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You’ve been trying to kiss him all night, trying to get him to do something. And while he enjoys the contact, he’s just very very close to being complete with his Review of Related Literature. After one last draft, he’d be done for the weekend.

“Rylandddd.” You wrap your arms around him, working hard to pull his mouth to yours.

This time, he finally relents, letting you taste his lips after hours of effort. And he loves it. Ravishes in how your arms tighten around him, the way you set his laptop aside so you can climb on his lap.

You’ve always been so shy. His sweet, shy girl. Barely initiating, and always blushing when he does. So, when you’re needy like this, he relishes every second of it.

“Not mad?” You’re still on his lips, so your words come out in a mumble. Your boyfriend easily annoys when he’s distracted from his work. You need to make sure he isn’t annoyed at you.

“Surprisingly not.”

It entices you, excites you as you dive back to keep nipping at his lower lip. He likes you like this. Likes how your fingers feel tightening around his biceps to keep him close. Likes how you roll your hips desperately against his clothed cock.

“Naughty girl.” Ryland pulls back, and you’re already trying to chase after his lips, eyes drooped and tunnelvisioned on his mouth. You only whine when you feel him bury his hands on the dip of your hips, halting your movements. “What is it you need, hm?”

“Ryy. Please. Please. Please.”

The words are desperate when they leave your mouth, your fingers transferring from his biceps to his hands on your hips to try and pry them off. You were starting to feel so good.

“Use your words.” He whispers against your ear, rough and raspy and so fucking dirty.

“Ryyyyy.”

You’re still shy, still unable to tell him what you need from him but Ryland wants to hear it so bad. Wants to hear you say you want him to fuck you, to use you.

“Words.”

One of his hands moves to bring your wrists together when you keep trying to pry wordlessly. “Don’t upset me, baby. You’re already on thin ice.”

His free hand traces your mouth, which is slightly open and trying to form the words he wants you to say. He sends a love tap against your cheek, encouraging you to tell him exactly what you need from him.

“Want you.” You whisper, eyes trailing down at his own lips before bringing your attention back to his eyes that are already looking down your loose top. His tongue moves over his lower lip as he drags a finger down your own bottom lip, stretching it out.

He wants nothing more than to shove his fingers in your mouth. “Be specific.”

“Want you to fuck me. Please.”

His hips buck up at the lewdness of your words, at how you’re so desperate for him to fuck you and fill you up. At the sight of your mouth forming those words, the sound of your sweet voice in sharp contrast with the filthy things you’re begging from him.

“You want me to fuck you? You’ll let me have you?”

“Please, please, please, please. Fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

He releases your hands, and it’s instant the way you latch your lips back on his. How you mimic your movements from earlier, trying desperately hard to create friction. How you pull at his shirt, tugging at it to let him know you want him to take it off.

“What did I tell you about using your words?” Ryland moans against your mouth, one finger hooking at the band of your shorts to pull them down your legs.

“Take it off, Ry, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” His shirt is immediately discarded, taking yours with it.

Ryland lets his eyes roam over you for a moment, at the cute matching underwear you’re wearing for him, at how you’re still grinding against him desperately. Almost needy. His cock twitches at the sight of you and your fucked out eyes and your swollen lips from kissing him so harshly a few minutes ago.

And you’re so fucked out that you don’t process how he’s suddenly left the bed, at how he’d pulled you by the legs and dragged you by the foot of the bed, at how he’s hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down your legs. He’s moving so slow, and you can’t help squirm at his pace. It’s exactly what he wants you to do.

He’s stood there, one hand stroking his hard cock at the sight of your squirming cunt while his other hand blindly fishes out for a condom in his drawer.

You’re getting more and more impatient as he works the condom down his cock, and you’re whining and being such a brat, and Ryland loves it. He loves the breath of relief that leaves your mouth in between your little moans when he finally hovers over you.

One of your hands grip at his arm when he moves to remove his glasses, and you’re shaking your head desperately. “No, no. Keep them on. I want them on.”

“Oh, you want me to keep my glasses?” He smirks, pushing it up his nose as you whimper at the sight of him above you, and how close his cock is from your heat. “What do you say when you want something?”

“Please.”

You’re pulling at his arm, bucking your hip to try and feel him. And you almost moan out when he finally reaches down to grip his cock, when he finally guides himself to press his tip against throbbing cunt. “Yes, yes, yes.”

God, he almost comes at your desperation, almost comes when he pushes himself deeper and you moan out so loud, so pretty. The sounds he’s making as he pushes himself in and out of you makes your cheeks turn pink, makes you wetter, makes you louder. And, the glasses do eventually fall off from how hard he’s fucking you.

“This what you wanted, huh?” His voice is rough, breath hot against your ears, and you can do nothing but repeatedly switch between ‘yes’ and ‘please’.

A very limited vocabulary as you’re so fucked out by the pleasure.

It only encourages him, fucking into you harder as you close your eyes shut at the overwhelming pleasure that’s filling you. You’re pulling at his hair and gripping his back and clawing at him and your hands and mouth can’t behave as he fucks you.

“God, your pussy feels so good around me. Open wider baby, I know you can do that for me. Be a good girl.” He grunts.

Ryland is a loud man during sex, whimpering and moaning into you just as much as you are. “You’re so sexy when you’re needy, baby. Fuuuh. So good.”

He’s still fucking into you, hard and fast. And when his eyes aren’t closed, they’re scanning your pretty face and the way your tits bounce after every thrust.

Your moans start to muffle when he drops his head down to kiss you as he keeps thrusting, keeps fucking you. And you’re so full of pleasure that you’re ill-prepared for the feeling of his other hand reaching down to your clit. The pressure of his length and his fingers together make you come around him, and Ryland whimpers at the way your pussy suddenly clenches around his cock.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby. So pretty and perfect letting me use you like this.”

He quickens his pace, hands gripping at your hips as he fucks himself into you until he finally comes, cock twitching inside of you as his hips stutter. He doesn’t draw out immediately, lets his cock keep filling you up even when you’re both trying to recover.

You’re breathing so heavily. Erratic. And he only pulls out after pressing a sweet kiss on your lips, letting himself drop down beside you on the bed.

ryland isn't helpless in the bedroom by any means – that man would 100% talk you through it.

sometimes, though, that confidence wavers. you're not a thesis he can prove or an equation he can solve for, you're a human being who – for some reason – has a romantic interest in him. That's infinitely more complicated (and a little terrifying for him).

on the contrary, you're of the belief that his attractiveness is fairly easy to study. is a study even necessary? (not like you'd complain if it was.)

it is.

you try explaining this to him one night in your shared apartment. it's not going very well. he's not very responsive to words of encouragement alone... hm, maybe apply supplemental stimuli?

your eyes darken. "do you need me to just show you?"

his throat bobs as his cheeks flare crimson. "maybe."

without further discussion, you lead him into the bedroom.

you have him undress first. slowly. "let's see... initial observations." his dark t-shirt falls to the floor. you allow only a sliver of distance between your bodies.

"lovely mouth." a brush of your thumb under his bottom lip. "best kiss-bitten. pretty words," you slip the digit passed his teeth and he welcomes it readily. "good with your tongue." with a hushed, dreamy huff, you withdraw to explore further.

"big arms." drag your nails down both his biceps, let them dig in a little. "always hugged so nicely by your sleeves."

he's tense, adorably so. muscles taut like he's trying not to sweep you up and forget about this whole experiment.

"broad chest." you flatten your palms there and his breath catches.

"strong core." a shiver as your touch trails down his stomach.

he's listening, ears straining to absorb every word. you're saying simple things, too sultry to be entirely clinical, but he's already pink around the ears.

a strangled little sound when you pull at the loops of his jeans, pressing his hips into yours. he's already hard. you have to feel it – the denim doing little to hide it.

his hands are flexing at his sides. he's literally aching to touch you. but ryland wants to listen to you, so he contains himself. this will be about you, you'd said to him.

you pull away – ever controlled – just enough to unfasten his belt, having the nerve to hum as you're systematically unravelling him. he lets you undo the button and zipper. reminds himself to inhale, exhale when he's left on display for you in only his boxer briefs.

are you going to–? you are.

his eyes are so big as you start to lower yourself, leaving gentle kisses in your wake. worshipping. memorizing. oh, and speaking of big...

"more than enough to fill me up." and you actually lick the imprint of him – a single stripe from base to tip – through the fabric of his underwear. a broken moan of your name. there's a weak spasm in his abdomen as his dick gives a desperate twitch for more pressure – more of you. he's honestly surprised that he doesn't combust right then and there. statistically, he isn't sure he'd be able to replicate that outcome.

his skin is burning. you can feel it near your face. under your hands, which are gripping his bare thighs.

poor thing.

when you stand, ryland is biting back a soft cry. your breath had been so warm on him, right where he needed.

you lick your lips. make sure he watches you do so. "take everything off. sit back on the bed, ry." barely a whisper and he's scrambling to obey. the command you hold over him is more than any worldly power he can name.

you remove your own clothes, relishing in the cool air against your own heat – molten just below the surface. your results aren't due anytime soon. you take your time.

"syllogisms," you sigh as you climb on top of him – straddling his lap, but sat forward on your knees, "are deductive tests where a conclusion is found to be either true or false given a set of assumed premises."

fuck, it's hot when you know what you're talking about. both of you are all too aware of the mere inches separating where you want the other the most. he rests his large hands on your thighs, steadying you. his thumbs are rubbing twin arcs into your skin. don't stop, please, he just can't help it.

bringing your lips down, you kiss him. despite the salacious nature of everything else, it's sweet. loving. you don't want him to forget what this is for. "so let's test that original hypothesis, yeah?"

a swallow, "okay."

"attractive things make me wet. this is fact, the main propostion." you reach down to your practically dripping core. ryland doesn't dare tear his gaze away as your cupped hand glides between your folds, gathering slick. you don't even need to push them inside to have enough to coat your palm.

can't refuse when you bring your fingers up to his mouth again. he swallows them greedily, your taste exploding across his tastebuds, pure wonder in his expression as he looks at you from under mussed blond strands.

ryland is still licking them clean when you ask, "taste that?" he's a bit dazed, but he nods, too busy to speak. "mm, good. minor premise: I'm presently aroused. another fact." you remove your fingers and his jaw clenches at the loss.

he doesn't have time to complain. because, in the next moment, you drop. you're flush against him, laving your silken sex across his in blissful rolls of your hips. the sound he makes – mixing with a gasp of your own – is unfathomably embarrassing, though he can't bring himself to care. only manages to blush a deeper red. match your rhythm.

"feel it too? 's because of you, ryland." he actually whimpers. his mind is blank, it's just consumed by youyouyou–

and then, because you must love seeing him tormented, you rise. it borders sin, a glistening thread of your essence still connecting the two of you.

his hips jolt upwards involuntarily, trying to chase the sensation you've taken away. "oh, god, I'm sorry, so sorry," he babbles, words tripping over one another.

"so," you shakily regather your composure, fraying yourself, "if physically attractive things cause me to produce lubricant, and I'm soaked from looking at and touching you, then what can you determine?"

he knows the answer. ryland looks like you just asked him to stand up in front of the class. "don't make me say it." you repeat the sequence. no change in tone – the reiteration alone does the trick. he groans. "attractive things make you wet." his grip on your thighs tightens. "I made you wet." he's looking up at you over his glasses. god, his pupils are huge. "therefore, I'm attractive."

satisfaction swells in your chest. "there you go." the praise makes him throb.

he needs to be buried inside you, now. whatever gets him that honor.

"I'm fantastic," you slurred, and the sound of your voice, thick and syrupy, sent a shiver down his spine. “You did so good up there.”

You leaned your full weight against him, your face pressing into his sweaty neck. He froze and nearly stopped breathing. You were nuzzling into the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world - meanwhile his heart was busy trying to beat its way out of his rib cage. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, sharp and sour, but underneath it, you smelled like you - some sort of perfume that was a mixture of cherries and vanilla that secretly drove him insane.

"Hey," he managed to choke out, his voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears. He carefully pulled you back, forcing himself to hold your shoulders at arm's length, cocking his head down to get a better look at you. "You're burning up. Let's get you some water."

"No," you stuck out your lower lip in a slight pout, and he had to look away, swallowing hard. You grabbed his wrist, your fingers hot and trembling. "Come outside with me. Please? It's too loud in here.”

He looked at Gareth and Jeff; they were busy packing up, oblivious to the internal war currently shredding him apart. He looked back at you. Your lower lip was still jutting out in a way that made him want to bite it. He knew he should just get you water. Help you sober up before driving you home to tuck you in like the good, platonic friend he was supposed to be.

But he was weak. God, he was so weak when it came to you.

"Okay," he relented, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just for some air. Before I drive you home."

The alleyway was freezing compared to the stifling heat of the bar, but the cold air did nothing to cool the fire raging under his skin. He leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive position he hoped you wouldn't notice.

"You should drink this," he said, pulling the spare water bottle from his back pocket. His hands fumbled with the cap and it fell to the ground. He felt clumsy, stupid.

You ignored it, stepping into his space and invading the safety zone he tried to maintain until your toes were touching his boots. He looked down at you, his breath hitching in his throat. You were so close. Way too close.

"What’re you doing?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hands hung limp at his sides, useless, aching to touch you.

"Nothing," you breathed. Your hand came up to his jaw, your fingers tracing the line of bone. Your touch was feather-light, torturous. His eyes fluttered shut against his will. "I'm jus’ looking at you."

"Don't," he whispered back, a plea. "Please don't look at me like that."

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.” Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to make sure you stay outta trouble. Take care of you.”

"You're always taking such good care of me, Eds," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lower lip, tugging down slightly. His lips parted in a gasp. "Always watching out for me. Why?"

Because I love you. I've loved you since we were six years old and you shared your lunch with me when you saw I didn’t have one. Every time you smile at me, I feel like I've won the lottery. You go out of your way to make every single day better. The thought of anyone else touching me makes me want to tear my own skin off, and I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone as much as I want to be with you.

"Because I'm your friend," he lied, the words tasting like poison in his mouth. "And someone has to.”

"I don't want a friend right now," you whispered, standing on tip-toe and letting your lips brushed the sensitive skin just below his ear. Your hips pressed against his ever so slightly. “And I don’t think you do either.”

Eddie’s knees nearly buckled. A guttural sound tore itself from his throat, half-groan, half-sob. His hands flew to your waist on instinct, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding you up against him and holding you back all at once.

He wanted to let go, he really did. But it wasn’t very gentlemanly to feel up someone who was drunk off their rocker. He would never take advantage of anyone who was drunk - especially not you.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to grab you by the back of the neck and crash his mouth against yours. To spin you around, push you up against this wall and show you exactly what you did to him. He’d spent years memorizing the way you laughed, the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and now you were here, seemingly seconds away from offering it to him on a silver platter.

"You don’t mean that," he choked out, voice barely recognizable. "It's the alcohol talking."

"It's not," you insisted, your hand sliding down his chest, over his still slightly sweaty t-shirt, heading lower. "Kiss me, Eddie. Please."

Your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, teasing the sliver of skin there. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and to his horror he was becoming hard - painfully, embarrassingly hard - and there was no hiding it as you pressed up against him. He was disgusted with himself. Taking advantage of his best friend because she had a few too many drinks? Fuck, he was scum. No better than the guys the manager of the bar occasionally asked him to toss out for getting too handsy with other customers, or trying to lure drunk girls out to their cars.

He caught your hand before you could go any lower, his grip almost bruising.

“Please, Eddie. Just’ one -“

"D-don't," he gasped, his head falling back against the brick wall.

He looked down at you. Your beautiful eyes were glassy, and your cheeks were flushed a tempting shade of lusty pink. But he knew you weren't really seeing him. You were seeing a warm body, a safe pair of hands. A temporary scratch to an alcohol-fueled itch. You definitely weren't seeing the guy who had spent a decade silently worshipping the ground you walked on.

"You're going to wake up tomorrow," he said, the words tearing at his throat, "and you're going to regret this.” And I can't handle just being the mistake you make when you're too drunk to know better.

"I’d never regret you," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “You're… Eddie."

He let out a shaky laugh, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest as he gently peeled your fingers off his waist, fighting every instinct in his body that screamed at him to pull you back. He needed to get you away from him before he did something he could never take back.

"Let's get you in the van," he said, his voice rough, forcibly devoid of the emotion that was threatening to drown him. "I'm taking you home to sleep this off.” And we are never talking about this again.

He opened the passenger door and helped you inside, his hands lingering on your lower back for just a second too long before he pulled away. He shut the door, closing you in, and leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the roof, dragging in ragged breaths of air. He was hard, aching, and utterly miserable - and he wanted you so bad it felt like dying. But he loved you enough to let you go.

The drive to your place was a blur of dark trees and silent roads, the only sound the hum of his van engine and your quiet, uneven breathing from the passenger seat. Eddie gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, his jaw set in a hard line as he stared resolutely at the road. He refused to look at you, or to let his eyes trace the curve of your very bare thigh.

You were dead weight, soft and pliant in his arms, face buried in his chest as he half-carried you up the walkway to your apartment a little while later. The scent of your shampoo and perfume filled his nose with every step, clouding his mind. He fumbled with your keys, hands shaking as he swore under his breath until the lock finally clicked.

Inside, he guided you straight to your bedroom. You probably needed a shower to get the film of bar sweat off your soft skin - but he wasn’t about to try and tempt fate, or wrestle you into your small shower. He sat you on the edge of the bed, kneeling to tug off your heels. You giggled drunkenly, sliding your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. It sent a bolt of electricity straight down his spine. Jesus Christ, sweetheart. Don’t do that again.

