thumb caught the zipper. Slowly he dragged it downward. The sound seemed absurdly loud in the quiet barn.
“All you’ve done so far,” Joel continued, voice steady, “is prove you only understand somethin’ once it’s right in front of you.” The zipper reached the bottom. He clicked his tongue softly. “And I ain’t exactly confronted you with much yet.”
“I - I’m gonna scratch your eyes out!” you snapped.
Joel’s brow lifted faintly.
“Be real curious to watch you try that with your hands tied behind your back,” he drawled. “Truth be told, you oughta be grateful you still got ’em.” His tone remained casual. “Seen what raiders do when they’re worried about people fightin’ back. Fingernails, teeth… anything sharp tends to disappear real quick.”
He paused just long enough to make the words settle. Then shrugged lightly.
“Think I can manage you just fine with your claws intact though.”
His hand slid forward again, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear where the open denim now left the fabric exposed.
Your body reacted before your brain caught up.
Your hips jerked upward, the motion automatic.
Joel noticed immediately.
“Now there’s a little fight,” he murmured, the darkness back in his voice. “Thought that tough brat already ran off and left me with somebody a lot more nervous.”
Instead of answering, you twisted harder beneath him.
Your knees drew upward slightly, boots scraping uselessly against the mat as you tried to shift your weight enough to disrupt his balance. It only gained you a fraction of an inch, but the effort felt necessary all the same.
Beside your face, the knife remained planted firmly in the mat.
A silent reminder.
Too close for comfort.
“When this is over,” you muttered through clenched teeth, “I’m gonna make you pay for it.”
Joel huffed softly at that. “When this is over,” he echoed, “you’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.” He tilted his head slightly, watching your expression. “That’s the theory, anyway.” His hand slipped forward again, the rough pads of his fingers brushing lightly against your hip as if testing the reaction.
“In practice?” he continued. His gaze flicked briefly down toward you, as his fingers slipped under the soft cotton of your panties, sliding slowly through your folds, way too wet already for the situation you were in. A slow grin followed.
“Seems like you’re not exactly hatin’ the lesson as much as you pretend.”
You tried to fight it.
Tried with everything you had left in you to keep the reaction from showing, to stop him from seeing what the smallest touch of his hand was doing. Pride alone demanded it. But when Joel’s fingers slid just a little deeper, gathering the slick wetness there before circling lazily over your clit, control slipped through your grasp all the same.
The sound that escaped you was small.
Barely more than a breath.
But it was there.
A whimper.
Joel froze instantly.
Not pulling away - just stilling, the pressure of his hand remaining exactly where it was. Then he leaned forward, lowering his head until his ear hovered close to your lips.
“What was that?” he murmured.
You clenched your jaw. “What, old man?” you muttered back through your teeth, trying to sound unimpressed even as the tension curled tighter in your stomach. “Can’t hear… anyth -”
Your voice faltered.
Because his fingers started moving again.
Slow circles, each motion stealing another piece of your composure until the bite in your words began dissolving into something softer, something harder to contain.
“…fuck,” you breathed, the sound slipping out before you could swallow it back. Another whimper followed, one you tried to stifle by turning your head sharply aside and pressing your lips together.
Joel huffed quietly. “Oh, I can hear those moans just fine,” he said, voice low and amused.
His fingers shifted again, sliding deeper before nudging forward to your entrance with a careful pressure that made your back tense against the mat.
“Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
Your hands flexed uselessly behind you, fingernails scraping against the mat as your body reacted without asking permission.
“Didn’t realize you were this desperate for it,” he went on calmly. “Could’ve saved myself the whole training lecture if you’d just said so.”
“Don’t - get too excited,” you forced out. Your face remained locked in a scowl, brows drawn tight with irritation, but every small twitch of Joel’s hand kept betraying you anyway. Joel’s mouth curved faintly.
“Funny,” he muttered. “You look like the one getting excited here.”
Before you could snap back, he pressed two fingers into you, stretching you unexpectedly.
The sound that tore from you echoed far louder than you would’ve liked in the quiet barn, bouncing faintly off the wooden beams overhead. Heat rushed through your skin despite the winter air creeping through the walls, your breath coming quicker as your body arched against the pressure.
Joel let out a low hum.
“Well now,” he murmured. “That’s a helpful reaction. Good girl making it easy for me.”
The words good girl slipped from him almost lazily, like he wasn’t even thinking about them.
But they landed.
Harder than anything else he had said.
Being called a brat had been annoying. Something to push back against.
That?
That slid straight under your skin.
Joel shifted slightly above you, his hips grinding forward just enough that you could feel the effect of the situation for yourself. His hard cock clearly visible - and noticeable - through the denim fabric.
“Gotta admit though,” he added under his breath, “didn’t figure you’d let me get this far.”
Your chest rose and fell unevenly.
“Didn’t exactly have much of a choice,” you shot back.
Joel snorted quietly.
“Would’ve stopped the second I saw real fear in your eyes,” he said, almost casually. “That much I promise.”
His fingers moved again, angling just right, the motion pulling another involuntary arch from your back.
“Didn’t expect quite this much anticipation, though.”
Then he withdrew.
Just like that.
The sudden emptiness left you staring up at the rafters for a moment, trying very hard not to look as disappointed as you suddenly felt.
“Anticipating the moment I get to wipe that smug grin off your face,” you muttered.
“Sure,” Joel said mildly. “All talk so far.”
He shifted his weight again, giving your hips just enough room to move - but not enough to actually escape. Before you could twist away, his hand caught your arm, gripping firmly as he rolled you over once more.
The cold mat pressed against the bare skin of your stomach as you landed face-down again, the rough surface biting lightly against your skin.
“Haven’t seen much proof otherwise,” Joel continued. “Well… close to none…”
You could feel the weight of his gaze moving over you as you squirmed beneath him, ineffective against both his strength and the rope holding your wrists.
Then his hands returned to your jeans.
Before you could brace yourself, he dragged the fabric downward in one swift motion, shoving the denim down to your knees and leaving your legs tangled while your butt was suddenly exposed to the chill air of the barn.
“Look at you…” The words slipped out of Joel almost under his breath, less a taunt and more an observation that had surprised even him. His palm drifted across your exposed backside, the touch unexpectedly light at first - almost thoughtful. The calluses of his hand dragged slowly over your skin, tracing the curve there.
Then his fingers tightened without warning.
They dug sharply into the soft flesh, and the sudden sting ripped a startled cry from your throat before you could stop it.
Joel exhaled a low, amused breath.
“Easy now, darlin’,” he murmured. “You tryin’ to let the whole town know how hard you’re fightin’ back?”
The old barn swallowed his voice and threw it back in faint echoes. Winter air leaked through warped wooden boards, brushing cold against the parts of your skin left bare.
His other hand tugged at the hem of your flannel, pushing the fabric upward just enough to expose the line of your back. His fingers wandered there, following the ridge of your spine like a path. They traveled upward, past the tension between your shoulder blades.
From there, they slid higher still. His hand buried itself in your hair and Joel closed his fist.
Your head jerked back as he pulled, forcing your spine into a sharp arch. The position twisted your face just enough that he could see part of it - your clenched jaw, the stubborn crease between your brows.
“Should’ve gagged you,” he muttered, studying the way your expression flickered between anger and something far less controlled. “That’s what a raider would’ve done. Wouldn’t want you hollerin’ for help.” His grip in your hair tightened slightly as he tilted your head further. “You want that?” he asked, voice dropping lower. “Full experience?”
His knee planted firmly beside your hip, grounding your movements. The other nudged your legs apart a little more, creating space as his free hand drifted back down between your legs.
The moment his touch returned to your wet center, the sound that escaped you was impossible to disguise.
He huffed out a quiet laugh against your ear.
“Well… that settles that.”
His fingers resumed their slow movements, and your body reacted before your pride could catch up. Your words tangled in your throat as sensation swallowed them whole.
Joel felt it instantly as you clenched around his digits.
“Can’t lie,” he said after a moment, voice thick with amusement. “Kinda like hearin’ you make those sounds.”
You tried to respond immediately, some sharp retort ready on instinct - but the rhythm of his hand stole the thought clean out of your head.
It took effort to gather enough focus to speak.
“Funny,” you managed eventually, breath uneven but grin stubbornly tugging at your lips despite the pull in your hair. “You’ve said more in the last five minutes than in all our patrols put together.”
Joel clicked his tongue.
“That’s ’cause you never had anything worth talkin’ about, sweetheart.”
His hand slipped away from you abruptly.
The sudden absence again left a hollow ache you refused to acknowledge.
A moment later, the quiet clink of metal broke the air as his hand moved to his belt.
“That is,” he continued casually, working the buckle loose, “until now.”
You couldn’t see him.
That was the worst part.
The outline you’d caught earlier through the denim of his jeans had been enough to plant the thought firmly in your mind - but without seeing it now, you had no real sense of what waited behind you.
And it was coming.
That much had become unavoidable.
Joel Miller was going to fuck you.
Before closing the distance, Joel leaned forward again. His grip in your hair loosened just enough to guide your head slightly to the side.
His lips brushed near your ear.
The scrape of his beard against your skin sent a small shiver down your spine.
“Wouldn’t mind refreshin’ these lessons now and then,” he murmured. “What d’you think?”
His hips rolled forward slightly against your backside as he spoke and you could feel his rock-hard cock against your skin. The pressure alone made it very clear that whatever came next would be anything but gentle. Or small.
Your reaction betrayed you instantly.
Despite every ounce of pride screaming otherwise, your legs shifted apart a little farther - limited only by the jeans and underwear bunched around your knees. Your hips lifted instinctively, pressing back toward him.
Joel felt it.
The chuckle that rumbled out of him vibrated straight through your body.
“That ain’t an answer, darlin’.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Your lips stayed sealed for a few stubborn seconds longer.
Then the words forced their way out anyway, your head giving a tight nod against his grip.
“Y-yes… Joel.” The admission came out strained, breath catching halfway through. “I… wouldn’t mind that.”
“Mind what now, darlin’?”
You swallowed the last ounce of pride left in your body. “Wouldn’t mind you fucking me.”
You barely had time to register the shift behind you.
One moment there was the pressure of his cock lining up at your entrance, the heat of his body crowding yours, the grip on your wrists keeping you arched and exposed.
The next -
The breath punched straight out of your lungs.
Joel moved in one hard thrust, leaving no room for hesitation, no careful pause to let you adjust around his girth. This wasn’t patient. This wasn’t gentle.
It was rough, immediate, and entirely on his terms.
The sound that tore from you never had a chance to fully escape. His hand left your hair in the same instant and clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling the cry against his rough palm.
Joel groaned low behind you, the sound thick with the shock of it.
Your breath came hot and frantic through your nose against his skin as you struggled to drag air back into your lungs. That first impact had stolen every bit of oxygen from you.
“Fuck, darlin’…” Joel sounded strained as he leaned forward, pressing himself closer along your back. For a moment his forehead rested against the back of your head while he steadied his breathing and settled into the rhythm he wanted.
Despite the brutal beginning, he slowed.
Not enough to make things easy on you - far from it - but enough that the movements stopped feeling like a single overwhelming blow. There was a rough kind of control in it now, a measured pace that gave your body just enough time to keep up.
You mumbled something against the hand covering your mouth, the words lost in a garbled sound. The strain had tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
Joel huffed softly.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for such a good girl,” he muttered near your ear, the words carrying that familiar teasing edge. “All ready for me like this.”
The praise sounded almost mocking paired with the relentless rhythm he kept.
Then, unexpectedly, his lips brushed briefly against the side of your neck - a fleeting kiss that contrasted sharply with the roughness everywhere else.
Before you could process it, he shifted again.
His hand slid away from your mouth, leaving your lips parted as you pulled in a shaky breath. Instead, he grabbed hold of your bound wrists, using them like a handle to pull you upward into a deeper arch. The position tightened everything, forcing your back to curve as his other hand dug firmly into the side of your hip to steady you.
“Let's see how good you take me like this.” You could hear the grin in his voice.
“Will you ever shut the fuck up,” you snarled breathlessly, your voice rough from the air you’d been fighting to catch.
Joel laughed behind you - gravelly and clearly entertained.
“Actin’ tough ain’t gonna do you much good right now,” he replied.
Another sharp thrust stole the rest of your retort, a broken sound slipping from your throat before you could stop it.
“In the end,” he continued casually, “you’re gonna be the one babblin’ nonsense… ’cause the only thing left in that head of yours’ll be me fucking you senseless.”
The blunt boldness of his words hit harder than it should have.
Joel had always been many things - stubborn, gruff, irritatingly calm - but this kind of filthy confidence? That had never once crossed your radar.
And damn it, it worked.
Heat built relentlessly in your core, faster than you wanted to admit. Embarrassingly fast.
Joel noticed once more.
“Look at you,” he muttered, almost amused. “Already cockdrunk.” His tongue clicked softly. “Wouldn’t be much of a lesson if you were enjoyin’ yourself too much, now would it?”
The words sent a spike of panic through you.
You twisted your head, trying to catch sight of his face over your shoulder.
Surely he wasn’t serious.
Joel paused just long enough to lean down near your ear again.
“That is…” he added thoughtfully, “…unless you ask real nice.”
The cruelty in it was obvious.
He wanted it. The attitude stripped away, the stubbornness broken down until you were the one begging for more.
And the worst part?
You weren’t nearly as far from it as you wished.
“Joel…” you swallowed hard, your voice suddenly tight. “Please.” The word slipped out before your pride could catch it.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice softening just a fraction. “I got you, baby girl.”
Another deep slam made your whole body shudder involuntarily as he bottomed out once more.
“Gonna take real good care of you,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Might turn out you’re useful after all.” There was a faint hint of that raider roleplay creeping back into his tone, the mock threat hanging between the words. “Keepin’ you around’s startin’ to sound better than ditchin’ you out there.”
You let it slide. At that point, resisting the game would have taken more focus than you had left.
The tension building inside you climbed higher, tighter.
“Joel… I’m gonna -”
“There you go, darlin’,” he muttered, his own voice rougher now, the control slipping slightly. “That’s it. Show me how you can come on my cock.”
And when it finally hit, it tore through you hard enough to make the world blur at the edges. For a few seconds you forgot everything - where you were, what you’d been arguing about, even your own name.
Joel’s hand returned to your mouth just in time to muffle the loudest part of it, the sound trapped against his palm.
“Beautiful,” he breathed close to your ear as the aftershocks rippled through you. His grip on your wrists tightened briefly. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that again.” He shifted slightly behind you. “But this barn ain’t empty forever,” he added, voice still low. “And you already got me so close.”
Before you could even process the implication, wondering if he would really fill you up, he pulled out, leaving you abruptly empty. A moment later hot ropes of his climax landed across your back, your bound hands, and the wrinkled fabric of the flannel pushed up around your waist.
Joel’s grunt came staggered, the sound dragged straight out of his chest as he worked through the last of it. One hand was clearly still wrapped around his length, last droplets dripping down and slow strokes guiding the final waves of his release while the warmth of it still marked your back and hands.
Beneath him, your own body hadn’t quite caught up yet.
The remnants of your orgasm still pulsed through you in fading ripples, muscles clenching instinctively around emptiness now that he’d pulled away. Each aftershock made your breath hitch, your nerves still firing long after the moment itself had passed.
The strength drained out of you all at once.
You sank fully down against the mat beneath you, cheek turned to the side as the cold surface pressed against overheated skin.
“Fuck…” It came out hoarse, barely more than a breath.
Behind you, Joel shifted. You could hear the rustle of denim, the quiet sounds of him putting himself back together, but you didn’t have the energy to turn your head and confirm it. Just lifting your arms felt like more work than you were ready for.
“Yeah,” he muttered after a moment, voice still thick. “That about sums it up.” There was a faint grunt as he adjusted his belt. “Could get used to training sessions like that.”
The comment hit your ears just as your mind began catching up with the rest of you.
Your wit returned the moment he was no longer slamming into you.
“Wouldn’t do your back any favors, old man,” you shot back from where you lay.
The sarcasm came automatically.
There was movement beside you that finally made you crack your eyes open.
You caught it just in time.
Joel leaned forward toward the floor, reaching for the knife still embedded upright in the mat where it had been planted earlier. His fingers closed around the handle and he yanked it free in one smooth, forceful pull.
The metal flashed briefly in the dim barn light.
“Careful there, kiddo,” he said, voice lowering again as the knife traced lightly along the line of your spine.
The cool steel sent a sharp shiver through you.
“Taught you a pretty solid lesson the first time about runnin’ that bratty mouth, didn’t I?”
The blade slid down between your bound wrists.
With a quick, practiced slice, the rope gave way.
The tension disappeared instantly as the fibers snapped apart.
“Don’t mind turnin’ up the heat next time,” Joel continued, cutting the last strands free. “If I get the impression you’re still too stubborn to learn.”
The moment the rope loosened, you moved.
Your arms came forward instinctively, and you twisted beneath him to roll onto your side and then upright, pushing yourself into a seated position, pulling up your jeans cumbersomely while he shifted just enough to allow it. Joel settled back on his heels in front of you, watching as you immediately began rubbing at your wrists. The skin there was red, angry where the rope had bitten in. You circled them slowly, working the stiffness out.
“Maybe,” you said after a moment, lips curling slightly, “you’re just a shitty teacher.”
The smirk that followed was impossible to hide.
Joel’s answering grin was just as quick.
“Sounds like I wasn’t clear enough then,” he replied. His voice carried a tired edge now, the exertion finally settling in, but it did little to hide the faint spark of satisfaction underneath.
For a moment, he simply looked at you.
His gaze drifted over you again, slow and assessing.
Then he pushed himself upright and, almost casually, extended a hand toward you.
You ignored it.
Instead you scrambled to your feet on your own, tugging at your clothing in a half-hearted attempt to put yourself back together. The flannel hung crooked, your jeans still unbuttoned and loose around your waist, and you weren’t entirely sure what you were supposed to do next.
Joel solved that uncertainty by stepping closer. He closed the small distance easily, his broad frame towering over you.
Before you could react, the cold tip of the knife lifted beneath your chin. It nudged your face upward just enough that you had to meet his eyes.
“Better head home now, darlin’,” he said quietly. “And maybe pray I don’t catch up to you to drill the next lesson into that pretty head of yours.”
Your throat tightened.
You actually gulped.
One hand clutched the ruined flannel closed over your chest while you held his gaze just long enough to let him see that stubborn spark still burning there.
“Yes, sir,” you murmured.
Then you took a step back.
Joel didn’t move.
He simply stood there watching as you pulled your coat on and made your way toward the barn door.
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pairing: Rockstar!Eddie x PlayboyBunny!Fem!Reader
Summary: One night, LA’s most famous rockstar and his band, Corroded Coffin, attend a party at the Playboy Mansion. You’re a new addition to the long line of bunnies, Eddie doesn’t recognise you at first, but little does he know he’s closer to home than he realises.
warnings: 18+ MDNI smut, drug use, mentions of assault and coercion, showcases the darkside of Playboy, Hugh Hefner is his own warning, more detailed warnings to follow in each individual part.
few years ago i read a joel miller x reader smut in which reader was younger than him and they both are in Jackson. They leave for patrol and in a bunker (?) they fund a cultivation of marijuana. they end up getting high and there’s smut. if anyone remembers the author or the title can you comment it or tag me in it, please? thank youu
𐙚 eddie accidentally walks in on you changing in the locker room at school and falls in love with the cute pair of panties you're wearing.
WARNING(S) + OTHER INFO: eddie is 19 / reader is 18. unprotected sex.
first period gym is always a mess — half of hawkins high barely awake, the other half already sweaty and irritable. and eddie munson is always both after the first period of the day this year ; a schedule he didn't ask for, rather one that was thrust upon him by the school guidance counselor. he trudges out of the locker room with his backpack flung over one shoulder, muttering to himself about dodgeballs being ❝ weapons of jocks who peaked at sixteen. ❞
he desperately needs to pee before homeroom ; his morning coffee and cigarette are already staging a rebellion.
he tries the boys’ bathroom first, of course.
but finds every single stall occupied.
each one of them echoing with the sounds of boys talking through the stalls, arguing, or pissing for 5 minutes at a time. like, seriously, it takes a guy that long to pee?
eddie huffs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and scans the hallway. he has a thought — despite high school girls' proclivities to linger in and outside of bathrooms together doing god knows what, the girls' bathroom by the female locker rooms has usually emptied by this time ; no normal teenage girl wanted to spend any prolonged amount of time sweaty and gross by the gymnasium. no, they definitely wanted to get the hell out of there so they could go back to gossiping or snogging their boyfriends in the hall.
quickly, practically skipping over that way before his bladder has a chance to explode, eddie hovers by the doorway, listening.
nothing. not even the squeak of a shoe.
❝ two seconds, ❞ he mutters to himself. ❝ get in, get out, don’t get suspended. ❞
he steps forward —
— and realizes the angle of the bathroom entrance gives him a clear view straight into the girls’ locker room.
who the hell designed this shit?
he freezes.
because someone is there.
he really doesn't mean to look. truly. he stops because he doesn't want to get caught trying to get into the girls' room, not because he's a creep.
but you . . . god, he'll blame you for this until the day he dies.
you're just pulling your pink t-shirt on, your plain white PE shirt discarded on the bench beside you. your arms are raised, hair falling over your shoulders in soft waves. and below the hem of that shirt . . . well, any self-respecting man wouldn't have been able to look away from you. and eddie munson certainly would not have described himself as ❛ self-respecting. ❜ his dark gaze hits soft, lacy pink panties — dainty white trim, pink satin bows, something so delicate and pretty they don’t even look real in the fluorescent lighting of the dingy locker room.
eddie’s brain short-circuits and he finds himself unable to move.
his lips actually part.
his heart jumps so hard against his ribcage that it startles him.
his cock strains immediately against the front of his jeans.
god hates him personally, he's sure of that.
and every fantasy he’s shoved down all year — the ones about you, about the popular girl with the smile much too pretty for him — flashes like lightning behind his eyes.
he doesn’t mean to make the sound he makes.
but something slips out anyway — a tiny, breathless little exhale, almost a whimper, definitely a sigh — the kind that only happens when your nervous system completely abandons all dignity.
and you hear it.
you turn.
slowly.
eyes wide.
expression shifting from bored to startled to something sharp and then, offended.
eddie’s stomach drops straight through the floor.
you caught him.
you caught him staring.
at you. half-naked.
and it looks like his worst nightmare. it looks exactly like he’s been standing there purposely to watch you getting dressed.
his face blanches. you've never seen anyone so white before.
❝ shit. hey. ❞ he stumbles back a step, hands up, panic rising. ❝ i — i wasn’t — i mean, i didn’t— ❞
he may have been able to mutter some excuse and just back up and leave, but.
his hard on is what kills him.
because your gaze is sinking lower and lower, your eyes widening.
the fact that you can tell how turned on he is only serves to ratchet his arousal even higher. the penis is a traitorous thing, if it's anything at all.
you quickly snatch up your PE shirt from the bench and use it to hide your lower half. not that there's any point — he's already seen everything there is to see. ❝ pervert! ❞ you accuse. your voice cracks on the last syllable, like you're not sure whether to throw something or hide your face in your hands.
only then does it occur to eddie to look away.
he turns his face away, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand for good measure. but the sight of you is well and truly seared onto his eyelids. ❝ no! i swear, i — i'm not. i was just coming to see if the bathroom was free. everyone's hogging the fucking stalls in the boys' room. i swear to god! ❞
there's a very pregnant pause, like third trimester pregnant, in which eddie separates two of his fingers to peek through at you.
standing there, breathing heavily, still with your PE shirt dangling in front of you. ❝ . . . seriously? you didn't come in here just to . . . try to see girls naked or something? ❞
❝ no! oh my god, no. i seriously . . . i have to pee so bad. ❞
❝ then go! ❞ you shout suddenly, and eddie flinches.
hurrying into the bathroom with a ❝ okayjesusi'msorryfuck! ❞
locking himself in one of the stalls, he pauses, leaning against it. his heart is racing, breath coming fast to match. god, you . . .
your legs, fuck, he can't help it. and those panties, jesus . . .
so pink and cute. eddie's never seen anyone wear such cute underwear, not even the few girls he's been with over the years. well, the girls he's had sex with probably wouldn't ever have been caught dead in a pink top let alone pink underwear.
but you. you had such wide eyes, pretty little lips, long, satisfying legs. not to mention that little sliver of ass that showed just below the lacy trim of those panties . . . eddie licks his lips, head rolling against the stall door.
his cock throbs and he palms himself through his jeans. how the hell is he ever supposed to pee like this?
well, he has to find some way to go ; if he walks out of here still with an enormous erection, you'd probably take the matter to the principle or some shit. and you'd be well within your right to.
god . . .
eddie does his best to piss and urge his hard on down in record time. he thinks of the most unsexy things he can bring to mind — santa clause, sad movies, the nightly news — and then finally feels well enough to leave.
it's only taken him a couple minutes, but he's hoping you've been able to get dressed and head out in that time.
but when he steps out of the bathroom you're still there. fully dressed now, but sitting on the nearby bench with your hands clasped together and your head hung low.
he would feel bad just leaving without saying anything, so he starts, ❝ hey. i really didn't mean to — ❞
❝ you have to promise, ❞ you tell him suddenly. the look on your face is fierce, and eddie has no doubt that you'd absolutely ruin him and his reputation ( what little is left ) and get him kicked out if he doesn't do as you say. you stand swiftly. ❝ promise me that you weren't looking on purpose. swear. like, swear on your mother's grave you weren't. ❞
his hand is over his heart before you can blink. ❝ i promise. and i swear. on my mother's life and her grave. i wasn't looking at you. i mean. that i didn't mean to. i seriously just came to use the bathroom. ❞ bad idea, now that he thinks back on it.
should have just held it.
you chew the inside of your cheek, apparently mulling over his words. ultimately finding him sincere enough, you nod. ❝ okay. you can go. ❞
there's a brief moment where the two of you look at each other, your eyes flicker down to eddie's jeans and then back up again, curious.
but eddie rushes out of there just as the homeroom bell rings.
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the halls between second and third period are always packed — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, the usual high school cacophony. eddie’s doing what eddie does best after class : leaning against his locker with the hellfire guys clustered around him, ranting loudly about some especially cursed arc he's planning for the campaign on friday.
he’s mid-sentence, halfway through defending himself against wild accusations that he's a sadistic dungeon master, when he feels it.
that prickle down his neck.
that someone’s watching you feeling.
he looks up.
and there you are, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
and there he is, replaying the scene again in his mind for the 17th time in the last two hours ; pink lace hugging such a plump ass, gorgeous hips running down from under your shirt and into those adorable panties.
it's a miracle he doesn't pop a boner right there in front of all his friends.
and a good thing he doesn't, too, because he realizes you are walking straight toward him. you look like a girl who's on a mission, a girl who has the upper hand.
eddie panics immediately, because, he remembers, you do.
his voice cracks halfway through explaining, ❝ guys, your party hasn't really been tested heavily yet — ❞ he can't take his eyes off of you.
he's making no effort to disguise the fact that he's looking at someone across the hallway.
gareth mutters, ❝ what is . . . is she coming over here? to us? ❞
eddie doesn’t even have time to tell them to shut the hell up.
you stop right in front of him.
up close, god, you look even better than he remembers. and he absolutely does NOT look at your legs this time. or your hips. or anything he is scared of accidentally remembering too vividly. no, nothing else he's spent hours in bed at night fantasizing about. even though much of it was on display earlier, right there, just for him, if only you knew him. knew he wasn't a bad guy, didn't worship the devil or any of that bullshit people were saying about him and other people like him, kids who had ❛ weird ❜ interests.
he braces for you to publicly humiliate him. he deserves it, he supposes, for what happened earlier.
you say, very calmly, betraying nothing of what happened earlier, ❝ munson. i've decided you owe me. ❞
the hellfire boys collectively inhale like they’ve just witnessed a murder.
eddie can't decide what's worse — the fact that his friends are looking between the two of you, bewildered, and he's going to have to find some way to explain to them what happened earlier. or would it have been worse if you'd just screamed at him, gotten it all out in the open so the whole school would know what a disgusting pervert eddie munson was, along with being a freak and a devil worshipper?
eddie’s ears go nuclear red. ❝ i — i told you i didn’t mean — i didn’t, uh . . . invade anything or — ❞
you narrow your eyes. ❝ i know. you promised. i appreciate that . . . do you want to make it up to me or not? ❞
eddie nods so fast the ends of his long hair almost hit mike in the face.
❝ good. ❞ you step closer — close enough that he can smell you, something soft and sweet and some perfume that's definitely expensive. the hellfire club — in tandem — takes a step back and away from the two of you, but eddie somehow stands his ground in the face of you. ❝ take me for ice cream. at the mall. friday after school. ❞
there’s a half-second of stunned silence — the kind that doesn’t usually exist around eddie, because he typically fills every spare inch of air with noise. but right now? he’s speechless.
and of course that’s exactly when the club finds their voices again.
mike sputters first, ❝ wait — friday? but — but friday is hellfire. ❞
dustin’s eyes go wide under his cap. ❝ yeah, eddie. you literally said missing one session throws off the narrative structure of the whole campaign — your words, not mine — ❞
gareth throws his hands up. ❝ dude, you made us sign attendance sheets. attendance sheets. for dungeons & dragons. ❞
eddie whips around like a panicked, cornered animal. ❝ guys, guys — shut up — shut up — ❞ he hisses, waving at them without taking his eyes off you. ❝ i’m — busy. friday. okay? very important business. top secret. national security. ❞
mike looks like he’s about to faint. dustin looks personally betrayed.
you arch a brow, arms still crossed, entirely unbothered by the melodrama imploding behind him. ❝ is that a no, munson? you're really too busy fighting demons to buy me a scoop? ❞
and god, the way you say it — mocking him, but warm underneath, like you already know he’s going to fold — it just about finishes him off.
❝ saturday? ❞ he tries to offer quietly.
❝ i'm busy saturday. ❞
eddie straightens up, tries to pretend he has even one ounce of swagger left. ❝ uh — yeah. yes. absolutely. ice cream. friday. consider it . . . owed. ❞
dustin makes a noise like he’s swallowed a kazoo. ❝ you’re canceling hellfire for a girl? you've never cancelled hellfire, not even once. we still came to club even when you had bronchitis! i mean, what even . . . ❞
eddie doesn’t even look back this time. he just sticks an arm out and shoves dustin’s face gently away like he’s silencing a toddler. ❝ priorities, henderson. ❞
you almost smile — not fully, but enough that eddie feels it like a punch straight to the gut. he thinks he might actually die. it's almost better than seeing your ass in those delicious panties.
almost.
❝ good,❞ you say again, nodding softly. stamping an official seal on the arrangement. ❝ friday. after school. we can leave from here. don’t be late. ❞
and then you turn, disappearing back into the crowded hall without so much as a glance over your shoulder.
eddie stands there frozen, locker at his back, heart somewhere near his shoes, friends staring at him like he’s just announced he’s defecting to soviet russia.
mike is the first to break the silence, whispering, horrified, ❝ dude . . . what the hell? ❞
but eddie? eddie just stands there, feeling like a lump.
because he now has a date with one of the most popular girls in school and has to figure out how to explain to the boys exactly how that happened.
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the food court at starcourt always smells like an oil spill baking in the desert heat — fryer oil and fake cheese and that intense, cloyingly sweet smell from the pretzel place. you must, on some level, be immune to it by now, because you're sitting there like you own the place, leaning back, relaxed, a melting cup of roasted strawberry ice cream in front of you. you must come here every weekend with your friends.
eddie, however, is hyper-aware of everything else.
the way every table feels too close.
the way half the kids from hawkins high are filtering through, doing double takes.
the way two girls at the scoops ahoy counter that eddie recognizes as hawkins cheerleaders whisper behind their straws and stare.
one freshman boy literally almost falls into a trashcan because he’s so busy gawping, and apparently mesmerized, at the sight of you sitting pretty with eddie "the freak" munson across from you.
you don't seem to notice.
or maybe you do — maybe you're just pretending this is normal, like you come here all the time with the losers of the school.
eddie stirs his own ice cream, two scoops of mint chocolate chip, tapping the plastic spoon against the cup. ❝ so — technically — i don’t actually play, ❞ he says. he's clearly passionate about this game, this D&D — he's talking about it like it's something sacred and ancient. ❝ i’m the DM ; the dungeon master. i run the story. the monsters. the world. the . . . uh, chaos. ❞
you blink. ❝ so you don’t actually . . . fight anything? like, as a character? ❞
he snorts. ❝ no. hellfire is my kingdom. i’m basically a god. but, like, a very stressed out, underpaid god. ❞
you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding — a tiny, relieved little exhale. you look down into your soft serve like it just told you a secret.
eddie tilts his head. ❝ what? ❞
you hesitate, fiddling with your spoon before murmuring, ❝ i . . . thought D&D had something to do with, like . . . satanism. ❞
eddie chokes on absolutely nothing. seriously, he's not even swallowing any ice cream when he does.
and he really chokes.
full body cough.
a kid at the next table over jumps.
❝ jesus christ, sweetheart — ❞ he wheezes once he recovers, leaning in toward you, ❝ satanism? seriously? i mean, i like metal music, but we don’t, like, sacrifice goats in the woods on friday nights. i’ve barely got the energy to stay awake during homeroom. ❞
you laugh — a cute little tinkle that makes eddie's head spin — and shake your head. ❝ i know. i mean, now i know. it’s just . . . people say things, i don't know if you've heard. and the news . . . and one girl told me that your club played with actual spellbooks, so i kind of assumed . . . i don’t know. that you guys were doing something dangerous. ❞
eddie makes a face like you've personally offended him, and maybe you have. ❝ yeah, the most dangerous thing those kids do is eat an entire pizza while we're taking a break. dustin once drank a two liter of mountain dew in one go and almost died. that’s the level of danger we’re dealing with. ❞
your shoulders relax, and you look at him with those clear, bright eyes that eddie could just fall into.
❝ i thought you’d be mean, too, ❞ you admit quietly. ❝ or scary. you know. the whole ❛ freak ❜ thing . . . the rumors. i figured you’d be . . . intense. or angry. i don’t know. i mean, you are intense. clearly. ❞ you laugh gently to show him you're not being rude, just making an observation. ❝ but you’re not mean. you’re actually . . . nice. surprisingly nice. ❞
eddie’s face goes pink — not the dramatic blush from earlier in the week, but something subtler. warmer. his ringed fingers twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
❝ well, uh . . . thanks? i try not to be a jackass unless provoked. or unless someone insults my van. or my band. or my campaign. ❞
you grin into your spoon. ❝ so . . . often? ❞
❝ okay, wow. rude. ❞ he points at you with his spoon. ❝ i buy you one — extremely overpriced — cup of ice cream and suddenly i’m the punchline. ❞
you frown. ❝ i'm not a bully. ❞
❝ coulda fooled me, the kids you hang out with. ❞
your frown deepens, and you both look at each other for a long minute.
and that’s when you notice it — the stares. the looks. the not-at-all subtle curiosity of your peers.
a group of basketball players walks by, whispering. one of them lifts his brows at you like he’s silently asking if you're doing this as some kind of dare.
two sophomores pass by and giggle.
a girl from your math class keeps glancing between the two of you like she’s witnessing an honest to god miracle.
eddie shifts a little, shoulders tensing, but he doesn’t get small the way you expect. he doesn’t shrink. he just sits up straighter, tapping his rings against the table, pretending that the entire food court isn’t buzzing about the freak sitting with a girl way, way out of his league.
after a moment he mutters, ❝ you can leave, you know. if this is, uh . . . too weird. i mean, i know you asked me, but. ❞
you look up.
really look.
his eyes are dark and nervous and hopeful in a way that makes your chest do something uncomfortable. goodness, you realize he has the longest eyelashes you've ever seen on a man.
❝ i’m not leaving, ❞ you say, soft but firm. ❝ it’s just ice cream, munson. people can stare if they want. i don’t care. ❞
eddie blinks.
like he wasn’t expecting that.
like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the fact that you’re still here, that you’re not afraid being seen with him might turn you into a total social pariah.
you take another bite of your ice cream, pretending your heart isn’t beating too fast.
then: ❝ besides . . . the rumors were wrong about you anyway. you’re not a freak. ❞
eddie swallows, hard.
he doesn’t say anything for a second — just watches you, stunned, like no one has ever said something like that to him before. maybe they haven't. it's quite possible no one has ever been nice to eddie munson in his life. the hellfire club boys, sure. they've been friendly with him. but maybe what eddie needs is someone sweet, someone to baby him — just a little.
finally, he clears his throat. ❝ well… don’t say it too loud. people might think you actually like me or something. ❞
you look at him over the rim of your cup.
❝ maybe i do. ❞
eddie pulls a face. ❝ what, from one conversation over some ice cream? ❞
❝ do i have to remind you what happened earlier this week? ❞ eddie's entire face goes blood red ; he's remembering as you talk. ❝ i believe you. i know you weren't looking on purpose. i think you handled it better than most of the popular guys at school would have. they probably would’ve kept staring until i threw my backpack at them or something. and . . . ❞
you mull over what to tell him, how much to reveal. ❝ . . . maybe i noticed you before that. saw you in the halls between class, at lunch with your club. maybe i was . . . curious. ❞
eddie scowls, dark brows pulling close together over even darker eyes. ❝ even though you thought i was mean? that you thought i was an evil, satan worshipping freak? ❞ he says it like he thinks you're trying to pull the wool over his eyes, like he's trying to catch you in a lie.
❝ sure did. but . . . was hoping you weren't. was hoping you were secretly sweet, that you were even better than most of the boys i hang around with. they suck. ❞
eddie doesn’t know what to say, so he just very slowly eats another spoonful of his ice cream.
does he believe you? you hope he does. everything you’ve said is nothing but the truth.
❝ anyway, ❞ you sigh, playing idly with your ice cream and thinking of how to change the subject and make things less awkward. ❝ . . . i never knew D&D was just like lord of the rings. maybe i would’ve played sooner. ❞
there’s an aborted little movement from eddie’s side of the table that startles you. ❝ you’ve read the lord of the rings? ❞
❝ i’ve read just about every fantasy series there is to read, ❞ you explain with a shrug. ❝ i just . . . like reading. ❞
the look in eddie’s eyes changes now, becomes darker ; it looks like he has a secret he’s unwilling to tell you. ❝ jeez, princess. if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were the perfect girl. ❞
you try hard to just take what he’s said as a compliment. it’s hard, though, with that little caveat he snuck in there. ❝ oh, and you do? know better? ❞
your hand and eddie’s hand are laying side by side on the sticky tabletop. eddie’s fingers twitch toward yours. when he speaks, his voice is low, probably to avoid being overheard by any of your passing classmates. not because he’s ashamed of what he’s about to say, but because he doesn’t want to embarrass you. or have people start to spread nasty rumors about you the way they do about him.
❝ i know you’re pretty. very pretty. what i don’t know is why you’re sitting here with the school outcast giving people a reason to hate you. especially after i . . . y’know, on tuesday. ❞
in a microscopic movement, your fingers meet his, your knuckles now laying together. you aren’t sure who moves first, but eventually your fingers are brushing, back and forth, against each other’s, in the smallest of movements. even just that little bit of affection is enough to make you melt.
you lean toward him, trying to keep your cool and not just crawl all over him right here at the mall. ❝ eddie. in a year, none of these people will matter. their opinions, what they said, the things we did, it’ll all just be history. so let them talk. who gives a fuck? ❞
eddie blinks at you like you’ve just said something groundbreaking. your words — the way you just cursed casually, the confidence, your edge of defiance — they hit him straight in the gut. because that's not how you present. he feels it in a place he knows he shouldn’t, in that exact same traitorous spot from tuesday morning. his fingers twitch against yours, restless, and you let your thumb curl around his index finger, comforting. eddie looks at your entwined hands and then away, scanning for anyone still paying attention to the two of you.
