Always Daydreaming

it wasn’t supposed to feel this good. 

you should feel guilty. 

you should feel ashamed of yourself. 

god would cry at the sound alone, the desperate whines of “oh, shit ellie,” and the heavy breaths that followed. 

“fuck, yeah that’s it,” she groaned, keeping your foreheads pressed together so that you were forced to look down at where the pink silicone disappeared into your cunt. “takin’ it all so fucking good, so fucking good,” as she guided you back up, admiring the way your pussy clenched around it, tight and needy. you gasped as she continued her filthy rhythm, fucking up into you as you grasped at her shoulders. 

“ellie, i- fuck, fuck, oh m’god,” you were babbling, practically incoherent as she fucked you. “so good, s’good, please, fuck,” it was filthy, the way the sound of skin slapping against skin was obscene in the otherwise quiet room, the way ellie’s mouth hung open as she watched how eagerly you were bouncing in her lap. 

as she thought about the way your boyfriend had no fucking clue where you were.

“yeah, that’s it,” she breathed, pulling you down and holding you in her lap, the sudden fullness making you gasp and bury your head into her shoulder. “i know you’ve been needing this, baby, fuck yeah-” she stuttered when you ground your hips forward slightly, the friction against her own clit going straight to her head. 

“such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you like this,” she was getting cocky now, gritting her teeth and keeping you pressed firmly in her lap, relishing in the pretty moans and sobs that were coming out of your mouth. “can he make you feel this good? hm?” 

“no!” you gasped, biting down on her shoulder in surprise when she ground your hips even tighter against her, your stomach twisting as she kept you split open on her cock. “no, he can’t, he can’t!” you were so close, so so close, and so fucking full, “m’god daddy please–”

it rolled off your tongue, so easily, so naturally, ellie went absolutely insane, gritting out a profanity before lifting you up and off her, the emptiness making you whine. she practically threw you onto the bed, grabbing the backs of your knees to press your legs apart, the look in her eyes almost enough to push you over the edge. she wasted no time before she was pressing back into your hole, “so fucking messy,” a pearly white was forming at the base of her cock as you threw your head back in pleasure, the wanton curve of your spine causing her to thrust even deeper, somehow–

“this pussy is fucking mine,” she was animalistic, fucking into you so hard that your body jostled the bed, your moans echoing off the walls as she pressed one of your knees into your chest, leaning forward so that she could wrap her free hand around your neck. your mouth fell open in a silent moan as she tightened her grip, grunting like her dick was fucking attached to her or something, “tell daddy who owns you– huh?”

it was cruel, how she knew you couldn’t answer when you eyes were rolling back, body trembling with the fullness in your tummy as ellie fucked you, as she gave you everything you’ve ever needed and more, as she made you feel better than your boyfriend ever has, “come on, cum for daddy, baby– that’s it, fuck–”

her hips stuttered slightly, her grip around your throat loosening just so that a strangled moan, a barely intelligible iteration of “yes, yes, m’gonna cum daddy– oh! please,” could escape—the world around you fading away as you reached your climax, pussy tightening, your juices making a mess of the sheets and the front of ellie’s thighs. “holy fucking shit,” she was rasping as she watched your face twist up in ecstasy, her own clit throbbing at the sight, so fucking proud she could bring a pleasure like no one else. 

there were much more productive ways you could be spending your time. you could be, i don’t know—literally doing anything else other than being forced to clean these goddamned bathrooms. 

it’s not that you didn’t mind cleaning, no. in fact, under ideal circumstances, cleaning could actually be fun for you. there was just a big problem with who it forced you into a room with this time. with her stupid long french braid, and her absurdly large muscles—like seriously, what the fuck was she showing off for? we’re killing scars, not for training for the fucking rapture.

“you know, if you move the mop in a back-and-forth motion, it would actually clean the floors.” 

to put it quite plainly, abby doesn’t like you. you said left, she had to say right; you say go, she had to say stop—the mutual loathing was just routine at this point, it came almost as natural as breathing. surely it didn’t help that the two of you were typically sent on assignments that involved being together for far too many hours at a time. rarely was it made only slightly better by the presence of someone else, another body to diffuse even an ounce of the tension that hung between the two of you like a rope. 

you scoffed at her juvenile insolence, though you started mopping again nonetheless. “trust me, i don’t want to be here any longer than i have to. i have shit to do,” you jeered, making it a point to look down at the ground, watching the soapy water spread across the tile. not at the way her muscles—have you mentioned they’re absurdly large?—flexed as she wiped down the counter with bleach. 

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i was keeping you from something!” abby exclaimed, feigning ignorance. “by all means, you run off and do whatever it is you have to do, and i’ll just finish this little punishment all by myself.” 

you had to bite back a bitter laugh, instead choosing to shake your head at the ground, your mopping becoming just a little bit more aggressive with each stroke. you chose to ignore it. you almost had her completely tuned out of your mind, until you didn’t.

“it’s not like i was the one who just let that scar go.” that stopped you dead in your tracks. 

abby has said a lot of things to you. a lot of untrue things. a lot of hurtful things, even. and again, it was entirely possible you could have even ignored that. but then you looked up—and you saw her stupid, imprudent fucking smirk, and it was over. “you know what abby?” you started, throwing your mop. you didn’t even have the energy to smile at the way she flinched when the wooden handle hit the ground with a loud bang. she played it off quickly, though, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the counter. you didn’t expect the sudden lump in your throat. 

“fuck you.” 

the words didn’t come out exactly like you’d hoped. maybe there was a slight hesitation, the faintest crack between the syllables, a single tear threatening to spill down your cheek—but you meant it, wholeheartedly. 

fuck abigail anderson.

you couldn't bother to give her even a second thought as you turned on your heel, ignoring her calls of your name from behind you. perhaps a bit childish, but you slammed the door extra hard on your way out. 

let that scar go? is she fucking for real? 

you were so tired of having to prove your place here to her. isaac sent you both on the same assignments, he trusts you just as much as her to do his most important jobs, but it never seems to be good enough. whether it was jealousy or stubbornness, you could never be quite sure. 

time and time again you’ve tried to make nice with abby; you had actually wanted to be friends with her—the jaunty girl who never seemed to let her past slow her down, taking every opportunity to crack a sarcastic joke and practically jumping in front of bullets for the people she loved—you’d tried to spark friendly conversation, volunteered to take some of her extra assignments, even offered her a book you’d overheard her mentioning she wanted to read that you just happened to have on your bookshelf, but it was all futile. she wanted nothing to do with you, like your presence alone was a personal inconvenience. so, naturally, you stopped trying—yet, the two of you almost always somehow ended up in the same room together, whether it was a drunken night in leah and nora’s room, or cleaning bathrooms as a stupid punishment. 

but one, one little slip up and that’s all it took. you took your eyes off that scar for a split fucking second, and now she’ll never let you live it down. you were furious, angry tears clouding your vision as you stormed away, down the hallway and practically sprinting up the stairs to your room. 

she can clean that bathroom all by herself, you thought as you fumbled to get your keys out of your pocket, dropping them on the ground in your haste. “fuck!” you exclaimed, bending down to pick them up, searching for the small silver key on the ring. 

“there you are,” a sudden voice from behind startles you enough that you flinch, dropping your keys again. of fucking course. 

“go away abby,” you practically snarl, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks with your palm before she could see. despite your weak protest, you could hear her heavy footsteps getting closer as you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and slipping inside. 

“oh, come on,” abby was right on your heels, pressing a hand against the door and preventing it from fully closing behind you. your eyes felt like they might roll into the back of your head. 

“i’m sorry, what part of ‘go away’ was unclear to you?” you snapped, turning around to glower at her through the small crack in the doorway. her arm strength was incredible, she was barely leaning against the door as you pushed with an embarrassing amount of effort to try and close it on her. what you lacked in brawn, you pride yourself in making up for with brains—yet another reason it was already embarrassing enough that you fucked up, now she was practically rubbing it in your face. 

abby’s eyes held a look you couldn’t quite understand. no way she was apologetic, but her face held a certain softness to it you’d never quite seen before. usually her face was all rigid lines and sharp angles, clenched jaw and guarded eyes, especially with you. it was rare for her to smile around you, now that you thought about it.

“can we talk?” abby asked, and her voice was almost…pitiable. her eyes were low and her pink lips parted slightly. it was unnerving. she never asked you for anything, let alone to talk. your eyes flickered across her face, trying to make sense of what she was really trying to say, beneath the surface. 

but there was really nothing to say to that. no, you wanted to scream, no we can’t fucking talk, fuck you, and i never want to talk to you again. but you said nothing, instead shaking your head and turning away, letting the door swing open against the pressure of her hand. 

“why do you hate me so much?” your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, arms crossing defensively over your chest, though you were no longer facing her. 

“why do i hate you?” she scoffed, and you heard the door closing softly. 

“yes, why?” you spun around to face her now—she still stood near the door, that same indecipherable expression painted on her face. you avoided her eyes, but noted the way her nose twitched ever so slightly. “ever since i stepped foot in this stadium you’ve had it out for me, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t understand why,” oh fuck, the anger was coming back up, rising in your throat like bile, “is it because i don’t put up with your shit anymore?” 

“no,” abby gritted out, taking a step toward you. “listen, i—”

“because i see right through your little act?” you cut her off and wow, she was fuming now, chest rising and falling heavily as she clenched her fists together. “stop it, i’m trying to—” 

but you couldn’t stop, even if you didn’t mean it, “‘ooh poor me, my dad died and now i’m stronger because of it, and everybody loves me,’” the words stung in your mouth, and in your eyes, “‘i’m isaac’s top scar killer but i have a heart of gold,’” tears falling as you stomped toward her, “well good for fucking you abby. i’ve lost a lot of people too but you don’t see me acting like i’m better than everyone.” 

you couldn’t help it, you were pushing her before you knew it, right in the chest with as much strength as you could muster, and she wasn’t expecting it because she stumbled backwards into your bookshelf, a picture frame falling and shattering on the ground before she caught her footing. 

you looked her right in the eyes for the first time since she had entered your room, uninvited, and all you saw was flames, burning through her blue irises like wildfire. you stepped back, wide-eyed and disoriented, her figure nothing more than a blurry silhouette in front of you. her heavy breathing was all that you could hear, it consumed you, made you dizzy as you staggered backwards, that ineffable sadness reaching into your chest and squeezing around your heart, fuck, how does she do this to you? 

“for fucks sake, would you just listen?” abby’s asked suddenly. her voice was rough around the edges, chipped away by your words—you couldn’t look at her, it was too much, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it. why did you say that to her? she was reaching toward you before you could say another word, you half expected her to hit you, to strangle you, to say fuck you and never speak to you again, but then her calloused fingers were gripping your forearm. 

“abby,” your voice was pathetic, broken and whiny, god, you were completely out of control. you let your arm go limp, watching as her hand practically burned an impression into your skin as she pulled you into her chest. you were overwhelmed by her scent, that fucking pine soap she always hoarded and faintest hint of bleach that burned your nose, reminding you of what started this in the first place. 

no, this couldn’t be real life, there was no way you were crying in front of abby, your biggest vulnerabilities tumbling from your lips like an avalanche, but her arms were there, wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket as her head fell into the crook of your neck. you couldn’t tell whose heart was beating faster, her pulse pounding against your ear as your arms hung limp by your side. your brain was absolutely spinning trying to figure out what to make of this, a few loose strands of her braid hair tickling the side of your cheek as you shifted your head.

“i’m sorry,” her strained voice bled down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, her breath hot against your shoulder as she tightened her grip. instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her waist, giving in to her touch, her apology washing over you like a humid rain in the summer—you’d waited so long just to hear those two little words, but it felt wrong somehow. “i’m sorry,” she repeated, quieter now, though you were probably the one who should be saying that.

“abby,” you found yourself saying again, squeezing your eyes shut as you leaned into her, feeling the tightness of her back muscles flex as you flattened your hands against her back, oh god, what the fuck is happening right now? “i didn’t mean that,” you whispered, muffled slightly against her shirt. the words i’m sorry usually came easy to you, often apologizing for things that didn’t warrant one in the first place, but the words were harder to get out somehow in this moment, pressed against the fabric of her shirt. 

her grip on you loosened, her arms sliding down your back and she was gone in an instant, turning away, clasping her fingers together and bringing them to the back of her neck. 

“i don’t hate you,” but she couldn’t face you, dropping her arms to her hips as she looked at the ground. you watched the anxious tapping of her foot and it felt like you couldn’t breathe—isn't this what you wanted? to be friends, or at the very least, for her to not hate you? maybe then, but not now. “i’m intimidated.” she was quiet, turning to face you. the orange glow of the lamp cascaded over her face, painting her in the softest form you’d ever seen her in.

