“sam! stop! my parents are gonna smell that!” you groaned, rushing over to open your window letting in the cool night air.

“calm down sweetheart, they won’t even notice.” sam still put out the weed he was smoking, despite his words.

sam was laying flat on his back on your bed, the pink blankets and pillows clashing against sam’s green band t-shirt and black jeans. he crawled into your window an hour ago and all he had done was flop back on your bed, complaining about his teachers.

it would be weird to people, the prissy popular cheerleader captain having a stoner ‘freak’ in her room. maybe that’s why you and sam kept it a secret, or maybe it was because your parents would never approve of him.

you joined sam on the bed, instead choosing to curl into his arms, which he opened for you. your skirt had slightly ridden up and your blouse already had a couple buttons popped open, due to sam’s earlier greeting towards you. sam’s hand trailed up your skirt, resting comfortably on the curve of your ass that your underwear didn’t cover.

you played with the little hole in his shirt, “you think we’ll ever tell anyone about us?”

sam’s silence at first gave away the fact he was taken aback by the question, “that depends princess, you want your parents banning you from seeing me?”

you rolled your eyes at the nickname sam used, the same one he first called you that winter day when you two first met. it was fall now, and he still insisted on calling you that, even with you two being together. “no, obviously i don’t. maybe they’ll like you.”

sam snorted at your hopefulness, turning to face you on his side now. “right, like that’ll happen.”

you also turned on your side, meeting his eyes. you pulled his face towards yours, connecting your lips instead of replying. you two sat slowly, never breaking the kiss. you crawled into his lap, letting his hands grab more at your ass now.

sam made his way down to your neck, kissing and sucking on sensitive areas. you quickly rid your blouse, letting the cool air hit your bra covered chest. right as sam’s hands traveled to the back of your bra, reaching for the clasp, a loud knock on your door sounded.

you practically jumped off sam, while your moms voice rang through the other side of the door, “honey, can you open up?”

“um, yeah mom, just give me a sec.” your voice was shaky as you looked towards sam, whose face had a resting smirk on it at your panic.

“asshole! this isn’t funny!” you whispered towards him before your eyes landed on the closet. you quickly grabbed sam’s arm, shoving him in the closet and shutting the door.

you yanked your bedroom door open, facing your mom. “oh honey, you could’ve put on a shirt, i didn’t know you were changing.”

you froze, completely forgetting about the fact you didn’t have a shirt on and that hickeys were actively forming on your neck. you reached for a hoodie, pulling it on.

your mom wandered into your room, sitting on the bed. she turned towards you, but then stopped, “whose hoodie is that?”

you looked down at the hoodie that you just put on and mentally cursed yourself for not checking what it was before throwing it on, the hoodie was a metallica hoodie, smelling exactly like sam, which was weed and a cologne he wore that always drove you nuts. “nobody’s mom, it’s, uh, it’s mine.”

your moms confusion grew, “why would you own that? you don’t even listen to that-”

you cut your mom off, “so what did you need mom?”

“right, your dad wants to know if you would like to join him on sunday night when he goes to the timbers?”

you groaned at the last name, jase timber. an asshole in your grade that your parents won’t stop bothering you about. “no mom, i don’t want to go. i already told you im not interested in jase.”

your moms face grew stern, “honey, you need to start taking jase seriously. he’s a star quarterback and straight A student.”

you let out a scoff, “there’s nothing to take seriously mom. we aren’t in a relationship and we aren’t going to be.”

your mom let out her own scoff now, “i don’t see why you two shouldn’t be. you twos lives fit perfectly. are you ever going to start taking dating seriously?”

you sighed at her question, you wished you could shout at her that you already had a boyfriend and he was better than jase could ever be. at the thought of sam you groaned, realizing he was hearing all this from the closet. “it’s a little hard to take dating seriously when you and dad would only approve of a straight A, football star, asshole.”

“language young lady!” your mom stood from your bed now, “me and your dad are trying to look out for you. give you what’s best.”

your frustration grew, “well maybe i don’t want someone like that mom! maybe i want someone who will see me for me and not just as a prissy head cheerleader, and someone who has a real personality and interests, someone who enjoys music and actually spending time with me, not someone who shows me off like an object.” tears were practically spilling out of your eyes by the time you finished, your frustration bubbling out.

your mom shook her head, “you’re going on sunday.”

with that she left and shut the door behind her with an extra amount of force needed. you sat on your bed, burying your head in your hands, completely forgetting about your boyfriend in the same room as you.

tears finally spilled out of you, leading to ugly hard sobs. you felt a dip in the bed before feeling arms wrap around you, and you getting pulled into sam’s lap. you looked up at him, tears coating your face. “i’m sorry, i don’t want to go on sunday, they’ll make me.”

you rarely saw soft sides of sam, but his expression completely changed into one of softness when looking at all your tears. “it’s okay princess, don’t worry about it, okay?” he wiped your tears that were still falling down your face. “if it makes you feel better, you look really pretty when crying.”

you let out a wet laugh at his stupid attempt to flirt right now, “you’re so dumb.” his fingers were still wiping softly at your face when you looked to meet his eyes, “i love you sam, really like i am completely fully in love with you.”

he kissed your head ever so softly, “i love you too princess.”

este speaks / i don’t care i loveeee cheerleader reader and sam

Eddie still remembers the day he first laid eyes on you. Summer, going into his third senior year at Hawkins, you walked into Larry’s Auto Body Repair looking like something pulled from the pages of a half-burnt gothic novel left to rot in an attic trunk.

The heat outside had been miserable; thick, wet Indiana air that made grease cling to skin and tempers run short, but you arrived untouched by it all. Draped in black despite the July sun, lace sleeves swallowing your wrists, silver rings glinting like tiny knives beneath the fluorescent lights. 

Your perfume smelled faintly of clove cigarettes, old paper, and rain. Long dark hair spilled down your back in soft waves, and your eyes, God, your eyes, looked mournful in the way stained glass saints did. Beautiful enough to make a man confess every awful thing he’s ever done, truth or not.

Eddie had nearly dropped an engine part directly on his foot.

You’d stepped into the garage like you belonged in another century entirely, gaze drifting slowly across the room with detached fascination, lingering on rusted tools and oil stains as if they were artifacts in a museum.

Then you smiled at him. Not sweet, not shy, but devastating. Like you already knew every terrible thing about him and adored him for it anyway. From that moment on, Eddie Munson was ruined.

Years later, the people of Hawkins still spoke about the two of you in hushed, bewildered voices. The Munsons of the Creel House. The strange family on the hill with wrought iron gates, tangled in dead vines and black roses that somehow bloomed year-round. 

Children swore candlelight moved through the windows at impossible hours. Neighbors whispered about organ music drifting through storms and the silhouettes dancing behind curtains long after midnight.

The truth was far less sinister, mostly. You simply loved beautiful things that others were too frightened to appreciate. And Eddie loved you enough to follow you anywhere, even the old Creel House.

At first, he’d refused to even step onto the property. Too many memories. Too much blood soaked into those walls. Vecna. Chrissy. The Upside Down. Every rotten thing Hawkins tried desperately to bury lived in the bones of that house.

But then you’d walked through the front doors for the first time, black dress trailing over dusty hardwood, staring up at the massive chandelier with wonder glowing across your face like moonlight.

“Eddie,” you’d whispered softly, almost reverently. “It’s perfect.”

And that had been it. Because you looked at the house the same way you looked at him, not with fear, but affection. Like ruined things deserved devotion too. So he rebuilt it for you.

Every creaking staircase. Every shattered window. Every rotted inch of wallpaper. Together, you turned the graveyard of Victor Creel’s legacy into something warm, strange, and terribly romantic. A home, your home.

Corvina, your eldest daughter, drifted through the manor like a tiny phantom in velvet dresses, all solemn eyes and unnerving intelligence. She collected moth wings in glass jars and read Poe beneath thunderstorms while Eddie watched with equal parts pride and concern.

Meanwhile, Edward Jr, though everyone called him Teddy, was chaos incarnate. Wild curls, scraped knees, and his father’s crooked grin. The poor kid had inherited Eddie’s dramatic flair and your complete lack of fear, which meant most afternoons ended with him attempting something mildly catastrophic somewhere on the property.

Eddie had been hesitant about naming him after himself. Truthfully, he was terrified.

He remembered sitting beside you in bed while rain battered the windows, your newborn son asleep against your chest. Candlelight flickered gold across your skin as Eddie stared at the tiny little thing wearing his name.

“What if he ends up like me?” he’d asked quietly. You’d looked at him then with that same devastating softness you’d always reserved for his ugliest thoughts.

“My darling,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his curls, “I should certainly hope so.”

And just like that, the fear dissolved. Because in your eyes, Eddie Munson had never been something to outgrow or overcome. He had always been something to cherish.

The Creel House came alive slowly in the mornings. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows that morning, the sky outside painted silver and gloomy in the way you adored most.

Eddie stood at the stove in silk pajama pants and a black robe hanging open over his tattooed chest, swaying dramatically to the music while making pancakes shaped vaguely like bats.

“Darling,” you called from your place at the kitchen table, long black sleeves draped elegantly around your coffee cup, “I do believe those are becoming progressively less edible.”