❝ remember what i said, ❞ you mutter, pinkie extending to lay against his warm wrist. ❝ fuck ‘em. ❞
❝ jesus, you’re something else, you know that? ❞ his voice is low too, private, just for you.
you smile a mischievous smile, taking a slow lick of your ice cream, making sure his eyes are now locked on yours. ❝ something good? ❞
eddie swallows so hard you can see his throat working through it, because yes. very good. good enough to make his stomach twist and his cock throb in his jeans. ❝ yeah . . . definitely good. ❞
he leans closer, slowly, still careful not to attract any more attention than is necessary, though he can’t quite hide the way his entire body has gone taut as a bowstring. god, you want to make him come undone. ❝ so . . . uh . . . this is going to sound insane, but . . . jesus, please don’t call me a pervert again, but. ❞ his voice dips lower, teasing you, but still uncertain. ❝ those panties. tuesday. they . . . they were kind of . . . distracting. ❞
you pause, spoon frozen halfway to your lips, eyes flickering down to where he’s turned his hand over in yours, fingers full on skimming back and forth over the sensitive palm of your hand now. there’s a faint flush in your cheeks, and maybe — maybe — a smile that hints you’re enjoying the game he’s playing. ❝ distracting, huh? ❞ your tongue darts out, slices through the mound of soft ice cream on your spoon. ❝ oh really, eddie? kind of distracting? ❞
eddie’s teeth sink deep into his lower lip. ❝ yeah . . . kind of — no. you know what? not kind of. very. very distracting. don’t think i’m gonna forget what i saw. ❞
still his fingers sweep over your palm ; there are goosebumps prickling your entire arm.
you shiver in spite of yourself. ❝ eddie? ❞
your eyes are so wide, your tone so desperate . . . he panics. ❝ hm? hey, what’s wrong? did i say something? i still swear — i didn’t mean to look earlier, i promise it wasn’t on purpose. I would never — ❞
❝ eddie. take me somewhere we can be alone together. please. ❞ you’ve turned your hand over, effectively pinning his to the table. you are desperate, desperate for him. desperate for the way his lashes brush his cheeks every time he blinks, the way his lips move, the perfect timbre of his voice.
you’ve never wanted anyone this badly, and you’re sure he can tell.
he doesn’t have to be told twice. with a nod, he grabs your hand and starts to lead you back through the food court, abandoning your ice creams as you slip past curious glances and whispers until the large glass doors of the mall’s main entrance come into view.
but eddie doesn’t lead you there. he takes a hard turn and pulls you down a side hallway that looks like it might be just for maintenance.
you trust him, though, so you let him keep going, pushing through a small side door and into the brisk night air. into a world of abandoned furniture, wooden tables stacked crookedly, couches leaning against the wall, metal shelving scattered like a maze. the powerful docking bay flood lights hit the dust motes floating in the air, catching on your hair, making eddie catch his breath.
❝ wow, ❞ you sigh, looking around at all of the furniture. ❝ what is this? ❞
eddie shrugs, starting to pick his way past a garish settee. ❝ you told me to take you somewhere private. ❞
you can’t hold in a well-meaning giggle. ❝ yeah, i figured you were gonna take me back to your place. ❞
❝ oh. damn. well . . . i can still do that. ❞ he turns back, ready to leave.
❝ wait, wait. i wanna explore back here now. this is cool. i never knew this kind of stuff was back here.❞
❝ oh, yeah. back of the furniture store. i’ve only been here a couple times, but didn’t take me long to find this place. they don’t guard it very well. clearly. furniture graveyard back here. ❞
❝ you can hardly call it a graveyard, most of this shit is brand new. ❞ you stand on a plush red velvet footstool, trying to track eddie’s movements through the maze of furniture.
he seemingly picks out a suitable armchair the size of a small car, motioning you over.
grabbing your hand and helping you maneuver through the wreck of items, he makes sure you’re safe before taking a seat in the armchair.
eddie pats his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like of course this enormous abandoned armchair was meant for this — for you, for him, for whatever this is turning into.
you roll your eyes good-naturedly. ❝ seriously? ❞
eddie’s grin goes crooked, boyish, a little smug in that way he can’t quite hide around you. ❝ yeah. seriously. unless you’d rather sit on . . . ❞ he gestures vaguely at a nearby plastic patio chair missing one leg, the saddest item at the party. ❝ . . . that. ❞
you sigh, but it’s useless — you’re already moving toward him. already letting him guide you by the waist as you settle onto his lap.
his hands are warm. too warm, scorching your skin wherever they touch.
you sink into him, into the solid feel of his chest against you, the curve of the massive armchair cupping you both like a secret. you shift a little until you’re comfortable — which is sort of a lie, because there’s nothing comfortable about the way your heart is slamming around in its cage, nothing comfortable about the way his breath hitches when your thighs brush his.
eddie exhales through his nose like he’s trying very, very hard to be chill.
❝ well, hey there, princess, ❞ he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate against your side. ❝ makin’ yourself right at home. ❞
❝ you told me to, didn’t you? ❞ you tease, turning halfway toward him. in this position, your legs are thrown over the side of the armchair, your bum seated comfortably atop his lap.
eddie’s eyes flicker briefly to your mouth. ❝ yeah, but i honestly didn’t expect you to be so . . . obedient. ❞
you shove his shoulder lightly. ❝ shut up. ❞
❝ no, i mean — ❞ his fingers flex on your hips, steadying you when you shift. ❝ — not complaining. definitely not. ❞
you can feel him adjusting under you, just slightly. enough that you know. enough that he knows you know.
your skirt drapes over your thighs, soft against his jeans, and when you move again — just a tiny test — eddie makes a noise like someone hit him with a truck.
you pretend you didn’t hear it.
he pretends he didn’t make it.
his hand — the one with all the rings — drops to your bare knee, barely touching. just fingertips. just testing. when you don’t flinch away, those fingertips glide up an inch. warm. slow. deliberate.
❝ you okay? ❞ eddie whispers, and you nod. your eyes feel hot, almost like you could cry. but it’s only that this is such a new sensation for you. you’ve never let anyone touch you like this, never trusted anyone to, not even some of the popular guys you’ve known for years.
why is eddie different?
instead of asking or saying any of that, you purse your lips. ❝ are you okay? ❞
❝ oh, sweetheart, ❞ eddie murmurs, thumb brushing the soft, tender underside of your knee now, ❝ not even close. ❞
you shift again — not on purpose, probably — but it doesn’t matter. his hand tightens on your knee, just enough to hold you still. just enough to tell you he feels everything.
you swallow, heat curling low in your stomach.
❝ eddie… ❞
❝ yeah? ❞ he nudges the side of your jaw with his nose, like he’s testing how close he can get before you push him away.
you don’t push him away.
his fingers slide higher, tracing the warm skin of your inner thigh, disappearing under the hem of your skirt like he’s trying not to rush but absolutely is.
your breath stutters.
eddie feels it.
he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a rasp.
❝ you tell me to stop if you want. otherwise . . . ❞ his thumb strokes higher, bolder, ❝ . . . i’m gonna keep going. ❞
your hand covers his on your thigh — not to stop him.
but to guide him.
eddie makes another noise, this one even more alarming, though you don’t know how that’s possible.
you pull back a bit, just enough to look at him, to make sure he’s okay.
eddie looks like he’s drowning, dark eyes melting into yours as you continue to push his hand higher. ❝ gonna let me see those pretty panties again? ❞ he demands to know. ❝ gonna let me touch ‘em? ❞
your hand stops. and so does his. you’re shivering, breathing heavily, feeling like you could shake apart if he left you right now.
❝ not here, ❞ you mumble pitifully, and eddie nods.
❝ okay. ❞
unable to bear it anymore, you close your eyes.
and that’s when he kisses you.
eddie kisses like he’s been wanting you like this for years.
not timid, no longer even a touch hesitant. just hungry — that kind of desperate, relieved hunger reserved only for starving men faced with a meal and drug addicts who just got their fix.
his lips crash into yours, hard and warm, over and over, and your whole body jolts. you realize you’ve been hungry, too. starved for touch and affection and anyone who truly cared about you. he cups your jaw with one hand, thumb sweeping your cheekbone, the other arm locked tight over your legs like he thinks you might leave.
you melt instantly.
you don’t mean to — it’s instinct. the second his mouth opens against yours, your fingers go to his chest, clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s nowhere left to go. he’s already pressed against you everywhere — chest firm, thighs solid under yours, the heat of him pushing up through the underside of your skirt.
the kiss deepens fast — too fast — like he’s been imagining it, like you’ve been torturing him just by existing. his breath tastes like the mint chocolate ice cream he’s been enjoying and something bitter underneath, but not unpleasant. something unmistakably eddie.
his nose bumps yours when he tilts his head, clumsy, eager, borderline messy, which only makes this more real. his mouth fits against yours in that perfect, greedy way that makes your thighs tense and your stomach leap into your throat.
eddie groans — a low, rough, startled sound — the second your lips part from his. it vibrates through his chest and into yours, and you swear you could come undone from that alone.
and then he’s pulling you up, hands strong on your waist. you gasp as he lifts you bodily and sets you down with your thighs now on either side of his. you can feel him now. really feel him. underneath your skirt, your underwear — similar to the pair you wore on tuesday, just with less bows and more lace — come into contact with the rough material of his jeans, tented by a very obvious erection. you really hope you’re not making an absolute mess down there.
his fingers slip into your hair, tugging gently, guiding your mouth open under his once more. his rings are cool against your neck when he cups the back of your head, holding you exactly where he wants you.
and you kiss him back with the same needy, aching urgency — because you want him, too. because you’ve wanted this longer than you’ll admit. because nothing has ever felt like this.
eddie breaks away just an inch, your foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
❝ i have to admit something, ❞ he breathes.
you make a tiny sound, questioning. please don’t admit you’re actually a pervert who really does love spying on girls in the locker room, you think desperately.
❝ you said — ❞ he has to stop, catch his breath, swallow thickly. you soothe him with a hand at his jaw, thumb stroking over his heated skin. ❝ you said you noticed me before, in the halls at school? i noticed you, too. fucking everywhere, baby. in the halls, in class, at assembly, during PE. i’ve thought about you . . . fuck, i’ve thought about you so much. never thought i . . . i mean, what chance did i have with you? the freak of hawkins high? ❞
❝ don’t say that, ❞ you chide, grabbing for one of his hands, which you bring to your lips so you can kiss the inside of his wrist. that area smells so strongly of him you almost pass out. ❝ if we had just . . . i dunno, been paired for a project or . . . sat at the same lunch table, it sounds like this would have happened sooner. ❞
eddie’s dark gaze is cemented to yours, and his voice drops as he continues, like he’s afraid his words might shatter the moment if he speaks them too loudly.
❝ when i saw you standing there in those lace and bows, babe, you looked like — ❞ he exhales, shaking his head a little, disbelief curling at the edges of every syllable. ❝ like a fuckin’ elven princess straight out of one of my campaigns. swear to god, you looked all soft and pretty and . . . fuck. those panties. ❞
his fingers dig suddenly into the meat of your thigh, just under the edge of your skirt.
❝ pink lace. little bows. like you stepped right out of my brain and into that locker room. ❞ he kisses you again, softly, and against your lips he asks, ❝ . . . do they all look like that? or were you wearing those for like . . . a special occasion? ❞
you huff a laugh, smiling into the kiss. ❝ most of them. ❞
he pulls back and his brows lift, hope flaring.
❝ i mean, i have some normal pairs. but most of them are cute like that, yeah. ❞
eddie makes a sound that’s halfway between a choke and a moan and you grab anxiously for his fingers again, slipping them up and under your skirt. ❝ eddie, you can. you can touch. i just . . . i wanna wait until we’re back at your place to have sex. ❞
❝ we don’t have to, ❞ eddie tells you, and at your disappointed look he squeezes your thigh again, reassuring. ❝ i just mean, we can do whatever you want. i’m happy using my fingers or . . . my tongue. don’t feel like you owe me anything. ❞
❝ i want to, ❞ you let him know, urging his hand as high as it’s been now.
eddie watches you carefully as his fingers crawl up the tender skin of your thigh, and just as his thumb presses into the rough lacy edge of the cute lavender pair you’re wearing tonight —
❝ jesus christ, ❞ he mutters. ❝ you’re so fucking pretty, i don’t even deserve to look at you, let alone touch you. ❞
he’s suddenly tense against you, shoulders locking like he’s remembered who he is, where he stands in the pecking order of hawkins high. his hand falters under your skirt, like he’s about to pull it away entirely.
wanting anything in this moment but to lose his warm skin against yours, your palm slides to his cheek, warm and steady, fingers threading into his hair — which is surprisingly soft — to keep him right where he is.
❝ hey, ❞ you murmur. ❝ i told you not to think like that. or talk like that. ❞
his eyes flicker to yours, dark and uncertain.
❝ i’m not . . . too much for you? ❞ he asks quietly. ❝ or — i don’t know — wrong? ❞
you lean in and kiss him again, slow this time. not frantic. not rushed. just enough to make your meaning unmistakably clear.
when you pull back, you keep your nose brushing his.
❝ eddie munson, ❞ you whisper, ❝ i wouldn’t be letting you kiss me in the back of this mall if you weren’t exactly right for me. ❞
something in his face breaks open at that.
he swallows hard, then blurts, ❝ were you really gonna go to the principal? ❞
you blink. ❝ what? ❞
❝ after tuesday, ❞ he admits, embarrassed. ❝ i kept thinking you were gonna ruin my life, expel me or something. ❞ he may hate school, but there’s a reason he hasn’t dropped out yet.
you smile — remembering how you had indeed threatened to take the matter to the principle if eddie didn’t take you out. ❝ no. ❞
his eyes widen. ❝ no? ❞
❝ no, ❞ you repeat. ❝ i was just hoping you’d ask me out. ❞
eddie stares at you like you’ve just told him gravity isn’t real.
❝ you’re kidding. ❞
❝ i’m not. ❞ you shrug lightly, thumb again tracing the line of his jaw, that place you can’t stay away from. ❝ i figured if i scared you a little, you might actually do something. ❞
he lets out a breathy laugh, stunned. ❝ you are . . . terrifying. ❞
❝ worked, didn’t it? ❞
his answer is another kiss — deeper, slower. that thumb finally pushes its way beneath the band of your underwear, stroking the sensitive skin of your waist now. which leaves his other fingers reaching around, clenching at your backside.
you shiver, pressing in close to him. ❝ eddie? take me home now? ❞
eddie nods and stands immediately with you still in his arms.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
the drive to eddie’s place is . . . tense, to say the least.
he keeps drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel and glancing over at you until you sigh and reach over for his hand, place it on your thigh for him.
only then does he seem to calm, hand ghosting back and forth over your leg, although he does still look over at you periodically, like he’s still expecting you to scream for him to stop touching you.
when he makes the final turn, he takes a sharp breath and says, ❝ guess i should’ve mentioned i live . . . here. ❞
the van rolls to a stop in front of a trailer — porch light humming, dirty metal stairs leading up to an even dirtier front door.
❝ mhm, and? ❞ you already knew eddie lived here with his uncle, it wasn’t a secret. it was one of the many things jason carver and his goons liked to make fun of eddie for.
❝ well, it’s not exactly a house. ❞
❝ duh. ❞ you tug on his hand and whine, ❝ eddie. come on. ❞
luckily, he obeys without much more obstinacy, hopping from the van and coming around to your side to open the door for you.
❝ my lady. ❞ he speaks in a very good british accent, bowing low, clearly putting his D&D skills to good use.
with a giggle, you take his hand and let him lead you to the door.
it’s gotten fairly cold out, so you stand shuffling from foot to foot as eddie unlocks the door.
even after you’ve gotten inside, you waffle by the entryway, shivering as eddie flits around turning on lights. ❝ if you’re hungry, i think there’s some pizza in the fridge. i also always have pretzels lying around here somewhere. ❞
he’s coming back for you down the hallway where he’s turned on a side light, mumbling something about, ❝ sorry it’s kind of a mess in here. my uncle works nights and — ❞
you greet him with a kiss, giving meaning to the phrase ❛ throwing yourself at him. ❜ his mouth is wet and hungry under yours, steadying the two of you as he stumbles back with his arms around you.
yours are flung around his shoulders, on tiptoe in order to be able to continue kissing him properly. ❝ eds. touch me. ❞
eddie makes a low sound into your mouth — one you can only describe as needy — and his hands find you instinctively, both under your skirt, suddenly gripping your ass.
❝ goddamn, is that . . . ❞ his breath catches in his throat and you step forward to latch your lips to his adam’s apple. ❝ is that . . . silk? ❞
❝ satin, ❞ you correct him with a smile, worrying your teeth over his skin. he’s going to have one hell of a hickey on his throat monday at school.
❝ god, ❞ he murmurs. ❝ you’re gonna kill me. ❞
you smile against his neck. ❝ bedroom, then? ❞
that does it.
he laughs and takes your hand, tugging you down the narrow hallway. he stops halfway down to bang on the thermostat. ❝ sorry it’s kinda cold. heating system’s ancient. it should warm up in here soon. ❞
you merely run your free hand down his arm, trying to convey the sentiment that you don’t care, that there are more important things to be taken care of.
eddie’s room is lit but dim, familiar, lived-in ; band posters, scattered clothes, the faint hum of something electric in the background.
the door barely clicks shut before he’s kissing you again.
slow and deep, eddie memorizing every single one of your gasps and moans.
his hands are careful but everywhere — skimming up under your shirt, on your waist, under your skirt again — grounding himself in the reality of you standing here with him.
at some point, foreheads pressed together, he exhales shakily.
❝ can i ask you something? ❞
you nod, nose brushing his again.
❝ are you . . . ❞ he takes a lock of your hair and places it gingerly over your shoulder, stroking your tresses like you’re a doll to be pampered. ❝ is this your first time? ❞
you nod.
eddie’s hand stills in your hair. ❝ really? figured you’d have guys throwing themselves at you. ❞ his hand meets your waist again, squeezing as if to say ❛ how are you a virgin, looking like this? ❜
❝ guys try, ❞ you admit. ❝ but i really need to trust someone to want to do that with them. ❞
he studies you for a long moment, thumb tracing slow circles at your hip.
❝ and you trust me? ❞
another nod ; you’ve never been more sure of anything.
something in his chest visibly gives.
❝ jesus, ❞ he whispers. ❝ you have no idea what that does to me. ❞
he kisses you again — reverent now — starting to shuffle you back toward his bed.
❝ we’ll go slow, ❞ he murmurs against your lips. ❝ okay? ❞
❝ okay. i trust you, ❞ you tell him again.
❝ thank you. ❞
the both of you toe your shoes off and when he pulls you down with him onto the bed, it’s with care, letting you scoot up the bed until your head is on his pillows. everything smells so much like him now you never want to leave.
he flattens the messy covers around you and when he opens his mouth, you can tell he’s about to apologize again. for what, this time? for how disorganized his room is? for how cold it still is? just for being eddie munson?
you cut him off before he can. ❝ shh. don’t apologize. ❞
you pull him down over you by his shoulders, and eddie covers your body with his.
and though you’ve never done this before, your legs instinctually know where they should go — right around eddie’s tight waist, squeezing, never wanting to let him go.
eddie braces himself with a hand beside your head, while the other cups the outside of your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin.
❝ what you’ve been waiting for, ❞ you sigh, reaching for the zipper at your side.
eddie doesn’t answer, seemingly transfixed by your skirt or whatever’s beneath it.
tugging that zipper down, you let your skirt fall open around you and eddie takes a deep, sudden breath.
you’re encased in a pair of soft lavender satin panties tonight, the whole pair edged with lace with one big white bow at the front.
eddie has stopped moving.
his eyes drag slowly over you, dark and hungry and stunned, like he’s trying to convince himself you aren’t some cruel hallucination. his hand tightens on your thigh. ❝ baby . . . if this is some kinda prank, something your friends put you up to, you need to tell me now. ❞
❝ it’s not. ❞
❝ fuck, ❞ he breathes, barely louder than the hum of the heat finally kicking on. ❝ you’re . . . ❞
he’s seemingly unable to finish his sentence.
his fingers come to brush the lace edge just at the crux of your right thigh, tentative at first — still reverent, like he’s afraid he might ruin these delicate things just by touching. the satin, when he runs his fingers a little higher, is cool beneath his fingertips, smooth, impossibly soft.
❝ jesus christ, ❞ he mutters to himself.
his thumb now traces the line of lace, slow and deliberate, following the curve of your hip up to your waist. you hear him swallow above you.
❝ do you have any idea what you look like right now? ❞
you want to make a joke, you really do, but eddie looking at you like this, touching you like this, like you’re some precious thing, it takes away your ability to do much more than say his name.
❝ eddie? ❞
❝ i know. ❞ his big hand spreads out on your hip. ❝ i know, baby. ❞
you don’t know when you started shaking, but you realize eddie’s trying to soothe your tremors by scooping an arm beneath you, gathering you up against him as he presses a kiss to your neck. ❝ going too fast? ❞
❝ n-no. i mean, i didn’t think so. maybe . . . you show me something now. i can’t be the only one getting naked here. ❞ you knee him in the ribs as gently as you can.
with a grin, eddie pulls back.
when he does, you can see the very obvious tent in his jeans. just like in the locker room. if you were curious then, you’re very curious now.
eddie's grin widens at your words, his eyes darkening with pure lust as he looks down on you. ❝ oh sweetheart, aren’t you playing with fire now . . . ? ❞ he growls playfully, and leans in to nip at your lower lip.
his hands roam your curves possessively, squeezing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. he can feel the heat radiating off of your body and it makes his cock throb with need. ❝ you wanna see what you do to me, baby? how hard you make me? ❞
with a swift movement, eddie stands up and starts unbuckling his belt. his jeans fall to the floor with a soft sound as he kicks them aside. he's left standing there in his shirt and a pair of black briefs, which are straining against his massive erection.
he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear teasingly. ❝ like what you see so far, princess? nothin’ fancy like yours, but i think this works for me . . . ❞
and it definitely does work for him — the midnight black of those briefs against the pale porcelain of his thighs makes you want to attack him.
instead, you pull him down atop you once more, legs around his waist, one hand in his hair and the other snaking between the two of you to palm him through the thin cotton of his underwear. ❝ eds. you're so hard . . . is that all for me? ❞
your hand cupping his aching cock earns you a deep-seated groan, the worn, flimsy fabric of his boxers doing little to hide how hard he is for you. he grinds against your hand, wanting more. ❝ fuck yes, baby girl . . . all for you. every thick inch of me is yours. ❞
he captures your lips in another searing kiss, tongue diving into your mouth to taste and claim every inch. his hips rock against yours steadily now, the heat of your bodies mingling as you rut together.
❝ you feel that? feel how much I want you? how much i’ve been wanting you? ❞ he pants between kisses. ❝ i'm gonna fuck you so good tonight, sweetheart. gonna take my time and make that little pussy mine. ❞
one large hand slides down to grip your ass possessively while the other reaches up to tug at the hem of your shirt. ❝ got somethin’ pretty on up here, too? i wanna see, wanna suck on your nipples until you're begging for my cock . . . ❞
eddie's words make you shy ; you’ve never heard someone talk that dirty before. a soft pink blush starts at your cheeks and drips all the way down to the top of your chest.
you also realize that, if what eddie says is true, he's lain in this very bed before touching himself to the thought of you. ❝ oh god, ❞ you whisper, leaning up to take the bottom of your shirt in hand and yank it off.
laying it aside, you hear eddie exhale sharply. you’re wearing a matching set, so your bra is a nice soft purple too, with satin cups and lacy trim, another big white bow right in the middle of your chest.
eddie's eyes darken with lust, the sight of you in such a dainty set making his cock throb painfully. he licks his lips hungrily. ❝ fuck, you look so good like this . . . like a goddamn princess, i swear. ❞
he leans down to nuzzle at the swell of your breasts, pressing open mouthed kisses along the tops of them before reaching behind to unclasp your bra. his hair tickles you as the lacy garment falls away and eddie groans at the sight of your bare tits.
❝ so fucking perfect . . . ❞ he murmurs reverently before taking one pert nipple into his mouth. he suckles and laps greedily at it while he rolls the other between his fingers.
his hips continue to grind at your center, both of your underwear now soaked with your arousal and some of eddie’s precum. eddie can feel how wet you are even through the fabric. ❝ you're dripping for me already, aren't you, baby? such a needy little thing . . . ❞
you’re squirming, loving all the attention eddie's giving you, all the sweet things he's saying to you. ❝ eddie . . . ❞ you love saying his name, too, loves the way it feels in your mouth, between your teeth.
once eddie sucks that nipple between his lips, you let out an embarrassing moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard, lean planes of his back. ❝ eddie, eddie . . . want you. want you so bad! ❞
at your desperate plea, eddie groans around your nipple, the sound juddering against your sensitive flesh. he releases it with a wet pop before kissing his way to your other breast to give it the same treatment.
❝ fuck, i want you too, baby . . . want to bury my cock in your tight little pussy and make you scream my name, ❞ he growls, nibbling playfully at your breast.
he sits up suddenly, drawing your legs wider around him as he reaches down to hook his fingers into the waistband of those soft lavender panties. ❝ as much as i love these, ‘m gonna take ‘em off now . . . wanna see all of you. ❞
slowly, like he’s savoring every inch of you being revealed to him, he pulls those panties painstakingly down your legs before tossing them aside. he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you laid out naked beneath him, a feast for his eyes.
you’re embarrassed again, now only because he can see what he’s done to you. your little pussy is a mess, smeared with your own juices.
❝ so fucking gorgeous . . . can't wait to taste every inch of you, ❞ he murmurs, sliding suddenly down between your thighs. ❝ gonna eat this pretty pussy until you're shaking . . . is that okay? ❞
eddie's cheek is pressed to your thigh and your hand is in his hair, petting. more to soothe yourself than him. you nod, less embarrassed now and more nervous. what if eddie doesn't like how you taste? what if he thinks you’re too wet? what if —
eddie’s nuzzling into your thigh, hands sneaking around to cradle your hips. he can feel your nervousness and it makes him want to take extra care of you. ❝ shh, it's okay, baby . . . just relax for me. i’m gonna take such good care of you, i promise. ❞
he places a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before trailing his lips lower. his breath ghosts over your slick folds and you shiver. ❝ you smell so good, sweetheart . . . can't wait any longer to taste you. ❞
eddie leans in and licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. ❝ fuuuck, you taste amazing . . . so sweet. fuckin’ delicious. ❞
he seals his mouth over your pussy and starts lapping at you eagerly, tongue delving between your folds to collect every drop of your essence. eddie focuses on teasing around your clit with the tip of his tongue while sucking gently.
you’re really squirming now, breathing heavily, writhing on eddie’s bed and tightening your thighs around his head. ❝ e-eddie . . . oh god. ❞
❝ that's it, baby, ❞ he mumbles against your slick cunt, ❝ just let go . . . wanna make this pretty pussy cum all over my face. ❞
one particularly insistent swipe of his tongue over your clit makes you thrash, but eddie is holding you down by your hips. ❝ unh . . . eddie. fuck, i'm gonna — ❞
your thighs start to tremble around his head and he doubles his efforts, alternating between flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit and sucking at your entrance.
❝ that's it, baby, cum for me. wanna feel this pussy fuckin’ pulse against my mouth. ❞ he’s growling against you, dark gaze trained up on your heaving chest. ❝ gonna lap up every drop of your cum. ❞
eddie suddenly has two of his thick fingers plunging deep into your tight, hot channel. he pumps them in and out steadily, curling them just so.
as close as you are, you can’t hold back.
those fingers, his tongue, his voice . . . fuck, his voice might be your favorite thing about him. and he certainly knows how to use it in the bedroom.
you scream his name one last time, fingers tight in his hair as you give one last violent spasm atop his comforter and then start to flood his mouth.
he moans as you come undone, your pussy clenching around his fingers, release dripping down his chin. he laps eagerly at you, drinking down every drop just like he said he would.
❝ fuck yes, just like that, princess. cum all over my face. ❞ he keeps his tongue and fingers running in tandem to work you through your high until you come down.
then, gently, he eases those fingers out of you before kissing his way up your body.
eddie takes a moment to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. ❝ you did so good, sweetheart. came so hard for me. ❞
your trembling arms embrace him, and you turn your face to meet him for a tender kiss, still breathing hard as eddie holds you close.
but it isn’t long before he’s reaching down, palming at himself through his briefs. ❝ fuck, that made me even harder. i wanna bury my cock in that tight little pussy and fuck you until the only thing you know how to say is my name. ❞
with the way he's started to suck so gently on your tongue, it's a miracle you can even speak when the two of you part again.
❝ y-you said you'll be gentle, yeah? ❞
❝ yes. ❞ he nods, leaning back to take you in, hands worshipping you on their way back down to your hips. ❝ told you, i’ll take care of you. ❞
almost before you know what’s happening, eddie quickly strips out of the remainder of his clothes, revealing his lean, tattooed body and the thick erection jutting from between his thighs.
your heart starts to race and eddie goes for a condom from the bedside table while you try not to think about why he needs those there, what other girls from town he may have been with.
then you reach to still his hand, shaking your head. ❝ no. please? ❞
eddie’s eyes flicker with surprise. ❝ . . . you sure? i mean, i’m clean, to my knowledge. but i have . . . been with some other girls. ❞
you huff, cheeks going red with embarrassment. ❝ i figured as much. i just . . . don't wanna use one, ❞ you finish lamely.
you know it's stupid, know it's risky. but god, if you don't get to feel him sliding bare into you you’re going to lose your mind.
looking as though he knows it’s a bad idea, but wanting to make you happy anyway, eddie sets the unopened condom back on the table and comes to hover over you again. ❝ okay. anything for my princess. ❞
another soft, doting kiss shared between the two of you has you seeing stars.
just before eddie reaches down to line himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your still-slick folds.
his gaze meets yours and you nod and with a subtle push of his hips, the head of eddie munson’s cock pops right into your tight cunt.
❝ fuck . . . i dunno how long i’m gonna last, baby. you feel . . . nngh, god, fuck! you feel so fucking good. ❞ his fingers are bruising on your hips, though you’re sure he doesn’t mean them to be.
you know how he’s feeling, like it’s too much and not enough all at once.
❝ eddie? do i feel . . . do i feel better than those other girls? the — the ones you’ve been with before? ❞ silly, jealousy at this point, when he’s already inside of you. but you can’t help it, can’t help imagining what girls eddie munson has fucked up until now. probably sammy from your fifth period history class. she’s alternative enough. or — god — heather in band who loves to paint her face like those KISS guys. she’s exactly eddie’s type.
elbows now cushioned on either side of your head, eddie pets your hair back from your sweaty forehead. ❝ what are you thinking about? ❞ he questions softly, a smirk on his face like he knows exactly what's going through your head. ❝ there’s no contest — you’re the best fucking thing i’ve ever felt in my life. including the first time i heard metallica. ❞
your eyes go wide. ❝ wow, that's. you mean that? ❞
eddie nods solemnly. ❝ i do. and if you don't believe me, then maybe i should fuck you until you do. ❞
hips inching forward, eddie slips another inch or two more of his aching cock inside of you.
the noise you make is embarrassing, to say the least. it feels way too good to be filled up with him and there are still a few more inches to go.
he grunts, sinking into your tight heat, face buried in the crook of your neck.
❝ you’re so tight, baby. like a vice around my cock. ❞ slowly, he begins to rock his hips, easing more and more of himself inside of you with each thrust. at the same time, his hands roam protectively over your body as he fills you up completely. ❝ i think . . . you were made for me. no one else could ever feel this good. ❞
❝ i honestly . . . i expected it to hurt. fr — from what i've heard from my friends. but. it just feels good, eddie, so good. ❞ you’re surprised, completely blissed out on his cock as he starts to speed up.
eddie chuckles breathlessly against your neck. ❝ i promised i’d be gentle . . . and i always keep my promises. ❞
it doesn’t even hurt when he starts to fuck you harder, slamming deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. his hands slide down to grip your ass, canting your hips up so he can fuck you that much better. ❝ does it still feel good, baby? d’you like feeling my cock stretch this tight little pussy out? ❞
you nod fervently, sure that your fingernails are doing quite a number on eddie's back by now. ❝ you're so big, eds. i feel s — so full . . . ❞
eddie’s movements stutter and he chokes a little. ❝ mm, baby, i’m sorry — i’m so close already. but i want you to cum again first, wanna make you cream on my dick. ❞ in an effort to make that happen, eddie’s calloused fingers drop between your thighs, rubbing at your clit in tight little circles.
and that just makes you go absolutely ballistic, blindsided by your second orgasm of the night as you shake underneath of him, holding him as close as possible.
eddie practically whimpers as your pussy clamps down around him, inner walls fluttering and squeezing at his pistoning cock. and though he must be teetering on the edge as he does so, he thrusts through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re a shaking, whimpering mess.
❝ god, you’re perfect. so fucking perfect . . . gonna fill this pussy up now, babe . . . mark you as mine. ❞
a few more hard thrusts and eddie buries himself to the hilt inside of you with a guttural moan. his cock pulses as he spills his hot spunk deep into your aching cunt.
you hold him as he cums, breath coming hot and damp against your shoulder, making the prettiest little noises you’ve ever heard a man make.
eddie collapses on top of you, his softening cock still nestled inside your quivering walls.
he nuzzles into your neck with a contented sigh. ❝ feelin’ okay? ❞
when you nod with a giggle, he rolls you onto your sides so he's no longer crushing you under his weight, his arms wrapped protectively around you. he presses a kiss to your shoulder before letting out a satisfied yawn. ❝ i could stay like this forever . . . just you and me. ❞
and wouldn’t that be nice? just you and eddie here in his room, making out and having sex forever.
but, you remember specifically the conversation that was had in the hallway on tuesday. ❝ i don’t think hellfire would take too kindly to that. ❞
❝ i’m gonna make it up to them next friday with an extra long session. but i did have to give a reasonable explanation for why i missed tonight. fair warning. ❞
you tilt your head. ❝ yeah, that you had to take me on a date. ❞
the look on eddie’s face is mischievous, dark eyes glinting. ❝ yeah, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that’s not a suitable explanation for my boys. ❞
frowning, you mutter, ❝ what exactly did you tell them? ❞
❝ the truth. ❞ he apologizes by way of another wet kiss to your shoulder, mouthing at the skin there.
you groan, hiding your face in eddie’s hair. ❝ that’s embarrassing . . . ❞
❝ hey, more for me than for you. i’m the one who comes off as a pervert. ❞
❝ and i’m the one who forced you to ask me out after you were a pervert, oh my god. ❞
eddie shushes you, a hand at the back of your head, cool rings ghosting back and forth over the nape of your neck. ❝ they won’t ever say anything to anyone. and i promise they don’t think less of you because of that. my boys are . . . they’re cool. ❞
nerves calming, you listen to the chilly breeze blow past outside, rattling the trailer windows and sending a draft across the bed. eddie wrestles with the tangled blankets, pulling them higher around you, although it is starting to heat up a little now that the heat has clicked on.
❝ stay? ❞ he mutters against your shoulder.
you tuck yourself in closer against him, skin to skin like eddie is your own personal space heater. ❝ i wasn’t planning on leaving. ❞
Summary: It's time for some ink, and the town's aging freak is the right one for the job. Unfortunately, with grey hairs comes extra charisma, and you're certainly not immune to his charm.
WC: 3.7k
Warnings: Brief mentions of death, needles, slight blood, the briefest allusion to something freaky. Your story totally isn't based off the story of my tattoo at all... crazy accusations...
Five minutes.
Your appointment started in five minutes, and you still couldn't get out of your car. You knew you had done everything right. You'd done your research, submitted your request, and eaten an insane amount of carbs with a diabolical amount of water. You were all set for your appointment, except for one little thing.
You knew exactly who your artist was. Sort of. You knew his name, and his reputation, but you had never spoken with him. Never seen his face. You'd heard legend of him being a total flirt, and it made your stomach flutter. Then again, it might be a nice distraction from the needle. Instead of focusing on the pain, or the hum, you could focus on the attention. Because that would make it better, right?
But what if your friends were wrong? What if his charm was just a myth, and he was actually more awkward than you? God, that would be terrible.
"Get in there," you told yourself. "He's waiting."
You didn't move.
You thought for a moment, wondering if it was really the right move to get the piece done. Maybe it would be best if you just left. You'd already paid the deposit, so he'd at least make some money, but you'd leave with the remaining funds still in your pocket and virgin skin.
Just as you were about to turn your car back on, your phone shrieked to life, ringing loudly in the silence. You jumped and looked down at the number. You didn't recognize it, but the area code belonged to Hawkins, so at least it wasn't some spam call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Eddie, with Inkblot. I'm just callin' to check in about your appointment. Are you still coming?"
God, he's real. He's talking to you.
"Oh! I, um... yeah," you stammered. "I'm actually in the parking lot right now."
"...wait, are you the one that's been sitting her car for, like, ten minutes?" He asked, amused. "I watched you pull in, but nobody's gotten out yet."
"Yeah, that's me," you admitted.
"You're nervous, huh?" The window to the shop was blurred out with a privacy screen, but you could see a figure moving at what might have been the front desk. It looked like they hunched over to rest against it. "Your first tattoo?"
"...yeah."
"Well, why don't you come in? I'll talk you through the process, and we'll get you nice and relaxed before we do anything to your body. Sound okay?"
"Sure," you lied. "I'll... I'll be right in."
"Good to hear." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'll see you in a second."
The line went dead. You cursed aloud. He'd seen you. He'd talked to you. And now, you had no choice but to head in. No matter how much you wanted this, you did not want to get out of your car.
"Stupid," you scolded, shoving your keys into your purse. Nevertheless, you opened your door and climbed out, heading towards the shop with more confidence in your gait than you truly had.
The bell chimed as you stepped in. The place had an interesting scent to it. Something sterile, like sanitizer, mixed with something akin to a velvet cologne. The speakers overhead played a familiar tune-- Girls on Film by Duran Duran. Not at all what you expected when you took in the man at the desk.
He looked like he stole the hair right off Kirk Hammett's head. The only difference came in the color. While Kirk's hair was entirely grey now, this man only had a single, yet very noticeable, streak of the color. The rest was a milky chocolate brown. His figure was lean, yet muscular. Man-curves, as your good friend would have said. The exposed skin was littered with tattoos-- a spider there, a freaky-looking demon there. The top half of some sort of head was visible on his chest, just barely peeking out from under his shirt. But it was the smile on his face that did you in. It was proud, yet almost taunting. The dimples on his cheeks stood out against the wrinkles that had begun to form. They seemed almost too normal for the man you knew you were talking to.
This was Eddie Munson. And you hated how handsome he looked.
Older men weren't typically on your roster. Working in the food industry had thoroughly ruined the idea for you. But this man? Hot damn.
"There she is." Even his voice was proud. "You made it."
You chuckled nervously, looking everywhere except for him. The flash pieces on the walls, the planks in the floor, the divider between the waiting area and the studio. "Yep. Here I am."
