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summary: youve always had this...problem when it comes to sex. youve never made it across the finish line like...ever. you intended on keeping this a secret. especially from your older coworker eddie but your best friend had to just open her stupid mouth and now hes on a personal mission to right the wrongs of the universe.
warnings/tags: 2002 au, age gap (15 years), bartender! eddie and reader, pining, smoking, smut (oral f receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, breast worship, multiple positions, praise, big dick! eddie, aftercare)
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The bar was a goddamn ghost town at three in the afternoon. Half the stools still had yesterday’s coasters stuck to them. The jukebox was stuck on some early 2000s alternative bullshit that no one had the energy to change. You were wiping down the same stretch of sticky counter for the third time when Jess leaned her elbows on it, chin in her hands, eyes gleaming like she’d just gotten away with murder.
“I’m serious,” she said, voice low and conspiratorial even though the only other person in the place was Eddie, restocking the well bottles with his back to you both. “This guy. Last night. I don’t even remember his name. Doesn’t matter. He went down on me like it was a calling. Like he’d been training for it since puberty. I came so hard I thought I was gonna black out. Twice. In like twelve minutes.”
You snorted into the rag. “That’s disgusting. And also… congratulations?”
“Thank you.” Jess preened. “I’m glowing. Look at me. Post-orgasmic radiance.” She tilted her face toward the neon Bud Light sign like it was a mirror. Then her expression softened into something more pointed. “Speaking of which… you still having your little problem with men?”
You froze mid-wipe. “Jess—”
“What problem?”
Eddie’s voice cut across the bar, casual as anything. He didn’t even turn around at first, just kept lining up the Jack and the Jim like he hadn’t been listening the entire time. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow was already arched high under the messy fall of his hair. He always looked unfairly good—black band tee stretched across his shoulders, silver rings flashing every time he moved, that perpetual half-smirk that made it hard to tell if he was about to roast you or flirt with you. Probably both.
Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know. Her problem.” She jerked a thumb in your direction. “She’s never came from a dude before.”
The bottle of whiskey in Eddie’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “Jesus Christ, Jess—”
“What?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You’ve told me like six times. And he’s right there. He’s basically part of the furniture at this point.”
Eddie set the bottle down with deliberate care and turned fully, resting his forearms on the bar. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Never?” he repeated, voice low and amused and way too interested. “Like… ever? Not even the accidental ones? The ‘oops I moved wrong and something happened’ variety?”
Heat crawled up your neck. “Can we not—”
“Nope,” Jess said cheerfully. “We’re airing it out. Self-awareness is in bitch.”
Eddie tilted his head, studying you like you were a particularly fascinating puzzle. The long hair, the rings, the faint scar through his eyebrow—everything about him was unfairly magnetic, and he knew it. He’d always known it. The way his eyes lingered a half-second too long when you reached for the top-shelf bottles. The way yours did the same when he stretched to change the lights over the pool table.
“Huh,” he said eventually. “That’s… tragic. Actually tragic. Like Greek tragedy levels of tragic.”
You glared at him. “It’s not tragic.”
“It is,” he insisted, deadpan. “You’re twenty-one. Peak prime. And you’re walking around out here unsatisfied like it’s some kind of personality trait. That’s criminal. Someone should fix that.”
Jess grinned. “See? He gets it.”
“I get nothing,” you muttered, scrubbing harder at a non-existent spot on the wood. “And for the record, it’s not like guys haven’t tried. They’re just… bad at it. Or distracted. Or weirdly determined to go for the Olympic gold in thrusting while forgetting the rest of the body exists.”
Eddie made a soft, wounded sound. “Ouch. Collectively roasting half the male population. Bold.”
“Deserved,” you shot back.
He leaned in a little, elbows sliding closer across the bar. The metal of his rings clicked against the wood. “So what you’re saying is… every single guy who’s ever had the privilege has been mid at best.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“And none of them managed to, y’know—” he made a vague, elegant gesture with one hand, rings flashing, “—get the job done.”
Jess was delighted. “God, this is better than daytime TV.”
You pointed the rag at her. “You started this.”
“And I’m thriving.”
Eddie ignored her completely, eyes still locked on yours. There was something sharp and curious under the teasing now. Something that made your stomach pull tight.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re taking notes for later.”
His grin spread slow and wicked. “Baby, I’ve been taking notes for months. This is just the first time the subject’s come up in conversation.”
Jess actually clapped. “Oh my god.”
You felt your face go hot. “Eddie—”
He straightened up, palms raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Hey. Just saying. If the bar’s this dead every afternoon, maybe we should start a support group. I can lead the hands on portion of the presentation.”
You threw the wet rag at his chest. He caught it one-handed without even flinching, laughing under his breath as the damp fabric slapped against his shirt.
“You’re the worst,” you told him.
“And yet,” he said, tossing the rag back onto the bar between you, “you keep looking.”
Jess made a delighted little noise and stage-whispered, “I live for this shift.”
Eddie just winked at you—slow, deliberate—and turned back to the bottles like he hadn’t just set the entire afternoon on fire.
The next two hours crawled by in that special brand of dead-bar purgatory where every glass you washed felt like a personal insult. A couple of regulars drifted in, ordered cheap beer, and left again. Jess kept shooting you meaningful looks every time Eddie got within ten feet, which was constantly, because the universe had decided you two were stuck on the same side of the bar for the rest of the shift.
He waited until Jess disappeared into the back to change a keg before he started.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and conversational as he dried a pint glass with unnecessary care. “Pop quiz time. You ever come from oral? Like, someone actually knowing what they’re doing down there.”
You nearly dropped the bottle of vodka you were restocking. “Eddie.”
“What? Scientific inquiry. I like to learn.” He tapped his temple with one ringed finger. “Answer the question.”
You glanced toward the empty booths, then back at him. “No. Not really. It’s usually… fine. Then they get bored or their jaw starts hurting and they switch to something else.”
He made a soft, wounded sound like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Christ. The bar is in hell. Next question—missionary. Ever gotten there that way?”
“No.”
“Doggy?”
“Eddie—”
“Answer.”
You exhaled through your nose. “Once I thought I was close. Then he asked if I was okay because I went quiet and the whole thing died.”
Eddie actually stopped drying the glass. He stared at you for a second, then set it down very carefully. “I’m going to need a list of names. Ban them from the bar. They're never allowed in your presence again.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m invested,” he corrected, leaning a hip against the counter. The afternoon light caught on the silver at his knuckles. “Okay, reverse cowgirl. Ever tried that one?”
You gave him a flat look. “You’re just listing positions now.”
“It’s a thorough survey. I’m a thorough guy.” His mouth curved. “What about when you’re on top and you actually get to control the angle?”
Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “Still no.”
“Against a wall?”
“No.”
“Bent over something?”
“Eddie, oh my god.”
He held up both hands, rings flashing, but he was grinning like a man who’d just found a new favorite hobby. “Okay, okay. Solo work. You can get yourself there, right?”
You hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. That’s… the only reliable method, honestly.”
Something shifted in his expression—still playful, still teasing, but there was a new sharpness underneath it. Like he’d just filed that particular answer into a mental drawer labeled Important.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “So the equipment works. The operators just suck.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He reached past you for a clean stack of coasters, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and stale tobacco. His voice dropped even lower. “How do you do it, then? Fingers? Toys? Pillow humping like a teenager?”
You shoved a coaster into his chest. “I’m not answering that.”
“Coward.”
“Voyeur.”
“Guilty.” He caught the coaster before it fell and spun it between his fingers. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll just have to hypothesize.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same intense focus he’d given the whiskey bottles earlier. “I’m guessing fingers. Two, maybe three. Slow at first, then faster when you get close. You go quiet. Bite your lip. That soft little sound you make when you’re frustrated with the register? Probably the same one.”
Your face went hot enough to fry an egg. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m observant.” He flicked the coaster onto the bar with a soft clack. “And currently constructing a very detailed theory about what it would take to fix this tragic situation.”
You turned away to grab a new bottle of well tequila, mostly so he wouldn’t see the way your mouth wanted to smile. “You’re plotting.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re thirty-six. Shouldn’t you be plotting, I don’t know, retirement or something?”
Eddie barked a laugh. “Baby, I’m in my prime. And right now my prime is extremely focused on the fact that you’ve never been properly ruined by another person and that is a personal offense to me as a man who takes pride in his work.”
You glanced over your shoulder. “Your work.”
“I’m a multi-talented individual.” He winked, slow and filthy. “Bartending is just the day job.”
Jess chose that exact moment to reappear from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at the two of you—Eddie’s smug expression, your flushed face—and grinned like Christmas had come early.
“Oh, this is gonna be a great closing shift,” she announced.
Eddie just hummed, turning back to the glasses with the air of a man who had all the time in the world and a very specific plan forming behind those dark eyes.
The night stretched on like it had a personal grudge.
By eight the place finally woke up—college kids with fake IDs, regulars who lived three stools down from alcoholism, a table of guys who kept trying to get Jess’s number and failing spectacularly. You and Eddie moved around each other like you’d been doing it for years, hips brushing when the space got tight, fingers grazing when you both reached for the same bottle. Every time it happened he shot you a look that said noted, and every time you pretended not to notice.
He waited until you were both stuck behind the bar during a rush to lean in close, voice low under the music.
“So when you’re alone,” he said, pouring three shots of Jameson without looking, “how long does it usually take?”
You nearly over-poured the vodka in your hand. “I’m not answering that while I’m making someone a vodka soda.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Eddie.”
He slid the shots down the bar with a practiced flick of his wrist and turned just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “I’m building a timeline. Important data. Is it a ten-minute situation or a ‘I’ve got the apartment to myself for an hour’ situation?”
You shouldered him back an inch. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you’re still answering.”
“I’m not.”
“You will.”
By eleven the crowd thinned enough that Jess could handle the floor alone. That left the two of you restocking the back bar, bodies close in the narrow space between the ice well and the speed rack. Eddie handed you bottles one by one, rings clicking against glass, and every time your fingers touched he held on a second longer than necessary.
“Okay, new category,” he said, passing you the triple sec. “Toys. Yes or no.”
You set the bottle down harder than you meant to. “I’m going to kill you.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s a none of your business.”
He grinned, slow and sharp. “So yes. What kind? The little bullet ones that die after six months or the fancy ones with remote controls that costs like two weeks pay?”
You stared at him. “How do you even know about those?”
“I have lived a full and varied life, sweetheart.” He leaned past you to grab a fresh stack of napkins, chest brushing your shoulder. “Also I have internet access. Shocking, I know.”
“You’re still this much of a menace. That’s actually impressive.”
“Thank you. I try.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You go quiet when you’re close, don’t you? Even by yourself. I’ve seen the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating on the register. Same energy.”
Your face went hot again. “Stop studying me like I’m a lab rat.”
“Can’t. You’re the most interesting thing in this entire shitty bar.”
Midnight came and went. The last wave of drunks stumbled out around one-thirty. Jess clocked out early with a pointed “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and a look that promised interrogation tomorrow. That left just the two of you closing—chairs up, floors mopped, registers counted in the weirdly intimate quiet of a bar after hours.
Eddie wiped down the last section of the counter while you counted the till. He waited until you were halfway through the twenties before he spoke again.
“Last question of the night. Promise.”
You didn’t look up. “You’re a liar.”
“Probably. But still.” He tossed the rag into the bin and came to lean against the register, arms crossed, watching you. “If someone actually knew what they were doing—knew exactly how to get you there and refused to stop until it happened—do you think you could?”
You paused with a stack of bills in your hand. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the back the ice machine kicked on with a loud clatter.
“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Maybe.”
Eddie’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous all at once. “Good answer.”
You finished the count in silence after that, the weight of his attention sitting warm against the side of your face. When the drawer finally balanced you locked it and straightened, rolling your shoulders. Your feet ached. Your lower back ached. It had been a long-ass day in every possible way.
Eddie was already shrugging into his leather jacket, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the cool 2 a.m. air.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like he hadn’t spent the last nine hours conducting a very public interrogation about your sex life.
You locked the door behind you and turned to face him under the streetlight. “You’re not done with the questions, are you?”
He smiled—slow, crooked, full of intent. “Not even close.”
The next day Eddie walked in looking like he’d made an actual effort, and it threw you off so hard you nearly dropped the stack of clean glasses you were carrying.
He’d clearly showered. The usual faint haze of cigarette smoke and bar soap that clung to him was gone, replaced by something warmer, cleaner—like cedar and maybe sage? underneath. His hair was still long and messy, but it looked deliberate this time, pushed back from his face like he’d actually run a comb through it. Black jeans, a soft worn black shirt that fit a little too well across the shoulders, and those same silver rings. He looked… intentional.
Jess noticed first. She mouthed what the fuck at you from across the bar the second his back was turned.
You just shook your head and tried not to stare.
He didn’t launch into the interrogation the second the shift started. That was the weirdest part. No pop quiz. No filthy little comments under his breath every time you bent down for a bottle. He just… worked. Smooth, quiet, efficient. When the bar got busy he moved around you like he’d memorized the shape of your body in the space, hand settling briefly at the small of your back when he needed to slip past, voice low and easy when he called out drink orders.
It should have been a relief.
It felt like standing too close to an open flame.
You floated through the night in a strange, charged quiet. Every time your eyes met across the bar something tight pulled low in your stomach. He caught you looking more than once and just smiled—small, private, like the two of you were sharing a secret no one else was in on.
Closing came faster than it should have.
Jess clocked out with a pointed look and a whispered “text me if you die” that made you want to throw a lime at her head. Then it was just the two of you again, stacking chairs in the low light, the jukebox finally silent.
Eddie wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over.
“You wanna come smoke?”
The question was casual. The way he said it wasn’t.
You usually said yes. Half the time after closing the two of you ended up on the back steps sharing a joint and talking shit about customers until the sky started getting light. Tonight the air between you felt thicker. Like the question meant something else entirely.