“intimidated?” you were taken aback, furrowing your brow. “by me?” you shook your head, incredulous at her sudden confession. what could she possibly be intimidated by? “abby, you’re-” you gestured at her, unsure of what to say. “-you could probably snap me in half if you wanted to, i-i don’t understand-”

“oh trust me, i know,” abby cut you off, scoffing, and fuck, she just couldn’t help herself could she? you were mortified she’d caught you in a moment of weakness, you were angry, you were so fucking confused. your pity quickly soured, tears dried up in an instant, the disdain seeping back into your skin like a parasite—no matter how many times the two of you got close to reconciling, it always went wrong somehow. it had felt different this time, but maybe you were wrong. 

“abby, i swear to god i-”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” she softened again, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “old habits die hard, am i right?” 

you squinted at her, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “does this really seem like the time to be making a fucking joke? because the door is right there,” you made a show of pointing at the door before turning to sit on the chair behind you, bending over to take off your boots. anything to avoid looking her in the eye. 

“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know how to talk to you about this,” she was walking towards you now, and you didn’t bother to look up. she sat opposite you in the mismatched chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. you looked up at her through wet lashes as you pulled your boots off, tossing them haphazardly to the side. she looked just as confused as you felt, brows furrowed in frustration—nothing about this felt normal, or okay. 

“what i’m trying to say is that i’m sorry,” she started, dropping her head to look at the ground. 

“you said that already,” you noted dryly, scooting back in the chair and pulling your knees to your chest protectively. she laughed, but it didn’t sound bitter. 

“i’m sorry, for everything,” abby looked at you now, and your breath hitched. “for how i’ve acted around you. for the way i’ve treated you, the things i’ve said. all of it,” her eyes were full of sorrow, and it made her look a way you’d never seen before—vulnerable, fragile, empty. “right after you moved onto the base, leah told me about what you’ve been through, losing your parents and your brother, being forced into that military school, and still fighting to get here all the way from boston. if i’m being honest, i was jealous that you could take it all in stride.”

you could do nothing but stare at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. 

“from the minute you got here, you were so calm and collected, ready to help anyone who needed it. you were constantly volunteering for extra assignments, helping out in the classrooms, doing all the work that no one else wanted to do with a smile on your face…i know we all have a past but i never could’ve guessed yours,” she let her head fall again, clasping her hands together and taking a deep breath, “and god, you’re so fucking smart, like there’s no way you learned all the shit you know about history at that dumb military school.”

your mouth fell open slightly, trying to process her words. first, an apology, and then a compliment? no smart-ass comments, no snarky look, no just kidding. you’d never even talked with her about your love of history that much, let alone your family.

“abby,” you started, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. your brain and your mouth were fighting over what to say, the years of dissention between the two of you threatening to surface—but she seemed genuine. bouncing her leg up and down, abby continued to avoid your gaze as she picked at her cuticles. 

“when i first got here, i was a mess.” she cut you off.  “i could barely eat or sleep, i hid in my room whenever i wasn’t out on an assignment, and i didn’t care about anyone or anything. it took me months to get past it all and then you came along, so open and easygoing, even after everything you’ve been through…i was embarrassed.”

“everybody handles grief differently,” you said quietly, putting your feet back on the ground. she looked up at you, and her cheeks were wet. you swallowed thickly. “i wasn’t always that happy behind closed doors.”

abby frowned slightly. she was quiet now, pensive as she held your gaze. your cheeks burned under the scrutiny, and you wanted to shrink into the chair. less than an hour ago you had all the intention in the world of never speaking to abby again, and now she was sat, taking up space in your room, and your mind, fuck, how was she always on your mind?

“that still doesn’t explain why you were so mean to me,” you broke the silence after taking another second to process her words, and tears were clouding your vision again.

“yeah, if i’m still being honest, i don’t really have an explanation for that either. or, not a good one, at least,” she at least had the decency to look sheepish, leaning back and scratching her neck lightly. “i guess because i was so intimidated by the way you handled yourself, i just defaulted to…jealous rage?” she sounded unsure, and you scoffed. 

“wow,” you said. “you’re right, that is a terrible explanation,” you shook your head, leaning back to match her pose. she laughed again, looking up to the ceiling, and it sounded foreign. 

“i’m not the best with words,” she smiled weakly, a blush creeping up her neck.

“trust me, i could tell by all your elementary insults.”

“hey, didn’t i just say i was sorry?” 

you smiled back at her now, against your better judgment. the two of you had spent the past three years practically at each other’s throats, and a simple i’m sorry i was mean to you because i don’t know how to handle my emotions was supposed to fix it all?

“i meant it though,” abby said softly now, eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. for everything.” 

you held her gaze a moment longer, but had to look away. you had to, before she could see that you were caving, that all you’ve ever wanted to hear was that—that you wanted to just talk to her without always being on guard, that you wanted to know her favorite music and what she really thought about all of manny’s sexcapades and if she ever took her hair down from that goddamn french braid and— “you don’t have to forgive me. not right now, anyways. i just hope that one day you can.”

and then she was standing up, your eyes followed up her torso as she stood, smoothing her shirt down before giving you another weak smile and heading for the door. oh god, fuck, fuck all of this, “abby, wait,” you were up and after her in a heartbeat, grabbing her forearm just as she had yours earlier, forcing her to turn around. she looked surprisedly, first at your face, then down at your grip on her forearm, which you quickly dropped when you felt your heart skipping a beat. her eyes were wild, tired and full of anguish. 

before you could talk yourself out of it, you were practically throwing yourself at her, arms wrapping around her torso as you pressed your cheek into her chest. she stumbled only briefly, before you felt her arms envelope your shoulders once more. this time, it didn’t feel wrong. 

it felt like coming home. 

“i really shouldn’t have said that thing about your dad,” you said, but it was muffled in her shirt. 

you felt her laugh rumble in her chest before she squeezed you tighter, her head lowering into your neck so that you felt her lips on your shoulder as she spoke. “yeah, that was pretty fucked up.” 

you smiled into her, and god, this was all fucked up. the world was fucked up, and out of it was born you and abby—two fucked up people making fucked up choices that lead to some pretty fucked up consequences. 

she pulled back from you, but kept her hands on your shoulders. you took a fistful of her shirt, looking down to avoid her eyes. your stomach was flipping, the heat radiating from her body overwhelming you and making you feel dizzy. “can you forgive me?” 

and yeah, that was maybe your fucked up, roundabout way of telling abby, i do forgive you, but she seemed to understand. when you dared to look back up, she dropped a hand, and the other came to softly caress your cheek. she looked at you tenderly, the rough pad of her thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed. 

“of course i can.”

and then there was only the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears, her quickened breath as she looked at you in a way you’d never seen before. you gripped her shirt tighter, lips parting slightly as you felt the weight of her hand against your cheek. you leaned into it, eyes slipping closed for a moment. 

“abby,” you whispered, your free hand coming up to hold hers in place against your cheek. 

“shh,” she shushed you softly, and you could sense her getting closer. you didn’t dare open your eyes, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt her breath fanning across your face. 

“don’t speak.”

That's when you finally looked at her, pissed off at both her tone and having been woken up.

"Ellie."

Ellie ran her hands over her face, keeping her gaze away from your own while you watched her face. Then began to fall down to her neck, a teeny tiny scar placed right on her jawline.

"I can't sleep." You huffed a laugh from your nose, eyes flickering back to hers while you sat up and rested on your hand. "Thank you captain obvious, anything else I should know?"

She turned to you with a glare and a pout.

"It's not funny!" You laughed out loud this time, kissing her cheek before sitting completely up. "Why can't you sleep?" "I don't know, I just can't." You blinked, looking at the dark TV.

"Are you worried?" "No." A moment passed, a beat of silence. "Tired?" "Yeah." And another. "Stressed, sick?" "No, and nope." "Ellie." "What?"

You leaned down, resting your hand on her cheek while staring into her eyes that were obviously filled with frustration.

"Have you been eating good? Drinking a lot of water?" You squinted, watching and feeling her nod against your hands.

It was quiet for a minute while you though, Ellie watching your eyes go from looking at her, to looking right through her. Her breathing soft and quiet as it matched yours.

"Hm.. are you horny?"

"Babe." Ellie broke, trying not to laugh when she covered her warm face with her hands.

"Serious question! Sexual frustration could be the problem you're having." You grabbed her hands, moving then a bit to glance through to her face. "Is that the problem?"

"No." It was muffled and muttered but you heard it. "Are you sure?" Then there was no response at all. "I think that might be the problem." You played with her baby hairs, kissing the back of her hand.

"You were gone for a while, then got back, and we haven't had any time alone to relax." Her hands finally retracted from her face while your eyes stayed on the fingers curling her strands of hair. "I think you're a little needy."

You finally met her stare, finding neediness in her dark eyes, face covered by the darkness of the room and the moonlight peeking in from the curtains.

"But I mean if that's not the problem I can just lay back down." She shook her head, "No, please." You laughed quietly, giving her a smile that could only be described as evil. "Please what?"

Ellie groaned, her face going red but was hidden by your shadow. A shy smile on her face when she glanced away, avoiding your gaze.

"Oh c'mon, you weren't shy about waking me up." Leaning down you kissed her cheek, slowly trailing lower and lower to her jaw before pressing a rough, sloppy kiss to the flesh of her neck.

"That's because I didn't mean it." "Mhm.." You could feel her breathing slowly pick up as you left little marks across her pale skin, pulling away for a moment to kiss her lips.

"Fine, I'll give you a pass.. for now." Kissing the tip of her nose you then dipped over to kiss her the exposed skin of her neck. "I should've known, you were all over me all day. I just thought you missed me." You laughed quietly to yourself, hot breath fanning her pale skin.

"I did, you asshole." She muttered, catching your lips when you rose back up to kiss her once more. "More than I imagined, but knowing you I should've had an inkling."

Ellie lightly chuckled against your mouth, feeling your cold hands sliding up her sleep shirt towards her already hard nipples. Visible through the sheer fabric, fingertips gliding over just enough for her to let out a gasp, brief and just barely audible in the cold, quiet room.

"Hm... y'know, you could get off without me while you're out there. Quiet moments, ripe for the taking." Your other hand pulled her shirt up, giving you full access to her chest. "Why don't you? You'd have a lot less pent up stress when you get back."

Leaning down, you kissed the swell of her breast. Ellie's dark eyes watching your movements with want spread throughout them.

"I like to wait.." "Why?" She squirmed when you kitten-licked her nipple, hand coming to rest against your head. Moving with you as you kissed down her stomach and towards her boxers.

"For you.. to do this.." "In the middle of the night after be woken up, specifically?" She breathed, eyes fluttering closed as you pulled the bottom half of her outfit away, tossing them aside for her to find tomorrow.

"Yeah.." She heard little of what you said to her, only nodding for you to continue. "Hm, so specific."

You breathed against her, hearing her huff and shudder, stuttering out a strangled noise when her eyes peeled open once more. The cold stale air from earlier disappearing into a hot, lust scented aroma, capturing the both of you in the darkness of the home you shared.

"Ellie... I want to hear you ask."

A beat of silence passed, just a moment of hearing your own breathing mix together with hers. Hand moving up, and up, caressing her inner thigh as you moved downward.

"Just fuck me already."

"Now that's what I like to hear."

It was almost immediate as your mouth moved around her cunt, taking a long taste of her. Watching her head tilt back and her lower half chase after your mouth, mouth hung agape while her hand pushed you closer.

"Fuck Y/n.." Ellie whispered just beneath her breath, head lolling to the side in order to look downwards at you. Watching you kiss her clit before pushing a finger passed her entrance, then another.

"Maybe I missed you too." You muttered, tongue dancing around her swollen bud, fingers moving painfully slow until you decided you had enough teasing.

Picking up your pace, more and more as she fell apart under your fingertips. Or on, if you were being specific.

"Y/n.."

"I know, c'mon, you said it yourself babe. You've been waiting."

Ellie barely remembered what she'd said to you, mind fogged over and brain a haze.

"Uh huh.." She nodded, making you giggle, sitting up as you fucked her with your fingers. Moving closer to her face, enough to feel her little puffs of air caress your lips. Her small whines much closer than before.

"That feel good?" You tilted your head slightly, pecking her lips just barely as she nodded. "Wider Ellie.." You pushed her leg back, reaching far deeper then she'd been touched in weeks.

"I- fuck- Y/n.." You giggled, free hand circling her clit, watching her every movement highlighted by the moonlight. Eyes meeting yours, and then your grin.

