Reda.

You smiled at the screen before you could stop yourself. Robin noticed immediately.

“That’s the Eddie face,” she said, already leaning in. “What’s he want?”

“He wants me to come over.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to say no because…?”

You typed back while Robin peered over your shoulder.

You:

can’t. already at the mall with robin and nancy. not being a hermit for once.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Eddie:

the mall.

you’re at the mall???

and no one thought to invite me?

i’m hurt. actually offended.

also tbh you’re gonna get overwhelmed and start doing that weird thing you always do

i’m coming.

You stared at the message.

You:

eddie you don’t have to come

Eddie:

already in the van.

tell robin to stop making that face. i can feel it through the phone.

Robin was, in fact, making that face.

Twenty-seven minutes later you were standing near the big fountain on the lower level, arms full of bags. You'd dragged the two of them into Hot Topic and Spencers. Nancy had somehow convinced you that you needed new jeans— so you bought some black ones. Robin had dragged you into a candle store “just to smell things.” And then, because the universe had a sense of humor, the three of you had ended up in Victoria’s Secret.

You were still a little pink about that one.

The pink-and-black bag swung from your wrist every time you shifted your grip. It felt louder than the rest of them somehow. Like it was announcing itself.

Robin was mid-rant about this hot girl who keeps coming into her job when a familiar voice cut through the mall noise.

“Well, well, well. Look at this delinquent little shopping squad.”

You turned.

Eddie Munson was walking toward you like he owned the entire second floor, black jeans with the knees blown out, a faded Dio shirt under an open sleeveless flannel, rings catching the harsh mall lights. His hair was a little messier than usual, like he’d driven with the windows down the whole way. He had that grin on—the one that said he’d already decided this was going to be fun for him and mildly embarrassing for you.

Robin lit up. “Munson! You actually showed.”

“Had to make sure no one was bullying my favorite introvert into buying things she’ll never wear.” His eyes flicked to you, soft for half a second before the performance kicked back in. “Speaking of which… Jesus Christ, look at you.”

He stopped a couple feet away, taking in the armful of bags. His gaze snagged on the Victoria’s Secret one and stayed there just long enough for heat to crawl up the back of your neck.

“Wow,” he said, voice dropping into something almost reverent. “You actually went shopping. I’m proud. Also mildly concerned.”

Nancy smirked. “She needed jeans. And then Robin got involved. And she dragged us into her own stores. And then the lingerie section happened.”

Eddie made a wounded little sound, hand over his heart. “You took her into the den of sin without me?”

You shifted the bags, trying to hide the pink one behind the others. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“It’s a little dramatic,” he said, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cigarettes and that cheap cologne he always wore even though he claimed he didn’t. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”

You opened your mouth to say you were fine.

He just raised an eyebrow.

“…I’m a little overstimulated,” you admitted, quieter.

Eddie’s whole posture softened. He reached out without asking and carefully took two of the heavier bags from your arms, including the Victoria’s Secret one. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just hooked the handles over his wrist like it was nothing.

“C’mon,” he said. “We’re doing one more lap so Nancy can finish buying a new pantsuit or whatever, then I’m extracting you. Chinese food’s getting cold and my couch misses your weight on it.”

Robin grinned. “He’s so soft for you it’s disgusting.”

Eddie didn’t deny it. He just looked at you over the top of the bags, eyes warm and knowing in that way that always made the rest of the mall feel a little farther away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low enough that only you caught the full weight of it. “Somebody’s gotta make sure she doesn’t disappear into the void.”

He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours.

“Lead the way, shopping gremlin. I’m your official bag mule for the next twenty minutes. Use me wisely.”

By the time you’d made it halfway through the next stretch of stores, the worst of the overstimulation had started to loosen its grip.

It was Eddie. It was always Eddie.

He walked half a step behind you, still carrying the bulk of the bags like it was the most natural thing in the world, occasionally bumping his shoulder into yours just hard enough to make you stumble and then catch yourself with a laugh. Nancy and Robin had drifted a few feet ahead, deep in a debate about whether a particular pair of boots were too much for the upcoming summer and who wears boots in summer anyway? That left the two of you in your own little orbit, the mall noise fading into background static.

“You’re quieter when you're with them,” Eddie said, voice low enough that it stayed between you. “Not in a bad way. Just… smaller. Like you’re trying to take up less space.”

You glanced at him. “And with you I’m suddenly loud?”

“With me you’re you.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. “The version that likes to talk shit and snorts when she laughs. I like that version. Miss her when she’s gone.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat in it. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m correct.” He shifted the bags so he could free one hand and reach over, gently tugging the sleeve of your hoodie. “Look at you. Five minutes ago you were about to jump into the void. Now you’re about to roast me. Progress.”

“I wasn’t going to roast you.”

“Liar.” His grin was slow and crooked. “You were definitely going to say something about the way I’m carrying these bags like a peasant. Go on. I can take it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “You look like a Victorian servant who got lost on the way to a metal show.”

Eddie gasped, hand flying to his chest hard enough that the Victoria’s Secret bag swung wildly. “How dare you. I’ll have you know this is high fashion. Wore my favorite rings just for you.”

“Your rings make you look like you stuck your hand in an antique store display and just bought whatever stuck.”

“Rude.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping into that teasing register he only ever used with you. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mean. Otherwise I’d leave you here with all these bags and go find people who appreciate my good looks.”

