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⋆˚꩜｡pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
⋆˚꩜｡summary: You know that TikTok trend where you call your partner a "friend" to see their reaction? Yeah… Eddie wasn't too happy about that
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit sexual content 18+minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!fem!reader, modern!eddie, est. relationship, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, squirting, praise?, soft!dom!eddie, possessive language (non toxic), aftercare, weed mention
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 3.9k+
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: based on this request i got! thank you @theswitch-witch for giving me the idea thehee<3
One of the things you loved most about Eddie was that he didn’t give a rat’s ass about social media.
It was mainly because Wayne raised him right. Eddie had grown up learning to play guitar and spending most of his time playing outside or at the library. He was sixteen when he got his first fancy phone; before that, he’d carried around an old brick of a cell phone that had once belonged to his uncle. Safe to say, he’d never really bought into the whole social media thing.
Sure, he had an instagram account. He barely used it himself, but he loved seeing the pictures you posted — the ones he’d taken of you — and he never failed to leave embarrassingly sweet and suggestive comments underneath them that made even your best friends blush.
Another thing you absolutely loved about Eddie was that he was possessive.
Not in a toxic way. Eddie never tried to control you or excessively claim you, nor did he treat you like you were anything less than your own independent person. He never isolated you from your friends or questioned where you were every second of the day.
He was possessive in the way that he never missed an opportunity to remind everyone that he belonged to you. He’d proudly walk around with the hickeys and scratches you’d left him, grinning smugly whenever someone pointed them out with a dubious look.
“Courtesy of my princess,” he’d say without a single ounce of shame.
You were his favourite subject, how could you not be? Eddie could spend hours talking about you. He could write ridiculous, overly dramatic sonnets about your laugh and the way your nose scrunched whenever something genuinely amused you. He could probably design an entire comic series inspired by the way your hair danced in the wind. Hell, he’d tattoo your fucking name across his neck if you asked him to.
That’s how hopelessly, ridiculously obsessed and possessive he was with you.
Which was exactly why, the moment you stumbled across the trend on TikTok, you knew you had to try it on him.
The calling your boyfriend your ‘friend’ trend.
It was stupid, and it was evil, and it was going to drive Eddie absolutely fucking insane.
Even though he didn’t care much for TikTok, or any other platform for that matter, Eddie always jumped at the chance to do whatever random thing you wanted.
“What are we doing again?”
“Uh…” you mumbled, balancing your phone on the kitchen counter. “There’s this viral…”
Taking a few steps back, you gently pulled Eddie by the wrist until he was standing beside you, squinting at the screen to check whether the lighting was good enough. Scrunching your nose, you gave his wrist another little tug when you noticed he’d drifted just outside the frame.
“Stay right here,” you instructed. “Do not move.”
Turning around, you walked over to the fridge, grabbed the light blue can, and returned to his side.
“There’s this viral beverage I wanted to try.”
“…And you wanted to get that on camera?” he asked quietly, the words carrying just the slightest hint of hesitation.
“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”
You placed the can on the counter and shot him a sweet smile over your shoulder.
Eddie simply shrugged, nodding as though your explanation made perfect sense. “Alright. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“Ready?”
“I guess.”
With one smooth swipe, you switched your phone from photo to video, started the timer, and hurried back into place. You gave Eddie one last tug when he instinctively stepped out of frame again.
“Hey, guys!” you greeted brightly once the recording started, smiling at the camera as you reached forwards to grab the can. “I’m here with my friend Eddie today.”
Beside you, Eddie — who had been smiling awkwardly at the camera ever since you’d hit record — immediately stopped smiling.
“And today we’re gonna try the new Spindrift drink!”
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing when you noticed Eddie turning his face towards you.
“What—”
Before he could finish, you held the can towards the camera as though clinking it against the screen before turning back to him.
“You wanna go first, bud?” you asked as you popped the tab up and broke the lid open.
Eddie, who had been staring at you with wide, uncertain brown eyes, slowly turned to look at your phone like he was a character on The Office.
For a long second, he simply stared at the screen. His gaze drifted down to the pretty light blue dress you’d put on — somehow the exact same shade as the can in your hand — before slowly lifting back to meet your eyes.
“…What the fuck?” The words came out equal parts confused and unamused.
“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows as you continued holding the can out for him to take.
“Bud?” His nose wrinkled as though the word itself left a bad taste in his mouth. “Friend?”
“…Uh, yeah,” you replied slowly, tilting your head in practiced confusion. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” His eyebrows remained knitted together as the corners of his mouth slowly turned down. “Did I… did I do something?”
“We’re literally just trying this drink.” You let out a small laugh, pulling a face as though he’d just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. “Why are you acting weird?”
“Me? Acting weird?” Eddie repeated, hesitantly lifting a hand to scratch at his jaw. “You just… called me your friend.”
“Uh, yeah?” you scoffed. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big…” He blinked at you, looking completely lost. “Sweetheart, why do you keep calling me your friend?”
“Because you are?”
“No, I’m not.” Eddie shook his head, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. “I’m your boyfriend.”
“Exactly.” You nodded matter-of-factly. “My boy,” you paused dramatically, “friend.”
The second the last word left your mouth, a tiny snort escaped. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth as you hastily disguised it with a cough, praying Eddie hadn’t noticed.
But he had.
The longer you looked at him, the harder it became to keep the act going.
Eddie’s bewildered expression slowly gave way to suspicion as he watched your nose scrunch behind your hand, your shoulders beginning to shake with poorly concealed laughter.
“…You’re bullshitting me.”
Eddie rested his hands on his hips like an exhausted father of three and turned his head towards the phone. His teeth found his lower lip as he worried it beneath them for a moment before slowly looking back at you, one eyebrow raised in complete disbelief.
“Friend,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m gonna show you fucking friend.”
He stared at you for another long second before finally reaching over and taking the can from your hand, setting it carefully back down on the counter.
Before you had a chance to react, he reached for your phone, tapping the bright red button to stop the recording.
Eddie left your phone exactly where it was before slowly turning back to face you. The look he gave you was one you knew all too well; you rarely got to see it, which only made it all the more memorable.
His eyebrows were drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance as he tilted his head back just slightly.
“You know…” he began slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue across his lower lip before continuing. “You’re real fucking funny, sweetheart.”
“Eds—”
He barely gave you a second to react before scooping you up into his arms and effortlessly throwing you over his shoulder.
“Maybe we should show your TikTok followers what I’m about to do to you, huh?”
You watched the black-and-white checkered kitchen floor slowly disappear beneath you as Eddie carried you out of the room.
“Eddie, what are you—”
“I’m gonna show you what a great friend I am,” he scoffed.
As if to prove his point that he was the furthest thing from being your friend — like you needed the reminder — he gave your ass a hard slap as he stepped into the hallway leading to your shared bedroom.
A startled shriek escaped you at the sudden sting of his palm, and you immediately began squirming in his hold, hoping to convince him to put you back — but no such luck, unfortunately. Eddie merely tightened his grip around your legs, a low, humourless chuckle rumbling from his chest as he nudged the bedroom door open with his socked foot.
He swiftly pushed the bedroom door shut behind the two of you with the heel of his foot before taking a few slow steps towards the bed — the fresh linens perfectly made from earlier that morning, when you’d changed them.
Carelessly, Eddie lowered you onto the mattress, letting you bounce lightly against it before straightening back up. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing his unruly curls away from his face as he stood at the foot of the bed, broad shoulders filling the space with an almost unfair amount of confidence.
“I’m not your buddy,” he said, his voice low as you pushed yourself upright. “And I’m not your friend either.”
“Eddie, baby,” you began with a small, sheepish smile, tilting your head to one side. “It was just a—”
“I’m your boyfriend,” he interrupted without missing a beat. “But I guess you need a little reminder of that, hm?”
“I-I though you were gonna show me—”
“And I think you’ve said enough already, hm?” he scoffed.
Eddie didn’t miss a beat before making his way over to the vintage dresser the two of you’d found in that little antique shop a few weeks ago.
“Last time I checked,” he began slowly, dragging the tip of his finger across the worn wooden surface, “you didn’t share this fucking dresser with Robin.”
Another chuckle escaped him. Dry and amused this time, despite the mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes that gave away just how much fun he was actually having.
“And all that talk about adopting a ferret together?” He held up two fingers as he continued listening off his evidence. “Sorry, sweetheart, but adopting an animal isn’t exactly something you do with your friends. Not usually.”
Leaning back against the dresser, Eddie folded his arms across his chest and looked at you with a cocky grin stretching across his face.
“You know what else isn’t something friends do?” He arched an eyebrow, though the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t actually expecting an answer. “The three orgasms I’m about to give you, just to prove my point.”
“T-three?” you gulped. “I’ve never—”
“Exactly.” He nodded slowly, the smug grin tugging wider at the corners of his mouth. “One orgasm for each time you called me something I’m not.”
Eddie uncrossed his arms, resting them against the dresser behind him as his fingers lazily drummed against the worn wooden surface, his eyes never once leaving you.
The baby blue dress looked painfully good on you. It hugged your waist in all the right places, and the neckline…
Jesus.
It drove Eddie nearly as insane as the little stunt you’d pulled in the kitchen not even five minutes earlier.
His dark brown eyes wandered slowly over your face before drifting down the length of your body, lingering for just a moment before finding yours again.
Pushing himself away from the dresser, he closed the distance between you with slow, unhurried steps. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he climbed onto the bed, both hands sinking into the duvet on either side of you until his nose barely brushed yours.
Eddie looked at you through his lashes, a smug grin slowly spreading across his plush lips as he watched your own part ever so slightly.
“What?” he murmured. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”
A quiet chuckle escaped him before he leaned in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a long moment, savouring it, before finally pulling away and settling back onto his heels.
Eddie’s hand lazily curled around the neckline of his black t-shirt, peeling it off without the slightest hint of urgency.
You swallowed as your attention was immediately pulled away from his eyes and towards the tattooed expanse of his chest, busier now than it had been when the two of you had started dating. Your gaze lingered on the newest addition to his collection — a neo-traditional raven inked along the right side of his stomach.
“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as he gently tipped your chin back up with the crook of a finger.
Without caring where it landed, Eddie tossed the shirt over his shoulder before stepping back from the bed. Standing once again at the foot of the mattress, his fingers slowly trailed down the planes of his stomach until they reached the button of his jeans.
“The dress stays on,” he said quietly.
He undid the button, tugged the zipper down, and let the worn denim fall to the floor with a muted thud.
Eddie’s knees sank back into the mattress, making the bedframe creak underneath his weight. He reached out for your thighs, slowly running his hands up and down your legs until, finally, trailing his fingertips higher until they skimmed the lace trim of your panties. Hooking his fingers into the lace, he slowly dragged your panties down your legs, exposing your glistening folds to his dark brown eyes.
