Slut For Eddie Munson

Your heavy-lidded gaze is cemented to the ceiling. Every blink takes effort. Every breath compresses your chest. Air melts through you easily, soaking into the floor.

The bass is loud, and your bones vibrate to the tempo, veins humming like the muffler of an engine.

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?”

Eddie’s voice finds you deep in thought, pulling you out sputtering. The rasp that weaves through each syllable washes over your body, baptizing you in his timid curiosity.

“What?”

And the colors of the sea bind your eyes with trembling mermaids.

“I mean, we’ve been friends for this long.” He shifts, and you feel a kind of restless heat brushing against your skin. “Do you think we’ll be like this forever?”

You hesitate. “What, high on your carpet?”

He huffs. “You know what I mean. Just like, hanging out and stuff.”

And you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses.

”Oh.” There’s a galaxy on his ceiling. Old, radioactive-looking constellations just beginning to glow. Your eyes travel through the stars, his burn a hole into your features. “Then, yeah. Of course we’ll be friends forever.”

How his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing.

Your head lulls to the side, and you wonder if he’s gotten closer since you last checked. Though, maybe he was always there—a hair’s breadth between.

Maybe you’re just used to the proximity. The press of his body as familiar a feeling as the clothes that cover you.

For the sparkling waves are calling you to kiss their white-laced lips.

There’s a gap, to be sure. But it’s a canyon of near-nothingness. An unsteady border fit to the curve of you. Of him.

“Hm.”

The rumble draws your attention, and you notice the twitch in his brow, the shine of his eyes as he stares. You’ve said something wrong.

Something has stuck in his brain like gum on an old shoe. You know it. You’ve seen the look before.

The first time was junior year, when you had let slip your crush on Steve Harrington. It was silly and fleeting, and you regretted voicing it the second you started.

Something about the innocent truth floating in the air between you two—growing stale in his shocked silence—felt far too sure. Like the words were carved into stone as soon as you spoke them aloud.

At least, that's how he seemed to take them. He treated the new information with a seriousness you had never seen from him. It was as if you had told him you had only a week left to live.

And you see a girl’s brown body dancing through the turquoise. And her footprints make you follow where the sky loves the sea.

So you do now what you did then: distract. Lighten the mood. Try to scrape the sticky thought from the folds of his brain.

“Come on, you and me?” You smile, a fuzzy-minded pleasantry banging against the wall of his stoic disposition. “We’re built to last. It’s a perfectly symbiotic relationship. You provide the weed and I smoke it.”

His lips quirk, but it doesn’t change much of his countenance.

“What do I get?”

You blink. Slow. Sinking lower. “Huh?”

He turns some more, waves of heat crashing over you now. “You said it was symbiotic. You get weed. What do I get?”

You think for a moment, peering through the haze of his poorly ventilated room. “You get me smoking your weed,” you grin.

He snorts, lying flat again. “Yeah, a real shark and remora relationship we’ve got going on.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out, and he glances at you once more.

And when your fingers find her, she drowns you in her body. Carving deep blue ripples in the tissues of your mind.

“Okay, fine…. I keep you company,” you offer. “Make sure you don’t green out.”

He smirks, and your words don’t even sound believable to you. Because it’s the opposite, if you were to be completely honest. It’s only happened a couple times—when you were reckless with your limits—but it’s every time that he’s there for you.

“Yeah. You keep me company,” he agrees, low and soft.

“Mhm. ‘S what friends are for.”

You find the galaxy again, ready to parse through the constellations. Maybe name a few.

Tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers. And you want to take her with you to the hard land of the winter.

“Yeah. Friends.”

This time, the edges of his words fold in on themselves, pressed under the weight of something you can’t see. Can’t hear. Then, his hand slips into yours.

Slow at first. Tentative. Just his pinky, entwining with yours. Twisting like a key in a lock, and there’s a resounding click.

The tape has stopped. And your heart carries the beat, your breath harmonizing.

Next comes his ring finger, then his middle and index—all feeling their way into your shaking grip. He lingers, like he’s taking his sweet time touring the grooves of your palm. Tracing every line, every curving crease.

Your chin falls to your shoulder and his eyes meet yours.

Somehow, he’s crossed the border. Traipsed through the invisible partition with ease, as if it never bothered him. As if it were never there.

His hand in yours, certain, now, and his gaze daring you to pull away.

Daring you to build a wall. To batten down the hatches.

But you don’t. And he pulls your grip to his side, taking this piece of you. Keeping it.

Claiming it.

And you follow, leaning closer. As close as your body will allow while still being two souls divided by nothing the naked eye can see.

He watches for a moment. Observing. Your eyes, then lower.

And it's like a gunshot pierces the air, marking the start of a hundred-meter dash you're only now finding out you're a part of. He pulls ahead, like he's been training all his life; lips finding yours with absolute ease. Eager and hungry, he moves against you with a competitive edge.

He claims piece after piece, leaving you to collapse into him, merging like a new galaxy blooming in the darkness.

You’re flying.

No, falling.

An uncontrolled descent into a new universe where you know his taste, and he knows your feel. Where memories are painted in shades of lavender, and words hold different meanings.

Friends. Us. We. Ours.

His tongue glides along your bottom lip, searching. Wandering. Teasing, tempting, trying.

You pull away, panting. He squeezes your hand.

You can see it in his eyes: it’s not enough. He’s already waiting for more. Patient, but there. As if restraint is a luxury he’s working hard to afford every moment he spends spinning in your orbit.

Your lips brush his, and he hitches forward like he's itching to just take and take and take. But he stills, flinching, almost biting back the need like an old dog learning a new trick.

You chuckle. It’s weak, but the repercussions ripple through time. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years of this. Of—

“Friends.”

And he gives in once more.

Masterlist

Submission Guidelines

And that’s how he got to where he is now—in your apartment, you bent over your neatly made bed, completely naked and ready for him.

He doesn’t know whether to kick his past self or give him a firm, congratulatory handshake. He shouldn’t have lied—but how was he supposed to break the mortifying news of his begrudgingly intact virtue to you, especially when you were coming onto him so brazenly? He’s not used to that kind of treatment. If he were, he‘d like to think he wouldn’t be twenty-one and still a virgin.

Everything kind of blurred together: you coming in to get your car checked at the garage, him recognizing you from back in school, you hitting on him, him matching your energy—he’s a flirt, he can’t help it! You slyly turning the conversation to more salacious territory, information being exchanged, the end of his shift arriving—a why the hell not attitude, some improvised dirty promises…and here he is.

Here you are.

He feels like he could pass out with the way your wet folds glisten in the low lamplight. He’s certain he’s never seen anything as beautiful or enticing—and his head is getting woozier by the second. 

This was your position of choice—chest down, ass up, with your feet still firmly planted on the floor. Eddie probably wouldn’t have chosen this one right off the bat—inexperience or not—he’d like to see your face when he’s inside you. Although, that thought is not very helpful right now, considering he’s trying his hardest—no pun intended—to not blow his load all over your ass and lower back at just the sight of you. That would surely give him away. 

You’re getting impatient, he can tell. 

Since you first laid on the bed, all Eddie’s been able to do is stare and suffer as his stiff cock jumps with need. He’s too afraid to grab himself, despite how badly he wants to pump his fist over his length. Given your lewd display, he knows the smallest bit of stimulation would certainly send him over the edge.

A huff of breath escapes your lips as you roll your pelvis downward, effectively propping your core up higher for him. “Anytime you’re ready,” you breezily mutter, attempting to politely remind him what he came here for. He hasn’t touched you since the few messy kisses you exchanged after stumbling into your apartment, the affection punctuated by haphazard stripping.

Forcing himself to play the part—lay in the bed he made—he summons the most confidently sexy line he can think of. “Y–Yeah, just,” he clears his throat, slipping into character, “just admiring the view.” 

Rolling your eyes at his fake, deep voice, you stare forward at the wall as you shake your head. “Well, I’m not a sunset, I’m a woman, so just fuck me already, will you?”

He clears his throat again—a vain attempt to cover up the whimper that tumbles from his lips as he finally grips his shaft, spreading the leaking precum from his tip down his length. “Yeah, of course. I’ll…just go ahead and…f–fuck you, then.”

Eddie cringes at his own delivery, but he’s never been this close to actually losing his virginity. He’s tried before, but he always says something that turns his dates off. Shockingly, most women want to have sex and actually be satisfied afterward—a truly befuddling sentiment, if you ask him. Regardless, once they figure out he’s a virgin, they send him packing.

Surprised you’re not kicking him out already, he wonders if you must really be that desperate—willing to let a completely inept man attempt to pleasure you. Of course, you don’t know he’s inept. Though, he’s starting to think you’re catching on—especially when you peek back at him with a furrowed brow.

“Why are you so far away? You’re big, but you’re not that big. Get over here.” 

The snort you let out makes him wish the floor would open up and swallow him into hell for all eternity. He really shouldn’t have lied. This time, he’s learned his lesson. He’ll be pious and true if he can just survive this interaction.