You still said, “Yeah. Okay.”
He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer, and grabbed his jacket.
You followed him out to the employee lot after locking up. His van was the same beat-up black thing it had always been, but even that felt different under the streetlights. He unlocked the passenger side for you without a word, then climbed in himself. The engine rumbled to life. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was loaded.
Eddie’s place was a small rented home ten minutes from the bar, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better decades. He parked in the cracked driveway and killed the engine. For a second he just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at the dark porch like he was deciding something.
Then he looked over at you.
“You good?”
You nodded. Your pulse was doing something stupid in your throat. “Yeah.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “Cool. C’mon.”
You followed him up the steps. The porch light was out. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could walk in first. The living room smelled like him—leather, weed, stale cigarettes. A couple of amps in the corner. Records stacked in uneven piles. A couch that had definitely seen better days.
Eddie tossed his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his jacket. The clean scent of whatever he’d put on earlier drifted toward you again.
He glanced over his shoulder, that same small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You wanna sit outside or in here?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been.
You met his eyes.
You nodded toward the dark backyard. “Outside.”
Eddie grinned like you’d given him the exact answer he wanted and jerked his head for you to follow. The backyard was small and overgrown, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs near the fence and a milk crate that clearly doubled as a table. He dropped into one of the chairs with a satisfied groan and pulled a little tin from his pocket.
“Got some really good shit tonight,” he said, already breaking up a dense little nug between his fingers. “Friend of a friend. Sticky. Smells like a forest fucked a skunk and they both loved it.”
You snorted and took the other chair. “Poetic.”
“I try.” He packed the bowl with practiced ease, silver rings flashing under the porch light that barely reached this far. When he lit it the first hit made him cough once, sharp, then he laughed and held it out to you. “Careful. This one sneaks up.”
You took it. The smoke was thick and sweet and immediately made your head feel softer around the edges. You passed it back and watched him take another hit, the way his throat moved when he held it in.
A few quiet exhales later you tipped your head, studying him.
“What’s up with the get-up today, by the way?”
Eddie blinked, all faux innocence. “What get-up?”
“Don’t play dumb. You smelled different. Looked different. Like you actually owned a bottle of real cologne instead of just rolling in whatever was on the floor of the van.”
He waved a hand, smoke curling around his fingers. “I showered. Revolutionary concept, I know. Sometimes the hair gets washed. Sometimes the shirt isn’t the same one I wore three days in a row. It’s called being a functional adult.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. Zero effort. Pure coincidence.”
You took another hit and exhaled slowly, watching him over the rim of the bowl. “Well… I liked it.”
The change was instant. His whole posture shifted—shoulders loosening, that slow, pleased grin spreading across his face like you’d just handed him a trophy. He sat up a little straighter, eyes bright even in the dark.
“Yeah?” he said, voice warmer. “You noticed.”
“Hard not to. You walked in smelling like you had somewhere better to be.”
Eddie laughed under his breath, low and a little giddy, and ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t help himself. “Shit. Okay. Noted. I’ll keep that in the rotation then.”
You passed the bowl back, lips curving. “I like normal you too, though. The regular version. The one who smells like your van and talks too much and leaves guitar picks in the tip jar.”
He went quiet for a second, turning the bowl between his fingers. When he looked at you again the playfulness was still there, but something heavier sat underneath it.
“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rougher now. “I just wanted you to notice the effort. Because if I ever get my hands on you…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to know there’s gonna be full effort there too. No half-assing it. No getting bored halfway through. I’m talking dedicated. Thorough. The kind of focus that makes you forget your own name for a little while.”
The air between you went tight.
You raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and let a small, challenging smile pull at your mouth.
“That a promise or just talk?”
Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving—and shook his head like you’d just dared him to jump off a roof.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice full of dark delight. “You’re gonna regret asking me that.”
Eddie set the bowl down on the milk crate with a soft clink, still grinning like you’d just handed him the best idea he’d ever heard. Before you could even process the shift in his expression he was out of the chair and in front of you, hands already sliding under your thighs.
“Wait—Eddie—”
Too late. He hauled you up in one smooth, practiced motion and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world tilted. Your hands flew to his back for balance as he started walking toward the house, one arm locked firm around the backs of your legs.
“Eddie, put me down—” you laughed, smacking the solid muscle of his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole, oh my god—”
“Mm. Keep talking. It’s cute.” His free hand settled on the back of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively as he carried you up the porch steps and through the open door. “Been thinking about doing this since you told me no one’s ever gotten you there properly. Figured I’d start with the logistics.”
You twisted, trying to push yourself up enough to see where you were going, still laughing. “Logistics? You’re manhandling me—”
The sharp, open-handed smack landed right across your ass.
The sound cracked through the quiet house.
You went completely still.
The laughter died in your throat. Heat flooded low and fast, a sudden, traitorous pulse between your legs that made your breath catch. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. You didn’t make a sound.
Eddie stopped walking.
You felt the way his whole body went alert underneath you—the slight pause, the way his hand stayed right where it had landed, palm warm against the sting he’d just left.
“…Oh,” he said, voice dropping into something darker and deeply pleased. “There it is.”
He adjusted his grip and kept walking, slower now, like he was savoring every step. You could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.
“You went quiet real fast, sweetheart. That little problem of yours just get a whole lot more interesting?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your face was burning and the ache between your legs had gone from nothing to urgent in the span of one single slap.
Eddie carried you down the short hallway and into a bedroom that smelled like the real him. He bent and deposited you onto the mattress with surprising care, letting you slide down his body until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him.
He stayed close. Close enough that you had to tip your head back. One of his hands was still resting on your waist like he hadn’t fully decided to let go yet.
His eyes were darker than they’d been outside. The playful edge was still there, but it was sharper now. Focused.
“Yeah,” he murmured, thumb stroking once over your hip. “I saw that. Felt it too. You clenched up the second my hand landed.” He tilted his head, studying your face with open, hungry curiosity. “Interesting reaction for someone who’s never come with another person. Almost like your body already knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.”
He leaned in just enough that his next words brushed warm against your mouth.
“We’re gonna fix that.”
Eddie stayed right there between your knees, looking down at you like he’d already decided how the rest of the night was going to go. His hand was still warm on your waist, thumb tracing idle little arcs against the fabric of your shirt.
“Alright,” he said, voice light but serious underneath. “Before I do anything irreversible—you got a safeword?”
You blinked up at him, then huffed a soft laugh. “Jesus. You’re old. I’ve never needed one.”
His mouth twitched. “Charming. Really making me feel great about the age gap right now.”
“I’m just saying. Never came up.”
“Well it’s coming up now.” He reached past you, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it further up the bed like he was already planning ahead. “Pineapple. That’s the word. You say pineapple, everything stops. No questions, no attitude, I back off immediately. Clear?”
You stared at him for a second, then broke into a genuine laugh. “Pineapple? That’s the best you could do?”
“It’s memorable. And you’re not gonna forget it when you’re—”
You didn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence.
His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he closed them in a firm, controlled fist. The pull wasn’t rough—just deliberate enough to tip your head back so you had no choice but to look straight at him. The sudden shift in control sent another low pulse of heat straight between your legs.
Eddie’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. His voice came out quieter. Rougher.
“How do you like it?”
The question sat heavy between you. You swallowed. Your scalp tingled where he held you.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. Honest. A little breathless. “No one’s ever… asked. Or stuck around long enough to figure it out.”
Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. He leaned in closer, the grip in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Then you’re getting the whole experience,” he murmured. “Every version. Hard. Slow. Filthy. Whatever makes that pretty little problem of yours finally give up.”
He closed the last inch and kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It was deep and immediate, mouth open, the kind of kiss that felt like a claim. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting you further into it while the one in your hair stayed locked, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. You made a small sound against his lips and he answered it with a low hum, pressing closer until your knees had to part wider around his hips.
When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice was wrecked already.
“Yeah,” he said against your mouth. “We’re gonna take our time with this.”
Eddie kissed you down into the mattress like he’d been holding himself back and finally ran out of reasons to. The weight of him settled over you. His mouth never left yours for long, only breaking long enough for both of you to drag in air before he was back, deeper, hungrier.
Your hands found the hem of his shirt at the same time his found yours.
Fabric got shoved up between frantic kisses. You both laughed once against each other’s mouths when your arms got tangled, then the shirts were gone—his tossed somewhere toward the floor, yours pulled carefully over your head so he didn’t catch it on your hair. The second your bare skin met the cooler air of the room, Eddie went still.
His eyes dropped.
The tattoos you’d kept hidden under work shirts and bar aprons sat dark against your skin—delicate lines and soft shading that only showed when the fabric came off. He stared like he’d just been handed something private and important.
“Fuck,” he breathed. One hand hovered, then settled lightly over the ink on your ribs, thumb tracing the edge of a design. “You’ve been walking around with these under those little black tanks this whole time and never said a word?”
You felt heat climb your throat. “Didn’t come up.”
“It’s coming up now.” His voice had gone lower, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, then another a little higher. The metal of his rings was cool against your side as his hand slid up.
He paused there, mouth still brushing your skin, and looked up at you through his lashes.
“Can I take this off?” His fingers rested at the back clasp of your bra, waiting. Not moving until you answered.
You nodded.
Eddie kissed the same spot on your chest once more—soft, almost grateful—before he reached behind you. The clasp gave easily under his fingers, like he’d done it a hundred times and still treated it like it mattered. He drew the straps down your arms slowly, letting the fabric fall away, and sat back just enough to look.
The way his expression changed was quiet and thorough. No teasing. No smirk. Just open, focused appreciation as his gaze moved over you.
“Look at you,” he murmured. One hand came up to cup the side of your breast, thumb stroking once beneath it like he was learning the shape. “Hiding all this under work clothes every night. Perfect fucking girl. Trying so hard not to let anyone see.”
He leaned back down and pressed a slower kiss to the soft curve of one breast, then the other, voice still gentle against your skin.
“Gonna take my time looking at every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”
He stayed right there, mouth and hands devoted to your breasts like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Soft, open kisses trailed across the full curves, lingering under the weight of them where the skin was most sensitive. His tongue flicked once over a nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked—gentle at first, then deeper when your back arched. The whole time he talked, voice low and warm against your skin.
“So responsive,” he murmured, switching to the other side. “Look at the way you push up into my mouth. You’ve been starving for someone to just… stay here and worship these for a while.” Another slow suck, a quiet hum of approval when you made a soft sound. “Perfect tits. So fucking perfect.”
You were soaked.
You could feel it—heat and slickness gathering between your legs until your underwear clung uncomfortably. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten this wet before. Not from kissing. Not from anything. Every drag of his tongue, every quiet, filthy-sweet word made the ache worse.
Eddie kissed lower, across the soft skin just beneath your breasts, then lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed careful.
“Can I take these off?” His fingers rested at the button of your jeans, waiting.
You nodded.
He popped the button and drew the zipper down slowly. You lifted your hips so he could work the denim down your legs and toss it aside. The second the cool air hit you, his gaze dropped—and locked onto the dark, obvious wet patch soaking through the center of your underwear.
His whole body went still.
You watched the thick outline of his cock twitch hard against the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric like it was trying to get to you on its own.
Eddie exhaled a rough, almost pained sound. “Jesus Christ.”
You swallowed, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Fair is fair. Take yours off too.”
He didn’t argue. He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down and kick them away, leaving him in dark boxer briefs that did almost nothing to hide him. The outline was obscene—long, thick, heavy against his thigh, the head clearly defined where it pressed against the cotton. Even confined like that he looked massive.
Your mouth went a little dry.
“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.
Eddie glanced down at himself, then back at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth even as his voice stayed soft.
“Yeah,” he said, climbing back over you. “We’re gonna take this real slow, sweetheart. I’m gonna need you nice and open for me.” His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the edge of your soaked underwear. “But first I’m gonna make sure this pretty little problem of yours never stands a chance.”
Eddie kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to pour every filthy intention he had into your mouth. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled up against him, seeking friction, grinding the soaked center of your underwear against the hard line of his cock. The second you did it he groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hold you there for a second longer.
Then he pulled back.
“Greedy,” he murmured against your lips, almost fond. “Alright. I hear you.”
He started kissing down.
Your chest first—lingering again on the soft undersides of your breasts, tongue tracing the curves he’d already learned—then lower, across the plane of your stomach. Every open-mouthed press of his lips made your muscles jump. He nuzzled the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and exhaled like the scent of how wet you were was doing something to him.
You lifted your hips without being asked. Together you worked the soaked fabric down your legs until it was gone. The second you were bare, Eddie went quiet.
He sat back on his heels between your thighs and just looked.
His hands settled on the insides of your knees and slowly pushed them wider, eyes locked on the slick, flushed mess of your cunt. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing—glistening along your folds, dripping down toward the sheets. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“Fucking perfect,” he said, voice low and rough with sincerity. “Look at you. All pretty and shiny and soaked just from me playing with your tits. You’re beautiful like this.” His thumbs stroked higher along your inner thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Promise.”
Then he dove in.
No teasing. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through your center in one long, filthy stripe, collecting everything you’d made for him. The sound he made was almost pained—hungry and relieved all at once—before he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.
Your whole body arched.
Eddie hummed against you like the taste of you was exactly what he’d been after all night, and settled in like he planned to stay there for a very long time.
He started slow—long, flat strokes of his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way up to your clit, gathering every bit of slick that had already collected there. The sound was wet and filthy every time he dragged through you. He hummed low in his chest like the taste of you was something he wanted to memorize.
“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your folds, voice already rough. “So wet for me already. Been dripping since I smacked that pretty ass, haven’t you?”
His hands stayed firm on your inner thighs, holding you open exactly how he wanted. When he focused on your clit he did it with devastating patience—soft, circling licks that barely gave you pressure, then firmer ones that made your hips twitch. Every time your thighs tried to close he just pressed them wider and kept going.
You were already shaking.