He hummed appreciatively as his fingers ghosted along your slick folds, marvelling at how wet you were for him already.
Leaning down, he captured your mouth in a slow kiss, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he took his sweet time to taste and explore your mouth like he always did when he wanted to torture you. Eddie swallowed your low gasp, relishing in the soft sounds that escaped you.
Breaking away, Eddie blazed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pausing to lave attention on your pulse points as he nibbled right above your collarbone.
Eddie trailed kisses down your chest, making sure to skip your hardened nipples under the soft fabric of your dress, until his face finally hovered above your aching core. Being the obsessed freak that he was, he breathed in your heady scent before shooting you a smug grin.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart.” He placed a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of your thigh as he reached for one of your hands. He gave you a gentle squeeze before placing your hand on the back of his head. “Because I’ll not be going easy on you.”
With an arched, daring eyebrow, he plunged in, tongue delving deep into your slick heat. He lapped and sucked, worshiping you with lips and teeth and tongue until you were a trembling mess, falling backwards until your head hit the pillows behind you.
Your hips bucked involuntarily at the sudden feeling of Eddie sealing his mouth over your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly with the tip of his tongue as he slowly plunged a thick finger knuckle-deep into your tight pussy. He pumped and curled his digit, stroking your slick walls until you were fluttering around him.
“A-ah! F-fuck, Eddie—”
He sucked harder on your clit, adding a second finger into you as he thrusted them faster and deeper until you’re shattering with a broken gasp, your release gushing over his chin as he worked you through the aftershocks.
Holding your gaze, Eddie slid his fingers out of you and pushed them into his mouth. His tongue lapped eagerly at them, licking them clean, while his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure at the way you tasted.
After licking his digits clean, he pulled the top part of your dress down until the fabric sat underneath your breasts. Cupping your boobs, he thumbed your hardened nipples teasingly. Eddie’s dark brown eyes locked onto yours as he slowly rolled one hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging harshly. It made pleasure zing straight to your core, making you squirm underneath him. He lavished the same attention to your other nipple, pinching and tweaking it until he had you begging for more.
“P-please, Eds—”
“As you wish, sweetheart.”
Reaching between your bodies, Eddie pushed his boxers down just enough to free his aching length. The sight of his cock made your mouth water every single time — long, thick mushroom tip, and painfully pink.
He notched the broad tip of his cock against your slit, teasing and probing before sinking into your slick pussy with one powerful thrust.
“Is this what a friend does to you? Huh?” He chuckled darkly as he looked down at you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Answer me.”
“Hmm.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you bit your lip. “N-no.”
He could swear you were molten silk clutching him tight, stroking his length with each desperate roll of his hips as you met his thrusts.
Eddie pistoned his hips faster, harder, burying himself to the hilt again and again. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, breathy pants and bitten-off curses.
“F-fuck.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Gimme another one,” He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, chasing your second release like his life depended on it. “Be a good fucking friend and come on my cock.”
“H-harder, Eds. P-please.”
The desperate, broken plea spurred him on. He grabbed your hips bruisingly tight as he drove into you with ruthless precision, angling to hit that special spot deep inside that always made you scream. The obscene slap of his balls against your ass echoed through the room, while his curly pubes brushing against your swollen clit pulled desperate gasps from your lips.
Your fingers curled into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp before you pulled at his roots, while your other hand raked down his sweat-slicked back. Your leg locked around his waist, heel digging into the plush fat of his ass as you urged him impossibly closer.
“You’re so fucking tight f’me, baby,” he growled, voice wrecked.
“E-Eds, I’m g-gonna—”
Your release crashed over you, white-hot and blinding as you clenched down hard on his aching cock. Your walls puled around him as he continued grinning wolfishly at your open mouth and glassy eyes.
He leaned down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. Eddie slipped his tongue inside your mouth, bobbing his head as he sloppily sucked on your tongue.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “Just one more, you can do it. I know you can.”
“I-I can’t, Eds,” you whimpered, desperately licking your lips to get rid of the dry feeling. “P-please—”
Eddie trailed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, suckling at your pulse points hard enough to leave marks.
He grabbed at your hips, guiding you to meet each roll with a grind of his own. His breathing was strained as his hips worked feverishly now, chasing that high. Curving one hand around to rub tight circles on your clit, Eddie doubled his efforts, determined to tip you over the edge and watch you fall apart on his cock, crying his name.
Sweat slicked your straining bodies as he plunged into your sloppy heat over and over. The wet squelch of your messy cunt, the lewd slap of flesh, your needy cries — it’s almost too much, even for Eddie.
“That’s it, baby. Soak my fucking cock.” He rasped desperately, fingers flying over your throbbing clit.
Eddie could tell you were close, pussy clenching hard around him, thighs trembling around his pistoning hips.
With a final twist of his wrist, he sent you over the edge with a high pitched, broken moan that somewhat resembled his name. Your pussy fluttered and gushed around him, soaking his thighs with a hot and unexpected jet, clenching so hard on his cock you milked him for all he’s worth.
“Ed-Ed— Fuckfuckfuck.” Your head was tilted back, neck on display and mouth wide open. “Mmpff!”
“Jesus— F-fucking take it,” he gasped, nuzzling into your neck to sink his teeth into your skin.
With stuttering hips, Eddie’s rhythm faltered as the feeling of your squirting pussy drenching him, unravelling the last thread of his control. With one last moan, he buried himself to the hilts pulsing and shuddering as he filled you up, painting your greedy pussy in that addicting sticky, milky white.
Eddie pushed himself up just enough for his gaze to drift lazily to where the two of you were connected, his tired, wide eyes settling on the mess you’d made of the fresh linens, like he’d just witnessed a miracle.
The sight drew a slow grin to his face. He caught his lower lip between his teeth before a quiet, satisfied chuckle escaped him. Reaching up, he gently tapped two fingers against your cheek before letting his hand cradle your face, his thumb brushing softly over your skin as he tipped your chin back towards him.
“So,” he murmured, his fingertips pressing ever so slightly into your cheeks. “Who am I?”
You blinked your eyes open, still dazed, your tongue sweeping absently across your lower lip before you managed a sleepy, satisfied smile.
“M-my boyfriend.”
A smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Damn right I am.”
Neither of you spoke much after that. You simply stayed tangled together, basking in each other’s warmth while your breathing gradually slowed and your racing heart settled back into its familiar rhythm.
After a while, Eddie wrapped his arms around you and drew the two of you a warm, well-deserved bath.
He settled into the tub first before gently pulling you back against him, your back resting flush against his chest. One arm stayed securely around your waist while the other slowly worked your favourite soap into a rich lather, his touch gentle as he washed over your arms.
“I love you,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.
“I love you more, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. “But do not ever call me your friend again.”
A giggle escaped you as you nodded. “Deal.”
Some hours later, after Eddie had helped you into one of his oversized t-shirts and patiently combed the tangles from your hair, the two of you found yourselves curled up on the couch, you lazily scrolling through the comments on your TikTok while he started working on a joint.
He’d frowned when you’d told him you were posting it, though the look quickly faded once you explained that the trend was about getting your partner’s reaction — not trying the can of sparkling water that was still sitting forgotten on the kitchen counter.
Eddie, who normally didn’t give a rat’s ass about social media beyond hyping you up in the comments of your Instagram posts, had eventually let his curiosity get the better of him. Leaning over your shoulder, he stretched his neck to get a look at your phone.
Congratulations on your pregnancy girl!
oh, she’s exactly where she wants to be
I’m gonna show you fucking friend???? HELLO???
You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, while Eddie merely blinked confused at the phone in your hand.
“…Pregnancy?”
“It’s a TikTok thing, babe.”
He frowned a little harder before reading the next comment.
“‘The way he looked at her after she said ‘my boy… friend’, girl I would have folded IMMEDIATELY’.”
A smug grin spread across Eddie’s face as he turned to look at you, a quiet scoff escaping him while hr raised his eyebrows in triumph.
“See? The internet agrees with me.”
You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
Eddie simply looked back down at his hands, carefully finishing the joint he’d promised to roll while the two of you soaked in the bath.
“Shut up.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Make me, sweetheart.”
content: Gwayne had thought he was staring to loose his mind in Harrenhal, but thank the Gods you had arrived providing him with some light in such a dark place.
words: 1.2k
cw: MDNI 18+ p in v, riding, established relations, reader is a Targ, but not stated how nor are any physical descriptions are used, mentions of death, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything.
a/n: I was writing Dunk, but somehow my mind ended up here so ya here it is lol
Sleep seemed to be nonexistent these days. There always seemed to be something that forbid it. A flash that could not be explained, a sound that was not really there. It was starting to take a tole on him.
Tonight was no different. Gwayne was always on alert here, half waiting for someone to make an attempt on his life while asleep. Thus allowing him to hear the steps coming quickly towards him.
The feet sounded bare, padding against the floor, but they were loud nonetheless echoing through the halls.
He was immediately shooting out of bed, hand wrapped around his sword in an instant. With the weapon raised he waited, hearing the steps stop just outside his door before it was opened revealing just who had come for him.
But it was no solider making an attempt on his life. It was you. He breathed your name out like a prayer, the blade dropping to the floor with a loud clatter. Moving toward you, pulling you into his chest, without hesitation.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, gripping your red dress in his hands. It was a favorite of his, one that you had worn often before this whole mess had started.
The one that had tore you apart.
"Rhaenyra said you were here…and I had to see you. I had to make sure you were alright," you confessed, your voice cracking as he could hear the concern laced through it.
He pulled back cradling your face as you smiled at him. It was the one he loved so much. The one that filled him with warmth, and occupied his dreams in your absence, "I have missed you so much," he whispered.
"Make up for the lost time then."
His mouth was on yours in a second, claiming yours, "I have missed you so much," he repeated against your mouth. He needed you to know just how much he had longed for you these days. He pushed you back toward the mattress. Your hands moved quickly freeing his cock from his breeches.
He went to lay you down against the mattress, but you stopped him. You turned your bodies causing the back of his knees to hit the bed before you pushed him back. He sat up staring at you, as you pulled your dress up around your hips.
You looked younger almost, in a way he could not explain. Entirely different from the last time he had laid eyes on you, and even now as he tried to recount in his mind just when that was exactly, but he did not let himself dwell on it.
You were here, and he was going to enjoy your time together no matter how small that might be. You straddled him, gripping his cock in your hand as you ran him through your slick folds,"Are you wearing nothing under neath?" he questioned, raising a brow.
You did not respond, but his mind did not stay on it long as then you sank down on top of him. "Oh fuck," he moaned out.
Neither of you moved for a moment, simply existing there, feeling each other, before you finally began to rock your hips back and forth setting the pace. He allowed you to with no complaint, simply holding your hips as he looked up at you.
