This is just the thing that tickles my balls

It’s a give and take, an even exchange of bits and pieces of each other that are handed over without much thought. You finally have a clearer picture of the man you’ve spent the last fifteen hours straight with. A full photograph in time of who he is, who he really is, in a way that you wouldn’t have been able to fathom a week before. And it’s ironic, looking back on your relationship’s progression with him, the way you two keep skipping over steps before retracing to what was missed. How ironic you’ve let him see you at your most primal and vulnerable, but you’ve just learned his favorite color. 

Eddie Munson isn’t a dick. He’s kind, he’s a huge goddamn nerd, he can be funny sometimes, his favorite color is red, but he isn’t a dick as you’ve been led to believe he was this last year. 

Well, maybe led isn’t the right word. Everyone told you he wasn’t a dick. You just never listened. 

Eddie’s just revealed his favorite movie genre as horror when you’re leaning forward, elbows pressing into your thighs as you ask him with a grin, “What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“Very funny reference,” he deadpans, barely keeping his face straight as he jokingly narrows his eyes, “Especially considering it’s the Scream franchise.”

 You still haven’t brought up that question of why exactly he fought for your honor after that fight. His grand reveal left you with more confusion than you ever could have anticipated, and more than this fragile friendship could handle this early in the morning. So you’d buried it down, somewhere deep inside, for the sake of the friendship.

“You can’t just say an entire franchise. Pick a favorite one, idiot.” 

Friendship. Was that what this was? When was the last time one of your friends had seen you naked, or ate you out atop a kitchen counter? 

“The first one. You can’t beat the classic.” 

You fight your smile in a similar fashion that he is. Mirroring joy, mirroring surprise, “You’re definitely only saying that for the whole homoerotic friendship between Stu and Billy.” 

“Oh, I definitely am,” he doesn’t even try to deny it as he cracks and laughs softly, “What about you?”

Even after nearly an hour of doing this, going back and forth and learning about each other, the novelty of Eddie genuinely asking you things about yourself hasn’t worn off. The curiosity that lights in his eyes, the way he leans into you to hear each word clearly – it makes you question if this was the same man who had once been so cruel. 

“My favorite scary movie? I… don’t have one,” you lean back into your chair, a small huff of air escaping you from impact. 

There’s two mugs of coffee on the small garden table between your chairs, having gone cold long since Eddie retrieved them for the two of you. That had been when he’d earnestly told you about his coffee preference – he’d been sweetly shy about the ordeal, bashful as he looked down at the mugs and informed you he’d tried to only put a normal amount of cream in yours, only a little bit of sugar. It had been so endearing, the way that when you asked what he meant by normal and he’d only murmured his confession of how he took his morning caffeine over the mug’s lip, you nearly caved into yourself. 

“That’s impossible. No way. Absolutely not,” Eddie is animated as he waves his hands around wildly in front of him, shaking his head furiously at your answer, “I refuse to believe you don’t have a favorite scary movie, especially considering you quoted an iconic franchise. If you can quote Scream, you can tell me what your favorite is-”

You interrupt him with laughter, scrunching up your face, “Okay, first of all- Eddie, hey,” he’s still rambling, still being terribly dramatic in the flailing of his arms, so you reach over to grip the forearm closest to you. All his movements immediately cease as his eyes widen, staring directly at you in an oddity of shock, “First of all, it’s just common knowledge of pop culture. I’ve never even seen those movies,” you’re not sure if Eddie is breathing as your hand remains still tightly clasped against his forearm, and you’re not sure why he wouldn’t be, “Second of all, I’m a wimp. Scary movies might be my least favorite kind of movie, right behind apocalyptic action movies.” 

When he takes a sudden deep breath, you realize he had been holding his breath, “Apocalyptic action movies?” 

You begin to explain, to list examples, and you never once take your hand off his arms. You rattle off a list – 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, San Andrea’s Fault, etc. – all the while feeling his pulse race beneath his warm skin. All the while selfishly enjoying the contact, wondering how long it might take staying like this before your fingertips would mold to him. Maybe they’d eventually melt into his arm, skin molten together so that where he ends and where you begin is impossible to distinguish. A closeness with him that you had never craved so ardently before tonight, before today. 

“So, doomsday movies,” he hums after you give your examples. If you were smart, you’d let go of him. It’s been too long for the contact to be brushed off as normal, “Does that mean you also hate zombie movies?” 

“Nope. Those are an entirely different thing.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re entirely different.” 

“They are. They’re completely unrealistic! San Andrea’s Fault… sort of… well, it could happen.” 

“They’re not completely unrealistic. Some of them almost have, like, legit science behind them.” 

You hadn’t even noticed that he scooted his chair closer. Or the slip of his arm in your loosening grasp, leading your hand until it rests against his wrist, so close to holding onto his own hand that rests palm up against his thigh in wait. 

An offering. 

“There is no logical way that one day, our world is going to turn into a real-life Walking Dead situation,” you say, trying to steady your breathing. 

You won’t make the first move. 

He’s leading this moment. If he wants to hold your hand, then he can take that final leap of faith. 

“Have you actually seen The Walking Dead, or are you just blindly making pop culture references again?” 

You can feel the thrill of his heartbeat pick up in the center of his wrist before he does it. With subtle movements, his wrist slips between your fingertips. 

Only for them to be recaptured by his own knuckles. The dust settles. The warmth spreads. Your palm is pressed to his palm, your fingers interlocked between his fingers. 

“I have seen that one,” you tell him quietly, looking down at your conjoined hands. His eyes are also downcast to them. The tendon in his wrist flexes as he tightens his grip on your hand, the small squeeze becoming more sure. It’s not an accident; this was never an accident. 

It’s in the hair you notice on his forearm, wispy and blonde and almost comical in contrast to the dark curls that grow from his scalp. A layer of fuzz that covers alabaster skin dotted in rare and faded freckles, nearly invisible unless you look closely enough. You can see the tan line across his wrist from where he would normally wear a watch. If you follow the details further up his arm, away from the wrist now awkwardly pressed against yours in a twist, you can see the faded blue-black ink of his tattoos. That flock of bats, the most faded of his numerous additions to his skin, taunts you. You’ve already known him up close and personal in the last few hours, felt him flush against you and memorized the way his body was capable of pressing into yours, but it’s in these details that the ache arises. The sadness that you’ve never known him quite this personally before this moment, and the fear that you never will again. 

An ache all because he’s let you close enough to learn the details of his skin – what a marvelous thing. 

“That’s a miracle,” he mutters, fully entranced as he rubs the pad of his thumb across the top of your fingers. You’re quick to return the motion; his knuckles are far more rough than yours, and you try to count the groves in them, from long weeks no doubt, all in that brief swipe, “Or else I would have had to have insisted upon ending this lovely honesty hour, and subjecting you to a marathon.” 

“We can still have a marathon.” 

You’d do just about anything to remain in this position, to stay this impossibly close to him. You’re selfish and you’re clingy, squeezing his hand a little bit tighter as he had done to you, as if the grip on it reflects your grip on the moment. You can’t let it go – you can’t let him go. 

No matter how you have had him, no matter how long he sits in this golden hour with his hand in yours, it will never be enough. This sudden and abruptly-arriving ache is incurable. 

You want him, you need him, you bloom for him. 

There’s something in his smirk as he awkwardly uses his freehand to bring his mug of too-sweet coffee to his lips that almost whispers that there’s a chance: he also wants you, he also needs you, he also blooms for you.

 And so you tell him about yourself in turn. You don’t just stop at your distaste for horror or your fear of doomsday movies. You tell him how you don’t have a favorite color, how you switch it up too often and all he can do is chuckle at your indecisiveness. Once, an insecurity – now something silly to find amusement in at his side. You reveal to him your coffee preference; you take it with a normal amount of cream and just a little bit of sugar. You don’t reveal to him that before today, you’d always turned your nose up to hot coffee, an iced coffee connoisseur. Something in the sparkle of his eyes warns that he might already know. You don’t play any instruments, but you have a list of songs for him to learn, insisting that someday he’d have to play them for you on that guitar his Uncle Wayne gave him. (You can’t think too much on the way you’re once more speaking in some days with him. Your heart might burst if you do.)

You try to bare your soul, to stare down the barrel of honesty, just as he had. It’s scarier than you could have imagined. Finally, after fifteen hours, you get it. 

You get it, and it only makes you squeeze his hand tighter. 

At some point, he notices the way the sun is warming both of you with each passing minute, palms now sweaty against each other as he asks, “Do you want to go back inside?” 

No. I want to live in this moment for the rest of my days. “We can if you want to.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” 

“Tell me what you want. You constantly do that with everyone else, you know. Let them make the decisions,” he’s smiling softly, eyes squinted against the sun now rising high in the sky, “I can’t even count the amount of times you’ve said that to Nancy on both hands. Which, I mean, awesome – Nance fuckin’ loves being the decision-maker. But we’re talking about me. You’ve never been shy about butting heads with me.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Quite the sudden high horse, Mr. Honesty.” 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “Well, it’s honesty hour. So, here’s more honesty – I love when you give me a run for my money. Who else is going to tell me to shut the fuck up when I’m on track to ramble for hours about Lord of the Rings?” 

“You want to talk honesty? I would only tell you to shut up because I might have blown my cover and you’d realize I actually enjoyed your company.” 

The soft smile widens, more shameless and more radiant, “Coulda fooled me.” 

“I did fool you,” you tease, and your hand slips from his, but the warmth left behind doesn’t. It’s buried deep in your bones now. 

Things will never return to normal, not for you. It isn’t a bad thing – it’s only a sure thing. 

“For what it’s worth…” he pauses, that smile faltering. “I enjoyed your company far more than I ever let on, too.” 

Is that why you fought for me, after fighting against me? 

He doesn’t let you reply, instead smacking both of his now free palms against his thighs as he moves to stand, “Anyways, I actually do happen to want to go inside,” he gestures to those faded swirls of tattoos across his biceps and forearms, “I don’t expose myself to too much sun for obvious reasons.” 

“Reasons being you’re a vampire?” you tease.

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, “Yes, it’s definitely because I’m a vampire and not because of these sick tatties.” 

“Calling those abominations sick is pushing it,” you playfully counter as you scoot to the edge of the seat of the chair, unsticking your thighs from plastic, “And I knew it. Your skin is practically glittering like diamonds, Edward.”

He scowls. “So Twilight is off the marathon line up.” 

He sticks out a hand, the same one you had clung to for most of your conversation with each other. You don’t take it immediately.

“There’s going to be a marathon?” 

“You’ve got something better to do?” 

The thought of cuddling up with him on the couch has your heart pounding. Honestly, the couch would now remain tainted for the rest of your days. You might even continue to avoid showing up to his apartment just to avoid flushing red any time you see one of your friends take a seat on the spot he once took you on, had pressed into you as your knees had dug into those cushions, as you had moaned his na-

You had to stop thinking about it before he noticed your thighs pressing together tightly. 

“For the record,” he says, hand still extended, unwavering as the sun forms an aura of gold around his outline, “Honesty hour doesn’t have to end when we go inside. From here on out, I actually insist that it be on the table. One of the perks of being my friend, I suppose.” 

