#1kfic

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students. 

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case. 

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them. 

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question. 

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly. 

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning. 

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet. 

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm. 

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts. 

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you. 

“So—are you a therapist?” 

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.” 

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble. 

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously. 

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.” 

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours. 

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not. 

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue. 

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked. 

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.” 

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend. 

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point. 

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.” 

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage. 

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse. 

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you. 

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities. 

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure. 

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars. 

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you. 

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.” 

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you. 

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly. 

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look. 

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later. 

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd. 

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.” 

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more. 

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile. 

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.” 

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells. 

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly. 

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder. 

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least. 

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.” 

One hell of a fucking coincidence. 

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.” 

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt. 

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him. 

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand. 

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately. 

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system. 

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away. 

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story. 

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at. 

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly. 

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down. 

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school. 

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid. 

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance. 

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking. 

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt. 

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down. 

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime? 

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face. 

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.” 

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

 “I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding. 

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.” 

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride. 

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway. 

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many. 

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened. 

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking. 

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you. 

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong. 

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.” 

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process. 

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend? 

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?” 

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane. 

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.” 

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?” 

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk. 

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious. 

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.” 

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.” 

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is. 

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus. 

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.” 

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him. 

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went. 

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk. 

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?” 

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see. 

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit. 

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference. 

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point. 

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there. 

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.” 

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it. 

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.” 

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life. 

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.” 

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained. 

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt. 

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture. 

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play. 

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way. 

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window. 

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together. 

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage. 

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor. 

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you. 

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really. 

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.” 

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior. 

A different bar, same band; one night only. 

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.” 

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too. 

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else. 

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good. 

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.” 

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.” 

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. 

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus. 

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down. 

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it. 

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body. 

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that. 

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years? 

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous. 

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day. 

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.” 

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore. 

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word. 

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly. 

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.” 

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment. 

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it. 

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.” 

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now. 

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately. 

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands. 

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?” 

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly. 

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on. 

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for. 

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. 

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear. 

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you. 

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore. 

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees. 

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before. 

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.” 

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants. 

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both. 

Who speaks first? 

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along. 

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened. 

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have. 

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel. 

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face. 

But to Eddie, it's shame. 

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words. 

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand. 

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything. 

It was exactly what you wanted. 

You yank the phone from its resting place, cord wrapping around your wrist in the process, but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it. You lean over the bed slightly, settled onto your side, before answer with a very clipped:

“What?”

“Who pissed you off, princess?” Eddie fucking Munson.

It never failed.

“If you keep talking, it’s going to be you.” You retort, still mildly aware of the hand tucked between your legs, not touching anymore, but hovering, waiting for this painful phone call to end.

“Harsh.” Eddie replies, feigning a weak implication of hurt in his tone. “I just wanted to let you know that you grabbed my dice by mistake after the campaign tonight.”

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes closed, tapping the speaker of the phone against your head in frustration. You had been so quick to rush out of there today, you didn’t even think, blindly grabbing your shit and hightailing it home.

“And I hate to make a big deal about it, but those are my lucky dice.” He points out. You can’t help the eye roll that escapes you, Eddie could practically hear it through the phone.

“And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” You ask impatiently. The man was wasting precious time, time that you would be spending doing something much more enjoyable. “I’m busy.”

It comes out, a Freudian slip. You could’ve just assure him you’d bring them in the morning and the conversation would be null and void, but no; now Eddie was intrigued.

“Busy? It’s midnight—what the hell could you be busy with right now?” He asks, attempting to compile a list of reasons but coming up with a big fat goose egg.

“Sleeping, Eddie.” You deadpan.

“You don’t sound like it.” Eddie says honestly. “Wait, were you—“

“Eddie!” You yell, a desperate attempt to stop where this conversation was headed—but Eddie, ever the persistent.

“Ha!” He laughs, seemingly clapping his hands together over the phone, “I knew you weren’t so innocent—all that bullshit about never being kissed and—“

“Ed-die,” You stress, begging him to tone down the teasing. It wasn’t that you felt ashamed, everything you’d told him was true. You hadn’t explored much outside of yourself—you know your body best and that was all that mattered. Why did you even need the help?

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes sincerely, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, really. If I had known, I would’ve just waited until tomorrow.”

“There’s no way you could’ve, dipshit.” Eddie snorts at the nickname, savoring the bite in your tone. “Besides, it helps me sleep.”

“Shit, me too.” He laughs softly and you can’t help but laugh either, though it only lasts a few seconds before you’re mentally shoving your hand over your mouth, begging your brain to process shit before it comes out of your mouth. “It’s not that easy, is it? Trying to concentrate and everything.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, wondering why he hadn’t just hung up the phone. But, he continues; you can’t help but listen.

“Not when I have meatheads like you bothering me,” You snark, the dull ache in your cunt still hadn’t settled, and you really hated yourself for your next move, but it was necessary.

Your finger rubs over your clit gently, slow enough that you can keep your composure, but allow just enough relief that it wasn’t bothering you as much.

“Not a meathead—That’s reserved for Jason and his band of assholes.” You could appreciate his mutual distaste, feeling bad for stacking him in with them.

“Sorry.” You meant it.

“It’s fine, princess.”

You’re so used to the term that it really shouldn’t bother you, it hardly ever does, but with your hands down your underwear, attempting to work yourself through a desperately needed orgasm, you couldn’t help but play it in your head, the sound of his voice, like a tape on repeat.

And this felt so wrong, but Eddie noticed your prolonged silence. He leans into it, nudging you further.

“Do you need help?” He asks innocently, his voice remaining it’s normal bravado, but you can feel the anticipation in the way he waits for your answer.

“With touching myself?” You ask boldly; what a night this was turning into. “I think I’m good on that.”

“No with, you know, getting there.” He says coyly and you can hear the should shrug through the phone, the way his head tilts to the side innocently. “I can help, if you want.”

“You wanna help me orgasm?” You ask, still gathering what little sanity you had left for the night. “Over the phone?”

“Sure,” He says easily. This didn’t feel real and maybe you were having some fucked up dream you’d wake up from any moment; another weird sex dream, albeit almost always involving your one particular friend, who just so happened to be on the other line offering up his services, selflessly, “but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

And why wouldn’t you be? Aside from the potential awkwardness of having to face Eddie at school after this, it didn’t seem like a terrible idea—and Eddie was never the type to shove a situation like this back in your face, he knew your boundaries. Plus, you’d kill him if he ever did.

“Okay,” You agree, voice hesitant. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Shit, okay.” He answers, half-expecting you to back out.

You doubled down, “I don’t have a lot of time, so make it quick.”

Quick. Eddie could do quick—except he’s never done this before and has no idea what to say or do, he was going in blind.

“Uh, well,” He laughs at the absurdity of the upcoming question, “what are you wearing?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, glancing over the outfit you were wearing. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” He answers truthfully, “if it helps, I’m only in my boxerw—you know those ones you like to make fun of, they’re got the bats all over them.”

You laugh at the memory, Eddie bent over in front of you during Hellfire a few months back, moving some of the boxes full of theatre costumes since the group was forced to share a room and the other kids refused to put their stuff away properly. “How cute.” You'd told him and Eddie’s face burned a deep shade of red. He didn’t say anything, only pulling his pants up higher.

It was an interesting visual, you couldn’t lie. “Uh, I’m in my underwear, too—and a, uh, shirt.”

“Which one?” He asks curiously.

“Um, Hellfire, that black one. I think it's yours, actually.” Somehow that felt like the most scandalous part about all of this, being coached through your orgasm by not only your resident dungeon master, but someone who you consider a friend, “It’s nothing crazy, sorry.”

“No, no,” Eddie interrupts quickly, “That’s fine—are you—are you touching yourself, right now?”

Eddie’s free hand is resting over his boxers, palming at his growing bulge, not as satisfying as he wants it to be.

“Yeah,” You nod without thinking, feeling ridiculous after the fact, “For a while now.”

That slow, tantalizing pace you had on your clit wasn’t helping. You clear your throat, pressing harder. “You can touch yourself, too—if you want, I mean. I won’t mind.” Your face is hot with embarrassment, but it didn’t feel fair; he should be able to enjoy it too.

Eddie can feel his dick twitch against his hand, the idea of you having already been touching yourself before he even suggested anything; not that he had planned any of this, it was completely spur of the moment, but he couldn’t help himself now. “I am,” He replies after a beat, “I’m just touching myself over my boxers—kinda sucks, though.”

“Oh,” Your voice lilts, feeling that small tinge in your gut at the sight of Eddie holding his dick in his hands—you’ve never seen it before, nothing to compare it to or imagine, but still; you were picturing it, “Well, maybe you should actually touch yourself, you know? It only seems fair.”

Eddie exhales slowly, fingers shoving under the waistband of his boxers, taking hold of himself—it’s the first time he’s touched himself all week and he was in over his head, this was a terrible idea.

“God,” He sighs, falling back against his pillow, phone tucked firmly between his shoulder and ear, tugging gently at his shaft, “do you—you have anything you think about?”

“Not really,” You lie, “I just kinda—do it.” You lie again.

Eddie laughs softly, the soft sounds of his creaking bed frame were faint, but you could still hear them. It was the only thing you could think about; Eddie spread out, hands down the front of his boxers, tugging at his dick like his life depended on it.

You circle your clit absently, finger sliding down to dip inside of you. You mewl softly, letting the sound pass through your lips.

“What about you, Eddie?” And it shocks you, realizing it’s the first time you’ve said his name since you’ve started this dangerous back and forth. It comes out broken, wrapped snugly in that blissful pleasure you were trying to reach and Eddie hears it—the curse under his breath a telltale sign that he was just as wound up as you.

“Got a lot, too much to describe—never as good as the real thing, you know,” Eddie says absently, his hand an insistent tug at his cock, swelling to full hardness in his hands. He wipes the pad of his thumb over the slit, the small bit of precum helping ease the slide down, “there’s so much you’re missing out on, princess.”

Your virginity was never a main topic of conversation and Eddie didn’t make it a big deal either, but he knows how inexperienced you are outside of your own body; he wants you to enjoy it, wants you to experience how good it can feel.

“Wanna tell me about it?” You ask innocently, the pitch of your voice picking up on a certain stroke of your finger, palm dragging against your clit.

“I can’t speak for women, but for men—it’s pretty fucking good,” He starts, occasional gasps peaking through his voice, “it’s warm and wet and really tight, sometimes when they squeeze down on us—uh, it’s good. So fucking good.” Eddie tries not to sound too crass or dirty, afraid it might scare you away.

You laugh softly, his unique way of describing things never fails to surprise you, “What’s your favorite? You like when—when girls go down on you?” It’s really just curiosity, your mind racing through a million different thoughts.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle, stopping to—what you could only guess—spit on his hand, and that had you clenching around your own fingers. It felt primal, in a way. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But I, uh, like going down on a girl more—I got off once to it.”

And it shouldn't turn you on as much as it did, but goddamn if you weren't interested in hearing all about that. All common sense out of the window, you ask, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice still unnaturally calm, “I was younger, but it was nice—she made all these noises, pulled my hair too hard—I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did, but then she came while I still going down on her and it just happened.”

You sigh softly, “I’ve always wondered what it felt like,” You admit openly, “something other than my hand, it’s gotta be good, right?”

“You’ve really never done anything?” Eddie asks hesitantly—it didn’t feel judgmental, Eddie was curious; half leaning toward delirious from his sleep-deprived state.

“Never even kissed anyone, Eddie.” You say regretfully, hand stopping for a moment. “But, I’m not clueless—I’ve just never had any first hand experience.

There was a long pause, your breath catching in your throat. You can hear him on the other line, but it’s muffled. “Eddie?” You ask quietly, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He sounds a little breathless, “I was getting ahead of myself, had to slow down a bit—“

“Oh.” It’s small, feeble in the way you answer him.

“You still touching yourself?”

You nod again, feeling ridiculous. “Yeah—I am. I can’t focus, though—that’s been my problem all night.”

A problem that Eddie had just the remedy for.

“Do you trust me?” He asks and your answer is instant, not a single worry in your mind.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Close your eyes,” You take a small breath, letting your eyelids fall shut, “Tell me what feels the best.”

You breathe, allowing the fear of embarrassment shed from your body, losing yourself in the conversation fully. “Uh, fingers help a little—but, this is hard to do with one hand, I usually have two, that way I can cover all my bases.”

Eddie snorts at that, a smile spread across his face. “Just squeeze the phone against your shoulder,” You quickly maneuver it, shoved properly up by your ear, allowing your other hand to reach down and touch your clit properly, fingers an inconsistent rhythm as they pump into you, still, you can’t stifle the needy moan that slips out.

“Okay,” You sound shaky, “That’s—that’s a lot better.”

You feel like it’s going to be too bold of a question and Eddie would run away immediately, but you’re too fucking curious not to ask, since he was literally jerking off on the other end—it seemed like a perfectly fair question to ask.

“Do you—What do girls usually say about—you?” It was the worst way to approach the question, but Eddie isn’t too bad at realizing the context.

“Are you asking what my dick looks like?”

He couldn’t believe this shit was happening.

“Yeah, maybe.” You answer sheepishly, “Like I said, nothing to compare.”

Eddie grins, eyes scanning over his own dick briefly.

“Uh, it’s about eight inches, give or take.” He offers, “You could definitely fit both of your hands around it, if you tried.”

There’s a beat of silence, Eddie feeling like he fucked up—it slipped out, it wasn’t a suggestion; not the he didn’t want your hands around his dick, he’d be lying if he said that out loud.

You give a small noise of acknowledgment, feeling the heat coil in your stomach—surely you weren’t thinking about Eddie’s dick. But, of course you were. “Maybe we’ll have to try that out.” You say boldly, hoping that it would elicit some type of reaction from him.

“Fuck,” It definitely worked, “Yeah—yeah, maybe we could—I could even—even, go down on you, if you wanted.” He's too worked up, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

“Yeah?” You breath, followed by a small moan from the drag of your slick covered finger over your sensitive clit, rubbing the small bundle of nerves impatiently. “Think I could make you come?”

“With those pretty little noises?” Eddie asks redundantly, “I’m a fucking goner.”

You laugh softly, choked out by the sound of your own desperate noises, the pace on your clit picking up, fingers moving on their own accord. You can’t even focus on the fingers inside of you anymore, moving a free hand toward your breasts, still slicked fingers catching against the soft bud of your nipple.

Eddie strokes himself faster, recklessly almost. He groans so loudly into the speaker that you almost lose it, phone slipping away from your ear.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Eddie asks, hazy from the grip he had at the base of his dick, desperate to keep from coming. His entire shtick was to help you, not himself; but he was failing miserably.

“Sorry, I almost dropped the phone.”

“Oh.” He’s being cheeky, you can hear it in his voice.

“Shut up,” You exhale, returning yourself to the task at hand; regardless of Eddie’s smugness. “Thought you were supposed to make me come, not tease me all night.”

“Help you,” He corrects, “Not make you—though, I mean—that’s not totally off the table.”

“Eddie.” You warn.

“Right—I guess it’s not hard for me,” Eddie starts again, voice thick with want and tension, “All I have to do is think about you with your hands between your legs and those tits—god, they’re probably perfect, I haven’t seen them, but I know. I know.”

It was like he’d dialed everything up to ten, not bothering to hold back any longer, the pleasure taking away any filter he had.

He was thinking about you, of course—it made sense, but it didn’t snuff the pulse that grew between your legs, only making it much, much worse. Whatever line was drawn was crossed the moment you agreed to this, all bets were off.

“Wish it was your hands instead,” You respond wantonly, the pad of your finger rubbing quick, small circles against your clit, “they’re so much bigger than mine.”

You gasp, gripping desperately at the sheets beneath you, no doubt having soaked through the cover already from how wet you were, it was unlike anything you’ve felt before—it was better.

“Forget my hands—can’t get the sight of you sinking down onto my dick out of my head,” He admits earnestly, groaning through the quick tugs on his shaft, his tip leaking with a copious amount of precum, bring his hand back down to squeeze at the base. Eddie has never edged himself like this before, it was almost painful. Almost.

“I don’t think it’ll fit, Eddie.” The moan he lets out is loud, guttural—the sound of skin against skin louder than ever through the speaker, he’s close. “Is that what you want? To be my first?”

“Fuckfuck—yeah, I do.”

You can’t even think anymore, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Want you to ruin me, Eddie.”

He’s past the point of trying to keep himself quiet, openly moaning through the receiver, “Fuck—say my name again, please.”

And you do; again and again, your cunt spasming underneath your hand, reaching the precipice of what you had been dying for all night, his name a plea as it cut off into a desperate moan.

“Shit—I’m so close—.” Eddie growls lowly, his high hitting him almost immediately after, coming all over his chest and his sheets in shirt spurts, tugging harshly at his dick.

He’s never come so hard in his life.

“You’ve gotten a fucking mouth on you.” He says breathlessly, on the way down from his orgasm. “Would’ve never guessed.”

You smile warmly, hand slipping out of your underwear to rest against your stomach.

“You tell anyone and you’re dead,” You chide playfully, the beautiful feeling of sleep creeping up on you, “but thank you, Eddie, seriously.”

“Always at your service, princess.”

You laugh through your nose, the realization of your actions finally settling in. It didn’t feel wrong, but it didn’t feel right, either—though, you couldn’t be bothered to care now; all bets were off.

“I’m holding you to that, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs on the other end, unbeknownst to you. He wiped at the mess he’d made with his shirt, tossing it to the floor lazily. “So, not a one time thing then?” He asks hopefully.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

A pause, Eddie clears his throat.

He was full of himself, to be blunt—which is why this had started the conversation you were being forced to listen to currently, both of them settled on either side of the couch. You were smushed in the center, feet propped up on the table in Eddie’s living room, hands covering your face as you rested your head against the back of the couch and let out an audible groan.

“Okay but,” Eddie begins, another tumultuous conversation that was bound to go one forever if you didn’t put an end to it, “you’ve seen both of our dicks, you be the judge.”

Steve had found a pair of your underwear on Eddie’s floor a couple weeks prior, because of course he knew they were yours. He held them up accusingly, both you and Eddie sharing an awkward glance.

You really had no choice but to come clean. Thankfully, they both took it well—actually, they didn’t have any problem with it, and that’s what you couldn’t wrap your brain around. Not at first, at least.

“It’s okay,” Steve comforts, squeezing your shoulder, “be honest, Eddie can take it.”

You always hung out as a group now, never separately—and you couldn’t ignore the obvious tension that has festered. Truthfully, it felt like an attack on you. They talked about you when you weren’t around, you knew that much, having walked in on them in the middle of a particularly heated conversation about what made you come the quickest. Eddie knew it was oral, but Steve swore you faked it half the time just so he’d skip to the sex, always gawking about how good his dick felt—how big it was.

And obviously, it had boosted his ego through the fucking roof.