"You feel divine," he told you, as he watched your face contort in pleasure as you rode him. He could still remember the first time it had happened, you had told him you needed no instruction as you had been riding dragons all your life.
"You are a vision of beauty in these dark times," he continued, his praise, as he could feel you clench around him like a vice.
"Are you a bard or a solider?" you asked, grinding your hip down into him hard, causing him to moan.
"Both. I am both for you," he confessed.
"What else are you for me?" you asked, your hands moving to lace through his red hair forcing him head back to look at you.
"Whatever you want me to be," he assured you. His release came out of no where, as you moaned at his name loudly, pressing yourself further into him. You did not move, and he did not pull out both of you clingly to the other as if you were afraid you would both disapear.
Because that was the truth was it not? The moment would end and you would have to go back to wherever you came from and he would be stuck here.
Something felt wrong though. Something he could not quite put his finger on it, but he did not want the thought to consume him. If anything he wanted you to consume him instead. To simply be a man and woman in love rather than anything else.
You a Targaryen. He a Hightower on different sides of a war for a throne neither of you would even sit.
His ragged breaths filled the air. He buried himself further into your chest, trying to hide away from the world even if it was only for a moment longer,"I must go," you whispered, your hands running through his hair gently working the knots from it. You leaned down pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
"Why?" he questioned in protest, trying to cling to you, but it felt as if his fingers were slipping through you.
He could feel you shift against him, and he could not stop you from pulling away. He tried to urge his mind "Because I am dead. Remember you helped kill me at Rooks Rest?" You pulled away from him and suddenly you were dressed back in your riding leathers, blood smearing your face. The smell of ash filling his nostrils.
His mouth opened, as everything came back. Your dragons screeches as she was ripped apart. The way he watched you fall through the sky, crashing through the castle. A horror that had been repeating through his minds for day.
The real reason as to why he could not find sleep as you were always there awaiting him in his dreams, but even tongiht it seemed you would make your way to him either way.
He could see it all now. When he found your body, your neck not angled right, your limbs cold and disfigured, before he watched the men remove your dragons head, "No.No. No," he cried dropping to his knees.
He burnt your body himself, trying to honor you in some way, but it obviously was not enough. You were haunting him, because he had failed you. He crawled to the floor trying to burry his face into your stomach, "I am sorry. I am so so sorry," he sobbed.
You reached down wrapping your fingers around his chin. You were unnaturally cold, and the light from your eyes was now gone, as they resembled something close to black, "No apologies will ever bring me back. All because you chose the usurper over me."
The tears streamed down his face as you smiled, and it did not hit right. It was not the one filled with warmth or even the shy one you would cast him across the hall. This was someone else's smile on a face that resembled you, "Sleep well, my love. I will be back again and again and again until you leave these blasted walls or die here."
And just like that you were gone, leaving him once more, as sleep evaded him and he thought of nothing but you and the guilt that ate away at him.
a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale—but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist his charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?
genre/warnings:
arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, fluff and lots of kissing afterwards, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), spoilers! takes place in season 1 of house of the dragon
notes:
gif by @/bladeofdreadfort. wc. 4.5k ! hotd s3 is finally here and so does my man gwayne <3 i really loved writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy it!
For the longest time, Gwayne had known that the matter of his marriage were not his to ponder. As the son of the Hand of the King, his future was a tapestry woven by him in a series of cunning, calculated moves.
Yet, he had never truly expected to be betrothed to you—a princess of the realm.
The young princess for the queen’s brother. By every measure, it was a masterful stroke of politics and his father had once again outdone himself. After binding his sister to the king, it was now his turn to seek the heart of the realm’s most coveted maiden after the Princess Rhaenyra.
However, to Gwayne, you were more than just a political alliance. You were a paragon of beauty, the girl haunting his dreams, the princess who has stolen his heart—
But seven hells, were you also one hard lady to entice.
Every charming smile he threw your way was met with an arched, unimpressed brow. Every poetic compliment he rehearsed tasted like ash and shattered against your coldness. You didn’t swoon like the ladies at the tourney grounds, nor did you soften at his obvious attempts to woo you.
Instead, you looked at him as if you could see right through the nervous man underneath.
Your assessing gaze was currently fixed on him from the shade of the courtyard gallery. Down in the dirt, Gwayne was sweating through his padded doublet, trying his absolute best to look formidable as his sword clashed against his squire’s shield—because he knew you were watching.
He has to look good. Your wedding was in three weeks, so he was fighting to impress—determined to give you a show of how your betrothed was as dashing as the realm claimed him to be.
With theatrical flair, he executed an aggressive sequence before driving his squire back with a heavy strike, deftly sweeping the poor lad’s legs out from under him, and sending him sprawling into the dirt with a breathless thud.
Breathing heavily, Gwayne smoothly rested the point of his sword near the fallen boy’s chest in a classic pose of victory.
“You are just dead,” he declared with his signature grin, before turning to where you were.
You leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at him with an expression of mild, patronizing amusement. He flashed you a hopeful, boyish grin that begged for even a shred of your approval.
And as if deciding to grace him with your presence, you descended down the stone stairs. Gwayne’s smile widened, and he met you halfway as you reached the bottom.
Ignoring the staring stableboys, he dipped his head and took your hand, placing a kiss on it.
“Princess,” he greeted, his dark blue eyes meeting yours with an excited crinkle.
“An impressive display, Ser Gwayne,” you replied, smoothly pulling your hand back from his grasp. He was giddy, about to thank you for the compliment, when—
“I must commend your passion. It takes a truly remarkable knight to exert such effort against a boy half his size who is actively paid to lose to him.”
Gwayne winced slightly, but the grin quickly returned to his face, refusing to let your sharp tongue deter him.
“A knight, no matter the age, must practice for all manner of foes. It shall be a good lesson for my squire to learn,” he countered softly. He had always been a naturally courteous man, but he had been practicing an extra measure of gentleness ever since the betrothal was announced, even when you remained frosty.
He hoped that you would recognize it—that you would see he was willing to bend his pride just for you.
However, you merely lifted your chin higher, your eyes flashing with a challenge.
“Is that so? My, what a chivalrous soul you are. I suppose I shall sleep soundly knowing you are defending the realm with your immense prowess and formidable army of squires.”
One thing he could never truly understand, though... he hadn’t asked for this match any more than you had, yet why did you look at him as you would a liar?
And it hurts because... he remembers how the more innocent, younger you, who had wiped blood from his face, hadn’t looked at him as you do now.
“We are to be married in no less than a moon,” he reminded you, still with a smile. “Tell me, Princess... what must a man do to earn a genuine compliment from his bride?”
You held his gaze for a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch the slight twitch in his jaw. Then, a devastatingly sweet smile graced your lips as you tilted your head.
“Compliments are but wind, my good ser. If we are to marry soon anyways, what use would flattering you with empty words do?”
Gwayne let out a defeated chuckle. “I shall just continue striving to become a man worthy of your hand, then.”
You had just insulted him and mocked his swordsmanship in the same breath, and yet, somehow, he still found himself tethered to you still.
What a fool he was.
He didn’t give up just like that, of course. Gifts was also Gwayne’s language of affection.
He had commissioned a seven-pointed star necklace for you in Oldtown, crafted from the finest silver and diamond. He had watched his late mother and sister find such profound comfort in it, and so he had believed it would make a fine gift for you.
Yet, now that he presented the gleaming jewelry to you, you were rendered silent.
“You do not like it,” he realized, a note of disappointment building through his usual confidence.
“It is exquisite. Truly,” you started, your voice gentle but lacking the reverence he had anticipated. “But... you must not expect me to wear it often.”
“Is it the design? If it offends your sensibilities, I can have it redone, or—”
“I assure you, I know your intentions are kind,” you looked at him, a certain sternness in your eyes. “It is just a matter of preference, is all. I treasure this necklace from my mother rather greatly, and wearing it is how I keep her close to me.”
The tragic death of Queen Aemma was not so easily forgotten, least of all when you resembled her so much. Gwayne’s smile faltered, the enthusiasm in his eyes dimming when his gaze found the sapphire necklace of Arryn falcon on your neck, a heirloom passed down.
He looked down at the silver star resting in the wooden box, suddenly finding it so plain, before forcing himself to meet your gaze again.
“I just want you to know that... you are in my thoughts, constantly,” he murmured, his gaze rising to meet yours again. “Whenever I see something I consider beautiful, I think of you. I want you to have it. You should know I have no underlying intentions other than that.”
You gave him an appreciative nod, pursing your lips together. “Your kind thoughts are much appreciated.”
So he had failed, again. Sigh.
What better way to impress your betrothed and prove to the entire realm that you were worthy of her hand than by claiming victory at the King’s nameday tourney?
Even you would at least bestow a real smile upon him. That was what Gwayne was after.
Or at least, it was until his gaze drifted to the edge of the battlement grounds where the knights were assembling. There, he saw you.
With Criston Cole.
The sight struck him. You, who usually looked at him with indifference, were attentive, your eyes bright in a way Gwayne had never managed to make them. Cole, in turn, had a reserved smile, his attention entirely locked onto you.
It could have been anyone but Criston—the Dornishman!—Cole. Why him?!
A sharp spike of resentment flared in his chest. He decided right then and there that this cannot stand, and marched towards you both.
“Good day, Ser Criston,” Gwayne greeted with a forced smile, his voice dripping with a courtly cheer that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Cole returned his greeting, and he turned to you then. “My betrothed, fancy to have found you here. You shouldn’t have to sully yourself with the dirt.”
“I was merely wishing Ser Criston luck in the lists.” As always, the corners of your lips curled into that faux smile whenever facing him. “The competition looks fierce today.”
What about him? You hadn’t thought of wishing him, your own groom, luck?
“Fierce for some, mayhaps,” Gwayne nodded, his smile sharpening as he took another step forward, deliberately cutting off Criston Cole’s line of sight to you. He reached out, his gauntleted hand gently but firmly taking yours.
“But I sure do not fear a crowd of knights of modest beginnings and second sons. And I have hoped that I might find you in the stands later, and you would bestow upon me your favor to assure me of my victory.”
He looked down at you, the forced arrogance in his eyes momentarily cracked. He wanted you to look at him the way you had just looked at Cole, really.
But cruel, relentless you never granted it so easily.
“Your romantic sensibilities are commendable, ser.” You let out a soft sigh, as if lamenting, “but victory is still guaranteed by skill and the favor of the Seven, and not merely from a scrap of silk.”
The rejection was subtle, but in the presence of Criston Cole, it felt like a public execution.
“It is said even a scrap of favor from one’s bride can turn the tide of many battles,” Gwayne replied, his voice dropping an octave as the last traces of courtly cheer evaporated. “Unless, of course, your favor has already been promised to someone else?”