You bumped him with your hip. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“You wouldn’t.”

"Try me."

"There's some mall rats over by Hot Topic. Bet they'd love you."

Eddie looked at you for a second too long, something softer flickering behind the performance. The kind of look that made your stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. He always looked at you like that when he thought you weren’t paying attention—like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your smile, or the way your eyes crinkled when you were actually relaxed. Like you were the only thing in the entire building worth staring at.

You felt it. You always felt it. And you looked back at him the same way, even if neither of you ever said it out loud.

Robin’s voice cut through from up ahead. “Are you two flirting or fighting? Because from back here it sounds like both and I hope she wins.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact with you as he called back, “We’re engaged in battle, Buckley. Mind your business.”

“Sure,” Robin said, entirely unconvinced. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Munson.”

He finally looked away, but the corner of his mouth stayed curved. He shifted the bags again and, without asking, reached over to take the last one from your hand so you were completely free.

“There,” he said, quieter. “Now you can actually exist without any extra weight in your hands. You’re welcome.”

You flexed your fingers, still warm from where the plastic handles had dug in. “You’re being weirdly nice today.”

“I’m always nice to you.” He said it like a fact, not a defense. Then, softer, almost under his breath: “Especially when you look like you’re about two seconds from disappearing into your own head again.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just walked beside him, the space between your arms brushing every few steps. Nancy and Robin had stopped in front of another window display, giving the two of you another pocket of privacy.

Eddie glanced sideways at you, rings catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bags.

“For the record,” he said, voice low and almost careful, “I like when you let yourself be loud with me. Even when you're being a butt head. Cause I know you're only like that with me. Makes me feel special."

You looked at him. Really looked.

And for a second the rest of the mall—Robin’s laughter, the distant music, the fluorescent lights—dropped away.

“Yeah,” you said, just as quiet. “I like it too.”

Eddie’s smile this time was smaller. Softer. The kind he only ever gave you when the banter peeled back and something truer sat underneath.

He didn’t say anything else.

The drive back was easy in the way things always were with him.

Eddie had the windows cracked just enough to let the warm spring air in, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he was half-tempted to reach over and take yours. He didn’t. He just talked the whole way—about how Robin’s taste in shoes was a crime against humanity, about how Nancy had looked at a seventy-dollar candle like she could actually afford it. You laughed more than you had all day.

His apartment was on the second floor of a tired brick building two towns over from Hawkins. The kind of place with a sticky front door and a hallway that always smelled faintly of someone else’s cooking. He’d worked doubles and sold half his vinyl collection to make the deposit after graduation. It showed in the way he talked about it sometimes—quiet pride mixed with the usual self-deprecation.

“Home sweet dump,” he announced as he kicked the door open with his boot, still carrying most of your bags. “Couch has been waiting for you milady.”

It was exactly as lived-in as always. Band posters peeling at the corners. A thrifted couch that had seen better decades. A kitchen table covered in sheet music and empty coffee mugs. The faint smell of the dragons blood incense he always used because you once said you liked it.

He dropped the bags by the couch with a dramatic groan and flopped down, immediately stretching his legs out and patting the cushion beside him.

“Sit. Argue with me. I’ve been waiting all day to be wrong about something.”

You sat. The couch dipped under your combined weight the way it always did.

It started with Iron Man versus Batman, because of course it did.

“I’m just saying,” you said, turning to face him fully, “Tony Stark would fold Bruce Wayne like a lawn chair. The man has an entire AI, flight, repulsors—”

Eddie held up a finger, rings glinting. “Batman has prep time. Prep. Time. That’s his whole thing. He would study every single one of Stark’s weaknesses, build a suit specifically designed to counter the arc reactor, and then—”

“And then Iron Man would still vaporize him from the air before Batman even finished monologuing.”

“You’re underestimating the power of pure spite and a utility belt.”

“You’re underestimating the power of literally being able to fly and shoot lasers.”

Eddie threw his head back against the couch with a wounded sound. “I can’t believe I’m friends with someone this wrong.”

You poked his knee with your socked foot. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right.”

“I’m mad because you’re smug about it.” But he was smiling, soft around the edges, the argument already losing steam in favor of watching the way your face lit up when you got competitive. He loved that version of you. The one that forgot to be quiet.

After another minute of half-hearted defense of Batman’s honor, Eddie finally held up both hands in surrender.

“Fine. Iron Man wins. Happy? You destroyed my entire worldview. I hope you’re proud.”

You grinned. “Extremely.”

He huffed a laugh, then his eyes drifted toward the pile of bags near the arm of the couch.

“Alright,” he said, voice shifting into something lighter, curious. “Show and tell. What’d you actually buy, shopping gremlin? Besides the jeans Nancy forced on you and whatever candles Robin convinced you to buy.”

You felt the heat climb up your neck almost immediately.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. His expression gentled, the teasing dialing back just enough.

“Hey. No pressure. You don’t have to—”

“Can I…” You hesitated, fingers twisting in the hem of your hoodie. The shyness was back, but different this time. Softer. Safe, because it was him. “Can I give you a fashion show?”

Eddie went still for half a second.

Then the slowest, softest smile spread across his face. The kind that made his eyes crinkle and his voice drop into something almost reverent.

“Yeah?” he said, quiet. “You wanna model for me?”