"Let go Ells." You moved quicked, the sounds like music to your ears. Mouth brushing against her own before you pulled back, much to her dismay, girly noises passing her lips.

"I- fuck- please don't stop-"

"M'not.."

Her legs shook and clamped around your hand, a choked cry being echoed against the decorated walls. Clenching around your digits as you watched her head fly back into the pillows.

Before it became quiet, her moans were muffled by your mouth as you kissed her, messily your fingers moved to slowly circle her clit. Easing her down before the room went silent, the only thing being the both of you trying to catch your breath.

Then, carefully, you eased your fingers from her body, hearing her whimper at the loss and hurry to squeeze her legs shut.

"I'll be right back, m'kay?" "Yeah." You kissed the side of her head, a half smile coating her lips before you disappeared to the bathroom.

And when you returned, she was out like a light.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

Monday was a storm.

There was no better stimulant than the rush of a morning against the rain. Hitting like bullets on the skin when Eddie clutched Adrie to his chest to shield her on the way to the car. Spelling disaster for the braids she asked for, then complained about when he pulled her hair too tight. Dripping into his eyes as he fumbled with the buckle of her car seat in the jet black hours. Drenching the bottom of her favorite pants despite his efforts to protect her.

“Daddy’s sorry,” he mumbled on her wet forehead shining under the dim overhead light.

On the way to preschool she was quiet. The rhythm of the fat drops pounding on the window soothed her, and he was grateful, despite the rising sensation of lateness grating on his nerves.

Everything moved slower on stormy days. Yet he moved faster. It didn’t matter if he skipped eating his breakfast at home to get out the door quicker, the red stop lights took longer, he swore it.

Life was against him. But Adrie was quiet, and Mrs. Teresa was in charge of helping the little ones out of their cars. She was an out-of-towner, meaning, she wasn’t aware of Eddie’s reputation, and therefore was nicer to him than the other teachers, taking care to go beyond superficial greetings.

“Good morning, my dear,” she said to him, voice rough with age. She held an umbrella above his head as he got Adrie out, and followed him to the awning. His coveralls were already darkened by rain, but the gesture was kind, as was him offering his arm for her to hold onto as she stepped over the whirlpool circling the sewer drain.

Eddie sank into a crouch to ease his daughter’s vice grip from his neck. “Give Daddy a kiss goodbye, ‘kay?” Begrudgingly, she stood on her own two feet, and gave him a quick, annoyed peck on his cheek. “You gonna be good today?”

The attitude radiating off her was not promising.

“Your friends are waiting for you inside,” Mrs. Teresa said. “I think they’re playing dress up.”

An offer which proved enticing, as demonstrated by Adrie bolting from him for the front doors.

“No running,” he sighed to himself. The older woman chortled along, and wished him to have a good day as well. He should’ve taken the heart-palpitating lightning strike and simultaneous adrenaline-inducing clap of thunder as an omen when she uttered those words.

If not those things, then certainly his breakfast was a harbinger of the day he was about to have: instead of making two grape jelly biscuits, and two with egg, he ended up making two with both jelly and his daughter’s cold leftover scrambled eggs, and the others were left plain.

He ate the plain ones first before venturing into uncharted territory.

“Fuck no,” he said, mouth full of grape flavored egg-mulch. At least no one had to witness him spit it back into the container.

David’s Auto Repair didn’t have much in the way of shelter to keep him dry during his smoke break, so he sat in his car in the alleyway to pass the time until it was acceptable to arrive early.

‘Early’ being the time when you usually arrived, and an hour before Carl.

Til then, he cranked the heat and reclined his seat back, hugging himself to relieve the constant shiver his damp coveralls caused sticking to his skin.

Now, the heavy rain patter became a lullaby. Pelting the roof, easy on his falling eyelids. Precious seconds, minutes under the guided meditation of tap, tap. Tap, tap. Responsibilities drifting to the recesses of his mind. Thinking back on the days he spent doing this in the high school parking lot, promising Wayne he’d work hard to graduate only to end up napping in his van for most of the morning.

Eddie willed his eyes open. His watch told him he’d been asleep for fourteen minutes. Still early for work, but he felt a jolt of anxiety anyway.

He couldn’t blow things off like he used to. Not with people relying on him. Adrie and Wayne both depended on him to not be a fuck up. And if they weren’t motivation enough, he had another..

You should be sitting at your desk right now. If he timed it right, he’d pass by while the scent of dried coffee still clung to you before it had started brewing, which was an odd association he didn’t know he craved at the moment until it was at the forefront of his mind.

“Already following her around like a lost puppy, Munson,” he chided himself, turning off the car and bracing himself for the sprint to the employee’s entrance at the back of the garage.

And when he entered, the employee’s entrance at the front of the garage slammed open on a flashing cue of lightning, and there stood what he could only assume was a Creature from the Deep.

You huffed in two breaths, “Holy. Shit.”

Eddie tactlessly stared from across the room. You were beyond soaked. Your primary colored all-weather jacket appeared to not be waterproof in a monsoon, sagging on your frame like a melting street light of red, yellow, and green. Much like his coveralls, your once light-wash jeans were now dark blue. Somewhat adorably, though, was your pissed-off face being scrunched in a glare due to your hoodie drawstrings cinched tight in a circle, framing from your brows to your lips.

Your shoes gushed out puddles of rain on the concrete as you shoved your bike forward and let it fall in a clatter.

“I fucking hate this town.”

“Why are you riding a bike?” he asked, thinking you’d gone insane.

“Because I don’t have a car?”

“Why don’t you have a car?”

You sputtered sarcastically, gesturing at your bike. “Because I’m from the city! We have things like public transportation. Trains, taxis, buses.. walking! I've never needed a car to reach my mailbox before.”

Thinking himself helpful, he suggested, “I know a place where we can get you one for cheap.”

“Dude, I don’t even have a license.”

“Why don’t you–?”

“Trains!”

Eddie’s face collapsed into his own glare right back at you, and he waved his hands about the auto repair garage for automobiles where he fixed cars for people in need of transportation in which you answered their calls regarding said transportation and ordered parts to repair said personal automobiles at the garage intended for cars where he worked. You got the irony.

“None of this matters,” you said, dismissing him. True, it didn't matter, and he knew from your exaggerations your anger at him was in jest, but he appreciated the banter regardless. It was a nice break from reality. “It took me so long to get here because my whole street was flooded, and I’m guessing it’s flooding outside of Hawkins where the storm is coming from. We were supposed to get a delivery yesterday, but it never showed up.”

There was a pause where both of you accepted the arduous day ahead.

You said, “I’ll start calling around to see where our delivery might be stuck.”

“And I’ll do what I can without it,” he agreed.

Inhaling a breath of fortitude knowing you’d be informing a few upset individuals today that their cars wouldn’t be ready, you unzipped your jacket and loosened the drawstrings, dropping your hood back. You froze.

“Oh God, don’t look at my hair,” you begged, scuttling through the lobby and into the bathroom.

There were no more exchanges after you ran away. There was no time to entertain the lingering gazes, or small conversations where he thrived on your smile. He had to process what he could to earn money before sundown, and you played phone tag until you yawned, and stared blank-faced at the wall while customers bitched at you.

By normal closing hours, you were both too beaten down to do more than walk past each other on your way out without a goodbye.

A part of him wanted to do the chivalrous thing and offer you a ride, but that seemed too forward, too intimate, too invasive in his small car where his backseat was partially taken up by his daughter’s car seat, and he couldn’t come to a conclusion about your surprise when seeing her, nor unpack the loaded question of why he cared.

Whatever.

At least the rain stopped.

————

Tuesday was overcast.

You looked at Eddie leaning on the countertop to your desk and spun your hand while rolling your eyes, wishing the person on the other end of the phone line would hurry up. Eventually, you hung up, and interrupted him from picking at his nails. “They said it’ll be thirty minutes before they get here.”

“Guess I’ll wait then.”

He didn’t make to leave, and you didn’t have anything else to do, so you laced your fingers and leaned onto your forearms towards him, hoping through giving him your attention, he’d willingly talk to you for once.

“Um,” he drew out, searching the expanse between your hands, where he encroached on your space if only to the wrist. He tapped his knuckles on the vinyl. Swallowed visibly “About your policy thing.. Did you really move here just because your roommate asked you to?”

You drew your gaze up from his descending Adam’s apple, over the soft edge of his jawline, and grainy stubble on his chin. “I mean, kinda, yeah. Obviously, she’s been my best friend for years and needed help moving anyway, so I was up to make the trip, but when she asked if I wanted to stay, I said yes. Seemed intriguing enough; discovering what else was out there after living in cities for so long. See what sorta trouble I could get into when not surrounded by the usual nightlife options.”

“And how’s that going so far?”

“Bobbie’s mom and I are real good at solving the Wheel of Fortune before the contestants.”

Eddie snorted.

He dropped his focus to the looping circles he was drawing with his fingertip. Breathing deeper than necessary, and holding the air in his lungs for a few taut seconds. He rambled, “Sounds like Hawkins isn’t the place for you. Just somewhere to blow through, waiting for someone to ask you to, like, go to Chicago and be a bartender or somethin’.” He ended with a laugh aimed at his hands. Hollow. Empty of the humor he was pretending. “No responsibilities. Ready to get up and go whenever you want. That’s cool.”

“Been there, done that,” you mitigated the tension with a joke. “Bartending in Chicago, I mean.” He wasn’t being purposefully cruel, but the bitterness creeping into his words stung.

You glanced at his ringless fingers. Was he envious of your lifestyle because he was tied down? Your gut instinct told you he wasn’t the type to hold that sort of resentment towards his wife or daughter, so it had to be something else.

“Or,” you countered, “Someone could ask me to stay in Hawkins, and then I’d be obligated to, if we’re abiding by the policy. Who knows, maybe Kevin needs someone to walk his dogs, and then I can lead a nice, quiet, boring life here, absent of any fun or risks, hanging out with dogs for the next eternity. Is that what you want? Me bothering you until you’re in the grave?”

He squinted. “Fair point.” The laugh lines bracketing his mouth enhanced his appeal, joining the crow’s feet, and the harsh crease between his brows as he raised one in smug curiosity.

Perhaps you were staring at him for longer than you realized.

By chance, a chime signaled you both to a customer walking in the door in need of an oil change, and you reaped any opportunity to tease him. “Sorry, but some of us have work to do and can’t chit chat all day,” you cooed with the absolute cockiest head tilt to taunt him.

Shooing him away with a manila folder was extra, you had to admit, but upon recognizing the manner in which he rolled his lips inward to disguise the fact he was smiling, you figured smacking his hands was well worth the weird look from the woman waiting to speak to you.

————

Wednesday was a gale-force.

You went for it.

Arriving at dawn, you prioritized catching Eddie at the beginning of his morning cigarette.

He was leaning against the wall, upper body hunched with his hand cupped around his mouth, flicking his lighter until more than sparks stood against the gusts whipping the collar of his coveralls against his neck. His hair was blown back from his face, granting you the full picture of his raised eyebrows.

“Good morning, Eddie!”

“Hey? You’re early. I thought you’d get swept away on your bike like Dorothy, and I’d have to seek the courage to find you.”

“So in this scenario you’re the Cowardly Lion?” you asked, sidling up next to him to be heard above the wind.

He considered the implication and shrugged. “Guess even in my wildest dreams I’m still a coward.” Like any nice person, you sprung to assure him that despite your very short month of knowing each other, he (probably) wasn’t a coward, and he caught you. He caught you with your mouth wide open, ready to defend his honor.

Smoke slipped from his coy lips.

You tutted, “I think you’re the Scarecrow.” No brains.

“Anyway,” you went on, back to the reason your calves ached from pedaling like a mad man to get here at the same time as him. “It’s not like I bike that far. Bobbie’s parents live on that street next to the big open field, like, fifteen minutes away. Maybe twenty. Or ten?” You pointed vaguely north.

There’s a reason you never navigated on road trips.

“I thought they sold that empty lot forever ago,” he said.

“Well, unless they sold it to a bunch of tiny white mice who scurry every time I open the back door, I think it’s still abandoned.” You took your hands out of your jacket pockets and displayed them. “Not just mice, either. The other day I swear there was a spider the size of my palm in the bathroom.”

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he tipped his head back to blow the smoke above him before leaning over to study your hands up close. Contemplating them with keenness under the gray wash sky. Mumbling numbers to himself as if he were taking measurements.

He straightened up, and concluded, “Eh, not that impressive with how small your hands are.”

“Are they small?”

You faced him and presented your right hand.

Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait.

Eddie rolled onto his shoulder, body still at an angle from his legs crossed at the ankles. With a blank face, he understood what you wanted and decided to indulge your silliness, even if it meant sacrificing his warmth.