His embarrassment is short-lived when you lift your chest off the bed, turning slightly to grab his arm and pull him closer before settling back into position. The way you’re manhandling him only makes him leak more; the odds of him surviving this are dwindling by the millisecond. He feels like he’s trapped in a cage with a hungry lioness, but instead of tearing him apart, you’re letting him play king of the jungle.

Newly close, he can feel your body heat now. All it would take is some confidence and closing a short distance, and he would be inside you. Bare. Raw. 

That was the other thing. You told him he didn’t need to use a condom—something, something control of…something? He didn’t catch the reason. He stopped listening when the idea of his first time being raw permeated his thick skull. 

Not only would he get to be inside you, but there’d be no barrier. He could feel everything. Every pulse, every bit of texture, every new wave of arousal coating him. He’d probably feel things he didn’t even know exist inside the magnificent mystery that is a woman’s pussy. The only reason he knows some stuff is because Steve likes to talk TMI when he’s drunk.

And now Eddie will get to know what it’s like.

If he ever gets his shit together, that is.

Sucking in a deep breath, he guides his swollen tip to your slick folds, rubbing himself along your entrance. You let out a content hum once you feel the contact, but what he’s sure is an addicting sound is overshadowed by his own strained groan. 

He’s now thankful for your position facing away from him because he probably looks like an imbecile with his eyes screwed shut and teeth bared. Radio static plays in his mind as he inches inside you, your greedy folds opening like a springtime flower—blooming and ready. Although, with every half-second more he spends just barely inside you, he decides your cunt is less like a dainty flower and more like a venus fly trap, your walls sucking him into your intoxicating, wet heat—dragging him to an early grave.

You moan at the stretch—he really is big. You’re trying to refrain from slamming your hips back on him because he already seems overwhelmed, but you need more.

“K–Keep going. Fuck, keep going, Eddie.”

“S–Shit, I–I…oh, fuck!”

Only halfway in, Eddie can’t handle it. He’s shaking his head, chest wracking with heaving breaths as he tries to think of as many unsexy things as he can. But it’s too hard—he’s too hard. And you’re too wet, too tight. His hips stall, attempting to gather himself, despite the feel of your pussy pulling him apart at the seams.

Your hands are grabbing onto the comforter, squeezing the poofy fabric as hard as you can, trying desperately to withhold your whines. But you’ve never been very good at being quiet.

“Please, Eddie! Gimme more, I need it,” you mewl, rolling your hips, trying to lure him in deeper. 

Having almost found some semblance of calm before your moaning words, he’s completely lost it now. Pulling out as quick as he can, he hurriedly backs away from your body. A pitiful whine works its way in between huffing breaths as he catches sight of your glistening slick coating half his thick length.

A strained sound of utter dismay escapes you as you feel him pull out, leaving you bereft and empty, missing the heat of his hips near your ass. And you were just adjusting to his girth, just about to push yourself back onto him if he wasn’t going to do it himself. “Wha–Eddie? What the fuck?”

Your desperate wail turns his brain to mush—you actually want him. He’s never felt desired like this. Now your arousal is coating most of his cock, and he feels like he could cry from the frustration of wanting you so badly, but not wanting to disappoint you.

“I’m sorry, I j–just need a minute. Need to–”

His words die on his tongue, taken over by desperate breaths. His whole body is on fire—when did the room get so damn hot? Scrubbing his hands down his face, he pushes them up into his frizzy curls, trying to calm his mind. 

Precum pours from his tip in a sticky, bubbling stream. He’s aching to be back inside you, but he can’t even make it all the way in without the coil deep in his belly tightening, ready to snap. You deserve better than a two-pump chump. Except he can’t even manage two pumps—let alone any.

Turning around, you take in the distressed energy rolling off him in crashing waves. A suspicious frown overtakes your face, but you maintain an air of innocent curiosity so you don’t send him into a complete spiral. 

“You’re acting like you’ve never done this before,” you say, smoothing the edge of accusation out of your voice.

Eddie’s silence is as loud as the elephant in the room, not even attempting to bullshit you anymore. All he can do is drop his hands—his shoulders too—and give you probably the most pitiful look you’ve ever received from a potential hookup. But he can’t meet your eyes for long; embarrassment warms his face and forces him to look away.

“Ah, I see…” you nod, dropping your gaze to the floor as you search for what to say next. This feels like a delicate situation, after all. You need to choose your words carefully, or you’ll probably scar the poor guy. Trying to imagine yourself in his place, you cringe at the mortification he’s clearly feeling.

Your near-non-reaction only adds to his shame. That’s it? That’s all he gets? On the bright side, at least you’re not running him out of your apartment, shoving his clothes into his arms. That would definitely be worse. So he’ll take the awkward silence, but he’s not jumping for joy over it.

“Do…um…” you suck your teeth as you try to figure out how best to ask the question on the tip of your tongue. “Are you looking to…stay that way?” You squint, wincing at your lack of tact. But you really do want to know. He stopped for a reason, but he also made it all the way here, standing naked in your bedroom. Maybe he’s just getting cold feet.

Honestly, Eddie’s surprised he’s not completely soft at this point—though, your question is really pushing it. You’re sitting in front of him, completely naked, supple-looking breasts on full display, and that’s the only reason he’s still leaking. 

The nudity should soften the awkwardness of this conversation, but it doesn’t really help. You and he are definitely not on equal footing here, especially since you seem perfectly at ease under his rapt attention. He, on the other hand, feels like a dainty damsel in need of a satin shawl to clutch to his chest—a vain attempt to cover his modesty.

Shaking his head, his mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to figure out how to answer that question. No, he doesn’t want to be a virgin! He didn’t agree to come over just for a rousing game of Parcheesi. 

“Uh, can’t say that I am, no.”

You nod understandingly, watching as his lips curl inward. “So you want to have sex?” you clarify, making sure he’s certain. For all you know, he might have second thoughts and want to lose it to someone he cares about—not just a woman he vaguely remembers from high school.

There’s no avoiding your questioning. You’re forcing him to express his desires unequivocally, only adding to his embarrassment. But he figures it’s what he deserves, considering his deliberate omission of the truth about his inexperience.

“That would be great, yeah.”

His wide-eyed nod makes your hesitant expression melt into a smile. An amused huff escapes your nose, and your shoulders shake with laughter as you glance down at your lap before meeting his eyes again. Your head tilts slightly as you admire his earnest expression. The absurdity of the situation hits you all at once. It feels like you're interviewing him for a job, his answers carry an out-of-place level of formality despite the topic at hand.

At first, Eddie was concerned you were laughing at him—at his unfortunate inexperience. But then you look at him with that twinkle in your eyes, and a smile of his own starts pulling at his lips. You’re so beautiful when you laugh. For the first time since he arrived at your place, he feels completely at ease—all thanks to the simple affection in your gaze. 

“Well, lucky for you, I can make that happen. I do wanna know, though… Why– Um…what exactly made you freak out…before?”

Oh, that.

Flames lick up his body, threatening to burn him from humiliation alone. But he needs to be transparent. He’s lucky you’re not like the other women he’s tried to get with—you’re actually curious, and despite your uncomfortable questions, you seem to care about his feelings.

“Well, I…” He starts to explain, but his words dissolve into nervous chuckles. “Obviously, I haven’t done this before. We’ve been over that. But just because I haven’t...you know...doesn’t mean I don’t wanna give it the old college try.” He makes a small swooping motion with his fist, tilting his head facetiously. “Although, it’s starting to make sense why I never made it to college.”

Unable to handle your quiet observing, he hurries to fill the silence. “Basically, I just don’t want to–”

“Blow your load?” you finish, cutting him off.

Eddie jerks his head back, caught off guard by your choice of phrasing. 

“Uh, yeah. And that is probably the most crude way you could’ve put that, but yeah.”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, not feeling all that remorseful. “But that makes sense. And I appreciate that you wanna make it good for me too. You know, some guys who have experience don’t even have that level of care for their partners, so…good on you.”

Warmth spreads across his face once again. It feels like you just threw him a bone like he’s a mangy stray in need of a break, but your comparison to other men does actually make him feel better. He’s never understood the concept of going into a two-person tango with a one-track mind. He doesn’t have proof to back this thought up, but he’s pretty sure he’d get off just from hearing you…get off.

“Thanks. I guess. So…” If he were clothed right now, he’d put his hands in his back pockets and probably dig his foot into the ground idly—just trying to get the awkward tension out somehow. But he’s not, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s still naked in your bedroom, half-hard at this point. 

Surprise takes over your face, pushing you to stand and motion to the bed. “Oh, right! Sorry! Here, since it’s your first time, let’s maybe try something a little easier for you.”

Forcing himself to swallow any embarrassment that rears its ugly head at your words—after all, it’s not an insult, you’re just stating the obvious—he hesitates, but steps over to the bed, meeting your eyes, silently asking for a little more direction. 

“Lay down,” you order, though it’s pretty lighthearted as far commands go. “Just lay back and I’ll do all the work.” 

