Lil B

This year he’s wearing the one Eddie got him as a gift for his birthday. It’s black with a spatula and a two-pronged fork crossed in an ‘X’ formation with the words, 'My meat isn’t gonna rub itself.’ Eddie thought it was hilarious. Robin, on the other hand, shook her head muttering, ‘dinguses,’ under her breath. 

Every time they get together, Robin tries to show Eddie how nice it is to have a wife, often using Vickie as an example. It makes him roll his eyes—she’s so transparent, can’t hide her endgame if her life depended on it. 

Vickie hands Robin a plate of food she gathered for her from the buffet style table, the chatty woman too engrossed in a conversation with Eddie about the difference between Metal and Rock. 

“No, you misunderstand me! My point is rock is like an umbrella,” she makes a broad gesture above her head, “and metal—oh, thanks, hun!” She tips her head back to smile at Vickie’s figure behind her shoulder, taking the plate from her hands. 

Eddie can’t help but smile at their easy affection. He remembers hearing from Steve how horribly nervous Robin was about even talking to Vickie. Now they’ve been together for twenty-two years. Even that makes his cold, dead heart thaw a little. That is until Robin gives him a pointed look.

“Seeee? A wife is a plus! You don’t have to get your own food!” She says it like she’s trying to sell him the newest upgrade to his cellphone. It makes him shake his head, an amused expression settling onto his pale face. 

“Uh,” Vickie cuts in, a finger in the air as if making a point, “yes, you do have to get your own food. I’m only doing this because of that thing you did earlier.” Her voice lowers like it’s a secret Eddie shouldn’t hear. 

“Ah,” Robin nods, catching on to Vickie’s insinuation. “Yes, that thing that I did to you earlier with my thing on your thing.”

Eddie snorts, Robin has not changed in all his years of knowing her—never really a smooth criminal.

“You guys do know I know how the birds and the bees work—or,” he pauses, stuttering a bit before continuing, “I guess…the bees and the bees in this case.” His brow is scrunched, lip curled, cringing at his awkward save.

“You know I’d like to think that you do, Eddie. I really would, but I don’t see a ring on your finger.” Robin shakes her head, reprimanding him. 

Eddie guffaws, “What are you, Saint Robin? I need to marry first before I can have sex?”

“Well—,”

“And by the way, I have had sex before,” he implores.

“Sure you have, champ,” she pats his knee condescendingly, shooting him a placating look.

“Whatever, I don’t need to take this from you,” he mutters indignantly, getting up to check on Steve at the grill.

“Hey, buddy!” Steve drawls, flipping a burger before looking up at his best friend. 

Eddie grumbles a greeting, turning to face the party, his back to the grill, a cold beer in his hands. 

Eager to fill the silence, Steve picks the first subject that that comes to mind.

“I hate these singles, you know—,” he shakes his head, looking down at his messy grill station. He prepares to expand on his complaint, but Eddie beats him to it, a complaint of his own already on top of mind.

“Oh, please! Like you couples are a joy to be around! It’s always, ‘I gotta ask my wife,’ ‘Sorry, I can’t come out tonight, I’m too busy looking for my balls,’” he mocks. “News flash! They’re rolling around in her purse!”

Steve opens his mouth to ask Eddie what the hell he’s so bent out of shape for, but he can’t get a word in. The man’s too busy going off on one of his grand speeches—just like old times.

“I don’t need anybody, okay? I’m perfectly fine on my own! In fact, I’m more than fine. I'm happy! I’m glad I don’t have anybody waiting for me to get home! I’m fucking ecstatic that I get to eat alone! Nobody takes my food, I probably save thousands of dollars buying everything for one! Not everybody wants to be married and pop out a whole baseball team like you and your wife, Steve!”

Eddie’s meltdown draws the attention of a few surrounding partygoers, earning him some judgemental stares and curled lips. 

Steve looks at him like he’s grown two heads, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape as he lets Eddie’s words become stale in the hot summer air. Just really letting him stew in it before he decides to speak again. 

“Okay…project much?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “I was talking about the burgers. Robin bought me individually wrapped burgers, in single packaging. It’s been a bitch to unwrap all 30 of ‘em.” His explanation is saturated in a level of sass he hasn’t released in years. 

Eddie deflates at the sight of the scraps of white paper and cellophane littering the ground on the other side of the grill, feeling incredibly stupid right about now.

“Oh…yeah. I knew that…” He shoves his free hand into his pocket trying to fight through the embarrassment, “I love Jess, by the way. She’s great; gorgeous family you have there,” he rushes out, nodding his head with a forced grin that resembles bared teeth more than genuine happiness. 

Steve tilts his head incredulously, just in utter disbelief that Eddie would even think that’s a sufficient save. “Shut up.”

“Shutting up.” Eddie frantically nods, pressing his mouth shut, resigning himself to standing in the awkward tension he created. 

Thankfully, he’s ‘saved by the Robin’ as she comes rushing over with Vickie hot on her trail.

“Steve, you have a new neighbor! She just pulled in with her U-Haul, it looks like she’s unpacking everything herself.”

She stops to catch her breath, all the information spilling out in one excited spiel. In a flash, she turns her bright eyes to Eddie, his eyebrows raising at being singled out. “And she’s a total hottie! Maybe a little young, but you could be a manther!”

He recoils in disgust at the name, here we go again, he thinks. Matchmaker Robin to the rescue.

Steve looks at Robin like she’s grown two heads or asked him to go halfsies on a timeshare. “Robin!” he bites out, the clipped tone attempting to yank her proverbial leash like she’s a much too excited dog.

He can’t believe she just said that in front of her wife. If he said that in front of Jess, the balls that Eddie claims are in her purse would soon be at the bottom of Lovers Lake, right next to his weighted body. 

Vickie quickly cuts in, coming to her wife’s defense. “Oh, no, it’s fine! She is a total hottie,” she nods understandingly. 

“Robin, I am begging you to stop setting me up with the women you know.” Eddie holds his hands up, pressing them together, pleading with her. “Also, no offense, but you’ve lost all credibility in determining hotness. The last girl you set me up with looked like Uncle Wayne in a wig and a tube top,” he deadpans. 

“Um,” Vickie jerks her head back like she’s been slapped, a frown etched into her freckled face, “full offense taken, by the way.”

Before Eddie can tell her he didn’t mean to call her hotness as Robin’s wife into question, Robin is pulling him and Steve across the yard to the neighboring house. The one that’s been up for sale for six months.

Steve’s still clutching his spatula as he’s pulled away, shouting over his shoulder, “Honey, man the station! Don’t let my burgers burn!” He tosses the spatula to a very pregnant Jess who scrambles to catch it.

Eddie’s attempting to go deadweight, leaning back against Robin’s strong pull, but the woman must be on steroids because she’s trucking Steve and him along just fine. 

She pulls them from the backyard to the side of your driveway with frightening ease. When they arrive, your back is turned to them. You’re wearing high-waisted jean shorts and a pink tank top—an earnest attempt to stay cool in the hot Indiana sun. 

You’re reaching for a box you creatively labeled ‘clothes’ when you hear a woman’s voice behind you, causing you to turn around. 

“Hi, I’m Robin! Welcome to the neighborhood, I don’t live here! Here, have two men!” It all comes out in a jumble as she pushes Eddie and Steve forward towards you. “They can help you move whatever you need!” 

As quick as she arrived, she hurried away. You didn’t even get to introduce yourself to her. She just spoke quickly at you, then shoved two random men towards you. You watch her retreat back to the block party, amused confusion riddling your face.

In her absence, you turn to look at the men in front of you, hesitating on what to say—you’ve never had this happen before. Usually, men aren’t brought to you on a silver platter, despite your many wishes during ovulation week.

You open your mouth to say something when the man in the apron gets there quicker. “Sorry about her.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely gesturing to where Robin disappeared to. “She can be really direct. I’m Steve! Nice to meet you.” He shakes your hand as you tell him your name. Both of you silently wait, eyeing his friend. It’s Eddie’s cue to introduce himself, but he’s too busy staring at you.

His jaw dropped the moment you turned around, thoroughly convinced he’s never seen a woman so beautiful in his entire life. The way your clothes fit you so nicely—your shorts might as well be painted on you. He’s immediately thinking lewd thoughts at the sight of the unyielding jean hem squeezing the fat of your thighs. 

He’s pretty sure he could paint your every feature from memory with how deeply his roving eyes are consuming your image. Don’t even get him started on the way your tank top accentuates your breasts. He feels like a teenager all over again, trying to think of math equations so he doesn’t pop an ill-timed boner. 

Then all of a sudden you’re looking at him. Everything is in slow motion: you’re coming closer; he’s breathing in deeply through his nose to desperately catch your scent; your gorgeous lips are moving and he’s imagining them moving up and down on his cock. But his reverie is broken when he feels a sharp pain in his ribs, sending him forward in a jolt, a sputtering cough tumbling out of his mouth.

Feeling like he just woke up from a dream, he quickly realizes Steve knuckle-punched him right in the ribs. Straightening up, he glares at his abuser before turning to you again. Your ethereal face looks across between concerned and amused at the actions his so-called ‘friend’ committed. He’s needs to have a talk with Steve about not hitting him like a 12-year-old in front of hot women—especially the hottest woman. 

“What?” Eddie mutters the question, having missed what you said before when he was too busy thinking about your lips on his—stop. Cringing, he considers how he probably sounds like such a doofus. ‘What?’ smooth, Munson, he thinks. 

But you don’t laugh in his face, call him an idiot, and go back to your work like you probably should. No, instead, you just grin at his clearly dumbstruck face. 

“I said, ‘And you are?’” You bat your lashes at him, tilting your chin down, never taking your eyes off of his. 

“Eddie…Munson,” he cringes at the way his name felt foreign on his own tongue just now. What the hell are you doing to him? You’re like some kind of siren and he’s a sailor being lured, except you’re not singing. Actually, you’re not even trying to lure him and he’s already showing up with goggles, flippers, and a snorkel, diving into the waves in your eyes, all on his own free will. If you are a siren, he’s planning to be your easiest catch yet. 

Steve’s watching his friend absolutely flounder in this interaction, shaking his head. ‘I’m happy alone,’ he mocks Eddie’s earlier words.

“Well, Eddie Munson,” you look him up and down like he’s a five course meal and you’re prêt-à-manger, “you look pretty strong, care to help a poor girl out?”.

“Yeah, I’m really strong,” he nods, unblinking eyes on yours, despite his awkward phrasing. That wasn’t what you asked, but his mind is running about as fast as Dial-up Internet. He sounds like one of Steve’s boys whenever the man asks if anybody can help him pick up the lawn chairs. The irony of a clearly younger woman making him feel like a horny, stuttering teenager again is not lost on him. 

Your smirk only widens. Steve’s looking between you and Eddie in the silence of your nonresponse, suddenly feeling very out of place—the tension thick like molasses. He clears his throat, drawing your eyes to him. 

“I’m here, too, by the way.” He raises his hand like it’s roll call back in high school. 

You huff out an amused breath, “Come on, I could use both of you,” nodding your head back to the truck. You push a large box out of the way, clearing a path for them to pick up your dresser from inside the truck. 

Eddie follows you, a little too close to your distracted body, his mind whirring at your comments about using him. 

When you turn back to ask them to get the dresser, you jump at Eddie’s proximity to you. You didn’t realize he was following so closely, practically on your heels. 

“Oh! Jesus!” You backup a little from his body, a hand clutching your heart as you laugh at the scare. 

Steve is quick to pull Eddie away from you by the back of his faded band tee, already apologizing for his friend’s creepy behavior. “Sorry, he failed out of obedience school,” he quips nervously. 

Eddie’s too busy staring at you to hit Steve for his comment.

“That’s alright,” you size the metalhead up, a flirtatious glint in your eye. “He seems like he’d be better at giving orders anyway.” 

Eddie’s fighting tooth and nail to withhold a groan at your words. The way you’re looking at him could send him into cardiac arrest. Every flirtation is accompanied with hungry eyes and an innocent smile, he feels like he could make a religion out of it. He’d develop a full on multi-level marketing scheme to recruit followers in your name, indoctrinating as many apostles as he could. He’d create the rules to your religion himself—rule number one would be: only he gets to fuck you. 

Steve blanches at your brazen comment, both thankful you’re not looking at him like that and traumatized he’s being forced to watch a woman flirt with Eddie while he fumbles the interaction astronomically. 

You move on like you didn’t just say the nastiest thing Eddie’s heard in a while. “I could use help with the dresser. I was supposed to have a friend come help me, but he actually called to flake out right before you guys came over here.” You chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed for over-explaining yourself to these attractive strangers.

Eddie bristles at the mention of a male friend. He finds himself wondering if you have a boyfriend—which makes him feel even more weird. Regardless, he tries to convince himself you probably don’t, and if you do, he’d like to have a talk with the douche who left you to do all the grunt work.

Grunt work.

Now he’s thinking about the grunt work he’d like to do with you. Mentally slapping himself, he refocuses his mind. You asked for his help, so he’s damn well going to give it to you. 

“No problem, we can do it right, Steve?” He looks to Steve who’s hesitating. If he knew he was going to help somebody move, he would’ve stretched, or just offered to pay for movers so he doesn’t have to do any work. But that’s not doable, so he begrudgingly nods.

They work together to pull the dresser to the edge of the truck, carrying it into your new house at your direction, both releasing relieved grunts when they set the heavy structure down. 

“Thank you so much, guys, really! Is there any way I could repay you?” Your brows are furrowed, a hopeful, wide eyed gaze bouncing between the two huffing men. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve waves his hand at you, heading to leave your mostly empty bedroom. 

“No bed?” Eddie noticed the dresser was the only large thing in the U-Haul—no bed already in the bedroom either. He was hoping you’d need a little more help than one thing. He just gained the ability to talk to you, he doesn’t want to leave now. 

You’re caught off guard by his question, but you answer nonetheless. “Oh! Um, no, it's being delivered tomorrow, along with my couch and some other things,” you nod. 

Confusion takes over his face at your explanation. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?”

You have no couch and no bed—he doesn’t see any comfortable place for you to rest. You can’t possibly sleep on the floor, that’d be ridiculous. 

You smile at his scrunched up face, appreciating the cute wrinkle in his brow, and the concerned brown doe eyes. “That friend I mentioned earlier has an extra bedroom.”

“The flaky friend?” He knows that’s who you mean, but he feels the need to point out that the guy couldn’t show up to help his ‘friend’ with her stuff. And now he’s going to sleep with near you? Eddie feels like fighting this guy and he doesn’t even know him. He realizes his feelings are a bit dramatic, but you look like that!

Your smile widens at his comment, not taking any offense by it, but Steve cuts in before you can respond. “Okay, Eddie, you got your answer. Come on, she probably wants to unpack now,” he gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Well, we can’t just do one thing.” Eddie turns around, heading back out to the moving truck full of boxes. “Come on, Steve! You could use the workout, Mr. Dad Bod.” He pats Steve’s beer gut, causing Steve to smack his hand away.

You rush to follow their quick retreat. “No, you guys don’t have to help! I know you’ve got a party going on,” you gesture to Steve’s backyard, the chattering and the music still going strong. You can hear screaming kids and the splashing of pool water. It sounds like a great time, you’d feel horrible if they wasted such a beautiful day on helping a stranger move in. 

Steve’s quick to tilt his head at Eddie who’s currently stacking two boxes on top of each other to carry into your house. “Well, she does have a point—”

“Nonsense, Steve,” Eddie glares at him before nodding over his shoulder to the boxes waiting to be brought in. “Now, come on. Many hands make light work.” He’s already carrying the stacked boxes through your front door.

Steve just nods, resigning himself to helping.

You glance at him with uncertainty in your eyes. “Are you sure? You really don’t have to—”

He opens his mouth to speak, picking up a box, but before he gets a word out, Eddie’s jogging back out, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course, he is! Plus, this’ll be good because once we get your stuff inside, you can come over to the party and have a drink!” 

His easy grin is intoxicating as he looks at you, shiny brown eyes alight with excitement, effectively relieving you of any doubt.

“Sure, I’d love to,” you nod, smiling to yourself as you pick up a box. 

Before you can turn around to take it inside, Eddie pulls it out of your hands. You frown, about to ask him what he’s doing when he reprimands you.

“Nope! Ladies aren’t for working, they’re for directing men and lookin’ cute,” he grins, leaning into you for emphasis. Turning around, he shoves the stolen box onto the one Steve’s already holding. 

You scoff at his arbitrary ruling, “But I—”

He shakes his head, cutting you off, “No ‘but’s. Now show me where you want these?” 

Sighing, you feel an amused smile work its way onto your face at his insistence on helping you.

Eddie was right, many hands do make light work. The men are done in no time, all the boxes brought into your house and placed in their necessary rooms, ready to be unpacked at your convenience. You’re directing Steve where to put the last box when Eddie comes up behind you, holding your vintage Coca-Cola sign. 

“You like a lot of old stuff,” he points out, looking between you and the sign. He nearly squealed earlier when he saw your massive framed Metallica tour poster. It was for the Damaged Justice tour back in ‘88—the one he actually went to. 

You smile at his comment, appreciating the way his t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, showing off his muscle definition. You can see the many tattoos littering his pale skin, all inky black and in perfect contrast. He must lotion himself religiously because they all look great for his age, assuming he got them when he was younger, of course.

Midway through helping you move, he had put his hair up in a low bun, his poofy curls resting in a knot at the knape of his neck. A few pieces seemed to have fallen free at all the bend and lifting, framing his face so beautifully it makes your mouth water. You hope to god he had a hair tie because of how often he puts his hair up, not because he’s got a woman at home. 

Only one way to find out.

“Well, what can I say? I like my stuff like I like my men,” you smile sweetly at him, taking the Coke sign from his hands and meeting his eyes, “old.” 

You turn around to put the sign back where he found it, knowing his eyes are on you—the feeling making you grin. No man has ever made you feel so powerful. You’re about to turn into a dictator if he doesn’t put you in your place, and god, do you want him to. 

Eddie feels like he could run a marathon from the vigor that your comment has instilled in him; he feels twenty-two again. Unsure how this night will go, he’s praying to his god—that is now you—that he can go home with you. 

Steve overhears your flirtatious comment, sees the felonious hunger in Eddie’s eyes, and suddenly finds himself searching for the nearest exit. He’s had it with the eye fucking happening between you two. 

“What’s that?” He perks his head up like he’s hearing something, his voice draws both your and Eddie’s attention. “Yeah, I’ll be right there, honey!” He calls out to his wife as if she were in the other room, not in the backyard next door. 

You laugh, meeting the amused eyes of Eddie before looking back at Steve. 

Of course, Eddie can’t help but fuck with his friend for his poor excuse of an exit plan. “I didn’t hear anything… Did you?”

You bite your lip, attempting to temper the smile threatening to take over your face at Eddie’s offer to team up against Steve. Not wanting to poke fun at Steve quite yet, you shrug impassively.

Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s doing and he could damn-near punch him for it. “Yeah, well, you’re not in tune with the vibrational frequencies of a very pregnant wife,” he bites. 

He goes to leave but not before stopping at your front door, turning to face you again. “It was nice to meet you. Feel free to come over and join the party if you’d like,” he smiles.

“Thanks, Steve! And thank you for all your help!” 

He simply nods and then he’s out the door, effectively leaving you all alone with Eddie for the very first time. 

Eddie’s watching the door Steve just left out of as you turn a flirty smile towards him. “Is your wife calling you too?” you ask after a beat of silence, a teasing lilt to your voice. 

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, a small smile on his lips before he shrugs. “Don’t have one.”

It’s a simple answer, but you can never be sure what you’re walking into, so you ask what feels like the most logical next question. “Widowed?”

“Single,” he quickly clears up, his eyes monitoring your every move with rapt attention, trying to gauge your reaction to the new information. Just like the siren you are, you give nothing away, remaining mysterious and alluring. 

Your eyes narrow at him, tilting your head, “Looking?” 

“I wasn’t.” 

The conversation is like a tennis match—both of you keeping up with unbridled enthusiasm, no clear winner in sight. 

You distinctly note the past tense he used to answer your last question. You wonder what he means by that. He wasn’t looking for a relationship? Is he now?

Eddie, on the other hand, is wondering how you’d look in a wedding dress, all pretty and innocent in white. He damns Robin for putting those types of thoughts in his head, always talking about how he should have a wife by now. He feels smug at the thought of showing you off to her, his pretty little wife. 

But then reality crashes back through and he’s thinking about that theoretical boyfriend that might not be so theoretical. Sure, you’ve been flirting with him pretty much this whole time, but he doesn’t know what the new generation gets up to. Maybe you and your boyfriend get off on cuckolding—he doesn’t know. 

Only one way to find out.

“How ‘bout you?” His eyes narrow, copying yours as he nods at you. 

“Oh, I just got here. I don’t think anybody’s calling my name,” you smirk, eyes teasing. 

Do you want them to, he thinks. 

His smirk matches yours as he tilts his head, noting how you dodged the question. He knows you understand what he was asking. You’re purposely being difficult, and he’s addicted to it. He wants to figure you out—wants you to make him work for it. You’ve already got a head start, and so far, he’s eating it up.

No modern porn or nudie magazines have ever thrilled him like you are in this moment—and he’s only known you for an hour and a half. Your voice is like an aphrodisiac in and of itself. 

“You know what I was asking you,” he mutters.

You shiver at the way his voice seems to have dropped an octave.

“I’m browsing,” you flash a flirty smile at him, an innocent shrug lifting your bare shoulders. 

-

Eddie walks with you over to the party, making the rounds and introducing you to all the neighbors, enjoying watching you socialize. Hanging around you during every idle chat, he picks up something new about you each time. Things like interests, hobbies, personal history, family life—all very important details that he’s storing in a mental file under your name. But most of all, he’s learning he wants you. 

You’re so sweet and funny that your natural charm draws a crowd, leaving you constantly surrounded by at least five people at a time. Eddie stands close to you, listening to the stories you’re telling, your proximity like a drug, leaving him feeling woozy. He feels like you’re his—like he brought his new toy to school and all his friends are jealous. 

He’s only had two beers, and he feels drunk on the way you crack a joke, get the crowd laughing, then turn to him to see if he, too, is laughing. He’s got a permanent smile etched into his face at the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you reach to hold his arm as you giggle. He almost flatlines when he sees you with the kids. 

One of the Harrington kids—little Charlotte—comes running to hide behind your legs. She’s clearly avoiding her older brother in a game of tag that has migrated a little too close to the adults. Eddie already knows what’s happening—he’s seen it many times before.

The boys play rough with each other, Charlotte asks to join just because she wants to be included, they chase her down until she’s ‘it,’ and then they spend the rest of the time easily dodging her until she ends up crying to Steve or her mom. 

Before Eddie has a chance to reprimand Cameron for nearly crashing into you as he tags Charlotte behind your legs, you’re already leaning down to the pouting girl, palm up, a devious smile on your pretty face. You let her tag you so you’re ‘it,’ and the minute her little palm slaps yours, you spin toward Cameron, who’s watching incredulously—because adults aren’t supposed to play.

You raise your brows at him, a shit-eating grin on your face as you shake your head. “You better run, kid.”

In a flash, the boy takes off and you’re flying after him. Eddie hears Charlotte’s giggles as Cameron screeches, “THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

He watches as you chase the boys around the yard—absolutely terrorizing them. In no time, you successfully tag Cameron, who groans dramatically. A shrieking laugh tumbles past your lips as you dart away from him, easily dodging his outstretched hand as you race around the playset. The other boys start yielding to you, calling for you to run with them. They’re probably feeling the coolness radiating from your every pore, he thinks.

A wide grin plastered over his face, Eddie wonders if it’s possible to love someone only hours after meeting them. His pondering is interrupted when Robin, Steve, and Jess sidle up beside him. They all watch as you side-shuffle, mirroring Cameron’s frustrated movements as he tries to tag you, the playset safely dividing you.

“I told you she’s hot.” Robin smugly punches Eddie’s shoulder, making him glare at her. But he can’t hold the glare for long; his eyes quickly return to you, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I like her, she’s funny,” Steve nods approvingly. 

“I agree. Also, she helped avoid a meltdown. That’s wife material right there,” Jess adds, nodding toward the way you scoop up Charlotte and run away from Cameron with her in your arms, both of you giggling and shrieking.

Eddie had never once wanted kids. He always thought they were far too much work with not enough reward, fearing the inevitable screw-up that would lead to years of therapy in their adulthood. He was fond of the Harrington clan, but he was always glad to return to his clean, quiet home. But watching you with the kids—the way you engaged Charlotte, the way you navigated a surely ground-shaking tantrum with ease—left him in awe.

He always thought kids would be hard—and he knows they are, judging by the gray hairs on Steve’s head—but he can’t help thinking you’d make it look easy. Just like you made talking easy, joking easy, flirting easy, even moving heavy stuff easy—you made everything feel fun. He stands there watching you, imagining how you’d treat your own kids—the ones he hopes to help create.

Glancing beside him, he notes the way Jess is rubbing her pregnant belly over the sundress she’s wearing. He turns back to you, picturing how you’d look pregnant. How beautiful you’d look in a sundress—and maybe, just maybe, he could convince you to wear nothing underneath. His mind whirs as he imagines how distracting your growing breasts would be—not to mention your adorable bump. The thought makes him gulp—he’s starting to think he’s already in too deep. Maybe just a little. 

-

As the sun sets, the pool water cools, prompting the kids to climb out, sleepy from the chlorine. The zombie-like children make the parents call it a night, thinning out the party crowd. Jess starts the nighttime routine for the Harrington clan—baths, showers, teeth brushing, storytime, and eventually, bedtime.

Steve grills a hotdog for you, since you missed the food earlier while you were moving in. Robin and Vickie are starting a fire in the pit Steve built, bickering over whether a log cabin style or a teepee style would be more efficient—and Eddie can hear every word.

He stands with you by the ice chest, dutifully playing the role of your shadow like he’s been doing all day. As he opens the cooler to grab another drink, he pauses, his hand hovering over the cans. Then he turns to you. “Can I get you a beer?”