Uncrossing his arms, he wiped his hands on his clothes first out of habit.

Come on, Eddie.

None the wiser, he matched your thumbs. Pressed his left hand to yours.

Holy shit. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Mm,” you hummed. You leaned in for a better look.

His hand was warm and damp from sweat. Concentrated heat emanated from his palm sealed to yours, securing the soft cups together, aligning the stretch of your fingers. Where yours were soft, his were rough. Lines of thick calluses. Hardened exteriors acting as a barrier from your tender self discovering what his skin truly felt like brushing over your own.

He wore three rings. All gaudy and themed. Costume-y. Definitely not of the wedding variety.

That didn’t mean he was single, but you doubted he was taken when you turned to him, and found his large nose to be inches from yours, and his gaze to be fond of your cheeks before meeting your eyes.

He bent the top joint of his fingers over yours, and slid his thumb to the outside, crowding your bones in a tight squeeze, establishing his advantage. “Still small,” he said, toothy and boyish; mouth crooked, and hand rolled cigarette bouncing on the syllables. “Let me know when you see a spider as big as my palm.”

Hypnotized, you agreed with whatever he said. “Duly noted. I’ll keep an eye out.”

His Cupid’s bow had no business being that sharp, nor his bottom lip that plump.

————

Thursday was raw.

Nighttime was a purple haze chasing the orange glow behind the trees. You walked around the garage with a small trash can in your arms, tidying up the place. Eddie was staying late again. He said it was to make up for Monday’s mess, but those jobs were completed days ago.

You nudged his boots to get his attention on your way to clean up the work bench. Though you wouldn’t consider yourselves close, you collected the few details you knew of his life, and held them dear to your heart, feeling privileged to know them. “Is your uncle not working today?”

His thighs flexed under the strained fabric of his uniform as he cranked a wrench. “He is,” he grunted from beneath the car, “I’m just trying to get in some hours before he leaves for the night shift.”

Fuck it, you’ll just ask. “How come you work late so often?”

The grinding stopped. For a moment, Eddie laid there, stomach rising and falling as he debated with himself. Seconds went by until he set down the tool and rolled out, sitting up on the creeper board.

Your question struck pink across his pale cheeks. Rather, the way you avoided it brought shame to his face. Why don’t you want to spend more time with your family?

The societal judgment of what he was about to admit weighed on him. He curled in on himself. Drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them loosely, latching at the wrist. He braced the words on his tongue–raw and vulnerable–and slipped a finger under his bandana to scratch at his temple.

“Sometimes I’d rather just be here,” he began slowly. “As soon as I get home, I’m the problem solver, you know? Whatever needs to be done, I have to do it while Adrie’s talking a mile a minute, screaming every question under the sun at me, and climbing all over me. I’m doing shit like trying to not burn her dinner while switching over the laundry and picking up the living room and telling her not to touch the stove and fighting with her to take a bath and making sure she has clothes picked out for the morning because if she doesn’t, then I have to spend twenty minutes calming her down before we leave for school so she can decide which shirt she wants to wear, and God.” He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers on either side of his nose, muffling his voice. “I know I’m a shit dad, but sometimes I just want to turn my brain off, and stay here instead.”

“You’re not a shit dad,” you said with soft conviction.

He disregarded you with a mean scoff. “I sound like I hate my kid.”

“You sound overwhelmed, and tired, Eddie.”

“Maybe..”

Remembering you were holding the trash can, you set it down and leaned your hip on the workbench, settling into a comfortable position with a gentle ease of kindness to your expression, showing him it was okay to vent. You’d listen. It was safe. It was safe to show you the ugly parts of him. It would be okay.

You approached the next topic with care, though you could infer the answer for yourself now, “Is there no one else you can rely on besides your uncle to help alleviate some of the stress?”

“No. It’s just us. My parents have been out of the picture for a long time, and Adrie’s mom, uh..” He surrendered to the need for eye contact, wanting to see you, and stated evenly, “Adrie’s mom and I were never together. She was a customer of mine–”

Darting your gaze around the room, you pointed at the garage in an expression of ‘Really, dude?’

He turned puckish. He pinched his index and thumb together and tapped them to his smirk, indicating a much different line of work. You ‘ahh’d.

“Yeah, not a frequent flier either, just someone I saw here and there at parties or whatever. All it took was one night of stupidity. One fucking night of mistake after mistake, man.. N-Not that I think of Adrienne as a mistake! God, no. Just–y’know–the events leading up to her weren’t ideal.”

You held your hand up to stop him. “I’m not judging you. My parents never bothered to correct themselves.”

Mutual pain converged in your matching shrugs. Both of you were the undesireables. Though, he couldn’t imagine you being called a mistake when his failures were glaring.

Sinking into the solace of your presence, he explained further, “Adrie’s mom said–at most–three sentences to me after giving birth, and that was it. Everything else was handled by the court. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with us, so sole custody should’ve been easy, but the system fucking sucks. Not once did I say anything contradictory; I made it clear from the beginning I wanted my daughter, but I know how I look on paper.. Trailer trash through and through. Busted for drugs more than once. Living with my uncle in a single bedroom piece of shit. Taking three attempts to pass high school. No real job at the time, and beyond broke. They kept trying to convince her to split custody, at least for the first year, but no.” There was a cynical dejection about him. One of haunting acceptance, thinking lowly of himself with his head hung, and glazed over eyes staring faraway. “She found someone better. Some guy with money who lived in Indianapolis, and she wanted to start a life with him. Move on from Adrienne. And me.”

“Eddie?” you called out to him.

“Hm?”

“You may not view my opinion highly, but I think you’re a great dad, and person. Money, reputation, criminal record or whatever else can go fuck itself.” You folded your legs under you, and sat opposite him with your back resting against the table leg. He scooted closer on his board, narrowing the swath of concrete between you to a few feet. “Beat yourself up all you want, but your love for your daughter is apparent. She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s fed. You take care of her just fine, and you’re allowed to feel frustrated, and you’re allowed to feel like you need a break.”

When he remained unconvinced, you insisted, “Adrie adores you, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I know. That’s why Wayne never has these problems with her. It’s only me she’s ultra clingy with. Like if she’s not attached to me twenty-four-seven I cease to exist and she’ll never see me again.”

Something beautiful occurred in his shy glance. In his bashful smile. In the clumsy removal of his bandana, pulling his hair free from the ponytail and shaking it out. Wild.

His big brown eyes regarded you, and you beheld him in a similar light.

Something changed.

No longer casual acquaintances; you two looked at each other like you were friends.

“Sorry for rambling so much,” Eddie said.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Good. Because I’m not done.” He crept forward a few more inches, and aired his grievances in a lighthearted tone, bitching for the sake of getting it off his chest, “This time of year is really rough on us. Gotta buy her all new school supplies with whatever franchise or animal she’s obsessed with now. Which is unicorns, by the way. And, y’know kids grow like crazy. If it’s not an entire new wardrobe, then it’s the shoes. I swear this kid goes through shoes like she’s ruining them on purpose. I’m almost certain I buy new ones every time I blink.” 

A car passed on the street outside; the only break in the suffocating silence of a brick building echoing Eddie’s dramatic hand gestures as he sought sanity.

“She starts kindergarten next September and I’m already dreading it. She’s made lots of friends, which I’m grateful for.. Seriously, I’m really grateful that she’s made friends so easily, but she always wants to dress like them, do the things they do, go the places they go, and I try to figure out ways to afford it, but sometimes it’s too much, and I fucking despise telling her ‘no.’ Then there’s also the birthday parties basically every other weekend, and you can’t attend those empty-handed either, can you?”

You nodded patiently. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Kids are expensive, and it’s only worse at Christmas,” he concluded. Your stomach growled. “You want to leave, don’t you?”

Remaining in your slumped over position with your elbow propped on your thigh, and your cheek to your fist with your eyes closed, you asked, “What gave you that idea?”

He could mock you to his heart’s content, but you were right.

“Shit,” he exhaled, reading the wall clock. “We should go. Wayne leaves for work soon.”

“And Bobbie’s probably waiting for me to get home to gush about her girlfriend.” You stood up and stretched. “It’s cute, like a long-lost lovers situation, but yeah, she can go on for hours.”

————

Friday was cloudy with a chance of sun.

Tires screeched to a stop in the driveway of the garage, and someone honked their horn incessantly.

Startled, Eddie hit his head on the hood of the car he was bent over, and hissed between his teeth. He rubbed at the sore spot and glared behind him, ready to tell the nuisance off.

Except, if he did that, he’d be telling off his best friend.

“Of course it’s you,” he projected in a clipped voice, making his annoyance known.

Steve slammed his car door shut, and leaned against it, lighting a cigarette while Eddie made his way over. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here on my lunch break, so if you wouldn’t mind gettin’ a little pep in your step, Munson.”

Passing by your inquisitive face smashed to the window beside your desk, Eddie raised his hand to show you everything was okay, and that there was no need to chew someone out for causing a disturbance.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie asked, shuffling up to him. The sun was warm on his skin; a nice change from the shadowy cold warehouse, and Steve basked in it as well, golden hair flopping in the gentle breeze.

There was a moment where they both displayed their nervous habits. Eddie with his tongue prodding the inner corner of his lips, and Steve taking inventory of his surroundings during the drag of his cigarette.

“Look,” Steve stressed. Eddie sighed. “We haven’t seen much of you lately, and Nancy had the idea to go to the theater to see that horror movie that came out a few weeks ago. We’ll probably have the whole place to ourselves, and she, ah, invited someone else. Someone who is also single, if you catch my very obvious drift.”

Eddie’s hand immediately climbed its way to his throat, stroking the column and making a sound of disinterest. “I dunno, man.”

“Well, we’ve already paid the babysitter to watch a third kid, and we don’t mind Adrie sleeping over for the night. You can drop her off at 4 and, uh–” He nodded at his coveralls. “Get cleaned up, or whatever and meet us at 6. Make a good first impression.” At Eddie’s apathetic grunt, he sighed, “I know what you’re gonna say, but your date’s already agreed to go, and it’d be a shame if you left them hanging.”

Rolling his shoulders, Eddie forced himself to stop fidgeting by stuffing his hands in his pockets, and focused on the clouds crawling across the sky. “Fine. What’re they like?”

“Your date?”

“Yes, my fucking date you moron.”

Steve shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Dunno. I said Nancy’s the one who invited her, not me.”

Eddie faltered, “So, you don’t even know if she’s into someone like me?” When Steve quirked his eyebrow, it just increased Eddie’s agitation. He made sweeping motions down his body. Steve continued to smoke with a dumb pout. “Jesus, dude.” He stamped in a circle, making a big show with his arms, imploring with an exhausted bite to his tone, “You know what I’m asking.”

“No, I don’t know if she’s into metalhead freaks who are dads, sorry.”

“You’re the bane of my existence.”

“So it’s an official ‘yes?’” he asked without the sarcasm. “I mean, you might as well show up. Wayne’s got his poker tournament with his friends today, doesn’t he? That means you’ll have the place to yourself. Hey, play your cards right and you’ll get some action tonight. I imagine you haven’t gotten lucky since Adrie’s conception, yeah?”

Steve’s laugh was explosive and loud, but it petered out to a pitying noise the longer Eddie squinted into the distance.

“Really? I was just trying to joke with you. Sorry, man.”

Eddie lifted one side of his mouth in a dull grin. “S’kay.”

“Well,” Steve said, flicking the rest of his cigarette. “Just be yourself. Maybe keep the nerdy talk to a minimum, and you’re golden.” He turned to leave, and stopped. “Oh! And Robin’s back in town, if you didn’t hear. She’ll be there tonight too, serving as the fifth wheel, so at least you won’t be the most awkward one there. Come to think of it, I think it’s her friend who’ll be your date.”

“Sounds promising.”

“See ya at 6!” Steve said as he opened the door and fell into place behind the wheel, beaming pure sunshine up at Eddie.

“Yeah, bye.”

Going back inside the garage, it took a second for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, and his first inclination was to look over at you behind your desk, totally filling out the paperwork in front of you, regardless if you were holding a pen or not.

Many thoughts crossed his mind upon watching you open random drawers, and shuffle papers to appear busy. Rationally, he should’ve jumped at the chance for Steve’s offer. A night out with someone without the looming responsibility of adulthood sounded like heaven.. But there was a knot in his stomach telling him to reject the date–not because he couldn’t be bothered, like Steve assumed, but because he pictured someone specific the instant he spoke the arrangement into existence.

The jaded, pessimistic part of him argued it shouldn’t matter what you thought about his love life. You two were hardly friends, and you were a drifter in search of your next big adventure. This small town wasn’t your home. You’d move on. And he should too.

