✨ Munson Mayhem ✨

“Listen, I’ll show you, but we have to build into it. That’s the most important part. You trust me, right?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you eyed the newspaper-wrapped gift in your hands. The ink was smudged over your fingers, and the comics on the top were old and faded.

“Of course, Eds. I trust you,” you whispered.

Eddie waved his hand at the small box with mild impatience, nodding at it, too. His lighter flicked and sparked in his other hand, the silver scratched and dented. But if it worked, it worked, and he lit the cigarette balanced in his mouth.

“Alright then, open it up.”

Famous last words. But when you were already in that deep….

The noise from the shop carried through to the back. Customers came and went. Tattoo guns buzzed. Laughter and conversation blended in with the music. Meeting there wasn’t your top choice, but it was one of your only ones. Bringing him back to your place alone would’ve earned far too many questions from your roommates. The same came from going to his place, and that was entirely out of the question because he lived with the one person you were trying to avoid with all of this.

If your brother found out….

The fallout of their friendship would be immediate and with far-reaching consequences. 

So, you snuck in through the back door of Eddie's tattoo parlor and met him back there as planned. It was still hard to look him in the eye after the other night, and that alone was one humiliation you were still getting over. This? What you could only imagine was in the box after the words that'd just come out of his mouth? 

You chewed your bottom lip and nervously thumbed open the taped newspaper.

The comics and old articles unfolded on the breakroom table. The pictures and words were crinkled and folded, the ink smudged beyond just your fingers, the old scent getting mixed in with the small plume of smoke Eddie blew away from you. 

There was already a nervousness that had you sitting too still and too tense. Really, trying to act even a fraction as nonchalant as he was seemed impossible. You barely managed a sliver of it, and even then, he seemed to be going easy on you. Replaying the remnants of that night that you could remember, he could’ve been teasing you to hell and back about it. He had, a little, when you’d sobered up. Maybe this still constituted that, but it was definitely restricted. He was holding back.

Or, maybe he wasn’t.

The newspaper opened up to a purple box with a thick, black silicone thing pictured on the front. Phallic. Girthy. With a long, thin tail protruding from one end. Pair with the app and prepare for fun! was written in big, bold letters beside it. 

Oh. You blinked at it. You couldn't get yourself to touch it, or lower your hands, really. Staring at it was all you had besides looking over at Eddie, and looking at him was so far out of the realm of possibilities, you just sat there. Dazed. 

That…was supposed to go inside of you.

Eddie wanted you to put that inside of you.

Would that even fit inside of you?

Yes, you’d watched porn before. It would. It would. But the thought of trying to make it fit had you clenching up. Pushing something that big inside of you….

“The fair tomorrow,” Eddie said, tapping off a bit of ash into the tray just out of view on the table. “Swing by here thirty minutes early, and I’ll help you put it in.”

Before the…?

You jerked your chin up and looked at him inadvertently. He was joking, wasn’t he? Your heart stuttered before those brown eyes found you, and it stuttered again when they did.

“That sounds like you want me to wear it while we’re at the fair.” 

Eddie nodded, cigarette back in his mouth. 

“Yup.” He smiled that cheeky, crooked smile that made your stomach flutter. “Okay, it’s a required thing. Like, the…teasing…is part of it. That’s sort of what that’s made for. It’s, you know, curved to hit that one spot that’ll make you squirt.”

Ohmygod, you thought, immediately looking away and scrunching your face. 

You just had to go to that stupid party. That stupid costume party where you let your friend pick the showy outfit and feed you one too many shots because you’d just been so determined to do something new. Something fun. You never did anything fun or…or reckless or stupid. Getting shitfaced was at the top of that list cause having your first hangover in your late twenties seemed like a milestone you needed to reach. But it’s been so much so quickly.

You vomited outside once, and stayed there. With a throbbing head, you thumbed through your contacts for anyone who’d be up late. Couldn’t call your brother. Despite the hypocrisy, he’d give you so much shit for doing something like that. The teenage-like treatment was disparaging and had gotten old ten years ago. You weren’t a kid anymore. And you didn’t want to sit there listening to some hypocritical lecture for the twenty-minute drive to your apartment. 

All of your roommates were asleep.

All of your friends who could get you weren’t available.

But Eddie. The shining light who always closed his shop and stayed up way too late afterwards. It was a fifty-fifty chance he was available, but screw it. You had to try.

“What has Matthew’s kid sister calling me after midnight?” he’d mused after the fourth ring, his voice cutting through like a gift in throbbing silence. 

“Need a big favor,” you answered. “If you’re free.”

There was a pause, and you could make out some movement and clanking on the other end. But the coherence stopped there.

“Where are you?”

You gave the address. The brick pillar on the front porch was nice and cool against your cheek. The tight, cheap bodice of the angel costume dug into your waist and chest. The short, layered skirt stayed poofy while you sat, leaving your short shorts to act as the only coverage between you and the concrete porch.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” More clanking. More movement. “You in a, uh, a safe spot?”

“Mmhmm, outside, yeah,” you murmured. “Had to throw up, but the cold air’s nice.”

“Alright, stay there. Shit. Ten minutes, ‘kay?”

“Ten minutes,” you repeated.

The line cut, and you hummed into the chilly breeze. A light shiver was worth it. It wasn’t exactly sobering, but it felt so, so nice. Especially with the warm, bubbly sensation that came next. Eddie was coming to get you. You owed him something. A cake or…or dinner. Or maybe just a six-pack of the cheap beer he liked. There'd been some inside, but it'd tasted too disgusting to get drunk off of. At least at the start. So shots. 

Shots that you’d never do again.

About ten minutes later–or so you just assumed–the familiar thump of Eddie’s van was out on the street. The short yard made it easy for a blur across it to become a leather-jacket-clad Eddie kneeling in front of you, a hand on your cheek and a wince scrunching his nose. 

“Hi,” you murmured. “You came.”

“You called,” he answered on a short breath. “Sure as shit wasn’t going to leave you drunk and stranded here. C’mon. I gotcha.”

An arm around your midsection. Yours around his shoulders. Everything was a bit of a drunken blur from that point. Getting across the lawn, into his van, buckling up. A blanket, you were pretty sure, went over your lap, and he gave you something. Water. He gave you water and a pill. An aspirin. An aspirin and a plastic gas station bag. 

And he turned his music down. That was the main note. It was so quiet in there when he pulled away and cranked the heat up. His music was so low you couldn’t hear it. Or it was just off.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're the last person I thought I'd ever get a drunk call from," he said while pulling out into the road. One hand waved in your general direction, encompassing all of you. "Should I ask, or…?"

And that was all you remembered in the moment. The ride back to your apartment was a mix of senses. Cigarette smoke and the general rocking of his van that made you want to vomit. The cracked window and deep breaths that brought you back down to Earth. His hand on your shoulder while you leaned your head against the door. His grunt against the side of your head when he helped you out of the seat, trying to get your keys out of your bag to unlock your front door. 

“Yeah, if this comes back to you tomorrow,” he’d said, whispering while helping you down onto your bed and giving your forehead a little flick, “you’re never drinking again.”

Words you barely processed in the moment. Words that slammed into you without any apology about fourteen hours later, after Eddie pulled your heels off and tucked you in, left you with a glass of water, more aspirin, and a note with his personal hangover cure. When you were draped over your couch while groaning at your roommates half-jeering about your foolhardy attempt and half-ripping into your friend about feeding you so many shots and not seeing you home.

You'd sworn them to secrecy that you'd called Eddie. They all agreed. Apparently, it was the only sincerely positive thing they could all agree on regarding their clashing personalities. He wasn't going to leave his best friend's sister out on her ass drunk and alone. One point won in their books.

One point that was overwhelmingly drowned when those bits and pieces of the night came crashing into you all at once. Embarrassment wasn’t the right word. Humiliation didn’t feel right either. Mortified–that’s what you were. As you rolled off the couch, a hand over your stomach, your heart pounding–you were just mortified.

“I’ve never had funnnn.”

“Eds, I’ve never gotten drunk before. You think I’ve had sex?” 

"I've seen so much stuff in videos and…and in stories and stuff, stuff I don't think I can even do. I mean, some of these people…. Eds, when they cum they…you know…. I've barely figured out how to do that myself."

“That was going to be my next step. Finally finding someone to experiment with, but, um, my track record is going so well with new experiences right now. So, it’d have to be with someone I trust…. I trust you. That’s why I called you. You’re a complete dingus, but a trustworthy one. A really, really nice and trustworthy dingus. Just don’t tell my brother I like you. That’ll cause…so many problems.”

Your knees gave out just beside your bed, and you let yourself collapse. The panic wasn’t kind. That mortification wasn’t either. You’d never be able to face Eddie again. Who the hell said stuff like that? How drunk were you?

“Yeah, if this comes back to you tomorrow, you’re never drinking again.” 

That's what he'd said. The words bounced around in your head with every throb of the hangover. Which, unless you were reaching way in the wrong direction, that sounded like he almost understood. Right? He knew you were just speaking nonsense because you were so drunk. Yeah. Yeah.

So what were your options? Either face it head-on or leave it to simmer awkwardly in the background and pretend it hadn't happened? You were going to see him in a few days at the haunted fair anyway. Would Eddie roll with it when you saw him? Oh, dang it.

Dang it.

You knew what you had to do, and a few hours later, still hurting, you were strolling in through the front of Eddie’s shop. Waiting in the back for him or hoping you could catch him there was a fool’s errand. If he was with a client, too, it could be hours before you saw him. Just stopping by to say hi also wasn’t out of the realm of your adjacent friendship. So…going in the front was the way to go. 

Walking in through that front door with your diminishing courage in hand, the red and black color-scheme of the shop assaulted your senses with heavy metal music joining it. Cigarette smoke swirled, too, and as you coughed through it, waving at the familiar faces peering up to greet you as a customer first, then their old co-worker’s sister next, you spotted him.

Hard to tell if it was a gift or a curse that he was just behind the front counter, changing out a few pieces of art hanging on the wall. A curse. It was a curse. The glance you got was a casual one at first. His face scrunched into one of focus while he tried to get the art hung up properly. Then recognition in a way that came with a crooked smile he immediately tried to dampen. Tried being the keyword. He hopped down off the step-stool when you willed your legs to move and carry you up to the counter.

“I’m going to take a guess that you’re not suddenly here for a piercing or some ink,” he said, facing you with the undamped smile joining a glint in those brown eyes that you couldn’t look at. You kept your gaze averted down to where your hands were near his on that glass counter. Down on the piercing options in the case underneath. 

“I….” Wanted to die. Wanted to run and hide and never face what you knew you had to. “I wanted to say thank you for last night and….” Oh. Your stomach twisted into something so nonsensical it hurt, and you chewed on your bottom lip and shook your head. "And–"

“You remembered some of the bullshit you rambled on about, didn’t you?” he mused.

Eddie leaned forward onto his forearms, then. A lean that suddenly brought him closer. Face to face. His arms resting on either side of your hands. Touching. No coat to cover where his sleeves were pushed up. Where the sides of your hands met him. 

“Yeah, some of it,” you breathed. A knot in your throat made for more than one hard swallow. You’d said a lot of stupid shit. “Sorry. I…. Can we….” It was hard to catch your breath. You still didn’t even lift up your chin to look at him. Screw that. You shook your head while a shaky breath left you. “Can we just pretend I didn’t say any of it?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” 

Oh, great. You nodded. That was great. All that was left was just getting over that fact that you’d said it at all. Any of it. Good God. You nodded again. All of that fell on you and only you.

“Or,” he said under his breath. So, so quietly, that you had to lean forward to really hear him under the music. Or? Your heart already skipped at the single word, but when his fingertips brushed against your elbows, making the thick material of your sweater feel obsolete, you almost whined. You'd never whined before. "Or…if you wanted some help with any of that from someone you trust…?"

Your eyes jerked up, and you almost leaned back. He was so much closer than you'd realized. Plenty of innocuous space for someone just glancing over. But the turn the conversation took wasn't innocuous. Wasn't the casual, innocent conversation two adjacent friends would have.

Those brown eyes searched yours for a moment. He tapped at your elbows a little like he couldn’t keep his fingers still.

“Just an offer,” he said with a cheeky smile. 

Just an offer? Just an offer? There was so much to unpack there, you didn’t even know where to begin. Him offering, him offering at all, the possibility of accepting, what the implications of it meant–if there were any. But the biggest, most obvious response came rolling out of you without a second thought to it.

“Matthew would kill you if he even knew I called you last night, let alone if he found out what I said.” You shook your head. “Half of what I said.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes. 

“This isn’t Matthew’s business. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t let him find out.” He held out both hands and half-shrugged again. “It’s just an offer. So you’re not stranded out on a porch again, drunk off your ass, in the cold.”

You shifted a little, taking a deep breath and looking around the shop instead of at him. At the art of the fantasy creatures he’d put up behind him. In his style. They must’ve new art he’d finished. You’d recognize that style anywhere. 

“So it’s just about drinking, then?” you murmured.

Because that’s what it sounded like.

A smile grew in your peripheral vision. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Your breath hitched. Back went your focus, and you swallowed hard when you locked eyes again. That cheeky smile that always had your stomach fluttering was waiting for you. A rather dangerous thing when you clearly weren’t thinking straight. 

You weren't going to agree. Eddie was just messing around with you to bug you about last night. Just joking around about some drunk rambling that went off the deep end. Yes, that's exactly what it was. 

“You’re hilarious, Eddie, really.” You shook your head and pushed back from the counter. “You don’t have to be a jerk. I just came to say thanks–”

“I’m not joking,” he interjected. 

Oh.

You stilled.

One hand was draped over your upper arm. A casual touch. Barely holding you, but just enough to mean exactly what you thought it could mean. He wasn’t just joking. 

That fluttering in your belly got exponentially worse.

“Come by tomorrow around…uh…three if you’re interested. Come in the back. I’ll meet you back there for my break. If you don’t, whatever.” 

The bell above the front door jingled, and Eddie perked up, his hand sliding down to yours when he straightened. Hand to hand, his thumb curling around and pressing into the center of your palm. 

“Shit, that’s my two o’clock. Just, uh…just think about it, ‘kay?” 

He gave your hand a squeeze. It pushed your answer right out of you.

“Okay.”

And you were walking out the door in a burning daze that latched onto you for the next twenty-four hours. One that you blamed entirely for where you ended up. Every dangerous thought, every dangerous possibility, every dangerous fantasy. An argued pro and con table that you went back and forth on endlessly. 

But by the next day, you were stuck on the same point. 

He’d offered, and you did trust him. And since it wasn’t like you had anywhere else to meet or talk? You sank down in one of the chairs in their back room, eyeing the newspaper-wrapped box Eddie slid over to you. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The box was a cold touch underneath your fingers, and the image on the outside was textured compared to the rest of the cardboard box. It was so much to handle at once, and so much to think about. But you’d shown up, you’d spent the entire night battling between that growing ache between your legs and nerves trying to drown you. 

He wanted to put that inside of you and have you wear it at the fair. 

To make you….

Fire kissed the back of your neck.

He was just jumping right into it then. And without knowing how far the agreement went–was it just going to be this? Was it going to be…a list or something? Was he going to sleep with you? You had very little ground to stand on and compose yourself. But the possibilities? 

Oh, God.

“I’ve never had anything besides my fingers inside of me, Eds,” you said very, very quietly.

“It’ll fit, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He took another slower, longer drag of his cigarette. “And if you don’t like it, I can work around it.”

Another deep breath came and heaved your chest. You’d watched porn. You’d read your fair share of smutty stories. You made yourself look at him again–really look at him.

“You’re throwing me in off the deep end, aren’t you?”

That crooked smile could have you doing things you couldn't even imagine, and that was before the other night. He didn't need to know it to that extent. The fact that you'd shown up at all said it close enough. 

“Nothing you can’t handle,” he answered. Slowly, he leaned over and two fingers pressed against the top corner of the toy. “But I’m hanging onto this until tomorrow. It’s, uh, one of those things I should definitely help you with.”

He dragged the box and the newspaper underneath back toward him. That you could accept. You weren’t about to mess around with that by yourself. It was daunting. So you just nodded.

“So…come by here around, um, 4:30?” you asked. 

Eddie rewrapped the package haphazardly.

“Yup.” His leg bounced a little under the table. He tapped off a bit more ash into the ashtray. “I’ll meet you back here again. The door locks, I’ll keep everyone out.”

Anticipation was a fine spark in your belly. This was a foolish, ridiculous plan to even half-consider, and look at what you were doing. Foolish. Idiotic. 

“I…will see you tomorrow then.” You pushed up from the table onto weak legs. “Thanks, Eds. For this.”

He threw a big, beaming smile your way.

“‘Course.” He tapped the box like it was a drum, hitting it with his hands. “See you tomorrow then.”

Yeah.

You strolled out to the parking area behind the shop, the cold air whipping around you.

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, you were showing up to the shop so Eddie could…. And then you'd…. While you were at the fair all night. With your conjoined friend groups. Sorta conjoined. You were both going to the fair at the same time, and some of your friends tolerated your brother's more than others. So you'd hang around together and go on the rides, then do what you wanted in between and after.

But the idea that Eddie wanted you to walk around during all of that with something inside of you that he clearly had control over? The deep end. He was throwing you right into the deep end before you even had a chance to really talk about it all. Which, as you stared at your ceiling that night, brimming with anticipation, it hit you.

If this was Eddie’s first thought on solving your drunken spew of I want more explicit experiences, how shallow was the end for him? How deep did his deep end go?

It wasn’t until you were putting your car into park that you really realized what going into Eddie’s shop entailed. What waited for you there. 

It was probably some sort of bad luck that you were wearing the same angel costume from the other night. But you’d cleaned it, and managed to steam the skirt down and get the layers to behave so it wasn’t so revealing. Thigh-high white socks matched and kept your legs warm enough in the chilly evening air. Chunky heels would make you regret the decision later, but they tied the costume together so well. 

When attendees got 30% off tickets for coming in costume, you were going to take advantage of it. And since you did get plenty of compliments on it the night of the party–before you were too drunk to remember them–it felt like the right choice for the evening.

Plus, the white wings attached with some elastic around your shoulders was the perfect excuse as to why you left early instead of carpooling with your roommates. Had to get new wings since yours vanished somewhere at the party, and they did tie the whole costume together. So, after a quick stop at the costume shop, you were there, at the back of Eddie’s shop, pulling open that unlocked back door.

This wasn't some five-minute stop to pick something up from him. This wasn't even some illicit romance where he was going to sweep you off your feet and make that old crush flourish like blooming flowers. It wasn't even something in the realm of romance.

You stepped around the corner and nudged open the cracked door into their break room. A little tremor found your hand against the door, and it spread down to your toes when Eddie glanced up from his seat. The wrapped package on the table. A box of gloves next to it.

His eyes did a slow drag over you with a dash of recognition in them when he saw the costume. 

You pushed the door shut, fumbling for the lock. But you got it. When his eyes were pulled back up over you, you found it. It clicked and latched.

This was dirty and intimate, and you were going to have someone else touching you like that for the first time. Inside of you. Presumably. Eddie was….

“Nice costume,” he mused with a slightly mocking smile.

“I want the discount,” you answered. Your voice was breathy, and the nerves were finding their way beyond just that. They danced in your chest and dropped past your stomach. Where your white shorts were skin-tight against you, long enough to cover, but short enough to still tease–as your friends said. “Or are we going to pretend that you didn’t almost get that discount canceled when you and the guys tried to bring in those realistic foam weapons last year?”

That crooked smile stayed nice and wide.

“They were part of the costumes,” he started.

As if he could justify being a dingus just for the sake of bending the rules. It got a laugh out of you, though, and that made the air in the room feel a little less daunting. You cracked a smile and shook your head.

“And they could fall off on the rides and mess something up. I think the underpaid workers are pretty valid here, Eds.” Brushing down the bottom, you reached for the comfort of banter. Joking was your middle ground. He knew how to drive you up the wall as easily as he could make you laugh. It was part of the whole problem with trying not to like him so much. “I, uh, I think your jealousy is showing, since they barred you guys from dressing up again.”

Which was generous. They could’ve outright banned them from the fair entirely. 

A small scoff had that cheeky grin drifting back into the realm of mocking. He lolled his head back and, with one dramatic move of his arm, he draped it over the edge of the table. His hand landed on top of that wrapped box.

Your mouth went dry.

“Okay, them banning our costumes is bullshit, and I wouldn’t even be going if Gareth wasn’t working one of the vendor carts to give us free food.” He pulled at the newspaper, unwrapping the box with a flick of his fingers. “Plus, they actually managed to do something right with their haunted maze last year, and I wanna see if they can strike gold twice.”

They had. You could admit to that. Because you’d chickened out of going through the maze when two of your friends went through it earlier in the night and came out shaking. Maybe you were chicken, but a chicken who didn’t freak out at every weird noise while trying to sleep. Even Eddie hadn’t managed to goad you into it. 

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you said, finding the smallest shred of confidence while fixing the bottom of your costume instead of watching him unwrap the box. “You’re not going to combust just because you like attending our town’s mundane yet popular fair. God forbid you like something the mainstream population does.”

“Yeah, well, I have something that’s gonna make the night a hell of a lot more fun for me, so the actual location doesn’t matter.” He tapped the box. “Assuming you’re still interested.”

Your next breath caught, and the answer was already given before you fully registered that you'd nodded your head. You were. It’s why you were there. Just…admitting and facing that answer was far from what you were capable of facing right then. It made you feel nervous and strange and excited all at once. 

But there was a very, very important question you had to ask first. The purpose of the entire night was, as he'd said with the toy, to tease. Since, if you were going off of his word, teasing was the whole point in order to make you…squirt.