"Well, before we do anything, we've got a little consent form to sign." He grabbed a sheet of paper from behind the desk and set it on the top bar. "Basically, you agree that you're doing this of your own volition, and you won't sue us if you don't like it."
You hesitated to step forward. He tapped a pen against the sheet, somehow able to smell that you wanted it; you were just scared. "C'mon," he coaxed. "We just talked about this. Nothing here's gonna bite you. If you decide you don't want the piece after you sign, we'll just shred it and part ways. But I can't do anything for you until you sign it."
You exhaled quietly and stepped up to the desk. When you took the pen from him, your fingertips brushed his. It warmed your insides more than you were willing to admit. "I just sign on the bottom?" You asked quietly.
"Mhm. Once you sign, I sign, and then I check your ID, and then we have some fun." He shrugged. "Sometimes people get weirded out about the ID thing. But your trust a kid about their age once, and all of a sudden, you're getting an angry phone from their mom, wailing about how her kid's sixteen with a tattoo she told him not to get."
"Do I look sixteen?" You asked, not sure where the question came from.
Eddie smiled. "Nope. Not to say you're not youthful. But rules are rules." He took the pen from you, scribbled what was supposed to be his initials in cursive at the bottom of the page, then held his hand out. "Your ID, if you please."
You grabbed your wallet from your purse and pulled out your license. He studied it, studied you, then handed it back.
"It's a good picture," he commented, sliding the paper into the desk drawer. "Hair looks nice. Come on."
He led you into the studio. You didn't know much about Eddie, but just looking at the space told you that he decorated it. Posters and prints of his designs littered the walls, as well as a Hellfire shirt pinned above the bench.
"What's Hellfire?" You asked, pointing to the article.
"Oh, that was my D&D club way back in high school. That was the first shirt I designed for it. It's one of my flash designs now." He sat down on a swivel chair and picked up his tablet. "Let's talk business, shall we?"
You stood awkwardly before him as he tapped away at the screen. Eddie glanced up at you briefly, then nudged the leg of the bench with his ankle. "You can sit," he said. "I'd actually encourage you to sit while getting a tattoo. Makes it a little easier, y'know?"
You chuckled nervously and sat on the edge of the bench. He scooted around to the side of you, holding the tablet out. "So this is what I conjured up for you," he explained. "I've got your angel, and your crow, and I also found a way to incorporate your laurel crown. I just replaced the halo with it."
You stared at the design. Even just looking at it made you want it even more. It was like Eddie had read the scattered fragments in your mind and glued them together, creating the memorial piece you wanted in perfect detail.
"It's... I love it," you said quietly. "Just right."
"Good." Eddie smiled, a small bump of joy in his voice. "Always love it when my clients like their pieces. Are you still wanting it on your thigh?"
You nodded. He tapped your knee. "All right, then. Go ahead and get those jeans off for me, and we'll get you nice and prepped."
"Can you, um..."
He chuckled. It was barely noticeable, but you didn't mind. It wasn't a condescending note, more of amusement and expectance. "You want me to turn around?"
You nodded.
"That's fine." He swiveled his chair around, so he was no longer looking at you. "But I'll have to look at you when I do it. I'm good, but not that good."
You worked your jeans off with shaking hands. "I know," you whispered. "Just... just want to get them off."
"Hey, no judgement from me," he said with a smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I've seen plenty of people without pants over the years."
It didn't, but the thought was there. You rolled your jeans up and set them neatly on the chair in the corner. "I'm done," you announced quietly.
When Eddie turned around, he kept his gaze respectful. Now, does that mean he didn't check you out? No. He totally did. But he did so discreetly, paying the most attention to your outer thigh, where the tattoo would go.
"From your hip to the middle, right?" He asked, picking up the tablet once again. After a few taps, the printer sprung to life, and out popped your stencil.
You nodded silently. You had expected to be slightly uncomfortable with sitting in your underwear with Eddie, but you didn't expect to be so flustered. Maybe because you didn't anticipate finding him as attractive as you did.
"Good. Go ahead and lay on your side, and I'll get you shaved."
You rolled onto your side, back to Eddie. He snapped on his gloves pumped a small amount of foam onto your thigh. He spread it with his fingers, then picked up a razor.
"Once your shaved, I'll transfer the stencil onto your skin. You can check it out in the mirror and make sure it's where you want it. This is the important part, so hear me when I say this: if you want something changed, you have to tell me. I can't adjust anything once we get started. So, if you want it more to the left, say it before we start. If you want it lower, say it before we start. Hell, if you want it upside down--"
"Say it before we start," you finished, voice a low mumble.
"Exactly." He gave your hip a gentle pat. "Relax and hold still for a minute." He squirted something cool onto your thigh and rubbed it in just as gently as he had patted you. "This is the transfer gel. It'll help the design stick."
When the gel was rubbed in, he picked up your stencil. He laid it gently on your skin, smoothed out the paper, then pressed his palm against it. You counted to ten before he pulled his hand away and scooted the chair back.
"Okay. Looks pretty straight to me, but your opinion is the one that matters the most. Give 'er a gander."
You stood up and padded over to the mirror, examining your thigh. You would have been content to walk out with the purple ink then instead of the black and grey you wanted; it was that good.
"It's fine," you told him.
"Just fine?" He teased, smiling at you.
"I-- I like it how it is."
"I know. I'm just messing with you. Come lay back down. Let me mix up my colors, and then we'll get going."
You laid back on your side, feeling slightly more at ease. Your heart wasn't exactly beating at its resting rate, but it no longer exceeded one hundred beats per minute, like it was in the car.
He was handsome, and it flustered you. He teased, which flustered you more. And there was his reputation to consider, which, you guessed it, flustered you even further. But there was also a welcoming air around Eddie. It told you that he didn't have any bad intentions. He was just a guy who was passionate about tattoos.
And flirting.
"So, uh, what's the story with this piece, anyways?" He asked. "It's pretty big for a first tattoo."
"Well, it's... it's for my grandmother," you explained. "She died, and I'm not mad at her, but some... interesting choices were made on my family's behalf, and I'm still pissed about it. But I want a piece to remember her by, even though they're also trying to talk me out of it."
"Aww, I'm sorry." Eddie frowned. The care in his tone made your stomach swoop. "But that explains the angel, huh?"
"Uh huh. But she liked bird watching. I didn't know her favorite, but one of my favorite movies is 'The Crow,' so I figured it wouldn't hurt to put two and two together. And I just wanted the laurel crown because she had a laurel tree in her yard, and I thought it was pretty."
"Mm. Well, if you don't mind my saying so, your family sounds... interesting, as you said. But I think this is a sweet piece. Thank you for trusting me to memorialize Grandma. I bet she'd love it."
You didn't bother to correct him. Gram-Gram was vehemently against tattoos, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, if she knew you were getting one in her honor, she'd probably hate the idea a little less.
"I'm all mixed up over here. You ready?" Eddie dipped his needle into one of the caps he had set up on his workbench and wheeled around to you. He placed one hand on your hip, holding you in place. "Speak now, or forever hold your piece."
"I-- I think I'm ready; just..." You hesitated, not wanting to sound stupid. "I know it will hurt, but how much do you think it will hurt?"
"Well, it's different for everyone, especially between women and men. Even where you're at in your cycle can make a difference. Now, I don't menstruate, so I can't say what it will be like for you, but when I got my tattoo on my hip, it was just like somebody poking at a sunburn. It wasn't fun, but not totally unbearable."
"...okay, then," you whispered. "I'm ready."
"Atta girl," he hummed with pride. "Kick back and relax."
~~~~~~~~
You managed to sit still for the first two hours. Eddie checked in constantly, making sure he praised you a fair amount. Not just because it was your first tattoo and you were sitting so well, but because he wanted to. How could he not when a pretty girl like you rolled up, did a terrible job at hiding her emotions, and was willing to take on such a big piece for her first tattoo? At the very least, it was admirable. But to Eddie? It was pretty hot.
He noticed you tensing up just as he got to the shading in the angel's robes. Being tense was okay enough. Totally natural for somebody getting stabbed a billion times. As long as you didn't start squirming, you were okay.
"You're gettin' pretty tense," he noted. He rubbed gentle circles with the pad of this thumb on your hip. "Try to relax for me."
"Sorry," you whispered. "I can just... feel it everywhere."
"That's normal," he assured you. "When I got one of the pieces on my chest done, I could feel it in my armpit. But try to relax for me some. Do you need to take a break?"
"Maybe... maybe for, like, two minutes."
"Two minute break, comin' up." Eddie let off the pedal and picked up a wet paper towel. He wiped down the sensitive skin, taking with it some excess ink and a small amount of blood. "If you get up, make sure you do it slowly. Your sugar might have dropped some."
You got up at an elderly pace. Your head felt like it was still on the bench for a moment as you reoriented yourself, but quickly felt well enough to stand. You cracked your back, then looked over at him.
"Can I look at it?" You asked.
He chuckled. What an adorable question. Could you look at your own tattoo...
"I mean, you could," he mused. "Or you could leave it a surprise. We've only got about thirty minutes of work left."
You bit your lip. As anxious as you were to see your first tattoo, the idea of seeing it completed sat better with you. "I'll wait," you said.
"M'kay then. How're you feelin', hon? Any lightheadedness?"
For a moment, you bluescreened. Maybe it was a mistake. Or he was just trying to keep you calm. Yes, that had to be it. That made sense. It wasn't anything more than an excellent bedside manner. No flirting. Not like that, anyways.
"May-- maybe a little," you muttered.
"You want a Sprite?" He offered. "It'll help get your sugar back up. Shit's strong. Tastes like nuclear batteries."
As if you'd never had Sprite before.
"I'm okay, I think," you replied quietly. "Thanks, though."
"Offer's still on the table, if we pick back up and you change your mind," he said. "Let me tie my hair back, and then we can finish up, okay? It's been bugging me for the past two hours."
"'Kay."
You made the mistake of looking at Eddie as he pulled his curls back into a ponytail. A rogue, uncontrolled thought flashed through your mind. In the picture, he was pulling his hair back for a much different reason. And God, those biceps. Heat rushed through your cheeks. Just as soon as the image came, it fled, and you were left a staring, red mess.
Eddie looked up at you as he worked his band around the fistful of his hair. He smirked, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. "See something you like?" He taunted.
"No." You shook your head quickly, then realized your mistake. "I-- I mean, um... you're not... bad looking, I just-- never mind." You laid on your side, suddenly very glad to not have to look at him.
He laughed a genuine, flattered laugh, then shook his head. "Relax. Just messin' with you." He slid a new pair of gloves on and drowned his needle in ink once more. "Besides," he began, rolling back up to your side. He placed his hand back on your hip, thumb very deliberately rolling over the hem of your panties. "I'm not exactly complaining about my view, either."
For the last thirty minutes, you locked in on a very specific flash on the wall. It was a Doberman, but he donned a wizard's hat instead of the regular no-hat that dogs came with. It was truly the longest thirty minutes of your life. Just as you were about to move onto a new design, Eddie pulled away.
"All right," he sang. "You're all done. Let me wipe you down real quick, and you can take a look."
You'd become quite the fan of being wiped. The green soap was cooling against your skin. It didn't burn like you had originally expected. Eddie chuckled at the little hum you let out. Without the whirr of the machine in the way, he could tell you liked it.
"Feel good?" He asked.
"Mhm."
"Well, all my good clients get the green soap. Otherwise, I dry-wipe them. But you sat so good for me, so I'll give you all the green soap you want."
There was that flip in your stomach again. Damn him.
He wiped your thigh once more, just for good measure, then rolled away. "Okay, you know the drill. Take it easy getting up."
You took it a little less easy than the previous time, eager to see your tattoo. When you angled yourself in the mirror and beheld your thigh, you lost your ability to breathe. There it was. Your first tattoo. The angel, for your grandmother. The crow, for your movie and her hobby. The laurel crown for her pretty trees that you loved so much. The tattoo, for the woman you loved even more.
So, what do you think?" Eddie asked, leaning against his workbench. He knew what you thought. It was written all over your face. He just wanted to hear you say it.
You didn't say it, though. You didn't say anything. Instead, you whirled around and wrapped your arms around him tightly. He chuckled, looking down at you before circling his arms around you in return.
"It's not every day I get this reaction," he hummed, stroking your back. "I take it you're pretty happy with it?"
"It's perfect." You couldn't hide the waver in your voice. "I love it."
Eddie cooed when he heard the emotion carried in your words. "Aww, baby; it's okay. I know, it's pretty special to you, but you don't gotta cry about it."
"I'm sorry." You pulled back and wiped your eyes. "It's just... it's perfect. I don't have any other words for it. Thank you."
"Anytime." He held a tissue out to you. "Let's get your Saniderm on, and then you can get your pants back on, okay?"
He carefully laid the second skin over the ink. "Think of this like a big Band-Aid," he explained. "After twenty-four hours, take it off and clean the tattoo gently. I'll print out some aftercare instructions for you, but listen when I say that you cannot, under any circumstances, scratch it. Do you understand?"
"Mhm," you hummed, wiping your eyes.
Eddie pulled his gloves off and threw them in the trash. He took in your slightly disheveled appearance and drummed his fingers against his workbench, pondering.
"You know," he began. "I feel pretty bad about makin' you cry like this. You should let me make it up to you."
"Huh?" You looked up at him, not the least bit surprised to see that the son of a bitch had a smirk plastered all over his face.
"Let me take you to dinner." He glanced down at his watch. "How's tonight sound? I could take all your money, lock up, and take you out."
You blinked in surprise, but for some reason, you didn't have the same fear you had when you walked in. Surely being asked to dinner while standing in your underwear was the most embarrassing thing to happen to you today, but you lacked any apprehension about the idea.
"I'd like that," you answered quietly.
"Good." A devilish grin flashed across Eddie's features. "And, hey; maybe after dinner, you can give me some dessert."
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⋆˚꩜｡description: In Hawkins, Indiana, the infamous Eddie Munson is followed by a secret, and girls slip by his place for reasons no one dares to speak about. Or In Hawkins, Indiana, a secret kissing booth run by Eddie Munson helps teenage girls improve their romantic skills. When you’re asked out on a date, you let your inexperience get the best of you. Your best friend refers you to Eddie. (very loosely inspired by the 2008 film, ‘Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging’)
⋆˚꩜｡total word count: 15k+ and counting...
⋆˚꩜｡tags: no y/n, first kiss, teenage angst, coming of age?, slow born (kinda), internal conflict, guided intimacy (more tags to be added as i write, see individual chapters for specific tags)
⋆˚꩜｡series t/w: inexperienced!reader (but not in a dumb/childish way), experienced!eddie, very mild suggestive content (pg-13, but minor are still not welcome!), slight power imbalance, internalized stigma/social judgment, anxiety, see individual chapters for tw's.
Summary : When Steve, your best friend, gets his plans for the weekend cancelled without notice, you allow him to come with you to your parents' cottage by the lake.
Warnings : MDNI!!, friends to lovers, pining (from reader mostly), water fight, kissing, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Steve comes in his pants, slight fluff.
A/N : Second fic!! Wrote this one pretty quickly trying to distract myself from the end of the term, so it's not super fleshed out. Uni is kicking my ass and I needed something fun to do. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy it!
WC : 3,719
************
Water.
You never imagined you could be jealous of actual fucking water. It seems crazy, but God, if you could suck up the whole lake and leave it dry and unable to cling to him like that, you would.
It all started with your best friend Steve shoving past you through your doorway, quickly marching to your room. "I swear to God, I'm gonna kill her!"
You scoff and stare outside at your now empty porch. “Oh, Hi Steve! No, I’m not busy. Sure, come in!” You say sarcastically, exaggerating your normal conversational voice. You slam the door and walk back to your room, crossing your arms over your chest and stopping in the doorway. “Who, Robin?”
He’s sprawled on your bed, entirely too comfortable in your space. One hand is buried in his chestnut hair, tugging at the roots, while his other is resting on his belly and gesturing as he talks. There’s a crease between his brows. “Yeah, Robin. Remember how we were supposed to hang out this weekend? Well, she’s ditching me to hang out with her cool new girlfriend or whatever, and now I have no plans and a whole weekend off.”
It’s true. Family Video was exceptionally closed because of a huge water leak a few days ago that needed fixing. When they told you about their plans, you had declined, explaining how you already promised your mom that you’d make the drive up to your parents’ cottage by Lake Kemi for the weekend. In all honesty, you were really looking forward to doing nothing for two whole days, soaking up the sun and maybe taking a swim.
Your suitcase is halfway done on your dresser, begging to be filled with all your bikinis and jeans shorts and almost nothing else. You sigh and walk inside your room, resuming the packing you were doing before Steve’s interruption. “That’s Robin for ya. Can’t blame her, it’s all… new for her.”
He props himself on his elbows and looks at you, his tone filling with self-pity. “Guess you’re right, just… My parents aren’t home, and the kids are all at camp or away… s’gonna be boring.”
Sigh.
The gravel crunches in a satisfactory manner as you roll up the homemade driveway of your parents’ cottage, Steve’s fingers tapping against the outside of the passenger door in excitement. He whistles, looking at the lot and the lake that’s spreading a little further away. “Damn, this place is insane. Thanks for inviting me, honey.”
You scoff, turning the keys in the ignition and taking them out. “Inviting you? You basically forced yourself into my plans.”
He shoots you his most annoying, stupidly handsome grin and winks. “Guilty. Now come on, let’s not lose anymore sun.”
You shake your head as you get out of the car, but you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your face. Maybe it will be fun to not be by yourself out here.
Once your mom greeted you with a hug – and Steve with a hug, a kiss and a pinch to his cheek – you led him to the guest room of the cottage to drop his hastily put together bag. “You’ll sleep here. My room’s just next door.”
It doesn’t take long before you’re both outside and ready to relax and enjoy the warm summer heat. You’re wearing a bright bikini, some kind of pale yellow that looks soft and summery. Steve’s wearing black swim shorts that are entirely way too short, showing off his strong thighs. Oh, and the lack of shirt is distracting too.
He approaches you as you’re about to lay down on the old, patterned blanket you had placed on the grass. “Hey, mind getting my back?” He gestures to the sunscreen in his hand.
Fuck. Steve’s just your best friend. You’re hot, attractive, protective, and sweet, best friend. And obviously you were down bad for him. But he was former King Steve, and you were just Robin’s friend from band that made their duo into a trio. A nobody, really. You had no shot, right? Still, grabbing the sunscreen from his hand, you feel a flutter in your stomach at the thought of touching him. “Sure, turn around.”
He obeys and turns around, exposing the broad plane of his back to you. The moles pepper it like constellations, and you wish you could spend enough time tracing them to name them all. His already tan skin looks smooth and inviting. His voice pulls you out of your appreciation. “Make sure it’s even, though. Don’t need handprints on my back like Dustin’s last year’s disaster.”
The memory of Steve covered in small white handprints while the rest of his back was lobster red makes you chuckle. You squirt some of the creamy lotion in your hand and make contact with the dip between his shoulder blades. “No promises, Harrington.”
As soon as the sunscreen hits his skin, the muscles in his back flex and he winces from the difference in temperature. “Ah! S’cold.”
You can’t help it, your thighs clench together at the sight. “Suck it up.” You spread the lotion around his back, making sure to cover over his shoulders and down to the waistband of his shorts. The dip of his spine is sinful every time you go over it. You finish with a tap to his shoulder. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Want a beer?” he says casually, totally unaffected by the fact that you just had your hands all over him. It sends a slight pang of disappointment in your chest, proving to you that you really don’t have a chance.
You glance away, stopping the feeling from festering, and you nod. “Yeah.”
The sun is high in the sky, beating down on your skin and making it sweat even though you’re both just lounging on blankets, sipping cold beers. Your sunglasses hide the way your eyes keep drifting toward Steve, watching the beads of moisture go down his temples, his neck, his back.
“I’m gonna go for a swim, need to cool off,” he mumbles as he gets up and lightly jogs toward the floating dock. The wooden planks creak as he makes his way to the edge, accelerating to fully launch himself and dive head-first into the water. Show off.
You lose sight of him while he’s in the lake, but when he comes back out… yeah. Water jealousy. Fuck that water. You wish you could touch him like that.
His hair is wet and pushed backward as he walks back toward you, water droplets racing down his arms and dripping from his fingertips. The hair on his chest is shimmering, plastered to his body, the water creating snaky rivers down his happy trail. His shorts seem tighter, painted on with how wet and stuck to his skin they are. No need for imagination. The comment Robin had made a while ago and that had you obsessing over if it was true or not, just proved its veracity in a matter of seconds. King fucking Steve.
You swallow thickly, unable to tear your gaze away.
“Refreshing.” He says to you with a wink.
You scramble up, not trusting yourself to be normal if you stay close to him while he looks like all of your fantasies rolled into one. “I’ll uh… I’ll test it out.”
You quickly make your way to the edge of the dock, needing the cold water to cool down the burning desire inside you. You’re unaware that Steve’s gaze did not leave your ass as you made your way over there.
You dive into the water, maybe not as impressively as Steve, but still gracefully. The lake is quite cold, a stark contrast to the heat of the air as you breach the surface and use the momentum to go farther beneath the water. Once you come back out, you let yourself float on your back, the weightless feeling and drowned out noise helping to slow your thoughts. The cold water makes your nipples pebble, and when it brushes against you’re overheated core as you spread your legs to start swimming back to the dock, you gasp softly.
“CANNONBALL!”
The next thing you know, water splashes in your face and you start coughing from having swallowed some of it. “Steve!” You shout as he comes back up for air and shakes his head like a dog, flicking even more water toward you.
He laughs brightly, swimming closer to you. He looks like summer, like happiness, like something wild you’d love to bottle and keep, but can’t risk taming. “Sorry, honey. Just couldn’t resist.”
The term of endearment rekindles the fire that had subsided inside you. You can feel your cheeks flushing as you both swim to stay in the same spot, just keeping afloat. “You dingus.”
He grins and swims a bit closer, his hand accidentally brushing your arm, but he doesn’t apologize. “Thought we were here to have some fun, no?”
You look at him and can’t help the smirk that spreads across your lips. You retort by splashing water in his face childishly, getting him back for what he did just a few seconds earlier. He gasps and launches toward you, wrapping an arm around your waist to try and playfully tug you under the water.
“Steve! Stop!” You shout with a surprised laugh, before getting pulled under the water. It lasts just a second before he’s pulling you back up and holding you closer to his chest. You realize that he’s holding the ladder that’s at the edge of the dock, not wanting to actually put you in danger.
You giggle and your hands wrap around his biceps for support, the feeling of your chest, stomach and hips against him making you dizzy. “You’re insane, Harrington.”
He laughs and lets you go, almost too quickly, like maybe he surprised even himself by pulling you closer like that, like he wasn’t supposed to let that slip. He gets out of the lake first, and you trail behind him, both going back to lounging on your blankets and soaking up the sun in silence.
Later that night, your parents, Steve and you are all sitting around the campfire, watching the floating embers rise to the sky as you all talk and share stories. Well, more like your parents are sharing stories to Steve about you, absolutely roasting you.
“…and she had that imaginary friend probably for like two years.” Your mother says, looking at your father for his approval of the timeline.
Steve laughs. “Wait, the fully grey, scary-looking guy named Tom stuck with you for two years? Damn, you were a weird child.”
You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, but unable to hide your amusement.
The conversation starts to dwindle, your parents retreating to the cottage with yawns and whispered goodnights. You’re not so sure how it happened, but you’re laying on your back on a blanket stiffened by the rays, with Steve laying next to you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close. You can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
The night is dark, the stars fully visible with the lack of moon and light pollution. The embers of the now dying fire are strong enough to warm your feet, but not enough to emit light. The silence settles easily between you and Steve.
But then he breaks it. “Thanks for letting me come up here with you.”
You turn your head to look at him, but his eyes stay tuned to the sky. You can barely make out his profile – the slope of his nose, the freckles dotting his skin, the faint stubble, his pink and slightly chapped lips. Gorgeous. You hum. “You know, I’m pretty glad to have company.”
He finally turns his head and he locks eyes with you. Maybe you should have turned away, avoided the eye contact and looked back at the inky expanse covered in tiny white dots. But the laziness and heaviness that comes from a day spent enjoying the summer prevents you from doing so.
His eyes are shining, the thousands of stars seemingly reflected in all their glory in a fraction of the space. He turns on his side, the motion bringing him closer to you, his knee pressing on the side of your thigh. He props his head on his elbow and looks down at you. You catch the way his gaze drifts down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Tell me not to do it.”
Your lips part, confusion making a small crease appear between your eyebrows. Your breath catches as you speak softly. “Do what?”
His eyes fixate on that crease, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he smooths the offensive groove with his thumb. “Tell me not to kiss you.”
If he didn’t hear it before, he hears it now. The air in your lungs stick there, your eyes searching his gaze frantically for any sign of mockery, of a cruel joke. But you find nothing but want. You stay silent.
He leans in gently, giving you time to pull away, to say that you’d rather not, to let him down easy. Instead, you meet him halfway, and that pulls a surprised little sound from him.
The kiss starts slow, exploratory, his hand sliding down to cup your neck. It doesn’t take long before it’s deepening though, your own hands burying into his hair and pulling him closer to you. He groans approvingly into your mouth, his tongue licking the seem of your lips in a silent plea for access.
And you grant it to him willingly, your tongue meeting his in a sinful dance, teeth and lips coordinating in a choreography designed to make you want more. He slips his leg between yours and starts to cover you with his body, the weight of it pressing you into the ground deliciously.
You part your legs eagerly for him, the outline of his erection pressing against your heated core through your sweatpants. It makes your breath stutter and you tug on his hair to make the kiss stop. “Wait, Steve,”
He whimpers at the sting on his scalp, his mind going hazy at the sensation, but he locks his eyes with yours. “What is it, baby? Do you wanna stop? We can stop if you don’t-“
You cut him off. “No, no. I want you, just… is this like, a casual thing for you?”
He looks at you like you grew a second – no, scratch that – a third head. “Casual? I… no, this is anything but casual to me.”
You look up at him and if there’s one thing about Steve that you know, it’s that he cares too much about his friends to play them. You know deep down in your bones that he’s telling the truth, and it both soothes you and ignites the need in you. “Thank God.”
You’re pulling him back down, and the newly found agreement of more washes over you both, lowering the restraint. His hands go up and down your sides, slipping under your shirt and touching your heated skin. You reach down and pull at his shirt, and it doesn’t take long for him to take the hint and sit back on his knees to rip it off him. You take the initiative of removing your own at the same time, your bare breasts resting nice and pretty on your chest as you lay back down on the blanket and gaze up at him.
He’s frozen in place, admiring the view in front of him like a man that’s been starved for too long and finally gets to feast. His hands find your knees and go up your thighs, reaching the waistband of your sweatpants. “Can I?”
You nod shyly, lifting your hips off the blanket to help him take them off you. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he leans back over you, propping one hand next to your head. He presses his hips back between your legs, and he finds that spot with his lips just behind your ear that makes you feel like you’re slipping away. A soft whimper leaves your mouth, and he swears right then and there that he’ll start a new religion, making the hymns your moans.
He kisses and licks down your neck, tasting the slightly salty and softened skin. He traces down your body, pressing a line of affection between your breasts, taking a detour to the left to press a few open mouth kisses to the swell of your chest.
“Mm… Steve.” Your voice is like sugar, sweet and addictive.
“I got you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” His words are spoken against your stomach, his lips reaching the hem of your underwear and looking up at you for consent.
You nod, parting your legs even more. “Please, Stevie.”
Oh. He whimpers at that, the pleading tone of your voice, like you’ll disintegrate if you don’t have him. It makes his head spin.
He presses a soft kiss right against your clit over your panties, before pressing his face against you and breathing in. You smell like heaven, a mix of lingering sunscreen and arousal that makes his hips rut against the ground where he’s laying on his belly. “Fucking perfect.”
He pulls your panties to the side, taking a second to look at you. It’s dark, he can barely see anything, but it’s enough to know how wet you are for him. He blows a cool stream of air toward your heated pussy, your hips bucking up at the sensation. “Oh God, please don’t tease, baby.”
He chuckles, before leaning closer. “Sorry, honey. I like playing with my food.”
You would have found it gross if it wasn’t such a Steve thing to say, and if his tongue didn’t make contact with your needy and puffy clit right after the sentence came out of his mouth. Your hand immediately shoots through his hair to hold him against you, a moan tearing from your chest.
He groans in approval, the vibration making its way through you and making you clench around nothing. “Fuck, you taste amazing.” His tongue is lazy and wet as he eats you out like you’re a delicacy, taking his time to learn you and what makes you twitch. He listens for how your breathing gets quicker, how your moans get more careless when he finds the right rhythm. He feels for how your thighs spread even wider, needing more, clenching your muscles in an effort to focus on the sensation.
His own hips are lazily rolling and pressing against the grass through the blanket, needing relief from how painfully hard eating you out is making him. Your moans are turning into incoherent babbles, pleading for more as you tug at his hair. He understands what you need, bringing his middle and ring finger up to your entrance before sinking them inside you. “There you go, just needed to be filled a little, huh?” They slip in easily from how wet you are, and he starts pressing in tiny upward thrusts, stimulating your entrance and that spot inside you that you can never quite get on your own. His tongue goes back to circling your clit, slowly but with a maddening pressure.
“Oh fuck, Steve! Right… there, oh my god…” You moan louder, your eyes shutting in pleasure as your hips roll against his face and his fingers. The knot in your stomach tightens dangerously quick, your slick starting to drip down his palm and wrist.
He moans against your pussy, getting lost in your pleasure. He ignores the burn in his forearm, trying to keep his rhythm steady for you. He mumbles against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel it.”
You let out a cry – a distortion of his name – tears forming at the corners of your eyes as stars rivaling with the ones hung in the sky burst behind them. Your pussy clenches around his fingers as you come apart for him, your grip tightening in his hair, keeping him against you as he helps you ride out every wave. His owns moans are muffled by how forcefully he’s still pressed in your pussy, his hips stuttering against the ground.
He finally starts to slow his movements, pulling out his fingers and licking your entrance softly to taste your release. “God, you’re incredible…” He starts kissing up your body until he’s hovering right over your face. You’re flushed, hair a mess, lips red and swollen from biting down on them. He looks just as wrecked. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him down on you, kissing him and tasting yourself on him. You hum in delight, your mind finally starting to believe that this is happening.
But then… you feel something cool and wet press against your lower belly. He feels it too, and he breaks the kiss to lift his hips and look at you sheepishly. You look down, the dark patch in front of his grey sweatpants is visible even in the dark, the size of it exposing it to be way more than any amount of precum you’ve ever seen. He speaks before you can.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Honey. You were just too hot and you tasted so good-“
You cut him off with a pleased giggle, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “Did you come just from eating me out, Harrington?”
He groans and presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
You nudge his cheek with your nose, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be. That’s… the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He lets out an incredulous breath, before rolling you both over so he’s laying on his back and you’re resting your head on his chest, your arm loosely resting over the soft give of his stomach. His fingers run though the soft strands of your hair. When he finally speaks – lips pressed against your temple – his voice is full of reverence and affection. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”
Pairing: Eddie Munson x female! reader (No use of y/n)
Summary: When the Starcourt Mall went up in flames, it took Hawkin's only local music shop with it, forcing Eddie to trek a town over just to find a set of guitar strings. He expected a boring errand. He didn't expect the quiet, smoky atmosphere of a hole-in-the-wall shop or the girl behind the counter who looked like she stepped out of a folk-rock fever dream.
Series Warnings: Mentions of parental loss, mentions of bullying, Explicit sexual intercourse, dirty talk, first-time sex (male), tobacco use, semi-public sex (in a vehicle), sort of corruption kink if you SQUINT, mentions of reading/watching porn, oral sex (male & female receiving). awkward sex. Not quite a warning but mentions of "Flight of Icarus" and some events/canon from that.
Disclaimer: In an effort to be a better neighbor to all my readers, I am working to keep my descriptions physically vague. As I navigate this learning curve, some white-coded/specific language may accidentally slip through my editing. I’m sharing this disclaimer so you can curate your reading experience with that in mind!
Rating: NSFW (18+) no minors allowed!
Word Count: 31,000+
Author's note: I got inspired by the utter crumb we received from behind the scenes recently. After consulting with the lovely @sheneedsrocknroll92 we both came to the consensus that Eddie having a meet/cute with someone a bit more like him (but still her own person) would be a fun angle. I don't really have much explanation other than that folks? I just missed Eddie and wanted to pop back in with him taking a different direction. Let me know if you would want/could see a follow-up with this 'reader' (since you all know I'm always going to make her a character even if I try to avoid specific descriptors). Also pushing off Sam and Jolene's update till next week because... I'm exhausted and don't want to rush it. Peace and love folks ~ Mae
Welcome to Hellfire || My Other Work
Eddie Munson didn’t have a crisis on his hands. It wasn't the kind of earth-shattering revelation that brought your entire world crashing down in a heap of metaphorical rubble. It was more of a... pesterization. A low-frequency hum of annoyance that he’d grown just apathetic enough to tolerate, mostly because he didn't see it changing anytime soon.
One week into his third attempt at senior year, and the problem he’d first tripped over at thirteen was becoming glaringly apparent. On the cusp of high school, Eddie had made the error of trying to kiss one of his only friends, only to be gently informed that she didn’t exactly do the “boys” thing. He’d spent years silently hoping it was just an age thing, a phase they’d both outgrow, until she confessed before heading off to New York that she’d definitely had sex with a girl in the marching band. And since then? Nothing. Radio silence. Sure, he found fantasy tucked inside the gloss of magazines and the grainy flickers of cheap pornos from the back of the video store like every other red-blooded guy in Indiana. But when it came to the living, breathing variety of girls? He was inexperienced, terrified, and frankly, bored.
His third lap around senior year had taught him that the scenery never changed, it just swapped out the actors. There was always a fresh crop of jocks convinced that the universe ended at the edge of the football field. There were the nerds acting as if a B-minus on a lab report would derail their entire existence. The names changed, but the archetypes remained. The kid getting shoved into lockers today was named Fred; a year ago it was Todd, and before that, Arthur. Same script, different face. Yawn.
The girls of Hawkins High weren't exempt. According to the general consensus of the locker room, girls occupied three very specific boxes: the Buddy, the Porn Star, and the Sweetheart. Take Chrissy Cunningham with those baby-pink sweaters and wholesome smiles. Adorable? Sure. But she was the type who would likely burst into tears if she found herself alone in a room with him. That put her firmly in the friendly category, even if a friendship between a cheerleader and a freak was about as likely as Eddie passing Calculus.
Then there was Tina, a girl from his original graduating class. He’d heard the rumors from Billy Hargrove and the other cavemen at school about her extracurricular talents. She had the personality of a wet brick and cared more about her perm than her pulse, but that hadn't stopped Eddie from watching her lips move across the hall and wondering if the rumors lived up to the hype.
As for that third category… the ones you actually wanted to hold hands with? The kind of girls who could make your heart stop with just a smile or a quick remark? He hadn't met a soul who fit the bill. Eddie wasn't sure if he was a romantic, but he was a realist. Who wanted the son of the town criminal? A guy on his third try at Grade 12, who dealt weed to keep the van running? He’d perfected the art of being offensive to avoid the need to be defensive. Scare 'em or weird 'em out before they realize how easy it is to shove a scrawny metalhead into a locker.
He flung open the door to his rusted-out GMC, tossing his beat-up Jansport that had managed to survive since Freshman year, onto the passenger seat with a satisfying thum. He peeled out of the parking lot without a second thought, the engine groaning in protest as he left the school behind. Just another year in the Hellhole, all because he couldn't grasp the basic principles of chemistry. At least it was Friday. And Fridays meant freedom. It also meant he had a chance to deal with his other little pesterization. This one wasn't quite as existential as his quest to find a girl who’d laugh at his dorkier jokes before helping him finally retire his nineteen-year-old virginity, but it was an annoyance nonetheless.
Since the age of nine, Eddie had been a regular at the downtown music shop. It started with replacement strings for the battered Alvarez acoustic his Uncle Wayne had rescued from a pawn shop. A guitar that had seen hell and back as Eddie bled over chords until his callouses finally took. As the years passed and he saved every cent, he’d graduated to the electric variety, but the constant need for fresh strings and heavy-duty picks remained. The Starcourt Mall had changed everything. In its short, neon-drenched life, it had swallowed the downtown shop whole, only for the entire place to go up in flames. Now, with the mall a blackened shell and the downtown storefront still empty, Hawkins was a musical desert.
A quick session with the White Pages had revealed the closest oasis. Mainstreet Music in Bedford, about twenty minutes down the road. That was the Friday plan. Drive ten miles out of his way on a half-empty tank, pray that Bedford wasn't as soul-crushing as Hawkins, and see if this new shop could actually provide the gear he needed to keep Corroded Coffin’s output loud enough to piss off the neighbors.
The drive to Bedford was fueled by a warped Iron Maiden cassette and the flickering orange light of his fuel gauge. When he finally pulled up to Mainstreet Music, he found it tucked between a hardware store and a dusty laundromat. It wasn't the gleaming palace of rock he’d hoped for, but the window display featured a cracked Gibson and a stack of Marshall amps that looked like they’d seen a tour or two. Good enough, he thought. The bell above the door gave a weary chime as he stepped inside, but the muffled ring was immediately swallowed by the sheer scale of the place. From the outside, it looked like a cramped hole-in-the-wall, but the interior was a TARDIS-like trick of architecture. It was massive, stretching back into the shadows of the building with rows of instruments that made his breath hitch.
It wasn't just the gear, though that was impressive enough. The walls were a sensory overload, plastered floor-to-ceiling with posters of bands ranging from the household names to obscure acts he couldn’t have identified if his life depended on it. It was a chaotic museum of sound: metal logos sat right next to soft-focus folk singers. Neon-drenched pop stars shared space with gritty, black-and-white country legends. Beneath the posters, the floor space was a maze of wooden crates overflowing with vinyl and precarious stacks of cassettes that looked like they might topple if he breathed too hard.
"Just a second! I'll be right out!" a voice called from somewhere deep in the back, muffled by a heavy curtain. Eddie barely offered a grunt of acknowledgement, as he drifted toward a rack of vintage offsets. He was too busy drinking in the atmosphere to care about service. Then, the silence of the shop was broken by a familiar sound. The distinct sound of a needle dropping onto a record, followed by the soft crackle. A second later, the stinging lick of an electric guitar cut through the air. Albert King’s "Born Under a Bad Sign."
The opening notes hit Eddie, pinning him to the spot. Suddenly, he wasn't in a music shop in Bedford; he was five years old, sitting on a linoleum floor in a sun-drenched kitchen, watching his mother hum along to this exact track while she sewed. She’d been the one with the blues records. The one who taught him that music wasn't just noise, but a feeling you pulled out of your soul. She was the reason he’d ever bothered to pick up a guitar in the first place.
He stood there, paralyzed by a rare moment of vulnerability, his hand hovering over a pack of guitar strings as the horns blared through the shop's speakers.
"Dio. Nice." The voice was right behind him. Cool, steady, not to mention entirely too close. Eddie jumped, nearly knocking over a display as he spun around. His heart hammered against his ribs as his carefully cultivated "Lord of the Freaks" persona momentarily was replaced by the wide-eyed look of a startled cat.