Following your directions, Eddie settles onto your bed, his cock twitching at your words. He never thought he’d get ridden for his first time, he’s heard from Steve that that’s not a position most girls favor. This feels like an extra special treat, but he can’t help thinking it has more to do with you being special than anything he’s actually earned. 

Once his head hits your pillow, you lean over and lightly fluff it beneath his head. His eyes widen at the way your breasts hang in his face, your pert nipples looking especially appetizing.

“Comfy?” you ask, a teasing smirk on your soft lips.

Despite the admissions and the nakedness of the last twenty or so minutes, your care is the thing that turns his demeanor shy, melting at your sweetness like cotton candy in rain. An affirmative hum leaves his throat as he nods, wide brown eyes admiring your face as you hover over him.

“Good. I want you to enjoy yourself, okay?”

Another nod. 

“And you let me know if you wanna stop. At any time, got it?”

Now a complete puddle under your affection, he nods again. “Y–Yeah. W–What about the– I don’t think I’m gonna–”

Your soft hand caressing his face shuts him up fast. All worries melt from his mind as your thumb rubs his cheekbone, just under his long lashes. His mouth parts in awe as he watches you watch him, the look in your eyes permanently halting any more thinking for the night.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’ll help you. We can make it a game. It’ll be fun. You just have to promise to try your best, can you do that for me?”

Swallowing hard, he feels his cock throb at the way your words spread over him like static during a thunderstorm, shocking him into obedience, leaving his body humming with want. “Y–Yeah, I can do that.”

The bed dips under him as you knee your way onto the surface, bringing your other hand to rest on his opposite cheek. He feels like he took a wrong turn in your gaze and now he can’t find his way out. He should be concerned he might never find his way, but the warmth and desire you’re so evidently displaying makes him think he could build a home and set up shop in your sparkling irises—and that maybe, just maybe, you’d welcome it. 

“Perfect,” you mutter, glancing down at his lips before meeting his eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

Eddie’s unsure why you feel the need to ask. At this point, he’d let you do anything to him if you’d just look at him exactly how you’re looking at him right now. Plus, you had no issue with his tongue in your mouth earlier, but that was his. You let him take the lead before, so he supposes it’s different now. 

“Please,” he breathes, unbothered at the pure desperation saturating the single word. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean down, brushing your lips with his, ever so delicately he almost wants to throw a fit at the poor excuse for a kiss. But his complaint dies on his tongue, just as yours dances into his mouth, sending shockwaves and prickling yearning through his bloodstream. 

He should be embarrassed at how dainty he feels, how quickly you’ve reduced him to a two-dimensional slip of a man, but he can’t seem to care. Especially not when your leg slings over his hips, your warmth coating him the same as your slick. 

Your lips glide across his in what can only be described as a take and take. There is no give—it’s all take, and you’re leaving him no room to complain. Though, based on the twitching thickness beneath your core, you don’t think he’s really in the business of complaining. 

A strangled whimper leaves his lips as you drop your weight a short distance onto him, pressing his erection to his body, your soaked folds perfectly hugging the sensitive underside. Slowly, you ease him into the next steps, rolling your hips and sliding yourself along his length, coating him once more. 

Desperate curses mumble against your hungry lips as he struggles to compose himself. Thus far, he’s been groping the plush duvet to refrain from grabbing you like a lifeline. But the duvet is no longer cutting it, and he needs to feel you, despite the inevitable effect it’ll have on his ability to avoid premature ejaculation. 

Feeling his creeping fingertips against the smooth skin of your calves folded under your thighs, you decide to give him a little something to hold onto. Pulling your lips from his, you mewl at the string of spit connecting you before leaning down to mouth at his jaw, working your way to his pulse point. At the same time, you drag his nervous hands up your legs, flattening his palms against your hips as you guide him all the way up to your breasts. You spread your hands over the back of his larger ones, pressing them into your chest and closing them around the supple skin. 

His hips buck under you, mouth agape at the tingling pleasure your lips grant and the way you must’ve read his mind, directing him to grope you without him even having to plead. Another whimper leaves his lips—you’re all over him, your presence is everywhere. He can still taste you in his mouth, despite your new trek down his neck. He’s relishing the soft weight of your breasts in his palms, your wet heat gliding along his flexing cock, and your scent permeating his brain, effectively marring this memory with you. All of it is you. All he can think is you.

The moment his tip catches on your hole, curses are tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck, oh, god, oh, fuck! S–Sweetheart, I’m not gonna–I can’t–”

Pulling back from your assault on his neck, you meet his hazy, heavy-lidded gaze with one of your own, except yours has a certain sane type of awareness that his distinctly lacks. “Yes, you can. Be good. You said you would.”

In an instant, his panting mouth closes as a pitiful whine emanates from his throat, his face crumbling with unbridled desire. “I wanna be good, I…I just cant’t– You feel so fucking…fuck.”

His eyes roll back as he feels you lift your hips, allowing his twitching cock to flex freely with need. Precum dribbles out of his sensitive slit when you grab his length, lining him up at your entrance. He presses his head back against your pillow, eyes closing to avoid seeing you notch the swollen head of his cock into your waiting hole.

With just the tip in, you monitor his face, rolling your hips in a circle as your walls squeeze around the welcome intrusion, ignoring his strained groans. “You’re doing so good, baby,” you coo, petting his curls, admiring the way his pretty features are screwed up in pleasure. “Look at you—it’s just the tip and you’re already making me feel so fucking good, honey.”

Melting at the sweet nicknames you’re showering him in, his hips involuntarily buck up, desperate for more, but terrified at how good you’re making him feel. He’s not even as far inside you as he was before and he’s so close to cumming already. He’s certain it has to do with your words and the way you’re talking him through it. Every new endearment makes something spark in his chest, the delicate flame aching to devour your every condescension with untamed eagerness. 

“Wan’ more? You think you can handle it?”

The sultry rasp to your voice has his balls pulling taut to his body, a clear indicator that he can’t handle any more. Anxious to warn you, he shakes his head, worried eyes meeting your dark gaze. “No–No, I can’t…I can’t do it, please!”

“Mm, I don’t believe you, Eds. I think you can. I think you can be very brave for me. Hm? Wanna be brave?”

He can feel precum pulsing out of his tip, smearing against your satin walls as you continue to gyrate your hips. You words, your near-mocking pout as you tell him what you think he can be—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. But he wants to be good for you, he wants to be so damn good, so he nods, a whimper punctuating his agreement. He’ll be brave. For you. 

“I knew you could do it, you’re so sweet to me, baby.” You lean down and grant him the dirtiest, chaste kiss he’s ever felt—and he didn’t even know that could exist. 

Before he has a chance to respond, you sink your hips down onto him, sucking his full, thick length into your wet heat all at once. Dragging your hands from his hot cheeks to his damp chest, you throw your head back in ecstasy. You’ve never felt this full before and it’s intoxicating. He’s so fucking big, the biggest you’ve ever taken. You can’t help but feel deviously happy to be his first, to know no other woman was smart enough to give this silly dumbass a chance, and thereby losing out on the fattest cock you’ve ever had the absolute pleasure of taking. 

“Oh, fuck, Eds. God, you’re so fucking big, unh!” 

At the sudden warmth fully encapsulating his sensitive length, he lurches forward, his abdomen tightening, hips squirming as you grind your clit against the curly black hairs at the base of his shaft. 

“Fuck! I can’t– Why did you–oh, god, oh, god, I’m so c–close,” he mewls, biting his lip in a vain attempt to draw back his impending orgasm. 

His words pull you back from your reverie—you’re not done with him yet, it can’t end so suddenly, especially when you’ve gotten this far. 

“Hold it,” you order, your tone tinged with haste as you try to bring him back down. “Not yet, honey, I’m not done with you.”

“F–Fuck, the…” he swallows hard, fighting for the words to come out, “the nicknames aren’t helping.” His hands drop down to the junction of your hips, kneading the skin with white-knuckled desperation. 

“Sorry,” you giggle, forcing a sympathetic pout onto your face as you watch him struggle to maintain his composure. 

“Fuck, don’t, don’t–don’t laugh either. Sound so–so fuckin’ pretty when you laugh, oh, god, I’m close again. I can’t– Every time you laugh…you squeeze my cock so f–fuckin’ good, oh, sweet Jesus.”

Unable to stop the chuckle that escapes at his mindless babbling and hidden affection, you rub his pec, an earnest attempt at placating his frayed nerves. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just…count to ten, okay? Take deep breaths and count to ten, and then let me know when I can move.”

Hesitantly nodding, he looks up at you before forcing his gaze away, ultimately deciding that if he wants to bring himself further from the edge of climax, he can’t look at the way you look so pretty on top of him—the way you’re sitting down on him like you own his body.

One.

Two.

Three.

F–Four—fuck, you’re squeezing him again.

Four.

Five.

S–Six—god, you’re pretty.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten. 

His breath is calmer now—no longer heaving and panting—but he doesn’t feel completely sane yet. Although, he doesn’t think that will ever actually happen, especially not while being inside of you. 

“I wanna say you can move, but I don’t know how much you can move. I’m not exactly known for my strong will.” 