Those are the magic words. You don’t need to immediately know why he fought for you, or why he really led you to believe he hated you for so long. You don’t need to know why he kissed you and you don’t need to know why he’d changed his tune so suddenly the first night you two met. All you needed to know was that if you wanted to know, if you ever find the guts to ask him about these things, he would tell you. 

You reach out and take his hand.

Immediately, he pulls you comically hard out of your chair. When you fumble directly into his chest, he’s already chuckling and wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, pulling back and glaring up at him without any true venom, “Eager much?”

“Very,” he boyishly grins down at you and your heart skips a beat. 

Eagerly, wildly, suddenly, comfortingly – he now occupies a space in your brain you weren’t aware existed. It almost whispers I was always here, always waiting for him. 

The two of you don’t waste any time as he tugs you inside, the promise of a movie marathon awaiting the two of you. 

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“Then stay,” he said, a softness to his voice you had never known before.

You frowned. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Eddie.” You sighed and placed your other hand on his chest. Your eyes met his—warm brown, long-lashed, and beautiful as always. You always got lost in them, and when you found your self slipping from your thoughts, you looked away. “I can’t. You know I can’t. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He was holding both of your hands now, squeezing them, pulling you impossibly close, scared that if he let you go, he would never see you again. “I’m losing my best friend.”

“You’re not losing me, Ed’s. That’s impossible.”

Eddie shook his head, his head full of curls, not quite shoulder length yet but as wild as ever, swaying to emphasize his protest. “Talking on the phone isn’t the same as you being here and you know that. Who am I supposed to go to the movies with, play new music for, plan campaigns with, get high as shit and watch The Twilight Zone with? I mean, we’re almost halfway through Return of The King. Don’t you want to know if Frodo and Sam make it up Mount Doom and destroy the ring and defeat Sauron?”

“I already know how Return of The King ends. We’ve read it like a million times. We’ve read all the books a million times. Seen the movies a million times too.”

He gave you that infamous look of his: chin down, eyebrows raised, lips puckered disapprovingly. You knew what he was alluding to. It was a silent reminder of what you both had agreed on years ago. After you had read The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings trilogy in their entirety, you would re-experience the lore from the beginning, pretending as if you were acquainted with Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf, Pippin, the Shire, and the rest of the fantastical world for the first time. It was Eddie’s idea, and you would never forget how his face lit up when you agreed—that big toothy grin, eyes twinkling like stars cushioned in night's dark sky. It was a smile reserved for you and only you. You’d do anything to see that smile just one more time. 

“Look, I hate this as much as you do, but I have to go,” you said gently. “You have other friends and—”

“But they’re not you.”

You looked up at him and caught a glimpse of the vulnerable eight-year-old boy you had met on the hot summer day you moved into the trailer next door with your grandmother. He had been sitting on his steps, face a brilliant shade of red from crying, and you had gone over to him, propelled and unashamed by your own grief, and asked if he wanted to play. He had looked at you, eyes puffy and bloodshot, wide with surprise, and wiped his nose on his Star Trek t-shirt. 

“Do you like hide and seek?” you had said, bouncing on your feet. 

He nodded his head. His hair had been shorter then. Not yet buzzed like the way he wore it in middle school, but long enough it covered the tips of his ears.  

You beamed at his response and extended your hand out, wiggling your fingers. “I can count and you can hide. Come on!”

Hesitantly, Eddie grabbed your hand and the two of you ran off, your pigtails swaying in the wind, giggles of pure bliss pealing throughout the trailer park. Eddie’s slender legs (entirely too long for his body) trailed behind you, nearly tripping over himself, and he’d been out of breath by the time you had reached your destination. The patch of woods behind his trailer. 

“I’ll count to ten,” you said and turned to face a tree, humming. “And you can’t hide inside. That’s cheating and cheaters are wieners!”

A smile stretched across Eddie’s face. It had been the first genuine smile he had in months, and it was all because of you. The two of you played until sunset—only stopping to eat the lunch your grandmother made—played until you were covered in dirt and sweat, and unfortunately for you, tears.

It was dark and it was your turn to hide. You had wandered too far and lost your way, terrifyingly so that left, right, and straight were all in the same direction. You had tripped over a pile of broken branches, earning yourself a nice, splintered gash across the palm of your hand, but you had been so concerned with finding Eddie you hadn’t noticed. Not until later, anyway. 

Eddie had been frantic trying to find you when he heard you call out for him, the panic in your voice as clear as day, even with the restless buzzing of the cicadas. He had been walking in circles, saying the lord’s name in vain the same way his uncle had when Eddie was dropped off on his doorstep.

And when Eddie finally found you, you were crouched next to a tree, hugging your knees close to your chest, a mixture of tears and snot running down your ruddy face.

“Found you,” he said, panting like he had just run a marathon.  

You jumped up and threw your arms around him. At first, he was confused by your embrace, keeping his arms tight by his sides, not used to such affection. The closest thing he got to it was when Wayne ruffled his hair in the mornings. A passive gesture, done without much thought. Nothing compared to the way you hugged him. 

“I was so scared, Eddie,” you cried, drenching his shirt with your tears.  

He looked down at you, his height giving him a view of the top of your head, unsure of what to do with himself. He clutched you awkwardly and your hair got stuck on his chapped lips as he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was low enough that you had to hold your breath to hear what he said. “We should go home. I don’t want my uncle getting mad.”

You nodded and pulled away, wiping your tears with your dirty fingertips, smudging more soot on your face. This time he grabbed your hand and led the way, your hand sticky in his from the bloody gash. It didn’t take you long to make it back, the outside light from your grandmother's trailer a guiding light to freedom. You were still trembling, completely exhausted, but happier now that Eddie was with you. 

You were always happier when Eddie was around. 

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow? I can show you my comic book collection.” He kicked the dirt around his feet, punting a rock across the road and hitting a trashcan. “Bullseye,” he whispered to himself. 

You smiled a toothless smile. “Sure.”

“Cool shit, see ya tomorrow.” He spun on his heel and ran back to his trailer like a bat out of hell, leaving you to scrunch your nose at the word shit. That was a grown up word, and you quickly learned that summer Eddie used lots of them, especially with very little caution. He’d gotten many warning smacks to the back of his head by Wayne, and you’d sit there giggling to yourself because that was just Eddie being Eddie.

Your Eddie.

The Eddie staring at you right now, eyes wet and glassy, reminiscent of that hot summer day you met him. Only this time, you were the cause of his tears, and it broke your heart knowing there was nothing you could do to fix it. 

“It’s shit,” you whispered, not knowing what to say but wanting to hear his voice for as long as you still had him. 

“Total shit,” he agreed. 

“We won’t graduate together.”

“Your grandma couldn’t have waited until you were eighteen to die?” he grumbled.  

You punched his chest using his hand (he still had you in his grip), your voice pitching a few octaves. “Eddie!”

“What? At least then you wouldn’t be forced to live with your aunt in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “We already live in bumfuck nowhere. And I’d hardly call New York bumfuck nowhere?”

“She lives in the mountains, not the city. It’s bumfuck nowhere,” he argued. 

“It’s beautiful up there. You went with me one summer a few years ago. Don’t you remember?”

His cheeks flushed at one very specific memory. You both agreed to never speak of it again, but he figured he would give it a shot. He had nothing left to lose, only you, and you were already halfway out the door. He looked at you doubtful but holding onto hope. “Course I remember. How could I forget the summer we—”

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please.” You closed your eyes, recalling the memory, but keeping it distant. The way you always had. “We were kids.”

He bowed his head and sighed out his disappointment. “Right. Kids.”

A car horn blared outside, breaking the creeping tension in the room. It was your aunt signaling it was time to leave. A deep ache bloomed in your chest like a bruise, and an uproar of warmth flooded your throat, eyes swimming with tears. There was no escaping them now, no distracting from the inevitable tear fest you would endure after walking out the door. 

“I guess it’s time for me to go,” you said, letting out a breath in a cadence that was almost a sob. 

He looked at you, helpless, trying to find the right words to say. But he knew there wasn’t a single sentence he could string together that would convince you to stay. He swiped away the tear curling down your cheek with his knuckle. “I don’t want it to be.”

“Me neither, Ed’s.”

“Call me when you get there?”

“I will. Promise,” you whispered.

“I don’t care what time it is," he said, and quickly added, "And promise to call me every day after that?"

You quirked an eyebrow, a brief smirk tugging on your lips. “Remember you said that, Munson. And, yes, I promise."

He laughed softly, a beautiful sound. Your hands suddenly felt cold, empty. Eddie had dropped them to unclasp his chain, gesturing for you to spin around with a twirl of his finger. You did, lifting your hair out of the way, and he adorned you with his favorite necklace, the guitar pick resting against your heart.

You fingered it and faced him, more tears spilling from your eyes. You hugged him and he held you in a tight embrace. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to detain his emotion, but his voice betrayed him the second he spoke. 

“I love you,” he said, taking one last leap of faith, voice weak and strained. 

You pulled away. Your lips quivered into a smile. “Love you too, Ed’s.” The words came out with a casualness that tore open an old wound—the same wound Eddie had stitched up with shaky hands, having to always salve the pain when he was reminded you would only ever love him as a friend. Nothing more because Eddie knew deep down he would never be good enough for you. 

He walked you to the door, holding it open. “Be safe.” 

“Always,” you said and grabbed his hand, squeezing it one last time before leaving. 

Eddie watched as you walked away with his heart clutched in your hand and waited until your aunts car disappeared before slamming the door. He started to sob so hard he could barely hold himself up. He felt like he was going to be sick. A strangled cry tore from his throat, his voice inflamed with pain as he struggled to catch his breath. Every desperate gulp of air burned his lungs like he was breathing in fire.

This was the first time he cried—really cried—since the day he found out his mom died. The same day you moved in. The day you approached him and asked to play. The day he found a reason to smile. 

You were always his reason to smile. 

But soon, you just became another painful memory. 

xxx

PRESENT DAY

[ 1 NEW MESSAGE ]

2:43 pm - steve still on for 3:00?

2:47 pm - you yep. just leaving motel room now. be there in 10. 

Eight years, that’s how long it’s been since you left Hawkins. The place you used to call home. The place where—despite the grief it had caused you—you had some of your happiest memories, memories you had kept like a secret within your heart, each beat a reminder of the person you created them with.

And now, driving through downtown Hawkins, leather sticking to your skin as you white-knuckled your steering wheel, passing store after store, memory after memory, you felt like an intruder, possessing memories you had stolen from someone more worthy than you.

But there was one memory you were deserving of, and it was a torment all of its own.  

Your phone's GPS signaled you to make a left onto Elwood Avenue and that your destination was half a mile ahead on your right. Truthfully, you didn’t know what to expect when you made the plan to move back, however, you most certainly didn’t expect Steve Harrington to be the person you would be residing with for the foreseeable future when you answered his roommate ad online. Not that you minded. It was nice to be living with someone familiar, even if the two of you were no more than casual acquaintances, and that was pushing it. You ran with two different social crowds in your adolescent years. You the freaks and him the jocks. An inharmonious union. But those labels had long been stripped away, now enduring the horrors and responsibilities of being an adult instead of teenage angst. 