You shake your head, a polite smile on your face. “No, thank you. Just water for me, please.” 

He nods, grabbing a beer for himself and a bottle of water for you. Straightening up, he starts to hand over your drink—but a sudden, terrifying thought halts him. Just as he’s about to place the chilled bottle into your outstretched hand, he freezes, pulling it back. “You are old enough to drink, right?”

He looks like he’s holding your water hostage until you answer his question, the apparent fear on his face making you laugh. Flattered, you nod. “Yes, I’m old enough to drink. I’m just not a beer girl.” 

A relieved breath escapes his lips at the confirmation. “Oh, thank god.”

You take the water he grants you, narrowing your eyes playfully at him as you watch him pop the cap off the bottle using the edge of the ice chest. “How old are you?” 

Chuckling at your question, his eyes shine with mirth as they meet your playfully suspicious ones. “Older than that Metallica poster you have,” he quips, “I was at that tour.” 

You smile at the mention of your poster—it’s one of your favorite vintage finds. 

“Forty-three,” he concedes. “How old are you?” He tilts his chin down as he asks, eyes glued to your face.

The heat of his gaze makes you feel lightheaded. You decide to blame it on the summer sun, but your plan is foiled when you remember it’s nighttime. 

Trying to regain some control, you ease the tension with a joke. “Well, a lady never tells, but I’ll give you a hint.”

He raises his brows expectantly, a pleasant smile on his face as he waits for the hint.

“It rhymes with twenty-seven.” 

Eddie snorts at your setup and how plainly you answered it. He finds himself tilting his head, admiring you fondly. He’s addicted to everything about you—your humor, your flirting, the light touches you occasionally leave on his arms, the teasing glint in your eyes that never seems to fade.

No woman he met on the shitty dates Robin sent him on could ever compare to you. He’s never met anyone who could go toe-to-toe with him when it came to jokes and bits. It feels like he’s known you his whole life—and yet, he still finds himself wishing he’d met you sooner.

His thoughts are interrupted as Steve calls you over. He follows you as you grab a paper plate and accept the food from Steve. 

“Thank you so much, Steve. I really appreciate you firing up the grill just for me.” 

“It’s no problem, I’m glad you came to the party. You’re a really great addition to the group,” he smiles. 

His comment makes your heart soar. The feeling of being accepted so quickly warms your soul. “It’s a great group,” you compliment. 

His smile broadens, feeling proud of the circle of friends he’s kept over the years. All of a sudden he hears Robin’s loud, “Damn it!” 

“Excuse me, I’m gonna go help the cavewomen create fire,” he quips, leaving you to head to the folding table where the condiments sit—right next to Eddie.

Eddie was one hundred percent eavesdropping on your conversation with Steve—and he’s glad he was, because it only makes him more certain that he was meant to meet you. That you were meant to be his.

You set your plate down on the table as you reach for the ketchup, glancing at Eddie as he watches your hands work. “I like the whole retired rocker look you got going on, by the way,” you say, vaguely gesturing to his whole body. 

Eddie snorts at that. “Rocker? Yes. Retired? No.”

“Oh, so you have an active income then, huh?” You look at him, playfully interested like you’re sizing up a possible sugar daddy. 

Your teasing makes him laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, Head Mechanic at the garage off Piedmont. What about you?”

You smile, looking down as you close the cap to the ketchup. “Well, if you must know, my dowry is three goats and five sheep. Is that enough for you?” 

Eddie feels like he smoked your teasing smirk and got high. He shakes his head fondly at your ability to make a joke out of anything. You’ve made him laugh more times today than he’s laughed in months. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m lookin’ for, actually.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. 

“You know, I used to have a poster of Kirk Hammett on my wall in high school,” you muse, the memory of the faded poster making you smile. “I used to worship him. I thought he was the hottest guy I had ever seen… Now I’m not so sure.”

Eddie feels warmth flood his veins, all blood rushing south at the thought of you worshipping him instead. 

He shakes his head in awe. “I wish you were around when I was in high school. Hawkins women weren’t exactly down with this look,” he looks down at his ripped black jeans, studded belt, and black band tee.

You lift the hot dog to your mouth, not biting into it just yet. “Oh, I’ll be all over you,” you say quietly, voice sultry as you maintain eye contact, finally opening your mouth and taking a big bite. 

Your words, the tone you used, the eye contact, and the way you fit the phallic object into your mouth makes him huff out a sexually frustrated breath. He knows just what he’d prefer you have in your mouth right about now. You’ve been teasing him off and on all day and he’s pretty sure it’s driving him clinically insane. Though, in retrospect, his sanity walked out the door the second he laid his eyes on you. 

You’re chewing your food with a closed mouth smile, admiring the internal struggle clearly displayed on his pale face.

The chipmunk cheeks you’re sporting aren’t helping Eddie’s attempt at regaining his sanity—if anything, they’ve got his mind spiraling, imagining how you’d look with his balls in your mouth.

He huffs out a breath, clinging to any shred of decency he can find. “D-Don’t you mean you ‘would have been?’”

You swallow, tongue running over your teeth, and a salacious look in your eyes as you plaster an innocent smile onto your face. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You feign confusion, as if you’re not hunting him—using your best ammunition to take him down. 

Eddie gulps, his eyes never straying from yours, caught in a trance. “I live around here,” he says. “Just three doors down that way,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder pointing in the opposite direction of your new house. 

You know exactly what he’s looking for.

Game, set, match. You win.

You smile, missing the sound of his voice when you push his buttons. “I also happen to live around here,” you coyly add, batting your lashes at him.

He sucks his teeth, eyes daring you to prolong this. “I have a bed.” 

You nod your head at his rebuttal—plain and true. “Touché.”

In a matter of moments, he’s taking your plate from your hands, setting it down on the table, grabbing your now-free hand, and pulling you out of the backyard. Shouting a quick goodbye, he drags you past Steve, Robin, Vickie, and an exhausted Jess, who’s just now rejoining the group.

“Bye, guys! Thanks for everything, it’s been fun, we gotta do this again, okay, see you later!” It all comes out in one single breath, leaving the group shocked and confused. 

You look back as Eddie pulls you away with such force you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Thank you, guys!” You shout, waving at them with an apologetic look on your face.

“Use protection!” Steve yells before dissolving into a fit of laughter as Jess hits his shoulder.

The last thing they see is Eddie’s middle finger as the two of you disappear around the corner of the other neighbor’s house. 

“And he said I wasn’t a credible source on who’s hot.” Robin shakes her head, feeling incredibly smug. 

-

Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand even when he’s fishing into his pocket for his house key. He feels around for the right key on the split rings, pulling the set out once he finds it. Shoving the brass into the door, he moves to the side to let you in first.

Eager from the day-long wait, you can feel how wet your panties are already. The caveman-esque way he pulled you all the way home solidified your burning desire. You giggle at the silly bow he does, emphasizing the open door for you to walk through.

“How very honorable of you,” you tease. 

He shuffles in after you, flicking on the foyer lights, quickly shutting the door and locking it. He’s not planning on leaving the house for the rest of the night and he’s hoping you won’t either. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna last,” he mutters darkly, pulling your arm and spinning you so your back is against the closed door. His hands hold both sides of your head as he pants out, “I’m planning to do some very dishonorable things to you.”

He smashes his lips against yours, a surprised moan escaping you at his desperation. Your open mouth gives him ample opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue inside causing a needy whimper to tear from your throat. Your knees buckle when his hands slide down the sides of your neck. Before you can drop, he quickly slots his knee between your legs, his body pressing you into the door even more. 

Breaking away, he huffs out desperate breaths. Your head feels hazy, eyes glazed over. You feel like you got high from just one kiss—and what a kiss it was. 

“Do you want this as much as I do?”

The question is breathy and low. He’s nuzzling his nose with yours, teasing you with an almost-kiss as he waits for your response. 

The pull to his lips is so bewitching you can’t speak, only nod as your head bobs closer to sealing the kiss. Something stops you from completing it, like you’re waiting for him to do it. You’re waiting for his direction, his ‘okay.’

“Use your words,” he chastises you.

You whimper, shrinking at his intensity. Subconsciously, you lower your hip, attempting to relieve some tension against his leg.

When he feels what you’re doing, he straightens up, pulling his leg away despite your desperate whimper trying to call the sensation back. “Tell me, do you want me as much as I want you?”

“Yes! God, yes! Please,” you whine, needing him to touch you all over. You need his thigh back. 

“Yeah, you wanted me right from the start, didn’t you, honey?” He tilts his head, hungry eyes roving over your pleading face. You practically preen at the delicate touch he dances across your cheek. Reaching to affectionately smooth the strands by your hairline, he waits for you to muster up the power to respond. 

“Mhm.” Your eyes roll back as his rough hand travels from your hair to your jaw, holding you firm, pulling your attention back to him. 

“Flirted with me so openly, didn’t you, dirty girl?”

A grin stretches across his face at the sudden embarrassment you show, mortified at being called out for your actions. You look so cute, squirming, trying to avoid his eyes, despite his strong grip on your jaw leaving you very little room to look elsewhere. 

“I just wanted you…” you mutter, eyes not meeting his condescending gaze.

He’s pouting at you, mocking your embarrassment. 

“Well, you got me, sweetheart. What did you wanna do with me?” 

He leans in to nose his face against yours, hypnotically drawing your lips in again, but never granting you a kiss. No, kisses are for good girls who answer questions. 

You shrug, any confidence you had from your earlier flirting is nonexistent—the power he holds over you is too great. He’s all-consuming. He’s everything you see, everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you hear, everything you taste. 

“Can I tell you what I wanna do with you?” 

Eagerly nodding, you’re thankful he let you off the hook with the question. 

“I wanna marry you.”

His face is all you can see, not a doubt in his eyes, despite what he just said—no freudian slip to be found. 

Your stomach drops, brows raising in shock. His words wake you right up out of your love drunk haze.

He should bottle that sentiment and sell it to single women. It would beat out the entire market for smelling salts.

Your eyes are wide, jaw dropped—you can’t believe what he just said. You just met him today and he’s apparently already sold on you. You have to admit, it is flattering to have a man want to marry you right after meeting you. Can’t say that’s ever happened to you before. 

Shock aside, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same. Throughout the day, you had suffered daydreams of yearly summer barbecues, a king sized bed for two, cooking meals together, group dates with Steve, Jess, Robin, and Vickie. Afflicted with thoughts of pretty rings and curly haired, brown eyed children. But you shoved them down deep into a locked box, chaining the lid shut just in case. 

Now, here Eddie is, pinning you against the front door of his house, kissing you breathless—picking the lock to the box filled with illicit fantasies

He reads the shock on your face, not swayed by the reaction in the slightest—he knows you’re meant to be his. He knows you won’t get married today, and maybe not tomorrow—but it will happen. There’s no way it won’t. He’s certain. 

He doesn’t need your words, doesn’t want to hear what you stumble to say in response to his profession—so he doesn’t give you time to. No amount of obfuscation from you will convince him you’re not his. 

“But in terms of right this moment,” he elaborates, “I’m gonna fuck you.” 

Suffering from emotional whiplash, his words go straight to your pussy as you clench around nothing. You have no words, your jaw has not picked back up since he said he wants to marry you. 

“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He tilts his chin down, eyes trapping you in an obscene staring contest. 

You nod, letting out a breathy, “Please.” The need for him is starting to drive you insane. 

“Good,” is all he says before he picks you up bridal style and carries you up the stairs, grinning at you. You squeal in uneasy surprise at his actions, arms settling around his neck, holding on for dear life. 

“I can walk, you know!”

You’re terrified he’s going to drop you, but you did see him do a bunch of manual labor today and you can’t lie, he is strong. 

“Ladies shouldn’t have to walk,” he admonishes—the same tone as when he scolded you for trying to move your own boxes earlier. You shake your head at his endearingly incessant need to do things for you. “And hopefully you won’t be able to when I’m done with you.” 

Scoffing at his dirty comment, you playfully hit his shoulder. “You know, for how much you talk about what ladies should and shouldn’t do, you certainly don’t talk to one properly.” 

He grins as he sets you down onto his soft duvet, caging you in with his thick, tattooed forearms, leaning over you with leering eyes. “I can talk to you properly,” he admits, “or I can fuck you properly.”

Your breath stutters, eyes darting from his deadly gaze to his soft lips before ending back at his eyes. 

He shrugs, lightheartedly, saying, “Your choice.”

Nodding with a bite to your lip, you breathily mutter “I’ll take option number two.” 

With a smug grin, he leans down to give you a chaste kiss. “Thought so.” 

He goes to pull away from the kiss, but you pull him back, languid tongue dancing across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. Your fingers inch into the mussed locks of hair as you messily make out. The bed dips as he kneels between your legs. Blindly reaching behind his head, you untangle the hair tie from his crazed curls, giving the roots a tug, earning you a lewd groan. 

He breaks away to pull your tank top over your head. With a newfound fervor to see you naked, his own shirt follows suit. You sit up a little to help him peel the fabric off, opting to take your bra off while you’re up. He turns slightly to throw both tops to the corner of the room near the laundry basket. When he turns back around, his jaw drops at the sight of your bare breasts. You make him feel like a teeanger all over again, because he’s close to busting in his jeans at the alluring sight.

“Fuckkkk,” he groans, large hands groping your chest. “You have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, baby. Been lookin’ at them all day.”

You moan at the rabid touch of his needy hands, the fire in your veins making you so sensitive to his every squeeze and grope. He pushes your breasts together, leaning down to attach his greedy mouth to one of your perked nipples. His lithe tongue circles the sensitive nub before giving it a light bite.

A borderline pornographic moan tears right from your throat. Mouthing at one nipple before moving onto the other one, his thumb toys with the wet peak.

When he nips at the second one, you instinctively tug his hair, eliciting a muffled groan, his mouth full of your tit.

You can feel how hard he is, his hips grinding into your thigh for relief. The imprint of his cock is making you impatient; you just want to feel him inside you now, want to feel every ridge and vein of. You moan at the nonstop attention to your peaked nipples. The overwhelming thought of how it’ll feel when his tip pierces your entrance and the relief that will wash over you leads you to pull his head off your chest. 

When his eyes meet yours, you melt at the fucked out look on his face. It almost looks like he was getting off just from sucking on your tits. You admire the string of saliva connecting his wet lips to your chest. The sight of his slobber on your breasts, the blooming of accidental hickies on the sensitive skin makes you whine. 

“Eddie, please. I need you.”

He nods, immediately working down your body, kissing and licking every square inch of skin. 

His hands are shaky with need as he unbuttons your shorts, working them down your legs. He moves to kiss your thighs, assessing exactly where he’s going to leave bite marks when you put your hands on his shoulders, effectively halting his movements. He looks up at you, concerned he did something wrong already. 

Your brow furrows; you know what he wants, but you don’t think this is the right time. “Eddie, I’ve been in the hot sun all day…”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He’s trying to read your face because he doesn’t understand why you’re bringing that up. So was he. He was with you—all day. Are you just saying true facts about your day? He doesn’t think now is the time to do that, but if that’s what you want to do he’ll oblige. Weird foreplay, but to each their own, he thinks. 

“I cheated at cornhole,” he admits earnestly.

You frown at him—what the fuck is he talking about? He looks so genuine, it makes huff out a confused laugh. “What?”

Okay, now he’s very confused. His arms are still resting on your doughy thighs, elbows just outside both of your legs, leaning his full weight onto the bed. “What what?”

You shake your head at him, an amused look overtaking your face. “I just mean I got kinda sweaty playing tag with the kids…” You look at him, hoping he gets it, but when you see zero recognition in his eyes, you continue. “I don’t think now is the time for you to—” You can’t bring yourself to say it, embarrassment warming your face.

Thankfully, Eddie finally catches on. He’s relieved you’re not actually into the weird foreplay of revealing truths because he doesn’t want to tell you about the boner he got from watching you eat a hotdog. That would be mortifying.

“Oh! No,” he waves a dismissive hand, “honey, that's what I like to call seasoning.” He grins salaciously, leaning towards you. 

His wandering fingers inch under the elastic at the top of your hips, preparing to pull your panties down, but you stop him again. 

“But I’m not—”

A huffing breath leaves your lips. You’re frustrated. Not at his actions, no, but at the feeling of having to preface this in the case that he pulls your panties down and hates what he sees—or god forbid, tastes. “I’m not…trimmed…or anything.” 

He looks at you like you just told him the most ridiculously stupid thing ever. He shakes his head, a frown clear and present in his eyes and on his face.

“Baby, I was around in the 70s,” he implores. “I might not have been sexually active then, but I was still stealing my uncle’s nudie magazines. I’ve seen a few things—explored a few jungles in my time.” A dirty smile creeps up his lips.

You roll your eyes at his crass terminology, feeling a pinch to your heart at the thought of him with other women. 

“I earned my forestry badge, okay? So let me in there!” His eyes are shining with amusement, enjoying the cringe his words bring you. You’ll get used to how nasty he can be. It’s only down from here—he was on his best behavior today. He resumes his efforts to remove the last barrier between him and your needy core, but you try to speak up again.

“Eddie—”

“If you try to make up another excuse to keep me from this pretty little pussy, I will gag you with your own panties.”

His stern voice cuts you off, eyes dangerous as he reprimands you. You immediately close your mouth, wide-eyed, giving him your full attention now.

“I don’t know what boys you’ve been fucking, but only a real man deserves such a perfect cunt, and I’m Him. You understand me?”

His confidence makes even more arousal flood your already damp panties. You’re about ready to let him do anything he wants to your body.

You nod quickly, granting him access. Your breath hitched as he yanks your underwear off before stuffing them into his back pocket. He rubs his face against your thighs and you shiver at the scratchy stubble. Your pussy’s pumping out slick like it knows Eddie’s huge, sure to give you all the natural lube it can for when he fucks you. 

He nuzzles into the wiry curls on your mound, your breath catches when you feel a suck of air, realizing he just took a deep whiff. You’re too turned on at this point to be embarrassed, your arousal is dripping from your needy hole, you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t touch you in the next five seconds. When he noses the hair guarding your slit, a lock of long, brown, curls fall in front of him. 

He lets go of your thighs to reach for your hands, pulling them into his hair, making you hold the curls into a makeshift ponytail that will double as a rein. If you had known he’d be going down on you you wouldn’t have taken his bun out, but it’s too late now, you have no idea where the hair tie is. 

When your hands are securely in his hair he takes one arm and wraps it around your thigh from underneath, guiding your leg over his shoulder and holding it hostage. He takes the other hand and rests his arm lightly on your pelvis to part your pussy lips from above, he leans in to give a long lick with a flat tongue, just getting a taste for you. He moans at the flavor, you have no idea just how much he doesn’t care that you were out in the sun sweating all day. He feels like he could cum just from the tangy taste dancing on his tongue.

You moan at the feel of the wet muscle, it feels like you can finally breathe when he explores your folds. You’ve wanted him all day, burned for him for hours on end, and just like a cool drink of water- he’s quenching your thirst. 

He gives quick flutter licks to your hole, just teasing you to get a reaction. It doesn’t disappoint, you’re whining, hips gyrating with need. He alternates between light pressured licks to your clit and plunging his tongue as deep as he can into your tight hole. He’s got you breathing heavy in no time, his fingers squeeze the fat of your thighs as he grinds his pulsing cock into the bed. You let out a pathetic mewl when he speeds up his actions, licking you like you’re ice cream, your hips occasionally jump when his nose catches your clit. 

You can feel your hole clenching around nothing, needing just a little more to get you there, the dull ache building in your stomach. “M-More, please, I need more,” you cry out. 

He’s more than happy to oblige, the hand that had been spreading your lips moves under his body, you feel a thick finger breach your entrance and it makes your hips jump and stomach clench. The sound of your moans and his dexterous fingers plunging into your drenched cunt fill the room. It makes him groan, the vibrations from it causing you to whimper. 

“Oh p-please, oh god, I’m so close, please Eddie,” you whine, bucking your hips against his face. 

He thrusts his finger in and out before adding another to stretch your tightening hole, you moan at the fit. He nods his head up and down on your pussy, licking messily, then he’s vigorously shaking his head side to side in your folds, slurping your juices up. 

The lewd sound pushes you right to the precipice of your orgasm, “Eddieee!” The squeal you let out has him chuckling, you can’t help but interpret it as condescending and that only makes you clench tightly around his fingers, inching you even closer to your peak.

At the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers he moves his tongue to make quick, tight circles around your clit causing you to tumble over the edge practically screaming. Seeing stars and desperate for nonstop pressure to work you through your climax, you shove his face against your pussy. You’re pressing hard, in need of all encompassing pleasure, in need of his cock inside your pulsing hole. 

You’re basically grinding your cunt on his face and it has his hips jerking into the bed, wishing he was inside you already. The feel of your velvety walls squeezing his fingers in pulsing intervals has him moaning at the thought of you doing that around his cock. He can’t wait anymore, he pulls his fingers out once you come down from your high, shoving them into his mouth and relishing in the taste of your cum. 

You’re too busy catching your breath, never having experienced such an all-consuming orgasm like that before. You feel like you’re floating when you feel him hover over you again, his hungry eyes looking borderline felonious the way they rove over your face. You look down between your bodies, noticing he’s fully naked now, hard, leaking cock hanging just above where you need him most. 

You nearly gulp at the sight of him, he felt big when you felt him against your leg earlier, but this is a lot. He’s the biggest you’ve ever taken and you’re not sure if you can take him. The way his length bobs when he shuffles forward feels like a threat, you must look concerned because he leans down to give you a chaste kiss. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll make it fit,” he smoothes the hair by your temple, the soft actions and his dirty words make you preen, a whimper leaving your mouth. 

“Do you want me to put on a condom?” He didn’t do it on the off chance that you’d let him inside you raw, the thoughts of you pregnant whispering in his mind. He’s being driven insane by visions of his cum leaking out of your stretched out hole, the sight of you carrying his child, the way he’d take you from the back as your big bump rests on the bed beneath your arched body. 

Your eyes are wide, suddenly feeling like a virgin at the prospect of fitting all of him inside you. You’re certainly not, but he makes you feel so small, so taken care of, you feel like you need him bare inside you. You need to know what it feels like, you’ll worry about the consequences later. Famous last words.

You shake your head, pouting lips parted as you huff, all desperate and needy, your chest moves up and down, coaxing a nip from him. You mewl at the quick attention to your breasts.

He looks up at your face from your chest, “No?” 

He got it the first time when you shook your head, but he’s having so much fun treating you like you’re glass. It's like you're his sweet, innocent baby—his cute little neighbor needing him to talk her through it. You shake your head again, confirming your previous sentiment. 

“You want me to cum inside you, honey?” He coos, he can’t help the way he talks down to you, you make it so easy with your wet, pleading eyes. His question seems to work on you because you whimper, enthusiastically nodding your head, hands needy as you try to pull his body toward your open legs. He lets you pull him closer, but that’s about as much as he lets you do. 

“Wanna feel you- please,” you whine at his resistance to get any closer, your nails dig into his sides as you try to pull him exactly where you need him most.

He chuckles at your pleading, his amusement quickly halts, though, when you reach between your bodies, hand encircling his rock hard cock, guiding it to your hole. He’s quick to grab your hands and pin them above your head, a stern reprimand leaving his lips, “Be good.”

You whimper again, rolling your hips against nothing, searching for release. 

“I choose when I fuck you, got it?”

You nod your head vigorously, eager to please him after getting in trouble. 

“That goes for after this, too, you understand?” He looks into your eyes expectantly, expression firm, his lips remain in a thin line.

“Yes, sir! Please- I’ll be good!” You beg, signing on to be his whenever he needs a release. You’ll be a ready, open hole, with pleasure. The ‘sir’ just slipped out, but you’re glad it did because he seemed to like it. 

“You gonna let me fuck you raw,” your quick nod answering his question, “You want me to breed your tight little pussy, baby?” You let out an uncontrollable moan, you’d be embarrassed at how whorish you sound if you had any shame left.

“Please breed me, I want your cum, sir- please!” You cry out, rolling your hips again, seeking out his waiting cock. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, you’re pleading is breaking him down. He reaches for his cock, leaving both your wrists to remain pinned by his one hand. He guides the ruddy tip to your soaked, pulsing hole, rubbing up and down your slit, gathering all your wetness onto his cock. The movement earns him another moan that would put pornstars to shame, you’re thankful for the small relief it brings the coiling need in your stomach, but you crave more.

“You gonna let me put a baby in you, honey?” 

Forget the fact that you just met him today, you’d sign onto anything he suggested as long as you get to do this with him again, as long as you get to hold him at the end of the day. It doesn’t hurt that these sweet nothings, well- dirty nothings, are feeding every fantasy you had today. Especially the one you had at the sight of him holding the littlest Harrington, the way his tattooed arms held the baby girl. His thick forearm a seat for the little bundle of joy, his large hands softly patting her back as he bounced and rocked her on his chest. 

“Yes, please put a baby in me, Eddie! I need you- I just- please, god, please!” You’re bordering on incoherent at this point, it makes him smile, taking mercy on your fried brain. 

He pushes the fat head of his cock past your entrance, the stretch is so tight you can feel where your walls cling to him once the mushroom tip pops inside you. You cry out at the feeling, desperately refraining from rolling your hips onto him, you don’t want him to take away what little he’s given you. 

“Alright, honey,” he breathes out, trying to pace himself and not blow his huge load inside of you at just the tip, “I’ll give you a baby, but only because you begged for it.” 

The moment the last word leaves his mouth he thrusts all the way into you, knocking the air out of your chest, your loudest moan yet rings out around the room. He groans at the way your gummy walls nearly choke his thick cock, his head falls beside yours as he breathes through the all-consuming feeling. The hand that isn’t holding your wrists trails up the side of your body, groping your tit as he tries to calm down. 

When he’s certain he won’t cum too soon, he starts a bruising pace, muttering out curses at the way your moans sync with the pulsing of your pussy. “Fuck, honey, this the tightest cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You moan at his words, taking it as a compliment, mind reeling at the feel of every ridge, every bump, every throbbing vein of his massive cock. You’re letting out uncontrollable, ‘unh unh unh unh’s at the deep, penetrating thrusts he gives you, lips permanently parted at his intrusion. 