He opened the glass door, and you feigned like you hadn’t been staring at him and Steve attempting to read their lips for the past few minutes. “Hey, I’ve got somewhere to be later, so I’ll actually be leaving on time today.”

“Oh, good!” you said. “Me too.”

Eyeing your thumbs up, he snorted and shook his head.

Yeah, he should move on before this feeling in his chest evolved into something bigger.

He greeted you kindly, always asked how you were—meanwhile Eddie would lazily stomp along to their trash bin, shirtless and a half-smoked cigarette tucked behind his ear, staring you directly in the eye before spitting on the pavement. Wayne always reprimanded him for it, complained about how disrespectful it was, but Eddie knew it got under your skin. It’s exactly why he did it.

He snickered at your starch ironed skirts, pleats along the front and always the softest shade of pinks and blues and purples, fitting an even softer sweater over your starkly white button ups—and if he wasn’t commenting on it as you were leaving your trailer, cigarette shoved between his lips as he leaned against his van, it was in the hallways as he approached behind you swiftly, your body smacking into him amongst the hoard of people swarming the halls.

“Might want to watch where you walk, sweetheart .” He whispers, voice low and in your ear, “Get too close to the trash and you might get dirty, right?”

You shove him away haphazardly, nose scrunching up in annoyance. You couldn’t remember speaking more than five words to him at any given time, regardless of how often you saw him. It was physically painful to be in his presence, mentally exhausting, and you shoved a forceful middle finger his way as he laughed at the gesture, throwing them back as a double.

And it felt like fate was forcing you two together despite your obvious distaste for one another; running into each other during bathroom breaks from class like they were planned, both of you sharing an awkward look in return, eyes lingering on one another.

It had to be the disgust you felt, there was no reason your eyes should stay stuck that long.

Or how he always ended up behind you in line at lunch even though he rarely ate—sometimes a couple of measly snacks, a pack of almonds or a small water bottle, mostly too enveloped in his own conversation to remember that he needed to eat until it was already too late, bell signaling you back to class.

You didn’t know that because you watched him at lunch, that was the case at all. Definitely not.

But the truth was, you weren’t much different from Eddie. In fact, if you thought about, Eddie was a lot better off than you. He had a group of friends, a community he felt safe participating in, and no shame in the way he carried himself.

But you, you were terrified—never a hair out of place, never a wrinkle in your outfit, and how dare your grades dropped lower than a B. You were jealous of Eddie, but that wasn’t something you could easily admit to his face. You envied his ability to be so careless, but in that same breath, you absolutely hated him.

You’ve also involved yourself in too many school clubs at this point, overwhelming your schedule and spending most of your days frazzled trying to keep up—so by the end of the day when you’re running back to the classroom to grab your things before heading home, it’s not a surprise that you don’t realize the flooring as you skid to a stop—the room was low lit, some song you don’t recognize set for quiet ambience and you freeze, eyes connecting with the only person in the room.

“Can’t stay away, can you?” Eddie teases, head turned up slightly, vivacious grin plastered on his face.

“My mistake,” You interrupt him, turning on your heels swiftly to flee the space, a small chuckle escaping Eddie’s chest, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly,” He remarks, plucking the small figurines from the table and shoving them away in a box, carefully piling the other items inside, “but if you wanted to see me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

And as much as you want to keep quiet, act like he doesn’t bother you—you can’t. It’s the one last bridge he hasn’t burned, until now. The teasing has only ever gone so far, mostly harmless, but his voice is edged with a dangerous intent—not so much toward you, but it lingers.

“Excuse you?” You ask tensely, turning back around, face pinched up in anger. “See you? Why would anyone want to spend more than five minutes around you?”

“You tell me,” He shrugs, finally managing to clear the table amongst your hatred filled gaze, resting his rear against the edge, arms crossed heavily over his chest, “you’re the one still standing there.”

“I tolerate you, at the very least.” You spit at him, finger held up scrutinizingly as you took a few slow steps toward him, “your horrible manners, the decency and respect you lack for others—if it weren’t for having known Wayne I could blame it on your family for raising you that way, but no. It’s all you.”

“Careful, princess,” He replies teasingly, “words hurt.”

The nickname always drove you mad, fist clenching in frustration.

“Good.” You say forcefully, know only a few inches from him—he smelt like cheap tobacco and old leather, nostrils flaring in disgust. “Maybe you’ll think twice before watching me change from your bedroom window—“

Eddie’s eyes widen, face paling at your admission.

“Yeah,” You reply knowingly, nodding your head as a taunt, “I know all about your little secrets, Eddie.”

But instead of giving in, Eddie doubles down and fights back just as hard.

“At least I don’t have a stick shoved up my ass,” He replies, “I guess mommy doesn’t know you’re blowing guys behind your trailer late at night—does she?”

And frankly, it’s none of his business. But then again, the same thing could be applied to you. There was too much shared anger, shuffling back and forth between hate and jealousy—you weren’t sure if you actually hated Eddie, or just the idea of him.

At face value, Eddie was attractive, likable, and had the calmest demeanor you’ve ever seen—but the moment his mouth opened, it was ruined.

“It’s no different from you fucking girls with your window wide open—half the neighborhood could hear it.”

“Oh, so you listen?” Eddie asks, disregarding the obvious problem. “Naughty.” He remarks softly, smirk settling into a dark grin.

You roll your eyes in annoyance, dropping your finger down at your side. “It’s kinda hard not to, you know?”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly.

“And what about you?” You ask, “Doesn’t that make you a creep when you’re watching me?”

“I go out for a smoke around midnight every night,” Eddie reminds you, “It’s not my problem if you’re there—I’m not changing my routine for you.”

“So, you’re okay with peeping?” You ask redundantly, but Eddie has a response anyways.

“You’re the one sucking cock in public,” Eddie reminds, “are you forgetting that’s technically illegal?”

You shrink back slightly, lips turning down in a frown as you glare at him. “No one’s out there—at least no one but—“

“You like it, don’t you?” Eddie asks, lids shifting down, eyes lingering with darkness. “You could go anywhere—a car, in the woods—but you like the idea of being watched, being caught, don’t you?”

Your silence is telling—but you didn’t have to explain yourself to him.

Eddie hums in response, nodding.

“I think you’re doing it so I’ll watch,” Eddie tells you, like he’s suddenly got you all figured out—and so what if he did, “at least I can admit I do it for fun, knowing half of those guys won’t last more than a few minutes.”

“You’re disgusting.” You reply quietly, watching as he rises slowly, stalking toward you. “And a fucking dick.”

“Oh, sweetheart—don’t go soft on me now.” Eddie chides, “Tell me how you really feel.”

There’s a beat of silence, eyes never leaving each other's gaze. Eddie speaks first.

“And don’t act like I don’t know you like listening to me,” Eddie admits, “Why do you think I get so loud?”

“Because you’re obnoxious,” You start, “and rude, and—“

“Three nights ago, Friday, you remember?” Eddie asks curiously, stalling your attack.

“Yeah?” You reply wearily, wondering where he was taking this. “I saw that girl you let inside—you fucked her, do you want a ribbon?”

“What girl?” Eddie asked before it dawns on him, “Oh shit—Chrissy, yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow inquisitively, waiting for him to finish.

“She left five minutes after she got there—in, out. It was a quick deal.” Eddie tells you, before leaning toward you menacingly, face only a few inches away, “But sweetheart, that noise? It was all me.”

The heat rises to your face in an instant, the guilt in your expression obvious.

His tongue peeks out slightly, running along the top row of teeth, “It was good, wasn’t it?”

Your gaze is fierce, refusing to give in to his game.

Eddie takes another step closer, raising his arm—for a brief moment you expect him to touch you, bracing to grip his wrist and shove him away, but it lingers, finger pointing toward the open door as he talks to you petulantly, instructing you through his next few moves.

“Now—I’m going to close that door,” Eddie explains, “do you want to leave?”

You hesitate for a brief second, before shaking your head slightly. If Eddie wasn’t watching you so intently he probably would’ve missed it.

“And, with your blessing of course, I’m going to bend you over that table and fuck you how I know you want me to,” Eddie says haughtily, tipping your chin up briefly, touch disappearing as quickly as you felt it, “then maybe you won’t have a reason to hate me so much.”

“I’m going to hate you regardless.” You answer weakly, confirming his suspicions. You couldn’t say no. You wanted this.

“Somehow I think I’ll survive.” Eddie smirks, vanishing behind you quickly, leaving you stuck at a standstill, heart pounding in your chest. “Last chance to back out, just say the word—“

“Lock it.” You tell him firmly.

Eddie snorts softly, flipping the lock closed.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate in his movements, shoving you harshly over the edge of the table, lifting your skirt up lazily, slipping the soft white cotton of your underwear down your legs without a word, the light jingling of his belt behind you as he stripped himself of it, working himself out of his jeans enough that his cock springs free, bouncing upright into the cool air.

“What’s got you so quiet?” Eddie harps, fisting his hand into the end of your hair and tugging, eyes connecting with your own—it was an awkward angle and Eddie was slightly upside down from where you were peering back, hip held tight in his grip. “I thought I’d at least have to get my dick inside you first.”

You shove away his wandering hands, fingers drifting over your entrance and pressing against your clit, thick juices coating his fingers briefly.

“I didn’t say you get to touch me like that.” You tell him sternly, “If you’re so desperate to fuck me, then do it. Stop wasting my time.”

“Your time?” Eddie repeats, “Princess, I’ll make this last an eternity with that mouth.”

“You don’t scare me, Eddie Munson.” You say to prove a point, holding in a ragged gasp as he presses inside slowly, a dull sting as he stretches you open, inch by tantalizing inch.

Eddie wraps a gentle hand around your throat, squeezing the tiniest amount of pressure. He’s testing your limits, already well aware of what you like—he may not be the brightest, but he’s not that dim. “I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Then?” A sudden thrust of his hips has you tumbling forward, hands forced out in front of you to keep from slipping. Eddie pulls you back up swiftly, back flat against his chest as he speaks, leaving you fully under his control, hands instinctively grabbing at the fabric of his shirt on either side of him.

“I’m just giving you what you want,” Eddie explains, “and letting you walk home full of me—“ He turns your head slightly, forcing you to look at him, bottom lip puffy and parted as he drags his finger along it, “you want me to come inside you, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have let me get this far.”

No response has Eddie tugging at your face, pulling you even straight, hand pressed firmly around your neck—mostly just to keep you in place.

“Answer me.” He warns, “Tell me how badly you want me to fill you so fuckin’ full, sweetheart.”

You moan embarrassingly loud as he pulls his hips back before shoving them against your backside harshly, skin slapping against skin, his own mouth parting on a silent groan as he stared down at you.

“If it will shut you up, yeah.” You tell him, earning a deep chuckle before you soften your eyes, peering up at him sweetly, sickeningly, “Come inside me.”

Eddie releases you with no warning, forcing you back down against the hardwood, resuming your previous position as you used the leverage to push back against him, creating a pace that was almost unbearable, feeling the soft string as he slapped his hands against your skin—your ass, your thighs, any exposed skin he could get his hands on, painting you with temporary marks for his eyes only—he’d make them more permanent if you let him, but that was far from possible.

Your blood still boiled in his presence, even with his cock buried inside of you.

You groan in frustration, agitated with the position, the lack of technique—but given you two were at each other like animals, it wasn’t entirely his fault—regardless, you weren’t going to leave without some satisfaction or at the very least, an orgasm.

“Stop, stop,” You urge him and Eddie doesn’t question it, letting you go immediately, “it’s not—“

“What—it’s not what?” Eddie asks with minor frustration, watching as you turned to him, scooting your ass up toward the edge of the table.

“As much as I hate looking at you, this might be the easiest way for me to cum,” You admit and Eddie smiles softly, the urge to retort a sly remark creeping up on him, “—what, why are you looking at me like that?”

Eddie shakes his head, refusing to answer before he pulls your hips flush, slipping back inside of you with ease as he crowds you space, lips brushing your own but never daring to reach out and kiss, you let out a sudden huff of air, reaching for his forearms to stabilize yourself.

“Tell me how much you hate me.” Eddie eggs you on, grinning evilly, hands balled into fists as he pressed them against the tabletop, fucking you achingly slow.

“So much,” You assure him, not missing a beat, “you’re gross, rude,” Eddie moves his hips sharply, forcing a wrecked moan from your lips, “fuck—you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Uh huh.” He agrees, eyebrow furrowing as his stone faced expression falters slightly, “Is that all?”

“No manners,” You tell him, “and no respect for anyone.”