Now there were eight years behind you, and you had felt the weight, like a burden, of your own selfishness, knowing it had costed you the best thing to ever happen to you.

You pulled up to a tan ranch-style house—a rustic and weathered charm you’d usually find in the countryside. An untamed garden of spring blossoms rose from the earth, their buds opened in salute to the sun, and two beach chairs sat beside each other on the lawn, right under a big oak tree.

Homey. Modest. Domestic. Hawkins.

Taking a deep breath, you left your car and traversed the path to the front porch, feet light as a feather as you approached the screen door. There was a brief moment of hesitation, a nervous bite, before you lifted your fist and placed three firm but gentle knocks against the door.

You waited, and when the door crept open, you swore you stopped breathing. Steve Harrington stood before you, very tall and handsome as ever, a charitable glint in his eyes he had only reserved for his girlfriends but now offered you. You flushed and tucked your hair behind your ears. You felt sixteen all over again. 

“Hey, Steve,” you said, voice light and airy, how it always was when you so desperately tried to cover your nerves but failed. 

“Shit, haven’t seen you since high school,” Steve said, reacquainting you with that silky smooth smile, and leaned against the door frame. “How’ve you been? You look good.”

You smiled softly, blushing under his flattery. You look good. Three words you never expected to hear from Steve Harrington, but they weren't unwanted.  “I’m good. You, uh, you look good, too.”

He nodded. Casual. “So, what brings you back to this place? When most people leave Hawkins, they usually leave for good. You moved to New York, right?”

You shove your hands in the back pockets of your jeans and look down at the ground, swaying slightly. “Yeah, up in the Catskills with my aunt. I guess you could say some unfinished business brought me back. I’m just glad I was able to find a place to stay on such short notice. So thanks for that.”

"I should be thanking you, now I can forgo the vetting process of making sure you're not some psycho killer," he teased, eyes crinkling, voice dripping with levity.

You peer up at him through your lashes, smiling a little. “Well, I promise to be a good roommate. Quiet as a mouse, you won’t even know I’m around and—”

“Actually, about that," he started, a nervousness edging his voice. "I’m not gonna be the one you’re living with. I'm the one moving out.”

Your smiled dropped. “What?”

“Yeah, I, uh, me moving out was a last-minute thing, and I didn’t really give much of a heads up to my roommate, so I told him I would be the one to find him someone to split the rent with.” 

"Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” 

He laughed without mirth, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “You see, that’s the thing, I was going to, but when I realized who you were, I knew you’d probably change your mind when you found out who your roommate was. I’m just kinda desperate at this point, and I really need you to be on board here, or else I’m fucked and—”

“Who’s my roommate, Steve.” It wasn’t a question but a demand. 

He went silent, avoiding your searing gaze.

“Steve,” you pressed.

Just as Steve’s shoulders dropped, his lips parted with apprehension as he tried to find the right words, a voice that wasn’t his crept up and filled the billowing silence. The familiarity of it caused your heart to sucker punch your throat and make a ten-story drop into your stomach, sinking and sinking and sinking until your knees buckled and you had to clutch the railing to keep yourself steady. 

Oh no.

And when Steve stepped out of the way to confirm your suspicions, you came face to face with the reason you came back to Hawkins. 

The boys whose promise you broke. 

The boy you always loved.

The boy whose heart you broke eight years ago. 

"Eddie," you exhaled, your breath catching in your throat.

He looked at you, squaring his shoulders, spine stiffening with disdain, his likeness boring an authority you weren't familiar with. You watched as the muscle in his jaw flicked, the corners of his mouth twisting into a grimace at your very presence. It was clear you were not welcomed.

Gone was the vulnerable boy you once knew. A polished maturity graced him, bowed at his feet and honored his command. His curls were grown out, resting one his shoulders and framing the vein that twitched in his neck. His arms were inked with tattoos, a particular piece curving up the side of his throat, and oh, how you desperately wanted to reach out to him and trace every single one, to study the fine details with a delicate caress of your finger.

You wondered if there would ever come a time he would grant you that privilege.

His eyes studied you. You felt so small under his scrutiny. And when he finally spoke, it felt like he was throwing knives at your heart.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here," he said. His voice was tight when he spoke, a stab of rejection in each word, the wound of your betrayal still fresh.

You winced and coiled in on yourself. "Yeah."

"Yeah? Eight years and yeah is all you have to say?" he scoffed, eyes wide with disbelief.

You approached him tentatively. "Eddie, please—"

"No, nope." He shook his head and stepped back. "I'm not interested in what you have to say."

Heat pricked your eyes, burned your face, swelled in your throat with everything you wanted to say but couldn't. So you stood there. Silent. Rejected. Ashamed.

Rain. It hits the leaves in the field around him with pitter patters that harmonise with the soft clunks to his van. Nature’s tiny bullets firing at the disrupter to its parched soil. It had been hot in Hawkins, uncharacteristically so. Blades of grass had yellowed and flowers grew weary in the heat, bowing their heads in surrender to the sun. It felt how it feels right before you need a good shower of rain.

And now: green. Green showed the life of plants being quenched and the hope of air being cleared, although right now the humidity was thick. Kind of like the staleness of the air prior was putting up a fight, staking it’s claim on this land…but hey, maybe that was just the weed talking. Whatever it was, it frizzed his hair up.

He lay in the back of his van and it was quiet - likewise, uncharacteristically so. He liked the rain. Liked to hear it, watch it, smell it - it made everything seem so fresh and replenished. It felt calming to him and it was one of the only times he’d keep the radio off. Although, it was off more and more as of late.

He’d decked his van out when the rain started to hit more. When you started to visit more. Blankets and pillows - none of which matched each other, making his ol’ faithful look cluttered and a bit offensive to the eye with the array of fabrics and textures accenting the tarnish of oranges and greens, some navy and black to add to the senses too. But it was comfortable, and you favoured a plush sage green cushion that he kept to one side incase he was lucky enough to see you.

He had one burnt orange pillow tucked behind his own head, and one leg crossed the other as he hummed softly. He took a long drag of his joint, watching the paper disintegrate in red embers and crinkle away as he inhaled before blowing out slowly, the smoke dancing above his head as it almost became the same mist that housed the humidity.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he’d rolled one specially for you, telling himself it was for him later. And that he just kept it on your pillow so it wouldn’t be on the floor. The same floor that he’d covered in knitted blankets with different sized holes in them for what he liked to call character, not because you were a sucker for coziness and got cold feet. And he definitely told himself that the cardigan that you left here that time, the one that he tied around the back of his seat’s headrest, was there as a reminder to himself to give it back to you. You know, this time. He’d forgotten the last four times - he had! He swears it. He also leaves the little wild flowers you brought the other day shrivelling on his dash because it would be rude to get rid of them, not because when he looks at them he feels like you brought him flowers. Definitely not.

He couldn’t quite believe his luck that first afternoon - it had been raining then too, but was gloomy and cold. His offer to drive you home had been a stroke of courage he only found when he’d seen you alone, coat over your head ready as you pondered the best plan of action to run home in the rain. You worked in the cafe next to the mechanic shop he made his best of a living in (he took the job for Wayne, but secretly now loved it) and so seeing the familiar face made you bashfully accept his offer. He’d always been nice to you, of course. ‘Black coffee with three sugars to go cute guy from next door’

You’d chit chatted quietly to one another, politely at first, the rain’s song keeping any awkward silences at bay…until you’d started to make each other laugh. Until you drove past the pizza place you said did ‘the best pizza ever!’ and it happened to be his favourite too. Until before either of you knew it, you were sat in the back of his van, both damp with sodden pizza boxes discarded. And soon those boxes sat empty save a few crusts, the chats and laughs had turned into gazes that lingered with testing touches to arms and legs, which somehow led to kisses - new and unfamiliar, but teasing and excited. Small pecks at first until mouths opened and tongues squirmed. Until his lips were hot at your chill-bitten cheeks as they ghosted your face, thawing the skin, and your hands were warming the back of his neck. Fire in your bellies keeping you warm. Until he didn’t know where the line was, and neither did you, as to what you could both do next.

Until he really did need to take you home, as it had somehow passed midnight.

And from then? From then he parks his van here. The little spot in a quaint field by some trees - the same one where you’d shared pizza and kisses. And then one day shared music and cuddles. Another time, you’d shared bodies and fucked like bunnies into the night. The passings of seasons had seen many, many meetings where you’d unwrapped each other like presents, surprises and things to learn inside both mind and body - until that one night where you’d laughed so gleefully and for so long that both of your side’s had ached…and it happened. Without either of you knowing it, that time you both shared love. Like two teenagers who didn’t know better. And like teenagers, you danced around the topic, neither knowing what you meant to the other.

You had come to see him in the end, of course; the magnet pulling you back to the van in the field like always. You’d gently tapped the metal of the doors and god, you could practically feel your eyes light up when he lifted his head up to see who was there. If you were a cartoon, hearts would have popped from your sockets and you mentally chastised yourself for it. He grinned at the sight of you, shuffling up onto his elbows.

“Hi, I brought sandwiches” you beamed, presenting a plastic bag that was dripping with water before carefully removing some of the blanket area to place it down without getting them wet. He noted the way your clothes clung to you, and the wetness that held your hair, water droplets collecting at the end of the strands and soaking into your work blouse.

He was positively thrilled to see you. As always. He itched to wrap you up in him, the minimal space between you causing him actual harm - but he also itched to get you out of those clothes. It’s funny, really, but times like these are when he knows that this has definitely shifted from physical to emotional. Yes, of course he wanted you out of your attire for his own selfish reasons, your body his heaven and he was certain he’d done something incredibly noble in a past life to deserve to see it the way he does…but his first thought was to prevent you getting sick more than anything else.

So he listened when you told him about your day, and how you acquired all the sandwiches that had been ordered for some event and it had fallen through. And you listened as he told you about his day. You giggled at him when he told you about the royal fuck up he made on Mrs Up-Tight’s car bill and how he was definitely going to be sued as well as fired and then tortured and murdered when she found out.

And then he’d suggested it. Clothes off so they can attempt to dry. Please and thank you.

“I have nothing to change into” you’d pointed out after finishing a bite of a sandwich.

“You think I have all these blankets around for decor?”

“Well, it’s definitely not for decor” you smirked, eyeing the clash of colour, and he chucked a crust at you.

And with that, a bit too eagerly, you’d agreed on ‘naked blanket cuddles’.

“Ah ah - I wanna do it” he told you as your fingers went to the button of your pants, making ridiculously cute grabby hands at you, which made you faux roll your eyes as you come to stand in front of him. He shuffled onto his knees and you earned a pinch to your sides for that ‘sass’ as he’d call it, followed by a playful but scolding nip from his teeth at your hip as he began to drag the material down your legs. As if he’d started something he had to finish, his soft bites became a gentle suckle, and then pillowy lips latched harder and sucked their mark into your skin.