His eyes flicked towards Cole, searching for a reason to draw steel before the tourney even began. And that Dornish wretch had the gall to look at him in the eyes and retorted:
“May the best knight win, ser.”
Your betrothed had become terribly displeased and you knew it. Your hollow smile deepened, you stepped forward and smoothly slid your hand into the crook of his arm.
“No, no. You are free to ask me for it later, of course, my dear.”
Gwayne knew better that the honeyed words held no real affection. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn’t help but fall for it each and every time.
You held his leash, and you knew exactly how far you could play with and stretch it. But as he looked at you, a quiet ache settled in his soul.
Is it truly so wrong of him to seek your heart? How much longer would he have to endure this torment, giving everything while his affections remained completely unreturned?
“From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.”
That was the first thing he told you when the betrothal was announced. In a den of vipers, Gwayne Hightower was entirely his own man.
He didn’t possess the calculating ambition of his father, who viewed every living soul as a piece in his game of thrones. Nor was he prudent like his sister, Queen Alicent, whose motto in life was duty and sacrifice.
You know that. You really knew that your chosen betrothed was everything but unkind. He was everything the songs promised a knight should be— genuine, posh, with a touch of arrogance that made him charming. He held you in high regard, and his attempts to make an impression on you were sweet.
Despite how you behaved around him, the truth was... it took everything in you not to fall for Ser Gwayne Hightower.
But he is still Otto’s son. You hated the Lord Hand with every fiber of your being—the man’s thirst for power had already forced your childhood companion Alicent into your father’s bed, turned your sister Rhaenyra into a scheming cynic, and your own betrothal to Gwayne was just another piece of his grand design.
However, watching the tourney unfold from the royal box, your thoughts swirled with guilt and anxiety. In the end, he hadn’t asked for your favor at all. Ironically, his sudden silence unsettled you far more than his persistence ever had.
Looking back on your interactions, the weight of your biting marks pressed heavily against your chest. You had rejected him so many times, using your faux smiles and sharp wit as shields. Every time you remembered the look of hurt that crossed his face before he masked it with a patient smile, a fresh wave of guilt washed over you.
Did he deserve to be punished just for pursuing you? Was it fair to make him pay for his father’s sins?
Down in the dirt, Gwayne rode beautifully, unseating two seasoned knights from the Reach and splitting lances with a Lannister to thunderous applause from the crowd. For a moment, watching his silver and green armor gleam in the sunlight, a spark of pride flared in your chest.
Then, Ser Criston Cole rode onto the field.
The tension between the two men was palpable even from the high stands. They charged— one lance shattered, then a second. By the third pass, it was clear it was a matter of pride.
And on the fourth pass, the collision was catastrophic.
With a terrifying crack that echoed across the grounds, Cole’s lance struck dead center. Gwayne was violently unseated, flung from his saddle to hit the earth with a sickening crash.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the stands. Through the rising dust, you saw your betrothed lying completely still. Cole’s lance hadn’t just broken— it had compromised his armor. His steel breastplate was shattered to pieces, the shards visibly lodged into his chest, dark blood already pooling through the fractures.
Your breath hitched, your hand flying to your mouth in horror.
Six years ago, a similar scene had paralyzed your heart the very same way. Blind to the rules of propriety, you bolted from the royal box. Pushing past lords and ladies, you sprinted down into the arena—desperate to reach him.
The maesters and several squires had already swarmed him, unbuckling the undamaged pieces of his armor with hurried hands. Gwayne was propped up against a wooden barrier, half-conscious, his head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to hold focus.
“Will he be alright?” your voice cracked, almost shrill, the composed facade of a princess shattered as you hovered over the maesters working on him. “Tell me he will be alright.”
“The steel hasn’t pierced the heart, Princess, but we must move him to immediately to extract the shards,” one of them mumbled, wrapping a temporary cloth around the wound to stem the bleeding.
Gwayne let out a low, guttural groan at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering. Through the haze of pain, he recognized your voice. He knew you were there.
Driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge to comfort him, you dropped to your knees beside him. Your hands were trembling as you reached out, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe away the grime and blood that smeared his pale cheek.
But before your fingers could trace his jawline, Gwayne’s gauntleted hand came up. With a sudden burst of remaining strength, he swatted your hand away—
“Do not touch me,” he rasped.
The words were raw and bitter, dripping with an icy venom you had never heard from him before.
. . .
Gwayne refused to meet your gaze. He pressed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically strained against his skin.
It wasn’t just the physical agony tearing him apart. It was the suffocating, absolute humiliation.
He had lost. He had been unseated and laid low in the dirt in front of the entire realm—and worse, in front of Criston Cole. He couldn’t bear to see the pity in your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at the woman he loved and see confirmation that he was exactly what you always thought of him: unworthy.
“I’m— fine,” he choked out then. “So... go back to the Keep.”
It was funny how this was the same thing that had happened to him six years ago, during the Heir’s Tourney. He had been brutally unseated by Daemon Targaryen then, and just like now, you had come running to him, wiping the blood from his broken nose with your kerchief.
He fell in love with you then... and he has been in love with you ever since.
The girl holding his heart was a princess, and he had never dared to hope for more, never dreaming his conniving father would actually arrange your hand for him. He had thought it a blessing.
But his pursuit of you the past three moons had yielded nothing but a bitter truth— you despised him.
So he preferred to choke on the blinding pain, to let it consume him entirely, rather than suffer the indignity of your comfort.
You are in love with him.
You had spent weeks trying to resent the circumstances that led to your marriage with Otto Hightower’s son, reminding yourself over and over that he had fractured your family, sowing seeds of rebellion that would break once Alicent’s son came to age, and it would spell disaster upon you all—
But the wounded knight with broken nose six years ago had long since owned a part of your heart, and one week without Gwayne Hightower persistent on your heel, you had found yourself... sad.
“Mrawgh...”
“I’m not lonely,” you mumbled petulantly, brushing a hand against Grey Ghost’s silver scales as the dragon curled up, blinking his golden eyes shut to rest.
To occupy yourself, you spent the days with your dragon in the Dragonpit. Tending to Grey Ghost made the long hours pass faster— he was a recluse and not keen on flying often, but his quiet presence matched your somber mood.
Leaving him to his slumber, you walked away lost in your thoughts, entirely failing to notice how slippery the stone ledge had become.
Your foot caught on a heavy iron ring embedded in the floor. The world tilted as you stumbled backwards, losing your footing entirely. You braced for a painful impact against the stone floor, but a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, arresting your descent.
A sharp, ragged gasp left your savior’s lips. As you stabilized, you realized your hands had instinctively braced against his chest—pressing right over the bandages of the fresh wound.
“Steady there,” the redhead managed, a strained smile tight on his lips as he gently set you back on your feet. His green tunic made you realize who he was—
“Gwayne!” you breathed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, almost terrified to touch him again. “Why are you—your wound! I didn’t mean to—”
“I am fine, truly,” he assured you, his voice softening as he offered a warm, comforting smile. “It is but a scratch, Princess. It takes more than a clumsy tumble from you to injure me.”
Just like a hundred times before, Gwayne Hightower sought you out. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and how he looked pale still—
From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.
“You are supposed to be resting!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Why are you here?!”
This wasn’t what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him a lot of other things! Like he was a fool, and that you would forbid him to enter the lists once you two were wed, that you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—
His blue eyes crinkled with that familiar kindness as he reached out, softly tucking a stray strand of your loose hair behind your ear.
“If I wasn’t here, then you would take a fall.” His voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I can’t very well let my betrothed hurt herself before our big day, can I?”
This was the first time since King Viserys announced your betrothal three moons ago that you looked genuinely worried for him. It made something inside him burst with joy, even if it was tinged with a bitter aftertaste.
Gwayne’s thumb gently brushed across the back of your hand that was still pressed against his chest.
“Tell me... Is this the only way I could truly have your attention? Must I be grievously injured, a step away from Death’s door, for you to look at me like this?”
Your eyes widened by a fraction. Precious, precious girl. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint brightened his eyes.
Just this once, could he be allowed to be just a little bit cruel?
“Even if you keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes...” he whispered, his smile turning a little wistful, “...my heart might just run out, one of these days.”
He gave you one last, kind smile—a look of affection that no longer held expectations, or reeked of the politics that bound your families. Then, he gently gripped your hand, pulling it away from him before turning on his heel to leave you to your own devices.
When your fingers fell limp into the cold air, a stinging realization pierced through you like a dagger:
Is this how he feels? Is this what he endures every time I evade him? How has he survived it over and over?
As his warmth retreated into the shadows of the Dragonpit, something sharp tore deep inside your chest.
You didn’t want him to go. The walls you had spent weeks building to protect your heart against the Hightower name crumbled into dust. Your eyes burned with tears that blurred his retreating figure.
He was nearly out of the pit when you gathered your skirts, abandoning your pride, and ran after him.
“Ser Gwayne!”
Before he could turn back, you lunged, throwing your pride and your fears to the wind. You crashed into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, burying your face against his spine. He stiffened, almost flinching—
But then he heard you sob.
“Princess...?” he asked softly. His tone shifted, turning from startled confusion to a protective concern as he carefully turned around within your embrace. He reached up, gently tilting your chin up, only to find your cheeks flushed and wet with tears.
Realizing you were truly, genuinely weeping, Gwayne’s breath hitched in his throat.
He didn’t think. He didn’t let past rejections dictate him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his uninjured side.
“Shh, please do not weep,” he said in your ear, his own voice suddenly thick with emotion as he rocked you slightly. “Darling... please.”
Darling. Why did the word sound so devastatingly sweet in your ears? As you clung to him, you realized with absolute certainty that you wanted him to call you that for the rest of your days.
As he held you, feeling the warmth of your hands anchoring yourself to him, the pieces finally fell into place:
Has she... returned my feelings?
When your sobs finally quieted and your breathing turned calmer, you gently pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your eyes met his, and an ache settled in your chest.
He was such a beautiful man. Red hair, blue eyes, with ghost of dimples— still the very same wounded knight you had secretly harbored affections for with all those years ago.
Driven by a clear wave of clarity, you didn’t wait for him to speak. Reaching up, you stood on your toes and pulled him down by his collar—
—and pressed your lips to his.
Gwayne went rigid at your sudden boldness. But as your fingers tangled into his soft hair, any lingering shock vanished. With a low groan, he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like the bursting of a dam.
He drank in your sighs, his lips moving against yours with a desperate longing, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you. He pulled you closer, his hands tilting your head back, anchoring you to him.
“You really are—” he growled against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged, “my utter undoing, Princess.”
Before the words could even fully register, you gasped as he gathered you up and hoisted you backwards, setting you down onto the broad stone railing.