Eddie finally managed to find his footing, his sneakers scuffing against the floor as he fully faced her. He opened his mouth to deliver some biting, eccentric remark but the words died in his throat. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked right out of the room, leaving him lightheaded and strangely hollow. He’d spent years cataloging the girls of Hawkins into his little mental boxes, but as he looked at her, the system crashed. She wasn't a "Sweetheart," a "Buddy," or a "Porn Star." She was something else entirely. A category all of her own.
She looked to be right around his age, though she carried herself with a groundedness that Eddie felt he’d been lacking his entire life. She was pretty but it wasn't the manicured, hairsprayed beauty of the girls in the hallways at school he’d grown used to. There was an edge to her, apparent in the way an unlit cigarette was perched behind her ear and her wrists were covered in a collection of woven bracelets. Smudged smokey looking eyeliner adorning a bottom row of lashes that drew his focus to the beautiful color of her eyes. An authenticity that matched the heavy blues track still vibrating through the speakers overhead.
A searing jolt of attraction hit him, sharp enough to make his pulse thrum in his ears. But beneath that was a second feeling, something he couldn't quite put a name to. It wasn't just that he wanted to look at her. It was a sudden, desperate urge to be known by her. He realized he was staring, his hands still awkwardly raised from his momentary fright. He looked like a deer caught in the high beams of a semi-truck, and for the first time in his life, Eddie Munson was genuinely, painfully speechless.
"Uh," Eddie managed, a masterclass in eloquence. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to summon the Munson charm, but his rings felt heavy on his shaking fingers. "Yeah. Ronnie James. The man, the myth, the... very short legend." He stood there, scrawny and wide-eyed in his battle vest, feeling like for the first time in his life, he was the one who was totally out of his depth. She was pretty with a look in her eyes that suggested she could see right through his "scary freak" mask to the nervous kid underneath who still missed his mom's singing.
“Men," she said, her voice dry and laced with a playful edge as she tilted her head toward his Dio patch. "Always seemingly obsessed with size?"
Eddie froze. He stood there for a beat, his brain short-circuiting as he replayed the comment. He looked at his vest, then back at her, the realization hitting him like a bucket of ice water. She wasn't just talking about Ronnie James Dio’s height, or lack thereof. She was making a joke about... that. The male obsession with measurement. The length of the sword, so to speak.
A heat he couldn't control climbed rapidly up his neck, flooding his cheeks with a vivid, traitorous crimson. Eddie Munson, the man who stood on cafeteria tables and barked at jocks, was officially speechless. He opened his mouth to deliver a witty, rock-and-roll themed comeback, but all that came out was a faint, pathetic squeak.
Then, she laughed.
It wasn't a dainty, princess-like giggle, with a manicured hand covering her mouth. It was a loud, uninhibited, soul-deep sound that echoed off the stacks of vinyl. It was messy and real, and in that instant, Eddie decided it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He watched her, mesmerized, his own embarrassment softening into a dazed, lopsided grin.
She caught her breath, wiping a stray tear from her eye as her laughter subsided into a lingering, mischievous spark. She leaned against the glass counter, crossing her arms as she looked him up and down. "You know," she said, her voice dropping into a teasing, rhythmic lilt that made his stomach do a backflip. "For a guy dressed so satanic by rural Indiana standards, you sure are adorable when you get flustered."
The word adorable should have been an insult. To a guy like Eddie, it should have been a blow to his carefully cultivated ego. But coming from her, delivered with that specific, flirtatious tilt of the head, it felt like a damn coronation.
Eddie scrambled to find a foothold, his brain a frantic mess of "don't screw this up" and "say something cool." He opened his mouth, his tongue feeling like a heavy piece of lead as he tried to summon a suave, biting quip. Something about how he was actually a creature of the night who just happened to enjoy a good laugh. But as she scrutinized him, her eyes dancing with that playful, observant light, the words just died in his throat. He ended up letting out a half-formed "I,well–" before trailing off, sheepishly adjusting his rings. He was failing. Spectacularly. But for some reason, looking into her face, he didn't even mind.
"I haven't seen you around here before," she noted, her gaze traveling from the chaotic curls of his hair down to the scuffed toes of his sneakers. "And I usually remember the ones who look like they’ve climbed out of a Black Sabbath pit."
Eddie finally managed to get a coherent sentence out. "I'm from Hawkins. Just a quick, twenty-minute trek down the road. Usually, I'm a big fish in a very small, very judgmental pond."
She hummed, a low sound of acknowledgement that seemed to vibrate right through him. "Hawkins, huh? Explains it. I’ve seen more traffic in here lately since that mall of yours turned into a giant charcoal grill."
"Yeah, the Starcourt disaster," Eddie said, leaning against a nearby rack of acoustic guitars, trying to look like a guy who wasn't currently having an internal meltdown. "Ruined the only music shop for miles. Which is exactly why I found myself wandering into your neck of the woods today. Desperate times, desperate measures."
She straightened up from the counter, her playful demeanor shifting, though the spark in her eyes remained. "Well, consider me your savior for the afternoon kind Sir who hails from Hawkins," she said. "What exactly does thou seek on this quest to the far land of Bedford?"
Eddie’s brain hit a screeching halt. Did she just... did she really just "kind sir" me? His heart practically performed a double-bass beat against his ribs. Because now it wasn't just that she was pretty, or that she liked the blues. Or even that she’d successfully made a dick joke at his expense. It was the delivery. That specific, nerdy, high-fantasy cadence. The kind of talk he usually had to reserve for a small circle of social pariahs gathered around a twenty-sided die. The crush he’d felt five minutes ago had just been upgraded to a full-blown obsession. He felt like he was looking at a unicorn in the middle of Indiana. He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, searching her face for any sign that she was mocking him. But all he found was that same, sharp-eyed amusement.
"Has the traveler been struck by a silence curse?" she asked, leaning over the counter just enough to bring the scent of old paper and vanilla into his personal bubble. "Or hast my presence rendered thee speechless in the same way the sirens lured sailors to their doom?"
Eddie snapped out of it, clearing his throat so hard it actually hurt. He scrambled for a shred of dignity, reaching out to gesture vaguely at the rack of guitar strings he’d been hovering over before the Albert King track had transported him. "I, uh... no. Just...," he stammered, finally finding a smirk to hide behind. "I seek the tools of my trade, oh mysterious guardian of the Bedford realm. My current strings are sounding a bit too much like a dying cat and not enough like the heralds of doom."
She nodded, but instead of staying behind the safety of the glass, she rounded the counter and stepped directly into his space. She looked up at him, her presence strangely grounding despite the way he was vibrating with nerves. "A noble pursuit," she murmured, her eyes scanning the wall of Slinkys and Cobalts before settling back on him. "And what exact gauge of steel does thou require for this 'herald of doom' business? Are we talking light enough for those flashy solos, or heavy enough to shake the foundations of the earth?"
Eddie took a small breath, trying to steady his hands. "Heavy."
She reached out, her fingers brushing past a pack of Ernie Balls near his shoulder, and he felt the contact like a jolt of electricity. She pulled a pack down, but she didn't hand it to him. Instead, she turned the small package over in her hands, a sheepish, genuine smile finally breaking through the fantasy persona. "Sorry," she said, her voice dropping the theatrical lilt for a second. "I was a total drama nerd in high school, and I’ve been stuck in set design for the local community Shakespeare production all week. I keep slipping into the 'thee' and 'thou' without even thinking about it."
"Theater nerd?" Eddie repeated, a laugh bubbling up that was actually genuine this time. "Well, that explains the dramatic entrance. And here I thought I’d finally found someone who spent as much time in a dungeon as I do."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she leaned an elbow against the shelf, eyeing him with a newfound curiosity. "Don’t tell me you’re a traveler of the tiled maps and polyhedral dice variety. Do you play?"
Eddie’s chest puffed out, a surge of genuine, unadulterated pride washing over him. This was his home turf. "Play? Sweetheart, you are looking at the Dungeon Master of the Hellfire Club. I don't just play, I run the whole show at Hawkins High. I’ve spent more time crafting campaigns and painting lead miniatures than I have studying for... well, basically anything."
For a split second, he felt like a king. But then he saw it. The slight twitch of her lips, a tiny deflation in her shoulders as she looked at him over again. "High school?" she repeated, her voice losing a bit of that playful spark. "Oh. So you're... what, sixteen? Seventeen?"
Eddie winced, the mystique he’d hoped he was projecting evaporating instantly. He quickly held up his hands. "Whoa, hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m nineteen. Almost twenty. Technically, I should’ve been Class of ’84. I’m just... on the extended, scenic tour of the twelfth grade. My third attempt, if you’re keeping score. Chemistry and I have a long-standing mutual hatred."
The change in her was immediate. She let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, as she practically sagged against the instrument rack. "Oh, thank god," she laughed, and that beautiful, loud sound was back, making his heart do another clumsy backflip. "Whew! I was starting to sweat for a second. I was really out here thinking I was about to be a cradle robber."
Eddie grinned, the relief infectious. "And you?"
"Nineteen," she confirmed, tossing the pack of strings into the air and catching them with ease. "Class of ’84, actually made it out on the first try, though barely. I’ve been working here and going to the community college for art classes since. So, technically, we’re from the same brand of vintage."
"Vintage," Eddie mused, his confidence finally clicking into place. He leaned one hand against the shelf, closing the gap between them just an inch. "I like that. Makes me sound like a fine wine instead of a guy who just can't remember the periodic table."
She hummed, her eyes flicking down to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his gaze again. "I think vintage suits you, Hawkins. It’s got a bit more character than a repeat offender."
"I'm Eddie," he finally offered, realizing he’d been talking to a goddess for ten minutes without a name to call her. "Eddie Munson. Local freak, master of the dungeon, and currently your most intrigued customer."
She told him her name then, and the sound of it seemed to hang in the air between them, vibrating at the exact same frequency as that Albert King record. Eddie repeated it internally, testing the weight of it, the way the syllables felt like a hook to a song he knew was going to be stuck in his head for weeks. It was a name that had grit but a certain kind of melody to it, too. "Well," she said, pulling him out of his internal daze as she tossed the pack of strings from her left hand to her right. "Now that the introductions are out of the way, what exactly are we stringing up? Please tell me you aren't putting these on some cheap, dusty plywood box."
Eddie shook his head, a smirk returning to his face. "Give me some credit. She’s an Iron Maiden-inspired beauty. B.C. Rich Warlock."
She whistled lowly, nodding in approval. "A Warlock. Bold choice. So, are you just a solo act? A lonely bard shredding in his bedroom to a wall of posters?"
"Absolutely not," Eddie corrected, his pride flaring up again. "I’m the front-man, lead guitarist, singer, and because I own a van, transportation for Corroded Coffin. We’re currently the loudest, most offensive thing to happen to the Hawkins music scene. Have a dedicated crowd of about… 5 drunks on your average Tuesday night at the local dive bar."
She hummed, leaning her hip against the counter as she considered him. "Corroded Coffin. It’s got a nice ring to it. And I get it. There’s something about playing with a group that you just can’t replicate on your own. It’s always nicer with a crew." Her expression shifted, a small, weary shadow flickering over her features. "Though, honestly, my situation lately has made getting the band back together feel like a pipe dream."
"You’re in a band?" Eddie asked, his interest peaking.
"A blues-rock outfit," she explained. "Nothing as loud as whatever a Corroded Coffin puts out, I’m sure. We drive up to Bloomington once a week to play this little jazz bar. It’s good for the soul, when we can actually make it happen. One of our guys has been a bit of a wildcard lately. Stuck at home with his kid more often than not. Parenthood and the blues… they go together, but they don't exactly make for a consistent rehearsal schedule."
Eddie leaned in, fascinated. "Bloomington? That’s the big leagues. You’re telling me I’m standing in the presence of a professional?"
She laughed that beautiful, world-ending laugh again. "Let’s call it semi-professional. We get paid in drinks and gas money, but in Indiana, that basically makes us rockstars."
Eddie’s grin widened, his fingers drumming a restless beat against the side of his pant leg. He couldn't help himself. The fantasy metaphors were bubbling up again, fueled by the sheer high of actually talking to someone who didn't look at him like he was a stain on the carpet. "Alright, so we’ve established you’re a high-level bard," he said, keeping the D&D speak lighter this time, more of a shared shorthand than a full-blown roleplay. "But what’s your actual contribution to the party?"
She gave a small, graceful shrug, her eyes following the movement of his hands. "I’m one of the singers. Since our frontman is currently preoccupied with the dad questline, lately I’ve been carrying a lot of the vocal weight. We split the setlist down the middle, which usually works out until he has to bail for a diaper emergency." She stepped closer to the repair bench, picking up a stray pick and flipping it between her fingers. "And when I’m not behind the mic, I’m on guitar. Rhythm mostly, keeping things steady."
Eddie felt a literal physical tug in his chest. A girl who could talk Shakespeare, play the blues, handle a guitar, and didn't flinch at the mention of a d20? He was fairly certain he was dreaming, and if he was, he never wanted to wake up again.
"Singer and a rhythm player," Eddie mused. "The backbone of the operation. That’s a lot of power to hold over a bunch of Bloomington jazz-heads."
"It keeps me busy," she admitted, finally handing him the pack of strings. As she did, her fingers lingered against his for just a second too long to be accidental. "Though I have to say, Hawkins, a Warlock is a lot of guitar for a guy who gets as red as a tomato over a little dick joke."
Eddie took the strings, his skin buzzing where she’d touched him. "The Warlock is for the stage. The blushing? Well, let's just say you caught me with my armor unequipped."
The air between them suddenly felt thick, charged with a tension that was far more electric than any amp in the room. Eddie found himself caught in her gaze, his usual restless energy replaced by a grounded stillness. He didn't look away, and for a long, heart-hammering minute, neither did she. It was a silent standoff. One where Eddie felt like he was being read like a book, and for once, he didn't mind the scrutiny. Finally, she broke the spell, clearing her throat and glancing down at the counter. "So," she started, her voice a little huskier than before. "Did you actually just venture into the wilds of Bedford for one pack of strings, or is there something else on your quest log?"
Eddie exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his shoulders dropping as he tried to find his swagger again. "I, uh... I could probably use a few extra picks. I tend to lose them in the abyss of my van or my hair if I’m honest."
"Follow me, Hawkins," she said, gesturing for him to follow her toward the glass display cases at the back of the store.
As they walked, Eddie watched the way she moved. Comfortable, confident, and entirely in her element. He couldn't help himself; He had to know. "So, if you’re holding down the rhythm for a blues band, what’s your weapon of choice? Please don't tell me it's a Squier."
She laughed. A sound that made him grin. "Hardly. I’m a traditionalist at heart. I usually stick to a Gibson ES-335. Ebony finish. It’s got that warm, woody growl that just... well, it does things to a song that a solid body can't touch."
Eddie stopped dead in his tracks. A low, playful moan escaped his throat in a sound of unadulterated appreciation. In a sudden surge of confidence he leaned in slightly, a wolfish, dazed smile spreading across his face. "God," he breathed, his eyes wide. "Could you say that again? But, like, way slower this time? Because a pretty girl describing her ebony Gibson ES-335 is officially the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire nineteen years of existence."
She paused, her hand hovering over the tray of picks, and turned to look at him. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth, and for the first time, Eddie felt like he might be the one in trouble. “Careful there, Eddie the Head," she chuckled, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial register that made his skin prickle. "You’re wandering into dangerous territory. You keep inflating my ego like that, and I might just decide to keep you here as a permanent fixture. I’ve been looking for a roadie who’s easy on the eyes and knows his way around a headstock."
Eddie stood there, the nickname hitting him with the force of a freight train. She knew Iron Maiden well enough to pull out the mascot’s moniker, and she was using it to flirt with him. He took a long, exaggerated pause, tilting his head back as if weighing the heavy consequences of his next move. He tapped a ringed finger against his chin, his eyes darting toward the ceiling in faux-contemplation.
"Well," he finally said, a slow, reckless grin splitting his face. "A lifetime of service to a Gibson-wielding siren in the heart of Bedford? Honestly, as far as traps go, it’s a lot more enticing than a weekend at the trailer park with a six-pack of cheap beer and a physics textbook." He leaned an elbow onto the display case, looking her dead in the eye, all the stuttering nervousness from before replaced by a sudden, sharp clarity. "I think I’m willing to take that risk. Lay it on me. I’m a big boy. I can handle a pretty girl with a guitar."
She laughed, the sound lower and more intimate now that they were tucked away in the back of the shop. She reached into the case, pulling out a handful of heavy-gauge Tortex picks and let them rain slowly into his open palm. "I like the confidence, Hawkins," she murmured, watching him as the plastic clicked against his palm. "But let’s see if you can still talk that big when you’re actually holding a guitar instead of just talking about one. Most guys come in here and talk a lot of game, but the second they plug in, they sound like they’re trying to strangle a cat."
Eddie caught the last pick out of the air, clutching it tight. "Is that a challenge? Because if you’re asking me to audition for the role of your most loyal subject, I’ve got a whole repertoire of metal that’ll shake the dust off the rafters."
"Maybe," she countered, her gaze lingering on his hands. "But for now, let's just get you checked out before my boss, who also happens to be my aunt, comes back and wonders why I’ve spent twenty minutes hovering over the picks with a guy who looks like he’s about to start a riot."
“Ah nepotism… snatching up all the good local gigs,” he teased at the mention of her aunt owning the shop.
She hummed, a soft, wistful sound that didn't quite match the sharp wit she’d been wielding moments before. "Less about nepotism," she said, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass counter. "After my folks passed in a car accident, my aunt, the cool one, thankfully, took me in. It’s been just the two of us since I was in middle school. Working here... it’s how I pay her back for the groceries and the roof over my head. Rent’s cheap when you’re family, but the debt’s still there."
The timing was almost eerie. Just as the weight of her words settled into the air, the record on the speaker system reached the end of the side. The stinging blues guitar faded out, replaced by the empty hiss-thump of the needle spinning in the run-out groove. The silence that followed was heavy. She seemed to realize the gravity of what she’d just dropped on him, and she cleared her throat, shifting her weight as if she were about to bolt back to the safety of the repair bench. The playful spark in her eyes had flickered, replaced by a momentary, awkward vulnerability that made Eddie’s heart ache in a way he wasn't prepared for.
She started to turn away, murmuring something about finding a bag, when Eddie reached out. Not touching her, but close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her arm. "Hey," he said, his voice dropping the theatrical projection entirely. She paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. Eddie cleared his throat, "I get it. More than you know." He looked down at the counter, a rare flash of somber honesty crossing his face. "I've been living with my Uncle since I was a kid. My mom... she passed a long time ago. And my old man? Well, he traded his parenting duties for a permanent residency with the state after he got busted for five finger discounting some cars. It’s been me and Wayne against the world ever since."
The air in the shop shifted, the shared weight of their histories acting like a bridge between them. She turned back fully now, her shoulder losing its defensive tension as she leaned against a stack of amplifiers. There was a new light in her eyes. Not just the spark of a flirtatious challenge, but the quiet, steady gaze of someone who had seen the same shadows he had. "He sounds like a good man. Your Uncle. It takes a certain kind of soul to take in a kid with baggage like us and not try to sand down all the rough edges."
Eddie let out a short, dry laugh, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his denim vest. "Oh, he’s the best.He’s the only reason I haven't dropped out and headed for the coast already."
She nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She moved toward the record player, the silence of the shop feeling too loud now that they’d traded pieces of their souls. She flipped the vinyl, and a moment later, a new track began to fill the room. Something a bit more upbeat, that cut through the somber mood.
"Well, Eddie Munson," she said, stepping back behind the counter and held out her hand for the strings and picks to ring him up. "I think you’ve officially earned a 'kindred spirit' discount, though don't tell my aunt. I have a feeling if I let you walk out of here without a reason to come back, I’d be failing some kind of cosmic quest."
Eddie handed over his treasures, his heart doing a slow, controlled roll in his chest. "A reason to come back, huh? You think the twenty-minute drive and the threat of my van running out of gas isn't enough of a hurdle for me to leap?"
"I think," she said, her eyes locking onto his as she punched the keys on the old-fashioned register, "that for the right kind of music, and the right kind of company, you’d drive a lot further than ten miles out of your way."
“I’ve got a counter-proposal for you," Eddie said, his voice regaining that theatrical flair, though it was softened by the genuine heat behind his gaze. He gestured toward the counter, his fingers mimicking a scribbling motion. "Dear maiden, might I humbly request a quill and parchment? Or, you know, a ballpoint and a scrap of a receipt will do."
She smirked, sliding a notepad and a pen across the glass. Eddie took it with a flourish, leaning over the counter as he began to write. His handwriting was a chaotic scrawl as he jotted down his number and the address of The Hideout. "Tuesday night," he said, tapping the pen against the paper before sliding it back to her. "Corroded Coffin is taking the stage. It’s loud, it’s unapologetic, and it’s definitely not a jazz bar in Bloomington. But, if you don't mind a little heavy metal, you should come see me actually put this equipment to work." He straightened his vest, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he looked at her. She only raised an eyebrow, fingers tapping the bar surface as if pondering his request. "I’d love to see you there," he added, his voice dropping into a sincere, quiet register. "I’ve spent three years playing to the same bored faces in that town. It’d be nice to have someone in the crowd who actually appreciates music."
She picked up the paper, her eyes scanning the address before she tore the sheet and tucked it carefully into the pocket of her jeans. A thoughtful smile spread across her face. "Tuesday," she repeated, her gaze meeting his with a weight that made his breath hitch again. "I’ll see what I can do. But you better make sure those strings are tuned perfectly. I’m a very harsh critic."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Eddie grinned, finally backing toward the door. He felt like he was walking on air, the jingle of the bell above the door sounding less like a warning and more like a victory chime.
He paused at the threshold, one hand on the brass handle, and turned back for a final flourish. He swept a low, exaggerated bow. "Until then, my silver-tongued siren," he called out, his voice ringing through the shop with a newfound warmth. "May your chords stay true. This humble bard shall count the hours until Tuesday's moon rises."
He winked, and finally stepped out into the afternoon. He hopped into the GMC, slamming the door and letting out a triumphant shout that was promptly swallowed by the roar of the engine. As he pulled away from the curb, his eyes caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. The blush was still there, staining his cheeks a dusty rose, but his grin was wide enough to hurt. He reached over, patting the bag of new strings on the passenger seat like a prized trophy.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, shifting into gear. "Don't screw this up. You’ve got a Gibson-wielding goddess to impress, and only four days to make sure the Coffin doesn't sound like a literal trash compactor." He cranked the volume on his Maiden tape, the twin-guitar harmonies of The Trooper flooding the cab. For the first time in three years, the drive back to Hawkins didn't feel like a sentence. It felt like a countdown.
🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆
It was Tuesday night, and the air inside The Hideout was a thick, stagnant cocktail of stale cigarette smoke, spilled draft beer, and the electric hum of overworked Marshall stacks. Eddie had arrived two hours early, his nervous energy manifesting as a buzzing restlessness that his bandmates had already grown tired of. He’d recounted the story of the "Bedford Siren" no less than six times since load-in. By the fourth retelling, Jeff had stopped looking up from his drum kit, and by the sixth, Gareth had threatened to shove a drumstick in Eddie's mouth if he mentioned the words "Gibson Goddess" one more time.
"She’s not coming, man," Gareth muttered, "You met her once in a music shop ten miles away. Girls like that don't just show up to dive bars because an awkward guy in a vest asked nicely."
"She’s not just a girl, Gareth, you uncultured swine," Eddie shot back, though his stomach did a nervous flip at the suggestion. He was currently pacing the small expanse of the hallway that led to the stage, his rings clicking against the neck of his Warlock. "She’s a kindred spirit. A fellow music lover. A theater nerd who knows her way around a fretboard. She’ll be here."
He looked at the door every time the heavy oak wood creaked open, his heart jumping into his throat only to sink back down when it was just another local regular looking for a cheap pitcher. The bar was filling up. Well, "filling up" by the Hideout standards. A few fellow metalheads, some curious stragglers, and the usual crowd of misfits who found sanctuary in the dark corners of the bar. Eddie checked his reflection in the grime-streaked mirror in the hall next to the stage. He’d put a little extra effort into his hair tonight. "Five minutes, Munson," the bar manager grunted, signaling toward the clock.
Eddie took a deep breath, the scent of the bar suddenly feeling suffocating. He adjusted his guitar strap. He’d spent hours yesterday stretching the new strings she’d sold him, making sure they were settled and ready to howl.
"Alright, boys," Eddie said, "Tonight, we don't just play. We melt faces. We go out there like the Prince of Darkness himself is in the front row. Clear?" He was met with the excited energy that only can come from teenage boys indulging in their favorite pastime as they finally stumbled out of the hallway. He stepped up to the mic, the feedback whining in anticipation. He took one last, desperate scan of the room. The door swung open again, letting in a swirl of cool night air and the muffled sound of a car engine cutting out. For a second, the silhouettes were just shadows against the neon "Budweiser" sign. But then, he saw the shift of a leather jacket and the unmistakable movement of a confident stride.
She slid through the crowd with a devastating ease, stepping toward the edge of the light. She paused, reaching up to shed her jacket, and Eddie nearly dropped his pick as he took in the change. She looked like she’d been pulled straight from a 1970s rock festival. She was wearing a tight, shortly cropped Wings t-shirt that had seen its fair share of wash cycles, paired with high-waisted black denim bell-bottoms that flared out over the tops of her boots. Topping it all off was the schoolboy cap featuring pins he couldn’t quite make out from a distance, but the overall effect was like an ACDC album cover. It screamed "I know exactly where I am," and it sat on her with a natural, effortless cool that made every other girl in the bar seem to fade into the background. Eddie stood paralyzed, his fingers frozen on the fretboard, his jaw probably hovering somewhere near his knees. He was staring and he knew it, but he couldn't find the mental brakes to stop.
"Eddie!" Gareth’s voice hissed from behind him, sharp and impatient. "Eddie, for the love of God, the intro!" Gareth’s hiss acted like a bucket of cold water. Eddie snapped his head back, blinking rapidly as his brain finally reconnected with his hands. He looked back toward the edge of the stage just in time to see her catch his eye. She didn't look flustered. Instead, she raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips quirked into a knowing smile. She gave him a small, two-fingered wave. The kind that said I'm watching, Hawkins, so don't blow it.
Eddie felt the adrenaline hit his system like a live wire. The nervousness was still there, buzzing under his skin, but it was being rapidly overtaken by a fierce, desperate need to show off. He slammed his hand down on the strings, and the first chord of the set ripped through the smoke-filled air with a raw, aggressive power that made the floorboards groan. He threw himself into the music, the world outside the stage lights blurring into a haze of distorted sound and flickering shadows. Between the shredding and the straining growl of his vocals, he lost track of her in the dark. The Hideout was a sea of shifting shapes and nodding heads, and he couldn't afford to scan the crowd while trying to keep Corroded Coffin from derailing. He played with a manic intensity, his hair flying as he thrashed his head. The new strings she’d sold him biting into his fingertips.
Halfway through the set, the energy shifted. Eddie wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a ringed hand and signaled for Gareth and Jeff to hold up. They knew exactly what was coming, and they weren't thrilled about it. Eddie stepped up to the microphone, his chest heaving. He looked out into the gloom, a lopsided, slightly breathless grin on his face. "Alright, folks!" he barked, though his eyes were searching the back of the room. "I have to offer a little disclaimer. I apologize in advance if this next one sounds like absolute dogshit. It’s... well, it’s one we had to pull from the archives."
Gareth let out a long, dramatic sigh behind him. Eddie’s mind flashed back to the previous forty-eight hours. The absolute war he’d waged to get the guys to agree to this. He had practically held them hostage in the garage, forcing them to relearn a song they hadn't touched since their first month of jamming together. There had been shouting, there had been threats of mutiny, but Eddie had been relentless. He needed something with soul.
He closed his eyes for a second, catching a glimpse of a familiar silhouette leaning against a wooden pillar near the bar. "This one’s for the Gibson wielding Goddess who drove out of her way to hear us butcher Sabbath," he murmured, earning a few chuckles at the self deprecating humor. He let out a slow, steady breath and began the slow, bluesy opening crawl of Led Zeppelin’s Since I’ve Been Loving You. The transition from thrash metal to agonizingly slow blues-rock was jarring, but as Eddie’s fingers danced over the frets, coaxing a mournful, soaring wail from his Warlock, the room went eerily still.
Eddie poured himself into the solo, his eyes squeezed shut as he bent the strings until they practically wept. Chasing that feeling his mother had loved. Every slow slide was a message sent directly across the room. A bridge built of high-voltage wire and raw vulnerability. Behind him, the guys held the rhythm with a surprising steadiness despite it being a last minute addition to their set. He was sweating through his shirt, his curls plastered to his forehead, completely lost in the agonizing beauty of the track.
As the final, haunting chord began to decay, vibrating through the wood of the stage until it was just a ghostly hum, Eddie finally dared to open his eyes. He didn't have to search for her this time. She was right where he’d seen her last, but she wasn't leaning back with that guarded, teasing smirk anymore. She was leaning forward, her arms crossed over the railing, her body language completely open. In the dim, smoky light, he caught her gaze. She was smiling. Not the teasing smile from the shop, but something genuinely impressed. She was nodding her head slowly, a rhythmic, appreciative movement that told him she hadn't just heard the song; she’d felt it. She looked entirely consumed by the performance, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made the rest of the room vanish. The rest of the set was a blur of adrenaline and unadulterated showing off. With her eyes locked on him every time he glanced up, Eddie played like a man possessed. Every power chord felt heavier, every solo faster, his fingers flying across the frets with a precision that usually deserted him halfway through a crate of cheap beer. He barely felt the sting of the strings or the sweat stinging his eyes.
When the final crash of cymbals signaled the end of the night, Eddie didn't wait for the scattered applause or the usual post-show banter with the guys. As the house lights flickered to life he practically peeled the Warlock off his body. He set the guitar into its stand and hopped off the edge of the stage before the feedback had even fully died out. He moved through the crowd with a single-minded focus, sidestepping a drunk regular and ignoring Jeff calling his name. He didn't stop until he was standing directly in front of her, his chest still heaving. "So," he panted, his hair a chaotic mess around his face as he wiped a streak of sweat from his temple. He tried to summon the smirk, but his heart was beating too hard for his usual theatricality. "How did I do? Am I still a candidate for that roadie position, or should I stick to my day job of failing calculus?"
She didn't answer immediately. She just looked at him, her gaze traveling from his ripped jeans up to his wide, expectant eyes. The smirk she’d worn in Bedford was back, but there was a new warmth behind it, a softness that made Eddie’s stomach do a slow, dizzying roll. "You're a liar, Munson," she finally said, her voice low and smooth under the humming of the bar’s neon signs.
Eddie blinked, his confidence faltering for a split second. "A liar? I’ve been nothing but an open book!"
"You told me you played aggressively," she countered, stepping into his space, her fingers catching the wallet chain hanging from his jeans, tugging him just a fraction closer. "You didn't mention you could play with that much soul. Zeppelin? That wasn't dogshit, Eddie. That was... something else entirely."
Eddie felt his face heat up, the adrenaline of the performance curdling into a delicious, dizzying sort of bashfulness. He shifted his weight, leaning one hand against the wooden pillar she’d been occupying, effectively caging her into a small, private pocket of the loud bar. As he leaned in, the scent of vanilla he’d noticed in Bedford was now layered with the familiar tang of a recently smoked cigarette and the malty aroma of the longneck beer bottle she held loosely in her other hand. It was the smell of The Hideout, but on her, it was aphrodisia. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and summon the confident persona that usually came so easily. He let a crooked smirk pull at his lips, his eyes dropping to the beer in her hand before flicking back to hers.
"Well, you know," he started, his voice dropping into a drawl that he hoped sounded suave and not just like he’d been screaming for an hour. "I figure if a legendary creature like yourself is going to brave the treacherous journey to Hawkins, the least I can do is provide a soundtrack worthy of the journey. I’d hate for you to think the local talent was... lacking in inspiration."
She let out a soft snort, her eyes tracking the way he was trying to look effortless while his chest was still heaving from the set. She slowly rolled her eyes, the movement playful enough that Eddie didn't feel the sting. "God, you are so corny, Munson," she laughed, taking a slow sip of her beer while she watched him over the bottle. She lowered the amber glass, her thumb tracing the condensation on the label. "Normally, I’d have to penalize you for a line like that." Eddie opened his mouth to defend his honor, but she held up a finger to silence him, her smirk softening into something that made his knees feel like they were made of jelly.
"However," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that cut straight through the house music playing over the speakers. "I think I can find it in my heart to grant you a pardon tonight. Only because you went through the trouble of dedicating a Zeppelin track to me. And because you actually managed to hit those high notes without your voice cracking."
"It was a calculated risk," Eddie admitted, his cocky facade finally cracking into a genuine, beaming grin. "High stakes, high rewards. Does this mean the harsh critic is officially satisfied with the evening's entertainment?"
“Very satisfied," she purred, the words vibrating with a low resonance that seemed to travel straight down Eddie’s spine. She took another slow pull of her beer, her eyes never leaving his, and Eddie felt like he was a second away from short-circuiting. The bravado he’d spent the last hour projecting on stage suddenly felt like a suit of armor that was three sizes too big. He was Eddie Munson. He was supposed to have a witty comeback for everything. But standing this close to her, under the harsh yellow glow of the house lights, he found himself utterly tongue-tied. He looked down at his sneakers for a second, his rings catching the light as he nervously fidgeted with his belt loops.
"I, uh... good. Great. Excellent," he stammered, before mentally kicking himself for sounding like a broken record. He cleared his throat and looked back up, trying to regain his footing. "Can I... can I get you another one? Another beer, I mean. Not that I'm trying to ply the Bedford Siren with spirits, but the service in this establishment is notoriously slow unless you know the guy behind the tap."
She tilted her head, looking at the nearly empty bottle in her hand and then back at him. She seemed to weigh the request for a moment, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. "I think I can manage one more and still be okay to navigate the treacherous roads back to my realm," she decided, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
"Music to my ears," Eddie grinned.
Without thinking and driven by a sudden burst of "now or never" confidence, he reached out and took her hand. Her skin was cool compared to his post-show heat, her fingers slender but strong. He tugged her gently, weaving through the lingering crowd toward the bar. Eddie kept her close, his shoulder brushing against hers as he carved a path through the sweaty bodies and discarded plastic cups. When they reached the sticky wooden edge of the bar, he didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, pulling her into the small space beside him, shielding her from the rowdy regulars with his own body.
"Hey, Rick!" Eddie barked, catching the bartender's eye with a wave. "Two more! And make 'em cold. We’ve got a VIP in the house tonight." Rick only rolled his eyes and grabbed two Coors out of the fridge and popped the bottle caps, setting them down before turning away without a word.
“He’s chatty,” she remarked, the corner of her mouth quirked in a grin as she claimed one of the sweating bottles. As she tilted it back to drink, Eddie reached out, his hand hovering briefly to arrest the movement. He held the crown of his own bottle out toward her, an unspoken invitation suspended in the space between them. For a fraction of a second, her gaze flickered with a quiet, curious confusion. The look of someone momentarily caught off guard by a sudden shift in the script. Then, the understanding settled in. She met the gesture with a deft movement, clinking her glass against his with a clack that punctuated the low roar of the bar.
Eddie lowered his bottle, a stray drop of condensation clinging to his thumb, and felt the intense beat of his heart finally begin to settle into something more sustainable. The bar was a riot of sound but tucked into this narrow sliver of space at the counter, the world felt strangely compressed. “So,” he started, leaning his weight onto his elbows. He shifted his weight, trying to find a pose that felt like effortless rockstar and less like a kid vibrating out of his skin. He watched her for a moment, the way she handled the grimy atmosphere of the Hideout as if she’d personally designed the decor. She was so composed, so entirely there, that Eddie felt a pang of certainty that she had lived a dozen lives while he was still stuck repeating his senior year. She likely had a string of Bloomington musicians in her wake. Guys who knew how to talk to a woman. College boys who had an actual future.
He cleared his throat. He wanted to say something smooth, something that suggested he was a man of the world, but his brain could only offer up a clumsy bridge between his two favorite worlds. “Now, I don’t want to presume the nature of your... mission to Hawkins,” Eddie began, his voice laced with a nervous energy he couldn't quite suppress. He toyed with the heavy silver ring on his thumb, his eyes darting to the label of her bottle before snapping back to hers. “But a guy could get the wrong idea. A girl drives all this way, braves the local fauna of the Hideout on a Tuesday? One might think she was looking for more than just a souvenir guitar pick.”
It was clunky. A bit too wordy and transparent. Eddie felt the heat of his own awkwardness prickling at the back of his neck. He watched her carefully, certain that a woman who carried herself with that kind of effortless gravity probably had a trail of much smoother, much more experienced men in her wake. He felt like a level-one bard trying to charm a high-level sorceress with a cantrip he’d only half-learned.
She didn’t laugh at him, though. Rather than letting him flounder in the awkward silence of his own making, she closed the distance, her boots scuffing as she pushed her way into his space. She didn't stop until her hip pressed into his side. Eddie’s breath hitched, his elbows sliding just a fraction on the bar as he found himself suddenly, wonderfully pinned by her proximity.
“You want to know the truth, Munson?” she murmured. “I haven’t been able to get our little encounter on Friday out of my head. Not once. I stared at the phone for two days, but I didn’t want to be the one to call. I didn't want to seem... overeager.”
Eddie’s brain short-circuited. The girl he’d been dreaming about had been sitting at home, thinking about him? The mental image of her wrestling with the same restless, pacing energy he’d been nursing since Friday felt like a victory more significant than any natural twenty he’d ever rolled.
She reached out then, her hand moving with a focused intent that made his heart threaten to beat out of his chest cavity. She didn’t go for his hand or his shoulder; instead, her fingers trailed upward, ghosting over the wild, untamed tangle of his curls. She caught a stray lock of dark hair between her fingers, testing the texture of it with a soft, appreciative hum. “And for the record,” she added, her eyes tracking the movement of her own hand as she tucked a curl behind his ear. “I love the hair.”
The bashfulness hit him then. Genuine reaction of a guy who had spent most of his life being told his appearance was a problem to be solved. He ducked his head slightly, his shoulders hunching as he offered her a small, lopsided smile that was far more vulnerable than anything he’d shown on stage. But then, a flicker of something else stirred beneath the bashfulness. A spark of the guy who had climbed onto cafeteria tables to face down the world. If she was going to bridge the gap, if she was going to stand there and tell him she’d been thinking of him, he wasn't going to let the moment slip away into a stuttering mess of apologies.
With a steadying breath that he hoped didn't look as shaky as it felt, he reached out. His movements were slow, giving her every second to pull away, but she stayed right where she was. He let his hand settle tentatively against her side, his palm finding the narrow, warm expanse of skin where her cropped shirt rode up above the dark denim of her jeans. The contact was electric. Her skin was soft, radiating a heat that seemed to travel directly up his arm and settle in the center of his chest. His thumb brushed against the curve of her waist, his rings feeling cold for a split second against her warmth before they acclimated to her. He felt the slight hitch of her breath beneath his touch.
Eddie’s pulse was frantic now, but as he looked at her, he didn't pull back. He kept his hand there as some sort of physical claim in the middle of the crowded bar. "I, uh... it's a lot of maintenance," he stammered, his voice sounding lower, roughened by the proximity and the sudden weight of his own hand against her. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of the suave persona he’d been projecting, even as his fingers curled slightly against her skin. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him further, her body language shifting from a flirtatious challenge to something more intimate. Her hand settled on his shoulder, her fingers finding a different, thick strand of his hair. She began to toy with it, twisting the curl around her index finger as she looked up at him, her eyes soft and shining with a playful sort of surprise.