Eddie pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Cruel. Wounded before breakfast.”

“You married me for my cruelty.”

“I married you because you looked at me like a Victorian widow cursed by the sea.”

You smiled over the rim of your mug. “And you looked like trouble wrapped in leather.”

“Mm,” Eddie hummed proudly. “Still do.”

Before you could respond, Eddie appeared beside your chair suddenly, dramatically dropping to one knee like a man overcome with passion. He took your hand delicately, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Then another to your wrist. Then another just beneath your sleeve.

You laughed softly, tilting your head as his curls brushed your skin. “Edward Munson,” you murmured. “The children are awake.”

“Good,” he replied against your hand. “They should witness devotion.”

Right on cue, Corvina entered the kitchen carrying three books against her chest, long dark braid hanging over one shoulder. She glanced once at the scene before deadpanning:

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you, my dove,” you said warmly.

Corvina moved to pour herself coffee like she hadn’t witnessed anything unusual at all. Then came the sound of slower footsteps, Teddy.

Edward Jr. appeared in the doorway wearing his Hawkins High hoodie, backpack hanging off one shoulder, curls sticking up wildly like he’d been running nervous hands through them for an hour.

And immediately, both you and Eddie noticed the expression on his face, and Eddie straightened a little. “Whoa. What’s with the funeral look, Theodore?”

Teddy hesitated, then slowly held up a folded yellow slip of paper. Your brows lifted slightly while Corvina sipped her coffee with the detached calm of someone witnessing an execution.

“It’s a summons,” Teddy muttered.

Eddie blinked once, then dramatically pointed the spatula toward him. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s exactly what I used to say,” Eddie nodded solemnly. “And I was usually innocent at least forty percent of the time.”

You extended your hand calmly. “May I see it, darling?”

Teddy crossed the kitchen and handed it over anxiously while Eddie abandoned the pancakes entirely to loom over your shoulder. His chin immediately dropped onto the top of your head while his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind instinctively.

You unfolded the slip carefully:

REQUESTED PARENT CONFERENCE. PRINCIPAL HIGGINS. REGARDING: EDWARD MUNSON JR.

Eddie groaned immediately. “Jesus Christ. They started early this year.”

Teddy looked miserable. “Dad, I swear, I didn’t even do anything. It was those idiots from the basketball team—they kept messing with my stuff in gym, and one of them shoved me into a locker, and when I shoved him back, he started bleeding and—”

“Bleeding?” Corvina asked mildly.

“He ran into the trophy case!”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Natural selection.”

“Teddy,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “Look at me.”

He did immediately.

And despite being nearly Eddie’s height now, despite the deepening voice and teenage awkwardness settling into his limbs, he still looked at you the same way he had as a child: like you could fix anything simply by speaking.

“You are not in trouble with us,” you assured gently.

Eddie nodded instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Eddie waved him off. “Listen, kid, Hawkins High has been blaming Munsons for shit since before you were born. It’s practically a school tradition.”

Teddy huffed out a nervous laugh. You rose from your chair then, smoothing your hands over Eddie’s wrists where they rested around your waist. “We’ll attend the meeting.”

“Together,” Eddie added.

“And if your principal insists on being unreasonable,” you continued calmly, “your father does so enjoy making authority figures uncomfortable.”

Eddie grinned wickedly. “Baby, remember the vice principal in ‘89?”

You smiled faintly. “He looked moments from cardiac arrest.”

Teddy finally laughed properly at that, the tension melting from his shoulders almost instantly.

Without another word, Eddie reached over and grabbed one of the bat-shaped pancakes, shoving it onto Teddy’s plate. “Eat up, kid,” he said. “Nothing scarier than school administration on an empty stomach.”

Corvina glanced toward the stove. “Those are burnt.”

“They’re wonderful,” Eddie corrected.

You reached for his hand again, kissing his knuckles this time. “My talented husband,” you said softly.

Eddie practically preened under the affection, leaning down immediately to kiss you dramatically enough to make Corvina groan.

“Oh, my God.”

“Teddy,” Eddie said seriously against your mouth, “never settle for a love that doesn’t make your children physically ill.”

“Noted,” Teddy muttered through a mouthful of pancake.

By noon, rain had turned into a heavy mist that clung to Hawkins like a veil, which was the exact kind of weather you loved. The kind of weather Eddie insisted was “romantic as hell.”

The two of you walked through the halls of Hawkins High side by side like something entirely out of place amongst the fluorescent lighting and beige walls. Students slowed as you passed, conversations dipping into whispers almost immediately.

You floated through the hallway in a long black coat that brushed your calves, silver jewelry gleaming beneath the dim lights, while Eddie walked beside you in dark rings and leather, one hand firmly wrapped around yours, as if he physically couldn’t stand not touching you for more than a few seconds.

Which, truthfully, he couldn’t.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured low enough only you could hear as you approached the office, “if Higgins pisses me off, are we thinking subtle psychological warfare or full public humiliation?”

You glanced at him calmly. “Let us see how brave he feels first.”

“God, I love when you threaten people poetically.”

The secretary barely looked up when you entered the office, though her expression tightened almost immediately at the sight of Eddie, still, after all these years. Eddie noticed too, squeezing your hand once before leaning casually against the counter.

“We’re here about Teddy,” he said.

The woman cleared her throat awkwardly. “Principal Higgins is expecting you.”

“Lucky him,” Eddie muttered.

You placed a gentle hand against his chest before he could continue, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his jacket. “Behave, mon amour.”

Eddie looked down at you like you’d hung the moon itself in the sky. “For you?” he said softly. “Always.”

The secretary looked deeply uncomfortable. Good.

Principal Higgins’ office looked exactly the same as it had when Eddie sat in it at seventeen; stale coffee smell, ugly filing cabinets, school banners hanging crookedly on the walls.

Only now, Higgins himself had more gray hair and less patience. He didn’t stand when you entered. Instead, he leaned back slowly in his chair, eyes moving between you both with poorly concealed irritation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie sat down across from him casually, slinging an arm immediately across the back of your chair. “Higgins,” he replied. “Still alive, huh?”

You rested one elegant hand atop Eddie’s knee beneath the desk, feeling him relax instantly under your touch.

Higgins ignored the comment. “Teddy was involved in an altercation yesterday afternoon.”

“Involved,” Eddie repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“He assaulted another student.”

“He defended himself,” you corrected smoothly.

Higgins finally looked directly at you then, expression tightening slightly. “And how exactly would you know that, Mrs. Munson?”

“Because, unlike this institution,” you replied calmly, “our son tells us the truth.”

Higgins folded his hands atop the desk. “Mrs. Munson, with all due respect, Edward Jr. has inherited certain… behavioral tendencies.”

There it was. Eddie’s jaw tightened instantly beneath the lazy posture he wore like armor. But you? You simply tilted your head slightly.

“What an unfortunate thing to say aloud,” you murmured.

Higgins shifted faintly. Eddie watched you carefully now, eyes practically sparkling because he knew that tone and knew it well. It was the same tone you used moments before verbally disemboweling someone.

“The Munson family,” Higgins continued carefully, “has had a difficult history with this school. Your husband, especially.”

Eddie gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, because this town treated me like I was carrying the plague.”

“You developed quite the reputation.”

“And your athletes didn’t?” Eddie shot back. “Interesting.”

“Eddie,” you said softly, not looking away from Higgins. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, expression serene enough to be unsettling.

“Our son,” you said carefully, “was cornered by three boys larger than him.”

Higgins opened his mouth, but you continued before he could speak.

“One shoved him into a locker repeatedly. Another destroyed his sketchbook. And when Theodore defended himself after being physically provoked, suddenly, he became the problem.”

Silence, and Higgins shifted again. You leaned forward slightly then, dark eyes steady on his.

“And now you sit before two former students who know exactly how Hawkins High operates and imply there is some sort of inherited defect in our child because his last name is Munson.”

Eddie looked dangerously proud beside you.

Higgins cleared his throat. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No?” you asked gently. “Then perhaps choose your words more carefully.”

The office went quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows. Eddie finally leaned forward himself, rings clinking against the desk.

“Look,” he said flatly, “I know exactly what this place thinks about me. Fine. Whatever. But you do not get to stick that shit onto my son because some meathead couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

Higgins sighed heavily. “No one is suspending Teddy.”

“Very generous,” Corvina’s voice drawled suddenly from the doorway.

All three of you turned. Corvina stood there holding a hall pass and looking deeply unimpressed.

“She followed us?” Higgins asked incredulously.

“She’s observant,” you replied.

“And nosy,” Eddie added proudly.

Corvina stepped inside without invitation. “Also, for the record, Tyler Bennett admitted in chemistry that he started it because Teddy wouldn’t let them make fun of that freshman girl.”

Eddie blinked. Then slowly turned toward his son’s principal with the most insufferably smug expression imaginable. “Huh,” he said. “Would you look at that?”

You reached over then, brushing your fingers lovingly along Eddie’s jaw.

“My darling,” you sighed softly. “It appears our son inherited your unfortunate tendency toward heroics.”

Eddie practically melted into your hand. “Baby,” he whispered dramatically, grabbing your wrist to kiss your palm, “you say the sexiest things to me.”