He undressed you like you were an intricate piece in a museum; like you were precious and expensive. The new bruise that bloomed on your hip almost seemed corruptive, like a vandalism of art, and it made his brain short circuit to see it there. But he handled you with such care that it sometimes had your eyes stinging with the threats of tears - featherlight touches he’d chase with his nose and lips, eyes closed as though savouring.

It would be easier to swallow any tears down when he’d make you huff laughs with things like walking his two fingers up your legs and talking to your thighs like they were people outside of you, a gentle hand squashing your face to one side as he whispered something beautifully dumb like ‘sssshhh, we weren’t talking to you’ before he’d trace his lips slow against your skin to leave another delicate bruise into the flesh inside. A fresh burial to a graveyard of his hickeys.

Now listen, he loved leaving his marks on you. Loved that you loved them. Loved remembering your escapades that caused them when he found them again, and so did you as you’d trace them fondly in the shower of a night. But, honestly? He also loved that while you were allowing him to visibly litter you in his affections, it meant that you probably weren’t letting anyone else see them. Nobody else settled between your thighs on nights he didn’t see you. He liked to think of himself as an easy going, not overly possessive guy - but then he met you, and the thought of you with anyone else knocked his stomach. And so ultimately, he keeps marking his territory.

Not that you’re his, of course. After all, you’re not together. He’s cool and breezy about the situation. You can see other guys if you want…’cause you’re not together. Completely your choice. As long as you’re happy. That’s totally cool. He takes it back, he just thinks hickeys are fun and you like them too and that’s it…because you’re not together and…

And if you are seeing other guys, he hopes they choke and die.

You knew none of his inner turmoil. You just saw the goofball talking to your thighs while biting and kissing at them, like normal. Making you lightheaded with the feel of his mouth but laugh with the tone of his words. But wow, he could also be so quick to turn things overwhelmingly sensual. Intense eyes upon you, the teasing glint glazing over with something a fraction away from lust: want. Plain and simple. He wanted you. From goofball to lover in seconds, but always beautifully himself.

He swiped his nose over your underwear covered clit that throbbed as if standing to attention, and he planted a soft kiss there before he attached his mouth over the fabric and exhaled, deep and controlled. Your body jolted at the hot air that seeped into your cunt before he hooked his fingers into the waistband and peeled the cotton from you.

He lightly pressed at your hip, guiding you back against the metal side of the van and following you towards it on his knees. He reached his hands up to pop open each button he could reach on your blouse, ghosting his fingers back down your stomach and leaving tingles chasing in their wake. You left the cheap work shirt on, just unbuttoned and open, bra peeking out from it’s curtains. He lifted your leg up and over his shoulder, calf and foot trailing down his back and he sponged a kiss to your knee before his lips ghosted at the flesh of your thigh, now cushioned in the junction of his shoulder.

He obviously left more of his marks as he went. He couldn’t help it - but he tried to be kind about it at least. Gentle, gentle, gentle until he lost himself in mouthing at you, and his teeth closed around your skin hard. You hissed out a gasp and he couldn’t help a smirk against you. Hickeys had a loving undercurrent of motive, he thought, but faint bruises in the shape of his shallow bite welts? They were purely just for his fun (and lack of self restraint) - they made his cock twitch.

Hearing your noises from above, even a ‘please’ sneaking from you, his patience run wore thin and he let out a soft groan before burying his tongue inside you. He lapped at you with purpose, and that purpose was to taste. It wasn’t desperate, though, more like content as he hummed into your centre, his tongue flat and steady as it licked a long stripe from your entrance to clit before swirling at the swollen bud. He sucked you into his mouth gently and he shook his head languidly from side to side and your body was spasming with the lightness in his touches, just how he knew you liked it. You were grinding down lazily onto his face and letting out noises that were fucking sinful but oh so lovely for him to hear. The hand he gripped your thigh with tightened to keep you to him, his goal of your orgasm in mind.

“I-fuck-I knew naked blanket cuddles were a ploy” you strained out, voice all high and breathy, your hand covering his that had snaked around to grope at the softness of your ass. He pulled away, a cocktail of your slick and his saliva stringing from you to his mouth and he nodded, tutting and eyebrows raising. Mock sympathy laced through the action.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to stop?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and resting it on your thigh.

“Don’t you dare” you admonished, hooking your leg firmer to keep him where he was. You fastened your fingers to his hand that covered the flesh of your ass and dragged it towards your centre, which had him scoffing as he ran his fingers through your folds, dipping one into your entrance and pumping carefully.

“Thought so” he teased, bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck you from them. It was the sexiest thing you think you’ve ever witnessed - it made you pause and take a minute to really look at the man between your legs: literally kneeling for you, hair a frayed disarray of a halo around him, lips puffy and glistening with you - it had you clenching around nothing. Your chest flooded, and god you were so in love.

Wait, what?

No. No, no, no. That would be foolish, wouldn’t it? You’re just casual. Easy breezy. Nothing serious and that was fine. And he probably wouldn’t want anything more anyway. No strings was best, for sure.

Your fingers come to comb through his hair, but your heart suddenly swells before your brain could work out why, stopping you from pulling him back into you momentarily. And the reason? Nothing short of ridiculous. It was that immediately you’d felt the texture change and it made you feel giddy, like a lovesick puppy because…your man’s hair gets frizzy in the humidity. That had your hormones fizzing. Ridiculous.

The logic in your brain hissed at you, saying that he wasn’t your man and how this new information was unbelievably stupid and unimportant - literally who cares about hair - but the heartstrings clearly in control here pulled at the mechanics of the corner of your mouth, and before you could stop it you were smiling down at him.

Oh yeah. You were in love with this man. Pathetically so. No doubt about it.

Fuck.

It was only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit that snapped you out of your trance. Two fingers in a ‘V’ to splay you apart for him as he attacked the swollen bud. Your head thumped back against the tin behind you, fingers tightening in his endearingly frizzy hair and you felt him push your leg on his shoulder open wider to spread you without needing his hands, because he was needing them to sink his ring clad finger into your centre. Crooking upwards, a soft moan rose from you as he found that spot - the one that had you reeling and had your legs quaking as they turned to mush. His tongue was relentless as he matched the new faster pace by entering a second finger as he suckled on your clit, and he was humming out in satisfaction at your mewls, the vibration against you exquisite.

Grinding your hips against his face with vigour, you chanced another peek down at the man who was wrecking you, and that’s when you came. His eyes were already on you, watching your every reaction to be sure he had you where he wanted you, and it was a beautiful clash of deep mahogany eyes mixing with the purple blossoms on your thigh. Your orgasm prickled over you and your body tensed as it went, back arching and grip a vice in his roots. He didn’t mind - he was moaning just as loud as you were at this point. Your chest heaved as you came down, literally, leg puddling beneath you and you let it happen. Sliding down the side of the van meant you got to be closer to him anyway.

Face to face now, you couldn’t help but kiss him. A messy, dirty kiss where the desperation flowed through you both like an electric current. Both of you buzzing. Your hands flew to his belt and you tugged him closer with it, pulling at the leather and clinking open the buckle, a ‘thwip' clipping the air as you slid it from its loops. You were both on your knees now, and your hands were incessant in feeling him, tickling the skin of his back before sweeping to his front in a cycle, before your nails settled to scratch at the bristle of hair that led into his jeans. His hands were tangled into your locks as he continued licking into your mouth, and he groaned at the idea of you tasting yourself from him.

“Off” you mumbled through kisses, popping the button and struggling to pull the jeans down his legs.

“I thought you just wanted to cuddle?” He jested in despite of his actions. He was pulling your head by your hair to one side to kiss you deeper, before sliding his wet lips down to your neck and beginning to leave his featherlight love there.

“Naked blanket cuddles, remember? You started this” you bit, but it left you breathless when he licked a long stripe up your neck, “please? I need you closer”

Shot. Right through the chest. Those simple words leaving your mouth like a bullet from the barrel of a gun and cracking him through his ribcage. Tearing him open and leaving his heart bared and vulnerable. In that moment, he knew a scary truth that didn’t really make sense, but he knew that you could have anything from him. Anything that you might ask for or want? You’d have it. He’d bleed for you, and that was slightly terrifying because you weren’t official, and he told himself that you probably didn’t even want to be. But you’re asking for him to be closer, and of course he’ll oblige. It’s impossible for him not to. But fuck it if he didn’t need you close too - right now and all times outside of that.

So, he let you undress him. Because he’d let you do anything you wanted. Break him into a thousand pieces for all he cared, as long as it was your hands doing the smashing, but he never feared that as your tenderness with him always rendered him speechless. He’d watch with his big doe eyes as your fingers and mouth would lightly trace over his tattoos and skin, disbelieving every time that this amount of thought was going into him by you. He felt seen when you were around him, and he would always feel fire behind your touch; you made him spark. He swears you can feel when a person is made for you - your body tells you so.

And when you kissed finally, everything just stopped.

Naked bodies flush under the heap of blankets, sage green and burnt orange pillows next to each other in the van beneath you, fingers wandering and tongues exploring what they already know but have become obsessed with mapping. The rain outside white noise, but also intensifying everything - every whimper felt private and concealed, like it was really just for the two of you under the coat of nature hiding you both away.

It wasn’t rushed. None of it. You treated each other like you had all the time in the world, touching each other with slow hands and mouths meshed together to just enjoy kissing. Switches from the ghosting of lips to hungry and hot - over and over. You were laying side by side, his arms tangled around you and yours in his new bushy hair, and he’d drawn your leg up and over his waist which you’d then firmly secured around him. It was almost like you thought he’d pull back if you didn’t keep him there - which was crazy, he thought, because he was going nowhere ever again.

“I missed you” he mumbled out in between kisses, an admission that he poured from his mouth into yours only, not even the air around was deserving of a drop. Though your smile was sugar sweet, your eyes held a sparkle that had his mind spinning, and you weren’t sure if your hips had started to rock against him before or after his sentiment - but they were now and he signed into your mouth as he jutted his own hips, feeling his cock prod the warm mess between those thighs he loved so goddam much.

“I missed you, too” you whispered back, one of your hands coming to thumb at his cheek. You felt the smooth skin, but noticed the small bumps of imperfection and blemishes under your pad and enjoyed feeling him so beautifully human. You reached down after a while and let your fingers wrap around his cock, earning a hitch of breath from him as you stroked him up and down, your thumb swiping over the tip before fondling a little at his balls too (you loved his cock, but his balls were your favourite to play with, if you were being honest. They got him sensitive and desperate). He let out a groan, tipping his head upwards to revel in your touch and when you attached your lips to his neck and suctioned your way up and down, it had him fucking shuddering.

“Let me taste you now” you nipped against his goosebump risen skin and it smelled of pure him, it made your mouth and centre pool, but he shook his head slowly. He wanted that, christ, he really did - but he knew if you got your mouth stuffed full of him he’d be cumming embarrassingly quickly with how riled up he felt, and he wanted to be inside of you.