Gwayne stepped between your thighs, pinning you to the ledge as his mouth descended on yours once more, even more ravenous than before. The kiss became a blur of lips, tongues, and breathless gasps—
His hands left your face to map the lines of your body, his palm sliding down the column of your throat to the curve of your shoulders. In his mind’s eye, he was already stripping away the heavy, suffocating layers of your gown, picturing the soft, aching swell of your breasts and the intoxicating dip of your waist.
In less than a week... as soon as you swear your oaths before the Seven, he would be graced by that sight.
Gwayne dragged his lips down from your mouth, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Ser Gwayne—” your voice came hitched, and that what brought him back to reality.
He bit softly at the sensitive skin there, swallowing the fire that was about to consume him. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his lips lingered against yours.
“Well, you did kiss me first, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes twinkling, voice delightfully raspy as his arms settled loosely around your waist. “If I had known a broken rib would finally get you to kiss me, I would have marched up to Grey Ghost and asked him to toss me by the tail weeks ago.”
“Please don’t,” you giggled, circling your arms around his neck.
“Ah, but think of the romance— a dashing knight, battered and bruised, crawling back from the Dragonpit just to collapse into his bride’s arms.”
A breathless laugh escaped your lips, giving way to a very sweet, genuine smile. To Gwayne Hightower, this was the prettiest you had ever been, and his heart throbbed.
Oh, so she does, he realized, a quiet reverence settling into his soul. She does return my affections.
Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, finally certain that his heart was safe in your hands.
“You might not know it,” he whispered, “but I have been in love with you for a very long time.”
You looked up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he met your gaze with a look of such devotion it stole the breath from your lungs.
“So let me say this once again. From before, now and until the day we breathe our last, all that I am... is yours.”
In that moment, you couldn’t have known that the realm would soon be plunged into a senseless civil war, pitting your sister against his in a dance of dragons and blood. You couldn’t have foreseen the ashes, the betrayals, or the heavy price the Hightower green and the Targaryen black would have to pay.
None of that matters right now. All you wanted was to lose yourself in his embrace and savor the fragile perfection of your wedding to the man of your dreams... for as long as it would last.
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⋆˚꩜｡pairing: 40s!eddie x 20s!fem!reader
⋆˚꩜｡summary: eddie learns that dating someone half his age comes with a few surprises; one of them is learning that your generation talks about sex a lot more openly than his ever did
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit content 18+ minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!fem!reader, age gap, early relationship vibes, set in 2008 although not specified, communication is sexy (even when eddie is kind of bad at it), first time anal, anal fingering, masturbation (f!receiving), praise kink if you squint, some very mild degradation, steve deserves financial compensation for putting up with eddie's ass (punt not intended)
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 5.3k+
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: this is a detailed version of this post also I think this sucks so be warned lol
The Eddie you knew and were still getting familiar with was vastly different from the one that had lived through the eighties and nineties.
Well, vastly different might have been a stretch.
All in all, he hadn’t changed that much, if we were being honest. He still liked his hair past his shoulders, still listened to the same six bands and rarely put anything else on, and he still had that pretty boy-ish smile that told everyone in the room he was up to absolutely no good.
But he had changed in the little things. He took better care of his hair now, even spending a little more money than anyone should on a simple shampoo and conditioner, and he rarely talked about sex anymore.
It wasn’t that he’d magically become a prude over the years. He’d simply learned that some things were better — and hotter — left between two people, and no longer felt the need to tell his best friend Steve about whatever fucking position or wild thing had happened in the alley behind the bar.
Except now.
He’d switched to whiskey — double shot, no ice — about five minutes ago after realising the two beers before it weren’t doing much.
Steve, who had begrudgingly left his twenty-five weeks pregnant wife at home to meet Eddie for what had apparently been an emergency drink on a random Wednesday, looked completely and utterly lost as he quietly sipped his Sex on the Beach.
“So,” the younger man started slowly, tilting his glass while absentmindedly playing with the little decorative umbrella. “You gonna tell me what’s been plaguing you?”
“I can’t, Steve.” Eddie groaned, abandoning his nearly empty glass to drag both hands down his face.
“You literally called me because, and I quote,” Steve took a sip before making quotation marks with his fingers. “‘Steve, dude, I need to tell you something or I’m gonna explode.’ So, spill.”
“I know, I know.” Eddie groaned again, tipping back the last of his whiskey and pretending it still burned on the way down. “But I can’t.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because…” Another sigh escaped him as he raised his empty glass towards the bartender for a refill. “It’s about sex, okay? Happy?”
Steve blinked at him and leaned back in his chair and silently raised his own glass for another drink.
“You’re acting like you didn’t fuck half the weird chicks behind the Hideout back in the day,” he said, absentmindedly fiddling with his straw. “I honestly don’t get why you’re acting like a fucking virgin. You’re pushing fifty, Edward.”
“I’m forty-two, Stephen,” Eddie deadpanned. “You— Forget it. You don’t understand.”
“Of course I don’t understand. You haven’t said shit fort the last hour.”
“It’s just…” Another defeated sigh escaped Eddie as his tattooed hand disappeared into the dark brown hair now threaded with silver that had, much to his horror, finally started to show.
He was being ridiculous, he knew that. Steve was right — he was acting like a fucking virgin despite being the furthest thing from it.
But this? He wasn’t sure about this.
Hell, he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t imagined the whole fucking thing.
Eddie opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again when two fresh drinks were set down on the table between them.
When the bartender had disappeared just as quickly as she’d arrived, a string of choked words tumbled out of Eddie’s mouth, vowels mashed together with embarrassment as he immediately lifted his glass to his lips, desperate to give himself something — anything — to do besides look at Steve.
“What?” Steve frowned. “Dude, what the fuck. Talk slower, like a normal person.”
“I said…” Eddie repeated, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere on the wall behind Steve. “She asked if I’d ever done anal.”
And there it was — the utter, skin-prickling silence.
Steve simply stared at him.
“…That’s it?” he finally asked after a full minute. “This is what’s had you acting all weird?”
“Dude—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, man.” Steve let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m finishing this drink and going home.”
“What? No.”
“Eddie, you’re being ridiculous.” He licked his lips before taking another sip. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that she’s half my age and she’s asking me something I’d never even stopped to think about.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?”
Steve sighed. The day was catching up with him, and Eddie’s bullshit wasn’t doing much to help. So he pulled his glass a little closer, took another sip through the straw, and counted to ten.
“I don’t see what the problem is.”
“You don’t—” Eddie sighed, exasperated, averting his gaze like he couldn’t quite believe what had just come out of his mouth. “Steve, we grew up in the eighties.”
“I know. I survived it.”
“Other than the occasional dirty joke at a party, we didn’t exactly sit around discussing sex.”
Steve frowned as he thought about it. “Now that you mention it…”
“Girls back then never asked if you’d tried this or that. They asked if you were a virgin, and if you both were, you just figured shit out… and then never spoke about it again.”
Steve leaned back in his chair, resting an elbow on the armrest as he sipped at his ridiculously bright cocktail, nodding along to Eddie’s rambling.
“Meanwhile, this girl looked me dead in the eye at nine in the morning and went, Have you ever tried anal? Like she was asking me if I’d ever seen Jurassic Park.”
A snort escaped Steve at the comparison.
“What did you reply?”
“…‘Can I have some coffee first?’”
Steve shook his head in disbelief, set his drink back down, and rested both hands behind his head like he was sprawled out on the couch watching a football game.
“Jesus, Eddie. You’re unbelievable.” He groaned.
“I’m going to kill myself,” Eddie muttered.
“Without trying anal first?”
“Steve.”
“The joke wrote itself, man.”
The younger man shrugged again, absentmindedly spinning his straw between his fingers.
“Listen, just go home and talk to her,” he said simply. “Tell her… I don’t know, that you weren’t expecting the question or something.”
“I can’t just… talk to her about it.”
“Eddie, my man, you’re acting like a fucking teenager.” Steve shook his head. “How long have you been seeing her?”
“Four months, give or take.”
“Four months,” he repeated slowly. “If this is supposed to go anywhere, you need to learn how to communicate. Apparently, that’s something you still haven’t figured out after forty-two years.”
“I hate you,” Eddie muttered over the rim of his glass.
“No.” Steve pointed at him with the end of his straw. “You hate that I’m right. There’s a difference.”
Much to his dismay, Steve had, in fact, been right.
Eddie had spent the entire fifteen-minute drive back to your place mentally turning over every word in the English dictionary, trying to figure out what he was supposed — what he wanted — to say once he got there.
By the time the red lacquered front door came into view, he still hadn’t figured it out.
The doorbell rang before he even really registered pressing it, and it only took a few seconds before he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.
And then there you were, standing right in front of him with messy hair and an oversized shirt you’d customised a few years earlier, back when you were still in high school.
“Hey—”
“I can’t stop thinking about your question, and it’s driving me absolutely insane.”
Your head tilted at the rapid stream of words that tumbled out of his mouth.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Somehow, you’d found yourselves locked in a staring contest that neither of you remembered starting.
“Uh… hi to you too, Eds,” you chuckled after a moment, pulling the door open a little wider.
Eddie slipped past you without another word, too busy worrying at his bottom lip to even attempt an explanation.
His dark brown eyes darted around your little living room with a newfound sense of curiosity that was really nothing more than embarrassment hiding behind a mask.
Eddie’s gaze bounced from the far corner overflowing with potted plants to the extensive book collection you’d built over the years.
He was looking at anything that wasn’t you.
Which definitely hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The tip of your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you quietly closed the front door behind you, your eyes fixed on the strange way he stood in the middle of your shoebox-sized apartment.
You leaned back against the door, absentmindedly drumming your fingers against the wood as you studied him.
“Eds—”
“I wasn’t expecting to hear something like that as nine in the morning,” he blurted. “Especially not how casually it slipped out of your mouth.”
“Look…” you sighed, scratching thoughtfully at your chin. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”
“What?” Eddie’s attention finally snapped back to you. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re acting like a teenager who just found out he’s gonna be a dad at fifteen.”
Suddenly, the little painted squares you’d made at a paint-and-sip workshop with a friend became ten times more interesting than looking you in the eye.
A quiet sigh escaped you as you pushed yourself off the door and walked over to him.
Eddie’s cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink as he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze, even when your warm hand gently cupped his jaw and tried to guide his face back towards yours.
“We can just pretend none of it happened, if you want.”
He still wouldn’t look at you, nervously worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
Then, ever so slowly, dark brown eyes finally found yours beneath the warm amber light.
“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to… pretend.”
The warmth beneath your hand deepened as his blush spread from his cheeks down his neck, your palm following its path until it rested lightly against his chest.
Your expression softened at the shy tone of his confession.