Corvina stood near the doorway with her arms crossed, entirely too pleased with herself. Eddie lounged back in his chair again, one boot hooked over his knee while he admired you with open, ridiculous affection.

Meanwhile, you remained perfectly composed, which somehow made you infinitely more terrifying.

“Well,” Higgins said stiffly after a long silence, “I believe this matter can be considered resolved.”

“How fortunate,” you replied smoothly.

Eddie snorted under his breath, and Higgins ignored him. “I’ll speak with the boys involved.”

“You should,” you said. “Especially if the school wishes to maintain the illusion of fairness.”

The principal’s jaw tightened faintly. Then, as though remembering something unpleasant, his eyes flicked briefly toward a framed flyer hanging beside his desk. 

Hawkins High Arts Expansion Fund: Sponsored by the Munson Mortuary. 

Eddie noticed immediately, as did you. A slow smile touched your lips. “You know,” you mused softly, rising from your chair, “Edward and I have always cared deeply about the arts.”

Eddie stood the second you did, naturally gravitating toward your side like a shadow stitched to your heels.

“The theater department,” you continued thoughtfully, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, “the music programs, student scholarships…”

Higgins straightened slightly.

“Hell,” Eddie added casually, “the new ceramics kiln was us.”

You turned your attention back to Higgins, expression warm enough to unsettle.

“It would simply devastate us,” you said gently, “if the environment here became hostile enough that we no longer felt comfortable continuing such generosity.”

Higgins cleared his throat quickly. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“No,” you agreed pleasantly. “I imagine it won’t.”

Eddie grinned beside you like the devil himself. God, he loved you. Loved the way you could flay someone alive without ever raising your voice. Loved the way people underestimated your softness right until the moment they realized it had teeth.

You reached for his hand, and he took it instantly.

“Well,” Eddie sighed dramatically, “this has been deeply irritating.”

As the four of you started toward the office door, Higgins spoke again. “Mrs. Munson.”

You paused, turning slightly. “I assure you,” he said carefully, “Theodore will be treated fairly.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “I should hope so.”

And with that, you left. The halls quieted again as your family walked through them together.

Eddie’s hand remained clasped tightly with yours while Corvina drifted ahead in a sea of black fabric, entirely unbothered by the stares surrounding her.

The second the front doors shut behind you, Eddie turned toward you with outright admiration burning in his expression.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Marry me again.”

You looked at him calmly. “I would a thousand times.”

Candles flickered low throughout the house, golden light dancing against dark wallpaper while thunder rolled softly somewhere in the distance.

Dinner had long since ended, dishes abandoned in favor of the far more important activity of Eddie dramatically sprawled across the velvet chaise in the sitting room with his head in your lap.

“Darling,” he sighed as you lazily combed your fingers through his curls, “if I die right now, know that I died fulfilled.”

“You’re forty years old,” Corvina deadpanned from the armchair across the room. “Not a dying Victorian poet.”

Eddie pointed accusingly toward her without lifting his head. “Your mother encourages this cruelty.”

You smiled softly down at him. “I find it endearing.”

“That’s because you worship me.”

“Correct.”

Corvina physically recoiled. “Can you two act normal for ten minutes?”

“No,” both of you answered immediately.

Teddy snorted from the floor where he sat building something suspiciously dangerous out of spare radio parts. Then, the doorbell rang, and everyone paused. Corvina moved first, way too fast for her character. 

You noticed immediately. Eddie noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. The three of you slowly turned toward her as she stood abruptly from the chair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her black skirt.

“…Interesting,” you murmured.

Corvina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

Eddie sat up slowly now, a grin already forming. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Corvina Lucille Munson,” Teddy gasped dramatically. “Are you nervous?”

“I will kill you.”

The bell rang again. Corvina moved toward the front door with all the rigid dignity of someone approaching their execution.

You and Eddie exchanged a look. Then, silently, both rose from your seats to follow.

The front door creaked open, and standing beneath the porch light was perhaps the least expected person imaginable. A boy. Tall, clean-cut, nervous beyond belief. Bright blue varsity jacket. Hair neatly combed. Holding flowers.

The poor thing looked like he’d wandered into the wrong horror movie. Corvina stared at him; the boy stared at Corvina. Then his eyes slowly lifted, and landed directly on you and Eddie looming behind her like two beautifully dressed vampires awaiting explanation.

His face drained completely of color. Eddie blinked once, then immediately leaned toward you and whispered with genuine awe:

“He looks like he says ‘yes ma’am’ unironically.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “How refreshing.”

“Mom,” Corvina warned.

The boy swallowed hard. “H-hi, Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie lit up instantly. “Oh, I like him.”

Corvina closed her eyes briefly like she regretted ever being born. You stepped forward gracefully, gaze drifting over the bouquet in his trembling hands.

“How lovely,” you said softly. “Funeral lilies.”

“They’re her favorite,” he blurted.

Then you looked at Corvina slowly, while Corvina looked horrified. Eddie looked seconds from losing his mind entirely.

“Teddy,” he whispered sharply. “Your sister has a boyfriend.”

“I KNEW IT.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” Corvina snapped immediately. “He’s an experiment.”

The boy blinked. “An… experiment?”

“You’re studying social dynamics?” you guessed politely.

“Yes,” Corvina said quickly.

Eddie crossed his arms. “By holding hands with the quarterback?”

“Second-string quarterback,” Teddy corrected.

Everyone looked at the boy while he awkwardly raised one hand. “We lost regionals.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Oh my God, sweetheart,” he wheezed to you. “She brought home a jock.”

“He’s not a jock.”

The boy tried to help. “I’m also on the debate team.”

You gasped softly. “How multifaceted.”

Corvina looked moments from throwing herself from the staircase.

Eddie grinned wickedly at her. “Baby bat’s got a crush.”

“I do not.”

“He knows your favorite flowers,” Teddy sang obnoxiously.

“I hate this family.”

The boy, still somehow standing there despite the obvious psychological warfare occurring around him, looked toward Corvina carefully. And to everyone’s shock, his expression softened.

“She talks about you guys a lot, actually.”

Corvina froze.

Eddie immediately clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, my.”

“Dad.”

“She told me,” the boy continued nervously, “that her parents are… intense, but very in love.”

You smiled faintly. Corvina looked like she wanted the floorboards to consume her.

“And,” he added carefully, “that her dad still leaves dead roses on her mom’s pillow every morning.”

Eddie looked at you instantly, utterly smitten. “Baby,” he whispered emotionally, “our love is inspiring the youth.”

You reached up, smoothing your hand against his jaw affectionately. “We are deeply romantic.”

“You’re deeply weird,” Teddy corrected.

“Thank you.”

Corvina groaned. “Can we please go before they start kissing again?”

Too late. Eddie had already grabbed your hand dramatically.

“You wound me, little raven,” he said, pressing a theatrical kiss against your knuckles. “Your mother’s beauty simply overwhelms me.”

The boy stared. Teddy stared. Corvina pinched the bridge of her nose. And you, you simply looked at your husband with soft, endless devotion while thunder echoed gently overhead.

“Oh, mon amour,” you sighed lovingly. “You are still the most handsome thing this house has ever held.”

Eddie nearly died on the spot.

The house felt different when the children were gone. Corvina had vanished off to some poetry reading with her painfully polite almost-boyfriend, while Teddy was staying overnight at a friend’s house after aggressively insisting he was “old enough to survive one night without parental supervision.”

Eddie had looked personally offended by the statement. 

Now the evening rain had finally stopped, leaving the world outside soaked silver beneath the moonlight.

You stood in front of the bedroom mirror, fastening a pair of silver earrings, when Eddie appeared in the doorway, already staring at you like a man deeply unwell. His dark button-up hung half-open, curls still damp from the shower, rings glinting in the candlelight.

But his expression, my God. After all these years, he still looked at you like the first breath after drowning.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe, “there goes every coherent thought I’ve ever had.”

You smiled softly at his reflection. “You say that every time I wear black.”

“Because every time you wear black, I fall in love with you all over again.”

“You’re very dramatic.”

“You’re very beautiful. We all cope differently.” You laughed quietly as he crossed the room toward you.

The second he reached you, his hands found your waist instinctively, warm and familiar through the fabric of your dress. He buried his face briefly against your neck with a content sigh like “this—this right here—was the safest place in the universe.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You raised a brow. “Edward.”

“Please?”

Amused, you obeyed. You heard him moving around the room for a moment before something soft brushed across your palms.

Flowers. 

When you opened your eyes again, Eddie stood before you holding a bouquet of black dahlias and dead roses tied together with velvet ribbon, just like your first date.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Eddie suddenly looked shy beneath all the tattoos and bravado. “I know they’re a little wilted, but Gareth’s florist cousin said—”

“They’re perfect.”

The relief on his face was immediate. You reached up carefully, fingertips brushing his cheek while he melted into your touch on instinct.

“Do you remember,” you asked softly, “what you said to me the night you gave me flowers for the first time?”

Eddie grinned a little. “Yeah.” He leaned closer. “‘Most girls want roses. You looked like you’d appreciate something half-dead.’”

“And I nearly married you on the spot.”

“You definitely wanted me carnally.”

You laughed again and kissed him gently. Eddie hummed happily against your mouth, already chasing after another kiss before you’d fully pulled away.