“Won’t last baby, need to split you open - fuck” he was cut off by you running his length through your dripping folds, his cock sitting pretty along the seam of you and you began to rock your hips, your slick glazing his shaft like syrup as you slid forward and back, whining when his leaking tip would catch your clit. Two bundles of nerves shocking upon contact.

Annnd…he was fucked. Gasping for air already. He could feel the wetness and heat from your cunt clasp to him like the humidity stifled the van. Everything seemed to get hotter, and the rain seemed to bounce heavier. He moved his hips with you, his fingers coming to sift through your hair at your temples before they curled into fists and gripped at the strands. He smiled at your gasp, using your roots as handles to pull your head away from him slightly to see your face, and he shook his head again. This time, an act of awe.

“Fuckin’ beautiful” he breathed out , eyes scanning over your face with blown pupils and a small crease in his brow, “wanna feel you - please, please, please” and each ‘please’ was punctuated with a kiss to your cheeks.

And now it was your turn to have the air punched out of you. That was the thing with him, he knew how to melt you down into molten liquid that bubbled and frothed at his touches - but he could also be just as malleable for you, and luckily, he knew it made you crazy. Like when he pleaded for you? Flutters. To the heart and elsewhere.

The subtle pull at your hair paired with his words was his way of saying ‘put me inside’ without having to say it, and it didn’t take much guiding for him to easily sink into your gummy walls. You might have teased him for his impatience in another scenario, but somehow it didn’t feel right to interrupt the discussion happening between atmosphere and bodies.

A little twist of your hips had him bottoming out inch by glorious inch, your hair still threaded between his knuckles and he grazed your temple with a thumb; eyes trained on each other as he embedded himself deep within your body. His mouth was mirroring yours unbeknownst to him, every gasp and drop of your jaw he mimicked without even realising - two bodies really becoming one it felt, as you could no longer tell where he ended and you began.

A shaky breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding stuttered from you, because although you were more than ready enough for him to nestle inside, there was always an ache to the stretch his cock moulded into you. It had you feeling so fucking full, wincing slightly at the intrusion that contradicted the way your cunt gushed around him happily - but he always stayed still until you gave some sort of signal. Every. Damn. Time. You knew from experience not a lot of guys did that, just ramming in and out regardless, blissfully unaware of any discomfort you may feel, so it always made everything…nicer when he did it. Made you feel safer. Respected. Like he was more tuned in to you. Cared more, understood more - it was like he wanted this to be good for you.

Good for you. Just like he always was.

So you told him so. Told him how good he made you feel, how perfect he felt inside. How he was made for you, and how you thought you must be made for him too with how well he fills you. “So, so good for me.” your voice cooed into his ear, and he almost lost it when you uttered a “thank you”. You told him while pressing love into the skin on his face. Your lips a sponge compressing soothing affection to his emotional scars. Healing.

A whine whistled at the back of his throat at your praise. He told you that he tried, that he wanted to be good for you because you’re always so good for him: taking him so well, letting him mark you up even though he knows you like it, for sounding so pretty when you cum for him - and because he knew it made you crazy, a little degradation always tickling a part of you, he thanked you for letting him use you up like this.

It had you beating around his cock, causing throaty groans to rumble from him which made your stomach sear with nothing other than arousal. It always felt like he was back where he belonged whenever you’d keep him snug within your walls, your blood running so hot it could be cold at the thought of you being able to pull sounds like that from him simply because he “can feel you squeezin’ me, fuck”. He released your hair and it left your scalp stinging, but only in mourning for his touch, which he offered relief from when he connected your foreheads.

You were wrapped around his cock so tight he felt himself needing to choke. He felt himself shiver when you started to pepper your kisses to his face. Gifting him with them like you couldn’t help but and it had you humming, all content and happy. When he pulled you even tighter against him, a small thought of logic in the back of his head somewhere feared breaking you, but the rest of his brain couldn’t resist you being this close. Your lips traced the shell of his ear, and the flicker of your soft moans whisped into him, your breath fanning at his skin and setting his body static and…well, he might have been embarrassed at the pathetic noise that tickled the back of his throat if it had escaped.

His hips struggled not to buck and you could feel it, the small tremors in his muscles as he fought against the urge to pound into you. You knew it was time for him to move - no, you needed it to be time for him to move, the ache of stretch having turned into an ache of need that throbbed around him. So, you sucked his earlobe into your mouth, suckling lazily at the flesh that felt cold on your tongue and you wiggled your hips gently: a nudge. Your signal to him. Move.

There were times he might be in a certain mood, and he’d work you up to get you all flustered and desperate, refusing to move to see if he could pull some begging out of you. But right now, he knew it wasn’t that kind of night - he didn’t want it to be. He just heeded your request, pulling out fractionally to dip back up into you, the head of him already grazing that beautiful spot that had your toes curling and a dazed smile spreading across your features. The noise you let out was almost one of relief, and you felt the pillow of his cheek gather slightly beneath yours, the tell tale sign he was smiling too.

He set a steady pace, enticing a push and pull of gasps and a chorus of shaky, thoughtless noises of pleasure. Gentle hands accompanied by faces that smush into each other’s like doves might nuzzle on a concrete balcony in the sunset, one where it’s quiet despite the bustle of the city below - it was so personal that it almost made you shy. The rain continued it’s fall outside of the van and the blankets around you felt sensitive as the fabric brushed against your skin, almost overstimulating as the only feel or sound you wanted was him.

He gave a much harder thrust and your head lolled back, a moan pushing through your chest like his cock had punched it from you. Delightedly, his lips were on the column of your throat like he’d been waiting for it forever, his teeth grazing lightly at your skin and sloppy kisses being mouthed there. He held back though, remembering your agreement: no marks on your neck.

He maintained his firmer movements, hard slams in but slow and dragging pulls out. He could feel everything. Every ridge that lined you and coated him. The way you clung to him and cried out had his own toes curling, and the only thing stopping him from filling you to the fucking brim was distraction. So he ducked down and lapped at your nipple before moving to sink his teeth into the side of your breast. Not hard enough to be painful, but enough to make you sing and keep him busy with something other than pumping you full. And christ, you were whiny. Clutching at his hair with merciless fingers and voice cracking every now and then. So, of course, he continued his dizzying movements.

Over and over and over again.

Desire took over him and the more you arched back, the more he tipped over you, fucking himself further and further into your cunt as he followed. Now writhing beneath him, his hand grips your leg to drag you completely under, spreading you wide to continue the bullying of your spot. His waves engulf you as you lay on the sea bed ready for the current to sweep you with it - happy to have him drown you. But it was you that drowned him as the lewd noises filled the room, his cock squelching through your cream. It would’ve been mortifying if it wasn’t so fucking sexy for both of you to hear. In fact, it had him panting out a “fuck, listen to that” as he cast his eyes to where you met to get a good look.

The way his cock plunges into you, his heavy presses into your magical spongey area, it had you mewling and twitching into him. He draped his body over you, and used his whole weight to push deeper. Deeper than you thought he could get, rolling his hips with a skill that he’d mastered especially for you. His hands had come to cradle the top of your head, his shoulders framing you and his forearms holding him up. You’re wrapping your arms and legs around his torso and pulling, grappling at him so that as much as your skin was connected to his as possible. Smoothing your hands down the expanse of his back, you whimper as you feel the muscles ripple under your touch, his body wracking with each ragged breath he takes; it has your heels digging into the soft of his ass, causing his pubic bone and thatch of hair to brush deliciously against your clit.

“Fuck, angel, takin’ me so well. Like me close, huh?” he rasped into your ear, a groan following his sentiment as your walls quivered around him. It was the ‘angel’ that did it this time. You loved him calling you his little nicknames - internal squealing causing havoc in your chest whenever it happened. Nodding, a small ‘mmhmm’ squeaks from the back of your throat, pathetically really, and you dig your hands into his hair to bring his lips to yours as if to prove it - suddenly needing to taste him more than anything.

The hot kiss which was all tongues and teeth reflexively bucks your hips, and you rotate them up to join his rhythm when you hear the growl that thunders from his throat and the teeth that puncture your lower lip - not enough to draw blood, but honestly? You don’t think you’d care if it did. It had you both panting out gasps and thankful cries which in turn had that very same tongue and teeth kiss turning into lips that lingered as frantic breathing merged into one between you; literally oxygenating you both, it seemed, and you clutched at each other with a tenderness that went against its desperate motives.

His hand laced through yours and slid up to pin your arm above your head, his other hand still at the top of your head but his fingers were weaving themselves back into your hair and tugging with strength that was just enough. The pressure his hips were driving into you was shockingly enough for your climax to tip-toe up on you, coil forming like a heavy swarm of flutters in your stomach. But, of course, he knew that. He could read it from your body - or his fingers would’ve been toying with your clit ten minutes ago. It was difficult to breathe in the best way, and he was cooing his soft “so pretty for me”s and “love seeing you like this”s into your ear.

But the man who knew more about your body than anyone, the man who could play you like his instrument…when he panted out your name, it was like he both didn’t realise he’d said it and like he hesitantly wanted to get your attention. It was unsure…but he was never unsure with you. You replied with a ‘hmm?’ all breathy and sweet, and when he didn’t answer you, you peeled open your eyes that you hadn’t realised you’d shut - and there he was, looking down at you. He was flushed and it bled into his chest, eyes blown black and lips blushed and puffy with an expression of…admiration? Desperation? Realisation? Worry? You couldn’t quite work it out, and your brow furrowed faintly as your hand brushed caresses his face.

Another pant of your name, as if building himself up for something, but he was quiet when he began, “I…I think…”

He nearly said it. He really very nearly fucking said it. And he didn’t think, he knew. Those three words prickling at the tip of his tongue like it was a wrestle against whether the muscle formed them or not. It was too soon, wasn’t it? It was also ridiculous, right? You weren’t even together. He just knew that the times you visited him in his van were his new favourites. That he missed you more than anything on days you didn’t arrive. The days that your shifts were swapped or the days that you had other plans. The days you didn’t know that he waited here after his shifts, just incase. He just knew that he nearly fucking said it, and he really fucking meant it.

He also knew that your fingertips were scorching him, branding him as yours in a way that he doesn’t even think you realise.

“You think?” You offered gently. His pace had slowed back to his initial shallow dips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting between yours - but he felt your once spasming walls start to relax back to a hug around his cock and knew he was losing the orgasm he really wanted to get you to.

So he chickened out. Of course he did.

“I-I think you need to finish before I do, sweetheart. Getting hard to hold on over here” coward.

Your eye twitched and he grew cautious as a kind smile was presented to him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You knew. You knew he wanted to say something else, but before you could press it further he quickly picked his pace back up to that eye rolling pressure in a way that was so sudden it took you by surprise. His hand left the nest of your hair and flew to your leg, hitching it higher than the other up his torso and that’s when he really started to fuck into you.

Your nails dug into his hand that you held as his hips slammed hard, and he brought his free palm to rest at your throat. He wasn’t squeezing, but he knew you loved feeling the heat of his hand on such a sensitive area, and he was right as he watched your head crane back so he could cover the skin of your neck more. It wasn’t too fast, but the firmness about his thrusts had you crying out. Had your brain emptying of any coherent thoughts. It felt amazing, and you were on cloud nine, but he was busy trying to find that button to press that makes you light up. That makes you shatter.