Eddie noticed. Of course he did. He lifted his mouth just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark and focused.
“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re allowed to get loud, sweetheart. Nobody’s here but me.” He dipped back down and sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder when your back arched. “Good girl. So sensitive. I can feel you throbbing on my tongue.”
He worked you in waves. Soft and teasing until you were rolling your hips up against his mouth, then deeper—tongue pushing inside you in slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against your clit. The wet sounds filled the room. Your hands found his hair and twisted, not sure if you were trying to pull him closer or survive it.
Eddie groaned like he loved the sting.
“There you go,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Use me. Grind on my face if you need to. I’ve got you.” He sealed his mouth back over your clit and sucked in a steady, relentless rhythm while two fingers finally slid inside you—curving, searching, pressing up into that spot that made your vision blur. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me already. So tight. So needy. Gonna make this little cunt come so hard for me.”
He didn’t rush the build.
Every time you got close he eased off just enough to keep you hovering—switching to broad, messy licks, kissing the insides of your thighs, murmuring soft filthy things against your skin about how pretty you looked spread open and dripping for him. Then he’d return to your clit with single-minded focus, fingers working you open, tongue relentless.
Your stomach started tightening. The pleasure turned sharp and overwhelming. You could hear how wet you were—slick sounds every time his fingers moved, every time his mouth sealed over you again.
“Eddie—I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he said immediately, voice low and certain. He doubled down, sucking harder, fingers curling in steady, perfect strokes. “You’re right there. I can feel it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”
The orgasm hit like a wave you couldn’t stop.
Your whole body locked. A broken, high sound tore out of you as the pleasure crashed through—your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers, slick gushing out of you in warm, uncontrollable pulses that coated his mouth and chin and dripped down onto the sheets. Eddie moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept going through it, licking you through every spurt, every tremor, drinking you down like he was starving for it.
He only slowed when your thighs started shaking too hard to stay open.
Even then he didn’t pull away completely. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your oversensitive clit, your folds, the dripping mess he’d made of you, voice wrecked and reverent.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your cunt. “Look at that. Fucking beautiful. You came so hard you made a mess of me.” He licked a slow stripe through the wetness still dripping from you and groaned.
Eddie sat up just long enough to shove his boxer briefs down and kick them off the bed. His cock sprang free—a heavy thump against his stomach. After everything he’d just done to you, he looked almost painfully hard.
He crawled back over you and kissed you deep.
You tasted yourself on his mouth immediately—sharp and sweet and filthy. The knowledge that he’d just had his face buried between your legs made your stomach flip all over again. He licked into your mouth like he wanted you to taste how hard you’d come for him, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking slowly along your side.
When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Careful.
“Still sure you want this?” His eyes searched yours. “I already made you come. We can stop here if you need to. No pressure.”
You didn’t answer with words.
You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss—harder this time, open-mouthed and certain. Your other hand slid down between your bodies and wrapped around the thick length of him. He was so hot against your palm, so heavy, the skin soft over the rigid hardness underneath. Eddie groaned into your mouth like the simple touch of your hand almost undid him.
“Okay,” he rasped against your lips. “Okay. I’ve got you.”
He reached down and wrapped his own hand around his cock, guiding the broad head through the soaked mess of your cunt. The first drag of him against your oversensitive clit made your hips jerk. He did it again—slower—slicking himself up with everything you’d already given him, the fat head catching against your entrance every time he passed over it.
You were so wet the sound was obscene.
Eddie braced himself on one forearm and looked down between your bodies, watching the way the blunt head of his cock pressed against you. His breathing had gone uneven.
“Gonna go slow,” he promised, voice strained. “You’re tight as hell and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He pushed.
The stretch was immediate and intense—thick pressure that forced you open around him inch by careful inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way your body had to give to take him. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, a low, punched-out groan spilling out of him as the head finally slipped inside.
“Fuck—look at that,” he breathed, hips trembling with the effort of holding still. “Taking me so well already. You’re soaking my cock baby girl.”
He gave you another inch. Then another. The burn of the stretch mixed with the leftover sensitivity from your orgasm until your thighs were shaking around his hips. You could feel how deep he was already getting, the heavy weight of him filling you in a way nothing else ever had.
Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet even as his voice went filthy.
“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in, sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty cunt up until you forget anyone else ever tried.”
“Move,” you whispered.
Eddie exhaled like he’d been waiting for permission. He drew his hips back slowly—just an inch or two—then pushed back in just as carefully. The thick slide of him forced another soft sound out of your throat. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every subtle pulse of his cock as he sank deeper. The way your walls had to stretch and flutter around the heavy girth of him just to take it.
He kept the pace almost gentle.
Long, controlled strokes that let you feel the full drag of him pulling out and the slow, relentless push back in until he bottomed out against you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours. His voice never stopped.
“That’s it,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “Feel how full you are. Taking all of me like you were made for it. S' tight. S' perfect around my cock.” Another slow thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Letting me open you up.”
The sweetness of it almost undid you more than the stretch.
Every praise landed low in your stomach. Every careful roll of his hips sent sparks up your spine. You could feel how wet you still were—slick sounds filling the quiet room every time he sank back in. But the longer he stayed that measured and deep, the more something restless started building under your skin.
You needed more.
Deeper. Harder. Something that matched the ache he’d already put in you.
Eddie must have felt the way your hips started chasing him, because he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed soft.
“I know,” he said. “I can feel you getting greedy again sweetheart.”
He sat back on his knees, still buried inside you, and hooked his hands behind your knees. In one smooth motion he pushed your legs up and open, folding you nearly in half until your thighs pressed against your own chest. The new angle made him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust. You gasped—sharp and high—as the thick head of him pressed against something that made your vision spark.
Eddie groaned low in his throat and held the position, hips rolling in the same unhurried rhythm, only now every stroke dragged against that deeper, more intense place inside you.
“There we go,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what you needed, huh? Deeper?” He thrust in again—slow, deliberate, grinding against the end of you. “All folded up and still sucking me in. Perfect girl. Just keep breathing for me. I’ve got you.”
He never sped up.
He just kept fucking you deep and steady, sweet words spilling out of him the entire time, like he had no intention of stopping until he’d ruined you completely.
Your voice broke on a high, frustrated sound.
“Eddie—please—harder. I need it harder, I can’t—”
He didn’t make you beg twice.
The second the plea left your mouth his whole demeanor shifted. The careful restraint he’d been holding onto snapped. His grip on the backs of your thighs tightened and he started fucking you properly—long, powerful strokes that drove him deep enough to punch the air out of your lungs every time his hips met yours. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. Your body jolted up the mattress with every thrust until he dragged you back down by the hips and kept going.
“Anything,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Anything you want. You need it harder? It’s yours. Need me deeper? Take it.” He snapped his hips in harder, the thick length of him dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your eyes rolled. “Fuck—listen to you. Whining for my cock like you were made for it. I’ve got you. Gonna give you everything.”
The intensity crashed over you too fast to stop.
Your second orgasm hit with almost no warning—sharp and overwhelming, your cunt clamping down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, thighs shaking violently in his grip while you came on his cock alone. The wet rush of it made every thrust louder, messier. Eddie groaned like he could feel every flutter and kept fucking you through it, never slowing, praising you the whole time in a broken stream of words.
“That’s it—come on my cock, just like that. Fucking beautiful. You’re soaking me. Squeezing me so tight I can barely move. Good girl. Perfect fucking girl.”
He only eased up when the aftershocks left you trembling and oversensitive.
You could still feel how hard he was inside you—thick and throbbing, nowhere near finished. The realization made something determined spark low in your stomach. You reached up and pushed weakly at his chest.
“Want to ride you,” you managed, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me.”
Eddie went still. His eyes searched your face, dark and concerned even as his cock twitched deep inside you.
“You sure?” he asked, already breathing hard. “You just came twice. You’re shaking. We can slow down—”
“I’m sure.” You held his gaze, stubborn and flushed and still pulsing around him. “I want to. Let me.”
Something hungry and soft moved through his expression all at once. He carefully pulled out of you—both of you hissing at the sudden emptiness—then rolled onto his back in one smooth motion. His cock lay heavy and glistening against his stomach— pulsing.
He looked up at you, hands already settling on your waist as you straddled him.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with restraint. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”
You braced one hand on his chest and reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the thick base of him. He was still soaked from you—slick and hot against your palm. You lined him up and sank down slowly.
The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Even after everything, taking him from this angle felt deeper, heavier. You had to work yourself down inch by inch, thighs trembling, until you were finally seated flush against him with his cock buried to the hilt. Your head dropped forward. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles like he was grounding you.
You swallowed, voice already shaky.
“What do you like?”
His eyes were almost black looking up at you. A breathless little laugh left him.
“Anything that makes this pretty cunt of yours cream all over me,” he said, rough and honest. “You want to grind slow and deep until you’re shaking? I’ll lie here and take every second of it. You want to bounce on my cock like a desperate little slut until your legs give out? I’ll hold you up and thank you for the privilege. Use me. Ruin yourself on me. I’m yours.”
So you did.
You started rolling your hips—slow at first, grinding him deep so every movement dragged against that spot inside you that made your stomach tighten. The wet sound of it was filthy. Eddie groaned under you, head tipping back against the pillow, hands sliding up to cup your breasts as you moved. You found a rhythm and stuck to it, lifting up until only the thick head remained inside you before sinking back down and taking every inch again.
“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice strained and filthy. “Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. I can feel you fluttering every time you bottom out. So wet you’re dripping down my balls. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how badly you needed to get filled.”
Your thighs started burning sooner than you wanted. The deeper angle made every bounce more intense, the stretch relentless, pleasure building sharp and overwhelming all over again. You kept going anyway—determined—until your legs began to shake so hard you could barely lift yourself. A frustrated little sound slipped out of you.
Eddie felt it immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he rasped.
His hands locked hard around your waist. In the next breath he planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that drove his cock deep enough to punch broken moans out of your mouth every time. The new rhythm was relentless. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he slammed up into your soaked cunt, using his grip on your hips to pull you down to meet every stroke.
“That’s it—take every fucking inch,” he snarled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Sit on my cock and let me ruin you. This greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep I can feel it in my spine. Dripping down my stomach like a slut who finally got what she needed.” He thrust up harder, the force of it making your tits bounce. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. This is what was missing every time some useless asshole couldn’t make you come. A real cock. A man who knows how to use it.”
Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried against his neck, while he kept pounding up into you without mercy—praise and filthy encouragement spilling out of him in a continuous, wrecked stream.
“Come on. Squeeze me. Cream all over this cock while I fuck you stupid. You’re taking me so well I can barely think. Perfect fucking girl. My perfect fucking girl. Gonna keep this up until you forget how to walk straight.”
Eddie kept fucking up into you in hard, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your body jolted with every thrust. He was so deep it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside.
His voice came out rough against your ear.
“Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit while I fuck you. I want to feel you gush on my cock again.”
Your hand slid down between your bodies without hesitation. The second your fingers found your clit—swollen and oversensitive—you cried out. The dual sensation was almost too much: the thick, brutal drag of his cock splitting you open on every upward thrust and the tight circles you rubbed over your clit. Slick coated your fingers immediately. You were so wet it was obscene.
Eddie groaned like he could feel the way your cunt fluttered harder around him the second you started touching yourself.
“That’s it. Good girl. Rub that clit for me. Make a mess. I want to feel you soak my cock.” He snapped his hips up harder, the force of it punching broken, high sounds out of your throat. “Fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. This greedy little cunt doesn’t want to let me go. Come on. Give it to me. Third time’s the charm, sweetheart. Ruin yourself.”
The orgasm tore through you violently.
Your whole body locked up. A broken sob left your mouth as you came hard—cunt clamping down in strong, rhythmic pulses while a fresh gush of wetness flooded out of you around his cock. It was messy, uncontrollable, soaking his stomach, his hips, the sheets beneath you in a warm rush that just kept coming with every thrust he forced through it. The wet sounds turned filthy and loud. You shook apart on top of him, fingers still moving weakly over your clit as the pleasure dragged on and on.
Eddie cursed low and filthy, fucking you through every spurt until your thighs were trembling too hard to stay upright.
He didn’t stop moving, but his rhythm turned slightly more erratic—hips stuttering as he chased his own edge. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.
“Where do you want it?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me. Mouth, tits, stomach—where?”
You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, still pulsing around him, still dripping.
“Inside me.”
Something raw and hungry flashed across his face.
“Fuck—okay. Anything you want.”
He pulled you down flush against him and buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he finally let go. A long, guttural groan tore out of his chest as he came—hot, thick pulses flooding your cunt in heavy spurts. You could feel every throb, every rope of it painting you deep inside. He kept you locked there, hips pressed tight, cock twitching as he emptied everything he had into you with broken, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.
“Take it—take every drop. Filling this perfect cunt up. Made for this. Made to take my cum.” His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “Fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”
He stayed buried deep as the last aftershocks faded, still pulsing weakly inside you, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
You collapsed onto his chest like every bone in your body had given up at once.
Eddie stayed inside you for a few more long seconds, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head. His heartbeat hammered under your ear. When he finally moved, he did it carefully—rolling you both onto your sides, then easing out of you with a soft, wet sound that made you flinch. You felt the immediate rush of his cum starting to leak out of you and made a small, incoherent noise against the pillow.
“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and slipped out of bed. You heard the soft sounds of him moving around the dark room—drawer opening, water running in the bathroom—before he came back with a warm washcloth. The mattress dipped as he climbed back in.
Eddie was gentle about it. He wiped between your legs with slow, careful strokes, cleaning up the mess the two of you had made without any teasing. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and stretched out beside you, pulling you in until your head was on his chest and one of his arms was locked securely around your waist.
You were barely able to form words. Your body felt heavy and loose and thoroughly used. Every muscle hummed with leftover sparks. You managed a soft, exhausted sound against his skin and that was about it.