So…. So he was going to tease you. At the fair. Around everyone. For the whole night. For the purposes of making you…cum. Squirt. Eddie was….

You cleared your throat and shook the cobwebs from your thoughts.

“So the plan is, um,” you said, eyes closed hard while you waved in the general direction of the box. “For you to…. Tonight….”

“Come on, you can get there,” Eddie said under his breath with a cruel tease in his voice.

"Are you going to…." You frowned. "The goal for tonight...is it going to happen at the fair, you know…around…everyone?”

You managed to get your eyes open, and Eddie had a skeptical look waiting for you. His hand was on the box lazily, mid-grab. He pulled it to his lab and used the knife in his pocket to break the top seal.

“Do you think I’m an asshole? Jesus Christ, (Y/N), no, alright. If this is successful, it’s messy. Besides, while I could try throwing the toy on high and seeing if you just buckle over and cum, there’s a bit more nuance to it. It’s more hands-on than that.” 

He gave you a small, teasing smile while he pulled the interior plastic layer out from inside the box. You were already clenched around nothing before you saw the toy. He talked so nonchalantly about…making you…cum. You couldn’t keep up, and that was one comment.

“Don’t fret, ‘kay? We’ll find somewhere nobody’ll know I’d been teasing your pretty cunt all night.” He tossed the box aside and set the plastic layer on the table. A warmth spread down between your thighs. “And I’ll make you cum your brains out. Now, c’mere, we’re running outta time, and I need to make sure you’re stuffed pretty before leaving.”

The switch-up. Was it fair to call it that? Eddie didn’t censor himself around anyone, let alone you, but there was a certain whiplash in that instant vulgarity. Maybe because it was directed at you. Maybe because he was pulling on a pair of those black gloves he wore out front. Maybe because he was so casually getting up to charge the thick thing that’d be inside of you in less than thirty minutes.

And you liked it.

It was one thing to like Eddie when he made you laugh or gave you special attention when you hadn’t even thought he’d noticed something you’d said under your breath. But the low throbbing that started right then? The weakness shivering down your spine and into your legs? Were you with anyone else, you would’ve slapped them for even suggesting this back when you’d visited him the morning after. 

But Eddie? 

You walked over to the edge of the table, slowly, setting your bag down and planting your hands on the edge of the table. Sitting down didn’t feel right, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. This was so far out of your depths of even fantasies, you just…. You waited. 

With bated breath, you waited for him to turn around. Waited for your eyes to catch. Waited for that slow stroll back from the outlet and the toy, where he fixed his gloves while dropping his eyes over you again. Languidly and searingly. 

You glanced back over at the toy. Huge.

“Eds,” you murmured when he came up to your side, “are you sure it’ll fit?”

One hand skated up past your wings. Even gloved, it was still a warm touch against the back of your neck. He held you with just enough strength that your breath hitched. Your arm brushed his chest while his eyes finally found their way back up to yours, and he had a crooked grin plastered between his rosy cheeks.

“It will. Stay like that for me.” His other hand was a sudden touch to your stomach that made you jolt, and the smallest laugh snuck out of him. Any sort of coherent response was out the window when his hand skimmed lower. Down past where the costume was pulled tight enough to dig a little too hard into your waist. Down over the outer layer of cheap white material and to…to the…. 

His hand slid underneath the layers.

Fingertips dragged down the front seam of your skin-tight shorts.

Your breath hitched at the first touch. Lighter than you’d ever expect from someone like him. But he stepped closer, and trailed his fingers down, down, down to where you felt yourself clench, and then back up, up, up to the top of your shorts.

His fingers curled around the top.

Around your underwear, too.

And with one twist of his hand and a turn of his other, your head was tilted to look his way when his fingers skimmed over your cunt. Down with the added and unexpected sensation of the glove, your eyes opened without meaning from his turn of your head, and your eyes locked as he cupped you between your legs. 

Oh, God, what the fuck were you doing? 

Eddie’s breath matched your shuddering one as the tip of one finger–

Your head fell forward. He barely prodded at your entrance. Slow, gentle thrusts, and your feet were moving further apart. You planted your hands on the table a little more to support yourself, eyes shutting and chest heaving. 

Your next breath was a whine, and it came with Eddie's fingers moving higher. The one on your neck left, too. It only took one step, but Eddie was behind you. He breathed almost like you did while reaching under your dress and pulling your shorts down first. Getting them to the floor with a hard yank once they were at your thighs. 

When they were around your ankles, he used the toe of one sneaker to keep them steady, and then he guided one leg out of them.

In the break room.

In the break room of his shop.

The door was locked, but–

“Relax,” he breathed, one hand coming back around and cupping you through your underwear. Rubbing. He cupped and then brought his fingers higher, running lazy circles right over your clit. 

The gasp you let out was quiet, but broken. 

Eddie was….

He….

He hooked two fingers and pulled your underwear to the side. Both hands were between your legs. Running over you. Parting you. His hips pushed forward–his lap against your ass with…with something hard. Something hard that meant…. That…. Your weight fell onto your hands more.

His fingers found your clit right then.

“Oh, God.”

“C’mon, you know that’s not my name,” he breathed. His mouth brushed against the side of your head as he started lazily rubbing your clit. Oh, sweet God. “Who’s already got you fucking soaked like this, (Y/N)?”

Eddie. My God, you thought. Sputtering out your next breath, his fingers rubbed your clit a little faster. A little harder.

Oh, God. Oh, shit. 

“You,” you threw out there, unsure if you were actually supposed to answer him. 

“And what’s my name?”

Jerk. He knew the exact vulnerable position he had you in, and he was playing around like that? You felt yourself clench, and you pushed harder onto your hands.

"Eddie." His other hand skimmed down your bottom. Down where his other hand pushed your hips back, and he moved his own. The circles tightened over your clit without warning, and there…. One finger found your entrance from behind and pushed in without pausing. "Eddie.”

“If it hurts, tell me,” he murmured. “And if it feels good, tell me.”

His finger pumped in and out of you at such a slow pace, it was almost mean. You'd taken your fingers before. Three of them was your limit and that was just one time. He didn't have to be so gentle with you, but you couldn't say anything against it. He moved his entire body as his finger pushed into you. Almost simulating….

The brief flash of him fucking you came with a deep press of his finger into you, and rubbing against a spot that made you moan. It came out choked as you tried to stay quiet, but Eddie did it again. And again. And again. And with the attention he was giving your clit?

Break room. At his tattoo shop. With customers and employees out front. 

And you were letting Eddie get knuckle deep inside of you just in the back.

“That…that feels….” Your whole body shuddered under his touch. “Good. Feels good.”

Your cheeks burned like a sunburn beneath the sun, and Eddie, he…. He laughed. It shook against your back.

“I can tell. This too?”

On a slow pull out of his finger, a second joined. Just as slow as when he’d given you his single finger, he gave you two. In they pushed, in they curled, in they…scissored. Your elbows bent before you relocked them, and your knees almost gave out. His mouth grazed over the back of your jaw, and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned a little. Closer. Toward him.

His mouth was a faint touch. 

Not quite a kiss, but he wasn’t pulling away.

And where he wasn't pulling away, you couldn't help but lean toward more. The touch of his breath against bare skin. The brush of his lips behind it. Two fingers pushed into you, the sounds vulgar and wet in that new silence. Yes, the music from the front of the shop carried back. Underneath it, some of the conversations and laughter did, too. But above it, sequestered off behind a single door with that single lock, were your choked gasps and the wet thrusts of Eddie's fingers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said when you felt yourself clench hard around his fingers. He worked your clit just a little faster, and the clench became a flutter, and there was that build. Trickling and throbbing, pushing you closer to your orgasm. That rise in pleasure that didn’t even feel possible when Eddie pumped his fingers into you. But the attention he was giving your clit…. “Unfortunately, though….” His touch lifted from your clit, but his fingers still pumped into you. Deep and slow. “As badly as I wanna make you cum right here that quickly, fuck, uh, you can’t.”

Hold on.

You lifted one hand and found his wrist, but that was about as far as you got. He moved his fingers a little rougher. Pulling up a bit and making you fall forward, your whole body moving with his fingers. Oh, what the…. A moan rose in your throat so quickly, you bit down as hard as you could on your bottom lip to muffle it. It was choppy with his movements, pushing you to the tips of your toes.

Would he fuck you like that?

  You clawed at his arm, the sounds pushed out of you with every wet thrust. 

Would he please fuck you like that? 

“Look at you.” He brushed your clit just a little, and the choppy, muffled sounds became a whine. “Jesus Christ, (Y/N). Fucking look at you.”

His fingers pulled out, sparing you the rough movement for one second. His finger brushed over your clit again. Just a slow drag. Barely any pressure. Enough to make your already-spinning head stay spinning. And a third finger pressed with the other two.

“The toy’s smaller than this,” he whispered, his finger lifting from your clit again. But, just above, his hand went flat. “Come back, take it yourself.” He pushed just a little, and heat struck you right along with his words. Back. He wanted you to push back onto his fingers. You. Back. Oh. You sank your hips back just a little, and there was the pressure of his fingers. There. More. Bit by bit. “There you go, yeah. Fuck, yeah, yeah, just like that.”

His words were shaky and quiet.

His fingers were deep inside of you.

He pressed his mouth against the side of your head with what you wanted to be a kiss.

“Can’t cum until the end of the night,” he breathed, and there was a smile. Heard and felt it. 

You didn’t have anything to say to that. He had three fingers stuffed inside of you that he slowly started to pump, his hand slid back down and just barely brushed against your clit, and you were supposed to wrap your head around that casually? That the charging toy mocking you from the counter over there was going to be inside of you for hours, as full as his fingers were making you, and you couldn’t climax? You were already close now.

Just a little more. You hung your head and shuddered. He moved his fingers faster. Just a little harder. Moving you to the tips of your toes again while riding the waves of pleasure they pushed you on.

Just a little more, and you’d cum.

Wanted it. 

Your toes curled.

Wanted it so badly.

“Eds….” You winced when the next ripple of pleasure fluttered through you, but his fingers kept away from your clit. 

“Gotta….” He swallowed hard and nodded. “Gotta wait, (Y/N). Trust me.”

You did. Wouldn’t have so much as called him to pick you up if you hadn’t. And being there like that? You trusted him so far beyond what you’d even realized.

“Fine, okay.” You trusted him. “If that’s how it’s gotta be done.”

You were committed to it. You’d shown up to have him help with…that. Showing you how, or helping you to…do that. Cum. Squirt. It wasn’t any easier to think when his fingers drilled into you in a slow and steady, but rough pace. Just…just made you think about that. Already being in that position had your stomach flipping and flopping and fluttering about. But later–a long while later–he'd…. The crashing waves within you with pleasure riding the white-capped peaks and pushing you toward the climax you were teetering on the edge of. 

Eddie.

Eddie was going to make you….

His fingers gradually left you with a loud, vulgar wetness.

Dripping. 

“Stay there.”

Dripping. You dripped down your thighs as you stood there. Empty. Empty and wet. And Eddie strolled over to the counter. You stared at his back as he unplugged the toy, went over to the sink by their fridge, and turned on the water. Couldn't see what he was doing, but it didn't matter. You were standing with your feet apart, clit throbbing, cunt dripping wet, and missing him.

His fingers.

The guy you'd walked in on, asleep on the bathroom floor, his vomit surprisingly in the toilet. Who'd trip over his own feet when he got too excited and nearly broke his arm trying to do a jump off of an amp at The Hideout. He flicked your forehead when you walked into his room to ask where your brother was. Countless times. It was a full-on running bit that Matthew would tell you to swing by to grab something or drop something off for him, and you'd show up, and maybe there’d be a note for you. But just about every single time, since Eddie was the one you were the most comfortable with, you were knocking on his door and bugging him.

Each time, a flick to the forehead for bugging him while he was sketching a new tattoo. Working on a new campaign. Playing guitar. Reading. Smoking. Drinking.

“Buuuuusy,” was all he’d say. Never told you to stop bugging him.

Never kicked you out of his shop, either.

The same guy who had to hold your brother back when one of the other guys at the shop–Corbin–got his certification to pierce, and, without thinking, asked to show you his handiwork. He meant his certificate. Framed. That he was already holding up. You could see your reflection in the glass when Corbin said it. 

But your brother was…protective.

And now Eddie?

He waved the toy at you when he spun. That…. He….

Your eyes should’ve been glued to it, but as he came closer, they fell. Just a glimpse. At what you hoped you hadn’t imagined in your current state. And you hadn’t. It really was just a glimpse, but as Eddie came up behind you, there was the obvious bulge in his pants. The kind that was from…what you knew it was from.

You.

Or maybe just the circumstance.

But…you were still part of it.

You–

Eddie dropped some paper towels onto the table and pressed the toy between your legs, running it up and down, brushing it against your clit each time. It wasn’t as long as the box had made it seem. It was maybe the length of his fingers and as wide as three of his. He’d said it was smaller, but it was still so much. Cold at first, until you warmed the smooth silicone. 

And–

Oh. He tilted it up and shuffled. His phone dropped to the table just beside you, and he nodded at it. It was already unlocked.

“Open the app. We need to pair it.”

He wanted you to do it? Gloved. He was gloved, and his fingers were busy. Very busy. Just looking down at your phone came with an addition of two then three fingers back into you. Slow, scissoring pumps. 

Oh, God.

Lifting a shaky hand, you tapped the app. His fingers worked you a little harder. A little deeper. The app loaded in. Eddie pressed something on the toy, and you tapped the pair option.

A dial showed up on the screen.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Humming.

Vibrating.

The screen changed to a remote with options that blurred away. Tears stung as the toy hummed to life on a low, torturous vibration. Right against your clit.

“Eddie,” you whined, the sound pushed out of you while you clamped around his fingers.

He pulled the toy back. He pulled his fingers out, too.

“There we go.” Wet fingers spread you. His middle finger prodded your entrance while he tapped the back of a clean knuckle over the off button on his phone. “Do what you did earlier for me, ‘kay?” The tip of the toy came to you. Where his finger was. “Sink back onto it for me. See if you can take it.”

You tucked your chin down, clenching your jaw through the ache begging for more on your clit. The walls of your cunt fluttered along with it, screaming for more. For him. A sliver of something gnawing in your belly–you were sinking back onto a vibrating toy with Eddie. A surrealness that made nerves dance in that same boat you'd been in when you sobered up the morning after he'd picked you up.

The desperation was so immediate. 

Needed that sensation again. To be filled. By him. The toy was all that was offered, and with the promise at the end of the night, the consequences of getting caught all shoved aside, you needed. You wanted.

"That's it," he said through his teeth. You sank back onto the thick silicone, mouth falling open as you took it. "Slower. Slooower." So slower you went, the stretch the same as his fingers, but more uniform. Different. All the way back, you sank. "There you go."

The girth disappeared, and you could feel the long end that was left outside of you. 

It….

Solidly, it was inside of you. Still and thick. A new pressure that already had you falling forward.

“Atta girl,” he whispered. 

His knuckle tapped his phone.

The toy hummed to life and rocked inside of you. Rocked a little back and forth, shaking, rubbing, hitting spots that– Eddie dragged his knuckle over the side of the screen where a bar was raised on a vertical set of numbers. One to fifteen. The number one blurred into number five, and the low became a medium that had you clenching around it, and your elbows gave.

“Ed–”

The vibrations cut out before you could finish, and his name became a breath against the table. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

"Alright, even five's a bit too much for you. Good to know." The pull of a glove brought an inside-out one next to you. A hand went to your hip and squeezed. "You okay down there, (Y/N)?"

Were you okay? You couldn’t think. Couldn’t push up on your hands just yet. You had to go around for however long with that inside of you, with Eddie in charge of it? Eddie, the guy who forgot soup on the stove so many times, Wayne started getting him fire extinguishers for birthdays. 

You nodded. That wasn’t what he was asking about, though.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you breathed. 

“Yeah?” With the hand still in that black glove, he reached between your legs and pulled on the silicone tail. Out just enough to make you stretch, then he pushed it back in. It rubbed. Everywhere. It…. He repeated that a few times, thrusting it into you slowly. Fucking you on it. That’s what it felt like. And your hips started to tilt back to give him easier access, but you stopped. That…. You couldn’t. You were running out of time, and…and this was all so much. 

So, so much.

"Isn't uncomfortable or anything?" he asked, stilling the movements and letting the toy settle back in.

It was new. It was different. But you shook your head. 

“It’s not.”

“Good. Alright, hold still again for me.” 

You did as he said. He reached around for a paper towel. Folding it around his fingers, you still jumped when the rough material hit the inside of your thighs. Up along the inside of each, folded over, and then went back down. Then scrunched into a ball, and a new one was gathered for where he gently dabbed it between your legs.

Your heart stuttered.

Was he cleaning you up?

You said nothing.

He said nothing.

He just wiped, dabbed, and then pulled your underwear back to how they were, and tucked the tail of the toy back around in presumably the most comfortable position. How he knew that…you didn't want to know. Eddie had his fair share of partners you'd seen him with over the years. Some lasted longer than the others. Some were just one-night stands. You tried not to make it your business for the sake of that gnawing in your belly whenever you thought about it.

He pulled off the other glove and knelt down. He helped you step back into your shorts, then guided them back into place. Exactly how you’d had them on when you got there.

With a hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, Eddie righted you. 

Oh.

Walking you back a step so you could really face each other, you felt it. A clench in your jaw came right along with a widening in your eyes. The toy might’ve been off, but it was nestled in where you were already sensitive. Your breath hitched at Eddie’s shit-eating grin, and his eyes dropped to his phone.

“Don’t,” you said quickly. He’d just cleaned you up. And the quick snap earned a cocked brow, and you could see it. The playful contemplation of doing it to mess with you. But his hand didn’t move. Not from where yours reached for it. Taking his wrist before…before you even realized you’d reached for him. And meeting those brown eyes, you said the only thing you could really think to say in that circumstance. “Be nice. And please.” You squeezed his wrist harder, giving him a pleading look that made the color on his cheeks look a little darker. “Don’t forget about the soup on the stove.”

Eddie lifted his hand and–thump.

His middle finger hit the center of your forehead with the slightest bit of force.

“Have some faith in me, (Y/N), Christ. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

It was so hard to hold his gaze, but he was sincere. You knew his sincerity because you knew his insincerity. He’d been sincere the other night when he’d helped you back. He’d been insincere when he’d told your brother that, yes, he would definitely reprimand Corbin for showing you the certificate he’d been excited about getting for years.

Came with an eye roll and everything.

“You sure you can handle this?” he asked, planting both hands on his lower back and lolling his head, really looking at you. "'Cause just say the word, we'll call it off any time."

So long as nobody found out….

Walking around the fair with that inside of you to come alive at Eddie’s whim….

There was so much to process and no time to do so.

You nodded.

“I can handle it.”

"M'kay." His eyes danced across your face while he stepped toward the table. He picked up the gloves and paper towels. "Then I will see you there in about…fifteen minutes?"

  It was a twenty-five-minute drive.

You laughed–which made you clench around the toy–and you stumbled half a step forward. Almost into him. Kind of into him. Into him. He caught you at your forearms, keeping you relatively steady. 

Instead of lending attention to the obvious, you just nodded slowly.

“I’ll see if I can make it there in Munson time,” you muttered.

That earned a wide grin that did nothing to extinguish the heat running rampant inside of you. A hard swallow and a squeeze of your arms marked the time to go. No point in lingering. Time was out. 

“See you there,” Eddie breathed.

You nodded again.

You relied on Eddie in many ways. Guy problems? He was the first one you'd call if a date went sour. Work drama? The second you got off, you'd pace around his trailer, explaining the usual bullshit as he sat on the couch, chiming in when necessary.

Somewhere along the way, the line between "best friends" and... whatever this was had gotten a little blurry. You couldn't remember exactly when it happened. Maybe it was the fact that you had a drawer at Eddie's trailer for spare clothes, or that he never knocked before walking into your apartment. 

Hell, even the rest of your friends had long since given up trying to figure it out. Robin had stopped correcting strangers when they assumed you two were dating, Dustin had started referring to you as "Eddie's girl" just to watch the two of you sputter, and Steve swore you were both "the dumbest almost-couple" he'd ever met.

The funny part was, neither of you ever denied liking the other. You just... never actually admitted it, either.

So life carried on in that weird in-between, where lingering touches lasted a little too long, late-night drives felt suspiciously like dates, and neither of you was brave enough to ask what any of it meant.

In many ways, Eddie was the best friend you could ask for. But the one thing you hated? He was a cocky bastard when it came to anything competitive. 

Any game night, whether that's something as simple as Uno or arcade games, he thought he was the best. Though, to be fair, he was. Which is why, after one fateful 1v1 of pool at the Hideout, when he conned your ass like a fool and beat you out of a hundred bucks, you needed revenge.

So, naturally, your pride wouldn't let him teach you how to play, oh no. Instead, you decided to ask Steve. Steve wasn't someone in the group you were particularly close to.

But, beyond him, your options to teach you how to win at stupid bar games were Robin, who was as agile as a baby deer, or Nancy, who could care less about you and Eddie's billiard feud.

Steve looked up from where he was wiping down the windshield of his BMW in his driveway, rag slung over one shoulder. "You want me to do what?"

"Teach me pool."

He blinked. "...Pool."

"Yes, Steve. The game. With the sticks."

"I know what pool is."

"Good. Then we're making progress."

He laughed, tossing the rag over the hood. "Since when have you been interested in pool?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm interested in beating Eddie."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

A grin slowly spread across his face. "...I'm in."

The Hideout wasn't open yet, save for a handful of regulars nursing beers before the evening crowd rolled in.