His lame attempt at a self-deprecating joke actually lands with you and that makes him simultaneously immensely pleased and angry with himself. He’s glad to have made you laugh because your face lights up so beautifully when you laugh, but he’s pissed that he completely forgot the repercussions of your laughter—your walls pulsing around him in perfect tune with the light cadence.

“I’ll go slow, I promise.”

That promise might as well have been useless because the first lift of your hips has his hands hurriedly grabbing at your waist, a death grip attempting to stop your movements. 

“H–Hold on, I need to–”

“Calm down, Eds, I barely even moved.”

His cock flexes inside you, pressing against your walls with aching need. If it had a mind of its own, it’d probably disown Eddie for his countless attempts to take your generous stimulation away, but he can’t go down like this. His first time can’t be this pitiful. 

“I know, I know, I’m trying– Oh, fuck!”

Ignoring his pleas, you continue your way up his length, all the way until his swollen, ruddy tip is the only thing inside you. The moment a relieved breath escapes his lips, his cock mostly free of your clenching walls, you sink back down, taking him all at once. You continue like that for a bit, slowly fucking yourself down onto him as he stutters out desperate curses and pleading cries. 

Eddie’s losing his mind; nothing has ever felt this good—surely not his own fist. With you on top of him, in full control, it feels like you’re showing him a new version of sex he never knew existed. All Steve’s ever talked about is him having sex with women, he’s never heard his friend mention a woman ever having sex with him. 

Despite sex taking up most of his every-day thoughts, he hadn’t ever really considered that he didn’t need to be the one leading. If he knew that, maybe he wouldn’t have been a virgin for as long as he was. It was always when he pretended to be something he wasn’t that the women he was with caught on, inevitably kicking him to the curb. 

But the thought of other women at a time like this sours in his mind—he never wants to even look at another woman that isn’t you. You’re so pretty and funny and you’re fucking him so damn good, he’s practically drooling.

Suddenly, you lean down, hips still rolling as you whisper into his ear. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. You’re making me feel so good, fuck. Wan’ you to cum inside me so bad, Eddie, please.”

His hips jerk at your words, his head pressing down deeper into the pillow. “Fuck, that’s–you’re cheating! That’s cheating! You’re fucking with me.”

Relishing his blunt nails digging into your thighs before moving to the fat of your ass, you laugh at his petulant fit. “Maybe a little. But you look so pretty like this.”

“S–Stop saying that,” he whines, frowning like your words are doing more for him than even your warmth hugging him in a vice grip is. “Don’t call me pretty.”

You’re making him lose the white-knuckled grip he has on his will, his ability to stave off the orgasm you’re so wickedly trying to draw out of him. Apparently, he’s made it too long and now it’s time for sabotage. It’s so unfair, and so utterly sexy.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” You grin, leaning down to peck his lips and giggling at the way he chases after your affection. “You’re so pretty. Got a pretty face…a pretty body,” you coo, dragging your nails along his chest, relishing the shiver you pull from him before steeling yourself for your most devious comment yet. “A pretty cock…”

“Oh, god I’m gonna–I’m gonna cum! Sweetheart, please, I can’t–”

Halting the bounce of your hips, you freeze on top of him. “Quick, what’s six times twelve?”

A frown furrows his brows, he looks up at your eager gaze, abdomen clenching with need. “W–What?”

“Six times twelve. What is it?”

“I don’t–I don’t know,” he shakes his head, confusion mixing with pleasure as his eyes flutter shut. He’s drowning in desire—drowning in the wet heat of your pulsing pussy; math is not computing in his brain right now.

You can feel the way his cock is swollen and throbbing inside you, his cum probably rushing up to the tip, ready to spill freely, but you’re not done training him just yet. “Fine, let’s break it down.”

“Sweetheart, I really don’t think now is the–” his sentence dies on his tongue, gritted teeth try to stop the strained groan from escaping his throat as you grind your clit against his pelvis once more.

“Start with six times two.”

“Seriously?”

He can’t believe this is your plan—make him do math until he doesn’t have to cum anymore. But you’ve gotten him this far, so he figures there’s a first time for everything. 

“Yes,” you bite, raising an expectant brow at him. “Now, six times two. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

A shiver runs through his body at your threat—what the hell are you doing to him? “Uh, it’s…ah, fuck. It’s twelve. It’s twelve.”

A victorious smile pulls at your lips, proud of him for working it out at a time like this, no matter how simple the equation was. “Very good,” you coo, slowly sliding up his length again. “Now, carry the one and what’s six times one?”

“F–Fuck, I didn’t say I was ready!”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting a little impatient,” you shrug, smirking down at the incredulous look on his face. 

Huffing out a quick breath, he hisses out another groan as you drop your core back down onto him, starting a tortuous pace. “Six! It’s six! Jesus Christ, this isn’t working. All you’re doing is making math hot now.”

More than ever, he’s feeling thankful that ‘86 really was his year and he finally made it out of that hellhole they call Hawkins High. He’s not sure he could’ve survived the humiliation of cumming in his pants in math class. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but not right now,” you quip, giving his tip an extra circle before sliding back down. “Remember, you carried the one.”

“Fuck, okay, shit, uh…seven! It’s seven!” 

Turning on a dime, you start fucking yourself down onto him faster than before, reveling in the way his thick cock drills into you, oozing precum. “Now put it all together, baby.”

“Oh, god, it’s– I’m cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck me! I’m–I’m… Sweetheart, I’m cumming!”

A deliciously wicked giggle rings in his ears as he realizes you’re not stopping anymore—you want him to cum. The tight coil deep in his gut snaps like a rubber band, sending him hurling over the edge. His cock flexes as ropes of cum shoot out of his swollen tip, painting your inner walls with what feels like the biggest load he’s ever had. 

His heavy balls pull taut to him as you continue to slam your hips down on his twitching length, milking him for every last drop, like you’ve earned it. 

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, bringing your fingers to your clit in tight circles. The stimulation makes you go rabid, fucking yourself onto him at a breakneck pace, chasing your high. In no time, stars burst behind your eyes like a flaming supernova as you moan and mewl, pitifully grinding yourself onto his softening cock, desperate to prolong the best orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Fuck, baby, I feel s–so full. So full of you, Eds.”

Your whine sends chilling aftershocks through his body, wracking him with shivers as he claws at your hips, mewling with need. Need for what, he’s not sure. He’s never felt so satisfied, but there’s something he’s missing.

Like he has no control over his actions, his hands slide up your damp back, pulling your shaking body down onto him. His arms snake around your upper body, sealing your chest to his as he matches his heaving breaths to yours. Pressing a mindless kiss to your hairline, he realizes this is what he was missing. He needs to feel you in his arms, not just on top of him. On top of him was great, but he wants to hold your trembling body and know you’re coming down from the same cloud. He wants to rest for a while, explore your body with idle hands and lazy affection.

“It’s seventy-two.”

“What?” you mumble from your safe position deep in the curve of his neck, panting lips brushing sweaty skin.

“Six times twelve,” he clarifies, mumbling the words against your head. Keeping one arm around your back, he brings a hand up to pet your hair—soft, delicate, and aching with unspoken devotion. “It’s seventy-two.” 

A hazy smile quirks up his lips when he feels the balmy air from your breathless chuckle smooth over his neck, the comforting squeeze of your walls warms his face.

“Good job. Very good job.” 

A pout starts to form on his face when he feels you pull away from him, your chest lifting from his. The reaction is short-lived, though, once he hears your teasing words.

“You sure you were a virgin?”

A devious grin spreads across his face, almost matching your own as he tweaks your nipple in punishment.

“Ow!” you shriek, jolting back and grabbing your breasts, protecting yourself from any further assault. It’s not like it actually hurt, but ‘ow’ was the only thing your brain could think to say. It was either that or let out the moan that just nearly made it, but you don’t want to let that go to his head and encourage more teasing to your sensitive nipples.

In your shock, your hips slide away from him, an involuntary reaction to avoid his electrifying teasing. The unstable movement makes Eddie hiss out a strained groan, the stimulation on his spent cock waking it up again. His grin slides off his face as he pulls his lower lip beneath his teeth. Clamping his large hands down onto your hips, he drags you back to him, not letting himself slip out of you. 

This time, you’re unable to stop the moan from tumbling past your parted lips as you feel him harden inside you. Still full of his first load—safe and deep inside—you shiver at the thought of him not even pulling out and just fucking another one into you. 

“Oh, god… I’ve created a monster…” you mutter, breathless at the way he’s lazily grinding up into you, strong hands guiding your tired hips, his fervor growing with every passing second. 

Eddie shakes his head, gazing up at you with unbridled hunger. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

A/N: Let me know what you guys thought of this! I think it's the softest smut I've ever written lol.

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“You diddle yourself, I diddle myself come on it’ll be a fuckin’ disgusting fuck fest” Roman says. He’s always the one to initiate any intimate moments between you two because you knew how uncomfortable he was with it all. It’s like his body wants it, craves it but his mind immediately snaps him out of it when things get too far. You hadn’t gotten past phone sex which was even surprising to you. You didn’t know much about Roman’s sexual issues because he isn’t the most emotionally available person.