Eddie let the quiet sit for a while, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. Then, eventually, the familiar edge of amusement crept back into his voice.
“…So.”
You made a questioning noise that didn’t quite become a word.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly trying and failing to sound casual, “for someone who claimed she’d never come from a dude before, you just came two times on my cock and gushed all over my face like it was your job. I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself right now.”
You managed a weak, breathless little laugh against his chest.
“There she is,” he said, sounding deeply satisfied. “Thought I broke you for a second.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You good? Need water? A trophy? I’m open to suggestions.”
You pinched his side weakly. Your voice came out rough and quiet.
“Shut up.”
“Can’t. I’m having a moment. Do you understand the historical significance of what just happened in this bed? I should call Jess. Let her know the little problem has been thoroughly, scientifically solved.”
You groaned into his chest. “If you call Jess I will actually kill you.”
Eddie laughed—low and warm and completely unrepentant—and pulled you closer, tucking the blankets up around both of you.
“Fine. No phone calls. But I reserve the right to be unbearably smug about this for at least a week.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping softer even as the teasing stayed. “You did so good for me. Seriously.”
You didn’t have the energy to argue.
You just let him hold you, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, while the last of the aftershocks faded and the witty, insufferable version of him settled back in like he’d never left.
Two days later the bar was dead again—same sticky counters, same half-hearted jukebox, same mid-afternoon quiet that made the whole place feel like it was holding its breath.
Eddie had been insufferable since the second he walked in.
He didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t have to. It was in the way he moved around you—closer than usual, hand lingering at the small of your back every time he slipped past, that permanent little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was replaying the entire night on a loop. Every time you caught his eye across the bar he just raised an eyebrow, slow and filthy, and went back to polishing a glass like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire understanding of sex in his shitty little bungalow.
Jess lasted maybe forty minutes before she cracked.
She leaned across the bar while Eddie was restocking the back, voice low and delighted. “Okay. What the fuck happened.”
You kept wiping the same clean section of counter. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. He’s been floating around like he invented the orgasm and you keep turning the color of a stop sign every time he looks at you. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.”
Eddie chose that exact moment to reappear, carrying a case of beer like it weighed nothing. He set it down, glanced between the two of you, and the smirk widened.
“Talking about me?” he asked, all faux innocence.
Jess pointed at him. “You. Explain why you’re walking around like— like that."
Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar right next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like the same cologne from the other night. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just in a good mood. Weather’s nice. Tips were decent yesterday. Life is beautiful.”
You shot him a warning look. He ignored it completely.
Jess’s eyes narrowed, bouncing between the two of you. Then something clicked. Her mouth fell open.
“Oh my god.”
“Jess—” you started.
“You didn’t.”
Eddie examined his rings like they were suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t what?”
“You fixed the little problem,” she said, voice climbing with glee. “You actually fixed it. Look at her face. Look at your face. Holy shit.”
You dropped the rag and pointed at both of them. “We are not talking about this.”
Jess clasped her hands under her chin. “I need every detail. Immediately. Was it good? Was it life-changing? How many times did you—”
“I will quit,” you said flatly.
Eddie made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. “Y’know, I’m happy to provide a full report if she’s too shy. In the interest of science. And friendship. And the betterment of women everywhere who’ve been suffering under subpar—”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough that he laughed and had to catch himself on the bar.
“Do not.”
He held up both hands, still grinning like the cat that got everything it ever wanted. “Offer stands. Jess, you just say the word and I’ll give you the entire play by play. ”
Jess looked like Christmas had come early. “I’m listening.”
You grabbed the rag again and turned away, face burning, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile pulling at your mouth.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, loud enough for only you to catch the undertone, “I’m available for follow-up research whenever you want.”
description: your parents are very strict and would never approve of your new college-aged boyfriend, darren. so, nancy comes up with the perfect solution: introduce them to your "boyfriend", eddie munson, first. compared to the town pariah, darren should look like prince charming... if only fake dating eddie was as easy as you thought it'd be.
pairing: "boyfriend"!eddie munson x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie munson x you, soft! eddie munson, fake dating, fake relationship, autumn/fall vibes, friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff as fuck, holding hands and forehead kisses "for the bit", eddie is a gentleman, drive-in movie date, acts of service! eddie, matching halloween costumes, darren never stood a chance, SO FUCKING FLUFFY PREPARE FOR TEARS OF JOY :D
TW: just go ahead and make your dentist appointment now tbh
WC: 8.3k (i'm SORRY i really loved writing this one, okay!?)
A/N: AH HELLOOOO!!! It's been a while since I've had a fic that I feel this deeply for, but here we are nonetheless. I am also leaving on Sunday for a much, much, much-needed 9-day vacation, so I'm going to try to feed you all with one or two more fics.
reblogs are ssososososossoooo appreciated :) <3
enjoy my loves xoxo
"It's impossible, Nancy. Utterly and completely impossible."
You let your forehead fall dramatically against the cafeteria table with a soft thunk, your tray rattling beneath the impact. Across from you, Nancy barely looked up from the sad excuse for a school lunch she was methodically picking apart.
This wasn't the first time she'd listened to you spiral about your parents, and judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she doubted it'd be the last.
"Oh, will you stop whining?" she said, stabbing at a few peas with her plastic fork. "They cannot be that bad."
You lifted your head just enough to shoot her a look. "They're dictators."
"They're parents."
"They're prison wardens with a mortgage."
Nancy rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. "You are so dramatic."
"Says the girl whose mother once grounded her for getting a B-plus."
"That was one time."
"And she still brings it up."
Nancy couldn't exactly argue with that. With a sigh, she abandoned the mystery meat on her tray altogether and leaned back in her seat, folding her arms as she studied you.
You looked genuinely stressed, far more stressed than someone who'd only been dating a guy for a couple of months should've been.
"Darren's in college," you muttered, absentmindedly peeling the label off your milk carton. "He's already got one strike against him. Then there's the fact that he's older than me, which is strike two. By the time they actually meet him, they're going to have convinced themselves he's some twenty-five-year-old biker with a criminal record who's dragging me into a life of organized crime."
Nancy let out an amused snort. "You know that's not true."
"I know that's not true," you groaned. "But they don’t."
"You know what your issue is?"
You narrowed your eyes. "I've got several."
"You haven't given them anyone to compare Darren to."
"...What?"
"They've got nothing to measure him against." She gestured with her fork as if the answer were obvious. "You're terrified to introduce him because, in their minds, he's going to become the blueprint."
You blinked. "I don't follow."
Nancy leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the fact that nobody around you was paying the slightest bit of attention.
"You need to introduce them to someone worse first."
Your eyebrows knitted together. "...Worse?"
"Someone so unbelievably incompatible, so ridiculous, so catastrophically wrong for you..." A slow grin spread across her face. "That when they finally meet Darren, he'll look like the most respectable man on the planet."
You stared at her. "Nancy..."
"I'm serious."
"You want me to fake-date someone my parents would despise?"
"I want you to let them think you're dating someone they'd despise."
Silence. Then, almost against your own will, you felt the gears in your head begin to turn.
"...That's actually..."
"I know."
"...Kind of genius."
Nancy's smile widened. "I know."
Just as you were about to ask the far more important question: who on earth could possibly fit that description?...a familiar voice suddenly echoed across the cafeteria.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The two of you turned instinctively toward the source. "Oh, Christ," Nancy muttered.
Across the room, standing on top of one of the cafeteria benches as though he were addressing a crowd of thousands instead of a room full of teenagers trying to eat lunch, Eddie Munson threw his arms dramatically into the air.
"I would once again like to address the blatant discrimination against the Hawkins High Hellfire Club—"
You looked at Nancy, and Nancy looked at you, neither of you saying a word.
"...Him?" you asked slowly.
Nancy's grin returned. "Oh, definitely him."
“...Shit.” You mumbled under your breath. Before you could overthink it, you pushed your chair back from the table. The legs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor.
Taking one steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and started weaving your way through the maze of lunch tables toward the growing crowd surrounding Eddie's latest performance.
"Wait—" Nancy hurried after you. "I wasn't expecting you to do it right now."
"If I don't do it now," you muttered over your shoulder, "I'm going to lose my nerve."
"Right."
By the time the two of you reached the edge of the crowd, Eddie was still going strong.
"—and furthermore, if Hawkins High truly believes forcing Hellfire to relocate every other week is somehow constitutional—"
You exchanged one last glance with Nancy, so she gave you a tiny nod. Go.
Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat, you carefully stepped through the cluster of students until you were standing close enough to reach him.
Then, before you could second-guess yourself…you gave the sleeve of his jacket a gentle tug. The effect was immediate, causing Eddie to stop midsentence.
"...constitutional ri—" His words died in his throat.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he looked down, and there you were. For a brief moment, he genuinely wondered if he'd imagined you. Because girls like you didn't usually interrupt his lunchtime speeches.
Hell, girls like you usually walked around him. He knew exactly who you were, of course. Everyone did.
You were one of those people whose name seemed to carry itself through the halls without any effort. Honor roll. Friends with Nancy Wheeler. Pretty enough that half the boys in school had, at one point or another, convinced themselves they had a chance before reality quickly corrected them.
You carried yourself with a quiet sort of confidence that made you seem untouchable. Not in a snobbish way, but in the way stars looked untouchable from Earth.
And now...you were standing in front of him. His brain, normally overflowing with smart remarks and sarcastic comebacks, came to a screeching halt. Eddie blinked once, then twice.
"...Uh..." He cleared his throat. "...Hi."
"Hi." You offered him a nervous smile, suddenly far less certain about marching over here than you'd been thirty seconds ago.
"Eddie," you began, tilting your head back slightly to meet his eyes. "Can we... uh... talk to you?"
His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "...Me?"
"In private," you added quickly, gesturing toward the audience that had practically doubled in size now that the two of you had approached him. More than a few people had abandoned their lunches entirely in favor of shamelessly eavesdropping.
Eddie glanced over your shoulder at the crowd.
"...I..." He rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to process whatever bizarre alternate universe he'd apparently wandered into. "...Yeah."
A crooked grin finally found its way onto his face. "Yeah, I think I can pencil you in."
Without another word, he hopped down from the cafeteria bench with an exaggerated flourish, dusted imaginary dirt from his jeans, and threw a dramatic glance toward the rest of Hellfire.
"Boys," he announced solemnly, "the revolution will have to wait." He shot you an almost sheepish smile as he caught up beside you.
"So..." His curiosity was practically radiating off him now. "...Lead the way."
The three of you didn't stop walking until the cafeteria noise had faded into little more than a dull echo behind you. The hallway sat blissfully empty during lunch period, save for the occasional locker slamming shut somewhere in the distance.
Eddie rocked back on the heels of his sneakers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans before glancing between the two of you.
"So..." he drawled, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Am I being recruited into a cult, or are you guys finally here to tell me I've won some sort of popularity contest?"
Nancy snorted. "Neither."
"Damn."
She exchanged a quick look with you before deciding to rip the bandage off.
"So, uh..." she started. "Eddie... how would you feel about being a fake boyfriend?"
Eddie blinked. "...Come again?"
"A fake boyfriend."
He frowned, eyes drifting toward Nancy. "...Wait."
"Aren't you and Byers still together?" His eyebrows knitted together in genuine confusion. "I mean..." He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Sure, you're cool and all, Wheeler, but I kinda respect the guy."
Nancy stared at him for exactly half a second before letting out an exasperated groan.
"Oh, my God." She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Not for me."
Eddie rubbed his arm dramatically. "Ow."
"For her," Nancy clarified, throwing both hands toward you like a game show host revealing the grand prize.
His head snapped in your direction so quickly you were surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "...Her?"
You gave him an awkward little wave. "Hi."
"You..." he said slowly, pointing at you as if he needed to make absolutely certain everyone was talking about the same person. "...want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"
"I know how insane that sounds."
"No, no." He held up both hands. "I'm just making sure I didn't hit my head getting off that cafeteria bench."
Nancy folded her arms. "Well?"
Eddie's bewildered expression slowly melted into one of pure curiosity. “I’m intrigued. What does this entail?”
You sigh, rocking on your heels. “Basically, I’ve been seeing this college boy, Darren. I’ve never ever been allowed to date, so I haven’t had a boyfriend yet. And considering he’s already in college, my parents would be uber pissed and never let it happen. So Nancy came up with this plan—”
“That you go out with me, your parents think he’s the golden boy, is that it?” He interrupts.
You pause abruptly, suddenly coming to the realization of how messed up and flat-out mean this all sounds.
“No— uh, shit, yeah, kinda. I’m sorry, this was such a bad idea. Forget I even asked—”
“Woah woah woah, I’m not saying no. I’m all for sticking it to the man or whatever. Just, what do I have to do? Movie dates and rides home?”
“I mean, yeah, kinda. We’d have to be together in every aspect. You know how people in this town love to talk. We have to sell it, y’know?”
Eddie's grin only grew wider.
"So..." He tilted his head. "We're talking the full boyfriend package."
You nodded sheepishly. "Pretty much."
He let out a low whistle. "Movie dates."
"Mhm."
"Walking you home."
"Probably."
"Holding your hand?"
You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks. "...If people are around."
He hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin like he was negotiating a business deal worth millions.
"...You realize," he said, unable to suppress the grin threatening to split his face in two, "if we're gonna sell this..."
He leaned in just a fraction. "...I'm gonna have to be the greatest fake boyfriend Hawkins has ever seen."
You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. "I don't think that'll be a problem."
"Oh?" Eddie asked, feigning offense. "You underestimate my dedication to the craft."
"I think I underestimate your ego."
"That's fair."
Nancy glanced between the two of you, already regretting how well you seemed to bounce off each other.
"So..." she interjected. "When exactly were you planning on starting this little social experiment?"
You looked back at Eddie. "Tomorrow."
His eyebrows shot up. "...Tomorrow?"
"My parents drop me off every morning."