“Come on,” he whispered. “I’ve got a surprise.”

The graveyard sat at the edge of Hawkins beneath enormous twisted trees, moonlight filtering silver across old headstones and damp grass. Most people found it unsettling, but you found it beautiful, especially tonight.

Your breath caught softly as Eddie led you through the cemetery gates hand in hand.

Because there, beneath the crooked oak tree where he’d taken you all those years ago, sat an entire picnic laid out atop black blankets and velvet pillows. Candles flickered inside lanterns. An old radio played something metal, low enough to blend with the wind.

Your favorite wine rested beside a basket overflowing with chocolate-covered strawberries and homemade pastries, which Eddie had very obviously burnt slightly. And in the center, a vase of black dahlias. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck suddenly, almost bashful. “I know it’s kinda stupid—”

“It isn’t.”

Your voice was so soft that it stopped him immediately. He watched as you stepped slowly into the little space he’d created, moonlight catching the emotion shimmering across your face.

“You remembered everything,” you whispered.

“Course I did.”

Eddie moved closer then, taking your hands carefully. “This is where I fell in love with you,” he admitted quietly. “Figured it deserved revisiting.”

Your chest ached. Because despite all his theatrics, despite the flirting and dramatics and endless teasing, Eddie loved with terrifying sincerity, always had.

You touched his face gently. “You never told me you loved me that night.”

“No,” he said softly. “But I knew.”

The wind moved through the cemetery trees around you, carrying the scent of rain and earth and candle smoke. Then Eddie suddenly dropped dramatically onto the blanket.

“Now,” he announced, patting the spot beside him, “come seduce your husband under the moonlight.”

You smiled helplessly and settled beside him. Immediately, he pulled you into his lap like gravity itself demanded it. You curled against him easily, fingers playing with the rings on his hand while his chin rested atop your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply existed there together beneath the stars, wrapped in candlelight and old music and decades worth of devotion.

Eventually, Eddie pressed a slow kiss against your neck. “You know,” he murmured, “I was so scared to bring you here on our first date.”

You turned slightly. “You were?”

“Terrified.” He laughed softly against your skin. “Wayne told me if I took a girl to a graveyard, she’d think I was either a serial killer or possessed.”

“And instead?”

“You told me it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.”

“It still is.”

Eddie looked at you then. And suddenly he was twenty again; grease stains on his hands, heart beating too fast, staring at the most hauntingly beautiful girl he’d ever seen while wondering how someone so lovely could possibly want him back.

Only now, he knew, because you’d spent decades proving it.

His hand slid carefully against your cheek. “My sweet girl,” he whispered.

You kissed him before he could say anything else. Slow and loving, the kind of kiss built from years and years of choosing each other over and over again. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled softly again.

Eddie smiled against your mouth. “Think the kids are behaving themselves?”

You smoothed your fingers through his curls lazily. “Not our concern tonight.”

“God,” he sighed happily, pulling you impossibly closer, “I adore you.”

“Eddie,” you whispered, tilting your head as his lips brushed the side of your neck. “You’ve outdone yourself, mon amour.”

He hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “Only the best for you.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made him tighten his hold, one hand sliding reverently down your side, tracing the black silk of your dress. 

Eddie loved pleasing you more than anything, maybe even more than breathing. He lived for the way your breath would hitch when he touched you just right, for the way you looked at him like he was the only man in any world worth having.

His fingers found the hem of your dress and slipped beneath it, warm palm gliding up your thigh. “Let me worship you here,” he murmured, voice low and rough with devotion. 

You turned in his lap, straddling him, your long dark hair falling around you both like a curtain. The cemetery was empty, the night yours alone. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, silver rings cool against his skin.

“Then worship me, Edward,” you said softly, the command wrapped in velvet.

Eddie’s eyes darkened with hunger and endless love. He kissed you deeply, almost reverently at first, then with growing heat as your tongues met. His hands roamed, pushing your dress up around your hips. He groaned when he realized you’d worn nothing beneath it.

“Fuuuck me,” he breathed against your mouth, a crooked, adoring grin breaking through.

“Oh my love, I plan to.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, then lowered you gently onto your back atop the velvet pillows. The cool night air kissed your skin as he peeled the dress from your body, kissing every inch he revealed. Your collarbones, the swell of your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he looked up at you with pure reverence.

He settled between your legs, curls brushing your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue found your center with devastating patience; slow, worshipful strokes that had your fingers tightening in his hair. 

He moaned into you like you were the finest thing he’d ever tasted, savoring every gasp and whisper of his name that left your lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against your slick flesh, voice thick. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your back arched as pleasure coiled tight inside you, and Eddie watched it all unfold like a man witnessing divinity. When you came undone beneath his tongue, thighs trembling around his head, he held you through it, kissing you gently until the waves subsided.

Only then did he rise, shedding his shirt and pants with reverent haste. His cock was hard and aching for you, but he took his time, crawling over you, kissing you so deeply you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, lining himself up. “More than life. More than death. More than anything in this fucking universe.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him inside you with one smooth thrust. Both of you moaned at the perfect fit; years together, and it still felt like coming home. 

Eddie moved with slow, deep rolls of his hips, savoring every clench of your walls around him. His forehead pressed to yours, curls falling around your faces as he gazed into your eyes.

“Look at me while I fuck you, baby,” he breathed, devotion dripping from every word. “Want to see those saintly eyes when you come on my cock again.”

The cemetery felt alive around you; the wind whispering through the trees, the distant hoot of an owl, the scent of earth and night-blooming flowers mixing with sweat and sex. Eddie’s pace gradually quickened, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit while the other pinned your wrist gently above your head.

You came again with a soft, broken cry of his name, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as pleasure wrecked him. Even then, he kept moving; lazy, loving thrusts to draw it out, kissing you through every aftershock.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine while your leg draped over his hip.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your hair, voice hoarse with satisfaction. “I’d desecrate every grave in Hawkins if it meant making you feel like that.”

You smiled against his chest, fingertips playing with the silver strands beginning to thread through his dark curls. “If we keep this up, Corvina and Teddy may have a sibling.”

“Would that be so bad? Another mini-Munson running around, raising hell?”

You rolled your eyes lovingly, planting a few peppered kisses along his chest and jaw. “Poor Principal Higgins wouldn’t know what to do with himself with a third Munson.”

Dinner in the Creel-Munson House was rarely quiet. Not because anyone particularly tried to be loud, it was simply impossible for four Munsons to exist in the same room without the atmosphere becoming theatrical.

Thunder groaned outside while candlelight flickered across the dining room, illuminating velvet curtains, silver dishes, and the massive candelabra Teddy insisted made “every meal feel like a vampire intervention.”

Tonight, Eddie had been suspiciously smug since five o’clock, you noticed immediately. Corvina noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. Which meant all three of you spent most of dinner staring at him with increasing suspicion while he fought a grin behind his wine glass.

Finally, Teddy pointed his fork accusingly. “You’re hiding something.”

Eddie gasped dramatically. “What a horrible accusation.”

“You’ve been smirking for an hour,” Corvina added.

“You also called the garlic bread ‘historic,’” Teddy said. “That means something’s wrong.”

You smiled faintly from your seat at the head of the table. “Darling,” you said gently to Eddie, “are you planning a crime?”

Eddie looked delighted by the question. “No,” he answered proudly. “Something better.”

Then, with all the ceremony of a man revealing the crown jewels, Eddie reached into his jacket and slapped four tickets dramatically onto the table. Silence.

Teddy squinted. Then his eyes widened so violently you thought they might leave his skull.

“No fucking way.”

“Language,” you corrected softly.

“No FUCKING way.”

Corvina leaned forward slightly now, dark eyes narrowing in interest. Eddie sat back in his chair with unbearable smugness. “Iron Maiden,” he announced grandly. “Indianapolis. Front section.”

Teddy SHRIEKED, like actually shrieked. The sound echoed through the dining room while Eddie burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Teddy gasped, grabbing the tickets with trembling hands. “Dad—Dad, are you serious?!”

“Your old man still has connections, baby.”

Teddy launched out of his chair instantly. 

You sighed knowingly. “Brace yourself, mon amour.”

A second later, Teddy practically tackled Eddie backward in a hug. “There he is,” Eddie wheezed dramatically as Teddy nearly crushed him. “My son. My flesh and blood.”

“You are the coolest person alive.”

“I know.”

Corvina, meanwhile, carefully picked up one of the tickets with much more restraint. But you noticed the tiny upward twitch at the corner of her mouth immediately.

“Dickinson is still performing?” she asked calmly.

Eddie clutched his chest. “That sounded almost excited.”

“It wasn’t.”

“She got the Munson concert gene,” Teddy informed you loudly.

“She absolutely did,” Eddie whispered emotionally. Corvina rolled her eyes, though there was the faintest flush creeping into her cheeks now. You watched your family fondly from your chair, chin resting against your hand.

This. This was your favorite thing.

Eddie glowing with happiness while the children inherited every loud, passionate, ridiculous piece of him without even realizing it. Teddy flopped back into his chair, grinning wildly.

“This is literally the greatest day of my life.”

Eddie pointed at him immediately. “That’s exactly what I said when your mother kissed me the first time.”