“Can you even…” you don’t finish the sentence. Your mind immediately travels to the image. The way his mouth hangs open, his hips twitching, that vein on his forehead popping out as he pants for breath. You can always admit that your…boyfriend? Whatever he was, was attractive. And although he has a vulgar personality you can’t help but look at the way his lips move or the way he perfectly quirks his mouth into a smirk. Meeting Roman made you realize you probably had odontophilia, your eyes always trained on his mouth. Something that Roman has picked up on but he’s yet to use as ammunition. Something about the way he has sharp canine teeth turns you on. Maybe it’s some sort of primal urge in you, like in caveman days he’d probably be really good at eating raw meat. 

“Oh fuck off! Yes I can jerk off, I jerk off so much I’m surprised I still have skin,” he says. You can’t help but laugh at his admission. 

“God you sound like a teenage boy,” you shake your head. His hazel eyes narrow at your little chuckle. 

“You want me to prove it to you?” He asks, eyebrow quirked, lips pressed into a slight grin. You look at him for a second.

“Oh you’re serious. Can- can you even get it up?” The words leave your mouth before you can think. As much as you always love your back and forth with Roman you never liked poking fun at his sexual trauma.

“Well…just— just try it with me and you’ll see,” he says, that grin a little wider but his eyes hold a certain vulnerability. 

You sigh, closing your eyes for a second as you press your head into the pillow. Are you really gonna do this? It’d be better than that time he tried to have sex with you and ended up dry humping your thigh for two seconds before just giving up and turning away. He didn’t let you comfort him either which only made it worse. 

A part of you was scared of crossing this line with Roman, you didn’t want to scare him off and create only more bad sexual experiences for him. But, you did feel pent up, would you mind if he just watched you if he couldn’t touch himself? 

“Ugh, fine,” you finally say, deciding to get out of your head. If he felt comfortable enough to do this with you then you’d let him. You didn’t want to deny him that part of himself, especially when you know how much he struggles with intimacy. 

“Throw me some pillows,” you say. Making a pile of them at the foot of the bed. You situate yourself so you’re half sitting half lying down. You have a clear view of him as you lay diagonal from him. He sits leaning against the headboard, you can see the way he gulps down his saliva. Was he expecting you to deny him?

“We can do this another time,” you say, giving him an out to say no. 

“What are you scared?” He taunts but his voice sounds a little broken. 

“I’m serious Rome, if you’re not ready you’re not ready,” you say, actually addressing the problem. 

“Oh fuck off, you got a fuck up vag or something? Oh god it’s fucked up isn’t it? Like a fucking acid explosion down there?” He says. 

You laugh, “on the contrary, all my partners have said I have a ‘pretty pussy’” you say laughing. It wasn’t true but you weren’t ashamed of your vulva, why should you be? Everyone’s look different. 

“Well I’ve gotten quite a few people thirsting over my cock. Said they wanted to make a mold of it or something. Oh those sick fucks probably would make a dildo and fuck themself with it,” he says. 

“Wait, why is that kind of a good idea?” You say. 

“What?” His attention snaps back to you. 

“Well if you can’t fuck me, then give me a replica of your cock. Then I’d at least know what it feels like,” you grin up at him. He’d probably love it, seeing you moan at the feeling of his rubber cock in you. 

“See, I knew you wanted to fuck me,” he says.

“Did I ever deny it?” You bite back. He looks at you for a second almost shocked before he snaps out of it. 

“Well it’ll happen one day,” he says a little sadly. 

“Hmm, one day,” you nod. 

“Okay it’s time to jerk off~” He sing songs, clapping his hands. 

“You want me to touch myself dry? You gotta give me some material to work with,” you grumble. 

“I mean just look at me,” he flexes his muscles. 

“Okay well you’re fully clothed and I don’t think you’re necessarily up for removing them,” you say. 

“You need me to expose an ankle or something. ‘Ooh I’m a baaad Victorian girl’” he says in a faux sexy voice, putting a finger on his lip and pretending to act coy, his leg stretched out dramatically to show off his right ankle.

“Oh yeah, that ankle has got me turned on beyond belief,” You laugh.

“No seriously, I’m gonna need to watch a video or something. I’m not exactly revved up right now,” you ignore the way he wiggles his ankle at you. 

“Okay fucking Toyota calm down,” he says. 

“Well-- maybe you start? It’ll give me some inspiration… hopefully,” you smirk. 

“Not a problem, I’m so fuckin’ hard right now. Ugh your ankle and knees are out? You whore,” his eyes run over the expanse of your legs. You can’t help but flex your feet in response. 

“Oh you’re hard at that? Well I can do so much better. Shit, I think if I flashed you, you’d fuckin cum in your pants,” you laugh.

“That’s a challenge I’m willing to bet on. I’d like to see you try,” he says, eyes half lidded. His hand sliding towards the bulge in his sleep pants. 

“Yeah?” You breathe. Oh this was getting real. He silently nods, the palm of his hand rubbing at the fabric. He tips his head back to lean against the headboard, his eyes trained on your body. They flicker towards different parts quickly like he’s unsure where to look. 

“Just fuck— take ‘em out,” he groans, his voice a little too desperate for his liking. 

“You’re a sick fucking pervert,” you say but the demand certainly sounds intriguing. He’s touching himself as you’re fully clothed, how would he react if he saw something… new? He shudders at your words but you don’t seem to realize it. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t jerked off in a long time or something. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m a sick fuck,” he replies, trying to make it sound like a joke but there’s something there. A new tone you don’t recognize. It’s like you start to see Roman in a different light. Maybe you didn’t see him as a sexual person before but you’re definitely seeing it now, as his hips slowly tip to meet the palm of his hand. Shit why was this kind of hot? You’re definitely wet now, as you look at him, small whines in the back of his throat threatening to spill out. He keeps his mouth shut, embarrassed that he’s already worked up.

If he wants a show you’ll give him a fucking show, you bunch up your baggy sleep shirt. Your nipples perking at the cold air.

“Ooh fuck,” he moans, eyes trained on your chest. You decide to give him a show. If this was your only time doing this you had to make it memorable. Your hands slide up your ribs to cup your breasts, your thumb brushing over the taunt nipples.

“Ooh,” your breath hitches at the sensation, watching as his hand moves faster against his cock. 

“Put it in,” you moan, eyes trained on his hand. 

“What?” He chokes.

“Put your hand in there, you can’t just rub it all day. Touch yourself for real,” you say, eyes flicking up towards his. You notice the way his canines dig into his bottom lip. Fuck… your hand absentmindedly slides into your sleep shorts, your finger slowly circling your clit as you see him put his hand in his pajama pants. The fabric straining against his moving hand. 

Maybe it’s time to try out your new theory. “Fuck, you’re disgusting Roman. Look at you” you groan, finger pressing into yourself. His eyes flick towards yours, he can tell he’s turning you on. You wish you could mean it though, the words come out all breathy as you slide your middle finger in and out. You wish you could say any of your next words with conviction but your breath hitches when you see his mouth hung agape, his eyes closing for a second before looking at you hungrily. His gaze trained on the movement of your shorts. 

Fuck! There wasn’t enough space in them to reach your sweet spot so you quickly slide the fabric down your legs. You bend your knees to give him the perfect view of your finger sliding in and out in your cunt. 

“Oh fuck” He moans, eyes almost staring holes through your flesh. 

“God, you’d fucking love to watch me fuck myself with a dildo of your cock wouldn’t you? It the only way you’d ever fuck me. You’re a fucking sicko,” You whine the last part, your fingers relentlessly hitting the squishy part inside of you. Your other hand slithers around until it finds your clit, your fingers move quickly as you see Roman is close. 

He’s practically fucking his hand, his mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Ooh Fuck, yeah. I’d fuckin’ love it. W-want to see your face stretch around my… F-f-fuck!” He moans. 

His head slamming backwards into the headboard with a loud thud but he’s too caught up in this. Jerking off was something but this? This was so much different. The air crackles with your attraction for one another. You’d felt attracted to Roman in your weak moments sure but now, now you felt like you just opened a can of worms. Like crossing this line is going to make you crave more of him. 

“You’re close aren’t you? One look at me touching myself and you’re cumming in your pants like a fucking virgin,” You taunt, but your words have no real bite. It doesn't matter how harshly you say it, you want this. Want to see him ruin his expensive sleep pants, watch the way his eyes roll back and how his teeth will rip his lip open. 

“F-fuck M’close,” He slurs, his eyes half-closed but he keeps them open. He wants to keep this memory burned into his brain. He never wants to forget the sounds you make and the way your legs slightly shake as you circle your clit. 

“Shiiit me too. Let me see you cum,” You say, your voice higher pitched than normal as you try and stave off your release. Your eyes flutter, threatening to close shut but you force them open. You weren’t losing this experience. It’s almost like the aurora borealis but much more rare and a lot prettier. 