“Oh, fuck you.” Eddie insults lightly, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “Come on, sweetheart—let him have it.”

“Oh my god, who cares?” You ask redundantly, exasperated at the topic and almost shouting it out. “The average is—what, five? I’m pretty confident you’re both over that so what does it matter?”

“No way Munson is packing over five.” Steve nags, pointing lazily at the long haired, wide eyed boy at your side. Eddie rolls his eyes, scoffing at the comment.

“We get it, King Steve’s got a big dick.” Eddie mocks, throwing his hands up.

You snort at the nickname, “Don’t call him that.” You tell Eddie, watching as Steve’s face falls slightly. “See—he’s too confident.”

“Why are you avoiding the question then?” Steve counters, growing increasingly irritated. It’s not directed toward you, or at Eddie even, he just wants to get to the bottom of it.

“Why are you so worried that I might say it’s Eddie?” You tease, hearing Eddie howl a laugh behind you.

“Is it?” Eddie asks after he regains his composure, “I don’t even care at this point, I just need to rub it in Steve’s face.”

“Fuck this,” Steve says in a clipped tone, “Whip it out, Munson.”

“Excuse you?” Eddie asks in a subtle shock, eyes follow Steve as he stands from the couch. “Take me to fuckin’ dinner first, Steve.”

“I need to pee.” You say quickly, making a weak excuse to escape to the bathroom.

Steve holds up his hand, “No, no—you have to judge.”

You stare up at him with comically wide eyes, growling slightly under your breath when he doesn’t relent, sinking back down on the couch.

“Fine.” You agree, “Hurry up.”

Eddie flicks his gaze between you and Steve before finally settling on you, “Do you—are we actually entertaining this?”

“To be fair, I really don’t know.”

It was the honest truth.

Steve fiddles with his pants as Eddie moves a little slower, more hesitant to expose himself. Steve grew up in sports, he was used to changing in front of other guys, nudity around other’s wasn’t foreign to him—Eddie was obviously less willing, having grown up under constant scrutiny and bullying there was valid reasoning on why he didn’t want to. You gave him a look, touching his wrist as he reached for his belt.

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” You tell him as he lingers behind you, eyes still locked on Eddie as you turn to him, but something in Eddie’s face changes, a subtle smirk growing.

“Gotta shut him up somehow, right?” Eddie asks.

And they’re both on the edge of shoving their pants down, gaze noticeably locked on one another before you’re panicking, arms thrown up in an attempt to halt whatever was about to commence.

“Wait, fuck—“ You sigh loudly, slumping as they both look at you, “this isn’t fair.”

The silence is telling, both boys completely at your command.

It’s almost impossible not to have fun with this, especially if they weren’t about to let up over the whole ordeal.

“I mean—Steve is definitely a shower,” You admit, “but I don’t think it’s fair unless both of you are—“

“Hard?” Eddie finishes for you, and Steve catches on immediately, that mischievous grin matches yours.

“If you wanted a kiss so bad all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” Steve replies with that puff in his chest, always so sure of himself.

You giggle softly, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek as you lean away from Steve’s reach, looking over at Eddie and back at him.

“Not me, Steve.” You reply sickeningly sweet, eye flicking up knowingly toward Eddie, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

You weren’t oblivious to the interest that Steve tried so desperately to hide any time he was around Eddie—the teasing, the lingering looks, the constant need to piss him off just to keep him talking. Eddie was just as bad, constantly feeding into whatever game Steve was playing at. They had been friends before, somewhat—but whatever this had become, it brought you all closer. Though, it wasn’t your fault that they were so inherently stubborn and avoiding the fact that they, for a lack of better words, wanted to fuck each other.

And maybe that was a strong way to put it, but they almost seemed scared—scared that it would make you feel a certain way. They were both always so careful with your feelings, two of your closest friends, but your annoyance was at it’s peak and you really couldn’t take it any longer.

“Each other.” You say simply, wagging your finger between the two. “But, of course, drop the pants first.”

“That’s not funny.” Steve retorts.

Eddie shrugs, “I mean, I don’t care.”

You shrug at Steve, pointing at Eddie. “You heard him—get to smoochin’, Steve.”

Eddie laughs at Steve’s shy hesitation, yanking gently at the open hem of his pants, fingers grazing his half-hard cock.

“Come on, big boy,” Eddie teases, smirk pulling at his features, “all talk and no game—seriously?”

That’s what does Steve in, never one to back down from a challenge. He cradles Eddie’s head the same way he does yours, fingers disappearing into his long curls as he pushes toward him, slotting his top lip between Eddie’s, sucking at his bottom gingerly.

It’s just a taste—something to entice Eddie, but it doesn’t take much. He pulls back with a breath, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before diving in fully, tongue splitting Eddie’s mouth open without hesitation, hands idly working at his jeans to shove them down, underwear following as he steps out of them in a fumble, the fabric getting caught at his feet. Eddie takes a little longer, belt snapping in the air as he yanks it from the loops and strips himself too.

“Shirts too?” Steve asks, not directed at any particular person, but you answer seeing as how Eddie is so clearly distracted by Steve’s lips, his neck, the soft pattern of freckles that trace his face.

“Yeah, yeah—“ Your own breath is caught in your throat, despite how good you are at keeping your composure.

This was definitely meant as a joke, maybe a quick peck or two before you’d put an end to their misery—but that wasn’t the case at all.

You felt like you were intruding, but your body was frozen in place and part of you forget the entire cause of this, glancing down at their slowly hardening cocks, shirts being simultaneously ripped over their heads before they fell right back into, Eddie’s hands squeezing along the side of Steve’s neck as he kissed him, letting out the soft sated noises he makes when he’s enjoying himself, eyes closed shut.

Steve’s hand grazes carefully over his own cock, his fingers barely grazing the head of Eddie’s as he squeezes at the base, bringing his fingers up to drag over the tip, openly groaning into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie chuckles, biting playfully at Steve’s lip, emitting a strained grunt from his chest—and then he’s speaking to you, startling you out of the trance you’ve fallen into, watching two of your best friend’s going after each other so eagerly.

“What’s the verdict, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, pulling away slightly to look at you. He sees the gape in your mouth, the glaze over your eyes and he can’t help it, “Oh shit—you’re into this, aren’t you?”

Steve turns his attention too, “Is that even a question? Look at her.”

“Someone had to force you two to stop ignoring what was obviously there,” You defend, “—I’m not gonna choose, by the way.”

“Oh, come on.” Steve complains, pulling away from Eddie briefly—he’s so unashamed in his nudity that he turns to you, “seriously—what’s it gonna take?”

You shrug stubbornly.

Steve glances over at Eddie, whose pupils are blown to hell with arousal.

“Your bed big enough for three, Munson?” Steve asks, sending you a vivacious smile that makes you blush, shrinking away from him slightly. “We’re gonna settle this.”

“Uh, yeah—should be.” Eddie nods, “But if we’re about to settle who’s better in bed, that’s a given.”

It was definitely not a given—because as much as you’d like to go for one or the other, they were making it impossible.

“Is this too much?” Eddie asks, shifting between your legs as he stretches your thighs open. Steve’s settled behind you, propping you up slightly as he tilts your head up, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation toward this.

“I feel like I should be asking you two that question,” You admit, smiling softly as Steve tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, smiling down at you, “this is my fault.”

“You good with this, Harrington?” Eddie asks idly, kissing at the inside of your thigh before nipping at the skin, causing you to squirm, gasping involuntarily.

Steve nods, making an affirming noise.

“You think you can handle both of us?” Steve asks endearingly, though it’s edged with something else

“At the same time?” You ask incredulously, “No fuckin’ way—“

Eddie’s tongue slides through the center of your cunt, biting gently at your folds. “I don’t think that’s what he means.”

“Good to know it’s on your mind though,” Steve comments, “maybe we’ll try that next time.”

Eddie pulls away briefly, laughing into the apex of your thigh. Steve’s fingers trailing down your bare chest, over the pudge of your stomach until his fingers reach your clit, rubbing slow circles until he can feel your breath starting to quicken. Eddie dives back in soon after, his tongue dipping into your entrance, lapping up the thick juices, sounding shamefully wet already. His nose nudges Steve’s finger, the pressure it applies is fucking sinful, causing you to moan openly, a hand wrapping around Steve’s bicep for support. His eyes never leave your face, so when your eyes go searching, he’s right there waiting.

“So, here’s the plan,” Steve explains—and considering he’s a lot more experienced than both of you, it makes sense, “Eddie’s gonna fuck you first, then me—then you’ll have to make your decision, alright?”

“No promises.” You mumble, before Steve’s nudging your face back up again, eyes darkening.

“You will.” Steve decides, “Trust me.”

Eddie moves up, leaning back on his thighs as he rustles around in his drawer for the spare box of condoms—because in hindsight, there was no way he could’ve prepared for this. So, of course, he’s all out.

“Hey—it’s fine,” You assure him, hand pulling his face toward you, “I trust you—considering I’ve been on birth control for the past year I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“You always make me wear condoms.” Steve grumbles from above, earning a light shove from you.

“Well, Eddie isn’t going around fucking other girls.” You tell him lightly—it doesn’t come off as catty, more matter of fact. Eddie laughs, closing the drawer.

“So, one point me,” Eddie says, pointing toward himself, before shoving a giant goose egg at Steve, “Harrington, zero.”

The conversation dies rather quickly as Eddie settles back down, nudging the head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pressing it along your clit, sliding up through your folds in an effort to drive you mad—it always does, his face lighting up every time. Steve’s not watching you anymore either, eyes lingering toward Eddie, roaming the expanse of his body, his face. He’s never watched another man fuck before, despite his confidence. Steve’s had a threesomes before, though very few and far between, never like this. His sexuality wasn’t something he always openly discussed, no one ever questioned it either. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he even knew what it was. But, he was attracted to you—and Eddie.

Eddie pushes in slowly, face scrunching up in concentration as it always does—it’s almost like Steve wasn’t even there to him, his mouth coming down to latch onto your neck, kiss you gently, savor the sweet taste of your skin. Sex with Eddie is always slower, more sensual, and maybe you could enjoy it if Steve wasn’t snickering above you so flippantly.

“Dude,” Eddie complains, thrusts slowing as he glances up at Steve briefly before glancing down at you helplessly, “either get busy or get out.”

“Actually,” You pipe up, looking at Steve, “talk to him, Steve—god knows you never shut up when we’re fucking.”

Steve snorts softly, peering up at Eddie from underneath his lashes, smiling dangerously.

“It’s nice, yeah?” Steve inquires, eyebrows jutting up slightly in question, nodding toward you. “Probably the best you’ve had.”

Eddie laughs weakly, his thrusts increasing slightly as he pulls at your thighs, hooking them around his hips more securely. He was gawking up at Steve, leaving you to watch the show with baited breath, eyes squeezing shit every now and then when Eddie hit that particular spot inside of you.

“It’s the only,” Eddie admits, “but it’s fuckin’ perfect. Pussy’s fuckin’ perfect.”

And he’s never been a savant with words, but damn if that doesn’t send an immediate jolt of heat to your core, moaning brokenly.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Steve asks you, breaking his connection with Eddie briefly to glance down, “I’m not even kissing him and it’s driving you crazy.”

You nod dumbly, Steve’s attention flicking back toward Eddie.

“Tell me how she feels.”

Eddie scoffs lightly at that. Eddie’s always talkative during sex, but not in the same way Steve is—Steve is always about praise and making you blush after every other word, while Eddie has no ability to keep his burgeoning thoughts inside, telling you something annoying about his day or his favorite song that week; it’s all very mundane but it’s Eddie.

“Tight, fuck—“ He sighs, gripping your hip harshly as he moved his hips into you faster, face scrunching up slightly as he glared at Steve, who’s smirk hasn’t faded at all, “god, warm too. So fuckin’ warm and soft—“

You whimper desperately, finger squeezing into Steve’s forearm as Eddie thrusts into you, shoving you up Steve’s chest slightly, their own faces nudging together from the close proximity they were in.

Steve nods knowingly, his lips grazing Eddie’s plush ones, pulling back slightly when Eddie leans forward. “It’s not fair to her,” Steve says in a hushed tone, but you quickly respond with a shake of your head.

“Fuck, please,” You beg, “it’s so hot.”

They both laugh at that, forcing you to giggle despite how close you were to your own orgasm. Eddie presses his lips against Steve’s this time, initiating the kiss as he moves against you, fingers gripping you impossibly tighter as Steve’s tongue traces his bottom lip before slipping inside.

It’s messy, all spit and battling tongues as Eddie's hand struggles against the mattress to keep him upright, limbs shaking from execution and the coiling heat in his stomach, grunting into Steve’s open mouth.

“Gonna come,” Eddie whines, “fuck, I’m gonna come—“

“Come inside her.” He tells him.

It does Eddie in immediately, losing his rhythm. Steve’s quick, sneaky in his motions as his hand ghosts over your clit—the attention was never lacking, it’s the one thing you appreciated the most about him. Your orgasm hits you quick, fleeting, eyes connecting with Eddie briefly as he spills inside you, fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave bruises. Surely they would, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Steve rubs your arms comfortingly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as you come back down, head spinning slightly.

“Still with us?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb along the side of your cheek until you connect eyes with him, offering him a small nod. He grins, “Good, my turn.”

Eddie moves slowly, still reeling from the intensity of it all, feeling floaty as he moves to settle behind you. Steve sits up as he takes Eddie’s place in front of you, leaning back on his heels as he lifts you up into his lap, forcing a small gasp from your chest. His fingers find your cunt, rubbing through the mix of your slick and Eddie’s as he pushes it back up inside of you where it starts to spill out.

“Good girl,” He chides, “I need you to keep it all in until we’re finished.”

Steve grips the base of his cock, pushing inside you slowly as Eddie pulls your hair aside, mouthing at the line on your shoulder, your neck, lazy and gentle kisses to remind you that he’s still there.

“Oh fuck,” Steve groans, “s’not fair—you’ve been letting Munson here fuck you without a condom and deprived me of this—“

“Stipulations, Steve.” You sigh, face scrunching up as he lifts you slightly, wrapping your legs around his hips until you have no choice but to throw over the control to him.

“Can’t help that you're a whore, Harrington.” Eddie chuckles, eyes connecting briefly as removes his lips from your skin, “—tell ‘em, sweetheart. Tell Steve how fuckin’ amazing it feels to have me inside you.”

You nod in agreement, a jerky motion of your head as Steve rams into you harshly, pulling a strained whimper from your lips, adjusting your arms around his neck for purchase. Eddie pushes in impossibly closer—Steve buries his face against the other side that Eddie isn’t occupying, leaving a faint bruise in the skin before pulling away, surprisingly met with Eddie’s lips.

“So good.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper, words failing to reach you, gasping sharply at the feeling of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your clit, still reeling from the previous orgasm. You could feel it though, that deep seated ache in your belly that was lingering there, waiting. Eddie’s other hand is pulling at Steve’s neck, tongue forcing itself past his lips and devouring him on the spot—if there was one thing about Eddie, he could take your breath away with a kiss, which was evident in the way Steve could barely keep up, having seemingly met his match with Eddie.

“Fuck, it’s too—sensitive, I’m gonna—“ You moan devastingly loud, both of them breaking briefly to attend to you—not that they weren’t already doing so, but they’re lips are puffy and red from kissing each other and they can barely keep their eyes for one another.

You’ve created a monster—but, it was a necessary evil. They had been walking around each other for weeks, tiptoeing around the topic, becoming more and more territorial over you to rile the other one up, it was only a matter of time.

“Fuck, yeah—just like that, baby.” It’s the only nickname that Steve calls you that makes your stomach flutter, his voice softer than normal. Eddie leans in too, fingers still rubbing persistently at your clit as he breaths over your ear, murmuring a soft—

“Look at him,” Eddie comments quietly, “he’s a mess.”

And he was—for a brief second, you didn’t even recognize him. Steve was normally so well managed and put together that the helpless look on his face was completely unfamiliar. His head fell back lazily, pumping into you a finally few times before he’s coming with a soft grunt, letting Eddie work you through your second orgasm—it’s overwhelming, almost too much, feeling your nails dig into the skin of Eddie’s thigh as you curse out a string of obscenities, chest heaving as you came down.

Eddie groans slightly, falling back on his mattress as you follow into a fit of laughter, neither of you able to calm yourself until Steve is settling by your side, staring you both down with a comical look of disbelief.

“So, do you have your answer now?” Eddie interjects beside how valiantly you’ve tried to avoid the topic. “Or, do we need to go again?”

And there’s only one real way out of it.

“Yeah,” You nod, “Me.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit.” Steve quickly recovers, flipping down beside you both, shuffling his pants back on lazily, while you and Eddie couldn’t be bothered. “That’s such a cop out.”

“Are you disagreeing with me?” You press further, the lilt in your voice coming off as a warning.

Eddie laughs softly behind you, “Don’t do it, Steve. You’ll regret it.”

And for once in his life, he doesn’t have a comeback.

“Okay, but back to the original question—“

“It’s Steve.” You admit, earning a dramatic gasp from Eddie, hand clutched over his chest. “Look, you two made me choose, you can’t be mad—“

“You could always try it out for yourself, Munson—if you have doubts.” Steve teases, leaning over you slightly to peer at Eddie, eyes raking his body.

“Mmm, but don’t get your ego up,” You warn him, waving a careful finger at him before pointing at Eddie, “Eddie’s technique is—“

“Are you saying I can’t fuck?” Steve huffs out a laugh, “After that?”

“Eddie’s just—eager.” You smile knowingly, watching as Eddie blushes a deep red, his hand covering himself indecently, the blood rushing to his cock again. “Like, really eager.”

Steve grins menacingly, “Clearly.”

You made a noise of discontent, “Let’s just hope they take after you—all that beautiful hair, cute button nose,” You poke his nose gently, watching his face scrunch up. “But seriously, Eddie, this isn’t something to joke about. This is a lifelong commitment.”

“Baby, I’m committed to this, as long as you need me, as long as our kids need me.” His voice is raw, like he’s holding back emotion. It was often that you saw him like this, always holding himself together for you—not the other way around. You frowned slightly, moving your hand to cup his face, rubbing at the apple of his cheek with your thumb, smoothing out his worry lines.

“Let’s try, then.” You say softly, “We’ll see where it takes us.”

.ೃ࿐

“Fuck, baby—God, I love you so much.” His thrusts are slow, but forceful, taking his sweet, sweet time. He's making those soft noises into your shoulder, fingers digging into the delicate skin of your thigh, hip pulled up higher on one particular snap of his hips, forcing his name out in a cry, and then again, and again.

"Eddie, please," You beg for no real rhyme or reason, you just wanted him--wanted him to hold you, kiss you, bring you right to the brink of pleasure and back again, wanted to be consumed by him, "please."

