He’ll crowd your space, palms planted on either side of you and braced on the kitchen counter. He’s cocky because he can see it. The way you hesitate before barking back, the falter in your touch, as if you weren’t sure where to place your hands.

The black tank top he’s wearing looks painted on, and he’s caging you against the cabinets. His head tilts slowly, analytic- his eyes sharp and akin to a predator closing in on prey.

He’ll lean in, his grin lazy as he murmurs over your lips. “What’s wrong?” It’s teasing and annoyingly sultry. His voice always drops an octave, turning gravelly. He mockingly pouts. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re nervous, sunshine.” A thinly veiled taunt, like he’s testing if you’ll snap. Trying to lure out your usual wit, seeing just how badly you want him.

Jeff’s words escape him as a purr, the baritone deep in his chest. “C’mon, where’s all that bite? It’s just me.” He snickers, then his lips slot to yours. It’s methodical, almost leisurely.

The kiss drags on for at least twenty minutes. A spontaneous make out session with you pressed to the counter top.

His tongue slips over yours, and he’s humming into it like he won a game he didn’t tell you about. He’ll trail his hand up the curve of your back, heat licking up your spine in its wake. He grips your chin after a while and releases you with a wet smack.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, playful. “Got a size up, and now you’re tripping over yourself tryna’ talk to me. It’s cute, baby.” He’s reveling in it, savouring your warm cheeks and drunken expression.

“Y’know, if you were nicer to me- I’d be nicer to you, too.” His fingers skim along your throat, over your collar, and down to your waistband. The elastic stretches, his large palm cupping you over your underwear. “I can behave, pinky promise.” He chuckles, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

The damp cotton is nudged to the side, and he collects your slick with his middle and index. Slipping them into your sopping cunt in one thrust. “If you’re sweet to me, I’ll make it worth your while, honey.” Mumbled against your throat, he nips at you, leaving marks on the exposed skin.

He’ll rock you on his palm, the squelch of your pussy embarrassingly loud. And when you finally whine out, your arms thrown around his shoulders, the pleasure too strong for you to ignore- he’ll coo.

Pumping in and out of your core, your arousal soaking his digits and your panties. “There it is.” He drawls, mouthing up your neck, before his tongue breaches past your lips.

Jeff’s swallowing your moans, and you can feel him grin against you. Satisfied as he begins bouncing you like it’s easy. His strength from all the years of training, muscles built and toned by unforgiving missions- now used to make you writhe.

Your heels lift off the wood every time he rocks inside, your thighs trembling while you mewl into him. His hands are so big, his fingers tips punching against your sensitive spots. Your legs twitch together sporadically, your body fighting whether to run from it or chase it.

You’re struggling to even kiss him back, and all he does is laugh. His palm keeps rutting into your puffy clit, spreading your cunt wide when he picks up the pace.

Deeper, rougher- he’ll part from you with a huff. Running his tongue across his teeth, seemingly in disbelief at your need. “You’re so mean to me, but look at how good I am to you. Use your manners and thank me, sweets.” The curl in your gut pulls taut, unbearably tight, then you arch. Humping his hand fast and desperate.

He’ll tug his arm out from your ruined panties after letting you ride it out, watching you pant, half-lidded. The groan that leaves him when he licks your slick off his own fingers has you shivering, and Jeff swallows- withdrawing his digits with a lewd pop. He smiles, too genuine, and nearly swaying you to drop your guard fully.

Then he sighs, reaching down to undo his belt. His pupils have swallowed his iris’s as the metal clinks, his cheeks flushed, and he’ll rasp lowly.

And to drink more. You really should’ve gotten more alcohol in your system when you had the chance. At least then you might not care so much.

The bottle slowed, then teetered to a stop. On the other end, sat a very unconscious and unaware Ben.

He was slumped on the couch next to Jeff, his head tipped all the way back against the cushions, completely oblivious to the compromising position he had just ended up in. 

“Dude,” Jeff poked at him with the butt of the vodka bottle in his hand, knocking his legs to the side. When that didn’t work, Jeff rapped the bottle against Ben’s head hard enough to hear a thunk.

Ben jostled upright, rubbing at his temple as he glared at Jeff. “Fucking what?” He punctuated the -t sound at the end.

Then he noticed everyone staring at him, looking from face to face. His eyes dropped to the bottle on the table and confirmed exactly what he looked like he suspected. He looked up at you, blinking at you a couple of times as if he was processing it.

Then he dropped his head back onto the cushion, “Nah.”

You scoffed, a little wounded. “Nah?”

Ben didn’t even give you the courtesy of sitting up as he slung his arm around Jeff’s shoulders, tugging the dark-haired boy closer. He made exaggerated kissy noises against Jeff’s cheek, grinning as the other shoved at him.

“Nah. Cause if I wanted to get my dick wet, I’d know who to ask.”

Jeff barked out a laugh and shoved at Ben’s face, but he was grinning too. This spurred on some sort of wrestling match as Nina took the opportunity to steal Jeff’s vodka out of his hand, cringing as she watched them, “I don’t think they’re kidding, either.”

Ben eventually got shoved clean off the couch, landing on his back on the floor. He kicked at Jeff’s shins in retaliation, but Jeff was too busy realizing his vodka bottle had mysteriously disappeared, and somebody was taking drinks from it.

“Hey—who the fuck—” Jeff snatched it back from Nina, who was giggling behind her hand. Ben took back to closing his eyes and laying his head back on the floor, content to not acknowledge you as you glared at him.

Jeff lightly kicked at the side of Ben’s head next to his shoe as he took a swig of his vodka, then he made a ‘mmh’ noise like he’d realized something, before looking down at the blond. “Wonder if you could hotbox the closet.”

One second Ben was sprawled on the ground. In a blur, he was on his feet, snatching his translucent green bong off the coffee table with one hand and grabbing your arm with the other.

“Let’s go,” he pulled you up.

You squirmed, trying to dig your heels in. “Ben, wait—I didn’t even—”

But no one was paying attention. The group had already moved on, shuffling cards and arguing over who got to deal next while they waited for their turn. All you got as you looked back was a sly wave from Jeff. Ben tugged you down the hallway insistently. You opened your mouth to argue again when Nina’s voice rang out behind you.

“Turn on the music!”

Ben waved his hand without even looking back. The stereo in the living room suddenly blasted to life, the volume cranked way up and pumping through the floorboards. People shouted thanks as their conversations became drowned out.

Ben reached the closet door at the end of the hall and let go of your arm to open the door. You were met with the dark entrance and what appeared to be zero breathing room, and Ben pointed inside.

“Up and at ‘em. We don’t got all night.”

“Ben, you’re a serious ass, you know tha—” Your sentence is cut by Ben’s hand flying up into your face, his fingers positioned into a little sock puppet mouth pose as he mocked the words that came from your mouth sarcastically. 

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” he deadpanned.

You glared at him, crossing your arms, then turning to walk inside the closet without another word. He stepped in behind you, the two of you siding to opposite walls to face each other, but realizing just how little space there was when your shoes touched his. Ben kicked at you to move, but with all the boxes and hanging clothes around you, it was impossible not to be stepping on top of the other. When the door pulled shut, the darkness was really the cherry on top to the whole situation.

Save for the thin line of light leaking in from under the door, it was pitch black in here. The air grew warmer almost immediately as you stood in there, heavy with the dense, earthy smell of weed that always clung to the blond like a second skin.

You shifted your weight, “You gonna turn on the light?”

He didn’t answer.

You pushed, getting nervous, “Ben?”

A little chuckle came from the darkness right in front of you.

“Kinda moody in here, huh?”

You scoffed and kicked lightly at his shin. He laughed the tension from you and suddenly the bulb overhead flared on without anyone touching the chain. Soft yellow light flooded the dark space.

Ben was standing close. Closer than you expected him to be.

His blond hair was a complete mess of strands falling into his eyes and layers sticking up. The pointed tips of his ears poked out through the mess, flinching at nothing. His eyes stood out the most amongst his lightwashed palette. His black scleras encased these gleaming red irises, seemingly radiating amongst the inkly color. He was wearing an old graphic tee that had seen better days and a pair of baggy jeans held up by a chunky belt that seemed like it belonged on someone twice his size.

But what really held your attention were his tears.

They were always there as far as you knew, those dark streaks running down his pale cheeks. Up close, you could see how they slowly dissolved into the air right around his jawline, fading like they were dissolving. Fresh ones kept forming at the corners of his eyes, sliding down his skin before they too fizzled out into nothing and started again.

But for a boy who was always crying, you didn’t feel very bad, considering he always found a way to pester your sentimentality away.

“Take a picture or something.”

You snapped out of it, “What?”

“You’re staring.”

Ben began packing the bowl for the bong, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. You followed, awkwardly avoiding his limbs as you settled across from him and became packed in by the boxes and junk. He would randomly ask you to hold something—the bowl, the bong itself, a small bag of weed—but otherwise stayed quiet, focused on what he was doing. You took the opportunity to explore the boxes on the floor around you. Most of it was junk like old magazines, tangled string lights, and dusty clothes. But you dug deeper into one box and lit up.

“Oh my god, it’s a Game Boy!” you exclaimed, pulling the little purple device out triumphantly.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “That’s probably been in here for years. Bet it’s dead.”

You groaned, pressing the power button anyway. Nothing happened. “Of course.”

Ben held his hand out. You passed it over, thinking maybe he would chuck it away, but he pressed the power button and the screen flickered to life with it’s little electronic chime.

He handed it back with a smug little grin. “You’re welcome.”

You took it eagerly and immediately started playing Tetris, the familiar music crackling through the old speakers. Ben finished packing the bowl, fishing in his pockets for his lighter as he leaned forward to look over your screen.

“You’re gonna die,” he said flatly when you tried to force a line.

“Shut up, I’ve got this,” you pushed back, laughing when the blocks stacked up anyway.

Ben lit the bowl and took a couple of hits to get it started, holding his breath in before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. The sweet smell of weed quickly filled the air, mixing with the dust and old coats to give you a sensory overloaded experience.

He held it out to you. “Your turn, loser.”

You shook your head, too focused on the little screen. “I’m playing my game.”

You were so close to clearing the level, but just before passing, the blocks suddenly pixelated out of the border, and the whole board filled up instantly. GAME OVER popped across the screen as the power to the toy cut off.

You let out an exasperated groan and tossed the Game Boy back into the box it came from. “I don’t want any. I’ve never even used one of those anyway, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Ben scoffed from where he was sitting, going to light the bowl again. “Figures.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What does that mean?”

He took a long hit, the water bubbling loudly as smoke filled the chamber. He held it for a second, then exhaled a thick cloud toward your face before shrugging, smoke filtering from his lips as he spoke.

“There’s no way you’ve made it this far in life and haven’t hit a bong. That’s such lame-ass behavior.”

You scoffed right back and kicked at his leg. “I’ll probably get a contact high just from being in here with you, asshole.”

Ben rolled his eyes and shoved the bong into your hands anyway. “Shut your yapping and listen to me.”

You stared at the glass piece like it might bite you. Ben leaned over and started rummaging through the junk around you. He pulled out a couple of old shirts and towels, then turned and started stuffing them tightly under the crack of the closet door, sealing it as best he could.

Ben was satisfied with his little setup. He turned back to face you and gripped the neck of the bong. He adjusted it in your hands, showing you how to hold it properly, then pressed the mouthpiece against your lips.

“Alright, listen,” he said, surprisingly non-sarcastically. “When I light it, you’re gonna inhale. It burns a little more than normal weed, so take it easy at first. Don’t try to be a hero or anything.”

You’d never seen Ben this attentive with something before. It made you laugh a little under your breath.

He immediately got defensive, shoving at your shoulder. “What? Shut up.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you smiled. “Alright. I’m ready.”

You pressed your lips to the rim. Ben sparked the lighter and held it to the bowl, angling the neck for you. The second smoke clouded the chamber, you inhaled.

It hit a lot harder than you realized it would.

The smoke burned with this heaviness that cigarettes don’t have. You tried to hold it like you’d seen others do, but your throat closed up fast and you got choked. You only managed a tiny breath before pulling back, coughing in fits as smoke sputtered out of your mouth in puffs. You pushed the bong away from your face, your eyes already watering.

Ben busted out laughing, falling back against the wall. “That was so shit.”

You swatted at him between coughs, “Shut up—it burns—”

“You have to go again. That barely counted.”

You waved him off, trying to catch your breath. “Give me a second. Jesus Christ…”

You had barely gotten any and your head was already swimmy. Your throat burned. You weren’t sure if this was supposed to be fun, but half the mansion seemed obsessed with getting high on the roof most nights. You wanted to understand why.

So you took the bong back from him.

Ben leaned back forward and sparked up the lighter again. “Take it slower this time. Don’t suck it like a vacuum, just take a deep breath.”

You pressed your lips to the mouthpiece again. Ben lit the bowl, and you inhaled a bit slower this time, trying to let the smoke fill your lungs without choking on it. It still burned, but you managed to hold it longer. When you finally pulled away, you coughed again, but not as violently. Smoke curled out of your mouth as you handed the bong back to Ben, coughing only in small gasps now.

He just grinned at you as he sat the bong next to him. “Atta girl.”

You leaned your head back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, trying to settle yourself as you stared to the ceiling. Dust mites floated in the space overhead, swimming in the light and the smoke that now floated through the space. You feel hazy, like everything has begun to feel pressurized and dazed, like you were looking at the world through a thick sheet of film. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the constant thump of the music from the living room vibrated up through the floorboards and into your legs, vibrating the rest of your body along with it.

You were jarred from your state by the feeling of something tugging at your shoe. You looked down to see Ben absently playing with the laces of your shoe, twisting them around his finger and playing with the strings.

He shoved your leg away when you began to giggle a bit.

“How do you feel?” he hummed.

“Weird.”

Ben nodded, “Yeah.” Then, after a beat, “Just wait until you start feeling the bugs under your skin.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He held the serious expression for half a second before cracking into a grin, “I’m kidding.”

You shivered anyway, but the laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. It felt ridiculous, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake even though nothing was really even that funny. Ben’s laugh mixed with yours until you were both giggling.

Ben suddenly sat up a little straighter, like a thought had just hit him. “Oh shit, wait— here, look at this.”

He leaned forward and dug into his back pocket, pulling out his very cracked phone. The screen was covered in tiny fractures, but it still lit up when he tapped it. You watched curiously as he swiped through a few things, then clicked on a video and turned the phone toward you, placing it carefully in your hands.

You immediately narrowed your eyes. “If you’re about to show me porn, I’ll kill you.”

Ben just laughed and put his hand on top of your head, angling your face down toward the screen. “Shhh. Just watch.”

It was one of those weird trippy videos that had a colorful illusion flowing across the screen, everything really vibrant and clear in an uncanny way. At first you laughed, saying, “These are so stupid,” but the longer you stared, the harder it became to look away. It felt strange… like the swirling shapes and shifting grids held all of your attention.

Ben smiled, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, I know that’s right.”

He went back to absently playing with the laces of your shoe, twisting and untwisting them as you watched his phone.

Without you even touching the screen, the video started scrolling on its own, showcasing new patterns and swirling colors fading in every few seconds. You watched, mesmerized, as the shapes twisted and folded into themselves before scrolling to another video.

You didn’t look up from the phone when you said, “It’s so stupid that you can just do that.”

Ben sighed, “Perks of being me, y'know."

You laughed when the videos scrolled onto Minecraft parkour runs instead.

“It must be so easy,” you mumbled, “just turning on and using whatever you want without using your hands.”

Ben hummed in agreement, clearly amused at your interest in him. You couldn’t help but blurt out, “And getting blackmail on everyone.”

He laughed outright at that. He let his arm rest across your shins, “You have no idea.”

The screen changed again. This time it wasn’t a video—it was his photos. The image that popped up was of a skinny little pale boy with messy brown hair, missing a couple teeth, and grinning bigtime for a school photo. It just looked to be a ratty little kid.

You stared, trying to place him. “Who is that?”

Ben smiled, “Jeff.”

You looked back down at the photo, then up at Ben again. A surprised laugh barked out of you before you could stop it.