“Oh f-Uck,” He whines, his hips bucking wildly against his hand. Until you see them stutter, his canines digging into his bottom lip to try and keep himself quiet, his chest heaves, stomach twitching violently at the feeling of this new release. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” He groans, his cock twitching in his hand as the spurts of cum paint the inside of his boxers. The sticky mess seeping into the fabric of his pajama pants. He finally lets his cock go, taking his hand out from the waistband. You can see the glistening of his cum coating his hand as you work yourself faster. 

“Shi-it,” you shiver, the heat in your stomach building and building. It feels like you’re an old house caught on fire, your whole body sweating, your legs starting to tremble as you maintain eye contact with Roman. 

“Let me taste it,” You grunt, in between moans. 

“W-what?” Roman says confused. His mind is still on cloud nine as he licks away the drops of blood on his lip. 

“Roman I swear to fucking God I will fucking–” You can’t think of a decent insult, your mind turning to mush as you watch him carefully but enthusiastically crawl over to you. He smears his cum on your lips, his fingers prodding at the seam of your mouth until you relent. You eagerly lick at his hand, the fire builds more, the foundation of the house collapsing as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. 

“Ooh,” He shivers, his voice lower than normal as he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. The cadence in his voice pushes you over the edge. Your entire body tenses up for a second before everything releases. You moan around his fingers, accidentally biting down on the flesh as your eyes roll backward. Roman watches you, you almost look possessed as you whine around his fingers, your body going completely limp. 

“C-can I?” You hear Roman ask but you aren’t really listening, not that you’d expect it anyway. Roman was one to take and never to ask. You languidly nod your head, the heat of Roman’s thighs pressing into the side of your leg is the only thing keeping you grounded.

That is until you feel him remove his hand from your mouth. His saliva coated fingers wrapping around your wrist as he uses your sticky fingers to dip into your cunt like a dunkaroo and scoop your cum, your eyes widen at the intrusion and boldness of it all. He brings your fingers to his mouth, the sharpness of his canines brushing the pads of your fingers as he cleans your fingers off.

“Oh f-fuck, Rome,” You moan, your eyes barely open watching him commit this obscene act. He knew about your weakness, he noticed the way you stared at him with that far away look when he bit into his thumb. 

Your thighs still twitch in the aftershocks of your intense moment. Your fingers are long clean but the tips of his teeth press into your fingers before he lets your wrist fall. He retreats back to his corner of the bed. You lower your shirt back down over your chest and slide on your underwear leaving your shorts lost somewhere in the sheets. You sigh as you lean your head back into the mound of pillows. 

“So was it as hideous as you thought? Worse than a mangled up ball of rotting flesh?” You joke with a twinkle in your eyes as you look at him.

“Oh definitely fucking worse, I had to stop myself from gagging it was so disgusting,” He says, a small smile on his lips and something different in his eyes. You can’t pinpoint it but something has changed. 

“You know, your ankle had me a lot more aroused than I was expecting,” You laugh. 

“Yeah? I got better ankles than a fucking marathon runner. I could put those victorian whores to shame… really fuck up their business,” He says sinking into the sheets. 

“Oh yeah? How much would you charge?” You ask, staring up at the ceiling. What the fuck was your life?

“I don’t know, like five grand at the minimum. I only want the rich fucks looking at my ankles especially if I’m gonna have to look at old men jerk off” He says, dramatically shuddering in disgust. 

“...I’ve got five grand, when's your next available appointment?” You ask looking back at him. His eyes meet yours. 

“Yeah?” He asks, seeming to speak without actually speaking about it, a big grin on his face. 

“I’m good for the money,” You say, a small smile on your lips. You both lay there in silence, what you just did hanging in the air. Roman somehow feels lighter. Sure he’d still have difficult days, days where he can’t stand to look down at his body or days when you hold him while you sleep and he silently cries but he had this. He was capable of some sort of intimate relationship even if it was unconventional. 

You grab a pillow and crawl over to your side of the bed and lie down. 

“Roman?” You whisper, a little afraid of pissing him off especially after all this. 

“Hmm? Need another look at my ankles, this one’s gonna cost you double,” He says, lazily turning his head to look at you. 

“Only if you throw in a free elbow,” You smile, cuddling into your pillow. 

“That can be arranged, which one though?” He asks, placing his hands underneath his head as he mimics your position. 

Your eyes flick to his already exposed elbows, “Right, definitely the right.”

“Sure, I’ll throw it in only because you’ve been a loyal customer,” He says, hazel eyes searching through yours.

“I’ll continue to be loyal,” You try to reassure him. He doesn’t say anything, no smart quip, just an ever so slight nod as he closes his eyes. You can't help but stare at his face, at the slight stubble, the freckles painted onto the bridge of his nose.

“Stop staring or I’m gonna have to charge you by the second,” He says, his eyes still closed. 

“That’s okay, my boyfriend is a billionaire,” You whisper, scooting closer to him. 

You feel your face warm, his overly exaggerated tone causing another customer in the horror section to give you both a sideways glance.

“As a heart attack,” you mumble, grabbing a copy of Children of the Corn to read the back cover in order to avoid his piercing gaze.

“Never seen Alien, she says…” he huffs under his breath, “It’s a classic!”

When you finally dare to peek up at him under your lashes, he’s giving you a look of utter disapproval that wavers on the edge of teasing.

“Sci-Fi isn’t really my thing,” you shrug, putting the tape back and reaching for another.

“But Evil Dead is?” he muses, leaning forward over your shoulder to glance at the cover art.

The background is dark, with two grotesque-like hands reaching into the frame and toward a bloodied Bruce Campbell holding a chainsaw above his head. When Eddie leans in closer to get a better look, the tips of his fingers brush against your own in the process. The gentle touch sends your body into overdrive and you swear your heart is about to leap out of your chest from the proximity.

“Well…what about this one?” you ask, stepping out of his embrace to head further down the aisle, ignoring the rising heat in your cheeks as you nearly stumble. Damn heels.

“I would argue that this is a classic.”

But Eddie just slips in behind you again, resting a hand on your hip while you hold a copy of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in your hands.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs, holding back a snicker as you gasp in mock offense.

“You doubt my judgment?”

“Of course not,” he insists with a small snort. “But…maybe you have a thing for guys who wield chainsaws.”

You catch the sly grin that stretches across his lips out of the corner of your eye, a loud laugh puffing out from his chest when you playfully smack his shoulder. Eddie grabs the tape from you, leaning in a little closer until his lips brush against your ear.

And he doesn’t miss the subtle hitch of your breath.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart…” he cheekily assures, “Your secret is safe with me.”

When you throw a playful glare his way, he merely winks in response. Then he turns on his heel to stride back toward the front counter, snagging a box of Reese’s Pieces on his way. You fumble a step behind him before glancing up.

The employee manning the counter is someone you know all too well.

His hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him, the ends brushing against his forehead and falling into his eyes. But he’s still just as handsome, if not annoyingly so. And when Eddie sets the tapes on the counter, Steve barely spares him a passing glance. His brown eyes quickly settle on you as his lips pull up into a lazy grin.

“Find everything you were looking for?” he asks, the cadence of his voice is low but filled with a sticky sweetness that has your cheeks warming.

And if you didn’t know any better you would think he was flirting with you.

“O-Oh, I, uh— ”

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts in, his voice a little strained. “We found everything just fine, man.”

Steve gives you another soft grin as he snaps open the first case, a small snort leaving his nose.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for the gore fest type.”

But that slight hint of disbelief in his tone has you wanting to shrink in on yourself.

“Then you don’t know her very well,” Eddie mutters under his breath.

Only, his snide comment isn’t as quiet as he initially intended.

But Steve says nothing, just clears his throat and runs a hand through his chestnut locks before sliding the movies across the counter. The clacking of the keyboard fills the uncomfortable silence as you tug at the worn vinyl on the counter.

“That’ll be $12.35.”

You can feel Eddie tense beside you.

“I thought the movies were 2 for $4 tonight?” you chime in softly, confusion scrunching your brows together.

Steve’s lip quirks up in a slight smirk as he glances between you and Eddie.

“Well, Munson here has racked up quite a lot of late fees…” he trails before whistling. The flash of amusement in his eyes has Eddie’s narrowing in warning.

But that look only seems to encourage him.

“Looks like we’ve got Erotic Night of the Living Dead, returned three days late. Munch Masters Vol. I…”, Steve pauses to scroll further down the list. “…and Vol. II, that was a week late.”

He flashes Eddie a condescending grin, “Must’ve really liked that one, huh?”

But before Steve can embarrass him further, Eddie fishes out his wallet and slams a couple bills down onto the counter. He grabs the tapes, tucking them under his arm and slips his hand in yours. The boy all but pulls you out of the store, his chin tucked toward his chest to try and hide the flames licking his cheeks.

Despite his ever growing irritation—fueled by the embarrassment of what just transpired—he still opens the door and helps you into the van.

Ever the gentleman.

“Harrington’s got some nerve,” Eddie mutters under his breath as he slides into the driver's seat. “With his nice smile and his stupid hair…” His voice drips with condescension as he slams the driver's door shut behind him.