It's a silent plea, the words hanging off the tip of your tongue. Your hands grip the sheets in anguish, the feeling of being so full off of Eddie's dick that you can't even think straight. Sex was always special with him, he always made sure to take care of you.

"You drive me fuckin' crazy." His voice is strained, barely above a whisper. "Just want to fuck you full--want to see how good you'd look carry my babies." It was different from the usual dirty talk, but given the subject matter, it made all the sense in the world. It peaked an interest in you that you had no idea existed, not until he's speaking those words to you, in the confines of the four walls of your bedroom, a place sacred for you and him. "Can't even think how beautiful you'd look, all round and pregnant."

You try to force the small bubble of laughter back down, but it escapes you. It feels ridiculous, but you can't find it in you to ask him to stop. "What? Too much?" Eddie asks, coming back to earth for the time being, having lost himself in the moment.

"No, no." Your breathless when you answer, hands resting against your chest as his pace slows again, taking the chance to look you in the eye. "It's--it's really good. I don't mind."

"Good." He agrees, leaning forward to nip at the skin on your jawline, hands gripping your waist, thumbs barely grazing the apex of your thighs, pulling you flush against him, burying his dick as deep as it would go. "Gotta make sure it all stays in, right?"

You nod earnestly, bottom lip pulled between your teeth, gasped pulled out of your chest on a particularly rough thrust of his hips. "Need you to come in me, baby." Your voice is wrecked, "Want you to come in."

Eddie's fucking up into you with fervor, somehow still maintaining his soft exterior in the way he's peppering kisses along your chest, your face, until he's pulling you in for a deep, bruising kiss that leaves you moaning into his mouth, his hand reaching between the both of you is an afterthought, until he's bringing you to an orgasm quicker than you expect, clinging on to him like your life depended on it. "Oh, Eddie, baby—" You sob, unexpectedly overcome with emotion.

Eddie comes almost immediately after, it hitting him just as hard, hips buried to the hilt inside of you. The thing about Eddie, despite how often he speaks up during sex, is almost silent when he comes. His eyebrows knitted together, mouth hung open slightly, eyes shut tight—like he can’t seem to catch his breath for a moment. He collapses on you, still mindful of his body weight, before rolling off onto his side.

It isn’t until a few seconds after that he realizes you’d been crying, a mess of tears and small, quiet sobs.

“Hey, hey—“ His voice is soothing, a soft hush that you found helped keep you grounded. He always knew just the right way to comfort you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You respond, wiping away the few tears that had ran down your face. It seemed silly, the idea that you could get so emotional out of nowhere, but the thing was—you couldn’t help how loved Eddie made you feel. “Everything is perfect.”

And it was, it truly was. Your life, his life—it melded together perfectly.

“I love you,” It was his special way of saying ‘goodnight’ or ‘sweet dreams’, but it also meant exactly what he wanted to say, those three little words being the driving force in your relationship. It was reassurance on bad days, the feeling of fondness on the days you couldn’t stop laughing, but it was also the feeling of anticipation, of what you had to look forward to in your future together, “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

You lean forward slowly, kissing the bridge of his nose. His eyes were heavy, half closed—both from exhaustion and post-orgasmic bliss.

“I want this to work, but part of me—” Eddie laughs into your cheek, hiding his face away from view, “I really just want it to fail a few times so I can fuck you like that again.”

“Eddie!” You squeal, swatting him playfully against his arm. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Would fuck you again, right now, if I wasn’t so tired,” You laugh, burying his face into your chest, running his curls through your fingers. It helped him fall asleep faster, he speaks through a yawn, “but, that’s why there’s always tomorrow.”

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding your head gently. He watches the back of your head bob, spreading the length of his hands over the sides of your waist, digging into the flesh there, leaning forward slightly to apply pressure, absently rubbing the front of his jeans against the curve of your ass.

He doesn’t say anything, almost like he can’t be bothered to notice. The assault of his hands continue, too fucking satisfying to ask him to stop now; you wouldn’t even if you needed to. He was a fucking smoke show, despite his constant denial, you knew exactly what Eddie was all about.

Selfless but selfish, indulging in the things he cared about but always worrying about the feelings of others. So undoubtedly considerate in his relationship with others, he was the kind of person you could rely on, love, see yourself spending the rest of your life with—romantically or platonically. It didn’t matter to you.

But with his hands on you now, one blunt into the night, that haze in your brain was pointing all signs of ‘god, i’m so fucking horny right now’ and you’ll be damned if you have to starve yourself of that feeling. Eddie feels it too, with how eagerly he jumped at the chance to touch your bare skin, dig his fingers into the soft, meaty flesh—that, and it gave the perfect view of your ass.

And you’re not sure when his hands stop, the only real contact he was making was the shallow thrust of his hips against your backside, far enough away that it wasn’t at all satisfying. It was torture.

He’s lost his train of thought, eyes nearly shut as his hands linger but never move, he doesn’t even feel in control of his own body.

“Eddie,” You speak softly, head turned back to look at him, though the angle was strained. He gives a small ‘huh’, eyes half lidded as he finally makes eye contact with you, “still with me?”

“Sorry,” He says, clearing his throat of the muck the smoke had left behind, his high peaking at this point, having been a while since you’d both finished off the joint, “you know how it gets when we smoke, sometimes.”

You know all too well; the exploring hands, kisses stolen in-between shared thoughts and words, the way Eddie would beg and beg to have his head between your thighs, just to get a small taste of you—the mix of weed and whatever ecstasy Eddie was trying to taste as he devour your cunt, greedily licking up every last drop of you.

You two never talked about it. It just was.

He enjoyed the way you’d take him in his mouth, almost lazily, still showing just how good it could feel outside the boundaries of his own hands, letting him fuck into your mouth earnestly.

It never got the point of fucking, though, ever.

It was the one boundary you both knew came with consequences, small or large, that needed to be talked about. But right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care, seeing the desperate expression on his face.

He’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly.

“I’m so fucking hard right now,” Eddie says honestly, chancing a glance down at the zipper of his jeans, his dick straining uncomfortably against the constricting material, “don’t mean to be, sweetheart.”

“What do you want, Eddie?” You ask gently, voice soft as his hands rise higher, almost touching the underside of your breasts where they’re pressed against the mattress.

“You.” He sighs openly, leaning his body over the expanse of yours, covering your back like a blanket. He’s so drunk off his own desperate need to for release that he’s grinding against your ass, harsher this time. The thick material of his jeans is uncomfortable against the silk of your shorts and if he really wanted to do this, he was going to do it correctly, that way it was enjoyable for both of you.

“Take your pants off.” You urge—and you can’t believe the speed at which he races to discard of the unnecessary clothing. You make an attempt to turn, but you’re stopped by the touch of his palm, pressed against the middle of your back.

“No, like this,” He insists, adjusting your ass until it’s positioned where he likes, cover bunched up underneath you for support. Despite his hazy brain, he still had the sense to be sweet, “you look so pretty like this.”

And he’s speaking nonsense, you think.

“Such a cute little ass.” He smiles satedly, hands gripping at the flesh gently, the front of his boxers pressing against you, the hard line of his dick was a shock to your system, despite being ready for it.

And you want to tilt your hips, assist in the grind of his dick against the clothed curve of your ass, help him reach whatever release he was after.

Sometimes he wanted quick and fast; the senseless type of orgasm that left you both gasping for breath after. Other times it was slow, moaning into each other’s mouths as you found that ecstasy together.

He grunts softly, almost frustrated. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your hand gliding against the outside of his palm where it had a steady grip on your hip.

“Not enough,” He pouts dismally, movements stopping slightly, “God, I just wanna—“ He takes a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling closed as he thinks on his next words, “I really wanna fuck you, sweetheart.”

And the words are like a weight lifted off your shoulders, like hearing him say it made the decision so much easier; not afraid to cross that boundary anymore. You wanted it just as much as he did.

“Okay,” You nod slowly, turned slightly to look back at him, and he looks so fucking sweet, the way his eyes soften at the sight of you, “yeah, if you really want to.”

Eddie doesn’t waste much time, pulling at the thin material of your shorts and panties in one go, lingering on the sight of your bare ass, “Even better like this.” He says, admiring the way your neck blushed at the comment.

“Condom, Eddie.” You remind him, high but not high enough to remember that you definitely did not need the aspect of any unnecessary and unwanted surprises showing up in your life. He fetches the small foil wrapper from his bedside table, you try to ignore the jumbo size box stuffed in there.

That was a question for another time.

Eddie doesn’t spend time trying to strip any further, leaving you naked from the waist down, and pulling his boxers down just enough so they’re tucked under his balls, enough room to allow him to get where he needed.

He’s eager with how quickly his fingers slip through your folds, gathering up the embarrassing amount of slick against his fingers, making a small noise of acknowledgment before saying, “Always so fucking wet, aren’t you?”

Normally, you could keep it together, comeback something with a bit more snark, but you could only offer a small ‘uh huh’, letting one of his thick digits sink inside of you, so deprived of anything inside you for the past few months that your pussy squeezes around his finger greedily.

He sets a gentle pace, curling his finger as he went, a consistent pump in and out of you, before he’s slipping in another finger—it’s a beautiful stretch, causing you to gasp out, keening back against his hand. “Fuck, those fingers—“

“Made for you,” He comments absently, fingers working you open so easily, like this was normal for the both of you; and while some of it was, this was still all so new, “always so greedy, yeah?”

And you’re not sure if he’s talking to you directly, but you answer a weak ‘yes’ anyways.

He works you over until you’re panting, begging for him to put you out of your misery, feeling deplorable with how much he enjoyed teasing you.

“Just fuck me already, please.” You snark impatiently, throwing the wrapper back at him.

He quickly rips it open with his teeth, removing and rolling the thin latex over himself, adjusting most of his weight on one arm as he uses the tip of his cock to glide through your folds, not wasting any time as he slides in, almost buried to the hilt.

If you weren’t so blasted out of your mind, you would’ve fought him over it, but you could sense how eager he was to be buried inside of you.

He groans loudly, the grasp on your hips tighter than before, nearly bruising. He rocks his hips testingly, listening closely to the small gasps that escape your lips, almost too quiet—he can’t have that, he wants to hear you fall apart so badly.

“Never thought it would be this good, sweetheart.” He says honestly, the slow and steady rock of his hips leaving you grasping at the downy comforter, face shoved into the blanket to stifle your moans. “I mean, that pussy’s always been sweet—but it just takes me so well.”

“Yeah?” You answer pathetically, a small hiccup as he thrusts into you particularly rough.

“Wish you could see it,” He says, watching the way your cunt swallows him up, so mesmerized by what the fuck was happening that he has to take a moment, eyes rolling back into his head as he sits with the feeling, your soft moans like music to his ears, “taking me so well, baby.”

And that really shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but your pussy clenches around him at the endearment, causing Eddie to curse out, delivering another rough thrust into you.

“So good,” He murmurs, body now leaned over you almost completely, fucking into you with earnest, the slide of his body against yours, warm and sticky skin against yours—it was overwhelming in all the best ways.

You reach behind you, desperate to hold onto a piece of him; anything. Your hand finds his hair, grabbing loosely on a handful of strands, his mouth ghosting over the back of your neck as he groans, his hands digging into the pillow on either side of your head.

You never had any exceptions on what it would be like to be fucked by Eddie, sober or not—but it’s indescribable, so many emotions hitting you all at once, and you want to cry from the absolute sheer amount of pleasure you’re body was taking, but also because Eddie was so fucking soft, while still managing that primal need he had.

“Always dreamt of fucking you.” He says without thinking.

And maybe that could ruin your friendship. But, maybe it wouldn’t. You answer with a pathetic moan, another broken sob. “Yeah?” You force out, “Just like this?”

“Every way,” He admits, hand sneaking around to your front, over the sensitive bud of your clit. It’s the first time he’s showed it any attention all night, but you can’t find it in you to complain, gasping at the quick, tight circles he makes, “any way.”

“I’m close, Eddie—“ You warn, hips bucking desperately against his hand as he continues to fuck into you, hips quick and sloppy, on the precipice of his own orgasm.

“Yeah? Gonna come with me, sweetheart?” It isn’t meant to sound like a challenge, but you take it that way, nodding quickly.

His thrusts are wild, pounding into you so relentlessly that you don’t even have time to catch your breath, the two fingers pressed against your clit, quick and precise motions—that’s what sends you over the edge.

“Fuck,” Eddie swears, the last clench of your walls against his cock was all he needed, spilling into the condom, still buried inside you. He holds you close, letting you ride the wave of your own orgasm, nearly in tears by how hard it hits you.

“I’m okay.” You let him know, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, groaning in protest at the feeling of him slipping out of you, discarded the condom in the trash at the corner of his room.

You reach for you shorts, ready to hightail it out of there and get home, much like you usually did after these situations. But, Eddie wasn’t going to let that happen. Not this time.

He shakes his head, making a soft noise as he grabs into your wrist, motioning for you to lay back down, finding your way into the nook of his arm, settled closely against his clothed chest.

“You’re not getting away that quickly,” He complains, kicking his blanket up until it’s covering you both, “I still want to hang out.”

It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, the concept of hanging out now completely out the window, at least it seemed that way. But again, Eddie didn’t care—carrying on with conversation like normal, like he hadn’t just fully wrecked every thought process you’d had, body so fucked out that all you could was lay there, pliant to him.

“We gotta smoke like that more often.” You joke, giggling softly, eyes glancing up to stare into his own deep, brown ones.

“Sweetheart, I can fuck you like that whenever you want—I don’t need to be high.” He points out and you could almost kiss him. Almost.

“We’ll see about.” You reply back coyly, fingers dancing up the side expanse of his chest, thumb catching at the bottom of his lip, which he bites teasingly.

It only takes about a half hour before Eddie has you spread out over his lap, fucking up into you lazily.

“I gotta ask,” You say, breaking the blanket of silence, “Why do you have so many condoms?”

Not to say that Eddie wasn’t pulling—he had to be, but it seemed like overkill.

“Wayne really hates the idea of kids. He just wants me to be safe.”

“Dad,” Her voice drags, soft and melodic as she stares up at him in annoyance, “breakfast?”

“Shit—right,” Eddie facepalms in frustration, turning to rummage through the fruit bowl on his counter, picking out a semi-ripe banana and offering it to the girl, “that’ll do.”

“Language,” She sings, using her brute strength to rip open the peel, a small grunt escaping her, “—you owe a dollar to the jar.”

It still amazes him how well-spoken she is for her age, five nearing six and still able to keep up with him in conversation and sometimes even leaving him speechless, her comments just as fiery as his own. She did a good job keeping him in check, grounded, and never taking himself too seriously.

“Ri,” He begs, “you’re cleaning me out.”

“You know the rules, dad.” She smiles, taking a ferocious bite of her banana, speaking with a full mouth, “pay up, please.”

Eddie huffs begrudgingly, swiping his wallet from his back pocket and plucking out a single collar, slipping it into the jar on the shelf near their front door, the thing was bursting at the seams almost.

“Okay so,” Eddie turns back toward her, “what did we talk about?”

“Manners—please and thank you,” She says, counting her with tiny fingers, “no mean looks to the other kids, and—“

She stops, the memory spilling her brain.

“And no F bombs from you either.” Eddie warns, poking softly at her chest. “Even if it was only once.”

“It was part of the song—“ She argues, mouth turning down at the corners in frown.

“Riley.” Eddie says more sternly, causing her to shrink slightly.

“Okay,” She answers softly, taking smaller bites of the banana until it’s nearly gone, she glances at the digital clock on the microwave and glances back at her dad, who still seems completely frazzled, “—I thought school started at eight.”

“It does.” Eddie nods, slipping his wallet back into his pocket and gathering his things for work; lunch, tools, although surely he was still missing something.

“Look.” She tells him, finger pointing just past his head.

Eddie turned, eyes widening at the numbers appearing back to him.

7:50. 

It was the first day and he was already starting off on the wrong foot, but given his track record, he couldn’t really be surprised. 

Eddie quickly lifts Riley from the counter and places her down, letting her run for her backpack on the couch—a faded, black backpack that Eddie got from Wayne a few weeks ago; money was tight, but he always tried to make the best of their situation. He ironed a few of his old patches from his favorite bands he had stored away and even the one he’s gotten made of his old band as a joke, a true one of a kind. He wanted to save it for something special—or someone. Luckily, that was Riley.

“Alright,” He says, clapping his hands together loudly, “let’s go, go, go.” 

Riley’s feet pitter patter underneath him as he chases after her, urging her out of the trailer—the one he rented out just beside his uncle, as much as he’d hoped to get out of this town, he couldn’t think of a better place to be held up in.

Eddie’s never been a stickler for rules—and he makes it with a couple minutes to spare, but no one needed to know about him driving a smidge over the speed limit to get Riley to school on time. 

He feels immensely underdressed around the other crowd of parents—and noticing the one obvious factor, most of them were women. He realizes it shouldn’t matter much, but it was also painfully obvious that he was all over the place, clothes slightly dirtied from grease stains and general car grossness. It didn’t matter how much he washed them, the stains were coming out. 

Riley’s eager, unbuckling herself and opening her own door before Eddie can even reach her, suffocating his hand in a tight grip as she yanks him along, humming along to a tune that Eddie can only guess is from a morning cartoon. When it came to music she sang her heart out, an obvious sign that he was hers—she loved music.

“Come on, dad,” She complains, Eddie’s feet keeping up with her hurried steps, “we can’t be late.”

“For a five year old you’re incredibly bossy.” Eddie notes, her giggling trailing down the hall as they entered the school. 

She eyes the walls with rapt attention, all decked out with arts and crafts, eye-grabbing from every angle. Eddie had made a point to remember the name of his teacher, at least, if anything. So, when she trails just a little further than she needs to, Eddie’s pulling her back with a hand against her chest.

“Woah, hold your horses.” Eddie chuckles, her body knocking into his chest as he knelt down. “Do you want me to walk you in or are you okay?”

The soft scuff of soles on the tile floor pull Eddie’s attention up, eyes landing on you. You offer a friendly smile amongst the chaos—crying kids, worried parents, and all the restless energy a small child could carry this early in the morning. 

“Hi.” You greet cheerfully, addressing yourself formally, hand extended for him to shake. Eddie’s still squatting at Riley’s side but his hand extends too, enveloping yours in a gentle grip, a polite handshake.

You sense the nervousness of the young girl before you, squatting down to her level as well, “You must be Riley.” You guess accordingly, seeming as she was the last kid on your list to show up, her face beamed with a brightness that was entirely too infectious. You introduce yourself to her too, shaking her smaller hand in greeting. 

“Alright kid,” Eddie pats her back softly, standing slowly as his knees groan in protest. Eddie was nearing his thirties and not nearly as nimble as before, with a mix of aging and his job it seemed like his body was wearing away faster than he liked, “you ready?”

“Oh,” You interrupt, standing too, “you can come inside and see where’s she sitting if you’d like and if you have any quick questions I can answer them.”