The constant panting and moaning in his ear is pushing him nearly over the edge, he ravenously attacks your neck, tongue gliding over it, biting and kissing the sensitive skin. He knows he’s too close to stop now so he continues his punishing pace, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit. 

He circles your clit only once before you’re thrown off the edge of your second orgasm, your mouth is uncontrollable, you’re spewing the nastiest shit he’s ever heard and it gets him there. 

“Fuck,” your voice is a high pitched whine, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meee!”

“Please, god, OH!”

“Cum inside me, breed me, please, sir, please- fuck your fucking cum inside me unhhh!” 

He groans, hips faltering as he jerks forward repeatedly. His stomach is clenching as he spills rope after thick rope of his milky white, hot cum into you. 

You’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath as he settles on top of you, shivering from the power of his orgasm. He’s never cum that hard before, he feels like his spirit has separated from his body, only vaguely aware of his throbbing cock still inside you. His hand loosens, letting your wrists go, your arms move to wrap him into a warm embrace. You pet his sweaty hair, your other hand lightly scratching his damp back. 

When his spirit floats back down into his body he feels like he’s in heaven, the way you hold him like he’s so delicate, it’s such a contrast to the roles you both fell into earlier. His cock is softening and he can feel it slipping out of your used hole, it makes him gently pull away, allowing his cock to fall out of you fully. You watch him as he looks down at your messy pussy, he smiles at the way your hole clenches, the muscles still working through the power of your orgasm. The intermittent constriction of your walls pushes his cum out of you, he watches as it creeps down to your ass. 

You gasp as you feel him collect his own spend, pushing it back into your quivering hole. When he removes his fingers, they’re covered in a mix between his cum and your juices, you grab his wrist and pull his fingers into your mouth. Moaning at the taste of the spunky combination, you stare him down with the heat of a thousand burning suns in your sultry eyes. 

His mouth falls open as he watches you, his soft cock jumps at the view, in a flash he’s reaching under your ass, propping you up against his thighs. He’s got your hips angled up to the ceiling, you laugh at the sharp movement, loving how he manhandles you. 

“What-”

“I wasn’t kidding before, I’m making this shit stick.” You realize he’s angled you so his cum won’t leave your pussy, it’ll just pool in your hole. He’s hoping to go one for one, but he has no problems trying again. You’re going to have his baby, he’s going to make sure of it. He meant it before, but after seeing you lick the mix of juices off his fingers he’s thinking about where the nearest ring shop is. 

You laugh at the serious look in his eyes, biting your lip as you flirt, “Which one is it? What’s first, a baby or marriage?” You smile at his inability to figure out what he should do first, his words and thoughts contradicting himself throughout the night. 

“Both,” he grins, leaning down to kiss you like it’s the last time. You know it isn’t

A/N: the way they didn’t use protection after Steve told them to, smh. Also, yes, she has his baby, yes, they get married, yes, he’s insatiable, yes, Steve and Robin make fun of him endlessly, yes, he gets called a cradlerobber and other things by them.

He shakes his head with careful subtlty—like any sudden movement will scare you into actually committing to this plan. 

Disbelief clouds his features, heavy and foreboding like the sky before a summer squall— 

The nerve. The gumption. The audacity so potent on such an unassuming young woman. 

You want to lose your virginity to a stranger and you’re, what, warning him first? 

It’s like you want him to disrupt your plans. 

He watches you roll your eyes, all pursed lips and impudence. 

“Oh, seriously?” you sass. “Calm down. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Eddie practically chokes on his scoff, and the strangled sound ripples over your body, drawing out the look he knows well. Annoyance—it forces you to sit up straight. 

You squirm in your seat for a moment, like a million tiny ants are marching up your spine, dancing over the tension in your shoulders. And he knows…the argument is imminent, but not before he speaks his piece—

“Not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, stubbing your toe is not that big of a deal. Forgetting to check the mail is not that big of a deal,” his voice raises as he gestures wildly, feeling like a Bible Belt preacher wailing about temptation of the flesh. “Losing your virginity? To a stranger? That’s a pretty big-fuckin’-deal!”

Again, you roll your eyes—blatantly disregarding the way his head cocks and his own eyes narrow in warning. He hates when you do that. When you brush him off so easily, like he’s dust on your pristine shoulder—

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you avert your gaze, suddenly finding the speckled laminate far more interesting. 

Like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise, Eddie’s head cocks back the other way, trying to figure out what exactly he said that has you laughing. Usually he loves the sound, but he doesn’t like the tone of this one. There’s something deeply derisive buried beneath the nonchalant surface. 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the joke there, sweets. Care to clue me in?” he rasps, goading you.

A jeering smirk pulls at your lips, like you’re finding his simmering temper and deepening voice increasingly amusing. 

After another soft huff—a sound that could almost be mistaken for a scoff—you level him with a penetrating look, your smirk slowly splitting into an incredulous grin. 

“Sorry,” you start, but a chuckle bubbles up your throat, catching on the clearly insincere apology. “Sorry, I just find this whole thing very funny.”

Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you shrug dismissively—no longer backing down, no longer avoiding his darkening gaze. He lets your words sit in the air, hoping their stuffy bitterness will suffocate you into surrender, but instead, they seem to brandish your skin like armor. 

And just like that, out comes your most dangerous weapon: your self-satisfaction. 

From all his years with you, he knows, when your complacency reaches an all-time high, there’s almost no way to change your mind. You’ve already doubled down once, and you’re about to batten down the hatches. Because more than anything, he knows you hate being wrong and hate it even more when you’re told you’re wrong. 

And through festering nerves and itchy discomfort, Eddie realizes he just shot your idea down and danced on its grave. 

Of course, he wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if it weren’t such a sensitive topic. But you don’t know that. All you’ve heard so far is you’re wrong, and I know more than you. 

It’s moments like these where Eddie curses his motormouth—his almost comical inability to shut up, or, god forbid, consider what he means before he opens his trap. And until he finally learns his lesson, he figures he’s doomed to live with his foot in his mouth for all eternity.

With you shifting in your seat, and time ticking against him, he knows this bomb is going to need an extra delicate defusal. But he’s not certain he can remain level-headed about this subject matter. 

Not when it’s you. 

Not when damned images of a faceless man caressing you plays in technicolor through his mind. Because sometime ago, somewhere along the night drives and the lazy days, his wires got crossed. And now those wires are sparking, threatening to burn him through and through.

Maybe you’re not the bomb, after all. 

“Oh, you find it funny, do you?” he questions, nodding his head. 

“Well, yeah. You’re sitting here trying to tell me that, what, losing your virginity is supposed to be special?” you mockingly ask, your features alight with mirth. It’s like you’re a bloodhound catching a scent—the scent of sweet, sweet hypocrisy. 

Eddie opens his mouth to answer your rhetorical question, because…yes. 

For you? 

Yes, it should be special—

“You know what? I want you to go look in a mirror and say what you just said to me, and see if you don’t laugh too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he argues, jerking his head back. Your words might as well have physically manifested themselves into a slap because that’s how they feel, acidic and seeping into his skin with a sting.

“Please! You remember telling me about your first time? You came to school the next day bragging to me and the Hellfire guys about hooking up with some older chick in the bathroom at the Hideout! Remember that? You wore it like a badge of honor!”

He had taken you in as a freshman, just like he did every lost soul. Battling off the stifling monotony of high school together, it was no surprise you developed a crush on him. He was—is—so sweet. So funny. So unlike anyone you had ever met. 

He would play the fool just to make you laugh, but he’d defend your honor in an instant. Your very own protection against the venomous cheerleaders and mouth-breathing jocks.

When he would get himself going about something or other, marching along the tops of the lunch tables, it was like staring straight into the sun. You bloomed under his gleaming rays, flowering and reaching toward his warmth with every wild grin, every silly headshake, every teasing joke.

He was addicting, and you would come bounding into lunch every day itching for a fix. 

Then you were a sophomore and Eddie was a senior—for the first time. 

One day, he came in with a new story to tell, and no amount of sunshine could restore your wilting leaves, your shriveling flowers. No amount of water could satisfy the buds that never got to grow and now never would—

Every prideful sentence—every dirty detail boasting the changed man he had become—acted like a rain of pesticide on your delicate ecosystem.

It was a level of desecration you couldn’t undo if you wanted to. 

And you weren’t sure you were even strong enough to try.

Because it became clear that day, he wasn’t yours. He wouldn’t be yours. 

You couldn’t see him the same after that. The chemicals contaminated the image, degrading and defacing the likeness. 

He wasn’t the man you used to dream about every night. 

He didn’t look like he once had—so soft, so sweet. A man able to rot your teeth right out of your skull if you allowed him the honor.

A man so saccharine and delicate, like candy floss. 

But maybe it was the image of him that was delicate—not truly him. 

After all, your tears melted the wisps pretty easily. 

All that was left was piles of sugar—too wet for consumption, and not in the right form—and a crash unrivaled by any confectionery you’d ever had. 

White, hot anger seeps from every pore in Eddie’s skin, replaced by the shocking chill of a memory he’s tried very hard to forget.

He feels like throwing up—

This. This, right here, is why he’s vehemently opposing your plan. This feeling constricting his chest, like not enough fresh air in the world could inflate his lungs—

He thought the experience was cool at first. He thought he was being totally “metal.” 

But he was just being used. 

The woman never asked his name, and when he tried to talk to her, she crudely told him to focus less on talking and more on fucking. It was a mortifying experience. He almost wasn’t able to finish from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but eighteen year old hormones were a thing to behold.

And despite what he would have everyone around him believe, he still cared way too much about what people thought of him. So he strutted into lunch the next day, hopping up on his soapbox to spread the good word of his monumental conquest. High from the excitement of the boys, he embellished most of the story. 

And now, here you are, sitting in front of him, smug as can be, thinking you’re proving your point with his own hypocrisy. 

But he’s not a hypocrite. 

He’s just a liar. 

He has lied to you about a lot of things and, funnily enough, all those things seem to be crawling out of their grassy graves, hungry to take a chunk out of him. 

Because as much as you may think you’ve cornered him with a “gotcha” moment, your reminder of his past transgressions only makes him all the more passionate about how you should spend your first time. 

He can’t let you feel how he felt. 

Not you. 

You deserve better than empty touches and unfeeling words. 

“You wore it like a badge of honor!”

Your voice echoing in his mind has a sentiment never meant to be revealed tumbling past his lips with frightening ease—

“Yeah, and I lied!” 

Slowly, your self-satisfied smile falls off your face. Confusion overtakes your confidence. 

Capitalizing on your stunned silence, Eddie continues—

“That first time was fucking awful! I felt like shit. I only acted like it was good because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…. Because I was stupid and young.” He utters the words with disdain, mortification and frustration mixing low in his gut until he feels more flammable than ever.

“It wasn’t good,” he repeats, a frown etched tightly into his features. “It just made me feel…empty.”

Your silence weighs heavy on his shoulders; selfishly, he steals a glance at you, at the crease in your brows and the way you seem to be reflecting. He can almost see you reliving that day in your head, searching for any twitch of an eye, any too-quick-to-fall smiles. 

But he’s a good liar. Always has been. Even when it comes to you.

The idle hum of electricity coursing into the yellow bulb above him acts as the soundtrack to your response.

“Well, I don’t plan on doing it in the Hideout bathroom, so I think we’re good there,” you shrug.

Eddie purses his lips; he knows it’s deliberate. What you’re doing, it’s purposeful, and you’re doing it to piss him off. Because you’re pissed off. 

Your eyes narrow at his, challenging him in the silence of the trailer.

A huff of air escapes through flared nostrils—he’s refraining.

But you’re killing him. 

Sometimes you can be so difficult, but he wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t addicted to the agony of trying to figure you out.

That’s half the fun of every conversation he’s had with you. 

You push his buttons more than any woman he’s ever met, but you’ve twisted him up so bad, the only time he feels normal is when you’re looking at him. Doesn’t matter if it’s with anger or fondness or humor. 

You’re a paradox he can’t sort out because you’ve made him like this—wires crossed and incendiary feelings—but you also have a way of fixing him. Though, it’s usually just to mangle him all over again.

And he’d like to be your only victim. He’d like to burn in only your pyre, if given the chance. 

If given the chance.

If given the chance, he’d like to put a stop to this. And with the quasi-warning you’ve granted him, he feels this is as good a time as any to poke as many holes in your plan as he can—

“What’s the rush? Why now?”

He can see in your eyes, you’re taken aback by his question as your challenging gaze turns suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘Why now?’ Because I want to, that’s why.” 

Your argument is slipping; petulance curls off you in plumes as thick as smoke. And the scent is sweet to him.

Eddie settles back in his chair, sliding his hips down—looking the epitome of leisure and apathy, he hopes. Though, unable to fully transform while walking the repressive tightrope, his left hand fiddles with the rings on his right—a nervous tick he hopes you’re too annoyed to notice. 

“Well, yeah, but why not yesterday? Why not a month from now?” He shrugs, feeling flinty resentment sharpen his edges as he continues the onslaught of questions, now bordering on antagonistic. “Why not prom night a few years ago? Isn’t that where all the girls go to lose it? You went, you had a date. You could’ve.”

Your eye twitches.

“Because I didn’t want to, jackass. I’m ready now. I want to now…”

Instead of responding, Eddie just raises his brows, feeling unimpressed. Your words sit in the air, floating in between you both as they grow stale. 

The soft whistle of the A/C unit and the ticking of the old clock on the wall make him feel like he’s trapped in this liminal space where conversations never truly end because nobody’s point ever actually gets made. Like he’s just meant to sit here, staring at you, both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing comes. Because that’s not how the game is played. 

Unfettered, Eddie continues to look at you, as though you’re something to be watched—consumed. A separate entity he can’t touch, but he can play the part of an onlooker, waiting for disaster to hit. 

You squirm and shuffle in your seat. He observes. Waits. Gives you the space to tell on yourself because he knows you’re not strong enough to resist it.

Your eyes sporadically flit from his to random places in the trailer as you avoid his patient gaze. 

After a few seconds, it appears the opened cereal box and empty beer cans across the room become a bore to you. 

Slowly, your far-out gaze drops down the kitchen counter, landing on the floor, sliding to the side, and back up the table until it rests on his joined hands, fingers threaded, rings bulky and glinting in the dull glow of the humming bulb. 

He sees the exact moment you buckle under his unyielding attention—the moment you give up. Your shoulders deflate the smallest amount, free of tension and low from submission. Your chest collapses under the expression of a deep, silent sigh. 

 “I’m tired of being a virgin,” you mutter, shame darkening every syllable. “I just want it over with, I don’t care anymore.”

Eddie purses his lips again, nodding, because he understands the feeling. He remembers the pressure. “And you don’t wanna wait to lose it to someone you love?” 

You don’t respond. Don’t look at him. All you do is laugh. Just a quiet, humorless chuckle. A few notes of melody that tell him you’ve got a well of emotions, thoughts, and opinions on the subject that you’ll have to spare him for time’s sake. 

But Eddie’s not in the business of letting you off easy. As much as you can be difficult sometimes, he can be far worse. 

He can talk, and talk, and talk for hours. Stall forever if he needs to.

Suddenly, he sits up, hunching his shoulders forward, determined. “I think you should wait…. For someone you love,” he implores.

You roll your eyes again, as though he’s spinning you an opulent fantasy and swearing it’s true.

He crosses his arms, mirroring your own movement—

“Thank you for your input, I’ll take it into consideration.” You shoot him an insincere smile before looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, as if thinking, only to return your gaze to him seconds later. “Okay. I’ve considered it. And I’m choosing to ignore it.” 

Eddie bristles, sucking in a quick breath to bolster his impending rebuttal, but you don’t even let him—

“I don’t know if you've noticed, Eddie, but there’s a distinct lack of guys lining down the block, waiting to woo me. And that’s fine, it’s whatever,” you shrug, shaking your head like you couldn’t be less bothered. “I can’t make someone love me. But this, I can control…” 

You snort, mordacious words spewing from your perfect lips. “One thing I know about men is they may not be quick to love, but they’re certainly easy to seduce.” 

Eddie shifts angrily in his seat. Not quick to love? 

As if that could be true. Who in their right mind—

Part of him wants to yell at any guy who’s ever rejected you, but the other part—the dark, untamable ego—wants to jump up in celebration, in smug satisfaction that he’s not having to duel for your devotion. 

But he doesn’t do either because love is awful. 

It’s like staring into a mirror and all his worst flaws are staring back. 

Right now, his selfishness is glaring at him, and yet, he can’t seem to care. That’s the worst part. 

He should be good. He should be better for you. Should want to be better for you. It’s what you deserve. But you’ve done something irreversible to him. 

And love is fickle. 

Because, unfortunately, he can relate to you on one thing—the woes of not being able to make someone love you. 

The pain of wanting it and not getting it. 

If he could…. 

If he could get it… 

If he could make someone love him—if it were possible—he wouldn’t be stuck here listening to you plot how you’re going to lose your virginity to some guy. Instead, he’d be half-way to the bedroom by now, your hand in his, and a million sweet kisses waiting for you. 

But love is fickle. 

“Okay, fine. Yeah, guys are easy, but you can’t lose it to a stranger. That’s probably the worst way to go about it,” he complains, regarding you with almost-pleading eyes.

You pause for a moment, your eyes narrow at the earnest display of caution on his face. But then you must remember this is the face of a liar, because—

“I mean…people hook up with people all the time. Some even after they’ve just met at a bar,” you pointedly argue, pinning Eddie to the spot with a time-hardened gaze. 

His lip curls as he regrets ever opening his mouth that day in ‘84.

If he had known it would give you the perfect shield, allowing every argument he lobs at you to bounce off and hit him square in the chest, he would have never said a word. In fact, he has half a mind to create time travel just to go back and kick eighteen year old Eddie’s ass—

“And besides, I’m not doing it with a stranger. I was thinking of asking Jimmy Royston,” you shrug, focusing on the chipped nail polish you can’t seem to stop picking at. “I sat next to him in Chemistry, like, all of junior year.” 

For the first time in what feels like forever—well, at least since you told him your plans for later—Eddie laughs. A boisterous, belly laugh that echoes around the trailer, the sound bouncing off the smoke-stained wallpaper and hitting every surface in sight. 

Too busy wiping tears from his eyes, Eddie misses the way your face sours, your lips curling into a dangerous sneer.

He starts a few sentences that immediately devolve into gibberish and giggles when he pictures you and Jimmy Royston so much as speaking. God, his stomach hurts— He always did sat you were the funnier one out of you and him. 

A terse ahem draws his attention back, and he tries to stop his body from shaking with heaving laughter.

“Oh, sorry. Phew! I needed that, I needed that.” He wipes some escaped tears off his cheeks. “Ohh, thank you, sweetheart, that was very funny. Thank you,” he says with a breathless grin, smoothing his shirt and rubbing his sore abdomen. 

Staring at him with a heavy brow, your expression remains still—

When your facade doesn’t crack—when you don’t smirk and revel in how hard you made him break, like you usually do—Eddie’s smile drops off his face, replaced by unabashed incredulity. 

You’re serious. You truly mean to tell him…Jimmy Royston is your man of choice? The guy who vomited all over himself in ninth grade when he had to dissect a frog in biology is the one you want to lose your virginity to? Jimmy ‘Puke-y’ Royston?  

What’s more, your choice is based on a year of being lab partners? Really? Eddie has known you since freshman year—known of you since elementary school—and you’re choosing an acquaintance over him? 

Not even an acquaintance—an obligatory desk-mate. How romantic. Touching, really—

He can’t help but imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Jimmy, remember me from Chem? Stoichiometry, am I right? That shit sucked. Anyway, do you wanna fuck me?”

All of a sudden, he starts considering whether he could win in a fight against the short, slim guy. 

Who knows? It may come to that if he fucks this up and fails to convince you never to leave his trailer—especially not for Jimmy Royston. 

“Sorry, you wanna have your first time with your eleventh grade chem partner? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Eddie wails, a crazed, bemused look in his eyes as he leans forward over the table that separates you two. 

You groan loudly, rolling your eyes so hard your head lolls back. “Oh, what now? You don’t want it to be a stranger, I said it’s not gonna be. Now you don’t want it to be someone I know? Seriously, Eddie, you’re grasping at straws here.”

“Someone you know? Jimmy is someone you know?” he scoffs, his brows lift so high they disappear into the messy curls of his bangs. 

When you don’t say anything else, only pursing your lips and avoiding his fiery gaze, he nods fervently, his frizzy locks swaying softly with the movement. 

“Yeah, well, of course. You guys go way back,” he mocks. “You know what, while you’re at it, why don’t you call up Chris Trilcek? You were paired up for that final presentation in world history freshman year. Bet he’d be a hoot-and-a-half in the sack, and I’m sure he’s free!” 

“Oh, do you think I should?” you ask, staring off to the side of his frazzled face like you’re actually considering his teasing suggestion. “I mean it’d be nice to have options in case Jimmy isn’t up for it…”

Before Eddie has a chance to figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse again, you’re up, leaving him to stare at the empty space across the table as you rifle through the junk-drawer in his kitchen. 

Inside the deep drawer, stray batteries and an impressive rubber band ball roll about as you dig through a shocking amount of take-out menus. Once you find what you’re looking for, you make your way back to Eddie, plopping onto your chair, letting the item drop from your hands and onto the table with a loud thump. 

Quickly, you split the phone book open, flipping through the flimsy pages to get to the ‘R’ section. 

“What the f—” 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, slamming his hand down on the binding of the book before he drags it to him and away from you—away from your deft, searching fingers. 

“Hey!” 

You reach across the table to pull the White Pages back, but before you can get your hands on it, he shoves the book off the surface like an attention-seeking cat. It goes flying, falling to the floor of the trailer with a loud, hollow thud. 

“Hey! I need that, asshole!” you yell, vexation turning your tone shrill.

You stare into his eyes for a moment, annoyance cooking your insides like a stew as you’re met with utter indifference and what looks to be a hint of smugness. You’re going to kill him. 

Stuck in another stand-off, neither of you move until you make the mistake of glancing at the ground, noting the landing spot of the heavy book, splayed out—frail pages folding under the weight of itself in haphazard creases. Eddie follows your gaze and that’s all it took to give away your next move.

In a flash, you turn, bending down, and reaching to the floor. Eddie matches your hasty movements as you both tumble out of your seats, trying to beat the other to the book. The very tips of your fingers brush the laminated cover when he lurches forward, pushing the book out of your grasp once more. 

“Ugh!” you shriek as you scramble toward it, at an advantage because, though he got it away from you in that split-second, he still pushed it to your side of the room—further away from him. You feel a brush of wind against your bare skin as he swipes at your ankle, trying to catch the limb to drag you back to him, but you’re too quick. You get a hold of the book and stand up, rushing over to the yellow landline by the door.

“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering after you. The noises of you vigorously flipping through the pages and the click of the phone coming off the hook only seem to add to his panicked fervor. 

Eddie comes to an abrupt stop behind you, his body nudging you closer to the wall with his nearly-uncontrolled speed. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his chest warms your back as he breathes heavy. 

Right as you’re about to start typing in the number you found for the Roystons, the phone lodged between your ear and shoulder disappears—yanked free, and slammed back onto the hook by a large, ringed hand. 

Another annoyed groan tears from your throat as you feel his body loom ever-closer behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you turn away from his right hand—the one that guards the phone—to protect your precious White Pages. But it doesn’t work— 

His left hand—the one you hadn’t noticed was resting on your hip—ambushes you from the other side. 

Quickly, Eddie firmly presses the pads of his spread fingers onto the thin page you were reading from, and balls his hand into a tight fist, effectively ripping the delicate paper from the book, trapping it beneath his iron grip. In a fit of rage, you whirl around, leveling him with a sharp glare.

He backs away from you, fist still closed around the paper, shielding it from your inevitable reach. Slamming the book onto the side table beneath the phone, you march toward him. 

“Eddie, what the fuck?” you yell, matching his retreating steps with your confident stride. When he runs out of space, you corner him against the far wall and the couch, zeroing in on his fist. 

Eddie lifts his hand high above his head, fully aware of how silly this game of life-or-death keep-away is. But he’ll be damned if you get that fucking phone number. 

As you reach for the crumpled paper, he uses his body to block you—leaning back when you lean forward, stretching and giving you more of his body to reach over. You grunt and mutter obscenities at him, balancing on your tip-toes, but nothing helps. You can’t reach it. He’s never been more overjoyed at his lanky stature than in this moment—

Giggles freely escape his grinning mouth while he watches laser-sharp focus and irritation mar your face as you shove him, trying to get him to break and finally give you the page. He’d never admit it to you because you’d probably junk-punch him—especially right now—but he’s loving the way you’re all over him. 

Your touch is everywhere as you reach and pry for the bane of his existence. Not to mention you smell amazing. He has to stop himself from curling into your roving hands, but he must remain sturdy. For both of your sakes. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re tall enough to ride this ride,” he goads, utterly drunk on you.

You let out the loudest groan he’s ever heard from you, leading him to snicker some more. But he soon regrets his overconfident teasing when you give up on aiming directly for his hand and instead start pawing at his arm. 

A sharp chop to the inside of his elbow sends shockwaves of dull pain through his nervous system as you use your full body weight to pull down on his raised arm, now partially crumpled from your assault to his joint. 

In a moment of desperation—your body hanging from his flexing bicep, slowly but surely bringing it to your level—Eddie shoves the ball of paper into his mouth and releases the tension in his arm, dropping it to his side. The sudden slack causes you to nearly fall over, but before you do, he wraps his arms around your waist, catching you. 

Your irate features melt into a look of disgust as you squirm out of his arms. 

“Ew! Egh! That’s so gross, Eddie!” 

“Mmm, phone book,” he taunts through a mouthful of White Pages. 

“You know, that was your phone book, right? You just lost yourself a whole two pages of R’s,” you say, raising a brow. 