"You're so good to me, Eddie," you mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. "Stay with me? Please? Don’t wanna be alone."

Eddie froze, his hands resting on your ankles and thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin there. He looked up at you. "I... I shouldn't."

"Please," you whispered again, clutching at his shoulders like he was your lifeline. "Just until I fall asleep. Feel… Dizzy.”

He let out a long, ragged breath, closing his eyes for a second. He knew he should leave. Tuck you in and go sleep on the couch immediately. But the thought of saying no to you, when you looked at him like that… It was impossible.

"Okay," he whispered, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just until you fall asleep."

He helped you slide under the covers, his movements bordering on reverent. You looked like an angel lying there, hair fanned out across the pillow, cheeks flushed. He sat on the very edge of the mattress, trying to take up as little space on the bed as possible. But you weren't having it, tugging on his sleeve, mumbling something about laying down. Next thing he knew you were wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your face in his back.

He stiffened, his entire body locking up. He could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel the softness of your breasts pressing against him. It was agony. The sweetest kind of hell he had ever known. The kind guys like him wrote songs about. Eddie stared at your wall, counting the seconds, forcing himself to breathe evenly, trying to ignore the way his body was screaming at him to turn around and pull you into his arms.

Slowly, your breathing evened out, deepening into the slow rhythm of sleep. Your arm went lax around his waist. He waited another ten minutes, just to be sure, his heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

Gently, he peeled your arm away, sliding out from under your grasp. He turned back to look at you, bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the blinds. You looked so peaceful. Almost innocent. He felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him at the mere thought of doing anything to ruin his friendship with you.

He reached out, hand hovering over your cheek for a moment before he let his fingertips graze your soft skin. Then, he leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. It chaste, a purely platonic gesture of affection, but it burned his lips like a brand.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered into the silence.

Sunlight streamed through the open living room blinds, stabbing directly into Eddie's eyelids. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the cushion. His back was stiff, neck popping as he shifted. He hadn’t even had a drop of beer the night before but he still felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, the events of the night before crashing down on him. The alleyway. The kiss that almost happened. The way you had clearly wanted him. His stomach twisted with a mixture of shame and lingering desire. He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, trying to smooth it down, and grabbed his discarded flannel shirt from the floor, shrugging it on.

He needed coffee. And he needed to know if you remembered anything. God, he hoped you didn't.

He walked into the kitchen, digging through your cabinets for a mug when he heard your bedroom door creak open. He froze, his heart jumping into his throat.

You shuffled out, wrapped in your oversized bathrobe, your hair a tangled mess on top of your head. You looked beautiful, even as you winced at the bright light, shielding your eyes with one hand.

"Hey there," Eddie said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, turning to lean against the counter. "How’re you feeling?"

"Like I died," you groaned, shuffling over to the kitchen table and collapsing into a chair. You buried your face in your hands. "I am never drinking again. Ever. Why’d you let me do that?”

Eddie let out a small laugh. A small wave of relief washed over him, cooling the anxiety in his gut. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse," you mumbled, peeking out at him from between your fingers. "I don't even remember how I got home. Did I... did I do anything stupid?"

He watched you closely, searching your face for any sign of recollection. There was nothing but confusion and a pounding headache. You didn't remember the alley. Or begging him to kiss you. Or the way he'd had to physically pry your hands off him. He forced a casual shrug, plastering a noncommittal smirk on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Nah. You just had a bit too much fun. Brought you home, tucked you in. You were out like a light."

You sighed, dropping your head onto the table with a dull thud. "You're a saint, Munson. I don't know what I'd do without you."

If only you knew, he thought, his chest aching with the weight of the secret he carried. He turned back to the counter, turning on the coffee maker with trembling fingers to hide the expression on his face.

"Yeah, well," he said, his voice tight. "Someone's gotta look out for you."

The shower hissed to life a few minutes later, the sound of water against the tile and your gentle humming filling the small apartment. Eddie leaned back against the kitchen counter, staring blindly at the coffee pot as it slowly filled. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his palms roughly over his eyes. He felt raw, exposed, like he’d just run a marathon without training. The image of you in that alleyway, desperate and wanting in that practically nonexistent skirt was burned into the back of his eyelids. Anytime he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of feel of your skin, but it was no use. It was branded there, permanently.

He heard the water shut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam rolled out. You walked into the kitchen, your hair, wearing shorts and an oversized Metallica shirt. You looked cleaner, but still fragile, moving slowly as the light hit you again.

"Coffee?" Eddie asked, his voice sounding a little too loud in the quiet room. He turned to grab a mug, needing something to do with his hands.

"Please," you groaned, sinking into a chair. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. "I feel like my brain is sloshing around in my skull."

He poured you a cup and slid it across the table without another word.

"Thanks," you murmured, closing your eyes in caffeinated bliss briefly. "You really are the best."

"I try," he said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his ankles. He watched you over the rim of his own mug, trying to gauge your mood. You seemed calmer, but there was a furrow between your brows that suggested you were thinking. Hard.

You were quiet for a long moment, staring into the dark liquid in your cup. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I keep having these flashes. Like, snippets of memories."

Eddie’s heart stopped. He set his mug down a little harder than he intended. "Yeah? That happens. Think it’s called, like, alcohol amnesia, or something.”

"It's not just random stuff," you said, looking up at him, your eyes searching his face. "I remember... Was I out behind the bar? Like, in the alleyway?”

Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was panicking. "Yeah. We went out there for some air. You needed to cool down."

"And we were... Alone?" you asked, brow furrowing deeper.

"Yeah," he said carefully. "Just us."

You bit your lip as your gaze dropped to the table. "I feel like I said something. Or did something, maybe? Shit, did I make a total fool of myself?”

Eddie let out a breath, a short exhale. He quickly pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey. You didn't do anything. You were just drunk. Happens to the best of us."

"Eddie," you said, your voice firming up. You looked him dead in the eye, your cheeks flushing. "What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal. You just… Got a little flirty is all.”

“Oh no-“

“It’s no big deal.”

“Shit, I didn’t kiss you did I?” You clamped a hand over your mouth, seemingly catching Eddie’s face blanch. “Did I try something?”

He stared at you, caught. He could lie. He could brush it off, tell you that you just talked about the weather or complained about your ex. But looking at you, seeing the genuine fear and confusion in your eyes, he couldn't do it. You deserved the truth. He looked down at his hands, picking at a chip in the polish on his thumb.

"Kinda. I mean, you… Didn’t do anything. Exactly." He admitted quietly. "You said you didn't want to be friends. You said you wanted, uh, me."

You let out a small, horrified gasp, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. "Oh my god.“

A faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "You were... Attempting to be very persuasive."

Your eyes widen with mortification.

"Don’t worry about it, okay? Nothing happened. Your hands were just wandering places they shouldn't have been."

You dropped your head into your hands, letting out a groan of pure despair. "I am so sorry. Fuck - I can't believe I did that. I must have made you so uncomfortable."

"You didn't," he said immediately, reaching out to gently pull your hands away from your face. He held them for a second, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles, before letting go. "It's fine. Really. You were drunk. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Happens to me all the time as a small-town rock star at a dive bar.”

“It’s not funny, Munson. Shit, I never… I didn’t mean to… God, I ruin everything.”

"You didn't ruin anything," he said fiercely. "I promise. We're good. It's forgotten."

“And you’re sure nothing else happened?”

“Swear on my life.” Eddie searched your expression carefully. “I also need you to know that I don’t accept those types of offers from drunk girls, okay? Kinda the bare minimum, but I’m not that kinda guy, I swear. “

You looked at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears - partially from embarrassment, partially from realizing you’d dodged a bullet in your state the night before. You were quiet for a long moment, studying his face, like you were looking for something. Then you took a deep breath, and your next words knocked the wind out of him.

"If any guy had to take advantage of me," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly, "I’d have wanted it to be you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Eddie stared at you, his mouth slightly open, his brain short-circuiting. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It was nice to know that you trusted him, but Jesus Christ, your words horrified him.

"Woah, what the fuck?" He choked out.

"I mean it," you said, your eyes locking onto his. "I trust you more than anyone. You're... you're Eddie. You're the one person who actually gives a shit about me. If I was going to be that… Like, forward with someone, I'm glad it was you."

Eddie recoiled, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood up abruptly. He shoved his hands into his hair, pacing restlessly away from the table.

"No," he said, his voice rising in agitation. "No, absolutely not. Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

"Why not?" you asked, confused by his sudden intensity.

"Because I would never do that!" he burst out, spinning around to face you. "I would never take advantage of you like that. You were drunk, you were vulnerable, and I’m supposed to protect you. Not... Do the shit you were asking me to do."

You watched him, expression unreadable. Then you tilted your head to the side, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Geez, are you really that horrified by the idea of being with me?"

"What? No, fuck. It's not about being with you!" he yelled, frustration cracking his composure. "It's about consent. And like, being a decent human being!"

"So let’s say you have my consent. Can you honestly say," your voice dropped to a dangerous, silky calm, "that you’ve never thought about it?"

Eddie froze. The air left the room. He stopped pacing, shoulders rigid, and he could feel your eyes burning a hole in his back. This was it. The moment of truth. He could lie. He could laugh it off or make a joke. But the words died in his throat. He couldn't lie to you. Not about this. Not when he had spent the last ten years lying to everyone else, including himself.

He turned around slowly, face pale and eyes dark - filled with a turmoil he couldn't hide. He saw the challenge in your gaze. You knew. Or you suspected. And you were calling his bluff. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he stood there, trapped, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

The silence stretched between you, taut and vibrating, like the hum of an amp before the feedback kicks in. Eddie didn't move, just stood there looking at you like a deer caught in headlights.

"You can't say it, can you?" You whispered, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face. The shame from earlier was gone, replaced by a sudden, electric thrill. You leaned forward in your chair, resting your elbows on the table, eyes locked on his. "You can't look me in the eye and tell me you've never thought about us."

Eddie’s jaw worked furiously, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He looked down at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but at you. "It doesn't matter," he gritted out. "I'm not that guy."

You walked around the table, moving into his space, just like you had in the alleyway, but this time you were sober, and every step was calculated. "You're the guy who takes care of me. The guy who protects me. The guy who drives me home and sleeps on my couch."

"Stop," he warned, backing up until his spine hit the wall. He held his hands up as if to ward you off, but you saw the way his fingers curled toward you, wanting to grab hold of you.

"But you never made a move," you mused, stopping right in front of him. You reached out, trailing a finger down the front of his flannel shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your touch. "All these years. Not once. Why? Think I'd break your heart? Think you’re too good for me?”

If anything is too good for someone - it’s you. You’re way more than I deserve.

"Because you're my best friend!" he shouted, the words exploding out of him. "If we hooked up and I ended up losing you, I wouldn't survive it!"

"You wouldn’t," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "I'm right here. And I'm asking you. I'm giving you permission to be honest with me. Just for once.”

His eyes darted across your face, searching for a sign of hesitation - but he found none. All he saw was a heat that matched his own, a challenge that hung in the air between you.

"Fine. I think about it all the time," he finally ground out, the admission torn from him by your pleading expression. "Every single day. Every time you laugh at my jokes or wear those goddamn shorts or tell me about the book you’re reading. Every time you look at me like I'm actually worth something because you’re like, the only person who does.”

The satisfaction that surged through you was heady, better than any drink. You stepped closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you, until your hips were brushing his.

“Really?”

“Y-yeah.”

"Good," you whispered. "I was hoping you'd say that."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and curious. "So tell me, Munson. If I let you... If I actually gave you the green light... What would you do with me?"

Eddie’s breath hitched audibly. His eyes went black, dilating until the brown was just a thin ring around the edge. He stared at you, and for a second, he considered bolting. But then something snapped. The leash he'd been holding onto for a decade finally broke.

"You really want to know?" He asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your chest.

"I do," you nodded eagerly.

"I don’t know if I’d be very gentle, sweetheart," he said, gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, to the pulse beating wildly in your neck. "I might not be the sweet, careful friend you're used to. Maybe I'd be selfish."

He leaned down, face inches from yours, but he didn't kiss you. He just let you feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his words.

"I'd start by getting you out of these clothes," he murmured, his eyes tracing the line of your shirt. "Slowly. I'd want to draw it out. Make you beg for it, kinda like you begged me last night. I'd peel every layer off till you were completely bare for me. Would you like that?"

He grinned as you trembled slightly, but still held your ground, mesmerized while you nodded.

"I wouldn't just use my hands," he continued, his voice roughening. "I think I’d like to memorize every inch of you with my tongue. Find every spot that makes you gasp and squirm, and I'd stay there until you were screaming my name."

He shifted, crowding you back against the wall, but didn’t touch you yet, one hand bracing beside your head. Tension radiated off him.

"And when you were finally as desperate as I could make you," he whispered, “when you couldn't take it anymore... I still wouldn't give it to you right away. I'd make you wait. Use your words. All that.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that rattled your bones.

"And when I finally got inside of you," he breathed, "I wouldn't stop. Not until you were so wrecked you couldn't remember your own name. Not until the only thing you knew, the only thing you could feel inside your tight little body, was me."

He pulled back slightly, looking you in the eye, his expression fierce and hungry. "And I'd ruin you for anyone else. Make sure you never looked at another guy again without thinking of me. Mark you, inside and out. I'd make you mine. That’s the only way this ends.”

The air in the kitchen seemed to have vanished. You were gripping the front of his shirt now, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It was clearly the most intense thing anyone had ever said to you, likely made infinitely hotter by the knowledge that it was your friend. Eddie. With the sweet doe eyes and nerdy side hobbies. The guy who looked like an intense, devil-worshiping troublemaker - but who was truly an angel in disguise.

"Is that..." you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Is that all?"

A dark, wicked smirk curled the corner of his mouth. It was a look you'd never seen on him before - predatory, confident.

"I mean, that’s just the start," he said softly. "I've got ten years of ideas to work through."

Your fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of his flannel, twisting it until your knuckles threatened to split open. The air between you was thick enough to choke on, charged with a decade of repressed longing that was finally snapping its tether. His words were still echoing in your ears, dark and heavy, painting pictures in your mind that made your thighs tremble.

"So do it.”

Eddie froze, his dark eyes searching yours. He looked like a man standing on a precipice, terrified to jump but longing for the fall.

“What?"

"You h-heard me," you said, voice gaining strength. You tugged him forward, pulling him flush against you until you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours. He was solid, warm, and vibrating with a restraint that was visibly crumbling. "Stop talking about it. If you want to ruin me so badly, Eddie... Then ruin me."

He let out a ragged half-groan, half-laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You don't know what you're asking, baby. You deserve so much better than me.”

"I'm not asking for someone else," you shot back, eyes flashing. "I'm asking for you. All of you. Unless," you tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips, "you're all talk?"

That was the spark that lit the fuse.

Eddie’s brown eyes narrowed, the heat in them intensifying. He didn't say a word as he moved with a sudden, fluid speed that stole your breath. One hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside your head, and the other hooked around your waist, hauling you off your feet. You gasped as your back hit the wall, harder than you expected, knocking the wind out of you. But before you could recover, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn't really a sweet, tentative first kiss. It was all tongues and desperate hunger. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only oxygen in a burning room. His lips were demanding, punishing, slanting over yours perfectly with a passion that made your head spin. You moaned into his mouth, hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. He growled low in his throat, the vibration reverberating through your chest. His hand left the wall and gripped your thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, hauling your leg up to wrap around his hip. The position left you open, vulnerable, and you could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against your core through the denim of his jeans

"Eddie," you gasped, tearing your mouth away to breathe, but he didn't let you retreat. He immediately latched onto your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin below your ear, sending jolts of electricity down your spine. If he had his way, (and if you were okay with it) it was going to be the first of many marks he’d leave on your body to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

"I warned you," he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled and rough. "I told you I wouldn't be gentle."

"G-good," you choked out, head falling back against the wall as he sucked the mark onto your pulse point in earnest. "Don't stop."

He didn't. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm hot against your stomach, tracing the curve of your waist. His touch was electric, searing you from the inside out. He wasn't exploring; he was claiming. Every touch felt like he was marking his territory, learning the map of your body by heart.

Eddie suddenly back away from the wall, letting you slide out of his arms slightly. You groaned in protest but before you could say anything coherent, the world tilted upside down as he threw you over his shoulder with surprising ease. His arms banded around your legs, one hand splayed over your ass as your shorts rode up way too far than was decent. A few moments later he kicked open your bedroom door, the wood banging against the wall. The world righted itself as he carefully dropped you onto the center of the bed.

He was on top of you before you could even process the movement, caging you in, knees on either side of your hips and hands braced on either side of your head. He loomed over you, a predator finally closing in on its prey. He looked wild, his hair a mess, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

"You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice dropping to a growl.

You looked up at him, shivering at both the intensity in his eyes and the raw need that matched your own. It was endearing that even in his intensity and insistence that he was about to totally ruin you - he still wanted you to fully consent to all of it. Reaching up, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down until his nose brushed yours.

"If you stop now," you whispered, "I'm gonna kill you."

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound sending a jolt of excitement down your spine. "That's my girl."

Eddie crashed his lips against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation. There was only that fire you were quickly becoming addicted to. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, and with a rough jerk, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor, leaving you in a thin bra. The scorching heat of his palms landed on your waist, holding you firmly in place so he could take a moment to drink you in properly.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice a low, vibrating rumble against your sternum as he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the sensitive skin of your stomach. "Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this. Real thing is way better though."