You nodded, small.

He sat up a little straighter, like he was preparing for something important. “Hell yeah you can. Go on. I’ll be the most supportive, least judgmental audience you’ve ever had.”

He gestured toward the short hallway that led to his bedroom. “Use my room. Mirror’s clean for once. Take your time.”

You stood, gathering the bags with slightly shaky hands. Eddie watched you the whole way, that same look from the mall settled deep in his eyes—like he was trying not to hope too hard, and failing.

Just before you disappeared around the corner, he called after you, voice warm and a little rough around the edges.

“And for the record… whatever you got in that pink bag? I’m already a fan.”

You didn’t answer.

But the door to his bedroom clicked shut behind you with a soft, anticipatory sound, and he leaned back against the couch, his heart doing something stupid and hopeful in his chest while he waited.

Eddie barely had time to scrub a hand over his face and pretend he wasn’t already halfway gone before the bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out in the black jeans first—ones that actually fit like they were made for you instead of the baggy shit you usually hid in—and a soft, flowy crop top that kept flashing a strip of skin every time you moved. You did a little half-turn, arms sort of awkwardly out like you weren’t sure what to do with them yet.

“Okay,” you said, voice still quiet. “First one. Jeans and… this. It’s kind of floaty. I don’t know.”

Eddie swallowed. His brain helpfully supplied approximately forty different compliments and zero of them felt safe enough to say out loud.

“Floaty’s good,” he managed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees so he had something to do with his hands. “Floaty’s very good. You look… hippie. Very Stevie Nicks. Ten out of ten. No notes. Except maybe do the turn again so I can fully appreciate the jeans.”

You huffed a tiny laugh and spun slower this time. The confidence was still shy around the edges, but it was there. He could see it.

God, he wanted to bottle that sound.

You disappeared again. He let his head drop back against the couch and stared at the ceiling like it might offer him strength. It did not. All it offered was a water stain shaped vaguely like a middle finger.

The door opened a second time.

Black mini skirt. Tight black velvet crop top, cut to look like a bat. The kind of top that looked like it had been designed specifically to ruin his entire life.

Eddie forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.

“Shopping for summer, you know?” you said, a little stronger this time, doing a small sway that made the skirt flip against your thighs. “Figured I should own at least one thing that isn’t a hoodie.”

“Summer,” he repeated, voice coming out rougher than he meant it to. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Summer. Very… seasonal. The bat is a nice touch. Extremely on-brand for hanging out with me. I’m choosing to take that as a personal compliment.”

You smiled—actually smiled—and did a full turn this time. The skirt flared just enough. The velvet caught the low light of his shitty lamp. Something in his chest went tight and warm and stupid.

Look at you. Look at you getting braver every single time you walk out here. Like you’re remembering you’re allowed to take up space. Like maybe you trust me enough to let me see it.

“You’re staring,” you said, but there was no real accusation in it. Just a little spark of something playful.

“I’m observing,” Eddie corrected immediately. “Very different. Scientific, even. For example… observation one— the skirt makes your legs look criminal. Observation two— I’m going to have dreams about that velvet bat. Observation three— you’re getting less shy about the spins and I am thriving.”

You laughed, bright and real, and the sound did something catastrophic to his heart rate.

Third time.

You kept the mini skirt. Swapped the velvet for a ridiculous shirt from Spencer’s—a bunch of dachshunds with the phrase "Everyone loves wieners" and it's so perfectly you that Eddie felt his face do that soft, helpless thing he could never quite hide around you. You struck a little pose in the doorway this time, one hand on your hip, the other up in the air like you had no idea what to do with it. You probably didn't.

“Behold,” you declared, voice full of mock grandeur. “The intellectual peak of my shopping trip.”

Eddie clapped. Actually clapped, slow and dramatic.

“Masterpiece,” he said solemnly. “I feel smarter just looking at it. The skirt and the wiener dog shirt combination is inspired. You’re a visionary. I’m obsessed. I hope you wear this exact combination to your next outing.”

You were grinning now. Fully. The shy little glances had turned into actual eye contact, like each outfit had peeled another layer of hesitation off you and left something brighter underneath. He watched it happen in real time and felt like the luckiest bastard alive for getting front-row seats.

You walked closer this time, stopping a few feet in front of the couch, doing a slow turn without him even asking. The skirt flared up, giving him the slightest glimpse of the supple curve of your ass underneath. Eddie’s hands flexed against his knees.

You’re going to kill me. You’re going to stand there getting more confident by the second and I’m going to sit here and fall harder every time you laugh at your own joke. And you’re never going to know, because I’m a coward who would rather keep you forever as my best friend than risk saying the quiet part out loud.

You stopped spinning and looked at him, cheeks a little pink but eyes bright.

“Okay,” you said, softer again, but steady. “Are you ready for the finale?”

Eddie felt his entire soul short-circuit.

He sat up straighter, tried to play it cool, failed miserably, and ended up just staring at you with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and a little wrecked. “I’m ready. Show me.”

The bedroom door opened again and Eddie’s brain helpfully decided it was obsolete.

You stepped out wrapped in the fluffiest pink bathrobe he’d ever seen in his life. It looked like someone had murdered a cloud and dyed it the color of cotton candy. Your hands were buried in the pockets, shoulders a little hunched, that familiar shy tilt to your head that always made him want to gather you up and hide you from the entire world.