“Oh, you want respect?” Eddie gloated, “You want me to respect you?”

“Never said that.” You reply bluntly, his shirt in a vice grip as you yanked at the material, pulling him impossibly deeper.

He ignores you, “Now, why should I respect a whore like you?”

“I’m not a whore.” You pout slightly, “Oh, fuck—that’s—“

You slump slightly, but Eddie catches you, face tight in his grip, one hand pressed into the dip in your back.

“Say it like you mean it.” Eddie challenges.

“I’m not—“ Eddie tugs your face up, cheeks squeezed between his fingers, “not—not a whore. Or a slut. Or whatever the fuck you want to call me.”

Eddie nods, not believing a word you tell him.

“I forgot—you’re that stuck up little princess who lives next door to me. Perfect life, perfect family—if they only knew the shit you got up to.” Eddie says menacingly, “Letting the neighborhood trash fuck you raw, come inside you—god forbid I knock you up, right?”

And the idea is terrifying, but you know it’s all talk. You had nothing to worry about, birth control be damned—but it leaves a pit in your stomach that lingers. Eddie was self aware, he knew people hated him, knew you hated him—but that didn’t change his unnatural attraction toward you, nor yours for him.

“Eddie—Shut. Up.” You emphasize, pulling him tight against you, cunt clenching around him as he hits a dangerous spot inside you, sweet but alarming.

“Well, maybe you’ll think twice about walking in here again.” He replies snidely, his faltering slightly as he lessened his grip on your face, touch stalling at the side of your neck as gave in, letting the sounds of your bodies fill the silence, hearing every soft little moan he punches out of you with his movements, becoming addicted and yearning for more. His hands move without any real direction, landing sloppily over your clit as he circled it lazily, head hung back and eyes closed.

“Fuck—Fuck you.” You sigh, whimpering quietly as his movements over your clit increased, mouth falling open wide.

The slap is a surprise, soft but enough to startle you, eyes staring up at him in shock. And you hated yourself for enjoying it so much, but the knowing smile on his face is too good to be true, and your mouth is moving without filtering through your brain.

“Harder.” You counter, eyes darkening as you challenge him.

He slaps you once more, forceful, noise crackling through the air. You huff a soft laugh, causing him to laugh in response—and truthfully, you both forget how this even started in the first place. It was all just an outlet for your own shared anger and it turned into a giant mess.

“Girls don’t—they don’t usually—“ Eddie doesn’t admit it outright, breath quickening as he attempts to speak through his unskilled thrusts, groaning loudly, “—they don’t like that.”

“Now Eddie,” You tell him, voice delicate, “I’m not most girls.”

But, he already knew that. You were nothing like the girls he was used to. You were everything he wanted but couldn’t have. You were a disease, a disgrace—in his eyes, and it made him want you that much more.

The climax hits you heavy, a gasp ripping from your chest as he tips you over that peak, following suit with one hard thrust, coming deep inside you until he can’t handle the stimulation any longer, pulling out with a weak groan.

The air is thick and tense, but Eddie helps you up carefully, slipping your underwear back into your palm. You stare at the fabric, balling it up in your hands briefly before making a sudden decision, reaching for his own hand and shoving them back at him, his pants still hanging unbuttoned around his waist.

“Keep them.” You shrug, smoothing out your skirt.

Eddie eyes you suspiciously, but pockets them nonetheless.

“This is never happening again, just so we’re clear.” You clarify. Eddie chuckles, not so sure. He can see the way your eyes linger on him, not fully believing yourself as you speak.

“I’m offended that you think I care that much, sweetheart.” Eddie replies back just as meanly, also lying to himself.

“Close your goddamn window from now on.”

“Not a chance.” Eddie smirks.

It hurt to hear it. You had to, but it hurt.

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” Eddie adds, seeing the look on your face. “We just go where our folks go. What else we can do but follow, right? But—I was. You were the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Two years apart from him, and now it was back to how it was. “You think I wasn’t a mess, too?” Only Eddie Munson could make you talk this easily. Not keep shit bottled up on the inside. “Eddie, I didn’t make any friends there. Not a single one.” You were happy he had—not so happy about the circumstances, but it thrilled you to know he wasn’t alone all this time because you were. Leaving Hawkins left an Eddie-shaped hole in your chest, and he could see that in your face, too. “And I promise I tried. But everyone fell… short. I kept expecting them to get my jokes, or get what I’m talking about, and I’d get so fucking disappointed when they didn’t. Took me almost a year to realize I was just hopinh somebody would be you and how fucking shitty is that?”

Because you’re you and Eddie is Eddie, he leans in to whisper, “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” like a confession. His smile is deprecative when he adds, “I just deemed nobody would ever be you, never in their fucking wild dreams, and then accepted what came.” He slides his fingers through the cords of the guitar. “Guess that’s why I managed to gather Hellfire. They’re really nice boys,” he adds, softer than ever.

Happy Eddie makes you happy. “I bet they are.”

“You’d eat them alive, though,” he adds like it’s a shame, then opens a blinding smile. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

“I’m really happy you found them,” you say, voice only a whisper. Spending these last three days almost glued to Eddie’s side had been good—educative, and worrying, and a roller-coaster of emotions, but good.

Suffocating, too.

You’d forgotten what his eyes do to you.

If before you wanted them on you at all times, now it’s become a problem that could evolve into an addiction.

He verts his eyes to the guitar.

"I'm happier I have you," he chuckles lightly.

The words dance around your head, bringing havoc to every inch inside of you.

Eddie keeps talking through your silence. "I don't know what sort of odd stroke of fate led me to have that luck, and I'm happy for it. But... I missed this. You." He looks up, smiling so softly that it should calm you down, but it only raises your heartbeat. "No one sits with me in silence and watches me practice. I mean—I don't think I can sit in relative quiet with anyone else. I've been waiting for the gong to go off and for me to wake up out of nowhere, but..."

Here we are, it goes unsaid.

"Ever since you told me that you almost..." you're unable to say the word. It'd make it too real, and you're trying to keep your hands off of him—if you admit to yourself you almost lost him, you're never letting him go. "I wait, too," you finish with a whisper. "For you to just—not be here. Out of nowhere."

Eddie takes a good look at you before placing Sweetheart on the floor in front of the bed with care.

You watch him move—watch his fingers reach for the half joint on the ashtray, his lighter inside his front jeans pocket, his waist inching closer to yours until your sides are touching, bodies pressed next to each other.

Your eyes travel up until they find his gaze on you. Breathe, you remind yourself. In and out, shuddering, you manage it. He's never been this close.

There's a palm of air separating your faces.

His body's heat is solid, almost palpable as it touches yours.

A flame appears in your peripheral version, and Eddie lights up the join, inhaling slowly.

If this were two years ago, you two would be laughing and coming up with the craziest topics to make the high even better.

As a clap of thunder crashes outside, you're reminded that it's now.

Eddie's changed.

He passes you the joint after a couple of puffs, but none of you seem able to let go of the silence. It covers you both like a blanket fort hides you in the living room when you're a kid, in plain sight for everyone to see and, yet, somehow still in its own world.

He noticed, you think.

It must've shown in your face the sea of feelings that's been keeping you underwater since arriving at Hawkins.

Wave after wave, Eddie drags you under.

I missed you, and the taste of salt.

Please don't freak out, but, I did some shit. I've got some stuff to tell you, and there's not enough air before you're pulled under.

I almost died. And you embrace the blue surrounding you.

You pass him the joint back, feeling the telltale signs of the flood in you wanting to pour just like the one outside.

If there's one thing you know Eddie hates, it's to see people cry. Averting your gaze to his lap, you look at the hands you wanted to hold for so long, and watch as they come up in your direction.

His left-hand cups your face, and you want to let it all out.

"Hey," he calls your attention. Once your eyes are on his, Eddie looks at you, open and waiting. "Talk to me, sweetie."

It does something to you. The nickname, it pulls at your strings, and it's new and terrifying. "Eddie," you breathe out. "What would I've done?"

His brows furrow in confusion, and you're no longer trapped. You're floating, and if he's this close to you, he won't mind if you reach out to him.

Tentatively, your hand reaches to cover his wrist. You keep his hand there on your cheek, and your eyes close when you ask. "If I'd lost you." I would've gone back to the sea. "I... I wouldn't have it made it, Eds." You're the only one who makes all of this bearable. "I can't think of—"

The words are cut off from you, but not because of another crash of thunder, or the fear in your guts—no.

Your lips are closed shut by another pair of soft, plump lips pressed against yours, and everything else is white noise.

Your whole mind is taken over by the tunneling feeling of Eddie's lips on yours, and there's no air in your lungs or movement in your body.

Whether it takes two seconds or minutes for him to pull back, you're unsure. All you know is that one second his lips are on yours, and the next, you feel the chill air replacing it and that's what pulls you back to the moment.

With open eyes, you see Eddie pulling back slowly, his face an open book that you've read many times by now—fear is written around his wide eyes, that dread that paints his eyebrows whenever Eddie does something wrong and is unaware of what, exactly.

He's pulling his back even further, and that unfreezes your body. "Wait," he can't back away now. After years of only dreams, he can't take this away from you after giving it like that. Your hands are on his t-shirt in a second and you ignore how breathless and shaky you sound at what you say next. "Come back here. Do that again."

Eddie looks at you and the fear leaves.

"You sure?" he asks.

You nod, pulling him by his shirt.

When his body presses on yours again, the need swirling in the air, crashing your mouths together, it could rival the sky's anger when lightning follows thunder.

Your heart starts beating so fast you worry it might try to run away from your body, and the weed only highlights every part that's in contact somewhere.

Eddie's mouth is on you, and it's nothing like you dreamt.

When he pulls back for air, the words spill out of you. "I dreamt about this." It's a confession, and his smile to it is blinding.

Both his hands take a second cupping your face, and you're taken over by the feeling of safety of being held by them. They're big enough to cover a good portion of your face, and you want all of your body to be covered by Eddie.

He laughs, inches apart from you. "I think I'm dreaming," he mutters under his breath.

It's nothing like in your dreams because it's better.

Because in here, when you lean your face in search of his lips again, Eddie grants them to you. There's nothing pulling you two apart, and he doesn't laugh in your face or gives your a sad, pitiful look.

It takes you a few moments to realize it, but Eddie wants you.

The realization pulls a broken moan from your throat, and his response is immediate.

Eddie holds your face tighter, and you nibble on his bottom lip as he pulls back this time. "You're such a good kisser, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

"Thought only that thing over there got the honor of that nickname," you tease, feeling surprisingly lighthearted under the weight of his eyes. You nudge your chin towards where Sweetheart is by the side of the bed.

Eddie's scoff is only made hotter by the fact that his eyes stay on you. "That thing's got nothing on you," he tells you.

You breathe out, shakily.

One of your hands leaves his clothes and you lift your fingers to his face, the tips stroking around his eyes, his cheeks, running down to his lips.

Eddie kisses them as they pass by, and that creates a hunger you never felt before.

It's similar to the one in your stomach after spending many hours without a single drop of water or any food—it grows in the center of your chest, warm and alive like someone planted a special item there.

When you and Eddie are pulled close again, it's by a newfound gravity.

He kisses you with so much intent that you lose all notion of the room surrounding you.

The sound of the rain hitting the windows and the fog in the room due to the smoke make you whimper when your eyes open, when his lips start kissing on your neck and your core begs you to spread your neck for him.

It's you who lays down on the bed, pulling him on top of you, and Eddie goes willingly.

The kisses are more desperate than the hugs you two gave when first encountering each other.

Running across the parking lot, through the same trailers you knew and some you recognized of two years ago, all you could think about was touching him—no regards for what it would look like for everyone else watching when you jumped on his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as if you two had been separated for a decade or something more.

Eddie kisses you like he gets it.

He kisses your neck with soft, deliberate kisses, and you notice his hand is shaking when they get underneath your shirt.

You're both shaking.

Eddie pulls back when you grab his hair and call his name, "Eddie," and having those breathtaking eyes set on you as fire blazes behind them—you want to cry. Instead, all that comes out is a watery smile. "I—I really..." I've loved you since I learned what love is. I'm terrified of everything you make me feel half of the time. "I love you a lot. You know that. Right?"

Eddie looks like he's hearing the words for the first time.

He adjusts his body on top of yours, shaking his head to himself as he closes his eyes and his hands stroke your neck and sides.

When he opens his eyes, Eddie crowds your face with his curls. He rests his forearm next to your head on the pillow, and keeps looking at you before he says,

"I knew I was lucky, but... not this much—no." Eddie's dimples pop as his signature happy smile opens up. "I love you too," he adds, smile softening.

That's good, you think.