Music crackled quietly through the speakers while Eddie hauled cases of liquor behind the bar, already halfway through complaining to Gareth about a distributor screwing up another order.

"You know what they gave us?" Eddie scoffed. "Light beer. We don't even sell the shit."

Gareth shrugged. "People drink it."

"No, they most certainly do not."

Then the front door opened, so Eddie glanced over automatically. You walked in first with Steve following close behind.

His eyebrows pinched together. "...What the hell?"

Steve waved toward the bar. "Yo."

Eddie nodded slowly. "Harrington."

Then his eyes landed back on you. "What're you doing here? Thought you worked today."

"I did."

"And now?"

You smiled sweetly. "I'm learning."

"...Learning what?"

Steve answered before you could. "Pool."

Eddie glanced between the two of you, raising one finger accusingly. "...From you?"

Steve looked genuinely confused by the question. "...Yeah?"

"You know how to play?"

Steve frowned. "Dude."

"What?"

"I've been playing forever."

Eddie stared for another second before scoffing to himself.

"...Whatever." Then, he disappeared into the back, huffing something under his breath.

For the next forty-five minutes, Steve proved to be a surprisingly patient teacher.

"No, loosen your grip."

"I'm trying."

"I know, but you're choking the cue."

"I'm not choking it."

"You absolutely are."

He stepped behind you. "Here."

His hands lightly adjusted yours on the cue. "Relax your shoulders."

You exhaled.

"There."

You lined up another shot and missed. "Oh, come on!"

"You looked better."

"I looked better?"

"That's half the battle."

Across the room, Eddie slammed a rack of glasses onto the shelf harder than necessary, causing Gareth to look over.

"...Everything alright?"

"Fantastic."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

He dared another glance; Steve had crouched beside you now, pointing toward one of the corner pockets.

"If you bank it off this rail—"

Eddie shook his head and continued polishing the same glass he'd already finished.

"He's practically climbing inside her personal bubble."

Gareth followed his gaze to Steve's arm, which reached across yours to point toward the angle.

"...Looks like he's just showing her."

"Mhm."

"You jealous?"

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Of Steve? ...No."

"Exactly."

Gareth watched him continue scrubbing the spotless glass.

"...You're polishing air."

"I know."

"...You wanna go interrupt them?"

"No."

"...Looks like she's laughing."

"I can see."

Steve said something that made you laugh again, a little louder than the last time.

Eddie's jaw ticked. "He's not even that funny."

Gareth snorted. "You realize you've been watching them for like twenty minutes?"

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I've been working."

"Eddie."

"What?"

"...You've poured the same guy three refills without him asking."

Eddie froze and slowly looked toward the older regular sitting at the bar. The man raised his fourth full beer.

"Thanks, Munson!"

"...Shit."

By the end of the lesson, you actually sank three balls in a row.

Steve pointed at the table dramatically. "There it is!"

"I did that."

"You did."

"I actually did that."

"Told you."

You grinned. "You are officially my favorite Harrington."

"There aren't exactly many of us."

Still smiling, you turned toward the bar. "Eddie!"

He looked up immediately. "What?"

Your grin somehow got even bigger. "Rematch."

The entire bar seemed to perk up. Eddie leaned against the counter, folding his arms.

"...You sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive."

"You just spent an hour getting coached."

"So?"

"I don't know..." A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. "Sounds a little desperate."

"It sounds like I got tired of losing to someone whose entire personality revolves around a pool table."

A chorus of quiet "oohs" erupted from the regulars. Eddie placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

"That's hurtful."

"You'll survive."

He pushed off the bar, grabbing a cue from behind the counter. "Same bet?"

You scoffed. "I'm not giving you another hundred dollars."

"Coward."

"I'm being financially responsible."

"Chicken."

"I'm smarter than you."

"Doubtful."

Steve quietly stepped backward. "Yeah…I'm gonna head out."

"You probably should," Gareth agreed.

"You created this monster."

"I absolutely did."

Eddie twirled the cue once in his hand before pointing it at you. "You've got one shot, sweetheart."

You stepped closer until only the pool table separated the two of you. "I only need one."

His grin faltered for just a second. Not because of the challenge, lord knows he loves a challenging woman. But because you'd wandered close enough that he could smell your perfume.

You caught the slight pause in his usual bravado, eyes quickly darting across his face. Then Eddie recovered first, spinning the cue between his fingers with that infuriatingly cocky grin.

"Ladies first."

"Oh," you smiled, taking the cue from his hand just slowly enough for your fingers to brush against his, "I'm gonna enjoy wiping that smug look off your face."

His eyebrow quirked up then. "...We'll see."

The first break went to you.

You leaned over the table, tongue poking against the inside of your cheek the way Steve had told you not to do because it apparently made you overthink your shot. The cue cracked against the rack, sending the balls scattering across the felt.

One dropped, then another, causing a grin to spread across your face.

"Oh, that's gotta sting."

Eddie clicked his tongue. "Beginner's luck."

"You've been saying that for the last three games."

"And eventually I'll be right."

"I've won one."

"You've won almost one."

"I was one ball away."

"You still lost."

You rolled your eyes, circling the table as you looked for your next shot. "God, you're insufferable."

"And yet, here you are."

"Only because watching you lose is going to heal something in me."

Eddie laughed under his breath, leaning his hip against the edge of the table while you lined up your cue.

"Careful," he mused. "Harrington tell you to keep your elbow up?"

You didn't look at him. "He did, actually."

"Hm."

"And to follow through."

"Mhm."

"And to stop gripping the cue like I was trying to strangle it."

Eddie made a face. "...That sounds like something he'd say."

"It worked."

"So did cheating."

You looked up. "I wasn't aware lessons counted as cheating."

"They do when they're from the enemy."

"The enemy?" You snorted. "Steve?"

"He knows what he is."

"Oh, does he?"

"Mhm."

You laughed quietly, taking your shot. The cue ball kissed the side of yours just enough to send it into the corner pocket, causing it to disappear with a satisfying clack.

Your jaw dropped. "I meant to do that."

"No, you didn't."

"I absolutely did."

"You looked surprised."

"I was surprised by how well I did it."

"Sure."

You pointed the cue at him. "Don't ruin this for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The game continued like that, each shot somehow accompanied by another jab, another smug remark, another excuse for the two of you to drift closer as you circled opposite ends of the table.

"You scratched."

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

"You talking."

"I wasn't talking."

"You exist loudly."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder as you squeezed past him. He didn't move, not even an inch.

"You know," you muttered, looking up at him, "most people would step out of the way."

"I'm not most people."

"So I've noticed."

Instead, he leaned down just enough that his shoulder bumped yours back.

"Figure it out."

"Oh, you're the worst."

"Sure I am.”

You huffed dramatically before ducking around him, though not without your arm brushing against his on the way by.

A few turns later, you found yourself stuck behind him as he leaned over the table, studying an angle that frankly looked impossible.

You waited, but he simply didn't move. "Eddie."

"Mhm?"

"I can't see."

"I'm thinking."

"You've been thinking for like two minutes."

"It's called strategy."

"It's called stalling."

He looked over his shoulder. "I don't stall."

"You absolutely stall."

"I am visualizing."

"You are making shit up."

Finally, he straightened, only to find you standing much closer than he'd expected. For a second, neither of you stepped back.

Then you smiled. "My turn."

He cleared his throat and took a step aside. "Be my guest."

You bent over the table, carefully lining up your shot. The cue slid forward, clack, and another ball dropped.

Behind you, Eddie let out an exaggerated sigh. "I knew Harrington was a bad influence."

You glanced over your shoulder. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You are unbelievable."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're not."

"He spent one afternoon with you and suddenly you're running tables."

"I'm hardly running the table."

"You're certainly trying."

You rested both hands on the cue, smiling to yourself. "You know..."

"What?"

"...If I didn't know any better..."

Eddie lifted an eyebrow.

"...I'd say you're jealous of Steve."

Eddie's smile stayed exactly where it was. Only this time, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Jealous?"

"Mhm."

"Of Steve."

"You've mentioned him..." You pretended to think for a moment. "...What? Eight times since we started?"

"I have not."

"You've called him the enemy."

"He is."

"You accused him of cheating."

"He was."

"You've insulted his teaching."

"It wasn't that good."

"I've made more shots tonight than I have in the last six months."

He clicked his tongue. "Coincidence."

You laughed. "You're jealous."

He held your gaze for a long moment, twirling the cue lazily between his fingers before shrugging one shoulder. "...Maybe I was."

Eddie looked almost as surprised by his own answer as you were. He scratched the back of his neck, looking away with a quiet scoff.

"I mean..." he muttered, trying and failing to sound casual, "guy's got his hands all over you. Kinda weird."

Your heart did a slow, traitorous little flip. "So that's what this is about?"

He looked back at you. "I don't like people assuming they can get all cozy with you."

"Steve was teaching me."

"I know."

"You've practically climbed all over me trying to fix my stance before."

"That's different."

"How?"

"'Cause..." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "...It's me."

You couldn't help it when a grin spread across your face. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

"You really don't hear yourself, do you?"

"Oh, shut up."

You laughed outright this time, and Eddie couldn't stop himself from smiling back, shaking his head as he pointed the cue toward the table.

"Take your shot before I remember why I like beating you so much."

You stepped up beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you passed.

"I'm starting to think you don't like beating me nearly as much as you pretend you do."

For the first time all night, Eddie didn't have a smartass comeback. He just watched you lean over the table, trying very hard not to notice how unfairly pretty you looked when you were concentrating.

The game stretched on longer than it should have, every shot laced with your growing confidence and Eddie's sharpening edges.

But in the end, you sank the eight-ball clean, right into the corner pocket with a decisive thunk that echoed through the bar like a victory bell.

The regulars let out a low chorus of approval. Eddie stared at the table for a moment too long, cue still gripped tight in one hand, before his gaze lifted to yours.

That cocky smirk was still plastered on his face, but it had gone tight at the corners.

You leaned on your cue, flushed with triumph and just enough adrenaline to push. "Hmph. Steve must be a good teacher after all," you said sweetly, tilting your head. 

Something dark flickered in Eddie's eyes. He set the cue down with deliberate calm, then crossed the space between you in two strides. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, lifting it with a gentle yet firm grip. 

"Alright," he said, voice low, "that's enough."

He tugged you toward the back hallway, past the storage room and out the rear door into the narrow alley behind the Hideout. The door slammed shut behind you, cutting off the muffled sounds of the bar. 

"Eddie—" you started, but he spun you around, pressing your back to the rough brick before you could finish. His body crowded yours instantly, one thigh slotting between your legs as his free hand braced beside your head.

"You think this is funny?" he growled, mouth hovering inches from yours. His breath was ragged. "Parading Harrington in here, letting him put his hands all over you while I watch?"

"He was teaching me," you breathed, even as heat pooled low in your belly. God, he was jealous. Really jealous. It shouldn't turn you on this much, but the way his grip tightened on your wrist sent a shiver straight through you.

"Sure, doll. Teaching." Eddie's other hand slid down your side, bunching your shirt up roughly until his palm met bare skin. "Laughed at his shitty jokes. Let him stand that close." He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, sweetheart."

You arched into him. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into his curls and tugging hard enough to make him groan against your lips. 

He tasted like cheap beer and that stupid cinnamon gum he always chewed, and underneath it all, that unmistakable Eddie scent that always made your head spin.

His hand shoved under your waistband without preamble, fingers dipping between your thighs to find you already slick. A low, satisfied rumble vibrated in his chest.

"Fuck. This wet for me, or were you thinking about his hands the whole time?"

"Yours," you gasped as he circled your clit with two rough fingertips, pressing just right. "Always yours, you idiot."

"Good answer." He nipped at your bottom lip, then spun you again; face toward the wall this time.

Your palms braced against the cool brick as he yanked your jeans and underwear down in one impatient motion, just enough to bare you to the night air. The sound of his belt buckle and zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet alley.

He pressed against your back, hard and hot, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around your throat.

"You don't get to tease me like that and walk away," he murmured, lips against the shell of your ear. His cock nudged at your entrance, thick and insistent. "Gonna fuck the thought of him right out of you."

Then he thrusted in deep, one smooth stroke that punched the air from your lungs. You moaned, the sound echoing off the bricks as he filled you completely. He didn't give you time to adjust. Just pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing rhythm that had your toes curling in your shoes.

" Eddie—fuck—"

"Yeah, say my name." His grip on your hip tightened, rings digging in as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made sparks explode behind your eyes. "Louder. Let the whole damn alley hear who you belong to."

You did. Gasping it out between thrusts, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in tight, relentless circles while his hips snapped against your ass.

"Such a brat," he panted, teeth grazing your shoulder through your shirt. "You were so cocky before. What happened, huh baby?" He punctuated each word with a thrust, grinding deep on the last one until you were trembling.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train. You clenched around him, crying out as waves of heat crashed through you. Eddie followed right behind with a choked groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot inside you, hips stuttering as he rode it out.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic. Then he eased out slowly, careful despite the raw edge still humming between you. He tucked himself away, then turned you gently, pulling your clothes back into place with surprisingly tender hands.

Eddie rested his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing your flushed cheeks. "You okay?" he asked. 

You smiled, still catching your breath, and tugged lightly at one of his curls. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

He searched your face for another second anyway, like he wasn't entirely convinced until he saw the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Only then did his shoulders finally loosen.

"There you are," he murmured.

"There I am?"

"You disappeared for a minute."

"I think I had a good reason."

He snorted, ducking his head with an embarrassed grin. It was strange seeing him like this.

Five minutes ago, he'd been all confidence and smart remarks, and now he suddenly looked like the same guy who got flustered whenever Wayne asked if the two of you were dating.

You brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulder of his jacket. "So..."

"So?"

"...Does this mean I finally get to stop pretending we're just friends?"

His eyes met yours again. "I'd really appreciate that."

You laughed quietly. "I've gotta admit, Munson. I was starting to think you were hopeless."

"Oh, I was."

"You were."

"I mean it." He leaned back against the brick wall, slipping one hand into yours.

"I don't think I realized just how bad I had it until today."

"The pool lessons pissed you off that bad?"

He nodded. "When I saw Harrington behind you..." He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself. "God, I was so irrationally pissed."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? I couldn’t tell."

“Shut up.”

"He was just teaching me pool so I could beat you and get on your nerves." You bumped his shoulder. "Which, by the way, worked beautifully."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You were glaring at him like he keyed your van."

"He was standing way too close."

"He was showing me how to bank a shot."

"Didn't need to be all..." Eddie gestured vaguely with his free hand. "...Harrington about it."

You laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"You know."

"No, I actually don't."

"All..." He sighed dramatically. "Perfect hair. Nice smile. Hands everywhere."

"His hands were on the cue."

Eddie gave you a look. "Mostly."

You couldn't help laughing. "You're unbelievable."

"I know that now."

"You knew it then."

"...I did."

"So why were you so grumpy?"

He was quiet for a second, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Because I kept thinking..." He shrugged, almost embarrassed by himself. "'What if she realizes she likes him better?'"

You blinked. "...Steve?"

"Sounds stupid out loud, doesn't it?"

"A little."

"Thanks."

"Eddie." You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze. "You really thought I was gonna fall for Steve Harrington because he showed me how to hold a pool cue?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking rationally."

"Clearly."

He groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Can we pretend I never admitted any of this?"

"Absolutely not."

"Figured."

love me a good dom!eddie what can i say

also, the taglist is being really funky. i'm sorry if it's not tagging everyone pasted, i've been messing with the tags every time but tumblr likes to play games sooooooo

if you wanna be notified when i post, don't be shy and turn those post notis on ;))

taglist:

@a-villain-vying-for-attention  @fapqueen @sadgirl-bee @bowie-frommars @milescrypt  @bitterestwillow @lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs @abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @kylorensbaby @raeyas-ghost @gunnersaurusrex @mortalselfprojected @lilyquinnmunson @this-issam @acrloved @foxygrll @ghoulishjewels @sespe08 @emily-robert @revesephemeres @laraabarett @kylorensbaby @fanficrebloggy @roxypixiechic @munsonsvixen

@fapqueen

@djoshairychest

You were sitting on the top step of the shallow end, legs stretched out. A red Solo cup rested on your knee. Across from you, Eddie floated on his back on one of those ridiculous floaties, arms spread wide, tattoos catching the light every time he breathed. Robin sat on the wide ledge near the diving board, knees tucked up, sipping whatever concoction Eddie had made her. Steve was right beside you on the edge, feet dangling in the water, a joint between his fingers and that loose, half-drunk smile he only wore when it was just the four of you.

Eddie sat up with a splash, water streaming down his face. “Okay, but hear me out — I’m telling you, if I can just get the timing right on the bridge, this song is gonna slap. It's dark. It's sexy. I had to write a badass song about surviving the apocalypse, right? Like I didn't get these fuckin' scars for nothing.”

Robin made a noise like she was choking on her own laughter. “Munson. You're insane.”

“Insane? Maybe. But,” Eddie said, pointing at her with the joint before passing it to you. “You know you'd do the same shit Buckley. Some of us are just more musically talented than others.”

Steve snorted, reaching over to steal the joint from your fingers after you took a hit. The smoke curled warm in your lungs, making everything feel a little softer around the edges. “Dude, you survived one apocalypse. Try surviving four. Plus Buckley is great with music. Don't shit on her trombone talents.”

You laughed so hard you had to grab Steve’s arm to keep from sliding off the step. “Yeah Munson. That girls got good blowing skills. Don't shit on her.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically. “I would never shit on my dear Buckley. You know I love you. Maybe I could use some of your blowing skills on this song.”

“Blowing skills?” Robin echoed. “Christ Munson. If you want me to blow you, you're gonna be waiting a long ass time.”

Steve was laughing too hard to come up with a coherent thought. Eddie looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Steve just splashed water at Eddie with his foot and said, “You’re all lucky I let you live here. I could’ve had peace and quiet. Instead I get you three idiots bickering and someone— someone — keeps stealing my good towels and leaving them on the bathroom floor.”

Robin raised her hand. “That was me. They’re softer than mine. Sue me.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the water lapping gently at your waist. “Speaking of stealing… Eddie, you owe Steve like six pairs of socks at this point. I saw them in your room.”

Eddie looked down at his feet in the water like he’d been caught. “They’re comfortable. And Stevie already stretched them out so they're perfect.”

“It’s theft,” Steve said, but he was grinning, the kind of grin that crinkled his whole face. “You know what else is theft? The last of the good cereal. I bought that box of Lucky Charms yesterday. It was gone by breakfast. I’m looking at you, Buckley.”

Robin didn’t even try to deny it. “I have no regrets. You can’t leave name-brand cereal in a house with three other people and expect it to survive. That’s on you, Harrington.”

The joint made another slow circle. You took a hit, passed it to Robin, and felt that warm, floaty buzz settle deeper into your chest. Everything felt good — the way the pool lights made Eddie’s wet hair look almost black, the way Steve kept bumping his knee against yours like he didn’t even notice he was doing it, the way Robin’s sarcasm had gone soft around the edges tonight. With the four of you the conversations could change on a dime but everyone kept up. You all loved each other.

Eddie paddled closer, resting his arms on the edge near your legs. “You know what I still can’t believe? That time Steve tried to make lasagna for all of us and used sugar instead of salt in the sauce.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head back. “It was dark! The containers looked the same!”

“It tasted like someone murdered an Italian grandmother,” Robin said solemnly. “I still have trauma. I had to wash it down with three beers just to be polite.”

You grinned at Steve. “And then you tried to fix it by adding more cheese and it just became… cheese soup with noodles.”

Steve pointed at you, mock-offended. “You ate three bowls. Don’t act like you weren’t into it.”

“I was high,” you said. “Everything tastes good when you’re high. That doesn’t make it good.”

Eddie cackled and flicked water at Steve. “She’s got you there, Harrington. Face it — you’re a menace in the kitchen. But we keep you around for the pool and the hair care products. Your shampoo collection is the only thing keeping this house from falling into complete chaos.”

Steve ran a hand through his wet hair on instinct. “It’s a routine you heathens. You wouldn’t understand. Some of us like to look like we didn’t just crawl out of a hedge.”

Robin leaned over and ruffled his hair on purpose, making it stick up in every direction. “There. Now you look like the rest of us. Welcome to the hedge club.”

Steve swatted at her hand but he was laughing again, that easy, bright sound that always made the night feel safer. The four of you drifted like that for a while — splashing each other lazily, trading stories about the ridiculous little disasters of living together, the past year. It's become something you never wanted to let go of. Your safe space in the chaos of the world.

Your skin was starting to prune. The high had turned everything warm around the edges. You felt loose and happy and stupidly fond of all of them.

Robin was the one who finally called it. “Alright, my fingers look like raisins and I’m pretty sure if I don’t eat something solid soon I’m going to start chewing on the pool noodles. Inside. Now.”

You pulled yourself up onto the edge, water streaming down your legs and bathing suit. Robin tossed you a towel. It smelled like Steve’s detergent — clean and expensive and somehow like home now. You wrapped it around yourself, goosebumps rising as the night air hit your wet skin.

Steve stood up, a little wobbly, towel slung around his neck. “Yeah… couch is calling my name. Just for a second. I’m good. I’m great. Not way drunker than I thought I was sitting down.”

Eddie climbed out after him, shaking his head like a dog and sending water flying. “Harrington, if you faceplant I’m not carrying you. You're gonna have to be an outside dog from now on.”

Steve waved him off, already heading for the sliding glass doors. “Yeah, yeah. Is the world spinning for anyone else?”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Steve made it three steps into the living room before the big sectional couch pulled him in like gravity. He dropped onto it with a heavy thump, one arm dangling off the edge, eyes already half-closed.