“Okay,” you said, voice small. “Finale. Don’t laugh.”

“I would never,” Eddie answered immediately, and he meant it. His voice came out softer than he intended. “C’mon. Show me.”

You hesitated for half a second longer, then slowly tugged the belt loose.

The robe slipped open.

Eddie’s entire nervous system short-circuited so hard he was pretty sure he blacked out for a full second.

Hot pink. Barely-there hot pink lingerie that looked like it had been designed specifically to end him. A tiny bralette that clung to the soft curve of your chest, delicate straps, and matching bottoms that sat high on your hips and left almost nothing to the imagination. The kind of set that made every inch of bare skin look deliberate. Completely fucking lethal.

You didn’t even seem to notice the way his soul left his body. You just stood there in the middle of his living room like this was normal. Like best friends did this shit all the time. Like you weren’t currently rewriting every single one of his brain cells.

Jesus Christ.

He grabbed the nearest throw pillow and shoved it into his lap so hard. His jeans were already getting tight in a way that was going to be extremely obvious if he didn’t hide it. He tried to look casual. He failed.

“Holy shit,” he managed, voice cracking just enough that he had to clear his throat. “Okay. Wow. That’s… yeah. That’s the finale alright.”

You gave a tiny, embarrassed little smile and did a slow twirl.

The bathrobe slipped further down your arms, hanging loose around your elbows like a soft pink frame. The movement made the tiny scraps of hot pink shift against your skin. And then the smell hit him—your perfume, the same floral kind you've worn since the day you met him, the one that always lingered on his hoodie for days whenever you borrowed it. It wrapped around him like a second heartbeat.

Eddie dug his fingers into the pillow hard enough that his nails pressed little crescent shapes into the fabric.

You’re actually going to kill me. You’re standing there in the middle of my shitty apartment in the tiniest fucking lingerie set I’ve ever seen and you think this is just friend stuff. You have no idea. You have no idea that I’m two seconds from dropping to my knees and begging. That I’ve wanted to put my mouth on every single inch of you for months. That the only reason I’m still sitting here like a functional human is because I refuse to ruin the best thing in my life by being a horny idiot.

You finished the turn and looked at him, cheeks pink, completely unaware that he was actively dying.

“Is it too much?” you asked, tugging self-consciously at one of the straps. “I almost didn’t get it. Robin said the color was cute though.”

Eddie let out a sound that was half laugh, half wounded animal.

“Too much?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d just asked if the sun was a little bright today. “Baby— I mean. No. It’s not too much. It’s… fuck. You look unreal. Like someone drew you. The pink is doing something illegal to my brain chemistry. I’m serious. I might need medical attention.”

You laughed, soft and shy, and the sound went straight through him.

He adjusted the pillow again, very carefully, and tried to remember how to breathe like a person who wasn’t currently imagining peeling those tiny pink scraps off you with his teeth.

“C’mere,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. He patted the cushion beside him even though he was pretty sure sitting next to you right now was going to finish him off. “Let me look at you properly. Without you doing the nervous shuffle from six feet away.”

You stepped closer.

The perfume got stronger.

Eddie was so completely, utterly fucked.

The shyness came flooding back like a switch had flipped the moment you stood in front of him.

Eddie watched it happen in real time—the way your shoulders curled inward just a little, the way your fingers twisted in the loose sleeves of the bathrobe still hanging off your arms, the way you suddenly couldn’t quite meet his eyes even though you were standing close enough that he could see each mark on your body. Close enough that the heat of your skin felt like it was already touching him.

He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady.

“Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “None of that. You’re allowed to stand here looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had and still get a little shy. I can handle both.” He let his eyes flick down for half a second before forcing them back up. “You look… soft. And dangerous. And like I should probably be on my knees right now saying thank you, but I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman instead of a complete disaster.”

You let out a tiny, nervous huff of laughter. The sound went straight to his dick.

Eddie kept talking, walking that razor-thin line between honest and too much. “The pink is killing me, by the way. Like actually ending my life. And the way it sits on you—fuck—it’s not fair. You’re standing in my living room looking like that and I’m supposed to just… what? Act normal? Impossible. You’re making it impossible.”

You shifted your weight. The movement was small.

The left strap of the bralette slipped.

It slid down the curve of your shoulder in slow motion, delicate and pink and devastating, and Eddie’s brain broke in half so hard a low, wrecked moan tore out of his throat before he could stop it.

The sound hung in the air between you.

You both froze.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. The pillow was still crushed in his lap. His pulse was hammering so loud he was pretty sure you could hear it. Heat flooded his face so fast it felt like a fever.

You stared at him, lips parted, the slipped strap still resting halfway down your arm.

“…Did you really just do that?” you asked, voice quiet and a little disbelieving. A tiny, dangerous spark of something flirty flickered underneath the shock.

Eddie let out a strangled laugh that was half embarrassment, half pure desperation. “Yeah. Yeah, I really just did that. In my defense, the strap moved and— Completely involuntary. I’m a victim here.”

Your mouth twitched. “A victim.”

“Exactly.” He gestured helplessly at the strap still hanging off your shoulder. “Look at it. It’s torturing me. It’s doing it on purpose. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you said, but your voice had gone softer, warmer. You didn’t fix the strap. You just stood there looking at him like you were suddenly seeing something new.