Eddie blanks for a moment, but is quickly pulled out of it when Riley tugs at his hand in excitement, “Okay, just a couple minutes, Ri—I can’t be late for work.” Eddie follows along dutifully, narrowly missing the flurry of tiny people that run past him.

Riley arrives at the desk in a hurry, taking her seat and examining her area. “Look daddy,” She points out, “the desk has my name.”

“Yep, baby,” Eddie nods, smoothing out her tattered curls, still beating himself up over not taking the time to make them look better, “can you read it?”

Riley nods enthusiastically, “Riley Munson,” she sounds out, “Duh, I know my name.” 

Eddie chuckles at that and you can’t help but laugh. She was a character for sure, but most of the kids were, blossoming personalities and all.

You interrupt for a moment, leaning down to Riley’s level again, “And we even get to decorate these with cool stickers!”

Riley gasps in joy, staring up at Eddie with wide, glistening eyes.

“She loves stickers,” Eddie tells you, “Uh—I should probably already know this, but what time is pickup?”

“Oh, you’re fine.” You assure him, noting his frazzled state. It was common for parents, specifically first timers. “Three is when we actually let them out, but the line can get pretty long so it’s always better to show up early if you can.”

Eddie nods slowly, glancing around the room. He’s never been one to care what people think of him or his appearance, but in this setting it feels magnified. “Sorry, I feel a little underdressed.”

You quickly shake your head, watching as a young girl approaches Riley. You nod toward the door, silently asking Eddie to follow. He bids her a quick goodbye and a kiss in the crown of her head which she could care less about, already chattering to her newfound friend. 

“Don’t feel like an outcast,” You tell him, “it’s definitely not worth beating yourself up over.”

Eddie had been there his entire life, he wasn’t sure he could ever escape that. 

Oddly, it comforts Eddie for the moment. “Shit—wait shoot,” Eddie fumbles over his words, voice hushed as he realizes his mistake, “I’m Eddie by the way, I probably should’ve started with that.”

You laugh in amusement, nose scrunching up slightly. You’re far enough from earshot that their impressionable ears can’t hear, but it’s still charming that he tries to save himself. 

“Well Eddie,” You say with a lilt to your voice, “if we run into any issues—which I’m sure we won’t—we’ll give you a call.”

Eddie nods, “Okay uh,” He points toward Riley sparingly, “she can be a little—headstrong, so if she gives you problems—“

“I can handle her,” You assure him, leaning forward with a quiet whisper, “it’s kind of my job.”

Eddie smiles at that, a nervous laugh rumbling through his chest. He needs to excuse himself before he embarrasses himself further. 

“Okay, three. I’ll be here.” He tells you, loose curls bouncing over his shoulders as he moves. 

“And I’ll see you then.” You nod, watching as he hurriedly leaves then, bolting out faster that you can process. Considering how daunting days like this could be for parents, he was still handling it surprisingly well. 

The day is just as hectic as you’d expect. A few meltdowns later and a messy lunch with over a hundred rambunctious kids and you’re all out of energy for the day but keep it up until the very last minute of the school day, letting each child pick a sticker to put on their own name tag on their desk—it’s an easy way to give the kids an outlet to express themselves and show of their personality, plus, the kids loved the stickers.

Pickup is gradual, the children leaving in troves until there’s only a few left, lingering around the hall as they wait for their rides. You find Riley perched on a bench outside of your classroom, fiddling with the laces on her shoes, frayed from wear and tear as she attempts to re-tie them. She huffs dramatically when she can’t figure it out, shoulder slumping as she frowns

You approach with a weary caution, taking a seat next to her on the bench. She doesn’t immediately look up at you, kicking the toes of her shoes together. “Stupid,” She grumbled, “stupid shoes.”

“Do you need help?” You ask sweetly.

“I don’t know how,” She expresses dramatically, “I try and the loop doesn’t work. My daddy ties my shoes for me.”

“Well, Riley—would you like me to teach you?” You ask.

She nods enthusiastically, clumsily turning to place her feet in your lap, staring up at you expectantly. You laugh softly, making a show of taking the two strings in your hand, guiding her through the motions as she watches, cataloging every step. She helps you sing, bouncing with energy. 

“Okay, your turn.” You tell her, watching as she fiddles with laces, murmuring a ‘bunny ears, bunny ears’ under her breath as she focuses, tongue slipping out past her lips in concentration. It takes her a moment, struggling to get the lace under the loop, but eventually she gets it. You erupt in a soft cheer, shaking your fists up in celebration. Riley beams a toothy grin that lingers, her eyes squinting with how big she’s smiling. 

You take a peek at your watch, reading it to yourself. 3:15. It wasn’t unusual for late parents, as a few kids were also lingering about, but while they were antsy and anxious to leave, Riley sat quietly, attention turned up toward a spot on the ceiling as she waited. 

You wait a bit longer in silence, listening to Riley sing the lyrics to a faintly familiar rock song, much to mature for her ears—but that can only be the product of her father, which you couldn’t really fault him for. Kids were just as good at paying attention as they were being passive, it was all subjective and only when they wanted to. 

By 3:30 you’re a little more concerned, Riley being the last kid left and not a car or parent in sight.

She sighs exasperated, playing with the loose string on her jumper, “Daddy’s late isn’t he?”

“A little,” You nod, “Is this normal? Does it happen a lot?”

You weren’t trying to point fingers or scrutinize anyone, just simply prodding for more information. 

“My dad works on cars—s’why he looks dirty all the time.” She explains, her words mixing together. “Sometimes the men are mean and keep him at work late.”

“Oh dear,” You sigh slightly, “well, I guess we’ll have to do something to keep us busy.”

You didn’t leave until late into the evening anyways, closer to five—and it wasn’t the first time you’ve had to keep a kid past the normal pickup time, though it had been a while.

“Do you like to color?” You ask curiously.

Riley perks up suddenly, nodding. 

“Well, you’re in luck, Riley.” You tell her, hand held out for her to grab, leading her into the classroom and setting her at a separate table away from the desks. She waits patiently, feeling squeaking against the linoleum as she watches you move around, grabbing a box of crayons and a few spare drawing pages for her to color in. “Can you work on this for me?”

Riley nods again, furiously sifting through the colors and getting to work, scribbling a dark red crayon onto the paper.

You slip away for a moment, crossing the hall to the office and attempting to find someone—anyone that you can check in with, wondering where Eddie was. The secretary pops her head out of the lounge room suddenly, eyeing you curiously.

“Hey, the little one, Riley Munson—has anyone come to ask for her yet?” You ask, “I wanted to make sure she didn’t get lost in the bunch?”

“That’s Eddie Munson’s kid, right?” The older lady asks, a gruffness to her voice from years of smoking. “Huh.”

Huh. You make an annoyed face as she turns her back, walking toward her desk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.

“That kid has never had his life together,” She tells you, having known Eddie when he attended Hawkins, “I used to write tardy slips for him everyday—boy would come in smelling of weed almost every day, he’s always been trouble.”

“Weren’t we all trouble in high school?” You ask daringly.

“Not like him,” She tells you, “repeated his senior year three times and didn’t graduate until he was twenty.”

You roll your eyes subtly, the judgment oozing from her in waves. “Can you just call her emergency number and see if we can get someone to pick her up?”

The older woman responds with a noise, picking up the phone between her brittle fingers, startled rightly when someone bursts through the front entrance, keys jingling in their hand.

“God, I’m so sorry—“ Eddie looks even more stressed out than earlier, his face slightly dirty and a greased up handkerchief shoved in his backpacker, “where is she?”

The old lady watched with a pointed look as you nod toward your classroom, avoiding her gaze as you turn your back. 

“I’ve got her busy in my room,” You tell him, leading him toward your door silently, “she’s been very good considering.”

“I promise it’s not always like this,” Eddie says defensively, “today has just—it’s been a day.”

You stop him just outside the entrance, hand placed gently against his chest to still him.

“It’s okay,” You tell him honestly, “but this can’t be a regular thing. You either need to have someone available to pick her up after school on time or work something out with administration. I don’t mind staying after—but I can get in trouble if she stays too late.”

“Look, I mean it—this is the only time.” He stressed, eyes pleading in hopes that you won’t judge him too harshly.

You couldn’t. You would never. You weren’t in a place to judge anyone. 

You nod in understanding, extending your trust. “She’s coloring—go ahead.” You tell him, letting him walk in before you.

Riley can hear the footsteps before she spots you both, her chair skidding against the floor as she bolts toward the door, barreling toward Eddie. He picks her up with ease, scooping her up onto his hip, coloring pages forgotten. 

“I missed you.” He tells her, fingers squeezing gently at her side. She laughs, hugging him tight despite his dirtiness. 

“I miss’d you.” She says softly, arms squeezing around him even further. Eddie smiles, burying his face into her bundle of curls placed lopsided on top of her head.

Eddie pulls away after a moment, looking over at you. “I’m so sorry.” He apologizes again and you’re starting to sense a theme. 

“No need,” You insist, “but come Monday—“

Eddie nods, “I’ll be on time.”

And for whatever odd reason, you believed him. 

You smile at him then at Riley, features softening as she peaks at you from over Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ll see you on Monday Riley, okay?” You speak to her.

“Yes!” She cheers, leaning over to whisper into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie leans in, laughing at whatever she was saying to him. Eddie pulls away, nodding at Riley in agreement.

“She said you can call her Ri,” Eddie explains, “which is a very prestigious honor, right?” Eddie turns to Riley, her face scrunching up in confusion.

“Prisigious?” Riley repeats in an innocent tone, “Dad, that’s not a word.”

“Oh, it is Ms. Ri,” You respond matter of factually, “prestigious,” You sound out, “it means super important and special, like you.”

Eddie watches the interaction in a happy silence, the exchange more endearing than anything he’s ever witnessed. It had always taken a while for Riley to warm up to new people, which is why he had been so nervous for her first day, but it all seemed ridiculous now after watching the two of you interact. 

“Thank you.” Eddie says suddenly, eyes connecting with yours.

It startles you for a moment, face pulling up in a confused smile.

“For?”

“Not judging, I guess.” He shrugs, “And keeping her company.”

You chuckle softly, “It’s kind of my job, Mr. Munson.”

Eddie grimaces at that, “God—am I that old? We can stick to first names, right?”

And truly, you’re only teasing. You nod in response, waving a warm goodbye to Riley as Eddie grabbed her backpack, shrugging it over his own shoulder.

“Byeeee,” She sings, hand waving over Eddie's shoulder as he triggers her along, more than eager to get her out of your hair, Eddie does mumble to Riley for a moment before she screams out again, “—my daddy said bye too!”

Riley was a character, that was for sure. But seeing her with Eddie, it all made sense.

Eddie keeps his promise, the next month of school going off without a hitch. Riley is there on time, every morning, hell or high water, and she’s just as chipper as you would expect from someone her age. Eddie doesn’t come inside often, only on the few days that Riley has a hard time rolling out of bed, so you don’t see him that often—not that you wanted to.

You totally didn’t want to. Either way, it didn’t matter. 

October is one of the few months that you can enjoy real fun with the kids—holidays always have their positives, as well as their negatives. But, the kids loved crafts and so did you. 

A week out from Halloween and you had purchased a full box of small pumpkins for your kids, one for each, and all the crafts you could imagine—paints, markers, stuff for making silly faces or glitter bombing their pumpkin. You’d made it clear about messes and the kids had followed for the most part.

But, you could only expect so much from a group of six year olds. And in hindsight, you never expected your degree to end up with you constantly hovering around a group of kids hoping they wouldn’t eat the glue sticks or shove crayons up their noses—unfortunately, that was your life. 

You wouldn’t change it for a thing.

And it’s almost peaceful until the time for cleanup comes and there’s a rushed call of your name, the tiny panicked tone sending you into fight or flight, turning on your heels to spot where the voice is coming from.

When you do, it lands on her. Little Riley, covered in paint—her face, hair, clothes, and a boy at her side caught red-handed, quickly dropping the paint when your eyes flick to him. You steady yourself with a deep breath before going back into teacher mode, instructing the rest of the class to sit on the rug at the front of the class room with their legs crossed, grabbing both of the kids gently by the hand and walking them out of the classroom, luckily coming face to face with another teacher who happened to be on break from her class while they attended their specials class, practically begging her to watch the rest of the class for the time being.

“Fifteen minutes, that’s all I need.” You tell her and she agrees.

When you’re finally alone with the two you kneel, taking the younger boy’s hands in yours, calming their insistent shaking.

“You’re not in trouble,” You tell him, Evan, the younger boy responsible, “but do you realize what you did wrong?”

He nods silently.

“I get big emotions too, trust me.” You tell him softly, “But, we can’t take them out on others. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“He made fun of my clothes!” Riley interrupts with a screech, eyes welling with tears. “He said I dress like a boy.”

“Is that true?” You ask him, receiving a shameful nod.

“It’s not fun being picked on,” You explain to him, “how would you feel if Riley said you dressed silly?”

“Sad.” He answers softly. 

“Exactly.” You smile slightly, “Can you apologize to Riley?”

He turns to her, unable to meet her tiny, heated gaze.

“I’m sorry, Riley.” 

You stare at Riley pointedly, her arms crossed over her chest in defiance. There’s a silent pleading that she seems to understand, chewing on her bottom lip as she relents.

“It’s okay.” She tells him, “I forgive you.”

You nod, satisfied. “Okay, Evan—head back to class, please.”

The boy walks slowly, head hung in shame and embarrassment at having been caught and doing what he did—this behavior was all too familiar and not new in any way.

“He’s stupid.” Riley says with a bite, face smeared with paint.

“Riley,” You warn, “we don’t call people that.”

“Did you say anything to him after he made fun of your clothes?” You ask, hoping to get to the bottom of their little squabble.

“I called him stupid.” She says—it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you mask it well, gaze flitting up toward the ceiling as Riley flicks the paint off of her hand and wipes them against her ruined overalls, the shirt underneath barely unscathed. 

“Can I let you in on a secret, Ri?” You ask, kneeling down in front of her. She nods slowly, giving you her hands. You did it often with the kids, finding that it calmed them the quickest. “All boys are stupid.”

Riley smiles slightly, giggling quietly. 

You sigh, taking a glance at her and then her outfit.

“Your dad doesn’t pack extra clothes for you, does he?”

Riley shakes her head, pigtails swinging wildly.

You huff, “Okay—let’s brainstorm.”

“Brain…storm?” Riley asks curiously.

You nod, “Yeah, like…come up with ideas. It’s just a silly word for it.”

Riley ponders for a moment, lips pursing together in thought. 

She sighs after a moment, “My brain is empty, no storms.”

You laugh audibly, a short giggle as you stare fondly at the girl.

“Actually,” The thought hits you suddenly, “I think we have some spare clothes in the office, we could take our chances and see if there’s anything in your size. If not, I’ll have to call your dad.”

“No, no—“ She says hurriedly, “don’t call my dad, please.”

You since her concern, eyebrow raising in question.

“I broke his rule.” She frowns, “I gave Evan a mean look and I called him stupid.”

You smile tensely, trying to weigh how to explain things to her, before settling on, “I think he’ll understand, Ri. But, I’ll try my hardest so we don’t have to.” 

The best you can do is a god awful pair of pink corduroy pants in her size, which she very loudly states she dislikes.

“Ew!” She says in disgust. “Can I stay in these, please?”

“Riley,” You stress, “You have to change.”

She slumps in defeat, not putting up much of a fight. She holds her hands out begrudgingly, making small grabbing fists until you hand them over, quickly skittering off to the bathroom.

When she returns, she looks even more annoyed, but cleaner.

“My face,” She frowns, “it’s sticky.”

“Yep, kiddo.” You nod, taking her ruined overalls and stuffing them into a plastic bag before tying them off, leaving them for Eddie to pick up later. “I’ve got wipes in my classroom and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

It’s a struggle, but you do manage to get most of the paint cleaned up while the other teacher manages your class, holding their attention with a book she read out loud, letting you deal with Riley in silence. Her hair is a challenge, still sticky and hardened with paint—you manage what you can, undoing her pigtails and wiping out as much paint as possible before braiding the hair back nicely and keeping it out of her face. She feels the bumps in her hair curiously, making a face.

“Braids.” You explain. “Have you ever had them?”

“Daddy can’t do them.” She tells you. “I like piggies. But I also like the braids.”

“Well, maybe you can bribe him into learning if you like them a lot.” You tell her, helping her down from the desk she was perched on. “But, I can always do it for you if you really want them on a certain day.”

You urged her back toward the group of kids, watching as she took a seat toward the rear, hands twisted in her lap as she listened quietly—she seemed less comfortable, more outcast than normal, and while Riley had a big personality—it wasn’t showing now. 

When Eddie arrives later that day for pickup, it’s a flurry of emotions. Riley immediately bursts into tears when she sees him, still one of the last kids to be picked up—but he’s not too late.

He stares up at you with a myriad of questions and you hand the dirty clothes over wordlessly. He glances at Riley, nudging her face away from his shoulder. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Riley looks up at you desperately, frown pulling at her face.

“Ri, why don’t you go play over at the table,” You suggest, “the toys are in the bin underneath.”

She nods, letting go of Eddie in an instant.

When she’s finally busied herself, you pull Eddie aside, leaning against the edge of your desk. “There was a little incident today. A boy teased Riley for her clothes and she called him stupid,” You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, “we were decorating pumpkins and there was some paint involved—the other kid spilled paint all over her.”

“And no one called me?” Eddie asks, frustration evident in his face.

You held your hands up defensively, “Riley was very insistent that I don’t—luckily we had some spare clothes in the office.”

“Why—why wouldn’t she want you to call me?”

“She said she broke your rules,” You explain to him, “whatever that means. Regardless, I tried to clean her up as best I could. She still has a bit of paint in her hair.”

Eddie glances over at his daughter, still frowning as she plays. He knew the sadness was temporary, but damn if he wasn’t playing into it. He notices the braids a half second later, glancing back at you briefly and then toward her again.

“Sorry if I overstepped—her hair was a bit of a mess.” You admit to him, “I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

Eddie laughs slightly, “No—it’s fine. I’m at a complete loss when it comes to that stuff.” He scratches at his cheek, grime covered rings leaving a dark mark against his skin in the process. You smile to yourself, pulling a wipe from the packet and handing it over.

“It’s—you got something on your face.” You tell him, pointing to the spot.

“Here?”

“No,” You point again, Eddie moves a smidgen over but still isn’t in the right spot, “—just, here, give me it—“ Eddie hands over the wipe and waits for you to clean away the mark, leaning toward you slightly.

“She’s had a rough day,” You tell him quietly, wiping at his face until it’s gone, tossing the wipe into the trash, “and maybe paint with a bunch of six year olds wasn’t too smart, but I think you’ll really like what she made.”

Eddie eyes you suspiciously, watching as you call out to Riley.

“Hey Ri, did you want to show your dad what you made today?” 

She perks up slightly, skittering over to her desk in hurry as she fetches the small pumpkin before handing it over to Eddie.