“Just… resting my eyes,” he mumbled. “You guys keep… having fun. I’ll be right…”

His eyes fluttered once. Twice.

And then he was gone — out cold, soft snores starting almost immediately, completely dead to the world.

Robin stared at him for a beat, then pressed both hands over her mouth to smother her laughter. “Oh my god. He didn’t even finish the sentence.”

Eddie leaned in the doorway in his low-slung towel, grinning wide. "Such a lightweight. Look at him. King Steve, defeated by vodka and like two joints.”

You stood there in your damp towel, water still dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, and felt that same warm, bright feeling from earlier swell in your chest. Steve, safe and passed out. Eddie watching you with that spark in his eyes. Robin already heading toward the kitchen with a mischievous little bounce in her step.

“Well,” Robin called over her shoulder, “since our fearless leader has officially tapped out… who wants to see if there’s any pasta left in the fridge? Or are we going straight for the liquor cabinet?”

Eddie looked at you, one eyebrow raised, smile slow and easy.

The three of you left Steve snoring softly on the couch and drifted into the dining room like it was the most natural thing in the world. The big wooden table still had a couple of chairs pulled out from earlier in the week when you’d all tried to eat a real meal together. Robin grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and dropped into one of the chairs, kicking her feet up on the one next to her. You and Eddie stayed standing for a second, the wet ends of your hair still dripping onto your shoulders and the tops of your towels.

Eddie dug another joint out of the crumpled pack he’d left on the counter earlier and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The flame lit up his face for a second — sharp grin, dark eyes, water still clinging to his collarbones. He took a long pull, then passed it to you without a word. You leaned against the edge of the table and took your own hit, the smoke curling warm and familiar in your lungs. The high from the pool hadn’t fully faded yet— this one just layered on top of it, making the dim overhead light feel softer and the air between the three of you feel closer.

Robin twisted the cap off her beer and took a long drink. “God, work’s been so fucking weird lately. Jimmy's gone so it's just been me and Harrington running the show. Who decided that putting us in charge was a good idea? Dingus over there wouldn't know good music if it weren’t for us. He'd be playing ABBA all day and wonder why we'd get hate mail.”

You laughed, the sound a little looser than usual. “That sounds exactly like him. Just be glad you're not working under Keith anymore. Dude was a total fuckin' creep. Remember that time he tried to hit on Nancy and she brutally destroyed every bit of confidence he had left?”

Eddie chuckled from where he was leaning against the wall, joint between his fingers again. He wasn’t saying much — just chilling, listening, that lazy little smirk on his face like he was happy to let the two of you talk while the smoke curled around him. Every now and then he’d take a hit and pass it back to you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.

Robin groaned and took another sip. “And don’t even get me started on my mom. She keeps asking when I’m gonna ‘bring a nice boy around’ like I haven’t been gay as fuck my whole life. I told her I’m busy surviving the apocalypse and working, but apparently that’s not a good enough excuse.”

You took the joint from Eddie again, the paper warm against your lips. The high was settling deep now — that sweet, heavy feeling behind your eyes that made everything feel a little more honest. You exhaled slowly and looked at Robin across the table.

“Honestly? You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with any of that shit,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink them. “The last guy I was with was… god, he was bad. Like, aggressively bad. All confidence, zero skill. Kept asking if I was close. I had to fake it just to get him to stop. And then he had the nerve to look proud of himself after.” You shook your head, laughing a little even though it wasn’t really funny. “You’re seriously so lucky you don’t have to deal with that mess, Robin.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling — the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what you meant and was grateful she didn’t. “Yeah, well. That’s one bullet I’ve managed to dodge.”

You took another slow hit from the joint, then passed it back to Eddie. The question came out casual, curious, the kind of thing that only got asked when everyone was a little drunk and a little high and the house was quiet except for Steve’s distant snoring.

“Have you ever actually had sex with a guy?”

Robin made a face but didn’t look offended. She just shook her head. “Nope. Never.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious now. “What about kissing? Have you ever kissed a guy?”

She snorted. “Yeah, duh. Had to pretend to be straight at some point, right? High school was a whole thing. There was this one guy who wouldn’t leave me alone until I let him kiss me at a party. It was… fine. Wet. Weird. I spent the whole time thinking about how I’d rather be anywhere else.” She shrugged, taking another drink. “But it got the job done. People stopped asking questions for a while.”

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. Eddie was still quiet, but you could feel him listening — that sharp, attentive energy he got when something interesting was happening. He took a hit from the joint and held it, watching the two of you with dark, amused eyes.

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, the high making your voice come out softer and more honest than usual.

“Okay, but… if you had to have sex with a guy,” you asked, “who would it be?”

Robin didn’t even hesitate. She looked you dead in the eye, a little smirk tugging at her mouth, cheeks faintly pink from the beer and the conversation.

“Well, I only trust two guys,” she said. “And since Harrington’s passed out cold in the other room, I guess Munson would do.”

The words landed in the quiet dining room like a spark on dry wood.

Eddie let out a low, surprised laugh — not mocking, just genuinely caught off guard. Smoke curled from between his lips as he exhaled. “Wow. High praise, Buckley. I’m flattered. Truly. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

You felt your own pulse pick up a little, the high sharpening everything — the way Robin was looking at you both, the way Eddie’s grin had gone a shade more dangerous, the distant sound of Steve’s soft snoring from the living room like he was still somehow part of this even while he was dead asleep.

Robin just shrugged, but there was something playful and a little charged in the way she held your gaze. “I’m just saying. If the world ended tomorrow and I had to pick… at least I know he might not be a complete disaster about it.”

Eddie took another slow hit from the joint, then held it out toward her like an offering, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Buckley. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for the joint. “Don’t get cocky, Munson. It’s a hypothetical. And you’re the lesser of two evils right now.”

The air in the dining room had shifted — still light, still a little giggly from the drinks and the weed, but underneath it something warmer was humming. Something that felt like it could tip in any direction depending on what happened next.

Eddie’s eyes flicked to you for a second, like he was checking to see how you were taking all of this. His smile was easy, but there was a spark in it that hadn’t been there before.

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Robin’s answer — casual, a little smirk on her face, eyes flicking between you and Eddie like she was testing the temperature of the room. Steve’s soft snoring drifted in from the living room like background noise.

You looked at Robin.

She looked at you.

And there it was — that look. The one the two of you had perfected over the last year of living in this house together. The we’re about to do something really fucking stupid and we both know it look. Half challenge, half invitation. Your mouth twitched. Hers did too.

Eddie blinked between the two of you, brow furrowing. “Okay… what the hell is happening right now? Seriously. You two are doing that thing again. The creepy telepathic eye contact thing. I don’t like it when you do the creepy telepathic eye contact thing—”

Robin was already sliding out of her chair.

You met her halfway.

The second your mouths crashed together it was heavy. No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just the sudden, hungry press of her lips against yours, the sharp little inhale she took when your hands found her waist and pulled her in. She tasted like beer and the faint cherry of her lip balm and the weed you’d all been passing around. Her hands were in your damp hair immediately, tugging, angling your head so she could kiss you deeper, messier. The high made everything sharper and blurrier at the same time — the slide of her tongue against yours, the way her body pressed flush to you, the little sound she made in the back of her throat when your teeth caught her bottom lip.

You barely registered the dining room table behind you until your ass hit the edge of it. Robin followed, crowding between your legs, one hand braced on the wood beside your hip while the other slid up under the edge of your towel, palm hot against your still-damp skin.

Eddie made a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What the fuck,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “What the hell is happening seriously. Is this— are you two— Jesus Christ, I’m right here. I’m standing right here. Harrington’s passed out in the next room and you two are just— okay. Alright. This is fine. This is totally fine. I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out—”

You broke the kiss just long enough to laugh against Robin’s mouth, breathless and giddy and a little wild from the high. She was laughing too, forehead pressed to yours for a second, both of you grinning like idiots who’d just decided to set something on fire for fun.

Then you turned your head, still half-tangled with her, and reached out.

Your fingers curled around Eddie’s wrist.

He looked down at your hand like it was a live wire.

“Come on,” you said, voice low and rough from the kissing and the smoke. You gave his arm a tug, already sliding off the table, Robin’s hand finding yours on the other side. “Bedroom. Now.”

Robin was still giggling as the three of you stumbled out of the dining room — her free hand grabbing the mostly-smoked joint and the lighter on the way past the table. Eddie let himself be dragged, half-protesting, half-laughing in that high-pitched, overwhelmed way he got when his brain was short-circuiting.

“I— you can’t just— what is happening right now,” he kept saying, even as he followed you down the hallway toward his room. “I was minding my own business. I was being chill. And now I’m being kidnapped by two extremely hot, extremely high girls who were just making out on Steve’s dining room table like it was a normal day—”

“Shut up, Munson,” Robin managed between laughs, shoving his bedroom door open with her shoulder. “Consider this your lucky day.”

You were both still giggling as you pulled him inside — the sound bright and stupid and full of that reckless, drunk-high energy that always seemed to hit hardest at three in the morning. Eddie’s room smelled like him— weed, old leather, that cologne he stole from Steve and never gave back. Posters on the walls, clothes on the floor, his guitar propped in the corner like it was watching.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Robin was still pressed against your side, her mouth finding the curve of your neck for a second just because she could. You were still holding Eddie’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were grounding all three of you in the moment.

Eddie stared at the two of you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that wild grin starting to break through the confusion.

“Okay,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Okay. I’m listening. I’m extremely listening. Someone please tell me what the game plan is here before I have a heart attack in my own bedroom.”

You and Robin exchanged another look.

And then you were both laughing again — soft, breathless, already moving toward him like the night had always been headed exactly here.

Robin broke first, a soft, nervous giggle escaping as she looked at you. “Okay. So. We’re really doing this.”

You felt that same reckless, high-drunk spark from the dining room table flare hotter in your chest. You stepped in close to her, one hand sliding around her waist, and spoke low enough that it felt like a secret even though Eddie was right there.

“I’m gonna teach you how to give a blowjob.”

Eddie made a strangled noise from somewhere behind you. “I— what— teach—?”

Robin’s eyes flicked to him, then back to you. She looked a little dazed, a little turned on, a little like she couldn’t believe she was nodding. But she nodded anyway.

You turned to Eddie, who was still standing there looking like his brain had melted. His cock was already straining hard against the front of his swim trunks. You exchanged a silent look of permission with him, stepped right into his space, hooked your fingers into the waistband, and tugged them down in one smooth motion.

His cock sprang free — thick, ruddy tip, already leaking. Bigger than average. Heavy.

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Jesus Christ. Are they all that size?”

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave him one slow stroke, just to watch the way his stomach jumped. Then you glanced at Robin with a crooked little smile.

“Nope. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan the second you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t waste time — you leaned in and took the head of his cock into your mouth, warm and wet, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside while your hand worked what you couldn’t fit yet. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his hand immediately found the back of your head like he didn’t know what else to do with it — it all hit harder because of the high. Everything felt magnified.

“Fuck— fuck—” Eddie’s voice cracked. He was staring down at you like you’d just personally rewritten the laws of physics. “Okay. Okay, this is happening. This is really— Jesus, your mouth—”

Robin watched, transfixed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her cheeks were flushed. After a minute she cleared her throat, voice a little hoarse.

“Can I… can I just start with a handjob? I don’t think I’m ready for the whole… mouth thing yet.”

You pulled off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at her. “Yeah. Come here.”

Robin knelt down beside you on the floor. She hesitated for only a second before wrapping her hand around him — tentative at first, like she was testing the heat and weight of him. Eddie made another broken sound above you both, hips twitching.

You covered her hand with yours.

“Here,” you murmured, guiding her. “Like this.”

You started slow — long, steady strokes from base to tip, your fingers curled over hers so she could feel exactly how much pressure to use. Eddie’s cock twitched hard in your combined grip, a bead of pre-cum welling at the slit. You used it to slick the way, dragging both your hands up and down in a smooth rhythm.

“See?” you said softly, close to her ear. “He seems to like it when you twist your wrist a little at the top. And you can use your other hand on his balls if you want — gentle, though.”

Eddie was losing his mind above you. One hand braced on the edge of his dresser, the other hovering like he didn’t know where to put it. His voice was wrecked.

“I— I don’t— what the fuck is my life right now— god, that feels— you two are actually going to kill me—”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh, but she didn’t let go. She was watching your hands move together over him, fascinated, biting her lip. The high made everything feel warmer, slower, more electric — the slide of skin on skin, the way Eddie’s cock pulsed between your fingers, the soft sound of his breathing breaking apart above you.

You kept guiding her, slow and patient, showing her how to stroke him just right while Eddie stood there completely at your mercy, confused and painfully, desperately horny, and very clearly not wanting any of it to stop.

The slow, guided strokes had Robin breathing a little harder. You could feel the shift in her — the way her grip got more confident under yours, the way she kept glancing at Eddie’s cock like she was daring herself.

Robin licked her lips.

Then she leaned in.

Her tongue dragged slowly up the underside of Eddie’s cock in one long, tentative stripe from base to tip. She made a soft, surprised sound at the taste and the heat of him, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she did it again, slower this time, like she was getting used to it.

You didn’t hesitate. You dipped your head right beside hers and followed.

The two of you worked him together — tongues sliding up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, getting him messy and wet. Saliva and pre-cum mixed as you licked over the same spots, sometimes your tongues brushing against each other in the process. Robin let out a shaky little laugh against his skin, and you answered it with one of your own before you both went back in, lapping at him like you were sharing something filthy and sweet at the same time.

Eddie made a sound like he’d been shot.

“F-fuck— fuck— you two— Jesus Christ—” His voice was wrecked, high and strained. One hand was white-knuckling the edge of the dresser so hard the wood creaked. The other hovered uselessly in the air like he was afraid to touch either of you in case he lost what little control he had left. His thighs were trembling. “I’m— I’m not gonna last if you keep— god, your tongues—”

You and Robin ignored the warning.

You met in the middle again, tongues curling against each other over the head of his cock before sliding back down together, coating him in shiny wetness. Then you were kissing — really kissing — right there on his dick. Mouths open, tongues sliding hot and slick against each other with the thick length of him caught between you. Every time your lips met you could taste him on her, and she could taste him on you. It was messy. It was obscene. It was so fucking hot you felt dizzy with it.

Eddie’s hips jerked forward without his permission. A broken, desperate noise tore out of his throat.

“I’m serious— I’m— fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop— I’m trying— I’m trying so hard not to—” His voice cracked on a moan as your tongues met again over his slit, lapping up the fresh bead of pre-cum that had leaked out. “Please— Jesus, you’re both gonna kill me—”

Robin pulled back just enough to look up at him, lips shiny and swollen, a wicked little smile on her face even though her cheeks were flushed dark. She gave the head of his cock one more slow lick, then glanced at you like she was checking if you wanted to keep going.

Eddie looked like he was hanging on by a thread — eyes glassy, chest heaving, every muscle in his body locked tight as he fought not to come all over both your faces right then and there.

“Can I… watch you get fucked first?”

You were still on your knees, one hand loosely wrapped around the base of Eddie’s cock. You glanced up at her, a slow, wicked little smile spreading across your face.

“Only if you sit on my face.”

Robin’s eyes went wide for a second. Eddie made a noise like his brain had short-circuited again.

You didn’t wait for more discussion. You stood up, grabbed Eddie’s hand, and tugged him toward the bed with you. Robin followed, still looking a little stunned but not saying no. You crawled onto the mattress and laid back, legs spreading automatically as you looked up at both of them.

Eddie hovered at the side of the bed, swim trunks still around his thighs, cock flushed and shiny from both your mouths. He looked wrecked already — hair wild, eyes dark, chest heaving.

“Are you guys sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Like… we can stop at any point. This is— this is a lot. I don’t want anyone to—”

“Munson,” you cut in, staring straight at him, “if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to be mad at you.” Your tone was light but firm. Then you turned your head toward Robin and patted the space above your face. “And Robin… come sit on my face.”

Robin hesitated. Her cheeks were flushed dark, one hand twisting in the hem of her swimsuit. She looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie like she was checking one last time that this was really okay. Eddie just gave her a helpless little shrug, like I have no idea what’s happening but I’m not stopping it.

She climbed onto the bed.

You helped guide her — hands on her hips as she swung one leg over your head and slowly lowered herself, pushing the gusset of her swimsuit to the side. The second her cunt brushed your mouth you licked up into her, slow and deliberate, and Robin made a soft, shocked sound above you, thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Eddie was still standing there like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You reached down between your own legs and peeled your bikini bottoms off. Y you looked at Eddie upside-down from between Robin’s thighs.

“Eddie.”

That was all it took.

He climbed onto the bed, shoved his trunks the rest of the way off, and lined himself up. The head of his cock dragged through your folds once, twice, collecting wetness, before he pushed in with one long, smooth thrust.

You moaned into Robin’s cunt.

Eddie groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck— you’re so— god—”

He started fucking you in deep, steady strokes, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. Every time he bottomed out you cried out against Robin, the vibrations making her gasp and rock down harder onto your tongue. She was watching everything — the way Eddie’s cock disappeared into you over and over, the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your mouth worked between her legs.

Robin leaned forward.

Her fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight, desperate little circles, matching the rhythm of Eddie’s thrusts. The added stimulation made your whole body jerk. You sucked harder on her clit, tongue flicking fast, and Robin’s thighs clamped around your head as she moaned.

Eddie was losing it.

He was trying so hard to hold back, but between the way you felt around him, the wet sounds of you eating Robin out, and the sight of her fingers working your clit right above where he was buried inside you — it was too much.

“Fuck— I’m— I’m close—” he gasped. “I can’t— you feel too good— Robin, if you keep— shit—”

Robin rubbed your clit faster, leaning down so she could watch Eddie’s cock splitting you open while your tongue fucked into her. The angle let her grind down harder on your face.

You came first.

It hit hard — a full-body, shaking orgasm that made your back arch off the bed and your moan get muffled against Robin’s cunt. Your walls clenched tight around Eddie’s cock, pulsing hard, and that was it for him.

Eddie came with a broken, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. Thick, hot pulses that you felt with every twitch of his cock. He kept fucking through it in short, desperate thrusts, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Robin followed right after — thighs shaking around your head as she came on your tongue with a soft, surprised cry, her fingers still moving on your oversensitive clit until the overstimulation made you whimper.

For a few long seconds the only sounds in the room were heavy breathing, the wet slide of Eddie slowly pulling out of you, and Robin’s shaky little laughs as she carefully climbed off your face.

Eddie collapsed onto the bed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice completely wrecked. “What the fuck just happened.”

Robin was still catching her breath, looking down at both of you with wide, dazed eyes and a stunned little smile.

You just lay there between them, flushed and satisfied and still buzzing from the high.

The three of you were still catching your breath, bodies loose and warm on Eddie’s bed. Robin was the first to move, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her hair was a mess, lips still shiny from where you’d had your mouth on her. She looked down at Eddie, who was flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, his cock soft and half-hard against his stomach, shiny with a mix of your wetness and his own cum.

“So like—” Robin started, voice a little hoarse, “when your dick works again… can I try?”

Eddie dropped his arm and turned his head to stare at her like she’d grown a second head.

“When my— what the hell are you talking about, Buckley?”

Robin sat up a little more, tilting her head as she studied him with open curiosity. “Y’know… like when it gets all hard again like before. I wanna try. For real this time.”

You snorted, still lying between them, one hand resting on your own stomach. “I know a way we can get him hard again.”

Eddie lifted his head, eyes wide. “Hello? I’m— I’m right here, you menaces!”

You and Robin glanced at each other.

“Should we?” you asked, already smiling.

Robin hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Think we should.”

Before Eddie could get another word out, you rolled toward Robin and kissed her.

It started slow — lazy, post-orgasm kisses, your mouths moving together soft and wet. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Robin made a quiet sound and leaned in harder, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as her tongue slid against yours. The kiss got deeper, messier, the two of you making out right there on the bed like Eddie wasn’t even there.

Eddie made a wounded noise from beside you.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained, voice rough. “I want a kiss. I’m the one who just— I participated! I did labor! I deserve— hey— hey—”

You broke away from Robin with a grin and turned to him instead.

The second your mouth met his, Eddie melted. He kissed you back desperately, one hand sliding into your hair as he licked into your mouth like he’d been starving for it. You could feel him starting to twitch against your thigh already.

Robin watched for a second, then leaned in and nudged you aside so she could kiss him next. Eddie made another broken sound as she kissed him — slower at first, exploratory, then deeper once she got the hang of it. His cock gave a visible twitch against his stomach, starting to fill out properly.

You took your turn again, kissing him slow and filthy while your hand drifted down to wrap loosely around the base of his cock, giving him one lazy stroke. He was getting harder by the second.

“Fuck— you two are evil,” he muttered when you finally let him breathe. His voice was already wrecked again. “I was trying to be good and recover and now I’m— god— I’m hard again. This is your fault. Both of you.”

Robin glanced down at his cock, now fully hard and flushed in your hand, and bit her lip.

She looked back up at you, eyes bright and a little nervous but determined.

“So… can I try now?”

Eddie sat up a little, running a hand through his messy hair. His cock was fully hard again, resting against his stomach as he looked at Robin with that same soft, slightly overwhelmed expression he’d had since the dining room.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle even though he was still catching his breath from the kissing. “I’m serious. You can stop at any point. Like… any point. You say the word and we’re done, no questions asked.”

Robin rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“I know, Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’ve said it like six times already. I’m not gonna shatter.”

Eddie held his hands up in surrender, but he was still watching her carefully. “Okay. Okay. Just… making sure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to do it missionary? Or, like… any position you’re comfortable with.”