“No way,” you grinned. “That’s Jeff? He looks so… little.”

“His mugshots aren’t much better either.”

Ben reaches for his phone and pockets it before reaching down for the bong again. He lit it, took a hit, and passed it over to you like before.

You managed it on your own this time, though Ben still held the lighter for you, how courteous. Smoke plumed out and joined the cloud overhead. You wondered how long you’d actually been in here? Two minutes? Two hours? Time felt slippery now, hard to pin down. But you were starting to understand the appeal. Everything felt softer, a lot slower.

You passed the bong back and asked, “What do you even do when you’re high?”

Ben thought about it for a second, his hand falling back to rest on your shins and rubbing absently along your pant leg. He clearly didn’t think about it too hard, though.

“Jerk off,” he said plainly.

Your face heated at your cheeks. You rolled your eyes and kicked at him. “Be serious.”

He rolled his eyes back at you. “I’m not lying. Nothing feels better than getting high as fuck and jerking your shit. Lol.” He said “lol” part out loud at the end, which made you cringe so hard you thought you might die.

Then he gave you a real answer, “Eat. Play Siege. Go for walks…” 

At that, he seemed to think of something, then patted your leg eagerly. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

You looked at him before glancing toward the door. “But… we’re playing the game.”

Ben waved that off. “Nah. I got lumped into this. I’m not even really playing, I just did it cause it was you.”

You tensed a little. “Where? Won’t the others get worried?”

He was already starting to stand, pushing his messy blond hair out of his face as he picked up the bong too. “Just come on.”

You pushed yourself up to stand with him, surprised by how airy your body felt, like your limbs were a little lighter than usual, a gentle swimmy sensation rolling through you as you rose into the thick cloud of smoke that was previously hovering over your head. 

Ben gripped the door handle, cracking it open just a sliver to peek into the hallway first. Then he reached back, his hand sliding snugly around yours as he opened the door the rest of the way and stepped out.

You couldn’t help but laugh as the smoke poured out, drifting lazily down the hall out ahead of you. The cool air from the hallway hit your skin and you sighed, relieved by the fresh rush against your flushed cheeks. Ben kept a hold on your hand, guiding you through the halls and around corners, dodging a couple lingering around in empty rooms as he dropped his bong on the hallway table and pushed out the back.

You eventually pushed through the back door and stepped out onto the deck. The night air was crisp and clean, a welcome contrast to the smoky warmth of the house. You climbed down the stairs after him, stepping out into the yard.

“Where are we going?” you asked again.

Ben glanced back at you. “Somewhere nicer.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you just absently held his hand as he pulled you across the backyard toward the treeline. The grass was cool and damp under your shoes. He led you down a narrow path you didn’t recognize, the trees closing in around you until the lights and noise of the mansion faded into the distance behind you, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl somewhere far off.

You glanced over at him. Ben’s dark eyes were half-lidded now as he walked the path, he looked sleepy, and it made you giggle.

Ben glared at you playfully. “Hush.”

“Your eyes look funny,” you smiled.

He grinned down at you lazily, “Yours look pretty funny too. Geeked as hell.”

As you kept walking, the moonlight grew more and more filtered by the canopy overhead until the darkness felt more dense than back at the house. In the little moonlight, Ben’s red irises seemed to glow against the black of his pupils, like two small embers smoldering in the night. You found yourself getting lost in them, staring a little too long, until your foot caught on a root and you stumbled forward.

Ben’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you upright before you could fall.

“Careful,” he teased, “don’t fall on your ass.”

You shoved at his shoulder. “Worry about your own ass.”

Then he slowed to a stop. “We’re here.”

You looked forward and felt your breath leave you.

The trees opened up into a small quarry, the ground dropping into a clear swimming hole. Moonlight spilled across the water’s surface, sparkling like scattered diamonds as it rippled and sloshed against the bank. The whole place felt like a dream, the air carrying the scent of pine and wet river stones.

“Wow…” you whispered, stepping out from the treeline and onto the rocky bank. The view was beautiful, peaceful in a way the rest of tonight wasn’t.

“Not bad, right?”

You tilted your head to him. “How did you even find this place?”

“Followed EJ out here one night ‘cause I was bored. He comes out here sometimes really late. I liked it, so now I sneak out when everyone’s being annoying.”

You smiled at him, unable to resist teasing him. “Wow. He does feel.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

You turned back toward the water, letting the cool night air wash over your skin. It felt good after the density in the mansion. The soft lap of the water was enough to drown everything else out.

Before you heard shuffling behind you. 

You felt as Ben walked up behind you, his presence radiating. He was close. You froze as you felt his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath brushing your neck and sending goosebumps lining your skin.

“Ben?” you sounded as confused as you felt.

He hummed softly, “It’s nice tonight.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. You stood there stiffly, staring out at the water, half-convinced this was some kind of sick joke. But your cheeks burned so bad you might’ve hoped it wasn’t.

“The water sure is pretty, huh?” he murmured.

You nodded, still trying to figure out what was happening.

“Wanna get a closer look?”

Then, you felt his hands slide from around your waist, and a hard shove on your back.

You stumbled forward with a startled yelp, your arms windmilling out in front of you as you lost your balance. The bank dropped off sharply, and you plunged into the cold water below with a loud splash. It was only waist-deep, but the cold shock still knocked the breath out of you. You came up sputtering, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes hanging wetly off your body.

You whipped around, coughing and gawking up at the bank.

Ben stood there wide-eyed and bushy tailed.

“You—you asshole!” you choked out, wiping water from your eyes.

“You should see your face right now.”

Ben dug into his pocket, pulled out his cracked phone, and snapped a quick photo of you standing there dripping wet. The flash lit up the quarry for a split second, as well as your irritated face.

He just tossed his phone onto the grass and reached back to tug his shirt over his head. Your mouth went a little dry at the sight of his lean, pale torso standing against the moonlight, the subtle lines of muscle shifting as he moved. He unclasped his belt and slid it from loops, then shoved his jeans and shoes off, leaving him in just his green boxers—which made you scoff. Without another word, he took a running start off the bank and dove into the deeper water.

The splash sprayed onto you. You braced your arms up, but still got soaked all over again. When the water settled, Ben popped back up, shaking his head like a dog. His blond hair was dark and flat against his skull for a second before he ran both hands through it, messing it back up into a dripping frizz.

You waded towards the dock. “You’re insane.”

Ben sighed dramatically, already treading out toward the deeper part of the swimming hole. “Relax. It’s just water.”

You climbed back up onto the bank, irritated but also weirdly energized by the need to pester the blond back. You kicked off your sopping shoes. Two could play this game.

You started peeling off your wet jeans, the denim clinging stubbornly to your legs before you finally yanked them off. Then you grabbed the hem of your soaked shirt and pulled it up and over your head, tossing both garments onto the grass with a wet plop. You were left in just your bra and panties, the night air raising goosebumps across your skin.

Ben had gone quiet.

You glanced over as you stepped back toward the water. He was watching you the entire time. His face had disappeared under the surface, only his eyes floating above the surface as he watched you move into the shallows, staring at you like he was trying to commit the sight to memory.

You waded out toward the deeper part, the cold water rising up your thighs, then your waist. The stones and moss felt slick under your feet. Your high made all the textures and temperature of the water elevated, all your senses alight with different sensations and feelings that couldn’t be described as anything other than good.

When you finally waded out to where he was, your feet barely touched the bottom, forcing you to tread water to stay afloat. Ben didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you approach. When you got close enough, he rose a little higher out of the water, blinking at you with those pretty glowing red eyes.

His gaze shot down to your chest for half a second before snapping back up to your face. The moonlight shone softly over both of you, catching in the droplets on your skin and making everything look a little unreal, a little dreamlike.

You tilted your head, smiling a little. “What’s the matter?”

Ben huffed, looking away toward the trees. “You’re a tease.”

You didn’t believe him for a second. You reached out, letting your fingers trace lightly down his chest, smearing the water across his pale skin. His muscles twitched under your touch like it shocked him. Ben stayed quiet, but you could see the way his jaw tightened.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, you splashed the biggest wave of water you could right into his face.

Ben sputtered, wiping at his eyes as you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach so hard you almost went under.

“You were so shy!” you teased. “Look at you—”

He didn’t even let you finish. Ben splashed a wave right back at you, drenching your face and hair. You squealed, laughing harder as the cold water hit you, and the fight was on.

The two of you went back and forth, splashing and dodging like kids, the quarry echoing with your laughter and his playful curses. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, Ben would lunge forward and send a huge splash your way, grinning like an idiot the whole time. Water flew everywhere, catching the moonlight in bright arcs as you both tried to outdo the other.

At one point you tried to swim away, but Ben caught your ankle and yanked you back, pulling you toward him until you were both laughing too hard to keep splashing at the other properly. You ended up pushing at his shoulders while he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping.

“You started it,” he accused.

“You deserved it,” you shot back.

You registered where Ben’s hands were the moment they gripped your hips under the water, his palms warm against your skin as you tried to stabilize yourself in the deeper part. Ben noticed your struggle and pulled you closer to him.

“Wrap your legs around my hips,” he mumbled.

Your heart hammered as you did what he asked, hooking your legs around him. Ben’s hands slid down to support your thighs, holding you up effortlessly in the water. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders for balance, feeling the cool water lapping up around your bodies as you floated together.

“This is kinda hot,” the blond said, completely shameless.

You swatted at his shoulder. “You’re such a pervert.”

Ben shrugged. “It’s hard not to be when you’re around.”

You noticed then how the water mixed with the dark tears that always ran down his cheeks. They smeared into wet gray streaks across his pale skin. Without thinking, you reached up and wiped at them with your thumb, cleaning the streaks away before new dark tears reappeared.

Ben blinked at you, surprised, but made no move to say anything about it. His hands started roaming, sliding over your legs and hips, then slipping back toward your ass. You pinched his shoulder.

“Careful,” you warned, though your tone was soft.

Ben groaned at you, his fingers hooking into the hem of your panties at your waist and giving them a little tug.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained, knotting his brow.

You hummed. “Life isn’t fair.”

“Yeah, but you could be to me, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what have you done to deserve my fairness?”

You traced a finger along his jaw as you said it. Ben’s expression shifted into a pout, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before back up to your eyes.

“I’ll be nice,” he sounded almost sweetly.

You gawked at him, exasperated at that answer. “So you’ll only be nice when you want something? That’s what I'm hearing?”

Ben tugged you closer by the waist, bodies brushing under the water.

“Yeah,” he admitted, before pinching your hip in return. “But I know you like it when I’m mean.”

You saw his angle, watching as his eyes dipped down and he tried to lean in closer toward your lips.

You cut him off by pressing your hand over his mouth. Then you untangled your legs from around his hips, pushing away with a laugh. Ben let you go, but not without complaining. “Awh, c’mon. You know you want me.”

You waded toward the shallow bank, glancing over your shoulder at him with a grin. Once the water was only knee-deep, you stepped out onto the grass, the cool air chilling your wet skin. Your clothes were soaked through where you had dropped them, so you laid them out flat on the grass to dry.

Behind you, you heard Ben leaving the water too. Then came a low whistle.

You turned to see him staring shamelessly at your ass while you were bent over arranging your clothes. You straightened up and flipped him off, before treading over to a dry patch of grass and sitting down.

Ben followed, dropping down beside you. You both lay back, looking up at the moon and the scattered stars, letting the breeze slowly dry your skin. 

You broke the comfortable silence first.

“I guess we’ll have to wait until my clothes dry before we go back.”

Ben shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. A few droplets of water fell from his messy blond hair onto your shoulder. 

“I know a way we could pass the time.”

You shoved at his face, pushing him back down to the grass with a laugh. “You’re relentless.”

He chuckled but didn’t push it, settling back beside you again.

You stared up at the sky, your mind still a little swimmy and dense from the weed earlier. Your high had settled into a pleasant wave that made everything feel softer around the edges. You reached down and plucked at a few blades of grass, rolling them between your fingers.

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“Why do you smoke so much?”

Ben was quiet for a long moment. You could hear the rustle of grass as he shifted beside you.

“I like the way it makes me feel,” he said eventually. “Like… it makes me feel real. Like not just a bunch of code crammed into a body. I guess.”

You turned your head to look at him. He was still staring up at the stars, red eyes reflecting the moonlight above. For once, you didn’t think he looked all that bratty.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just stayed silent, the two of you lying side by side under the night sky.

Until you felt a hand trace lightly along your waist, fingertips brushing your bare skin. You shivered a bit at the contact. You leaned up on your elbows, glaring at him. “Ben—”

“And it feels extra good when I do this when I’m high,” he gleamed.

You opened your mouth to question him, but you felt what he was talking about soon after.

It started prickly, like when your hand goes numb after sitting on it too long. Then it shifted into something else—a sort of staticky buzz, like the old TV static you used to get when you put your face too close to the screen, but a margin more intense. It followed wherever his fingers moved, crackling warmly across your skin.

“What is that?” You gasped.

“Dunno. Energy? I think? It just feels awesome when I’m jerking off.”

You watched, wide-eyed, as Ben’s hand rubbed slowly over your abdomen, then your waist, then down to your hips. The static sensation made your muscles twitch, a soft whine slipping out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Feels nice, right?” he asked.

“It feels weird,” you managed, voice a little too breathy for your liking.

But he didn’t stop. His hand continued its path down your thighs, then back up to your ribs. Your breath caught sharply when his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot just under your chest, and Ben’s smile widened as he watched your face.

“Shut it,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks burning.

“Careful,” he teased, “or I might think you like it.”

His hand kept moving, inching ever so slowly toward the hem of your panties. His voice dropped quieter, almost to a murmur.

“Do you like it?”

It was hard to think straight with all the sensations buzzing across your skin, but you nodded, fingers gripping the blades of grass beneath you.

Ben’s hand inched further down. “What if I keep going?”

You finally looked at him, blinking up at his face as he leaned closer over you. You were so annoyed by him it was ridiculous—that lazy grin, those ember eyes, the way he always seemed to know exactly how to push your buttons. But maybe it was the weed, or the buzz in the air, or just how purely horny you were in this moment, because you nodded again.

Ben finally leaned in, tilting his head down to press his lips to yours. At the same time, his fingers pressed against you over your panties. Your legs immediately tried to snap shut, but he was already between them. You gasped into the kiss, one hand gripping his arm tightly while the other tangled in his messy blond hair.

He kissed you deeply, wet tongue sliding against yours as his fingers began to rub little circles over your folds through the damp fabric. The static sensation from his touch lit up your nerves like fireworks, making your hips twitch up into his hand. He ground his palm against your cunt, drawing a muffled moan from you.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing a little heavier.

“You’re so wet,” he teased, pecking your lips.

You let out an exhausted laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “It’s just ‘cause I wore them in the water.”

Ben shushed you, trying to hide his smile against your lips. “Don’t ruin this for me, yeah?”

You smiled against his mouth, nodding as he kissed you once more. His fingers kept up that rhythm, rubbing and pressing through your panties until you were squirming under him, your hips rolling up frequently to meet his touch.

Ben chuckled as you whined under him. “You’re so noisy,” he murmured, nipping at your cheek. “Pipe down before someone hears you.”

You cursed under your breath. “Then stop teasing me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyebrows raised in mock exasperation. “Teasing? Girlie, this is not teasing. This is—”

He let his hand slip away from you completely, leaving you aching and frustrated. Then, with a wicked little grin, he hovered just one finger above your clit. Tiny pulses of static electricity danced from his fingertip, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves without any real pressure. 

“Cut it out,” you whined.

Ben tilted his head. “Then you need to talk nicer to me.”

You huffed, feeling embarrassed, but the ache between your legs won out. “Please…”

He hummed, pretending to think it over. “I don’t listen to babies. I listen to big girls who know how to use their words.”

Your face flushed hot. For a second you wondered if you were dreaming—this couldn’t be real life, not with Ben saying something so lewd.

“Are you gonna be a big girl?”

He finally pressed his finger firmly against your clit firmly, causing you to sputter out, “Will you… finger me please?”

Ben hummed again, “Nah.”