“Don’t care.” 

His petulance is muffled by the crumpled paper in his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe at the taste. Paper. It just tastes like paper. But old. 

Suddenly, he sidesteps your body and crosses the room, heading back to the kitchen to throw the page away. He can feel the thin material softening from his saliva and it’s making him want to scrub his mouth out. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you watching him as he spits the wet slop into the garbage, sees the way you carefully step toward the phone again. 

“Ugh, you’re a child.” 

He pauses from scrubbing a towel over his tongue—attempting to clean any remaining pieces of paper from his mouth. “And you’re a brat.” 

You huff at his declaration. “Am not!” 

“Are too!” he rebuts, dropping the towel and coming out from around the counter. 

“I’m just trying to tell you you’re gonna regret it! I’m on board with the ‘virginity is a concept’ train—hell, I’m the conductor! My point is, sure, it’s a concept, but it’s a concept with feelings attached to it. And feelings get all confusing and…feelings-y,” he rushes out, frustrated at how he can never find the right words when you’re around. “You might not believe it now, but if you go through with this, you’re gonna feel pretty shitty afterwards.” 

He ends his spiel by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, staring at you. He’s said his piece.

You watch him for a moment, then—

“Great. Thank you for the wisdom, Gandalf. But how ‘bout you go share that with someone who cares? I’ve got a ‘T’ name to call.” 

You turn around, pick up the phonebook once more, and flip through a few chunks of pages to get to the right section. 

Eddie lets out a loud, defeated sigh as he lets his arms drop to his sides. “You’re really not gonna give this up?” 

Scoffing, you shoot him a glare from across the room before looking back down at the list of names. “Exactly which part of ‘I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight’ did you not understand?”

He sucks his teeth as he watches your finger find Chris’s last name, your hand already reaching for the phone. 

Fuck it—

“Fine. If you really wanna lose it to someone, and you don’t care who, then lose it to me,” he shrugs, crossing his arms again. 

He glances away from your now-still figure, your shoulders so high, they’re nearly up to your ears. 

Forcing a level of indifference he’s never quite been capable of—especially not when it comes to you—he stares downward, as if the well-worn carpet beneath his feet could ever be more interesting than the woman whose second home is his subconscious.

You’re pretty sure you can hear the fibers unfurling beneath his shifting feet. Or maybe it’s your feet. Maybe it’s your heartbeat in your ears, not his. Everything is a little confusing and you can’t seem to look away from the wall. It feels like a safe place to rest your unseeing eyes. 

Your arm aches and you retract it from where you were reaching for the phone—you hadn’t made it, you were half-way there when he said it. 

Carefully, you turn your head to him, trying to figure out if this is some shitty joke he’s spouting just to piss you off or if he has well and truly lost it. But his face is devoid of any humor and he looks as sane as he ever did—which was never a lot, but no different to now. 

More than anything, he looks almost vulnerable as he avoids your shocked gaze. 

“What? Eddie—” you start, already exasperated because you’ve decided that, even though he appears to be completely serious, he must be joking, “if this is another way for you to try and–”

“It’s not.” He shrugs his shoulders again, finally meeting your eyes while shoving his hands into the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You win. I capitulate to her majesty.” 

You raise a brow at the medieval lilt and his waving bow to you, but before you get to reprimand him for the joke, he continues— 

“If you’re gonna go have sex with someone you feel nothing for, then why not feel nothing for me?”

You almost want to laugh at his “foolproof” logic, but the familiar pain in your chest is accompanied by something else. Something almost warm. Like rays of sun fighting through cumulonimbus clouds.

Damp dirt, new leaves, and fertilizer.

He’s offering something you only ever dreamed of like it never crossed your mind. 

Like it would mean nothing.

An agreement. A one-time deal. No strings attached; an easy fix to your problem.

But what if you want strings? 

Does he want strings? 

Strings do get messy when left untied. All the criss-cross feelings and knotted touches. 

But it’s him—

“Eds—”

Like he’s been burned by your solemn tone, Eddie cuts you off in a hurry. “At least it’d be with someone you know. Like really know…. Someone who cares about you—about your experience.”

The fragility in his eyes makes you want to console him. To tell him you believe every word. That you’re sure he would be good to you. 

Because he looks like him—

The soft, sweet man you saw all those years ago. The one you prayed to at night like a deity, asking for a few more seconds of his hand on your lower back, or more moments of just you and him. More laughter, more affection, more time. More, more, more. 

All the little things that molded you into a reverent devotee in the first place. 

Asking for every small thing to bolster your faith.

And now, he’s finally offering something much larger. 

Reaching for you with a divine gift.

How could you possibly say no?

Criss-cross feelings, you remind yourself.

Strings to tie your heart down, could be useful—

Fuck it. 

Slowly, you set the phone book down and make your way over to his spot against the kitchen counter. Stopping right in front of him, you look up with hesitant curiosity. 

You’ve never really been this close to him. Not with this much on the table. 

Mindlessly—shamelessly—you glance at his lips before succumbing to the cloudy glint in his eyes, the darkness that falls like a veil over his once-lively irises. 

There’s something there, you find. 

Something else that swirls deep in the molten shade of brown. 

Something you want to know more about. 

Your hands hang uselessly below you, resting against your body as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The pointed tip of your tongue glides along the soft skin of your lips, leaving your mouth parted—like a siren call to his. 

You couldn’t be any closer to him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you feel the soft puffs of air from his wanton mouth. But you won’t move anymore. 

You leave yourself for him. He can have you if he wants. 

A sacrifice.

Eddie’s eyes rove over your face, looking down at the way you’re almost reaching for him, but it’s as if you won’t allow the touch. Won’t allow the crossing of some imaginary barrier you’ve built. 

Steadily, he lifts his hands—crosses the line—trailing his fingers up your neck like a ghost of a touch, until he settles his gentle grip on either side of your head. Stealing a moment from Time itself—just a second, a blip, like he’s plucking a ripe berry to savor in the thousand milliseconds he’s stolen—he smooths his thumbs over your temples, granting himself the selfish gift of feeling you.

His eyes consume all, admiring the dainty flutter of your mascara-blackened lashes, the softness of your skin—he marvels at the feeling.

Simmering from the heat of your body, he tries to memorize all your prettiest features, seen through an advantage he’s never had before. To be this close. To never be again. 

He’s going to make it worth his while. He has to.

A lowly victim to your gravitational pull, he finds himself leaning toward you, like light toward a collapsing star. And there’s no escaping you, not when you so easily warp the fabric of his being with frightening ease.

Loud in his straining ears, he hears the slight hitch in your breath when he nearly brushes his lips with yours, but he loses himself before he can truly feel you. Instead, he plants a cowardly, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Simply not enough, but more than he could have ever dreamed of getting. Another bittersweet paradox.

“D’you want this?”

He’s so quiet, but he can feel the way you shudder against him. The way you feel him, his words mumbled devoutly into your skin.

“I wanna lose my virginity,” you whisper confidently, like it’s the only thing you're absolutely certain of.

Eddie tries to fight the way his face falls, but he can’t seem to manage it when your words serve as a reminder of how little this all matters to you. Or, at least, how little you care who you lose it to. 

But, ever-observant, you notice, and he catches the worry as soon as it draws your brows together. 

“T-To you…” you amend. “Can I?”

The frail uncertainty in your voice feeds the fire deep in Eddie’s gut, like bone-dry wood being thrown into the hearth on a years-long winter night. 

The flames, once dim and hopeless, time-weathered and starving, roar back to life. 

Subtly, he nods, relishing the way you relax. Bound to your request, he allows his palms to glide down your form, taking his time to explore the new terrain until he grabs ahold of your soft hands. 

Side stepping your body, he gently pulls you to his room. His backwards strides are confident—a sign of comfortability in the home he’d call yours, just the same as he’d call it his. After all, these walls have seen nearly every iteration of his care for you. From acquaintances to friends to—

Neither of you speak as he guides you around his frame—you, now in front of him, and him, leaning his weight against the bedroom door until it clicks shut. 

Wayne is on a fishing trip for the weekend with some buddies from the plant, but he’s not particularly known for remembering to pack everything, and Eddie is keen on protecting your modesty and ensuring your comfort. Like you deserve. Like he knows he can—better than anyone.

He drops one hand from yours only to lock the door. Once he’s certain there will be no interruptions, he walks you back toward the bed until you’re standing right in front of it. 

Dropping your other hand, he reaches up and gently smooths the hair near your temple again, addicted to the way your eyes flutter. His hands slide down your figure until he’s toying with the hem of your t-shirt—his t-shirt, the one you stole in tenth grade and never gave back. 

His selfishness befriends the possessive fiend he fights back daily, because you’re moving through the world marked by him. And in this moment, Eddie wonders if you really could have let another man touch you in the shirt that whispers his name against your soft skin.

Heat thrums just below your surface, boiling and bubbling, nearly spilling over when you feel him tugging at your shirt, silently asking for permission. His hands wait patiently.

You don’t respond. Don’t know how to speak. Nerves rattle against your ribcage. Or maybe it’s your heart testing its prison, looking for a way out as it pounds and pounds and pounds—

“Can I take this off?” 

His low mutter—almost a monosyllabic slur of sound—registers a second later in your hazy brain. You nod, forcing your lungs to expand, but nearly choke at the faint scent of his cologne. 

It’s familiar. Piercing, clean, and rich—

You remember the day he got it. When he dragged you to the mall, forcing you to smell every option. He bought the one you liked the most. Even when he wasn’t too sure about it. You remember warning him about the price tag, about how he should pick one he really likes if he’s going to splurge on it. But he wouldn’t hear it—

“Words.”

A confused hum creeps up your throat as you greedily bask in his scent, feeling the world move in slow motion around you. His unending touch carves canyon-like ripples into the tissue of your mind.

When you manage to focus on his eyes, there’s a level of fondness in them that has you grabbing onto his wrist for support.

“Wanna hear your words, sweetheart. Y’gotta tell me what you want.”

Understanding washes over you like cool hose water on a hot summer day. Quickly, you open your mouth to ask him—no, beg him—to undress you, but before a single word can crawl out from between your parted lips, you feel his warm fingers dancing along the delicate skin of your waist, leaving a wave of goosebumps in their wake. 

Your breath catches, and you shudder because he’s both hot and cold—

His attention warms you; his touch leaves you shivering from a chill that is so frigid it begins to manipulate your frayed nerves, tricking you into feeling the burn as if it were born from the bluest flame and not the calloused hands of your best friend—

“I— I, um…”

You shake your head as you try to remember what you were about to say before the words ran away from you and into his arms, stealing whatever desperate sentiment you meant to express. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to figure it out, to fill in the blanks—like a cipher missing its key. 

His thumbs are drawing little shapes into the soft skin beneath your shirt, aiding and abetting the thieving words. The unfamiliar affection makes your abdomen twitch and your core pulse with need.

Before you get the chance to draw up some semblance of sanity, Eddie leans into you, effectively shrinking your entire world to just him. He’s everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you see, everything you touch, everything you…want to taste.

You so desperately want to know what flavor his kisses are—

Bitter smoke from the habit he can never quite kick? Malt sweetness from the beer he loves to drink? Cool mint from the gum he always carries around?

Would you grow ravenous at the first hint of Marlboro Reds? Would you crumble under the eager pressure of his lager-soaked tongue? Would your mouth water at the lingering scent of menthol on his breath?

You’re trapped in his thrall the second he closes in on your space. His head tips to the side, running his lips along your warm cheeks, your jaw. You shiver at the soft brush of his mouth—an action you’re painfully aware is not meant to be shared among friends. No, this kind of touch is reserved for lovers only— 

“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to touch you? Want me to hold you?” he murmurs, heavy gaze locked on the way your lips part, and you quietly pant. Your head bobs toward his mouth, body leaning into his arms, drawn to the heat of him. 

You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel his nose nuzzling your hair. Then, as if fighting for control, his hands flex, only to grab onto your hips and drag you tight against him, like he lost the battle. Or maybe he surrendered. The way he hangs over you, almost relieved at the closeness leads you to believe it’s the latter.

Emboldened by his body against yours—all growing hardness and twitching muscles—your hands paw at his abdomen, his waist, kneading and pulling him impossibly closer.

“What do you want, baby?” 

You bite back a whimper at the new endearment. 

Because that’s reserved for lovers too—

“I want…W-Wan’ you. I wanna be…be with you,” you mumble breathlessly, mindlessly.

In a huff of impatience, he pulls your top over your head. You hear the way he swallows back a groan and you wish he wouldn’t have. 

With expert dexterity, he removes your bra, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. You practically bloom under his attention—his wide, hungry eyes, his almost pained rasp of humming appreciation. 

His hands slide up the sides of your body, featherlight fingers following the length of your ribs, brushing inward as he traces the skin just below the curve of your breasts. 

Your wandering hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt before slipping under the material, flexing and groping at his toned abdomen. You pull at his narrow waist, a wordless plea for him to touch you more. 

But he seems uninterested in your needy silence and you remember his instructions—

“Eddie, please. Please, touch me. I need you…. Wanna feel you.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, nodding.

Electricity prickles and dances across your skin like invisible lightning as he finally slides his hands over your sensitive breasts. Gently kneading the weight, he smooths his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. You gasp at the sensation, the way it directly triggers the heat twisting and turning low in your core with a quickness you’re not accustomed to. 

Leaning down, Eddie attacks your jaw and neck with greedy, open-mouthed kisses. His nose nudges you zealously, like he’s devouring your delicate flesh and still aching for more, so you tilt your head away, eager to provide. 

You tug his shirt up his body, but quickly realize you’ll need him to break away from your neck to get the material over his head. You lightly push on his abdomen, and he begrudgingly stops his assault, understanding what you’re looking for.

With a level of speed you’ve never once seen him use, he peels his shirt off, balls it up, and blindly tosses it somewhere in the corner of the room. 

Unabashedly, you ogle his body in a way you’ve never allowed yourself before. Your heavy-lidded gaze is first drawn to the pick hanging just below his collarbones, sitting perfectly against his pale skin. Then, your eyes drop, admiring the tattoos that litter the expanse of his chest. 

You’ve only ever seen them a few times—mostly at the Hawkins pool on hot summer days, and once when you walked in on him changing. You remember how you couldn’t get the image out of your mind. The contrast, the searing visage of inky-black against milky-white, pressed into skin like a pretty decoration meant to be admired. 

And like a set path guided by nothing but desire, your eyes track down, down, down his body—all heat and hardness. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of the tuft of coarse hair trailing from his navel to whatever lies beyond the waistband of his jeans. 

Whatever lies—

But you already have an idea; you feel him pulsing against your stomach, you felt him twitch when you whimpered moments ago.

All heat and hardness.

Drawing you from your trance, Eddie’s deft fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts, making quick work of the fastenings and dragging the material down your legs. He drops to his knees, peering up at you with something in his eyes so…raw that it has you grabbing onto him, your balance escaping you. 

With your hands on his strong shoulders, you watch with rapt attention as he removes your shoes and socks, then he gently cups one ankle, lifting it and helping you out of the leg of your shorts before doing the same to the other. His touch is so soft—so gentle—you think you might cry.

Barely anything has happened yet and he’s taking such good care of you. You shudder to think how this would have gone had you called up Jimmy or Chris. 

Nobody could compare to Eddie. 

Feeling weightless, heavy, high, and stone-cold sober all at once, you meet his eyes. 

“You look…” he pauses, swallowing harshly, “you’re so beautiful.”

Your ears ring at the hidden sentiment between those three words. A million extra meanings you can’t catch, but you heard them like a whisper in the wind—real and slipping through your fingers the moment his hungry lips grace your skin once more.

Large hands squeeze the backs of your thighs, and you feel the tickling brush of his frizzy curls against your bare legs. 

Wet, searing kisses travel upward, his hands slide in tandem with the needy affection. He holds you with a type of reverence you couldn’t have foreseen—as if you could have ever foreseen this. He moves along your body like you’re allowing him, not like he’s the one doing you a favor. 

You sigh when you feel the heat of his breath over the place you need him most. He’s stopped at the apex of your thighs, panting like a desperate man, blocked by a flimsy slip of fabric that you’re certain he could shred to pieces with the way his eyes have darkened. 

“C-Can I?” His strained voice breaks through the music in the room, disrupting the melody of syncopating gasps and pants. 

It feels like the world is moving as you stay perfectly still, staring down at him, his arms wrapped around your legs, fingers greedily curling in the waistband of your panties. You find yourself thankful for his steady, obedient grip. 

Underneath his wanton gaze, you feel the weight of roles reversed. It’s like it’s his first time, the way he’s looking up at you like your permission will fix him. Your touch will mend something broken. 

With wide eyes and parted lips, you nod. “Y-Yes. Please, Eddie.”

A sound torn from deep within his chest rumbles out, reverberating around the room, bouncing off of every wall and hitting you like a spell. Low, where his breaths warm you, a fiery enchantment unfurls in volant tendrils like ink in water.

Suddenly, Eddie drags the thin material down from around your hips, another appreciative groan rips from his throat as he watches the gusset of your panties fall last, stuck to your wet folds. A delicate string of arousal clings to the fabric, unable to part from it. 

You watch his efforts slow, his lids grow heavy like he can’t control the need. Then, he presses his face between your thighs, the very faint graze of his tongue leaves you trembling. 

With one targeted swipe, Eddie’s tongue snaps the silky string, catching what he can with overwhelming zeal.

“Want more,” he mumbles into your heat. “Sweets…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, already drowning in desperation. “Need you—”

He growls and pulls your panties the rest of the way down your legs before his large hand lifts one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder, allowing him easier access to your soaked core. He hums brokenly—a lewd sound of appreciation. 

The second he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, your gasps devolve into messy moans, but the sound only seems to encourage him more. With foreign ferocity, he devours you. 

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, hips twitching against his face, hands threading through his fluffy hair for balance. 

Vibrations from his responding groan move through you, tearing you apart until you’re nothing but wanton shreds. Your knees almost buckle beneath you, but he presses into you. Harder. More persistent. The force sends you falling backward onto the bed, your hands hurry to break your soft descent.

Your hips hang off the edge of the mattress—one foot still planted on the ground, the other dangling over Eddie’s right shoulder. His hands grope and knead the fat of your thighs as his tongue eagerly laps up your arousal like a man starved. Your arms give out from under you, sending your back barreling down to the untucked sheets on his mattress. 

You’re panting and burning up; the heat of his breath meets the warmth of your folds, creating a smoldering furnace where his mouth dances over you. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one you think no other man could ever replicate. 

Your hips react ardently to every twist and flick of his tongue, the talented muscle toying with you until you’re shaking and whining and bucking against his mouth for more. 

The moment you feel the tip of his tongue draw tight circles around your swollen clit, your head flies back in ecstasy. Your hands wander the space around you for something to grab, first, trailing over your breasts with a teasing squeeze before reaching for the sheets beside you. But it’s not enough. The material is so thin, you can’t get the grip you need. 

Like he can sense the desperate energy rolling off of you in tidal waves—like he knows the feeling—Eddie grabs your hands, momentarily sacrificing his fragile skin to your clawing, pressing, sinking, crushing—

Your thoughts are plucked from somewhere high in the ether and placed back into your head the moment you feel his dragging touch, then, softness. Peering down the winding, curving terrain of your body, you meet his dark eyes, see the way he’s moved your restless hands into his hair.

The whine falling past your lips is drowned out by his aching growl deep within your wet folds. He tightens his grip around your hands before letting go, encouraging you to hold onto him—to use him.

And you do.

You tug him closer, grinding your core against his mouth until you arch at the dull pressure of his tongue breaching your entrance, pressing into you powerfully, exploring untouched territory you wish could be marred by his ministrations. Like a token to memorialize this moment in time. Something that says you’re his—

Quickly, your hips start to lose their rhythm against his face, recklessly twitching and squirming with every break he takes from fucking you to flicking your clit with searing precision. 

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna— Please, Eds, I—”

Not even bothering to pull away, he moans his pleas right into your pussy. “Give it to me, baby. Mmmph, give it to me, sweets. Taste so fuckin’ good—” 

The tone he’s using, the way he pauses after every other word to slurp and lap at your quivering folds, almost makes it feel like he’s not even talking to you. Or maybe not just you. But it’s like he’s speaking directly to your weeping cunt, pleading for more—more arousal to devour, more fluttering pulses to tickle his tongue.

Your brows contort in pleasure as tears prick at your waterline—almost there, almost there.

Suddenly, you miss the pressure of his mouth for a split-second while you hear a sucking sound, then your chest wracks with desperate sobs as you feel him slip a single finger inside you. 

“Oh, god! Oh, fuck!”

His other hand holds your hips down, blunt nails sinking deeper into the surface of your skin as electricity speeds along a high-strung coil—crackling and tight—just below his large palm. But the coil soon snaps when he starts to drag his long, thick finger against your velvety walls, thrusting in and out—gentle yet firm in his actions. 

“Eddie, Eddie, oh, fuck!” 

Unmade and raw, all you can do is babble incoherent whines and pleas as he teases you even past your orgasm, his tongue working your clit until it throbs to the beat of your racing heart.

When your legs start shaking from overstimulation, you finally gather enough strength to push on his head—appealing for mercy.

Like he’s not ready to part from you just yet, Eddie doesn’t yield to your push, though he does begrudgingly grant you reprieve. But he stays between your legs, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s not just breathing deeply to catch his breath. The way he inches infinitesimally closer, the way he won’t let your thighs close—it’s like he’s reveling in your heady scent—

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Squeezin’ my finger so hard. God, this was just one, baby,” he boasts, utter glee defiling his already dirty words.

You whimper. One finger, and you felt so full.

In response, he garnishes your twitching pelvis with wet, sloppy kisses, like he’s searing a promise into your skin—

His hands do their best to hold your hips down, allowing him to take a tour of the tops of your thighs, the divot where your folds meet your legs, your mound—soaked and slobbered on by his overzealous mouth. 

Peering down your body, open-mouthed and desperate, you nearly mewl at the way his eyes are glazed over. He looks drunk on the taste of you. Completely and utterly wasted. What’s more, his face is covered in you. 

All the way up to his nose, his skin shimmers in the light, glistening with your juices. But he doesn’t seem ashamed of the indecent display. Instead, he seems proud. Proud to wear you on him—like a badge of honor.

“Eddie, please. I want more,” you whine, breathless from the come-down. 

“Pretty girl,” he purrs, nuzzling your thigh, “so desperate. Am I turning you to the dark side already?”

You shudder at his smug grin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about his overly-inflated ego. Your mind is mush, and all you can think is his name prefaced by the dangerous word “my.”

“Please,” you mewl. 

His grin widens, and you note the hunger no longer hidden in the dark brown of his irises. Because he’s not aiming for decency anymore. Not in the way he’s eyeing you like you’re a meal and he’s famished, and not in the way his words are rife with untapped desire. 

“Alright, pretty.” He pats your thigh before backing away from you. “Up on the bed.”

It’s a soft order. A gentle command as he grabs your forearms and helps you scoot your hips all the way onto the mattress before letting go, allowing you to shuffle to the top of the bed. 

Once your head hits the pillow, he watches you settle into place, shoving the untucked sheets out from beneath you and off to the side. Without taking his eyes off of your movements, he works to remove his jeans, shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. 

Now that your moans have ceased, the room is so quiet, he can hear your sharp intake of breath when his hard cock bobs free from its constraints. He bites his lip at the subtle shock shifting across your face. It’s flattering, but more than anything, he’s leaking at the thought of fitting inside you. 

“That’s— You’re—” 

Every one of your sentences seems to die on the first word, and he watches your thighs clench as your focus stays on his thick length. 

Heat warms Eddie’s cheeks as he tries to stop the smile from overtaking his face. He shouldn’t be like this—he should be calm, cool, and collected, but clearly exceeding your expectations has him feeling a myriad of things. Giddy, confident, smug…eager. 

Mindlessly, he wipes a hand down the lower half of his face, gathering your slick arousal on his palm, then collects the precum pouring from his ruddy tip, and spreads the combination of juices over the expanse of his thick cock. He grants himself a firm, teasing squeeze as he steps toward you, but quickly detours to the bedside table to rifle through the top drawer. 

“I’ll make sure it feels good, don’t worry. You’re gonna help me with that,” he says lowly, then stills his searching hands as he looks to you for a nod of agreement. When you give it to him, he smiles fondly. “Good girl.”

A quiet huff of amusement escapes him when he hears your strained whimper—the way you so obviously try to keep yourself quiet, but can’t help it. 

He’s starting to catch onto what you like. How you like to be spoken to. And your responses are addicting. The clench of your thighs, the pulse of your walls. The need that crawls up your throat like it’s fighting its way out of you.

He desperately wants to know what else his words can elicit. Or maybe even try something more than his words—

His body warms as he wonders what you’ll sound like when you’re wrapped around him. His mind conjures its best guess at the noises you’ll make when his thrusts knock the air out of you, like sweet rasping melodies meant to torture him. 

He wants to know just how shrill your cries will get when you’re nearly there, searching for just a little bit more. 

But most of all he wants to hear the sweet words that will slip past your loose lips, your mind too cockdrunk to stop the affection you’ll share. The secrets you’ll spill. God, he’s aching to hear you.

If he could, he’d lock you in his room and run experiments on you for a week straight—just to find out what makes you tick. He’d take you apart piece-by-pretty-piece, just to put you back together again. He’d hold you tight and play with you passionately, like you were his favorite toy. 

His.

Drawn from his thoughts by your shifting body, his attention diverts to the box of condoms he manages to find deep in his bedside drawer. He tears at the paperboard and pulls one out, showing you the foil packet before ripping it open—

“Safe sex,” he declares, sliding the oily-feeling latex out of the wrapper. 

His wry smile widens to a goofy grin when you giggle at his words, easing the tension. 

“Stupid,” you mutter, knocking your shin against the side of his thigh as he hovers near the head of the bed, putting the condom on. 

Once he’s done, he crumples the wrapper in his hand, glancing over at you before throwing it on the cluttered surface of the nightstand. “You sure you wanna do this?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yes, Eddie. You already ate me out.”