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore.

The careful distance he’d been clinging to for years—the jokes, the looks he thought you never noticed, the way he always stopped himself right at the edge—snapped clean in half.

He surged up off the couch, pillow tumbling to the floor, and closed the space between you. One hand came up to cradle the side of your face, rings cool against your cheek, the other settling at your waist like he’d been dying to put it there for years.

“Fuck it,” he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was years of wanting poured into one desperate, open-mouthed press of lips. He kissed you like he’d been starving. Like the taste of you might actually save him. His fingers slid back into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it, and a low, broken sound rumbled in his chest when you made a tiny noise against his mouth.

The slipped strap was still hanging off your shoulder.

Eddie didn’t fix it.

You broke the kiss with a soft, shaky inhale, lips still brushing his as you pulled back just far enough to see his face.

Eddie’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-bitten and a little shiny. His hand was still cradling your cheek like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“How long?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “How long have you been thinking about doing that?”

His thumb stroked once along your cheekbone. He didn’t look away.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Eddie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, low and rough. “Jesus. Okay. No lying.” He swallowed. “Months. Longer than months. Since before I even had this apartment. Since you started doing that thing where you’d steal my hoodies and really all my clothes. I’ve wanted to kiss you every single fucking time you walked into a room since the moment I met you.”

Your heart did something violent behind your ribs.

You didn’t think. You just lifted your hand and gave his chest a playful little smack, right over the faded print of his shirt.

Eddie jerked back half an inch, eyes wide with pure betrayal. “What— why? What was that for?”

“Because I’ve liked you too, you absolute idiot,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. Heat flooded your face but you didn’t look away. “I’ve been sitting here in this dumb pink robe thinking this was just normal best-friend fashion-show territory while you’ve been dying over there with a pillow on your lap. We’ve both been ridiculous.”

For a second Eddie just stared at you.

Then a helpless, disbelieving grin broke across his face, soft and a little wrecked.

“We’re both idiots,” he said, voice thick with something that sounded a lot like relief. “Complete, hopeless idiots.”

And then he was kissing you again.

This time there was no hesitation. One of his hands slid down to your waist, the other still tangled in your hair, and he pulled you with him as he dropped back onto the couch. You went willingly, knees bracketing his hips, the fluffy robe slipping further down your arms as he settled you fully into his lap. The tiny scraps of hot pink lace were the only things between you now, and Eddie made a low, punched-out sound against your mouth the second your weight settled over him.

His hands found your bare thighs, rings cool against overheated skin, and he kissed you like he’d never get the chance again—deep and open and a little desperate, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real and in his lap and kissing him back just as hard.

You sank down harder into his lap and the kiss turned messy, open, wet. Eddie’s hands slid higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath the edge of the hot-pink lace. Every time you shifted, the thin material of the bottoms dragged against him, and the second it slipped to the side you both felt it—heat against denim, almost nothing left between you.

Eddie broke the kiss with a ragged sound, forehead dropping against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you. So pretty. Always so god damn pretty.” His voice was low, reverent, already half-ruined. “I’ve wanted to worship you for so long it makes me feel stupid. Wanted to get my mouth on every soft inch of you and take my time. Make you feel how gone I am. Hope you're okay with that or I'm about to look like the biggest jackass in the world.”

You rolled your hips once, slow, and watched his eyes flutter.

The unspoken rule sat between you both like a ghost. You never talked about anyone else. Neither did he. No stories, no casual mentions, nothing. You’d always told yourself it was just boundaries. Now, with his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear, you understood. It had never been about boundaries. It had been about not having to picture each other with anyone else. About protecting something neither of you had been brave enough to name.

Eddie seemed to realize it at the same time. His expression went soft and a little pained.

“We never talked about it,” he murmured, thumb stroking along the waistband of the lace. “Not once. I used to think it was because you didn’t… you know. Because you never brought it up. I thought maybe you hadn’t… done much. And I didn’t want to push.” His laugh was quiet, self-deprecating. “Turns out we were both just trying not to break our own hearts.”

"Think you're right about that."

"I'm always right sweetheart."

You ground down again, deliberately this time— partially to shut him up and also because it felt so damn good. The lace shifted fully out of the way. The friction dragged a broken noise out of both of you. Eddie’s head tipped back against the couch, throat working.

“Jesus Christ—”

His hands slid up your back, fingers finding the clasp of the bralette with surprising care. He unhooked it slowly, like he was unwrapping something sacred, and the hot-pink scrap loosened. You shrugged it off the rest of the way. The second it hit the floor Eddie went completely still.

He stared.

No jokes. No dramatic commentary. Just pure, speechless hunger as his eyes dragged over you—bare chest, flushed skin, the way the remaining lace sat low on your hips and did nothing to hide how wet you already were.

“Holy shit,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “You’re… fuck. You’re perfect. Look at these.” One hand came up to cup the soft weight of your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple like he was testing whether you were real. “Soft and pretty and already so fucking responsive for me. I’ve been dying to see you like this. Dying to get my hands and mouth all over you and make you fall apart.”

He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, then lower, dragging his lips over the curve of one breast while his other hand squeezed gently at your hip, encouraging you to keep moving against him.