A shift. To the left. A bit further up. He knows it’s here somewhere - he feels it swell and pulse against his head every time he’s tucked inside of you. His teeth grit to keep his composure at the way your ridged walls pull at his cock….a tiny extra angle of his hips up and…

There.

Your mouth hangs open and fingers skim with claws bared to dig into his shoulder, etching angry, red lines there and so naturally, he pounds into it. He can’t help but grin when he hears your noises cut off, a silent moan echoing somewhere inside, jaw stuck open on its hinges, but he quickly takes advantage of your mouth being agape. Fingers on your neck come to slot in between your lips and he groans when you suck on them without being told. Coating and drooling around them as you whine from the back of your throat. He takes his fingers away from you, and you try to follow them which makes him chuckle almost incredulously - because goddam he can’t believe it’s him making you feel this way - before he’s rushing to swirl circles into your clit and that’s when he knows he’s got you on your way.

The cry that was trying to break free finally emanates from your lungs and seems to seep through your entire being as you grip at him in every sense. Arm tight, hand cutting the circulation off in his, legs wrapped, cunt a vice. You’re still making your pretty sounds beneath him, and he sees your glossy eyes and knows he’ll probably bring those tears out when you cum. His cock twitches inside of you. There’s a part of him he worries is fucked up, because he wants to make you wail. Wants to make you to cling to him and cry heavily and it could be any time now - he knows you’re close, your walls being charged with fucking asphyxiation of his dick.

“Oh, I can feel that. C’mon, let me feel you soak me” he whispers down to you, and he didn’t realise how forcefully he’d been pressing into you until you choke a ‘don’t stop’ and your free arm is flinging above your head to brace yourself against the back of the van seats that he’d nearly fucked you into, moving you across the floor with every strong delivery of his hips. His fingers speed up their circles to your pulsing nub and you use the new leverage as resistance to gyrate back down onto him; his jaw could break its that tense trying to hold out for you.

Your breast are jiggling for attention as they bounce with every slap of his hips into you, and so he obliges their silent plea, mouth watering as he laves his tongue over the pebbled bud of your nipple. An almost pained noise leaves you: it’s the wail he wanted. The dam breaks and he pants against your chest, resting his forehead there as he feels your body quake and seize as your orgasm crashes into you. Your nails scrape down the material of the seat your hand still clutches to, and he loves that he has you wrapped around both of his seats. Your cardigan still hanging from the back of his and you clinging for dear life to the other.

He pulls his head up to watch you writhe and shake beneath him and doesn’t even realise his hips still. Too overtaken with the view he has to even think about his own orgasm. He’s in-fucking-fatuated with you, and he could just melt at the fact that he still holds your hand securely in his as you fuck yourself on him through your high. The rain outside still trickles down the windows of his van like the slick down the insides of your thighs and the sweat down your neck.

He notes that he was right, stray tears that avoided the puddling on your cheeks raced their way into your hairline. Rain into grass. Tears into hair. You’re crying for him like the sky does for it’s ground. Sobbing as your chest wracks from the overwhelming feelings ricocheting around your body. His cock is straining and he doesn’t know whether to hate himself for it, but you look so pretty with your glazed eyes and splotched skin. God, in this moment, his own emotions are too much for him, and he doesn’t know whether to cry himself or absolutely fucking ruin you, and he ponders it while tacking his thumb fondly at the diamonds on your skin, bringing the glitter to his mouth and sucking, tasting the salt.

He’s so caught up in you and that fact that he was able to give you that orgasm so intense that it made tears stain your face, that it makes his body pliant when you bend your leg around his waist and use the momentum to topple him over onto his back, sitting pretty atop of him as your overstimulation screams - but you want him to cum more than anything, and so you bounce. You ignore the protest that burns your thighs as you drop your hips down with purpose, hearing the squelch of your bodies and his eyes are rolling, noises from him filthy. His hands come to your hips and they grab bruisingly, pushing and pulling to assist you in your movements and you swell with pride as his head drops back with a clunk and a loud groan rips through his chest.

“Need you to cum, wanna feel you fill me” you purr down to him, lip popping to a pout and hand coming to rest on his chest, the other mimicking his earlier move and resting at his throat. And just like that, there’s a spasm of his hips and a tense of his abdomen beneath you. His warmth is coating your walls and it has your cunt locking down around him, taking everything he has from him. Milking him for all he’s worth.

His face is a picture - more than that, it’s art. You can’t help reach one hand out to let your fingers trace him. Over his sweat glistening forehead, over his swollen lips that you smush around slightly, flipping your hand so the back of it runs down his cheek. His eyes are lulling and he’s puffing deep breaths as his fingers remain cemented into the flesh of your hips. His chest is heaving…and then it’s shaking as he lets out a joyous laugh.

“Holy shit” he huffs a little exhale of a chuckle, clearly spent, and you giggle back down at him as he finally lets go of your hips that he’s marked with finger shaped marks, your skin sticking to his fingers slightly before they separate. He paws at your wrists to pull you down to lay flat atop of him, the feeling of your breasts on his bare chest has you both sighing and you didn’t expect to be pulled in for a kiss, but the sloppy, lazy smooch you were now a part of was one you couldn’t help but bask in.

Your face tracing resumes, with the added feature of playing with the ends of his hair once you’d pulled back. His softening cock slips from you, and it makes you wince at the feeling of emptiness. You shiver at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, and he must’ve thought you were cold as he pulled the blankets higher around you and reached for the joint that, in the end, did find the floor - and that’s how you were for the rest of the night. Passing the joint back and forth between you, listening to each others voices or just the rain as you kissed and held each other, feeling skin brush against skin. Soft squeals as he’d tickle your sides and gentle gasps as you’d nibble on his neck.

You didn’t want your time to be up with him, but soon you were feeding the last of the sandwiches to his ready and waiting open mouth as he eyed the road he was driving you back home on, the rain spattering and spitting at the windscreen and bouncing off the concrete. Although he didn’t really have crumbs to clear, you’d affectionately swipe at the corners of his mouth after he’d finish the section you’d fed him, and he’d chase a peck to your palm.

You were down bad.

It was suffocating. Your chest hurt sometimes to look at him with all the emotions that bubbled under the surface. And what’s worse is, you felt like you knew what he was going to say before. You ached to hear it, because then you’d know it wasn’t too soon for you to say it. And shit, you fought daily not to slip and spill your secret to him. But honestly? Did you care at this point? Your van rendezvous had turned into the highlights of your weeks. You’d impatiently watch the clock tick on your shift, the shifts where time had started to stand still, only for your stomach to shock with electricity with every step you took to your van that was always waiting in your little field for you.

Your van. Your little field.

Bad. Very, very bad.

What was this to him? It didn’t feel like hook ups in the back of his van. It didn’t feel like you were just a quick fuck. But…even you were, you don’t think you could stop.

But no. There’s something about the twinkle in his eye when he looks at you, isn’t there? You can feel the charge behind it and it’s almost too much to maintain any sort of eye contact when his brown orbs are burning into you. Gleaming like a clear night sky, stars glittering on their canvas. There’s something about the way he holds you, touches you. The way your bodies writhe together and the way he responds to your touches - you’ve noticed the hitches in his breath and watched the goosebumps that cheat his skin. It’s the way you laugh together, and it’s definitely the way his dimple is giving him away as he attempts to bite back the shy smile at the pad of your thumb swiping at his mouth, selling him out to the point he had to kiss your palm quick to mask it.

And so when he pulls up outside your house and you make to go inside, like many a night before and what you hope is many a night after, it’s out of your mouth before your brain even has time to stop it. Before it manages to cage it to keep it safe, frantically grappling to fortify your emotions and arm you. But the secret is impatient, and it’s been brewing and plotting. Swarming like a silent poison in your veins, it’s been tricking your tongue to act against its sanctuary and work on fighting rationality - escaping it’s clutches. Because, that’s the point isn’t it? It’s not rational. It never could be rational and it’s played to it’s strengths. It thanked the humid air and drizzle that made you feel less alone and prayed on your vulnerability to the moment.

And, it was the only thing that cut through the protection that nature provided you as soon as it left your lips. Clearing the air and drying it up just like the saliva in your mouth. Nerves settling and making everything static.

You kissed him like normal. A long, passionate kiss that had you licking into each other’s mouths and nuzzling noses, dropping gentle pillows of lips in pecks afterwards as if you couldn’t get enough. Quite frankly, it was sickeningly gross. But you were too happy to care.

“Bye” you slotted between pecks.

“Bye” he’d replied, eyes still closed and no efforts made by him to stop kissing you, to the point you’re giggling and his arms are tightening around you over the console as you try and move, a playful whine leaving him as your hand tries to grab at the handle to open the door. And then you’re giggling more as you’re squirming out of his grip and dropping down onto the gravel with him practically laying flat over the two seats with an arm outstretched to you dramatically. And you’d gone to wave like normal too when you reached his side window, but you’d noticed it had been wound down and he’d popped out of it like a jump-scare and pulled you back into another kiss that you both chuckled into. As you said, gross. Very, very gross. He even had a fucking magazine in hand to hold over your head to shield you from the drizzle - tooth rotting sweetness that you loved to hate.

And…then you said it.

That’s when the air stilled. When your stomach dropped as though the butterflies that flitted there all evening died and thumped to the pit of it.

“I love you” against his lips.

Like a fool. Like a lovestruck idiot.

And it was out there now with no going back. The secret thriving in the chaos of silence that lasted a second but spaced into hours. It just hung there in the air like the humidity had. Mocking you.

And…you took off. Of course you did. Right into your house - not giving him time to reply, if you think about it, but you had to get out of the suffocation your own words had brought upon you. Straight up the stairs you ran, into your room and when your door was quietly clasped shut, you paced the carpet with wide eyes and a pounding heart, nibbling anxiously at your fingernails.

Him? He was sat unmoving. Heart beating against his chest and it had rooted him to the spot. He hadn’t a clue what to do next, to the point it froze him in time. He couldn’t go after you, you still lived with your parents and he doubted now was a good time to knock. You also seemed to not want to see him right now. Should he call? Not now, it’s late. In the morning? And say what? Over the phone? No.

But it was out there now. In the van that you’d both somehow made your shared space. The words uttered and it couldn’t be undone. Movement coursed through him again as the slow motion seemed to skip back to real-time and catch up with him, bringing him back. He lent back against the headrest, and felt the soft cotton of your cardigan brush his neck.

You weren't even trying to make the trap look realistic this time, just throwing down random shapes to make it look like you tried. It didn't have to look perfect, it just needed to seem real at a glance. Your favorite demon has been MIA for the past few days, and you're feeling... needy, to put it lightly. He was busy, you understood that, but he hasn't been gone for this long since you first summoned him.

Sitting around your room wasn't doing you any good. You tried listening to music, reading, going outside, making yourself feel good - nothing would keep you busy long enough to get your mind off of him. He granted you freedom and all the money you could possibly ask for to live and do what you wanted, but that didn't stave off the loneliness. A few days felt like an eternity when you were alone, so here you were.