That leaves him frowning—

“Sweetheart, just because we did that doesn’t mean you have to continue. We can be done. Nothing more needs to happen if you don’t want it to.”

You remain silent, only staring up at him with so much…something…in your gaze, it makes him want to fold in on himself like the discarded foil. And he thought the ease with which you crossed his wires was bad— 

“I know,” you mutter softly. “But I want to. With you. Will you…. Will you take care of me?”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes—one he knows all too well. 

You sound so small, so nervous. As if he could ever deny you something that was meant to be yours. His care. His devotion. 

“‘Course I will.” 

He nods one too many times, entranced by the way you seem so delicate under his watchful eyes. 

Delicate because you’re asking him to take care. In the way he’ll touch you. The way he’ll guide you. The way he’ll—

Slowly, he steps closer. You scoot to the side, making room for him to knee his way onto the bed. 

His hands brush your ankles, featherlight affection smoothing up your legs, stopping at your knees. With the utmost reverence, he gently parts them, settling between your thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this. I mean…you look— Well, you look…pretty all the time,” he nervously amends, eyes flitting over your face, but never any lower. 

He wants you to know he means you. You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not because you have a gorgeous body, but because you are gorgeous. 

You shift beneath him, avoiding his gaze and, instead, focusing on pulling him to you. Softly. Needily.

He follows your guidance, leaning over you until his hands land beside your head. And just like before, he’s memorizing the moment. Every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every quiet breath from your pleasure-bitten lips. 

Below, you glance to the side, find his wrists, and wrap your hands around each one, as if grounding yourself in his touch. Only then—when his pulse beats wildly against your fingers—do you meet his eyes.

Wandering palms—soft and unfamiliar in their affection—travel the length of his arms, pausing over black ink, then continuing up until they reach his biceps. He shivers as you hum, squeezing the corded muscles that lay twitching restlessly beneath heated flesh. 

“You’re pretty, too,” you murmur, sliding your palms back down and rubbing at his wrists. 

Eddie chuckles, then swallows. “No, I’m not.”

The subtle twitch of your brows, the split-second peek at the budding frown that says you disagree has him beating you to your rebuttal—

“Not like you.”

His heart leaps in his chest as your hands suddenly drag his face to yours, like you’re about to kiss him with overwhelming need. But you don’t complete the motion.

And neither does he.

Because he’s not sure he can come back from all of this if he kisses you. 

If you allow him to have you in that way—

He’s not sure he’s strong enough. Not enough to feel you like that, to close his eyes and claim your lips like they belong to him, and then go about his life like he never felt it. The beat of your heart against his, pounding in nerves and want. The truthful desire dancing from your mouth to his. 

He couldn’t go back to living a lie. To live like he doesn’t think about you every single day. Like he doesn’t wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with him. Like he doesn’t do the most mundane shit and spends the whole time thinking about how much better it would be to do it with you. 

So he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not when you’re not his to keep. 

Instead, he leaves a delicate, chaste brush of an almost-kiss to the corner of your mouth. Again.

Another cop-out from a coward. 

You struggle to contain your disappointment, resigning yourself to the fantasy in your head. The imagined taste of his tongue tangling with yours. And with wanton hands, you reach for his hips, subtly pulling him closer. 

“Need you,” you mutter, hearing the hitch of his breath as you whisper the plea against his mouth. 

“Fuck— Okay.” 

You watch as he reaches for his length. Taking a strong grip, he guides the thick tip along your slick folds, gathering your wetness. 

The raw combination of moan and a sigh leaves your lips—an accidental slip portraying just how much you’re aching for him. 

“It’s gonna feel a little weird, like…pressure. Okay? But you gotta let me know if it hurts, sweets, you hear me?” 

Your fluttering eyes, panting mouth, and rolling hips aren’t enough of a response, apparently, because his voice grows firm. 

“Hey, pretty girl, you with me?” 

“Mhm,” you whine, nodding your head. 

“What did I tell you?” he asks, smoothing a thumb down your temple before tapping three times. 

“Um, you— you said, um, if it hurts, I'll tell you.” 

“Good girl.” 

His muttered praise leaves you mewling, inching your hips closer to him, looking for more—yearning for it. 

Your mind devolves into pure static as he presses his thick tip into you slowly. Through bleary eyes, you see his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, like he’s fighting to maintain his composure. For a moment, you wonder what it must look like from his point of view—the way your folds open up to him, welcoming the intrusion, ready to wrap around him in a vice grip.

“Oh, god. Mmm.” 

Your features crumble at the sensation of dull pressure—exactly what he warned you about. It doesn’t hurt, it just leaves you wanting more, like you’ll find reprieve once he’s fully inside you. 

“How you doin’, baby? Need a break?” he rasps, kneading your thigh gently.

“Need more.”

“Fuck, y’want more? Wanna feel more o’ me?” 

You whimper and nod, your heart racing as his slurred words drag you down into the flaming pit of desire.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp when you feel him press deeper inside of you, his stiff length sliding past your walls. Your ribs contract and expand in raucous breaths the moment you see just how much of him is left. He’s just barely got the tip in—

As your gaze creeps up his body, you realize Eddie hasn’t looked down once, not to where you’re connected. You wonder if it’s self-preservation or if maybe it’s part of his care for you. The way he watches your face intently, like he’s monitoring every slight change in expression leads you to believe it’s the latter. Probably both, really.

But you’re thankful he’s looking, because he immediately notices when the pinch in your brows shifts from pleasure to a wince of discomfort. 

His hand is on your face in a second, smoothing the crease between your brows and petting your hair soothingly.

“Baby, you okay? Is it too much? You feelin’ pain?” 

You shake your head stubbornly, sucking in a deep breath, leaving your mouth open and panting as your gaze stays glued to the sight of him inside of you. You notice it’s not just the tip, he also gets impossibly thicker through the middle of his length, and you’re sure that’s what you’re feeling now—

“Hey, look at me.” His thumb catches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me out. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Something flashes in the molten color of his irises and he leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. You practically preen as he grants you a sweet kiss, and part of you—the rotted, selfish part—wonders if feigning pain would allow you to finally taste him properly, all smoky mint and dancing tongues—

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he implores.

“‘S just a pinch, ‘s just— It’s fine,” you placate, rubbing your hands gingerly down his sides. 

“Alright, we’re gonna wait here, and you tell me when I can move, or if you wanna stop. But in the meantime, try to relax all your muscles. Sometimes we get all tense, even when we don’t mean to.”

You nod hesitantly, taking a few more deep breaths, making a conscious effort to drop your shoulders and let your muscles rest. After a full minute of breathing, resting, and leaning into his soft palm on your warm cheek, you nod again. 

“Okay, you…you can move now.” 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. As if trying to discern the truth, Eddie just studies you for a moment. Then he moves, inching further into you.

When your jaw goes slack at the feeling of fullness, you hear a rumble of sound, like a groan that’s been cut off too early, and you have half a mind to ask him if he needs a break. But before you get the chance, your words catch in your throat as he rests lower on you.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, his hot breath tickling your ear, leaving your cunt pulsing with need.

Then a hiss—the kind that sounds like it’s bordering on pain, but is only one degree away from pleasure—escapes his lips, and you realize just how tightly you were squeezing him.

Then, suddenly, he bottoms out, the firm, jolting movement forcing all air from your lungs. 

“Oh, good girl,” he huffs out, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. How’s it feel, sweets? Think you like it? Wan’ more?”

Struggling to turn pitiful mewls into actual words, you nod your head fervently, reaching down to press your palms against his hips. “Mmm, wan’ more. Please, Eddie.” 

For the first time, he glances down, and you hear him choke at the sight. Electricity prickles across your delicate skin, and the sting of your teeth sinking into your lip does nothing to disrupt your giddy hum as you try to push him away.

In the dark shade of his eyes, you can tell he recognizes your movement as a very desperate, unsuccessful attempt at getting him to pull out—to chamber a thrust. And he seems utterly amused—

“Oh, baby, did you want something? You wanna do the work? Help me out like a good girl?” 

Something deeply raw and needy peels from your throat in response, and you silently rejoice when he pulls back, aiding your efforts. Unfortunately, it’s only a couple inches because—to your burgeoning frustration—he’s following your guidance, and your arms don’t reach nearly as far as you need. 

But you’ll take anything right now; desperation is cooking your nerves and boiling your insides. 

So you sink your nails into his hips and pull him back to you with a sudden yank.

Your mouth drops open at his shallow thrust, unintelligible noises of debauched need tumble past your parted lips. 

Clawing at his soft skin, you struggle to set up another thrust. “Please, please— I need more.”

“More? But you’re doin’ so well all by yourself,” he condescends, eyes twinkling with hunger as he lets you push and pull him. “Look at you go, pretty girl. Makin’ yourself feel so good. What an independent little woman.”

His teasing shakes you to your core because it’s so him. It’s your best friend, just in a new scenario with unfettered access to your body and pleasure. God, you’ve allowed him too much power— 

“Eddie! Please! I’m— I need it. I need you…”

Amusement washes from his face and you pout as he pauses, as if admiring a view. Then he ducks down.

“Whatever the princess wishes,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing against the heated skin of your cheek, syrupy sweet affection dripping from every word. Gently, he pulls out, nearly all the way. 

The mewl that was halfway out of your mouth catches like a lock clicking into place. A loud, desperate cry comes out in its stead—a reckless, candid response to the deep gut-punching thrusts barreling into you. They’re not hard, not rough, but firm. Controlled. Resolute. 

Like he wants you to feel it. Feel him.

You chase your breath in his rutting hips, surrendering to the affection he’s searing into you with every pass of his stiff length against your pulsing walls.

Red streaks paint his milky-white skin, blooming beneath your hurried hands like a casualty of your desire. Curses, groans, and harsh gasps fall from his slackened jaw. Heat bubbles deep in your core, rivaling the warmth of the salacious words he whispers into your flesh. 

“Shit, you feel so good, sweets— Oh, god, wan’ you to be— Fuck!”

Tears flood your waterline as you stare at the ceiling, features permanently fixed in shattered pleasure. Your mind struggles to hold onto the hitch in his breath, the unfinished sentence you’re dying to hear. But the sensations are overwhelming. Every nerve in your body is sparking—all livewires itching to explode.

All you can say is his name, all you can feel is him, and yet, it’s still not enough—

“Eddie, n-need m-more, ple—aseee!”

“Ah, fuck, baby, I know. I got you—”

Eddie glides his tongue over the pad of his thumb before reaching between your legs and circling your swollen clit. 

And suddenly, it’s like lightning has struck the furnace deep in your core, shooting high voltage shocks up your body until you grow so hot you’re almost cold. A sensation of fullness takes over, like you’re mere seconds from bursting. 

Delirious with passion, your hand flies down to stop his movements—to stop what you know is coming.

“H-Hold on, I— Eddie, I need to— I wanna feel you! Please, please, let me—”

Your needy sobs have him slowing down until he stills inside of you, chest heaving and damp with sweat.

“What— You can feel me. Aren’t you feelin’ me, sweets?” He reaches his hand up to the space just below your navel, pressing in only slightly.

You whine from the pressure, and your cunt flutters around him in rhythmic pulses like it’s trying to entice him back into movement. 

And, God, you can feel him— 

He’s burrowed his way deep inside you, but it’s still not enough—

“No— Yes, I— Oh, god, I c-can feel you. I just—” Your words melt into a whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of warm wetness slides down your cheek.

You’re vaguely aware of a dip in the bed on either side of your head, and as you blink away the blur, you realize Eddie has dropped to his elbows over you, caging you in. 

His lips trace the track of the tear in reverse, starting first beneath your jaw, then up the expanse of your face. But his mouth doesn’t open—it’s not a trail of kisses. Just a soothing glide of soft pink, collecting salt water. 

“What do you wanna feel?” he asks patiently, like he’s ready to bring your deepest desires to fruition. 

When you don’t respond, he brushes his lips against the thin skin of your eyelids in short, delicate kisses. 

“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just tell me what you want—”

The raw truth of his statement rings in your ears along with a prayer in the shape of your name—reverent, impassioned, desperate. The tone has you questioning when the god became the devotee. 

Your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him. 

“Wanna feel you. All of you. I don’t want— I don’t want anything in between,” you whisper, your gaze flitting between his earnest attention and his glistening lips, wet with your tears.

Eddie’s mouth parts slightly, a look of quiet shock mixing with curious disbelief as he tilts his head, like he’s observing you for any lapse in conviction. But there’s none to be found. You’re certain you want this. So he gives a single nod, yielding to you.

Before he can even shift his weight, you’re already pushing at his hips again. He lets you move him until he slips out, then your eager hands reach for his hard cock, sheathed in thin latex. 

The calm Eddie found since ceasing his thrusts starts to dissipate as he watches your movements with rapt attention. 

Acutely aware of the expansion of his ribs on every breath in, the scent of sex and your perfume permeating his olfactory receptors has any semblance of control quickly leaving his body. 

The sensation is like a loss of inhibitions. Like he’s gorged himself on you and now he’s utterly wasted. And he knows from personal experience, he doesn’t make the best decisions when inebriated—

The reminder that he’s here for you—that he’s supposed to be the one guiding you—is hard to hold onto when you’re expertly drawing him back into you, teasing yourself with the thick, ruddy tip of his cock, painting your folds with dribbling precum. 

He shudders at your wrecked moan, your eyes smoked out with hunger and desire and nothing else as you leer at his flexing length.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure about this?”

You only hum in response, deep in focus.

“Unh, unh, look at me.”

Eddie’s thumb catches just beneath your chin, drawing your attention to his hardened features. The moment your far-out gaze focuses on him, he struggles to ignore the way your pupils have almost eclipsed any trace of color in the iris. 

But then your attention falters, your eyes slowly glide down to his mouth, your lips parting like a call to him—

He adjusts his grip, his thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks.

“No, up here, pretty girl.”

Tipping your chin up, he manually fixes your gaze to his.

“Are you sure you want this?”

As if words are too difficult to drum up, you whimper imploringly. 

And all it takes is one warning tilt to his head and you’re righting yourself. Forcing the words to come— 

“Yes! God, please. I need you…”

Satisfied, Eddie nods, taking a moment to revel in just how gone you are for him. 

“Okay.”

Another pitiful whimper escapes your closed mouth as you push harder into his grip—wanting, asking.

Knowing exactly what you’re missing—a quick learner in the language of your desperation—a smirk curls at his lips. “Good girl—”

Then he sinks into you in one quick, deep thrust that carves a half-scream, half-gasp from your chest. 

His shoulders drop at the feeling of your wet heat, your greedy walls, hugging every square inch of his cock, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit, y’gotta stop squeezin’ me like that. You’re not gonna give me enough time to pull out,” he mutters, dragging his hips back and slamming into you, starting a brutal pace. 

Tears flood your waterline once more as you cry out for him, your hands touching, groping, and grabbing every bit of muscle you can get ahold of. 

“P-Please, please, E-Eddie! Oh, god, oh—oh god! Feels s-so g-good!” 

Your knees drop open as your hands blindly reach for his hips, pulling him in for impossibly deeper strokes. 

“I’m— E-Eddie, I—”

“I know, baby. I know,” he chants, holding on desperately to the last shred of his sanity.

Ducking lower onto you, he shifts his weight to reach between your thighs and circle your clit. With an open-mouthed pant, he watches as your eyes roll back, your loud moans drowning out the vulgar sound of skin slapping. 

His gaze flits across your face, memorizing your pleasure-shocked features like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see this particular crease in your brows, this heavy-lidded trance. Panic fills his bloodstream as he realizes it might very well be the last time—

And if it’s the last time, maybe he’s allowed to be selfish. One time. Just this once—

“Fuck it,” he breathes out, dipping down until his mouth capture yours, swallowing every last moan.

Your palms fly to the sides of his head, dragging him further onto you until the range of motion in his hand severely shrinks under his own rutting hips. You lick into his mouth like you’re trying to taste yourself. Overwhelmed with desire, he begins to lav his tongue into you the same way he devoured your cunt earlier. 

Your responding mewls leave him trembling, and he worries over the tightening in his abdomen, the coiling heat deep in his gut. He starts to pull away, but he feels pressure at his hips. You’ve wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, leaving him no way of escaping your hold. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him—

“Baby, we can’t— I gotta— I need’ta pull out,” he slurs against your mouth. 

“Please don’t,” you whine, spit-slick lips haphazardly forming around the pitiful plea.

Eddie feels his chest crack open with raw, tortuous longing. Hips faltering to a grinding rhythm, he lets his shoulders sag under the pressure of wanting—the weight of possession. All it would take to claim you, all it would take… is just to let go. To make you his.

He’s not strong enough—

“Please don’t,” you repeat, gliding your hands down his damp skin until you still at his lower back. With a foggy mind driven by the most basic desire to claim—or rather, be claimed—you muster all your strength and press your palms hard into his spine, dragging him to you. 

Following a groan that sounds suspiciously like a surrendering cry, Eddie pulls his hips back just enough to shallowly thrust into you. They’re firm, breathtaking strokes that feel like he’s trying to permanently burrow beneath your flesh, and his mouth glides over yours in a messy, blind display of drunken need. It’s a thorough loss of all space and you revel in it.

“Fuck, sweets. I— I—”

“E-Eddie! Ed—die, I’m— I’m c-cl— Please, don’t— Don’t—”

Eddie’s thumb starts circling your clit with renewed vigor, sending spasms shooting down your legs so strong that your ankles unhook. Like two magnets repelling each other, they go flying to the bed, twitching and convulsing. 

Deep in your core, you feel a magmatic pressure that just builds, and builds, and builds, until something snaps—

Arching into him, you cry out as your body goes weightless, and your mind floats into the ether once more. 

His groans, his grunts, the smacking of skin on skin—every sound echoes as you move further away from your mind. Vaguely, you’re aware of his faltering thrusts, his hungry lips devouring. Your mouth might be moving in tandem with his, or maybe you’re babbling incoherently, it’s unclear—all your senses are fried.

All you’re certain of is the sinking of your body. Deeper than the mattress, deeper than the floor. Down, down, down—you’re dragged into the pit of sated desire while your soul soars high above you. 

“Ah, s-shit, baby— I—”

By the time you find your way out of the depths—crawling back to him—you register the tail end of shivers wracking his entire being. His arms haven’t loosened around you and his softening cock is still twitching and flexing inside of you, goaded by every pulsing constriction of your warm walls. 

Nosing into your cheek, Eddie pulls back for a second, just to get a look at you—to memorize. 

What he sees is exactly what he expected—

Something he could never forget.

Something he could never be normal about.

In your eyes, in soft pants, in the flutter of lashes over mascara smudged skin—he sees you.

Just you.

A glutton for punishment, he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you before dipping down for more. One more.

Like he’ll never live long enough to see you walk out of his room—his sweat staining your skin, his spend safe inside you—he kisses you, slow and rottingly sweet. Swallowing every sigh, stealing every breath—he prays to you with selfishness in his heart. 

“I felt something,” you mumble against his mouth, pressing your hands to his shoulders.

Ignoring the ache in his chest—the kind that blooms when space starts to grow between his body and yours, like a weed whose roots never truly die—he forces a laugh that crumbles to dust in his throat. 

“Well, yeah…. God, I hope so,” he huffs, all strained amusement and bitter jokes.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “No, I mean.… I mean— You said, um, earlier, you said…”

While you struggle to find the words, his touch seems to act as a hindrance to your search. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter as he smooths his thumb over your sweat-soaked hairline. 

“You said if I was gonna sleep with— If I was gonna f-feel nothing with a stranger, then I should…feel nothing with you.”

Realization dawns on him, almost at the same time he decides this conversation shouldn’t take place with him inside of you—

“Maybe we should—”

“No!” You stop his movements, pressing your fingers into his hips before he can slip away. “Please, don’t! Don’t— Don’t go.”

Eddie watches your features soften from panic into an amalgamation of nerves and reserved urgency. The mess of emotions darkening your once-twinkling eyes are enough to stop his movements, but he still wishes every square inch of him could liquify and seep through the floor of the trailer until he reaches the earth. Maybe then he could be free of your dominance over his heart—

“Okay. Okay.” He nods, placating. 

Shifting above you, his attention oscillates between your wide-eyed stare and the space on your neck he kissed like he owned it. Then, as if he suddenly forgot how to behave like a human, he sucks his teeth and fumbles to respond—

 “What, uh, what did you feel?”

Your nails sink into him with a pinch, but by the way you seem lost in your own head, he doesn’t think you’re aware. Then—

“W-What— Um, did you…feel…anything?”

He stares for a moment, considering your evasion of the question, but then he looks to your neck once more.

A million thoughts zoom through his mind like advertisements on big city buses. He can’t discern all of them, but one has YOU written in what he’s certain is your handwriting. Another says everything in posh, looping cursive. A third one is void of any advertisements, and unfortunately, that’s the one that stops for him—

“I don’t think it matters,” he mutters, avoiding your frown. “It’s— I’m not the one who lost their virginity.”

You cock your head to the side, the kind of movement he knows means you’re not letting him slip by. “Yes, it does.” 

Your tone bites at him, scrambling the illusion until he’s a clear picture of vulnerability, bare under your hardened gaze. 

“I just mean, it matters more how you felt. If you— If I made you comfortable. Doesn’t matter how I felt,” he tries, wondering how likely it is that he could be struck by lightning indoors, on a sunny day—

Because you’re looking at him like he’s eighteen again. Like he’s stupid and boyish and easily breakable. But there’s something else in your eyes—

Something that makes him feel almost mendable. 

“No, but it does matter how you felt. How you feel. It matters. I care how you feel. I wanna hear what you think,” you implore, holding onto his wrists beside your head. You press the pads of your fingers into his pulse and he worries you’ll feel it before he says it—

“But did you—”

“Yes, I felt good. Yes, you did a good job taking care of me. Yes, I felt safe. Now how did you feel?”

“I feel like— I don’t want you…to…” He closes his eyes, hanging his head. “I feel like I wish you were mine,” he says, letting a humorless chuckle float out of his mouth and electrocute the air with tension. “And I feel like calling up Jimmy and Chris just to curse them out for being the ones you thought of first.”

In the loll of his admission, something shifts in your features, and every molecule of air leaves his chest like you just rolled a grenade at his feet, unpinned and already three seconds deep into the fuse delay. 

As if you have nothing better to say, you pluck the lowest hanging fruit—

“Well, technically you suggested Chris,” you half shrug.

Charged silence fills the room like rushing water until he blinks at you.

“Okay.” He begins to back away, ignoring your grasping hands.

Your face falls. “No, I’m sorry! I— That was a joke! ‘M sorry, it was stupid—”

“Okay,” he repeats flatly, peeling your fingers from his bicep. He pulls out of you smoothly, pretending not to hear the low whine deep in your throat—

“Eddie, no! Don’t— I love you!” you utter quickly, as if the words will act as a balm upon his burning skin—the skin that broils under your touch. And for a moment, he almost accepts it. He’s so selfish with you—

But when your eyes grow wide, like you hadn’t meant to let something so damning slip past your lips, he realizes the truth—

He was right.

He doesn’t leave you to explain yourself—doesn’t wait for you to quantify the secret.

“It’s okay,” he answers your worried gaze. “I told you, sex has weird feelings attached to it. Things get said in the heat of the moment, it’s all good.” 

Hopefully, if he repeats the sentiment enough, he’ll start to believe it too.

But instead of appreciation, he sees indignation warp your face. 

“I’m sorry, where have you been? The heat of the moment was five minutes ago,” you huff, eyeing him like you can’t even begin to comprehend his level of delusion. “True, I didn’t mean to say it just then. But I felt it. I have felt it. For…” you laugh, a humorless sound that grates Eddie’s heart, “years.” 

And suddenly, he feels like he got his wish—

Every muscle in his body has turned to mush, every nerve is frayed, every wire is uncrossed—

“I’ve—” you pause, then scoff. “Like, Jesus Christ, Eddie! Do you know how long—” 

He melts into you, his lips on yours, his hands on your face, holding you right where he needs you most—

Swallowing your surprised moan, he takes your needy grip in stride—every bite of painted nails against pale burning flesh, every tug and drag, seeking a closeness he craves to sate.

“I don’t care,” he slurs against your mouth, too intoxicated to hear how much time he’s missed out on. Then he pulls back a fraction of an inch, instead deciding he wants to know every single detail—even the painful bits—

Even if just to hear you talk—

“Well, I do care,” he amends. “I just—”

You peer up at him through heavy lids and a teasing grin, and he feels too far from you.

“Not right now,” he drawls, unable to think past ‘I love you, too.’

A/N: Please say nice things about this, it took so fucking long lmao. 

Want more emotional smut? 😈

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The late afternoon bleeds into the evening, not that any of the boys could tell from this windowless studio. Gareth's in the booth, the sharp crack of a snare cuts through Eddie's headphones. 

He's not been feeling great all day, something's been off. If you didn't know him you probably wouldn't even notice, but Grant had clocked it before lunch and Jeff has been side-eyeing him for the last hour. Eddie's hunched over the mixing board now, strands of hair falling in his face.

When Gareth finishes, he sees his best friend off in his own world and pulls off his own headphones, waving at the glass. "You good out there?" 

Eddie blinks, the movement snapping him back to reality. "Yeah— yeah. That was good. You did good." 

Gareth doesnt move away from the kit quite yet, unsure of what to do, so he just watches Eddie through the glass. Eddie sighs, pushing himself back. "I need a smoke." He mumbles, pulling a crushed pack of camels from his back pocket. He tugs one out, letting it hang between his lips as he digs for a lighter. He looks over at the guys, "don't touch anything." He mumbles before stepping out. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jeff calls after him. The door swings shut behind Eddie and the second it clicks, Jeff sighs, turning immediately towards the booth, staring Gareth in the eye. "Okay. What the hell is going on with him?" 

Grant leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, he's being really weird today. And that's saying something considering who we're talking about." 

Gareth sighs as he hops off the drum stool. He opens the door to the booth and steps out, letting it shut behind him. "He's not being weird, cut him a break. He's just a little distracted."