"And?"
"And tomorrow..." A small smile tugged at your lips. "They won't have to."
The next morning started like any other. Alarm at 6:30 on the dot, shower, brush your hair and teeth, do your makeup, pick an outfit, and head downstairs for breakfast.
Your mother was in her usual spot in the kitchen, making the same eggs and whole-wheat toast. Your father sat at the head of the table, glasses low on his nose as he read the newspaper, mug of coffee steaming next to him.
“Morning, Hun,” he hummed. “We have to stop at the post office before school today. I gotta mail out my case notes.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Dad.” You said nervously. “I, uh, have a ride today.”
“Oh, did Nancy finally get her car fixed?” Your mother chimed in.
“Oh, uh, yeah, but…it’s not Nancy. Eddie’s actually picking me up.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Your father slowly folded up his newspaper and placed it on the counter. “Eddie? As in, Eddie Munson, Eddie?”
You winced. "...Yeah."
Your mother blinked. "The young man with the... leather?"
You almost laughed. "I think it's denim."
"The one with the chains?"
"...Probably."
"The long hair?"
"...Yes."
"The Hellfire Club?"
"...Yes."
"The one who's in detention every other Tuesday?"
You sighed. "...That's the one."
Your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was somehow calmer than yelling would've been.
"And..." He clasped his hands together. "...Why, exactly, is Eddie Munson picking my daughter up for school?"
Your heart hammered against your ribs. “Because we’ve been…seeing eachother.”
Absolute, unwavering silence followed. Your mother and father exchanged looks before answering in unison:
"...What?"
You cleared your throat. "Eddie and I have been... seeing each other."
Your mother's wooden spatula slipped from her fingers, clattering against the stovetop. Your father stared at you as though you'd just announced you were dropping out of school to join the circus.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I must've misheard you."
You forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "You didn't."
"Since..." your mother began carefully, "...since when?"
"A little while."
"A little while?" your father echoed.
You nodded. "Mhm."
"And you neglected to mention this because..."
"I knew you'd react like this."
"We're reacting because you just informed us that you're dating Eddie Munson."
"I know."
You opened your mouth to argue more, but before you could, a loud, unmistakable rumble echoed from outside. It sounded like someone had awakened a dying dragon in your driveway.
All three of you turned toward the front window. The familiar roar of an aging engine settled into a rattling idle.
Your father slowly stood from the table. "...Is that him?"
As if on cue: Honk. One short beep, then another.
Your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
From somewhere outside came a voice that carried far too well through the quiet neighborhood. "Take your time, sweetheart!"
You whipped around toward the window in horror. "Oh, my God."
Your father walked over first, carefully pulling back the curtain with two fingers. Your mother joined him a second later.
"...Harold," she whispered.
"I see him."
"He brought flowers."
Your stomach dropped. Flowers? That wasn't part of the plan. Slowly, you walked toward the window yourself, peering over your father's shoulder. There, parked halfway into the driveway in the unmistakable rust-speckled Munson van, was Eddie.
He'd traded his usual leather jacket for his battle vest over a black T-shirt, his sunglasses perched on top of his head despite it barely being eight in the morning. And, resting casually against the side of the van like he'd rehearsed it in a mirror...
...was the single ugliest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen. Half of them looked dead, one of them might've been plastic. There was definitely baby's breath sticking out at an angle it wasn't meant to.
The second your eyes met his through the window, his face lit up. He flashed the biggest, cockiest grin imaginable before lifting the bouquet high into the air with an exaggerated little flourish. Then he gave you an enthusiastic wave.
Your father slowly let the curtain fall shut, and he turned to face you. "...He's brought you funeral flowers."
You pinched the bridge of your nose. "...I think they're supposed to be carnations."
You let out a slow, defeated sigh. "...I'll be home after school."
Neither of your parents responded. Your father simply stood with his arms folded across his chest, while your mother wore the same expression she'd had ever since the words Eddie Munson had left your mouth. It was somewhere between confusion and preparing for the worst.
Grabbing your backpack from beside the front door, you slipped your shoes on and reached for the handle. "Love you," you offered hopefully.
Your mother managed a weak smile. "...Love you too."
Your father nodded once. "We'll... talk tonight."
You swallowed. "...Sounds good."
The second the front door swung open, Eddie spotted you. He straightened from where he'd been leaning against the van, tucked the pitiful excuse for a bouquet behind his back with an almost comical flourish, and plastered on the biggest smile you'd ever seen.
"There she is!"
You had to physically stop yourself from laughing. He walked toward you with the confidence of someone arriving at prom instead of a suburban driveway at seven-thirty in the morning.
"Good morning, beautiful."
Beautiful? You'd known Eddie for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already improvising.
He stopped in front of you, producing the bouquet from behind his back like a magician revealing his greatest trick.
"For my lovely lady."
You looked down. They were somehow even uglier up close. One carnation had snapped clean in half.
"...You bought these?"
"I rescued them."
"From...?"
"The clearance bucket outside Melvald's."
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt.
"They were seventy-five percent off."
"How romantic."
"I know."
You accepted the bouquet, shaking your head. "They're hideous."
"I picked the worst ones."
"I can tell."
"Proud of me?"
"...A little."
His grin widened. "Excellent."
Then, before you had time to react, he reached out, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness…and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. It was quick, sweet, and almost innocent.
But if anyone happened to be watching from inside, it looked incredibly convincing. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. When he pulled away, he leaned in just enough to whisper:
"...Sorry."
You blinked. "For what?"
"I panicked."
"...You panic by kissing people?"
"Apparently."
Before you could answer, the front door creaked open behind you. Both of your parents stepped onto the porch.
Eddie immediately turned, the picture of charm. "Mr. and Mrs!," he called cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting. "Pleasure to finally meet you."
Your father looked him up and down. "...Is it?"
Eddie didn't miss a beat. "It certainly is for me, sir."
"So..." your father began slowly. "You're Eddie."
"The one and only."
"I've heard... things."
Eddie rested a hand dramatically over his heart. "I'm hoping only the good ones."
"I sincerely doubt they were."
"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Probably."
You could actually see your father's brain trying to determine whether Eddie was genuinely this odd or simply putting on a performance. Spoiler alert: it was both.
"So," your father continued, "you're driving my daughter to school."
"I am."
"You'll obey the speed limit."
"Absolutely."
"No reckless driving."
"Never."
"No funny business."
Eddie frowned slightly. "...Define funny."
You closed your eyes. "Eddie..."
"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm asking for clarification."
Your father's expression remained perfectly flat. "You know exactly what I mean."
Eddie's own smile softened. "I do."
Then, for the first time since he'd arrived, he answered without a trace of sarcasm. "I'll get her there safely, sir."
The sincerity in his voice caught everyone a little off guard; hell, even your father seemed surprised. After a moment, he gave one curt nod.
"I expect you will."
"I will."
With that, Eddie walked around to the passenger side of the van and pulled the door open with an exaggerated bow. "Your chariot awaits."
You rolled your eyes. "What a gentleman."
"I have my moments."
Climbing into the passenger seat, you waited until he rounded the front of the van and slid into the driver's seat before the two of you looked at one another. There was exactly half a second of silence, then you burst into laughter.
Eddie looked over, trying and failing to suppress his own smile. "...What's so funny?"
"You."
"Me?"
"You kissed my forehead!"
"You said we had to sell it."
"I did not say before eight in the morning!"
"You never specified business hours."
You laughed harder. "And those flowers?"
He gasped dramatically. "They cost me a dollar twenty-five."
"They looked like they'd already attended a funeral."
"They did."
You stared at him. "...What?"
"I may or may not have bought them from the cemetery."
Your jaw dropped. "Eddie!"
"I'm kidding!"
"...Were you?"
"...Mostly."
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I have made the biggest mistake of my entire life."
He shifted the van into gear, a smug grin settling onto his face. "Oh, sweetheart."
The engine rumbled to life. "We're only on day one."
The drive to school had only been the beginning. Once Eddie committed to something, it quickly became apparent that he didn't know how to do it halfway.
The second the first bell rang, he'd slung his backpack over one shoulder and casually fallen into step beside you as though the two of you had been doing it for years.
"History first?" he'd asked.
"Mhm."
"Excellent."
You'd expected him to walk you halfway there, maybe to the end of the hallway. Instead, he'd walked you all the way to your classroom, leaned casually against the doorframe while you gathered your books, and smiled down at you.
"I'll see you after second period."
"...You know my schedule?"
He'd pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from his pocket. "Made a copy."
You stared. "...When?"
"Nancy."
You looked over your shoulder at her, so Nancy simply shrugged. "He asked."
"You gave it to him?"
"He was very persuasive."
Eddie tucked the paper back into his vest. "I'm an actor, sweetheart. Continuity is everything."
Sure enough, the moment second period ended, he was already waiting outside your classroom. Then again after third. Then fourth. By lunchtime, the entire school had noticed.
Girls whispered when you walked past. Basketball players openly stared. Freshmen practically dove out of Eddie's way when he slipped an arm lazily over your shoulders while walking through the hallway.
If anyone had doubted the relationship that morning, they certainly didn't anymore. Which was exactly why you found yourself carrying your lunch tray toward the Hellfire table instead of your usual seat beside Nancy.
You stopped dead in your tracks. "...People are going to think I've lost my mind."
Eddie looked up from unwrapping his sandwich. "They already think that."
"...Helpful."
He scooted over and pulled up a chair for you. "C'mon."
With a resigned sigh, you slid in beside him. Almost immediately, the rest of Hellfire fell silent. Gareth looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at Mike. Mike looked at Dustin. Dustin's eyes darted between you and Eddie so fast you were surprised they didn't get stuck.
"...Holy shit," Gareth muttered.
"It's real," Jeff whispered.
Eddie looked offended. "You doubted me?"
"We doubted her."
You couldn't even blame them. A few minutes later, Nancy and Jonathan wandered over, trays in hand.
"Mind if we join?" Jonathan asked.
"Please do," you replied. "I need normal people."
Eddie gasped dramatically.
By the final bell, your social battery had all but evaporated. Being the center of attention all day was exhausting. You were halfway through stuffing books into your locker when Nancy appeared beside you.
"So..." she began.
You looked up.
"I think Phase One was a success."
"You think?"
"I've already heard three different people say they 'always knew' you and Eddie had chemistry."
You groaned. "People are unbelievable."
"They're bored."
"Fair."
Jonathan joined the two of you, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Speaking of bored..."
Nancy suddenly snapped her fingers. "Oh!"
She looked between you and Eddie. "I almost forgot."
"What?"
"The drive-in's doing a horror double feature tomorrow night."
Eddie perked up immediately. "...Seriously?"
Jonathan nodded. "I drove past this morning."
"They're showing The Evil Dead and A Nightmare on Elm Street."
Eddie's jaw practically hit the floor. "No way."
"Way."
"They never play good movies."
"I know."
Nancy smiled. "Jonathan wanted to go..."
Jonathan looked over at her. "...Did I?"
"You do now."
He chuckled. "I guess I do."
She turned back toward you and Eddie. "You guys should come."
You blinked.
"As..." She wiggled her eyebrows. "...A couple."
You looked instinctively toward Eddie.
"A public date," he mused. "Excellent for maintaining the illusion."
Nancy laughed. "See? He's getting it."
"Oh, he got it the second he showed up with cemetery flowers."
"They weren't cemetery flowers," Eddie defended.
"They were discount flowers."
"There's a difference."
Jonathan smiled, shaking his head. "So..."
He looked between the two of you. "Tomorrow night?"
You glanced at Eddie, and he gave a tiny shrug. "I'm free."
"...Yeah." You nodded. "I think we'd like that."
The following evening arrived far quicker than you would've liked. Somewhere between surviving an entire day of whispers at school and convincing your mother that, yes, you really were just going to the drive-in with "friends," the reality of the situation had begun to settle in.
You were going on your first date. Granted, it was fake. But somehow that only made your stomach twist even more.
After changing into a pair of jeans, one of your favorite sweaters, and throwing on a light coat for the chilly October air, you gave yourself one final look in the hallway mirror.
"Ready?" your mother called from downstairs.
"As I'll ever be."
The words had barely left your mouth when the doorbell rang. Your father looked up from his armchair.
"That'll be him." You exchanged a quick glance with your mother before making your way toward the front door, only for your father to beat you there. "I'll get it."
The door swung open, and standing on the porch was Eddie.
His curls had clearly been tamed…well, as much as Eddie Munson's curls could ever be tamed.
He'd swapped his usual ripped Hellfire shirt for a plain black waffle long-sleeved shirt. His jeans were still ripped, his boots still scuffed, and there were just as many rings decorating his fingers as always.
He'd made an effort, in the most Eddie way possible.
The moment he saw your father, he straightened. "Evening, sir."
Your father regarded him carefully. "...Munson."
"Eddie works."
Your father didn't smile. "I'm sure it does."
You quickly slipped between them before things could somehow become awkwarder than they already were. "Hi."
The second Eddie looked at you, his entire expression softened. "...Wow."
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. "What?"
"You..." He smiled to himself before shaking his head. "You look really nice."
"...Thanks."
Your father cleared his throat, and Eddie immediately remembered where he was.
"Right." He clasped his hands behind his back almost like a soldier awaiting inspection. "So..."
Your father folded his arms. "So."
"I understand we're going to the drive-in."
"We are."
"And I understand Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler will be there."
"They will."
"Good."
"You'll have her home by eleven."
Eddie nodded immediately. "Absolutely."
"If plans change, she calls."
"Of course."
"If that van breaks down—"
"It won't."
Your father raised an eyebrow. "It might."
"...It might."
"And if it does?"
"I'll call."
"You won't let her walk home alone."
"I wouldn't let her walk across the parking lot alone."
Your father's posture eased... just a fraction. "Good."
He stepped aside. "You kids have fun."
"We will, sir."
As you stepped off the porch, Eddie quietly reached for your hand. You glanced down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at him.