You groaned in frustration. “You’re doing this again? Nah??”

He patted your cunt before pulling his hand away and rolling onto his back beside you, tucking his hands behind his head like he was settling in for a nap. You lay there, hot and bothered and honestly a little angry, staring up at the stars while Ben looked far too pleased with himself.

“Ben…” You whined.

He just unrepentantly closed his eyes, the picture of relaxation. “I wish I had some food right now. I’m starving.”

You scoffed, sitting up and looking down at him. “Benjamin.”

Ben finally cracked an eyelid open, eyeing you. “I know a snack I could have.”

You hit his chest, but he caught your hand and tugged you down toward him. He pecked your lips as he spoke, “Will you ride my face?”

You pulled back and covered your face with both hands, mortified. “Fuck off.”

Ben tsked, clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting out of you. “Nah. I know you’re into that freaky shit. I’ve seen your browser history.”

You glared at him, but the flush on your face only got worse. His fingers traced your hips again, hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging at them playfully.

He lay back fully, pulling at your hands until you were kneeling next to him. “Come on, girlie. Don’t be shy.”

You told him to quit, but your body was already moving. You turned away from him so your back faced his head, and slowly swung one leg over. Ben got excited immediately, his hands guiding your thigh as you straddled his face, kneeling on your knees. You placed your hands on his abdomen, bracing your weight against him as his fingers gripped and prodded at your hips, pulling you down.

“I don’t want any of that hovering shit either.” Ben sounded overly eager. “Sit dooown.”

Ben tugged your hips roughly. You gasped when you felt his lips press against you over the fabric of your panties, his breath creating damp spots against the soaked material. You felt your lips falling open as he kissed repeatedly over your clit.

“Been waiting for this,” he muttered, groaning against your cunt.

He reached up and tugged the lining of your panties aside. The air hit your bare skin and made you shiver, nervousness making the hair on your arms stand up. Then you felt his finger press against your folds, smearing your wetness up to your clit and watching how slick collected on his thumb. You couldn’t clamp your thighs shut due to his head, so you literally had to just take it. 

“So you are wet,” Ben chuckled. His thumb pushed through your folds, collecting more of your slick where you hovered over his mouth. He brought his thumb to his lips and you heard the wet sound of him sucking it clean. Then his hands were back around your hips and gripping your ass firmly. You jumped at the touch.

“Whine to somebody who cares,” he pulled your hips down and connected your bare cunt with his mouth.

You felt him exhale against your skin before his tongue licked across your folds in long strokes, lapping at your cunt like candy. He groaned loudly under you, the sound muffling straight through your core as his hands gripped your ass, pulling you down harder onto his face and digging your knees into the ground.

His tongue split your folds, dragging over your clit and up to your entrance. He prodded that spot before sucking on your clit with wet, obnoxious kisses. His jaw and chin worked eagerly, drinking in every bit of your arousal as it dripped onto his tongue. You dug your nails into his taut abdomen, feeling the muscles strain under your fingers as he held you in place, refusing to give you a moment to adjust.

His fingers kneaded and tugged at your ass, pulling your panties taut and snapping the waistband against your skin until your skin welted from the impacts. You tried to hit his stomach, gasping out, “Ben—chill out, you’re being too rough—”

He patted your ass in response, humming a pleased little sound that made you shiver. He dug his heels into the grass, his thighs straining.

You hung your head between your shoulders, panting in quick little inhales because you were so overwhelmed. It was hard to focus with all the sensations writhing through your head. You found your legs were beginning to shake under you, your muscles tensing to hold yourself steady.

You felt him breathing heavily against you, his tongue slurping and making those lewd, wet noises that made you groan and cringe.

“This is so nasty,” you panted, but that didn’t stop how good it felt.

Ben eventually let up, pulling your ass up just enough so he could talk, his thumb taking over and rubbing circles over your clit instead. He sounded amused.

“If it’s so nasty, then why are you grinding on me?”

You shook your head quickly. “I’m not—”

“Yeah you are,” he chided, and smacked your ass with his other hand.

You jerked at the sharp sting. Ben kissed the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so dirty,” he murmured, teasing the hide off of you. “Such a dirty girl.”

Then he pulled you back down onto his face. This time his tongue pushed up between your folds and pressed right against your entrance, lapping at it before pushing inside you.

You gasped sharply, your arms buckling as you fell forward onto your forearms on top of him, landing you with a face-full. Inside Ben’s already wet boxers, the frustratingly hot outline of his cock was clear and laid across his hip, jerking and pulsing in time with his movements under you.

You gasped again, trying to regulate your breathing as Ben began to tongue-fuck you properly. The wet muscle thrust in and out, pushing inside you while his thumb continued rubbing firm circles on your clit. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head. You couldn’t stop staring at the way his cock twitched in his boxers, the sight making your stomach tighten with heat.

You couldn’t help yourself. There was no room left for shame when you’d already gone this far.

You propped your weight on one arm, then reached down with the other, pressing your hand over the thick outline of his cock over his boxers. Ben’s hips jerked up at the contact, a muffled noise grumbling against your cunt before he pulled back just enough to huff a laugh.

“Ooh yeah… that’s much better.”

He ground up into your hand, and you wrapped your fingers around his clothed length, letting him thrust into your grip. You heard him grunt and groan as he went back to eating you, not even making you work for it, just fucking your hand with all the lack of embarrassment he hsd.

You watched with wide eyes, panting as you felt every wet brush of his tongue. Your mind started to wander, imagining what it would feel like if that cock was inside you instead. The thought made you whine, gritting out, “You’re so mean to me.”

Ben hummed a little “nuh uh” against your cunt.

“Yes you are,” you breathed, deciding that you’d rather grind fully against his mouth than pretend like you didn’t want it.

You pushed your hand under his boxers, his skin cool and damp underneath. Your fingers found the hard length of him and wrapped around it, gripping the middle and tightening your fingers until you heard the blond groan behind you. You felt so frustrated at how turned on you were, the words bubbling out before you could stop them,

“But it turns me on so bad, Ben. You’re so frustrating… but I just want you to make me cum.”

Ben’s grip on your ass tightened, nails digging into your skin as he growled against you.

“I can make you cum, girlie. As many times as you want. I’ll do anything for this pussy.”

You groaned, starting to stroke his cock slowly, feeling it throb in your hand. Ben jerked his hips up into your grip, but you helped him now, rubbing your thumb over the leaking head, spreading the slick precum as you pumped him.

You pulled back the waistband of his boxers, his cock springing out sending droplets of pre across his abdomen. It was long, the tip a dark, swollen red with thin veins running up the sides, curving just slightly toward his navel. You stared at it for a second, mesmerized, before pumping it slowly. You watched his tip disappear into your fist and reappear, glistening your thumb with precum.

You leaned down, and it was like Ben already knew what you were about to do. His hips bucked up excitedly toward your face, an eager sound rumbling from behind you.

You parted your lips, taking a shaky breath before sticking your tongue out. The first lick across his slit made Ben pull off your cunt with a loud, obnoxious moan, his chest heaving as you lapped at the bead of precum leaking from him.

“Fuck—” he cursed. He kissed your cunt again, taking shaky breaths like he was trying to pull his composure together.

You closed your eyes and sucked lightly on his tip, running the flat of your tongue along his slit until more precum dribbled out onto your tastebuds. The salty taste made you hum softly around him. You pushed your hips back against Ben’s face, silently urging him not to stop what he was doing.

He took the hint with earnest hunger. His tongues dove back in, his lips sucking against you so intently you think he must be thanking you. You took more of him into your mouth, sucking gently while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit. 

Ben fucked up into your mouth the best you would let him. The angle was awkward, but you took as much of him as you could, wetting his cock before popping off to focus on the head. Your other hand slid up to press against his pelvis, your fingers tangling in the messy patch of pubic hair at the base of him.

You felt how he worked with you—how every time he pulled your body down, you took more of his cock when he’d buck up to yiu, your eyes pricking with tears as the head bumped against the roof of your mouth. Your tongue swept along the underside of him, trying your damnedest not to graze him with your teeth.

Ben slurred against you, his lips wet with your slick and smearing it between your thighs.

“Let me know if this is too much.”

You couldn’t question him with your mouth full, so you only realized what he meant when you felt that familiar static sensation bloom from his hands again. It started at your hips and spread inward, prickling your nerves, like electricity buzzing under your skin.

You squirmed, popping off his cock with a wet gasp as the feeling intensified. 

“Oou, shit…” you whined.

Then it grew louder when his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, sending a current through you. Your body lit up, nerves firing from one end to the other as you tensed at the overwhelming sensation. It felt like you were being run through with electricity, like your bones themselves were vibrating inside you. You thought your pussy might go numb from how intense it was.

You silenced your whines by sinking back down on his cock, bobbing your head up and down to distract yourself, to not become completely overwhelmed. It hardly worked. The static buzz mixed with the thick heat of him in your mouth and the relentless work of his tongue made your head spin.

You felt like you couldn’t grind your clit against his tongue hard enough, like Ben had just stuck his tongue out and let you use it desperately. Your hips rolled and bucked, chasing that perfect pressure as the pleasure built higher and higher.

“Mmhnn…”

You tried to stave it off, if only to hold back the embarrassment of cumming before him. You angled your head down, letting the head of his cock slide along your tongue toward the back of your throat instead of bumping the roof of your mouth. You scrunched your face, trying not to choke as Ben moaned loudly against you, his hips jerking up immediately to fuck deeper into your mouth now that you had given him access.

But you couldn’t hold it back. And it seemed like neither could he, because both of you were getting loud and moaning obnoxiously, your hips jerking and grinding against each other’s mouths in messy coherence. 

His lips circled your clit and sucked at the bud, practically making out with the bundle of nerves.

That was all you could stand.

You hit his hip, planting both hands onto each of his hips as you clamped your eyes shut, pushed your head down as far as you could, and took it, letting him fuck your face fully. Ben seemed to get the message, because he let go of your hips and grabbed your thighs instead, holding you open so you could grind your cunt against his face as hard as you wanted.

You both came at the same time.

Your orgasm hit like a firework, crackling through you as you moaned loudly around his cock, your thighs shaking violently over his shoulders. Ben groaned deeply into your cunt, the sound muffled and wet as he spilled into your mouth, thick ropes of cum coating your tongue. You swallowed what you could, the rest leaking from the corners of your lips as you sucked him through it, your hips still grinding weakly against his face while his tongue worked you through the aftershocks.

You popped off his cock, panting as you tried to steady your body. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and with the last bit of strength you had, you rolled off him and collapsed onto the grass beside him.

Ben blinked deliriously up at the sky, his chest rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath. He wiped his own mouth with the back of his hand, then glanced over at you. His red eyes flicked down at himself for a second, then back up to the stars.

“Nice.”

You cracked a smile, feeling far more relaxed than you had all night. The night had turned syrupy and warm around you, your high still humming pleasantly through your veins.

Ben reached his arm out, tugging at yours until you slid up next to him. You laid your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you comfortably. 

“Don’t get all sentimental now,” you teased.

He smiled, “Eat my ass.”

You hummed, tracing your finger lazily across his abdomen. “I get it now. Why people like being high so much. It makes everything feel so… unreal.”

Ben nodded. “You’re gonna really think that when I fuck you after I get you geeked.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at his chest. “Chill. I’m easy.”

Ben laughed at you. “Clearly.”

You swatted him again, a little harder than the last. He sat up after a moment, reaching for his discarded jeans near him and digging into the pocket. You sat up too, curious to watch as he pulled out a preroll and his lighter.

He grinned at you, holding the joint out. “We could try right now.”

You eyed him for a second, then nodded.

Ben placed the filter between your lips when you leaned in. He flicked the lighter and held the flame to the end. You inhaled slowly a couple of times to get it started before you got a good hit, holding it in your lungs for a moment before exhaling. But before the smoke could fully leave your mouth, Ben leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke you blew out.

The taste of weed and him mixed together on your tongue. He pulled back just enough to exhale the smoke between you, red eyes half-lidded and looking at your lips.

“First one to cum has to wash the other’s clothes when we get back.”

“Deal.”

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

Well, you actually didn’t know what he was or what category he belonged to, but he made his presence known the first night.

You had been brushing your teeth when the lights overhead flickered.

The bulbs' hum grew louder, then they burst, leaving you in darkness. You were frozen in the spot, with all sorts of scary images flashing in your mind.

However, you were always quite the logical one, and you brushed it off. The wiring was ancient- was it really that surprising if it didn’t run like brand new? So you moved on, only to be bothered the next weekend by creaky footsteps in the hall.

Then it was your papers scattering randomly. A door slammed, an attic hatch swung open, followed by a loud crash.

Yet you stayed.

The deal you’d gotten was far too good for you to give up, and where else would you find a place with amenities included at this price? Though whatever was haunting you seemed determined to scare you off.

From nightmares to shadows in your periphery, he used every trick in the book. Except that over time, there had been a shift in his tactics.

You couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but one day- he just… stopped. No more sleep paralysis, no weird dread that sparked randomly either. For a moment, you thought you’d somehow scared him off.

During the transition period of your move, you’d met his intimidation with obliviousness. Ignoring his silhouette, sleeping in the daytime, and taking night shifts. When that didn’t work, you tried befriending him.

Attempting to make peace with the house by talking to him as if he were an odd roommate, on top of leaving out little snacks for him. And that’s how you got here.

He’d ceased his reign of terror on you for about two weeks before raising the stakes. This time, with a strangely romantic edge.

It began with a single daisy being placed on your bedside table. Naturally, you assumed it wasn’t the resident demon and that you’d gotten too drunk the previous night. Except that way of thinking flew out the window when he became much more straightforward.

The fogged mirror would serve as a canvas, with the words “Pretty” or “Hello, doll !! :)” He’d also roll unlabeled candies through your ajar closet door and scutter back into the darkness when you checked. Speaking of your closet, you didn’t understand how the thing functioned.

When the lights were off, it appeared like there was a void behind your clothing rack. A never-ending pitch black that you could fall into. If the lights were on, you’d be able to touch the back wall in one stretch. It hurt your head, and you decided not to investigate. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist, though.

He used that portal for all kinds of antics.

If you were digging for a sock, it’d only appear slightly out of reach when your room was dim. You’d have to crouch down, crawl from the barely lit space on the carpet to snag it. Sometimes he’d let you grab it; other times he’d continuously tug it farther and farther until you yelled from frustration.

It’d always be returned to you eventually, with you finding the stray sock at the foot of your bed a day later. Or it’d be thrown at the back of your head when you’d given up and stepped away.

At this point, he was more of an annoyance than a life-altering evil. Yet one thing was clear, and it was that he liked you.

Last month, you discovered his name was Jack. Specifically, “Laughing Jack In The Box.”

You’d finally gathered enough motivation to clean out your neglected attic and stumbled upon a music box.

It sat tucked into the corner, layered with dust and looking as cursed as ever. The object was evidently the source of whatever he was, so you were as respectful as you could be. Placing it neatly aside while you tidied the room. This is also when you learned about his clown situation.

While you were elbow-deep in mop water and disinfectant wipes, the music player rattled to life. The handle whirred, the chipped wood jolting as an off-tune melody filled your ears.

You were idle until the song came to a slow, and jumped a tad when the lid popped open. Inside, a porcelain monochrome jester was attached to a spring, about the size of a fist.

Upon further inspection, there was a photo lying at the bottom. An old portrait of what you assumed was him. The edges were faded, his form blurry, and he stood next to a popcorn stand. At first glance, it appeared normal enough- but if you stared, everything in the image was off.

He was too tall, with arms stretching past his knees. The popcorn stand, even in black and white, seemed like a prop. Not one on a movie set or anything of the sort, but as if it were desperately trying to blend in yet failing.

The background seemed almost flat, and his features sat unnaturally on his face. Too sharp, ill-fitting around his jagged teeth. He looked like he was only smiling because that's what people were supposed to do in photographs.

You had called out to him, saying you liked his get-up. Then you got back to work. Wiping down the floors with a Swiffer, organizing the aged boxes from previous owners, and by sunset, you were finished.

He hadn’t done anything else after the music box, so you were left to your own devices. Not a single noise or knocked-over cup in sight.