“Maintenance, huh?” she asked, her voice a low, rhythmic purr that seemed to vibrate right through his denim vest. “Tell me, Munson, does the Dungeon Master have a specific ritual?”
Eddie opened his mouth to answer, a rambling explanation about specific drug-store conditioners and the struggle of humidity already halfway up his throat. “Well, see, the trick is you can’t actually brush it when it’s dry, or you end up looking like a Pomeranian that’s been…”
He trailed off, the words dying as he caught the look in her eyes. She wasn’t actually listening for hair care tips. She was watching his lips move, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw while she continued to weave her fingers through his curls. The question was just a flimsy excuse to keep her hands on him. She let out a soft, throaty chuckle as his voice failed him, her gaze traveling over the vivid, traitorous heat that he could feel creeping up his neck and flooding his face.
“You know, for a guy who has that kind of stage presence, you really are something else when you’re flustered,” she murmured, her thumb ghosting over the apple of his cheek. “It’s incredibly endearing, Eddie.”
Eddie let out a shaky, self-deprecating breath, his hand on her waist tightening just a fraction as he tried to find his footing. “How is it possible?” he managed, his voice sounding raw and far more honest than he’d intended. “How are you so... grounded?I feel like I’m literally about to turn into a puddle right here. And you look like you’re just having a casual stroll through the park.”
A knowing, secret smile pulled at her lips. She leaned in closer, bridging the final inch of space until her lips were hovering just beside his ear, her breath a warm, tickling sensation against his skin. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered, her voice a smooth, conspiratorial velvet. “I was a theatre nerd. Shakespeare, remember?” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, her expression dancing with a mixture of mischief and warmth. “I’m not actually this cool, Eddie. I’m just very, very good at acting like I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Eddie’s hand stayed anchored at her waist, but his thumb went still against her skin as he processed her confession. The admission that she was "acting" should have made him feel more on her level, but instead, it sent a jolt of caution through his system. His mind flickered back. An unwelcome strobe light of a memory, to a rainy afternoon when he was thirteen. He could almost feel the sting of Ronnie’s gentle rejection, the hollow weight in his gut when he realized he’d completely misread their friendship. He couldn't do that again. Not with her.
“And what are you doing… exactly?” he asked, his voice barely more than a rough murmur. He tried to keep it light, to lace it with his usual eccentric curiosity, but the vulnerability he was trying to shield was leaking through the cracks. She didn't pull away. She let the strand of his hair go, her palm flattening against the back of his neck, her fingers tangling slightly in the curls at the nape. She looked at him, her eyes searching his with a steady, unblinking focus that made the air in his lungs feel heavy.
“The real question, Eddie,” she whispered, “is what do you wish I was doing?”
He let his gaze drop to her lips, then slowly back up to her eyes, his thumb tracing a deliberate, trembling arc against her waist. "I think," he began, "that if I actually answered that, the Dungeon Master would have to call for a wisdom saving throw. Because my wishes... aren't exactly PG-rated tonight, Bedford."
He leaned in that final, agonizing inch, until the tip of his nose brushed against hers. The world outside their small circle became a muffled, distant static. “Try me,” she whispered, looking up at him with encouraging wide eyes.
"I wish," he whispered, his breath hitching as he felt her fingers tighten at the nape of his neck, "that you’d stop acting for a second and you’d tell me if this script ends with me finally getting to see if you taste as good as you look, or if I’m destined to spend the rest of the night wondering if I’m just a fading curiosity."
She didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him, her gaze dropping to his lips with a heavy, lingering intent that made the air in Eddie’s lungs turn to lead. The silence stretched, thick and humming with the kind of electricity that usually preceded a lightning strike. Then, slowly, she pulled back just an inch, her eyes flicking toward the heavy oak door at the front of the bar before returning to his. “I’m dying for a smoke,” she said, her voice regaining a bit of that dry, practical edge. She gave his shoulder a playful pat, her hand sliding away from his neck. “And you... you should probably go pack up that Warlock of yours. It’s a lot of guitar to leave sitting on a stage in a place like this.”
Eddie felt the floor drop out from under him. The sudden withdrawal of her touch felt like a cold front moving in to replace the heat of a moment ago. He stood there, his hand still hovering awkwardly near the space where her waist had been, his mind racing to find where he’d tripped the wire. He’d been too bold. He’d overstepped. He’d taken a "try me" as an invitation and turned it into something too real, too fast.
“Right,” he managed, the word sounding hollow and brittle. He forced a stiff smile onto his face, his rings catching the light as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He started to turn away, his shoulders hunching in a defensive crouch, the familiar weight of rejection settling into his bones. He was already rehearsing the self-deprecating joke he’d tell Gareth later to mask the sting.
But before he could take a single step toward the stage, she moved. She bridged the gap again, tugging him back into her orbit. She leaned in, her lips finding the shell of his ear, her voice a low, secret vibration that cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Have a little faith, Sir Munson,” she whispered, her breath warm and smelling of vanilla. “I’m not making an exit. I’m just making sure there won't be any interruptions. I'll be by your van. Don't make me wait.” She pulled back, giving him a wink, before turning and heading toward the door with that same confident stride.
Eddie stood at the bar for a beat longer, his pulse thrumming in his ears, before he let out a breathless laugh. He turned and practically bolted toward the stage. Gareth and Jeff were already there, winding up cables and snapping latches on road cases, but their movements were sluggish. They were both staring at the front door as if expecting it to burst back open.
“So,” Gareth started, his voice a mixture of awe and genuine confusion as he looked at Eddie. “That was her? The actual manifestation of your hyper-fixation?”
“She’s real,” Jeff added, shaking his head. “And she was all over you. I think I saw your soul leave your body for a second there.”
Eddie reached for his Warlock, his fingers trembling with a newfound energy as he slid it into its coffin-shaped case. He tried to puff out his chest, catching his reflection in the stage monitors and attempting to summon a look of cool, calculated triumph. He adjusted his jacket, tossing his hair back with a flourish that was about sixty percent bravado and forty percent sheer panic. “What can I say, boys?” Eddie quipped, though his voice cracked just enough to betray him. “The lady has discerning taste. She knows a legendary bard when she sees one.” But as he snapped the last latch on his guitar case, the facade flickered. He leaned his forehead against the cold Tolex of the case for a fleeting second, letting out a long, shaky exhale. “Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes wide and slightly glazed. “I think I’m actually about to die. My heart is doing things it’s definitely not medically cleared to do.”
Gareth snorted, hoisting a drum throne over his shoulder. “Well, don't die on the stage. Rick’ll charge us a cleaning fee.”
“I can't stay,” Eddie said, suddenly galvanized, grabbing his gear with an urgency. “I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Every second I’m in here talking to you two losers is a second I’m risking her realizing she could do infinitely better.”
Jeff frowned, looking around the emptying bar. “Waiting? Where? She walked out the door, man. She’s probably halfway to the county line by now.”
Eddie offered a manic, lopsided grin as he began to back away toward the hallway, the Warlock case bumping against his leg. “She’s waiting by the van while I pack up to ‘ensure there are no interruptions’, I’ll have you know.”
The two of them stopped dead, exchanging a look. A slow, mischievous grin spread across Jeff’s face, and Gareth let out a low whistle that echoed through the darkening room. “The van?” Gareth repeated, a wicked glint in his eye. “In the parking lot? Damn, Munson.”
“Godspeed, Eddie,” Jeff called out, tossing a balled-up bit of tape from their cables toward him as a parting gift. Eddie didn't even bother with a retort. He just flipped the bird over his shoulder and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, his mind already miles ahead of his feet, sprinting toward the cool night air and the girl waiting by the rusted-out GMC.
🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆
The drive from Hawkins to Bloomington was usually a mundane stretch of Indiana blacktop, but this Saturday evening, Eddie barely noticed the miles. His mind was a chaotic rewiring of the last four days, a highlight reel that played on a continuous loop behind his eyes.
Tuesday night in the back of the War Wagon was the undisputed headliner. The air in the van had been thick enough to choke on. Heavy with the scent of her vanilla perfume, the lingering metallic tang of the bar, and the humid heat of two people who had run out of words. He could still feel the weight of her. The way she’d climbed into his lap and draped herself over him like she belonged there. She’d been relentless. The agonizing friction as she rutted against his thighs, her hands tangled in his hair while he gripped her waist with a desperation that bordered on feral. He’d come so close to losing it right there in his denim, his breath hitching in a series of broken, pathetic sounds that she’d swallowed with open mouth kisses, before they’d finally forced themselves to call it a night.
She’d promised to call before she even climbed out of the back into the brisk air. And she’d kept that promise. Every single night since, the phone in the trailer had become Eddie’s lifeline. They talked until his ear went numb and Wayne started knocking on the wall, trading stories that went deeper than the "freak" persona he projected for the world.
Then there was Thursday. A mid-week fever dream where he’d pushed the van to its limit just to meet her at the edge of Bedford. They’d found a nondescript, neon-lit burger joint. The kind of place where the grease soaked through the paper bags before you even got to the window. It was perfect. He remembered the way she’d sighed, kicking off her boots and propping her sock-covered feet up on his dashboard, her toes wiggling to the rhythm of something on the radio. They hadn’t talked much then; they didn't need to. They’d just shared a strawberry shake and watched the lightning bugs congregate in the tall grass, the silence between them feeling more comfortable than any conversation he’d ever had with a girl in Hawkins. But now, the neon "OPEN" sign of the Bloomington blues bar was staring him down. Eddie adjusted the collar of his vest. He wasn't the frontman tonight; he was the visitor in her realm, and he was dying to see if the girl under the stage lights was the same one who’d left her footprints on his dashboard.
The heavy door of the Bloomington club swung shut, cutting off the humid Indiana night. The place felt different from the Hideout; the air was thinner, smelling more of expensive bourbon and old wood than stale PBR and regret. Eddie knew he was early, his internal clock having run on overdrive for the entire drive, so he kept his head down, slipping toward the mahogany bar. He ordered a Jack on the rocks and retreated to a shadowed corner table, a tactical position that offered a clear view of the modest stage.
He didn't have to wait long. A side door near the stage creaked open, and the band began to file out. Eddie leaned forward, his drink momentarily forgotten. He was struck first by the company she kept. He’d expected peers but these men were seasoned. They were middle-aged, faces etched with the kind of lines only decades of late nights and low lamplight could carve. One man, cradling a weathered saxophone, looked to be pushing sixty, his hair a shock of silver against a dark vest. And then, there she was.
She looked radiant, a sharp contrast to the lived-in grit of her bandmates. She was wearing a short, dark dress, paired with a vintage fur coat that was already beginning to slip provocatively down her shoulders. She looked like a starlet who had wandered into a noir film, her presence commanding the room before she even touched a microphone. As the house lights began to dim, a single blue spotlight cut through the haze, catching a flash of silver on her own hand that made Eddie’s heart stop.
They had been sitting in the cramped cabin of the War Wagon, the windows beginning to fog from the heat of their proximity. The radio was a low hum between them, and Eddie’s fingers had been restlessly tapping an uneven beat against the steering wheel. She had reached out, her cool hand catching his, stilling his movements. She didn't say a word as she looked at his hand, her eyes tracing the heavy silver of the ring on his index finger. A piece of gothic hammered metal he’d worn since he was fifteen. She’d slid it off his finger and onto her own. It was too big, hanging loose against her skin, but she didn't seem to mind. She just turned her hand over, admiring the weight of it.
Suddenly, the staticky speakers of the van had flared to life with the opening, upbeat chords of Suzi Quatro’s "Stumblin' In." She’d let out a small, breathless laugh, her shoulders hitching as she looked at the dashboard. "Oh, god," she’d murmured, her voice laced with a sudden, uncharacteristic bashfulness. "I love this song." She glanced at him, her eyes guarded as if she expected him to scoff. "I know, I know. I’m admitting to liking something soft and sugary to a god of metal like yourself. It’s probably a strike against my cool-girl credentials, isn't it?"
Eddie had looked at her, watching the way the neon light of the burger joint turned her features into a palette of pink and orange. Instead of the biting remark she’d clearly expected, he’d leaned his head back against the seat and started to sing. "Our love is alive, and so we begin..."
His voice wasn't the gravelly roar he used on stage; it was softer, a light, melodic baritone that caught the rhythmic swing of the track perfectly. He saw her eyes go wide, her mouth parting in a tiny "o" of genuine surprise. "Foolishly laying our hearts on the table," he continued, a playful, lopsided grin spreading across his face as he nudged her shoulder with his own. "Stumblin' in..."
She’d joined in then, her voice a rich, soulful harmony that bridged the gap between his metal world and her bluesy heart. In that moment, surrounded by the smell of fries and the glow of the radio dial, the genres didn't matter. They were just two kids in a van, finding the same tune.
Back in the present, under the blue light of the Bloomington stage, she gripped the fretboard of her guitar with that same hand. His ring still shining defiantly on her finger. She scanned the dark room, and for a moment, Eddie was certain her gaze locked onto his corner. The smirk she gave the microphone was a silent acknowledgment that she was glad he came.
She didn't introduce the band or offer a rehearsed greeting to the crowd. Instead, she simply nodded to the drummer behind her. The count-in was a sharp, clicking rhythm that was immediately drowned out by the deep, honey-thick growl of her ES-335. Watching her play was a different experience than seeing her lean over a music shop counter. Here, she was the authority. She moved with a controlled, swaying grace, her fingers dancing over the frets with a technical precision that made Eddie’s own style feel like a chaotic brawl.
Midway through the first set, the tempo dropped. The middle-aged bassist fell into a slow, walking groove, and the saxophonist stepped back into the shadows. She stepped up to the mic, the fur coat finally sliding completely off her shoulders to pool around her elbows, revealing the delicate line of her collarbones. She didn't look at the crowd this time. She looked straight toward the back corner, toward the flicker of the candle on Eddie’s table.
She didn't rush the microphone; she drifted toward it, her boots clicking softly against the wood as the band transitioned into a slow, dirty blues shuffle. She gripped the stand with both hands, the fur coat finally surrendering to gravity and slipping to the crook of her elbows.
“We’re gonna slow it down just a hair,” she said into the mic, her voice a low, honeyed rasp that made the ice in Eddie’s drink rattle as his hand shook. She scanned the dark room, her eyes eventually finding his corner and staying there, pinned and unwavering. “This next one goes out to a certain… traveler. A guy who thinks he’s a lot more dangerous than he actually is, but who knows exactly when to lean in.”
A few light chuckles rippled through the sophisticated crowd, but Eddie felt like he was the only person in the building. The band dropped into a heavy beat, the bass player’s thumb thumping out a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat against the floorboards. She leaned into the mic, her eyes hooded and dark, her voice a rich, soulful rasp as she delivered the opening line.
"These men that I've been seeing, baby... got their soul up on the shelf."
He’d spent years watching his peers. The guys who peacocked in the locker rooms or treated girls like trophies to be won and discarded. He thought of his own three boxes theory and realized how shallow he had been. But as she continued, her voice swelling with a gritty, uncompromising power, he realized she was cutting through all of it.
"You know they could never love me, When they can't even love themselves"
She was so casually stripping away the performance. Eddie watched the way she leaned her lips into the microphone, his silver ring catching the blue light as her fingers danced on the frets, and he felt a strange illumination in his chest. He knew what it was like to struggle with that. To hide behind a "freak" mask because the person underneath felt too small, too battered. And yet, all things considered Eddie knew who he was. The parts of himself he could control, he liked. When she reached the chorus, her gaze intensified, locking onto his with a heat that made the back of his neck prickle.
“I want a man to rock me like my backbone was his own. Darlin', I know you can”
The line hit him with the force of a freight train. His mind flashed back to Tuesday night, to the way he’d held her in the van, his hands shaking but steady enough to keep her close. He hadn't wanted to "take her for a ride"; he’d wanted to be exactly what she was asking for. Someone who could hold the weight of her without folding. Someone to be strong enough for the both of them.
She let the guitar do the talking for a moment. A stinging, bent note wailing out from the ES-335 that sounded like a cry for help and a declaration of war all at once. She moved with the music, her body swaying in a slow, hypnotic curve that made Eddie’s pulse hammer.
"I come home sad and lonely... feel like I wanna cry. I want a man to hold me, not some fool to ask me why."
There was a raw vulnerability in her delivery that moved him more than the technical skill of the band ever could. She was telling him what she needed. A man who understood the shadows. Someone who wouldn't put himself above her, or beneath her, but would simply stand beside her when the house lights went down. As she reached the final, lingering notes, her voice dropped to a near-whisper, a conspiratorial secret shared across the crowded room.
"Don't you put yourself above me... you just love me like a man."
The final chord decayed and for a long moment, the bar stayed silent. Eddie sat in the shadows, his drink forgotten, his eyes wide and bright. He felt seen in a way that terrified him, but as she stepped back from the mic and offered him one last, lingering smirk, he knew he wasn't going to run. Eddie lifted his glass, the amber liquid catching the last of the blue stage light, and offered a silent, steady toast to the air between them. He capped it with a slow, deliberate wink before taking a long pull of the whiskey.
As the band transitioned into a more upbeat, rhythmic shuffle, Eddie sank back into the shadows of his booth, letting the music wash over him like a tide. She stayed at the microphone for a few more tracks, her voice weaving through the smoky air with an effortless, practiced soul. She shared a few harmonies with the older saxophonist, her head tilted back, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips that seemed to say she was exactly where she was meant to be. She sang a haunting, low-tempo cover of a Janis Joplin track that made the hair on Eddie's arms stand up, and later, she retreated to the edge of the stage to provide a steady, driving rhythm for a long, improvisational bass solo.
But for Eddie, none of it quite reached the heights of that Bonnie Raitt cover. The lyrics to Love Me Like a Man were etched into his brain, playing on a loop alongside the memory of her fingers tracing his silver ring. It was a heavy thing to ask of someone and Eddie found himself wondering if he was actually up to the task. He was used to being the one who needed an audience, the one who filled the silence with noise to keep the dark at bay. It was a new kind of quest, one where the monsters weren't made of lead and paint, but of shared history and quiet, lonely nights. Eventually, the set wound down. The silver-haired drummer let out a final, resonant crash of the cymbals, and the house lights began their slow, amber climb back toward reality. The applause was warm and lingering, a sophisticated roar that filled the room as the band began to unstrap their instruments.
Eddie watched as she handed her Gibson off to the older man, her movements tired but graceful. She didn't head for the stage room or linger to talk to the regulars who were already drifting toward the stage to offer their compliments. Instead, she grabbed her fur coat from the back of an amp from where she’d tossed it towards the end of the set, slinging it over one shoulder.
While the band had been taking their final bows, Eddie had made a quick retreat to the bar, navigating the cluster of Bloomington jazz-heads to flag down the bartender. The man had looked Eddie over, eyes lingering just a second on the denim vest and the chaotic hair, before his expression softened into something knowing. "She’s a powerhouse, isn't she?" the bartender had murmured, already reaching for a heavy-bottomed rocks glass. "Her usual is an Old Fashioned. Extra bitters, easy on the sugar. She likes the bite."
Now, as she reached the table, Eddie slid the condensation-beaded glass toward her. The orange peel twist caught the low light, glowing like an ember against the dark wood.
Her eyebrows shot up, a tired but genuine smile breaking across her face. "An Old Fashioned? You’ve been doing your homework."
"I have my sources," Eddie quipped. "I figured a goddess of your stature shouldn't have to fetch her own libations after a performance like that."
She didn't stay on the other side of the table. Instead, she rounded the edge of the booth and curled up onto the vinyl seat right next to him. She didn't leave a polite gap either as she pressed herself directly into his space. Eddie felt the air leave his lungs as she settled in, her thigh flushing against his in a move that was as forward as the lyrics she’d just sung. She took a slow, appreciative sip of the drink, her eyes closing for a brief second as the bite of the bourbon hit her tongue. When she opened them, she was looking up at him from under her lashes, the silver of his ring flashing as she rested her hand on the table, dangerously close to his own.
“So,” she murmured, her voice a low vibration that seemed to pull the shadows of the booth tighter around them. “Did the reality live up to the day dream, Munson? Or do I need to go back up there and do an encore to keep your interest?”
Eddie looked down at her. The proximity was intoxicating. The scent of the stage, the vanilla, and the sharp, citrusy tang of her drink all swirling into a cocktail that made his head spin. He didn't pull back. He leaned his head against the back of the booth, turning his face just enough so that he could catch the heat of her gaze. “Interest was never the problem,” he admitted.
Slowly, she reached out, her hand disappearing beneath the edge of the table to slide firmly across his denim-covered thigh. Her fingers moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation, the pressure of her palm sending a jolt of heat straight to his core. She looked up at him through the dark fringe of her lashes, her eyes heavy with a look that made the smoky air in the bar feel ten degrees hotter. "Yeah?" she asked, the word a soft, sultry challenge that hung in the air between them.
Eddie swallowed hard. He looked at her, noticing the way she was looking at him like he was the only thing in the room worth seeing. "Yeah," he whispered, nodding slowly. "I'm always stuck in this... middle ground with you. Half the time, I’m trying so hard to be the guy who deserves to stand next to you. And the other half? I just want to drop the act. I want to tell you all the dorky, uncool things I love without apologizing for any of it."
He let out a shaky breath, his own hand finding hers beneath the table, his fingers lacing through hers. "I'm stuck between wanting to just hold your hand and walk through a park like we're in some cheesy rom-com... and wanting to get you out of here right now." He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before flicking back to her eyes, his pupils blown wide. "I want to find out if you're just as pretty underneath me as you are standing under those blue lights."
She didn't flinch at the intensity of his gaze. If anything, she leaned in closer, her thumb tracing the seam of his jeans while she studied the vulnerability etched into his face. The smoke-heavy air of the club seemed to hold its breath as she tilted her head. "Eddie," she murmured, her voice dropping the sultry lilt for something far more direct. "Have you ever had sex?"
Eddie froze, his mind instantly spiraling. He could lie. He could weave some elaborate, rock-star tale of a wild night after a gig. Something involving a groupie and a motel room and she’d probably believe him. He was nineteen, after all. He was supposed to have a few notches on his belt. But as he looked at her, seeing the way his ring caught the amber light on her finger, the lie died in his throat. He realized he didn't want to give her a performance. Not after the song she’d just sung for him.
"No," he admitted, the word sounding small and startlingly honest. He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh, his gaze dropping to the table. "Believe it or not, there isn't exactly a long, winding line of girls in Hawkins eager to jump into bed with the long haired, super-senior freak."
He felt a sharp pang of shame. The weight of his reputation in that small, narrow-minded town suddenly felt like a lead weight. He waited for her to realize she was wasting her time. Instead, she hummed. "Well," she said, her voice reclaiming that teasing, melodic edge as she tightened her grip on his hand beneath the table. She leaned in until her lips were ghosting just beneath the shell of his ear, "I think those girls in Hawkins must be even more boring and stupid than you let on.”
"I don’t know, I think they just have a very healthy survival instinct," Eddie muttered, his eyes darting to his drink. He tried to rely on his usual shield of self-deprecation, a nervous twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I’m an acquired taste, like... black licorice."
She didn't laugh. Instead, she reached out with her free hand, her fingers catching his chin and firmly turning his face back to hers. She shook her head, her expression settling into something intensely serious, stripping away the layers of his defense until he felt completely exposed. "Stop it," she commanded softly. "I’m not being nice. You are, without a doubt, the coolest guy I’ve ever met."
Eddie’s breath hitched, the joke he’d been about to make dying in his throat.
"You’re incredibly talented," she continued, her voice a low, steady anchor. "You get what it’s like to have a home life that isn't exactly a Hallmark card, which is a rare thing in this corner of the world. And you’re the only person I know who doesn't look at me like I’ve grown a second head when I randomly drop into Shakespearean English."
She leaned in, the thumb of her hand on his thigh traced the heavy denim seam again, her voice dropping into a register that made his entire body hum. "I may have only known you a week, Eddie Munson, but I’ve already spent a significant amount of time imagining things." She paused, her smirk returning. "Some of it is wholesome. Like how cute you looked with mustard on your cheek or how adorable it is after it rained and your hair gets all frizzy. But mostly, I’ve been wondering what it would be like if you played me as well as you play that Warlock."
Eddie choked.
A genuine, undignified sputter as he inhaled a bit of his Jack and Coke at the exact moment she finished that sentence. He coughed into his fist, his face turning a shade of red, until he finally managed to clear his throat and blink the stinging tears from his eyes.
"Right," he rasped, his voice an octave higher than usual before he settled it back down. "Okay. Message received. Loud and clear. Critical hit." He leaned in, his fingers twitching against his glass. "Is there... I mean, hypothetically, if I were to act on that very specific and terrifyingly enticing invitation… assuming that was actually an invitation… is there somewhere we can go? Because I don't think my van is quite the private chamber you deserve tonight."
She smiled, a slow, cat-like curve of her lips as she watched him recover. "My aunt is out of town for the weekend," she whispered, her hand finally sliding up from his thigh to lace her fingers with his on the table. "The house is quiet. And very, very empty."
Eddie didn't even hesitate. "Can I follow you back? I’ll stick to your bumper like glue, I swear."
"Actually," she said, tilting her head toward the stage, "I could use a ride. I tagged along with the bassist tonight since my car’s been making a sound like a dying cat."
Eddie didn't answer with words. He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his drink in one determined swallow, the ice clinking against his teeth. She followed suit, tilting her head back to finish her Old Fashioned. "Wait here," she commanded, sliding out of the booth.
He watched her weave back toward the stage, her fur coat swinging around her hips. She leaned over to the silver-haired drummer and the older bassist, nodding toward Eddie as she made her excuses. The bassist, the one who looked like he’d seen everything twice, looked over at Eddie and barked a laugh, saying something low that made the drummer grin and shake his head. Eddie stood up, his legs feeling a little like jelly, and met her halfway as she grabbed her Gibson case. He reached for it before she could lift the heavy weight, his hand brushing hers.
"Careful with her, kid," the bassist called out, leaning over the edge of the stage with a toothy, mischievous grin.
"Knock it off, Lou!" she shot back, waving him off with a roll of her eyes. She grabbed Eddie’s free arm, her fingers digging into his leather sleeve, and began pulling him toward the side exit. "Ignore them. They’ve been playing bars since the Mesozoic era. They tend to think they’re hilarious."
They burst out of the side door and into the cool, humid night air of Bloomington. Eddie led the way, his sneakers hitting the pavement in a quick shuffle. He fumbled with his keys as they reached the van, the rusted GMC looking like a majestic carriage in the yellow glow of the streetlights. He threw the side door open and tossed her guitar case onto the bench seat before turning to help her up. "Watch the step," he breathed, his eyes wide and dark as he looked at her in the moonlight.
Eddie practically hoisted her into the van, his hands lingering on her waist for a split second longer than necessary just to feel the heat of her through the dress. Once she was settled, he slammed the heavy door shut with a triumphant thud and sprinted around the front. He vaulted into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition. The engine turned over with a guttural, rattling roar that felt entirely appropriate for the state of his nerves. He didn't waste time. He threw the van into gear and tore away from the curb, the tires chirping as he pointed the War Wagon toward the highway that led back to Bedford.
Beside him, she didn't seem bothered by the sudden G-force. She leaned forward, her fur coat spilling over the center console as she began to dig through the disorganized mountain of cassettes littering the floorboards. She tossed aside a few home-recordings before her eyes lit up. "A call back," she murmured, sliding Holy Diver into the tape deck.
The opening synthesized growl of "Stand Up and Shout" exploded through the van's mismatched speakers, the riff immediately filling the cramped cabin. Eddie found himself drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. "Good choice, Bedford!" he shouted over the music, a wild, reckless grin splitting his face as they hit the open road.
They had just cleared the final flickering streetlights of Bloomington’s city limits, the dark, rolling hills of the Indiana countryside swallowing the highway, when the atmosphere inside the van shifted. The neon glow of the dashboard caught the wicked curve of her smile as she turned in her seat. She didn't say a word. She just leaned across the console and reached out. Eddie’s breath hitched as he felt her cool fingers find the metal button of his jeans.
"Eyes on the road, Munson," she purred, her voice nearly lost under Dio's soaring vocals.
Eddie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white, his heart performing a frantic, chaotic solo against his ribs. The highway was a blur of gray and black, and for a terrifying, wonderful second, he forgot exactly how to breathe. "I... uh...," he managed to stammer, his head falling back against the headrest as he felt the button pop. "Right. The road. Keeping my eyes... on the road."
The heavy bassline of Dio’s anthem pulsed through the space, but it was quickly eclipsed by the rush of blood in Eddie’s ears. He felt the cool slide of the zipper, a sound he felt more than heard, followed by the sudden, sharp relief of the cool night air against his skin as she cleared the path. She didn't hesitate. With a fluid, cat-like grace, she slid out of the passenger seat and knelt in the narrow, carpeted gap between the two pilot chairs. The van hit a small dip in the highway, but she braced herself against his thigh, her touch grounding him even as his head began to swim. When she leaned forward and took him into her mouth, the world outside the windshield ceased to exist.
Eddie’s head snapped back against the headrest, his eyes fluttering shut as a groan tore from his throat. It was a raw, unfiltered sound that drowned out Ronnie Dio’s soaring vocals. His hands cramped around the steering wheel, his knuckles white and shaking, as he struggled to remember the basic mechanics of driving.
"Jesus," he gasped.
The sensation was overwhelming. A localized explosion of heat and friction that made every nerve ending in his body scream. He was nineteen, operating on a decade's worth of built-up anticipation and a week's worth of agonizing tension. Having experienced this long awaited act was almost more than his system could handle. He felt the occasional glide of his own silver ring against his skin as she used her hand to guide what she couldn’t take in her mouth, and it sent a fresh wave of electricity straight up his spine. He fought the urge to look down, knowing that if he did, he’d lose whatever precarious grip he had on his remaining sanity, not to mention, the steering wheel.
"You're... you're gonna be the death of me," he managed to choke out, his chest heaving as he stared blindly at the road ahead, his hips jerking involuntarily upward into her warmth. "The absolute... death of me."
The dashboard hummed with the vibrations of the music, but Eddie felt like he was being slowly dissolved from reality. In his head he’d rehearsed this a thousand times. He’d read the descriptions in the back of the dirty paperbacks Wayne kept in the trailer, heard the guys in the locker room talk about it and had certainly spent enough lonely nights in his bedroom imagining the mechanics. He’d assumed it would feel nice. In theory, the idea of a warm, wet environment pulling at him was a solid concept. A gold-tier fantasy. But theory was a pale, flickering candle compared to the bonfire currently happening in his lap.
It wasn't just the warmth, though that was a shock in itself. It was the intensity of the suction. Every time she moved, her tongue swirled or her throat tightened around him, and a new wave of pleasure surged up his spine, short-circuiting his brain until he couldn't remember his own middle name. The actual experience was a sensory overload he hadn't been prepared for. It was a visceral, bone-deep sensation of being wanted, and of being the sole focus of someone who knew exactly how to dismantle him. He’d spent his life playing the role of Hawkin’s “Freak". Al, the dead beat Munson’s boy. The guy everyone looked down on. But right here, in the narrow gap between two pilot seats, he felt like a king.
As she increased the pace, her hand guiding him with a firm, steady grip, Eddie’s vision blurred. The white lines of the highway ahead became long, glowing streaks of light. The world was narrowing down to a single point of white-hot sensation until an aggressive blare of a horn shattered the spell. The left tires hugging the yellow line as an oncoming sedan flashed its high beams in warning. The sudden jolt of adrenaline was a cold bucket of water. Eddie yanked the wheel back to the right, his heart leaping into his throat for an entirely different reason. She pulled back just an inch as she looked up at him with a look of unbothered mischief.
"I said eyes on the road, Munson," she murmured before she leaned back in with a renewed, predatory vigor.
"I can't–I'm gonna–" Eddie’s words came out jumbled. The combination of near-death on the asphalt and the expert movements happening in his lap was too much. He couldn't keep the van between the lines and keep his soul from leaving his body at the same time. With a shaky hand, he flicked the indicator and guided the GMC onto the gravel shoulder, the tires crunching loudly as they came to a rolling stop. He threw the van into park, the engine idling. He reached down, his fingers lacing into the hair at the nape of her neck. He didn't pull, but he held her there, his knuckles brushing the soft skin behind her ear. "Is this... you're okay? I'm not..." he trailed off, his voice thick and uncertain. He wanted this more than his next breath, but the gentleman buried under the denim and chains needed to hear it. She didn't speak. She just looked up at him, her eyes wide in the dim light of the cabin, and gave a firm, decisive nod.
That was all the permission he needed.
Eddie let out a sound as he finally let go of the restraint. He guided her back down, his hand steadying her as he pushed deeper, the raw reality of her throat closing around him far more intense than any fantasy. He bucked upward, his hips moving. She let out a muffled, involuntary gag as he hit the back of her throat, her eyes watering but never leaving his. The vulnerability of it, the sheer trust of her letting him do this, sent him over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers tightening in her hair as he finally came. His body racked with a series of long, shuddering tremors that felt like they were shaking the very frame of the van.
Eddie sat there for a minute, his head lolling back against the headrest while his chest heaved in uneven bursts. The world was slowly reassembling itself. The smell of the old upholstery, the distant hum of the idling engine, and the fading wail of a guitar solo on the stereo. He felt heavy, light, and completely hollowed out all at once. Eventually, he forced his eyes open, looking down at her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking remarkably composed given she’d just dismantled him.
“Holy… sweet mother of Mary,” he managed to croak out. Panic suddenly flared in his brain. He began to dig frantically through the center console, his rings clattering against loose change and old guitar picks. “Gum. I have gum. Somewhere. I know I have a pack in here for emergencies.” He finally unearthed a crumpled yellow pack and held it out to her with a hand that was still visibly trembling. “In case you, uh… want to get the taste of the Hawkins freak out of your mouth.”
She let out a soft, throaty laugh that made his stomach flip, taking a piece and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thanks, Munson. You’re a real peach.”
She moved, sliding back into the passenger seat and pulling her fur coat back up over her shoulders. Eddie stayed where he was, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, trying to convince his legs that they still knew how to operate pedals. After a few steadying breaths, he reached across the console. He simply took her hand, his thumb tracing the silver ring of his she was still wearing. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “That was amazing,” he whispered, his eyes dark and sincere as he looked at her. “Truly. But you’ve officially ruined this van for me, Bedford.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ruined it?”
“Yeah,” Eddie grinned. “Because now, every single time I’m behind this wheel, even if I’m just driving Gareth to practice or going to get cigarettes, I am going to be vividly imagining road head.”
She watched him, her head tilted against the headrest, with a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She looked utterly unbothered, almost serene in the dim amber glow of the dashboard. But as the silence stretched, the manic grin on Eddie’s face began to falter. A flicker of something else crossed his features. He looked down at his lap, then back at her, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically quiet and heavy.
"What?" she asked, her voice dropping the sultry edge for something more curious. She reached out, her finger tracing the line of his jaw. "What’s that look for?
Eddie let out a long, slow breath, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "I just..." He paused, "I feel like a bit of a prick, honestly. I’m sitting here making jokes about road head and my van being ruined, and you just... you did that. For me." He looked at her then, his big, dark eyes wide. "And as much as I loved every agonizing second of it, it feels a little one-sided for my taste. I don’t want to be the guy who just... takes."
He shifted the van back into drive, but he didn't let up on the break yet. He leaned over the console. "I’d really like to get back to your place, Bedford," he whispered. "Because I’d very much like the chance to show you exactly how thankful I am.”
She didn't say a word, but the way her breath hitched and her pupils dilated told him all he needed to know. "Well then, Munson," she murmured, a glimmer of challenge in her eyes. "I suggest you stop talking and start driving.
The twenty-minute crawl toward Bedford was the most exquisite form of torture Eddie had ever endured. The adrenaline from the roadside stop was still humming in his veins, but it had shifted. He couldn't just sit there with his hands at ten and two. Not after that. Tentatively, his hand migrated across the console, his palm finding the smooth, exposed skin of her thigh where the dress had ridden up. The warmth of her was startling. He let his fingers trail upward, tracing the soft curve of her leg with a slow deliberation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a constant, flickering watch on her. He was terrified of overplaying his hand, and assuming that he had a permanent green light. But every time he looked over, she was leaning back against the seat, her head tilted toward him with an expression that was nothing short of encouraging. “Left at the next light, Munson,” she murmured, her voice like velvet.
As he turned the wheel, his hand moved a fraction higher, his thumb grazing the very edge of her hem. The absolute frustration of being strapped into a vibrating metal box while the person he wanted to dismantle was sitting inches away becoming almost unbearable. Yet, the frustration of the drive was being rapidly eclipsed by a spike of anxiety that began to twist in his gut. It was one thing to act the part of the confident lead guitarist, but the reality of a stationary bed and four quiet walls was starting to loom like a boss battle he hadn't leveled up for. Eddie’s mind was suddenly sprinting through every worst-case scenario. He was acutely aware of every flaw. The way his ribs poked out a bit too much, the spastic energy he couldn't always turn off, the fact that his experience was limited to grainy magazines and his own vivid imagination.
"You're awfully quiet over there, Munson," she said, her voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.
Eddie swallowed hard, his throat feeling tight. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to admit that his heart was currently trying to exit his ribcage. But he also didn't want to break the spell. He wanted to be the man she asked for in that song. He squeezed her thigh, and forced a breath out through his nose. "Just concentrating on the road," he lied. “Gotta make sure the Princess gets back to her tower in one piece.”
Sensing the sudden, tight tension in his frame, she reached down and laced her fingers through his, her palm pressing firmly against the back of his hand. Eddie almost groaned aloud when the contact made it undeniable. His fingers were shaking. She didn't pull away or laugh. Instead, she leaned over the center console, her shoulder pressing into his arm. "There is absolutely nothing to be nervous about, Eddie," she murmured.
"I beg to differ," he countered, his voice cracking just enough to make him wince. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark ribbon of the highway, but his grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. "You’ve already proven, quite wonderfully, I might add, that you’re a goddamn expert in this arena. Meanwhile, I’m feeling like I’m flying a plane in the middle of a storm with no radar and a manual written in a language I don't speak. I don't want to be a disappointment, Bedford."
She squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing the silver rings on his fingers. "Look at me," she commanded softly. He flicked his gaze toward her for a split second before returning it to the road, but the heat in her eyes was enough to make his head swim. "Do you trust me?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered instantly, and he realized with a start that he meant it. It wasn't just about the prospect of sex. It was about the way she looked at him. The way she heard the music in his head, and the way she didn't flinch at him the way everyone else did. "And are you willing to listen to me?"
"Of course," he rasped. "I'm a very attentive student. Well, if you don't count the super-senior thing."
A small, genuine smile touched her lips, and she leaned in closer until her breath was hot against his ear. "Then you have nothing to worry about." The knots in his stomach didn't disappear, but they loosened just enough for him to breathe again. He squeezed her hand back. “Right here,” she whispered, pointing toward a narrow lane lined with overgrown maples.