He leaned over just enough to murmur, "...Audience."
You looked back toward the front window, and sure enough, your parents were watching through the curtains. "...Right."
The drive itself was surprisingly easy. The windows were cracked just enough to let the cool autumn air drift through the van while some old rock station played quietly over the speakers.
You talked about school. About Gareth somehow managing to fail another chemistry quiz. About Dustin insisting he'd seen a UFO behind Family Video. By the time the glowing marquee for the Hawkins Drive-In appeared in the distance, you'd almost forgotten this wasn't real.
Eddie paid for both of your tickets before steering toward the back row.
You frowned. "...Shouldn't we park closer?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
He killed the engine before hopping out of the driver's seat. "C'mere."
Curiosity getting the better of you, you followed him around to the back of the van. He swung the rear doors open with both hands.
"...Ta-da."
You stopped walking. "...Eddie."
The inside of the van looked nothing like you'd expected.
The back seats had been folded flat, replaced with what looked like every blanket he owned layered over an old mattress pad. Pillows were piled against the sides, making a little nest beneath a strand of warm white battery-powered string lights he'd somehow managed to drape across the ceiling.
There were even two lawn chairs folded neatly in the corner in case you wanted to sit outside instead.
"...What..."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."
You climbed a little closer, running your hand across one of the impossibly soft blankets. "You did all this?"
He shrugged like it was no big deal. "I figured drive-ins are more fun when you're comfortable."
Your eyes wandered farther; a little cooler sat tucked against the wall. Curious, you opened it. Inside were glass bottles of Coke, your favorite cherry licorice, peanut M&M's, movie theater butter popcorn. Even the little strawberry candies you'd absentmindedly mentioned liking while sitting at lunch two days ago.
You looked back at him. "...How do you even know all of this?"
"You told Gareth those strawberry candies reminded you of your grandma."
You blinked. "...You remembered that?"
"Sure."
Still speechless, you reached into the back again.
"...Is this..." You pulled out a folded gray sweatshirt. "...Mine?"
"Nah." He laughed. "It's mine."
You looked at him, confused.
"It's supposed to get cold later."
"So?"
"So..." He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "You complained yesterday that you always underestimate how cold October gets."
"...I did."
"So I brought an extra sweatshirt."
You stared at him. "Eddie..."
For the first time since you'd met him, he actually looked a little shy. "What?"
"I thought this was supposed to be fake."
"It is."
"You didn't have to do..." You gestured helplessly toward the cozy little setup he'd somehow built in the back of the van. "...all of this."
A grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh."
He leaned casually against the open door. "...This?"
You nodded, and he shrugged. "Fake boyfriend package."
You laughed. "No."
"What?"
"This is way above the fake boyfriend package."
He feigned offense. "You wound me."
"Eddie."
"I'm serious."
He pointed into the van. "Blankets."
Another finger. "Snacks."
Another. "Emergency sweatshirt."
He spread both hands proudly. "I'm providing a premium service here."
You laughed so hard you had to grab the side of the van to steady yourself. "I'm going to have to leave you a five-star review."
"Damn right you are."
Then, quieter, his grin softening into something far less performative.
"I just..." He looked over the little setup. "...Figured if we're pretending to date..."
His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "...You should get at least one really good date out of it."
The drive-in ended up being surprisingly perfect. Neither of you paid much attention to the first movie.
Instead, the two of you spent most of it making sarcastic commentary under your breath, sharing popcorn, and arguing over whether The Evil Dead was genuinely terrifying or just "creative low-budget filmmaking," as Eddie insisted.
By the second feature, the October air had turned considerably colder. Without saying a word, Eddie reached behind him, grabbed the sweatshirt he'd packed, and draped it over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain.
You'd rolled your eyes as he'd simply grinned. "Premium service."
By the time the credits rolled, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
True to his word, Eddie pulled into your driveway at exactly 10:50, ten whole minutes before your curfew. Your father was already waiting on the porch, arms crossed, watching.
Eddie climbed out first, walking around to open your door before helping you step down from the van with an exaggerated flourish. "Milady."
You curtsied dramatically. "Thank you, kind sir."
He placed a hand over his heart. "My pleasure."
Your father watched the exchange carefully as the two of you walked toward the porch. "You made good time."
Eddie nodded. "Told you I would."
Your father checked his watch. "...You're early."
"I figured ten minutes was a safe buffer."
"...Smart."
It wasn't exactly praise. But coming from your father, it was pretty damn close.
"Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight, Eddie."
You glanced between them. "...Goodnight."
As you headed inside, you couldn't help but notice your father watching Eddie climb back into the van.
Your mother appeared beside him. "So?"
He kept his eyes on the driveway. "...He was respectful."
You nearly tripped over your own feet. Respectful? From your father? Maybe hell really had frozen over.
One fake date somehow became two, then three. Then somewhere along the line, the lines started blurring.
Eddie still picked you up for school almost every morning. He still walked you to every class. He'd started carrying your books without asking. Holding doors open. Stealing fries off your lunch tray despite insisting he "didn't want any."
You'd retaliated by drinking half his chocolate milk whenever he looked away. A silent war had begun that neither of you intended to lose.
The town, of course, ate it up. Mrs. Thompson at Melvald's gave the two of you a knowing smile every time you stopped in after school. The librarian had started saving romance novels "for the young couple." Even Principal Higgins had caught Eddie kissing the top of your head outside English one afternoon.
Instead of detention, he'd simply sighed. "Keep it appropriate, Munson."
"Always do."
The moment Higgins rounded the corner, Eddie looked down at you. "...That counted, right?"
You laughed. "I think we sold it."
"Excellent."
The phone calls hadn't been part of the plan. It started because Eddie called one evening to ask if your father had "bought the hand-holding today."
That conversation lasted fifteen minutes. The next night became thirty. By Friday, the two of you had somehow spent nearly two hours talking about everything and absolutely nothing.
Favorite movies. Childhood stories. Music. Why Garfield was objectively the funniest comic strip ever printed.
You'd started waiting for the sound of your phone ringing around nine every night. And like clockwork, you’d always answered.
Before long, pretending started feeling easy and dangerously comfortable. Sometimes you'd catch yourself laughing before Eddie even finished the joke.
Sometimes he'd bring you your favorite soda without asking. Sometimes he'd absentmindedly reach for your hand crossing a parking lot before either of you remembered there wasn't actually anyone around to witness it.
Neither of you acknowledged those moments; you simply kept the "bit" going.
"So." Jonathan leaned back in his cafeteria chair one afternoon, looking around the table. "I heard something."
Nancy looked up from her sandwich. "...Should we be worried?"
"Probably."
Eddie nodded approvingly. "I like where this is going."
Jonathan ignored him. "My friend at community college said there's a party this Saturday."
That immediately caught everyone's attention. "A college party?" Nancy asked.
Jonathan nodded. "Apparently one of the fraternities is throwing a Halloween thing."
You, Nancy, and Eddie exchanged glances. None of you had been to a college party before. Jonathan noticed the exchange and smiled.
"I was thinking..." He pointed between the two of you. "You guys should come."
Nancy perked up immediately. "Oh my God, yes."
"It'd be fun," Jonathan continued. "Nobody there knows either of you, so there's no pressure. Just music, some booze..." He shrugged. "Besides, Darren goes there, doesn't he?"
Your stomach flipped. "...Yeah."
Jonathan smiled. "Perfect."
Nancy's eyes widened as the implications dawned on her. "Oh."
"Oh."
Nancy was the first one to put the pieces together. Her eyes widened as she looked between you and Eddie. "...Wait."
You glanced over.
"If your parents think Eddie's taking you..." She pointed toward Jonathan. "...Then they'll have absolutely no problem letting you go."
You nodded absentmindedly. "...I guess."
Jonathan shrugged. "And if Darren happens to be there..."
The name hit you like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over your head.
Darren. Right.
For a brief, almost embarrassing moment, you'd forgotten. Not forgotten him, exactly. Just forgotten that he was the entire reason any of this had started.
Your mind flashed back to the phone call you'd had with him a few nights earlier. The conversation had been nice, comfortable even. He'd asked how school was going. You'd told him "good." He'd told you about a biology exam. You'd wished him luck.
Then, before hanging up, you'd mentioned you couldn't talk much longer because Eddie was supposed to call in a few minutes. Only after you'd said it had you realized how naturally the words had come out.
You blinked. "...Oh."
Eddie noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. "What?"
You looked back at the table. "...Nothing."
Jonathan continued, oblivious. "He'll probably be there somewhere."
“Yeah…” You said, sinking into your seat. "Probably."
By the time the night of the party rolled around, you were equal parts nervous and excited. The excitement, however, had very little to do with the party itself. It had everything to do with the ridiculous argument you'd had with Eddie three nights prior.
"If we're going," he'd said over the phone, "we're wearing matching costumes."
You'd laughed. "No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
"We're a couple."
"A fake couple."
"A distinction with very little importance."
You'd groaned into the receiver. "Eddie..."
"We have to sell it."
"We're already selling it."
"No, sweetheart." You could practically hear the grin in his voice. "We're raising the bar."
Which explained why you were currently standing in front of your bedroom mirror wearing a black, studded mini dress layered over a fishnet top, ripped tights, and heavy combat boots. A spiked choker sat snug around your neck.
Your hair had been teased and left wild, half-pinned back with a chain clip Eddie had insisted on adding himself earlier.
“Needs more attitude,” he’d said, concentrating like he was defusing a bomb.
You’d called it ridiculous; he’d called it perfect.
A knock sounded downstairs.
"He's here!" your mother called.
You grabbed your leather jacket, shrugging it on as you hurried downstairs. The second you rounded the corner into the foyer, Eddie looked up and promptly forgot how to speak.
Gone were the ripped jeans and Hellfire tee. Instead, he wore black skinny jeans, a sleeveless band tee layered under a distressed denim vest covered in patches, and heavy boots that looked like they’d seen more than one mosh pit.
Eddie had somehow managed to style his own hair into a wild, voluminous mess of teased curls and waves, half of it pulled back with a chain and leather wrap, the rest spilling around his face like he’d stepped straight out of a metal album cover.
A few strands fell into his eyes, but he didn’t brush them away. He just stared at you.
"...Holy shit."
You smiled. "What?"
"You..." He shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite process it. "You actually did it."
"You look like you belong in a band."
"I do belong in a band."
"You belong in a very loud band."
He grinned, stepping closer. "You look..." His voice softened just slightly. "...Really good."
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. "You don’t look so bad yourself."
Your father chose that exact moment to clear his throat. The two of you jumped apart as though you'd been caught committing a crime.
"Evening, Eddie."
"Sir..."
Your father looked him over. "...Interesting costume."
Eddie glanced down at himself. "Thanks."
"You know..." Your father folded his arms. "...People in bands tend to make questionable life choices."
Eddie nodded seriously. "Yeah, I’ve heard that. I’m trying to keep my record clean tonight, sir."
That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of your father’s mouth.
"So," your father continued, "college party."
"Yes, sir."
"You understand there’ll be drinking."
"There probably will be."
"You won’t be."
"No, sir."
"You’ll make sure she isn’t."
"I will."
"And if anything feels off..."
"We leave." He finishes.
Your father studied him for another second before nodding. "...Midnight."
"We’ll be back before then."
He looked toward you. "Phone?"
You held it up.
"Wallet?"
You patted your pocket.
"Keys?"
Eddie jingled them.
"...Have fun."
The fraternity house was impossible to miss. Music thumped loudly enough to rattle the windows while clusters of college students spilled across the front lawn, laughing beneath strings of orange lights and fake cobwebs. The moment the four of you stepped out of the van, heads turned.
Jonathan leaned toward Nancy. "...I think they win."
Nancy smiled. "They absolutely win."
One college girl walking past pointed excitedly. "Oh, my God!" She laughed. “Sharron and Ozzie!"
Eddie immediately slid an arm around your shoulders. "See?" he murmured. "Worth it."
"...Debatable."
Inside, the house was somehow even louder. A surprising number of people in ripped band tees and eyeliner that looked suspiciously rushed. You spent the first hour simply existing.
You danced exactly once, mostly because Eddie refused to accept no for an answer.
"You have two options," he'd informed you.
"Dance..." He held out one hand. "...Or I throw a fit in this living room."
"...Those aren't good options."
"They absolutely are."
You’d taken his hand before he embarrassed both of you. Nancy had laughed so hard she’d nearly spilled her drink. You were having genuine amounts of fun, almost enough to make you forget why you were there in the first place.
"I'm gonna find the bathroom," you announced after another song ended.
Finding the bathroom proved far easier than finding your way back. You’d barely stepped into the upstairs hallway before a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.
"...Babe?"
Your heart skipped, and slowly, you turned around. "Darren?"
He smiled, equally surprised. "I thought Jonathan said you might be coming."
"I almost didn't."
He laughed. "I didn't think I'd actually run into you."
"So..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You look nice."
You smiled politely. "Thanks. You too."
His eyes drifted over your costume. "...Metal?"
"Mhm."
"Cute."
"So..." he asked carefully. "How've you been?"
Meanwhile downstairs, Eddie checked his watch. "Huh."
Jonathan looked over. "What?"
"She's been gone a while."
Nancy frowned. "...You're right."
"I'll go find her."
"You know where the bathroom is?"
"I'll figure it out."
He checked one door, and then another.
Then, "...Oh."
His footsteps stopped because halfway down the hall stood you. Laughing, talking with a guy: college-aged, a little taller than him, and standing much closer than Eddie would've liked.
Darren. Of course. This was literally the entire reason any of this existed.
His grip around his cup tightened as he watched Darren smile at something you said and watched you smile back.
What had he expected? That you’d forget about the guy you’ve been trying so hard to introduce to your parents?
That this fake relationship had somehow...He cut the thought off before it finished. The cup slipped through his fingers, and it clinked softly against the floor.