Jeff gives him a look, "come on, that's what being weird is." 

Gareth just shakes his head. "I talked to Bats before we left and I guess he didn't sleep much last night." 

Grant frowns then. "Why not? He okay?" 

Gareth rocks back on his heels, peeking towards the hallway where Eddie had disappeared. Once he's satisfied the coast is clear enough, he lets out a breath. "Because…" 

Jeff leans in a bit, raising his eyebrows. "Because…?"

Gareth exhales again, checking the door a final time. "She’s pregnant again." 

That is met with silence from the two other men in the room. Jeff blinks in surprise, Grant’s eyebrows furrow and he breaks the quiet, "Like, again again? Didn't she just have one?"

"Yeah, again again—" Gareth starts but then is quickly cut off by Jeff holding up his hand to about Alice's height. 

"They already have the tiny one, no?"

"Yeah, Tater— Alice. She's two now. Do you two just not keep up?" Gareth chuckles. 

Jeff nods as he processes. "They already have like… one whole kid." 

"I'm aware. I see that kid every Saturday night." Gareth chuckles softly. 

"So now there's gonna be two of them?" Jeff hums softly. 

"Jesus Christ, Jeff. Yes. That's how having kids works." Gareth sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Grant lets out a long whistle at that and chuckles, "damn." 

"He's freaking out about it. Okay?" Gareth says, a little softer.

"Is he, like… upset?" Grant asks after a few seconds. 

Gareth shakes his head. "No, I don't think so." He leans back against the console and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. "He's just a little in his head about it."

Jeff huffs, sitting back down on the couch. "How shocking. Eddie not communicating." 

Gareth shrugs. "I keep telling him he'll be fine. He literally adores Alice. The kid's got him wrapped around her finger so tight it's embarrassing. He's a good dad." 

The door creaks open again, and they fall quiet. Eddie walks back in with a fresh cup of coffee and the smell of about three cigarettes clinging to his clothes. The steam curls up around his face and he pauses when he sees three sets of eyes staring at him. "…What?" 

Jeff shrugs, "nothing."

Grant nods, putting on a big smile. "Yeah, man. You look… great." 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, "I look great?" 

Jeff nods, adding, "radiant."

"Glowing, even." Grant continues. 

Gareth unforutnately wants to hit them both over the head with the nearest guitar. 

Eddie gestures between them with the hand still holding the coffee cup as he sits back in his chair. "You two are being weird." 

Six weeks. That’s what your doctor said once Alice was born, so casually. Like it was just a standard number rather than an entire emotional minefield. Six weeks and you’re cleared. Officially. But you don’t actually feel ready now that you’re standing in the en suite with the door shut. Eddie’s favorite lingerie bunched awkwardly between your hands. 

It used to fit, perfectly, and you loved the way it made you feel when he would see you wearing it. Now, you take a deep breath and step into it carefully. You tug it up over hips that feel unfamiliar and over skin that’s much softer, looser, and still a little tender if you touch too hard. The mirror above the sink catches your reflection. You’re still learning how to be okay with the faint stretch marks and the way your breasts sit differently now. They’re heavier, purposeful, and the fabric pulls in places it never did before. 

You adjust one strap on your shoulder, then the other, and it still doesn’t sit right. 

You stare at your reflection with your jaw clenched and your eyes stinging. Your throat starts to tighten. You should be happy. You are happy. You love Alice so much it feels like your ribs might crack open from it. But standing here in front of the mirror, half dressed and shaking from sadness, all you can see is that everything about your body has changed. 

You swipe at your face angrily and huff out a breath, “Get it together.” 

From the bedroom, you hear the mattress creak as Eddie shifts. A quiet moment passes and then another before he calls out, “Baaaaats?” His voice a bit gravely from lack of sleep. “You fall in in there or are you about to conduct a full seance without me?”

You don’t answer him. You’re afraid your voice will give you away if you do. 

There’s another quiet pause and then the bed creaks again. It’s louder this time and it’s followed by the quiet shuffle of Eddie’s feet over to the door. You sniff and glance down at the sink in front of you just as the bathroom door opens a crack. 

“Hey.” His voice is gentle as he peeks in. “You okay? You’ve been gone a while.”

You try to force a laugh but it breaks before it even leaves your mouth. 

Eddie’s face changes almost instantly as he pushes the door open the rest of the way. He takes you in in one glance— the mirror, the tears, the way your shoulders curl in on yourself and he sighs. “Oh.” he mumbles and smiles weakly, “Hey… Hey, c’mere.”

You just shake your head, your arms hugging around your middle. “I’m stupid. I shouldnt have— I just thought it would make me feel better and it just… it doesn’t fit right and i don’t…” Your voice cracks fully as you trail off and bring a hand up to wipe a tear threatening to drip off the tip of your nose. “I don’t look like me anymore.” 

Eddie doesn’t rush over when he steps closer and he only reaches out to you when he knows you aren’t pulling away. His hands are warm when they settle on your arms. His thumbs brush over your skin gently, “Babe.” He says quietly and moves a hand up to lift your chin, “You can talk to me.”

You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes. “I wanted to feel normal… or sexy. Or something other than milk and spit-up. Now i just… feel like this body doesn’t even belong to me.”

Eddie presses his forehead against your temple and you feel him exhale softly against your skin. “Hey.” he says, a bit firmer now even with the gentleness still stuck in his voice. He tilts your chin over until you’re forced to look at him. His brown eyes showing all of the exhaustion you feel. “This…” He he stares vaguely at the lingerie, “this is not what makes you, you.”

You sniffle, “it used to.”

He snorts softly, “Okay. First of all? Rude. I liked you before I ever even saw you in that thing.” His thumb swipes away a stray tear under your eye and he lets out a breath, “Second— Bats. Love of my life. This body?” His hands slide down from your arms to your waist and settle on your hips. “This body grew our daughter. This body did something metal as hell. You didn’t lose anything. You made something.”

Your lip wobbles a little and you sniffle again. “I just wanted to feel wanted.”

Eddie laughs under his breath, a little in disbelief. And then he presses a kiss against your jaw, then your cheek, then your forehead. “Baby, I want you when you’re in my old sweatpants with mystery stains. I want you when you’re covered in baby puke and running on two hours of sleep. I want you when you’re yelling about the garbage and dishes.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, “and yeah, I want you like this too. But not because of the clothes.”

You huff out a weak laugh and wipe your face with your palms. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely.” He agrees. “Hopelessly, Devotedly. Tragically biased.” His hands slide up your back from your hips. They’re warm and exactly what you need. “All I care about is that you’re safe… and comfortable… and that you don’t feel like you have to perform for me.” He tucks a strand of your hair back and smiles, “You already gave me the greatest thing I’ve ever known.”

Your chest tightens and you tilt your head slightly, “she really wrecked us, huh?”

He grins, “Yeah. Completely. Ruined my life. Ten outta ten.”

You finally lean forward into him, letting your forehead drop against his shoulder as he wraps you up in his arms. His hand rubs slow little circles between your shoulder blades. 

“I don’t care what you wear.” He mumbles into your hair. “Or when. Or if we take it slow. Or if tonight is just… this.” He whispers and squeezes you to his chest. “I just want you. My Bats. The woman who made me a husband and a dad.”

You let yourself breathe him in, you can still smell the lingering smoke of his before bed cigarette on his skin and the knot in your chest begins to loosen. “Okay.”

“Okay,” He smiles against your hair and gives your hip another squeeze and leads you back to bed. 

After you’ve settled in— in one of his shirts instead— He curls around you, careful not to jostle you more than he needs to. He kisses your shoulder lazily and his thumb strokes your hip. “For the record.” he mumbles against your skin, “you’re still the hottest person I know.”

You roll your eyes, a heat working its way up your neck, “Go to sleep, Ed.” 

“Can’t.” He sighs happily. “Too busy loving my wife.”

Los Angeles’ mid-morning air this morning is surprisingly mild, cool enough for you to pull that cozy dark cardigan on over your dress but warm enough that Alice doesn’t need her little knit cap. She’s sound asleep tucked in in front of you, one chubby fist curled up near her cheek, her lips forming the softest pout in her dreams, brown little tufts of hair sticking up in every direction. You glance down into the antique pram as you push it, taking in the way sunlight glints off the polished brass and casts soft shadows over the ruffled lining. It’s absolutely ridiculous how expensive it was— some Victorian piece from a shop that smelled like cedarwood. You loved to find new dolls there too— but the moment Eddie saw it, he grinned at you and said, “Our little bat deserves a princess carriage, baby,” and that was that.

The wheels creak gently as you stroll your usual route, the soft click of your boots on the sidewalk nearly matching Alice’s faint snuffling breaths. The city is starting to wake up, storefronts are opening, you can hear someone trying to tune a guitar in the park as you walk. You pass faces that have become familiar over the last several weeks— the florist who always says hello to you and Alice both, the dog-walker with the corgi that always barks exactly once at your pram, then trots along past you like it never happened.

And then there’s the bakery.

Your favorite spot.

It’s nothing fancy. It’s just a little sunlit café with a display window full of flaky croissants and pastel-colored pastries, but it’s cozy and quiet and they make a muffin that’s basically half chocolate. You push the door open with your backside, maneuver the pram over the threshold with practiced ease, murmuring a soft “shhh, shhh” as you step in so Alice stays asleep. The bells over the door chime and the scent of cinnamon and coffee wraps around you tightly like the best hug you’ve ever gotten— besides from Eddie, obviously. The usual girl behind the counter, Kaylee, grins when she sees you. She’s probably twenty, with bleached hair tied up in a claw clip and a pink glittery pager that’s always falling half out of her apron pocket.

“Hey, it’s the muffin queen,” she says with a grin, already moving over to the register to ring you up. “Usual?”

“Please. And add an iced one for the second coffee— he’s been on a cold brew kick lately,” you say happily, digging into your bag for your wallet. You glance down at the pram again as you pull it out. She’s still sleeping. Miracle.

Kaylee nods and starts punching buttons on the register, and you realize the other two girls behind the counter— one with purple streaks in her hair and the other wearing glittery eyeliner and a smile way to wide for nine in the morning— are whispering animatedly to each other behind the pastry case as they restock each of the treats, when you hand your card over.

“Did you listen to it?” Purple Streaks almost giggles.

“Obviously, I did,” says Glitter Liner. “The last track? When he growls? I was like, hello??”

Kaylee laughs under her breath and shakes her head, giving your card back to you. “They’re talking about Corroded Coffin again.”

You smile, slipping your card back into your wallet. “The new album?”

All three of them immediately perk up, like bloodhounds catching onto a scent. Purple Streaks leans on the counter. “Yes! Yes! I didn’t think I’d be into it, but holy crap, it’s so good.”

“The vocals are insane,” says Glitter Liner. “Like, Eddie sounds unreal on this one. I had such an experience, I think my soul left my body.”

You nod thoughtfully as you tuck the wallet away back into your bag, pretending to consider your feelings on the album. “It’s definitely their best work. They’ve really hit their stride.”

Kaylee tilts her head, watching you curiously. Like she’s finally clocked what they should’ve guessed ages ago, simply by the Corroded Coffin pin on your diaper bag. “Wait— you’re a fan?”

“I’ve been to a show or two,” you say with a grin. “Back when they played smaller venues.”

“Oh my god, same!” Purple Streaks says. “Eddie just looks so pretty now, too? I know it’s, like, objectifying him or whatever but I… just can’t help it. His hair? The eyeliner? I want to eat him like a brownie.”

You laugh, heat blooming from your chest all the way up to your cheeks. You swear you can feel the tips of your ears burning as you rock the pram just slightly to keep Alice asleep. “He does clean up pretty well, huh?”

Glitter Liner giggles again. “Yeah, he does.”

Before you can speak again, the bell above the door jingles again.

And there he is. He pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head, which does a little to keep the flyaways tamed. He’s got his curls tied back in a bun that’s falling out already. He’s wearing a soft, worn-in Corroded Coffin tee and jeans that you swear he’s had since high school in 1983, he’s wearing those boots with the scuffed up toes instead of the nice ones you’d just gotten him and his tattooed hands are sliding into his front pockets as he scans the room— his eyes fall on you, the one person who has his attention.

“There’s my girl!” Eddie says with a grin as he strides over.

The bakery girls go quiet.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, then he peeks into the pram. “And there’s my little bat.” His voice melts. “Aw, baby, you’ve got her all tucked in like a little doll.”

You smile up at him, rolling your eyes. “We’ve been practicing our elegance.”

Eddie smiles and brushes your cheek with his knuckles as he tucks a stray strand of your hair back, then he turns to the counter. “Hey, ladies.”

The girls behind the pastry case are absolutely frozen, their eyes are blown wide, one of them actually mouths oh my god to another. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy plucking your coffee from the counter and handing it to you like it’s a diamond chalice. “You got the muffins with the gooey tops, right? The one that’s like cake but I can eat it for breakfast without feeling like I have to justify it?”

You nod at him. “One for you, one for me.”

Kaylee hands over a bag, your two muffins tucked delicately inside. Eddie opens it, tugs one out, and takes a bite immediately. “Gonna be covered in crumbs by the time we get to the park, but so worth it.”

You turn to the stunned girls. “Sorry. I forgot to mention I married him.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself, licking sugar off his thumb. “You didn’t forget. You just like the reveal.”

Purple Streaks is still processing. “Wait. You’re married to Eddie Munson?”

“Yeah.” You let out a dramatic and teasing sigh, sipping your coffee, “I guess that I’m the Bats he’s always yelling about in interviews.”

Kaylee’s jaw drops to the floor. “Oh my god. You’re Bats?”

Eddie laughs at that, loud and delighted, covered in gooey chocolate muffin crumbs.

You spend another ten minutes chatting— the girls are suddenly full of questions, from what kind of diapers you use to who Alice looks like (they decide it’s definitely Eddie), and whether he’s really as annoying and chaotic at home as he seems on stage and in interviews. He answers that one himself by attempting to juggle two muffins out of the bag and almost dropping them both.

Eventually, with the baby still miraculously asleep, you start heading for the park. Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulders as you walk, his other hand guiding the pram. “She’s still out,” he whispers, glancing down at Alice. “She’s like a little goth angel.”

“She gets it from you,” you mumble softly, taking another sip of your coffee. “All the sleeping and dramatic sighs.”

Eddie grins, blushing from the chest up. “She gets allllll the pretty from you.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his ribs with your elbow, a smile threatening to plaster across your face. “You really gonna flirt with me in front of our infant daughter?”

“Babe, I have to. I saw you in that dress, pushin’ that pram in there like you were some beautiful widow dressed in black in a period drama. You expect me not to fall in love again?”

You lean your head on his shoulder as you walk. “You already do that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and you can feel the way he smiles himself against your skin. “Yeah. I do. Every day, Bats.”

The host of the show is older, the kind of guy that looks like he calls waitresses sweetheart in a way that certainly isn't endearing. He stands as you file into the room right behind the gaggle of boys that is comprised of your husband and his best friends. You see the plaque on the wall, golden and mahogany, and put together that this man's name is Rick.

"Gentlemen!" Rick calls loudly, smiling as he shakes Jeff's hand, then Grant's, then Eddie's as his eyes land on you. They drag down your body and back up, but not before you see Eddie's posture shift before you. "And who's this?" He asks. 

Eddie smiles, tight lipped, "My wife."

Rick's eyebrows go up at that, laughing. "No shit?" He teases, "You're too pretty for him." 

Eddie rolls his eyes, laughing along, playing the game. "Yeah, I know. We've all been confused about it for years." 

You sigh as you sit outside the glass, near the wall next to the producer that set this whole thing up. Everyone else gets settled in around the microphones as the RECORDING sign lights up a flashy red. Rick's voice booms, "Alright, Los Angeles. We're live this morning with the band from— What was it, again? Nowheresville, Indiana?"

And the interview rolls on easy after that. Questions about the single, the tour, their first official label. Jeff does surprisingly well, even takes the lead over the other three. Which they are grateful for. Grant swears more than he actually talks, Gareth mutters a few words occasionally, and Eddie's charming but quiet. 

Then, Rick's eyes flick over to yours and he leans back in his chair, smiling casually. "So, you boys are getting pretty popular. Crowds are getting bigger. Women are getting crazier." He chuckles, eyes drifting towards Eddie, "Has marriage made that difficult for you?" 

Eddie shrugs and shakes his head. "No, not really." 

"No temptation?" 

"Nope." Eddie glances over at you, raising his brows and hands in confusion before looking back at Rick.

He just laughs, "C'mon. You're twenty-five years old, man."

"And married." Eddie just replies.

"Still breathing though, no?" 

Eddie's smile falters, but doesn't disappear. "Believe it or not, I actually like my wife." 

Now you can see Gareth catch your eye. 

Rick keeps going, "sure, sure." He says with a shrug. "But fame changes things." He looks over toward you, eyes piercing through the studio glass. "You worried all the attention's gonna go to your head there, sweetheart?" 

Eddie frowns, leaning forward. "Don't call her—"

Rick cuts him off, "Lots of wives have trouble adjusting when their husbands get famous. Especially pretty little things like that." 

Eddie's expression changes quickly. It's not just a frown anymore, there's anger— hate— behind those eyes. "Nah, you're not gonna talk about her like—" 

Rick cuts him off again with a loud laugh. "Ohhh, protective. Looks like we've got ourselves a guard dog over here." 

Right as you swear Eddie's going to jump across that table, Gareth leans in towards his microphone, pushes it from his face, his forearms leaning against the tabletop. "You should probably shut the fuck up now." Calmer than you've ever heard him. 

Grant coughs into his fist to cover up a nervous laugh. Jeff looks down at the table, biting his lip. Sensing the shift in dynamic, Rick tries to recover with a laugh. "Boys, I'm just joking around."

"No, you're not." Gareth shrugs. "You're talking about my friend like she's a piece of meat." 

Eddie's staring at Gareth with surprise. Yeah, maybe he considered you friends. You'd known each other for years because of him. But neither Gareth, nor you, have ever said that.

Rick shifts in his chair. "I didn't mean anything by it, was just a joke." 

"Quit saying creepy shit about her." Gareth replies. 

Eddie grins brightly, clapping Gareth on the shoulder, "Next question before Gare-bear kills a radio host for me on air." 

Rick shuffles papers and moves on, sounding exhausted by the end. And the second the RECORDING light clicks off, Eddie rips his headphones from his head and stands. "You're a fucking creep. Seriously. What the fuck was that?" 

Rick throws his hands up defensively, "Well excuse me for trying to make the interview entertaining."

Eddie ignores him, exiting the recording booth and moves towards you before he even finishes talking. His arms sliding around your waist automatically. "You okay?" He asks quietly. You just nod and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I wanted him hospitalized the second he started talking about you." 

You watch as Gareth takes a step out of the booth. You smile a bit, "We;re friends?" You ask softly. 

He shrugs, instantly uncomfortable now that your attention is solely on him and not buffered through Eddie. "Well… Yeah."

Eddie smiles, holding you closer. "This is why he's my favorite." 

"I thought I was your favorite?" You tease.

Eddie groans, head falling back on his shoulders. "Baby, don't do this to me publicly. You're both my favorites. In different categories." 

"Oh okay. Explain the categories." You laugh softly. 

"Well… You're my wife." He says, letting go of your waist to hold up one finger. Then he puts up a second. "Gareth's my attack dog. A dorky one, not very lethal, but he'll try." The three of you end up laughing at that. And across the room, Rick mutters something under his breath that both boys seem to hear, because they both lift their heads. Eddie goes to step away from you, turning immediately, "You wanna die on radio station property today or—"

"Okay!" The producer finally steps in, interrupting, "Thanks so much for coming in today, guys!"

The warehouse they’re recording in looks like a sex club had exploded. Red lights cut through fog, strobes blink, and half a dozen dancers wander around half-dressed in leather and like they’re auditioning for a slutty western directed by Satan himself. The playback of The Cutting Edge is on a loop so constant it’s wormed its way into your bones— it’s loud, so fucking loud. And you’re starting to wish you hadn't come.

This was Corroded Coffin’s first studio music video. Big deal. Big budget. Big moment. And apparently, big boobs, because there’s a girl pressed against your husband’s side like she thinks she’ll get a Grammy by osmosis.

Eddie doesn’t look uncomfortable. Not at all. His shirt is open to the waist, his lips curled into a grin— he looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes people start rethinking their sexual preferences. The kind of good you married, and live with, and love so deeply it scares you sometimes. But now you’re watching him smile as a dancer traces her fingers down his stomach like she’s drawing a treasure map to a place only you should be allowed to touch. 

Yeah. You don’t love it.

Gareth is on a riser behind him, shirtless and glittery. You swear he’s in love with at least three people on this damn set and none of them even know his first name. “I love this city,” he laughs between takes. “I’m gonna elope with LA. I’m gonna have a honeymoon with this entire zip code!”

Jeff barely glances up from his spot beside you as he shakes his head. “LA’s gonna chew him up and spit him out.”

Grant is on your other side, he bumps your shoulder, “How are you holding up, Mrs. Munson?”

You force a smile. “Totally fine.”

“Uh-huh. That sounded like someone who’s about five seconds away from throwing a folding chair through the fog machine.”

“I’m fine.” You repeat.

He turns to look at you. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That tight-lipped thing. You just watched Eddie pretend to fuck a girl in practically assless shorts, who won’t stop giving him heart eyes.”

You inhale slowly and look down at your shoes. “It’s part of the job.”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “But you’re still allowed to be a little murdery about it.”

You glance out towards set. The girl’s wrapped around Eddie again, smiling like she thinks she might have a chance. Eddie’s got that look on his face, the one you roll your eyes at before he attacks you in kisses— his tongue darts out over his bottom lip in time with the beat and he winks at the camera.

You stand up.

“Yup,” Grant mumbles and rubs a hand down his face. “There goes the folding chair.”

You slip outside, ignoring the noise behind you. The door creaks open barely a minute later. “Bats!”

You don’t turn. You don’t want to encourage him.

“Baaats,” Eddie whines again, his voice closer now, heavier with effort. He must’ve sprinted after you. “My beloved. My bride. My legally obtained cryptid of a wife. Are you mad at me?”

You cross your arms. “I’m not mad.”

“Cool,” he chuckles a bit, “because the last time you said that, you poured hot sauce in my shampoo.”

“That was one time.”

“I smelled like buffalo for three days.”

You turn to face him now, and there he is— sweaty, shirt halfway off, his eyeliner smudged. He’s glowing from the adrenaline and the sheer joy he gets from performing, but there’s something else there now too, behind his smile. There’s the little crease between his brows that you know too well. 

“You’re really not mad?” he asks quietly.

You sigh, your shoulders deflating. “I just didn’t love it, Ed. Watching her all over you. I know it’s fake, I know it’s for the video, but it still sucked.”

Eddie’s whole posture shifts. “Shit.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, no.” He steps closer to you, one hand resting on your waist, the other brushing his sweat-sticky hair from his face. “If you didn’t like it, we’re done with her. I’ll make out with Grant on camera if they need someone to grab me.”

“Please don’t,” Grant shouts from somewhere inside and that makes you laugh.

“I mean it,” Eddie smiles, thumb rubbing circles against your hip. “I’m sorry. I was being a dumbass. I was trying to make Gareth laugh— he looked like he was about to propose to the water girl.”

You huff a small laugh. “He is in love with every set of tits on that set.”

“Gareth’s single. He’s allowed to flirt— I’m married.” He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “To you. And I don’t care if it’s art or aesthetic or whatever-the-hell this video’s supposed to be— if it makes you feel even a little shitty, it’s not worth it.”

You blink up at him, heat blooming up from your chest.

“I’m gonna go back in there,” he hums softly, “and tell the director we’re cutting all grindage. No titties touch me. No pelvic contact. Just me. Alone. Being soooooo sexy I scare myself.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.” He grins and pulls back to kiss the tip of your nose. “Now come back inside, yeah?”

When you walk back onto set, Gareth is flirting with one of the dancers, Jeff is nursing a beer, and Grant gives you a look that says, Well?

You just shake your head.

Eddie repositions himself in front of the mic stand. The dancer? Nowhere near him. They roll the next take, and Eddie commits to the bit. Pelvic thrusts against the mic stand. Hair flips. Full-on licking the stand with one long, exaggerated groan that makes Gareth drop a stick from laughing.

The playback director sighs heavy enough to have aged ten years. Jeff throws up devil horns in the background. Grant shakes his head with a smile on his face.

And you?

You’re feeling just fine.

Posters were half-ripped from the walls of Gareth’s bedroom— Mötley Crüe, Metallica, and one of Debbie Harry that had more thumbtack holes than anything else left of it. His radio hums low in the corner with Ozzy, and the air around them is thick with weed smoke and the unmistakable musk of a teenage boy’s bedroom. 

Eddie’s starfished across the floor, his jean jacket balled up under his head like a pillow. His t-shirt is rucked up and his hair is fanned out beneath him like a curly little halo. He’s giggling at the popcorn ceiling, eyes watching the ceiling fan above as it spins and spins. “Okay,” Eddie says, pulling the joint from his lips and waving it just enough ash hits his chest. “Friday, we’ve got Hellfire. Saturday… I’m thinkin’ we sneak into the double feature at the drive-in. Think it’s Friday the 13th Part Whatever and Batman.”

“And Sunday?” Gareth prompts reaching over to grab the joint from Eddie’s outstretched hand, already halfway expecting what the answer will be.

Eddie pauses, his eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Sunday I can’t, man… I’ve got plans with Bats.”

Gareth narrows his eyes at him and groans. “What kind of plans?”

“Apple picking,” Eddie admits, a sheepish little grin spreading across his face.

The silence between them could only be described as volatile. Gareth sets his beer down on his nightstand with an unnecessary precision. “Apple. Picking.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, shrugging his shoulders slightly from where he’s lying on the floor. “Y’know, the whole fall thing girls like. Sweaters, pumpkins, pretending you’re in a fuckin’ ad for the GAP. She’s excited. I can’t let her down.”