You decided on staying in your room this time, staying close to a bed in the hopes that he'd use it. The windows are open, letting a soft breeze come through. The hem of the new babydoll lingerie you bought for the occasion fluttered slightly. You felt pretty, dolled up to the nines for your demon. You'd learned his name was Eddie, and you felt it fit him.

A thrum of excitement ran through your body, settling between your legs. You walked around the circle, similar to the way you did the first time you did this, to light the candles. He taught you how to summon specifically him for emergencies, which included a few more steps than last time.

You brought out your summoning bowl, already prepared with the ingredients Eddie left in it. All that was left was fire. You knelt on the ground next to the circle, using a match to light the contents of the bowl. You paused to wonder if Eddie would be angry with you for summoning him for a non-emergency. You could call him instead, he gave you his phone number. The thought quickly left your mind as you reminded yourself why you were doing this. This was quicker.

You dropped the match into the bowl, sealing your fate as you began to recite the summoning spell. A familiar fog rose from the floorboards, sending a chill down your spine. You quickly ducked your head in a bow.

"Princess? Are you ok?" His fierce and commanding tone spread warmth between your legs, causing the wet patch on the front of your panties to grow. He sounded as though he was worried about you. Your head quickly shot up, meeting his eyes.

"What is this? Are you... are you trying to trap me?" His voice was shocked at first, darkening towards the end of his sentance. You shifted on your knees to relieve some of the ache in your pussy from how hard it was throbbing. He took a step towards you.

"Yeah, I did. I wanted something so attempt number two." Your voice came out light and not as cocky as you wanted it to.

"I don't even have to look at it, I can feel that you didn't do it right." He stepped over the circle. Your body grew hot as memories from the last time flashed through your mind. "I guess someone didn't learn their lesson the first time, huh? Anything you want to say for yourself, little one?" This demeanor always felt like a challenge. Like he wanted you to get sassy, to be bratty to him.

"Well, maybe my teacher isn't very good at his job." You knew you were pushing it, hoping it pushed him exactly where you wanted him. He bent down, grabbing you by your upper arm and yanking you up before moving to grip your face.

"Or, maybe you just don't know how to listen." His eyes were glowing as they bore into you, making you shake in his hold. You knew he wouldn't harm you, but your heart beat faster. He towered over you by over a foot, wide shoulders squared, shadow completely covering you. You stood on your tippy toes to provide some relief to your jaw. His grip wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to be uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry?" He smirked at you like he knew what you were doing, trying to recreate the scenario from your first night together. He leaned down until you were nose to nose, feeling his breath fan on your face.

"We're going to have to work on that lying, little one." His hands reached out to loop his claws under the straps on your shoulders. With a slight tug, he tore your new garmet, effectively leaving you in just your panties as it dropped to the ground. You audibly gasped, stepping back to glance at your ruined lingerie.

"Eddie, that was new!" Your voice went up an octave, slightly irritated that he destroyed it the first night you actually got to wear it. He didn't even say anything about how pretty it looked before he broke it.

"Darling, that thing was standing in the way of what I desire." You let out a huff, crossing your arms and jutting out your bottom lip at his careless words. He sighed heavily at your stance. "And I can buy you the same one in all different colors if that's what you wish. Money is a trivial concept to me, and I love spoiling my princess."

Your bottom lip didn't receed and your arms stayed firm across your chest, pushing your bare breasts higher. You weren't satisfied with his response. He stepped into your space once again, leaving kisses down your face, leading to your lips but never touching them like you wanted. Instead, he trailed down to your neck, mouthing at the spot that - as he'd quickly learned - made you weak in the knees.

"If it's any consolation, you looked absolutely ravishing. I couldn't help myself, I love it when you dress up for me. Unfortunately, every present has to be unwrapped, and I'm not the kind to peel the tape and save the wrapping paper." He spoke in between kisses as you tipped your head back to give him more access. He grazed his teeth gently over the same spot he'd been working at. Your knees buckled, hands flying out to grip his shirt for purchase. His hands moved to settle just under your ass, pulling you up into his mouth as he continued his assault.

You whined and whimpered as he left a hicky, nipples hardening with how they were pushing against the rough material of his t-shirt. The touch on the backs of your thighs felt hot, electricity burning from the contact. His claws dug softly into your skin just enough to tickle but not enough to break the skin. His mouth moved to yours, finally kissing you with a dizzying passion. One of his thighs slotted between yours as he pushed you back against the wall, and suddenly, you wished he would rip your panties off too.

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer to him. The sweet drag of his denim jeans against your clothed pussy made you moan into his mouth. You ground down on his thigh, chasing the pleasurable pressure on your clit. The grip on your hips tightened to halt your movements. You let out a frustrated groan at the interruption.

"You're still in trouble, little one. Did you think there would be no consequences for your actions?" His words made you flush. You struggled against his hold, but it was no use; He was much stronger than you, holding you still as he wanted you.

"This doesn't feel like I'm in trouble." Your hand snaked between your bodies, grabbing at his hard cock through his jeans. He growled, snatching your wrists up in one hand and turning you around to move you to the bed.

"It's about to." He pushed you onto the bed, flipping you onto all fours and kneeling behind you before pressing a hand between your shoulder blades to push your face into the mattress. You released a muffled squeal as he ran his hand over your mound before landing a slap to it. You tried to close your legs and squirm away, but he gripped your thighs, opening them wide.

His finger dipped between your lips, pressing your panties gently into your clit before circling it. You raised your hips and arched your back to meet his soft touch. His hand moved away from you before landing another slap to your clit. You pitched forward, letting out an animalistic groan as you tried to close your legs once again, only to be stopped by his own pinning them open. He landed one more harsh smack before pausing and flipping you over, hiking your legs up on his shoulders.

"Does it feel like you're in trouble now, or do you need more?" He lightly scratched up and down the back of your thighs as your body twitched. Your eyes had squeezed shut from the sting, staying closed as you shook your head rapidly.

"No more, please." It came out as a whimper, a pout gracing your lips at the thought. You opened your eyes just in time to see him put his hair up into a bun before his head dipped between your thighs. He pushed your panties to the side and flicked his tongue soothingly over your clit. Your jaw dropped open with a breathy moan as he continued, switching between swirling his tongue around your bud and flicking it over the slit.

He dipped down under your leaking hole to lick a trail from there to right above your clit. Your toes curled from the pleasure as you attempted to buck up into his mouth, but he held you still with one arm across your hips. His tongue pushed past the ring of your entrance, exploring inside you like it was his mission. Even his tongue could reach the places your fingers couldn't, being unnaturally long and flexible. Suddenly, his head popped up from between your legs, making you whimper in protest.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" His face was broken out in a devilish grin, and you couldn't think of what magic trick he could possibly want to show you... until he stuck out his tongue, and it split in two. You gasped, pushing your hips down into his hold. "Pretty neat trick, right?" With that, he dove back into you, pushing his tongue past your rim and stretching you open.

You squealed at the feeling of it pressing against both walls, not used to the feeling. He moved back up to circle and pinch at your clit with the split appendage. Your high was approaching rapidly, sputtered breaths and a combination of noises leaving your throat.

"Cum for me, darling." He moaned into you, as if he was enjoying this just as much as you were. The thought pushed you over the edge, shaking in his hold as he licked you through it. He didn't stop once you finished, though. His free hand moved down to join his tongue, fingers dipping into you and stretching you further as you shuffled from the overstimulsting feeling.

"Be a good girl and be still for me, yeah?" He pushed your hips down a little harder and nipped at your nub to get his point across. You stilled your wiggling as much as you could to obey his demand.

He quickly found your sweet spot, doing a 'come hither' motion to stroke it while he glided across your puffy nub. Your second orgasm washed over you unexpectedly, crashing through you and causing your body to jerk uncontrollably. He pulled his fingers away, but his head stayed in place. You pushed at his head, desperately trying to get him to stop, but he was too busy lapping the cum from your hole.

When he finally pulled away, you could see both his cheeks and chin glistening with your wetness. He used the front of his t-shirt to wipe it off, pulling it over his head and tossing it before leaning in for a kiss. You could taste your sweet and salty mixture on his tongue, along with his usual flavor.

"We're not finished yet, princess." Your body was still processing your last orgasm as he pushed his pants and boxers down, kicking them off and onto the floor. He gently hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties to pull them down, leaving kisses on your thighs as he went.

"So fucking perfect for me, pretty girl." His lips continued kissing and nipping their way back up, starting at your ankle and leading up to your hips. He stopped to suck a love bite where your panties normally sat, and you let out a shaky breath as you melted under him. He stopped again at your breasts to give them some attention, too. His tongue poked out to lick a few firm stripes from just below your nipples to the swell below your collarbone on both of your boobs before picking one to focus his mouth on. He left open mouth kisses on the pebbled nub, moving his hand to rub pinch the other between his fingers.

You arched into his touch, running your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. He switched to give the same treatment to each side of your chest before sucking another love bite on the curved top of your breast. He slowly moved up to plant another kiss on your lips.

"Always such a good little whore for me." His claw stroked the side of your face from temple to jaw, sending shivers down your spine. He reached behind you to grab a pillow, lifting your hips and shoving it under your lower back to lift you. "Be a good girl and open wide, knees to your chest."

You scrambled to comply, opening your legs and looping your hands behind your knees to pull them to your chest. He leaned over your pussy for a moment before letting his spit dribble from between his lips. You hissed at the cool feeling on your hot clit, wiggling slightly as he rubbed it in with his tip before lining his cock up with your entrance.

A content sigh escaped your lips as he pushed his head past your entrance, turning into a clipped gasp as he pushed all the way in. Even though you've had him quite a few times, you never got used to the stretch or the feeling of him so deep inside of you. It was like heaven, being so full of him.

He started slow, gently pulling in and out of you, leaning down to brace his forearms on either side of your head. The bush at the base of his cock ran over your clit with each thrust, scratching it in the best way. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging to him while you savored the way his hips moved against yours. His mouth met yours to swallow your sounds as he pushed into you deeper.

His pace didn't speed up, but his hips started pushing into you harder. His mouth moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking hickies into it before biting down gently. You let out a half scream, half moan at this, and he smirked against your skin.

"You make such pretty sounds for me, princess." He lifted his head to cup your jaw, rubbing soothingly as hot tears streamed down your face. "It's such a shame to have to punish you, but you look so pretty when you cry for my cock." His hand reached between your bodies, rubbing at your clit with two fingers and pushing you closer to the edge.

He kissed all over your face as you stared to come undone. You cried out from the intense pleasure of cumming for a third time, and you had a feeling it wasn't the last. Your feelings were confirmed when you finally came down from your high and he flipped you over onto your stomach.

"I can't take anymore." Your voice was rough and scratchy from all of the moaning and screaming you'd been doing. His hand rubbed up your back soothingly, lightly scratching to relax you.