“Keep grinding on me like that,” he murmured against your skin, filthy and soft at the same time. “Use me. Wanna feel how wet you are through these tiny little things. Wanna make a mess of both of us before I even get my mouth between your legs.”

"What if I want you now Munson? What then?"

Your voice was wrecked. And the way he looked up at you—like you were something holy and filthy all at once—made it very clear that Eddie Munson planned to take his time worshipping every single inch of you.

Eddie moved like a man possessed.

He broke away from your chest just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it somewhere behind the couch. His jeans were next—belt undone with clumsy, impatient fingers, zipper dragged down, fabric shoved past his hips until he could kick them off. He left the black boxers on— the hard line of his cock already tenting the front obscenely.

You reached between you without thinking, palm sliding down the plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around him. The second you pulled him free of the last bit of fabric, your breath caught.

He was thick. Heavy in your hand. Bigger than you’d let yourself imagine in all those late-night thoughts you never admitted to.

Eddie watched your face and let out a low, breathless laugh that was pure nerves and ego all at once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I get that look a lot. Don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll go slow. I’m not trying to ruin my favorite person on the first night I finally get to touch her.”

You stroked him once, just to feel the weight of him, and his hips jerked up into your fist with a punched-out little sound.

But he didn’t let you keep control for long.

Eddie gently caught your wrist and guided your hand away, eyes dark and focused. “My turn first. Been dying to get my mouth on you. Need to get you nice and open for me before I even think about putting that in you.”

He moved with surprising care for how wrecked he looked—hands on your waist, guiding you down until your back hit the couch cushions. One of your legs was carefully lifted and draped over the back of the couch; the other he guided down so your foot rested on the floor. The position left you completely spread for him, the tiny scrap of hot-pink lace still clinging to the side of your cunt.

Eddie knelt between your thighs on the floor and just stared for a long second, hands resting on the insides of your knees like he needed the anchor.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re really here. In my apartment. In that tiny pink shit. Legs open for me like this. I can’t— Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Then he leaned in.

The first drag of his tongue over your clit was slow and filthy, broad and wet. He moaned against you like the taste alone was enough to ruin him. One hand stayed splayed on your lower stomach to keep you still while the other stroked up the inside of your thigh, fingers teasing along the soaked edge of the lace.

“So wet already,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick. “All for me. Gonna take my time opening you up, okay? Want you dripping before I even try to fit.”

He licked another slow stripe through your folds, then sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked gently while one long finger pressed inside. The stretch was easy—you were already so ready—but he still worked it carefully, curling and stroking until your hips twitched. A second finger joined the first sooner than you expected, scissoring gently, stretching you while his tongue kept up that steady, filthy rhythm on your clit.

“That’s it,” he breathed, glancing up the length of your body. “Look at you taking two already. So fucking pretty like this. Can you give me one more? Want you nice and ready for me.”

The third finger pressed in slow, the burn sweet and deep. Eddie groaned like he was the one being stretched, forehead dropping against your hip for a second as he felt you clench around him.

“Fuck— there you go. Three. God, you’re perfect. So tight and hot around my fingers. Keep breathing for me, baby. Gonna keep working you open just like this 'til you’re shaking.”

He curled all three fingers and rubbed firmly against that spot inside you while his tongue flicked faster over your clit, wet sounds filling the quiet apartment. His free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise, holding you spread wide open while he worshipped you with his mouth and hand like he’d been starving for it.

You were already shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his head, when the need finally spilled out of you in broken little pieces.

“Eddie— please— I need— fuck, I need you, I can’t— please just—”

He lifted his head immediately, mouth shiny, three fingers still buried deep inside you. His eyes were almost black.

“Yeah?” His voice was wrecked. “You need me right now, baby? Need my cock instead of my fingers?”

You nodded frantically, hips twitching down against his hand. “Please. Now. I need you inside me—”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then surged up over you. One hand shoved his boxers the rest of the way down while the other stayed braced on the inside of your thigh, keeping you spread exactly the way he wanted.

He knew you had an IUD—he’d driven you to the appointment months ago, sat in the waiting room with his knee bouncing, bought you a milkshake afterward like it was the most normal thing in the world. So no condom. Nothing between you.

He wrapped a hand around himself and dragged the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds once, twice, coating himself in how wet you’d gotten for him. Then he lined up, the blunt pressure of him settling right against your entrance while your legs stayed open—one hooked over the back of the couch, the other dangling toward the floor.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered, voice low and shaking with restraint. “Gonna go slow. You’re so fucking tight and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was immediate, deep, almost overwhelming. Eddie’s mouth fell open on a broken sound as the head of him sank inside you, and he kept going—inch by thick inch—while a steady stream of praise spilled out of him like he couldn’t stop it.

“Holy shit— look at that. Look at you taking me. So fucking pretty stretched around my cock already. That’s it, baby, just like that. You’re doing so good. S' good for me.”

His hands gripped your thighs harder, rings pressing into soft skin as he sank deeper. Another inch. Another. His stomach was trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Fuck, you’re s' warm inside. Sucking me in so perfect. Knew you’d feel like this. Dreamed about it. God, you’re taking every inch like you were made for me— almost there, almost— there. That’s all of me. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

He bottomed out with a punched-out groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed completely still so you could adjust. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice cracking with pure awe. “You’re perfect. So tight and wet and mine. Just stay right here and let me feel you for a second. Let me feel how you grip me when you’re full.”