All that being said, he did a very bad job of staying quiet when it actually mattered.

And he was a pervert.

With the moon lit brightly over the clouds, you were getting ready for some much-deserved relaxation. Your love life was lacklustre, to put it mildly, and your vibrator was luring you in like a siren. You were sure most people would be uncomfortable being explicit in a haunted house, but you just couldn't find it in yourself to care.

The guy had to be at least a hundred. If he was going to loom threateningly in your halls and hide your socks, then he’d have to deal with your bookmarked tabs.

Opening your laptop, you clicked play on a recent favourite. It was basic, yet it fuelled your imagination just enough. The display lit up with a video of a man slouching against his couch, head out of frame.

He undid the drawstrings of his sweats, and you settled against the pillows. Your shirt was already off, panties pulled to the side as you spread your legs.

An important note: your bed was facing the closet.

Another important note: the closet doors were panelled and definitely did not cover the view in the slightest.

You would remember that fact when the glossy toy breached your cunt, and a very scandalized gasp echoed from beyond your wardrobe.

At first, you ignored it. Maybe he was a prude- he was ancient after all. Choosing to pretend you hadn’t noticed anything, you thrust the silicone deeper, sighing. It wasn’t as big as you’d prefer, but you hadn’t had the time to shop for another since your move. It would do for now, and you fixated on the screen. Trying to time your hand with his.

Though only a minute later, shuffling came from the other side of your closet.

Accompanied by panting, you could practically hear him swallow. Now that you were thinking about it, he was tall with big hands. His nose was pointy too, and he was clearly a sexually repressed loser of a demon. He probably hasn’t ever even kissed anybody- which could only mean one thing.

‘Laughing Jack’ had to be packing.

Puffing out your nose, you tossed your toy aside after pausing the video, and the room went dead silent. It was evident that he was attempting to conceal his presence.

Unfortunately for him, you were horny. Swinging your feet off the mattress, you padded over to the closet. Acting clueless so he wouldn’t flee. You moved as if you were reaching for your drawers, just to swing the wardrobe doors open. And there he was.

Scrunched up on the floor, his arms hovered awkwardly, legs folded under him, while he gawked up at you. His hair was longer than in the photo, his neck almost swallowed by a feather ruffle. However, it was the large tent in his patchwork trousers that caught your attention.

He stuttered, shocked. “W-Well, this is quite the first impression-” You dropped to your knees, crawling onto his lap. “Totally.” The purr of your voice wiped the smile clean off his face, and he stumbled back. Propped on his elbows when he tittered nervously.

“You’re very- uh- forward! Has anyone told you that?” His swirled pupils were glued to your face. He was a bashful pervert- who would’ve guessed?

Not answering his question, you hummed. “You ever fucked anyone, Jackie?” Trailing a finger down his broad chest, the nickname had him gulping. “Not particularly, no. Being a full-time entertainer takes work, I’ll have you know.” Attempting to joke, he was in disarray.

Jack had never been so out of his element in his life.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. You were straddling his thighs, bare-chested with only a thin layer of cotton separating your cores.

In all honesty, he hadn’t even touched himself before this, and the weight of you pressing down on his bulge was making his brain reboot. You were so warm- you couldn’t seriously blame him for being dazed, could you?

“Do you want to?” You hummed, running your tongue along your teeth. The faint glow of your lamp gave you a halo, far too angelic for the lust that swam in your gaze.

He stammered. “I’d definitely be open to it. Seems like quite the activi- mmph.” Your lips crashed into his. Jack’s nervous tittering had you soaked, and your patience had run out. You were going to milk this motherfucker dry.

Mouths slotting together, he tasted like watered-down hard candy. The sugar that was left over after you’d finished a lollipop. Your tongues swirled around each other, and he jolted under you.

The sensations made the wire ends spark in his head. Your hands were roaming his chest, his shoulders, up to cup his jaw.

You were squeezing everything there was to squeeze, releasing him with drool stringing between your lips. “Since it’s your first time, you can pick where we start. ‘Kay?” He nodded in response, hyperfocused on your touch. This was fine; he could handle this.

He’d been trapped in a box for years, dealt with horrific violence and mental strain- how intense could physical contact really be? However, as his self-assured pep talk settled, you ground your hips down—

Very intense. Physical contact was really, really intense.

He could feel your cunt mold around his cock, and he borderline choked. “Oh my! Hah, how enthusiastic of you, little human.” Claws shaking by his sides, you grinned.

Ignoring his rambles. “I could suck you off. Use my mouth to ease you into it.” You ran your thumb against his tip, continuing whilst he tried his best to keep eye contact.

“Or I could use my hands, touch you like this-” Your palm pressed against his length, making him gasp. You’d barely done anything, and the imagery was sending him reeling. “Or...”

Lowering your mouth near his ear, “I could just let you fuck me raw, fill me up till you can’t even think straight.” Your breath grazed him only slightly, but that was enough.

You didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. His eyebrows knotted together, lashes fluttering as he whined through gritted teeth. Jack’s spine curved off the wood, and he shuddered beneath you. “Haah- shit.” It was without a doubt that he’d cum untouched; the wetness leaking from his slacks was undeniable.

Slumping after a beat, he panted. “I didn’t- I don’t know what, ngh, happened.” Squinting at you, he looked like he’d genuinely fought for his life.

His hair stuck up in every direction, spit dribbling from his lips when you snickered. “You’re too cute- but I’m not riding you on the floor.” The confusion on his face was obvious, yet you didn’t explain further. Riding? What did that have to do with sex?

Though before he could question you, you rose to your feet, gesturing for him to follow. “C’mon-” You stood at the foot of the bed.

“Let me see you, Jackie.”

Sweat lined his back. Jesus, when was the last time he took off this thing? He didn’t need to shower, use the bathroom or anything of the sort, so undressing wasn’t really necessary.

Gulping, he gave you a strained smile. Undoing the straps over his chest, then his belt, he coughed awkwardly. It was funny to witness someone so uncannily unsettling be so shy, and you chuckled when he hopped to remove his pants.

Jack towered before you, completely bare. His lanky arms faded from an off-white to black at his fingertips, a sparse, happy trail lining his pelvis down to his cock. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes- you knew he was big, but this was something else.

A full nine inches, hanging heavy between his legs, the tip blushed a muted lavender. Your mouth was watering.

Plopping onto the mattress's ledge, you crawled backwards, holding out your arms as you lay against the pillows.

“Come here, gorgeous.” Cheeky, his face flushed, and he climbed over you. Hovering as you cupped his jaw. “You wanna’ help me take these off?” He nodded slightly, holding his breath, gaze flicking down. He hooked a thumb under your panties, tugging them down while you wiggled your hips.

You were being so nice, and your attention overwhelmed him. He’d been ready for you to scream, run, and cry in response. Fear him like everyone else- have him chase you to confess his obsession. He had gone over the scenario time and time again.

You’d see him in his carnage glory, screech at the top of your lungs before begging for your life. He’d be forced to hold you down.

Explain that you just didn’t understand, but you would once he showed you how much you meant to him. He prepped a speech, his persuasion and romance tactics. Yet, you didn’t react in any way close to what he assumed.

You kept giggling, flirty, when you caught him watching you like a degenerate. You called him gorgeous, and now you were offering yourself on a silver platter. He was not prepared for this. At all.

With your underwear removed, you circled his neck, bringing him close. “Do you know what to do?” He sputtered. “Hah- of course I do, my sweet! Just... um.” The pet name felt foreign on his tongue, but you had done the same. He really hopes it didn’t sound weird—

No. Focus.

He was going to ace this if it was the last thing he did.

Wracking his brain for memories, he had seen people participate in the act prior. He was sure of it! This couldn’t be too difficult. He was supposed to go inside you, then move back and forth... he thinks.

The last couple that moved in were decently touchy with each other; it’s just that he was never interested in staying for the whole experience.

He cursed himself. He was blowing the whole charming-you thing, and he couldn’t risk embarrassing himself further. What’s that saying? Fake it till you make it, right? “Okay, I’ll- ah. I’m going to... enter you... now?” Cringing, he lined himself up with your cunt, hissing from his own touch.

Okay, the dirty talk definitely needed work- but he was hot, and you needed the clown in tears.

You spread your thighs wider to make room, and his blunt tip nudged against your folds. Jack was huffing, attempting to find the opening. He missed twice more before you sighed, reaching down to guide him. “Now, push in-” You didn’t expect him to take it as a “slam forward without saying anything”, and you arched sharply.

He was only about a third of the way inside, yet the stretch had you dizzy. “Oh- fuck. Slowly, Jack.” You gasped while he shook above you. Nothing on earth could’ve prepared him for this. You were so tight. It felt like he could barely move, the pulses of your cunt making his eyes roll.

“You’re squeezing me, I- nngh-” He buried his face into your shoulder. “S-sorry, sorry, I can’t.” Then he forced his length deeper, biting down as you screamed. It was as if sopping velvet had enveloped him entirely, the squelch of your cunt ringing in his ears. “I didn’t think it’d feel so- haah-” He keened, his hands scrambling to grasp onto your waist.

His rhythm was sporadic. Moving too quickly, his pelvis thwacking against your mound thrice, before he’d become overwhelmed. His hips stuttered, his body freezing completely. You whined, palms flat against the plains of his back.

“Fuck me, Jackie- c’mon.” You had been pent up for too long, and his pathetic grunts next to your ear had you leaking onto the sheets.

Shivering atop you, he nodded shakily. Desperately trying to please you as he began humping into your cunt. Short, unsteady thrusts, with the pleasure making his eyes water. “Ah- ah- shit. Does it f-feel good? Please, want it to feel good- please.” He dragged his head out from the hollow of your throat, resting his forehead on yours.

You bit down on your lip, moans forced out with every thump against your cervix. “Mhm, so good. Keep- oh- keep going.” The praise made him twitch inside you, his cock weeping an inhuman amount.

Jack’s biology was a mystery to himself- he didn’t know why whoever created him even gave him genitals. The lubricant pouring out of him was constant, thin and milky, making you beyond slick. He couldn’t control it, his voice heightening in pitch when you clenched around him.

It was too good, too overpowering all at once. He wanted to hold it back, stave off the building tightness in his gut, but his willpower was laughably weak. “Sorry- 'm sorry, can’t—” Gasping, his tongue lolled out, pressing against yours as you panted wetly.

Not quite a kiss, your lips simply smushed together. Mouths hanging open, with your saliva mixing and dripping down your chin.

He shuddered violently, muscles tensing from head to toe. His cum painted your tunnel thickly, and you mewled, your nails raking down his back. There was so much.

Blisteringly hot inside you, spilling out to coat his base in an off-white. “Jack-” He slumped into you before you could finish your sentence, hips still faintly jolting. “Too much, sorry- ngh.” He slurred, his limbs boneless. You pouted, huffing. “Mmph, okay.” You should have just done this from the beginning.

You pushed at his chest, and he withdrew by an inch. “I- um, I’ll try again! I promise I’m-”

However, his maw snapped shut the moment you squinted at him. “Get on your back.” An order he rushed to obey, he shuffled to flip over, and you were swift to climb onto him.

Straddling his hips, you slid your sopping slit along his length. “We’ll work on it, but I wanna’ cum, so you’re just gonna’ be good for me and take it, okay?”

You cooed at his quiet sniffling. “I’ll take care of you, gorgeous. Don’t worry.” With that, you nudged his tip to sit against your entrance, sinking down on him only a second later.

The fullness had a blissed-out sigh escaping you, your clit now flush to his happytrail. He whimpered like a dog beneath you, and his claws sank into the fat of your ass.

Head thrown back, he squirmed. The new angle made it feel as if he barely fit, overly snug inside your walls and cramped enough to have his climax already stirring. His eyes rolled up into his skull when you started working yourself open on his girth. “Fuck.”

You were bouncing quickly, not wasting any time to let him adjust. Your pussy slammed onto his girth, and the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoed loudly. You giggled, drunk, while you used him. He hit the spot just right, stretching your hole in a way that had you addicted to the friction.

The ridges of his cock, the veins running up the length, would catch on your opening. Dragging in and out as you fucked down onto him. “Yeah- huuh- mm, yeah.” You moaned, drinking in his ruined expression. Jack was a mess.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, makeup smeared on your pillows. Babbling half-syllables and practically incoherent. He writhed nonstop, turning his face to one side just to jerk his head in the other direction.

“Don’t s-stop- please- pleaseplease- ngh.” His shoulders bowed, brows scrunched up, he bared his canines. His jaw clenched like he was in pain.

For an evil clown, he sure was a pretty crier. Trembling to the point his teeth chattered, tits squished together and dewy with perspiration. It made you greedy, had your hips slowing to a lazy grind before you trailed your touch up his chest. You snickered when a sad whine escaped him, his pout adorable.

“You wanna’ be mine, Jackie?” You murmured, and he nodded in return. “Mmh- y-yes- wanna’ be yours.” His bottom lip wobbling, his hiccups were quiet. Little soft sniffles that seeped into you like a drug.

You grinned. “How bad?” The sudden grip on his pec was firm, making him gasp. “So-! So bad, please.” You were groping him everywhere.

Kneading at his tits, his biceps, feeling him up to your heart's content. You were ravenous, your hunger never-ending and insatiable.

“Ugh, so cute. I’m totally keeping you.” Then you wrapped a hand around his throat, an iron hold on his windpipe. “Open your mouth, pretty boy.” His tongue swirled out, glistening while you pitched forward.

You spit a fat glob into his mouth and moaned when he gulped, picking up the pace without a word. He practically arched off the linen. “Fuck- please- huh, f-fuck me please- so good. Feels s’good.” Jack had no idea what the fuck he was saying, the begs clawing their way up, driven by pure need alone.

His whines were lewd, pornographic, like he’d never heard. He had no idea he could even sound like this. Raw and visceral as he watched you ride him to Heaven's gate.

Your pussy was so wet, your arousal coating his hilt- he choked. “Cumming- cumming- nngh—” Running out of air, he garbled, drool bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

But you were a sadist, and his pathetic nature was too beautiful to end now. You had to stretch it out, savour his tears as if you were parched.

You began humping his cock roughly, molding your lips to his. He laced your tongues together, the striped muscle elongating to explore your mouth.

His glowing pupils had formed hearts when you finally released him with a syrupy smack, and you hummed, cooing. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me.” You clamped around him, ensnaring him with your cunt.

“You’re so fucking big- I gotta’ milk your pretty cock to make up for how selfish you are, Jackie.” He sobbed at that, the pleasure having his head spinning like a carousel. He’d just poured a load inside you, and you were already forcing another one out of him.

He thinks he’s dying. Jack genuinely believed you were going to send him to the afterlife with your cunt. Immortality be damned, this would be his demise.

Sensations he didn’t know existed had him gagging on his own saliva like a whore, his body going haywire at every corner.

“Oh, haah- look at me.” You gasped, palm pushing down even harder. His gaze snapped to meet yours, his lids fighting to stay open. It felt like he was going to explode, the mattress squeaking, the headboard battering into the wall.

His face paint had stained your skin, white and black slathered across your cheek and lips, proof of how you ravaged him. You were ruthless, abusing his oversensitive length with abandon. “Uh- mmh-” The noises you made weren’t helping his restraint at all.

Sickeningly sugary, filthy as you chased your own high. Your free hand joined the one at his neck, a collar crafted out of lust and possession. His legs shook, his abdomen painfully tight. “Who’s pussy is this?” You drawled, constricting his airways, and he slurred in response. “Ah- nnh- wha-?”

You slammed your cunt down, extra punishing. “Who’s fucking pussy is this, Jackie?” Your eyes were ice-cold, hips mean. He thrashed, his struggle to escape the stimulation useless. “I- nngh- uh- uh- m-mine?” You sneered.

Ramming your heat up and down his cock hard enough to make him convulse. “Say it like you mean it, big boy-” You snarled, making him scratch at your thighs. His lungs were about to collapse- and he could’ve sworn he didn’t need those. “I’m yours- you own this perfect fucking cunt.” Mercy was not a name you knew well, and he keened.