“It’s you, daddy!” She beams, pointing out the dark marks that were supposed to be hair, comically wide eyes and a half smile on the front. He turned it, seeing the small group of bats she drew on the back. He smiles, rubbing tenderly at her chin.

“I wasn’t sure what the bats were all about but she insisted.” 

“Oh,” Eddie notes, pulling his sleeve up to show off his inked up arm—and really, it didn’t shock you much, “that’s why.”

“Crap, Ri—I almost forgot,” You tell her, rounding your desk to open the drawer housing the pages of stickers, “I need you to pick out a sticker for your desk.”

She gasps excitedly, yanking away from Eddie without hesitation and running to your side, fingers dragging along the page until she finds the one she wants, letting you pluck it from the paper and hand it over. 

Eddie knows he’ll still have to sit and talk with Riley when they get home to make sure she’s working through her emotions correctly instead of bottling them up—something he was much too guilty of as a teenager. He hates seeing her repeat the same habits he did, doing as much as he could to avoid it.

Eddie’s quick to thank you again and again, a strange habit he’s formed around you. Oddly enough, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop him.

Grocery shopping is always an adventure with Riley. Eddie never had a list of things he needed, more or less just picking out whatever sounded good, but that also meant an unhealthy amount of snacks being piled in the cart. Eddie didn’t have it in him to tell Riley to put things back, knowing she’d pull out the big guns. Some would call him weak—he was, he could admit that. 

“Can you reach it?” Eddie asked, Riley hoisted up onto his shoulders to reach the cereal box on the top shelf. It definitely wasn’t the safest option, but it was working.

“Higher!” She instructed, grunting out as she stretched, “Ha—gotcha!”

Eddie laughs, “Are we good?”

No response, a small amount of wiggling on his shoulders. 

“Ri?”

She gasps suddenly, screaming out your name from over the aisle—Eddie rightfully panics, hoisting her off of his shoulders carefully.

“Riley, you can’t scream in public like that.” Eddie tells her, pulling the cereal box from her grip.

“But…Ms.—“ Riley defends feebly, her fingers pouting to the aisle over.

You did spot her, in fact, giving her a quick wave and a cheeky smile as you pushed your cart down the aisle, making your way through the store. When you round the corner, Eddie and her are still standing there arguing, animated enough that you stand back, not wanting to interrupt.

Eddie stares up at you after a moment, eyes already speaking an apology.

“Stop,” You tell him suddenly, a grin breaching your face, “no apologies, it’s not necessary.”

“I was going to apologize for my child’s lack of filter,” Eddie says, pulling gently at Riley’s ear, “but I guess she was just really excited to see you.”

“As I am you, miss.” You tell her softly, offering out your fist to her. She bumps it gently, giggling up at Eddie.

The silence that settles is bordering on awkward, both of you deciding to speak at the same time.

“So, you shop here—“

“You’re in the way of—“

Eddie chuckles awkwardly, “You first.”

“You’re in the way of the cereal I was going to grab.” You inform, waving toward that side of the aisle.

“Oh, shit.” He curses, quickly shoving his cart out of the way.

“Dad,” Riley sings, a telltale sign that Eddie had done something wrong, “that’s another dollar.”

“How about I buy you a chocolate bar and we call it even?” Eddie barters, staring the small child down.

She contemplates for a moment, “Deal.”

“She’s clever.” You note with a smirk, reaching around Eddie to grab the box of cereal before shoving it in your cart. 

“And a handful.” Eddie adds fondly.

“Dad,” Riley pokes at Eddie’s side, “Dad, daddyyyy.”

“What, Ri?” He asks, turning to her.

“Can we invite her over for dinner?” She asks innocently, a grin appearing on her face, hopeful optimism some would call it. 

“Riley—she’s your teacher, I can’t do that.”

“It’s not against any rules.” You shrug, mouth speaking before your brain can process. “I wouldn’t want to intrude though, that would be very nice of me.”

Eddie quickly answers, “Uh, you wouldn’t actually.”

“He’s making my favorite!” Riley interjects.

“And what’s that?” You ask with a similar enthusiasm.

“Spaghetti!” It was a mouthful for her to say, but you understand her well enough.

You shrug, glancing up at Eddie. “I don’t know, she’s selling me a pretty good dinner.”

“Would you?” Eddie asks, “Want to?”

“I don’t see why not?” You ask redundantly, “I would’ve ended up grabbing a pizza on my way home anyways—so why not some real Italian food?”

Eddie looks at you with an uneasy expression, “I don’t know about real—or Italian, but I promise it’ll be edible.”

“I’m sold.” You admit, slipping out a pen and paper from your purse, “Give me your address and the time I should be there.”

Riley is a tiny ball of excitement, yanking at the unoccupied hand Eddie left by his side as scribbled down on the notepad before handing it back to you. You note the information before slipping it back into your purse. 

“Well Ri, I guess I’ll see you in a couple hours.” You tell her with a smile before looking up at Eddie, “Should I bring anything?”

“No, no—it’ll be our treat, right?” He asks, looking down at his daughter.

“Yep!” She pops the word, bouncing on her heels.

Even being around her energy was enough to exhaust you, so you could only imagine how Eddie was feeling. You offer a friendly wave to both of them before disappearing down the aisle, wondering what the hell just happened. 

The moment you arrive at the trailer park, your heart feels like it’s going to pound out of your chest—not out of fear or nervousness, but mostly out of the unknown. It was the first time you’ve interacted with parents outside of work, not that you made it a habit, but you have befriended a few. It was a natural thing that happened and nothing that ever felt forced—with Eddie, it was strangely comfortable despite how little you knew about him, or Riley, even. 

You pull to a stop outside the pale blue trailer, the front yard a mixture of new flowers and some wilted away, a few small statues of animals that you could guess were a product of Riley. You can hear her on the other side of the door before you even knock, belting out a song at the top of her lungs.

You knock loudly in hopes that Eddie can hear, thankfully he does, opening the door in record time—strangely fast when you take time to think about. You smile at the thought of him having been waiting at the door, then feeling ridiculous for even having that thought.

“You’re just in time,” Eddie says, slightly out of breath, “Riley’s putting on a show in the living room.”

You take in his appearance fully now, unashamed—he’s cleaner obviously, his hair looks more thought out and poised, small ringlet curls falling around his face and his bangs looking straighter, like he might’ve cut them. He’s got a pair of jeans on and a clean shirt, stain free—socks covering his feet, a pile of shoes stuffed by the door. 

You step inside, toeing off your shoes wordlessly and placing your bag and coat on the coat hanger behind the door. Eddie shuts the door for you, nodding in the direction of the noise coming from several feet away. 

“Is that Nirvana?” You ask curiously, turning your head back toward Eddie.

“She’s a character, I know,” Eddie feels the need to state, but that was already blatantly obvious, “it’s one of her favorite bands.”

You shrug, feeling indifferent.

“You don’t like them?” Eddie asks, noticing your stagnant expression. 

“I don’t listen to much music.” You admit, “I don’t really have the time unless it is something from Barney or one of those silly education videos we show the kids.”

Eddie looks pained to hear it, eyebrows shooting up under his bang. Riley notices you then, hopping off of the couch and running toward you, arms wrapping around your legs in a tight hug. 

“You made it,” She says, “daddy said dinner was almost done.”

“It is,” He confirms, setting the plates down on the kitchen table as he wanders around finishing things up, “you can sit, if you want.”

You opt against it, waiting until Riley busies herself with something else, joining Eddie near the kitchen stove, tapping your fingers against the kitchen counter gently.

“Smells good,” You tell him honestly, the scent invading your nose, “I can’t even remember the last time I cooked for myself.”

“She keeps me in check,” He nods behind him, “otherwise I’d be ordering carry out everyday like I was still in high school.”

You smile at that, silently agreeing—it was your current reality, but you also didn’t have the same responsibilities Eddie did.

You look around curiously, eyes falling on the jar placed on the shelf a few feet away, labeled ‘swear jar’ and by the looks of it, it was definitely time for a new one. Eddie looks up briefly to catch you staring at things, chuckling loudly behind you.

“I already know,” Eddie tells you, “It’s a terrible habit and I’ve tried to break it, we’re still working on it, clearly.”

You smile fondly, watching as Riley scattered her toys on the floor. “I try to keep it constrained around the kids, but it slips out every now and then. You just have to get creative, come up with other words—otherwise she’ll be saying fuck in public and I can’t imagine anything more embarrassing.”

Eddie gawks at your vulgar use of the words, face splitting into a subtle smile. “Too late.” He tells you. 

You couldn’t even act surprised. Eddie nods knowingly at your expression, turning off the stove.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” Eddie asks.

“Anything.” You nod.

“Let Riley know the food is done and get her to the table—she can be a little hard headed about it.”

If there was anyone to combat that, it was you. 

It only takes one try, much to Eddie’s obvious frustration as he glares Riley down—the young girl knew exactly what she was doing and he couldn’t fault her for it, she was clever. 

“Do you want a beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen.

You glance over at Riley who’s oblivious to the conversation, dragging her spoon along the empty plate. And as much as you would normally say yes, you can’t bring yourself to do it now.

“Uh no, I’ll be okay.” You tell him, waving your hand dismissively. Eddie shrugs nonchalantly, grabbing himself one.

Dinner is pleasant—and delicious. Riley takes up most of the talking points—her favorite animals, her favorite shows, and all the cool things she’s learned at school, not that you didn’t already know about them. But, she’s also terrible at stopping intrusive thoughts, much like any young kid is, and her questions catch you off guard every now and then.

“Are you married?” Coming from her, it sounds ridiculous—but she’s pointing at the ring on your hand with a curious look, her fingertip dragging over the gem.

“Riley.” Eddie reprimands, “Stop being nosey.”

Eddie was just as curious, but that didn’t matter. 

“No, sweetheart—I’m not.” You tell her honestly with a short laugh and a head shake. “It was a present I got when I finished school.”

Riley’s lips puff out, thinking. “School like I do?—but you’re old.”

Eddie hangs his head slightly, taking a big chug of his beer.

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, “I am.” You nod in agreement, “But no, it’s a little different. It’s school for grownups—it’s how I became a teacher.”

“Oh.” Is all she says, satisfied with your answer. 

There’s a beat of silence before she turns to her father.

“Can I have a ring when I finish school?” She asks innocently.

“Sure.” Eddie agrees, downing the last bite on his plate.

Late dinners had become a habit lately with Eddie’s job not being as convenient as it used to—long hours, angry customers, it was a monotonous cycle but that money was good. Eddie really couldn’t complain, he’d just wished there was more time for Riley.

“Hey, squirt—go brush your teeth and get ready for bed.” Eddie tells her. She slumps a little, frowning over at you.

Eddie gives her a look—you’ve seen it several times before from many parents. Riley sighs in defeat and slips from her chair, stomping away quietly. You glance down at the dishes, then the sink before looking at Eddie. He’s got that distracted stare on his face as he turns, finishing off his beer as he watches Riley disappear into the bathroom.

“Why don’t you help her?” You suggest, “I can clean this up and you can get her into bed?”

Eddie looks uncertain, “No—I can—“

“It’s the least I can do,” You insist, “seriously—it’s not a problem.”

Eddie knows there’s no reason to argue, placing the empty bottle down on the table and meeting up with Riley down the hall, a squeal echoing through the trailer as he bursts through the doorway. 

Eddie’s gotten Riley into a routine pretty easily, so it doesn’t take much for her to fall asleep besides a quick bedtime story while she snuggles up to Eddie before she’s out like a light and he’s sneaking out of her room, pulling the door closed slowly until it finally clicks shut. 

You’d already managed to get most of the dishes washed by then—plates, silverware, cups, save for the giant pot that Eddie had cooked in. 

“I can handle the rest if you need to leave.” Eddie says quietly, voice still low as he walks into the kitchen, flipping off the other lights as he goes. “Also—I’m sorry if you felt obligated to do this. Riley really likes you and sometimes she grows these…attachments.”

You take the clean towel he hands you, drying your hands as you turn to him, hip pressed against the counter as you lean there. “She’s not the first, trust me. I see those kids almost everyday and for the younger ones it’s a little…tricky, I guess.”

“Tricky?” Eddie asks curiously, sensing your apprehension around the word. He tossed the pot into the sink and scrubbed quietly, listening to you talk.

“Some of the kids don’t have the best home life, I try to keep things positive and cheerful—as much as I can, at least. Kids love being surrounded by love and I try to emulate that. The ones with divorced parents or just one even—you can tell they just need someone to understand them.”

Eddie tries not to think about it often—his past, his present, how Riley has to survive this world without her mom. He knows she’ll be safe and protected for the rest of her life, Eddie would make sure of it. But, for a kid to grow up without a mother—he knows the pain personally and it bothers Riley, even at this age and no matter how good she is at masking it.

Eddie huffs out a faint laugh, drying out the dish before placing it on the dish rack next to the sink, pressing his hands against the edge of the counter. 

“I don’t ever mean to press or pry,” You assure Eddie, “but if Riley ever needs anything, tell me. I extend that to all of the parents but—she’s—“

“Different.” Eddie answers for you, a smile pulling at his face. 

“She’s incredibly smart, you know.” You inform him, backing up slowly as he follows, reaching for your things to leave. “She picks up on words like nothing, she can do math in her head really well—you’ve got a tiny little genius on your hands.”

“Yeah—I’ve been helping her with her homework, she keeps telling me we need to brainstorm,” Eddie tells you, throwing his finger up to do air quotes, “when we get stuck on a problem.”

Your nose scrunches up in amusement as you find your coat over your arms, “That was definitely my fault.” You admit.

Eddie follows you out like a gentleman despite the frigid wind, hands shoved deep into his back pockets. He opens your door, the metal groaning in protest—it was an old car, reliable, trustworthy, and as your key turns in the ignition, nothing happens.

Scratch reliable—it was a piece of shit, through and through. 

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, mumbling a low, “Fuck me.”

Eddie takes a step forward, leaning between your open door to poke his head inside, “I can take a look if you want.”

You rub your hands over your face in frustration, looking up at him sheepishly. “I really don’t want to bother you with it.”

“Come on,” Eddie smiles, “I work on cars for a living, I think I’ll survive.”

You wave your hand toward the hood of your car in response. Eddie taps the hood of your car absentmindedly, rounding the front as you pull on the pedal near the floor to pop the hood open. He leans down, out of view, and you can’t help but follow after him, leaning into his space slightly as he examines your engine. 

You wouldn’t even know where to start or what cord goes to what point or however it all worked—fortunately for Eddie, it only takes him a few minutes to figure it out.

Eddie makes a face of concentration as he reaches further inside, pulling at a small part until he can hold it in his hand, inspecting it further. 

“Shit, yeah—“ Eddie says, confirming his suspicions, “you need new spark plugs.”

Your eyebrows knit together in obvious confusion. 

“I can clean them up a bit and we can hope it starts—but you’ll need to buy new ones soon, otherwise this is gonna keep happening.” Eddie tells you, using the end of his shirt to wipe away the built up residue, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Eddie, what the—“ You quickly yank the spark plug from his hand, “that shirt is clean, what are you doing?”

Eddie’s a little startled, given your immediate reaction. He stumbles out an awkward laugh and gently pries the spark plug from your grip. “They’re just clothes.”

And you do feel bad, but it’s become your second nature to stop messes, keep kids clean, and slip into the normal habit of being a teacher and in turn, a bit motherly.

Eddie’s faze doesn’t linger from yours, watching as you deflated slightly. “Sorry—I can’t help it.”

“I get it,” Eddie grins slightly, “but don’t worry, it’s an old shirt anyways.”

Your cheeks run hot, triggered by embarrassment and something you were too afraid to admit.

And if Eddie sees it, he doesn’t say anything. 

He fiddles with the car a moment longer before finally closing the hood, “Try it now.”

It does start—with some moaning and groaning, but it works and that’s satisfying enough for you.

“Thank you.” You tell him, looking up at him from where’s squeezed between the car and the door again, dark grease stains staring you in the face—along with a lot more, but you quickly turn away. 

“No problem,” He shrugs, “—hey, why don’t you bring it to the shop when you have time?”

“Are you sure?” You ask.

It’s a recurring theme with you two, constantly afraid of offending the other or doing something out of line.

“Yeah,” He nods, “It’ll save the hassle of you being overpriced or selling something you don’t need. I can have it done in an hour.”

“Small problem,” You tell him begrudgingly, “I’m pretty sure I work the same hours you do—so that makes it nearly impossible.”

“Are you busy next Saturday?” He asks boldly, no easing into it.

“No.” You answer hesitantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Stop by here and I’ll drive you up to the shop,” He tells you, “I’ve got a set of keys so it won’t be a problem.”

“Do you do this for all your customers?” You ask with a soft laugh.

“Only the special ones,” Eddie replies with a wide grin, bordering on flirtatious, “—Riley would have my head if she found out you needed help and I didn’t at least try.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” You respond teasingly.

Eddie shrugs in response, the smugness written all over his face. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He says, slipping the door closed gently.

You’ve never sat through a longer Sunday waiting for a dreadful Monday to come.

Eddie has a rough start to his morning, which isn’t new, but he tries to make the best of it, even if Riley is having none of it. She sobs most of the time spent getting dressed, not even allowing Eddie to touch her hair, leaving it a tangled mess atop her head. He’s learned to choose his battles, managing to get her ready and to school with enough time to spare that can allow him to drive to work without the constant worry of being late. 

When you spot him you can’t help but smile, less forced and a lot more genuine than most of the ones you gave. 

“Hard morning.” He mouths over Riley’s shoulder, her face tucked into his neck and arms wound tightly around it.

You frown in response, patting Riley’s back as he moves closer, “It’s okay, I hate Mondays too.” You tell her comfortingly. 

“Hey, kid—you’ve gotta let go.” He tells her softly, nudging her away from his neck, “I have to get to work and you have school.”

She doesn’t move—Eddie’s face falls, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth. You hold up a finger to him, asking him to wait. He nods, slightly confused as you walk around him to his back, catching Riley’s gaze. She quickly hides her face, making a small noise.

“Tell you what,” You start, crossing your arms over your chest, “if you let go of your daddy now, I can probably have your hair braided before class starts.”

She peaks her head up slowly and you know you’ve got her attention.

“Daddy, I want down.” She tells him and Eddie scoffs lightly.

“How?” Eddie asks you with a look of disbelief, placing Riley on the floor. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been struggling with her all morning.”

“She probably senses your frustration.” You tell him honestly.

Eddie never took his own emotions into account, looking down at Riley, her hand still latched into his. 

“Besides, kids are complex but really simple,” You kneel down to Riley’s level, grabbing a single stray curl, “they all want, you just have to figure out what it is.”

“I tried touching her hair,” Eddie defends, “she wasn’t having it.”

“Because daddy makes my hair look ugly.” Riley complains softly, staring up at you with earnest eyes. You laugh to yourself, patting her hand and letting her curl her fingers around your palm. 