“You say that about everything Mom does,” Corvina muttered.

“Because your mother is extraordinary.”

You reached over and touched his hand gently, as Eddie looked at you like he’d been shot directly through the heart.

Then, Corvina cleared her throat, causing everyone to look at her immediately.

“…What,” she said flatly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You’re about to ask for something.”

“I’m not.”

“You did the voice.”

Teddy gasped dramatically. “She DID do the voice.”

Corvina looked deeply regretful. “I hate all of you.”

You smiled softly. “What is it, little raven?”

A pause. Then, with visible reluctance: “…Could I possibly have one additional ticket?”

The room went silent, and Eddie blinked once. Then slowly lowered his wine glass.

“…For who?”

Corvina stared at her plate. “No one.”

“Corvina.”

Another pause.

“…Damien.”

Eddie’s entire body reacted as if he’d just been informed the government had finally collapsed.

“THE BOYFRIEND?”

“He is not—”

“The assistant quarterback?!” Teddy shouted.

“THE DEBATE CLUB ONE?” Eddie cried simultaneously.

Corvina groaned into her hands. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to smile.

“He likes Iron Maiden,” Corvina muttered.

Eddie looked genuinely betrayed. “The clean-cut child likes Maiden?”

“He listens to metal with me.”

Eddie stared at her for a long moment. Then suddenly leaned back in his chair, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“She likes him.”

“I do not.”

“She’s sharing music with him,” Eddie whispered hoarsely to you. “Baby, that’s intimate.”

Teddy looked horrified. “That’s like… sacred.”

“Exactly.”

Corvina looked ready to walk into traffic. You finally spoke, voice warm with amusement.

“Perhaps,” you said carefully, “she simply enjoys his company.”

Corvina nodded quickly. “Exactly.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes immediately. “Have you held hands?”

“Dad.”

“HAVE you?”

“No.” Too fast.

Teddy slammed both hands on the table. “THAT WAS A LIE.”

Corvina pointed at him. “You are dead to me.”

Eddie suddenly looked emotional again. “Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, “your first love.”

“It’s not love!”

You stood then, gliding around the table toward your daughter. Corvina visibly braced herself for teasing. Instead, you simply smoothed a strand of dark hair behind her ear gently.

And very softly, you said: “If someone makes our little raven smile enough to frighten her this badly… we should like to know him.”

Corvina froze. Because despite all the drama and teasing, your family loved hard. Openly, and without shame, just like Eddie always had.

The house had long since gone quiet. Somewhere downstairs, the grandfather clock groaned past midnight while rain tapped softly against the windows of your bedroom. Eddie lay sprawled across your chest like an oversized cat, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while you lazily played with his curls.

This had always been his favorite place to exist, right here, with you.

Even after all these years, he still sought you out instinctively. Every night, somehow ended the same way: his head in your lap, or tucked against your chest, or buried into your neck while he mumbled half-asleep nonsense against your skin. Tonight was no different.

“You know,” Eddie murmured sleepily, eyes closed, “I think Corvina gets scarier every day.”

You smiled softly, carefully winding one silver-threaded curl around your finger. “She is your daughter.”

“Exactly why I’m concerned.”

“You cried when she said she held his hand.”

“I did not cry.”

“You absolutely did.”

Eddie cracked one eye open. “I became emotional.”

“You gasped loud enough to frighten Teddy.”

“That was fatherly grief.”

Your laugh came soft and quiet in the dark. God, he loved that sound.

Eddie tilted his head slightly against you just to hear it again. Then your fingers paused suddenly in his curls, a tiny thing, barely noticeable. But Eddie felt it immediately.

“What?” he murmured.

You said nothing at first. Instead, your fingers carefully separated one curl from the rest, then another. Eddie finally looked up slightly, finding your expression softened by something achingly tender.

“My darling,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

You gently pulled something free: a silver strand, then another.

Eddie blinked once. “Oh,” he said.

There was no fear in his voice, just surprise. You held the strands delicately between your fingers, studying them beneath candlelight like they were precious threads of moonlight themselves.

Eddie suddenly looked sheepish. “Well,” he muttered, “guess I’m getting old.”

You looked almost offended by the statement. “Edward Munson,” you said softly, “you have survived.”

You slid from beneath him carefully, crossing toward the antique vanity near the window while Eddie watched you in sleepy confusion.

Then you reached for the little silver locket resting beside your jewelry tray, the one you wore nearly every day, etched with the letter ‘E’.

Eddie pushed himself upright slightly as you opened it carefully. Inside rested tiny fragments of your life together.

A pressed black rose petal from your wedding bouquet. A piece of the guitar pick Eddie used the first time he played guitar for you. A photograph so faded it barely showed two young people grinning in a cemetery beneath storm clouds.

Eddie went completely still.

You placed the silver strands gently beside them, like they were treasures. Then you closed the locket softly and climbed back into bed.

Eddie stared at you for a long moment after you settled beside him again. “…You kept all that?”

You looked genuinely puzzled. “Of course I did.”

“Baby, there’s literally a piece of an old guitar pick in there.”

“The broken corner because you were nervous while playing for me.”

His expression cracked instantly. “You remember that?”

“You dropped it three times before speaking to me,” you replied calmly. “You were adorable.”

Eddie let out a weak laugh, suddenly overwhelmed in the way only you could overwhelm him. Because no one had ever looked at the broken, embarrassing, vulnerable pieces of him and treated them like sacred things before you.

Your fingers slowly returned to his curls. “You know what I see,” you murmured softly, “when I look at these?”

Eddie shook his head once.

“A life.”

His eyes burned immediately, so you kissed his forehead gently.

“The silver only proves you stayed long enough to grow old with me,” you whispered.

And that nearly destroyed him. Eddie suddenly pulled himself over you completely, burying his face into your neck while holding you tight enough to make you laugh softly again.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled against your skin. “How are you real?”

You stroked your fingers through his curls carefully, silver strands and all. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“No, seriously,” Eddie groaned dramatically. “You put my gray hairs in a locket. That’s insane behavior.”

“You married me willingly.”

“I’d marry you in every lifetime.”

Your expression softened instantly. Eddie lifted his head, then just enough to look at you through the candlelight; older now, yes, lines at the corners of his eyes and silver threading through dark curls.

But still the same boy who fell hopelessly in love with a gothic girl in black lace all those years ago. Still yours, always yours.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured sleepily.

“What’s that, mon amour?”

“I still get nervous around you.”

You smiled. Then pulled him down into another kiss while rain whispered softly against the windows of your haunted little home.

AGH I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED ITTT:)))

Hell of a Summer pt.2 is currently in the works, GET EXCITEDDDD YUHHH

taglist:

You hum, watching the show as you're about to finish your chores.

You're a housewife, still in your early twenties whereas Will is nearing the end of his thirties. You used to have a job that you didn't quite like, so when your husband offered to take care of everything, since he's wealthy enough to provide a comfortable life for both of you without breaking a sweat, you gladly obliged. Now you're here, looking pretty, doing simple house chores and pregnant with his baby. What else could you ask for? Anything you wanted he got for you, especially now that you're carrying his child.

The front door opens and closes, which makes you smile blissfully, drying up your hands to greet the love of your life.

“That was fast, how was work—? Hun?” You tilt your head when William doesn't answer, instead he takes long quick strides towards you, spinning you by the hip so he can crash his lips with yours. You can feel him ease up almost instantly. He sighs, resting his forehead against yours, and you instantly begin to rub his back with affection. “Rough day?”

He nods. “Uh-huh.”

Before you have time to say anything else, William finds himself lifting you up in his arms, making you laugh with surprise. Your eyes twinkle with excitement as he walks the two of you towards the sofa.

“What do you think you're doing Mr. Beeman?” Your teasing tone makes him smirk for a moment.

Your husband kisses your neck, licking and kissing like his life depends on it as he carefully sets you down. Big hands roam your figure with familiarity, grabbing and caressing your skin just the way you like it. Pregnancy has definitely made you more sensitive, more needy of him, it didn't take much time before you're already wet.

William drops to his knees, trailing kisses down your body as he slowly exposes you, pulling and bunching up your maternity midi skirt towards your waist. He stops for a moment, a teasing grin adorning his handsome face when he spots your panties, blue with a simple bunny print. The type of underwear one wears for comfort and not to seduce another. Makes him feel like the hunter he was in his spare time.

“Cute.”

“Shut it, Beeman,” you cover your face, laughing as he pulls down your panties. It doesn't matter how many times he's seen you, or the fact that you're pretty much knocked up with his child, these initial moments of intimacy always make you blush.

“Hmm... Beautiful. I don't understand what I did to deserve an angel for a wife, but I'm not complaining.” He praises, his voice thick with desire. He carefully spreads your legs, letting out a soft moan at the sight of your pretty pussy. “I don't care how many times I see her, I cannot get enough. So fucking good.” He captured his lip between his teeth for a moment, taking a long, unashamed sniff of your cunt.

“William Beeman!” You laugh, your bundle of nerves pulsing with need at his unapologetic display of lust. The way his eyes darkened makes your breath hitch. “What happened to 'hello, how are ya' love'?” You snicker, both your cheeky comment and good mood make him smile momentarily. That man is so in love with you it hurts.