“Embarrassing me is one thing. But blatantly flirting with my girl, right in front of me—like I wasn't even there?! That’s low even for him.”

Eddie doesn’t even realize what he just let slip, too busy fumbling to stick the key into the ignition.

A beat passes before you manage to gather the courage to speak, the jingling of keys echoing in your ears.

“Your girl?” you ask carefully, heart lodged in your throat.

Eddie’s whole body tenses, taking his time in setting the tapes down on the dashboard before finally turning to face you.

“Well…I, uh, shit,” he whispers, splotches of red beginning to creep up his neck while he exhales sharply through his nose. “I wanted to ask you in a proper, more romantic way—”

You suddenly turn in your seat, your grip on his collar firm while your lips manage to cut him off with a surprised hmph.

But he’s quick to recover, mouth molding over yours with an intensity that would make your knees buckle if you were still standing. And he keeps kissing you, slowly, deeply…until the windows begin to fog up from the heat of your mingling breaths.

“I don’t need romantic, Eddie,” you manage when he pulls away for some much needed air, your nose nudges against his own before you press another gentle kiss to his swollen lips. “Just you.”

And his answering grin is all the reassurance you need.

“Welcome to my castle,” Eddie says, gesturing toward the pale blue trailer with a tentative smile.

He barely let you push open the passenger door before he was running around the front of the van, almost dropping the VHS tapes tucked under his arm in the process. But the soft giggle you let slip when he bows and offers you his hand had his heart skipping a beat.

He keeps your fingers intertwined as you walk alongside him to the door. The uneven gravel makes the otherwise short distance in your heels a little more treacherous than normal. But Eddie is more than willing to catch you at the slightest hint of a wobble in your step.

The night air is far more frigid than either of you anticipated, and the shiver that ripples through you has him nearly dropping the keys in his rush to open the front door. He curses softly, breathing out a sigh of relief when the door finally swings open.

“Ladies first,” he grins, gesturing you forward.

Once you're both safely inside Eddie drops the keys on the table by the door, kicking off his shoes and switching on lights as he goes. He inwardly cringes when he spots the fast food wrappers scattered across the counter and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

What a great first impression, Munson.

But when he remembers the current state of his bedroom, his face pales.

“Uh, I’m just gonna…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck before motioning behind him with his thumb. “Grab a new shirt, but go ahead and make yourself at home.”

Eddie waits until you’ve taken a seat on the sofa before starting down the hall. He’s frantic when he bursts through his bedroom door, immediately eyeing the pile of clothes strewn across his unmade bed. A disaster he left in the wake of trying to pull together a last minute Halloween costume.

He found the orange shirt that’s currently adorning your frame in the very back of his closet, a lost relic from the one time Wayne had managed to take him hunting. Eddie had fallen asleep up in the deer stand and almost shot a crossbow through his boot, and Wayne had vowed never again.

He had grabbed a discarded sharpie off his nightstand, the cap tucked between his teeth as he scribbled This is my Halloween costume across the front in his signature messy scrawl. While it wasn’t his most creative idea to date, it was either this or the god awful pirate costume he’d been suckered into a few years back. That most definitely did not fit him anymore.

Eddie scoops up an armful of clothes, tossing them onto the already cluttered floor of his closet. His movements are erratic, nearly tripping over one of his amps in the process. While Eddie isn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, he is unable to disguise the way his hands are trembling.

He’s nervous, so fucking nervous.

And when he dares to peek out of his room and down the hall, he immediately has to remind himself to breathe.

Because there you are, sitting on his couch, wearing his shirt. Looking almost heaven sent, your eyes alight with wonder as you take in the collection of hats and mugs adorning the walls.

“Get a fuckin’ grip, man,” he mumbles to himself, dropping to his knees to shove more of the remaining clutter under his bed.

Once he returns to his feet, he slips his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it over the back of the chair before rifling through the top drawer of his dresser for a new shirt. Despite what a majority of the town believed, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was no stranger to the sins of the flesh. He’d lost his virginity his first senior year in the back of his van to band geek, Polly O’Donnell.

Which was probably why her mom had failed him two years in a row. Not that he was keeping score or anything.

But even in that moment, Eddie hadn’t felt this nervous.

Maybe, it was because he didn’t harbor the same feelings for Polly that he did for you. Or perhaps the real reason was that he just didn’t trust people or their intentions. His tumultuous upbringing and treatment by his peers was testament enough of that. So Eddie kept most people at arm's length, not allowing them to see past his scary façade.

It was safer that way.

But one look from you was enough to have his carefully crafted walls crumbling down, laid to rubble beneath his feet.

And that’s the thing that scared him the most. That he would willingly throw himself (and his heart) into the crossfire if it meant you would continue to look at him like that.

Man, he had it bad.

He huffs out a breath, grabbing the first unwrinkled shirt that he can find and pulling it over his head. The male takes one final glance around his bedroom, deciding it’s good enough before he turns to leave. But something on his nightstand catches his eye, the joint he rolled earlier practically beckoning him with the promise of sweet relaxation.

And with the state of his jangled nerves, he could use all the help he could get.

So he slips the joint behind his ear, spinning the lighter between his thumb and forefinger as he pads down the hall toward you.

And while his nerves were ravaging his insides, you aren’t faring much better.

You had counted every mug and hat that lined the walls of his living room twice over, in a feeble attempt to distract yourself from the fact that you were actually here with him. All alone, with no prying eyes or listening ears to interrupt you. And despite the fact that he just put a shirt back on, it doesn’t stop your thoughts from wandering to not so innocent places.

The sleeves are cut off, showing off his surprisingly toned biceps. An array of dark ink flows over his arms, the black shirt making him appear almost paler in comparison. You tuck your lower lip between your teeth when you see the muscles in his forearms contract when he places his palms flat on the counter.

Your thighs press together as your gaze travels lower, where his jeans cling a little too tightly to his—

“You still up for some pizza?” he asks, picking up the phone and interrupting your thoughts.

“O-Oh, right!” you blink, averting your eyes. “Pizza sounds great.”

He quickly punches in a number before you can ask any further questions, holding the receiver up to his ear.

“Hey man, it’s Eddie,” he says after a few moments.

The male tucks the receiver between his ear and shoulder while he speaks, fingers drumming lightly along the countertop. The movement causes his hair to fall over his face, a stray curl eventually finding its way into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah the usual.” he sputters, spitting the hair out and tucking the wild curls back behind his ear. “But uh, can I get olives on half?”

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes roll into the back of his head fondly. And it has you contemplating what other ways you could make his eyes roll back.

“No no no, I have not become an ‘olive enthusiast.’” He scoffs, fingers curling into air quotes. “I just, I have…” he pauses, dark eyes flicking over to you. “I have a guest over tonight.”

And the way Eddie has to hold the phone away from his ear has you stifling a giggle. You can hear a muffled voice on the other end, their enthusiastic lilt apparent even from where you are perched on the end of the sofa.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” He chuckles, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But that should be it.” Eddie tucks the phone back in between his shoulder, reaching to grab his wallet from his back pocket.

“Oh wait, wait!” He exclaims, slapping his palm down onto the counter. “Add on an order of those cinnamon breadsticks too.”

You wish you could’ve been privy to their entire conversation, because the way Eddie flushes a deep crimson before he playfully tells the person on the other end to ‘kindly fuck off’ and hangs up the phone, has you beyond intrigued.

He takes a couple more bills out, tossing them on the counter and slips the wallet back into his pocket. The chain jingles against his thigh with each step he takes, your eyes unintentionally following the movement. He plops down onto the sofa beside you, the heat in his cheeks fading into a soft, rosy sheen.

“Nina’s is busy tonight,” he murmurs, setting something onto the small table beside him. “So, it might take a little longer than usual.”

“How did you know Nina’s Pizzeria was my favorite?” you ask, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Well,” he hums, leaning his head back against the cushions and giving you a lazy grin. “I just assumed you had much better taste than Domino’s, sweetheart.”

You playfully whack him with one of the throw pillows beside you, a stunned expression crossing over his features. Half of his hair is ruffled from where the pillow connected with his head, and this time you can’t contain the giggles from bubbling up in your chest.

“Oh you are so going to regret that, baby.” he taunts, eyes narrowing in a predatory manner.

And your whole body stills.

Baby. He just called you baby.

Eddie uses this moment to his advantage, pouncing on you with a wicked cackle. His hands find your sides, quickly pulling giggle after breathless giggle from you. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot, you squeal and begin to thrash beneath him as he continues to torture you with his fingers.

Your attempts to get him back are futile. Eddie is much faster, taking both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. Both of your chests are rising and falling rapidly from the exertion, your faces mere inches apart.

His curls create a dark curtain around you, his eyes flicking down toward your lips. His minty breath washes over you, causing yours to lodge in your throat. You just stare at each other, both of you fighting the urge to close the remaining distance between your mouths.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat, “Movie time?”

“Movie time,” you agree.

And just like that, the moment is gone as quickly as it came. Eddie clumsily climbs off you, almost falling off the sofa in the process. His curls bounce as he springs back up, offering a hand to help you sit back up.