“You do realize every weekend lately you’ve ditched me for her, right?” Gareth says flatly, a frown etched onto his face. “And now? You’re leaving me for fruit. Literal fruit.”

“Correction,” Eddie laughs softly, his finger raised, “fruit and my extremely hot girlfriend.”

“That’s worse!” Gareth sits up straighter in his bed, glaring over the side of the mattress at him. “You’ve gone soft, Munson. Used to be about our music, hanging out with me, Hellfire. Now it’s— ‘Ooh, let’s go pick apples, let’s wear scarves, let’s take a photo for the mantelpiece.’”

Eddie cackles as he rolls onto his side. “You jealous? You wanna go pick apples with me too, Gare-bear?”

“Don’t call me that while offering fruit-based dates.”

“Fine, fine,” Eddie hums softly, pushing himself up to sit crisscross. “Here’s the solution I have… you come with us. Boom. Friendship saved.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Eddie leaps up onto his feet, feeling just a bit triumphant. “You’re coming. End of discussion. You need wholesome outdoor activities, otherwise you’re gonna calcify in here with your socks and your sad little lava lamp.”

Gareth squints at him through the haze of lingering smoke. “If I’m calcifying, you’re domesticating. You’re like a raccoon I found in the wild, and then suddenly she comes around and you’re wearing an apron and asking about seasonal produce.”

Eddie gasps and clutches a hand over his chest as he makes his way to the nightstand. “That’s a low blow, man. I’m still metal as hell. Just metal with… apples.” He eyes Gareth for another moment and reaches over to dial your number on Gareth’s corded phone. 

Gareth mumbles something about writing a song called Alone in the Orchard (While My Best Friend Gets Laid by Some Vampire Chick He Met in a Bar). Eddie rolls his eyes. 

You pick up on the third ring, your voice bright and cheery despite Gareth’s dismay.

“Hey, Bats,” Eddie purrs, leaning against the bedroom wall, dangerously close to that Debbie Harry poster. “I’ve got a question for you… how would you feel about our very romantic apple-pocalypse becoming, I dunno… let’s say… a trio?”

There’s a few moments of silence stretching thin and Eddie’s sure he’s fucked up everything. But then your laugh bursts through the line and it has him smiling. “You’re bringing Gareth apple picking, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s whining about losing me. Figure nothing patches up a friendship like fighting wasps in an orchard.”

“I wasn’t whining,” Gareth calls from his bed as he flops back against his sheets.

You laugh just a bit harder. “Fine. But if he ruins our date, I’m leaving him in the pumpkin patch for the crows.”

Eddie cups his hand over the receiver, even though it doesn’t do much to stifle what he says next. He lets his eyes drift over to his best friend. “She says you’re compost if you act up.”

Gareth groans and flips him off.

And that’s how Gareth finds himself dealing with that crisp bite in the air on Sunday. It was the kind of fall day that smelled like leaves and the faint tang of cider. Families in plaid bustled around the orchard like it was Disneyland for people who thought hayrides may be an extreme sport. Eddie climbs out of his van, wearing his jacket, dark jeans, and the scarf you’d managed to get him to spend at least ten minutes in, which he kept pretending was choking him. “Help me, Bats,” he rasps dramatically, stumbling into you as you laugh. “The festive accessories are killing me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gareth mutters, shaking his head. He’s trailing behind you both in a hoodie he’s definitely borrowed from Eddie’s closet and scowl. “You two look like the ‘before’ shot in a Sears catalog.”

Eddie spins around to look at him. “You’re just mad because no girls are taking you to pick apples, Gare.”

“No, I’m mad because I am picking apples. With you two. And we’re missing our burgers and shakes at Benny’s like every other fucking Sunday.”

Eddie quiets for a moment and reaches out to give Gareth’s arm a squeeze. You turn your attention ahead of you and bite down slightly on the inside of your cheek. Did you fuck something up between them? The day continues to unfold in what you hoped is the best way possible. Eddie poses with every single apple he picks like it was a priceless artifact. Later on he shouts “Babe, look!” before trying— and failing— to juggle three at once.  

You were filling your basket with what you would call perfect specimens, while Eddie was deliberately picking the bruised, lumpy ones. “They’ve got personality, Sweetheart. We can’t just abandon the ugly apples.”

From the next row over, Gareth groans loudly. “You’re literally out here giving charity to fruit.”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back over his shoulder. “You’re jealous of our humanitarian orchard work.”

You drift a little down the row of trees, your basket hooked over your arm. You carefully test each of the apples with that thoughtful little tilt of your head that Eddie loves watching. He trails slightly behind you, his hands stuffed into his pockets until he spots you stretching up on your tiptoes to reach one that happens to be just out of your grasp.

“Hold up, Bats,” Eddie grins, walking over just a bit quicker. “Allow me.”

Before you could protest, he swoops in. He has one hand on your waist as he presses himself up against your backside, reaching up himself on his own tiptoes to reach. He plucks the apple and holds it out in front of you both with a grin, his curls tumbling into his face and yours as he presses a kiss against your shoulder. “For you, my fair maiden.”

You snort, taking it while that fire burns hot in your cheeks— You just shake your head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly, eyes softening as he tightens his arms around your waist. “But I’m your idiot.”

And you spin around to meet his eyes. Smiling as he tucks a few strands of your hair back, then he leans down and kisses you— it’s slow at first, the orchard around you quiet except for the crunch of leaves underfoot a few rows away. The air smells like apples and woodsmoke and you’re determined to never forget it. His hands are warm at your waist, his lips are a little chapped from the cold. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like your entire day together had been set up just to get him to this exact second.

There's a rustle through the trees and then Gareth’s voice cuts through the moment like a chainsaw. “Oh my god. There are literal children here. People are just trying to harvest fruit, not watch you two slobber all over each other.”

Eddie breaks the kiss just long enough to flip Gareth the bird over your shoulder— he doesn’t even look at him, just shoots the finger like it’s muscle memory— before going right back in.

You frown slightly against his mouth, pushing at his chest as you go to step back. “Eddie, he’s watching.”

“Let him take notes,” Eddie murmurs as he pulls you back in by the waist, grinning as he kisses you again. “Poor guy could learn a thing or two.”

“I can hear you!” Gareth sighs, taking a seat next to the tree.

Eddie finally pulls back from your lips, resting his forehead against yours as he senses your uneasiness. “Man’s just jealous. Can’t stand that I’ve got the prettiest girl in the orchard.” He mumbles so only you can hear.

“Or the only girl willing to put up with you,” you tease him, even if your heart isn’t in it.

Eddie gasps dramatically, playing along. But he can tell something is up. “Cold. In front of the apples, too.” Then he kisses your cheek noisily, exaggerated, just to make you smile— and, judging by Gareth’s groan from his spot under that tree, just to torture him further.

It’s hotter than you expected it to be this far into the woods. It’s not suffocating or sticky, but you can definitely feel the humidity has gone up in the last ten yards. Cicadas are buzzing overhead so loudly, you think they may be trying to out scream one another. Somewhere deeper up the trees, a bird takes off in a startled flutter as you continue on in its direction. 

Eddie follows behind you, breathing heavily and flooded with mock suspicion. 

“Bats.” he calls, shoes crunching over each and every twig you encounter. “If you wanted to murder me, all you had to do was ask. We could’ve done it at the house and saved ourselves this hike.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, the blanket still tucked under your arm and the basket swinging in your hand. His face is flushed red and his bangs are damp. You just smile. “You think I’d murder you in broad daylight?”

He looks up, squinting at what little of the sky is visible through the canopy. “Sun’s going down. That’s like… prime slasher lighting.”

You roll your eyes and turn back towards the direction you were walking, “you watch too many movies, Ed.”

He just rolls his own eyes, picking up his pace to pull you against him. You start. You both laugh. You share a kiss between smiles and giggles. 

When you finally break free from one another, you push through one last curtain of low branches and step into the clearing your brother had shown you once. It opens up soft and lush and so green in front of you both. Tall grass littered with purple flowers sways gently and there’s a narrow stream off to the side. The sunlight reflects off of it and catches the glint in your boy's eyes. The sun’s already starting to dip low, you made it just in time. 

Eddie is quiet behind you and that’s how you know you made a great decision on the location of your date. You turn and catch him standing there, unsure of how to position himself. His curls are frizzing from the humidity, his shirt is sticking to him— no doubt from the sweat the hike has worked up. But his brown eyes look warm in the light. He’s taking it all in. He doesn’t want to miss a single inch of this place. 

“Okay.” He breathes out finally, his hands settling on his hips. “Yeah. If you murder me here? Definitely worth the last hour we spent walking uphill.”

You snort out a laugh and walk further out into the grass. “Just lay down, drama queen.”

You spread the blanket out. He takes off his jacket, tosses it in the grass beside him, and then he drops onto the blanket immediately, grinning. “I live to serve.”

“You live to be annoying.” You counter.

He just smiles at you brightly, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle. Just getting himself comfortable. “You brought snacks?” he asks. 

Instead of answering, you just sit beside him and start unpacking the basket’s contents. A couple of unfortunately warm sodas, the chips you know he likes, a few sandwiches, and an entire container of fresh strawberries. “You planned a whole picnic for me?”

“Obviously.” You shrug, pretending it’s not that big of a deal— even if your stomach is doing that stupid fluttery thing. “You said you’ve never just… watched a sunset without, like, being chased or grounded or in trouble or something.”

He laughs quietly. It’s not even really a laugh, it’s just a faint huff of breath with a grin attached. “Yeah, well, Hawkins isn’t big on peaceful moments for the freaks, baby.”

You just nudge his shoulder, “you’re not a freak, you know?”

He turns his head towards you, eyebrows raising when he meets your gaze. “Bats. I play D&D in Gareth’s basement and own more black clothing than a funeral home would know what to do with.”

“And? That makes you a freak?”

“Nah, think the devil worshipping did that.” He jokes softly. 

You lie back beside him then, using one of his arms as a pillow. The grass around you is warm and scratchy, even through the blanket. And the stream makes this quiet and steady sound of water slipping over stones in the background. 

And for a while, you both just talk. 

You talk about nothing and about everything. He tells you about this new campaign idea he has, gesturing wildly at the sky above where the clouds pass over slowly. You pluck a strawberry from the container and press it against his lips mid-sentence until he bites it, grumbling through a mouthful of the fruit. 

“You’re distracting the dungeon master.”

You laugh and just roll onto your side, facing him as you prop yourself up on your elbow. The sun’s lowering faster now, the sky turning a bright orange and then a deeper pink. The light hits his cheekbones just right. Makes his eyes look like molten gold.

He catches you staring and his cheeks tinge pink. “What?” he asks, just a little quieter. 

“Nothing.”

“Bats.” 

You reach out to trace the faint white line of a scar near his chin. He instinctively chases after your touch. “You look… different out here is all.”

“A good different?” He asks, voice dipping to a low whisper. 

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Of course a good different.”

He just looks at you, studying your features for a second as you watch the gears turn in his brain. Then he reaches over and hooks a finger in the belt loop of your shorts, tugging you into him so you land on top of him with a small oof. 

“There.” He mumbles, “Now you look a good different too.”

Your hair falls around the both of you, blocking out some of the pink light reflecting off his skin. His hands settle at your waist and then slide into your back pockets. 

“You ever think about getting out?” you ask him quietly, tracing the collar of his shirt with your fingertip. 

“Out of Hawkins?”

“Yeah.”

“Literally all the time.” He breathes out softly and sighs, blinking as he looks up at the sky. “But I dunno… It’s like… I talk this big game. Like we could go on tour. We could blow this joint. Gareth thinks we could, anyway. But then I think about Wayne and Dustin and the other kids and I’m not sure… And now…” His eyes flick over to yours. “Now I think about you too and I definitely don’t want to leave without you. But—”

You swallow. There goes your stomach again. 

“I’d make it with you in my corner… You don’t scare easy.” He says softly. “Most people do.”

“I’m not most people.” You point out. 

“No,” he agrees. One of his hands leaves your back pocket and slides up your back. His fingers find their home splaying between your shoulder blades to press you closer to him. “You’re not.”

The sun is dipping lower now. The sky is shifting into streaks of faint purple and amber. Fireflies start blinking around you, settling onto the purple flowers and tall grasses. It’s beautiful and magical and Eddie is definitely not watching it. 

He’s watching you.

And then, he tilts his head up and kisses you. It’s not rushed. Neither of you have nowhere to be but wrapped up in one another. It’s not heated in the way it sometimes gets when you’re making out in his van— there are no windows to fog up after all. This kiss is slower and softer. His lips are warm from the sun and faintly sweet from the strawberries. 

You kiss him back and you swear you’re starting to feel something. It isn’t fireworks and it isn’t panic, you can’t quite place it— but you’re pulled from the very thought when he rolls you over, pressing you to your back on the blanket and holding himself above you. 

He pulls back barely an inch. Hooded eyes blinking as his mouth brushes yours, speaking, “Hey.” He mumbles, his voice staying low so he doesn’t disturb the crickets starting to chirp along the bank of the stream. 

“Hey.” You whisper back. 

His nose nudges yours as he places another gentle peck against your lips, “You’re real pretty like this.”

The sky behind him has melted into a deeper shade of violet with its last streaks of gold. The last of the light catches in his lashes. All you can do is swallow and will any heat threatening to creep up your neck away. “Like what?” you whisper. 

“With me.” He says softly. 

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric at his shoulders. He just kisses you again, just as slow as the last one. 

The stream keeps moving a few yards away. The sky keeps deepening until it spreads out into an inky black twinkling with your favorite stars. The world narrows down to the weight of him on top of you, the warmth he radiates, and the way his thumb brushes across your cheek. 

And that’s when it hits you. 

You love him. 

This ridiculous, loud, big-hearted boy who thinks he’s harder than he is. This boy who swears too much and laughs too loud and doesn’t judge you for any of the things you love. He looks at you like you hung the damn moon in the sky just to see him smile. 

He’s not kissing you now. He’s talking about something. About how if he ever does make it big, he’s buying you “a stupid big house with, like, gargoyles or some shit.” and you just smile up at him because he has absolutely no idea of how full he makes your chest. 

“Eddie,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You hesitate to answer. Not because you’re unsure. But just because you want to stay in this moment with him just a second longer before you go and change everything. So you just slide your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and pull him down into another kiss instead. 

He hums against your lips, pleased with you or himself, you aren’t sure which. And he melts into your body. 

The sun is gone completely now, leaving the sky bruised and twinkling. It’s beautiful. The fireflies flicker brighter now, and the first cool hint of the night creeps across your skin. 

But you don’t say it. 

Not yet. 

He lies beside you then, his arm hooked under your head as his fingers lazily draw patterns along your shoulder. Right now, you know you love him. You know your life will never be the same without him. 

And somehow, you think maybe he knows it too. 

The fluorescent lights in Hawkins' only Family Video hum loudly as Gareth stands on a step stool wedged between the horror and action section. He slides a copy of The Fly back onto a shelf and sighs. Everything feels just a little too bright for ten in the morning after an evening of no sleep. He moves to slide another of the tapes into place when the bell above the door jingles. 

He doesn't look up at first, he just assumes it's some kid who's gonna awkwardly hover near the counter until Keith helps them. Then he hears, "Ohhhhh Gare-Bear!"

He sighs under his breath, letting his head rest against the shelf. "It's not even noon." He takes a moment before he glances down, but when he does there Eddie’s standing. His hair is a mess and his vest is thrown over a wrinkled shirt instead of his jacket. And he's grinning. Gareth just sighs. "Why do you look like that?"

Eddie, still grinning, sighs happily. "Like what?"

"Like you just discovered drugs for the first time." Gareth says flatly, climbing down off the stool.

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, both hands slipping into the front pockets of his jeans as he rocks back on his heels. "Man." He starts and then lets out a breath, still grinning. "I… Okay. I gotta tell you something." 

Gareth raises an eyebrow and pulls at his vest until it's comfortable again as Eddie paces in front of a dozen horror movies. "You're being weird." He frowns.

Eddie laughs and rubs his hands over his face, cool metal touching his skin. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He sighs before he looks over at him, his brown eyes bright. "Bats spent the night last night." 

Gareth nods as he steps past him, moving back to the stack of tapes on the counter. "Okay?" He hums, confused, "You've had girls stay over before. Congratulations, Casanova." 

Eddie sighs, immediately shaking his head. "No, not like this. We…" He gestures vaguely between them, that stupid smile growing on his face again. 

Gareth stares at him and then lets out a whistle, teasingly. "About damn time." He jokes softly. 

Eddie shoves him a bit, rolling his eyes. "Shut up." 

"No, seriously." Gareth lifts the stack and nudges him with his shoulder as he passes. "You've been circling that girl like a fuckin' vulture for months now." 

"I have not!" Eddie frowns. Had he been that obvious?

"You have." Gareth laughs, placing everything onto the return cart. "It's been painful to watch, actually." He mumbles as he starts pushing the cart, shelving tapes as he moves along.

Eddie follows him step by step, hands shoved into his pockets. "I was trying to be respectful." Or I was scared of losing my virginity, your pick. "It wasn't just sex either. She fell asleep on me." His voice gets softer as he continues his path behind him. "Like right on my chest. I didn't move for like… I don't even know how long but my arm went numb as hell. I thought it was gonna fall off."

Gareth rolls his eyes, "sounds romantic." 

Eddie shoves his shoulder a bit from where he's a few steps behind him. "I'm being serious… she looked so comfortable… Y'know. With me… And this morning, we were just laying there talking. About nothing really. She told me more about her dolls. Asked about our music. I just— I didn't wanna leave." 

Gareth sighs, stopping and leaning his back against the shelf. He crosses his arms and looks at him. "Just invite her over again, man. This isn't complicated."

Eddie scoffs, stepping back to let a couple of kids through the aisle. "You make it sound easy."

"It is easy." Gareth says, like he's the one with all of the relationship experience. "You like her. She clearly likes you. Just keep it going." 

Eddie nods and smiles a little as he exhales a big sigh, "I think I'm like… really in love with her, Gare."

Gareth groans, tipping his head back against the shelf. "Ed, you slept with her one time." 

Eddie shrugs. "Yeah, and?"

"And you're already in love?" Gareth chuckles.

Eddie smiles again and nods, "I think I was already on my way there. This just kinda… sealed the deal, I guess." 

Gareth shakes his head. "You're fucked." 

Eddie nods, "Dont you think I know that?"

"No, I mean like, clinically." Gareth chuckles, grabbing another tape off the cart. "There's gotta be something wrong with you." 

Eddie laughs at that. Big and loud and with such a wide smile, Gareth thinks his head may explode. "Man, I feel great. So whatever it is, I'm keepin' it."

You wake up before the sun has even fully risen. The soft morning light starts to slip through those big windows of your Beverly Hills bedroom in uneven golden stripes. You rub at your eyes, admiring the sleeping body of your husband next to you. His chest is bare, covered by ink that's settled in over the years. Your eyes catch your name over his heart and you smile. Then you hear a little voice over the monitor. 

"Mama." Alice whispers loudly into the vastness of her bedroom. 

You stand, tugging on the pajama bottoms you had shed the night before when Eddie had come to bed, and sleepily find your way to your daughter's room. The walls are pink, sheer curtains barely shielding the sun. A few of your favorite dolls are perched on the shelf above her. She's standing in her crib, her little hands gripping the railing. Brown curls are sticking up in every direction. "Mama!" She squeals just a bit louder when she sees you. 

"Hi baby." You smile, scooping her up. She smells like the baby shampoo and lotion your mother had sent to you. You press a kiss to her cheek and sneak her down to the kitchen. You put the coffee on first and drag one of the kitchen chairs over to the counter so Alice can help you. 

You make something simple, eggs and toast with a little fruit on the side. Alice insists on handing you every single strawberry as you cut them into quarters. You grab Eddie's favorite mug from the cabinet— the Garfield one he's treasured since before you had even met— and fill it with coffee. You watch the steam curl up and then grab the card. Alice had helped with that too. You place the mug on the tray next to the food and tuck the card between Garfield and the strawberries. "Ready?" You smile at Alice, who just nods in return. 

You carry everything down the hall, Alice walking in front of you. Eddie is still dead asleep when you open the door. He's on his stomach now, one arm shoved underneath his pillow, hair messier than when you left him. The comforter is half kicked off of him and you're thankful he had the mind to at least tug his boxers on before falling asleep. 

You look at him, smiling. You've built a whole life together, since '89. You've had a baby. You get to watch him be a dad every single day forever. You get to love him every single day for the rest of forever. Alice climbs onto the bed then, crawling up to sit on his back. "Dada." She says softly. Eddie doesn't respond. So she tries again, louder. "DADA!"

He groans then, his face still buried in his pillow. "Jesus, who's yellin' at me?" He mumbles sleepily just as Alice smacks his shoulder hard enough the sound echoes around the room.

"Hey!" He lifts his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "What the fuck?" He pauses when he sees Alice sitting there. He blinks a few times as his eyes adjust. You're standing there behind her with a tray in your hands. 

"Happy Father's Day." You say softly, smiling. 

"You guys made me breakfast?" He asks, his voice still rough from sleep. 

You nod, setting the tray on the nightstand beside him. Alice just claps as you move her to the side so he can roll over and push himself up until he's sitting, propped against the headboard. He smiles, looking at the tray and reaching over for the mug. Alice giggles, reaching for it. 

"Tater, no— no Garfield, baby. It's hot." He says softly, shifting it out of her reach, pressing a kiss against her curls. "Can't have you trying to take yourself out on Father's Day." 

You shake your head, smiling as you reach over to grab the card and then hand it to him. He takes it, setting the mug back down on the nightstand. He opens the card and chuckles, "did she sign this?"

"That's her handwriting, be nice." You tease softly.

"Right, my bad." He laughs, his eyes scanning over the words of the card before the end on the hand print on the other side. "She's so little." He says softly.

You smile, reaching for the tray to settle onto his lap. "Eat your breakfast, before she steals it."

"Oh, she's not stealing shit." He chuckles, lifting his fork to take a bite of his eggs.

Alice snags a strawberry and Eddie raises his eyebrows.

"I made you." He jokes softly as she just smiles at him. He shakes his head, holding his fork out so she can take a bite of the eggs too. "Okay, fine. You're cute. You get away with it."

He eats quietly for a few moments, smiling at you as he reaches for his mug again. "This is really nice." He says softly, bringing Garfield up to his lips once again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the kid's a menace… but this is the best Father's Day I've ever had."

────────

His lips kissed roughly against yours as you grabbed a fist full of his leather jacket- pulling him closer. He tasted like nicotine and the spearmint gum he had been chewing before he spit it into an old fast food cup in his cup holder. You and Eddie were no strangers when it came to getting hot and heavy like this. It had only been a little less than a month since you both had started hooking up and you were already starting to crave him.

“Eddie, fuck me.” You pant after pulling away from the heated kiss, looking into his brown eyes. “Please?”

“Fuck, baby.” He groans “There’s not enough time. Think you can wait until later?”

“No.” You shake your head defiantly “Can’t wait. Need you now. Right now.”

Eddie sighed out a shaky breath as he watched how needy and wrecked you were. He wanted so badly to touch you- to get you off the way that he loved but he knew that your friends would be showing up at any moment to the spot in the clearing where you agreed to meet. He couldn’t just pull your panties to the side and fuck you like he wanted. Especially when your arrangement was meant to be a secret.

“Sweetheart, we can’t.” He groans “Just wait a little bit longer and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

But you weren’t budging.

Your hand immediately flies to the waist of his jeans, ready to unbutton them before he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Baby.” He states, looking at you sternly “I said no.”

“But I need you.” You pout “Need you so bad, Eds. Don’t you want me too?”

And that sentence just about destroys him.

“Sweetheart, of course I do.”

“Then. Fuck. Me.” You enunciate, staring him down with hungry eyes.

“Jesus Christ, babe.” He says, stifling a moan “Just listen, alright? Just be a good girl for the next, like, hour and I will fucking give it to you any way you fucking want, alright? I just need you to-“

“No, Eddie, I need you to put your huge fucking-“

Your sentence is cut off by the sounds of knocking on the back door of the van, causing Eddie’s body to jump.

“You guys in there?”

It was Robin.

“Yeah, just give me a sec!” Eddie stammers, trying to get his ragged breathing back to normal “The back door has been jammed.”

A blatant lie and you knew it. It causes you to smirk. Eddie catches it, turning towards you with a warning look.

“Be Good. Got it?” He hisses into your ear.

“No promises.” You purr.

────────

The smoke session felt like agony.

You were sitting in the back of Eddie’s van in a clearing at Lover’s Lake as everyone settled in for a rotation.

Nancy was going on and on about some newspaper internship that she applied for at the beginning of the summer and didn’t get. You tried to listen but you couldn’t stay focused. Not with the way that the muscles in Eddie’s biceps flexed as he grabbed his grinder and began to grind up a nug- preparing to roll the group a joint.

You watched his hands move expertly as he filled the rolling paper, having done this so many times that he had gotten it down to a science. Which, you thought, was probably the reason why he fucked you so well with his fingers. Rolling joints and playing guitar. A lethal combo.

As Robin begins to jump into a story about some dickhead customer at Family Video that complained about the late fee on his copy of Risky Business, Eddie began to tuck in the ends of the joint- bringing it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could catch you staring him down as he licked the edge of the rolling paper to seal it.

You watched the way his tongue easily glided over the edge- just the way that it did when he held down your open thighs so that he could curl his tongue inside of you. Eddie stiffens, immediately able to read your mind. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what you were thinking about.

Eddie watched as you bit your lip at the thought. It was a such a subtle action but it was enough to have him growing hard beneath his jeans. Eddie knew that you were thinking about his tongue licking at other places.

Eddie tries to ignore your longing stares as he packed the rest of the joint, twisting it closed with his thumb and index finger. After he finished, he waves the joint around triumphantly. “Voila, my friends. Who wants to do the honors?”

You don’t hesitate as you pipe in.

“Me please.” You say, your voice coming out with a flirty lilt “That okay?”