Panting, his vision blurred, the pressure in his skull a centimetre away from bursting. He flailed under you, slurring. “Y-Yes, ma’am! Huuh- fuck- fuckfuck-” His broken cries sent you over the edge, and you gasped.

Tensing, with your spine curving, you squirted around his girth. Soaking his pelvis and thighs, climax hitting you like lightning. He spurted gluey ropes inside your tunnel, stuffing you to the fucking brink- then he went limp. Chest heaving when you released his throat, he blinked slowly, dazed.

You pecked his jaw, dragging kisses up to his cheekbone. “Good boy. You’re like- so cutesy, y’know?” He exhaled shakily, his massive frame a dead weight.

Jack could barely reply, yet his weak attempt made you giggle anyway. “Mm, you’re super boyfriend material. I’ve been needing a strong man to help me relax.” He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he was glad you were happy.

His breathing slowed bit by bit while you spoke, an exhaustion he hadn’t felt in decades cementing him in place. The last time he was even close to this tire was when he went on that killing spree back in two thousand eight. And that was a full day of slaughter.

You must be a succubus. A higher-level demon. Some all-powerful monster with a pussy made out of soul-draining diamond.

“We should get matching PJ’s! It’d be fun, we can have a movie night tomorrow cause I’m off till Monday—”

And apparently, he was now your boyfriend. Jack supposed the weird human sayings were true after all.

You do miss all the shots you don’t take.

— ^ ^ —

The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"

He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.

"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."

And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"

The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.

"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.

You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.

"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.

"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.

He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.

"You want me to fuck you."

It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"

The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.

But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.

You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.

His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.

He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.

Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.

"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"

A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."

Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."

But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."

The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"

He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"

His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"

"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"

The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.

"No."

Your heart plummeted. "What?"

"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."

"Wait?"

"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."

The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."

You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.

Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.

He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.

"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.

"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.

"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"

"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."

He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"

You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."

He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.

You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.

"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.

"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."

He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.

He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.

He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.

He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."

"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."

He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."

He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.

"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."

"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."

His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.

"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.

The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.

He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.

You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.

You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."

His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."

You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.

"Your turn," he grunted.

You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."

You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.

You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."

You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.

"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."

"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.

He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.

"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."

You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.

He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.

You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.

"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"

His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.

You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.

The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.

You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.

That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.

It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."

He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."

"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.

You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."

His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.

Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.

He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"

"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."

He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."

You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.

The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.

You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.

"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."

His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."

"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."

That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.

His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."

He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.

"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

A full month since you’d had a person to call home. Some days, you’d forget, sleeping soundly. Some days, you were angry. Then, on other days, his touch would linger over your skin in the dead of night. A phantom haunting you, his voice ringing in your ears- his features imprinted behind your lids.

Last night was exactly like that, but you had things to do. So you saddled up and greeted Jack as if you weren’t splitting at the seams. Though now standing in your own makeshift medbay, you found the goal harder to accomplish than you’d prepared for.

He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “Mm.” The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and you reached for a scalpel. Brain elsewhere, your eyes focused on five things at once. You went to place the blade into your kit when your knuckles brushed his.

“Sorry-”

“Apologies-”

Your mumbles overlapped, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. While you weren’t close with the cannibal, he had an ability to put you at ease. No pressure to initiate small talk, no barriers to suffocate you. You could just exist in his presence, and that was enough. It was nice.

Scalpels to the left. Exchangeable blades in the upper compartment. Sterile fluids would be organized into the cupboards, with the non-injectable type placed below.

You already packed the pill bottles this morning, so that was done. Yet, you felt like something was strange, a little off-kilter. Were you missing anything?

Jeffery?

Your body locked from head to toe, a deer in headlights, before you shook it off. Distracted by only a millisecond.

But Jack noticed.

The sound of metal clinking, the shuffling of bandages, then silence. His gaze was heavy on you even if you weren’t looking at him. Dread building, the weight in your stomach growing. Everything was fine.

You swallowed, your hands shaking slightly when you folded the gauze into a neat roll.

“What happened?”

The blade clattered against the surface. Still refusing to meet his eyes, you stiffly shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just out of it today.” Yet instead of his usual nod, he sighed. Barely audible as he rounded the table.

He was less than a foot away, leaning back to rest on the ledge. His head cocked to the side by a fraction. “That’s not true.”

You shrugged, shoving down the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, Jack-” He cut you off swiftly. “I can smell your distress.” Blunt and exposing. You finally let your arms fall limp and glanced at him. Tears bubbling up before you could even speak, the only noise that left your mouth was a pitiful half-gasp. Your syllables tripped over each other, but at last, the confession forced its way out.

“He fucked someone else.”

Nothing. The room was frozen for a few achingly long seconds- Jack straightened his spine. “I see.” His face was covered by the mask, barren voids where his eyes should be. He wasn’t the emotional type, and guilt simmered at the back of your mind.

This was probably awkward for him.

“Sorry. I just- I don’t know. I haven’t talked about it with anybody. I can’t, y’know? I’m…” You trailed off, sniffling with embarrassment creeping in. However, as you went to ramble out another apology, he interrupted you. “Would you like me to hold you?” Soft, understanding, his tone made you whip your head up.

You had never been physically affectionate with him, yet you still considered him a friend. Someone you trusted. And in this moment, the offer sounded like a lifeline.

You surged forward, and his arms wrapped around you in a heartbeat. He smelled earthy, like safety and something grounding. You hiccuped into his chest, his sweater balled in your fists. Jack was gentle to his very core; the way he embraced you proved it.

One large palm cradling your head, the other smoothing down your back. He murmured quietly. “Breathe. I have you.” That had you nuzzling further into him, trying to bury your sorrows behind his ribs. You inhaled, unsteady, while you snivelled. “He only stayed cause I was easy.” A basey clicking reverberated from his chest.

“You’re not easy.” He said, speaking into your hair. You shook your head. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Jack-” Pulling back to look at him, you sobbed.

“I-I feel stupid. He never cared- I did everything for him because I thought he loved me. He said he did- he promised.”

Your agony was so pungent it made the hair on his nape prickle. He brought his hand to your cheek, swiping below your lashes with his thumb.

“That doesn’t make you stupid; it makes you kind.” The faint chuffing emanating from him kept growing, Jack soothing you like a tiger would their cubs.

“Your trust in him was natural. It’s not your fault, my lamb.” The endearment filled your head with cotton, and you cuddled into his palm.

It was far too intimate. Vulnerable. You wanted to see him, too. “… Can I?” You whispered, your finger running along the edge of his mask- a longing you weren’t even aware of reflecting in your pupils.

Jack should’ve put a stop to this long ago, but he was selfish.

He was a pinnacle of self-control. The prime example of somebody who needed nothing. So when Jeff started returning with your scent stuck to him like a second skin, Jack didn’t blink. Even if his claws twitched just a bit.

His fondness for you had manifested years earlier, his wants ignored because you had your sights set on another. You were happy with the killer; it’d be wrong to hold that against you.

It’s not that he particularly agreed with your tastes. In his opinion, Jeffery was a volatile man. A mediocre partner at best, and trauma waiting to happen at worst.

Yet you had made your decision, and he would be content as long as you were.

And then Jeff had begun coming home smelling of a stranger.

He didn’t want to assume, ruining your relationship, because he had a hunch. He allowed you to figure it out on your own, waiting for Jeff to slip up. He was never the most careful of the bunch, and it was inevitable.

You could say Jack was a bad person for hoping the other man would fuck up- it was just that he knew you deserved better. You deserved someone who could understand you. Someone who could take care of you, instead of making you cry yourself to sleep. If Jeff couldn’t fill the role, then he’d happily step into position.

He borderline purred, the noise rumbling under your hand. He remained still as you nudged his mask up. The navy lifting over his jaw, his nose, then his sockets until it slipped to the floor. Jack was stunning.

The longest lashes you’d ever seen, with the cutest dimples indenting his cheeks faintly. Your sniffling had dimmed, and you were beyond occupied with simply staring at him. “What?” He arched a brow, making your ears warm.

Now that you could witness his expressions along with his words, you realized how teasing he actually was.

You avoided his gaze, tittering nervously. “I didn’t think you’d be so- like.” You shrugged slightly, and he hummed. Descending, his nose brushed over your skin, his voice low. “You seem quite distracted for someone grieving.” He muttered, his touch drifting up the curve of your spine. “It’s alright; you can continue. I’m listening.” You shivered, anguish dissipating quicker by the minute.

“Tell me, what saddens you so?” His cadence had developed an almost sultry lilt, slow and deliberate. The cold atmosphere of your basement turned sweltering, and you pouted. “Jack.” The soft whine had him running his tongue over his teeth. “Yes?”

You tugged at his sweater, flustered. “You’re doing this on purpose.” He thought your hammering pulse was adorable.

Gripping your hips before spinning your body, you were pressed against the table’s edge. Breath hitching when he nipped at your throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, little dove. I’m simply comforting you.” Jack mouthed at the sensitive skin, his leg slotting between your thighs.

The hard muscle was flush to your core, and you gasped, grasping for purchase at his shoulders. He was so broad, towering over you, his strength inhuman. “Such a precious thing. You just needed something to ease your tears, hm?”

You nodded, hips bucking against him. Your desperation made him chuckle quietly, and he withdrew. Forehead resting on yours. “Don’t worry-” He grinned, his sincerity sickly sweet.

“I’ll make sure you don’t remember his name by sunrise.”

ᯓ★

12:23 AM.

The manor was dark, crows calling into the night. Jack’s boots thudded down the hall, the cannibal well-rested and fed. He rounded the corner, his claw a second away from wrapping around the basement doorknob—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Speak of the devil.

Spinning on his heel, his gaze swept down the killer's body. Jeff was just as repulsive as he’d expected. A slob, through and through. He reeked of death, and the acidity from his sweat was making Jack’s nose hurt. “Busy.” He grunted, and Jeff scoffed. “You’ve been gone for two days- did you even get the shit you were supposed to?”

A twitch in his pointed ears, his neck stretching to the right lazily. Wasting time for the fun of it, he supposed. “I did.” A sneer formed at Jeff’s lips, and he squinted at him. “What’s up with you?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing’s up with me.” Turning once more, the door creaked open. He took a step onto the stairs leading down, ready to get back to his original duties, supplies in hand.

Except that before he could even make it fully out of the hall, Jeff barked from behind him. “The hell is that?” Right, he had taken a souvenir.

Your underwear hadn’t fit all the way into his back pocket, apparently, but he’s sure you wouldn’t mind too much about your new relationship going public.

He glanced over his shoulder, relaxed. “I told you. I was busy.” Jeff snickered, sleazy as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Whistling like this was the highlight of his day. “Shit- would’ve thought bitches got scared of you. Who’d you get lucky with, EJ?”

You didn’t need to see Jack’s face to know he was holding in a laugh, his smugness more than obvious in his voice.

“Your ex.”

— ^ ^ —

Feeling sick? Gotta pee? Could you fake puke? Maybe just sneak away to your room—But before you could settle on anything useful, the bottle neck drifted to a stop.

It pointed straight at Brian.

A loud whistle cut through the room. Toby was sprawled across the loveseat between Natalie and Jack, clearly more drunk than he’d realized or cared to acknowledge. His wonky grin took up the majority of his face as he pointed his finger at Brian like he’d just won the lottery.

Brian stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his shoulders like he had all the time in the world. The picture of calm. Toby scrambled up after him, wobbling on his feet before slinging an arm around Brian’s shoulders and smacking his chest.

“C’mon, man! T-This is perfect,” Toby slurred, grinning at you. “Brian’s a great guy. R-Re-Real stand-up. You should give him a chance, he’s got thh-that whole good guy vibe going on. Suuuuper reliable. Never le-leaves dishes in the sink or n-nothin’!”

Tim, leaning against the wall behind them with a beer in hand, tried (and failed) to hide his grin behind the bottle. His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he watched the whole thing unfold, having to look away to get a grip.

Brian let out a short laugh and pushed Toby off of him with a playful, “Fuck off, kid.”

Toby dramatically stumbled backward and collapsed back onto the loveseat, landing right in Natalie and Jack’s laps. Natalie ruffled his hair while Jack just sighed, all resigned as he took Toby’s legs atop his lap. The rest of the room stumbled into teasing whistles and catcalls. Jeff yelled something crude about Brian finally getting lucky, and Nina clapped like she was watching a sports game, but everybody was slowly turning their attention to you—who was still sitting on the floor, dumbfounded.

Brian ignored all of them. He waved the noise off with one hand and walked over to you, stopping right in front. He held his hand out for you to take with a grin on his face.

“I’m a gentleman,” he made sure to emphasize, “unlike these freaks. You ready?”

You stared at his hand for a second, your nerves wobbling in your chest. It felt more awkward to just sit here and stare at him, so you stomped down your hopes of escape. After a beat, you took his hand.

Brian’s fingers closed around yours. He gave you a gentle tug to help you up, then kept hold of your hand as he led you down the hallway toward the closet. The music got louder behind you as someone, probably Ben, cranked it up again, right before you heard Toby yell something about ‘more beer.’

When you reached the closet door, he opened it for you first, releasing your hand.

“Go on in,” he said easily.

You stepped inside. Brian was right behind you, but just as he moved to follow, he paused like he’d forgotten something.

“Hold on a second,” he told you, leaving the door cracked open. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched him disappear back down the hall. With a sigh, you reached up and tugged the pull chain. The single bulb clicked on, casting a weak yellow glow over everything. The closet was crammed with old coats hanging on the rod and stacks of dusty boxes shoved against the walls. It was tight, but not suffocating, with enough room that you wouldn’t be stepping on each other’s feet.

That wouldn’t make it any less awkward, however.

A moment later, you heard footsteps coming back. Brian reappeared in the doorway, two cold beer necks clutched between his fingers. He stepped inside, ducking slightly under the low frame, and pulled the door shut behind him with a tug. The loud music from the living room instantly dulled to a distant thump.

He held one of the beers out to you with a sheepish smile, showcasing the gap between his teeth.

“Figured we could use these,” he said. “Didn’t want to spend the whole time sober while everyone else is losing their minds out there.”

You took the cold bottle from him, the chill biting pleasantly against your palm. Brian leaned back against the wall across from you, twisting the cap off his own beer with a hiss from the air-tight seal. He took a sip, then looked at you, his eyes giving you a quick up-down.

You gave him a quick once-over as well. Brian was dressed like he always was, but somehow it looked a little nicer tonight, if only because of the lighting—worn jeans, a baggy black t-shirt, and a gray zip-up jacket thrown over top. His usual work boots were on, scuffed and familiar. No mask, though. Nobody was wearing one tonight, which was an extremely pleasant change from the usual Halloween-ish nightmare you all lived in. His short brown-blond hair was a little messy, and the unkempt stubble on his jaw made his already tired, sad-looking eyes seem even more downturned. Still, it worked with the constant grin he was wearing right now—definitely helped along by the alcohol.

You popped the cap off your beer and took a sip. The cold liquid felt nice going down, but the bitter taste made you cringe. Brian must have noticed and let out an amused chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s not great,” he said, taking a sip of his own. “But who drinks for the flavor anyway?”

He leaned back against the wall, looking comfortable even despite the little space. For a moment it was quiet, just the muffled thump of music and distant laughter filtering through the door.

“So,” Brian kept his voice casual, “how’s your night been so far? Besides getting dragged into this whole game, I mean.”

You let out a laugh, shrugging. “It’s been… loud. Before we kicked everyone out, I was mainly just crowd-watching. Other than that, I’ve mostly been trying to stay out of the worst of it.”

Brian nodded, smiling a little. “Smart. I saw Jeff spike the punch with a couple of different things. Not sure what he put in it, but I’m staying far away.” He took another sip, eyes flicking back to you. “Who else have you talked to tonight? Anyone give you trouble?”

It was kind of like he was cataloging what you’d done tonight.

You shook your head. “Not really. Toby tried to get me to shotgun a beer with him, but I managed to dodge that one. Other than that… just floating around, I guess.”

He hummed, “Floating around isn’t bad— Which reminds me.”