Your head whipped toward the sound. "Eddie?"
Your eyes had met then, and he stared at you solemnly for a second before shaking his head and scurrying away.
"Eddie!"
You looked back at Darren only long enough to offer an apologetic smile. "I'm... I'm sorry. I have to go."
Before he could answer, you were already hurrying after the retreating figure, disappearing down the staircase.
“Eddie! Hey…Jesus Christ, you walk fast—Fuck, hey!”
You finally caught his wrist just as he pushed through the front door of the fraternity house; the October air hit both of you immediately.
"Eddie."
He stopped walking, and for a second, you swore he'd turn around. He didn't. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose, staring out at the sea of cars parked along the lawn.
"...You should go back inside."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I was literally coming to find you."
"No." He laughed once, humorlessly. "You were talking to Darren."
"I was saying hello."
"Mhm."
"Eddie."
He finally turned around then, his eyes glossy. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but somewhere dangerously close. "You don't have to explain yourself."
"What?"
"You don't owe me an explanation."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"No." He shook his head. "Seriously."
He laughed a short and almost bitter laugh. "You don't."
You frowned. "You're my—"
He cut you off. "Fake boyfriend.
“You were talking to the guy you actually like." He shrugged. "I get it."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"No—"
"I was just..." He rubbed both hands over his face before letting out another disbelieving laugh. "Jesus Christ."
His shoulders slumped. "What the hell did I think was gonna happen?"
"Eddie..."
"What?" he asked, throwing one hand into the air. "That I actually convinced myself the prettiest girl in Hawkins High was gonna wake up one morning and decide she wanted me?"
He wasn't looking at you anymore; his gaze was fixed beyond your shoulder, talking more to himself than to you.
"I'm the fucking freak."
"Eddie—"
"And somewhere along the way..." He shook his head. "I forgot."
You stepped closer. "You forgot what?"
"That this..." He gestured between the two of you. "...was never real. You know what the worst part is?"
"Eddie..."
"I started believing it. I started believing all the stupid little things."
He counted them off on his fingers. "The phone calls. The drive-in. You stealing my fries. You laughing at my dumb jokes."
He laughed again. "I started thinking..." He stopped himself. "No."
"Eddie, finish that sentence."
"I started thinking maybe..." His jaw tightened. "Maybe you actually enjoyed being around me."
"I do."
"You have to."
"No."
"You literally have to!" he exclaimed, his voice finally rising. "That's the whole deal!"
"I don't."
"You don't?"
"I don't have to."
He blinked as you took another step forward. "I call you because I want to."
He stared.
"I laugh because you're funny. I go to the record store with you because I like going. With you."
"Eddie..." You swallowed. "I would've kept talking to Darren for maybe another minute."
You gestured toward the house. "I chased after you. Like, I've barely thought about Darren this entire month."
Those words surprised both of you, mainly because you hadn't meant to say them out loud.
"I..." You frowned. "I don't know when that happened."
"Eddie..."
He looked away. "I really don't want you to say something just because you feel bad."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
He let out another dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don't have to spare my feelings."
"I'm not trying to spare your feelings, you idiot!"
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you searched for the right words. "I don't know how else to say this."
"You don't have to say anything."
"Yes, I do."
"Eddie..." Your voice softened. "I like you."
He smiled sadly. "I know."
"No." You shook your head. "I don't think you do."
He frowned.
"I like you. Like..."
You let out a nervous laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. "Like, I genuinely like you."
He froze so much so that you could almost see the sentence replaying itself in his head. "...What?"
"I like you."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I really, really do."
He stared at you as though you'd started speaking another language. "You came up with this whole fake dating thing because of Darren."
"I know."
"You wanted me to make him look better."
"I know."
"You've been trying to introduce him to your parents for weeks."
"I know."
"So..." He gave another confused laugh. "How the hell does this happen?"
You laughed through the tears threatening to form. "I don't know."
"I think..." You looked down at your shoes before meeting his eyes again.
"I think it happened somewhere between you showing up with those horrible flowers..."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"...And remembering my favorite candy."
You smiled weakly. "And the drive-in. And the phone calls. And you walking me to every class. You remembered all the little things I said without me ever asking you to."
"You made pretending feel so easy that..." You shook your head. "...I forgot we were pretending."
His lips parted. "I almost forgot Darren existed."
The admission hung in the cool night air.
"I went the entire time without thinking about him once." You laughed softly to yourself. "And then Jonathan mentioned the college party..."
You shrugged helplessly. "...And I realized I'd spent more time wondering what costume we would wear rather than seeing Darren."
"So..." You offered him the smallest, most nervous smile he'd ever seen.
"I guess somewhere along the way..."
You reached down and gently took his hand. "...I stopped fake dating you."
He looked down at your intertwined fingers, then back up at you. "...You're serious."
You nodded. "I've never been more serious."
He smiled so wide it almost looked painful. "...Guess I'm gonna have to start putting in some real boyfriend effort now, huh?"
“Should I be afraid to find out what that entails?”
“Oh yeah. Very much so.”
me giggling and kicking my feet at how cute ts is
since ik you all far too well and love adding more projects for myself...
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Getting high with your guy best friend and he starts listing reasons you should let him put his cock inside you. Based on this post.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 MDNI, little bit of handjob, smut, unprotected sex, smoking weed, hint of size kink. I think that's all, lmk if i missed something.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,5K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Yes, i'm still on hiatus but i'm still writing some ideas and requests that you guys sent me. I didn't really like how this went because i had something different in mind for this oneshot, but i was listening to ethel cain and maybe it got to my head so i wrote more...no, less sexy than i intended. But i hope you guys like it!! My requests are still open (and the anon option is back yay!!) so send me some ideas to write. Love you all, thank u for being patient with me. 🩷
The apartment's living room was shrouded in a whitish haze, filled with distorted guitar riffs and vocals indistinguishable amidst a symphony of screams and guttural growls. Eddie was currently sprawled across the vintage red velvet sofa, legs dangling over the armrest and head tilted back against the cushions; he looked like a marionette that had gotten too close to the fire — melted and then discarded.
His limbs lay heavy and loose, sprawled across the sofa almost like the exaggerated pose of a body at a crime scene, while his eyes were half-closed and his mouth twisted into a scowl that looked like disgust as he gave his head a subtle, minimal shake — it was just his own peculiar way of showing he was enjoying good music — specifically, the guitar riff that made the floorboards vibrate and would almost certainly earn him a complaint from the downstairs neighbor within minutes.
The weed had hit both of you harder than usual, turning the apartment into an almost slow-motion sanctuary where the only things that mattered were the rhythmic pulse of the bass and the way the sun filtered through the loosely closed blinds in irregular golden bands.
"Pass the lighter, please?" Eddie murmured, his voice hoarse and drawling. He didn't move his head; he simply extended a tattooed hand, the ink snaking up his forearm in sharp, geometric patterns. He had a way of moving that was always slightly dramatic, even when he was practically unconscious from a joint.
He smiled, the dimples beside his mouth deepening as he met your gaze, while dark brown curls tumbled over his shoulders in a chaotic tangle. You leaned forward, sliding the lighter across the coffee table, feeling your limbs as if they were made of hot, softened wax on the verge of turning to liquid.
You had spent the last three hours in exactly that state — talking about everything and nothing, arguing about vinyl records, and sinking deeper into the cushions until you almost merged with the furniture. There was a comfortable weight to the silence between you, the kind that exists only between two people who have seen each other at their worst and decided they still liked the view.
"Have you ever thought about how we’re basically just ghosts inhabiting flesh suits? No… aliens in a robot suit made of flesh, just like in the movie MIB," Eddie asked, his voice drifting as if he were narrating a documentary only he could hear.
He shifted his position, turning onto his side to face you in a slow, languid movement; the light caught his ear gauges, the silver rings glinting as he propped himself up on his elbow. The metal music shifted to something slower, a dense, hypnotic rhythm that seemed to sync with the pulsating heat beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach.
He didn’t pull away when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing against his. Instead, he reached out, sliding his hand along your shoulder with a tenderness that anchored you amidst that haze of smoke and metal. His fingertips were calloused from guitar strings, yet they grazed the curve of your breast with a light, teasing precision that made your breath hitch.
"Speaking of 'meat suits'…" he murmured, his brown eyes darkening, "I’ve been thinking of a few reasons why you should finally let me put this meat inside you."
You let out a low, breathless laugh, but the sound died away when you felt movement against his jeans. Eddie wasn't just talking; he was touching himself, his other hand sliding down to stroke his length right over the fabric.
He was in no rush, moving at a slow, deliberate pace that accentuated the thick, heavy outline of his cock. He pressed lightly against you; the friction of the denim created a low, thumping in your chest that competed with the bass of the music.
"Reason number one," he whispered, dimples appearing in a predatory, playful smile, "we’re already halfway there. The vibe is perfect. Reason number two…" He paused, his hand squeezing tighter, shifting the angle so you could see exactly how much space he took up. "You know I’m huge, right? Like, pornstar big."
"Shut up," you managed to say, though the protest lacked any real conviction. Your voice came out low, swallowed by the music's heavy distortion and the rising heat of the room.
Eddie didn’t blink, his gaze was fixed on yours with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. He was no longer laughing, the playfulness had given way to something hungrier, though the warmth remained.
He shifted his weight, pressing his thigh firmly against yours, the heat of his skin radiated through his jeans. His hand continued that slow, rhythmic motion, the denim stretching taut over his thickness.
"I'm serious," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave and vibrating in the small space between you. "I'm massive. Touch it and see."
The challenge hung in the air, drifting languidly like smoke. You hesitated for a moment, your pulse pounding in your throat, before reaching out.
The instant your fingers grazed the rough denim, Eddie didn't wait for you to find your rhythm; with a fluid, practiced motion, he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pushed his jeans — along with his underwear — down, freeing himself with a heavy, sudden thud against his navel.
You froze, the air escaping you in a sharp exhale as you looked down. It was magnificent — pulsing with a raised vein that ran along the base to the tip, the head swollen and leaking, flushed a deep reddish hue that contrasted sharply with the pale skin of the shaft. It was far larger than you had imagined; heavy, imposing, and of a length that seemed to defy the very definition of the word.
"Holy shit," you whispered, eyes wide as you darted your gaze between his impressive size and his face. "This is going to break me."
Eddie’s expression was one of pure, triumphant satisfaction; he arched his hips slightly, showing himself off with intense confidence. "God, I hope so," he groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
He reached out, his hand finding the back of your neck and pulling you just a few inches closer, close enough for the heat radiating from him to envelop your skin.
You didn't wait for him to urge you on again, your fingers closed around him, and the first thing you noticed was the searing, pulsing heat that seemed to vibrate in time with your own heart. He was solid — his skin smooth yet stretched taut over the sturdy structure of his length.
As your hand slid upward, feeling how he filled your palm — your fingers unable to fully wrap around him — Eddie let out a sharp, hissing gasp, his head hit the back of the sofa with a dull thud, and his eyes closed as he surrendered to the contact.
"Shit," he murmured, his voice strained. "You’ve got quite a grip, sweetheart."
You didn't answer, too occupied with what was right in front of you; you slid your hand down, feeling the weight of his balls and the way he pulsed against your palm. You squeezed his dick lightly with the other hand, testing his firmness, and Eddie’s hips jerked instinctively upward as a low, guttural sound escaped from deep in his throat.
"Careful," he gasped, though his eyes were open now, half-lidded and dark, revealing a mix of pride and desperation. "If you keep doing that, I won't be able to wait until the list is finished."
You let out a shaky laugh as your thumb caressed the head of his cock, noticing how he jerked at the touch. The weed had softened the outlines of the room; the velvet of the sofa felt like moss beneath your touch, and the air seemed thick, almost like liquid goo.
You moved closer, and his scent — spicy, woody vanilla, tobacco, and a faint hint of sweat — overwhelmed your senses. As you shifted, your knee brushed against his thigh; the contact sent a jolt through you that made your toes curl against the sofa.
Eddie’s hand, which had been resting at the nape of your neck, slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him to claim the space, his solid frame enveloping you completely. He lowered his gaze to where your small hand could barely grasp his thickness, and a slight smile appeared on his lips; his dimples appeared one last time before his expression turned serious.
“Reason number three,” Eddie whispered, his voice nothing more than a breath against your ear. "Chemistry. We have plenty of that, don't we?" He didn't wait for an answer; his hips surged forward, pressing his hot, velvet-smooth length against the seam of your jeans.
The contact was electric — a sudden, intense flare of heat that made your breath hitch. You felt the tremor in his thighs, the tension of muscles coiled like a spring, holding back a surge of urgency that threatened to spill over. He wasn't trembling from the effects of the weed, but from the immense effort of staying still while you explored his impressive size.
You shifted your grip, sliding your hand to the base of his member and pulling upward in a slow, firm motion; the friction of your palm against his skin created a wet, sliding sound that seemed to amplify as the music’s volume suddenly dropped.
Eddie’s eyes flew open, his pupils dilated to the point of swallowing the brown of his irises, turning them almost black; he let out a sound that was half-moan, half-gasp as his fingers dug into the small of your back.
"You're killing me," he said in a hoarse voice, his head lolling to the side as he struggled to breathe. "You're really killing me."
You didn't let up; you slid your hand back down to the base and closed your fingers around him again, this time squeezing with slow, deliberate pressure. The sound that escaped Eddie didn't even seem human — a low, guttural rumble that started in his chest and ended in a sharp intake of breath, making his entire torso shudder.
"You're talking too much, Munson," you whispered, your voice sounding distant and hazy to your own ears. You leaned forward, your chest brushing against his arm, the lust between the two of you was now a physical force that seemed to distort the hazy air.
Eddie’s eyes locked onto yours, the hunger there was almost predatory, yet softened by the warm, familiar affection that had defined your friendship for years. He made no move to push you away, nor did he pull back.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps; he shifted his hips, his weight and girth sliding against your palm. The friction created a searing sensation that made your head spin and your senses blur — like an addictive drug you’d discovered and had no intention of giving up.