His mouth traveled lower, his tongue dipping into your navel, making your hips buck writhe against the mattress. But his hands were the real distraction. He had large hands, slender and strong, and the cool metal of his rings - the thick silver bands he wore on almost every finger - was a shocking, exquisite contrast to the burning heat of your skin. He dragged those hands up your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and the rings snagged slightly against the lace of your bra, sending a riot of goosebumps racing across your flesh. It felt dangerous, despite knowing you were safe with him.

Your breath was beginning to come in short gasps, causing Eddie to look up at you from under his lashes. A smirk played on his kiss-swollen lips, and his hands ghosted further over your breasts. Your back arched instinctively, pushing your chest further into his hands. He squeezed ever so slightly, & a small moan worked its way up from the back of your throat.

“Awe, too much, baby?”

"N-no."

His smirk widened, a flash of white teeth. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."

Eddie carefully reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra with an ease that probably shouldn’t have surprised you. The fabric gave way, and he pulled the straps down your arms, tossing the garment aside with the same disregard he’d shown your t-shirt. The air felt heavy, charged with a sudden, intense vulnerability as you lay bare-chested beneath him.

For a few moments, Eddie didn't speak. He just looked. He stared at you with a hunger that was almost terrifying, eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your breasts, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. It felt like he was physically consuming you with his gaze.

"Fucking Christ," he whispered reverently. "You're perfect."

He lowered his head, but he didn't take a nipple into his mouth immediately. Instead, he ran his knuckles - decorated in cold, hard metal - over the soft swell of your breast. The sensation was startling against your overheated skin. You gasped, your nipples hardening instantly into tight peaks.

"Like that, baby?" He murmured, doing it again experimentally, this time on the other side. He watched your face intently, cataloging every reaction as if he intended to file them away to revisit at some point.

"Y-yes," you hissed, your own hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him closer. "Eddie, please."

"Please what?" His teasing breath ghosted over your skin. "Use your words. Tell me what you need."

"I need your mouth," you practically begged, your hips lifting off the bed in a desperate search for friction as he let out a small laugh. "Please, put your mouth on me or something.”

"Since you asked so nicely."

He leaned down and closed his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. The wet heat of his mouth was a shock after the cold metal of his rings. And he didn't just suck; he used his teeth too - grazing the sensitive bud just enough to make you gasp. A sharp mix of pleasure with a twinge of pain shot straight to your groin. His hand came up to knead your other breast, his palm rough, his fingers twisting and pinching.

After a few intense minutes that had you panting, he switched sides, giving the other nipple the same treatment. Eventually, his free hand slid slowly down your stomach, rings clinking softly against your skin. With practiced ease, his hand delving inside your sleep shorts, beneath the waistband of your underwear.

You knew you were soaked. You could feel the slick heat gathering between your legs, and now he definitely could as well. He choked out an against your breast, fingers sliding through your wetness.

"Christ,” Eddie murmured. “This all for me, angel?"

"All for you," you managed, head falling back against the pillow. "Only you."

"Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping an octave, becoming impossibly deeper. It was a tone you’d never heard from him - commanding, authoritative. It made your stomach clench with anticipation.

Quickly, he pulled his hand out of your pants, ignoring your small whine of protest, and hooked his fingers into the waistbands of both your shorts and panties. He tugged them down your legs in one rough motion, helping you kick out of them so you were left completely bare before him.

Eddie sat back slightly as he situated himself between your legs, his large, dark eyes roaming over your naked body like he didn’t know what he wanted to focus on first. He looked so terrifyingly beautiful like this - hair wild, chest heaving beneath his t-shirt. He looked like a fallen angel. Your fallen angel.

"Spread your legs a little more for me," he ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a split second, an old instinct to be modest warring with the overwhelming need to please him. But the look in his eyes - fierce, hungry, but underneath it all, still kind and understanding - shattered your reservations. You slowly parted your thighs, exposing yourself to him completely.

To your surprise, he didn't touch you immediately. He just looked, gaze heavy. He took his time, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips and stomach, the dip of your navel, the slick folds of your center.

"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

Then, Eddie leaned forward, bracing his hands on your thighs. The rings pressed into your skin, anchoring you, pressing you open for him. He lowered his head, his breath hot against your inner thigh as you braced yourself for the lashing of his tongue… And then he bit down. Hard.

“Ow, Eddie! What the fuck -“ You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you firm, his grip like iron. He licked the red mark he’d left, soothing the sting, then moved higher, leaving a trail of lighter bites and kisses up your thigh, teasing you, tormenting you.

“Gotta make sure you remember me, sweet girl.”

"Eddie, please," you gasped, hands fisting in the sheets. "S-stop teasing. I need... I n-need..."

"What do you need?" he asked, his voice vibrating against your skin. He was so close, his breath ghosting over where you needed him most, but of course he wouldn't give you the satisfaction. He seemed to get off on your desperation. "Tell me exactly what you need, or I'll keep you here like this all day."

"I told you need your mouth -“

“Yeah?” He placed a searing hot kiss an inch above your clit and you nearly kneed him in the side of the head. “How badly?”

“S-so badly -“

“Where do you want me?”

“This isn’t fucking funny, Eddie.”

He just chuckled, watching you helplessly writhe beneath him, trying to raise your hips to his mouth. “Kinda is, actually.”

A frustrated cry fell from your lips as he kissed you again, this time just a tad lower. Any residual shame or embarrassment for asking what you wanted for was gone, replaced by pure desperation.

“Just… Fuck - I need you t-to eat me out. Please, Eddie."

He let out a satisfied laugh. "With pleasure."

And then he was on you. He didn't ease into it or bother starting slow. He flattened his tongue and licked a long, broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. You’d never had someone between your thighs that devoured you with the intensity your friend - well, could you even call him a friend after this? - was currently doing. His mouth was hot and demanding, tongue swirling and flicking with a skill that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Eddie pleasured you with the same finesse with which he played guitar. Which was to say intensely, precisely, and somehow also with a reckless abandon that made his actions seem like second nature. As if he’d been doing this for years, and knew your body as well as he knew his own. He growled against you, the sound muffled by your flesh, his chin scraping against your sensitive skin. Eddie’s hands continued to hold your thighs open, his rings digging in, grounding you. In some twisted way, it felt like he was claiming you, bit by bit. Every time he flicked his tongue over your clit, you saw stars.

"God, Eddie," you moaned, your hips grinding against his face, seeking more. "Yes - I, fuck - just like that -

He hummed agreeably against you, the sensation sending shockwaves through your system. He shifted one of his hands, sliding two long fingers deep inside you without warning. You gasped, your inner walls clamping down around him. He curled his fingers upward, finding that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and began to pump them in and out in a relentless rhythm, all while his tongue continued its assault on your clit.

The dual stimulation was far too much for so early in the morning. You could feel the pressure building low in your belly, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, every swipe of his tongue. You whimpered pitifully. Sensing you were close, Eddie didn't let up for a moment. If anything, he went harder, sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking rapidly with his tongue while his fingers fucked into you with brutal precision.

"Let go for me, baby," he commanded, voice muffled and breath still hellishly hot against you in the best way. "Lemme feel you. Now."

The command was your undoing. With a cry that tore from your throat, you shattered. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling, and your entire body shaking as release ripped through you. It was intense and overwhelming. A riptide of pleasure that drowned out everything.

Eddie worked you through it, his tongue slowing but never fully stopping, his fingers easing up as you rode out the aftershocks. You collapsed back against the mattress, gasping for air, your body limp and spent. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, and you nearly whined at the loss. He sat up, his face shiny with your arousal, and looked at you with a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"I’m not religious, but I think you taste like heaven," he said, bringing both fingers to his mouth and licking them each clean, one by one. The sight was erotic, filthy, and it made your exhausted body twitch with renewed interest.

Leaning down, Eddie braced his hands on either side of your head and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. It probably should embarrassed you. Make you feel kinda weird. Yet in that moment, it was easily one of the most intimate things you had ever experienced.

"How was that?" he asked, pulling back to look at you, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling any closer to ruination, baby doll?”

"Shut up," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.

He laughed against your mouth, a dark, rich sound that you’d felt like you could become hooked on for life. Eddie pulled back just enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor, and your eyes devoured the expanse of pale skin revealed. He was a bit leaner than you’d expected, but there was a dense, compact strength to him that made your mouth water. A scattering of dark hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. His chest was heaving, the heavy tattoos on his ribs stretching as he breathed.

You reached for him, desperate to feel the closeness of his bare skin against yours, but he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them effortlessly above your head. The position forced your chest up, arching your back, leaving you completely at his mercy.

"Mmm, none of that," he tsked, shaking his head slowly. His free hand trailed down your side, his rings scraping deliciously over your ribs. "I'm in charge here. Remember? You wanted to be ruined? So you’re gonna let me."

He leaned down, biting a path along your collarbone, sharp stinging nips that soothed instantly under the hot press of his tongue. He was mapping you with an obsessive thoroughness, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your body through touch alone. He’d released your wrists, but his hands were everywhere - skimming your waist, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs - constantly moving, as if he needed to feel every bit of you before you vanished into thin air.

"I've thought about this," he admitted against your skin, not meeting your eyes. His voice was a bit softer, as if he wasn’t sure what your reaction would be to finding out he’d been silently lusting after you. "A lot, over the years, if I’m being honest. I've, uh, laid in bed at night picturing exactly how you'd look spread out for me.”

A full-body blush flushed over your skin, and you shivered. “H-hope I met your expectations.”

Eddie finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burning. "Oh, baby. You surpassed them. Easily.”

On one fluid motion, his hands slid to grip your hips, and the room tilted as he flipped you over. You gasped as you found yourself face-down in the pillows, your ass exposed to the cool air. Before you could move, Eddie gently shoved a pillow beneath your hips, and then his hands were on you once more, massaging the flesh.

"Look at this," he groaned, his thumbs brushing over your entrance as if he hadn’t spent the better part of an hour with his head between your thighs already. "You're fucking perfect."

You felt the bed dip as he moved, and then the metallic clink of a belt buckle being undone. The sound was loud in the quiet room, followed by the lower rasp of a zipper. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a mix of nerves and anticipation so potent it made you lightheaded.

Positioning yourself carefully on your elbows, you glanced over your shoulder to look back at him, watching as he shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat.

He was... Big.

You’d expected him to be… What? Average? Perhaps a little more, given his height and frame. But this was… A surprise to say the least. He was thick, heavily veined, and seemed almost dauntingly heavy. The flushed head of him already glistening with precum. Eddie’s eyes met yours as he gave you a mischievous grin and wrapped a hand around the base, slowly stroking. The sight of his fist - with those glinting silver rings - pumping himself made your mouth go completely dry.

Eddie smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I..." You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back up to his face. You were tempted to mouth off, make a flippant remark about his ego just to see where your brattiness would take you. But rational thoughts had abandoned your blissed-out brain. So you responded honestly. "You’re, uh, just… A bit bigger than I thought you’d be.”

“Think about my dick often, sweetheart?”

You made a face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“But I’m so good at it.” Eddie cocked his head thoughtfully. "Think you can handle it?"

The challenge hung in the air. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be someone who could take him. Satisfy him. Make him forget every other person he’d ever been with so that this was more than a one-time thing. But looking at the sheer size of him, a spike of genuine apprehension pierced your haze of lust.

"I-I don't know," you admitted, voice trembling ever so slightly. Eddie’s eyes softened, his rough edges vanishing into the familiar sweet man you knew.

"Don't worry," he said, crawling back over you, covering your body with his. The weight of him felt grounding. He nestled his hips against your ass, letting you feel the hot, hard length of him sliding between you. "We’ll go slow, okay?"

“Promise?”

Eddie pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Cross my heart.”

He reached over to your nightstand, fumbling blindly in the drawer until he found a condom. He tore the foil open with his teeth - a move that was unfairly hot for some reason - and maneuvered to roll it on. Then, he shifted his weight, spreading your legs wider with his knees.

"Relax for me, baby,” he murmured, his hand stroking up and down your spine, trying to soothe the tension he could feel radiating off you. "Breathe. Just breathe."

He notched the head against your entrance, pushing forward just enough to barely enter you. The blunt pressure was immediate, a burning stretch that made you gasp into the mattress.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice low and encouraging. "Open up for me, sweetheart. God, you feel so good already, you know that?”

The praise was a balm as he pushed in deeper, agonizingly slow. You clawed at the sheets, breath hitching in your throat as inch after thick inch breached you. It felt like he was splitting you open, filling you up beyond what you thought possible. The stretch was intense, a sharp, burning friction. You knew that just beneath it would be burgeoning pleasure that made your toes curl - but it still felt far too large.

"Eddie," you whimpered, tears blurring your vision as your face pressed into the mattress. "It's... it's too much. I-I can’t -“

"Shh," he hushed you, leaning down to press kisses along your shoulders, neck, and finally to the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You can take it. I know you can. You're doing so good for me, baby."

Eddie kept pushing, feeding you his length with a relentless, aching pressure. It felt like ages until he’d seated himself fully, hips finally flush against your ass, and you let out a broken moan. You felt so incredibly full - especially at this angle - stretched to your limit with him. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the heavy heat of him pulsing inside you, his heartbeat almost as fast as your own.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head dropping forward to rest between your shoulder blades. He was trembling with the effort of holding still, giving you time to adjust. "It's like you're choking me."

“S-sorry -“

“Oh shit, don’t apologize, angel.” Eddie let out a breathy laugh, shifting ever so slightly to once more run a hand over your back and down to your hip. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah - I - gimme a sec.”

He stayed just as he was for a long moment, letting you get used to the intrusion. You took deep, shuddering breaths, willing your muscles to relax around him. Slowly, the burning pain faded into a dull ache, and the pleasure began to creep back in.

"O-okay. Move," you breathed, pushing your hips back against him slightly, somehow nudging him even deeper. "Please, move."

He let out a guttural sound, part groan, part growl. "Hold on."

“Are you going to ruin me or not, Munson?”

At your goading, Eddie pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the head inside of you, before rocking back in. The force of the thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He set a brutal pace immediately, no more gentle build-up - just hard, deep strokes that rattled your teeth. The bed creaked loudly under the onslaught, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall. You prayed your neighbors weren’t home, because it was too late to fully silence the sounds he was pulling out of you. Skin slapped against skin - lewd sounds that filled the room, mixing with both your moans as well as his heavy breathing and steady stream of praise.

"Look at you," he gritted out, his hand wrapping around your hip, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. "Taking it so deep. S’like you’re - fucking hell - sucking me in, sweetheart. Startin’ to think you were made for me."

He reached under you, his fingers finding your clit, and he began to rub tight, rapid circles. It felt like your body caught in a vice of pleasure, and your brain was struggling to catch up. Shifting his angle slightly, his next thrust hit a spot inside you that made you see white. You cried out, your entire body convulsing. Quickly taking the hint, he locked onto that spot, abusing it with ruthless precision, driving into you over and over again.

"You like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you right there?"

"Ye- oh god, yes, Eddie, I -“

He was losing control. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered, in the way his grip on your hip tightened. He knew you were close, but he was also chasing his own release, using your body to get there, and the thought of him losing himself inside you pushed you closer to the edge.

Just as the surface of the mattress seems to fall away from under you as your release overtop you, Eddie bit down on your shoulder as he slammed into you one last time. He buried himself to the hilt, and stilled. You felt him pulse inside you, the condom filling with his release as he let out a long, ragged moan in your ear. The sensation triggered your own aftershock-like wave that rippled through your exhausted body.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and suffocating, but you didn't care. You wrapped your arms around his forearms, holding him close, listening to the frantic racing of his heart as it began to slow.

For a long time, neither of you moved. You just lay there, tangled together, sweaty and sticky and completely wrecked. You could feel the harsh pattern of his breathing against your back, the occasional twitch of his hips as he came down, though he hadn’t pulled out of you just yet.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice raspy and wrecked.

"Better than okay," you mumbled into the pillow, a satisfied smile stretching your lips.

He laughed against your skin. "Good. Because after that, I don’t think I want anyone else to have you.”

“Gonna keep me all for yourself, Munson?”

“Obviously.”

Your index finger traced one of the tattooed bats on his forearm thoughtfully. “Because you ruined me?”

People always say the same things about you.

Sweet, polite, and pretty in that soft sort of way that makes old women at the grocery store smile at you fondly and teachers immediately trust you with passing out papers.

The kind of girl who remembers everyone’s favorite candy, who waves when people let her cross the street, who still says bless you when someone sneezes, even if she doesn’t know them. Hawkins is small enough that kindness stands out, and yours seems endless.

It’s almost strange, really.

Not because you’re naive exactly, but because the world has not managed to harden you yet. You still help Dustin with his homework even after he acts like a little asshole all through dinner. You still leave little notes in his lunchbox and compliment strangers’ outfits and smile at people like you genuinely hope they’re having a good day.

And maybe that’s why nobody’s ever dated you.

Not for lack of trying, because boys definitely do. They trip over themselves around you constantly, all awkward grins and sweaty palms and invitations to the movies that you somehow never realize are dates until weeks later when Robin physically grabs your shoulders and says, “Honey, he was flirting with you.”

Your response had only been a confused blink. “He was?”

Robin had stared at you for a very long moment before muttering something about you being “a baby deer in the middle of hunting season.”

The thing is, romance has always felt like something happening around you instead of to you. Girls in your grade pass notes about kissing boys behind the bleachers while you sit beside them, doodling little stars in the margins of your notebook.

Nancy comes over ranting about Steve, and you listen carefully, chin in your palm, like she’s telling you a story from another planet entirely. Then there’s Eddie. And honestly, maybe the universe should’ve warned him first.