"One more, little one. Gotta make sure you learn your lesson." You whimpered as he lined himself up with your entrance once again, pushing into you with ease this time because of the slick from your cum. He wasn't gentle this time, immediately setting a rough pace that had his balls slamming against your clit. You jolted with each tap, trying to squirm away. You would be able to get away if he didn't have such a tight hold on your hips.

"Oh, god." You groaned as he changed positions, ramming into your sweet spot.

"Not quite, darling. Wrong direction, not that you can actually think to know that right now." His hips continued their assault, slamming into your backside with each thrust. His hands held you in a bruising grip, pulling you back in tandem with his pace.

Your vision began to blur as the pleasure built in your core. It was too much, but it felt so good. Your gut twisted harshly when his fingers made contact with your clit again, making you scream into the pillow beneath you.

"Come on, princess. Cum with me." He grunted as you tightened around him, both of you reaching your highs at the same time. His spurts coated your walls as your rhythmic squeezing milked him dry.

You were floating, feeling like you were on a cloud as he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest. You could feel the tears still streaming down your face and onto his skin. Your whole body was spent and sensitive, covered in sweat but slowly cooling with the breeze still coming through the open window.

"Did you draw... hearts and penis shapes on our bedroom floor for the entrapment spell?" You giggled, shoving your face further in his chest.

"Darn, no wonder it didn't work." He kissed the top of your head, chest shaking slightly as he chuckled.

"Yeah, no wonder." He paused as though he was contemplating his next words. "I hope you learned your lesson this time. Summoning is for emergencies only." You nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with your answer. His hand lifted your jaw to look at you with lifted brows. "I mean it. Next time I won't be nice. You have my phone number for non-emergencies."

"I understand, lesson learned." He smiled and kissed the tip of your nose, pulling you back into his chest to cuddle you. "... but what if it's a horny emergency?" He sighed at your words.

Eddie runs his hands all up and down your body, squeezing and highlighting the fact that you’re wearing one of his big t shirts, a skimpy pair of panties, and nothing else.

“Well I’m sorry to make things so…” You trail off as your hand slides down from his chest, over his abdomen, and fit it between your bodies to get a grip on his bulge. He inhales sharply and you grin. “….difficult for you.”

“It was kinda mean of you, princess,” Eddie gives you his biggest puppy dog eyes and a pout. In response, you take his face in your hands and lift up on your tip to toes to kiss his nose.

“Aww, poor baby,” you joke. Eddie grabs one of your hands from his face and bring it back down to rest over his cock.

“Make it up to me?”

You stroke him through his clothes and his eyelids flutter shut, moan rumbling in his throat.

“But I have to finish the laundry. Remember? The hard…hard labor.”

Eddie throws himself hysterically down onto the couch, bringing you with him and making you yelp.

“Take a breeeeaaak,” he begs on a whine, humping into you from his spooning position.

“Take a break just to get you off? Sounds like more labor to me,” you huff disingenuously. And Eddie knows you’re bluffing. It’s kind of obvious by the way you’re grinding your ass back against him intentionally. Eddie kisses your neck.

“Is my baby saying she wants to be a pillow princess? Is that what she wants?” he teases you right back. “Want me to fuck you right into the couch and you just take it like a good girl?”

“Maaaybe…” you draw out with a coy smile. Then you shrug. You squeal when Eddie jumps up and hoists you onto his arms. “What are you doing?!”

“Taking you to the bedroom. Where there’s plenty of pillows for my princess.”

“What about fucking me into the couch?” you laugh breathlessly. Eddie clutches your body to his while organizing a mountain of pillows in the middle of the bed before dumping you down onto it.

“Patience, baby. I’ll fuck you into the mattress first. We can defile the couch afterward.”

~*~

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———

It wasn't that he didn't like you, it was that he didn't trust you: after all the years Eddie had spent almost alone in school, you came in the picture. You, saying you cared about him, saying you were interested in the music he listened to and the books he read, saying you loved him.

It all seemed too perfect and Wayne just knew there was something wrong.

Not because he was a bad person, Wayne absolutely wasn't, but because he was afraid you were playing with Eddie's feelings. He was afraid that one day you'd laugh in his face and tell him there was no way a girl like you could ever love someone like him. An outcast. A cult-leader. A freak.

The worst part was that Eddie, on the other hand, was really in love with you. He could see it by the way he talked about you when you weren't around, by his loving gaze when you visited him at the trailer, by the smile that appeared on his lips whenever he mentioned you in a conversation.

Wayne was afraid Eddie would suffer when you left him.

Because he knew you would. It was just a matter of time.

After what had happened in the upside down, after Eddie had almost died (because yes, he knew the whole truth even if he had a hard time believing it at first) he often woke up due to nightmares.

Often he heard the bed creak as if Eddie was tossing and turning in pain, sometimes he heard him talking but never understood what exactly he was saying. He was probably calling your name, the name of girl he was in love with, poor naive boy.

Once, he opened the door to his room slightly, slowly and asked if everything was all right, watching the figure curled up on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest in a defensive position.

Even in the dark he could clearly see that Eddie was shaking.

It was pretty obvious that no, he wasn't all right. He was far from it.

Eddie told him to go away, that he was fine. Wayne pressed for a while but Eddie didn't seem to want to talk to him. Finally he closed the door and went back to his room, hoping that giving him the space he wanted would help.

He wasn't sure if it had really helped him when he started hearing muffled sobs coming from his room.

He really didn't know what to do. Eddie should have talked to someone about it, vented in some way but he didn't seem to want to do it with him.

He didn't seem to want to talk about it even with you, his "girlfriend". Wayne had expected this too: You wouldn't be there for his boy when he needed it.

After that night, Eddie had locked the door to his room, so even if Wayne wanted to go inside to check, he couldn't.

One night though, Wayne woke up to a noise coming from the room next to his, from Eddie's room.

He sighed running a hand over his face, tired, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night and that Eddie would too.

Thar time though, he heard the door to Eddie's bedroom open and the sound of bare feet making their way down the hallway where the phone was hanging on the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

Wayne got out of bed and headed for the door to his room but, when he was about to open it, he heard Eddie's voice on the other side of the door and stopped.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but that didn't stop him.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Wayne realized Eddie called you. At two in the morning.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Eddie whispered, almost as that was all the voice he could get out at the moment.

"Yeah, don't worry. I just... I think I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry, I'm sure I woke you up. Yeah, I told you I'm fine." Eddie muttered, if his words were to sound convincing, he was failing miserably.

He sounded like a kid scared by a thunderstorm, in moments like that Wayne wished Eddie's mom was still there with him, some things really would've been easier.

“No, that's stupid, I shouldn't even have called, you probably just want to sleep and not worry about my dumb problems. It's just…I'm tired, Y/N. I'm so tired and the nightmares won't stop and I… I don't know what to do. Every time, every night I'm there again and there are the bats and the lightning and- and It's hard to sleep without you. I'm scared Y/N. I'm scared they'll never stop, that I'll never be okay." Eddie sniffed.

Was he crying?

"But it's okay. I mean, yeah, I- don't worry and-" he probably stopped to hear what you were saying.

Were you telling him to go fuck himself for calling in the middle of the night? Were you trying to console him? Wayne couldn't know but either way, he didn't trust you. He had never done that.

"No. You don't have to. No, Y/N, no please, really, I-" Eddie stammered before silence fell on the other side of the door.

You hung up the phone. You hung up the phone on Eddie's face when he needed someone to listen to him and when he trusted you enough to call you and talk about how he was feeling.

Wayne knew it would end like this. You never loved Eddie like you said you did, you didn't even care about him or you wouldn't have hung up the phone. Maybe it was a joke all along, "make the freak your boyfriend, make him fall in love and trust you and then leave him when he needs it most and break his heart."

He knew how mean teenagers could be, they always managed to hit where it hurt the most. And, of course that's what you did with Eddie, you played with his heart that had already been broken too many times for someone so young.

He heard Eddie pacing nervously down the short hallway a couple of times, and just as Wayne was about to walk out of the room despite having no idea what to say, he heard the trailer door open and close.

Eddie went out. And Wayne wasn't going to let him spend the night in the cold or whatever that boy was up to.

The older Munson finally came out of his room and made his way to the door Eddie had disappeared through.

He opened it slightly and looked out, finding himself faced with the most unexpected scene he had imagined.

There you were, your car parked in front of the trailer, the door still open, and you were striding towards Eddie.

The sky was dark and moonless, only a few stars were visible, a nearby street lamp allowed the man to see what was happening.

Wayne leaned against the door frame, watching the scene a few feet away from him.

As soon as you reached Eddie you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him towards you, he immediately wrapped his arms around your body in a hug Wayne wondered if it could actually break any bones.

Eddie held on to you as if his life depended on it, squeezing the fabric of your shirt with his hands and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he hugged you, as if having you there in that moment solved all his problems, as if Eddie was okay again just because of your presence.

"I'm here. It's okay, I got you." You said holding him, your voice soft and sincere.

That was the moment Wayne realized he was completely wrong about you, all along.

"You didn't have to come." Eddie whispered, not letting you go.

"But I wanted to." You responded by stepping away from him slightly, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs on his cheeks.

"I swear, you are something else." Eddie said with a slight smile. "Thank you for coming, really."

And Wayne, seeing you looking at Eddie as if he was the most precious thing in the world, wondered what had been on his mind every time he doubted your sincerity, every time he thought you didn't really care about Eddie.

You went there in the middle of the night because you knew he needed it, and he didn't even ask you. That was all it took to know that you were a good person. That you were there for his boy.

"I love you." He murmured before bringing his lips to yours in a light but affectionate kiss. Wayne had to look down, feeling he was slipping into a too intimate a moment.

"I love you too." You responded leaning your forehead against his. "And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, you know that."

"Do you- think you can stay the night? I understand if you can't- if you don't want to- I mean-"

"Eddie, I've come to stay. I wouldn't leave even if you begged me, right now." You reassured him.

He nodded, leaving a kiss on top of your head. "I love you so much."

You smiled grabbing his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers ready to reenter the trailer.

Your eyes met Wayne's still in the doorway.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours tighter as you reached for him.

"She's spending the night here whether you like it or not." Eddie announced to his uncle.

Wayne looked between you and Eddie, then back to you as you started to talk.

"I'm sorry I showed up here in the middle of the night but I can't leave now, I-"

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you." He finally admitted.

A surprised expression came onto your face.

"I was wrong about you, I was wrong from the start." He said leading you into the trailer.

Eddie smiled at his uncle's words.

"It's okay, I understand where all your resilience came from. Really, don't worry about it." You answered with conviction.

Wayne patted your shoulder. "You are a good kid, thank you for being here."

You smiled again. "You don't have to thank me. None of you have to."

Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, up against his Metallica shirt he used to sleep in.

"We're going to sleep, uncle Wayne." Eddie said before heading to his room, dragging you with him.

You turned one last time to Wayne before disappearing behind Eddie's bedroom door. "Good night."

The man's gaze softened even more. "Goodnight kids."

Eddie was in good hands now, he always had been even when Wayne didn't know it.

You were always there, even when Wayne didn't know it. You were family.