Letting go of his chest, your fingers curled around his hand instead, gently tugging him towards the couch.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Eddie slumped back against the cushions, full lashes fluttering with the incessant blinking of his eyes.
His hands found your hips, gently pulling you onto his lap.
“It’s just… You asked it so easily.” He let out a humourless laugh as his thumbs absentmindedly traced slow circles over the tops of your thighs. “In my time—”
“God, don’t say that.” You cringed. “That makes you sound old.”
“Sweetheart,” Eddie deadpanned, a rogue chuckle escaping him.
“You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes playfully before settling back against his chest, following his gaze to the silent television across the room. “Sorry. Please continue.”
“It just caught me off guard how easy it is for you to talk about sex,” he admitted quietly. “When I was your age, girls would’ve rather set themselves on fire than ask their boyfriends something like that.”
“…That bad?”
“In Hawkins?” He snorted, looking down at you with one raised eyebrow as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “You have no idea.”
The silence that followed lingered for a few moments as the two of you watched the two brothers hop in their jealousy-inducing car.
Then you licked your lips and shifted, turning to properly straddle his lap.
“I like talking about sex.” You admitted and shrugged at his wide-eyed expression. “Not just because it’s dirty or exciting. I’d just rather ask what you like than guess.”
Eddie’s eyes drifted over your shoulder and back to the television. One of the two brothers had somehow turned into a vampire while the other acted weirder than usual.
“You know…” he started hesitantly, still watching the show play out in silence. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me what I wanted before.”
You frowned at the quiet confession. “Really?”
“We just…” He shrugged, like it wasn’t something worth dwelling on. “Did things as we went.”
You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek and patiently waited for his eyes to find their way back to yours.
“Well,” you smiled softly, “I’m asking now.”
Eddie’s lips curled into a small, sheepish smile.
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course you can, Eds.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I was… kinda hoping you would.”
Before he could make fun of your little confession, you pushed yourself off his lap and darted towards the kitchen.
“I bought your favourite,” you called, pushing the beaded curtain aside. “You want ice with it?”
“How did you–”
“I can smell it on your breath, Eds.” Your chuckle echoed through the tiny kitchen and into the living room.
“…Just one ice cube, please.”
Eddie had stayed over the previous night after one drink had turned into two more, while the two of you laughed about sweet nothings as the television continued playing that weird show about demon hunting brothers in the background.
As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have to think about it.
Not really, anyway.
While he’d been busy panicking at the bar with Steve and then again during the drive back to your place, his subconscious had already made the decision for him — he just hadn’t noticed it.
Not until his eyes slowly fluttered open to the stark white ceiling of your bedroom, his brain immediately replaying the… particularly raunchy dream he’d had during the night.
And then there was the, uh… wooden log between his legs.
His eyes instantly drifted to his left, finding you still sound asleep with your back turned to him. Your frame rose and fell with each steady breath, and Eddie felt like a fucking teenager all over again at the mere sight of you — and at the persistent morning problem he’d woken up with.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled groggily, dragging both hands down his face. “Get it together, man.”
Forcing himself out of the warmth of your bed, Eddie did the only thing he could think of: ignore whatever the hell was happening beneath his boxers and make himself useful by quietly sneaking out to put breakfast together.
Not even ten minutes after he’d finally gotten the situation between his legs under control and managed to coax your second-hand stove into working, careful footsteps padded down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Eddie tried really, really hard not to tense when your arms slipped around his waist and your face nestled against the broad expanse of his tattooed back.
He failed the moment your warmth seeped through his skin and your sleepy voice reached his ears.
“Morning,” you mumbled.
“Morning,” he replied a little too quickly.
A content sigh escaped you as you leaned further into him, tightening your hold around his frame.
“You’re acting weird again.”
“I’m not—”
Eddie cut himself off with a tired sigh, turning the stove down before carefully prying himself loose just enough to face you.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands drifting up and down your arms.
“It’s okay—”
“I dreamt about you,” he admitted quietly, his gaze immediately darting towards the small magnetic whiteboard hanging on your fridge.
“Oh?”
“Turns out I don’t need to think about it.”
“Oh.”
You straightened, suddenly feeling far more awake than you did half a second ago, your eyes searching his face as you silently waited for him to continue.
But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there pretending to be deeply invested in your weekly plans scribbled across the whiteboard.
With a small smile, you reached around him and turned the stove off completely.
“I’m trying really hard not to get…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “…hard.”
“Eddie,” you laughed softly.
“I’m serious.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re standing here in nothing but my shirt and a pair of lacy underwear, and I had the hottest dream of my life, and I—”
He immediately cut himself off, hesitantly lifting his eyes back to yours.
“Tell me about it,” you whispered, resting your eyes hands against his chest.
“About what?”
“The dream, silly.”
It was then and there that Eddie decided you’d come into his life for the sole purpose of turning it completely upside down.
Because there was no way in hell he was going to tell—
“We were watching that stupid show of yours,” he started before his brain had the chance to stop his mouth.
“Supernatural isn’t—”
“And then you stood up and suddenly you were completely fucking naked,” he continued, his hands slowly trailing down your spine until they settled against the soft curve of your ass. “And you started teasing me.”
Your throat suddenly went dry when you felt Eddie’s warm, calloused hands gently kneading the fat of your ass to emphasise his words as he continued recounting the dream.
Not that you were paying all that much attention anymore.
His voice had somehow faded into the background the moment his eyes had flickered down to your lips.
“—and then you were on all fours in the grass,” he continued, pulling you back to reality.
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, I don’t know either.” Eddie let out a soft chuckle. “But you looked absolutely beautiful, all spread out f’me beneath the warm sunlight.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you whispered, your stomach dropping in that all-too-familiar way whenever he talked to you like that.
“That’s what I said when I woke up,” he replied, a smug grin slowly creeping across his face.
The way Eddie had been acting over the last twenty-four hours was giving you whiplash.
One minute he was behaving like a schoolboy hopelessly fumbling through his first serious crush. The next, he’d slipped right back into his usual self, teasing you like it was his full-time job.
Your eyes widened in surprise when Eddie leaned in, meeting your lips in a soft, delicate press that felt like a total one-eighty from the conversation you just had. For a moment you froze, heart pounding wildly in your chest, but as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, something in you unfurled.
It’s chaste, almost innocent — just the brush of lips, a shared breath. Yet it sent a thrill down your spine. When he finally pulled away, you blinked dazedly up at him, still caught in the spell he’d just put you under.
You couldn’t do much but hold out your hand in a silent offer.
Eddie ushered you out of the kitchen, glass beads clinking together as the two of you hurried down the hall and made your way back to your bedroom.
The bed hit the backs of your knees as you tumbled onto it, pulling him down with you. Eddie’s tattooed hands roam feverishly, mapping the curves of your body beneath his shirt and drinking the low whimpers escaping your mouth as his fingertips brushed against the swell of your breasts.
You arched into him when his hands trailed back down to the hem of the shirt. He yanked it over your head and tossed it aside, immediately diving for the newly exposed skin. His lips trailed a path down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone, while his tongue left a slick trail down to the tattoo you’d gotten four months ago at his studio.
“F-fuck, Eddie,” you breathed out, bucking your hips against his in a desperate attempt to ease the ache settling between your legs.
Eddie continued trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses towards your breasts, softly closing his lips around one of your nipples before he gave you a hard suck. His free hand roamed in search of the other one, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingertips while he continued sucking sloppily at the other, thick drops of saliva rolling down one side of your chest.
He pulled back slightly, searching your face after you’d given his scalp a particularly hard tug.
His fingers kept rolling and tugging at your hardened nipple while his eyes stayed fixed on your drunken face — eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open while you panted so prettily in his ears when he had barely even started.
“Have you… done this before?”
“N-no,” you confessed quietly.
“You sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?”
There was a certain vulnerability in his voice, but lying on top of you now, feeling the heat of your skin, he found that he desperately wanted you to say yes.
He continued playing with your breast as he waited patiently for your answer.
Like the heavy panting that filled the otherwise silent room wasn’t enough answer.
“Y-yeah.” You licked your lips. “I want you to fuck me in the ass, Eddie.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed out. “That fucking mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me someday.”
A shiver of excitement raced down his spine. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed his free hand lower, fingers skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You twitched beneath his touch, bringing a smug curl to the corners of his mouth.
Leaning down again, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasps. His other hand mapped the planes of your chest, tweaking your nipple until you writhed beneath him. Breaking away, his dark brown eyes found yours under the soft sunlight spilling through the window.
Not exactly the same way his dream had been, but similar enough.
“We’ll take it slow, okay?” He assured, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
To punctuate his promise, he slowly rolled his hips against yours, groaning at the delicious friction.
He gently guided you onto your stomach, trailing reverent kisses down the length of your spine. When he reached your ass, he hooked his tattooed fingers into the waistband of your lacy underwear, tugging them torturously slow down your legs. Cool air kissed heated skin as he bared you inch by tantalising inch.
Eddie took a moment to admire the sight of you spread out before him, warm and quivering and absolutely desperate under his gaze.
“Gonna be so gentle with you, I promise,” he panted over your bare back, leaving soft kisses in between words.
He gave both of your ass cheeks a hard slap, watching the soft fat giggle afterwards. His heartbeat quickened and a low groan fell from his lips as his eyes maintained glued to your ass, slowly pulling your cheeks apart until you were completely exposed for him.
He never actually tried anal, or even gave it a second thought as had already been established, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the familiar bottle of lube tucked away in your dresser probably wasn’t the right kind, but it would have to do.
The drawer creaked softly as he pulled it open and reached for the bottle. It felt cool and slick against his fingertips as he gave it a tentative squeeze.
Eddie flicked his wrist, circling your rim teasingly, relishing your trembling exhale when you felt the cold, slick texture of the lube. Then, with careful pressure, he began to ease his pinky finger inside, determined to keep his promise of taking it slow.
“I– mmpff!”
He eased his finger deeper, marvelling at the tight heat enveloping him. He traced delicate circles, massaging gently until the initial tension faded and a breathy moan escaped your lips.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed softly. Then, lowering his voice like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, he added: “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this, sweetheart.”
He gently worked a second finger in alongside the first, pumping slowly. The wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your tight ass filled the room, obscene and head spinning.
“I-It hurts, Eds.” You whimpered, but immediately shook your head when he asked if you wanted to stop.
Watching you respond to his touch, pretty and swollen pussy fully on display and leaking as it continued being ignored brought a heady rush of pride and possession to him — how could he not, when he was the first person you’d allowed to have you this way?
“A-ah!” You breathed out at the empty feeling as he slowly removed his fingers out of you. “E-Ed— F-fuck.”
“C’mon, sweetheart.” He gently tapped your hips twice with his slick digits. “Can you push yourself up your hands and knees for me?”