“Sorry sweetheart. It's just... God, I've always been crazy for you but pregnancy did something to you,” Will groans, nearly melting into you the moment that his tongue spread your folds apart, tasting your sweetness. “It's like I became ten times more addicted to your taste.” He mumbles, his grip on your thighs firm. He hums in approval, capturing your clit between his lips and sucking lightly, the vibrations mixed up with the way he latches on to you caused a shiver to run down your spine. He couldn't understand how there are partners out there that get turned off by their pregnant wives. William? He could barely keep his hands to himself. He often tries to remember he's a gentleman, that he's supposed to be in control of himself since he's no longer a young man, and his pretty wife is pregnant. But how could he, when he knows damn well that you're always happy to take him and his affections? Poor baby mama always in heat, he's just being a loving husband.

You moan, one of your manicured hands caressing the back of his head while he worships you. You're definitely not complaining about this. Your hand, adorned by the engagement ring and wedding band, looks rather fitting against his scalp too, picture worthy.

“Hmngh-ah, I knew I was having a good day, but it just got ten times better...” Your eyes close for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in pleasure as you giggle. Perks of being married to an older man, he doesn't play about pleasure, always making sure you're spent and satisfied. Will Beeman was a gift from the heavens above. Your hips begin to rock against his mouth, his tongue expertly caressing your most sensitive parts, lapping at you, tasting you. Two of his long digits insert themselves in your hole, fucking you while his mouth continues to do his thing. He's so in tune with you and your body, that your different sounds of pleasure are enough for him to know when to slow down, when to nibble, when to suck. If he could survive solely by eating pussy, he would. Simple as that.

“Talk to me, doll,” Will whispers against your core. He wanted to hear how you felt, but more than that, he wanted you to cum on his tongue. He continued to work, his tongue and fingers in perfect harmony. Your next mewl makes him grin, knowing damn well he was 'cruel' to you when he asked you to speak, at this specific point your brain is fuzzy and he knows it. “Aw, what's that, my love? Can't use your big girl words?” He chuckles, his grip growing more possessive of you.

You try to whine about him being mean, but forming out coherent sentences is a bit of a challenge at the moment, unfocused and drunk on him. Whimpers fly out of your mouth as your hips begin to rock for the second time, for a moment Will lays his tongue flat against you, his eyes glinting with delight at how uncoordinated and needy you're being. A trembling mess.

William groans against your clit, somehow melting into you even more, every move of his tongue was calculated, he's spent enough time between your legs to know exactly what to do and when. A few beads of sweat adorn your beautiful flushed face. Will's gaze is locked on you, his tongue and fingers never stopping. Never slowing down, nor speeding up, he kept his rhythm steady, giving exactly what you needed before you're letting out a trembling moan. A few more laps at your core and your body is rippling with an orgasm. He prolonged it as much as he could with his assistance, and gently slowed down his pace as you came down from your high.

You giggle, pushing his face playfully since your pussy's too sensitive now. With a grin of his own, William deposits a last kiss on top of your clit and pulls down your maternity skirt. He helps you sit up, kissing your lips tenderly.

“What about you?” You ask, reaching out for his belt.

William tuts, softly removing your hand. You're about to pout until you meet his love filled eyes.

“I'll prepare us a bath, you can take care of me there. Something about your body all soapy...” He hummed at the thought, picking you up with tenderness.

“I can walk, you know.”

You were lying down in your cabin when you heard the loud movement of Scott's feet on the hardwood floors. His steps came closer and closer until you felt the bed dip as he sat down. 

You roll over to face him and are greeted by the blonde’s messy hair and piercing blue eyes. 

Scott had been at New Horizons far longer than you had and he knew his way around. When you had been put into the program by your concerned parents, Scott was given the task of showing you around. Although he wasn't too happy about being your ‘babysitter’ for the first few weeks, you grew on him.

You shared the same sense of humor and had similar taste in a range of things. Eventually you two had become close friends, always sneaking out to the docks together and making fun of the outdoor activities you were subjected to.

You thought you had been getting better, even the counselors believed so. There was even talk of sending you home in a few weeks to test the waters. You were looking forward to sleeping in your own bed for the first time in months. Until you realised that going back home meant leaving your new friends, including Scott, behind. You didn't want to give them up. 

It had started small. Taking too hot showers that left your skin red and raw. Picking at the skin around your nails and chewing the inside of your mouth until it bled. But it wasn't enough for you. You knew relapsing was bad and that you shouldn't be doing this to yourself. But you couldn't help it. You didn't know how to deal with your only emotions any differently.

Scott speaks before you do. “Are you alright? You've been acting off and I don't fucking like it.” He looks at you, studying your face for any signs of anything wrong. You immediately turn defensive at his questioning. Shooting him down with a “I'm fine Scott, just tired.”

He speaks your name. “You're been tired for a week and a half. I haven't seen you at all basically. You haven't even been at dinner for Christ's sake.” 

You turn over, facing the wall instead of Scott's gaze. “Don't shut me out” he responds to your actions, placing a hand on your shoulder to roll you back over harshly. “What is wrong with you?” you practically yell at him, you use your anger to push his hand off of you, “Get out.”

His eyes widen at your outburst, letting you shove his hand off your shoulder and getting to his feet. He is momentarily stunned before his eyes soften. “How long?” Is all he says.

You roll back over to inspect the wall again, ignoring the question. “Y/n How long?” He repeats clearly. Your legs come up to your chest in a fetal position, and you bury your head in them. You feel his weight sit on the end of your bed. “You can't keep doing this to yourself” he says softly.

You stay silent, hoping that he will get the memo and leaving you alone. You didn't want to have this discussion. Scott places his head in his hands, thinking, before he looks at your curled up figure. “Come on, speak to me please, so I can help you.” He practically begs. 

You can help the tears that build up in your eyes, and slide down your face. You didn't want to be like this. Scott hears your racked sobs and his heart shatters. All he knows is that he needs to comfort you and make sure you are alright.

You feel the bed dip again and then a warm body pressing against your back. Scott's arm wraps around your waist pulling you closer to his chest. You let the tears fall as he whispers in your ear that it's going to be alright and that he is going to help. 

His hand rubs soothing circles over your shirt where your hip rests, making you feel more grounded than you had a few minutes ago. His hushed tone and gentle words make you feel safe in his arms, letting you know that he cares more than he lets on. 

He slowly turns you in his arms, so that your head is tucked under his. You sobs shake your frame, and he lets you cry into his cotton t-shirt. Slowly your tears come to a stop and he speaks to you softly, “it's going to be alright, okay? We're going to get you some help and you will be better again.” He places his lips against your forehead after you nod slightly but enough for him to feel. 

You spend the rest of the day flush against Scott as he assures you that it will work out. A glimmer of hope erupts in your chest.

Please please please reach out if you are struggling. You are on this earth and you are loved. Below are some helplines if you are having a tough time. My messages are ALWAYS open if you need someone to talk to. 💙💙💙

Helplines

- “Fuck…fuck…”  Bottoming out, Scott groans.  The sound low, gruff.  Emanating from the depths of his toned chest.  “Didn’t think…shit…”  While big hands squeeze, grip your wide hips a bit tighter.  Supple, pillowy flesh overflowing.  Spilling out between the gaps of his long fingers.  “Didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I…”

- Laying beneath, chunky legs tossed…thrown up over his broad shoulders.  Your such a pretty, little mess.  With lips swollen from his rough, hungry kisses.  Eyes scrunched, adverted and looking away in embarrassment.  Chubby cheeks shining from the remnants of hastily wiped tears.  Hiccupping and babbling weakly, words nearly incoherent.  “I-I know.  Went to-too far.  Turned myself in-into a literal-”

- “Shut…up…”  Lewd squelches of juices.  Gasping mewls of flustered, pleasurable pain.  The soft crack, slap of a firm yet gentle blow landing on your bruised love handle.  Ring out, fill the vanilla scented air of your tiny apartment.  “Shut up…stupid…”

- Wasting no time, he quickens his pace.  Bullying your cute cunt with his fat length, bulbous tip roughly kisses that sweet spot of yours.  “Said I don’t wanna doll…”  Your loving  boyfriend puts his weight behind each strong, powerful thrust.  Causing your now softer, fuller body to ripple and jiggle.  Bounce like the perfect ball that you’ve transformed yourself into.  “No stupid, dinky tinkertoy…”

- Warm palm trails, descends your thick thighs.  Kneading and fondling your ample bottom.  “Wanna hippo to play wit…”  Fingertips swirl around, dip slightly into those delectable dimples.  Before settling, pushing on your round tummy.   “Enjoy…”

- Squirming, you whimper meekly.  Feeling how deep he’s buried, the pressure of him baring down on your not so tiny paunch.  “Mmmh, but ya know what…”  Gummy walls fluttering and clenching.  Burning from the stretch, from the continuous barrage and onslaught of blissful abuse.   “Think ya might still be too small for me…”

- Surprised, alarmed squeak bubbles up from your throat.  “Don’t worry gonna fix that though…”  Gaze locks with his, both sets of colored orbs blown wide.  “Gonna stuff ya full…day ‘n night…”  His in feral, raw desire of his fantasy coming to life.  “Wit all sorts of junk foods…”  Yours in shock and awe, arousing intrigue and undeniable rush.  “Wit a brat or two…”