You look up at Eddie with a sad smile, sending his rapidly growing frustration, nodding at him slightly. “Go—it’s okay.”

He scratches at his forehead, feeling horrible for wanting nothing more than to leave immediately. He prides himself on being able to handle himself well under stress, anger—every god awful emotion imaginable, but he needed a break, even if that meant leaving without a proper goodbye. 

Besides, you did a perfect job at distracting Riley, playing with the ends of her hair as you asked, “One braid or two?”

“Two.” She smiles, bouncing on her heels. “Please?”

“You got it, babe.” You tell her.

You’ve experienced connections with kids before, some stronger than others, but nothing like with Riley. It was hard to comprehend, or fully imagine was capable, but you’re happy to be there for any kid, however they needed you. 

The week remains meltdown free after that and Saturday rolls around quicker than you expect. When you arrive at Eddie’s trailer Riley is nowhere to be seen.

“She’s with my uncle.” Eddie explains. “He’s more like her grandpa—but yeah, he’s keeping her for the night.”

“Oh, okay.” You nod.

“I needed a break.” He admits without prompting, feeling the need to get it off his chest. 

“Look, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” You tell him politely, “I’m not in any place to judge you.”

“I know—I just, nevermind—“ He laughs awkwardly, holding his hand out, “Mind if I drive?”

“Please?" You beg, slapping the keys into his open palm.

The drive is quiet and Eddie can’t be bothered to fill it, relishing in the silence and letting it settle. His hand grips the worn out steering wheel, rings cracking against the leather. He remembers the feeling faintly, the pull in his stomach from anxiety, the fluttering butterfly feeling of the unknown. It only happened once, with Riley’s mom.

It was their first date, a girl Eddie had met by chance at one of his shows at the Hideout—he never expected her to turn his life upside down, but she did.

It feels cheap, thinking this way—that the possibility of you and him having the same experience as he did several years ago could even be possible. He barely knew you, yet he could see it. He saw it then and he saw it now. Eddie’s never believed in soulmates or one true love’s—he still doesn't. But, he’s always believed in taking chances, even if things seemed slim to none. He pushes the thought aside for now, offering a tight smile to your warm one, pulling into the entrance to the shop.

He leaves for a brief moment, unlocking the side door to raise the garage and leave enough room to fit your car inside.

You hate how it feels like you’re back in high school again, sneaking into somewhere you shouldn’t, even though you knew this wasn’t illegal and Eddie worked there. It made you feel giddy—that same naive exuberance spreading throughout your body. 

When you’re finally inside and Eddie can start his work, it’s a waiting game. You wander around aimlessly, finally interrupted by Eddie’s voice, “We have a lobby if you want to sit down.” He offers, using the wrench to point in that direction. 

You shake your head, gradually walking to his side.

“Are you sure it’s safe to wear your rings while you’re doing this?” You ask, pointing at his hand.

“Yes,” He says with a laugh, “I’ve done it for a little over seven years and I’ve never been hurt before.”

Eddie catches your gaze, eyebrows pulling together.

“Would it make you feel better if I took them off?” Eddie asks in a slight teasing tone, a playful way of making fun of you. 

“No, no—I believe you—“ You tell him, but Eddie’s already removing them, placing them on the tray behind him. 

“Better to be safe than sorry, right?” He asks with a smirk, flipping the wrench between his fingers.

Showoff, your brain screams. “Yep.” You answer meekly. 

He leans over the hood, shirt riding up his back in the process, revealing an even larger ink than the one on his arm, you tilt your head and can’t help but stare, wondering what was underneath.

“Can you hand me a rag?” Eddie asks, his hand shooting behind him blindly—you don’t hear him immediately so he turns, catching where your gaze had been.

He smiles cautiously, glancing down at his chest.

“Were you—“ He points toward his back, aiming for his ass.

“No—no god, I was—I saw the tattoo on your back.” You stutter out, “I was just wondering what it was.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, lifting his shirt up with no warning, toned muscle and pale skin on display, a large intricate design of tree spreading from the side of his chest and over his right pectoral around to his back, covering a large percentage of it, “it’s not that interesting—but it’s a special one.”

“Can I ask why?”

It’s an innocent question, only wanting to understand him better.

“Uh—it’s a little silly, so don’t laugh.” Eddie prefaces, shifting his shirt back down. “I got it a couple years after I met Riley’s mom—she never like restaurants or fancy dates so we always ended up grabbing fast food and sitting out at the park under a tree.”

“That’s beautiful,” You say truthfully, “it’s beautiful.”

“It was, uh—before she passed,” Eddie clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his ear awkwardly, “anyways, it comforts Ri when she asks about her, all she really has is pictures. She’s still young though, so I try to answer questions when she has them.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, but you can tell Eddie doesn’t need to hear it. Still, he accepts it. 

“It’s been a while, I’ve processed it.” Eddie tells you, “I guess it’s my dedication to her and that I’ll always be there for Riley.”

“You’re a good dad,” You tell him, a hand placed on his fidgeting ones as he twisted the spark plug in his grip, “—but I don’t think that needs to be said.”

“Yeah, but shoving my kid off on my uncle isn’t very fatherly of me.” He says, deprecating himself. “Some days are just…rough.”

Eddie turns to finish up the job with a somber look, eyebrows pulled together in concentration, managing to replace your spark plugs with brand new ones without a problem before testing to make sure your car starts with ease. It does, thankfully.

“I have those days too,” You assure him, arms crossed casually over your chest, “I know it’s not the same but I understand, to some degree.”

Eddie makes a soft ‘pfft’ sound, pulling up the front of his shirt to wipe away the sweat and grime from his face.

“A classroom full of kids all day and no way to escape,” Eddie’s voice is muffled behind the cloth, “I’d lose my fucking mind.”

You stare selfishly, eyeing the small patch of hair that disappears under his belt, the other littering did tattoos on his chest—it should feel wrong, but it doesn’t settle the immense need and want you felt in the moment. 

Again, Eddie catches you.

You’re better at recovering this time, ignoring his pointed gaze and subtly raised eyebrow.

“I’m usually about ninety percent of the way there every day.” You admit sheepishly. 

“I know you’re probably going to say no, but do you want a beer?” Eddie asks, “I’ve got a few stashed in the fridge in my office.”

“Yeah, actually.” You reply and Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth in an effort to suppress his smile, “I will.”

“Follow me.” Eddie instructs, nodding his head in the opposite direction. You follow closely behind his quick footsteps, failing to hear the, “Oh—but watch out for the tires—“

Your feet slip out from under you and you fully prepare your face to hit the concrete, but it never does. 

“Holy shit,” You gasp, “this place is like a death trap.”

Eddie chuckles loudly at that, the arms that squeezed you tight to keep you from falling finally pulling you up. 

“That’s my fault,” Eddie admits, “I forgot to put them away yesterday.”

You sigh shakily, staring up at Eddie. “Once my heart stops pounding out my chest I’ll be okay.”

“Sorry.” Eddie offers a weary smile, shifting you in front of him rather than letting you trail behind. “It’s on your left, yep—and the light switch is on—nevermind, you got it.”

You laugh under your breath, scooting forward as Eddie slipped in behind you, fetching the two bottles from the fridge and slamming them on the edge of the desk, subsequently popping the caps off. You stare on with a dazed astonishment.

“No bottle opener.” He offers humorously, handing you one of the bottles. You take it from his hand, regardless of how dirty it may be from his hands that were still horribly messy.

You take a seat on the edge of the old desk, legs crossed at your ankles as you sipped at the beer. “So, how much do I owe you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about—“

“Eddie.”

“I’m not joking.”

You roll your eyes, pulling a small wad of cash out of your front pocket—it was around a hundred bucks, since you weren’t sure how expensive those parts actually were. 

“Take it.” You say, shoving the money at his chest.

“No.” He answers adamantly, pushing your hand away.

“At least let me pay for the parts?”

Eddie says your name once, full tone and leaving no room for argument. “I meant it, you’ve done enough to help me out, let me repay the favor.”

“It’s my job, Eddie.” You retort, a tinge of annoyance in your tone. 

“And this is mine.” He tells you. “So get over it—I’m not accepting your money.”

“You’re so infuriating.” You complain with heartfelt irritation, shoving the money back into your pocket. Eddie rolls his eyes just as enthusiastically, shifting from his spot on the wall until he’s lingering in the space between, still a comfortable few feet away.

Eddie chugs the beer like nothing while you continue to nurse yours, only taking a few measly sips. 

“The ring,” Eddie asks suddenly, “you said you got it as a gift for finishing school?”

And maybe he’s just trying to start friendly conversation—but you’re not sure if you should lie again, or tell him the truth. You set the beer down, twisting the jewelry over your finger. You never talked about how it came about or the history behind it. It had always been a secret for you and you only. Unlike Eddie, you didn’t process death as easily. 

“That was a lie,” You tell him honestly, extending the moment of sincerity you had with him earlier, “can I trust you with something and swear you’ll never repeat it back to anyone—even me?”

Eddie makes an odd face, trying to decipher your choice of wording. But, he nods.

“I got pregnant during my final year of college,” You start, the words hitting harder than you expect, but you swallow the painful lump in your throat, “she was due in December of that year, but I had a stillborn around six months.”

Eddie’s expression quickly shifts, eyes flicking down toward the floor.

“It’s her birthstone—“ You say, holding out your hand weakly as Eddie reaches for it, looking at the stone embedded in the silver, “she probably would’ve been around the same age as your daughter.”

Eddie says your name tenderly, fingers still lingering on the underside of your palm, “I’m so sorry.”

You laugh softly, clearly uncomfortable. “Anyways, everything happens for a reason, right? I guess it’s just a small way to remember her.”

Eddie hates how well he can relate to it. 

“Are you done?” He asks, reaching for your beer.

“Uh, yeah.” You respond slowly, forcing yourself to take a breath. “Thanks.”

The walk to your car is even slower, quiet, whatever happier mood that lingered earlier was nowhere in sight. You blame yourself for bringing the mood down, trying to find someone to lighten it. But, Eddie’s quicker than you, and throwing you a curveball from miles away.

“Can I take you out?” Eddie asks boldly, “On a proper date, I mean.”

“Um,” You linger on the word, standing uneasy as you lean against your car door, “—Eddie, we probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Eddie asks, headstrong like his daughter unfortunately.

“Things can get…complicated.” You tell him, “I don’t want Riley getting the wrong idea.”

“Fine, not a date then.” Eddie levels.

“Then what?”

“We can hang out.”

Suddenly it’s like you’re eighteen again and you can’t help but want to go against every moral set before you. 

“Hang out,” The words feel weird on your tongue, “Eddie—you do know what that usually entails, right?”

“Hey, I’m a complete gentleman, okay?” Eddie defends, “That’s why I asked you on a date.”

Your lips pull together in a tight line, hating yourself for wanting to say yes so badly. 

Eddie pulls that salaciously sweet grin of his, hands placed on either side of the top of your car, breath quickening as he pulls a bit closer, still giving you enough room to feel comfortable. 

“Tell me no then,” Eddie challenges, “just say the word and I’ll drop it.”

Eddie can see it in your face, how badly you wanted to cave and say yes. 

“Eddie.” You warn, the name sounding too wicked on your tongue. “Please.”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for. 

“Fine,” Eddie tells you lowly, eyes connecting with yours when they try to pull away, “—but let me do this one thing and then if you want to change your mind, we can forget about this.”

“What thing?” You retort back with attitude, conflicting emotions causing you to play into his game, whatever it was.

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, “I’m gonna kiss you.” He tells you openly, “After that, if you change your mind, that’s fine.”

You find yourself nodding without fully realizing and Eddie’s lips are against yours in a slow press, not hurried or rushed, a small noise pulled from your lips as he pushes further, lips smacking against yours loudly. You inhale sharply, the scent of Eddie surrounding you—it was sweat and cigarettes and everything that would normally disgust you in an instant, but with Eddie it was intoxicating. Your hands drift to his face carefully, thumbs dragging along his cheeks gently, pulling up to wrap your arms around his neck, fully giving yourself over to him, allowing yourself to cherish the moment properly. 

Eddie muffled a soft laugh against your lips, a hand cupping the side of your face out of curiosity, wanting to touch you as much as he possibly could while still trying to be respectful to you. Eddie seems to forget how dirty he is though, because when he does finally pull away, he’s laughing again. 

“Fuck, I forgot,” He says, reaching for the clean handkerchief in his back pocket, wiping the dark mark off of your face, “sorry.”

“You apologize too much.” You tell him, shoving his hand away playfully. “—I will, by the way.”

Eddie beams at the answer, “I fucking knew it.”

“Hey—no gloating,” You warn him and Eddie shrinks slightly, it was a wonder what a stern voice could do, and you’d mastered that pretty well in the past few years, “we need to be careful about this—whatever this is.”

Eddie nods, “Yeah, of course.”

“Riley can’t know, my job—no one.” You tell him. “If this is just a one time thing, I don’t want it ruining anything.”

And Eddie should feel slighted, but he does understand.

“It won’t.” He assures you and you hate how easily it makes you smile.

You both knew there was no possible way this was going to be a one time thing. You’d be lying to yourself. 

“Good.” You smile triumphantly, “Now—are you driving or am I?” 

Eddie snatches the keys from your hands with an eye roll and a self-righteous smirk.

“I’m not trying to date anyone, Steve.” You remind him adamantly, pushing his phone back toward him. 

Eddie was cute, handsome even—you could admit that at least.

“Oh, no—no,” Steve panics, shoving his phone into his pocket, “that’s not what I was implying.”

“Then what?” You ask with a soft laugh, “Are you trying to tell me I need more friends?”

Steve shrugs halfheartedly, “Not so much you—more him.”

“Fine, I’ll meet him.” You agree with hesitance, “On one condition.”

Steve rolls his eyes in amusement, a subtle smirk pulling at his features. “I’m not giving you free content—you’ve gotta pay up like the rest of the world.”

“Ew, fuck no—“ You reply in disgust, never appreciating the closed door policy in your shared apartment more than right now. “I was going to say you can cook dinner for the rest of the month—I don’t need to see any more of your dick than I already do.”

“Hey, that was one time—“ Steve defends weakly, “and I wasn’t even in that line of work yet."

“That’s worse!” You tell him, “That’s why we have rules, Steve.”

Despite that, Steve’s still one of the better roommates you’ve had and cleans up after himself better than you, most of the time, but what he makes up for in cleanliness, he lacks in spatial awareness—eventually he learns to keep the door closed.

He brings Eddie back to the house the next night, busting through the door with giddy excitement, in the middle of an animated conversation when Steve catches you on the couch, scrolling through an endless list of movies with no idea what to watch.

“See, I told you she’d still be up.” Steve tells Eddie, closing the door behind him as they both hurled toward the couch, squeezing you between them. “Have you eaten?”

You grimace at the overwhelming smell of body wash, the obvious post orgasmic energy radiating from both of them.

“No,” You sigh, resting your hands in your lap and fiddling with your fingers idly, nose scrunching up in irritation, “—god you two smell like you drowned each other in a tub of fucking green apple.”

“I need to buy some,” Eddie says, “it’s all Steve had with him.”

You nod slightly, “So, how was the turnout?”

The both break out into a grin, clear that it was nothing near disappointing. “Someone sent in like five thousand, I think—something around that. Not to mention all the new people it brought in since Eddie’s fanbase grows by a thousand every fucking day.”

“I can’t even wrap my own head around it.” Eddie admits honestly, eyes flitting toward his bare knees that showed through his ripped jeans. “Anyways, it’s nice to official meet you.”

Eddie turns to you then, sacharinne smile on his face.

“Oh, right,” Steve remembers, “yeah—this is Eddie.”

“Should this feel weirder?” Eddie asks, “I feel like I kinda just busted in here—“

“And I wouldn’t expect anything less,” You look over toward him briefly before glancing back at Steve, “not when you’re friends with this idiot.”

“Hey—“ Steve retaliates in defense.

You chuckle softly, forcing yourself up from the squished space between them.

“Wait, where are you going?” Steve asks, leaning up from the couch like he’s going to follow.

You step to your phone, reaching for it from where’s resting on the counter, tossing it into Steve’s hands, his reflexes impeccable as he catches it with ease.

“You two can celebrate your record breaking sex tape by buying me dinner,” You smirk, “I’m feeling—“

“Chinese?” Eddie suggests, both of you glancing over toward a mortified Steve.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” 

Eddie’s never been more instantly intrigued by someone in his entire life—he’s seen pictures, heard about you through Steve, but nothing prepared him for actually being in your presence.

He had to learn everything about you.

Steve can’t admit his jealousy, but it’s there—definitely.

It doesn’t take long for you and Eddie to click, and when it happens, it’s impossible to seperate you both. Eddie streams a lot, more than half of the week and similar to a full-time job, and it seems just as exhausting as a regular nine to five—and Steve’s been kind enough to support you through your own hardships, both with the money of his parents and his, it’s made life easy for you and a lot less stressful as you navigate through your final year of college. You had great friends and there was no doubting that, but it blows your mind just how much money Eddie makes in a month—hell, even a weeks time.

You don’t argue when Eddie tries to pay for meals or nights out, knowing he would string things into a full-blown argument if it boiled to that point—not out of frustration and Eddie would never realize his voice out of tone, but he had more money than he knew what to do with, so spending it on and for the people he cared about seemed like a good enough reason. It becomes tradition—Eddie starts taking Sunday’s off, a day designated for the both of you; time to relax and check-in.

It usually ended up with you two sprawled out on his couch or his bed—this time, his bed—talking about whatever came to mind. You were always curious about his job, whether it be the things he did, the people he encountered, and Eddie never had any qualms about answering.

“What about stalkers?” You ask timidly, playing with the cuff of his sweatpants, delicate fingers dragging over the curve of his ankle. “Steve had one once—it got really bad.”

Eddie shakes his head, body curled around his pillow as his fingers rubbed against his blanket. “I guess I’ve dodge that bullet so far.” He admits, feeling appreciate that he’s avoided the creeps that well. “But, you always get the occasional weirdo who pays for a private showing—those are always tricky.”

“Can’t people request those whenever?” You ask, glancing over at his sleeping computer, his expensive camera covered for—well, reasons. Despite living most of his life online, he was still paranoid to some degree—and maybe it would be easier to not have his setup in his bedroom, but he enjoyed his small apartment and it didn’t make sense to uproot himself, not when he felt safe here. Plus, he was closer to you, and that’s all he really cared about. 

“It depends on my availability—they usually schedule it around what I have set up but sometimes I do surprise and I typically charge more for those, but I haven’t done one in a while.”

You sit up slightly, turning over onto your stomach until you’re beside him, head propped up in your hand as you looked at him. “Why?” You ask curiously.

Eddie laughs weakly, “Well, I use to do them on Sundays.” It dawns on you then, mouth forming into a soft “Oh.” 