The request came softly, and you instantly complied by pushing your ass up higher for him. Slicking his fingers once more, he reverently traced your rim in lazy circles before slowly dipping his fingers back inside, testing a third one before pressing forwards just a fraction.
Your cheek rested flush against the mattress, eyelashes fluttering with every slippery, careful thrust he gave your tight hole.
Eddie watched your face intently, sinking in steadily, increments of progress marked by your hitched breaths and broken moans. The tight clutch you had around his digits was maddening, and Eddie had to resist the urge to immediately plunge deeper, harder. Instead, almost against his will, he rocked shallowly, letting you adjust to the stretch of the three, thick fingers he had in your ass as he patiently waited for your cue.
“P-please E-Eds,” you whimpered, desperately pushing your ass against his hand. “M-more.”
Eddie’s heartbeat quickened at your breathless plea. Slowly, he eased a fourth finger inside you, taking care to maintain a steady, slow rhythm. His free hand found the small of your back, gently rubbing circles against your skin when he felt you tense up at the stretch.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured distractedly, eyes completely fixed on the way you greedily sucked his fingers in. “It’s okay, I got you.”
You keened softly, hips canting back greedily for more when the sharp stretched dulled.
The lewd squelch of lube echoed obscenely, mingling with your panting breaths and hitching moans. Eddie felt completely drunk at the sight, fingers pumping faster and deeper, curling and twisting as he chased the perfect angle to send sparks dancing along your nerves. His other hand snaked around to circle your clit, stroking in time with his thrusts.
“That’s it, baby. Feel good, hm?”
“S-so, so good, Eds,” you moaned out, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.
The obscene wetness between your thighs dripped down to your bedsheets with each wet slide of his fingers making you writhe shamelessly, lost in the pleasure only he could offer you.
Eddie’s cock, desperate and ignored, basically wept as it begged for attention. A wet patch of pre-cum had long since stained his boxers, and it only continued to grow with each passing minute.
A chill ran down his spine at the thought of burying his aching cock deep in your ass, feel you clench and flutter apart around him while you screamed his name.
Eddie’s eyes were pulled away from your greedy hole, landing on your curling toes. A smug grin spread across his lips at the sight, and he made it his mission to make you come like this — completely on display and at his mercy.
“You close, sweetheart?”
“Mhmm!”
At your breathless response, Eddie doubled his efforts, fingers plunging relentlessly as his other palm ground against your swollen clit and fingertips dipped shallowly into your cunt. The dual stimulation proved too much and you came undone with a broken cry.
“F-fuck! Ed-Eddie!”
Eddie buried his face in your neck, muffling sweet nothings in your ear as hot pulses painted your inner thighs. After a moment, he peppered your temple with feather-light kisses, basking in your warmth.
“You’re so beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered.
“I…” You trailed off quietly, swiping your tongue across your dry bottom lip. “P-please, Eds.”
“Hm?” He pressed a lingering kiss against your shoulder and carefully coaxed his fingers out of you, stroking the small of your back when a string of broken whimpers fell out of your mouth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I got you.”
Still catching your breath, you blinked dazedly up at him. The drunk look in your glimmering eyes raced a thrill down his spine at the thought of claiming you so thoroughly.
“P-please, Eds, need m-more,” you breathed out.
“Yeah? Sweet girl wants me to fuck her ass?” He cooed lowly, tracing soft circles at your hips as he pulled you closer to his still clothed cock.
“Y-yeah,” you nodded dumbly, mouth hanging open and drool dripping down on the bed beneath you. “W-want you to fuck my a-ass.”
With a low groan, Eddie reached for the bottle of lube once again, squeezing a generous amount of the sticky texture on your stretched hole before abandoning it somewhere beside you. He pushed himself off the bed and his boxers were pushed down his legs in a hurry, quickly forgotten as he threw it on the floor.
He pulled you closer by gripping your hips. Eddie slid his aching cock against your ass, spreading some of the lube against his length before he teased your slick opening with his mushroom tip. Heavy, calloused fingers dug into your hips, surging forward and sheathing himself slowly in small strokes.
“F-fuck! I-It burns,” you cried out, reaching a hand to stop him from moving.
Your hand twitched against his hip bone as you looked back at him with glossy eyes and furrowed eyebrows.
“J-Jesus,” he groaned out, accidentally rolling his hips despite your hand still trying to stop him. His eyes fluttered shut and his mouth hang low at the overwhelming feeling of your tight hole engulfing him. “Sorry, baby. I can’t help it, y-you’re so f-fucking tight.”
“Mmpff!”
Gulping down a dry lump, Eddie opened up his eyes and immediately looked down at where the two of you connected. His pink cock bordered on red, aching for more stimulation as only half of it had been pushed in. Slowly, after your hand had fallen away again, he rolled his hips backwards. His dark brown eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head at the sight of your ass gripping him, desperately trying to hold onto his cock, before he pushed back further into your greedy hole.
Eddie set a slow pace, hips moving back and forth in gradual thrusts until his hips are snapping urgently against the globes of your ass. The filthy slaps of his hairy balls against your dripping, neglected pussy and your broken moans spurred him on, driving him closer to the edge than he wanted.
“Yeah?” Eddie asked darkly, chest heaving at his relentless pace. “You like having my big cock in your ass, baby?”
“Y-yes! I l-love it!”
Captivated by your hopeless cries, Eddie redoubled his efforts, pounding into you with abandon. The lewd squelch of lube and your creaking bedframe filled the room, underscoring your desperate, broken moans.
The grip he had on your hips was bruising as he pistoned forwards, chasing his release. Eddie dragged a hand up your sweat-slicked spine, revelling in the goosebumps rising in its wake.
He leaned down, nuzzling in your neck and grazing his teeth against your tender skin.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. “Come for me again.”
Eddie grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back until you had no choice but to push off the mattress. His chest was scalding hot against your back as he laved attention along your throat while his other hand snaked back down to your clit, desperate for your second orgasm to hit you so he could feel your ass clamp down on his cock.
“I-I’m coming, Eddie,” you breathed out hopelessly, tilting your head back against his shoulder and looking up at him with teary eyes and trembling lips. “P-please, d-don’t stop!”
With a hoarse cry, your orgasm crashed over you, muscles seizing as waves of ecstasy radiated outwards. The rhythmic clench of your tight hole nearly pushed Eddie over the edge as he pushed your face back into the mattress, holding you by the back of your head as he desperately chased his own release.
“J-Jesus, f-f-fuck!” he moaned out, orgasm ripping through him like wildfire.
He fell forwards, sinking his teeth into the crook of your neck as he gave you one last, particularly hard thrust. With a strangled groan, he hilted himself deep, pulsing hot spurts of his sticky cum in your ass.
Eddie collapsed on top of you, gasping for air amidst the trembling aftershocks. His teeth finally let go of the sensitive skin of your neck, replacing them with soft, lingering kisses instead.
“Sweetheart?” He called after a few minutes. “You still with me?”
As the haze started to clear, he strained to make out your unintelligible mumble. He held his breath, searching your face for clues.
“What?”
“I said,” you repeated tiredly, eyes fluttering shut as a small, satisfied smile tugged at your lips. “I think you just killed me.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Eddie at your tired declaration.
Pulling you closer against his chest, still buried deep inside your ass, Eddie rolled the two of you to your sides and pressed a tender kiss to your temple.
Closing his eyes, Eddie focused on slowing his breathing, quickly basking in the warmth of your skin against his while his mind continued reeling from the remnants of his dreams and everything that had unfolded since.
A soft groan escaped you as you turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder.
“Did you…” You hesitated for a moment. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Did I enjoy—” An almost disbelieving laugh escaped him as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. “Sweetheart, you just blew my fucking mind.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the wonder lingering in his voice.
“Really?”
Eddie looked at you like you’d asked the stupidest question imaginable.
“I don’t think I can just go back to fucking your pussy.”
The confession made your breath hitch before a comfortable silence settled between you. His dark brown eyes glimmered under the warm morning sunlight as they trailed across your face and down your naked, still intertwined bodies.
Then your stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl, completely shattering the moment.
Eddie stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Don’t think it’s worth reheating the eggs.”
Summary:
Princess Alyssa Targaryen never wanted the Iron Throne, only a quiet life with the man she loved. Married to Ser Gwayne Hightower before the Dance of the Dragons begins, she believes their love is strong enough to survive anything.
She is wrong.
When King Viserys dies and the Greens seize the crown, Alyssa refuses to betray her sister, Rhaenyra, and is imprisoned within the Red Keep by the very family she married into. Worse still, her husband chooses to remain at his family's side, believing he can protect her from within.
To Alyssa, it feels like the deepest betrayal.
As war consumes the realm, Gwayne slowly realizes that his loyalty has become a prison for the woman he loves. Faced with losing her forever, he must choose between the family that raised him and the vows he made to his wife.
A story of love tested by war, painful betrayal, second chances, and two people learning that forgiveness is earned—not given.
Warnings: Heavy angst • Emotional betrayal • Imprisonment • Slow-burn reconciliation • Hurt/Comfort • Trauma recovery • Family conflict • Canon-typical violence • Dance of the Dragons spoilers • Happy ending • Eventual Team Black Gwayne Hightower • Married couple • Original Female Character (Princess Alyssa Targaryen)
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⋆˚꩜｡summary: Between secret shopping trips, questionable baby names, and a baby shower that definitely isn't a baby shower, Eddie gets emotional far more times than he'd like to admit.
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: tooth rotting fluff (but the blog is still 18+ so mdni) | no y/n, afab/fem!reader, no smut, est. relationship, pregnancy, domestic fluff, domestic bliss, soft eddie, terrible baby names, eddie is so in love its actually disgusting, kinda grumpy (reader) x sunshine (eddie), found family, halloween,
⋆˚꩜｡word count: 8.4k
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: i love him </3
pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3
When Eddie had – albeit reluctantly – left the apartment with a pep in his step and a kiss pressed to your temple after the day of the ultrasound, you’d waited by the window until his van finally disappeared down the street before making a beeline for the bedroom.
The idea had crossed your mind the moment Eddie had agreed to the so-called dragon scale green.
Which wasn’t even an actual paint colour.
But he didn’t need to know that.
Hurriedly changing into something loose and airy, you’d nearly gone flying when your foot caught on a shirt Eddie had abandoned on the floor the day before.
He definitely didn’t need to know about that either.
Especially since you were fairly certain he’d insist on taking you to the hospital despite the fact you’d managed to catch yourself on the dresser before you actually fell.
Your eye twitched just thinking about the inevitable panic.
Before leaving the apartment, you glanced out the window one final time to make sure he hadn’t suddenly driven back with some ridiculous excuse about forgetting something. Like he had done two weeks ago.
The thing he’d forgotten? A kiss on your bump.