“Now my fair maiden, what film dost thou choose?”

He holds up both cases, the choice of movie concealed by the large Family Video logo. You purse your lips, glancing back and forth between the cases as if looking at them longer would somehow reveal the title beneath.

“That one.”

You point to the one in his left hand, and Eddie tosses the other back onto the coffee table. He pops open the plastic case and chuckles before looking up at you.

“Texas Chainsaw it is.” He grins, removing the tape from its case and heading toward the TV.

Eddie crouches down, balancing on the soles of his feet as he loads the tape into the VCR. our eyes can’t help but wander across the expanse of his broad shoulders and down his back. The hem of his shirt rides up ever so slightly as he reaches to switch the tv on, exposing the band of his boxer shorts and the pale skin of his lower back.

“However,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes are warm and full of mischief. “You are not leaving this trailer until you get to experience the cinematic masterpiece that is Ridley Scott’s Alien.”

The playful threat has your whole body warming, feeling thankful when he finally switches off the lamp. The darkness of the room is a welcome reprieve with only his silhouette visible, illuminated by the glow from the TV. He bounds back over and takes the seat beside you.

You allow yourself to sink further into the sofa while Eddie grabs something off the side table. The spark of the lighter ignites the handsome features of his face, and the slight stubble along his jaw. His plush lips carefully wrap around the end of the joint, cheeks hollowing slightly as he inhales deeply.

The sight alone sends a delightful shiver up your spine, shifting your gaze back toward the television as the smoke billows out from between his lips.

“Are you cold?” he asks, draping his arm over the back of the sofa in search of the old quilt that was previously thrown over it.

But said quilt had unfortunately fallen behind the sofa in the midst of your scuffle, well beyond his reach now. Eddie leans in closer, cursing softly under his breath as he attempts to locate the missing quilt in the dark. You can feel the warmth radiating from his chest, which causes another shiver to pass through you.

“Maybe a little,” you murmur.

And the male doesn’t complain when you nuzzle yourself further into his side, happily curling his arm around your shoulders. He takes another hit from the joint as the trailers continue to flash across the screen, the upcoming releases now the furthest thing from your mind.

“You want some?” He holds the joint out toward you, blowing some smoke out the corner of his mouth. “No pressure, of course.”

You carefully take it from him, your fingers brushing against his own in the process. Despite your initial reservations, you immediately lift the joint to your lips, feeling his eyes continue to linger on your features. In your nervous haste you inhale a little too quickly, the smoke evading your lungs in sharp fragments that has you immediately coughing it back up.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, killer,” he teases, gently rubbing your back, the touch a welcome distraction. “You gotta inhale slower.”

He takes the joint back from you, keeping it between his fingers while you continue to cough your lungs up. You’re very thankful he can’t see the way your eyes are watering as another cough racks through your chest.

“Have you ever smoked before?” he asks, only curiosity lacing his tone.

“Um, once,” cough. “In the ninth grade when I stole a cigarette out of my aunt’s purse.”

The memory is sparked, causing a smile to tug at the corner of your mouth. Your Aunt Bev had been visiting from Reno for Christmas, like she did every year. The eccentric woman was always decked out in colorful rhinestones and bright blue eyeshadow, spinning wild tales of her nights out on the strip much to the chagrin of your mother.

But you had never seen her without a trusty pack of Camel Turkish Golds.

So when one of your older cousins claimed you were too much of a prissy pants to join in on their smoke session (aka the infamous cousin walk), you took it upon yourself to swipe one from her purse and hoped she wouldn’t notice. But you received the lecture of a lifetime from her when you came back looking guilty and smelling like nicotine.

As you recount the tale back to him, you purposely leave out the part where you almost threw up in a snowbank because you were coughing so hard. No need to subject him to that visual. And while that experience had you swearing off cigarettes for the rest of your life, that didn’t mean you should deny yourself this one…right?

“Well your aunt’s absolutely right you know,” he says after a moment, that mischievous sparkle back in his eyes. “Cigarettes are terrible for you.”

You go to reach for that pillow again, ready to whack him in the head for good measure but Eddie chucks it across the room before you even have a chance to grab it. The pillow narrowingly misses the tv set by an inch, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“Ah, ah ah!” he tuts, wagging a finger in front of your face. “Don’t mess with the mane, sweetheart.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes fondly before turning your attention back to the movie. But Eddie keeps his gaze on you, admiring how the soft glow highlights the features of your face. Your nose, which scrunches up in the cutest way whenever you’re annoyed. Your gentle eyes, that look at him as if he could do no wrong. And your lips—god, your lips. They’re slightly pouted, shiny with spit.

And Eddie's perverted mind can’t help but start to wander. He wonders how your lips would feel wrapped around him, or if those pretty eyes would roll back when he buried his tongue inside you.

Jesus H. Christ, was it getting hotter in here?

Eddie wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, willing all the blood in his body to stop rushing South.

Popping a boner during a horror flick, that’ll really impress her, idiot.

God, he was too sober for this.

The male quickly tears his gaze away from you, picking up the lighter and relighting the forgotten joint. He doesn’t notice your eyes drifting back toward him, like a moth to a flame.

He inhales deeply, allowing the smoke to curl into his lungs and dull his sexually intrusive thoughts. But he feels you staring, your eyes transfixed on where the smoke billows out from between his lips. He glances at the joint, then back at you. Then Eddie gets an idea, an awful, sinful idea.

He whispers your name as the room is bathed in darkness again, giving him the final push he needs.

“I want to try something…” he mumbles, carefully removing your glasses and placing them on the coffee table. “Do you trust me?”

You nod automatically.

“Then come here,” he says, voice hoarse.

And when you crawl into his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips…

Eddie is a goner.

Miraculously, he manages to keep his composure, despite the way his heart is about to leap out of his chest. You’ve never been this close before, where he can feel the warmth of your thighs seeping into his jeans and smell the faint perfume lingering on your neck.

Even in the dark, he can see that flicker of bashfulness cross over your features, that sudden urge to avoid his heated stare. To tuck in on yourself, to hide away. But to his surprise, you hold his gaze, bold and unwavering when one of his hands falls to rest on your hip. He attempts to soothe you, his thumb circling up and under your shirt.

“Inhale slowly, alright?” he gently reminds you.

His other hand brings that joint back to his full lips, the cherry end igniting brightly as he inhales.

Only this time when he lowers the joint, he leans forward. His lips brush against yours until they part beneath his own, the smoke slithering out and into your awaiting mouth. You inhale slowly—just as he instructed and let the smoke curl in and around your lungs.

And when you breathe out, he’s right there, inhaling the dissipating smoke into his own mouth with a proud smile.

“See? You’re a natural.”

Eddie takes another long drag and leans in again, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. And maybe it’s the look in his eye or the weed beginning to lull your nerves, but you fist the collar of his shirt and pull him into you, crashing your lips together for the second time that evening.

The male barely manages to discard the joint before he’s reeling you back in, tongue gliding over your lower lip and into your awaiting mouth. You taste like Juicy Fruit and a hint of purple palm tree delight, a combination that sets every nerve in his body on fire.

Your fingers wind into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently tugging and earning you a throaty moan. Eddie swears he’s lost it when your sweet moans begin to echo his own. The sound travels straight down, where his cock is straining pathetically against the seam of his jeans.

An uphill battle he’s been fighting since you kissed him in the parking lot of Family Video.

And when you feel that hardness pressing against your inner thigh, it only encourages you to keep going. Giving an experimental roll of your hips that has Eddie’s head lolling back onto the cushions, a choked sound resembling a whine escapes his mouth.

This new position provides you with easier access to his throat, giving you a surge of confidence before your lips find a home there and teeth nip wherever they can find purchase.

Eddie pants as your lips only trail lower, a grunt of your name mixes with a slew of curses when you suck a large bruise onto the base of his throat. Your lips make an audible pop when they detach from his skin and you lean back to assess the damage with a satisfied grin. He looks beautifully wrecked, lips swollen and eyes glossy.

You trace over the blossoming shades of red and purple on his neck with your fingertips, humming softly when you feel a shiver pass through him.

“My turn,” he insists, gently tipping your head back.

When he leans forward, lips brushing against your collarbone, he can almost taste the spiked punch from earlier. A bitter, yet sugary sweet flavor that has him groaning low in his throat. The sound reverberates through your chest and has your hips grinding harder against his own.

The fabric of your panties are completely soaked, making a mess on the front of his jeans with each frantic buck of your hips. His fingers begin to trail lower, sneaking under your skirt and grazing over the elastic of your panties. Feeling emboldened, you take his wrist, pressing the heel of palm against your center.

“Oh shit,” he groans, fingers circling up and over your aching core. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart.”

You can only manage a soft whine in response, allowing him to guide your head back down to capture your lips together.

An abrupt knock sounds just as a blood curdling scream erupts from the television. Both noises pull you apart with a sudden start, which has you nearly falling backwards off his lap and onto the floor below. But Eddie keeps a steady grip on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he huffs out a breath of frustration.

“Pizza’s here.”