Because Eddie is used to people looking at him and immediately deciding what he is before he even opens his mouth. Freak. Burnout. Drug dealer. Satanist. Every adult in Hawkins looks at him like he’s one wrong move away from corrupting their children, and every girl who flirts with him does it with this expectation that he’ll play into the role they’ve already created in their heads.

But you don’t, you look at him the same way you look at everyone else: warmly.

The first time he really notices it is after Hellfire one night, when everyone else has already cleared out of the drama room except you, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, waiting for Dustin to finish arguing with Mike about some campaign detail. Eddie’s shoving books back into his bag when you quietly slide a can of Coke across the table toward him.

“I remembered this was your favorite,” you say simply.

And Eddie just stares at you. Because you remembered that. Not in a flirty way. Not trying to get anything from him. You’d just noticed him mentioning it once weeks ago and tucked the information away in that sweet little head of yours like it mattered.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

You blink at him softly. “What?”

“Nothin’, sweetheart.”

The nickname slips out before he can stop it. And the worst part is the way your entire face warms at it, ducking your head shyly like nobody’s ever called you something like that before. Which, horrifyingly enough for Eddie, might actually be true.

Steve’s living room is already loud by the time Eddie gets there.

Robin is halfway through aggressively arguing with Nancy about what movie they’re watching, Steve looks one inconvenience away from death on the couch, and somewhere in the kitchen, Dustin is complaining about the lack of “real snacks” like he personally funds the grocery shopping. 

It’s warm inside the Harrington house, all yellow lighting and cluttered blankets draped over the couch cushions, the kind of easy domesticity Eddie always feels a little strange stepping into. Then he sees you.

Curled up in the corner of the couch with sock-covered feet tucked beneath you, smiling the second the front door opens.

“Eddie!” you say brightly, like you hadn’t just seen him yesterday at Hellfire. “There’s still space next to me.”

That immediately becomes the worst moment of Eddie’s entire life.

Because there is space next to you, a very obvious space. One you apparently saved for him without thinking twice. Robin notices the way Eddie visibly hesitates in the doorway and has to fake a coughing fit into her sleeve to keep from laughing.

Eddie drops onto the couch beside you with what he hopes resembles casualness. “Well, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Saved me from sitting on the crusty Harrington carpet.”

Steve flips him off from the recliner. “You’re lucky you were invited at all.”

You giggle softly at that, and Eddie immediately has to look away from you.

The movie starts eventually, though Eddie barely absorbs any of it. Not when you’re sitting tucked against his side close enough that your knees keep brushing every few minutes. Every time it happens, you murmur a tiny “sorry” under your breath before doing it all over again thirty seconds later, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare you’re inflicting on him.

At some point during the movie, you start reaching into the popcorn bowl in his lap instead of the one on the coffee table. Again, absentmindedly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean across him every few minutes with your soft perfume surrounding him and your sleeve brushing against his rings.

Eddie thinks he may actually be dying.

“Oh my god, this part is so sad,” you whisper at one point, turning toward him with wide eyes.

Eddie blinks. “Sweetheart, this guy has been on screen for maybe four minutes.”

“I know,” you whisper back earnestly. “But look at him.”

And Christ.

That’s another thing about you, you care about everything. Movie characters with three lines. Stray cats behind Melvald’s. Random kids crying in the grocery store. You move through the world with this unbearable softness that makes Eddie feel simultaneously protective and completely ruined by you.

About halfway through the movie, the room cools enough that you quietly reach for the blanket bunched beside Eddie’s leg. He lifts it automatically to help you pull it over yourself, only for you to immediately lift one side toward him too.

“You’ll get cold,” you murmur.

Eddie stares at you for a beat too long before slowly ducking beneath the blanket beside you. Across the room, Robin physically presses her lips together to stop herself from making a noise. Then, somehow, things get worse. Because sometime during the second movie, you get sleepy.

Eddie notices it in little ways first. The slower blinking, the way your words trail off halfway through comments. Eventually, your head tips sideways against his shoulder so naturally that it almost seems unconscious.

The entire room goes quiet for exactly two seconds. Not because of you, but because Eddie completely freezes.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done at first, already half-asleep against him beneath the blanket. Then your eyes blink open slightly, face warming the tiniest bit when you realize where you’re leaning.

“Oh,” you mumble softly. “Is this okay?”

Eddie thinks his heart physically hurts.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it is.”

You smile at that. Small and sleepy and trusting. Then your eyes drift shut again against his shoulder like there was never a possibility he’d say no. Robin watches Eddie very carefully after that. Specifically, the way he doesn’t move for the next hour, not even once.

By the time the movie ends, you’ve wandered into the kitchen with Nancy to help clean up empty soda cans while Dustin argues with Steve over something stupid in the dining room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch like he’s recovering from a near-death experience when Robin drops into the seat beside him.

“You are so unbelievably into her,” she says immediately.

Eddie scoffs without looking at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.”

That finally gets a reluctant snort out of him. Robin grins, leaning back into the couch cushions. “She likes you too, y’know.”

Eddie’s expression changes instantly. “No, she doesn’t.” The response comes too fast. 

Robin’s face softens slightly beneath the teasing. “Eddie—”

“She’s nice to everybody,” he cuts in quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway where you disappeared moments ago. “That’s just who she is.”

And maybe that’s the problem, because Eddie knows what people like him do to things that are soft.

Friday afternoon sunlight spills warm through the hallway windows, catching against Eddie’s face as he leans against the lockers outside your classroom like he’s been there a while, pretending not to wait for you.

Which is exactly what he’s been doing.

You almost miss him at first while stuffing books into your bag, too focused on making sure Dustin remembered his science worksheet this morning. It’s only when someone whistles obnoxiously down the hall, and Eddie flips them off without even turning around, that your eyes finally land on him.

And immediately, your stomach does something strange. Not bad, strange, just strange. Because Eddie’s looking at you already.

Not casually either. His dark eyes lock onto yours the second you notice him, and for a moment, he looks almost nervous, which feels impossible considering this is Eddie. Eddie, who performs lunch table monologues and flirts with teachers for extra credit, acts like the entire world is his stage.

You smile anyway.

“There she is,” he says, pushing off the lockers.

“Hi,” you answer softly, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Were you waiting for someone?”

Eddie actually laughs at that.

“Sweetheart,” he says, stepping closer, “you are genuinely killin’ me.”

Your brows pull together a little. “What?”

“Nothin’.” He shakes his head, grinning to himself before dragging his rings along the back of his neck. Suddenly, he looks oddly uncertain again. “Uh… actually, I was waitin’ for you.”

“Oh.” The word comes out quieter than you mean for it to.

The hallway around you buzzes with noise, lockers slamming and people shoving past each other on their way outside, but it suddenly feels very far away. Eddie shifts his weight once, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to gauge something.

Then he says, “You wanna go out with me tonight?”

“You mean…” You blink once. “Like a date?”

Eddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, sweetheart. Like a date.”

And maybe it’s embarrassing how fast your face warms.

Not because you don’t want to go. God, you do. You think maybe you’ve wanted to for longer than you realized. It’s just that nobody’s ever looked at you quite like Eddie is right now, all careful confidence hiding something softer underneath. 

“Okay,” you say before you can overthink it.

Eddie stills. “Okay?”

You smile a little shyly. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

For a second, Eddie genuinely looks stunned.

Then the slowest grin spreads across his face, crooked and warm and so unfairly pretty that you have to glance down at your shoes for a second just to collect yourself.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, mostly to himself.

You laugh softly. “What?”

“There’s that thing again where you say yes to me like I just asked if you wanted a pencil instead of—” He cuts himself off with another disbelieving shake of his head. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, like he still can’t believe it.

He walks backward down the hallway afterward, still grinning at you in this helpless sort of way, before finally turning toward the exit. You stand there for a moment after he disappears, your heartbeat feeling strangely uneven beneath your ribs.

Then, naturally, you go find Robin.

She’s already behind the Family Video counter when you walk in later that afternoon, lazily rewinding tapes with Steve half-asleep beside her. The second she sees your face, her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What happened?”

You blink. “Nothing happened.”

“That is not a nothing face.”

Steve lifts his head slightly from the counter. “What’s a nothing face?”

Robin points at you dramatically. “That face. That’s the face girls make before they tell you life-altering information.”

Your cheeks warm immediately. “It’s not life-altering.”

“Oh my god,” Robin gasps. “You kissed someone.”

“What? No!”

Steve snorts tiredly into the counter. Robin leans forward. “Then what?”

You hesitate for half a second before saying quietly, “Eddie asked me on a date.”

Then Robin slams both palms onto the counter so hard Steve nearly falls out of his chair. “I KNEW IT.”

Your face warms instantly beneath her stare. Steve looks significantly more awake now, too, blinking between the two of you while Robin points at you like you’ve personally validated her entire worldview.

“I told you he liked her,” she says to Steve.

Steve shrugs. “I mean, yeah. The guy looks at her like she personally invented music.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, covering your face briefly with your sleeve.

Robin immediately softens at that, grinning as she leans her elbows onto the counter. “Aw, honey, don’t look embarrassed. This is cute.”

Cute. The word alone makes your stomach flutter strangely.

You glance down shyly, tracing your thumb along the strap of your bag. “It’s just a date.”

“Mhm,” Robin hums knowingly. “And what exactly are we wearing to this very casual, definitely-not-important date?”

You blink. “I don’t know yet.”

Steve finally sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. Tonight tonight?”

You nod once. Robin gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is serious.”

“It is not serious,” you protest immediately. 

Robin’s expression turns fond in that way it sometimes does around you, all teasing melting into something softer. “Sweetie, he stood outside your classroom looking nervous and was a statue when you fell asleep on him. You’ve altered his brain chemistry.”

You hide your face again with a quiet groan while Steve laughs under his breath.

“I’m serious,” Robin continues. “I have literally never seen him act normal around anybody he’s interested in.”

Before you can answer, Robin suddenly narrows her eyes. “Wait. Have you even been on a date before?”

You hesitate just long enough for her to gasp. “Oh, my god.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly.

Steve blinks at you. “Like… ever?”

You shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. Nobody’s really asked.”

Robin and Steve share a look over your head that feels deeply loaded.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

Robin shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. I just think half the male population of Hawkins is profoundly stupid.”

You laugh quietly at that, cheeks still warm. “You guys are making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

Robin reaches over the counter to squeeze your hand once. “No, honey. We’re making it sound exactly as dramatic as it is.”

By seven o’clock, your bedroom looks like a small tornado passed through it.

Not because you’re trying overly hard, exactly. More because every outfit suddenly feels wrong the second you put it on. Robin’s teasing voice still echoes faintly in your head every time you glance in the mirror.

"Eddie Munson stood outside your classroom, nervous."

Which is ridiculous, Eddie doesn’t get nervous. However, your stomach has been fluttering stupidly for the last hour anyway.

Eventually, you settle on something simple. Something that still feels like you. Soft sweater, jeans that fit nicely, a little lip gloss Nancy once insisted you’d “thank her for later.” By the time you finally step out of your bedroom, the house is quiet except for the television murmuring faintly from the living room.

Dustin is sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his stomach despite the fact it’s fully evening. He glances up absentmindedly at first.

His entire face lights up. “Whoa.”

You immediately laugh nervously. “What?”

“You look pretty.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you slightly off guard. Dustin sits up straighter on the couch, grinning at you in a way that suddenly reminds you painfully that he’s still your little brother underneath all the dramatics and endless talking.

“You really think so?”

“Duh.” He gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Eddie’s gonna freak out.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Dustin.”

“What? He likes you like… aggressively.”

You laugh softly despite yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your sleeves. “Robin said the same thing.”

“Because it’s true,” Dustin says, like it’s obvious. “He talks about you all the time.”

That makes you blink. “He does?”

“Oh my god,” Dustin groans, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You seriously have no idea, do you?”

Before you can answer, headlights sweep briefly across the front window.

Dustin sits bolt upright immediately. “He’s here.”

Dustin notices your expression and grins even wider. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says delightedly. “This is amazing.”

Then there’s a knock at the door, and your heartbeat feels too loud. Dustin looks between you and the front door with poorly concealed excitement before jumping up from the couch first.

“Oh, I’m answering it.”

“Dustin—”

Too late. He yanks the front door open with the energy of a child on Christmas morning.

Eddie’s standing on the porch in dark jeans and his leather jacket, curls slightly messy like he’s been dragging nervous hands through them. 

He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers that look suspiciously like they came from the little stand outside Melvald’s, and for once in his life, Eddie Munson actually seems unsure of himself.

Then his eyes land on you behind Dustin, and he completely forgets how to speak. Dustin looks back and forth between the two of you with visible delight.

“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically. “He is freaking out.”

Eddie blinks once like he’s rebooting. “Henderson, I will kill you.”

“You brought flowers,” Dustin says smugly.

Eddie ignores him entirely, still staring at you in a way that makes your chest feel warm all over again. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.” The word comes out softer than you intended.

Eddie swallows once. Then, very carefully, he holds the flowers out toward you. “These are for you.”

“Be home by ten!” Dustin calls dramatically as Eddie leads you back toward the van.

You pause halfway down the walkway. “Since when do you give me a curfew?”

“Since now,” he says importantly, leaning against the front doorframe. “And no funny business.”

Eddie scoffs loudly without looking back. “You are literally fifteen.”

“And wiser than both of you combined.”

You laugh softly under your breath as Eddie opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. 

“Goodbye, Dustin.”

“GOODBYE. BE SAFE. DON’T GET PREGNANT.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, face burning as Eddie bursts into helpless laughter beside you.

The front door slams shut before you can retaliate further.

“Your brother is insane.”

“You encourage him.”

“Because he’s funny.”

“He’s awful.”

Eddie laughs again as the van rumbles to life beneath you. The sound settles warmly through the small space alongside the radio's quiet static, and for a little while, things feel easy. 

Eddie drums his fingers against the steering wheel while he drives one-handed, occasionally glancing over at you with this small private smile that makes your stomach flutter every single time.

It isn’t until he pulls into the overlook outside town later that night that things start to shift.

The place is mostly empty this late, only a couple of scattered cars parked beneath the dark stretch of sky overlooking Hawkins. “This okay?” he asks.

You nod immediately. “Yeah. It’s pretty up here.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on your face for a second too long before he looks away again with a quiet hum. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

Then, after a moment, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

You watch absentmindedly as he taps one loose and settles it between his lips, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face in warm orange. Smoke curls slowly into the night air once he exhales. 

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe curiosity, maybe because everything about Eddie feels a little intoxicating lately.

“Can I try one?”

Eddie freezes mid-exhale. Slowly, he turns toward you. “What?”

You shrug a little, suddenly oddly shy beneath the intensity of his stare. “Just once.”

For a second, he just looks at you. “You’ve never smoked before.”

It isn’t a question. You shake your head once. “No.”

Eddie lets out the faintest breath through his nose, eyes dragging away toward the windshield for a moment. His rings tap softly against the cigarette resting between his fingers.

And maybe this is exactly the kind of thing everyone in Hawkins expects from him. Corrupting nice girls in parked vans late at night. The thought should probably make him feel guilty. Instead, all he can think about is the way you’re looking at him right now, all soft curiosity and trust.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “you really shouldn’t ask me things like that.”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Why?”

Eddie glances back at you then, dark eyes unreadable in the low lighting.

“Because,” he says quietly, “I’m probably gonna say yes.”

Before you can overthink it, Eddie sighs softly and shifts closer across the seat, cigarette still balanced between his fingers. “C’mere.”

You lean closer instinctively, knees brushing his in the cramped space between the seats. Eddie watches you the entire time, gaze flicking once toward your mouth before he catches himself.

“This’ll probably taste awful, by the way.”

You smile a little. “You’re really selling it.”

“Just bein’ honest.”

Carefully, he lifts the cigarette toward your lips. And Christ. The sight alone nearly does him in.

You hesitate only briefly before taking a tentative inhale exactly the way he showed you. Almost immediately, your face scrunches up as you start coughing lightly into your sleeve.

Eddie laughs instantly, reaching over to rub a warm hand against your back. “Easy, easy— there she is.”

“That is horrible,” you rasp between coughs, eyes watering slightly.

“I did warn you.”

You’re still laughing softly at yourself when you finally glance back up at him, only to realize how close he is now. For a moment, neither of you moves.

The cigarette burns slowly between Eddie’s fingers, forgotten entirely now as his eyes stay fixed on yours. You can still feel the warmth of his hand through your sweater, where it rests against your back. Though the look on his face is becoming significantly less careful by the second.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod once.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Your voice comes out softer than usual, and Eddie notices immediately. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, dragging his eyes away from your mouth with visible effort.

His hand slips from your back only so he can lean farther into the seat, head tipping briefly against it like he’s trying to regain control of his own thoughts.

You watch him for a second before smiling slightly. “What?”

Eddie laughs once, but there’s no real humor in it. “You have genuinely no idea what you do to me, huh?”

Your stomach flips hard enough to make you glance away. Not because you don’t understand what he means, you do.

Maybe not fully, or with the same confidence other girls seem to have, but you understand enough to feel the tension thickening between you now. The difference is you’re not afraid of it, not with him.

“You make me nervous, too,” you admit quietly.

That gets Eddie’s attention instantly. His head turns toward you again, curls falling slightly into his eyes. “I do?”

You nod, fingers fidgeting lightly in your lap. “You always look at me like you’re thinking something.”

Eddie goes very still. Because he is, constantly.

And suddenly, he’s picturing every single filthy thought he’s had about you over the last few weeks while you sat beside him smiling sweetly like you trusted him with your whole heart.

Every moment, he’s imagined pulling you into his lap, kissing you until you forgot your own name, hearing soft sounds fall from your mouth, all because of him.