Brian cut himself off, reaching around into his back jean pocket. He fished out a small, slim handheld camcorder, tucking his beer against his side as he flipped the screen open and turned it on. You leaned in a little, curious as to what he was doing. The tiny screen lit up, glowing a dim blue across his face.

“Have you been recording all night?” you asked, watching as he tapped through the menu.

Brian nodded, a little mischievous smile pulling at his lips. “Secretly. I like to collect blackmail. Never know when it’ll come in handy.”

He pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. He pulled his legs to the side to give you room.

“C’mere. Sit with me.”

You hesitated for half a second before sliding down the wall opposite him, knees tucked up against your chest. It felt better sitting like this, more relaxed and less like you were trapped in here. Brian’s calm energy was contagious.

He took a sip from his beer and started flipping through the clips, thumb clicking the side buttons as he searched for something. The screen flashed with blurry moments from the night, and you’d catch familiar faces and rooms, but he’d click onto the next one before you could really register any of them. Brian chuckled under his breath at one clip, then paused immediately on the next.

“Mmh— here,” he said, turning the screen toward you.

You took the camcorder from Brian’s hand, the small device surprisingly heavy for its size. You clicked the play button.

It was Tim.

He was out on the back porch, leaning against the railing with a cigarette between his teeth, just like always. The camera shook a little as Brian’s voice came through the speaker behind the screen, teasing the shorter man.

“Smile for the camera, Timothy.”

Tim turned his head, eyes narrowing with irritation. “Get that thing out of my face.”

Brian’s laugh crackled through. “Relax, man. It’s just for posterity.”

In the background, Jeff and Ben came strolling into frame, both of them already looking pretty gone. Jeff shoulder-checked Tim as he walked past, not even trying to be subtle.

“’Scuse me, old man,” Jeff headed toward the far end of the porch.

Tim grumbled something under his breath, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Jeff set his red Solo cup—probably full of tequila or vodka, knowing him—down on the railing next to him. He and Ben started rolling a joint, laughing about something stupid as they looked out towards the yard and away from their cups.

Brian leaned in closer on the recording, whispering something to Tim that the camera mic didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made Tim’s mouth pull into a grin.

You watched as Tim casually reached over, picked up the ashtray he had sitting on the railing, and tipped it straight into Jeff’s cup. The ashes and cigarette butts settled into the liquor without a sound.

The clip ended with Jeff reaching for his drink, completely oblivious, as Tim and Brian briskly walked away and fumbled the camera off.

You let out a surprised laugh, looking up from the screen. Brian was grinning at you, clearly pleased with himself.

“He drank the whole thing,” he said, his tone warm with amusement. “Didn’t even notice until his entire drink was about gone”

You shook your head, “You two are evil.”

Brian shrugged, “I could always do worse.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can I look at some others?”

Brian nodded, satisfied to sit back and nurse his bottle.

You flipped through the library. There were dozens of short clips—some familiar faces, some you didn’t recognize at all. A lot of them were exactly what you’d expect from a party like this: full of blurry footage of people slamming drinks, someone throwing up into a plant, Jeff doing something stupid. Toby doing something stupid. You skipped past most of those pretty quickly.

Then you landed on one that made you pause. It was Toby.

He was standing in the kitchen, his head tilted back as he chugged a beer straight through the gash in his cheek. At the same time, he was trying to take a shot with his actual mouth. Beer and liquor both spilled messily down his chin and neck while he laughed. You cringed, nose wrinkling at the thought of the taste and the burn he wouldn’t feel.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, moving on to a clip of Kate.

She was curled up in the corner of the dining room, her arms wrapped tightly around Smile Dog like he was a giant stuffed animal. The massive canine looked surprisingly content, his tongue lolling out as she drunkenly scratched behind the husky’s ears. Kate’s voice came through the speaker, slurred and grumpy as it had been earlier.

“Go away, Brian… Leave us alone.”

Brian’s voice filtered through the speaker again. “Kate, you can’t bring him down here. Jeff’s gonna lose his shit if he sees you snuck him out of his room.”

Kate just hugged the dog tighter and flipped Brian off without looking up.

You flipped through a few more clips, skipping until your attention was caught again.

Brian was walking up the stairs, the camera pointed forward as he pushed past a few people crowding the hallway. He reached the bathroom door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. The camera pushed in as the door swung open.

Inside, Jane stood between Nina’s legs, Nina perched on the sink counter. The two of them were kissing, lost in the other and clearly not expecting company. Nina gasped against Jane’s mouth when she heard the door open, then goofily waved at the camera with a tipsy little grin. Jane whipped around and slammed the door shut so hard the camera shook.

Brian’s laugh crackled through the speaker right before the clip cut off.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, but Brian just nodded. “Can’t wait to use that one later,” he grinned.

You let out a stunned laugh and shut the camcorder, handing it back to him. Brian took it and slid it into his back pocket again before draining the rest of his beer in one go.

“I never thought about how many people probably sneak around at parties like this,” you said, still a little amazed. “Or how many weird pairs end up together once everyone gets drunk.”

Brian set his empty bottle on the floor beside him and leaned his head back against the wall, looking at you down the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. You’d be surprised. People get loose when there’s not a big boss around. All the tension, all the pretending… it comes out eventually.” He gave a shrug. “Sometimes it’s just for the night. Sometimes it sticks around longer than you meant for it to.”

He just eyed your expression as he spoke.

“Doesn’t always make sense,” he added, almost like he was talking to himself. “But that’s half the fun, I guess.”

You leaned your head back against the wall too, letting out a breath as you thought about what he said.

It was funny, really. Tonight felt different. People weren’t just tolerating each other like they usually did for the sake of missions and appearances with Slender. They were actually with the people they liked. EJ, Toby, and Natalie had been glued together all night, moving from room to room together like it was the most natural thing in the world for them. Jeff and Ben hanging out for more than ten minutes without fighting. And then there was Jane and Nina in that clip—which was clearly not their first time.

You let out a laugh.

“What?” Brian grinned.

“Nothing, just… thinking about how many weird pairs there are tonight,” you rambled. “Like, people are really hanging out with who they actually want to be around instead of who they’re forced to work with. It’s kind of nice.”

Brian hummed in agreement.

You kept going, the thought unfolding as you spoke. “And now here we are. You and me. That’s pretty unusual too, right? It could’ve been anyone in here with me. Could’ve been Tim. Or Jeff.” You shivered visibly at the last one and laughed. “God, imagine being stuck in here with him right now.”

Brian sat up a little straighter, keeping his speaking tone level.

“Would you have preferred it to be Jeff?” He kept his expression blank.

You shook your head quickly. “Nah. He’s too full of himself tonight. I don’t think I could’ve had an actual conversation with him without wanting to smack him.”

Brian chuckled at that, leaning back again. “Fair enough.” He then paused, before asking, “Is there anyone else you would’ve preferred it to be?”

You weighed the question for a second, staring at the dusty boxes across from you. Then you looked back at him.

“No,” you said honestly. “This is… nice. A lot less awkward than I thought it was gonna be.”

Brian’s demeanor softened. He looked at you for a long moment, before his tone evened out to a nice hum.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It is.”

You felt your cheeks warm a little and quickly tried to push the feeling down, focusing on picking at the beer label in your hands instead. You went to ask how much time he thought was left when—

A loud slam echoed through the walls, followed immediately by the sharp shatter of glass. The floorboards vibrated under you. It sounded like someone had taken a hard fall.

You went to speak—

Then another slam, this time quickly followed by loud voices and the thumping music cutting off. You sat up straighter. “Should we go check that out?”

Before Brian could answer, two voices rose above the rest—one of them unmistakably Toby’s, which was very loud and very angry. Brian was already climbing to his feet.

“Yeah,” he held out a hand to you, hauling you up when you took it. “Come on.”

The two of you pushed out of the closet and hurried down the hall. The moment you rounded the corner into the living room, the mess became clear. The lamp that used to sit on the coffee table was now in pieces across the floor, shards of glass scattered everywhere across the rug. Playing cards and half-empty bottles were scattered everywhere, like someone had swept an entire game off the table in one angry motion.

You looked left, finding Toby storming toward the front door, his shoulders up and tight, yelling at someone just ahead of him. Whoever it was yelled right back. The rest of the group was already spilling outside after them, the screen door slamming again and again.

You and Brian followed, stepping out into the brisk night air.

The night air hit you immediately, cool and refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the house and the intense amounts of cigarette smoke in the air. At the uproar, the party had migrated onto the front lawn and porch, forming a loose, noisy circle around whatever was happening out in the yard. You stepped down the porch steps with Brian right behind you, both of you pushing through the loose crowd.

In the center of it all stood Toby, his shoulders squared and fists clenched, looking mad as hell. And across from him, of course, was Jeff. Because who else would it be?

Brian came up beside you and let out a long, exhausted groan at the sight. “Every damn time. This kid.”

Before you could say anything, someone else slid up to your other side. You turned to see a worn out looking Tim with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips, chewing tensely on the filter.

You opened your mouth to ask what happened, but Tim beat you to it, his tone drenched with irritation. “Tell your boy to give me my lighter back.”

Brian chuckled under his breath and reached into his pocket, pulling out the lighter with a sly, “Sorry, man. Must’ve slipped in there.” He handed it over, and Tim snatched it, lighting his cigarette quickly.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke and muttered, “This is the second fight tonight. Christ.”

You glanced between them. “What happened?”

Tim took another long pull from his cigarette, his tired eyes roaming the scene before you. “They were playing King’s Cup. Jeff made some nasty fucking comment about Natalie. Called her Toby’s ‘sleeve,’ said he could show her a much better time and wouldn’t ghost her at the end of the night like Toby does.”

He shook his head, smoke pushing through his nose.

“I watched Toby fly across that table like a goddamn dog. That’s when I told them both to take it outside before they break anything else in the house. If they wanna fight, they can fight out here.”

Brian sighed beside you, running a hand through his hair. “Should’ve known it was gonna end up like this.”

Tim just continued to nurse his cigarette, muttering under his breath, “Idiots.”

Jeff went first.

With a big smile splitting his face, he launched himself at Toby like an animal. The collision was a very heavy thud of bodies hitting each other, then the grass. Toby hit the ground on his back under the weight of Jeff, but he didn’t stay down. Within seconds they were a mess of limbs, fists, and grunts, rolling and scrambling for the upper hand as they slapped and punched at the other.

Jeff got the first real swing in first, clipping Toby’s jaw just enough to make his head snap to the side. Everyone flinched at the sight, but Toby couldn't feel the pain of the impact. Instead, he drove his elbow straight into Jeff’s ribs, shoving hard and fast enough that you heard the impact. Jeff made a shrill noise, like a pained laugh, before grabbing a fistful of Toby’s hoodie and yanking him forward, cracking his forehead into Toby’s nose.

Brian crossed his arms beside you, shaking his head. “Not a smart idea to get into a punching match with a guy who can’t feel your punches,” he muttered dryly.

You nodded, eyes glued to the fight. Toby was landing hits one after the other, sending punches that looked like they should’ve hurt way more than Jeff made them seem like they did. Jeff was faster and more careless, smiling through every hit like the pain fueled him. Blood was already starting to show through a cut above Toby’s eyebrow from Jeff, and a nasty split in Jeff’s lip that had opened and was now dripping down his chin.

It was incredibly interesting to see how they fought now that they were impaired with alcohol and other things. Toby, who tonight had been nothing but a funny drunk, was now the embodiment of hatred. You don’t think you’ve seen his face this dead set on someone before, let alone this passionate about a fight. And Jeff? He just seemed like he was having more fun. All over a stupid comment about a stupid problem.

You scanned the crowd quickly. Natalie was nowhere in sight. At least not near the fight.

“Nat’s not here,” you said quietly.

Brian shrugged. “If somebody called out my weird cookout relationship like that, I probably wouldn’t want to stick around for the fight either.”

He nudged your side with his elbow, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his camcorder. He held it out to you expectantly.

You lit up a little, rolling your eyes even as you took it. “You’re terrible.”

Still, you flipped it open, turned it on, and angled it discreetly toward the fight, pretending you were just holding it casually. The little screen flickered to life as you started recording. You captured it all. On the lawn, Jeff had finagled his way on top of Toby and was raining down punches. Toby blocked some with his forearms, then suddenly bucked his hips and flipped them over, slamming Jeff into the dirt. He got a solid hit in—a nasty right hook that snapped Jeff’s head to the side and sent blood spraying from his already split lip and now his nose too.

“You talk about her like that again and I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to your mutt.” Toby growled, snarling his teeth.

Jeff just laughed, kicking at the other. “What’s the matter, twitchy? Can’t handle the truth? She deserves better than your defective ass—”

Toby cut off his sentence with a punch to the jaw.

The crowd reacted in waves—some cheering them on, others groaning or shouting for them to stop. You caught Ben and Nina in the crowd, both of them onlooking the fight and cringing every time Jeff got hit. Alternatively, Kate was drunkenly yelling for Toby to smear Jeff’s face on the pavement.

Toby let out a furious shout and shoved Jeff off him with both hands, sending the other boy scrambling backward across the grass. Jeff’s grin never faltered. He shuffled back on his hands until his fingers closed around something on the ground. You couldn’t quite make it out through the camcorder screen at first, but when you looked up, your stomach turned a little in your gut.

Jeff had grabbed a discarded beer bottle someone littered in the yard. In one sharp motion, he smashed it against the ground. Glass shattered, broken shards shooting out into the grass. He rose back to his feet holding the broken neck, the jagged shards pointing outward like a crude knife.

Tim dropped his cigarette from his mouth and stomped it out. “Alright, that’s enough,” he grumbled. “Someone’s gonna end up killed.”

Brian groaned beside you, clearly disappointed that the entertainment was ending. “I wanted to see who wins, though…” He shot you a gapped toothy grin. Tim shot him a withering look instead and started forward. Brian sighed but followed, both of them pushing through the circle of onlookers to break it up.

But the second Jeff saw them coming, his wild eyes lit up as he spun around, brandishing the broken bottle toward Tim and Brian like it was a real weapon.

Toby was panting on the ground, but grabbed a handful on dirt and flung it at the two approaching, “I don’t need your fu-fucking help.”

But when did Tim and Brian listen to anyone but Slender?

Jeff lunged at Brian with the glass, swiping wildly to try and get a hit in. Brian took a last-minute step to the side, grabbing Jeff’s wrist to keep the jagged edge away from his face. At the same time, Toby scrambled up and threw himself at Tim, who cursed loudly as he tried to restrain the boy without hurting the both of them.

You kept the camcorder going.

Toby was swinging at Tim with reckless abandon, screaming something about not needing babysitters. He’d seemingly forgotten about Jeff, who was now trying to stab at Brian, the two of them grappling at each other and trying to get a good hold. Brian was clearly trying to de-escalate while also not getting sliced open, while Tim was using his size to pin Toby down, grumbling the whole time about “goddamn children,” and their “dicks for brains.”

Fiddling with the camera to try and find the zoom button, you felt someone step up beside you and turned your head. EJ looked thoroughly bored by the whole spectacle unfolding before him, seemingly coming from inside the house.

“Where’s Nat?” you asked.

Jack let out a tired grumble. “She ran off somewhere with a bottle of whiskey. Probably doesn’t want to be disturbed right now.”

You nodded, turning your attention back to the fight just in time to see Toby land a solid punch on Tim’s jaw. Tim had been trying to pull him off Jeff, but the hit made him stagger back a step, cursing before he stepped back in.

You glanced at EJ again. “Why aren’t you getting in on this too?”

He grinned, showcasing the sharp points of his teeth. “I fight my own battles.”

You went to laugh, but the sound hadn’t even fully left your mouth before a blur of movement slammed into you from the side. The camcorder flew from your hands, clattering somewhere in the grass. The impact knocked the air straight out of your lungs as your back hit the hard ground. A heavy weight landed on top of you, pinning you down.

You grabbed at the body instinctively—and found yourself staring up at Jeff’s bloodied, grinning face inches from yours.

“Whoops,” his voice sounded hoarse. “Hi, pretty.”