“Yeah, so I don’t do them anymore,” He shrugs, “I mean, they were good money—like, really good. But, the more people are willing to pay, the weirder things get.”

“How weird?”

Eddie looks away briefly, racking his brain for all the odd encounters he’s had, “Uh, there’s a lot of feet.”

“People showing you their feet?” You ask incredulously.

“No, no—“ Eddie interrupts with a chuckle, pressing his hand against your cheek gently, thumb soothing out the furrow in your brow, “mine and the other person usually gets off to it—“

“Like, men?”

Eddie shrugs, “Usually—my audience is predominantly male but there’s a good mix of everything, it makes no difference to me as long as they’re not being excessively creepy.”

“This is fascinating.” You mumble to yourself, noticing Eddie’s smug grin. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you—do you wanna watch one?” Eddie asks boldly, there’s a tinge of hesitancy in his voice that maybe you’ll decline—not that he would be offended, but he knew how curious you were about all of it, even from the little of it that Steve has exposed to you.

You don’t immediately say no, “Won’t that be weird?” You ask, “I think part of me has avoided all of it because I respect that part of you—“

“I don’t need respect, sweetheart. It’s my job.” He says with a smile, tapping his ringed pointer finger against the tip of your nose. “So, whaddya say? Free of charge.”

“Sure, I’ll bite.” You giggle softly, letting him climb over you clumsily to settle himself at his desk.

“Go sit over there,” He motions toward the book of his bedroom, a cozy corner with a fuzzy chair that looked way too expensive. You took a seat, pulling the decorative pillow over your lap as you crossed your legs, watching as Eddie typed away furiously at his phone before placing it against the top of his desk, pressing at his keyboard until his computer came to life, “—I’m trusting you to be quiet, okay?”

You make a motion of zipping your lips, earning a subtle head shake from Eddie, his hand reaches up in a grabbing motion.

“Pass me that lube.”

Your eyes switch to the table quickly, noticing the small bottle of clear lube, sitting there, out in the open. It was his bedroom, you couldn’t judge. You pick up the bottle carefully, pinched between your thumb and pointer finger, tossing it in Eddie’s direction.

“It’s a new bottle,” He tells you, catching the bottle in one hand, “and I keep my stuff clean.”

“I believe you.” You respond, hands held up in defeat as you settled back into the chair.

It doesn’t take long for him to find a willing customer who had nothing better to do at ten o’clock on a Sunday night—he snaps into the persona easily, a more rambunctious, showy version of himself. You laugh quietly, catching the way his hands rub over the front of his sweatpants absently—you can only assume it’s to assist himself in getting hard. You’re not a prude either, by any means, so it’s not shocking or outrageous to watch, but it feels slightly invasive.

And it wasn’t that you didn’t find Eddie attractive—you did, tremendously, but things have never tipped past the point of typical friendship; he hugs you longer than necessary and sometimes kisses you on the cheek or forehead, but outside of that, it’s normal. Eddie also loves to cuddle, but that’s not even necessarily reserved for you, because you’ve caught him doing it with Steve too—but their dynamic was so vast and complicated that you didn’t want to try and dissect it.

Eddie starts off slow, a kind greeting and genuine smile, attempting to connect with the person on the other end. Eddie’s never judged people and the way they attempt to make connections, whether transactional or not—it was his job and he enjoyed, even the more awkward and strange ones.

You watch on with a faint smile, thumb tucked between your teeth as you chewed gently at the skin—to Eddie, it was like you weren’t even there, but deep in his mind he felt it; pensive eyes and anxiety of his next move, maybe he had taken things too far. But, there was no turning back now. 

It ramps up rather quickly, his hand slipping from palming over his sweatpants to his thumbs tucking into the fabric to pull them just under his ass, his half-hard cock in view now, slightly obscured by the arm of his chair. 

It’s astonishing, the fact that you haven’t seen Eddie’s dick until now, in such a nonchalant manner. To him, it was a normal day—knowing that thousands upon thousands of strangers already knew what his dick looked like, his ass, practically every part of his body—yet you’ve only been privy to what he’s shown you. His face, his chest, and maybe a glimpse of him in his underwear at most—littered in tattoos from head to toe, constrasting against his pale, milky skin. 

You can’t hear the person on the other end as much, let alone see them at this angle, looking at an oddish angle from the corner—you can’t see Eddie’s face fully, but it’s flush, cheeks reddened from exhurtion. He snaps open the bottle of lube from below the desk, expertly squirting into his hand before tossing it to the floor carelessly, hands switching positions with ease. His left comes under to cup his balls, right hand covered in lube as it wraps around his cock, pulling gently at the shaft, thumb rubbing over the slit at the tip tenderly, moaning some outlandish remark to the person on the other end—their name or maybe their username, you muffle the small laugh that escapes with your hand.

Eddie can hear it too and it breaks his concentration slightly, open mouth pulling into a faint smirk, releasing an obnoxious moan into the air, mostly for the sake of teasing you. It’s effective enough, shutting you up for the remaining duration of the show until Eddie’s coming into his hand harshly, eyes squeezed together in concentration as he squeezes the head of his dick in an effort to stop that painful throbbing—it never felt as good when it was forced like this. It was all for the customer’s sake. But, you still couldn’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at the sight of Eddie’s hand covered in his own come or the way his dick looks absurdly good in the low light, shining and sticky with lube. 

Eddie shuts off his camera soon after, letting out a long shaky sigh as he uses the towel at his desk to wipe himself down.

“So, thoughts?” Eddie asks curiously, peering up from his chair, head still downturned as he wipes at his stomach.

“Pretty tame.” You shrug, though you’ve never really expected to mark consensual voyeurism off your list of things to try at least once in your life, let alone with Eddie. 

“They’re not always crazy,” Eddie says, pulling the band of his sweatpants back over his groin, allowing himself some decency as he turned to you, swiveling in his chair playfully, “—was that…too much?”

“Oh—me, watching you?” You stammer, shaking your head furiously. “I didn’t—I mean, it’s like work for you. But, it was…interesting.”

“You’ve never watched someone masturbate before, have you?” Eddie asks with a hint of teasing.

The boldness of the questions were shocking—Eddie was egging it on and you couldn’t be bothered to stop it. 

“I—no.” You decide on, feeling inclined to offer up an embarrassing secret, considering the situation, “I don’t do it, either—I’ve never tried it.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie huffs a laugh, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together as they press under his chin. “You’ve never even—like, not even with a partner?”

“Oh, yeah—I just, don’t do it, you know?” It feels like a redundant question, so Eddie doesn’t answer. “Sex is…kind of an afterthought to me, it’s never really been that great. I only ask a lot of questions because I’m nosey—“

Eddie snorts at that, nodding in agreement. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never even snuck off with one of Steve’s mountain of sex toys? Just out of curiosity?”

Another shake of your head. 

Eddie clears his throat, the gears in his brain working tirelessly. He feels the need nagging at him, unspoken—it was deservice to you, having never felt what a good orgasm could be like and Eddie was a pleaser, after all.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping by asking—“ You brace yourself, squeezing at the pillow tucked between your legs, “—do you want to?”

“Masturbate?” You ask with a faint laugh.

“Yeah, but—like, I could help?” 

Eddie isn’t even sure what he’s asking, but it clicks in your brain immediately.

“You don’t find that weird?”

“I literally jerk off in front of strangers for money and fuck my friends for the exact same reason.” Eddie explains, shrugging his shoulders. “Plus, everyone deserves to feel good—look, the offer is there if you want to—“

“Okay,” You answer quickly, quick enough that Eddie’s eyes widen slightly in shock, “but, maybe we can smoke a little first?”

“You don’t have to be nervous about it—“

“No, I know—I just thought it could be more fun that way.”

It was definitely the nerves, but Eddie agrees regardless.

“This is ridiculous.” You giggle, shifting between Eddie’s spread legs, bare from the waist down. “Isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says comfortingly, rubbing at the underside of your thighs as he settles behind you, your back resting against his bare chest, “we can try a vibrator if you want—or if you feel more comfortable just using your hand—“

“Hand is fine,” You reply airily, letting his palm cover your hand without question, “if it doesn’t work we can try something else.”

“Oh, it’ll work.” Eddie replies confidently, forcing down the chuckle that rises in his chest. His mouth falls open in concentration as he pulls at your hair gently, pushing it to one side as he peers over your shoulder, “here, rest your head.”

You lean back slightly, glancing up to him briefly. His smile is warm, brimming with excitement and temptation at the idea of doing something so contrasting from your normal behavior. 

“Which feels more comfortable?” Eddie asks, switching between your two fingers—pointer and middle then middle and ring.

“Uh, the second one?” You reply hesitantly, switching between the two briefly, “Wait—yeah, definitely the second one.”

Eddie laughs again, the tingle of his high settling in.

“Okay, we’ll normally I would suggest lube but spit works just as good,” Eddie says, nodding toward your mouth slightly, “—just lick your fingers—yeah, like that.” Eddie watches with intensity as you bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking in the two fingers briefly until Eddie pulls them away, pressing them against your core. “A lot of people can’t come from just penetration so that’s why it’s important to pay attention to everything else—I don’t know how you usually do it—“

“Uh—I’ve never really,” You linger around the words, feeling silly for not allowing yourself to say it, you giggle softly, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper orgasm before—I know the feeling but it’s never hit me, if that makes sense?”

“You’re telling me this now?” Eddie asks with a pitched tone, eyebrows disappearing under his bangs. “God, okay—I’ll just lead you through what I usually do and let you take over when you’re comfortable.”

You nod slowly, feeling the faint press of his fingers against yours, dragging up your cunt slowly, grazing against your clit.

“I can’t believe you’ve never even came before—“ Eddie mumbles, not necessarily to you, more of an unfiltered thought, “who the hell have you been fucking?”

You sigh softly, his fingers leading yours in slow, loose circles of the tight bundle of nerves, “Doesn’t matter.” You reply carelessly, “You said you’d help, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie answers quickly, his other hand settling on the inside of your thigh, keeping them spread open, calloused fingers resting against your soft skin. He circles your clit once more, picking up the pace slightly, you jump at the motion, eyebrows knitting together. “There we go,” He coos, noticing your change in expression, “see how good that feels?”

You nod lazily, free hand circling your entrance, fingertip grazing against the opening—it’s not a new feeling, it’s just never been your own hand doing the work. The first finger dips in with hesitancy, Eddie’s pace slowing slightly at the sight, not wanting to overstimulate you too much. 

It feels lackluster and the angle sucks, your fingers not filling you out as well as you thought they would, you curl them desperately, sneaking in another finger in hopes that it might help, but it’s nothing but frustration on your end.

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie interrupts, noticing the stress of your lip pulled between your teeth, “let me do it, you focus on the other half, yeah?”

You nod in agreement, his guiding hand leaving you suddenly. He slips his rings off his fingers wordlessly, dropping them in his bedside table, the clang defeaning in the silence of his room. 

“I’ll keep it slow,” Eddie tells you, “just communicate what you need.”

With another nod, his first finger breaches you slowly, the stretch different from your own fingers—wider, larger, more filling than your own. “Oh,” It slips out involuntarily, hand shooting over your mouth at the sound, “—sorry, I’m not trying to make it weird—that just feels so—“

“Good?” Eddie asks with a laugh, tongue peeking out between his teeth as he grins, “It’s fine—make all the noises you want, I wasn’t really holding back earlier either.”

“Okay.” You reply quietly, your fingers dragging over your clit testingly, fingers slick with saliva, creating an intense, breathtaking sensation as you fall into an easy pace, Eddie’s fingers matching that rhythm.

The sound of your own wetness as Eddie’s fingers move within you is enough to make your body go hot with need and embarrassment, feeling his finger curls against the soft, sponge nub inside of you.

“You hear that?” Eddie teases, “That’s all you.” His finger crooks again, pulling a broken whine from your throat, body curling forward slightly at the sensation. “There she is.”

You laugh softly at his choice of words, feeling less intimidated that Eddie could make light of such a situation, having just as much fun as you were. 

“Another one,” You tell him steadily, stopping momentarily to watch him push another finger inside, free hand resting against the curve of his wrist, feeling every movement as he worked his fingers inside of you, “fuck—that’s really nice.”

He smiles into the side of your head, face buried in your hair.

Your fingers pick up quickly, rubbing harsh and intense alongside his relentless fingers, pistoning inside of you with  an objective, determined—Eddie couldn’t live with himself if he let you leave empty handed.

“Shit—okay, I feel it.” You tell him honestly and he feels it as you clench around his fingers, your breath picking up quickly, soft moans becoming more and more desperate and Eddie could feel himself being drunk on the sound. Eddie hears the sharp whine from the of your impending orgasm, his fingers pulling away quickly to spread your thighs open wider, having flagged slightly from your desperate movements, hips searching for relief. 

“Keep going,” He encourages, gentle squeezes into the underside of your knee as he holds you open, “I know you can.”

And you’re not sure why his words help, but they do.

You gasp sharply, fingers swiping over your clit in desperate circles as you come, an intense sensation the rushes throughout your entire body, moaning wantonly through the euphoria. Eddie’s hand slips under your chin, pulling your face up to look at him—you can barely keep your eyes open, but he’s staring at you intensely, nodding and speaking unintelligible words that you’re thankful you can’t hear, knowing it would wreck you even further. It feels like you’re underwater, fingers finally slowing as Eddie releases you, hips aching at the relief of it.

“Holy fuck,” You curse, falling back against Eddie in exhaustion, throwing you both into a fit of unexpected giggles, “that’s—oh my god—“

“Sweetheart, that’s nothing.” Eddie assures you, devilish grin overcoming his features. 

“You have to show me more.” You practically beg, face lightening up in joy, “Seriously.”

Eddie’s never agreed to something faster.

From that point on, it’s a dangerous game that you and Eddie fall into without any fear of how easily they could damage your friendship—but that’s where the trust in each other lies, you’ve never been more open and comfortable with someone than Eddie, aside from Steve—but those were completely different situations.

And what starts as innocent lessons in sex and teaching you what and how things should feel, according to Eddie’s expansive experience, quickly turns into mindless and self indulgent pleasure—and no one’s ever gone down on you until Eddie. Ever.

It quickly turns into one of his favorite things—and after his bad days and streams that put him into a bad mood, he’ll bury himself between your legs and devour you until you’re panting his name, gripping his sheets so hard they might rip. 

Eddie initially thinks you’ll be disgusted by the idea of him being with other people from time to time, but it never really crosses your mind as odd—you normally sit in on his sessions now, when you’re not busy doing your own thing, but you usually opt out of watching his streams with others—even when explicitly invited, not that any of his friends cared.

Steve jokes about it once and you can’t believe it.

“It was only a matter of time,” Steve tells you both, having sensed the change in energy weeks ago, but only bringing the knowledge to your attention now. You and Eddie were still very much friends, just with the extra benefits, “—hey, the audience is always talking about how we should add a third—“

“Absolutely not.” You reply quickly, drowning out Eddie’s similar protests. “I’d rather watch you two fuck each other, and that’s already enough to melt my brain.”

“Hey, you gotta give Steve some credit,” Eddie defends playfully, “he’s a great bottom.”

You snort loudly, watching the betrayal cross Steve’s face.

“And you’re a selfish top.” Steve snarls back, kicking his feet up on the table.

You suddenly remember Eddie’s similar answer to the idea of a threesome, curious of why he agreed so quickly.

“Wait—why did you say no?” You ask.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be on camera.” Eddie replies—it’s a logical answer, but not nearly in the realm of being correct. You could care less, it was just a lack of opportunity and genuine want to do it—if served the right circumstance, you might—but a threesome with those two, it sounded like your worst nightmare. “Plus, you treat Steve’s dick like it’s a disease so I used context clues.”

That and he really didn’t feel like sharing. 

“Steve never told you, did he?” You ask with a weak laughs, glancing over toward Steve. “He doesn’t know?”

Steve shrugs, earning a pillow to the face from you.

“What?” Eddie presses.

“I was Steve’s gay awakening.” You admit, “It was literally that bad.”

It did stunt your sex drive for a while, but you didn’t blame Steve—you had enough problems to work through, but Eddie had been a big help to change that. 

“Hey, I love you, though.” Steve tells you earnestly, meaning every word. “I’m glad it was you rather than some horrible interaction with someone I barely knew.”

“And look at me now,” You arms thrown up dramatically, “I’m literally surrounded by sex, everyday—it’s really is my destiny, I think.”

It’s a horrible joke, but it was your current reality. You yank Eddie into the privacy of your room soon after, falling onto his lap with ease, feeling the hard outline of his cock through his thin pajamas pants, earning a subtle eyebrow raise from you.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, “I didn’t stream today and we’ve been around each other, I can’t help it.”

You smile at his raw honesty, grinding down against him pointedly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He teases, gripping tightly at your hips.

You two still hadn’t crossed the threshold of sex just yet—you hadn’t even had his dick in your mouth, but you’ve seen it plenty of times thus far, just never in the context of when he was doing things with you, the pleasure being so focused on you that he never even took the time to care for himself, besides, he was getting enough fulfillment in the acts he did for money—at least that’s what you always assumed. So, when he finally asks you that question, you’re not sure how to respond.

“You,” You shove a gentle finger at his chest, before turning to point to yourself, “want me, to have sex with you—on your stream?”

Eddie nods with assurance, the fingers gripping your thigh digging in slightly, grinding you against him teasingly.

“Why?”

It wasn’t a simple question, or even a simple answer, but Eddie tried to explain his reasoning as best he could. 

“People get tired of the same thing,” Eddie says, “not that I’m trying to use your for content, it’s like when I do stuff with Steve, a lot it’s just for fun with a little technicality mixed in—we obviously plan some stuff out but for the most part it’s just improv.”

“Yeah—but we don’t do that stuff,” You say pointedly, “are you trying to suggest that the first time you want to fuck me is on camera?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Eddie tells you, you stop his movements with a hand on his chest, eyeing him down, “we could play it up, obviously.”

You make a face, feeling slightly confused. 

Eddie laughs, taking a moment to find the best way to express what he’s trying to say. “Like, we do scenarios sometimes—so since it’s your first time, maybe—“

“You want people to think I’m a virgin.” You deduce.

“Yeah—I mean, they won’t know, but people love that shit.”

“And what am I getting out of this?” You ask timidly, other than the idea of mind-blowing sex with your bestfriend—you had no doubt Eddie was capable of whatever he needed to do to make it all worth watching and taking part in.

“Half profit of whatever we make,” Eddie says, “and, I’ll take you that really nice place over on the west end that you’ve been talking about.”

“But, the place costs a fortune.” You protest but Eddie shakes his head vehemently. “Are you sure?”

“I actually expected you to say no,” Eddie laughs, “was that all it took?”

You shrug indifferently, “I’m easy to please—besides, I’m curious.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it.” Eddie smirks salaciously, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you down over him, burying his face into the front of your chest, forcing a squeaky laugh from your chest. 