Dangerous thoughts, especially about someone like you.

“You really wanna know what I’m thinking?” he asks finally, voice lower now.

The question sends heat crawling up your neck. Still, you nod.

Eddie studies your face for another long second. Then he leans closer again, slowly enough for you to stop him if you want to. You don’t.

“You sit next to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “lookin’ all pretty and sweet all the time, and you don’t even realize what it does to me.”

Your breath catches quietly. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost pained, “I’m trying my best here not to ruin you.”

The word ruin sends a pulse of heat low in your stomach. His gaze darkens immediately at your reaction.

“There she is,” he says quietly, almost pleased. “That got your attention.”

Your face burns. “Eddie…”

“What?” he asks innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about him anymore. “You asked.”

You should probably tell him to stop. Instead, you whisper, “Keep talking.”

Eddie actually closes his eyes briefly at that. When he opens them again, his face slips into something soft, following something dangerous. Like the restraint he’s been clinging to all night is finally beginning to slip.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.

You laugh nervously. “I thought you were supposed to be the bad influence.”

“Oh, trust me, doll.” Eddie’s hand slides slowly along your knee, warm and deliberate enough to make your pulse jump. “I am.”

The touch alone feels impossibly intimate. Not because it’s inappropriate, not because it’s even that scandalous. But because it’s Eddie.

Because he’s touching you like he’s trying very hard not to scare you away while simultaneously imagining a thousand worse things.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head once.

“I don’t even think you mean to do it.”

His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee, and you swear he notices the exact second your breathing changes.

“You smile at me,” he continues softly, “sit close to me, remember little details that nobody should remember… and every time you do, I think maybe this is the moment I finally lose my mind.”

Your heart is pounding so hard now you’re convinced he can hear it. Especially when his eyes drop once more toward your mouth.

Eddie’s thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knee, his dark eyes locked on your mouth like he’s starving for it. You can barely breathe.

“Eddie…” you whisper, not sure what you’re even asking for.

He lets out a shaky breath, like your voice alone is undoing him. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean in the last few inches and press your lips to his: soft, uncertain, barely a kiss at all, more like a gentle brush. 

Eddie freezes for half a second, then groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, careful, as he tilts his head and kisses you back properly, like he’s teaching you how good it can feel.

You make a tiny surprised sound when his tongue traces your bottom lip, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “We can stop anytime. Just tell me.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, cheeks burning. Your hands are trembling as you reach up and curl your fingers into his jacket. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut like the words physically pain him. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, guiding you with gentle pressure until your mouth opens for him. The slide of his tongue against yours makes heat pool low in your belly, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

You try to match him, tentative and sweet, and when you shyly suck on his tongue, he makes a broken noise and pulls you closer across the seat.

He pants against your lips while his hand stays gentle on your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, but his other hand grips the edge of the seat like he’s holding himself back from devouring you.

You kiss him harder, braver now, and he rewards you with a soft moan that goes straight between your legs. When you accidentally graze his bottom lip with your teeth, something you’ve only ever seen in movies, he jerks, fingers tightening in your hair.

Eventually, he pulls back, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Back of the van?” he asks, almost hesitant. “Only if you want. We don’t have to—”

You nod before he can finish, heart hammering. “I want to. With you.”

Eddie helps you climb through to the back, spreading out the blankets he keeps there like he’s making a nest for you. He lays you down so gently it makes your chest ache, then settles over you on his elbows, careful not to crush you.

“Look at me, baby,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “We go as slow as you need. Tell me if anything hurts or feels weird, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He kisses you again, slower, deeper, until you’re squirming beneath him.

His hands stay respectful at first, stroking your sides and waist, until you arch into him and he finally slides one under your sweater. The warmth of his palm on your bare skin makes you gasp.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re trembling when he helps you out of your sweater and bra, but not from fear. Eddie looks at you like you’re something holy, eyes reverent as he cups your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten.

“Eddie—” Your voice breaks on his name when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, gentle suction and slow flicks of his tongue. You’ve never felt anything like it. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping curls, and he groans in approval.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold onto me.”

He works you open with patient fingers later, after your jeans and panties are gone, whispering praise the whole time.

“Relax for me, baby… just like that. Good girl. So wet already, fuck. All for me?”

You nod frantically, hips twitching. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, shocked by the sharp burst of pleasure.

“There?” he asks, voice low and pleased. He does it again, watching your face. “Yeah? You like that?”

You can barely speak, just whimper and nod. He keeps talking you through it, gentle but filthy, until you’re shaking apart on his fingers with a broken little moan.

He kisses you through it, then rests his forehead against yours while he rolls on a condom. “You sure, sweetheart? We can stop right here. I’d be happy just making you come all night.”

You shake your head, pulling him closer. “I want you. Please, Eddie.”

He enters you so slowly it almost hurts, a combination of pain and how careful he’s being, how full you feel. He stops every inch, murmuring against your temple.

“Breathe, baby. That’s it… doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, you feel incredible. Breathe, okay?”

When he bottoms out, you both moan. He stays still, buried deep, kissing you softly until the stretch eases into something warm and aching and good.

“Move,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”

He rocks into you gently at first, then a little deeper when you start lifting your hips to meet him. Every thrust is measured, his voice a constant low rumble in your ear; praise, dirty little observations, encouragement.

“Look at you taking me so well… my sweet girl. Never thought I’d get to have you like this.”

You get bolder as it builds, wrapping your legs around his waist, experimentally clenching around him. Eddie’s rhythm falters.

“Shit—baby, do that again.”

You do, shy but eager, and he groans like he’s dying. On impulse, you tilt your head and bite his shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. Eddie curses loudly, his hips snapping forward harder for a second before he catches himself.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you deep.

He reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight circles, voice growing rougher as you both get close.

“Come on, baby. Let me feel you. Want you to come on my cock—yeah, just like that. Good girl. So good for me.”

You shatter with his name on your lips, clenching around him so hard his thrusts turn erratic. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he comes with a broken moan, hips jerking.

Afterward, he stays inside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing soft kisses to your flushed face.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice tender. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling shyly as you nuzzle into him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

Eddie laughs softly, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Yeah? Even when I almost lost my mind because you bit me?”

Eddie’s arm is wrapped carefully around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s allowed to. Not that you mind.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly come back down while his other hand plays gently with your hair. Every few seconds, he presses absent little kisses to the top of your head like he’s doing it unconsciously, like affection simply spills out of him naturally around you.

You feel him shift slightly beneath you after a minute, enough that you tilt your chin up to look at him. He’s already staring down at you, dark curls messy, lips slightly swollen, expression somewhere between completely wrecked and deeply concerned.

“…You sure you’re okay?” he asks again quietly.

The question makes your chest ache a little. Not because it’s upsetting, but because he sounds genuinely nervous about it.

You smile softly almost immediately. “Yeah.”

Eddie studies your face carefully anyway, like he’s searching for any sign you don’t mean it. “Yeah?” he repeats.

“Mhm.”

“You promise?”

A quiet laugh leaves you then, small and sleepy and warm from where you’re curled against him. “Eddie.”

“What?” he says defensively, though his hand tightens slightly around your waist. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Your fingers drift lazily along the chain around his neck while you look up at him. “I’m okay.”

Eddie exhales slowly through his nose, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

You smile a little wider. “You say that a lot.”

“That’s because you keep doin’ things that make me need divine intervention.”

Your laugh this time is brighter, and Eddie immediately looks at you like he’s just won something.

There’s still this almost disbelieving softness in his expression now, like he hasn’t fully processed that this actually happened. That you happened. 

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” you murmur.

His mouth twitches slightly. “Can you blame me?”

You shrug a little against him. “Maybe.”

“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek, “you trusted me with your first time. I think I’m allowed to spiral a little.”

Heat blooms softly across your face at the words.

“You’re really okay?” he asks one more time, softer now.

You nod against him. “Yeah.”

Then, after a tiny pause: “It was nice.”

Eddie goes completely still underneath you. Slowly, he lifts his head enough to stare down at you properly. “Nice?”

You blink innocently. “Yeah.”

A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly it startles you.

“Baby,” he says through his grin, “I am never letting you describe that as nice again.”

Your face warms instantly as you hide it against his chest with a groan, and Eddie just laughs harder, wrapping both arms around you tighter while pressing another kiss into your hair.

“There she is,” he murmurs fondly. “My sweet girl.”

The next morning feels strangely dreamy. Not in some dramatic life-changing way.

Dustin is still loudly arguing with the television before noon, the neighbor’s dog still won’t stop barking, and Hawkins still looks exactly the same outside your bedroom window.

Every time your mind drifts back to the night before, heat creeps slowly up your neck all over again. Eddie’s hands on your waist. The sound of his voice going rough when you kissed him back. The way he kept checking in afterward, like your comfort mattered more to him than anything else in the world.

You think maybe that’s your favorite part. Not the sex itself, though that had certainly been overwhelming in ways you’re still trying to process. It’s the fact that Eddie held you afterward like something precious.

The phone rings around two in the afternoon. You perk up instantly from your spot sprawled on the living room carpet, flipping through a magazine. Dustin glances over from the couch suspiciously while you practically scramble for it.

“Hello?”

A small pause. Then: “Hey, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flips immediately. You smile before you can help it, curling the phone cord loosely around your finger. “Hi.”

Eddie goes quiet for a second on the other end, like maybe hearing your voice affected him too much. When he speaks again, there’s a smile tucked into his words.

“How’re you feelin’ today?”

Warmth floods your face instantly. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Another tiny pause. “Good.”

From the couch, Dustin narrows his eyes. “Is that Eddie?”

You wave him off blindly while Eddie snorts quietly through the phone. “Your brother sounds possessive.”

“He’s nosy.”

“I heard that,” Dustin calls loudly.

You laugh softly, and Eddie goes quiet again for half a second in that way he keeps doing now, like hearing you laugh still catches him off guard.

“So,” he says eventually, voice lower now, easier. “I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to come to the Hideout tonight.”

“The bar?”

“Mm.” You can practically hear him lighting a cigarette through the phone. “Thought maybe I could buy you a drink. Since you’re all grown up now.”

Your face burns instantly. “Eddie.”

“What?” he asks innocently. “You are.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly despite the fact that he can’t see you. “I’ve never been to the Hideout before.”

“I know.”

And for some reason, the way he says it sends warmth straight through you again. Like he enjoys being the first person to show you these things. 

“Only if you want to,” he adds after a second, softer this time. “No pressure.”

You smile immediately at that. “I wanna go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie exhales quietly through his nose, almost sounding relieved. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll come get you around eight.”

“Okay.”

There’s another pause afterward that stretches warm and comfortable between you both. Then Eddie says, quieter now, “Missed you today.”

Your heart stutters embarrassingly hard. “Oh.”

A soft laugh crackles through the receiver. “There’s that little sound again.”

“What sound?”

“The one you make when I say somethin’ that gets in your head.”

You duck your face instinctively, even though he still can’t see you. From the couch, Dustin groans dramatically. “You are smiling so weird right now.”

The Hideout smells faintly like cigarettes, beer, and old wood, the second Eddie pushes the door open for you.

It’s darker inside than you expected, lit mostly by warm amber lights strung lazily behind the bar and the colored glow from an old neon beer sign buzzing softly in the corner. A band is setting up near the tiny stage in the back while people crowd around sticky tables, laughing too loudly over the music humming through the speakers.

His hand settles lightly against the small of your back, warmth through your shirt as he leans closer so you can hear him over the noise. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You glance up at him and smile. “Yeah. It’s just different than I expected.”

Eddie grins. “What, you thought it’d be glamorous?”

“A little.”

“Aw, honey.” He nudges you gently toward the bar. “This place barely passes health inspection.”

You laugh softly under your breath, and Eddie’s expression immediately softens at the sound like it always does now. There’s still something almost disbelieving in the way he looks at you tonight, like he can’t quite process that you came here with him willingly. That you’re sitting beside him at the Hideout, of all places. 

The bartender greets Eddie immediately as soon as you slide onto the stools. “Munson.”

“Hey, Frank.”

Then Frank notices you beside him, one brow lifting slowly.

Eddie catches it instantly. “Don’t start.”

Frank smirks knowingly before wiping down the counter. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What can I get you two?”

Eddie glances sideways at you thoughtfully for a second, tapping his rings lightly against the bartop. “Lemme get a beer…”

Then his eyes flick back toward you again, something amused flickering there.

“And a Dirty Shirley for her.”

You blink. “How did you know that’s what I’d like?”

Eddie shrugs casually, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You just seem like a Dirty Shirley kinda girl.”

The answer makes you laugh softly. And for some reason, Eddie looks absurdly pleased with himself over that. When the drinks arrive a minute later, you eye yours curiously before taking a cautious sip through the straw.

Immediately, your face brightens. “Oh, this is good.”

Eddie snorts into his beer. “Yeah, because it’s basically candy.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Nah.” His gaze drifts slowly over your face again, softer now. “Kinda fits you, actually.”

Heat creeps up your neck at the way he says it. You glance down shyly at your drink while Eddie leans one elbow onto the bar beside you, watching you with open fondness now that nobody from school is around to see it.

“You nervous?” he asks after a moment.

“A little.”

“About bein’ here?”

You shrug slightly. “I guess.”

Eddie hums quietly, eyes flicking around the crowded bar before settling back on you. “Nobody’s gonna bother you while you’re with me.”

The words shouldn’t affect you as much as they do. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he says it so naturally, like protecting you is already instinct.

Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

“Good,” you say softly before taking another sip.

Eddie goes suspiciously quiet beside you, and you glance over. “What?”

His eyes drag slowly from your lips back up to your face.

“Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You just look real pretty sittin’ here.”

The music hums warmly through your chest now instead of pounding against it, and the second Dirty Shirley Eddie absolutely did not need to buy you has left your cheeks pleasantly warm. You’re leaning closer to him without thinking anymore, your knee pressed between his, where he sits angled toward you at the bar like the rest of the room barely exists.

Eddie’s halfway through telling you some ridiculous story about Gareth nearly setting a school amplifier on fire when you start laughing hard enough to grab onto his arm.

And that completely derails him.

He loses his train of thought instantly, eyes dropping to your hand wrapped around his forearm before slowly flicking back up toward your face. You’re still smiling at him, all sweet and tipsy, entirely unaware of the effect you have on him.

“Why’d you stop talking?” you ask.

Eddie blinks once. “You’re pretty distracting, sweetheart.”

Your face warms immediately.

“There she is,” he murmurs fondly into his beer.

Eventually, the bar starts getting louder as more people crowd in, conversations overlapping with the music until Eddie notices you beginning to glance around, slightly overwhelmed. 

His hand settles instinctively against your knee beneath the bar. “You wanna get outta here?”

You look back at him immediately. “Yeah.”

Eddie studies your face carefully for a second before asking softer, “Wanna come back to my place?”

And maybe it should feel more scandalous than it does. Instead, all you feel is warm trust settling low in your chest when you nod. “Okay.”

The drive to the trailer park is quiet in the nicest way.

One of Eddie’s tapes plays softly through the van speakers while warm night air drifts through the cracked windows. Your head rests lazily against the seat as streetlights pass over Eddie’s face every few seconds, catching the silver of his rings against the steering wheel.

He keeps glancing at you, not subtly either. Every time you catch him, he smiles crookedly to himself before looking back at the road.

By the time he parks outside the trailer, you’re pleasantly floaty enough that you don’t even think twice before following him up the steps. The trailer is dim and familiar from all the times you’ve picked Dustin up after Hellfire. Eddie immediately tosses his keys onto the counter before turning toward you.

“You want somethin’ to drink?”

You shake your head slightly before your eyes catch the cigarette pack sticking halfway out of his jacket pocket.

“…Can I try another one?”

Eddie actually laughs softly under his breath. “You are trouble.”

You smile innocently. “You said that already.”

“Yeah, well.” His eyes drag slowly over your face again. “Still true.”

This time, when he pulls a cigarette loose and lights it, you step closer before he even asks. Eddie notices immediately, something dark and pleased flickering briefly across his expression before he tamps it down.

“C’mere then, sweetheart.”

The pet name lands warm in your stomach now.

You lean in slightly while Eddie lifts the cigarette toward your mouth again, two fingers resting carefully beneath your chin to angle your face upward. The touch alone feels unfairly intimate, especially when his eyes stay fixed on your lips the entire time.

“That’s it,” he murmurs softly as you inhale carefully.

This time, you barely cough, and Eddie’s brows lift immediately. “Well, look at that.”

You laugh lightly through the smoke, a little proud of yourself despite how ridiculous that probably is.

Meanwhile, Eddie looks devastatingly fond. “That’s my girl,” he says quietly.

Your face flushes even more now, like that’s even possible. 

“You like it when I say stuff like that, huh?” he asks gently.

You glance down shyly. “Maybe.”

His grin turns downright dangerous. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, before you can recover from that, Eddie disappears briefly toward his bedroom area. You hear drawers opening for a second before he returns holding something glass and obnoxiously large in one hand.

You blink. “What’s that?”

“A bong.”

Your expression must give you away because Eddie immediately laughs. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just weed.”

“I know what weed is.”

“Mhm.” He drops onto the couch cushions beside you, smirking slightly. “And yet you looked at it like a church girl.”

You nudge his shoulder lightly while he chuckles to himself, already packing it with practiced familiarity. Then he glances sideways at you.

“You wanna try?” There’s no pressure in his voice, just some boyish curiosity.

You hesitate briefly before nodding. “Okay.”

Eddie’s expression softens instantly into something almost unbearably affectionate. “Attagirl.”