He panted as he hovered above you, droplets of blood sliding down his chin and the front of his shirt. One hand braced beside your head, the other fisted in the front of your shirt from the collision. He looked completely unrepentant—and way too pleased with himself.

You cringed, but were too stunned and out of breath to shove him off of you the way you wanted to. His tangled hair fell like a curtain around his face. “Didn’t mean to knock you over like that,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Though… I’m not complaining about the view.”

You tried to scramble Jeff off of you, shoving at his chest with avail, but before you could get any leverage, Tim’s voice cut through the noise like a whip, “Brian—!”

Behind Jeff’s shoulder, you saw Brian—the picture of absolute hatred. He grabbed a fistful of Jeff’s hair and hauled him upright in one brutal motion, then slammed him down into the dirt in the opposite direction.

You scrambled up as quickly as you could. Jack steadied you with a hand on your arm as you both watched the fight explode into something much messier than what it was previously.

You think Brian might kill him.

He didn’t hold back. His fists came down hard and fast, knuckles cracking against Jeff’s face with wet, ugly sounds. Jeff laughed at first, like he always does, but it soon turned into grunts and curses as Brian kept swinging. Toby and Tim rushed in, trying to pull Brian off, but Brian was furious, locked in on nothing else. He shook them off like they weighed nothing, landing another heavy punch that split Jeff’s cheek open.

You wiped dirt and grass from your clothes, your heart hammering in your chest, when Jeff suddenly snatched the broken beer bottle again. He swung blindly, catching Brian across the shoulder and then the side. Blood immediately soaked through Brian’s shirt, dark stains spreading across the fabric.

You yelled out, cringing at every thunk of fist on flesh.

Eventually Jeff struggled his way out from under the brunet, his nose clearly broken but going completely ignored. He looked feral, if anything.

You watched as EJ moved from his spot next to you.

The tall figure walked straight into the fray, grabbed Jeff by the back of the neck with one large hand, and shoved his head down toward the ground. Jeff struggled, snarling and swinging, but EJ’s strength was undeniable. He held him in place like a disobedient dog, guiding him away from Brian with terrifying ease.

You rushed over to Brian. He was still on one knee, breathing hard, blood seeping through the rips in his clothes. You grabbed his arm and helped pull him up, ducking under his shoulder so he could lean his weight on you.

“I’ve got you,” you said, acting as a crutch while he steadied himself. Brian winced but didn’t complain, one hand pressing against the cut on his side. His face was tight with pain and lingering anger, but he let you support most of his weight.

Around you, the yard was loud with overlapping voices of laughter and conversation, but you couldn’t focus elsewhere at the moment. Tim had finally gotten a solid hold on Toby, who was still whirring with adrenaline and spitting curses. Jack kept Jeff held next to him. He gave Toby and Brian a quick once-over before turning to Tim.

“Take Toby on a walk,” he said firmly. “Get him away from here.”

Tim nodded without argument, grabbing Toby by the back of his hoodie and steering him toward the treeline. Toby was still muttering curses under his breath, but he let himself be led away.

Jack’s gaze shifted to you and Brian. “There are spare bandages and stuff in the laundry room. Take him there. I’ll handle Jeff.”

Jeff immediately started cursing. “The fuck you will, you freak—”

But EJ was already moving, hauling Jeff toward the house without a word. The two of them disappeared inside, Jeff still spitting insults the whole way.

You slipped your arm more securely around Brian’s torso. “Come on.”

Brian winced as you helped him up the porch steps, but he didn’t complain. Halfway across the yard he paused you, bending down with a small groan to scoop up his camcorder from the grass. He tucked it into his pocket.

The house felt strangely quiet after all the yelling outside. You guided Brian down the hall, pushed open the laundry room door, and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulb buzzed to life overhead as you shut the door behind you, cutting off the distant noise from outside. Brian leaned against the dryer and tried catching his breath. His gray zip-up was dark with blood in a couple places, it having soaked through his shirt now. You turned to the cabinets and started rifling through them, looking for the first aid supplies.

“You alright?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder as you pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of medical wrap and bandages. Brian let out a tired huff and started shrugging off his jacket, wincing when the fabric pulled at the cuts on his shoulder and side.

“I’ve had worse,” he strained. “Jeff’s got a mean swing when he’s pissed, but he’s sloppy. Mostly got my shoulder and side.”

You set the supplies on the counter and turned to look at him properly. The cuts weren’t too deep, but they were bleeding steadily, and bruises were already starting to bloom across his skin. You grabbed a clean towel from one of the shelves and stepped closer. 

“You’re gonna have to take your shirt off,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I can’t clean them properly like this.”

Brian smiled at you, which turned into a chuckle. “If you just wanted to get my shirt off, you could’ve asked nicely.”

You swatted at his arm, your cheeks burning hotter with every second. “Shut up and take it off.”

He obliged with a small hiss of pain, reaching back to pull the black t-shirt over his head. The fabric dragged against the cuts, making him grimace.

Your eyes betrayed you the second the shirt came off.

Brian was… unfairly built. Neat, blond hair dusted across his chest, trailing down over the defined lines of his abs. His shoulders and arms were strong and corded from years of rough work, and a sharp V-line disappearing beneath his belt buckle made your mouth go a little dry. The happy trail that led downward only made it worse. He wasn’t even doing anything, and yet just looking at him felt vulgar.

You had to physically blink yourself out of it before stepping closer.

You pressed the clean towel against the worst of the bleeding on his side. Being this close to him made the already small laundry room feel more cramped than the closet, which definitely had significantly less room. You could feel the heat rolling off his skin, could almost see steam rising where the cool air met his body. The bleeding had mostly slowed, but the cuts were still open enough that they needed covering to prevent any infection. You dabbed carefully, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“Sorry,” you whispered when he groaned.

“It’s okay,” Brian teased. “I can take it. I’m tough.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled despite yourself. Once the area was as clean as you could get it with the towel, you picked up a rag from the same laundry stack and wetted it with the hydrogen peroxide.

“This might burn,” you warned.

He nodded, tightening his jaw as you pressed the rag to the cuts. He hissed through his teeth but stayed still, one hand gripping the edge of the dryer for support.

You worked in silence for a moment before the question slipped out. “Why did you fight Jeff like that?” you dabbed at a particularly nasty slice on his shoulder.

Brian didn’t answer right away. You glanced up at his face. His gaze was softer now, more focused on your face than on the pain.

“Is it because he fell on me?” you asked quietly. “It was an accident, Brian.”

He shook his head, eyes fixed somewhere above your head now. “It wasn’t.”

You paused, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

Brian let out a deep breath. “Jeff saw you weren’t looking. He crashed into you on purpose. He knew it would piss me off.”

You blinked, processing his words. Your hand stilled against his side. “Are you… jealous?”

Brian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted slightly so you could reach the cut under his arm better, ignoring your question. “He hurt you on purpose,” that was the only thing that mattered.

You didn’t push the jealousy question. “Still… nobody else reacted the way you did.”

Brian stayed silent as you finished cleaning the last of the cuts. You tore open a few bandage packets and started placing the squares over the worst ones, smoothing medical tape over them with careful fingers. He moved when you needed him to, lifting his arm or turning slightly without complaint.

When you were almost done, he spoke again, startling you a bit.

“He didn’t hurt you at all, did he?”

You shook your head. “Just knocked me down. I’m fine.”

“I’ll kill him.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Why are you so mad?”

He didn’t answer.

You pressed another bandage into place, then looked up at him. “You’re dodging my questions. That’s three tonight.”

Brian huffed, exasperated that you’d called him out. “I’m not dodging. You’re just asking very difficult things.”

You raised an eyebrow, wiping your hands on the towel. “Okay. Fine. Simple questions only.” You smoothed one last piece of tape over his ribs. “What made you get so mad at Jeff?”

Brian watched you for a long moment. “Because he hurt you,” was all he said.

You sighed. “I’m not hurt.”

“You could’ve been.”

The words hung between you. You leaned back a little, studying him as you crossed your arms and reviewed your work. Brian’s bare chest rose and fell steadily under your gaze, the fresh bandages standing out against his skin, but staying secure nonetheless. It was a hack job, but at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Okay. You so many questions. My turn.” Brian crossed his arms. “Jeff hit you. Why aren’t you angry?”

You thought about it, then shrugged. “Because I know he’s an idiot. He does stuff like that to get a rise out of people, to get attention. If he actually wanted to hurt me, he would’ve been. It wasn’t about me. It was about getting under your skin.”

Brian looked at you for a long second, then glanced down at the fresh bandages on his side. He smoothed his fingers over one of them absently.

You crossed your arms too. “Why didn’t you haul Jeff off of Toby in the first place instead of jumping in?”

“Because Toby needed to get a little of his own back,” Brian said. “And he had a reason to fight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t?”

Brian shook his head, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “My turn.”

You grumbled but let him have it.

“Did I look cool fighting Jeff?” he asked, completely serious.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the question breaking your faux seriousness. “Yeah. You looked awesome.”

Brian’s grin widened, pleased with himself. But you quickly got back on track. “Why do you keep asking me questions about Jeff?” 

He shrugged. “Just want to know your opinions on him.”

You opened your mouth to ask another, but Brian was already speaking again.

“Why are you being such an interrogator tonight?”

“I’m not,” you said, a little defensive. Then you turned it back on him. “Why are you being so defensive? You literally fought for me in front of everyone, but now you won’t even answer my questions about why?”

Brian blew out a long breath and ran a hand over his face. He looked tired all of a sudden, but more of a restless type.

You pressed anyway, asking the same question from before. “Are you jealous of Jeff?”

He didn’t answer right away. The feeling of this silence was more thick than the cigarette smoke outside. Then Brian pushed off the dryer and stepped forward, crowding your space until your hips were nearly against the dryer. He looked down at you, grumbling as he spoke.

“No.”

You swallowed. “Liar.”

Brian’s eyes stayed on yours. For a moment, the only sound was your own heartbeat in your ears. When he spoke, he basically mumbled it.

“I don’t want anyone’s hands touching you but mine.”

It was around that moment that you began to smell the dried blood and peroxide in the air, and it made you a bit dizzy. Paired with the intense rush of adrenaline that shot through your gut at those words, you couldn’t do anything but blink at him. You could feel the warmth coming off his bare chest. Your hands itched to reach out, but you kept them at your sides, your heart racing as you looked up at him.

The outside world felt very far away now.

“Was that too forward?” His eyes looked all over your face, eyeing any expression you’d make.

You swallowed, throat suddenly very dry. “No.” The word came out quieter than you meant it to.

Brian let out a deep breath. Then his hands moved. They came up from his sides and settled on the edge of the dryer on either side of your hips, effectively pinning you back against the machine. The heat of his bare skin radiated toward you close enough that you could feel it even without him fully touching you.

Your heart kicked into a wild pace. Your eyes couldn’t decide where to settle—darting between his face and the toned lines of his chest, the sheen of sweat drying on his skin from the fight, the fresh bandages you’d just put on him. It was all so close.

It was your turn to ask something. You forced the words out.

“Why did you get so mad at Jeff… really?”

Brian breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling right in front of you. For a moment he didn’t answer. Then his gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes.

“Because it made me so fucking mad,” he admitted, his voice turning a little gritty, “seeing him on you like that. He was so careless. Like you were just something to push around. He wouldn’t know how to handle you. He wouldn’t know what to do with you if he tried.”

The words hit you square in the chest. You stared at him, stunned into silence again. Brian watched your expression carefully, like he was bracing for you to pull away or tell him to stop.

Then, “Is this okay?”

He slid one hand from the edge of the dryer to rest on your hip. His palm was warm but rough from years of hauling weapons and bodies. The skin underneath erupted with goosebumps. His thumb brushed an absent circle over the fabric of your shirt.

You nodded, barely trusting your voice. Your hand came up slowly, your fingers wrapping around the forearm of the hand he still had braced on the dryer. Brian’s eyes flicked down to where you touched him, watching for a moment before his other hand slid from your hip up to the small of your waist, settling just atop your ribs. He leaned in just a tad closer.

You swallowed around the question you needed to ask. “Are you only doing this because you’re drunk and you want to hook up?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your mind flashed back to your talk earlier—all those drunken pairs, Nina and Jane in the bathroom, the way people get when they’re under substances and lonely.

But Brian shook his head, giving you a certain look. “I’m not drunk.”

You blinked at him. “I’m… not either.”

He grinned just a bit. His thumb swept slowly across your side, catching just under the curve of your breast. The feeling made you gasp.

Brain looked at your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah,” you whispered.

You both leaned in at the same time.

Your hand slid from his forearm up to his jaw, cupping his face as your lips met. Brian’s mouth was soft against yours, tasting faintly of beer and cigarette ash. Then he tilted his head slightly, deepening it, and everything seemed to melt in your brain and your nerves.

His hand on your waist pulled you closer, pressing your hips against his as his jaw worked to kiss you as deep as he could. You sighed into his mouth, your fingers sliding into the short hair at the nape of his neck and gripping there. Brian made a quiet sound in response and gripped at your waist a little harder.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads stayed pressed together. Brian’s eyes were half-lidded, breathing a little uneven as his thumb continued its soothing stroke along your side.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted.

You let out a shaky laugh, still cupping his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pecked at your lips. “Way longer than just tonight.”

Brian kissed you again. Both of his hands settled on your waist, sliding slowly over the fabric of your shirt, exploring the curves he found. “I was so happy when the bottle landed on me,” he admitted between kisses. “I wanted to tell you. Wanted to kiss you the second we stepped in here. But you seemed content to just hang out and talk… so I was okay with that too.”

“You should’ve.”

Brian shook his head. “But when Jeff hit you… I was so mad. I just wanted to tear him to pieces. I didn’t know what to do with it.”

He leaned down a little, his hands sliding behind your thighs. In one smooth motion, he hauled you upward. You gripped his shoulders for balance, careful of his bandages, as he lifted you onto the top of the dryer, stepping between your legs. His hands splayed over your thighs, pushing them open just a little wider so he could press in as close as possible.

Then he kissed you again.

Your hands came up to cup either side of his jaw, and Brian made a frustrated noise as he spoke between more kisses.

“Jeff wouldn’t know how to touch you,” he murmured against your mouth. “Wouldn’t know how to be gentle. Wouldn’t know what you like… how you sound when you’re feeling good.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow at his statements. “And you do?”

He nodded very seriously, as if that were even a question.

“I can show you,” he mumbled. “If you’ll let me.”

Before you could answer, his hands slid down to your thighs, tugging you forward until you were sitting right on the edge of the dryer. He stepped in closer, pressing his hips between your spread legs.

You felt him immediately—felt the hard, unmistakable outline of his cock pushing against you through both your jeans. You couldn’t help but gasp. Your hand flew down to his abdomen, your palm pressing flat against his warm skin to keep him from pressing any harder. You didn’t know if you could handle it right now. You let your other hand fall behind you, bracing your weight up. His abs were firm under your fingers, and the heat of him made your head spin.

“We shouldn’t do this in here,” you whispered.

Brian’s eyes stayed locked on yours.

“But you want to,” he hummed. “I can see it.”

You shivered, glancing over his shoulder at the closed laundry room door. “Someone could come in… there’s not even a lock on that door.”

Brian didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rolled his hips forward in the barest grind against your clothed center. Your eyes fluttered shut at the friction, a quiet groan catching in your throat. When you opened them again, Brian was looking down between your bodies, watching the way he pressed against you with heavy-lidded eyes.

The sight of him like that made something hot twist in your stomach.

Your hand slid from his abs down to the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers curled into the hem, gripping his belt. Then, almost without thinking, you tugged him forward, pulling his hips firmer against yours.

Brian’s eyes rolled back slightly as he grabbed your hips, letting you guide the rhythm while he ground against your clothed cunt. Sparks shot through your entire body with every slow roll of his hips against yours.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Your resolve was dissolving by the second, and as Brian began to speak endlessly, it didn’t help in the slightest.

“That’s it… feels so good already,” he breathed. “Look at that cute face. You feel good, don’t you?”

He pulled back just enough to give a little faux thrust between your legs, bumping his hard cock right against your center through your jeans. The quick bump made you jump, a sharp whine escaping you. Brian grinned against your lips as he leaned in, clearly enjoying your reaction, and did it again. And again.