- Soaked core tightens, clamps hard.  Stray drops of slick spurt out, trickle along the curve of your meaty behind.  “Yeah…like that, huh…”  Splatter onto, soiling the festive sheets even further.  Feeble wail, mixed with a muffled moan escapes.  “Want me to make ya into a real hippo hero…”

- Face and body grow flush.  Your tiny fingers wrap, cling to his bulging bicep desperately.  Pearly painted nails sinking, leaving crescent shaped marks behind.  “All big and bloated…”  Trying to anchor yourself from the flood of thoughts.  Images of the fuller future that leave your head spinning, pussy throbbing.  “All helpless and needin’ me for shit…shit…”

- String of needy pleas fly from your lips, accompanied by his endless stream of curses.  “Don’t…fuck…”  Neck strains deliciously, veins pop enticingly.  Boisterous balls slap heavily.  “Don’t worry, dum-dum…”  As his hips slam harshly into you one last time.  Creamy, sticky seed pouring in; painting your insides snowy white, stomach inching a smidge higher into the air.    “Will have ya nice and huge by next year…”

- Panting, sobbing, laughing.  “Then…fuck…”  Skin glistens with a sheen of sweat under the twinkling lights.  “Then I really will have me da perfect hippo fo-for Christmas…”  Lovesick grin adorns Scott’s handsome face, which you can’t help but mimic.  “But, ya know, this is a good star-start…  Just sayin’…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @t03soup, @princessswifie, @jediavengers, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex, @sapphirefrog-blog, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @valyna27, @googie-jeon, @modsmm, @thefallenlittlebloodyangel, @hearts4sammonroe, @lostboys1987girl, @starwh0r33s, @igalol, @arabellaamore, @starsoldier077, @luciiaagarrigos, @enchant5d, @anakinca, @iluvmyesti

The sun was already slowly setting when you finally got back home after spending a few hours with your friends. The whole time you’d been sitting in a café, gossiping, venting to each other—typical girl stuff. Eventually you said your goodbyes, claiming you still had something to take care of, which was a complete lie. You were simply tired and wanted to escape the noise and constant buzz of the café.

You unlocked the front door and stepped inside. You were alone. Your parents had gone out to dinner to celebrate yet another wedding anniversary, which meant the entire house was yours. And the only thing you planned to do with that freedom was rest — in silence.

As soon as you closed the door behind you, you locked it again, just to be sure no one would come in. In the hallway stood a mirror. When you glanced at your reflection, a shiver ran through you at the sight of the pink garter straps peeking out from beneath your short skirt. The same soft, powder-pink ones you’d worn that unforgettable night two days ago. The night you’d told Sam to come over under the pretense of teaching you how to fuck for a date—when in reality, you just wanted to do it with him.

You blushed.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if he would like what you were wearing now. A white top that clung perfectly to your breasts, and a pink skirt, soft like a sweater, barely covering your ass. There was something intoxicating about wearing clothes like this. They made you feel sweet and delicate, but at the same time undeniably tempting.

You finally shook yourself out of your thoughts and slowly started up the stairs to your bedroom. Halfway up, you slipped a hand under your top and unclasped your bra. Relief washed over you instantly. You pulled the thin, sheer fabric free from beneath your shirt and sighed as you straightened your back. Your breasts were fairly large, so they immediately fell heavy and free, swaying slightly with every movement.

When you opened the door to your room — you froze.

“Hey, bunny,” Sam said, sitting on your bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. “When you’re not home, you should close the window. It’s way too easy to break in.”

Your hands immediately clenched around the thin bra, hiding it behind your back.

“Oh? And what are you hiding there, bunny?” Sam hopped off the bed with ease and started walking toward you, slow and deliberate.

He was dressed in dark—like always. You sighed quietly, imagining how hot it must have been for him on a sunny day like this. As usual, he wore loose, baggy pants, slightly faded to gray, hanging low on his hips. You could see his V-line perfectly. On top, he had on a band T-shirt that was ridiculously short, almost more like a crop top. When he stepped closer, his scent wrapped around you—cigarette smoke, maybe a hint of weed, and his cologne. All of it blended together into something dangerously intoxicating.

“N-nothing,” you said, offering him a soft smile. You knew your flushed cheeks were giving you away. You looked into his eyes—those beautiful blue eyes lined with black eyeshadow. Eyes you hadn’t seen in two days. Not since you’d had sex with him. The thought alone made you blush even harder.

Suddenly, completely without warning, Sam slipped his hand behind your back, searching for whatever you were hiding. He caught your wrist, pulling you closer. Your breasts were almost pressed against his chest. His fingers tangled with yours and found the thin fabric. He quickly stepped back a few paces, just in case you tried to snatch it away.

Sam held your sheer bra in his hand, staring at it.

“Fuckin’ sexy,” he murmured under his breath.

You couldn’t even put into words how embarrassed you felt. Your burning face said everything for you.

“Why are you here, Sam?” you asked bluntly.

“Remember two days ago—” He didn’t finish, because you shook your head frantically, silently begging him not to say it out loud. “Show me how you fuck."

“What?” you asked bluntly.

“Two days ago you asked me to teach you how to fuck. Now, I want to see what you’ve learned. Show me how you fuck, date.”

His words made heat rush through you. You didn’t think you could blush any harder, and yet, your face burned even more. You parted your lips in a silent sigh. Even your mouth felt hot, suddenly like little pieces of burning coal.

Sam took another step back until his legs met the bed. He jumped up and positioned himself on it, ready.

“Come on. I know you want this. I can see it,” he said, eyes locked on your chest. More precisely, on your hard nipples. You were so turned on that they had become painfully erect, straining against your white top. That’s when you realized the fabric was sheer—perfectly revealing the pink circles around them.

Embarrassed, you covered your breasts with your arms.

“Bunny, I’ve already seen you completely naked. I’ve been inside you,” Sam said, his tone bolder than usual. Today he seemed different—reckless, like he didn’t care what he said, no inhibitions at all.

You took a small breath and moved closer. Your knees sank into the soft mattress as you straddled his thighs. Your breathing sped up with every passing second. You grabbed the hem of your top, lifting your arms and pulling the fabric with you. The top came off, and your breasts spilled free. A cool breeze brushed against them, though the room was warm. They were firm, ready, practically begging for touch. Sam’s eyes were glued to the pale, soft skin of your chest.

“You can touch them…” you whispered. “Please?”

“Bunny, I’d love to. But I came to you today with a favor in mind.” His eyes slowly drifted upward.

“Please,” you begged, pushing your chest toward him. Your hands slid up to his neck, one playing with the hair at the nape.

“Jerk me off, and we’ll see if you deserve it,” he said with a teasing smirk.

“You asshole,” you sighed, looking at him with mock horror. “Fuck it.”

Your lips collided with his. You buried yourself into him like a starving animal, kissing him hard enough to make him momentarily lose his breath. Your tongues clashed, mingling, teeth grazing together.

Your hips began to circle over his. Through the thin fabric of your panties, you rubbed against the bulge in his pants. You bit down hard on his lip, tasting a hint of metallic tang in your mouth. You pulled back slightly to look at him. Sam was staring at you, lips parted and wet with saliva.

Blood trickled from his bottom lip.

“Did you really bite me, bunny?” he murmured, touching the small cut with two fingers. Of course, there was blood. His eyes locked on yours again.

Without hesitation, you leaned down toward him…

This time, you didn’t kiss him. Your lips latched onto his bleeding lip, sucking softly with a low hum while still moving your hips gently. You knew he liked it—the heavy, ragged breath he drew said it all. Sam’s hand tangled in your hair.

He pulled back, ripping his lip free from your mouth, and kissed you with hunger.

“Mm, fuck,” he groaned as his hand clenched your ass. You didn’t even notice when he slid it there. You murmured into his mouth. His other hand found your waist, so large it easily gripped you, guiding your hips forward and back.

Suddenly, you paused, pulling back from his lips.

“I’m the one showing you how to fuck. Don’t tell me what to do,” you growled, surprised at the sudden wave of dominance and confidence that had taken over you.

“All right, sweetheart,” Sam said, smiling casually.

Suddenly, you pulled back. Kneeling, you let your skirt fall down to your knees, then quickly tugged it off completely, tossing it to the floor. Now you were left only in the skimpy, sheer panties that matched your bra, white thigh-highs, and the pink garter straps holding them up. You straightened up, staying there in your teasing lingerie. You knew Sam was enjoying the view.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked deliberately, even though you already knew the answer. You wanted to hear him say it.

“Yes, my love. You’re beautiful,” he said. You blushed again, a shiver of heat spreading low between your thighs.

You dropped to all fours and crawled toward him slowly. Your hands found the zipper on his pants. Carefully, you slid it down. Gripping the sides, you pulled them down until they reached mid-thigh. His black boxers were straining against his hard cock.