He kissed the side of your throat, soft and reverent even while his cock throbbed deep inside you, and kept murmuring filthy, worshipful praise against your skin like he never planned to stop.

Your cunt clenched around him—tight, wet, perfect—and Eddie’s brain short-circuited all over again.

“Move,” you whispered, voice wrecked and needy. “Please, Eddie, move.”

He lifted his head, eyes searching your face even as his hips twitched with the desperate urge to thrust. “How do you want it?” he asked, voice low and rough. One hand stroked up your side, grounding both of you. “Tell me. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Soft,” you breathed. “Start soft. Then… rough when I’m close. When I’m about to come.”

Eddie nodded like you’d just handed him sacred instructions.

“Soft first. Got it. I can do soft.”

He pulled out slow—dragged every thick inch of himself almost all the way free until just the head stayed tucked inside you—then pushed back in just as carefully. The wet heat of you swallowed him again and a broken sound punched out of his chest. He did it again. And again. Deep, rolling strokes that kept him buried to the hilt for a long second each time, letting you feel every ridge and pulse of him.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth, kissing you between words. “I could die happy here. So fucking soft and warm inside. Look at you. Perfect. You’re fuckin' perfect.”

He kissed you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in the same lazy rhythm as his hips. One hand stayed braced on the back of the couch near your knee, keeping that leg hooked high; the other cupped your breast, thumb stroking over your nipple in time with every slow thrust.

Internally, Eddie was losing his entire mind.

Holy shit. Holy shit, this is real. You’re under me on my shitty couch in that tiny pink lingerie, stretched around my cock, telling me exactly how you want it. I’ve jerked off to this exact fantasy so many times it’s embarrassing and now you’re actually here, actually clenching around me, actually letting me have this. Don’t you dare fuck this up, Munson. Go slow. Make it good. Make it so good she never wants anyone else. God, the way she feels— dripping down my balls already. I’m not gonna survive this. I’m going to come embarrassingly fast if I keep thinking about how long I’ve wanted to be right here.

He kept the pace steady and deep, every thrust deliberate, every kiss lingering.

“You feel unreal,” he whispered against your lips, voice shaking with restraint. “So tight every time I push back in. Think your body’s trying to keep me. Fuck— I love that. Love how wet you are for me. I'll give you anything you ever need baby.”

He rolled his hips again, grinding against you at the end of the stroke so the base of his cock rubbed your clit, and another filthy, worshipful groan spilled out of him.

Don’t rush. Don’t you dare rush. She’s trusting you. She’s asking for soft first. Give it to her. Worship her. Make her come so hard she forgets anyone else ever touched her. God, I still can’t believe she’s mine right now. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if—

He kissed you harder to shut his own spiraling thoughts up, and kept moving—slow, deep, devoted—exactly the way you’d asked.

Eddie's hand under the thigh that was still draped over the back of the couch lifted you up and pushed it higher, folding you open even more. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust, and he groaned into the side of your neck.

He leaned in fully, chest pressed to yours, and put his mouth on your throat.

Soft kisses first—open and wet along the column of your neck—then the careful scrape of teeth. He found a spot just under your jaw and sucked hard enough to leave a mark, then another lower, closer to your pulse, worrying the skin between his lips until he knew it would bloom purple later. Every time he bottomed out he did it again, marking you like he needed proof this was real.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “Gonna leave these all over you. Want everyone to know I had you like this. Want you to look in the mirror tomorrow and remember how deep I was.”

Your hand slipped between your bodies.

Eddie felt the moment your fingers found your clit—felt the way your cunt fluttered hard around him in response—and his hips stuttered.

“That’s it,” he breathed, lifting his head just enough to watch. “Take what you need angel. Let me feel it. Wanna feel every bit of you.”

She’s getting close. Fuck, she’s getting close and I’m still inside her and she’s touching herself and I can feel every single clench. Don’t come. Do not come yet, you absolute fucking idiot. She asked for soft until she’s about to finish. Give her that. Hold it together. Think about literally anything else— guitar tabs, the broken latch on the van, the way Robin would mock you forever if you finished in thirty seconds flat— anything except how perfect and hot and wet she is around you.

Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, still rocking into you in those same controlled, deep thrusts even as his thighs started to shake.

“You’re tightening up on me,” he whispered, almost in awe. “I can feel it. You’re getting close, aren’t you? Keep rubbing that pretty clit. Wanna feel you come on my cock. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. Just let it build.”

He kissed you again, messy and open, and kept moving exactly the way you’d asked—holding that leg high, marking your neck, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to snap his hips and chase his own release—while your cunt kept clenching tighter and tighter around him.

“Harder,” you breathed against his mouth, fingers still working between your bodies. “Eddie— harder, please—”

The magic words.

Eddie pulled almost all the way out and then snapped his hips forward, the slow, worshipful pace shattering as he gave you exactly what you wanted. He kept the build gradual at first—each thrust a little faster, a little deeper—until he was driving into you with real force, the hard wet slap of skin on skin filling the apartment. The new rhythm forced him against your cervix on every stroke; he felt the firm resistance and the faint, unmistakable nudge of your IUD against the head of his cock and he did not give a single shit.

Not when you were taking him like this.