You look around the circle at Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan. Nobody objected. Then you look towards Eddie whose heart beats hard against his chest. Fuck, how could he not cave for you when you looked like that?

“Eds?” You whisper seductively, batting your long eyelashes.

“‘Course, sweetheart.” He clears his throat, trying to act normal. But it was so hard when your eyes looked at him like that.

He passes the joint to you as you take it, making sure to brush your fingers against his as you grab it. He watches intently as you put the joint between those pretty lips of yours.

“Light me up?” You flirt, leaning towards Eddie as he stared. It takes him a second to snap out of it.

“Sure, yeah.” He stammers “I got you, princess.”

Eddie fumbles in his jacket pocket for his lighter, flipping it open as he ignites the small flame. You lean forward to meet it with the tip of the joint, making sure that you bent towards him enough to give Eddie a good look down your shirt. No bra.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You flirt, voice soft as you straighten up and take a drag of the joint. Your lips wrap around the tip as Eddie watches. He imagines what it would feel like right now to have your mouth wrapped around his tip instead.

He has to stop himself from letting out a needy little groan in front of your friends.

After taking your hit, you pass it to Nancy who was next to you in the rotation. She continued to speak about the newspaper internship.

“It would just look really good on my resumé, you know?” She sighs before taking a drag.

“Nance, I don’t think you should worry about it. I know you’re bummed but you already have a pretty impressive resumé. You don’t really need this internship.” Jonathan says as she passes him the joint.

“Yeah but still.” Nancy finishes.

From across the circle you lock eyes with Steve who had been staring at you for a while. A long while. You had noticed- and you weren’t the only one to pick up on it.

While alone together in the past, Eddie had made small comments here and there about how Steve Harrington thought you were hot. Eddie would tell you about how hard it would be for him to listen to Steve talk about you and how badly he wanted to take you out while, behind the scenes, Eddie was fucking your brains out at least three times a week and had to keep quiet about it. Steve wasn’t your type and Eddie knew that but, you thought, what was the harm in a little bit of flirting? Especially if it ended up having the desired result that you wanted from Eddie.

“Stevie,” You start, looking over at him with the most flirtatious look that you could muster “I really like your hair today.”

You watch as Steve’s face heats up in a blush, his mouth quirking into a flirty smile.

“Really?” He asks “Thanks. I didn’t really do anything special this time. Maybe a little extra product this morning.”

“Can I touch it?” You ask, batting your eyelashes “It looks really soft. I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.”

Eddie tries to school his face into staying neutral but, inside, he was starting to burn with jealousy. Eddie knew that you were well-aware of how he felt about Steve’s little crush on you. You were definitely flirting right in front of his face to get back at him.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve charms “Anything for you.”

You pull yourself into a kneeling position before leaning into the middle of the tight circle, stretching forward onto your hands and knees as you reach up to run your fingers through Steve’s brunette locks. In the process, you make sure to really stick your ass out in Eddie’s direction where he had been sitting next to you.

A lump formed in Eddie’s throat as he watched you stroke another guy’s hair just like you do to his when you’re alone. Eddie instantly began thinking about how you would run your fingers through his curls as he went down on you and the thought made him sick to his stomach imagining you doing the same thing to someone else.

“It is soft.” You coo, gently feeling Steve’s tresses “And it smells good.”

Eddie had to prevent himself from balling his hands into fists. That’s what you would say to him when you buried your face into his mane of curls after hooking up with him.

Before you could continue your compliments, Eddie pipes in.

“Harrington, it’s your turn. Stop letting the joint run.”

Steve looks over to his right, noticing that Robin was holding it out towards him to take.

“Shit, sorry.” Steve winces before taking it in his hand.

“It’s fine, dude. Just pay attention.” Eddie sasses.

You try to hold back a smirk as you sink back into your spot. But then you get an idea- a diabolical idea. While trying to sit back down, you feign as if you lost your balance- “knocking” into Eddie’s side as you fall into him.

“Oops!” You exclaim, pretending to be shocked “Sorry, Eds. Clumsy me.”

As you try to pull yourself back up, you artfully place your hand on his upper thigh- so close to his crotch that Eddie has to swallow back a gasp. As you straighten yourself up to sit back down next to him, Eddie narrows his eyes towards you.

“Sorry.” You wince but Eddie knew it was all an act to seem innocent. He knew exactly what you wanted but he never expected you to play dirty to get it.

Eddie begins to panic internally when he notices that he’s getting hard. Blood rushing to his dick, causing him to get a boner in front of everyone. In the back of his tightly packed van where everyone could probably see. He had to prevent this- and fast.

Thinking on his feet, Eddie reaches behind him and grabs an old blanket that he usually stowed under the front seat, dragging it out and attempting to casually drape it over his lap. Steve notices as he passes him the joint, arching an eyebrow questionably.

“Kinda cold in here.” Eddie blurts out nervously “Anyone else cold? Just me?”

“I’m a little cold.” You pipe in, causing Eddie to look over at you. As he meets your gaze, he notices a mysterious glint in your eyes. He immediately knew that you were up to something. “Can you share with me, Eds? Please?”

Jesus fucking Christ…

Before Eddie could even think to say anything, you were already scooting in closer to him- your body pressed up to his side as you reach for the blanket in his lap. Eddie holds his breath as your hand ghosts over his crotch, pulling the material over to cover up yourself as well. Suddenly you were so fucking close that he could feel your body heat, smell your hair, hear your breathing. It only made things ten times worse as his cock hardened even more.

“This okay?” You asked, curling up to his side enough for your breasts to brush up against his bicep. His breathing catches.

“Mhm!” He hums, voice shaky “That’s…yeah.”

“Eddie?” Steve calls.

“What?” Eddie nearly snaps, causing Steve to look at him funny.

“Your turn, man.” He answers, eyeing Eddie suspiciously.

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie shakes his head, taking the joint from Steve with shaky hands.

Eddie is silently thankful that the joint had finally made it to him, hoping it would mellow him out. He slowly brings it to his lips, trying to forget that you were next to him- trying to forget what you were playing at.

As Eddie closed his eyes and brought the joint to his lips, he tried to focus on his hit. He tried to focus on anything else but you. However, you weren’t going to let that happen. Eddie was foolish for even thinking that you would.

As he was inhaling, he felt it. A small brush of something against his upper thigh. He tried to put it out of his mind until he felt it again, followed by a firm pressure against the budge in his pant. You grasp it with a tight squeeze that caused him to gasp. He suddenly inhaled too much of the joint and caused himself to enter a coughing fit. Letting out sputtering coughs as he tried to catch his breath.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Nancy asks, her voice laced with concern as she watched him try to catch his breath.

“Yeah.” He nods, trying to get his breathing back to normal “I’m fine. Cool. Totally cool.”

“You sure?” Robin questions “‘Cause it sounds like you’re dying over there.”

“Yeah, man.” Steve teases “Thought you were the experienced one here.”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” Eddie croaks.

Eddie wordlessly holds out the blunt to you, giving you a hard look as you lock eyes. You pretend not to notice, taking the blunt from between his fingers. You lick your lips, causing him to watch intently as you brought the joint to your mouth to take a hit. You keep your hand still over his erection. You wanted to keep him on his toes. You wanted him at your mercy.

After your hit, you pass it to Nancy- thankful when she starts talking about something involving Mike and Will. It took the attention off of you for a moment. Enough for you to continue on with your assault. Your fingers brush up against him again, gripping him as he lets out another startled gasp. Steve look at him again, a concerned look on his face.

“Dude, you sure you’re okay?” Steve questions.

Eddie felt like he was trying to swallow a rock as he nodded.

“I’m fine, Harrington.” He chokes out “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve just shrugs before turning his attention back onto Robin who was yapping away about something. Eddie’s head whips over to you with a hard expression on his face. He leans in close enough to you that only you could hear, whispering in your ear.

“You better fucking stop while you’re ahead.” He warns, his tone cold and serious.

“Oh yeah?” You whisper back “Or what?”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t let yourself find out because I fucking swear to you that you’re not gonna like it.”

“What makes you so sure that I won’t?” You tease, a smirk on your lips.

“You really wanna play that game, dollface?” Eddie challenges “Because I can promise you that you’re gonna lose.”

“Aw really?” You pout, keeping your voice low “But you know how much I love to play, Eds.”

He leans away as if you had burned him. It was a wonder how no one else in the circle noticed. He felt like his mouth had gone dry. How does he even respond to that besides pulling you onto his lap and draping you over his knee- making you take his hard hand against your ass as punishment. But you weren’t alone. This wasn’t an option.

As Eddie’s mind begins to run rampant with ideas on how he was going to get you back, your hand begins to travel further into his lap. This time, your target was the zipper of his jeans. When your fingertips brush against the button at the waist, he narrows his eyes at you.

“Don’t…you…fucking…dare.” He hisses.

But it only spurs you on. Your thumb and forefinger expertly pop open the button on his jeans. It was a trick you had performed on him many times that had turned him on wildly, but now, he hated that you were misusing it to your advantage.

“Stop.” He whispers through gritted teeth as you pinch the zipper, sliding it down with a practiced ease.

“You really want me to stop?” You whisper, looking at him with hungry eyes as you watch his expression falter. A sign that he didn’t want you to stop- not really. So, you didn’t. It only served as encouragement to push him further.

You slide your hand down, bypassing the waistband of his jeans and his blue checkered boxers as he let out a soft moan. Barely audible but it was there.

His body softened underneath your touch. But only for a moment. Then he was quickly reminded that you weren’t alone. That you were trying to jerk him off in front of your friends that he was surprised hadn’t begun to pick up on what was really going on beneath the blanket. Maybe they were well aware of what was going on and they were just being polite by not saying anything. Eddie didn’t know what was worse.

Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral as your hand gripped the base of his cock. He tries to control his breathing so that he wouldn’t let out another startled gasp and bring attention back onto him. But it was hard. Almost as hard as he was in your hand- his dick already angry, sensitive, and leaking precum from your relentless teasing.

You carefully tug him out, trying to keep your hand movements undetectable underneath the blanket. That didn’t stop his aching cock from springing free and slapping at his lower stomach. You heard Eddie inhale sharply as you reached for it again, wrapping your fingers around it as you begin to stroke it lightly. You were so focused on watching him that you had barely caught Nancy asking you how things have been.

“Oh, you know.” You start, moving your hand up and down Eddie’s shaft “Nothing interesting. I got a summer job to keep me busy.”

And Eddie Munson fucking your brains out every other day of the week.

“Really?” Nancy asks “Where at?”

“Hawkins Community Pool.” You answer.

Which only makes things worse for Eddie because now he couldn’t help but think about you in that little red Speedo one-piece that you sported as your lifeguard uniform. The way the neckline was low enough to give him a tasteful peek at your cleavage. The way the high-cut bottoms of the suit caused your ass to spill out of it deliciously. Eddie couldn’t help but buck into your hand involuntarily. You respond by giving his cock a light squeeze, causing him to groan.

“Okay, what is up with you?” Robin chimes in, looking at Eddie curiously.

“N-nothing!” Eddie stutters, his cock pulsing in your hand as you continued to stroke him slowly. Tightening your grasp enough to have him biting his lip.

“Okay then…” Robin shrugs, still eyeing Eddie suspiciously.

“Anyone else cramped in here?” Jonathan chimes in, commenting on how everyone was packed so tightly into Eddie’s van.

“Nah, I am too.” Steve adds “My foot’s falling asleep.”

At first, you thought nothing of it until you got an idea. Probably the most wicked idea you’ve ever had- and you knew that Eddie was going to hate you for it.

“I can scoot over.” You offer “It’ll give you guys more room.”

“Yeah but scoot over where?” Robin points out, raising an eyebrow.

“I can sit on Eddie’s lap.” You suggest, trying to sound casual while Eddie’s body noticeably tensed by beside you “You don’t mind. Do you, Eds?”

His mouth ran dry as you looked at him, fluttering your eyelashes at him as he thought of what to say. But there were no words. His mind was completely wiped and it was all because of you. All he could do was shake his head.

“Thanks, Eddie.” You coo, moving towards him as you scoot into his lap- sitting right onto Eddie’s erection. He inhaled sharply as he felt your ass on top of his dick. Your soft, grab-able, smack-able ass rubbing up against him which only served to make him hornier. What he didn’t realize was that what you planned to do next was even worse.

As you cover yourself with the blanket, you pretend to be uncomfortable as you shift around on his lap- grinding onto him.

“Ouch. Eddie, your belt buckle is digging into my back.” You lie. Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion. He wasn’t even wearing his belt today.

“Wha-“ You opens his mouth to ask before you cut him off.

“Don’t move.” You order “I’ll fix it.”

You reach behind you, feeling around in the space between yours and Eddie’s bodies as you pretended to feel around for his nonexistent belt buckle. As you reach down further, you grasp Eddie’s cock in your hands once more. You don’t give him time to process as you hold his dick steady.

Once again, you feign as if you were shifting around to get comfortable in his lap- quickly removing your index finger from your grip on Eddie’s member and using it to hook into the crotch of your panties. You crook your finger to pull them aside enough to get them out of the way as you slide Eddie into your core. You quickly bottom out, making Eddie feel like the air was knocked out of him as you take every inch of him. By the time you were fully seated, Eddie was gritting his teeth.

“Better, sweetheart?” He asks, an edge to his voice that only you could pick up on.

“Yep.” You nod “Much better.”

You were wet, warm, and had him completely sheathed in you. All Eddie could think about was how fucking evil you were. How you were not only sitting on his hard cock right in front of your friends but you were torturing him. Every little wiggle of your hips, every little laugh you let out, you purposely clenching around him as you acted as if you were completely innocent around everyone else had him seething. But nothing was worse than when the joint made its way back to you.

Eddie had skipped his turn in the rotation entirely, far too distracted to continue smoking like everyone else was. You, on the other hand, kept on. Steve passes you the joint, it was dwindling down to nothing and Eddie was glad. Because it meant that, soon, all of your friends would end up leaving. He would finally be alone with you again and he definitely had plans for you. Wicked plans.

You place the joint between your lips, talking a long drag. As you inhale, you begin to cough- deep sputtering coughs that you felt in your body, and to Eddie’s horror, against his dick. Every time you coughed, your muscles contracted- causing you to unintentionally grip his dick with your walls. Eddie had already begun to react to the pressure before he could stop himself.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie gasps, hands flying down to your hips as his ring-clad fingers gripped onto you- his eyes squeezing closed.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Nancy asks, furrowing her brows in confusion as she unknowns watches Eddie moan out in pleasure.

“Ah! Y-yeah!” He stammers “I’m good! I just…my leg was cramping. Ow! Fuck!”

He tried to play it off convincingly as you tried to bite your lip to prevent yourself from smirking.

God, he was going to kill you.

As if by a saving grace, Robin looks down at her watch.

“Shit.” She sighs, looking over towards Steve “We should probably go so we’re not late for work.”

“Damn. Yeah.” Steve agrees “Gonna need to take a shower before so I don’t smell like weed. Keith already fucking hates me. Don’t wanna make being baked on the job another reason.”

“Yeah, Nance and I have to go pick up Mike and Will from the arcade.” Jonathan pipes in.

“Not that they’ll care if we’re late.” Nancy shakes her head “Mike’s been saving all of his quarters so that he had enough money to play Dig Dug all day.”

“Yeah.” Jonathan laughs “But we should definitely do this again.”

Eddie sat quietly, watching as every one exchanged pleasantries, declared how they should definitely do it again, and made promises to call. But Eddie didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was getting you alone. All he could think about was getting you back for what you had done.

To Eddie’s relief, you finally free him from what had surely become his own personal version of hell- withdrawing his dick from your warm wet heat before you crawled out of the back of the van along with everyone else. As Eddie inconspicuously tucked himself back into his pants, he can’t help but groan as how wet you had been- having left your wet arousal on him.

He climbs out of the van as he joins in on the goodbyes, glad that he had time to adjust himself well enough that his friends wouldn’t be able to spot his raging boner. He watched you as you went over to each friend one-by-one and hugged them. He took note in how low Steve’s hands were on your waist. Just the cherry on top of how angry he was.

Eddie watched as Steve and Robin climbed into Steve’s BMW and began to peel off, closely followed by Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie stood next to you and waited until the cars were out of eyesight. As soon as things were in the clear, Eddie turns towards you- gripping onto your arm as he backed you into the doors of the van. He had you pressed between him and the vehicle as he loomed over you, staring you down with a hard glare. He was pissed.

“So, you think that shit was funny, huh?” He questions, voice icy as he stared you down with his dark brown eyes. “Bet you thought you were cute, pulling that shit in front of our friends, right?”

He waited for an answer but all you could do was look back at him, stunned by his shift in demeanor. You’ve never seen Eddie get so…rough.

“Cat got your fucking tongue?” He patronizes “You sure weren’t shy when you were practically riding my dick in front of everyone. Listen, sweetheart, if you expect to get anything from me you better fucking answer. You want me to touch you? Fuck you? You better start talking.”

“I-“ You begin but quickly falter, not knowing what to say. Not when you were the subject of his angry scrutiny “I’m sorry, Eds. I don’t know why I did it.”

“Bullshit.” He answers, trapping you even tighter against him with his body “What’d you want? Attention? That it? You wanted to humiliate me? Huh? Tell me.”

“No.” You shake your head “I…I just…I needed you, Eddie. So bad. I was so fucking wet for you.”

“Oh, baby.” He tsks “I know. I could feeling feel how wet you were. But none of that fucking matters now. Wanna know why? Because, instead of waiting, you acted like a desperate fucking slut and practically rode my dick in front of everyone. All I fucking asked was for you to wait and you couldn’t fucking do that, could you? You that much of a whore for my dick?”

“Y-yes.” You stammer “I wanted to feel you. Couldn’t wait.”

“Yeah? Now look where that got you. Told you that you could have me any way you wanted me just as long as you stayed patient. But nooo.” He mocks “You had to have it right fucking then, right? Hm? Well, sweetheart, you’re gonna get it. But now you’re gonna have it my way. Got it?”

You could feel Eddie’s hard cock press up against you. You hadn’t expected him to still be hard. But now, he was even harder- his raging cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“Fuck, Eds. Can I touch you? Please?”

You reach your hand down to try and grasp him through his pants but Eddie was too quick, his hand wrapping around your wrist before he yanked it above your head and pinned in to the van.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head “You think you can just do whatever you want? Yeah, not how it works, Sweetheart. I’m in charge here. I’m gonna fuck you. But I’m gonna do it how I want. Understand?”

You were too stunned to speak, just staring at the man in front of you that was hard and dominant. The complete opposite to his usual soft and gooey demeanor that he had towards you. You had pushed Eddie too far and you were about to reap the consequences.

Before you could process it, Eddie cups your jaw in his hand- forcing you to look him in the eyes as he spoke

“I said…” He growls “Do…you…understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer automatically, earning an amused smirk from him.

“Good. Now, I’m a few seconds, I’m gonna let you go. When I do, you better not try to pull any of your bullshit again. When I let you go, I want you in the back of that fucking van. Panties off….face down…ass up. And you’re gonna wait for me. As long as it takes for me to decide when I’m ready to fuck you.”

Eddie stares you down one last time before releasing your wrist. You let it fall limply against your side as he begins to back up, giving you space to move. You quickly turn, obeying his orders while you yank open the back doors of the van.

“And Sweetheart?” His voice rings out from behind you as he takes out his pack of cigarettes, selecting one before casually placing it between his lips. His icy tone of voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“No foreplay.” He drops “So you better make sure you’re fucking wet for me.”

People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.

Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.

Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.

Everyone knew you.

Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.

Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.

It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.

Genuinely, painfully, kind.

The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.

You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—

Jesus Christ.

See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.

Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.

But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.

Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.

Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.

Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about. 

Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.

"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.

At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.

And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.

Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.

The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.

Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.

It had been almost exactly a year ago.

The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.

He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.

"Well, if it isn't the freak."

Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"

Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.

"Nah."

Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.

"I actually look forward to these little chats."

"I don't."

"Funny."

Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.

"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."

"Just looking out for the town."

Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.

So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.

Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"

"It concerns me now."

You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

"Move."

Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said move."

Andy scoffed. "You serious?"

Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.

Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."

"We're talking."

"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."

Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."

Eddie's stomach dropped.

But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.

Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"

Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"

Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"

"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."

You paused, eyeing him up and down.

"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."

Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."

For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.

Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.

Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."

He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."

Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."

Andy and Chance followed without another word.

Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."

You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.

Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.

"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."

Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought. 

Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.

He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."

A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.

He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest. 

There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.

But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.

Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.

"You never know what you're gonna find."

Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.

No dice…literally.

With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.

He almost walked right past the record stand.

It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.

Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—

"...No way."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.

You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.

There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.

He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.

You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.

"Oh." You laughed softly. "Hi, Eddie."

His mouth opened, but nothing happened.

"You... um..." Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. "You like... music?"

God, just bury him now.

Your smile only widened. "I dabble."

"I just..." He gestured helplessly toward the crate. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I wasn't expecting me either." You grinned to yourself before looking back down at the albums. "My dad's the reason."

"You've got a metalhead dad?"

"The biggest."

You laughed. "He swears everything made after 1984 is garbage."

"Smart man."

"I told him you'd probably say that."

Eddie's head snapped up. "...You've talked about me?"

The words escaped before he could stop them.

You looked equally surprised. "I..."

A tiny laugh escaped you. "I mean..."

You ducked your head for a second. "You know... around school."

Right, of course. Don't be stupid, Munson. The thought that your family even knew his name made something warm bloom in his chest.

You continued sorting through the cassette, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh."

Your fingers landed on one. Without hesitating, you slid it free from the rack and held it toward him. "I think you'd like this."

He looked down. Mercyful Fate.

Eddie stared at the cassette, then back at you. "You know Mercyful Fate?"

"I know enough." You shrugged. "My dad played this one so much I practically know it by heart."

Eddie took it carefully, almost afraid it'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You've heard this?"

"'Come to the Sabbath' used to scare me when I was little."

He barked out a laugh. "You've gotta be kidding."

"Nope."

"You don't exactly scream..." He motioned vaguely toward you. "...Mercyful Fate."

"And you don't exactly scream honor roll."

He blinked. "...Fair."

You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."

You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.

"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."

Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."

"I appreciate your approval."

The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"

You nodded. "I think so."

As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.

You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"

He swallowed. "...Yeah."

"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."

Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.

You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."

He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.

"You gonna buy it?"

The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You've been holding it for five minutes."

"Oh."

Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."

He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."

The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.

By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.

But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.

"I think you'd like this."

Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"

"...Maybe."

"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"

"...No."

Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.

The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.

The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.

Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."

"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"

"We're legally obligated to."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."

Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"

"We do now."

Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."

"What?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.

You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—

Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.

"Hi, guys."

You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.

"Hi, Eddie."

God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

"Uh... hey."

"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."

You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."

Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.

"We're allergic."

"I figured."

Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."

Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"

His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."

"And?"

"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."

"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"

"I was trying not to sound insane."

"So you liked it?"

"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."

"I knew you would."

Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.

Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."

Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"

He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.

"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."

He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."

You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets. 

"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll see you around?"

"...Yeah."

You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."

Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...

Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.

"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.

"What?"

"You hate homecoming."

"I don't hate—"

"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"

"I stand by that."

Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."

He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"

Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"

"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."

Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.

"...Huh."

Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"

"'Huh?!'"

"You bought two!"

"I know!"

"Do you?!"

Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.

"'Homecoming Admission.'"

He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."

Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."

"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."

"They are."

"So, who are you taking?"

Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.

"...Nobody."

Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.

"Nope."

"So you just bought two tickets..."

"Yep."

"...For fun?"

"...Sure."

Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."

"Oh no," Eddie muttered.

"Oh, no."

Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."

Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Jeff grinned. "Dude."

"You've been listening to that cassette all week."

"You don't know that."

"Wayne told my mom."

Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"

"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."

Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"

The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."

Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.

By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.

Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.

"You boys have another séance today?"

Gareth groaned.

"Just keep walking."

That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.

His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.

"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.

Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.

Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"

Jason shrugged. "Gravity."

"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy. 

"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."

Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.

"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."

Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."

The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.

"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.

"Oh. There he is."

The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.

Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.

"...Enough!"

Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.

You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.

Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."

"No."

You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."

You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic. 

"You should be proud of yourselves."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."

"That's bullshit."

Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"

"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"

He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"

You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."

Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."

"No." You shook your head.

"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."

Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."

"You first."

You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.

His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.

"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”

The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.

"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.

Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.

"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"

Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"

You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"

He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.

"So much for keeping your pretty face."

Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."

Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."

"Ah! There."

You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.

He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"

"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."

You hesitated. "Can I?"

He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.

With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.

"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."

"Hm?"

"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."

"They were picking on Gareth."

"I know."

"So..."

"So you decided to get yourself killed?"

"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."

"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.

You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."

He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

"Eddie?"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"

"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."

"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

“Huh?” He swallowed.

His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.

"I think I really like you."

You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his. 

Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."

"Oh."

Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."

He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.

"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."

His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"

"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."

"...Say what?"

"That."

You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."

His brain stopped. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"

"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."

"...That's why?"

"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."

"He looked lost."

"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."

He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.

"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."

"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”

His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.

"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."

"...WHAT?"

The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.

You blinked. "What?"

"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."

"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"

"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."

"...I know."

"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've noticed."

"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."

You stared.

"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."

A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."

He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"

"And?"

"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."

Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."

"I panicked."

"I can tell."

"I said I bought them for fun."

"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"

"I know!"

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."

"I KNOW."

"They believed you?"

"They absolutely did not."

You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.

"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."

Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.

"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"

He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."

"Really?"

"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."

"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."

"A little."

"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"

"I thought it was kind of cute."

"Oh, that's cruel."

"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.

He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh. 

"So..."

"So?"

He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.

After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.

"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."

You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.

"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"

You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.

You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.

"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."

"You idiot."

"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.

"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."

"I make no promises."

"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."

This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times. 

Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."

You laughed. "Me too."

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."

"So?"

"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."

"Don't do this to me."

"I suppose."

He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.

Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."

"I'm surviving."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."

You laughed softly.

"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."

You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."

"...Ahem."

The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.

Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled. 

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. 

"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"

missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3

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