He kept that rhythm—grinding hard when your hips met, then pulling back to give those teasing thrusts that made your thighs tremble. Somewhere in the middle of it, one of his hands slid up from your hip, cupping your chest over your shirt. His thumb brushed across your nipple through the fabric, and your head fell back against the wall.

“Brian—” you whined as quietly as you could.

“Tell me how you feel,” he murmured.

You swallowed, trying to catch your breath. “It feels good… really good. But you have to talk quieter. Please.”

Brian laughed quietly. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered. “Nobody’s coming in here.”

Before you could respond, he gripped your hips and tugged you off the dryer, setting you on your feet. He turned you around, pressing up behind you until your hips met the edge of the machine again. You braced your hands against the cool metal as he pushed forward, grinding his cock against your ass through your jeans.

Brian’s arms came around your waist, hugging your torso from behind as he pulled you back against his chest. His lips found your cheek, then your jaw, kissing you softly while he rolled his hips in little pushes.

“You okay?” his lips brushed against your ear. “I can stop if you want me to.”

You shook your head quickly. “No… just be easy.”

He hummed, “I’ll be so easy for you.”

His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt and his palms splayed across your stomach. He explored anything he could feel, his fingers tracing your skin as he pulled you tighter against him. Then his hands traveled higher, cupping your chest over your bra and squeezing handfuls.

You tried your best to push back against him, rolling your hips in time with his, but Brian was doing most of the work of guiding you with his hands and the rhythm of his body. Every grind against you made you feel the hard length of him, the friction sending heat curling up through your stomach.

“Can I finger you?” he whispered.

You barely had time to nod before his hands slid down your stomach, his fingers deftly popping the button of your jeans open. He tugged your zipper down, and you felt your face growing hotter by the second. 

“Why do you have to be so vulgar?” you groaned.

Brian chuckled, “I like how you react.” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and panties together and started pulling them down your hips. “Can I?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah…”

He pushed your jeans down just past your hips, letting them bunch around your thighs. The cool air hit your exposed cunt and you shivered, but Brian made sure to quickly warm you up. 

“These are cute,” he murmured, running his fingers along the waistband of your panties before tugging them the rest of the way down with your jeans. “But they’re in the way.”

His hands roamed over you—his palms sliding across your pelvis, your upper thighs, then between them. You pushed your hips back against him instinctively and Brian groaned when his fingers finally pushed between your folds, feeling just how wet you were.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” His middle finger found your clit immediately and started rubbing eager, tight circles. You gripped his forearm as you whined, gritting your teeth.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” he groaned. “You clearly need it.”

His fingertips teased at your entrance, massaging the tight ring of muscle before swiping back up to your clit. You reached back with one hand, threading your fingers into his hair as he kissed and nipped at your neck, whispering filthy little comments between kisses.

“Would anybody else be able to make you feel this good? Nah, just me.”

Your hips rocked against his hand. Brian pressed his middle finger against your entrance and slowly pushed it inside.

You groaned, falling forward a little to brace against the dryer. The little stretch felt so good it made your head spin.

Brian hummed. “Ah, you can take more than that.”

Before you could respond, he pushed a second thick finger in alongside the first, stretching your cunt open. You clamped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that tried to escape, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure flooded through you. His fingers curled and pressed against your insides.

“Brian—hold on—”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He fingered you irritatingly slowly, letting his knuckles push in and out rhythmically. You felt every bit of it—the stretch, the drag, the way his fingers curled and pressed against your walls with intent. Your eyes rolled back each time his knuckles sank back into you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Brian huffed. “Gonna stretch you out nice and slow, don’t you worry.”

“It feels good… really good—”

“You think Jeff could make you feel like this?” His fingers curled distinctly on each word, like he was making a point. “Think his fingers could do this?”

You let out a frustrated whine. “Can you not talk about another guy right now?”

Brian chuckled, “Sorry, hun. I just want you to know exactly who’s making you feel this good.”

You melted a little at the pet name. “You are,” you whispered.

“Yeah, I know,” he kissed your temple. “Let me hear how good it feels.”

He pumped his fingers a little faster, thrusting deeper and more thoroughly than before, the wet squelching sounds of his hand working between your legs filling the small room. You moaned openly now, unable to hold your voice back, your hips rocking back to meet every movement as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.

Brian’s free hand left the warmth under your shirt and moved behind you. You heard the clink and shuffle of his belt buckle coming undone, followed by the sound of his zipper. A fresh rush of anxiety hit you as he shoved the front of his jeans down against your ass, then pushed his boxers down too. Something hot, heavy, and wet pressed against your bare skin. You felt him grip himself, tapping the thick head of his cock against your ass a couple of times.

Your hand flew back, gripping his hip tightly.

“Wait— Brian, wait a minute,” you panted.

He tugged his fingers from your insides, taking to steadying you instead with his hand on your hip. “What’s the matter?”

You looked back over your shoulder at him. Your eyes trailed down his body—the strong shoulders, the defined chest, the sharp V-line and happy trail that led lower—and then you saw it.

Oh my god.

He was long. Nauseatingly. Thick enough to match the rest of his tall, toned frame. The flushed red tip glistened with pre and throbbed against your skin. It looked intimidating resting against your ass.

You faced forward again, whispering under your breath, “Oh my god…”

Brian made a funny “ahh” sound, like he understood immediately what was troubling you.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If I’m gonna fuck you, it’s gonna be in a much better setting than this dusty old room.”

You felt a strange little pang of disappointment in your chest. You turned your head slightly, wanting to say something, but decided against it.

Brian noticed anyway. “What’s wrong?”

You stayed quiet. After a second, he let out another soft “ahhh,” like the realization had clicked. You wanted to flog him for saying “ahh” more than once at a time like this.

“I know what you like,” he murmured.

He pushed his flat hand on your back, guiding you to lean further over the dryer. You braced your hands on the cool metal as he tapped the thick head of his cock against your skin again, then angled it downward.

You opened your mouth to say “wait,” but Brian was already moving.

He slid the hot length of his cock between the gap in your thighs, pressing it up firmly against your soaked cunt from below. The thick shaft nestled perfectly between your folds, the head nudging out past your clit.

“Fuck… do you feel that?” Brian breathed against the back of your neck as he leaned over you. “Haha, you’re gonna kill me.”

He rolled his hips again, letting the thick length of him slide back and forth between your thighs, rubbing right against your clit with every pass. Paired with the slickness of you, it felt maddening.

Brian groaned happily. “That’s it… Here, here. Press your thighs together a bit more. Yeahh, like that.”

You did as you were told, and it pushed Brian’s cock against your cunt more firmly. The two of you sighed, holding onto anything and everything to stabilize yourselves as Brian began to shallowly fuck your thighs. The head of his cock would catch on your clit, then push through the front of your thighs, before retreating right back in.

You moaned as Brian’s fingertips dug into your hips, tugging you back against him with every pass. The friction of his cock sliding between your thighs and against your soaked cunt was driving you crazy.

“Fuck, listen to you,” he pantsd. “Soaking my cock like this… You’d love it if I just pushed into you right now, huh?”

You gave a little “yeah, yeah” pushing back against him. But you felt his pace falter and his hips turn a bit like he was reaching for something behind him. You turned to look over your shoulder, just to see Brian had fished out his camcorder and was turning it on.

You turned your head away quickly. “Brian—”

“Shh. I wanted to document all of tonight,” he muttered, flipping the screen open. He watched as the screen lit up and started recording. “This is arguably the most important moment.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him. Instead, you bent forward a little more over the dryer, arching your back and pushing your ass out toward him.

Brian groaned in approval. He kept one hand on the camcorder, angling it down to capture the sight of his cock sliding between your thighs, while his other hand returned to your hip. He started thrusting again, slower this time, letting the wet head of his cock drag along your folds and bump against your clit with every pass.

The new angle made your ass slap softly against his pelvis with each bump of his hips, a little rhythmic pat-pat-pat that filled the room alongside your shaky breaths.

“Goddamn… look at that,” Brian muttered. “On the camera it looks like I’m actually fucking you. Hnn, I wish I was inside you right now.”

You moaned louder, arching your back even more so the tip of his cock bumped harder against your clit on every thrust. 

“You want that?” he played at the thought. “Just say the word and I’ll fuck you right here, hun.”

Filthy promises. Filthy promises that made your stomach flip over on itself.

“I think… I think I want to cum,” you whimpered, each thrust punching the words from your mouth.

You could hear him smile as he spoke, “That works too.”

He pulled the camcorder away from where he’d been filming your ass and reached around in front of you, setting it on the top of the dryer before you. The lens pointed directly at your torso and below. The little red recording light blinked rhythmically, capturing it all.

You suddenly felt very embarrassed about your compromising position. You brought both hands up to cover your face when you felt your cheeks begin to burn.

Brian didn’t like that much.

He caught your wrists and pulled them down, folding your arms behind your back. You felt his strong hand come to grasp your wrists, contorting your arms behind you. His other hand returned to your hip, an iron grip pressing into your skin as he fucked your legs.

You moaned out loud, pulling weakly against his grip, but it was useless. He was so much stronger than you. You wondered if anyone could hear the noises you were making, or at least the tink, tink of Brian’s belt buckle hitting against the back of your thighs every time he thrusted. Probably. The thought made your face burn even hotter.

Fuck… you were gonna cum.

You looked down between your pressed-together legs, watching the flushed, drooling tip of Brian’s cock thrust back and forth, breaching between your thighs before retreating back in. The sight was obscene. You couldn’t stop staring.

How did it look on camera? You thought through your dizzy haze. Was the lens catching your face right now? Would they be able to see your mouth falling open? Or how badly you were shaking? You couldn’t stop. Would Brian watch this back later? Would he jerk himself off to it in his room, replaying the sounds you made? Would he show it to Tim? To Toby? Would he use it as blackmail against you someday?

The thought should have horrified you.

It didn’t.

If it felt this good without him even fucking you yet… you’d probably let him do whatever he wanted.

Brian must have noticed how lost you were in your own head, because he suddenly wrapped both arms around your middle, hugging your body tight against his chest. The warmth of him surrounded you completely.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You turned your head, and the moment you did, he caught your lips in a hungry kiss. Your arms were trapped between your back and his torso, feeling the flex and tension of his muscles as he moved. You pushed your hands lower, sliding them down until your fingers brushed the trail of hair on his pelvis, then wrapped around the thick base of his cock.

Brian hissed sharply against your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at your touch.

You could feel how wet he was—his length soaked from sliding between your folds, practically pulsing in your grip. He was rock hard.

“You feel how hard I am for you?” he smiled.

You nodded frantically, squeezing the base of his cock as he started thrusting between your thighs again, and now thrusting into your hand. The grip let you angle him so the head of his cock rubbed right against your clit directly instead of bumping it as it passed. Brian’s arms tightened around you, holding you up as your legs started to shake.

“If you keep doing that…” he panted, “I’m gonna cum. Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna cum.”

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The pressure was too much, too good. Your climax snuck up on you suddenly, crashing over you without warning.

Your eyes clamped shut as your body went limp in his arms. Your walls clenched pitifully around nothing, pulsing as waves of pleasure ripped through you. You rode the length of his cock desperately, grinding your clit against him as you couldn’t do much more than whine.

Brian grunted, “Me too—me too, fuck—show the camera, hun. Tell ‘em how good you feel.”

You gasped, barely able to form words as your orgasm rolled through your muscles. “I’m cumming—Brian, I’m cuu-cumming—” you babbled. “Feels so good—oh god—mmhn—”

“Yeah, you are,” his words were slurred a bit. “I can feel it. Fuuuck, I feel you throbbing—”

His hips could barely stutter forward anymore. He hurriedly reached over and grabbed the towel you’d used earlier, pressing it against your thighs right where the head of his cock kept popping out between them.

“Gonna cum—” that was all the warning you got.

You felt him throb against you. Then he was spilling thick ropes of cum into the towel as he buried his hips as firmly as he could against your ass. His fingers dug into the skin of your waist, branding into your muscles.

You felt the warm stickiness of his cum press against the front of your thighs, soaking into the towel.

It felt like an eternity before Brian’s arms around you eventually loosened, and when they did, your legs gave out. You slumped forward, bracing yourself against the dryer with both hands as you lost all the strength you previously had.

Brian chuckled and reached past you to grab the camcorder. You blindly fumbled for it first, shutting the screen and ending the recording before he could think to capture anything else embarrassing of you. He took the device from your hand and set it aside, then grabbed a fresh towel from the stack of laundry. He was gentle as he cleaned you up, making sure to wipe the mess from between your thighs, along your skin, careful not to press too hard where you were still sensitive. Once you were clean, he took care of himself, wiping the bits of cum and your arousal from his cock and lower stomach before tossing the dirty towel aside.

You tried to push yourself upright, but Brian’s hands were already on your thighs and tugging your panties and jeans back up your legs. He helped you wiggle lthem over your hips before spinning you around to face him. He pressed your hips back against the dryer, caging you in with his body like he had before.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

Brian just smiled his little crooked smile that showed the little gap between his front teeth and reached down to zip and button your jeans for you. He cupped your jaw as he tilted your face up to his. He kissed you again, slower to savor the moment, or maybe something dumb like that.

“Thank you,” he hummed.

You blinked up at him, a little dazed. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the camcorder, and handed it back to him. Brian took it with a nod and slid it into his back pocket. “This will come in handy later.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze dropped to his shoulder and ribs. The fresh bandages you’d put on him were already blooming with red stains, the cuts having restarted their bleeding due to all the jostling and movement.

“Fuck, Brian,” you hissed, reaching out to gently touch the edge of one bandage that was peeling up a little. “They’re bleeding again.”

He glanced down at himself, then back up at you with an unrepentant grin.

“I didn’t want to stop,” he said simply with a shrug.

Now that your senses were starting to come back online, you could hear the music had restarted in the living room. Underneath it was the dull rumble of conversation, people laughing and shouting like the fight outside had already been forgotten and their quarrels were set aside.

You pressed off the dryer, testing the steadiness of your legs before deciding they were usable. Brian reached down and grabbed his torn shirt and blood-stained jacket off the floor. He pulled them over his head and cringed, the dried blood making the fabric stiff and uncomfortable against his fresh bandages.

“Someone definitely heard us,” you grumbled, smoothing your own shirt down.

Brian waved you off. “C’mon now. Nobody would care anyway.”

He reached for the door handle, cracked it open, and peeked out first. Then he let out a very dry laugh.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Brian looked out at whoever was there and said, “How long have you been here for?”

Oh god.

A familiar voice answered from the hallway. “Long enough.”

Tim. Of course it was Tim. These two couldn’t stand to be more than ten feet apart at any given time.

“Somebody had to stand guard out here and make sure you didn’t get walked in on.”

Brian glanced over his shoulder at you, then opened the door wider so you could see each other. You gave an awkward little wave, wanting very much to disappear at this moment. Tim had his arms crossed, leaning against the opposite wall of the door. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes looked as bored and flat as ever.

You felt like you were about to get scolded, but instead Tim looked at Brian and said, dry as bone, “Only you’re allowed to touch, huh?”

Brian grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh c’mon man, you know I’ll always put out for you.”

Tim huffed a laugh and shook his head, pushing off the wall. You and Brian walked out and fell into step with him. You walked between them, standing just like when you went out looking for them earlier tonight. 

You glanced up at Tim. “How’s Toby?”

“Threw up about twice. He’s somewhere with his little posse now. Probably getting babied.”

“And Jeff?”

“Jack’s relocating his nose downstairs,” Tim said flatly. “Might be a while.”

You shook your head. “Everyone should make those two clean up everything by themselves. Since they wanted to make more of a mess.”

Brian nodded beside you, his arm sliding around your shoulders as you walked. You turned your head to see him digging into his back pocket and pull out the camcorder, shaking it lightly toward Tim.

“And I’ve got a fun idea for a movie Tim should watch later,” he said, grinning.

Tim’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not watching your porno.”

“C’mon. You know… for posterity.”

You elbowed him, but not without smiling a little too.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

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