Robin made a face like he’d suggested they do it in the middle of the grocery store.

“Fuck no,” she said immediately. “I’m too shy to even talk at you right now, let alone look at you while you’re fucking me.”

Eddie blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “Reverse cowgirl it is, then.”

You helped shift things around on the bed, moving pillows and making space. Robin climbed over Eddie’s lap, facing away from him — toward you instead. Her hands braced on your thighs for balance as she hovered over him. Eddie wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, the other resting lightly on her hip as he lined himself up.

Robin took a shaky breath, then slowly started to sink down.

The second he bottomed out inside her, her eyes went wide. A sharp, punched-out sound left her throat. She froze there for a second, adjusting to the stretch, fingers digging into your legs.

Eddie’s hands tightened on her hips. “You okay?” he asked immediately, voice low and careful. “Robin? You good?”

She didn’t answer right away, just breathed through it.

“Robin?” he tried again, a little more worried. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”

Robin finally turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson,” she gritted out. “I can feel you in my throat.”

Eddie let out a startled laugh, the sound bright and relieved all at once. “Jesus. Okay. Noted.” He gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “Just checking. You’re calling the shots here.”

Robin took another slow breath, then rolled her hips experimentally. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her when she felt how deep he was. She glanced at you, something between overwhelmed and determined in her expression, like she was still processing the feeling of being this full.

Eddie was still grinning, even as he stayed perfectly still beneath her.

“Guess I’m just a human dildo tonight,” he joked, voice warm and teasing. “At your service.”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh despite herself, still adjusting, still getting used to the stretch of him inside her. She hadn’t started moving properly yet — just sitting there, breathing, getting her bearings while Eddie waited patiently underneath her and you stayed close in front of her.

You could feel the tension in Robin’s body — the way her thighs were trembling slightly where they bracketed Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing was still a little too careful. So you leaned in and kissed her again, slow and grounding, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. She melted into it almost immediately, some of the rigidness easing out of her shoulders as she kissed you back.

When you pulled away, she turned her head just enough and said, voice a little rough, “Eddie… start moving.”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He started slow, rolling his hips up into her in careful, shallow thrusts. Robin’s breath hitched, her hands tightening on your thighs as she adjusted to the feeling of him moving inside her. You stayed close, one hand sliding down between her legs to rub her clit in slow, steady circles with your thumb — matching the rhythm Eddie was setting.

Robin let out a shaky moan against your mouth when you kissed her again.

You didn’t stay up there long.

You broke the kiss and lowered yourself further, settling between Eddie’s spread thighs. From this angle you had a perfect view of where they were joined — his cock glistening as it slid in and out of her. You leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly over Robin’s clit first, then lower, licking along the base of Eddie’s cock and his balls on the next pass.

Robin clenched hard around him the second your tongue touched her.

“Fuck—” she gasped, hips jerking.

Eddie groaned, his hands gripping her waist tighter. “Jesus Christ, what did you just do to her?”

Robin let out a breathless, slightly unhinged laugh even as she rolled her hips down to meet Eddie’s next thrust. “She’s— fuck— she’s licking both of us. I can feel her tongue on your— god.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh of his own, still fucking up into her in those deep, steady strokes. “You're so fucking tight Buckley. Pretty sure I'm going to fall in love with one of you after this.”

Robin reached down blindly and grabbed a handful of your hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as you kept licking — slow, deliberate strokes over her clit and the parts of Eddie’s cock that weren’t buried inside her.

“Shut up,” she managed, voice breaking on a moan when you sucked gently on her clit. “You’re— it feels like you're fucking me with your arm. H- How the hell do you walk around all day with— fuck— with that in your pants? Where the hell— Jesus Christ— do- do you put it?”

Eddie grinned, even as his breathing got rougher. “Y'know Buckley. That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

Robin let out another shaky laugh that turned into a moan when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “I hate you. I hate both of you. This is— fuck— this is your fault.”

“Pretty sure it’s your fault for asking if you could try,” Eddie shot back, voice strained but still teasing as he fucked her a little harder. “I was being a gentleman. You’re the one who decided to use me as a human dildo for kicks.”

Robin’s only response was a broken moan and another tight clench around him as your tongue worked between them.

Eddie groaned, head dropping back against the pillows for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Keep doing that. Both of you. I’m not complaining.”

Robin was breathing hard now, caught between Eddie’s cock and your mouth, her body starting to move more instinctively with every thrust. She was still holding onto your hair like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of sex, Eddie’s low groans, and Robin’s increasingly desperate little noises every time your tongue dragged over her clit or Eddie hit a spot that made her clench.

Robin was getting close — you could feel it in the way her thighs were starting to shake on either side of Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing had gone ragged and uneven. You kept your mouth on her, tongue working her clit in tight, focused strokes.

Eddie was clearly struggling. His grip on Robin’s hips had gone tight, and his thrusts were getting a little less controlled, a little more desperate.

Robin must have felt it too.

She turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder, voice breathless but sharp.

“If you cum anywhere near me, Munson, I’m going to murder you. I’m serious. I will actually kill you.”

Eddie let out a strained, half-laugh, half-groan. “Noted. Loud and clear. No coming near the lesbian. Got it.”

You pulled your mouth off Robin’s clit just long enough to speak, voice low and a little hoarse from how long you’d had your face buried between them.

“I’ll take it,” you said, looking up at both of them. “Cum on me. Face, tits, wherever. I don’t care.”

Eddie made a broken sound at that, hips stuttering for a second before he forced himself back into rhythm.

You went right back to work on Robin — two fingers rubbing tight and fast right where she needed it. Eddie kept fucking her through it, deep and steady, even as he fought to hold himself back.

Robin’s whole body went tight.

“Fuck— fuck— I’m—” Her voice cracked as she came, clenching hard around Eddie’s cock in rhythmic pulses. Her thighs shook on either side of your head and she grabbed at your hair again, holding on as the orgasm rolled through her. A broken, gasping moan tore out of her throat as she rode it out on Eddie’s cock.

The second she started to come down, Eddie carefully lifted her off him with shaking hands. His cock slipped free, shiny and flushed dark, and he barely had time to stroke himself once before he was coming from between her legs.

Thick ropes painted across your face and chest — hot and messy, landing on your lips, your cheek, and streaking down over your tits. Eddie groaned loud and broken as he came, hips jerking with every pulse, one hand braced on Robin’s thigh while the other worked himself through it.

Robin was still catching her breath above you, looking down with wide, slightly dazed eyes as she watched Eddie finish all over you. She let out a soft, breathless little laugh.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie was still breathing hard, staring down at the mess he’d made on your skin like he couldn’t quite believe any of this had actually happened. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he let go, slumping back against the pillows.

Robin carefully climbed off him and flopped down beside you on the bed, still flushed and breathing heavy. She looked at the cum on your face and chest, then at Eddie, then back at you.

“…Okay,” she said, voice a little shaky but amused. “That was… a lot.”

Eddie let out a weak, exhausted laugh from where he was sprawled out, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, it really fucking was.”

The three of you were sprawled across Eddie’s bed in a messy, sweaty pile. Robin was on her back beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes, still breathing hard. Eddie was half-sitting up against the headboard, looking thoroughly fucked-out and a little stunned. You were in the middle, cum cooling on your face and chest, the high still humming pleasantly under your skin.

Robin was the first one to break the silence.

“Wait—” she said, turning her head toward you and Eddie with genuine curiosity. “Is this what Steve’s is like? Has anyone here seen Harrington’s dick? Like… for science?”

Eddie let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, running a hand down his face.

“….Yeah, I don’t think you’re gonna be a lesbian anymore after this.”

Robin snorted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “Nah. Still a lesbian. Have you seen how nice her tits are?” She gestured vaguely at your chest with one hand. “And she doesn’t have a dick that split me in half.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically, even as he was clearly fighting a grin. “Glad to know that I’m just an afterthought?”

You turned your head to look at him, still a little breathless, a lazy smile tugging at your mouth.

“If it makes you feel better… I’d have sex with you again.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. His eyes lit up, that familiar cocky little smirk sliding back onto his face despite how wrecked he looked.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “Is that an invitation?”

You let out a soft laugh, reaching over to wipe a bit of cum off your bottom lip with your thumb.

“It’s more of a standing reservation.”

Robin groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with both hands even as her shoulders shook with laughter.

“Oh my god. You two are actually disgusting. I can’t believe I let either of you near me.”

Eddie was still grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been used as a human dildo and then immediately discarded in the rankings. He reached over and lazily dragged two fingers through the mess on your chest, smearing it a little before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking them clean with zero shame.

“Standing reservation,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Robin peeked at him through her fingers. “You’re not allowed to do that Munson. It’s rude.”

“Rude is my brand, Buckley,” Eddie shot back, but his voice had gone softer, warmer. He glanced between the two of you, something fond and a little overwhelmed flickering across his face. “You two are gonna be the death of me. I hope you know that.”

You smiled, still loose and satisfied, and reached over to rest your hand on Robin’s thigh while your other hand found Eddie’s.

“Worth it though,” you murmured.

Robin didn’t answer right away. She just let out a long, dramatic sigh and turned her head to look at you, then at Eddie, then back at you again.

Night had settled over the valley hours ago. The kind of darkness that swallowed the prairie whole, broken only by scattered lanterns glowing in farmhouse windows.

Then, suddenly, the church bell rang three times. Not for Sunday service or for a wedding, but for them.

Immediately, the town went into lockdown mode. Lanterns were snuffed out one by one, doors bolted, and curtains drawn. Dogs that had been barking suddenly went silent, dragged inside by hurried owners.

Somewhere down the road, another bell answered the first, then another, until the whole valley echoed with warning.

Your mother didn't waste a second.

"Inside. Now."

She had already begun blowing out the oil lamps before either you or your little brother could move. The warm glow that had filled the farmhouse disappeared one room at a time until only moonlight filtered through the windows.

"Mama..." your little brother whispered, clutching the hem of her dress.

"It's alright," she lied, pulling him close. "Just stay quiet."

You had heard stories about the Blackwater Outfit bandits for as long as you could remember. Every ranching family within a hundred miles had. They rode wherever they pleased, took what they wanted, and were gone before the sheriff could gather enough men to trail them.

Some claimed they only stole from wealthy cattle barons. Others swore they'd rob anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Whatever the truth was, no one wanted to find out firsthand.

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder with each passing second until they were just beyond the front fence. Against your better judgment, you crept toward the front window and peeled back the curtain just enough to see the lanterns.

A dozen of them, maybe more, swayed from saddle horns as riders passed through the darkness. Their faces remained hidden beneath the brims of their hats, little more than silhouettes against the pale moonlight. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of horses' hooves and men hollering.

Your hand instinctively reached for your father's Winchester, still resting above the hearth where it had remained since the day he died. Before your fingers could wrap around the stock, your mother caught your wrist.

"Don't be a fool, girl," she whispered, her grip surprisingly firm. "One rifle ain't stoppin' twenty men."

"They're on our land."

"And they'll still be on it after they bury you."

You clenched your jaw, your eyes never leaving the riders outside. Every instinct in your body screamed to do something. To scare them off or to fire a warning shot, just to prove that this farm wasn't defenseless just because your father was gone.

Your mother stepped in front of the window, forcing you to look at her instead.

"Your pa knew when to pick a fight," she said quietly. "That's why he lived as long as he did."

You swallowed hard.

"Tonight ain't one worth dyin' over."

When dawn finally broke, the sun began painting the fields in soft shades of gold that would've been beautiful under any other circumstance. The farmhouse still stood, smoke lazily curling from the chimney, and the rolling pasture stretched just as it always had.

Then you noticed the silence. No rooster announcing the morning. No impatient bleating from the goat pen. No low, familiar call from the pasture beyond the barn. You were out the front door before your mother had even finished tying her apron.

The gate to the pasture hung crooked on one hinge; the latch splintered clean in two. Deep hoofprints had churned the earth into thick mud, leading away from the property in a trail so obvious it was almost insulting.

"No..." you breathed. You broke into a sprint then. The heifer was gone, and so were both milk goats.

You rushed toward the chicken coop, throwing the door open so hard it slammed against the side of the shed. Only a handful of hens scattered at your feet, squawking in protest. The rest had simply vanished.

They hadn't taken everything, though.

The old mare remained in her stall, too lame to fetch much at market. A stubborn old rooster strutted across the yard as if nothing had happened, accompanied by a few scrawny hens they'd apparently deemed not worth the trouble.

They hadn't stolen blindly; they had taken exactly what would hurt the most.

The heifer your family had planned to sell before winter. The goats that supplied milk, butter, and cheese. Nearly every laying hen that brought in enough money each week to keep flour in the pantry and to pay taxes on time.

You crouched beside the broken gate, running your fingers through the fresh hoofprints pressed into the dirt. They hadn't just stolen livestock, no. They had stolen the coming winter.

Behind you, your mother stepped onto the porch, one hand covering her mouth as she looked across the empty pasture. She took in the empty fields, the splintered fence, the open barn doors. Everything your father had spent a lifetime building.

She didn't say a word. Her shoulders sank almost imperceptibly before she turned and walked back inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

Anger carried you into town faster than your horse ever could.

The reins were barely tied outside the sheriff's office before you were shoving through the front door, boots thudding across the worn wooden floor. Sheriff Hopper looked up from the stack of papers spread across his desk, his spectacles perched low on his nose.

He regarded you for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. "I was wonderin' when you'd come."

"You knew?"

"I knew they rode through last night."

"They cleaned us out." Your voice was tight enough to snap. "They took the heifer, both milk goats, and nearly every good hen we had."

His expression hardened, though not with surprise. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"'Sorry' doesn't put food on my family's table."

"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."

Finally, Hopper rose from his chair and wandered toward the window overlooking Main Street. "They knew your father was gone."

"They knew that the farm lost its backbone the day he died. Figured it'd be an easy mark."

Your jaw clenched. "So what're you gonna do?"

"Nothing."

"They're the Blackwater Outfit," he sighed. "Outlaws, sure. But they ain't the sort that burns towns or leaves bodies behind just because they can. They take what they're after and keep ridin'."

"They still robbed us."

"They did."

"And you're just letting them?"

Hopper met your gaze. "I've got five deputies and a town full of families I'd rather not bury."

You looked away, shaking your head. "So that's it."

"Sometimes," he said quietly, "keeping folks alive means knowing which fights not to pick."

"Where are they?"

His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't advise it."

"Where?"

Another sigh. "They rented the rooms above McCready's Saloon. They'll likely leave come morning."

You didn't say another word. You simply turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming behind you hard enough to rattle the windows.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, your mind had already been made up. If the sheriff wasn't willing to do anything, you would.

You stood in front of the small mirror hanging beside your bedroom window, smoothing your palms over the nicest dress you owned. It wasn't extravagant by any means, just a deep blue cotton dress reserved for Sunday services and the occasional town social. Your mother watched quietly from the doorway as you pinned your hair back.

"You're headed into town."

You nodded, fastening your father's silver necklace around your neck. "I'll be back."

"Just...come home."

By nightfall, McCready's Saloon was alive with music spilling through the open doors, piano keys carrying into the street alongside bursts of laughter and clinking glasses. Horses lined the hitching posts outside, and every window glowed warmly against the cool prairie evening.

You tied your mare outside and climbed the steps. The moment you stepped through the swinging doors, the familiar scent of whiskey, tobacco smoke, and sawdust washed over you.

"Evenin', miss."

You smiled at the bartender, an older man named Walter who'd known your family since before you were born.

"Evenin', Walt."

He looked you over, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. "Don't think I've seen you in here dressed like that."

You offered a small shrug. "Figured I deserved a drink."

"Hell of a day for one."

"You could say that."

Walter poured your usual without asking, sliding the glass across the polished bar.

"On the house."

You thanked him quietly before letting your eyes drift across the room. It wasn't hard to find them.

They occupied nearly an entire corner of the saloon, boots propped on chairs, cards spread across a table littered with whiskey bottles and coins. Laughter came easily between them, drawing more than a few curious glances from the locals, who were careful not to linger.

And in the middle of it all sat the man you assumed was Eddie Munson. He looked nothing like you'd imagined. You'd expected someone older. Meaner.

Instead, he couldn't have been much more than a few years older than yourself, his dark curls spilling beneath a black hat as he laughed at something one of his men had said. Rings glinted beneath the lantern light as he shuffled a deck of cards with practiced ease, entirely at home in a town that had hidden from him less than twenty-four hours earlier.

As if sensing your stare, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours from across the room. He smiled slowly, almost confidently. You looked away first, lifting your whiskey to your lips.

Walter caught the exchange immediately. "Oh, don't tell me."

You feigned innocence. "Tell you what?"

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to do something that'll have me patchin' bullet holes in the wall."

A laugh escaped you despite yourself. "I'll try not to make a mess."

"You never do."

Across the room, Eddie murmured something to the man beside him before pushing back his chair. He crossed the saloon with an easy confidence that suggested he'd never once questioned whether someone wanted him nearby.

By the time he reached the bar, you could feel Walter trying very hard to look busy polishing the same glass he'd been holding for the last minute.

Eddie rested an elbow against the bar. "Evenin'."

You took another sip before finally looking at him. "Evenin'."

"I don't reckon I've seen you around before."

"I reckon you haven't been lookin' in the right places."

That earned a grin. "No?" he asked. "Seems I've been missin' out."

"So I've heard."

He chuckled softly.

"They also tell me you've got a soft spot for pretty women."

"I've got a soft spot for interesting women."

You let the corner of your mouth twitch upward. "And which am I?"

He looked you over; not crudely, but with unmistakable interest. "I haven't decided yet."

"Well," you said, setting your empty glass on the bar, "I suppose you'll have to buy me another drink if you'd like the chance."

Walter's eyes flicked between the two of you.

Eddie smiled, already reaching for his coin satchel. "I was hopin' you'd say that."

Walter disappeared down the bar to tend to another customer, leaving the two of you alone beneath the warm glow of the hanging lamps.

Eddie slid the fresh whiskey toward you. "You always this hard to impress?"

"I haven't seen much worth impressin' me."

"Ouch."

"You asked."

"I did."

He rested one forearm against the bar, turning toward you with an easy grin that would've made most women blush.

You simply took another sip.

"So," he said. "You got a name?"

"You got enough names to remember already."

"I'll make room."

"I doubt it."

He laughed under his breath. "You've got quite the sharp tongue."

"So I've been told."

"I like it."

"I'm sure you do."

"You don't seem surprised."

"I imagine you say that to every pretty girl that walks through that door."

He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. "You wound me."

"I was aiming lower."

That earned a genuine laugh, loud enough for a few of his men to glance over from their poker game.

"There it is," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Knew she was hidin' in there somewhere."

You looked at him flatly. "You always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm bein' ignored."

"I can fix that."

"Oh?"

"Beneath this bar..." you said quietly, keeping your eyes on your glass, "...I've got my father's Colt pointed right at your ribs."

The smile never left his face. If anything, it grew.

"I know."

Your fingers tightened around the grip beneath the counter. "What?"

"I said I know."

For the first time since he'd wandered over, Eddie's expression lost some of its teasing edge. His voice stayed low enough that only you could hear.

"I recognized you the second you walked in."

A knot formed in your stomach.

"I wasn't entirely certain at first."

His eyes drifted briefly to the silver necklace resting against your collarbone.

"Then I saw the necklace."

Your hand instinctively brushed against it.

"Your father's."

You stared.

"Folks in town talked."

"They've got nothin' better to do."

"They said there was a young woman out on the Miller place." His gaze returned to yours. "Long black hair. Pretty enough to turn heads. Mean enough to break 'em."

Despite yourself, your brow furrowed.

"They said after your pa passed, you worked that ranch like it was your own."

"It is my own."

"I stand corrected."

"You also weren't supposed to be home last night."

Your pulse skipped.

"We figured it'd just be your ma and little brother."

Rage simmered beneath your ribs. "You figured wrong."

"I reckon I did."

The music carried on around you. Glasses clinked, and someone cheered from the poker table. It felt as though the rest of the saloon had disappeared.

Finally, Eddie smiled again. "I gotta admit...You've got nerve, walkin' in here alone."

"I figured you'd appreciate it."

"Oh, I do." His grin widened. "I just didn't expect to."

Your thumb eased back the hammer beneath the bar with a soft, unmistakable click. His eyes flicked downward for only a second before meeting yours again.

"You really are pointin' that thing at me."

"I told you I was."

"I know."

"And you're still standin' here."

"Course I am."

"...Why?"

"Because," he said with a crooked smile, "you're the first woman who's ever threatened to shoot me before askin' my name."

You rolled your eyes.

"Not worth the ask."

His laugh came easily, warm enough to earn another curious glance from across the room.

"See?" He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him. "Now I'm even more interested."

The click of the hammer settling back into place was almost louder than when you'd pulled it. Slowly, you removed the revolver from beneath the bar and tucked it back beneath your skirt.

Eddie's eyes followed the movement. "Changed your mind?"

"For now."

You slid off the barstool and set a few coins beside your untouched whiskey. "I've lost my appetite."

"You just got here."

"And I've already had enough."

Without another word, you turned toward the swinging doors.

"You leavin'?"

You didn't answer.

Behind you came the scrape of Eddie's chair, then footsteps. The cool evening air hit your face as you stepped onto the boardwalk, boots carrying you down the quiet street without so much as a glance over your shoulder.

"You always walk this fast?"

You sighed. "You always this annoyin'?"

"I've been called worse."

"I can think of a few."

"I don't doubt it."

You kept walking.

"So," Eddie continued, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, "you got a habit of pointin' guns at every man who buys you a drink?"

"Only the thieves."

He laughed. "I was wonderin' when we'd get back to that."