Heat floods your face again.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting tucked against his side while he guides you through it patiently, one hand steady against your waist while the other helps position your fingers correctly.

“Slow,” he murmurs. “Yeah, just like that.”

You follow his instructions carefully, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that his mouth is barely inches from yours right now. The hit burns less than the cigarette but still catches in your throat enough to make you cough lightly against his shoulder afterward.

Eddie laughs warmly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t too bad!”

“You make everything sound embarrassing.”

“That’s because everything you do is cute.”

Your face immediately buries against his shoulder while he laughs harder, wrapping an arm around you automatically like he can’t help himself anymore.

By the time the second hit settles in properly, you are absolutely gone.

You’re not panicking or dizzy or anything nightmare-inducing. Everything just suddenly feels unbelievably funny and soft all at once, like the entire trailer has been wrapped in warm cotton. The music playing quietly from Eddie’s radio sounds deeper somehow, and you cannot stop giggling every time he looks at you.

Which he keeps doing, constantly.

“You good there, sweetheart?” he asks from beside you, trying very hard not to laugh himself.

You stare at him for a second too long before nodding very seriously. “Your eyelashes are really pretty.”

That immediately breaks him. Eddie doubles over laughing, one hand covering his mouth while the other stays loosely around your waist to keep you upright, where you’re practically folded into his side on the couch.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “You’re high as a kite.”

You gasp softly like he’s offended you. “No, I’m not.”

“You just complimented my eyelashes like you discovered religion.”

“They are pretty.”

That only makes him laugh harder.

You narrow your eyes at him for approximately two seconds before dissolving into giggles, too, burying your face against his shoulder. Eddie wraps both arms around you automatically, then, still shaking slightly with laughter, he presses a kiss into your hair.

“Godt,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re adorable.”

You hum happily against him, completely content tucked into his chest while his rings drag lazily along your back.

A few minutes later, you start rambling, not about anything important either. Just whatever pops into your head.

“You know what’s weird?” you mumble suddenly.

“What’s weird?”

“The moon.”

Eddie snorts softly. “The moon.”

“Yeah. It just follows you around all the time. That’s weird behavior.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think the moon has behavior.”

“It does.”

“Mhm.”

You tilt your head up to look at him very seriously. “You smell good.”

Eddie visibly short-circuits for a second. “…Thanks.”

“And your hair is soft.”

“You touched my hair for like three seconds.”

“I know,” you sigh dreamily. “It was nice.”

That’s apparently the final straw. Eddie drops his forehead briefly against the top of your head with a groan. “Baby, you gotta stop sayin’ things like that before I lose my damn mind.”

You just smile at him sweetly, which does not help. Eventually, after you nearly fall asleep sitting upright against him, Eddie gently decides you need to move to the bed before your neck ends up permanently bent at a horrifying angle.

“C’mon, pretty girl.”

You blink sleepily up at him. “Hm?”

“Bedtime.”

The second he slides an arm beneath your knees and lifts you into his arms, you immediately wrap yourself around him with a soft little laugh.

Eddie steadies you against his chest easily, though his expression goes dangerously fond all over again when you instinctively nuzzle closer against his neck.

“You’re comfy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Like a heating pad.”

Eddie nearly walks directly into the wall laughing.

The mattress dips softly beneath you a moment later as he sets you down carefully onto his bed. You immediately starfishing across it in a way that makes him snort affectionately while crouching beside you.

“You wanna sleep in jeans, sweetheart?”

You make a face. “No.”

“Okay.” His voice stays gentle. “Can I help you change then?”

You nod immediately.  That feeling hits Eddie square in the chest every single time.

So he moves slowly. Helping you swap your jeans for a pair of old sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts while you continue mumbling nonsense the entire time.

“Attractive people should legally have warning labels,” you inform him seriously while he helps guide your arm through the sleeve.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s stressful.”

Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Poor thing.”

“I’m serious.” You squint at him sleepily. “You’re very handsome. It’s distracting.”

He actually stops moving for a second. “Good lord,” he mutters weakly.

“What?”

“Nothin’, baby.”

By the time you’re finally settled beneath the blankets, your eyes are barely staying open anymore. Eddie starts to pull away toward the edge of the bed before soft fingers catch loosely around his wrist.

“Stay.”

Eddie looks down at you for a long second before his entire expression melts. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says softly, climbing in beside you. “I’m stayin’.”

By Monday morning, half of Hawkins High has already noticed the jacket.

Not because it’s particularly flashy. Eddie’s leather jacket has always looked a little worn around the sleeves, a little too big on you, where it hangs past your fingertips. But everyone knows who it belongs to. Hellfire patches and metal pins tend to stand out in a school full of pastel sweaters and varsity jackets.

You don’t even think much of it at first while standing at your locker between classes, adjusting your books against your hip as Robin practically materializes beside you with the energy of someone spotting celebrity gossip in real time.

“Oh, my god.”

You blink. “What?”

Robin gestures wildly toward your body. “The jacket.”

Your eyes drop downward like you somehow forgot you were wearing it. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Robin repeats incredulously. “That’s Eddie’s jacket.”

You shrug a little, though warmth immediately creeps into your cheeks anyway. “I got cold Saturday.”

“And he let you keep it?”

The way she says it makes you pause. “…Yeah?”

Robin stares at you for a very long moment before muttering, “That man is so far gone.”

You laugh softly under your breath, trying and failing to suppress your smile while Robin watches the entire thing happen in real time.

“Oh, you like him bad too,” she realizes immediately.

“I do not like him bad.”

“Honey, you are literally wearing his jacket. Is that not the universal equivalent of a declaration?”

Before you can answer, someone whistles from farther down the hallway.

You glance up instinctively just in time to see Eddie leaning beside the cafeteria doors, already beaming, looking at you. More specifically, at you in the jacket. The slow grin that spreads across his face afterward is downright unfair.

Robin physically grabs your arm. “Oh, he’s gonna be unbearable now.”

And she’s right. Because Eddie spends the rest of the day looking at you like he won something.

Every time you pass each other in the hallway, his eyes immediately flick toward the oversized sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back toward your face with a deeply pleased expression. 

At lunch, he hooks two fingers through one of the jacket loops while passing behind your chair and murmurs a quiet, “Looks better on you anyway, sweetheart,” directly into your ear.

You nearly forget how to speak afterward. By the end of the school day, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Outside, the parking lot buzzes with engines starting and people spilling toward their cars in noisy groups while you make your way down the front steps. And there he is. Leaning against the side of his van with a cigarette resting between his lips, like he’s been waiting a while. The second he notices you walking toward him, his entire face softens.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

Eddie takes another drag from the cigarette while you stop between his knees, where he’s perched against the van door. “You survive another thrilling academic day?” he asks dryly.

“Barely.”

“Yeah? Tragic.”

You laugh quietly while his eyes drift over your face again, lingering there warm and heavy enough to make your stomach flutter. Then your gaze drops toward the cigarette between his fingers.

A slow smile pulls at his mouth. “What?”

You hesitate briefly before leaning in slightly. “Can I?”

This time, he doesn’t even tease you about it.

He simply lifts the cigarette toward your mouth automatically, eyes fixed steadily on your lips while you lean closer to take a slow drag. The smoke burns less now, familiar enough that you barely cough at all when you exhale.

Eddie watches the entire thing like he’s completely mesmerized.

“Atta’ girl,” he says quietly. The praise settles warm all through you.

Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or the way he’s looking at you. Or the fact that you spent the entire day missing him in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.

But suddenly you just want to kiss him, so you do. You lean forward softly, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly between you as your lips press against his. Eddie makes the quietest sound into your mouth.

His free hand immediately slides against your waist, pulling you closer between his knees while he kisses you back, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Around you, the parking lot continues moving in noisy blurs, but Eddie kisses you like there’s nobody else there at all.

When you finally pull back slightly, he’s staring at you with completely blown pupils. 

For a second, he just looks at you. Then he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your waist where it’s still holding you close.

“Who are you?” he murmurs, almost disbelieving.

Your face warms instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie grins slowly, eyes flicking toward the cigarette still dangling between his fingers before dragging back to your mouth.

“Couple weeks ago you were apologizing for saying hell in front of teachers,” he says softly. “Now you’re stealin’ drags from my cigarettes and kissing me in the school parking lot.”

Heat blooms all through your chest at the way he says it. Not mocking, something more towards pleased. Like he’s enjoying watching this softer, bolder side of you emerge.

You smile shyly despite yourself. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”

Eddie actually groans at that, dropping his forehead briefly against your shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you cannot say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” you ask innocently. 

Eddie’s thumb hooks beneath your chin immediately.

“Because,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges now, “you say it like you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

The warmth in your stomach deepens at that familiar tone, at the way he’s looking at you like he’s equal parts obsessed and completely doomed by it. And maybe you do understand a little more now.

Maybe that’s why your smile turns just slightly shy and knowing when you whisper, “Maybe I do.”

Eddie stares at you for half a second like you just physically struck him. Then he laughs softly under his breath, completely gone for you.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t reply with words after that, just hooks his fingers more firmly beneath your chin and drags your mouth back to his.

Eddie kisses like he’s addicted to it already, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him while his hand slides warm against your jaw. The parking lot noise fades somewhere far into the background as he tilts his head and kisses you again and again like he can’t help himself anymore.

And when you melt closer against him with a tiny contented sigh, Eddie smiles directly into your mouth, completely, and hopelessly ruined.

badda bing badda boom.

anyyywayyyyy, hope you all enjoyed.... i have a surprise coming at 11pm >:)

taglist is open!!

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@bitterestwillow@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses@meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg

This all has been platonic, obviously. Well, as platonic as cuddling can be with a very attractive man can be. What? You have eyes. To say Ryland Grace isn’t easy on them would be a lie. And sure, you’ve thought about him a bit, it would be disingenuous to say otherwise, but you don’t have a crush.

Okay, so that’s a lie too. You have a crush on Ryland Grace, how could you not? He’s funny, charming, and witty, and he’s all of these things without even trying. It’s almost frustrating how he pulls you into his orbit without trying, his gravitational pull so strong you can’t help but become another moon revolving around him.

So maybe, maybe, you’re a little more than happy at your current situation with him.

There’s no one awake to chastise you for staying in his arms a little bit longer then needed.

There is, however, a bit of an interruption to your fantasizing when you hear Ryland mumble a bit next to you.

He’s saying your name.

That’s… new. Ryland has never really been a sleep talker, but it’s not strange. He could be dreaming of anything, he’s probably thinking of working.

That thought is quickly cut off when you hear a moan come out of his mouth.

…Not work.

You can’t gauge if you’re happy or mortified in this situation yet. Your mind switches between “Ryland is dreaming about having sex with you!” and “Ryland is having a wet dream while you’re stuck in bed with him…” quickly, thinking of every possible outcome that usually ends with Ryland being horrified and never talking with you again.

Which you, obviously, don’t want.

So, you try and get out of Ryland’s arms without him waking up to save the embarrassment and over explanation he is sure to go into.

You don’t get that chance, because as soon as you try and sit up, he pulls you even closer, and you can suddenly feel something hard against your leg.

Okay.

Cool.

Maybe you can still get out of this. You push away from him, and just when you’re almost free-

He opens his eyes. Shit.

Ryland sighs as he wakes, eyes blearily blinking to focus on the situation. It’s only when he sees you sat straight and realizes the situation in his boxers does his face turn a flush red.

“Oh my gosh- I- I didn’t- I swear I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-” he’s sitting up now, staring at you with panicked eyes and messed up hair. If you didn’t feel so badly for him in this situation, you’d call him cute.

You hold up a hand before his spiral can fully launch.

“Ryland. Stop talking.”

That works better than it should. He actually freezes mid-ramble, mouth still open like his brain just hit a system crash.

You exhale slowly through your nose, trying very hard not to look anywhere that would make this worse. “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay,” he says immediately, then winces like he wishes he could swallow the sentence back whole. “I mean… I just… I was sleeping”

“I noticed.”

“And dreaming.”

“Yes.”

“And humans sometimes-”

“I am begging you to stop talking.”

That finally does it. His mouth snaps shut. A second passes. Then another. The silence stretches, thick and radioactive with mutual embarrassment.

Ryland looks anywhere except at you, which unfortunately means he’s staring at the wall like it personally betrayed him.

“I should… probably move,” he says carefully.

“That would help.”

He nods way too fast, scooting back like the mattress has suddenly become a live wire. The loss of contact makes the whole situation feel even more absurdly loud, like the ship itself is now aware of what just happened and is judging both of you.

You sit there for a second longer than necessary, because your brain hasn’t fully caught up with your body’s decision to survive this.

Then you clear your throat. “For the record.”

Ryland freezes. “Oh no.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re insane.”

“It’s literally just biology doing what biology does.”

He groans, collapsing backward onto his pillow again. “I hate biology.”

“You are a molecular biologist.”

“Molecules don’t have wet dreams of their crewmates.”

That one shuts you up, and you look down at your hands. You can feel the heat crawl up your body as your face grows hot. What do you say to that? You’re talking before you can think.

“I don’t mind.”

That makes Ryland pause, but not for long, “You don’t have to lie, I know it’s-”

“I’m not lying. I don’t mind. I mean, I really don’t mind. Like the opposite of minding? That’s me.”

Ryland stares at you for a beat, one or two, before tilting his head, “You mean…”

“Yes- obviously. Sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking about you for so long and then this happens and you keep wanting to apologize but all I can think of is how I wish it was real and not a dream and if this is freaking you out or you’re actually not into me like that please feel free to sh-”

He’s kissing you. Ryland Grace is kissing you. His hands are on your cheeks and he’s kissing you and it feels so right and you’re starting to think you didn’t know what right meant before this moment.

It ends all too soon and you frown at that, which Ryland takes as you not liking it, “Oh my Gosh- I am sorry- I thought-”

You kiss him, pushing him back onto your shared bunk and leaning on top of him. His hands find your hips, and he positions you on top of him with a disgusting amount of ease.

The first thing you notice is how warm he is, in his disposition and temperature. The warmth of his hands at your hips feel like flames, as does the heat that radiates from him under you, giving you goose bumps all over. Looking at him now, with his dilated pupils and kiss marks still visible on his mouth, has you feeling as if you’ve plugged yourself into an exposed electrical socket. And that’s even before he’s even touched you. A little too much thinking about that wet dream that he had probably hasn’t helped matters either.

The desire to witness him in this state, flushed and flustered, leaves no room for thought whatsoever. Already your hands are on his shirt, pulling at it as you plant your lips on his neck. Ryland groans, making your task easier.

"You-", he breathes heavily, "You're behaving as if you've wanted to do this for quite a while now."

"I have," you reply without a thought.

After that, Ryland breathes shakily and there is silence for a bit. You assume he is going to kiss you but instead he squeezes tighter at your hips. "How long?"

And now, you find yourself having to get up to meet his gaze. His eyes seem glazed and his hair is disheveled. He looks… well, hot. Really fucking hot.

"Awhile"

And still, it won't work on him. He pushes back with the words, "Be more specific." You are surprised by how passionate his tone makes you feel at that moment.

Reaching out to rub circles with your hands around the region above his sweatpants, you say, "Not specific enough for you, huh, Grace?"

He almost lets himself moan in pleasure due to how you're touching him but he's determined to let you speak before doing so, because right now, his attention is entirely focused on you. "No, definitely not enough," he says with a low voice. "Tell me a number."

Your fingers move a little bit further down, getting nearer to the waistline. Ryland lets out a soft noise that might as well be a plea to touch him. This causes you to bite your lip.

“A number can mean anything,” you finally say, your fingers brushing against the waistline of the pants. "Do we mean weeks, months, years-"

"Years?" asks Ryland sharply, his voice rising. "Did you ever like me when we were still on Earth?"

Oops, that cats out of the bag. You take off your shirt, hopefully to distract him. Ryland breathes out softly as you strip, his gaze flickering from your skin to yours again.

"Years?" he asks once more, holding onto your hips a little tighter. "You really have- you’ve liked me for that long?"

Damn it all, no luck there. You sigh and lean down to kiss him, saying, "Yeah. I have…"

He makes a soft sound as he returns the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth. His hunger is insatiable, desperate; he’s waited as long as you have for this. Grinding your hips against his, Ryland breaks the kiss, his head throwing back in a moan.

“God dang it. That’s not fair.”

"Why not?”

“Because,” he groans in your ear as you grind against him again, his hands on your hips, pulling you closer than before. “I’m having a very important conversation here, and you’re distracting me.”

“Aren’t we having sex?”

That shuts him up. Ryland stares at you for a moment, his mouth hanging open, mind obviously unable to process this is actually happening.

"Right," he says after a second. "Right, of course."

Shaking his head, Ryland grabs hold of your hips and flips you over. Now you're on your back, looking up at a very eager Ryland Grace between your legs.

Ryland looks at you with this intense stare. His hair is all messy and his face is flushed. Wow.

"Can I touch you?" he asks after a while, his hand sliding up your leg and giving it a squeeze.

You nod, your eyes get wide. You bite your lip. His hand moves up higher to the edge of your shorts. He looks at you like he is checking if you are okay with this. You lift your hips so he can pull your shorts down.

Ryland takes your shorts off, throwing them away while still looking at you. For a moment you just stare at each other, then he leans over. "You are beautiful, " he says.

You take a breath, your hands grab his shoulders and you feel his mouth on your skin. He kisses you again a little higher this time. Then starts kissing down your leg. It is like he is trying to drive you crazy, taking his time making you feel all these things.

You start breathing fast, your fingers are in his hair and your hips are moving off the bed. You want him to go faster. Rylands fingers are on your leg touching the skin.