I can live knowing that. I can swim in it. I can let it take me over like a current because it's where I've always wanted to be.

After that, there aren't many words, but you learn that the body talks in more than one way.

You knew the empty, hot, and messy kind—the body talk where two people use each other until there's nothing left but pleasure and white noise.

This is none of that.

Kisses with Eddie are shared languidly until they're not anymore, but even in their lusty haze, you and Eddie are not seeking the peak of pleasure in one another.

All you want is to taste him, and that's all he wants from you, as well.

When your skin starts burning under his ministrations, Eddie pulls back to ask with a nod if he can remove the clothes creating a barrier between him and your body, and they all fall to the floor, piece by piece.

Yours, his, all of them, until you two are staring at each other with faces painted red and that momentary hesitance—a pause before the major note, before—

lightning.

Eddie's touches on you can be felt all around you.

From the tip of your toes to your neck, your chest; when he reaches between your legs with his hands and starts running the tip of his fingers on your inner thighs, you're whimpering.

"Is this good?" He asks you as his fingers brush over your outer lips, coating themselves in the wetness coming out of your cunt. "Tell me how you like it—tell me how to make you feel good."

"You can definitely keep talking, for one," the joke comes out strained—Eddie's fingers are thick. "Fuck."

Everything he does feels good, but that's not what he wants to hear.

Eddie laughs when you complain, whine, and slap his sides, just writhing your body against his hand, and it feels surreal to laugh in the middle of all of this, but he looks the happiest you've ever seen him.

"Hm? Harder? Or... deeper?"

Not only does he want to hear exactly how you like it, but he delivers it how you ask him to once it's out in the air.

Eddie keeps his kisses coming, and when you find the motor skill to push a hand between your bodies and grab his cock in your palm, both of you groan at the same time.

Time truly means nothing when it comes down to it.

Eddie pushes his fingers in and out of you, swallowing every sound that comes out of your lips while you stroke him until he's leaking at the tip, and it feels like a lifetime.

A lifetime where you learn that you like the taste of his sweat — or at least you do when you're the cause for it — and that Eddie is a whimpering mess in bed, just like you dreamt that one time.

He's strong, too, but when you beg him to get inside of you, Eddie turns his open gaze to you and asks in an almost embarrassed tone, "Can you—you can say no, but—go on top? Please? I—I'm trying really hard not to make this end a lot sooner than we'd both like and if I get lost in the momentum when on top of you, I might not—"

You turn him around with a leg hooked around his waist, and both of you laugh at his look of pure surprise when his back hits the mattress.

"Fuck—you're hotter than Hell, sweetheart," he groans, pulling you in for a kiss.

He gets the condom, but lets you slip on it, and when he lays down again, you're the one who stops to admire it this time.

The messy, wild hair, glued to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, the way he looks flushed and blissed out.

It's a little bit of torture to feel him like this for the first time, but not in a bad way.

More like—your mind running thousands of miles an hour as it tries to wrap its head around the fact that he said he loves you, too, and no, this isn't just a dream or an experience.

It's electrifying when Eddie plants the heels of his feet on the bed and meets your waist with a thrust, then holds your waist with both hands to guide you two into a rhythm.

As a musician, that's something Eddie has.

Rhythm.

Maybe it's one of your heartbeats or one with the rain, or maybe there's a song playing in his head as his hips make sweet movements when meetings yours.

It's bliss, either way.

It's his hands slapping at your thoughts, it's one of them coming to wrap and hold around your neck, it's the way Eddie starts grunting and dropping your name like a plea the closer you two get.

Being with Eddie is not a mindless search for that white noise, but there's something more powerful than just pleasure, you find out that night.

Something about the way he holds you close and looks straight into your eyes as you two cum, because he wants to see and feel you, and that's all you needed, truly.

The rain pours outside, and you sleep to the sound of it, laying in the hold of Eddie's warm, body sedated and marked in purple and red bruises.

The sun will shine tomorrow, and there'll be more love to come.

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He frowns at the tone of your voice– dry and monotonous and devoid of the snark he’s so used to hearing. He scans your figure, the dip between his eyebrows deepening when he notices the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the dullness of your skin.

You look sick– your cheeks are sunken in, cheekbones protruding abnormally and dark circles under your eyes looking more like bruises. Strangest of all, you’ve switched your beloved dresses for a pair of baggy jeans and a purple sweatshirt that looks 2 sizes too big. 

Actually, the strangest thing is that you’re talking to him. In public. 

“Heeey,” he greets back, dragging the ‘e’ as he looks around the hallway. There’s a couple of people giving the pair of you strange looks, some jocks narrowing their eyes menacingly at him, but everyone seems to move on pretty quickly from this peculiar interaction. 

He doesn’t even hear a gaggle of cheerleaders giggling behind manicured hands as they watch you talk to him. There’s only Chrissy Cunningham, standing alone a couple of feet away from you and giving him a small wave. He relaxes ever so slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fantastic,” you say with a lack of excitement. 

Eddie snorts. “You don’t sound very believable.”

“Oh.” You run a long finger nail down the plastic spiral of the notebook you’re cradling against your chest, raising an eyebrow when Eddie shivers at the sound. You stop. “Just hungry. I haven’t eaten in…” you blow some air as you pretend to think, cheeks puffing out. “I can’t even remember.”

“Oh, um, I got some pretzels. If you want. Here.” He unhooks one of the straps of his bag from around his shoulder and struggles to open the zipper, pulling at it with as much strength as he can muster without risking it breaking. 

He almost jumps out of his skin when you place a cold hand on his forearm. He stares at it, confused. Why are you so cold? It’s almost spring break.

“It’s okay, Eddie.” He fights back the shiver that threatens to go down his spine at how softly you say his name. “I’m working on it, don’t worry. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask me something,” he echoes back. “Uh, sure. What do you need?” 

You kick your foot against the dirty school floor, biting your lower lip. Eddie notices how chapped they are– what’s usually a pair of very smooth and glossy lips is now covered in dried, cracking skin. He frowns in concern even more. 

“D’you wanna come over tonight?” You twirl a strand of hair between two fingers and smile at him. “I could rent A Nightmare on Elm Street and make some popcorn. Or The Shining, whichever you want.”

Eddie blinks owlishly at you, chuckling awkwardly and gesturing between your bodies with his index finger. His heavy cross metal ring glints under the fluorescent lights. “Us. Watch a movie. At your house. Uh…” He fleets his gaze back around the hallway and notices a significant lack of students walking around. 

He leans closer to you, trying to be as quiet as possible when he asks, “Is this some sort of joke?” 

“No,” you shake your head, tilting it to the side when you see a thin chain around his neck. Your smile is more natural as you grab it and bring it out from under his shirt, the corners of your mouth tilting up minisculely when the guitar pick dangles in the air. “Cute,” you say airily.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off you. He’s pretty sure he’s going crossed eyed as he watches you play with his necklace. “So you’re serious,” he pushes.

“As a heart attack,” you deadpan, still staring at the small plastic triangle and poking it with your middle finger. If you felt like your normal self, you’d be giggling at the sound of your nail hitting the guitar pick. “So?”

“Sure.” Eddie nods enthusiastically. This has to be a dream come true. “Sure, yeah.”

“Great.” Some of your usual brightness comes back to your face at his answer. You open your notebook and quickly write down your address, rip the paper and offer it to him with a sweet smile. The kind that Eddie never thought would be directed at him. “My parents leave on vacation at seven, so come around eight.”

“Ookay,” he slowly plucks the paper from between your fingers, almost dropping it when you press a kiss on his cheek. 

You wink at him, walking backwards. “Can’t wait.”

He presses his fingers to the spot your lips touched, skin feeling hot, and stares dumbstruck as you walk back to Chrissy and hook your arm around hers, giggling at each other as you make your way to class. 

–

Eddie slaps one hand on the steering wheel as he drives down the street, head banging in the air to the rhythm of Black Sabbath’s Evil Woman. 

His heart beats a thousand miles per hour, blood pumping through his veins at a speed it never has before. He can’t stop the giddy smile from spreading on his lips, shaking his head in disbelief– he’s driving to the house of the girl of his dreams to watch a movie and… other stuff.

He hopes other stuff happens. You had said it so suggestively, making sure to mention your parents leaving you home alone and– and you had kissed his cheek! That had to be a sign, right?

He covers his mouth with his hand and exhales a breath out, sniffing the air. He grimaces and leans to the side, the van swerving with him as he struggles to keep control of the wheel at the same time as he looks for the pack of gum he kept in the back pocket of his jeans. 

He manages to get it out right before he has to turn the corner on the right, hooraying loudly and the wheels screeching as he maneuvers wildly. Keeping his foot on the pedal, he quickly unwraps the gum and throws the paper on the backseat, popping it into his mouth. He chews it through his deafening singing, the fresh minty flavour exploding on his taste buds. 

His singing turns into a quiet mumble when he notices that the streets get progressively darker until there are no lamp posts turned on. The hairs on the back of his head stand in alert and he turns down the music completely, his chewing slowing along with the van as he reaches the address written on the paper. 

He picks it up from where he tucked in inside the overhead visor, his finger gracing over the smooth letter you wrote. He’s sick with love as he traces the tiny heart dotting the ‘i’.

He looks outside his window and to the row of identical houses across from where he’s parked. There’s only one house with a single light turned on and, effectively, it’s the right address. 

Putting the paper back where it belongs, Eddie takes a deep breath and fixes his hair. He gets out of the car and stands facing the houses, adjusting his leather jacket and spitting out the gum. With a reassuring nod to himself he walks forward.

Everything is eerily quiet. He fastens his steps when he gets the feeling that someone is watching him, taking the short porch steps two at a time and comes to a sudden stop when he sees a plank of wood over the front door. Uselessly, he tries the doorknob anyway, jiggling it until it becomes obvious that the door isn’t going to open. 

He takes a couple steps back and looks to both windows on either side of the door, noticing a sheet of plastic hanging over the glass like a makeshift protective curtain. His eyebrows scrunch down in confusion– something isn’t right.

There’s no way that the Queen of Hawkins High, resident Mean Girl, lived in a house like this. He had heard through the grapevine how lavish her house was, how big and deep the pool in her backyard was and how she had a room designated to store all the alcohol you could imagine. Everyone raved about how handy it came for the parties he had never been invited to and how they always ended in someone being thrown into the water. 

His curiosity is piqued, though. He heads to the left side of the house, jumping off the porch and stepping on the narrow bit of grass between your supposed house and your neighbour’s. He looks up to the sky and notices a ladder out of the corner of his eye, right below an open window. 

Making sure it’s sturdy enough, he climbs it, slapping the plastic curtain back and throwing himself inside the house. He groans in pain when he hits the floor with a lack of grace, holding his shoulder and rubbing the sore spot.

Even inside, everything is still pitch black.

“Hello?” He calls out your name, taking a hesitant step forward. “Anyone home?”

No one answers him. 

He walks out of the room, quietly moving another plastic curtain to the side and starts navigating the house curiously. He thinks he’s in the living room when he finally hears something, a low and sugary sweet beat coming from up the stairs. 

The steps creak under his Reebooks. He’s almost on the landing when a crow appears out of nowhere and flies past him like he isn’t even there, its wings flapping noisily. “Holy mother of God,” he curses, resting his back against the wall and clutching his chest. 

When his heart rate is back to normal he keeps climbing, finally reaching the first floor. There’s a crack of warm light coming from the room the farthest away from where he’s standing, the music growing louder as he follows it. 

His lips pull up when he sees the many lit up candles around the room, placed between planks of wood and construction tools. There’s a radio on a workshop table playing a song he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to but it fits his fair maiden to perfection. 

“You made it,” your voice comes from behind him unexpectedly. He jumps in the air and screams, eyes wide when he turns around and sees how sick you look now. Even worse than you look at school. 

Eddie twists one of his rings around his finger as you saunter towards him, hips swaying hypnotically. He gulps, “This– this isn’t really your house, is it?”

Eddie is hit with a wave of your perfume– dark, smelling of chocolates and wild berries– as you stand in front of him. 

“No, baby,” you pout, shaking your head softly. You take his hand and place it over your chest. “This is our home. Just for us.”

Eddie chuckles, sounding uncomfortable. His eyes are glued to the chain that dips between your breasts and the heart locket that hangs from it. “What would we need a house for?”

Your giggle is sweet, your touch soft as you caress his chest and squeeze his shoulders. Eddie holds his breath as you lean forward and whisper in his ear, “To play mommy and daddy.”

Oh shit, he thinks. When did the air become so stuffy?