"You robbed my family."

"I did." There wasn't an ounce of shame in his voice.

"You don't deny it?"

"What good would that do?"

You shook your head. "You're unbelievable."

"I've heard that, too."

"You ever stop talkin'?"

"I was hopin' you'd tell me more about yourself."

"I'd rather tell the undertaker where to bury you."

"You've given that some thought."

"You've earned it."

He smiled to himself. "You know...I usually have to work a little harder to keep a pretty girl thinkin' about me."

You stopped so suddenly that he nearly walked into you. "You listen here. I don't like you."

"I know."

"I don't think you're charming."

"I figured."

"I think you're a thief."

"That one ain't up for debate."

"And if you follow me another step, I'll put that Colt to better use than I did in the saloon."

For just a moment, the grin softened. "I believe you."

You turned and continued walking. He fell into step beside you anyway.

"You ain't much for discouragement, are you?"

"Nope."

"You oughta be."

"I've never been particularly good at takin' advice."

"You'll get yourself killed."

"Maybe."

"You oughta worry about yourself."

"I am."

You shot him a look.

"I'd hate for you to miss your chance to shoot me."

You groaned. "Lord, you're insufferable."

"So I've been told."

"You keep repeatin' yourself, Munson."

"I've noticed you keep listenin'."

Before you could fire back, his hand reached out, fingers closing lightly around your forearm.

"Hang on—"

You caught his wrist, twisted hard, and stepped beneath his arm, using his own momentum against him. In one smooth movement, Eddie stumbled forward until his shoulder met the hitching post with a dull thud, your hand still firmly controlling his wrist behind his back.

He blinked. "...Well."

You released him immediately, taking two steps back. "Don't."

He rolled his shoulder, more surprised than hurt. "I was just tryin' to get your attention."

"You had it."

"I can see that."

For the first time all evening, Eddie wasn't smiling while flirting; he was smiling because he was downright impressed. And a little turned on, but hey, can you blame him?

"You learn that from your old man?"

You said nothing, and that was answer enough. He rubbed his wrist absentmindedly before looking back at you.

"I've gotta say..."

You sighed. "What now?"

"I was interested before." He flashed that crooked grin again. "Now I'm downright fascinated."

You shook your head, muttering something about him being hopeless as you started back toward the road leading home.

This time, Eddie stayed where he was. He watched until you disappeared into the darkness beyond the last lantern on Main Street, grinning like a goddamn idiot.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon by the time you were already out in the barn.

The old Jersey stood patiently in her stall while you worked, her hide mottled with age and her hips more pronounced than they had been even a year ago. She'd given good milk once. Now, you were lucky to coax half a bucket from her.

It wasn't enough to keep a family afloat, not by a landslide, but it was something. You rested your forehead briefly against her side, letting out a slow breath as the steady rhythm of milk hitting the pail echoed through the quiet barn.

That was when you heard it, the sound of another horse.

You frowned. Your mare was already tied outside. The hoofbeats slowed, stopping just beyond the open barn doors.

"You know," a familiar voice called, "I was hopin' for a warmer welcome."

You closed your eyes. "...Of course."

Setting the bucket aside, you stood and turned. Eddie leaned casually against the fence, one hand resting on the reins of a chestnut heifer.

Your chestnut heifer.

Your heart lurched. "What're you doin' here?"

"Mornin' to you, too, Sweetheart."

You ignored him, brushing past to the animal instead. The heifer gave a soft, familiar low as you ran your hands over her neck, checking for injuries. She looked healthy, fed, and untouched.

"You brought her back."

"I did."

You looked up at him, suspicion settling in almost immediately. "Why?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Felt like it."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Didn't expect you to."

You folded your arms. "So what's the catch?"

"No catch."

"You expect me to thank you?"

"I'd settle for you not threatenin' to shoot me before breakfast."

A reluctant huff escaped your nose before you could stop it, causing Eddie's eyebrows to lift.

"What?" You snapped.

"Nothin'. Just didn't know you had it in you to laugh."

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt. "You're unbearable."

"And yet..." He gestured between the two of you. "Here we are."

You shook your head, leading the heifer toward the pasture.

"You know, most folks would've sold her by now."

You paused. "What?"

"The old Jersey."

His gaze drifted toward the weathered cow still standing patiently inside the barn. "She's got maybe another season left."

Your shoulders stiffened. "My pa raised her from a calf."

"I figured."

"You don't sell family."

You reached over the fence to scratch the heifer between her ears, smiling softly when she nudged your shoulder in return. "You gave me quite the scare, didn't you?"

Your voice had lost every ounce of the sharpness you'd used on Eddie. It was quiet and gentle, almost affectionate.

The heifer bumped your hand again, causing you to laugh under your breath. Only then did you realize someone was watching.

You glanced over, and Eddie hadn't taken his eyes off you.

"What?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothin'."

"Mhm."

"I was just thinkin'."

"Dangerous pastime."

"It can be."

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you're nearly as mean as you pretend to be."

You snorted. "Are you forgetting I had you at point-blank range a day ago?"

"You did."

"I threatened to kill you."

"You sure did."

"I still might."

"I know." He pushed himself off the fence.

"But..." he said, nodding toward the heifer happily grazing beside you, "...I've got a feelin' you've got too soft a heart to actually pull the trigger."

Your smile vanished. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Not yet." He tipped the brim of his hat. "But I'm workin' on it."

Before you could think of another retort, he swung easily into the saddle. "I'll see you around."

"I sincerely hope not."

His laugh carried across the pasture as he turned his horse toward the road.

Your mother and little brother had left before sunrise, the wagon loaded with fresh bread, preserves, and the few eggs your remaining hens had managed to produce. They'd make the trip to the next town over, hoping to bring home enough money to stretch another week.

You'd stayed behind to mend fencing. The morning air was cool against your skin as you knelt beside a split fence post, hammer in one hand and a fistful of nails in the other.

You heard the horse long before you looked up. You smiled to yourself despite every intention of not doing so.

"Thought you were leavin'."

Eddie guided his horse through the open gate, a crooked grin already waiting for you.

"I was."

You drove another nail into the fence. "So what happened?"

He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease, dusting off his coat. "I found a reason to stick around a little while longer."

You snorted. "I can't imagine she's very bright."

"She's stubborn as hell."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is." He looked directly at you. "I kinda like it."

You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile as you stood and brushed the dirt from your skirt. "So."

"So."

"You just wander onto people's property whenever the mood strikes?"

"Only pretty girls'."

"You've got a death wish."

"I've been told."

"You repeat yourself."

"I've noticed."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you this time. It was barely audible and so barely there, but Eddie caught it anyway.

"There it is again."

"Oh, hush."

"I knew you could smile."

"I smiled at the thought of hittin' you with this hammer."

"I'll take what I can get."

You rolled your eyes. "You're impossible."

"And yet you haven't asked me to leave."

"I've considered it."

"But?"

You looked around the farm. "You can stay awhile."

His smile softened. "I appreciate that."

The two of you wandered without much destination after that. He followed while you checked fencing, refilled the water troughs, and gathered what little produce the garden had managed to offer.

"So..." Eddie glanced toward the weathered barn. "Your pa built all this?"

You nodded. "Every bit of it."

"It shows."

You looked over at him. "What d'you mean?"

"Nothing's fancy." He reached out, running his hand along one of the fence rails. "But every board's where it's supposed to be."

"He always said if you're gonna build something, build it once."

"He sounds like a smart man."

"He was."

Eventually, you wandered farther out into the pasture, where tall grass swayed with the breeze. Eddie bent down suddenly.

"What're you doin'?"

He plucked a tiny yellow wildflower from the ground. "Hm."

"You stealin' from me again?"

"This one's legal."

"I'm fairly certain it's still my field."

"I'll pay taxes on it."

He stepped in front of you, twirling the flower between his fingers before carefully tucking it behind your ear. "There."

You stared at him. "...What?"

"It matches."

"The flower?"

"No." He smiled. "The attitude."

You shoved his shoulder. "You are so full of it."

He stumbled back dramatically. "I've been assaulted."

"You'll live."

"I don't know..." He clutched his chest. "...That one might've cracked a rib."

"It barely touched you."

"I bruise easily."

"You're an outlaw."

"And?"

"And somehow a little shove's what does you in?"

"It's tragic, I know."

A laugh burst from you before you could stop it, so loud and so very real that Eddie could help but beam at the sound.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Mhm."

"I was startin' to think that sound was a myth."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "You aren't funny."

"I wasn't tryin' to be."

Embarrassed, you reached up to flick the flower from behind your ear. Before you could, Eddie caught your wrist. This time...gently.

"You can leave it."

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go almost immediately.

You looked down at your hands.

"So..." you said quietly. "You really oughta get goin'."

"I probably should."

"You know," Eddie said after a moment, "I don't remember the last time I stood still this long."

"That because you're always runnin' from the law?"

"Nah."

He looked out over the pasture. "...Just never had much reason to stop."

You folded your arms across your chest, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "What a charmer you are."

"I've been called worse."

"Oh, I'm sure." You nudged a loose rock with the toe of your boot. "I reckon you find a pretty girl in every town, throw around that smile, tell her she's different, then ride off before sunrise."

Eddie let out a quiet laugh. "So that's what you think of me?"

"I think you're an outlaw."

"Fair."

"And a flirt."

"Guilty."

"You've probably got women waitin' on you from here to Montana."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "...Can't say I do."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Really."

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

You started walking again, expecting him to fall into step beside you. He, in fact, did.

"I've danced with girls," he admitted after a moment. "Bought a few drinks. Shared a kiss or two."

"A kiss or two," you echoed.

"Maybe three."

You laughed through your nose. "My, aren't you the heartbreaker."

"Nah."

"No?"

He shook his head. "I don't stick around anywhere long enough."

"Hard to court somebody when you're wanted in half the territory."

"You could always stop robbin' people."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh, right."

He smiled again. "Exactly."

The two of you walked in silence for another minute before he spoke again.

"I meant what I said yesterday."

"Which part?"

"'Bout you."

You looked at him.

"I don't usually notice people."

You scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"I notice if somebody's dangerous."

His eyes met yours.

"Or interesting."

"And I'm both?"

"I think so."

You looked away first.

"You don't know me."

"I know enough."

"Oh?"

"You work harder than anyone else on this farm."

You frowned.

"You talk to the townsfolk more than you let on."

"I listen."

He shrugged.

"They all said the same thing."

"And what's that?"

"That after your pa passed..." His gaze drifted toward the barn. "...most figured your family would sell the place."

Your jaw tightened.

"They also said you'd never let that happen."

A breeze stirred between you, carrying the scent of fresh hay.

"I saw you mendin' that fence this mornin'."

"So?"

"You didn't replace the whole rail."

"There wasn't enough lumber."

"You carved a new notch and made the old one fit."

You blinked.

"You noticed that?"

"'Course I did. I notice a lot of things."

He smiled softly. "I noticed you've got calluses on your hands."

You instinctively tucked them behind your back.

"I noticed you always look over your shoulder before you leave a room."

You swallowed.

"I noticed you still wear your pa's necklace every day."

His voice had lost every trace of teasing.

"And..." he said quietly, "...I noticed you talk to every animal on this farm like they're old friends."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "I do not."

"You called that old Jersey 'sweet girl' this morning."

"I did not."

"You scratched her behind the ear and said, 'C'mon, sweet girl. Give me just a little more.'"

"...You heard that?"

"I was standin' ten feet away."

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "That's mortifying."

"I thought it was adorable."

"It was not adorable."

"It absolutely was."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You really don't quit, do you?"

He smiled that crooked, lopsided smile that somehow looked more sincere than cocky this time. "Not when I find somethin' worth stayin' for."

Word had spread quickly after the Hollow Creek Gang rode in late one autumn evening, expecting an easy score. By sunrise, they had turned tail and disappeared over the state line with fewer horses than they'd arrived with.

Nobody in town had missed who chased them out. It became something of an unspoken arrangement after that.

Sheriff Hopper remained the law, collecting taxes, settling disputes, and locking up the occasional drunk who got a little too friendly after payday. But whenever strangers with bad intentions started asking too many questions about the valley, they were met with a much simpler warning.

"Munson's territory."

It wasn't official; Hopper would've rolled his eyes if anyone suggested it was, but it worked.

The Blackwater Outfit still rode where they pleased. They still robbed railroad payrolls, wealthy cattle barons who squeezed every last penny out of smaller ranchers, and the occasional card game if Eddie was feeling particularly lucky.

Funny enough, the valley never seemed to lose another cow. Your farm changed, too. Not all at once, but little by little, day by day.

A bundle of fresh lumber appeared beside the barn one morning. A week later, Eddie showed up, claiming he had "accidentally" bought too much fencing and needed somewhere to put it.

Then, he painted the new chicken coop a bright shade of blue before realizing he'd used house paint instead of barn paint.

Your mother had stopped asking questions sometime around the third delivery. Instead, she'd simply shake her head whenever Eddie rode up the lane.

"That boy's impossible."

"He is," you'd agree. Then you'd walk outside to greet him anyway.

It became just as common to see Eddie's horse tied outside your barn as it was to see your own. Sometimes he'd help mend fences.

Other days, he'd spend hours pretending to help while somehow accomplishing very little besides distracting you from your work.

"You missed a spot."

You glanced over from where you were whitewashing the side of the barn. "I ain't painted there yet."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Carry on."

You laughed. "I've never met a lazier man."

"Lazier?" He pressed a hand against his chest. "I am deeply offended."

"You've been sittin' on that fence for near an hour."

"I've been supervisin'."

"You've been napping."

"They're remarkably similar."

One evening, you found Eddie sitting atop the split-rail fence overlooking the pasture, lazily spinning your father's old pocketknife between his fingers.

"You know that's mine."

"I was holdin' it for you."

"You stole it."

"I borrowed it."

"You've got a funny definition of borrowing."

"I've got a funny definition of lots of things."

You climbed onto the fence beside him, and after a moment of appreciating a day's work, he cleared his throat.

"I been thinkin'."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It usually is."

He smiled to himself before growing uncharacteristically serious. "I don't much care for ridin' anymore."

You turned to look at him. "What?"

"I used to think if I stayed in one place too long..." He shrugged. "...I'd become someone easy to catch."

"And now?"

"Now..."

His eyes wandered across the fields, the barn, the farmhouse. Your mother hanging laundry across the clothesline, your little brother chasing chickens he'd never catch.

Then, they found you. "...Now I think I'd rather be easy to find."

"Eddie..."

"I ain't sayin' I'll stop bein' me."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"I know." He reached over, absentmindedly taking your hand. "I just..."

He laughed quietly. "...I like comin' home." Home.

You looked down at your joined hands before squeezing his fingers. "I've got somethin' to tell you."

"Oh?"

"You were right."

His grin appeared instantly. "I usually am."

"I did smile in the saloon."

He laughed. "I knew it."

"But..."

You leaned over just enough to kiss him, slow and soft, sweet enough to stop every clever remark he'd been about to make.

When you pulled away, he looked genuinely speechless. "...Well."

"Speechless?"

"You might've finally managed it."

"I'll cherish the moment."

He laughed again before pulling you back for another kiss.

eddie fr.

i hope you all enjoyeddddd<33

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Steve sat up just enough to point his beer bottle at the group like a scepter.

“Alright, my turn again. Never have I ever… gotten high and tried to cook at three in the morning.”

You lifted your bottle immediately. So did Robin, Eddie, and- after a guilty pause- Nancy.

Robin cackled, nearly spilling her drink. “The toaster incident! I stand by it. Pop-Tarts are a perfectly valid midnight meal.”

“You put the Pop-Tart wrapper in the toaster,” Steve shot back, wheezing. “I had to unplug the whole damn thing before the kitchen caught fire. You’re a menace.”

Eddie threw his head back with a theatrical groan. “Amateur hour. I once tried to make grilled cheese at three a.m. while stoned out of my skull. Used a fork. On an electric stove. There were sparks. I named the scorch mark on the wall and we had a funeral for it the next day.”

Nancy was giggling into Jonathan’s shoulder, trying and failing to look dignified. “I made… I think it was supposed to be pancakes? But I used cornflakes instead of flour because the bag looked similar and the labels were blurry. It was… crunchy.”

Jonathan’s quiet laugh rumbled under her. “I remember that. You tried to serve it to me like it was intentional. ‘It’s deconstructed,’ you said.”

“Shut up,” Nancy muttered, but she was smiling.

Robin pointed at you, eyes sparkling. “You drank too! What was your crime against the culinary arts?”

You shrugged, fighting a grin. “Tried to make mashed potatoes but ended up just sticking the potato in the microwave and forgetting to cook it. Bit into a raw fuckin' potato.”

The group lost it. Steve actually rolled onto his back in the grass, clutching his stomach. Eddie sat up so fast he almost fell off the table.

“Legendary. Absolute madwoman.”

Robin wiped tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay, my turn. Never have I ever… had a secret hookup that I never told anyone in this circle about.”

A beat. Then Eddie and Steve both drank without hesitation.

Robin’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME? Both of you? At the same time? Separately? Details. Now. I demand details.”

Eddie grinned, all teeth and chaos. “Relax, Buckley, it wasn’t with each other. Though that would’ve been a hell of a story. No, this was… senior year. Very short-lived. Very ill-advised. She thought I was mysterious. I thought she was hot. We both realized we were wrong by morning. End of saga.”

Steve took a long sip like it might save him from the interrogation. “Mine was… after senior year. Different person. We agreed it was a one-time thing. Haven’t thought about it since. Until right now. Thanks for that, Robin.”

Robin was vibrating. “I hate both of you. I tell you everything and you’re out here hoarding girls like dragons. Unfair. I want names. Or at least embarrassing details. Did anyone cry? Was there a walk of shame? Was it in a car? Be specific.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, amused. “I feel like we’re one question away from a full confessional.”

Jonathan just shook his head, small smile in place. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Eddie pointed at him. “Smart man. Jonathan knows the value of silence. Unlike some people.” He shot a look at Steve, who flipped him off lazily.

Robin was still going. “I’m circling back to this later. Mark my words. This is not over.”

The laughter died down into comfortable, tipsy quiet for a second, the kind where everyone was just enjoying the buzz and the night air. Then Eddie shifted on the picnic table, rings catching the light as he leaned forward with that signature glint in his eyes- the one that always meant trouble was incoming.

“Alright, my turn again, you beautiful disasters. I’ve been saving this one.” He paused for dramatic effect, looking around the circle like he was about to drop state secrets. “Never have I ever… not come during sex.”

The air shifted just slightly. Steve made a face like he’d tasted something sour. Robin shook her head immediately. Nancy didn’t move. Jonathan stayed still.

You lifted your bottle and took a slow sip.

For three full seconds, nobody said anything.

Then the backyard exploded all over again.

Robin made a noise like a dying seagull and actually fell sideways onto the blanket. “YOU DRANK?! You actually drank?! But you’re- you! How is that even possible? Was it recent? Was it that one guy? Oh my God, tell me it wasn’t that one guy with the weird shoes-”

Steve sat upright, beer forgotten in the grass. “No. Absolutely not. Rewind the tape. You’re telling me some absolute clown had the privilege of being anywhere near you and just… tapped out? Like the job was done for him and he clocked out early? That’s not even selfish, that’s a federal offense. I’m personally offended.”

Eddie had gone very still, the usual manic energy sharpening into something focused and almost offended on your behalf. He stared at you like you’d just announced the end of the world.

“Sweetheart. No. We’re not doing this. Who the fuck was it? Give me a name, a description, a license plate number- I’m not picky.”

Nancy blinked rapidly, her analytical brain clearly fighting the tequila. “I… okay. That’s surprising. From you. Are you- I mean, obviously it wasn’t great if- wait, that came out wrong. Do you want to talk about it? We can talk about it. Or we can drop it completely. But also we’re all very invested now, so. Your move.”

Jonathan’s voice was quiet but sincere under the chaos. “That really sucks. Like… actually sucks. Sorry that happened.”

The questions started flying, voices overlapping in drunk, protective, nosy waves.

Robin, half-sitting up again- “Was it bad-bad or just ‘eh’ bad? Did you fake it or just lie there like ‘well, this is happening’? Because I have strong opinions about faking it and I need to know if I should be adding this person to my shit list-”

Steve, pointing dramatically- “On a scale of one to ‘I want to key their car and also their life,’ how bad are we talking? And do I need to go do recon tonight or can it wait till I’m sober?”

Eddie, already in full dramatic mode- “I’m in mourning. Actual mourning. The concept that you have experienced subpar anything and didn’t immediately tell us so we could form a council of war? Rude. Disrespectful. I demand emotional damages.”

Nancy, trying to sound reasonable while clearly spiraling a little- “Statistically it happens more than people admit, especially if there’s alcohol or if the other person’s… not great at listening. But still. You? Really? Do you want advice or just… collective judgment of this mystery idiot?”

Jonathan, dry as ever- “Or we can just sit here and roast them in silence. That’s also an option.”

Eddie was still staring at you, something unreadable flickering behind the theatrical bullshit. Steve looked ready to stand up and demand an address. Robin was vibrating with secondhand outrage and best-friend protectiveness. Nancy had that little crease between her brows. Jonathan just watched you, steady in the middle of the storm.

The game was forgotten.

The night, however, felt like it had just cracked open.

The group was still staring at you, the night air thick with weed smoke and the kind of drunk, high curiosity that made everything feel like the most important conversation on earth.

You shrugged, keeping it short because the buzz in your head made long explanations feel impossible.

“It was that guy I went on a couple dates with. He got his and that was it. Didn’t really care if I did or not. It just… didn’t happen for me. I didn’t make it a thing.”

Silence for half a second.