“I’ve got plenty of reasons,” he managed to say, though his voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “The fourth reason… the way you’re looking at me right now, like you want to see if I really fit inside you.”
“You’re dangerous…” you whispered, but you didn’t pull your hand away. You shifted your weight, moving off the velvet cushion to kneel between his legs, which were spread wide across the sofa.
The change in perspective made him look even more irresistible: his chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his long hair fanned out against the sofa, creating a dark, wild aura. From that angle, his imposing presence was even more overwhelming; the room seemed to shrink, the walls receding until nothing remained but the distorted sound of the speakers and his scent — intense, masculine, and intoxicatingly warm.
Eddie let out a long, shaky breath, his head falling back against the sofa once more; his eyes were closed and his jaw was set, yet he remained completely attuned to the sensation of your touch. His hand, still resting on your shoulder, gave a light squeeze, his thumb grazing the line of your collarbone.
“The fifth reason…” He groaned, the words barely escaping his lips. “I… God, I thought about this every time we hung out these past few months. Every time you laughed at my jokes, every time you touched my arm… I just wanted to feel you all around me.”
The sincerity in those words hit you harder than the weed. The air in the room was heavy, thick with the mounting tension of months of pent-up desire and unfinished sentences.
You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability beneath his tough guy act, the way his chest rose and fell in ragged, breathless movements. He was laying himself bare — raw and exposed — waiting for you to decide if the risk posed by his size was worth the reward of his touch.
You didn’t answer with words; you simply leaned forward, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Eddie let out a sharp, stifled sound — something between a gasp and a plea — and his fingers dug into the fabric of your top, pulling you closer.
You could feel the heat radiating from him in waves — a furnace of anticipation that made goosebumps rise across your skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, you slid your hand back along the length of his body; your palm molded to his imposing thickness, feeling him shudder and pulse beneath your touch.
"Six," Eddie whispered, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with dark desire. "Reason number six… because I know exactly how to take care of you. Once I’m inside, I’m not letting you go anytime soon."
You reached for the button of your jeans; as you lowered the zipper, the cool air of the apartment brushed against your skin for a split second before you felt his searing heat pressing against your thigh. He was so large he seemed like a physical barrier — a wall of heat and muscle that demanded your full attention and took up nearly all the space on the furniture.
As you pushed your jeans and panties down, the sudden absence of fabric felt like a release; you shifted, sliding back until you were stretched out on the velvet cushions, your legs parting instinctively to make room for him.
Eddie didn’t move immediately; he just watched you, his chest heaving and his eyes tracing your face as if searching for any sign of hesitation. Seeing you open to him seemed to break something loose inside him, and he let out a low, guttural sound, more of a growl than a word.
He moved with agonizing, deliberate slowness, kneeling on the couch as he settled between your thighs. It was impossible to ignore his approach; the heavy, throbbing head of his cock brushed against your entrance, and the friction made you arch your back. He let out a ragged breath, his forehead resting against yours, his dark curls forming a curtain that shut out the rest of the apartment.
“Do you still think it’s too much?” he murmured, his voice a vibration you could feel in your very bones.
“Just do it,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his biceps and pulling him closer.
Eddie didn’t rush. He couldn’t. The size and thickness of his cock demanded a patience that contrasted with the desperate hunger in his eyes; he shifted his weight, bracing himself on his forearms with his chest hovering just inches above yours. He took a deep breath — a shaky, audible intake that rumbled in his throat — and then pushed forward a little.
He was so thick that the sensation wasn't one of sliding, but rather of a slow, insistent expansion; you felt his blunt head stretching you open, breaking through the initial resistance with a heavy, relentless force.
A small, involuntary gasp escaped you as your fingers dug into his biceps, feeling the rock-hard muscle tense beneath your touch. Eddie froze and waited, his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign that it was too much.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if it had been dragged over gravel.
“I– Fuck, don’t stop…” you pleaded, arching your hips upward, unconsciously seeking that blend of pleasure, pain and being completely filled.
Eddie let out a low, distorted groan and shifted his hands; one slid from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to maintain eye contact as he pushed deeper.
The sensation was overwhelming, a forceful, pulsing power that made the air escape your lungs in a sharp, ragged hiss. You could feel every vein and ridge of him as he slowly navigated the tight space; his thickness left no room for anything but him; a collision of wet friction and wild desire, the feeling of being completely filled. As he drove in another inch, your hips lifted instinctively, your body trying to make room for his colossal size.
“Holy… shit,” Eddie groaned, his voice breaking. He had stopped moving, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving in violent, ragged breaths.
He was trembling, muscles taut, fighting the urge to simply thrust with full force; the pleasure of that tight, snug fit was clearly pushing him to the limit.
The look on his face was one of absolute, agonizing ecstasy, a religious epiphany and a physical breakdown all at once.
He shifted his grip, his large, tattooed hands slid beneath your thighs to lift your hips higher, positioning you so he could thrust even deeper.
The change in position allowed him to go to the absolute limit, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he let out a long, shuddering breath.
He looked down at you — his brown eyes wide and glazed — and his dimples flashed briefly as a wild, hungry smile touched his lips.
"You’re really taking it all," he murmured, his voice hoarse and broken. "God, you’re so tight… it’s like you’re trying to squeeze the soul right out of me."
"Maybe I am," you managed to stammer, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears. You wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles to anchor yourself against his overwhelming force.
The sensation of being stretched to the limit was dizzying, a heavy, throbbing pressure that made the room spin faster than any high from the weed ever could. With every thrust, it felt as though he were rearranging your internal organs, opening up a space that had never existed before.
Eddie’s breathing came in a series of ragged, desperate gasps. He began to move again, but the rhythm shifted from a steady cadence to something more primal and erratic, his movements grew shorter, sharper, and more frenzied.
The friction of his thick length against the walls of your cunt was almost unbearable, making you arch your back and throw your head back against the sofa cushions. You could feel the bass vibrations from the speakers echoing through his chest and directly into yours, syncing with the heavy pounding of his heart.
"I can't—" Eddie groaned, his voice thick with emotion. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. "I can't believe you actually fit… God, you're so hot."
He shifted his body, placing all his weight on you and pressing you against the soft fabric of the sofa. The added pressure only drove him deeper, pushing past every limit until you felt his tip against your cervix that sent a wave of white-hot pleasure radiating through your lower belly.
"Reason seven," Eddie managed to say, his voice a hoarse, ragged sound; his eyes were squeezed shut, his head tossing from side to side as he struggled for breath. "Reason seven… is that I can't… God, I can't breathe— fuck, when I'm inside you." He let out a guttural roar, the sound vibrating deep within his chest.
"Eddie," you whispered softly, his name barely more than a breath. You weren't sure if you were asking him to stop or begging him never to let go.
"God, you're like… a vice," Eddie groaned, his voice cracking as he gripped your hips, tattooed fingers sinking into your skin to hold you steady, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, his chest heaving against yours.
"I can feel every… every inch of you squeezing me. It’s unfair. That’s cheating."
You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your legs locked tight around his waist, pulling him even deeper into that heat.
"Who's cheating? It's you… you practically have a whole tree trunk attached to you."
"And yet you let me plant that trunk in your soil," he shot back, a manic, dimpled grin breaking through the ecstasy.
He shifted the angle, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you wide open, the change in position allowed him to thrust with agonizing depth, his weight pressing you into the fabric as he drove all the way in.
You let out a sharp, stifled moan, your toes curling as his thick head hit that same white-hot spot, sending a fresh jolt of electricity racing through your hips.
His movements had turned heavy and relentless, every thrust was a slow, overwhelming slide that made it feel as though your skin were fusing with his, forcing your opening wide with a searing, slick heat that made your breath come in short, ragged gasps.
An intense, vibrant pressure spread through you, turning your muscles to liquid lava, you arched your back, your hips instinctively tilting to meet him, seeking that overwhelming impact again and again.
The friction was immense, a wet, slapping sound echoing the music’s deep bass, creating a sensory loop that drove you closer and closer to the edge.
"Eddie, please," you moaned softly, though you didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, you only knew that the sensation of being completely filled by him was the only thing in the world that mattered right then.
"Please what, sweetheart? Be specific," Eddie panted, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper.
He didn't slow down, digging his heels into the sofa for leverage and driving into you with sudden, sharp intensity, hitting the same spot over and over.
You couldn't find the words, so you simply wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles and squeezing with all your might.
He began moving in shorter, frenzied thrusts, each withdrawal was a teasing, agonizingly slow release of pressure, immediately followed by a devastatingly deep thrust that seemed to rearrange your insides.
The sensation was overwhelming, a total occupation of your body that made the rest of the world — the music, the smell of weed, the mess of his apartment — fade into a distant, irrelevant blur. Nothing existed but his heavy, sliding weight and the way he filled every available millimeter of you.
"Right there," you moaned, your voice a fragile thread of desire and pleading. "Eddie, right there."
"Almost… right there," he gasped, his voice a shattered shadow of who he used to be.
The friction was turning into an overwhelming blaze, a searing heat that dissolved the boundaries between where your body ended and his began.
His movements shifted from rhythmic to desperate, his breath escaped in ragged, guttural sounds. He drove into you with absolute, focused intensity, bracing his heavy thighs against the velvet cushions as he sought the deepest connection possible. With every full thrust, he let out a low, trembling groan that made your entire body vibrate with raw, visceral desire.
"Holy… shit," Eddie moaned, his voice wavering.
He let out a long, guttural sound — half-groan, half-cry — as he slammed his hips against yours and buried himself deep, his entire body shuddering from the force of a release that seemed to make even the floorboards vibrate. He froze, his whole body locked in a rigid line of tension, muscles taut and trembling.
You felt his sudden, hot surge pulsing deep against your cervix and moaned a long, high-pitched sound of absolute surrender as his forehead dropped onto your shoulder and you finally gave in to the overwhelming pleasure of climax, your breath coming in ragged, shaky gasps.
He didn't pull away immediately, he remained there, lost in the intense, pulsing heat of your body as your heartbeats synchronized in the sudden silence, before collapsing onto you with his forehead resting on your shoulder and his chest heaving in ragged, panting spasms.
He shifted and slid out of you, dropping onto the sofa beside you, a slow, reluctant withdrawal that seemed to last an eternity. As he slid out, a sense of emptiness took hold, his sudden absence was almost as impactful as the penetration itself, making you shiver despite the warmth of the apartment.
He let out a long, shaky breath, letting his head fall back against the velvet as he stared at the ceiling, dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"Holy… God," he breathed, his voice returning to that husky charm, though stripped of all pretense. He looked at you, a hint of a smile returning to his lips. "Did I… you know… break you? Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, how much of a wreck are you right now?"
"Eleven," you managed to say, your voice hoarse and fragile. "I think you actually shifted my organs, I can feel my liver in a different place."
Eddie let out a loud, rich laugh, the sound echoing through the room.
"You know," Eddie murmured, traces of laughter still in his voice, "the list had twelve reasons. I only managed to say seven."
You let out a low, weary laugh, turning your face to look at him. "Seven reasons seems like more than enough to me."
Eddie let out a deep, resonant laugh that vibrated through his entire body and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that there wasn't a breath of air between you.
The room was dark, the late afternoon light had taken on a purplish hue, matching the languid, lazy atmosphere that had settled over you both.
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I’ve been reading fanfics since 2013 and in this past few years I have never seen so many post abt there “being too much smut” “not enough fluff” “not enough angst”
I understand that some people write about things I don’t like or mischaracterize, but you know what I can do? 1)ignore it. 2)use the handy dandy filter.
Remember that there are actual people behind the screens with their own life and experiences, so just be respectful
Like do yall not realize we get this FOR FREE!
Write it yourself (WITHOUT AI) if yall want more of a certain type of content
Writers are doing this for fun. Be grateful. Seriously yall are embarrassing
To writers: please know that many of us are happy every time you post. And I see this a lot, but please don’t ever feel bad for discontinuing/putting ur works on hold, we readers don’t want you to stress yourself over something that’s supposed to be fun 💕losing interest happens and that’s ok. We appreciate you creating content, no matter if it’s a 40+ series or a tiny blurb.
And on a side note: REBLOG! COMMENT! Please I’m begging 🙏 it is extremely discouraging to writers/artist when they have little to no interactions on their work. If you don’t want to comment, add a silly little picture or even 🫶. That’s all it takes.
*On mobile you can hold down on the reblog button and swipe up for quick reblogs!
There's been a person going around leaving hostile comments on multiple Joel Miller daddy/fauxcest fics and talking shit about them on their account, as well as spamming and trying to argue.
Please, don't take it personally and try to argue with them because they're obviously trying to stir up drama. Block, report and don't engage with them.
I'm making this post because I know there are smaller creators, or creators that can feel discouraged or even delete their work when they get unnecessary hate. I want them to feel safe and supported here.
Fanfiction is supposed to fun, and for the people who can actually separate it from reality, it's a hobby. You're allowed to like/read/write whatever you like, even if it's the ickiest and most disgusting shit on this earth.
This is their account:
(I'm using Joel Miller tags so this post spreads wider)
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"Did you know people are getting scared when they read your horror stories?? Did you know that people are laughing when they read your comedy stories?? Isn't that gross? Aren't you scandalised??"
the x reader "consumers" on tumblr lowk are so entitled, i said consumer bcs these people do nothing to support the writers but complain about FREE fanfics that other people write for FUN and for the LOVE of the game. THEY DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING.
i'm so tired of you people who can only pressure these writers, make memes, and ridicule them for writing something that was not fit to your standards or liking.
you don't even write or contribute anything to the community, don't even support or atleast reblogs to the writers you actually like.
stop filling the tags with your consistent complaints about the fanfics that obviously wasn't meant for you (not to your liking) and start learn how to write.
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