Eddie turned the wheel, the tires crunching onto a gravel driveway that tucked back away from the street. He put the van in park, the engine giving one final, shuddering rattle before falling silent. He took a moment to just look at the place. It wasn't the sprawling, pristine estate he might have expected for a girl who looked like she belonged on a velvet-lined stage. It was a simple, small historic house. The kind with deep eaves and white siding that had grayed over decades of Indiana winters. A bit decrepit around the edges. A loose shingle here, a slightly sagging porch step there, but it had a soul. A single lamp cast a warm, buttery glow through the living room curtains, and the porch light flickered behind a frosted glass shade, welcoming them into the quiet. It felt lived-in. It felt safe. It felt like the kind of place where the rest of the world couldn't find them.
"Home sweet home," she said softly.
Eddie hopped out of the driver's side, moving with a quietness that was unusual for him. He met her at the side of the van, his sneakers barely making a sound on the gravel as he swung the heavy sliding door open. He reached in and grabbed the Gibson case, handling the instrument with care. She led the way up the front steps, her fur coat swaying under the porch light. Eddie followed a step behind, his eyes fixed on the way she moved.
She fished her keys out of her coat pocket. She turned the lock and pushed the door open, and Eddie stepped over the threshold. He didn't say a word, he just followed her into the warmth of the house, the scent of old wood and dried lavender wrapping around him as the door clicked shut behind them. She lingered by the door for a moment, the heavy fur of her coat slipping slightly as she turned to face him. "Can I... get you anything?" she asked, her voice sounding different now. "I’ve got tea, or I think there’s some wine left in the kitchen."
Eddie paused, his throat still feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of dry Indiana dust. "Water would be a godsend, actually," he rasped, offering a small, tired smile.
She nodded toward the back of the house. "Kitchen’s through here."
Eddie moved into the living room, moving gingerly as if he might break the stillness. He found a spot for the guitar case near an old, velvet-backed armchair. When he straightened up, he noticed her still standing near the entryway. She was shifting her weight, her fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on her dress’s hemline. "I... sorry," she said, her eyes scanning the room as if seeing it through a stranger’s eyes for the first time. "I realized as we were walking up that I don't really bring people around here. Like, ever. And it’s... it’s a bit of a mess. My aunt isn't exactly a decorator, and the floorboards creak if you breathe on them too hard."
Eddie let out a short, genuine scoff, his head shaking as he looked around the cozy, slightly cluttered space. He took in the stacks of books, the mismatched rugs, and the faint scent of old paper. "Bedford, look at me," he said, stepping back into her space. He gestured vaguely toward the worn denim, the rings, the messy hair that had been through the wringer tonight. "I live in a double-wide trailer with my Uncle. The decor consists of empty beer cans, an aggressive amount of mugs and trucker hats and my half-finished D&D maps. There are layers of dust that are probably older than I am. Clean is a concept I only understand in theory." He took another step closer, his voice dropping. "This place? It’s got a soul. It’s nice. Really."
She looked up at him, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to dissolve. "Okay," she breathed, a small, relieved smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Water. Right. I'll be back in a second."
Eddie watched her disappear into the kitchen, the floorboards indeed giving a friendly, familiar groan under her boots. He stood in the center of the living room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and realized that there was a possibility that she was just as nervous as he was. Only that she’d been better at hiding it up till this point.
He had spent the entire week viewing her as this untouchable, mythic entity. A siren who had stepped out of a folk song and landed in his passenger seat. He’d been so preoccupied with his own shaking hands and the fear of being "just a freak" that he hadn’t considered the quiet weight she was carrying. Seeing her stand there, apologizing for the creak of a floorboard or a stack of unread mail, humanized her in a way that made his chest ache.
He scanned the room again, really looking this time. There were stacks of film theory books on the coffee table next to a bowl filled with take out menus. A stray guitar pick sat on the mantel next to a framed, grainy photo of an older woman laughing in a garden. This was the place where she didn't have to be the girl with the Gibson. She was just a girl living in a town that probably didn't understand her any more than Hawkins understood him.
He heard the tap run in the kitchen, the plumbing letting out a distant rattle. He pulled his hands from his pockets and started to pace the small area of the rug. When she stepped back into the living room, she was holding two mismatched glasses of water. She’d shed the fur coat and in the soft light of the single lamp, she looked smaller. She walked over and handed him a glass, her fingers brushing his, and Eddie noticed that her own hand wasn't as steady as it had been on the highway. "Here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eddie took a long sip, the water soothing his parched throat, but his eyes never left hers. He set the glass down on a ceramic coaster and reached out, gently catching her wrist. "Hey," he said, "You don't have to put on a show for me here. The Blues Siren routine is great, don't get me wrong but I’m pretty fond of the girl who lives in the creaky house, too."
She didn’t look away this time, but her eyes seemed to fix on a point just past his shoulder. "I'm just..." she started, her voice sounding raw. "I'm not used to people actually seeing me. Not the performance, not the girl on stage with the Gibson. Just... this. And liking it."
She leaned her hip against the back of the armchair, her fingers tracing the worn velvet. "I was a total pariah in high school, Eddie. I wasn't the cool, mysterious girl back then. I was the girl people avoided because I was 'weird' or 'too much.' I never really had friends growing up. The two or three people who tolerated me packed up and left the second they got their diplomas, and I can't say I blame them."
She let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "When I got to college, I realized I could just... reinvent. I could fake the confidence. I could be this person because nobody there knew every cringey, desperate thing I did as a teenager just to keep people from messing with me. I built a character so I wouldn't have to be the girl who ate lunch in the library anymore."
"Hey," he said, his voice soft but firm as he reached out, taking both of her hands in his. He squeezed them, forcing her to feel the callouses of his palms. "Look at me. " He waited until her eyes locked onto his. "You think I don't get that? I’m the guy who stood on a cafeteria table and made a speech about being non conformists just last week. I’m a guy who wears all this like it's a suit of armor because if I don't look like I’m dangerous, they’ll realize I’m just a guy who likes to play pretend in a dusty room with my dorky friends. Everything I do is all just a way to survive high school without losing my goddamn mind."
He took a step closer, closing the gap until the warmth of her breath was ghosting over his lips.
"I would never judge you for that. Not in a million years. Especially not for the stuff you do to get by, because I’m doing the exact same dance. If you want to be the confident chick out there, that’s fine. I’ll be your biggest fan. But in here?" He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers. "You don't have to fake a single thing."
The tension in her hands finally snapped, and she leaned into him, her face hiding in the crook of his neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart finally start to sync up with his. Eddie pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. He felt a protectiveness that overrode his own hormones. He might have been dying for the chance to finally cross that finish line, but the guy who looked out for the lost sheep of the Hellfire Club wasn't about to let her feel like she had to perform for him just to keep him interested.
"Hey," he whispered, his thumbs tracing the line of her collarbone. "You know we don't have to do... anything, right? The highway stuff was incredible, and I am definitely a fan of your work, but we can just hang out. We can put on a movie, or just sit here and talk. I’ve actually got some pretty decent weed back in the van if you’d rather just get high and forget the world exists for a few hours."
She pulled back, her eyes searching his face with a flicker of skepticism. Her brow arched as she studied his sincerity. "Are you telling me, Eddie Munson, that after everything I just did in that van, you’re offering to go back out into the cold for a bag of weed and a movie?"
Eddie let out a self-deprecating laugh, his ears turning a faint pink. "I’m saying I like you. And I don't want you to feel like you’re on a stage in your own living room. If you’re tired, or if you’re just in your head too much right now, I’m good. I’m content just being in the same zip code as you."
She looked at him for a long beat. Then, the skepticism melted. She leaned closer, closing the small gap, and the vulnerability in her gaze shifted into heat that made his breath catch. "I appreciate the offer, Eddie," she said, her voice dropping back into that bluesy rasp that always made his knees feel like they were made of water. She reached out, her fingers hooking into the collar of his leather jacket and pulling him down until their noses brushed. "I really do. But..." She gained confidence with every syllable, her smirk returning. "I don't want to get high and I definitely don't want to watch a movie," she murmured, her eyes dropping to his mouth before locking back onto his. "I want to get you into my bedroom, where I want to take those ridiculous chains off you.”
He managed to find his smirk again, though it was a little lopsided and breathless. He stepped back, giving her a theatrical, sweeping bow that sent his hair cascading over his shoulders and his silver chains rattling as if to punctuate her sentiment at how ridiculous they were. "Well, in that case," he said, his voice dropping into a playful, faux-chivalrous rumble, "lead the way, milady."
She let out a genuine laugh that echoed through the quiet house. The sound finally chasing away the last of the awkwardness. She reached out, swiping a lock of hair from his face as she stepped past him, her hand trailing along the wall as she headed toward the narrow hallway. "Follow the creaking floorboards, Munson," she tossed back over her shoulder, her hips swaying under the silk of her dress.
Eddie straightened up, and as he started to follow her, he caught the faint, amused whisper she breathed into the dark hallway. "Dork." A ridiculous grin broke across Eddie’s face. He didn't even mind. In fact, coming from her, it sounded like the highest compliment he’d ever received. The bedroom door clicked shut behind them before he truly had time to process it. Eddie stood for a moment, his back against the wood, just taking it in. If the living room was a sanctuary, this was the inner sanctum. It was a chaotic, beautiful explosion of everything she was when the world wasn't looking.
High on the walls, old black-and-white movie posters were tacked up next to charcoal sketches that looked fresh, the edges of the paper still smudged. An easel stood in the corner, a half-finished canvas draped in a thin cloth, surrounded by a minefield of paint tubes and jars of murky water. One entire wall was dominated by a music system that looked like it cost more than his van, flanked by a library of vinyl and cassettes that made his own collection look like a starter kit. And there, glowing under the soft light of a beaded lamp, was a rack holding three guitars. A Fender, a battered acoustic, and a sleek black Gretsch that looked like it could kill a man.
"Damn, Bedford," he whispered, his eyes wide. "You’ve got a whole ecosystem in here." Eddie didn't wait for an invitation this time. He stepped into her space and slid his hands around her waist. He pulled her flush against him looking down at her. "You're incredible," he murmured. He leaned down, and when their lips met, the kiss was different. It wasn't the desperate clash they’d shared in the van.
As the kiss deepened, Eddie’s mind started to betray him.
He was a guitarist. His hands were his livelihood. He knew how to bend a string until it wailed. But as he held her, a sudden, paralyzing wave of uncertainty washed over him. He realized with a jolt that his hands were currently the most important tools in the room, and he had absolutely no blueprint for how to use them. Sure, they’d made out. He knew the basic geometry of a girl’s waist and the way the back of her neck felt. But this was different. This was the moment where "making out" turned into "making love," and the technicality of it all started to feel like an exam he hadn't studied for.
Where was he supposed to start? Should he reach for the zipper of her dress, or would that be too aggressive? Was he supposed to keep his hands on her waist, or would it be better to cup the side of her cheek? He was acutely aware of his rings and he worried about them being too cold against her skin or catching on the delicate silk of her dress. He felt like his hands were suddenly twice their normal size, clumsy and uncoordinated.
He wanted to touch her everywhere. To trace the line of her spine. To feel the heat of her shoulders. To learn the geography of her body with the same precision he used on a fretboard. But he was terrified of the silence that would follow a wrong move. His thoughts all swimming. Don't squeeze too hard. Don't be too light; she’ll think you’re scared. Wait, are you supposed to move your thumbs like that? Should you be taking your own shirt off first?
She felt the way his hands went rigid, she broke the kiss, pulling back just a few inches to look him in the eye. "You’re still in your head, Munson," she whispered. "You’re nervous."
Eddie let out a breath that sounded like a tire deflating. "No shit," he rasped.
She laughed and gave his chest a playful shove. "Go to the turntable. Pick an album. Any album. Put it on and let it do the work for a minute."
Eddie sighed, but he didn't argue. He welcomed the task. He needed a moment to ground himself, in something he understood. He walked over to the stack of vinyl, his fingers skimming the spines until he found a worn, yellowing cover. Ray Charles. Hallelujah I Love Her So. It felt right: soulful, steady, and a little bit gritty. He slid the record out, placed it on the platter, and carefully lowered the needle. The crackle of the static was a comfort before the upbeat, soulful piano of "Ain't That Love" began to bounce through the speakers.
When he turned back, the room felt different. She was already on the bed, her back propped against a headboard that, upon closer inspection, was just a series of old wooden crates turned on their sides and bolted together. The bed itself was barely a foot off the floor. Just a mattress thrown over a makeshift platform of old shipping pallets. It was DIY, a little rough around the edges, and perfect.
She had already lit a cigarette, the smoke curling toward the ceiling in the lamplight. Eddie walked over and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, the pallet frame creaking. Without a word, he reached out, and she handed him the cigarette. He took a long, slow drag, letting the nicotine steady his nerves. He noticed her boots were already discarded on the rug. Feeling the need to catch up, Eddie leaned over and began to unlace his own sneakers. He kicked them off with a thud, but as he pulled his feet up onto the mattress, he felt a sudden flush of heat creep up his neck. Right there was a decent-sized hole in his black sock, his big toe peeking through like a stray stowaway. "God," he muttered, staring at the hole. "The King of the Freaks, ladies and gentlemen. I'm taking you to bed with a hole in my sock. Truly, I am the height of sophistication."
She let out an unladylike snort. "Oh, knock it off with the self-deprecation routine, Munson," she said, rolling her eyes as she leaned forward. The movement brought her dangerously close, the scent of her perfume overwhelming his senses. She reached out, her fingers ghosting over the frayed edge of the hole in his sock before she leaned in to whisper against the shell of his ear, her voice a seductive purr. "The socks stay on. It’s a very specific kink of mine."
Eddie barked out a laugh, the sound genuine and loud enough to startle himself. The sheer absurdity of it broke the last of the glass walls in his mind. He looked at her and the nervousness that had been a tight, cold knot in his gut began to unfurl. He didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his weight on the low mattress, moving closer until their knees were locked together. He didn't hand the cigarette back. He held it up, his hand steadying as he brought the filter to her lips. He kept his eyes locked onto hers, an intense, unwavering stare that challenged her to look away first. The room felt like it was shrinking, the upbeat rhythm of Ray Charles’s piano fading into the background as the space between them became charged. His thumb brushed the corner of her lower lip as he held the cigarette steady. There was a gravity in his gaze now, a silent communication that the dork was stepping aside for a moment to let the man who had been wanting this all week take the lead.
She didn't blink. She met his stare with an intensity of her own, her eyes tracking the slight movement of his hand before she leaned in. She took a slow, deep drag of the cigarette while his fingers remained touching her mouth, the cherry of the tobacco glowing bright between them. As she exhaled, the cloud ghosting over his lips, Eddie didn't move an inch. He just waited, his heart hammering a heavy beat against his ribs, finally ready to see exactly where this was going to lead him.
She reached out and took the cigarette from his fingers, her eyes never breaking the connection as she leaned over to crush it out in an ashtray resting precariously atop a stack of heavy hardbacks. When she turned back, she didn't settle back against the crates. Instead, she rose onto her knees, the mattress dipping and the wooden pallets beneath giving a groan under her weight.
She reached for the lapels of his leather vest. "Can I take this off?" she whispered, her voice soft. Eddie nodded, his throat too tight to offer a witty retort. He worked his arms out of the heavy leather, helping her slide it off his shoulders until it slumped onto the floorboards. Without the vest, he felt suddenly exposed, his white t-shirt clinging to him in a way that felt like it was broadcasting every boney shape of his torso.
She didn't move toward his shirt yet. Instead, her hands found his forearms. Her touch was light, almost feather-like, as her fingertips traced the ink of the puppet master leading toward his elbows, until he turned his arm around and her callouses landed on his bats. She followed the lines of the wings with a slow reverence that made the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. "Do you have any others?" she murmured, her thumb pressing into the soft skin of his inner wrist.
"Yeah," Eddie rasped. "A few."
"Can I see them?"
He nodded again. His hands reached for the hem of his shirt, and for a second, they stalled. He didn't say he was nervous, but the fabric of his shirt bunched and trembled in his grip. He pulled the shirt up and over his head, the cotton catching briefly on his messy curls before he tossed it aside. The air in the room hit his bare skin, and he felt an involuntary shiver ripple across his shoulders. He didn't look at her immediately. Instead, he looked down at his own lap, his chest rising and falling in shallow, visible hitches. He stayed very still, his elbows tucked slightly inward as if trying to take up less space, his fingers curling and uncurling against his denim-clad thighs. He felt every inch of himself on display. The pale stretch of his torso, the dark ink of the demon on his chest, the way his ribs flared with every breath. He was waiting for the verdict, his entire frame humming with a tension so tight it felt like a guitar string tuned three steps too high, vibrating on the verge of snapping.
She didn't move away. If anything, she drifted closer, the mattress dipping further as she moved her weight to accommodate the new, bare reality of him. Her hands remained steady as they migrated from his wrists up the lean, pale expanse of his arms. When her fingertips finally reached the ink, she traced. Her touch was agonizingly slow. A gentle exploration that turned his skin into a sensory minefield. She lingered especially long on the spider perched near his collarbone, her index finger following the spindly, arched legs of the arachnid where they led into the hollow of his throat. Eddie felt his swallow catch halfway down, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath her touch. He was acutely aware of how small her hand looked against his chest, and how loudly his heart was thumping against his ribs.
She let out a low hum that seemed to resonate in the small space between them. "Very metal, Munson," she murmured, a trace of a smile ghosting her lips as she admired the dark artwork. Her hand slid around to the side of his bicep, her eyes scanning the collection of symbols and creatures he’d gathered like a visual diary of his own rebellion. "So, tell me," she whispered, her breath warm against the skin of his shoulder. "Which one is your favorite?"
Eddie took a shaky breath, the air whistling through his teeth as he tried to regain his composure. He shifted his weight, rotating his right arm slightly so the back of it faced her. "This one," he said, gesturing with a tilt of his chin toward his triceps. Under the amber lamplight, the ink was visible. A sharp-winged, serpentine dragon coiling around the faint, almost non-existent muscle of his arm. Its jaw frozen in a silent, defiant roar. It was older than the others, the lines a bit softer but the detail still fierce.
"The wyvern," he explained, his voice gaining a sliver of that old storytelling gravity. "Most people think it’s just a dragon, but it’s different. Two legs instead of four. It’s a bit of an underdog in the monster manual. It’s got to be faster, meaner, and more resourceful just to survive." He paused, his eyes flickering up to hers for a brief second. "I always felt a bit of a kinship with the lesser monsters. They usually have better stories."
She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in closer, her nose almost brushing the ink of the wyvern’s wing as she studied it with a focus that made Eddie’s entire arm feel like it was on fire. "The underdog monster," she repeated softly. Eddie’s gaze flickered away, his neck flushing a deeper shade of red. He couldn’t maintain that level of eye contact. Not while he was sitting shirtless on a pallet bed, feeling like she was reading the fine print of his soul via the ink on his skin. It was exposure of the highest order. The good kind that made your skin tingle and your stomach drop.
His eyes landed on the charcoal sketches tacked to the wall near the easel. Her talent was undeniable. The lines were aggressive but precise, capturing shadows with accuracy. "I didn't realize you were... god, I didn't realize you were this incredible at art," he said, his voice regaining some of its volume as he focused on a sketch of a detailed spindly tree. He let out a breathless chuckle. "I mean, I probably should've guessed, right? You're literally in school to be an artist. It’s kind of in the job description."
She shrugged, her hand dropping from his arm as she leaned back slightly, her expression shifting into something uncharacteristically modest. "I’m decent. It’s mostly just a way to get the noise out of my head."
Eddie shook his head emphatically, his wild curls bouncing. "No, Bedford. You're better than decent. You’re 'enlist-you-to-design-my-next-campaign-map' good. Or better yet..." He looked back at her, a spark of genuine excitement momentarily overriding his nerves. "I’d kill to have you design my next tattoo."
She scoffed, a quick sound of dismissal as she shook her head. "No way. I am not letting you put my doodles on your body permanently, Munson."
Eddie blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why not? I like them."
"Because they aren’t good enough," she said, her voice dropping. "It’s just sketches, Eddie. Tattoos are... they're forever. You deserve better than some amateur student's charcoal practice."
Eddie didn't even hesitate. He gestured down to the large, snarling demon head sitting right in the center of his sternum, the lines a bit shaky and the shading somewhat muddy. "Bedford, look at this guy," he said with a lopsided grin, tapping the ink over his heart. "The art here isn't exactly immaculate. The guy who did it was working out of a kitchen in a trailer park and he might have been seeing double by the time he got to the smile. It's there permanently. And I love it anyway, you know? But what you do? That’s a hell of a lot better than half the shit already on this pasty white ass of mine."
Her eyes searched his face as if she were trying to see the version of her art that he saw. "I’ll think about it," she murmured, though the stubborn set of her jaw had softened. "But if I draw it, it’s going to be something that actually lives up to the rest of this canvas."
The conversation about ink and art had acted like a brief bridge over a chasm, but now the bridge was falling away, leaving them right back on the edge of the mattress. The weight of the room shifted. The playful debate ended, and in its place, a thick, pressurized tension settled over them. She didn't move her hand away this time. Instead, she let her fingers wander back to his chest, tracing the outline of the demon on his skin before drifting lower, mapping the lean ridges of his stomach. Her touch was slower now, more deliberate, and her gaze followed the path of her hand with a focus that made Eddie feel like he was being memorized.
"You know," she whispered. She leaned in until her lips were ghosting against the shell of his ear, her breath hitching just slightly. "Under all that leather and the hair... you sure are pretty, Eddie."
Eddie felt his stomach do a slow, dizzying roll as her fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans. He was still vibrating, and feeling like he was one wrong move away from short-circuiting, but when he looked at her, he saw a girl who was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. He reached up, his hand trembling only slightly now as he cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. He didn't say anything, and honestly he couldn't have found the words if he'd tried, but the way he pulled her back into a kiss was his answer. It was desperate, heavy, and carried the weight of a week's worth of wanting, finally boiling over in the quiet of the room.
The heavy, electric air of the room seemed to thicken as she pulled back just enough to create a sliver of space between them. The Ray Charles track had transitioned into a slower, more rhythmic groove, the brass section humming steady in the background. She reached behind her back, her shoulder blades moving beneath the fabric as she fumbled with the small zipper at the top of her dress.
Eddie watched her, his hands still hovering in the air where her neck had been just seconds before. His eyes were wide, his pupils blown out until the dark irises were almost indistinguishable. He didn't move until he saw her fingers slip against the metal, a frustrated little huff escaping her lips. He simply tilted his head, a silent, wide-eyed question written across his face: Do you want me to do it?
She met his gaze and gave a single nod. She turned her back to him, the movement shifting the mattress. Eddie took a breath that felt like it had to travel through a mile of lead to reach his lungs. He reached out, his fingers feeling immense and clumsy as he approached the delicate task. As his knuckles grazed her, he felt the heat radiating off her. He found the tiny metal tab and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. He was so agonizingly slow. As the fabric began to part, revealing the graceful line of her spine, Eddie’s pulse spiked so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. He followed the path of the zipper all the way down to the small of her back, his hand shaking with a tremor he could no longer suppress.
He didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his hand hovering just an inch from where the dress had loosened. As she reached up, she hooked her thumbs under the delicate silk straps and eased them over the curve of her shoulders. The dress surrendered, sliding down her frame in a rustle until it pooled around her hips on the low mattress.
Eddie’s brain, usually hyperactive, stalled into a total whiteout. He had spent years imagining moments like this. Moments fueled by late-night magazines but none of it had prepared him for the quiet reality of a woman in front of him. He realized then, that there was no lace or wire to be found. She had been wearing nothing but the dress and a thin-strapped pair of panties, leaving her almost entirely bare to the soft light of the room. When she turned back around to face him, the shift in her weight caused the pallet bed to groan softly.
His eyes tracked upward. He viewed the front of her, his gaze lingering on the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He felt the ache of inadequacy. He was so aware of his own frame. The lanky, pale limbs, the dark ink, the tremors he couldn't hide, meanwhile he looked like something carved from marble and moonlight. His hands, still resting near his knees, twitched. He felt a bead of sweat trek down the back of his neck, the air in the room suddenly feeling five degrees hotter. He wanted to say something but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth.
She didn't look away, and she didn't try to cover herself. She sat there on her knees, her shoulders back, watching the way his eyes moved over her with a quiet, patient confidence. Sensing his paralysis, she reached out and took his hands and guided them back to her waist. Even as his fingers made contact with the soft curve of her hips, Eddie couldn’t keep his gaze steady. His eyes began to dart, frantic and wide, scanning the room as if looking for an exit. He looked at the Ray Charles record spinning on the turntable, at the charcoal sketches on the wall, at the hole in his left sock. Anywhere but the overwhelming reality of the bare woman sitting inches from him.
"Eddie," she murmured in the storm of his panic.
Before he could find his voice to offer a shaky apology she rose onto her feet for a fleeting second, just enough to step over his legs. In that brief transition, the silk dress, no longer held up by the curve of her waist from where she sat, surrendered completely. It slid down her frame as it hit the floorboards.
Then, she climbed onto his lap. The mattress dipped sharply under the added weight. She straddled him, her knees tucking into the space beside his hips, her weight settling firmly against his thighs. He froze, his head snapping up as he was forced to look at her. She was right there, her breath ghosting over his lips, her heat radiating into his chest. He could see the slight tremor in her own shoulders now, a mirror of his own nerves that she had finally stopped trying to hide. He felt small and large all at once, a chaotic mess of ink and nerves held together by the sheer gravity of her presence.
She reached up, her fingers sliding into the wild, tangled mess of his hair, cupping the back of his head to steady him. She didn't push, just held him there, in the center of the world they had built on a shitty pallet bed in a creaky house. "Breath, Munson," she whispered, her forehead leaning against his.
He reached up, his hands still trembling slightly, and cupped her breasts. They were warm and heavy in a way that grainy magazines and his own imagination had never quite managed to convey. A soft, breathless "oh" escaped him, his eyes widening as the reality of her superseded every fantasy he’d ever had.
She looked down at him, a flicker of concern softening her gaze. "Is something wrong? Do you not...?"
"No," Eddie rasped. "No, nothing is wrong. It's just... I’ve never actually felt bare tits before. I didn't realize they’d be this soft. Or this nice. It’s like... god, it's incredible."
The honesty of it seemed to ground them both. Emboldened by her proximity, his thumbs began to move of their own accord, tracing the peaked circles of her nipples. He wasn't even thinking about it. It was an instinctual, tactile curiosity, like a musician finding the right tension on a string.
Her eyes fluttered shut instantly, her head falling back as a long, shaky sigh escaped her lips. Eddie froze, his thumbs going still. "Are you okay? Did I... was that too much?"
She let out a soft, breathy laugh, her eyes remaining closed as she leaned into his touch. "No, Eddie. It’s fine. It just... it felt really good."
Eddie stayed very still. He looked down at his hands, watching the way his calloused, ring-adorned thumbs were pressed against her. Tits had always been a visual concept to him. He hadn't considered the intricacies of the anatomy or the fact that something so small could be so easily stimulated. He hadn't realized that the texture could change under his touch, or that a simple, unconscious movement of his thumb could elicit a sound like that from her. He moved his thumbs again, more deliberately this time, watching the way her breath hitched in response.
He remembered Tuesday. He remembered the cramped interior of the War Wagon, the smell of gasoline and rain, and the way she had come alive when he’d buried his face in the crook of her neck. He remembered how her hands had gripped his hair, and how her hips had found a frantic, punishing rhythm against his denim-clad thigh the moment his lips hit that one sensitive spot.
With a spike of confidence, Eddie leaned forward, letting his head drop. He pressed his mouth into the hollow of her throat, his lips finding the jump of her pulse point. He tasted the faint salt of her skin and the lingering vanilla of her perfume, and he felt a low, vibrating growl start in the back of his own chest. The reaction was instantaneous and even more violent than it had been in the van. A ragged, choked-off sound escaped her as she arched her back, her fingers clenching into the tangled curls at the nape of his neck with enough force to make him wince even if he didn’t mind the pain. The shift in her body was tectonic as she began to grind against his lap. The contact was devastating. Every time his lips moved against her skin, every time his teeth grazed the column of her throat, she responded with a renewed, desperate pressure, her breath coming in short, staccato gasps that synced perfectly with the beat of the Ray Charles record.
She reached down between them, her fingers fumbling with the heavy silver buckle of his belt. Her knuckles grazed the skin just above his waistband, and the contact made Eddie’s vision swim for a second. She wasn't being delicate anymore. There was a hungry energy in the way she worked the leather through the loops, her breath coming in hot, uneven puffs against his shoulder.
Eddie didn’t need a second invitation. "I've got it," his voice a distorted rumble.
He shifted his weight, bracing one hand against the rough wood of the pallet frame to steady them both as he helped her. He made quick work of the button and then he was reaching down to shove the denim toward his knees. He kicked his legs out, the heavy fabric and his leather belt pooling on the floorboards. Eddie sat there, stripped down to the absolute bare essentials, feeling the cool draft of the room against his legs.
His mind flashed back to the van ride earlier with the ego-shattering sensation of her mouth on him. It had been amazing, a core memory in the making, but there was a world of difference between a dark backseat and this room. Being exposed like this, with the light catching every awkward angle of his lanky frame and the nervous tremors he still couldn't quite kill, felt like being on stage without a guitar to hide behind. As she moved to climb back onto his lap, her weight shifting the mattress again, his hand drifted to the thin, delicate strap of her underwear. He gave it a playful, nervous snap against her hip.
"Hey," his voice cracked just a hair before he steadied it. He looked up at her, his dark eyes searching hers. "How exactly does a guy go about... returning the favor?"
A flicker of genuine confusion crossed her face. "Returning the favor?"
"Yeah," Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "You know. Going down. On you. How does a guy do that properly?"
She shrugged, her gaze dropping for a second as she shifted her weight. "I... I'm not really sure, actually."
The admission caught Eddie off guard. The insecure part that lived in the back of his brain, had been trying very hard not to think about her with other guys. He’d assumed, given the sheer confidence she’d shown thus far, that she’d done this a thousand times with guys far more polished than a trailer park metalhead. He figured if she knew how to handle him like that, she must have had plenty of people eager to return the gesture. But looking at her now, seeing that small, uncertain shrug, he realized he might have been wrong. Maybe the Siren didn’t get as much back as she gave. Maybe nobody had ever bothered to take the time to learn the map of her.
The thought made a desperate desire to be the one who got it right. He didn't care if he was a novice. "Can I..." he started, his voice barely a whisper, a quiet question lost in the soul music humming from the speakers. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over the fabric he’d just snapped. "Can I try? To figure it out?"
She sputtered, a startled, breathless sound that was a far cry from her usual composure. "Eddie, I’ve heard... I’ve heard it’s really not that great. Most guys say it’s a chore, or they don’t do it for a reason. You really don't have to."
Eddie just shrugged, a slow, lopsided tilt of his shoulders that conveyed a stubborn lack of concern for what most guys thought. "I don’t really care what the consensus is. I want to try. I want to know everything about you, remember? That includes the parts people are too lazy to appreciate."
She bit her lip, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and a growing heat. Finally, she gave a small, reluctant nod. "Okay. Fine. Lay back."
Eddie didn't need to be told twice. He eased himself down onto the mattress, his head resting against her mismatched pillows. As he settled, she reached down and slid the final barrier down her legs, discarding it somewhere in the shadows near his clothes. Then, she leaned over him, her hand finding the switch on the beaded lamp. The warm glow vanished, replaced instantly by the cinematic palette of the night. The room now washed in the pale, silver-blue light of the moon and the distant, flickering orange of a streetlamp filtering through the window. It cast long, dramatic shadows across the art supplies and the guitar rack, making the space feel even more like a private world.
Eddie reached up, his large hands finding the backs of her thighs. He felt the soft curve of her as he gently but firmly tugged her forward, guiding her weight until she was hovering directly over his face. As his eyes slowly adapted to the shadows of the room, Eddie felt like he was peering through a lens into a world he had only ever heard described in hushed, exaggerated tones. Up close, the perspective changed everything.
The reality was far more detailed than any magazine centerfold. Everything was soft and curved, anchored by the patch of groomed hair that felt like just another texture to memorize. The gravity of the moment was too heavy for a punchline. He let out a shaky exhale and gave a slow, experimental swipe of his tongue across her folds. It was a tentative move, a basic chord struck on an unfamiliar instrument just to see how it sounded.
She buckled, her weight dropping slightly as her knees trembled. One of her hands, which had been resting tentatively on his shoulder for balance, suddenly lunged forward. Her fingers tangled deep into the wild, messy curls of his hair, her knuckles pressing hard against his scalp as she gripped a fistful of him. Eddie’s eyes went wide in the dark. He felt her fingers tighten in his hair, a silent, desperate command to keep going. He didn’t pull away. Emboldened by the way she gripped his hair, Eddie leaned back in, his movements losing their tentative edge and gaining a focused intent. He let his tongue linger this time, a long, slow stroke that started low and followed the center line upward.
He experimented with the pressure, moving from a broad, flat sweep to the sharper, more targeted tip of his tongue. He found that if he swirled it in small, concentrated circles against the sensitive peak hidden in the shadows, her breath shattered. Every time she let out an airy gasp, Eddie cataloged it. He noticed that a soft, suctioning pull of his lips combined with a steady, flicking motion was what made her hips start that searching roll again. He was fascinated by the mechanics of it. The way the textures shifted from soft and velvet-like to something slick and responsive under his touch.
His nose brushed against her, and he breathed in the scent of her deeply feeling it settle into his lungs like a heavy fog. He began to use his lips more, grazing the tender skin of her inner thighs before returning to the center, his tongue now moving with a more confident, metronome-like rhythm. Eddie felt her fingers tighten even further in his hair, pulling him closer as if she were afraid he’d disappear if she let go. The sound of his own heavy breathing and the wet slide of his tongue became the only soundtrack in the room, drowning out the faint crackle of the record player.
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and her hips began to shake with a fine, uncontrollable tremor that vibrated right through his jaw. She let out a sound that wasn't a gasp or a moan, but something raw and grounded. Her strength simply vanished. Her knees, which had been bracketed so firmly around his face, gave out as she collapsed forward, her weight landing fully across his chest and face. Eddie didn't mind. He melted back into the pillows, his head sinking into the soft fabric as he took the full weight of her. He let his arms wrap around her back, his hands splaying wide against her skin to steady her as she shook against him. The room was silent except for the heavy, desperate sound of her trying to find her air and the low, skipping hiss of the record player needle reaching the end of the groove. He lay there in the moonlight. He was exhausted, his jaw ached, and his hair was a total disaster, but as he felt her thighs twitching against the side of his cheek , her skin damp and warm, a triumphant grin spread across his face.
She finally stirred, her limbs moving with a slow, clumsiness as she slid off his face. She retreated only a few inches, kneeling beside him on the tangled sheets, her chest still heaving in uneven swells. The moonlight caught the stunned widening of her eyes as she looked down at him, her lips parted but silent, as if the connection between her brain and her voice had been temporarily severed by the sheer force of what had just happened.
Eddie didn’t move for a long moment, content to let the room spin around him while he stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, he turned his head to meet her gaze, his messy curls splayed out against the pillow like a dark halo. "So," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been scraped over gravel. "I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say the general population of men are wrong."
She tried to speak, her throat clicking as she swallowed, but only a faint, airy sound escaped. She looked genuinely shaken, a far cry from the composed girl who had been teasing him about his socks only an hour ago.
Eddie let out a chuckle, his aching jaw stretching into that triumphant, lopsided grin. "Seriously, Bedford. I don’t get it. I don't understand why guys wouldn't want to do that. People talk about it like it’s some kind of chore you have to get through, but that?" He shook his head, his dark eyes glowing in the silver light. "That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever been a part of."
She shook her head weakly, her voice finally returning in a hushed, disbelieving whisper. "It’s... it’s messy, Eddie. And it’s not… I don’t know. It feels a bit one sided…"
"One-sided?" Eddie repeated, a spark of genuine amusement dancing in his gaze. He didn't bother with words to argue. Instead, he simply gestured down toward his lap, where the thin fabric of his boxers was stretched taut, the unmistakable, rigid tenting leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. "Does that look one-sided to you?" he asked, his brow arching in a playful, defiant challenge. "Because from where I’m lying, I’m pretty sure I was getting just as much out of that as you were. Seeing you like that? Hearing those sounds?" He let out a long, shaky exhale, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her knee. "I’d spend every night in this room right between your thighs just to get that reaction out of you again. No contest."
She let out a soft, mortified groan and immediately covered her face with her hands, her fingers splaying wide as if she could physically shield herself from the unvarnished honesty of his gaze. "Hey, none of that," Eddie said. He reached up, his large hands gently encircling her wrists. He didn't use force, just a persuasive tug, prying her hands away from her face until he could see her eyes again. "Don't you dare go covering your pretty face now. Not when I’m trying to tell you how fucking sexy you are."
He leaned up on one elbow, his face inches from hers. "Seriously. Riding my face like you were trying to find a way to take flight? That’s going to be burned into my retinas until the day I die."
She let out a strangled yelp, his name escaping her in a shocked, high-pitched rush of air and immediately surrendered the fight, diving forward to bury her face into the crook of his shoulder. She was warm, her damp skin pressing against his bare chest, and Eddie couldn't help the triumphant rumble of laughter that vibrated through his ribs. He didn't push her for more words. He knew the feeling of being overstimulated and too nervous to speak. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close into the mismatched pillows. He began to draw aimless, drifting patterns on the skin of her back. His fingers traced the line of her spine, circling the small of her back before wandering up to the sensitive skin between her shoulder blades.
He watched the way her breathing gradually slowed. She began to melt into his frame, her limbs losing their defensive tension and draping over him with a comfortable familiarity. The room was quiet, save for the insistent, click-hiss of the turntable needle. Eddie shifted slightly, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he leaned in. "As much as I love this, and believe me, I could stay right here until the sun comes up," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "I should probably flip the record over. Side B has all the good songs,”
She looked up from his shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded and gave a slow nod. Eddie felt the sudden absence of her heat as he slid off the edge of the mattress. His bare feet met the cold floorboards with a soft creak. He reached the turntable and carefully lifted the needle, the rhythmic scratching finally cutting to a blissful silence. He flipped the record to Side B and lowered the needle, and a few seconds later, the first notes of a low, soul-drenched ballad began to bleed into the room, the bass line thick.
While the music swelled, he heard the sound of movement behind him. He turned back to see her reaching into one of the cubby-style compartments built into the headboard. When he reached the edge of the bed, she was sitting up slightly, her hand extended. Between her fingers, catching a glint of the streetlamp's orange glow, was a small, square foil packet. Eddie froze, his hand hovering over hers as the reality of the situation finally caught up with his adrenaline. He took the packet, the plastic crinkling under his thumb, and let out a long, shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, sobering sincerity. He sat on the edge of the mattress, looking down at the condom in his palm. In his rush to get her clothes off and prove he wasn't just a dork with a hole in his sock, the actual logistics of protection had completely slipped his mind. He’d been flying by the seat of his pants, literally and figuratively. He looked back at her. "I’m an idiot. It just dawned on me that I don't have one in the van, let alone in my pocket. And trust me, Uncle Wayne would personally castrate me if I managed to knock someone up before I got my hands on that diploma.”
Eddie took a deep breath as he reached for the elastic waistband of his boxers and tugged them off, the fabric falling to join the graveyard of denim and silk on the floorboards. Standing there completely bare in the moonlight, he felt a momentary return of that vulnerability, but it was quickly overshadowed by the task at hand. He tore the foil packet open with a shaky thumb and forefinger, pulling out the small latex ring. He squinted at it, his brain working overtime to pull a hazy, half-remembered demonstration from a health class filmstrip out of the depths of his memory. He set it against his tip and tried to roll it down, but the rubber snagged, stubborn and unyielding.