Then the backyard lost its collective mind all over again.

Robin made a noise like she’d been personally stabbed. “He what?! He got his and just- rolled over?! Like a fucking seagull that stole a fry and flew away?! I’m going to kill him. I don’t even remember his name but I’m going to find him and I’m going to-”

Steve sat up so fast he almost face-planted in the grass. “No. Nope. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. You don’t just- Jesus Christ, what a fucking loser. I’m actually angry. Like, real anger. My blood pressure is up.”

Nancy’s voice was tight, the tipsy analytical tone cracking into something sharper. “That’s not even selfish sex, that’s just… using someone. That’s unacceptable. I’m sorry that happened to you. Really.”

Jonathan just shook his head slowly, quiet but firm. “Guy sounds like an asshole. You deserved better than that.”

But Eddie-

Eddie went very, very still.

The manic energy that usually lived in his hands and his voice had narrowed into something focused and almost dangerous. He slid off the picnic table in one fluid motion, boots hitting the grass with a soft thud, and crossed the circle until he was crouched right in front of your chair. Close enough that you could see the way the string lights caught the silver in his rings, the faint scar on his bottom lip, the way his dark eyes had gone hot and serious in a way you’d never seen directed at you before.

His voice came out low, rough around the edges from the smoke and the drinks.

“No. Fuck that. That’s not okay. That’s not even in the same zip code as okay.” He shook his head once, hard, curls falling into his face. “You’re telling me some mediocre, selfish little shit got to touch you- got to have you- and didn’t even have the decency to make sure you came? That’s not a mistake. That’s a crime. And I’m taking it personally.”

He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted, and rested one warm, ring-heavy hand on your knee. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your jeans, barely there, but the touch lit up every nerve ending like a live wire.

“I’ve always liked you,” he said, voice dropping even lower, just for you even though the whole group could hear. “Like… liked you. I’ve thought about you a lot. More than I should’ve. Way more.”

Robin made a tiny, high-pitched noise somewhere behind him. Steve muttered “Oh shit, he’s really doing this,” but didn’t sound mad about it.

Eddie didn’t look away from you. His hand stayed on your knee, thumb still moving in that slow, deliberate stroke.

“And now I find out some asshole left you hanging? Nah. Not happening. Not on my watch.” His mouth curved into something that was half grin, half promise. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. I’m making it my personal fucking mission to give you an orgasm so good you forget that guy’s name, his face, and the entire concept of bad sex. If you’ll let me.”

He leaned in closer- his lips just shy of your ear-  his whispering voice turning darker, flirtier, filthy in that Eddie way.

“I’d take my time. None of that ‘get mine and dip’ bullshit. I’d learn what you like. What makes your breath catch. What makes your thighs shake. I’d use my mouth, my fingers, my cock- whatever you wanted, however long it took. I’d make you come so many times you’d be begging me to stop… or begging me not to.” His thumb pressed a little firmer against your knee. “And I’d enjoy every second of it. Because I’ve wanted to hear you fall apart for a while now. And I’m really fucking good at getting what I want when I decide something matters.”

The group had gone mostly quiet behind him, the air crackling with secondhand tension and drunk fascination.

Robin whispered, “Holy shit,” like she was watching a car crash in slow motion and couldn’t look away.

Steve cleared his throat. “Munson, you’re really out here shooting your shot in front of all of us? Bold. I respect it. But also… maybe give her a second to answer before you start planning the victory lap?”

Nancy’s voice was a little breathless. “I mean… he has a point about the mission part. The delivery could use work, but the intent is… surprisingly pure? In a very Eddie way.”

Jonathan just gave a low, amused hum. “He’s been staring at you for months. We all noticed. This isn’t news.”

Eddie didn’t even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry and suddenly very, very serious under all the theatrical bullshit.

“So?” he asked, voice soft but rough, thumb still stroking slow circles on your knee. “You gonna let me fix it? Or you gonna make me work for it first? Because I’m good with either. I like a challenge. And I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for a long time.”

The open backyard felt smaller suddenly. Just his hand on your knee, his voice in your ear, the way the buzz in your head made every word feel heavier, hotter, more inevitable.

And Eddie Munson was looking at you like he’d already decided you were the only thing that mattered tonight.

You didn’t even hesitate. The buzz made everything feel simple, inevitable.

“Okay,” you said, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m in. Fix it.”

Steve made a noise behind Eddie as Robin excitedly poked him in the ribs.

“Oh my God. No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am begging you two. Not here. Not tonight. Not while we’re all sitting in my backyard like this. The pool does not need to see whatever the hell is about to happen. I’m serious. Take it inside later. Or tomorrow. Or never in front of me. I’m begging. On my knees. Metaphorically. Please.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed- loud, bright, delighted, the sound cutting through the night air like it belonged there. He didn’t even look at Steve. His eyes stayed on you, dark and shining, like Steve’s panic was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.

You tilted your head at Eddie, feeling bold and bratty and loose from the weed and the tequila and the way he was still touching your knee like he owned the right.

“You better mean it, Munson,” you said, voice light but edged with challenge. “You talked a real big game just now. Don’t pussy out on me later. I hate when guys talk shit they can’t back up.”

Eddie’s laugh cut off like someone had flipped a switch.

For a second he just looked at you- really looked- and something in his expression shifted. The hunger that had already been there sharpened into something hotter, darker. His pupils blew wider. His hand on your knee tightened, fingers flexing once like he was physically holding himself back from doing something stupid in front of everyone. He liked that. The brattiness. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, in the slow, dangerous little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth before he schooled it back into something cocky.

He didn’t say anything about it out loud. Just let the moment hang there, thick and electric between you.

Steve was still muttering prayers under his breath. Robin had her face buried in her hands, peeking through her fingers like she was watching a horror movie she couldn’t look away from. Nancy looked equal parts scandalized and fascinated. Jonathan just raised his eyebrows and took a very long, very deliberate sip of his beer like he was pretending he wasn’t there.

Eddie finally dragged his gaze away from you long enough to glance at Steve, still grinning like the devil himself.

“Relax, Harrington. I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.” He gave your knee one last slow squeeze before finally- finally- pulling his hand back. But he didn’t go far. Instead he dropped down onto the grass right beside your chair, close enough that his shoulder pressed against your leg, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him through his jacket. He leaned back on his hands like he had no intention of moving for the rest of the night.

The group, blessedly, took the hint and started bullshitting again- Robin launching into a rant about some customer at the video store who tried to return a tape with peanut butter on it, Steve jumping in with his own horror stories, Nancy adding dry commentary that made everyone laugh. It was easy, familiar noise. The kind that usually filled nights like this.

But Eddie stayed exactly where he was.

Close.

His shoulder stayed pressed to your leg. Every so often his hand would drift back- casual, like it belonged there- resting on your calf, or brushing against your ankle when he gestured while talking to the group. When the conversation got loud he’d lean in a little, voice dropping just for you.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmured at one point, low enough that only you could hear, the words curling warm against your ear. “Good. I like that.”

Later, when Robin was mid-story and everyone else was distracted, he tilted his head back against your chair and looked up at you through his lashes, voice even quieter.

“Still thinking about what you said. The way you said it.” His fingers traced one slow line along the seam of your jeans, barely there. “Bratty looks good on you. Real good.”

You knew it.

He didn’t push it further. Didn’t drag you off into the house or make good on any of the filthy promises from earlier. Not yet. But he stayed glued to your side for the rest of the night- laughing at the group’s bullshit, throwing in his own dramatic commentary, passing the joint when it came around again. Every time someone wasn’t looking his hand would find its way back to you. A thumb stroking slow circles on your knee. Fingers hooking lightly around your ankle. Once, when the laughter got loud, he turned his head and pressed his mouth to the side of your thigh through your jeans- just a quick, hot press of lips and teeth that no one else saw.

The night kept spinning around you in a haze of smoke and laughter and string lights.

But Eddie Munson didn’t move from your side.

And every time you glanced down at him, he was already looking back- dark eyes full of heat and something dangerously close to a total loss of control.

The house had gone quiet.

Everyone drifted off one by one- Steve muttering something about “no sex in my backyard” under his breath as he headed inside, Robin still giggling about the night’s chaos, Nancy and Jonathan disappearing into one of the guest rooms with quiet goodnights. You tried to sleep in the room Steve had given you, but your head was too loud, your body too wired from the weed, the tequila, and the way Eddie had stayed glued to your side all night.

So you slipped outside again.

The backyard was cooler now, the string lights still glowing faintly. You lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the house, letting the first drag burn slow in your lungs.

Eddie was already out there.

He was sitting on the picnic table, boots on the bench, a cigarette of his own between his fingers. He looked up when the door clicked shut, and the second your eyes met, the air changed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and crossed the space between you in a few long strides.

The kiss was immediate and rough.

His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding back for hours. One hand slid into your hair, gripping tight at the roots, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of the picnic table. You gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your bottom lip. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was exactly what the tension between you had been building toward all night.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, voice low and ragged.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head.

His hands stayed on you- one still fisted in your hair, the other sliding under your shirt to grip bare skin at your waist.

“Do you know what you like?” he asked, voice rough. His thumb stroked once over your hipbone. “Be honest with me.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. The bratty edge from earlier was still there, loosened by the night and the way he was looking at you like he wanted to ruin you.

“I think I like it rough.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Yeah?” He gave your hair a deliberate tug, just enough to tip your head back. “Good. ‘Cause I like you bratty. Mouthy. Makes it hotter when I get to shut you up.”

He kissed you again before you could answer- harder this time, rougher- and then he was lifting you onto the picnic table like you weighed nothing. The wood was cool under your thighs through your jeans. He stepped between your legs, hands already working your button and zipper open with impatient fingers.

“You gonna be good for me?” he murmured against your mouth, even as he shoved your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion. “Or you gonna keep running that mouth?”

You couldn’t help it. The brattiness slipped out easy.

“Depends. You gonna actually do something, or just talk about it all night like you did earlier?”

Eddie laughed- low, dark, delighted- and the sound went straight between your legs.

“There she is.”

He pushed you back until you were lying on the picnic table, the string lights blurring above you. Then he dropped to his knees on the grass between your spread thighs like he belonged there.

The first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, almost teasing. Then he groaned against you like he’d been starving for it, and everything got rougher. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in as he held you open. He licked and sucked with focused intensity, tongue working your clit in tight, relentless circles before dipping lower. When you tried to squirm, he growled and pinned your hips down with one forearm across your stomach.

You couldn’t stay quiet. Couldn’t help the way your hips tried to rock against his mouth.

“Fuck- Eddieeee-”

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice wrecked and smug.

“Still mouthy. Good.” He nipped at the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Keep talking, sweetheart. See what happens.”

Then he went back in- hungrier this time. Rougher. Two fingers pushing inside you without warning while his mouth stayed locked on your clit, sucking hard. The stretch burned in the best way. He curled his fingers just right, fucking you with them in time with the relentless drag of his tongue, and the picnic table creaked under you.

You reached down, fingers twisting into his hair, and tugged. Hard.

Eddie moaned against you like you’d given him a gift.

“Yeah,” he rasped between licks, voice muffled and filthy. “Pull it. Be as bratty as you want. I’ll just make you come harder for it.”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow down. He ate you like he had something to prove- tongue relentless, fingers rough and deep, the hand not inside you gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d have marks tomorrow. Every time you got mouthy- every gasped “fuck you” or “is that all you got?”- he responded by being meaner with his mouth, rougher with his fingers, until your back was arching off the table and your thighs were shaking around his head.

The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through you with a broken sound you couldn’t bite back. Eddie didn’t stop. He worked you through it, tongue gentler now but still moving, fingers slowing but not pulling out until your whole body went limp against the wood.

Only then did he lift his head.

His mouth was shiny, eyes blown black, curls messy from your hands. He looked wrecked and triumphant at the same time.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up to kiss you- slow and deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“See?” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse. “Told you I’d fix it.”

His hand was still between your legs, two fingers still buried inside you, lazily stroking like he wasn’t done yet.

“And we’re just getting started.”

Eddie didn’t give you much time to come down.

He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then his hands were on your hips, flipping you over so your stomach pressed against the cool wood of the picnic table. The position was sudden, a little rough, exactly the way you’d told him you liked it. Your jeans were still around your thighs, keeping your legs close together as he kicked your feet a little wider.

“Stay just like that,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

You heard the clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper. Then the hot, heavy drag of his cock against your ass as he leaned over you, one hand braced on the table beside your head.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed against your ear. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing, not pushing in yet. “All this from my mouth? Or you been thinking about this since I had my hand on your knee earlier?”

You pushed back against him on instinct, trying to get him inside. He laughed softly and pulled his hips back.

“Uh-uh. Not yet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Trying sweetheart. But someone's impatient even though she just got what she wanted. Didn't she?”

“Need more.”

“Ah ah- don't be greedy.” He growled and your cunt clenched down in reaction. You had a taste and you needed everything.

He kept teasing- slow drags of his cock over your clit, the tip catching at your entrance before sliding away again. Every time you tried to rock back or get mouthy, he’d grip your hip harder and hold you still.

“Eddiee-”

“Yeah?” He sounded way too pleased with himself. “Something you want?”

You twisted enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still a little breathless. “Stop fucking around and put it in already.”

His laugh was low and dark. “There’s that mouth.” He finally notched the head at your entrance and pushed in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips were flush against your ass. The groan he let out vibrated through both of you.

He started fucking you in long, deep strokes- rough enough that the picnic table scraped against the grass and the edge bit into your waist with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your spine.

It felt good. Too fucking good. You were still sensitive from his mouth, and every drag of his cock hit exactly right. Your breathing got ragged fast.

Eddie noticed.

He slowed down immediately, hips rolling in these deep, grinding circles instead of the hard pace from before. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight like he was holding himself back too. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

You made a frustrated sound and tried to push back harder. He tightened his grip in your hair and gave one sharp thrust that made your vision blur, then went right back to that slow, torturous grind.

“Eddie, come on- ”

“Beg nicer,” he teased, even as his voice cracked a little. “Or keep being a brat. I like both.”

He edged you like that for what felt like forever- fucking you hard and fast until you were right on the edge, then slowing down or pulling almost all the way out until the feeling faded. Every time you got close he’d laugh under his breath and call you a brat, and every time you snapped back at him he’d reward you with a few brutal thrusts that made your legs shake.

The last time he pulled you right to the edge and held you there, you were shaking, forehead pressed to the table, cursing him under your breath.

“Please,” you finally bit out, voice wrecked. “Fuck- please, Eddie- ”

“Yeah,” he groaned, like the word broke something in him. “That’s it.”

He fucked you hard after that- fast, rough, the hand in your hair pulling tight as his other hand slid around to rub tight circles over your clit. You came with a broken sound, whole body locking up. Your vision whited out and your ears were ringing.

And then you were squirting- sudden, hot, and completely unexpected. It splashed against his thighs and the front of his jeans, your cunt pulsing hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you.

Eddie made a shocked, punched-out noise behind you, hips stuttering.

“Fuckin’- holy shit- Jesus Christ-”

You were still coming, still gushing with his fingers locked on to your overstimulated clit. The sound he made was half groan, half stunned laugh. He kept fucking you through it, short and desperate, until he pulled out at the last second and came across your lower back with a low, broken curse.

For a second neither of you moved. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard in the quiet backyard.

Then Eddie let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Did you just-?”

You twisted enough to look back at him, equally stunned, face hot. “I- I didn’t know I could do that.”

He was staring at the mess on his jeans and your thighs like he’d witnessed a miracle. Then he started laughing harder, the sound bright and a little wild. You couldn’t help it- you started laughing too, the two of you cracked up and messy and still half-dressed against the picnic table in Steve Harrington’s backyard at god-knows-what hour.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the back of your shoulder, still grinning against your skin.

“Jesus Christ. We’re doing that again. Like… soon. A lot.”

You were both still giggling as he helped you up, using his shirt to clean you both up as best he could. Your legs were shaky. His hands were gentle now, the roughness from earlier softened into something careful as he pulled your jeans back up and tucked himself away.

“Come on,” he murmured, still smiling. “Before Harrington comes out here and actually murders us.”

You snuck back inside quietly, shoes in hand. Most of the lights were off. Eddie didn’t even pretend to go to a different room. He followed you into the guest room Steve had given you, shut the door behind him, and pulled you straight into the bed with him.

The sheets were cool. His body was warm. He kicked his jeans the rest of the way off and tugged you against his chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist. His rings were cool against your skin where his hand rested under your shirt.

Neither of you said much. Just quiet breathing, the occasional soft laugh when one of you remembered the picnic table, and Eddie pressing lazy kisses to the top of your head.

You fell asleep like that- tangled up in him, still tasting him on your tongue, the faint ache between your legs a reminder of exactly how thoroughly he’d kept his word.

The morning light was already leaking through the curtains when you woke up. Eddie was still half on top of you, one arm slung heavy across your waist, curls a complete disaster against the pillow. He made a low, sleepy noise when you tried to move, pulling you closer instead of letting you up.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

You stayed like that a little longer anyway.

Eventually the smell of coffee and something sweet pulled you both out of bed. You threw on yesterday’s clothes- Eddie stealing your hoodie since he really can't eat breakfast in a cum covered shirt-  and headed downstairs together.

Steve was in the kitchen in an apron that said “Kiss the Cook” like an asshole, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission. The rest of the group was already scattered around the table and island- Robin perched on the counter, Nancy nursing coffee, Jonathan quietly scrolling on his phone. They all looked up when you and Eddie walked in.

The staring started immediately.

Robin’s eyes narrowed. Nancy raised one eyebrow. Jonathan’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. Steve didn’t even turn around from the stove, but you could feel the judgment radiating off him.

Robin was the one who broke first.

“Okay, so… why is Eddie’s shirt literally just lying by the picnic table outside?” she asked, way too casually. “Like, full-on abandoned. We found it this morning. It was just… there.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed- short and bright and a little guilty. Eddie muttered “Hope you didn't touch it.” under his breath, low enough that only you could hear it.

Steve finally turned around, spatula in hand, and gave you both the most exhausted dad look imaginable.

“I heard you last night,” he said flatly. “Both of you. Through the window. My window. The one that faces the backyard.”

You groaned and dropped your face into your hands.

Eddie, the traitor, just grinned and stole a piece of bacon off the plate Steve had already started stacking.

Robin pointed at you with her coffee mug. “So wait. Does this mean the game from last night is officially over? Like… mission accomplished?”

Nancy actually looked a little proud. “Glad your little problem is fixed.”

Jonathan just nodded once, quiet but sincere. “Good for you.”

Steve flipped another pancake with unnecessary force. “I’m not saying I’m happy about the volume, but… yeah. Congrats on finally coming during sex. Truly. We were all rooting for you.”

Robin raised her mug like she was toasting. “To finally getting to finish during sex!”

Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders, smug as hell, and pressed a loud kiss to the side of your head.

“See?” he said, way too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d fix it.”

You elbowed him in the ribs, but you were smiling anyway.

Steve just sighed and started plating pancakes.

“Sit down and eat before I change my mind about feeding any of you.”

Steddie

selfish @eddiernunson

steddie x babysitter! reader @lonelysatellites

two can play but threes more fun @wonderlanderings

lessons in anatomy (ao3)

to know youre mine (ao3)

Eddie Munson

and i need you to know @the-unforgivenn

hoping i'll find [a glimpse of us] @inknopewetrust

june baby @luveline

roll for rebellion @wonderlanderings

living after midnight @munson-blurbs

as above, so below @beasbrain

for the record @hamilhansen

one hit wonder @gem-writes

is it that sweet? I guess so! @5lutforeddie

the do's and don'ts of fake dating @mummyxdust

secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) @andvys

sit next to me please @ghost-proofbaby

extra credit: house calls @moontannedmunson

liquid courage @hellfirexhoe

ringing pavlovs bell @elegantpaperoperatormaker

twenty four hours (ao3)

ink (ao3)

I was made for loving you (ao3)

Steve Harrington

the basement @tinfoileddd

a dream with a baseball coach @barnesonfilm

always ready to be left out in the cold @thecreelhouse

if you're too shy, let me know @loveshotzz

knock on wood @calmcal

never leave you @whispersoflost

sweet, wonderful you @levanswrites

summer, 1992 (ao3)

the rust that grew between telephones (ao3)

Dean Winchester

babylon the great @godmadeaterribleerror

waiting for you (all my life) @godmadeaterribleerror

all the nights (and all the days too) @lunexiax

hard knocks @lunexiax

green light @godmadeaterribleerror

Ben (Solider Boy)

no love lost @godmadeaterribleerror

braids @hopelessbrain

mouth like that @notmeolive

Daryl Dixon

making sure it takes @morutelolita

blood ties @angelwings-crossbowstrings

the archer & the arbalist (ao3)

Rickyl

friendly competition @twd-bee3

and there was only one bed @heathermason6060

Peter Parker

friends helping friends @uhhhj13iguess

bed chem @californ1asnow

The version of Friday night's events that Eddie grudgingly recounted was, naturally, heavily abridged. Even if it wouldn't be a huge breach of trust and act of general assholishness to detail the extent of your suffering and the blushing, mind-altering closeness that came from it, every fiber in his body compels him to guard it like a new toy in the hand of a spoiled child. Tight-fisted, blindly possessive, not far from neurotic—for no one else to tarnish with their grubby hands or even fucking look at. He couldn't even bring himself to mention the kiss.

“You mean, she invited you upstairs—into her bedroom—and you said no?”

Lips sucked between his teeth, Eddie gives one decisive nod.

Gareth's entire face crumples—the horror of confirmation evidently too much to bear. “You’re out of your mind. She hates your guts every other day. What if that was your only chance?”