“You can stop fidgeting.” Eddie laughs, throwing a few random items on his bed; some lube, a condom, and a small piece of fabric that you can only assume is a mask. You grab it, holding it up without question. “Oh—for anonymity, if you want.”

“I don’t care,” You reply, tossing the material to the side, your fingers sift over the other items, grabbing the foil package, “—we talked about this, Eddie.”

“I have multiple partners in a month,” Eddie says, “I don’t want you feeling like your health might be compromised—“

“You get tested every two weeks, don’t you?” You ask, trying to reaffirm what he’d told you days earlier. “And I’m on birth control—Eddie, I thought we figured this out.”

Eddie leans his hands against the mattress, shoulders flexing with the movement as his necklace jostles against his chest.

He sighs deeply, “I know—but when the camera goes on I can’t really switch out of it until after, and even that takes a minute, I just want you to feel comfortable.”

Your finger loops into the chain of his necklace, pulling close enough that your noses touch, his hands scrambling to hold himself up. 

“I can handle it.” You tell him steadily, eyes locked on his own.

He nods, swallowing audibly. “Uh—well, consider this me apologizing in advance for anything I say.”

You laugh softly, “I think I can handle it.”

And it was a total lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

When the camera turns out, Eddie switches into it easily, your gaze downtrodden and avoiding the lens, terrified to make eye contact with any of the messages in his chat. Eddie’s already naked for the most part, sans his loose sweatpants that weren’t leaving much to imagination, his cock swaying freely beneath the fabric. He leans into the camera, the viewers flooding in by the masses. 

“I know, I know,” Eddie soothes the viewers, “you’re probably wondering what’s going on—I’ll explain, but my friend here, she’s a little shy.”

He reaches behind himself, rubbing a comforting hand along your thigh, eyes connecting for a brief moment.

“She’s never been on camera before,” He smiles, glancing back at the screen, “but she’s also never been fucked before.”

There’s a flurry of messages that even Eddie can’t keep up with, “Crazy, right? And she’s bestowed that honor upon me to rectify that situation—and you all get to be a part of it.”

He’s eating it up, you can tell, taking a moment to turn away from the camera to laugh quietly, trying your best to keep it together. 

“So, be nice,” He warns, “and make sure to leave some very kind words and tips on her behalf.”

There’s a moment where he cuts his camera off, transitioning it to a brief pause screen, giving him the chance to move around the room freely, coming to kneel on the bed in front of you. His fingers tip under your chin, eyes softening at the sight of him. 

“You ready?” He asks softly.

“Mhmm.” You hum, offering him a shy smile.

Kissing Eddie isn’t as weird as you anticipate it to be—it’s lips against lips, wet and sloppy, but it’s still better than anything you’ve experienced so far. Eddie kisses with enthusiasm and wandering hands—the screen switches over out of the corner of your eyes before you realize that Eddie’s holding a small remote in his hand, likely to control the different cameras he had set up, before placing it on the blanket beside you both, hidden from view.

Eddie pulls back slightly, letting you chase his lips eagerly. He leans back further, just out of reach, before dragging the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, letting out a deep chuckle. 

“Look at her,” He speaks to the audience, “so fuckin’ needy.”

And you get it now—he was enticing to watch, off camera and on, but being a willing participant to it, it was the type of thrill you never imagined being able to feel. 

“Want that pretty mouth around my cock,” He admits, thumb rubbing at your bottom lip, “what do you think, sweetheart?”

“Please,” You speak softly, feigning a sort of innocence that Eddie knew was mostly for show, but it still sent a twinge of pleasure straight to his dick, “can I?”

Your hand reaches up tentatively, rubbing his hardened cock over his pants, not entirely new to you, but knowing that things would escalate from here had a surge of confidence running through your body. 

His hands squeeze at your jaw, forcing your mouth open slightly. “I’m not sure if you can fit all of it, but we’ll try.” He comments, earning a subtle eye roll from you. He reaches his hands under his sweatpants, shifting them down far enough that he can pull his dick out, the waistband settled snug under the curve of his ass, his hand palming at himself sparingly. “Open.” He instructs, guiding you up by your jaw onto your knees until your ass is resting on your calves, legs spread wide for show, your hands settling on his upper thighs from where he’s towering over you on his own knees.

Dick’s aren’t supposed to be pretty—they weren’t usually and you’ve seen your fair share, but there was something about Eddie’s. It could’ve been the contrasting black ink of the tattoo etched into the skin right about his groin, highlighting his assets in an unconventional way, or just the confidence that oozed from him in sexual situations. Either way, your eyes were drawn to his cock, his thumb rubbing over the slit at the tip of his dick, milky drop of precome smearing over his fingers, shining in the overexposure of his lights.

“Wider,” He instructs, your tongue lolling out slightly, “good girl.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the word and Eddie realizes he might’ve hit the motherload, shoving that away for later. 

He taps the tip against your tongue, ruddy and wet, pulling at the length of his shaft slowly. “Lick it, sweetheart.” He smiles, “Get it real wet.”

Your tongue drags along the underside testingly, circling his tip with hesitancy. You’ve given enough blowjobs to know the basics, but it’s never felt so magnified, knowing so many people were watching. And Eddie’s not sure what to expect either, but he’s more than hopeful. 

Your mouth waters at the prospect, gathering enough saliva to spit out over his dick before your hand comes up to replace his own, spreading it all the way down. Eddie curses, arms outstretched lazily as he watches, keeping himself together well despite how insanely turned on he was. For a brief moment he thinks that this is a terrible idea, not sure how well he could keep himself together.

“Fuck, let’s see how deep we can go, okay?” He suggest, his dick breaching your parted lips, pushing into your mouth slowly, you breathe deeply through your nose, letting him push as deep as he wants—he’s budging against the back of your throat and there’s nothing, which surprises you—you feel like you should gag, but the actual feeling never happens. It’s a surprise to you both, your eyes widening in disbelief. 

“Holy shit.” It’s an honest statement, you can hear it in his tone. “That’s right, sweetheart—love seeing you take my cock so well.” And maybe that is too, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Eddie pulls out slowly before plunging back in with a similar intensity, using your mouth for his own selfish need and feeding of your reactions, soft gasps for air, eyes tearing up as he picks up the pace, pulling back suddenly with your head grasped in his hands, one hand tucked snug under your chin while the other holds your hair back, gripped tightly in his fingers. 

His breath is just as baited, staring down at your red, irritated lips—having been stretched uncomfortably and shiny with spit.

He pulls at you roughly, maneuvering you onto your knees until he could reach your face, pressing his lips to yours hungrily and using it as an opportunity to whisper to you quietly. 

“You didn’t tell me you don’t have a gag reflex.” He says in a hushed tone, sounding slightly upset.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know, I swear.” You say defensively, his mouth sliding against yours in an effort to mask the conversation. “Eddie, I’m not lying.”

“No more surprises, please.” He begs with a soft laugh.

You nod slowly in understanding, letting Eddie avert the situation by asking a redundant question.

“Yeah? You want to give them a little show?” He asks with a sneaky smile, glancing over to the camera.

The tips had started flowing in instantly and Eddie hadn’t bothered to even look at any of it, too focused on the task at hand. 

Eddie shifts on the bed until he’s positioned behind you, hands resting low on your waist—you’d put on some gaudy, expensive lingerie that Eddie had bought you for this particular occasion. It was white, intricate lace with sheer material doing nothing to cover you up—it was perfect for the situation but so far from your own taste, but for Eddie you swallowed that pride. It made up for it with the grin that covered his face when you walked out of his bathroom earlier that night.

Your face sucks away from the camera, eyeing Eddie’s hand as it flattens out over your stomach, dragging along the skin delicately. “Do you need help?” He asks sweetly, peering over your shoulder and up to the camera. You nod slightly, letting his hands roam the full expanse of your body, over your breasts, down your stomach again and cupping your cunt in the fullness of his hand, his fingers grazing against the obvious wetness that had pooled there—he wasn’t sure how well this was working at first, but that small bit of evidence affirms it for him. He grips slightly, fingers digging into the fabric near your entrance. 

“Fuck,” He curses, the feeling causing you to gasp involuntarily, mouth dropping open in response, “are you gonna let me play with this pretty little pussy for everyone watching?” 

You nod dumbly, rocking into his grip subtly. 

“I’m not even sure you can’t take my fingers, sweetheart.” He lies, pushing the fabric with his fingers over your hole, your ass nudges against his still uncovered cock and he bites back a quiet groan, and you can assume that definitely isn’t for the camera. “Let’s take this off,” He suggests, fingers dragging along the curve of your breast, “show off those beautiful tits to everyone.”

Eddie pops the clasp easily, dragging the straps over your shoulders slowly until there’s nothing left for the material to snag into, falling from your chest and to the floor, round tits and soft buds that are squeezed between Eddie’s grip showing my, kneading the flesh until you’re keening into his touch, head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers pull at your nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers.

He can see the chat going wild, more and more generous donations flowing in by the second, he leans over to whisper into your ear, hands still working diligently.

“See?” Eddie points out, “They can’t get enough of it.”

You nod subtly, letting his hands drop for your breasts to slip into the front of your lace panties, fingers stretching against the fabric. 

“You’re not so innocent, are you?” He asks teasingly. “Do you want to play with yourself while everyone watches?”

Again, you nod, letting Eddie manhandle you down gently toward the bed, a similar position to the first time he guided you to an orgasm. 

“She’s pretty naughty, isn’t she?” He asks and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to his viewers rather than you. He pushes the thin fabric down your legs, dropping it to the floor lazily. “And naughty girls like the attention, don’t they?”

He glares down at you, his hands spreading over the inside of your thighs to hold you open, cunt on bare display for thousands to see. 

“Show them how you touch yourself,” He instructed, “—how badly that pussy of yours is begging to be filled.”

Your fingers tease lightly, drifting over your clit with a severe lack of attention, two fingers dipping inside of you with ease. 

You were rushing it on purpose, hoping Eddie would take over and make it all a little less embarrassing. He does, taking the opportunity to make a sly comment.

“Someone’s a little eager.” He laughs, chest rumbling at the motion. 

“It’s not enough,” You pout dramatically, peering up at him with soft, half-lidded eyes. Eddie didn’t expect you to play your part so easily and so well, breaking his persona for half a second as he stared back at you, nodding deftly. “Can I have your fingers, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” He smiles softly, swatting your hand away gently to replace it, his larger hands able to cover more area, joining in with the other as he wastes little time, a large finger pressing inside as he circles your clit. 

It’s the first genuine, unrestrained reaction you give all night—hands grasping at his forearms desperately, gasping sharply at the overwhelming pace he sets.

“We have to be sure I can fit, baby.” He coos and you feel your heart skip at the word, having never heard it fall from his lips until just now—it was addicting. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Eddie waits until you’re a moaning mess, hair mused over your face and cheeks hot from the action of bringing you to the brink so many times, cutting you just short of a glorious orgasm—he was holding it off for the finale, his dick straining just as hard from where it was tucked snug between you. 

When the time finally does come, Eddie’s positioned you over his lap from where he’s resting on his heels, the stretch of his larger thighs enough to seat you comfortably. He’s got a loose hand around his cock, rubbing it against your core teasingly, sparing a few looks in your direction as his eyebrows pull together in concentration. 

“First cock inside you and you’re letting me go in raw,” Eddie comments idly, more for the viewers sake than your own, “I’m honored, sweetheart.”

“Want it so bad, Eddie.” You plead, “I want you to be my first.”

Eddie very nearly breaks at that, turning his face to cover his full-faced laugh, and you’re feeling a little slighted at how easy it was for him to break with how hard you were trying to play up the idea that he initially came to you with—there were a million other creative directions he could’ve taken it but that was what he chose. You pinch him in the side briefly, controlling his facial expressions and focus back to something more appropriate.

You cant your hips up, the wetness of your cunt gliding over his dick until it clips your entrance, sinking down over him slowly with no warning. You gasp involuntarily—the stretch is real, nothing painful or out of the norm, but it’s been a while and you can’t deny the sting at being filled, satiating that urge you didn’t know you had. Eddie groans out brokenly, looking as wrecked as possible in the moment as he watches his dick disappear into you slowly, using the hold and momentum he had on you to force you to wait, moving his hips in small thrusts until you adjusted to his girth and size. 

For a brief moment, you forget what all of this is actually for.

Eddie lifts you slightly, watching your face contorted in pleasure, the warmth of your inner walls like a vice around him.

“Oh fuck,” He comments through a huffed breath, “squeezing my cock like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“It’s so big,” You reply breathlessly, “you’re so—“

Eddie shushes you, the hand that’s not wrapped firmly around your waist rising to brush your hair away from your face, giving the watchers a clear view of your expression, eyes locked on the place where you two were joined together so intimately.

You expected it all to feel weird—and maybe the acting was a bit much, considering Eddie wasn’t nearly as raunchy outside of this, but you’ve never felt more comfortable with someone, and if you were to do something so risky with anyone in front of a mountain of people, you were glad it was him.

And you feel that ache deep in the pit of your stomach, the primal need for release, aiding Eddie in his movements to fuck yourself back against his dick, leaving him no choice but to let you take over—his legs give out and he’s scrambling until he’s seated on his ass, giving over full control to you as you rode him with fervor, hips bouncing eagerly on his cock until he’s nothing but an incoherent mess of praises. He’s never folded underneath someone so quick, distracted by his own building orgasm, the pressure building at the base of his dick.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come.” You warn, pressing your palms against his chest desperately, your movements less concise.

“You know the rule,” Eddie breathes out, voice shot, “ask nicely, sweetheart.”

You nod desperately, head thrown back in ecstasy as your mouth falls open on a soundless gasp. “Can I come? Please—need to come, fuck, I can’t—“

“Can I touch you?” Eddie whispers intimately, earning a subtle nod in return, forgetting everything but the desperation you felt. Eddie’s fingers only manage a few short, quick circles before you’re clenching down on him, coming with a strained moan as you ride out through the intensity of it—Eddie’s holding off, hand gripped tightly at the base.

“Fuck, good girl,” He says softly, “—can feel you dripping down my cock.”

You nod lazily, feeling Eddie tap at your thigh in an effort for you to move. You switch positions quickly, his face scrunched up in concentration as he kneeled over you, tapping at your face until your mouth fell open. It wasn’t something you initially discussed beforehand, figuring that he would probably just finish inside of you, knowing that’s what people really wanted.

But he couldn’t help himself, because it was what he wanted at that moment, his eyes pleading as you nodded in agreement. He rested the tip of his dick against your tongue as he tugged furiously, using his other hand to hold your mouth in waiting as he groaned loudly, coming over your tongue in long, forceful spurts, his eyes falling shut from the force that it hits him, jaw slack. He rubs tenderly at the joint of your own jaw, tugging at his dick until the feeling finally fades, the ache in his stomach slowly dissipating. You make a show of closing your mouth, swallowing the mouthful of come that sat on your tongue, finger dragging at the corner of your mouth where a small amount had started to dribble out, sucking unnecessarily on the finger until Eddie can’t help but look away, feeling oddly shy considering the situation.

Eddie finishes out the stream in his normal fashion, pulling his sweatpants over his waist lazily as you disappear offscreen after Eddie lands another open-mouthed kiss on you, tasting his own come as your tongue sneaks into his mouth without warning, chuckling softly at your antics.

Eddie discloses that he wouldn’t be doing any private shows afterwards, mostly because he was exhausted—but he also just didn’t feel like it, which was entirely normal for him, but he knew that aftercare was important. It happened with Steve occasionally, after a few rougher scenarios, and he couldn’t imagine leaving you alone after something like this. It also dawns on him that he really just wants to spend time with you. 

Once everything is finished up, he peeks into the bathroom as you’re stepping out of his shower, towel wrapped tightly around your body, wet hair dripping on his tile floor. 

“How was I?” You ask with a lilt to your voice, fishing for compliments—even though you knew you didn’t need to.

Eddie smiles warmly, coming up behind you, staring over your shoulder into the mirror—it was contagious, forcing you to smile too. 

“You’re a natural.” He says honestly, his hand winding around your front to tip up under your chin, head tilted slightly to look at him from a more comfortable angle. “But, I never want to do that again.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Eddie interrupts quickly.

“I can’t hold it together with you like I can with others.” He admits, “I can disconnect from it, but you—it’s so hard.”

“Eddie,” You say softly, “are you trying to say that you have a crush on me?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, letting you go almost immediately, not willing to deal with your teasing so openly. 

“You do,” You call after him, “—I want to hear you say it.”

“It doesn’t—“

You follow after him in nothing but your towel, shoving him against his bed weakly, his knees hit the edge and force him to sit. 

“Say it.” You push, forcing your knee between his outstretched legs. “Or I’m not testing out my severe lack of gag reflex on you ever again.”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for.” Eddie protests petulantly, avoiding the teasing finger you point his way, his hand shoving yours away gently. “Fuck—fine, I like you. Why does it matter?”

“Because we could have been fucking this entire time. I thought I was just your little passion project—“ You tell him, laughing at the thought, “not that I cared—but I just figured you wanted to stay friends, that’s why I never crossed that line until you asked me.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs, pulling at the underside of your thighs until you’re seated carefully in his lap, not caring that the water was probably soaking his cotton sweatpants.

“Are you forgetting who our mutual friend is?” You ask, “I’m not that bad, Eddie.”

“Close enough.” He smiles, earning a soft hand to the side of his face as you shoved him away and hopped off his lap, trodding away toward the bathroom again. 

Eddie was enamored, with good reasoning, and he couldn’t help himself. He’s never done relationships or even half-assed sexual centric friendships, it was all very new to him. Still, he couldn’t help but want everything you had to offer and give everything he had in return. 

There’s a few pings from the bathroom, your phone nearly vibrating off the counter.

“Hey,” Your voice carries, earning a soft “Huh?” in response.

“You should probably call Steve—I didn’t really tell him we were doing this.” You say quickly, hoping that Eddie could be the one to break the news. “He’s probably losing his shit.”

And surely enough, the rest of the night was spent shoved together on the couch of your apartment, listening to Steve ramble on about how betrayed he felt.

“A word of warning would’ve been nice—I’m just trying to support a friend and then I see one best friend fucking my other best friend—I can’t unsee that.”

“So you watched the whole thing?” Eddie asks with a chuckle he can’t force down, glancing over at your horrified expression.

Steve shrugs, “Yeah—it wasn’t horrible.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You retort, “You’re just jealous that people liked me more than you.”

“Not even close.” Steve lies horribly.

Eddie watches you two with amusement, head switching back and forth between your endless banter.

“Well, it’s not happening again so you have nothing to worry about—people still love you.” Eddie defends, earning a supportive nod from you.

Steve smirks, “Yeah—that’s what they all say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve shrugs without answering—he knew you both well enough, and despite Eddie’s protest about keeping real connections offline, it was a damn good marketing idea.

“I give her three months,” Steve says, elbowing Eddie in the rib, “You—one, maybe two.”

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.