"Dammit," he hissed under his breath, a flush creeping up his neck. He didn't let the frustration take hold, though. He flipped the ring over, centered it, and tried again. This time, it glided down his length with a smooth ease. He let out a silent sigh of relief.
He turned back toward the bed, intending to climb back into the spot they’d carved out on top of the sheets, but he paused. In the time he’d been occupied, she had reached back and pulled the covers open. She was lying back against the pillows now, the pale light tracing the curves of her body as she waited for him. Eddie didn't hesitate. He slid into the bed, the cool cotton of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat radiating off her. He moved, bracing his weight on his forearms as he dragged himself over her frame.
The full length of him settling against her, skin to skin, heart to heart. He could feel every breath she took, and the way her thighs parted naturally to welcome his weight made his head light. He hovered there for a second, his nose brushing against hers, his eyes searching her face in the shadows. In the cool, blue-shadowed light, she looked up at him, her hand reaching up to brush a stray, wild curl away from his forehead.
"Eddie?" she asked, her voice a soft, barely-there thread of sound. "Are you okay?"
He took a breath, his chest expanding against hers. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against her own, his eyes closing. "I'm just nervous," he whispered back. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. I don't want to mess up."
She shifted beneath him, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulder blades. "We don't have to rush it," she murmured. "We have all night. We can just... be here."
Eddie opened his eyes, his dark gaze locking onto hers. "It's okay," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, certain rumble. "I want to."
He tilted his head and closed the small gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss. This was slow. It was a lingering exploration, his mouth soft and patient. Her tongue began to move against his, a lazy dance. It was a deep, sensory conversation without words, each movement a question and each response a quiet, certain answer. Eddie felt his entire body relax into the mattress, the tension in his shoulders finally dissolving into the warmth of the bed. She let the kiss linger until his heart was thudding a heavy beat against her ribs, and then she slowly pulled away. She didn't go far. Just enough to look at him, her lips damp and parted in the moonlight, her hands tightening their grip on his shoulders as the music outside the covers seemed to fade into the background.
Eddie shifted his weight, bracing himself on one shaky forearm. He reached down between them, his fingers searching for the right alignment, but the angles felt all wrong. He let out a soft, frustrated huff, his brow furrowing as he fumbled. "Dammit," he hissed, his voice a strained, breathy rasp against her collarbone. "I swear... the movies and the magazines always make this part look like a seamless transition. I feel like I'm trying to tune a guitar with boxing gloves on."
She let out a tiny, truncated laugh and reached down to meet him. Her fingers were steady where his were trembling. She guided him. The moment they finally aligned, Eddie let out a long, shaky exhale. He felt the initial, velvet-soft resistance and then the slow, incredible glide as he found exactly what he’d been searching for. He didn't move any further. He just stayed there, poised at the threshold, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked down at her, his pupils so blown out they swallowed the dark irises entirely, leaving only a reflection of the moonlight. He wanted to see her expression.
Slowly, with an agonizingly careful pressure, he pushed in just a tad. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, his jaw tightening as he felt the sheer, overwhelming heat of the connection. He stayed perfectly still, waiting for her to tell him that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut for a fleeting second, his head dropping back as he choked out "God... it’s so hot," the words sounding like they were being squeezed from his lungs by a heavy weight. "It’s really, really hot."
She looked up at him, her hands moving from his shoulders to cup the sides of his face, her palms cool against his feverish skin. "Do you want to stop?" she whispered, her voice laced with a genuine, quiet concern that nearly broke his focus.
He shook his head immediately. He forced his eyes open, pinning her with a look that was raw and desperately sincere. "No," he rasped, his chest heaving against hers. "No, don't–don't stop. Am I... am I okay to keep going. Are you okay?"
She didn't hesitate, giving him a firm, encouraging nod as she pulled his head down to press a quick, salt-sweet kiss to his forehead. "I'm okay. Go ahead, Eddie." He took a breath that felt like it was made of liquid gold and pushed forward, the movement slow and deliberate as he settled deeper into the heat.
He had spent years hearing guys talk about this. Exaggerated stories told over cheap beer and cigarettes, but none of them had ever mentioned the weight of it. Being inside her for the first time felt like finally stepping inside the music instead of just listening to it from across the room. It was an overwhelming, pressurized warmth that seemed to wrap around not just his body, but his very pulse. He was fascinated by the way his own rhythm was being dictated by the velvet-tight squeeze of her, the way every small shift in his hips sent a corresponding ripple through his entire frame.
It wasn't just "sex". That word felt too small and simple for the reality of the silver light, the soul music, and the way her body was stretching and yielding to accommodate his lanky, awkward self. He felt grounded and untethered all at once. A chaotic mix of ink and bone finally finding its center in the quiet, humid dark of the bed. He watched her face as he realized that no magazine or porno could have ever prepared him for the sheer, staggering intimacy of being this close to another human being.
Eddie had always been a creature of high-energy distractions. Loud music, chaotic campaigns, the constant hum of being the "freak" everyone expected him to be. He had assumed that this would follow that same trajectory. He’d expected a surge of pleasure, a release, and maybe a bit of a boost to the ego he spent so much time pretending was bulletproof.
But this wasn't simple. It wasn't just a physical thing.
It was a total, terrifying dissolution of the boundaries he’d built around himself. Being inside her felt less like a conquest and more like a surrender in some odd way. He felt every hitched breath she took as if it were his own. He felt the way her fingers traced the lines of his shoulders and realized she wasn't just touching his skin. She was touching the parts of him he usually kept hidden behind a denim vest and a wall of jokes.
The intimacy of it was overwhelming. Eddie didn’t feel like he was just "getting laid" in the way the guys in the locker room used to brag about. He was being seen, completely and utterly, in a way that made his messy life feel... enough. The pleasure was there, but it was anchored by something much heavier: the weight of being the person she chose to appreciate unfiltered. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers in the pale light, and for the first time, he didn't feel like he had to perform. He didn't have to be the Dungeon Master or the lead guitarist or the charismatic outcast. He was just Eddie, and she was just her, and they were building something in the silence of this room that didn't need a dramatic flair for the sake of survival.
He shifted his weight forward, his brow furrowing as he tried to translate theory into motion. It wasn’t like the movies. There was no automatic rhythm. He started with small, tentative movements, pulling back just an inch and then sliding back in, his body feeling heavy and uncoordinated. He experimented with the angle of his hips, a bit frustrated by the clumsy friction of the sheets against his knees, until he adjusted his tilt and felt the resistance give way to a smoother, deeper glide.He started to move more deliberately, letting the slow, honeyed tempo of the Side B ballad dictate his pace. He went deeper this time, in a long, steady slide that made him let out a low sound against the hollow of her neck. He felt her respond with a gasp, her body unfolding and relaxing around him as if she were finally letting him into the deepest part of her.
He watched her face in the silver moonlight, fascinated by the change. The tension in her jaw was gone, replaced by a soft, dazed expression, her lips parted as her breath began to sync with his. She started to meet him, her hips rising slightly to greet each stroke, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his hair, pulling him down until their chests were fused.
Her fingers dug into his scalp with a new, hungry urgency, and the small moans she let out told him he was finally getting it right. Seeing her enjoy it in the way her eyes clouded over with pleasure, made Eddie feel ten feet tall.
Eddie felt the heat in his core intensifying in a thrumming that started at the base of his spine and radiated outward until his fingertips felt numb. He leaned down, his voice against her ear. "I’m close... God, I’m really close," he managed to choke out, his muscles locking with the effort of trying to maintain his pace without shattering.
She responded by shifting beneath him, her thighs opening wider to bracket his hips, her heels digging into the mattress to pull him even deeper. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice thick and dazed. "Just let go, Eddie. Don't stop."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his face pained. He shook his head, a wild curl falling over his damp forehead. "No, wait," he breathed, his chest heaving. "What about you? I want... how do I get you there?"
The sheer, unselfish desperation in his voice must have made her soften. She didn't say a word; instead, she reached down between their fused bodies, catching his hand. She guided his fingers, placing them firmly against the sensitive peak of her clit that was already slick and swollen. Eddie watched, his breath hitching, as she kept her hand over his, demonstrating a steady pressure. She moved his fingers in small circles, with a friction that made her head fall back against the pillows with a sharp inhale.
"Like that?" he whispered, his eyes wide as he cataloged the way her body arched under the touch.
"Yes," she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. "Just like that. Don't stop moving, Eddie. Do both."
For a few seconds, Eddie’s brain short-circuited. He’d find the right pressure with his fingers only to have his hips falter, or he’d get the glide back only to lose the circular motion she’d taught him. "I’m trying," he grunted, his brow furrowed. But then, he stopped thinking. He found a sweet spot where the slide of his hips provided the base and the friction of his thumb provided the high notes. As he locked into it, she let out a gasp that echoed off the walls, her back arching off the mattress until only her heels and shoulders were touching the bed.
The sensation of her clenching around him was a velvet-tight seizure that sent a white-hot spark straight to his brain. Eddie’s eyes went wide and he let out a startled, unceremonious swear. "Holy—!"
He felt the control snap. It wasn't a choice . He came with a force that made his vision blur into a haze of moonlight, his head falling forward into the crook of her neck. He wanted to stop, to just sink into the sheets and breathe, but she wasn't done. Her hand shot down, her fingers locking around his wrist like a vice, pinning his hand in place against her. "Don't," she choked out, a desperate, commanding edge to her voice. "Don't stop, Eddie. Please."
He forced himself to move, his muscles screaming and his heart doing an uneven gallop. He pushed through the overstimulated haze, maintaining the pressure with his hand even as his body felt like it was turning to mush. He kept the rhythm, stumbling but persistent, until she finally hit the edge. She let out a high, broken cry that was muffled against his shoulder, her fingers digging into his wrist so hard he’d probably have nail bites tomorrow.
Eddie lay there for a long moment, his forehead pressed against her damp shoulder, before the reality of his own lanky frame hit him. "Sorry, shit, I'm probably crushing you," he panted, his voice a ghost of its usual self.
He moved, rolling off her and onto the cool side of the mattress. The sudden shift in temperature made him shiver, but he focused on the task at hand. He reached down, his fingers still a bit shaky, to carefully remove the condom and tie it off. He set it aside on the floor, feeling a strange, quiet sense of pride in the plastic proof of his deflowering. Once he was clear, he didn't stay on his side of the bed for more than a second. He rolled back toward her, his arm sliding out to hook around her waist and pull her flush against his chest. He tucked his chin over her shoulder, his wild, sweat-damp curls touching her cheek as he settled into the crook of her neck.
"You okay?" he whispered, his hand splaying against her stomach, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over her skin. "I didn't... I didn't break you, did I?"
She let out a soft, tired giggle that vibrated through him, her hand coming up to rest over his. "No, Eddie. I'm definitely not broken."
"Good," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as the adrenaline finally began to recede, leaving a deep exhaustion in its wake. Eddie’s eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by a satisfaction so deep it felt structural. He shifted his head slightly, his nose brushing against the soft skin of her nape, and let out a long, contented sigh.
"Hey," he murmured, the word slurring just a bit as sleep began to pull at him. "Your aunt... is she gonna, like, bust in here at dawn and flip her lid? Because I’m pretty sure I don’t have the energy to jump out a window right now. My legs are officially made of lead."
He felt her chest move with a quiet, tired huff of amusement. She turned her head just enough to catch his gaze in the dim moonlight, her eyes soft and glazed with the same lingering haze that was clouding his own mind. "She’s in Chicago until Monday," she whispered.
Eddie’s brain processed it slowly. The implications of a whole weekend of this. Of her, of this room, of the lack of a ticking clock. He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer until there wasn't a single gap of air between them. "So," he started, his voice barely audible over the hum of the house. "You want me to... you want me to stick around? Or do you want your bed back?”
She didn't even hesitate, the answer leaving her lips with a soft, certain breath. "Stay," she whispered, her fingers interlacing with his where they rested on her stomach. "I just want you to turn that record player off before the needle wears a hole straight through the vinyl."
Eddie let out a huffed laugh, "Copy that, Bedford."
He started to shift, bracing himself, but he stopped mid-motion. He hovered over her, his arms framing her head against the mismatched pillows. In the silver-blue wash of the moonlight, she looked softer than he’d ever seen her. "You know," he murmured, "you look so beautiful right now it’s actually kind of terrifying. Like, 'legendary siren pulling a sailor to his doom' terrifying."
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss right between her brows, his lips soft against her skin. When he pulled back, he didn't move away immediately. He worried his bottom lip for a second, the bravado finally failing him as he asked the question that had been thrumming in the back of his mind since the van. "So... just for the record," he started, trying and failing to sound off-hand, "does this, uh... does this officially make us a couple? Or is there a specific ritual or a signed contract I’m missing? Because I’m pretty new to the 'not-a-loner' scene."
She reached up, her palm cupping his jaw, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone with tenderness. "Eddie Munson," she said, a playful but firm glint in her eyes, "you are not getting rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me now."
A slow, genuine grin spread across his face. "Stuck, huh? Yeah, I think I can live with that."
He slid out of bed just long enough to cross the room, as he finally clicked the turntable off. The silence that followed was profound, filled only by the soft creak of the floorboards as he practically dove back under the covers. He pulled her close, her back against his chest and his chin tucked into the crook of her neck, his long limbs tangling with hers until they were a single, messy knot of warmth. As the edges of sleep began to blur his thoughts, he thought of the charred, skeletal remains of the Starcourt Mall. A place that had felt like the center of his frustration only a week ago. He thought of the long, aimless drive across the county line, his fingers drumming irritably on the steering wheel of the van, cursing the luck that had forced him to travel a town over just to find a shop with a decent set of guitar strings. He had been so angry at the inconvenience. He had spent the whole drive thinking about how much gas he was losing.
Now, with the scent of her skin filling his senses and the steady, solid reality of her heart beating against his arm, the memory of that frustration felt like a different lifetime. It was a strange realization. That a fire in a town he hated had been the exact pieces of luck required to lead him to this room. If the world hadn't inconvenienced him just a little bit, he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't know the sound she made when she lost her breath, or the way the moonlight made her look like something he didn't deserve but was allowed to hold anyway.
He tightened his grip on her, a small, sleepy smile touching his lips as the darkness finally pulled him under. He decided right then that he’d never complain about a detour again.
Tag List? Just ask babes
(Tagging those who used to be on my Eddie story tag list)
Pairing: Baby Daddy!Eddie Munson x Pregnant!Reader
Summary: After a heated one-time hookup, you find yourself pregnant by none other than your best friend Eddie Munson.
Content Warning: 18+ Smut, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Digital Penetration (Fingering), Oral (F receiving), Oral (M receiving), Sexual Acts, Slight-Voyeurism/Public-Sex, Sexual/Suggestive Language, Foul Language/Swearing, Mentions of Abortion, Attempted Abortion, Pregnancy (obviously), Quasi-Cheating (Sort of?), Messy Love Triangle (I guess?), Slight ED (Eddie can’t get it up), Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Co-Parenting, Mentions of Toxic Relationships (On Again, Off Again), Slight Betrayal (Eddie Being an Idiot), Slight Angst, Slight Slut-Shaming (Not Reader), Vomiting, Violence, Slight Gore.
A/N: Content warning tags are for the series storyline as a whole and may not show up in every chapter. Just want to cover all my bases.
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6 Weeks
Eddie fucking Munson and that dreaded fucking ponytail.
You told yourself over and over again that this couldn't be happening. That it wasn't happening. But, oh, was it happening. The two bold pink lines on the end of the pregnancy test confirmed it. Pregnant. With Eddie Munson's little fucking demon seed. How could you let this happen? Oh, right. You knew exactly how this happened. You remembered every little detail of it. All of it.
You remembered how you cried out in pleasure against his lips as you climaxed. You remembered the way you yanked on that godforsaken fucking ponytail, using it as a rein as he went down on you. You remembered the sweet little grunts he made as he pounded you relentlessly into your mattress- talking you through your orgasm like it was the biggest achievement of his fucking life. How he had gasped loudly as he spilled deep inside of you. Well, you thought, now you have a souvenir.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
No, you thought, shaking your head. It was all a sick fucking joke. You could not be pregnant with your best friend's baby. You absolutely did not have rebound sex with him after Chrissy Cunningham dumped him cold on Valentine's Day. Just for her to take him back not even three days later. But that was all just wishful thinking. Because it was true. All of it.
Okay, it was definitely far too late for Plan B. The baby was already conceived. There was no changing that. Dear god, why didn't you use a condom? Eddie's words immediately come back to you, echoing in your head from that night.
"Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good..."
It was enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in to sink further into you- his body shivering at the action.
"Fuck! Never felt something so tight. Christ, don't make me pull out. Please."
And, like the idiot you were, you ate it up. Listening to his needy whines and moans as you reveled in his dirty little praises.
"So fucking tight, baby. So fucking wet for me. Tell me you're wet for me."
"Yes, Eddie! S-so wet for you. Only you. Want you to fuck me harder!"
“Yeah? Is that how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and rough? Huh? Say it for me…”
You thought back on how he had shown up on Valentines night with a bouquet of wilted red roses in his hand. His hair pulled back in that ponytail that made you weak in the knees. He was in a crisp black button down shirt. One that was ironed. His nicest pair of black jeans. He was wearing cologne for god’s sake. You had a harmless little crush on Eddie since the 7th grade but seeing the way he looked on your doorstep caused it to turn into a full-blown frenzy.
Before you could ask him what he was doing there and not at Enzo’s sitting across from his girlfriend Chrissy Cunningham at a romantic dinner for two, he was already storming past you and into your apartment- slumping down onto your couch.
“Well, that was a fucking disaster.” He announces, tossing the bouquet onto the coffee table.
“What happened?” You ask, watching the scowl on Eddie’s face as you followed him back into your living room.
“Well,” Eddie sighed, burying his face in his hands “She dumped me. Again.”
“What?” You ask “Why?”
“I don’t even know anymore. Something about me never taking her seriously. Never being serious. She’s been this way ever since The Hideout thing last week.”
Right, you remembered. The girl at The Hideout who was all over Eddie- who was too drunk to push her away. It had been a whole scene. Chrissy saw the way that the girl relentlessly flirted with Eddie while he did nothing to stop it. To be fair, Eddie was so oblivious that he didn’t even know that the girl was flirting with him. Not until Chrissy had decided she had enough and stormed out of the bar.
“How was I supposed to know that girl was trying to fuck me?” Eddie throws up his hands in exasperation “I’m still surprised that Chrissy wants to fuck me and we’ve been dating for over a year now.”
“I mean, that girl was coming onto you pretty hard.” You admit, earning you an incredulous look from Eddie “Don’t give me that look! I’m not saying that I’m on Chrissy’s side. I just don’t know how you missed the hint when that girl did everything but pounce on you.”
“Whatever.” Eddie grumbles “My point is that I always do something wrong even when I don’t do anything at all. I just don’t know what she wants from me.”
“I’m sorry, Eds.” You commiserate, walking over and plopping down on the couch next to him “I’m sure she’ll be over it soon. She usually doesn’t stay angry for long, right?”
“I just….” Eddie groans “I’m starting to wonder if I even want this anymore.”
“Whoa.” You reply, completely taken aback “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I…fuck, I don’t know.” Eddie mutters “Chrissy used to be fun. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but the last few months have felt like….I just don’t know if I’m happy anymore.”
“Are you saying that you want to break up with her?” Your heart beats fast in your chest at his admission. You liked Chrissy. You really did. But you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief upon hearing that Eddie was growing bored of her. You’d never admit it but you were jealous of Chrissy. You were envious of her for having the boy that you’ve loved since the 7th grade.
“Well, I mean, she kinda already did it for me.” Eddie scoffs “But maybe this time I won’t chase after her. Not when I don’t even know if it’s worth it anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Eds.” You frown, your heart breaking at how defeated he was “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can distract me.” He suggests “Keep my mind off of her. Getting dumped on Valentine’s Day is kinda fuckin’ embarrassing.”
“Okay.” You nod, biting your lip “Do you…wanna watch a movie? Or something?”
“Sure.” Eddie looks at you, a soft closed-lip smile spreading across his face “Yeah. That sounds nice. I could use some snuggles from my favorite lady.”
The admission leaves your cheeks blazing as you watch Eddie kick off his boots, resting his feet on your coffee table.
“So, uh, what do you wanna watch?” You stammer, trying to look away from him as he unknowingly lounges in front of you like the Sex God that he was. Not that you would know. Well, not from experience. However, you have heard several rumors throughout the years.
“Lady’s choice.” He replies “Pick whatever you want.”
Eddie watches you as you walk over to your stack of VHS tapes, flipping through them until you found something you wanted to watch. Since it was Valentine’s Day and you were such a hopeless romantic, you had picked Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Eddie, however, wishes that you hadn’t picked so quickly. Not when he wanted to enjoy the view of you a little longer- kneeling down on the floor in front of your television stand, bending a little to read the titles on the low shelf as those teeny tiny little shorts of yours rode up little-by-little. Exposing the bottom of your ass enough to cause him to stifle his hungry groans.
“Got it!” You announce, waving the VHS tape in the air triumphantly “This okay?” You ask.
Eddie nods, not caring about whatever chick-flick that you planned to pop in the VCR. Not that he’d be paying much attention to it with you curled up next to him dressed like that. Sexy little hotpants that stretched tightly across your ass. Black tank top with no bra on underneath. He hoped that he’d at least be able to control himself enough to not allow a certain guest to make a surprise appearance.
You run to your room and grab a blanket, flipping off the living room lights before joining Eddie on the couch. You sat a good distance away. Maybe five inches on so apart. Not far but not close enough for Eddie to be satisfied- and he noticed immediately.
“What are you doing all the way over there?” He asks, furrowing is eyebrows as you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch.
“C’mere. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He jokes.
But that was Eddie. Always joking even though you wished he wasn’t. It was cruel. Not that it was his fault, he didn’t know the way that you felt but his innocent flirting definitely didn’t help the horrible crush you had on him. The fact that he belonged to someone else.
“Ha.” You reply, rolling your eyes at him as your lips curl into a smile “Funny.”
“I’m not joking, sweetheart. Come over here. I’m lonely.” He pleads “So, so lonely. How could you leave me over here all alone and cold?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes. If there was anything to be said about Eddie, it was that he was definitely dramatic.
You scoot closer, now only two inches apart but that still wasn’t enough. He wanted you closer. Eddie would never admit it, especially when he had only been dumped by his girlfriend an hour earlier, but he would have you in his lap if it were up to him.
With an impatient huff, he throws his left around you, moving it down to your waist so they he could draw you closer. Without warning, he tugs you closer, causing you to tip over- falling into his side as his arm clutched your waist. Your breath almost hitches as his thumb begins to rub against your waist, right above your hip.
“There.” He smirks “Much better.”
You felt like you had a lump in your throat as you swallow nervously, letting your body adjust against his so that you were nestled up against him- your head resting against his chest. You had cuddled with Eddie before- it wasn’t something new. However, this time, something felt different. Unlike all of the other times where you innocently huddled up close to him as you let your body relax- something about this cuddle session held tension. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
Maybe you were overthinking things. Maybe this was just like every other time but it was you who was making it weird. You worried that Eddie could sense it- your nervousness. As the movie starts, you turn your head to look up at him. His eyes were on the TV, absent-mindedly tracing circles into your skin that his thumb was rubbing against. He seemed unfazed. Just like every other time you’ve shared a friendly cuddle. Maybe it was you.
You let your body relax, choosing to switch off your mind as you melt into him. You even nuzzle the side of your face into his chest as you allow yourself to get more comfortable. Before you know it, your hand is creeping up to his chest- resting your palm there before you absentmindedly stroke the fabric of his shirt with your finger.
“This looks nice on you, by the way.” You whisper, your eyes zoning in on the opening credits as Audrey Hepburn stands in front of a shop window- peering at a display full of diamonds.
“Yeah?” Eddie mutters, turning his head to look down at you as you watch the movie.
“Mhm.” You hum “You smell nice too. New cologne?”
“Yeah.” Eddie answers “Bought it for the occasion. Y’know, before I got dumped.”
“Well,” you reply quietly “Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
And how could Eddie argue with that? Maybe Chrissy was missing out. But then again, if she hadn’t broken up with him tonight, would he be here right now with you? Snuggled up close on your couch as he indulged himself in the lingering sweet scent of your shampoo. He doubts it. In a way, he’s kind of glad. At least, with you, he didn’t have to sit up straight at a dinner table as he pretended to be civilized- eating over-priced food. Then it hit him. What the hell were you doing all by yourself on Valentine’s Day?
“Sweetheart?” Eddie whispers, turning his head to bury his nose in your hair. Strawberry shampoo. With hints of that vanilla scented body wash that he sometimes used when he showered at your place. Which wasn’t often. Maybe only once or twice. Yet, he couldn’t help but remember how the scent lingered on his skin the rest of the day- catching whiffs of himself that made his eyes flutter shut as if he were smelling you.
“Hm?” You answer, transfixed on the movie even though you’ve seen it a million times.
“You didn’t go out tonight?”
The question pulled your attention.
“Uh-uh.” You answer, Eddie noting how your voice carried a hint of disappointment “No date.”
“Why not?” He further interrogates “What about that guy? The one with the-“
“David?”
“Yeah.” Eddie replies, hoping that you couldn’t sense him scowling “Him. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” You sigh “Just didn’t work out, I guess. He asked if we could ‘still be friends’”
“Are you still friends?”
“Fuck no.” You reply, causing Eddie to snort out a laugh.
“Well, his loss.” He declares “Darryl doesn’t know what the fuck he’s missing.”
“David.” You correct, giggling against Eddie’s chest- causing him to smile.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
You both fall silent, focusing again on the movie as the scene of Holly’s party plays out on the screen. You watch the way that Paul Varjak looks at Holly- like she had hung the moon and the stars herself. You couldn’t help but wonder when you would find a man that looked at you like that. A distant dream that felt so far away. You were tired of being the single friend.
Nancy had Jonathan. There was El and Mike. Max and Lucas. Even Dustin had a girlfriend that he met at Camp Know Where. Then there was Robin who was hopelessly in love with Vicki. Steve technically was single but he often kept a string of girls behind him- a new flavor of the week. Lastly there was Eddie and Chrissy. High school sweethearts that seemed to constantly be on the rocks but at least he had someone. You were the odd one out.
You tried not to let it get to you but by the time that the scene of Holly Golightly singing Moon River on the fire escape started to play, you were on the brink of bawling your eyes out. You held in your sobs, trying not to let your body shake as you laid against Eddie. Why the hell did you have to pick a romance? You should’ve just popped in Grease. Or The Karate Kid.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. Are you crying?” Eddie looks down, feeling the wetness of your tears through his shirt.
“No…” You lie, a sob escaping your lips.
Well, you thought, so much for that.
“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” Eddie questions, his brows pinched with worry as he turns to look at you “Speak to me, sweetheart.”
“I- I’m fine.” You hiccup “I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing? I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”
Oh, Eddie. Always wanting to help even though there was nothing that he could do about the way that you were feeling. It was something he just couldn’t fix.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You sniff “Let’s just finish the movie.”
“Fuck the movie, sweetheart.” Eddie says “Talk to me. Is it something that I did? Did I say something to upset you? Was it….fuck…is it because I brought up Devon?”
“David.” You sob “No, it’s not that. Well, I mean…sort of. I…can we just drop it? I don’t even know why I’m crying. This is so stupid.”
“S’not stupid.” Eddie counters, getting up from the couch so that he could kneel on the floor in front of you, preventing you for turning away and hiding from him. “Please tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can fix it?”
“No!” You wail “You can’t fix it!”
“I can’t if I don’t know what it is.” Eddie argues, reaching for your hand as takes it in both of his, bringing it to his lips as he presses a kiss to it.
“Tell me what’s wrong?”
If only Eddie knew that he would be spending his Valentine’s Day- supposedly the most “romantic”day of the year- trying to figure out why seemingly every woman in his life was upset with him. What a fucking day.
“I don’t want to be alone.” You cry, launching forward to bury your face into Eddie’s chest- sobbing uncontrollably.
Fuck, Eddie thought.
“What?” He asks, trying to figure out what you were talking about “Sweetheart, you’re not alone. I’m right here.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying!” You whine “I’m tired of being single. I’m tired of dating around. I’m tired of not having someone who loves me.”
“What are you talking about?” Eddie shakes his head, confused. “I love you.”
“Yeah,” you snivel “But not like that. Not the way that Robin loves Vicki. How Nancy and Jonathan love each other. Not the way that you love Chrissy.”
“Oh.” Eddie replies, completely dumbfounded.
“I just don’t get it. Am I unlovable? I go on all these dates and just…nothing. Things just end badly or they just stop talking to me. It’s like…there’s something wrong with me.”
“Hey! Stop that.” Eddie orders, grabbing your face in his hands as he forces you to look at him “You don’t say shit like that. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You hear me?”
“But what if-“
Your objection was immediately stolen by Eddie pressing his lips against yours. Crashing into you hard enough to jolt you backwards- leaving you completely stunned. Eddie was kissing you. Your best friend’s lips were on your lips and you swore that your body was going haywire.
It ended as quickly as it happened, leaving you reeling as you stared back at him- unblinking. Eddie stared back at you, wondering why in the hell he had just kissed you. Friends don’t kiss friends. Not even best friends. Especially not when one of them was going through a fresh breakup and the other was emotionally vulnerable. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Shit.” Eddie panics “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s okay.” You cut him off, averting eye contact “We’ll just pretend it didn’t happen.”
As soon as you suggested it, Eddie’s heart sank. What if he didn’t want to pretend that it didn’t happen?
“Yeah. Right.” He stammers “You’re right.”
A moment passes where the two of you just stared back at each other, not knowing where to go from there. Yet, the both of you felt an unbearable tension. Something electric between you. You open your mouth to speak, Eddie watching your lips part and it felt like something within him finally snaps. You could sense it.
“Fuck it.” He breaks, his body colliding into yours as he kisses you again- hard and fast. He groans against your mouth, guttural and animalistic. His hands were everywhere. He didn’t know what to do with them so they were everywhere. Grabbing, kneading, stroking, caressing. Every inch of you that he could get ahold of.
He wastes no time deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip as you allow him access- his tongue quickly dominating yours as he makes out with you. Eddie clearly knew how to kiss. You, on the other hand, still felt like you were in shock- your hands placed hesitantly on each of his biceps as he attacked your mouth, grabbing the back of your neck to kiss you even deeper. As if he wasn’t close enough- as if he wanted to be skin-to-skin with you. Without warning, he pulls away, just for a moment.
“Touch me.” He pants.
“W-what?” You stutter, watching him eye you down with a hungry glare.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He growls “Put your arms around my neck, grab my shirt, pull my fucking hair if you want. Just give me something.” He urges.
He grabs at your wrists, bringing them up to wrap around his neck as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in to devour your lips once again.
You grab onto the hair at the nape of his neck, daring to get a bit rougher with him. The action immediately earns you a low growl. The sound ripped right through you, immediately making you wet as you yanked him closer to you.
“There she is,” He smirks against your lips “Atta girl.”
The praise leaves you breathless, going straight to your heat as you ball up the fabric of his shirt in your hands. He works his lips against your mouth as if he’s in heat. Hungry and desperate for you. He nips at your bottom lip, eliciting sweet moans from you that go straight to his dick. His member stirring beneath the fabric of his jeans. Without hesitation, he grabs one of your hands- taking it in his as he places it over his hardening cock. He smirks as you let out a startled gasp.
“Feel that?” He asks, voice low and gravelly “If there was something wrong with you, do you think I’d be this hard for you right now?”
“Eddie.” You gasp, shocked at the filthy words leaving his lips. Have you heard Eddie say pervy things before? Of course. You had been there through his years of puberty. But never had you thought in your life that you would hear him say such vulgar things to you.
“What, angel?” He coos “Gonna be shy now? Hm? Or are you gonna let me fuck you properly?”
“Eds,” you moan “We can’t. What about-“
“What?” He asks, his eyes dark with lust. His eyes consuming you to the point of you almost losing your train of thought.
“Chrissy.” You drop.
Fuck, Eddie thought.
Chrissy.
You stood in your bathroom, wondering who to call. What to do. You felt helpless as you continued to stare down at those two pink lines. How the hell did you let this happen? With Eddie of all people. Eddie- your best friend. Eddie- who had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend.
You started to feel sick to your stomach. A different kind of sick than the “stomach bug” that you foolishly thought you had- the illness that turned out to be morning sickness all along.
The very little amount of food that you happened to get down that morning begins to roil in your stomach. You try to breathe deeply through your nose. In….then out….in….then out.
Fuck.
You scramble to the toilet, dropping down beside it as you begin to vomit, spewing out everything in your system. You wretch so hard that your body jolts, leaving you gripping the sides of the toilet as you heave into it.
Fucking Eddie. That stupid fucking bastard and his stupidly hot ponytail. Fuck Valentine’s Day. Fuck the way that he made you feel that night just to throw you aside and pretend it never happened.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, Eds.” You lied “I’m not mad.”
“It’s just…Chrissy and I have been together for so long and I just don’t know if I can throw all that away, y’know?” He wrings his hands “I also don’t want to lose you by making things complicated. I just think that….it’s best we stay friends.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
“Good. I’m glad you understand where I’m coming from.” He breathes a sigh of relief “You also deserve the best, y’know. Which would be, like, the opposite of me and I wouldn’t want to be in the way of you finally finding someone who’s good for you….”
All of that, you thought, was just an excuse for him to get off scot-free after having sex with you and not giving you any sort of commitment in return. What a fucking idiot you were. You were used to guys doing shit like this- using you to get what they want and then promptly tossing you aside. But you never would’ve expected this from Eddie.
Eddie.
The reminder of weekly movie night at Steve’s house caused you to groan. You had already skipped the last two, citing your mystery stomach bug as your excuse for missing out. You knew how it would look if you didn’t show up again three weeks in a row. As much as you didn’t want to see Eddie right now, you knew that you couldn’t dodge him any longer before he started showing up at your door expecting an explanation. So, you decided, you would sit through movie night.
You would pretend that everything was okay. That you were totally and completely normal. That you weren’t pregnant with Eddie’s baby as he was snuggled up next to Chrissy only a few feet away from you. You would pretend that you weren’t internally agonizing over what you were going to do. You would pretend that nothing bothered you. That everything was just how it should be even through life as you knew it was starting to crumble down around you.
It had been about a month and a half since Valentine’s Day. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t hurt. You were extremely hurt. You let Eddie inside of you. You let him hold you close and touch your body and gave him a very intimate piece of yourself that you’d never get back. Now there was a piece of him that he left behind- growing within you.
You pick yourself up off of the bathroom floor, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you flush the toilet. Walking to the sink, you turned on the tap- cupping your hands to gather water as you splash your face. You open your eyes, staring at yourself in the mirror as your reflection stared back. You looked like yourself on the outside but you felt wholly and completely changed on the inside.
You sit down onto the cold tiled floor, leaning your back against the wall as you think of the nearest urgent care facility and how late they were open. You needed to at least have the pregnancy confirmed by a doctor before you made your next decisions. Whatever they would turn out to be.
Eddie knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind, thinking completely with his dick and not with his head. He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this but he couldn’t help himself. He had gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit that was you and he couldn’t pull himself away now. Not even at the thought of his now-ex-girlfriend.
Chrissy
“I don’t wanna think about that right now.” He whispers, sending a shiver down your spine “Just wanna feel you.”
You lunge for him, pressing your body against his. You spread your legs, allowing Eddie to kneel between them as you made out with him- grabbing at your thighs. Your hand snakes up to tug at his ponytail, earning a low chuckle from Eddie.
“Love it when you wear your hair up.” You admit, between heated kisses.
“Yeah?” He teases “Like what you see?”
“God yes…” you moan.
He breaks away from kissing your lips to move along to planting hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck- immediately sending a tidal wave of pleasure throughout your body.
“Fuck, Eds.” You squeal, mind completely going blank as you became jelly beneath his touch “I-I love the way you kiss me.”
“Yeah? You like that, baby?” He replies, his voice hot “I’m gonna do more than just kiss you.”
Before you could even catch your breath, Eddie had scooped you up off of the couch- his large hands grabbing at your ass as he held you. You waste no time wrapping your arms and legs around him as he carries you towards your bedroom.
“Fuck, you’re so hot!” Eddie groans, carrying you through the threshold of your bedroom “So fucking hot. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“I- I want you Eddie. Please.”
“You want me to what? Use your words, angel.”
“Want you to fuck me, Eds. Want you to make me feel good.”
“Yeah?” He purrs “Well, since you asked so damn nicely.”
Eddie drops you onto your bed, your back hitting the soft mattress beneath you as Eddie kneels between your legs, spreading them open for himself.
“God, you’re fucking perfect. Bet your pussy is just as pretty as you are, huh?” His eyes full of sex and sin “Gonna let me find out, sweetheart?”
You sat nervously in the urgent care waiting room, anxiously tapping your pen against the clipboard holding the paperwork you were too distracted to fill out.
You glance around the waiting room, taking in the many colorful posters on the walls that advertised the dangers of tobacco use, proper handwashing technique, and how to stop the spread of germs.
What the fuck were you going to do?
Best case scenario; It was a false positive. Worst case scenario; You would have to make the hard decision of what would be the fate of you and the baby growing inside of you. Did you even want to have a baby? Did you want to have kids at all? Were you prepared to raise another human and become responsible for how they turn out?
Were you going to keep it?
Were you ready to be a single mom?
Were you going to tell Eddie?
“Can I take these off?”
Eddie glanced up at you from between your legs, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts.
Those teeny,
Tiny
Shorts.
“Yes.” You whisper “Please.”
Eddie hums appreciatively at your words.
“Atta girl. Such good manners.”
He begins to pull your shorts down, dragging your panties off with them. Part of you felt self-conscious that you hadn’t worn the sexiest pair of underwear. To be fair, you weren’t expecting this to happen- ever. However, Eddie couldn’t care less- his eyes glued on your core that was slick and glistening with your arousal.
“Fuck, baby.” He groans “All of that for me?”
You nod bashfully as he bites his lip.
“God, I wanna taste you. S’that okay, sweetheart? Can I go down on you?”
“Please, Eds.” You moan “Been waiting for this.”
This peaks his interest, his eyes locking onto yours.
“You have, huh?” He smirks “You’ve thought about this before?”
You felt like you wanted to hide under the covers and disappear. Why the fuck would you say that?
You reach for the pillow next to your head, using it to cover your face that was burning with embarrassment.
“Hey,” Eddie calls, squeezing your thigh affectionately “Don’t hide from me. I think it’s hot. Really fucking hot. Tell me what you think about.” He grabs the pillow from you, tossing it out of your reach as he stares down at you- waiting to hear an answer.
“I, uh…..I think about you. Going down on me.”
“Yeah?” Eddie whispers, his voice dripping with lust “Tell me more.”
“You’re..uh…fuck….you’re using your tongue on me. Licking me…slowly.”
“Is that so?” Eddie smirks.
“Yes.”
Eddie grabs your legs, hitching them both over his shoulders as he lowers his head into your cunt, licking a slow broad stripe upwards until he reaches your clit. It had been so long since you’ve last been touched and your eyes practically roll into the back of your head.