Eddie's entire face tightens. “My only chance to do what, man?”

That gets him an eye-roll. “To—”

“Don’t answer that,” Val advises sharply—or it might’ve been more of a threat.

“...I mean, he kinda has a point,” Doug chimes in, and goes pale as every pair of eyes lands on him.

Jeff's eyes narrow in a squint. “Does he?”

Dougie balks and throws a nervous glance towards Eddie as he finally sets his soda down. “Not— Well— It’s just, I thought you really liked her.”

Eddie can't admit to him that he really, really does; the roiling guilt in his stomach flares up again and blocks his throat.

“Why the hell do I even hang out with you dweebs?” Val groans. “She was drunk. Maybe he was trying not to be a total dickhead asshole.”

Eddie knew he was doing the right thing—which is why it sucked so incredibly bad to do it—but hearing Val corroborate the fact definitely helps him breathe a little deeper.

“He said she sobered up!”

“Sober and sobered-up are two different things."

"Yeah, but she invited him."

"Exactly," Val drones, gesturing broadly towards Eddie; speaking a little louder than he would prefer. "She only barely tolerates him for weeks on end, and suddenly, she wants him in her bedroom? She clearly wasn't thinking straight." And, with an apologetic glance: "No offense."

Only a little bit taken; Eddie has a hard time believing it himself.

"Maybe it was a test," Doug suggests.

“Well, how did she react?” Jeff interjects, addressing Eddie directly enough to catch him off guard.

"Huh?"

"When you declined."

I don't know is what first comes to mind, misleading though it may be. It's not like he saw your face as he said it. But the regrettable truth of your feelings on the matter is clear as day; if not from the way you hissed at him and slammed two doors as you went, then certainly from the treatment he received bright and early this morning. Waiting at your locker felt like a step too far, so he didn't—instead, he ran into you by accident, walking down the hall in opposite directions. He startled at the sight of you, peeping out your name on instinct, but the encounter didn't faze you in the slightest, nor did you spare him a glance. Far beyond the silent treatment, it was like he simply didn't exist, and his heart sinks a few inches in his chest at the memory.

Eddie sighs. “…She’s, uh— she’s pissed again.”

Gareth’s head falls mournfully into his hands. Across the table, Val's keen eyes press into a squint, like she's put together on her own that he isn't telling the full story. At least she seems to be the only one.

"What are you gonna…?"

Dougie's question trails off, and it takes Eddie a moment to process that everyone's eyes have drifted pointedly over his shoulder with an array of baffled expressions. As soon as it does, a beam of wishful thinking his him right between the eyes, and he whips his head around to find—

Jason Carver. Looming murderously over him.

For what feels like a full minute, Eddie can only gape at him, heart pounding, projecting telepathically the burning question, What the fuck is fucking wrong with you, you demented asshole? on a never-ending loop. Thankfully, in the continued stubborn dormancy of his psionic powers, this remains a screeching inside thought until Carver deigns to break the menacing silence.

"We need to talk."

…He's going to beat his ass. This is the instinctual assumption, but Eddie brushes it away just as quick. Not here and now, with an entire cafeteria full of witnesses, in perfect view of all the lunch ladies. Now, he's going to escort him somewhere else to beat his ass—that's a much more rational thought, but his logical mind has a hard time believing that, either. There are plenty of opportunities throughout the school day to isolate and bludgeon him more discreetly and avoid the half-hearted reprimand that might come with being caught doing so, and right here and now might be the least ideal of them all.

Plus, technically speaking, he's outnumbered. Jason came alone (though his fellow sportsmen across the room aren't exactly out of reach), and Eddie's got every warrior of blazing spirit and questionable prowess in Hellfire right here beside him. So, no, Carver isn't here to hurt him. He's here—personally, unexplainably, and wildly incriminatingly—to piss him off and psych him out.

Eddie takes a deep, deep breath and stands up from his seat.

"Eddie?"

"What the—?"

"Can it," Eddie blurts out on instinct, loud enough to cut short the uproar. He attempts to show with his eyes that there's no cause for concern, but it's anyone's guess how it lands. His face isn't quite as good at lying as his mouth is. "…It's fine. Just…give me a minute."

Another little outcry begins as Eddie turns to follow, and the last thing he hears before the angry throbbing of his head drowns out all other noise is the firm deescalation of Jeff's steady voice.

"Hey, it's cool. Ed can handle himself."

It sort of works on Eddie, too. He can handle himself; whatever bullshit Carver's cooked up for him today is nothing he hasn't learned to deal with.

He leads him straight outside, along the brick-faced exterior to a lower-traffic end of the school, on the far side from the parking lot out front. Eddie can't keep his head from twitching around the same way it always does when he's keeping this unsavory company out in broad daylight. Your lunchtime whereabouts aren't nearly as consistent and predictable as his own—you could be fucking anywhere.

When the distance or location has satisfied Jason's incoherent needs, he stops in place, turns around, and stares. It isn't an angry look, or at least not any more so than the typical sneer that he wears in Eddie's presence. More than anything, it strikes him as analytical; combing through Eddie's intense yet fiercely suppressed discomfort in search of…something.

Eddie swallows thickly. He considers asking how things are going with Chrissy, just to pop the disturbing tension bubble building in pressure around them, but whether or not it serves the proper function probably depends on the answer to that question, and after the abrupt and careless parting that Eddie all but fostered on Friday night, he figures it's probably best not to risk it. Instead, he waits; chewing on his cheek, staring right back at him with the steadiest eyes he can manage.

"…I'm taking Chrissy to prom."

Eddie blinks. "…That's uh— That's great, man," he offers blandly, hoping to God this isn't leading where it almost certainly is.

Carver's eyes turn shifty. "…She doesn't know it yet," he goes on pointedly. "But I'm gonna ask her, and I already know what she's gonna say."

Eddie's head falls forward; he ducks his chin in a reluctant nod. Jesus fucking Christ. If he couldn’t even sell you on the party, how the hell is he going to make prom seem like a remotely attractive proposition? Let alone a convincing desire of his own in the first place. Evidently reading his mind, Carver lets out a harsh breath through his nose and takes a generous step forward that whips Eddie's head right back up in alarm.

"I don't want the two of you there spreading your disease any more than you do. But I'm taking her to prom. …Stand in the corner all night for all I care, but you're gonna convince her cousin to go with you, and you're gonna stay the hell away from us."

He barely stifles a scoff—as if Eddie's the one prone to stalking and bothering him.

But there's something odd about this; about Carver. This doesn't feel like the same raging, superior asshole who waved his inexhaustible cash in his face and taunted him for trying to cling to some semblance of morality. He seems…strained. Too plainly desperate to entertain his usual power trip.

"…Prom is gonna be a hard sell," Eddie dares to nudge back.

"Obviously."

"And, I mean, you and Chrissy are juniors. …I'm just saying, there's always next year. Her cousin probably won't be much of an obstacle once she's graduated."

Jason squints his eyes at him like that's the dumbest shit he's heard all week. "We're going this year to plant the seeds for homecoming court in the fall, which'll give us a good shot at king and queen for next year's prom," he lays out irritably. "But I don't expect you to comprehend this sort of thing." He's right not to; he really fucking doesn't.

Eddie didn't realize that Carver's plot to date Chrissy was such a serious, multi-year endeavor. He figured he'd be off the hook come graduation—assuming he manages to graduate, a question he's been avoiding like the plague lately—but the thought of getting dragged around by the nose by this maniac indefinitely spills a cold, concentrated drop of panic into his guts. If it didn't end when he started dating Chrissy, nor will it when he takes her to prom, and maybe not even when you and him cease to attend the goddamn school, then when the hell will it?

He's so caught up in pondering this dark, depressing spiral, that he doesn't even notice Jason taking out his wallet until he's waving a sickly green wad of cash in his face.

"Take it."

Eddie's stomach, churning and quivering, finds room to drop even lower. He glances around and over his shoulder on instinct and rapidly shakes his head. "No, man, I don't— I still have—"

"It'll cover the cost of tickets," he speaks over him. "More than that. A…tux rental, corsage—"

"Seriously, Carver, I don't need it, I don't—"

He just speaks louder, drowning him out. "You're not gonna try and tell me that you can't afford it, or that you—"

"I can afford it," Eddie insists with building stress, "and I don't—"

"I don't care!" Jason shouts—the sound of it seems to echo off the wall, and Eddie hopes it wasn't audible from the inside. "I'm sure you have more than enough drug money stuffed under your filthy goddamn mattress to take that basket case to prom. I don't care. I'm not giving this to you out of the kindness of my heart. This is a contract, Munson. You accept it, and you do what I say."

For a moment, Eddie can only focus on his breathing, in and out and in and out, doing everything in his power not to blow a gasket of his own in retaliation. He can barely open his mouth before Jason cuts back in—seeing right through him.

"There's no backing out of it," he mocks. "…You're in too deep, and you know it. You think I don't know how you feel about her?"

And then Carver reaches out, grabs a fistful of his shirt collar to yank him in closer, and spits the words right in his face.

"You're taking her to prom. So take. The goddamn. Money."

Pulse pounding at his temples, Eddie snatches up the hateful cash and crushes it in his fist. As soon as Jason lets go of him, he scuttles back a few steps to regain some breathing room and stuffs the contract into his right pocket.

"You've got…serious fucking issues, man," he mutters through is teeth, and it's a verifiable miracle that that's all he says.

Carver's scoff almost sounds like a laugh. "Coming from you, that's goddamn hilarious."

Then, Eddie makes the silly mistake of taking that as the natural conclusion of this hellish interaction and tries to swiftly escape. He should know by now that he isn't free to go until he's been dismissed.

"I'm not done," Jason snaps. Eddie stops in place; tips his head back in disbelief and turns back halfway. "…I want you to stay the hell away from Chrissy."

He squints his eyes shut to mask the way they roll—like he hasn't heard this one before.

"Don't look at her. Don't speak to her. I know you aren't stupid enough to touch her. If she steps into a room, you leave that room. You understand?"

His teeth grit so hard that they slip, and his mouth drops idiotically open. "Might be kinda fuckin' hard, y'know, dating her cousin."

"I'm not joking with you, Munson. You don't get it."

Whatever that means. "Maybe you don't get it."

Abruptly as a trigger pull, Jason snaps. He lunges at him, grabs two violent handfuls of his vest collar, and, as Eddie cries out in shock, he shoves him up against the brick wall hard enough to bounce his head off of it; sharp knuckles digging in beneath his collarbones, keeping him pinned down.

"Fuck!" Eddie's hands fly up as if to cradle his head, but he can't. They wrap tight around Carver's wrists instead, his rings clinking against the face of his watch, but as hard as he pulls, they won't budge.

"Listen to me," Jason snarls, wide-eyed. "…Chrissy isn't like you. Chrissy isn't even like her. I don't care what…perverted, satanistic bullshit you and your girlfriend do behind closed doors, but if either of you…taint a single goddamn hair on her innocent head, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Eddie's eyes blow wide open. He's made sense of the ridiculous situation he's found himself in largely by referring to its perpetrator as a lunatic, a madman, a psychopath, and a nutjob, among other colorful names, but the truth is, Eddie never really thought he was anything more than an entitled, thick-headed, power-hungry asshole—the kind that this school (and Hawkins at large) is absolutely swimming in. But right now, in this moment, lightly concussed or not, he starts to wonder for the first time if Jason Carver really is every bit as deranged as he seems.

"I got it, man," Eddie hisses through the pounding of his head. "Fucking—Christ, I got it!"

Frigid eyes sweeping over his face, Jason rips his hands away from him and, once again, stares. With pure, sick disdain, he stares and stares until Eddie knows he won't be able to fend off the urge to shout at him for much longer, and finally, with both hands stuffed into his letterman's pockets, Carver turns and leaves like he was never there at all.

What Eddie should probably do is go back to the cafeteria to make sure his friends can see definitively that he's made it out of his abduction alive and well, but as wound up and nauseated as he already is, with this stabbing pain in his (thankfully not split-open) head, nothing in the world sounds more aggravating than trying to explain why Jason Carver felt so comfortable ominously demanding his presence in the first place.

Instead, he heads back to his van; fishes Piece of Mind out of the glove box and sets the stereo as loud as he can without risk of some meddling staff or faculty member banging on the door and shouting at him to turn it down; spreads himself out in the back of his van with his face stuffed in a scratchy old blanket, and waits for the buzzing and pulsating and the piercing goddamn bomb sirens in his brain to calm down. Or, for the lunch bell to ring. Whichever comes first.

…

Eddie spends the entire last ten minutes of sixth period halfway out of his chair, primed and poised to eject himself out of it as soon as the last bells cuts through Mrs. Howell's sleepy monotone. Restless as he is, he manages to anticipate it—he's already standing when the bell rings, and he makes it most of the way to your desk before anyone else has even left their seat.

You know he's there, obviously—there's no subtle way to throw your entire body across the room with the speed and urgency that he just did—but as he stands before your front-row desk, you don't even look up from it, taking your sweet time to pack your things back into your bag. When he says your name, you don't even twitch.

"…I'm sorry," he tries. "For treating you like that, being an asshole, but…I guess you know that already."

You ignore him entirely. Eddie nods to himself.

"Yeah, I kinda figured you'd, um…not wanna talk to me. Deserved, totally, I get it. It's, um… I mean, fuck me, right? You don't have to talk to me. But I can…explain myself, when you're ready. If you actually wanna…hear it. Or, y'know, I could just…skip ahead to the groveling, if that would— If you'd— If you want that. Sorry, my head's a little…" He gestures vaguely at himself, and doesn't bother to explain beyond that.

Still nothing whatsoever, but you are waiting for him to finish, he notes. Eddie purses his lips and sighs and sets a piece of ripped paper, folded in half, onto the desk in front of you. Your downcast eyes drag towards it without enthusiasm.

"…That's my number," he explains. "In case you ever…wanna talk, outside of school, or if you…need anything. Seriously. I work on Tuesday, Thursday, and…Saturday nights, and, uh— Hellfire meets on Fridays. But if you call after, like…ten-thirty, eleven on any night, I'll be there."

Your moody stare flits a little higher; nowhere near his face, but maybe enough to meet eyes with the undead Eddie on his Iron Maiden tee. Then, without a word, you slap your palm down onto the desk, crumple the piece of paper in your fist, and slip out of your chair to join all the other students filtering out of the room. The closest thing he gets to a goodbye is the swift brush of your arm against his as you go.

And despite it all, Eddie smiles. He really wasn't sure you'd actually take it.

This time, when Eddie spots Jeff leaning against his van from across the parking lot, it’s a sight for sore eyes—his entire body sags in relief. Keeping all of this bullshit swirling around in his mind alone has had it on the verge of caving in.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries.

“I’m fucked, Jeff,” he announces as he unlocks the van.

Jeff cocks his head aside with a thin smile. “Yeah, I…kinda figured.”

Inside, Eddie turns the music off for once. His tired eyes flicker compulsively around, catching on any flashes of green that streak through his line of sight; watching out, probably needlessly, for anyone approaching, sneaking up on him. Just in case Jason decides to teach him even more of a lesson than he already did—to make sure this week's "request" really hits home. He even watches for you, in the near-impossible event that you've changed your mind on your vow of silence and decided to roll in like a storm cloud and verbally (maybe physically?) rip him a new one, but that's probably more in the realm of romantic fantasy than vigilant self-preservation.

"What'd Jason want?"

Eddie forces a tense exhale through his nose. "…Prom."

"Shit," Jeff breathes.

"Yeah."

“What you said at lunch,” he goes on. “About the party, and everything. ...Is that really what happened, or…?”

“Mostly,” Eddie sighs. “I mean, she was— It isn’t— Christ, it doesn’t matter. But this shit is getting…serious, Jeff. Like really fucking serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“She likes me," he drops, one finger tapping against the wheel like a woodpecker's beak. "A lot, I think, for some fucking reason, and I like her—a lot. I’m not pretending with her, not in the slightest. And I…don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

He doesn't seem overly concerned. “Well, this isn’t the first time you’ve pissed her off. And if she really likes you so much—”

“No, it’s not that.” Eddie feels awful for treating you like that, sure, and yeah, you're pretty mad at him, but after everything else that happened that night, he isn’t especially worried he’ll lose you entirely over it. “It’s…Carver.”

“What about him? Is he still paying you?”

Eddie winces at the reminder—the cash in his pocket is singeing his thigh. “…He got what he wanted, y’know? What this was supposed to be about. He’s dating Chrissy Cunningham. But it’s…not enough for him, I guess, and he's out of his fucking mind, and he won’t— He’s not gonna cut me loose until he’s satisfied, but I don’t even know if that’s possible, and I just want it to end. More than…fucking anything, I want it to be over. I mean, fuck, Jeff, if I…piss him off badly enough, and he says 'fuck it all' and decides to tell her…”

Jeff's face drops into a deep frown. “You haven’t told her yet?”

A pang of startled irritation whips Eddie right in the side of his battered head. “...No, I haven’t told her," he spits, shoulders tensing up. "Jesus, how the fuck would I even—?”

“If you’re worried about Carver telling her your business, you already know what you gotta do, man,” Jeff reasons—he makes it sound so simple. “He can’t hold that over you if you tell her yourself."

On a few separate occasions now, Eddie has wanted desperately and tried and failed to tell Wayne about the situation and solicit some older and wiser advice to put it all into perspective. What always trips him up is the deep, stomach-churning terror of sparking one simple thought in his uncle's head: he really is his father's son. He wouldn't say it aloud; it wouldn't even show on his face, but Eddie would know that it's there, and once it's taken root, there's no pruning it. Jeff's ear is helpful and does a lot in maintaining his sanity, but he isn't living through it all the way that Eddie is—he doesn't know you the way that Eddie is growing to. And because of that, because no one but him can see every piece of this nightmarish puzzle, he's pretty much resigned himself to figuring it out on his own.

So Eddie doesn't have to think about it; he drives himself crazy trying and failing to talk himself out of it every night, and not even Jason's unhinged extortion can do much to change his mind—it only digs his grave all the deeper. What's really hard is psyching himself up to expose this private shame of his to the light of day.

“...I don’t think I can.”

“What do you mean?”

“...It’s too late. If I was ever going to tell her, I should’ve done it— I should’ve done it fucking weeks ago, man.”

Jeff only stares at him, puzzled. Eddie braves a quick glance before staring firmly out the window.

“I mean, Chrissy is her cousin, and— and she cares about her,” he goes on; eyes glazing over, head spinning as words fly off his tongue like tape reel. “A lot. Enough to suffer that…miserable fucking party just so she could go. If I had told her upfront about Jason’s batshit fucking plan, maybe she would’ve gone along with it—for Chrissy’s sake—and we would’ve laughed about how fucking stupid it all was and split the fucking money and maybe we still could’ve hung out and shit, but instead I was a stupid, selfish fucking dirtbag, and I—”

“Eddie, man,” Jeff interrupts. “I get it. Shit could’ve gone way differently, but it is what it is. The best thing you can do now is just tell her the truth. …The deal, the way you feel about her, everything. Cause if you don’t come clean and she finds out on her own, it’s gonna look a hell of a lot worse for you.”

It's not what he wants to hear, not at all. He just doesn't get it.

“...She trusts me,” Eddie gasps. “Do you realize how…fucking insane it is that she trusts me? If I tell her, that’s it. It’s not— She’s never gonna— I’m fucked, Jeff. If I tell her, it’ll be over, and I can’t…do that.”

Jeff just gives him a look. Sympathetic, skin-crawling.

“I mean, I wouldn’t fucking forgive me, man." It rings out low and thick, caught halfway in his throat; he tries to subtly clear it out, worried Jeff would mistake him for choked up. "…How the hell could I expect her to?”

“You can’t. But you can give her the chance to.”

"…And even if Carver did try to tell her, why the hell would she believe him?" Eddie goes on. "It's not like we signed an actual goddamn contract. He doesn't have any more proof than I do."

Unless Chrissy is in on it, it occurs to him, and his blood runs instantly cold. But she couldn't be, right? There's no way that sweet Chrissy could be involved in deceiving you like this, not just to date Jason fucking Carver, and why the hell would he take such a risk by telling her? But Eddie doesn't know her, and if there's one person who's testimony you'd implicitly trust, it has to be hers. If you really are the only one that doesn't know, then Eddie has…utterly no leg to stand on. No insurance, no leverage. He's well and truly fucked.

"…Sure," Jeff grants. "Fine. Maybe she doesn't believe him. Maybe he never even tells her.

“But, I mean…are you really gonna be able to just…hide that from her, forever? You’re gonna look at her face every day, remember how the hell it all started, and wish to God you had just told her, man.”

Eddie's hands wrap tight around the steering wheel. He bites down hard on his lip; the only thing restraining him from asking his dear friend to please get the fuck out of his van right now. Jeff goes mercilessly on.

“You don’t think she’ll realize at some point that you’re keeping something from her? Sorry to say, but…it’s pretty goddamn obvious when you’re brooding over something, Ed.”

Eddie rolls the fuck out of his eyes. He gets the sense that Jeff has to fight back a snicker.

“...I mean, subtlety just isn't your thing.”

“Got it, Jeff," he grits out. "I got it.”

"I'm just saying, man," punctuates his irritating case.

"…Whatever," Eddie decides. His brain is in no state to reassess right now either way. All he can think about is laying face-down on his bed, passing out for a few hours, and then waiting like a sucker for a phone call that isn't coming. "…Maybe. But I can't tell her shit until I convince her to speak to me again, anyway."

"Alright," Jeff relents with a laugh. "And how are you gonna do that?"

Eddie heaves out a sigh and rubs the heel of his palm against his pounding temple. "…I've got a few ideas."

-

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