Just the thought of it made your mouth water. You grabbed the waistband, unable to wait any longer. His cock sprang free as the elastic slipped down. You inhaled sharply. Right there, before your mouth—thick, long, and rock hard. The flushed pink head looked perfect, soft and velvety.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around and started moving it slowly—first tracing up to the head and stopping at the base. You began stroking with a bit more force, and Sam tilted his head back against the headboard. He parted his lips, letting out a muffled moan that broke completely when your hand brushed over the tip. He groaned some incomprehensible word, probably a curse, but it caught in his throat. You smiled to yourself, tightening your grip.

Thanks to that lesson from two nights ago, you remembered exactly what he liked, what drove him wild. You knew to slow down near the head and speed up along the shaft.

Suddenly, an idea struck you. Sliding even closer, your breasts brushed against him. Your sore nipples pressed into the hard, veiny shaft. You pressed him between your breasts and spat on him twice, letting the saliva run down into the groove. You moved slightly, pressing your chest together.

“Uh, fuck,” Sam groaned. His eyes were locked on your breasts, where his cock disappeared between them. The saliva gave just the right slickness. You could feel every vein against your skin, and pre-cum began oozing from the tip. He was loving it. You quickened the rhythm slightly, adding more spit every now and then.

“I don’t remember teaching you that, bunny,” he rasped as you lifted your breasts a little higher, pressing him against you.

“I did my own research,” you murmured with a sly smile before leaning down to take him into your soft lips. You kept stroking and squeezing him between your breasts, but now he also felt the heat of your tongue.

The salty taste of his pre-cum spread across your mouth. You sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, your tongue circling the tip. Hot saliva dripped down.

“I’m close,” Sam groaned. You immediately pulled back. “Why’d you stop?” he whined, disappointed.

“Because I want to show you how I fuck," you said innocently, smiling.

Sam groaned heavily, adjusting his position. As his gaze lifted, you were already sliding your panties down your hips. They were soaked through with your juices. Sucking him off had been intensely hot. You quickly discarded your panties, leaving the stockings and garters in place. The pink strap across your hips and the four fastened to the white thigh-highs looked so damn sexy that Sam’s cock twitched, begging for touch.

You moved closer, positioning yourself just millimeters above him. Guiding him, you aligned his cock perfectly with your entrance. Slowly, you lowered yourself, letting the tip press against you. You were so wet there was no need to ease in—he slipped inside effortlessly. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, slick and swollen.

Your thighs trembled as you sank fully onto him. Your back arched, chest lifted.

His cock was thick and long, filling you completely, as if it had been made just for you—and only for you.

Finally, you started to move. Rising slightly, you looked straight into Sam’s eyes as he pushed back against you. You gripped him tight, like you’d never let go. Leaning forward, you kissed him. His tongue parted your lips and slid into your mouth, mixing your saliva once more. Your lips parted a little as your tongue traced circles around the silver ball of Sam’s piercing.

You couldn’t believe how turned on you were by that damn lip piercing. You bit down on the ball, blocking his next move.

“Bunny—” he hissed through clenched teeth, but you just laughed, looking him directly in the eyes.

Finally, you released the piercing, and he licked it immediately, keeping his gaze locked on you.

You pressed down on him involuntarily as his eyes drilled into yours. You had no control. Sam was so damn handsome that it only made you wetter.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you heard him groan, pleading. His arm wrapped around your waist, sliding across your back. Immediately, you felt the soft mattress dip beneath you. With one deft motion, Sam shifted over you, his hips pressing between your spread legs.

“I was supposed to show you how I fuck,” you whispered into his mouth, so close.

“I know, bunny, but I can’t hold back while you look like a fucking angel I want to fuck,” he growled. His lips slid up to your collarbone. He kissed you with hunger, sucking your delicate skin. Slowly, moved to your neck, biting mercilessly. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back, and you just moaned, giving yourself over to him completely.

When he paused kissing you for a moment, you glanced up only to see him guiding his hard cock back to your dripping entrance. You gasped as the delicate, slick tip brushed against your labia. Your mouth opened in a silent moan. It was so gentle, yet every stroke felt intense.

“God, just fuck me already!” you couldn’t hold back. You were so turned on and desperate you had to beg, begging him to fuck you.

Sam’s eyes locked on yours immediately, that arrogant smirk in place.

“Say it again. Ask nicely,” he teased.

“Please, Sam, fuck me,” you whimpered. You sounded pathetic, but you didn’t care—you needed him so badly.

Suddenly, you felt him fill you. No slow teasing, no hesitation—he plunged all the way in, his balls slapping against your ass. A loud, throaty growl escaped his lips.

“You’re so tight…fuck,” he groaned, moving slowly. His hips pulled back and thrust forward again. Your nails dug into his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. With every thrust, it felt like you were in another world. His cock pressed perfectly against your G-spot, making your back arch uncontrollably. You looked at his face, twisted in pleasure, with pleading eyes.

“Sam,” you moaned. “You’re so big.”

“And you love it, bunny,” he laughed nonchalantly.

“Yes, I love it…fuck…” You tilted your head back. “I’m close,” you moaned as Sam made a small circular motion with his hips, pushing you right to the edge.

He picked up the pace, fucking you hard. Every thrust pulled muffled moans from your lips.

Suddenly, your tensed body shook, muscles clenching as your orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless. Sam kept thrusting, teetering on the edge himself. A few more pumps, and he came, trembling as he released inside you.

Sam’s sweaty forehead pressed against yours. Both of you were breathing hard and unevenly.

“You came inside me…without a condom,” you breathed heavily. Sam pulled back slightly.

“And you have no idea how much satisfaction that gives me,” he laughed, moving away just enough. You collapsed onto the pillows, utterly spent.

Your breasts rose with every breath, nipples brushing the cool air. Your body was heated and slick with sweat, like after a long marathon.

Then you felt a warm rush across your dripping core. Opening your eyes, you looked down to see Sam between your legs. He had taken your thighs in his arms, spreading them wider.

“Sam, what are you doing?” you asked, surprised.

“Enjoying the view. You’re dripping all over me, baby,” he said. His words hit differently this time. You felt the press and warmth low in your belly. You had just come, and yet you already needed his touch again.

“You earned it,” he said.

A shiver ran through your body at his words. Sam’s tongue slid across your pussy, hot saliva mixing with your juices. He licked every drop of cum that had oozed out with each squeeze of your pelvic muscles. You couldn’t control your body around him. Your legs gripped his head. You were still exhausted from your previous orgasm, overstimulated, barely tolerating the delicate flicks of his tongue. Then Sam sucked hard on your swollen, pulsing clit.

“Sam!” you screamed suddenly. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, fingers gripping and tugging tightly. Sam growled in pain and pleasure.

“Oh, yes, bunny. Use me while I eat you out,” he laughed, the vibrations sending your legs shaking even more.

“Sam, I don’t know if I can take a second orgasm,” you whimpered as his tongue circled your clit. He slid down, sinking into you.

“I have to clean you up, baby,” Sam murmured, sucking up his own cum mixed with your juices like it was a delicacy. His mouth drove you wild. You pulled on his hair, gripping it tightly. Your back arched, legs spread wider, and your body shook as you tensed and trembled.

Suddenly, one of Sam’s hands wandered up your body—over your stomach, up to your breast, which he squeezed as he slid his tongue inside you. He was so hot it almost felt like he was burning you from the inside, making your whole body tremble with pleasure. Your nipple slipped between his fingers, which he pinched tightly, making you squeak like a mouse. He pinched just hard enough for you to feel it—not pain, but pleasure. You loved it. He played with your breast, kneading and squeezing it while teasing your nipple, occasionally pinching it so that your eyes rolled back into your head.

Your thighs clamped down hard on his head as he devoured you like a starving animal. He sucked your clit fiercely while one of his fingers slid inside, rubbing your tightening walls rapidly. You could feel your orgasm building, your body stiffening, your walls clenching around his finger. You moaned like a filthy little slut.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice from downstairs.

“Sweetheart! We’re home!”

Your parents had returned from dinner. You didn’t care. Sam lifted his head, looking at you with that dumb, mischievous grin.

“Don’t just stare—let me finish!” you moaned a little too loudly. Sam didn’t hesitate. He added a second finger into your tight pussy and sank his mouth back onto your clit, nibbling it deliberately.

You tugged his hair hard as your orgasm hit on his fingers. Your entire body shook while Sam left lingering, teasing kisses on your clit.

“Good little bunny,” Sam grinned between your thighs.

“Shut up and get dressed! My mom is about to walk into this room!”

You immediately jumped off the bed, legs trembling, feeling like you might topple over from overstimulation. You bent down to pick up your skirt from the floor, and behind you, you heard a whistle. You spun around.

Sam was lying on the bed, zipper already closed, staring at your ass.

“What a view,” he said. A pink flush rose to your cheeks for some reason. You ignored him and pulled your skirt and top back on, unable to find your bra.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. You grabbed your notebook and hopped onto the bed, sitting beside Sam. Your mom appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, Sam! I didn’t expect you here,” she said, surprised, looking at you.

“We’re studying for tomorrow’s test,” you quickly said, holding up your math notebook.

“Well, I won’t disturb you then,” she said kindly, turning on her heel and closing the door behind her. You exhaled with relief.

Suddenly, Sam’s hand slid under your skirt again.

“So, what do you say? One more time?”

“I don’t think I could survive that, Sam,” you smiled, kissing him on the lips.