"Ryland... Please baby..." you say.

He looks at your face, sees how much you want him and loses control.

He moves your leg and gets between your legs. He touches your skin and looks at you like he wants you so bad.

"I have wanted this for a long time " he says. "You have no idea how."

"I think I have an idea, " you say. "Please, pretty boy?"

He puts his head in your leg and hides his face for a second. It is really cute.

"Stop... it makes me sound like a teenager."

"You’re really pretty, can’t I say that?”

You can hear him making this noise against your skin, his fingers holding you tighter. He looks up, his eyes are full of need and desire.

"I want to make you feel good, " he says, touching your hip. "It is not fair when you say things like that."

"You want to make me feel good, Ry?."

The way you say his name makes him shiver. He really wants to do this.

"Yes I want to " he says, kissing your leg moving up higher. "I will do anything you want."

When Ryland gets to where he wants to be he stops, looks up at you to make sure you are okay. You nod and he starts kissing you. His mouth is hot and it feels amazing As he touches you you feel your body getting hotter, your heart beating faster. You start to lose control.

Then he starts to lick. Suck with his tongue, swirling and it feels so sweet, like nothing you have ever felt before. Your brain stops working. All you can think about is how good it feels. You are completely at Ryland’s mercy. Ryland is focused like he is on a mission to make you feel as good as possible. His hands hold your legs and his mouth keeps going. He stops and looks at you to see how much you are enjoying this and it seems to turn him on even more.

Ryland is just so extremely gentle. He wants to make sure that it's good for you, he doesn't have much experience with what he's doing. Every time he does something, you can feel how nervous he is. You can feel it from how he touches you that he wants to make sure you feel good.

You look down into his eyes and he catches you looking at him. His eyes seem so soft and sweet and he looks at you in a way that makes your heart rate speed up. It dawns on you that you never want to miss out on a moment like this again. You reach out to touch his face and pull him close to kiss him.

"I want you, Ry... is that okay?"

"Uh-huh.." is the only thing he manages to whisper back with a nod. His voice sounds a little deeper than usual, as if he was trying his best to hide the anxiety in his chest. But he's still hugging you tight to himself. He moves, making sure you’re comfortably sitting on his lap, kissing you on the face.

Ryland finds himself whining softly when he feels your body on top of him, he's trying really hard to keep himself together and take everything slow. He cups your hips, his hold tightening as you kiss him all over the face.

"You're such a good boy... you're doing much better than what I imagined, Ry...

Ryland lets out a low whimper as you talk to him, his head falling back as you start placing kisses on his neck. "You imagined this?"

"Of course I did... you're so handsome, how couldn't I?"

Ryland moans as your words and your touch make him shiver. "Dang it, you need to stop talking," he mutters, his hands on your waist. "You're making it very hard to focus."

"Mmm, you feel very hard."

Ryland groans as you say that, his hips moving up to meet yours instinctively. "Oh man- you better stop talking for real now. You're going to be the death of me."

"Need you... that okay?"

Ryland swallows, nodding slightly. Even though he’s still holding back, his body seems to be pushing against yours, trying to get as close as possible to you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine- I’m fine- I’m- I’m getting… I feel like- you’re driving me crazy.”

You kiss him, your lips touching every inch of him as you descend into him.

As you meld your bodies together, Ryland chokes on the breath inside of him. He holds you around the waist, gripping so tightly, as if afraid that you would vanish right out of his arms when he lets you go.

He restrains himself, stopping himself from giving into the emotions welling up within him. He holds himself back as best as he can, wanting you so badly that it hurts- but god, he could barely breathe because he wanted to take things slowly and make this perfect for you. He is drowning, and you are the only thing holding him back from being completely swallowed by the dark abyss. He shivers under your touch, whimpering softly and mumbling praise.

"God, you are beautiful. Look at yourself, you are so beautiful. Please, you need to know that-"

Even though he’s this mess, he wants to remind you how gorgeous you look to him. He struggles to keep himself under control, but it is quite obvious what he wants - you can tell from the way he is shaking and all of the heat that comes off of him. You can feel his heavy breathing and the sweat beading on his forehead. You have never seen Ryland like this before, but it makes you want him even more.

"Please-" he murmurs, "God, please- I need you, I need you to-" He doesn’t get to finish, because you are leaning in and pushing yourself against him, and he emits another desperate groan. There is no use in trying to hide how badly he wants this. It’s impossible. Every part of him is trembling, and he is shaking underneath you like he will fall apart at any moment.

He grips your hips so tight that you’re afraid there will be bruises later, but you don’t care. You move closer, leaning down and brushing your mouth against his neck. Ryland makes another soft noise, completely giving into you.

You nod, and his hand moves lower down where your clit lies. Then, suddenly, the coil snaps.

There is nothing left for Ryland to hold back now that he has allowed himself to surrender to the passion that burns within both of you. He trembles and shivers as he breathes in hard gasps. There is no single thought remaining in his mind, all he can think of is how badly he needs you.

Over and over again, he calls out your name as he gazes up into your face. Nothing could ever be more beautiful than you above him.

"You're so good, you're so good, you're so good," he's whispering under his breath as he touches you everywhere. "You're so beautiful, so gorgeous, so unbelievably beautiful... I can't believe any of this is real. Am I dreaming still...?"

You two are finally able to cool down, taking drawn-out breaths, while exhaustion overtakes you both.

You're lying on top of him, resting on his chest. Ryland pulls you close to him, embracing you. His heart is still pounding away, but he's slowing down. His hands run softly up and down your back, trying to soothe himself and you after everything that's just happened. It's silent for a little while as you lie there.

After a few moments, Ryland sighs happily and plants a kiss on the top of your head. "Mmm… You alright?" he asks you quietly, running his fingertips lazily up and down your back.

You nod against him, getting more comfortable against his chest. You shut your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing evening out.

Ryland holds you, his fingers making lazy circles across your spine. You can feel how reluctant he is about letting you go. You wonder if he’s afraid that all of this is going to vanish in an instant, only to have him wake up and discover that everything that just happened was nothing but a beautiful dream. Minutes pass before he finally opens his mouth, his voice hushed and just above a whisper.

He sighs, taking another breath and seeming to hesitate for a few seconds before starting. "Was..." he pauses once more, his fingers stalling momentarily before returning to their slow circling pattern. "Was this- I mean- this wasn’t just-" More hesitation before he finally blurts, “This wasn’t just a one-time thing, was it? I hope... I hope it isn’t a one-time thing.”

You sit up, gently frowning before giving him a kiss. "Not just one-time. Like I said, I want you… if you'll have me."

Ryland lets out a shaky sigh before cupping your face, staring at you with those soft eyes. You can see how he calms down once you say what he wants to hear.

"Of course I'll have you… of course. I've actually wanted this for years now. I would literally be an idiot to not have you now."

You chuckle at that, letting yourself lean into his touch. "You’re such a nerd… You know that?"

He gives you an amused scoff, but you could tell that he's joking. "Excuse me? I am not a nerd, I'm a-" you raise your eyebrows playfully at him, stopping him. "Alright, alright. I am a nerd. I admit it. But you are too."

“Guess we make quite the pair.”

You chuckle again, leading to both of you lying in bed and falling asleep after some time.

And for the first time since you both got hurt, you sleep peacefully.

______________________

“Ok! Im done” You yell out from the bedroom, your heels in your hand as you grab your purse from the bed. You look in the mirror one last time, fixing a stray hair before quickly rushing out of the room.

You knew how important today was for Ryland and his students, and even it there was still an hour until the ceremony, he wanted to be early. And you obviously weren’t going to make him late.

Something you both bonded over when you started dating was how you both liked to be on time for things. In his own, messy way, he was never late.

He turned around to look at you with a smile, and. Oh my god.

Oh fuck.

You looked stunning. That dress hugged you just the right way, without looking even slightly inappropriate. Your curls fell down just the right way, and that red lipstick stood out and made your lips look extra kissable. He swallowed hard.

They couldn’t be late.

You caught him staring, making you smile, and innocently tilt your head.

“What’s wrong Dr. Grace?” You took a step closer, watching his face slowly turn a crimson red. He was always so easy to fluster.

Your hand delicately wrapped around his tie, nails scrapping the fabric gently, tugging him closer with a short pull. And he obviously followed with no hesitation, hands settling on your hips.

“You look beautiful” Ryland admires, still staring so hard at your lips.

“And we’re going to be late if you keep staring” you smile, kissing his lips. It was a simple peck, but he followed your lips when you pulled away. Wanting more. More that you couldn’t give because-

“We’re gonna be late” you repeated, putting your hands on his cheek to push him away, seeing how your lipstick stuck to his lips in a messy way.

He looked so cute, and obviously you wish you could continue.

“Cmon, 10 minutes? We don’t gotta do anything.” He muttered, giving you those puppy eyes that were so hard to say no to.

You sighed, giving him a smile before kissing his cheek, one. Two. Three pecks. Before slowly going down to his jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses and lipstick marks down his throat.

You kept walking until the back of his knees hit the couch, and you pushed him so he fell with a small oomph. He stared up at you in awe, his glasses sliding down his nose for dramatic flare.

You fix the skirt of your dress enough to be able to sit on his lap, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, drawing circles into the fabric of your skirt. Your lips continued their assault on his neck, hands fiddling with his tie, loosening it enough to unbutton the first 3 buttons of his shirt. You wasted no time in attacking his chest, kissing every inch of bare skin you could reach.

His skin rose and fell with every breath, becoming harder to think straight with every kiss you gave him. You could hear the straggled whimpers and cries that escaped his lips when you left a bruising mark on his collar bone.

His hips rutted up against you, which made you giggle and pull away from his chest, deciding the you should stop now before things escalate. You admire your work, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, his dazed eyes fallen and completely smitten by you.

You pecked his lips slowly, pulling your phone out with one hand to take a picture of your work. And he was too out of it to even complain as you snapped it, taking a mental note to print it out on your Polaroid later.

“Ok big guy, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony”

“Nooo im going like this”

You’d even lit a candle. You were optimistic. 

The flame had travelled halfway down the wick, the wax pooling unevenly along one side, before you decided to blow it out. 

He wasn’t coming back. 

You pulled your knees a little closer to your chest, where you sat curled into the corner of the sofa, a blanket half draped over your legs. The TV was on as it flickered a shifting light across the room. Something mindless played on the screen, not that you were actually watching; you zoned out around an hour ago. 

You just wanted some noise at this point, or rather, the absence of silence. 

There is a brief war in your mind as you debate whether to put the Tupperware away. It was still sitting on the counter. You decide that it is probably for the best to move from your sanctuary on the sofa, stretch your legs and whatnot. 

You wander over to the kitchen, socks shuffling across the floor as you reach for the plastic containers to put away. 

He may not be here, but there are traces of him everywhere. 

It’s what makes you so worried about him. 

You turn towards the fridge—it was the first thing anyone noticed when they walked in. Not because it was particularly nice, but because it was covered. 

Layered in magnets and paper and colour. Crayon drawings, most of them, curling slightly at the corners where the magnets didn’t quite hold them flat.

Stick figures with wildly disproportionate limbs. Planets coloured in purple and green. A sun with sunglasses. A lopsided rocket labelled—very proudly, in uneven block letters. 

MR GRACE’S ROCKET SHIP!!!

You smiled softly. 

He’d come home with that one months ago, careful not to let it crease too much on his bike ride home.

“Look at this,” he’d said, laughing. “They think I’m cool enough to go to space.”

You’d laughed then too, teasing him gently, telling him he was cool enough, and he’d ducked his head.

There were more of them now.

More drawings. More little notes. One that just said “Thank you Mr Grace :)” in pencil.

He’d never had the heart to take any of them down.

Your chest tightened.

Because that was him, wasn’t it?

That earnest kind of care. The way he gave himself to things—fully, without hesitation, without holding anything back. Whether it was his students, or a problem he couldn’t quite solve, or you.

Especially you.

Your eyes flicked back to the clock as you put dinner away. 

22:52.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he was actually doing. 

His most recent job was vague, always described sheepishly. He said there were NDAs involved, said it was "research." Papers were always hidden away where you couldn’t see them, let alone try to understand them. 

You trusted him. That was enough for you not to pry. That paired with the way that he’d looked at you—not excited, but lit from within in a way you’d never seen before. 

That had been enough. 

You didn’t need to know the details to know that something had shifted.

It had started small. A meeting here. A call there. Then longer hours. Then missed dinners. Then the creeping realisation that whatever he’d been pulled into, it wasn’t temporary.

Most nights now, the flat felt too still without him in it.

It wasn’t that you minded. If anything, you were glad he’d found something that lit him up like this. It was the way he gave himself to it, completely and without pause, that worried you. The sense that he was stretching himself thinner and thinner, and that one day there might not be enough left to hold him up.

You lingered for a moment in the kitchen, fingers brushing along the edge of the counter as your eyes drifted once more to the clock. 

23:01

Later than you’d promised yourself you’d stay up.

You should go to bed.

He’d understand. 

With an exhale, you reached for the switch. The overhead light flickered softly, your hand hovering, as if you were hesitating, as if some part of you was still holding out hope.

The sound of the lock turning cut through the stillness.

You stilled.

Metal against metal. A stubborn click. The push of the door easing open.

Ryland.

You could hear he was trying to keep quiet. His shoes hardly made a sound as he kicked them off, nor did the door as it softly shut, trying not to disturb a space he already thought was asleep. 

The flat stayed dim, the kitchen light still on behind you, casting a soft spill into the hallway, catching just the edge of his silhouette.

You could stand here and giggle as he fumbled around, trying to keep silent as he took off his bag and jacket, but the feeling in your chest stopped your thoughts immediately. 

Before you could think better of it, you were already moving. 

You rounded the corner quickly, too quickly for him to anticipate. He barely had time to look up before you were on him, arms wrapping around him and relief flooding your system. 

“Oof—”

He let out a startled sound as you collided with him, hands coming up instinctively to catch you, steady you. 

And then, just as quickly, he melted into you. 

His arms slipped around you, pulling you in close. His chin dipped toward your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. 

He smelled the same. Coffee, soap, completely familiar and him. 

“What are you—” he trailed off, voice lower than it usually was, tiredness hinting at the edges. “Should be in bed by now, sweetheart.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, not taking his gentle scolding too seriously. 

He should take his own damn advice. 

You smiled, practically glowing in his embrace and the knowledge that you’d be able to say goodnight to him in person this time. 

“I wasn’t tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. 

Your eyes lingered on his face, fully taking him in, even if you hadn’t quite clocked everything yet. 

“Plus,” you continued, a little quieter. “I sleep better when you’re here.”

He huffed softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice still gentle. “You’re usually still snoring when I leave in the morning.”

You frowned immediately, offended.

“I do not snore.”

He gave you a look. 

“Mm,” he hummed. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

You barely had time to argue before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, something you let yourself smile into.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head slightly, still holding onto him.

“I made dinner.”

That got his attention.

He blinked at you, like the words took a second to land, his tired eyes softening just a fraction.

“You did?”

You nodded, a little eager despite yourself.

“Pasta. Your favourite.”

He let out a groan, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around your waist just slightly.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled.

You shrugged, smiling as your fingers brushed lightly against his back.

“It’s my job.”

He huffed softly against your skin.

“Should be mine.”

“What was that?” you asked, tilting your head just enough to try and catch it.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, lifting his head again.

You studied him for a moment, then stepped back just enough to gesture vaguely toward the kitchen.

“Do you want me to heat it up?”

He hesitated.

You saw it, even before he answered.

“Nah—no, no,” he said, a little too quickly. “You go, get comfy, yeah? I’ve just got… I’ve just got some stuff I need to read. Then I’ll be right with you.”

You stilled.

“You’re still working?”

The words came out soft, but they hit.

He stopped too.

In the brief pause between the two of you, it allowed you to really see him. 

Even in the low light, it was all there. The shadows under his eyes were darker than they used to be. The strain on his expression that he was so obviously trying to hide. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, unnoticed by him, his hair a little more dishevelled than usual. 

He looked exhausted. 

“Ry—“ you murmur as your chest tightens, lifting your hands to his face. You drag your thumbs lightly along his jaw as you hold him there. “You can’t work all the time.”

“I know,” he said quietly. 

“You need rest.”

“I’m gonna,” he insisted, but there was no real conviction in it. 

You searched his face, your mouth turning into a frown. 

“But you never get any.”

He hated to admit it, but you had a point.

Damn it.

He exhaled and it was heavy. His gaze dropping to the floor like he disappointed you. He didn’t want to argue, but he also didn’t want to deflect. 

Because he knew. He knew you were right. 

You brushed his hair back from his forehead gently, fingers slipping through the soft strands, and the effect was immediate.

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you. 

His shoulders dropped just slightly, his eyes closing for half a second as he leaned into the touch without thinking, like his body recognised something his mind hadn’t had time to catch up with.

Like he needed it.

You let your fingers linger, nails dragging lightly across his scalp, and he let out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively.

Your heart gave a small, startled thud.

When was the last time—

You didn’t even finish the thought.

Too long. Far too long.

Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, just enough to guide his head back, and he followed easily, eyes opening again, a little unfocused now, a little softer.

You had an idea.

You looked up at him, your expression gentler now, something more deliberate settling in your gaze.

“Ry,” you said quietly, almost coaxing. “Are you sure I can’t help you relax?”

It took him no time to understand your insinuation.

He looked at you like the question physically pained him.

Torn.

He dragged a hand briefly over his face, exhaling under his breath.

“Baby, I—” he started, cutting himself off quickly, like he’d caught the words just in time. He shook his head slightly, a faint, tired smile pulling at his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, softer now. “Okay. Yeah.”