Your hands go to the back of his neck, long nails scratching his nape and almost making him purr. There’s goosebumps on the skin of his throat as you run your nose against it, bump his jaw up with it and nip gently at his earlobe. “Do you wanna play with me, Eddie?”

He’d do anything you asked of him. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

You pull him towards you by the hair and press your lips together, not bothering with taking it slow, slipping your tongue inside his mouth. He tastes good– minty and smokey and something else… something sweet. Not like the other boys you’ve kissed before to feed on them. They were salty with lust, greedy as they tried to control the kiss. Control you. 

But not Eddie. No, he molds himself to you, lets you take whatever you want from his and is grateful for it. 

You don’t like it. 

Determined to forget about… whatever it was that made your heart skip a beat, you pull away and drift your kisses down his neck, biting him harshly while your hands work on the belt around his hips. You can hear his heavy pants as you stroke his cock over his jeans, adding pressure and feeling the hard and heavy bulge under your palm twitch as you run your tongue over the teeth marks imprinted on his skin.

“Fuck, fuck, wait.” He reaches for your wrists to stop you from lowering his jeans. “Jesus– that was… so fucking hot. Need a minute.”

You huff out an irritated breath, snarking, “I don’t have a minute.”

Being so close to feeding, to sinking your teeth into fresh meat and warm blood, and then having it stripped away from you has made you lose some of your charm. “Just let me suck your cock or something, Jesus,” you roll your eyes in annoyance. 

Eddie laughs, holding your cheeks and kissing your still chapped lips that are now shiny with spit. “That’d defeat the whole purpose of taking a minute.”

God, why does he have to be so sweet? It’d be easier if he were an asshole that couldn’t wait to get his dicks wet and didn’t care about making it last. You can’t stand it. Can’t stand him. 

“How about I eat you out, hm? To pass the time?”

You really don’t mean to, but it’s impossible to stop yourself from blurting out in surprise, “Eat me out?”

“Yeah.” Your stunned face shocks him. “Wait, you’ve never…”

You shake your head, mouth parted. Strictly speaking, you’re not being 100% truthful. Some of your victims have attempted to eat you out, giving you a couple of licks that did nothing for you just to get you wet enough so they could sink their greedy cocks into you without your body rejecting them. Like that would happen.

Still, it’s not like any of those boys managed to get you off with their mouths, so there’s no point in explaining all that to Eddie. 

“Oh, baby,” he sighs. His hands that were cradling your face go down the sides of your body, stroking your curves and settling on your hips. He pushes you forward so your pussy can grind on his bulge. You gasp. “Baby, baby, baby, baby. You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”

You don’t like him having the upper hand. Forcing yourself back into character, you grip the roots of his hair until he hisses. “Show me, then.”

Eddie’s grin is wolfish. “As my fair lady wishes.”

He’s the one who pulls you into a bruising kiss this time, his tongue playing with yours as he deepens it. You traipse back towards the wooden table together, stumbling over each other’s feet. 

Your hips reach the table first, the tools on it clattering to the floor and the radio shaking as it struggles to keep itself balanced. Eddie chuckles against your lips and helps you get on the edge of the table, pushing you backwards until you’re laying flat on the hard surface. 

He trails kisses down your throat and chest, kissing the swells of your breasts that your tank top exposes, sucking on the skin until colourful splotches appear. You arch your back into his face, mumble a curse when his teeth graze your hardened nipple over the thin fabric of your top. 

He peppers more wet kisses down your stomach, dampening your shirt with his spit. He laves his tongue his tongue over the exposed bit of skin of your tummy and flips your skirt up, mouth jumping from your hip bone to your inner thigh, completely neglecting your core in favour of feverishly biting marks into the softness of your thighs. 

The closer he gets to your panties, the softer his nips become, turning into soft pecks that make you warm where his lips touch you. When he reaches your mound, he presses the gentlest kiss over the little bow stuck to your cotton panties, stealing a glance up at you.

You don’t think you’ve ever been looked at with such tenderness. Not even before you were turned into this monster. It makes you shiver, hips raising to help him lower your underwear. 

Eddie’s dimples show when he sees the glistening threads sticking to the fabric, spreading thinner and thinner as he separates it from your pussy. 

An involuntary moan comes out from deep within your chest when he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it between his teeth and licking wet stripes up your clit, his warm tongue slipping between your folds eagerly. He chances another look up at you, watches you raise yourself on your elbows and brush back his bangs before tangling your fingers in his messy waves.

Your chest is already panting as you watch him swirl your little nub with the tip of his tongue, rising and falling in rapid succession with the quick, short breaths you take. There’s a thin layer of sweat forming on your hairline, Eddie inadvertently melting away the coldness that had taken over your body at the lack of nutrients and raising your temperature until it feels like there’s wildfire coursing through your veins. 

“Eddie,” you whine when he pushes you into his mouth, forcing you to grind against his face. A whimper falls from your parted lips when he forces his tongue into your hole, tasting the deepest parts of you that have never been explored by any man. “S-so good.”

It feels more than good. It is more than good and you’re not used to it ever feeling this good. You tighten your grip on his hair and Eddie moans filthily against you, finally allowing his eyes to flutter shut as he makes out with your pussy like he’s been fantasizing about for years. You taste sweeter than he imagined– unnaturally so. He’s drunk on your taste, his mind becoming foggy, all and any thoughts he had other than you disappearing from his mind as he focuses on the feast in front of him.

You don’t understand what’s happening– your legs spam around his head and your body jerks up, muscles tensing then relaxing immediately as a tsunami of pleasure crashes over you and leaves you breathless. 

You fall onto your back as you gush all over him, filling his mouth with your slick. With trembling hands, you force him away from you, hazy eyes blinking up at him.

He looks… messy. Hair mussed up from your fingers gripping it, lips red and swollen from eating you out like a starved prisoner, chin shiny and dripping with your release, pupils dilated and eyes glazed over just the same as yours. 

He’s unfairly pretty.

“Are you okay?” He asks, crowding your body as he leans down and examines your face closely. Your skin returned to it’s usual glow, your hair no longer looking oily and thin. Somehow, your lips aren’t dry anymore– they’re plump and soft.

“I feel– I feel weird,” you slur. You had expected to return to normal after feeding on Eddie, but you haven’t even punctured an artery and the immeasurable hunger you’ve been feeling all of last month is almost completely gone. 

Something isn’t right. 

Eddie’s heart skips a beat at your confession. “Shit, did I hurt you? Was that too much?”

“Too much? That was… Where the hell did you learn that, Munson?”

He shrugs one shoulder bashfully, his cheeks growing pink at your disbelief. “College girls have a thing for struggling rockstars, apparently.”

Something ugly grows in your chest at the thought of Eddie fucking other people, of another girl keeping his cock warm. You’ve always liked the virgins– they were sweet like candy and desperate and let you take whatever you wanted from them. You milked their souls dry before they could even stutter out a “thank you”.

You had chosen Eddie on purpose and had been so very careful before approaching him earlier today. You had smelled him and sensed that honeyed aura virgin boys always had around them. And you knew he liked you, poor boy wasn’t very good at hiding it. 

So you started being nicer to him: lending him your book in English class when he forgot his copy, whispering to him the answer to a problem in Miss O’Donell’s class when her back was turned to you, smiling at him when you passed each other in the hallway. You even stopped Jason from mocking him and his nerd group a couple of times. 

It had almost cost you your reputation. But you were so hungry, and he was so pretty and smelled so delicious. To have him not be a virgin, have all of your hard work mean nothing, it makes you angry. 

Your previously shining doe eyes grow dark and narrow into thin slits. Your canines elongate and you do your best to cover them as you say, “So you’re not a virgin?”

Eddie’s startled by your sudden change of mood. “Uh…” he swallows awkwardly, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “Uh, not– not completely. Couple of blowjobs here and there but– but I’ve never…”

“Fucked a girl?” you guess. He nods shyly and you relax your tense shoulders, returning to your mellow self from 3 minutes ago. You’re giving Eddie whiplash.

You wrap a leg around his hips and push them forward, pressing his hard cock against your wet pussy and gasping at the scratch of the denim. “You wanna fuck me, Eddie?”

His breath catches as you grind your hips against his, eyes rolling at the feel of the heat of your cunt seeping through his jeans. He’s pretty sure there’s a damp spot on his boxers caused by his leaky slit. “Y-yes, God, yes.”

You raise a hand to cradle his cheek, stroking his skin with your thumb. “Yeah? Want my pussy to be the first one you ever feel?”

“Uh huh.” He makes a broken sound, nodding repeatedly. Your voice is hypnotizing, your touch so gentle. “Wanna– wana fuck you. Need it. Please.”

You let go of his cheek and his head falls forward, forehead resting against yours and his hot breath fanning over your face. You reach forward and unzip his pants, lowering them enough so that his cock and his balls fall out. 

“Shit,” he swears as you lick your hand, maintaining eye contact, and grip him, pumping your fist up and down his length. Eddie’s hips jerk forward.

You kiss along his jawline and whisper in his ear, “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“Fuck, wanna spread your pussy with my cock,” he whines. You press his cock down to your mound and glide your pussy along his dick, puffy and wet folds spreading around his thick girth and bumping your swollen clit with his pretty pink tip. “Aw, shit. J-just like that. So fucking good.”

You kiss behind his earlobe. “What else?”

“Want to m-make you cum,” he stutters when you cradle his heavy sack in your palm, gently squeezing it. “Want to– to fill you up and watch it drip out.”

You giggle mischievously in his ear and Eddie’s mind short circuits. “You want to make me messy?”

“So messy– oh!” he moans when you push his cock into your weeping cunt. Only his mushroom shaped head is inside but that’s almost enough to push him over the edge. He bites his lip until he draws blood. 

You lean forward to lick it up and hum dreamily as you get your first taste of him. He’s so nice and tastes so good, it’s a pity that you have to kill him. 

“Holy shit.” Eddie stares at you with eyes as wide as saucers, then glances down to where your tight heat is welcoming his cock home, spread wide around it. If he thought he had been drunk on your taste before, he feels like he’s just chugged three bottles of the moonshine the older teens at the trailer park drank when he was younger. “Holy shit.”

“Come on, Eddie,” you encourage him, “Fuck me.”

“Y-yeah.” He draws back then forward again, slowly finding a strong rhythm. His hips slaps against yours with wet slaps of skin, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. “Gonna fuck you. Been dreaming about it for years… thinking of– of making you cum all over me… putting my cum inside you… goddamn it.”

The table creaks as he fucks you, the radio tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter but Eddie can’t focus on any of it when he’s burying himself so deep inside you he can feel your throat contracting around him every time you moan. He wants to record your every sound, every little “uh uh” you make so he can listen to them at night while he touches himself to this memory. 

His stomach burns and twists, fingers digging into your skin with bruising strength as he forces you back and forth on his cock. You can tell he’s getting close. Can smell his scent get sweeter and sweeter the closer the coil in his stomach gets to snapping in half. 

This is your chance.

Your hands frame his scrunched up face as you force him to look at you. “It’s okay,” your tone is soft, gentle. “You can cum now Eddie, it’s okay.”

Eddie looks pained as he shakes his head, cheeks red from embarrassment. “Want you to cum, too.”

You kiss from his cheek down to his jawline, smiling into his skin. “I already did remember? Now I want you to cum. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay. Okay.”

Your back scratches against the wood with every thrust, splinters digging into the skin between your shoulder blades and making you moan at the pleasurable pain. You graze your teeth over his straining neck, allowing them to grow sharper and longer. You open your mouth wide but, right before you can sink your fangs into the vein that’s popping out, calloused fingers grip your chin and pull you into a desperate kiss. 

You’re wide eyed as Eddie licks into your mouth, groans of pleasure mixing with whimpers as he spills all of his cum inside you. He loses his rhythm, rutting into you like a dog, cock twitching and painting your insides white. 

“I’m sorry,” he pants, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t– you felt so good–”

You don’t know why you do it, really. You should just kick him off you and tear a piece of his side. But he did something to you, somehow managed to satiate your appetite without losing his life, so instead of twisting his arm and pushing him to the floor, you pet the back of his hair and repeat your previous words. “It’s okay.”

Eddie’s chuckle is muffled. “That’s the last thing a guy wants to hear after sex, you know. Or during.”

“W-well, it’s the truth,” you fumble. You’ve never comforted someone besides Chrissy, but she just cried and complained, not expecting any reassurances from you. “You can just make it up to me next time.”

Eddie wonders if you’ve always been this sweet deep down. There had to be a reason why Cunnigham liked you, after all. “Next time?” he asks, hoping his hearing was working correctly.

You’re going to grow hungry eventually. If you can’t eat him then you’ll have him do whatever he did to you tonight to keep you full.

“Yeah, next time.”