“Fuck— there it is,” he groaned, voice wrecked as he held your leg higher and leaned into every thrust. “Feel that? That’s as deep as I can get. Taking every fucking inch like you were built for it. God, you’re perfect— so perfect—”

Your cunt clenched down around him so hard it punched the air from his lungs.

Then you gushed.

Hot, sudden wetness flooded around his cock, squirting in pulsing waves that soaked his stomach, his thighs, the couch cushion beneath you. The sound was filthy and unmistakable. Eddie’s eyes went wide, a broken, awed noise tearing out of his throat as he watched and felt you come apart under him.

“Oh my god— you’re— fuck, you’re squirting on me—”

That was all it took.

The tight, rhythmic pulse of your cunt milking him while you kept spurting around his cock ripped his orgasm out of him with zero warning. Eddie buried himself to the hilt and came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. He kept thrusting through it—short, messy strokes that forced his cum deeper while you were still gushing around him—mouth open against your neck, one hand locked under your thigh, the other braced on the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“Shit— shit, baby, I- fuck— feel that? Feel me filling you up while you’re still making a mess of me? Fuck, you’re incredible— so wet and tight and perfect—”

He stayed inside you through the aftershocks, cock twitching as the last of your squirting eased into trembling little pulses. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath coming in ragged, disbelieving gasps, every muscle in his body still shaking from how hard he’d finished.

The couch was ruined.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Eddie stayed exactly where he was—chest to chest, cock softening in the wet heat he’d just filled. His breath was still coming a little uneven against the side of your neck. One hand stayed hooked under your thigh like he wasn’t ready to let you close your legs yet.

He lifted his head after a long moment, eyes dark and a little dazed, and looked down at you.

“…Did you know you could do that?”

His voice was rough, still wrecked around the edges, but there was pure curiosity underneath it. And a little bit of awe he wasn’t even trying to hide.

You blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Eddie stared.

“Yeah?” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that made his softening cock twitch inside you. “You’ve been walking around knowing you can do that and you just… never mentioned it? Not once? We’ve talked about every stupid thing under the sun and you never thought to bring up the fact that you can soak a couch?”

You shrugged as much as you could with him still on top of you. “I didn’t know it was gonna happen with you.”

Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Then dropped his forehead back to your shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“Oh my god. You’re serious. You actually didn’t know.” He sounded personally offended and deeply smug at the same time. “So what you’re telling me is that I did that. Me. Eddie Munson. Made you squirt. On my couch. And how often does that happen?”

"By myself? A lot. With other people? Not as much."

"So you're saying I'm a sex god?"

"I'm not not saying that."

He lifted his head again, grinning now—soft and a little filthy, hair a mess, lips still kiss-bitten.

“I’m never recovering from this. You’re never living this down. I’m going to be so insufferable about it. Just warning you now.”

He shifted his hips the tiniest bit, still half-hard and sliding through the mess of both of you, and made a low, content sound at the feeling.

“Also,” he added, voice dropping into something warmer, “for the record? That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You just— just… gushing all over me while I was coming? Jesus Christ. I thought I was going to black out. You ruined me. Completely.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, lazy and fond, and didn’t pull out.

“We’re gonna need to burn this cushion,” he murmured against your lips, clearly not sorry at all. “And probably the whole couch. Worth it. So fucking worth it.”

Eddie cleaned you up with a care that made your chest ache.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a warm washcloth, still bare and soft-eyed, and wiped between your legs with slow, gentle strokes like you were something precious. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee when he was done, then another to your hip, and helped you stand on slightly unsteady legs.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice still rough. “Bed. Couch is a crime scene and I’m not making you sit in it.”

His bedroom was dim and lived-in—unmade sheets, a pile of band tees on the chair, the faint smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. He dug through a drawer and tossed you a soft black shirt that was definitely his and a pair of boxers that hung low on your hips. You pulled both on while he watched, something warm and possessive flickering across his face when the shirt settled over you and the boxers disappeared under the hem.

Then he tugged you down into the bed with him.

You ended up half on top of him, head on his chest, one of his arms wrapped solidly around your back while the other worked the remote. Some random late-night show played at low volume, the light from the screen flickering across the ceiling. His fingers traced idle patterns along your spine under the shirt. Every so often he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head like he couldn’t help it.

The quiet stretched long enough to feel safe.

You traced a fingertip over one of the tattoos on his chest and finally asked, voice soft, “What are we now?”

Eddie let out a short, incredulous laugh that rumbled under your ear.

“Are you serious?” He shifted just enough to look down at you, dark eyes soft and completely certain. “You’re asking me that while you’re in my clothes, in my bed, still smelling like me and sex? Baby. I’m not letting go of you now. Not after that. Not after years of wanting you and finally getting to have you.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You’re my girl. That’s what we are. Official. Permanent. Whatever word makes it sink in. You’re mine.”

He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then your mouth—slow and sweet.

When he pulled back there was a familiar crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Also,” he added, “I’m keeping those ruined little pink panties. They’re mine now. Evidence. Trophy. Whatever. I’ll buy you a new set. Hell, I’ll buy you ten new sets if it means I get to ruin them the same way. Fair trade.”

He settled back against the pillows, tugging you more firmly against his chest, and turned the volume on the TV up just a little.

“Now quit overthinking and watch the show with me,” he murmured into your hair, already sounding half-asleep and completely content. “My girl needs rest. I’ve got you.”