His hands found your waist again.

“We can do whatever you want.”

Something bright, almost giddy, flickered in your chest. Because finally, you could take care of him.

Your fingers slid down from his hair, tracing the line of his jaw one last time before you caught his hand in yours. His palm was warm, a little clammy from the long day, but the second your skin met his he laced your fingers together. 

You gave a gentle tug and he followed, his steps heavy and dragging behind you, socks scuffing softly against the floorboards. He moved like a man who’d forgotten how to want anything except the next thing you offered him, like a tired puppy trailing after the only light left in the flat.

You led him down the short hallway. The bedroom door was already ajar; you pushed it open with your hip, and the street lamps outside spilt in through the half-drawn blinds, painting everything in soft gold and cool silver. 

The way he liked you best.

The glow caught on the rumpled sheets you’d left this morning, on the curve of his shoulder as he stepped in behind you, on the faint sheen of exhaustion that still clung to his face.

He stopped just inside the doorway, blue eyes locked on you. Even half-dead on his feet he looked hungry—starved, really—desperate with his pupils blow wide and his breath hitching every time you moved. 

He perked up quickly.

Good.

Time to ease his thoughts away from work and solely on you.

You could still feel it rolling off him in waves: the weeks of late nights, the missed dinners, the way his body had forgotten what it felt like to be touched with anything but clinical efficiency.

You stepped closer, letting your hip cock to one side, head tilting as you looked up at him through your lashes. The movement made the hem of his old t-shirt ride up your thighs, and his gaze dropped there for half a second before snapping back to your face like he’d been caught.

“You gonna let me take care of you, Ry?” you asked, voice low and sweet, the way you knew made his knees weak.

He swallowed hard, throat working. 

“You always take care of me,” he murmured, the words rough.

“Yeah…” You smiled, teasing. “But I have a feeling you’re really gonna like this one.”

He opened his mouth—probably to protest, to say he should be the one looking after you, to offer some tired half-joke—but you rose up on your toes and kissed him before the words could escape. He melted instantly. The sound he made was broken, almost embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to let it out. 

His free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, needing something solid to hold onto while the rest of him dissolved.

You kept kissing him as your hands found the top button of his cardigan—soft green wool, the one he’d worn the day he first told you about the “research job” that was eating him alive. 

One button, then another. You worked slowly, letting your knuckles brush the warm skin of his chest each time. He didn’t move to help. He just stood there, eyes half-lidded and gentle. When the cardigan finally slid down his arms and pooled on the floor, he shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold.

Next came the shirt underneath. You tugged it free from his jeans, palms skimming up the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped and twitched under your touch. 

He was so pliant, so perfectly willing—arms lifting when you guided them, head ducking so you could pull the fabric over it. 

The shirt joined the cardigan and he stood there bare-chested, breathing a little faster now, chest already tight from the weight of your stare.

Your fingers dropped to the buckle of his belt. Metal clicked. You looked up at him again, searching his face. 

“Is this alright?”

His hands covered yours immediately, warm and steady despite the tremor in his voice. 

“Baby,” he said, almost laughing but too wrecked for it, “you can have me whenever you want. You know that.” 

The words came out hoarse and you couldn’t help but think about every night he’d come home after midnight, every morning he’d slipped out before you woke. 

Your chest squeezed—but you shoved the ache aside.

Not tonight. 

Tonight he was here, and he was yours.

You popped the button, dragged the zip down, and pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips in one. He stepped out of them clumsily, kicking them aside, and he was naked in front of you—cock already half-hard and curving up toward his stomach, flushed dark at the tip and beading at the slit. 

He looked so vulnerable like this, eyes soft and a little glassy, waiting for whatever you wanted to do to him.

Before you could sink to your knees or touch him the way you were aching to, he reached for you with that same tired, adoring smile. 

“Your turn?”

You giggled—couldn’t help it—and let him pull you in. His hands were eager, sliding under the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from his drawer. He peeled it off you slowly, reverent. 

God, you missed him.

When your breasts were bare he exhaled shakily, thumbs brushing the undersides like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed. The shirt hit the floor and then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one go. 

You stepped out and suddenly you were both exposed, skin glowing in the light, the air between you thick with weeks of pent-up need.

He didn’t waste time. He hauled you against him, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that felt deeper than the last, like the exhaustion was finally cracking open. 

One of his hands splayed across your lower back, the other slid between your legs without hesitation. Two fingers stroked through your folds, finding you already slick and aching, and he groaned into your mouth when he felt it.

“Baby…” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked. “Seems like I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

His fingers circled your clit once, twice, slow and perfect, and you whimpered, hips jerking forward.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and softly tugged—just hard enough to make him gasp—then shoved at his chest playfully. 

“Tonight I’m taking care of you, Dr Grace.”

Dr Grace.

The title landed like a live wire. You knew exactly what it did to him; he could see it in the way you said it.

His eyes fluttered, a broken little sound punched out of his chest, and he let you push him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Let you move him where you wanted him.

He dropped down willingly, sprawled out on his back, cock now fully hard and leaking against his stomach. He looked pathetic in the best way—chest heaving, cheeks flushed, arms already reaching for you like he couldn’t stand another second without your weight on him.

You crawled over him, knees bracketing his ribs, ready to sink down and take him inside you the way you’d been dreaming about for weeks. But his hands caught your hips, stopping you. His blue eyes were hazy, pupils blown, yet somehow still so gentle.

“Baby… can you go a little higher?”

You blinked down at him, confused, thighs already trembling with want. 

“Aren’t you tired?” The words came out soft, almost worried, and the sound of it made his expression melt even further. “Tonight I was gonna be good to you.”

Not that you were complaining.

He shook his head, thumbs stroking soothing circles over your hipbones. 

“I don’t think I’ll last five seconds if we do that,” he admitted, bashful and honest and so fucking needy it made your stomach flip. “It’s been… Gosh, it’s been so long. Let me do my job first, yeah? Then you can have your way, okay, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, heart hammering. He guided you higher, hands firm until your knees settled on either side of his head, and you were hovering over his face. 

The light painted his features in silver and shadow—his tired eyes still locked on yours, lips parted, breath already fanning hot against your soaked cunt.

Fuck, he was stunning.

You lowered yourself slowly, and the first drag of his tongue had your head falling back with a moan. 

He was tired, yes, but he knew you—knew exactly how to flatten his tongue and lick a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, how to hum in satisfaction when your taste flooded his mouth.

How could he forget you?

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks you’d treasure tomorrow, anchoring you to him like he never wanted you to leave.

He licked and sucked with lazy, devastating precision, built from months of learning every hitch of your breath, every roll of your hips.

When you started to rock against him he groaned, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and the sound was so desperate—so pathetically grateful—that it made you clench around nothing.

“That’s it,” he mumbled against your pussy, voice muffled and wet, “ride my face, baby. Use me. Let go for me—”

Please.

His fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you down with a desperate strength that belied how exhausted he looked. 

You could feel the tremble in your legs already starting, the way your muscles quivered around his head as he devoured you like a man who’d been starving for months—and maybe he had. 

Ryland Grace, brilliant and overworked and so fucking touch-starved that he couldn’t get enough, kept dragging you back and forth over his tongue with low, needy sounds vibrating straight into your core. 

He was rock-hard beneath you, cock straining and leaking against his stomach, but he didn’t even seem to notice or care. All that mattered was you—your taste, your weight, the way you ground down on his face like it was the only thing keeping him awake.

He cursed every single late night he had, every single hour overtime.

How on earth could he put work before this pure heaven?

You reached down blindly, fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan loud and broken against your soaked pussy. The sound was pathetic in the most beautiful way. He’d let you use him until there was nothing left if that’s what you wanted. 

And you did. 

You rode his face harder, hips rolling in messy circles, chasing that building heat while he licked and sucked and hummed like he was trying to memorise every single reaction you gave him.

He felt it when you started to tip over the edge—your thighs clamping tighter around his ears, your breath hitching into these sharp little gasps. His blue eyes flicked up to yours, glassy and adoring even through the fogged lenses of his glasses, and he doubled down, tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit until you tugged on his hair again and came with a broken cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.

It was overwhelming, the way he didn’t stop—licking you through every pulse and shiver, dragging you back down when your hips tried to pull away.

Oh no, you don't.

He cleaned you up with reverent strokes like he couldn’t bear to let a single drop go to waste. 

You were shaking, quivering above him, vision blurry with the aftershocks, and only when you were completely spent and whimpering did he finally loosen his grip on your thighs. His hands slid up your sides instead, soothing, like he was afraid he’d break you even though he was the one falling apart underneath you.

You lifted off him on unsteady knees, sliding down until you could look at his face properly. His glasses were completely fogged up, cheeks flushed crimson, lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. He blinked up at you, dazed and blissed-out, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“Was that… good?” he asked, voice hoarse and shy; he still needed the reassurance even after you’d just ridden his face into oblivion.

Tell him he was still good.

You let out a shaky sigh, brushing a thumb over his wet bottom lip. 

“You know it was, Ry.”

A sleepy smile spread across his face—pure, unguarded bliss.

You shuffled lower, knees bracketing his hips now, and looked down at him with a teasing little tilt of your head. 

Finally, it was his turn.

His cock was throbbing between you, flushed and leaking steadily against his stomach, and he was staring at you like you hung the moon.

“You gonna let me ride you now, Dr Grace?” you asked, voice dripping with sweet mockery.

He groaned, head dropping back against the mattress with a soft thud. 

Again with the titles?

“You’re gonna kill me, I swear,” he mumbled, but his hands were already sliding up your thighs.

You chuckled, leaning down to nip at his jaw. 

“Good. Maybe that way you’d finally get some rest.”

He huffed a breathless laugh that turned into another groan when you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful to the touch and he jolted up with a sharp wince, hips bucking involuntarily.

“I—sorry, baby—”

It’s been so long. 

His cheeks burned even darker, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.

You looked at him. His flushed face still shiny with your slick, hair sticking up in every direction from your tugging, that tired but desperate expression that made him look so beautifully pathetic. He was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, soft submission and needy love, and your chest ached with how much you’d missed this version of him.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, meaning it with every part of you.

He whined, hips twitching again. 

“Stop teasing, please. I need you.”

You chuckled softly, finally taking pity on him. You grabbed his shaft properly, angling it so the thick length slid easily between your slick folds. The motion had his tip catching perfectly against your clit before popping free, and you both moaned at the wet glide.

Fuck, it's been too long.

He sighed against your mouth, which had fallen open in a silent ‘o’, rolling his hips up in search of more friction, chasing the heat of you like he couldn’t help it.

“Patience,” you began, but the last of the word was stolen by a gasp when you ground down to meet his next thrust. The blunt tip of him prodded at your entrance, gliding up again with just the right pressure to make sparks shoot up your spine. 

You both moaned louder this time, the sound tangled together in the quiet room.

His arms circled the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, dragging you over the full length of him again. It made you shudder hard in his grasp, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.

He caught right where you needed him most, your walls fluttering greedily around his tip, trying to suck him in. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when he tried to push a little more. But it was your hips that rolled this time, taking just enough for him to finally slide all the way in with a slow, delicious stretch that had you both gasping.

“Fuck,” you whined, feeling so full for the first time in way too long. Your walls clung to him tightly, trying to accommodate his size after all these weeks apart. You sat up straighter with a low huff through your nose, letting your nails drag down the centre of his chest. He shuddered hard under you, eyes rolling back for a second. “Fuck—missed you so much—”

“Language, baby,” he managed to choke out, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper. “Taking it so well—just like that—”

His praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he twitched hard inside you, a fresh spurt of pre-cum leaking out. His big hands found the tops of your thighs, pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire as they slid up to grip your hips.

You started riding him properly then—slow at first, savouring every inch as you lifted and sank back down, the sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Ryland turned into an absolute babbling mess beneath you, desperate, eyes glassy as he stared up at you like you were everything.

“Missed you so much,” he gasped, hips jerking up to meet yours. “Missed this—missed  baby, I—feels so good, so—”

You let out a sharp whine when he hit that perfect spot inside you, and his eyes lit up with that familiar hunger.

“Right there? That’s it? Yeah, baby?” he panted, begging you to tell him he was doing it good. “Look so beautiful, you—“

You moaned, head tipping back as you kept moving, chasing that building pleasure while he fell apart under you. His hands roamed everywhere—your hips, your waist, up to cup your breasts like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch you most.

“Please, sweetheart, please,” he begged suddenly, voice wrecked and so fucking pathetic it made you throb around him. “Look at me—need to see you. It’s been so long, I need your eyes on me—”

It was hard to open your eyes—the slow, dragging drag of his cock against your slick walls was almost too much, the feeling of being so perfectly connected to him after all this time. But you did, locking gazes with him as you rode him harder.

He was trembling now, fingers digging bruises into your hips, breath coming in short, desperate pants. 

“Not gonna last—I’m not gonna last much longer—”

“Neither am I,” you breathed out, leaning down to kiss him messy and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue again. “Cum for me, Ry. Let go.”

That was all it took.

He did—hard. His whole body seized up, back arching off the bed as he came with a broken, guttural moan that sounded like it had been ripped out of his soul. He swore he saw stars, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in silent ecstasy while he kept thrusting up into you through it, needy even in the middle of his orgasm.

You followed right after, clenching around him as the wave crashed over you, moaning his name like a prayer while your thighs shook and your vision whited out.

You both came down slowly, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His arms circled you immediately, pulling you down against his chest. You stayed there for a long moment, just breathing each other in, hearts hammering in sync.

For a while, neither of you moved. You lay half-draped over him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat slowly began to steady beneath your ear. It was still a little fast, still a little uneven, but it was him again.

Not halfway lost in whatever equations or impossible problems had been pulling him away from you.

His hand rested at the small of your back, fingers tracing against your skin like he didn’t quite know what to do with all this quiet. Like he was relearning it.

You felt him shift slightly beneath you, reaching again for the tissues on the bedside table.

“I’ve gotcha,” he murmured, softer this time, more awake.

He's always got you.

You huffed a small breath against his chest, but you didn’t move away. Let him fuss. Let him take care of you in the way he always did. He needed to feel close as much as you did.

He worked slowly, methodically, brows pulling together just slightly in concentration as he cleaned you up, determined to do it properly. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, the light catching on the slope of his nose, the faint flush still high on his cheeks, the way his glasses had slid crooked again without him noticing.

You reached up, nudging them back into place with a small smile.

“Occupational hazard,” you murmured.

He blinked down at you, a little dazed still.

Tease.

He finished cleaning you up, then his hand came back to you, settling at your hip, thumb brushing. You traced your fingers lightly along his chest, following the faint rise and fall of his breathing.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice softer now, “you should take nights off like this more often.”

He huffed a breath, eyes flicking down to you, something a little brighter sparking there now.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, a hint of humour creeping back in, “I will be adding that to my schedule immediately. Very high priority.”

You stilled slightly.

The smile didn’t quite leave your face, but it shifted.

“Ry…”

He noticed.

Your fingers paused against his chest, your gaze lifting to meet his properly now.

Here we go.

“I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing,” you said gently, not accusing, not pushing. “And I’m not asking you to.”

He nodded slightly, something flickering in his expression—gratitude, maybe. Relief.

“But,” you continued, quieter now, more earnest, “I am serious.”

Your thumb brushed lightly along his collarbone, grounding yourself as much as him.

“You need to take time like this. Not just for you.”

A small breath.

“For me.”

That stuck. You could feel it.

You saw it in the way his expression shifted again, the humour softening. He looked at you, not just the comfort of you, but the person who had been waiting. Who had been worrying.

Who loved him.

His hand moved from your hip to your cheek.

“I know,” he said quietly.

He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.

“I think I… yeah,” he admitted, softer still. “I think I’ve been… a little—”

“Obsessive?” you offered gently.

He huffed.

“That’s a polite way of putting it.”

You smiled faintly.

“It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “It’s also one of the things that turns me into a complete disaster when I don’t manage it properly.”

Your fingers threaded lightly through his hair again, softer this time.

“You’re not a disaster.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Debatable.”

You nudged his shoulder.

“Ry.”

He smiled at that. 

“I hear you,” he said, more seriously now. “Okay? I do. I… I can take a night. Or—” he paused, recalculating, already trying to be better, “a couple. I can make that happen.”

You searched his face for a second, like you were checking if he meant it.

“Okay,” you said softly.

His thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering there.

“Okay,” he echoed.

There was a quiet between you. That was until you saw the cogs in his head turning once again. 

“…we should probably shower.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Typical Ryland.

“Probably.”

He glanced down at himself, like he was doing a very quick, very scientific assessment.

“Yeah,” he added. “Definitely.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, offering him your hand this time. He took it without hesitation. You tugged him gently toward the bathroom, and he followed, steps still a little heavy but no longer dragging. 

The light flicked on with a click, filling the small space with warm yellow, as steam already began to gather as you reached for the shower.

He leaned against the counter, watching you, something gentle in his expression.

“What?” you asked, glancing back at him.

He shook his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

“Nothing.”

He gave a small shrug as his cheeks heated again. 

“I just… missed this.”

Your chest tightened, but in the best way.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping back toward him, brushing your hand against his as the water started to run. “Me too.”

He squeezed your fingers before stepping in with you, pulling you under the warm spray.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like he was finally back with you. Where he belonged.

a/n: first ever post on this blog wooo!!! not new to writing, just new to ryland and couldn't help myself.

just testing the waters to see if there is anyone interested in more of ryland, lowkey want to do a series on him for the movie/book (it will be angsty though but with a happy ending) if people were into that?