“Like that?” He asks, feigning innocence as if he didn’t have his face in your crotch.
“Y-yeah.” You stutter “That feels so good.”
He begins to dive back into your core, repeating his actions before moving to pay more attention to your clit.
“Keep talking to me, sweet thing.” He mumbles against you “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”
“F-fuck!” You breathe, back arching off the mattress as he gently nips at your clit- sending shocks of pleasure through your body “Just like that. Keep going. I…I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”
“Already?” Eddie teases “Baby, I’ve barely even started.”
He removes his right hand from where it was squeezing your thigh, bringing it to your core as he places his thumb roughly onto your clit. Without warning, he begins to rub it in tantalizing little circles that had you moaning like crazy.
“Holy fucking shit!” You squeak, your hand shooting down to wrap around Eddie’s wrist “Eds!”
“Too much? Want me to stop?”
“No!” You yelp “Don’t stop.”
“Whatever you say, sweet girl.” Eddie replies with a grin “Think you can take my fingers?”
“Congratulations.” The doctor says, smiling up at you from your test results “You’re definitely pregnant.”
You felt like the room was spinning. Suddenly, the only thing that you could focus on to avoid passing out was a box of tissues next to the exam table. Pregnant. It was confirmed. You were actually pregnant.
“How are you feeling?” The doctor asks, picking up on your lackluster reaction.
“Oh. I…I think I’m still in shock. A little. I…don’t know how I feel. I’m on the pill. I just…I don’t know how this could’ve happened.
“Well,” the doctor replies “I suppose that’s a pretty fair reaction. It’s pretty big news- a baby on the way. As for the birth control, it’s not a common occurrence but we have seen instances where women can still get pregnant while actively taking birth control. The most common reason is when you may have missed a pill or two. Do you think this could be a possibility?”
You had thought about how you had misplaced your pill pack right around the same time that you had sex with Eddie- needing to call your clinic for an early refill. But you had picked up your prescription only a day or two afterwards. Could you have gotten pregnant within that small 24-48 hour window?
“I did miss a couple. I thought it would be okay if I doubled up the dose the day after to make up for it. I thought…” Your brain felt foggy.
“In most cases this is possible but it depends on the type of birth control pill you’re taking. Sperm can live in the vagina for up to five days. Obviously, the chances of getting pregnant are the highest during the first twenty-four hours after sex. But even with the chances of pregnancy decreasing with each passing day, it is still possible to conceive. In your case, it seems, that you were able to get pregnant during the time period where you had missed those pills.”
“And you’re absolutely sure?” You question “ That I’m pregnant?”
“No doubt about it. Blood tests are over 99% accurate. However, there have been instances of false positives but they’re extremely rare.”
Everything the doctor said to you after that point was only caught in bits and pieces- feeling like you were listening to him speak from underwater. Ninety-nine percent accuracy was practically inarguable. You were having a baby.
“…..A good prenatal vitamin in your daily routine is what would be best for your baby…..”
You were having a baby.
“…..Morning sickness is to be expected during the first trimester. Just make sure you….”
There was a baby growing inside of you.
“…….I’ll give you some referrals for obstetricians. First course of action would be setting up an appointment in order to find out how far along you are…..
You were going to be a parent.
“…..Your due date and first ultrasound….”
You didn’t know if you could handle this. A single mom with no help. Raising a child on your own.
“……And I wish you the best of luck. If there’s anything you need or if you have any questions, the nurses are more than willing to help….”
The next time that you finally return to reality, you are standing outside of the urgent care entrance- a pamphlet in your hand titled “Your Baby and You: What to Expect in your First Pregnancy.” In your pocket was a phone number for a local ob/gyn clinic. In your heart was fear and uncertainty. Where do you go from here?
“Fuck, Eddie! Oh my god!”
You were on the brink of orgasm as he curled his fingers inside of you, his tongue working at your clit as you fisted the sheets below you. He would have been knuckles-deep inside of you if it wasn’t for the thick silver rings adorning his digits. Every time you felt the cool metal rub against your clit, you swore you were going to lose it.
“That feel good, sweetheart?” He asks, his tone teasing.
“So fucking good!” You moan “I’m getting close!”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, looking up at you with eyes that felt like they could suck you in and devour you whole. All you could do was nod desperately.
“Let’s get you there, princess.” He winks, his head ducking back down as he takes your clit in his mouth, sucking harshly as your body jolted.
“Holy shit! Eds! Oh my god!” You cry out.
Before you could stop yourself, one of your hands flies up to grab at his ponytail- greedily pushing his head further into your cunt. Eddie growls at the action. He ruts against the mattress, trying desperately to gain some friction. He was so painfully hard from all of the pretty sounds that you were making for him. The fact that his face was buried in your pussy that tasted like heaven on earth. The sheer knowledge that he was fucking you- his best friend. It was all so forbidden but so fucking sexy.
Eddie strains against your grip on the back of his head as he comes up for air.
“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart. You taste so fucking good. So sweet. Best I’ve ever tasted.”
Eddie didn’t even know what he was saying. His mouth began babbling and he couldn’t stop.
“God, I love eating you out. Drenching my fucking face with this pretty little pussy of yours. Making me taste you.”
“Fuck.” You sob, feeling the mounting pressure of your oncoming orgasm “Keep going, Eds. I’m gonna fucking come.”
“You like it when I talk to you like this?” Eddie tsks, flirting with you “Y’know, I never would’ve guessed you’d be such a dirty girl in bed. Show me how dirty you can be. Grab my hair again, sweetheart. Grind against me. Fucking use me.”
You fist his ponytail, shoving his head down into you as you arch your back off of the mattress, bringing yourself closer to him as you begin to grind your wet heat against his face, chasing your high. It was coming towards you like a freight train. You rubbed down hard against his tongue, your pants picking up as you work for it. The pressure building up more. And more. And more. Until a tingling feeling intense pleasure washes over you.
“Shit! Fuck! I’m coming! Oh my god, I’m coming!”
You walked down to the nearest pay phone from the urgent care, immediately reaching for the phone book. You open it to the yellow pages, flipping through until you found the section that you were looking for; Family Planning Services. You ran your finger down the text as your eyes skimmed over what you were looking for. There it was.
You pick up the receiver, pulling some change out of your purse as you feed the coin slot enough currency to make a call, you dial the number- waiting as it rang. With each ring, your hand gripped the phone tighter- thinking about what you should say. What they would say to you. If they’d immediately know what it was that you were calling for before you even had to utter the heavy three-syllable word. Just when you thought you were about to chicken out, your ears were filled with the tinny cheerful voice on the other side of the line.
“Thank you for calling Planned Parenthood! How may I help you?”
You breathe deeply. In…then out. You swallow the nervous lump in your throat.
“Hi, I’d like to make an appointment, please.”
"God, angel. You did so good for me."
Your head was spinning as you try and catch your breath, releasing your grip on his hair.
“Doing okay up there?” Eddie asks, peering up at you as he takes in your blissed out face.
“More than okay.” You hum, causing Eddie to smile.
“Ready for more, sweet thing?” He asks, bringing your legs down from his shoulders- moving up your body to press a kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on his mouth. The “best he’s ever tasted.” You’re sure he’s said that to every girl he’s fucked. Even Chrissy.
His body stiffens, immediately sensing your apprehension once his girlfriend- ex-girlfriend?- popped into your mind.
“Hey, you okay?” He asks, searching your face for signs of uncertainty “We don’t have to do this. We can stop.”
“N-no,” you shake your head, trying to forget about the girl that Eddie really belonged to- the girl who wasn’t you. A girl that you would never be like no matter how hard you tried. The girl that Eddie was in love with. Well, if you couldn’t have him for real then you could at least grant yourself this.
“I’m okay. I want to.” You mutter “Do you want to?”
“Yeah!” Eddie replies almost a little too fast- a little too eager “Yeah, fuck….I do. As long as you want to. We don’t have to…you know….just because I went down on you.”
“No, I want to, Eds.” You breathe “I’ve wanted to for a really long time.”
“Yeah?” He asks, his dick somehow hardening even more than it already was. Eddie could get off just from listening to you tell him that you wanted him. That you were going to grace him with the divine opportunity to have sex with you.
“How long?” He asks, staring into your eyes as he hovers above your half-naked body.
“…since middle school.” You admit, your face heating up in embarrassment.
“Fuuuuck…really?” He asks, his head spinning. And you were just now telling him this?
“Yeah.” You swallow “Really.”
“Even with the buzz cut?”
“Even with the buzz cut.”
“Fuck, you’re a little freak, you know that?” Eddie jokes, ducking his head to kiss your neck.
“Yeah?” You flirt, your voice hot and raspy “Do something about it then.”
Eddie’s eyes darkened as soon as the words left your mouth. A dare he wasn’t going to back down from. His hand flies to the hem of your tank top.
“Take your fucking tits out.”
────────
You stood on Steve’s front porch, overthinking absolutely everything. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, you thought. Especially when you had already made your presence around Eddie pretty scarce over the last month and a half. You couldn’t face him then so why the hell would you be able to face him now? Knowing that you were carrying his baby just made matters worse. Before you could officially decide against showing up, the door swings open- putting you face to face with Steve.
“Hey, you.” He smiles “How long have you been standing out here?”
His smile immediately drops when he sees the expression on your face. Something was up. He could sense it.
“You alright?” He asks, stepping towards you as he closes the front door behind him. He didn’t know why he did it but he could tell that there was a sense of privacy that he needed to provide you.
“Yeah.” You lie “I’m fine.”
You were not fine. Not even close to fine. Your insides were screaming out for you to tell someone- anyone.
“I…”
You stared at Steve, your eyes trying to tell him what your mouth couldn’t say. Steve didn’t know what had taken over him but, without even a moment’s hesitation, he reached for you- placing his hands on your upper arms. He caught the subtle way that your chin wobbled as if you were about to cry. You were not okay.
“Steve-“ You whisper, voice breaking.
Then the front door flies open, revealing Eddie Munson behind it.
“Hey, Big Boy, did you-“ He immediately freezes, walking in on your moment of vulnerability. His eyes fixate on Steve’s hands on your arms, Eddie’s jaw flexes. Steve drops his hands, looking over at Eddie.
“Hey.”
“Sorry, I…uh…popcorn?” Eddie asks, still looking between you and Steve. Something was up. He could feel it.
“In the pantry.” Steve answers “I got the one with extra butter.”
“Cool…” Eddie nods, trying to remain nonchalant before turning to speak to you “Hey, sweetheart. Good to see you.”
“Thanks, Eds.” You reply awkwardly “You too.”
Steve caught on immediately, picking up on your demeanor towards Eddie. You two were on the outs, Steve figured. But why?
“So…” Steve starts, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck “Should we start the movie? Before Robin gives us a lecture about punctuality.”
“Yeah. Right.” You nod.
You and Steve try to move towards the door at the same time, causing you both to bump shoulders.
“Sorry!” Steve apologizes, his hand landing on the small of your back, just for a moment, but Eddie saw it.
“After you.”
Steve gestures for you to enter the house first, using the same hand that had very briefly caressed your back. Eddie began to dwell. Since when did Steve become so touchy with you?
“Thanks, Stevie.” You reply, walking ahead as Eddie steps out of the doorway to let you through.
Stevie.
Since when did you call him “Stevie”?
It was within that moment that Eddie realized that something just didn’t sit right with him about this.
The touching, the weird tension he felt when he opened the door on you and Steve, his hand touching your lower back, you calling him Stevie…
There was something going on here.
And Eddie didn’t know if he liked the possibility of what that something might be.
────────
You lift up your shirt, exposing your bare breasts to Eddie as he sucks in a long breath- his eyes roving over your hardened nipples on display for him.
“Fuck.” He groans, taking the bunched up material of your tank top and pulling it over your head- tossing it across the room. He ducks his head down to run his tongue over one of your sensitive buds before nipping at it. You moan at the sensation. He grabs both of your tits with his large hands, kneading them in his palms as he grinds his clothed crotch against your core.
“Eddie…” you moan, tugging at his black button down shirt that was still on.
“Yeah, baby?” He hums, too busy kissing your tits.
“Why am I the only one naked?” You ask, taking in the fact that he was still fully-clothed while you were beneath him- completely bare and exposed.
“You want me to take my clothes off, sweetheart?” Eddie rasps, looking up at you from between your chest.
“Please?” You ask, tugging at his shirt once again.
“Okay, baby.” He replies “Whatever you want.”
He removes himself from on top of you, getting off the bed as he stands beside it. Your eyes focus on him as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, one-by-one- his eyes boring into you as he works his fingers down. With every button that is released, more and more of his milky skin emerges from underneath the fabric it was hidden beneath.
“Like what you see?” He smirks, finally reaching the last button before he pulls the shirt off- dropping it onto the floor beside him. Revealing his chest tattoos that you hardly ever see.
You nod, your eyes zoning in on his bulge as he begins to unbuckle his jeans. He slides the zipper down agonizingly slow. You were almost certain that he was prolonging the big reveal as much as he could in order to build tension and suspense. You were far too horny to stand it.
“Eds.” You reply sternly, giving him a look of utter impatience “I’m dying here.”
“Alright, gorgeous.” He laughs “Almost finished.”
He hooks his thumbs into the waist of his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. His member is freed from its restraints, slapping against his lower stomach as he lets his jeans pool at his feet- kicking them off. Your jaw practically hits the floor. It was beautiful- he was beautiful.
“Everything okay?” He asks, a bit self-conscious as you stare at him in awe. He was big- no, huge. The biggest you’ve ever witnessed in person.
“You’re- wow.” You breathe out, studying how hard he was. His tip slightly red and leaking a considerable amount of precum. Your mouth immediately begins to water like some sick Pavlovian effect that he had on you. Already trained to want him in your wet, eager mouth.
“Fuck, Eds.” You moan “Can I…”
Your eyes dart between his eyes and his dick, wordlessly conveying what you want.
“Mmm…” Eddie groans “As much I’d love you to, baby, I don’t wanna blow my load in your mouth. Wanna be inside you. That okay?”
Was that okay? You thought. It was more than fucking okay.
“Yes, please.” You breathe, watching his lips curl into a devilish smirk.
“Mmm…Y’know, baby, with manners like that, you can have whatever you fucking want.”
────────
Eddie flopped down onto the couch as you worked the room, greeting everyone that you haven’t seen in the past two weeks. Eddie couldn’t put his finger on it but something about you was just…off- besides whatever it was that he had walked in on between you and Steve.
He settled his left arm on Steve’s leather sofa, looking over his shoulder to grab at the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. The cuddle blanket, you and Eddie had dubbed it long ago. On the occasions that Chrissy didn’t show up for movie night (which was common), Eddie saved the spot next to him just for you- ready to snuggle you close. Prepared to be your emotional support buddy in case the movie was scary- always hoping that it was so that he could feel your body nestled close to his at the scary bits and bury your face into his bicep or his chest to shield your eyes.
Eddie didn’t want to admit it but things between the two of you had been awkward ever since he and Chrissy had gotten back together after Valentine’s Day. You hadn’t cuddled since then. For the first few weeks since he and Chrissy had gotten back together, she had tagged along to movie night- being the one that snuggled up next to Eddie and shared the cuddle blanket. Come to think of it, ever since he and Chrissy made up, you hadn’t been around much at all.
With Chrissy taking your spot next to him on the sofa, you opted to sit somewhere else the past few weeks. Your interactions with him during movie night had become minimal but he was also so focused on entertaining Chrissy that he hadn’t noticed until now.
Then there were the times that he had called and asked to hang out, to which you had declined each time. Citing that you were busy or that you had caught some stomach bug that you couldn’t seem to shake off. Eddie took it all in stride, at first. Now he was worried that you were actively avoiding him. But why would you be? You said things were cool between you two, right?
“Hey, you!” Robin exclaims, hugging you tightly. Eddie eavesdrops from where he sat on the couch, trying to look preoccupied with something else as he listens in.
“How are you feeling?” She asks, looking at you with worry “Better?”
“Yeah.” You nod, trying to force a smile. Trying to pretend that nothing was wrong and that you hadn’t just found out that you were carrying someone’s baby- someone that was only a few feet away from you. “I’m better now. Mostly.”
“Good! We all missed you.” Robin replies, leaning in before whispering in your ear- low enough for only you to hear “Especially someone sitting over there.”
Robin pulls away from you, swiftly darting her eyes over in Eddie’s direction as he suddenly became very interested in the silver chains on the cuff of his jacket.
You don’t answer. Instead, you gave a weak smile before you work your way over to Nancy and Jonathan, asking them what they’ve been up to. After twenty minutes of this, Eddie was practically steaming in his seat. You seemed to be having a conversation with everyone but him tonight. What the fuck?
“Movie’s starting in five!” Dustin bellows “And we’re watching Top Gun. I don’t wanna hear any shit about it! It was my turn to pick. Nobody presses play until I get back from the bathroom.”
“Make sure you aim this time!” Steve scolds “I’m tired of cleaning up after you. I’m not your mommy, Henderson.”
Dustin gives Steve a death stare before flipping him the bird, stomping off to the bathroom down the hall.
Eddie watches as everyone starts to decide where to sit. He looks over his shoulder, finding you and Steve in the kitchen whispering to each other. He was growing impatient. He has a warm spot waiting for you and you were in there fraternizing with Harrington? Since when have the two of you even been close? Not as close as you and Eddie were. Eddie had known you before you had even developed breasts. But now you were acting like Steve was your best pal on earth? Eddie’s hands began to ball into fists. Then it only got worse.
You follow Steve back into the living room, passing Eddie up as you slump down into a spot on the other end of the sofa. Right next to Steve. What….the…fuck? The worst part? You didn’t even look in his direction. Not even a parting glance. Were you snubbing him?
Eddie watches in disbelief as Steve leans in to whisper something in your ear. You nod. Oh, Eddie thought, So you and Harrington share secrets now?
Eddie grinds his teeth, watching Steve steal his spot. Next to his girl. Who did this fucker think he was? Oh, right. King fucking Steve. Eddie rolls his eyes. Thought he grew out of that, he fumes. Clearly not. Arrogant little fuck.
“This seat taken?”
Eddie looks over to find Dustin standing in front of him, looking at the open spot next to him. The spot that you should be sitting in.
“Guess not.” Eddie bitches, his face settling into a pout. Dustin catches it and raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Soooo….can I sit here?”
“Just sit down and shut up, Henderson.” Eddie grumbles, snatching the cuddle blanket off of the spot beside him so that Dustin could sit down.
“Geez.” Dustin sasses “Who pissed in your Corn Flakes?”
Eddie’s head whips towards Dustin, giving him a look that silently conveyed him to not push it.
Dustin took the hint, knowing just how Eddie could be when he got bitchy. It was best not to poke the bear.
────────
“You ready?” Eddie asks, lining himself up at your entrance. He runs his tip up and down your slit, feeling just how wet you are, causing him to groan. “Fuck, you’re wet. Been thinking about this.”
“Yeah?” You whine, looking into Eddie’s eyes as he continues to rub against you.
“Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.” He rasps, his voice low “Tell me when to move.”
“I’m ready.” You answer, your voice small. Unsure.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Eddie replies, catching your apprehension “We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.” You answer “I’m ready. Just…worried that it…”
“Worried about what, baby?” Eddie coos “What’s in your head right now?”
“Worried that it’s not gonna fit.” You admit, and the sound of your innocent voice saying something so fucking hot was enough to have Eddie throbbing.
“Don’t worry, angel. It’ll fit. I promise it will.” He replies “‘Kay?”
God, how were you both just now doing this? He should’ve been fucking you ages ago.
“Okay.” You nod.
“You trust me?” Eddie asks, looking into your eyes. Those pretty, pretty eyes.
“I trust you, Eds.”
“Good,” he breathes “Now, just relax for me, alright? I’m gonna take care of you.”
You force your body to relax underneath him, making yourself ready. You were about to have sex with Eddie. Your Eddie. Your favorite person in the entire world. The fact of it was so surreal that it felt like a dream.
Eddie grabs his member, lining himself up with your wet heat once again as he begins to enter you, watching your face for any indications of discomfort or regret.
He hears a sharp intake of breath from below him, stilling his hips as he looks down at you.
“You okay?” He asks, his voice laced with worry.
“Yeah.” You assure him “I’m okay. You feel good, Eds. So good.”
The words that left your sweet lips were enough to have him melting. The tip of him was barely in and you were already mesmerized.
“Fuck, baby.” He sighs “I’m gonna keep going. You good?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay. Shit…alright.” he babbles, inching his hips closer to you as he pushes himself deeper, sinking into your plush, slick walls.
“Ohhhh fuck…” he gasps, his hands reaching above your head to grip the sheets.
“Are you okay?” You ask, watching the way he was squeezing his eyes closed.
“Y-yeah. Fine. Just…shit, you’re tight. M’not even all the way in.” He groans “Holy fuck…”
“Do you wanna stop?”
“No!” He replies hastily “Just gimme a sec.”
He takes a deep breath, beginning to push himself into you further- focusing on the way you were suffocating his cock with your velvety soft walls. This, Eddie decided, was heaven. It had been between your thighs the entire fucking time. Who would’ve known?
He lets out an almost pornographic moan as he bottoms out, pushing himself into you as deep as possible. The action earns him a long, drawn-out moan from you. A sweet fucking sound that made him ravenous.
“Eddie!” You gasp, clawing at his arms “S-so deep.”
“Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good.” He whimpers “Fuck…”
Eddie begins to draw back, almost to the point of pulling out completely before thrusting back into you, causing you to gasp.
“Oh my god!” You squeak, your mouth falling open in pleasure.
“Fuck, you’re so hot!”
“More, Eddie!” You beg “Give me more.”
And who was Eddie fucking Munson to not give a lady what she wants?
He begins to snap his hips into you, drawing back and sinking back in like his life depended on it.
“Yes!” You whine “Eddie!”
The sound of his name tumbling from your lips only spurs him on. He grasps into your hips, angling himself to quickly fuck into your dripping cunt. The sudden angle shift had you digging your nails into his shoulders.
“Shit, Eds! Just like that!”
“Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?” He pants, picking up his pace "So fucking tight, baby. So fucking wet for me. Tell me you're wet for me."
"Yes, Eddie! S-so wet for you. Only you. Want you to fuck me harder!"
“Yeah? Is that how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and rough? Huh? Say it for me…”
“Eddie, please!” You beg.
“C’mon, baby. Use those pretty words of yours. Ask for what you want.” He growls.
“I want it rough!” You plead “Please!”
Eddie grunt as he drives into you harder, pounding you hard enough to jolt your body forward onto the mattress.
“Eddie! Eddie! Fuck, yes!” You chant.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for my cock. Isn’t that right? Want it so bad, huh? Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this.” Eddie praises “Such a good, good girl.”
The sounds of your moans coupled with the sound of Eddie pounding you into the mattress was downright filthy.
“Fuckin’ drenching my cock, princess. Fuck, that’s so sexy. You’re so sexy.” Eddie babbles “Can’t believe I’m fucking you. God-“
You began to feel the tell-tale signs of your high approaching, becoming breathless and desperate as Eddie fucked himself into you.
“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Fuck! Please!” You didn’t even know what you were asking for but all you could do is plead with him.
“What, baby?” He coos “Am I fucking you too good? Want me to stop?”
“No!” You cry out “Please, please, please don’t stop!”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He praises “You can take it, can’t you? Taking my cock so fucking well.”
“Eddie, I-I’m close!” You gasp out desperately.
“Yeah?” He purrs “You close? You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?”
“Please.” You practically sob “Wanna come for you. So bad.”
“Mmm…fuck!” Eddie growls “I’m getting close too, angel. Need to get you there first.”
Without hesitation, Eddie reaches down between you- placing his ring-clad middle finger onto your sensitive bundle of nerves as he roughly plays with your clit, sending you closer to the edge.
“Shit! Oh! Oh! Oh god!” You shout, your orgasm beginning to rip through you “Oh yesss! Fuck, I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“That’s right, angel! Come for me! Fuckin’ give it to me!”
It was the last thing you could hear before your screams began to fill the bedroom, your chest heaving as your orgasm took over your body. Your toes began to curl, your mouth dropping open as you were beginning to see stars. Eddie leans down to press his lips against yours, trying to stifle the sounds of your climax so that your neighbors couldn’t hear you and file a noise complaint with your apartment complex.
“Shit, baby! You’re squeezing me so tight.” Eddie pants, removing his lips from yours “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there.”
He helped you ride out your orgasm, continuing to chase his own as you writhed in pleasure underneath him and Eddie swore that it was the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen. Not even the horniest, filthiest porn-flick he’s ever watched could top this. This was the real fucking deal. The sexiest thing he’s ever fucking experienced- and it had him tumbling over the edge right after you.
"Fuck! Never felt something so tight! Christ, don't make me pull out. Please."
Without warning, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in close as you hook your ankles together- holding him there. The action has his eyes practically rolling into the back of his skull. He slams his cock into you mercilessly.
“I’m gonna fucking come, baby! Fuck! Oh fuck!” He buries himself into your cunt so deep that he wanted to fucking live there and never come out. He wanted to fucking marry it. He swore to Christ himself and the heavens above that your pussy was the gold standard- the best he’s ever fucking had. The best he would ever have.
“Baby! Baby! Holy shit!” His voice breaks as Eddie hits his limit “I’m fucking coming!”
────────
“Eddie, you good, man?”
Dustin looks down at Eddie, standing over him as he shrugged on his jacket to brave the rainstorm that had started shortly into the movie.
“M’fine, Henderson.” Eddie drones, staring straight ahead with the same scowl on his face that he had had the entire movie.
“You sure? ‘Cause you look like you’re gonna kill someone.”
“Henderson, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t stop asking me stupid questions.” Eddie hisses.
“This is about her, isn’t it?” Dustin whispers, glancing towards you on the other side of the room as you stood next to Steve- helping him store leftover pizza in his fridge.
“Is it because she didn’t sit next to you?” Dustin prods, trying to find the source of Eddie’s unhappiness. Eddie just wants him to back off and mind his own business for once instead of worrying about him.
“Don’t you have someone else to bother, Henderson?” Eddie quips “Seriously, go away.”
“Geez.” Dustin rolls his eyes “Just go ahead and be all bitchy towards me because your other lady is blowing you off for Steve.”
Eddie’s eyes immediately snap onto Dustin.
“You noticed it too?” Eddie questions, completely ignoring Dustin’s comment about you being his “other lady” Eddie didn’t even care enough to straighten him out about that. All he cared about was finding out what Dustin knew about you and Steve.
“Yeah, I guess.” Dustin shrugs “I mean, I noticed that she hasn’t spoken to you since she got here. Especially when you two are usually on the end of that couch doing everything but sucking each other’s faces off.”
“Hey, no.” Eddie interjects “First of all, it’s not like that with us.”
“Like what?” Dustin challenges “Like you’re not totally in love with her?”
“Who said I was in love with her, Henderson?”
“You don’t have to.” Dustin replies “You’re more transparent than a sheet of plexiglass. She could ask you to jump off the quarry and you’d already be at the bottom doing the breaststroke.”
“You, Henderson,” Eddie replies, pointing his finger at Dustin “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you forget that I have a girlfriend? An amazing, adorable, super sweet girlfriend that loves me.”
“Oh, I remember. I think you are the one who forgets that you have a girlfriend, Eddie.”
And that was the comment that really struck a nerve.
“Excuse me, you little shit-stain?”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Dustin tries to reason “I don’t know if Chrissy would be very happy if she saw the way that you looked at the girl that’s supposedly you’re best friend.”
“And how exactly do I look at her, hm?” Eddie challenges “Go ahead, do enlighten me.”
“Just forget it, Eddie.” Dustin replies, realizing not that it was a bad idea to even bring it up now that he knew that Eddie would never drop it.
“No, tell me.” Eddie crosses his arms “I’m dying to know. How do I look at her?”
Dustin sighs. He wished he would’ve just kept his mouth shut.
“I said forget it, Eddie.” Dustin sighs “Look, can you give me a ride? It’s raining and I don’t want to bike all the way home.”
“Yeah.” Eddie grumbles, still annoyed but never wanting to let his friends stand out in the cold and the rain “Sure. Whatever. Grab your shit, we’re leaving in five.”
Eddie rises from the couch, turning towards the kitchen to still find you and Steve standing there. Talking. What could the two of you possibly be talking about for so fucking long?
Eddie plucks up the courage to talk to you, approaching you and Steve in the kitchen as you speak in hushed tones. As soon as they see him approaching, the immediately stop talking.
Okay, Eddie thought, that’s totally not fucking weird or anything.
He stands in front of you and Steve, feeling an awkward tension between the three of you.
“Hey, man.” Steve smiles, looking at Eddie as if nothing abnormal was just happening. But it was, right? Or was it all in Eddie’s head?
“Hey.” Eddie clears his throat before turning to look at you “I, uh…me and Henderson are heading out. I came over to see if you wanted a ride home. Y’know, since it’s raining.” And because I always take you home.
“Oh.” You reply as if you’re taken aback. Eddie begins to feel even more suspicious. Since when were you surprised when he offered to take you home? He always dropped you off at your apartment after movie night. Hell, he was the one who drove you around Hawkins whenever there was somewhere you needed to go. Why were you acting so odd about it now?
“Thanks, Eds, but Steve is actually going to take me home.” You continue “But I appreciate you offering.”
You appreciate him offering? Since when did he have to offer, ever? It was an unspoken agreement since basically the dawn of time that he was your ride home. Now you were carpooling it up with Harrington? What…the…fuck?
“Sure, yeah. Cool.” Eddie responds, trying to feign nonchalance. Except it was totally not cool. It was vastly and entirely not cool. “So…I see you’re feeling better. I was thinking that maybe we can, y’know, hang out. I miss having you around.”
“Oh. Really?” You ask, not knowing what to say “I, uh…I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I have a lot going on and stuff.”
“Yeah?” Eddie questions “Do you wanna talk about it, maybe?”
“That’s nice of you to ask, Eddie.” You say “But it’s a little late and I’m kind of not in the mood to talk about it right now.”
Oh, but I’m sure you wanna talk about it with Mr. Perfect with his stupid good hair.
“Sure, yeah.” Eddie nods “I get it.”
“But I’ll call you soon.” You add “Promise.”
“Sure.” Eddie nods.
Liar.
“I’ll….see you around.”
Before you could reply, Eddie had turned on his heels-stomping off to collect Dustin and get the fuck out of there. The sooner that he could be at home in his bedroom and wallowing in his own self-pity, the better.
────────
“Fuck,” Eddie pants, flopping down onto the mattress beside you as he begins to laugh incredulously “That was…”
Amazing? Spectacular? Fucking sublime? Absolutely mind-blowing? Life-altering? The best thing he’s ever fucking felt in his subpar life?
“Wow.” He breathes “Shit…”
You, on the other hand, lay beside him. Silent. Just thinking. A feeling of immense guilt and regret flooding you. You just fucked Eddie- and you liked it. No, loved it. You loved him. You were in love with him.
“Hey,” Eddie whispers, taking in your lack of response as he rolls over onto his side to face you “You good?” His stomach drops when he notices your lack of euphoric afterglow. Fuck. Shit! You hated it.
No. No, no, no, please god no.
“Yeah.” You mumble “I’m okay. I’m good.”
But you didn’t seem good and that made Eddie begin to spiral.
“Shit! Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?” He questions, searching your face for something- anything.
“What?” You ask “No! No, I’m okay. Just….thinking.”
“You hated it…”
“No! No, I didn’t hate it!” You exclaim “It was nice, Eds. I just….I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Look…I’m gonna go take a shower. Maybe that’ll help.”
“Yeah…sure. That’s a good idea. Do you…want me to join you?” Eddie asked hesitantly, hoping that you’d say yes. That he could hold you underneath the warm, running water and get you to finally open up to him about what was going on.
“That’s okay.” You shoot him down, beginning to rise from the mattress as you grab at the bed sheets, covering yourself up self-consciously as you get out of bed. As if Eddie didn’t just see all of you- especially the most intimate parts. “I’m gonna be in and out anyway. You can stay…if you want.” You offer. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” Eddie mutters “Okay.”
He watches as you grasp the bedsheet around yourself tightly as you walk towards the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom. Before you closed the bathroom door closed, you look over your shoulder at Eddie- who was watching you worriedly.
“Eds,” You say, your voice barely a whisper “It was nice. Really nice.”
Eddie’s heart began to lift even just a little bit. At least he knew that it wasn’t absolutely, tragically terrible for you. It still wasn’t the reaction that he was hoping for. It wasn’t coupled with the heart-felt sweet confession that you maybe loved him just as much as he loved you. But he also knew that would only ever happen in his passionate wet-dream fantasies about you.
Before he could respond, you had already gone into the bathroom- closing the door behind you as you left him naked and vulnerable in your bed. Yearning for you desperately even after just having been inside you, the closest that he’s ever fucking been to you.
Fuck, Eddie thought, this girl is going to kill me.
────────
You were seated in the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW, fiddling nervously with your seatbelt strap as he drove toward your apartment.
“So, how long have you and Eddie been hooking up? I thought he was dating Chrissy.”
“He is.” You sigh, continuing to explain the complexity of your situation to Steve “And it was only once. On Valentine’s Day.”
“Okay…” Steve replies, trying to follow along “But didn’t he go out to Enzo’s with Chrissy on Valentine’s Day? I just don’t understand how you two ended up having sex. I mean, I’m not, like, judging or anything. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
“What?” You ask, confused by what Steve was saying “What do you mean?”
“Oh, c’mon.” Steve huffs out a laugh “Don’t pretend like you and Munson haven’t had the hots for each other for years.”
“What? No. Me and Eddie have only ever been..you know…platonic.” You argue.
“You’re joking, right?” Steve counters “You do realize you’re literally telling me right now that you and Eddie had sex. Like, sex-sex. As in he stuck his d-“
“I know!” You interject, cutting Steve off before he could say the words “I know what I fucking said, okay?”
“It’s just…you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Look, Steve, I said it was complicated.” You huff.
“Honey, I don’t think it’s as complicated as you think it is. You like Eddie. Eddie more than likes you, trust me. You two hooked up…and now…”
“I’m pregnant.” You state.
“Yeah.” Steve nods, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed “Pregnant.”
“What the fuck do I do?” You groan, throwing your head back against the headrest.
“Are you going to tell him?” Steve asks, looking over at you as he continues to drive.
“No!” You exclaim “Absolutely not! No.”
“Okay.” Steve answers “Well, what are your plans?”
“I, uh…I have an appointment on Monday. At Planned Parenthood. To…you know.” You reveal, your heart pounding as you finally say the words out loud. That you didn’t plan on keeping it.
“Shit, okay.” Steve nods “And you’re sure?”
“Yeah.” You reply “I just…I can’t have a baby, Steve. Especially not Eddie’s. My love-life would be over after that. Nobody’s gonna want to date me when I come attached with a kid.”
“I don’t know,” Steve jokes “Munson seems like he’d totally be into that.”
“Ugh! Can you stop fucking saying shit like that?” You bury your head in your hands “Even if Eddie wasn’t already with Chrissy, he’d skip town and run for the hills if he found out that I was pregnant with his baby.”
“I don’t know about that.” Steve shrugs “I think Eddie would step up. Especially knowing it was you who was having his kid. You know how he is with all that shit with his own dad. I just don’t see him abandoning you.”
“Well, we don’t know that for sure.” You lay out “And we’re sure as hell not going to find out. Which is why I kind of need your help, Steve. Like, really.”
“Yeah.” Steve replies without hesitation “Of course. I’ll be there one-hundred percent. You know that. Just tell me what you need and I’ll be right there next to you.”
Your heart warms at Steve’s admission. You always knew he was a good friend but now you were realizing just how good of a friend he was to you. Supporting you, comforting you, keeping your secret.
“Do you, maybe, think that you could take me? They said that I need someone to drive me. Make sure that I get back home safe after. I could also use the emotional support. Someone to hold my hand in the waiting room before I go in.”
“Of course!” Steve accepts “I’ll be there. For as long as you need me. You don’t have to do this alone.”
You begin to feel the prickliness of oncoming tears in your eyes from Steve’s words. Finally relieved that you had told someone. That someone was by your side and that you didn’t have to do this alone. You use your sleeve to wipe at your tears, trying to control your breathing enough to prevent yourself from sobbing. You sniff, staring into your lap as caught sight of Steve’s hand reach for yours- taking it in his own as he rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand soothingly.
You look over at him, watching as he gave you a sad smile before averting his eyes back onto the dark, stormy road ahead. You were glad that you had asked him to bring you home.
“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper into the silent cab of his car “This means a lot of me. More than you know.”
You lock eyes with him again but he doesn’t say anything back. Just sitting in the silence. He didn’t have to say anything. The way that he squeezed your hand in his let you know that he knew exactly what this meant to you. You didn’t have to say a word.
────────
You dressed yourself in the bathroom, your hair wet from the shower as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You could barely even make eye-contact with your reflection, guilt eating you from the inside out. All you could think about was Chrissy Cunningham. How you had sex with her boyfriend. How you let Eddie fuck you like some cheap rebound while he had to still be dwelling over the breakup. Were things even over between the two of them? You doubted it, yet you slept with Eddie anyway- and the reality of it made you feel dirty. Now you had to get back into bed and face him.
You braced yourself as you opened the bathroom door, preparing yourself to act normal but as soon as you stepped into the dark bedroom, you realized that you didn’t have to. The bed where Eddie once laid was empty. The pile of clothes that he had left on the side of the bed were gone. He had dressed himself and left without even bothering to say goodbye.
You stood there, dumbstruck.
No, you thought, there’s no way that he could have just left.
There’s no way that he could have just fucked you and walked out like a cheap hook-up. Some regretful one night stand.
You storm out of your bedroom, walking into your living room as you search around for him. Expecting to find him in the kitchen raiding your fridge for a late-night post-sex snack. But no. It was empty. You hurried back into the living room, looking to see that his boots were gone from where he had kicked them off during the movie. Eddie had taken off. Nowhere to be found.
You walk about into your bedroom, filled with disbelief. Checking your nightstand for a note, at least. An explanation on where he went or even why he had left. Nothing. Your blood ran cold. You sink down into your bed, noticing that the covers were pulled back up. You throw yourself back onto the bed in agony, feeling something underneath your back and the sound of crunching in your ears.
You sit back up, reaching to pull the covers back as you find the bouquet of wilted red roses on the side of the bed where his body used to be. Just staring back at you. Left there just for you. Leaving you wondering what they meant. Why he had left them there. Why he wasn’t in their place instead. How you wished it were him. How you wished that he had been laying there waiting for you to get out of the shower and climb in next to him and hold you in his arms and keep you warm and run his fingers through your damp hair. How you wanted him to show you that he didn’t regret this. That he wanted you like how you wanted him. That everything was okay.
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Guys i dont care what anyone else is saying. Eddie Munson is like my Megan Fox in transformers guys. I DONT CARE WHAT ANYONE ELSE SAYS. Joe Quinn era from 2021-2022 eddie munson guys.... and still now.
Eddie’s been head over heels in love with you ever since the day you met. He’s never been anyone’s boyfriend before, but for you, he’s sure as hell going to give it a try. When your best friend orders you to stay away from him, you try to respect her wishes…at first. But you don’t really like being told what to do.
this series is 18+ only mdni: eventual smut, eventual angst, mixed pov, toxic friendships, secret relationship, first time love and all that good stuff. each part will have individual content warnings.
part one / more coming soon!
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