The memory alone was enough to make your eyes roll, followed by a little smile you completely pretended hadn’t crept up your face.
Although yesterday’s grey skies still lingered overhead, the air felt thick and humid for barely half past eight in the morning. The moment you stepped out the apartment building, the heat hit you like a brick wall, instantly sticking your shirt to your skin in all the uncomfortable places.
You’d been complaining for months that the air conditioner in your car had stopped working, and Eddie had yet to find the time to fix it. Even so, with the windows rolled all the way down and thick summer air spilling into the car, the drive to the next town over had been pleasant enough. At the very least, the breeze had kept you from melting into the driver’s seat.
The astronomically large Walmart parking lot was, surprisingly, empty enough that you managed to find a spot right near the entrance – a small miracle, one that saved you from having to waddle across several acres of asphalt in the summer heat.
A chill immediately ran down your spine when the blast of air conditioning hit you the second the automatic doors slid open. After spending the entire morning feeling sticky and overheated, the cool air washing over your damp skin felt nothing short of divine.
Which seriously got you considering setting up camp somewhere between the gardening section and the frozen food aisle rather than returning to the apartment.
The mission had seemed simple enough: go straight to the stuffed animal aisle, critically evaluate every single option until you drove yourself insane in the pursuit of perfection, buy said stuffed animal, and go home before Eddie got off work.
Easier said than done, because as soon as you’d turned into the aisle lined with plushies and soft blankets, your stomach immediately dropped.
There was absolutely no way in hell you were leaving with just one thing.
Not when Walmart had apparently decided to release an entire line of fantasy-themed stuffed plushies – dragons, griffins, unicorns, creatures you were fairly certain weren’t even from mythology and had simply been invented by some underpaid toy designer.
A deep sigh escaped you because suddenly, you realised you were every bit as bad as Eddie and his stupid spoiling piggy bank.
The only difference was that Eddie was working with a piggy bank, and you were fully prepared to sacrifice your entire wallet.
“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you looked down into your cart, only now realising you’d somehow managed to throw in four different stuffed dragons more blankets than the baby would ever use.
So much for self-control.
Deciding it might be best to leave the aisle for a few minutes and actually think about which ones to bring home, you pushed the cart away. Which turned out to be a mistake, because somehow you immediately found yourself surrounded by baby clothes.
Strike two.
By the time you’d finally made it to the checkout, your carefully planned shopping trip had spiralled completely out of control – you left the store much later than intended, and with significantly more bags than you’d originally arrived for.
The trunk was packed far tighter than it had any right to be, the sight immediately made your stomach drop when you realised you had to carry all of it upstairs.
Alone.
Suddenly, Eddie’s ridiculous habit of insisting on carrying every grocery bag in a single trip didn’t seem quite so ridiculous anymore.
The telephone had been ringing incessantly while you struggled to balance four ridiculously large shopping bags in your arms and unlock the front door at the same time.
You didn’t even bother trying to hurry; whoever it was could leave a voicemail.
And so the ringing stopped.
Only for it to immediately start again.
An irritated huff escaped you as a drop of sweat rolled down your temple. After a particularly aggressive kick against the bottom of the door, it finally swung open.
“Yeah?” you sighed into the receiver once you finally managed to pick up.
“Hey, mama.”
Eddie. Of course.
Your eyes immediately dropped to the Walmart volcano that had erupted across the living room floor.
Plastic bags, filled with stuffed animals, baby clothes, too much evidence.
You had never prayed harder for a man to stay at work than you did in that exact moment.
“Uh… Hey, babe,” you laughed nervously, your eye immediately twitching as your free hand found the collar of your shirt. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he assured you distractedly. “Just callin’ to ask what you wanna eat.”
“Oh.” Your eyes remained glued to the pile of bags, unable to blink. “You… already coming home?”
“Nope. Gotta stay another hour,” he groaned. “Was thinking about grabbing takeout on my way home. Too tired to cook tonight.”
Eddie’s laughter crackled through the receiver while you pinched the bridge of your nose in mostly fake annoyance.
Mostly.
“Mexican, maybe?” You suggested after a few seconds.
“Isn’t that too spicy for the baby?”
“Mind your business, Munson,” you chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head. “Just get me and the baby some damn Mexican food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled quietly before confusion settled in. “Why are you breathing so hard?”
Your entire body froze.
“I, uh…” Panic immediately settled in. unfortunately, your mouth worked faster than your brain. “Was trying to shave.”
You immediately slapped a hand over your forehead.
Fantastic. Now you somehow had to squeeze that into your already tight one-hour – one hour and a half, at most – schedule before Eddie got home.
“That makes sense,” he replied without thinking twice about it. “Bump in the way?”
“Yeah,” you answered quietly, free hand immediately going to said bump while you kept cringing at yourself. “She’s getting big.”
“I’ll help you when I get home, yeah?”
You blinked slowly, finally tearing your eyes away from the mess you’d just made.
“Eddie, I’m not letting you shave my vagina.”
“You say that like I’ve never seen it before.”
A sigh escaped you.
He was right. He had absolutely no right to be right, but he was.
Goddamn it.
“No comment,” you muttered.
“Thought so.”
“Don’t you have a fancy car to fix or something?”
“Don’t change the subject, sweetheart.” You could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. The annoying bastard. “Tell me, I wanna know. Describe her to me.”
“Ugh, don’t be disgusting, Eds,” you groaned. “Go back to work.”
His laughter crackled through the receiver. “I’m serious!”
“And I’m hanging up.”
You had, in fact, not hung up after that.
Eddie – who had apparently been hiding in the break room despite the fact that he was supposed to be working on the brakes of some rich prick’s car – had continued trying to get you to elaborate on your supposed disastrous shaving attempt.
He’d kept at it for another seven minutes before his boss finally hissed his name from somewhere in the background.
Somewhere during that conversation, you’d migrated from the armrest of the couch to the floor, the telephone balanced carefully between your shoulder and ear while you occupied yourself sorting through the mountain of things you’d bought.
Or, more accurately, the mountain of things you’d somehow convinced yourself were absolutely necessary.
“Ron is pulling my ear to come back to work,” Eddie mumbled, pout evident in the tone of his voice.
“As he should,” you snickered, much to his disdain.
“You’re supposed to side with me, sweetheart.”
“Am I supposed to fill the spoiling piggy bank as well?”
That immediately shut him up.
For approximately two seconds.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “You’re so right, mama.”
“I know. I always am,” you chuckled.
“Yes, you are,” he replied softly. The sudden sincerity in his voice made you pause. “I love you.”
A smile immediately tugged at your lips.
“Love you too, idiot.”
Personally knowing Ron – and having heard years’ worth of stories about the grumpy man – you were more than certain he was going to make Eddie stay longer than he was supposed to.
Not an extra ten minutes to make up for the time he’d wasted calling you, but twenty. Just to teach him a lesson.
Unfortunately, also personally knowing Eddie meant knowing he wasn’t going to learn a damn thing from it. If anything, he’d probably just keep calling from work.
Which meant you now had an extra twenty minutes to panic about where exactly you were supposed to hide everything. Because the nursery currently consisted of spider webs, a full can of dark green wall paint, and absolutely no hiding places whatsoever.
In hindsight, you probably should’ve put a little more thought into your shopping spree.
You’d briefly considered lying and telling Eddie that some of it had been gifted by your parents.
Then common sense kicked in. Knowing Eddie, he’d immediately call them to thank them, which would somehow lead him to planning a visit, which then would somehow lead to him buying more things, which would, finally, somehow lead to even more problems.
The same thing would happen if you blamed Wayne. Eddie would probably drive back to the restaurant, pick up another mountain of Mexican takeout, drag you into the van, and drive straight to Forest Hills so the two of you could thank him properly.
Your eye twitched.
Eddie and his stupid promises about spoiling the baby were starting to have entirely too much influence on you. Because at some point during the last few weeks, you’d apparently gone from rolling your eyes at the spoiling piggy bank to secretly buying matched stuffed dragons.
Despite being only eighteen and a half weeks pregnant, Eddie had all but forbidden you from doing anything that wasn’t relaxing. No cooking – not even a sandwich – no cleaning, and absolutely no stressing.
He’d even tried telling you that you weren’t allowed to wash yourself anymore and that he was going to do it for you whenever you wanted to shower. Only for him to immediately mumble that it had been a joke when you’d responded with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.
You, obviously hadn’t listened.
That much became painfully clear the second Eddie pushed open the apartment door – grease-stained overalls, heavy boots, a plastic takeout bag crinkling in one hand.
Because somehow, the apartment looked cleaner than it had all week.
Okay, maybe you’d stress-cleaned.
And maybe you’d spent the last hour and a half running around the apartment trying to hide evidence.
Maybe both.
But he didn’t need to know about any of that.
Eddie stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. Then he immediately stilled before he’d even kicked off his shoes or dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl. And his eyebrows immediately pulled together.
“Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
“Why does it smell like lemon cleaner in here?”
Your stomach dropped.
Damn it.
“No reason,” you squealed from down the hallway while desperately trying to shove your old suitcase – now filled to the brim with evidence – back underneath the bed.
Eddie stepped further into the apartment, only to stop halfway through the living room and kick off his dirty work boots before continuing his search for you.
The plastic takeout bag landed on the kitchen table with a soft crinkle. A moment later, the sound of sock-clad footsteps drifted down the hallway.
“Why are you on your hands and knees?”
The sudden question pulled a startled yelp from you, making you immediately flinch and nearly crack your head against the wooden bedframe.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie winced. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered as he immediately reached down to help pull you upright. His hand settled on your arms for an extra second, just to make sure.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
His eyebrows narrowed.
“You’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Yes, you are,” he replied, slowly narrowing his eyes at you. “Your eye is twitching. So is the corner of your mouth.”
“That is not my tell.”
It absolutely was your tell. In fact, you felt both spots twitch the second the words left your mouth.
“Damn it.”
Dark brown eyes continued squinting at you, patiently waiting for an explanation. Only when a deep sigh escaped you did he finally stop.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you mumbled, your shoulders immediately sagging.
Eddie’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “A surprise?”
“Mhmm.”
Reluctantly, you reached down and grabbed the suitcase still sticking halfway out from underneath the bed. The wheels bumped softly against the hardwood as you dragged it closer.
“What was?”
Instead of answering, you nudged it towards him.
“I kinda went overboard,” you admitted quietly as he crouched down beside it. Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor. “But I just… couldn’t leave it there.”
Eddie’s expression softened while he pulled open the zipper.
Silence settled between the two of you as his eyes immediately fixed on the contents of the suitcase in front of him – but not at the baby clothes, the blankets, or even the books.
His gaze had locked onto the matching dragons almost instantly – one small, the other slightly bigger, both dark green with hints of burnt yellow.
“Sweetheart.”
“I just…” You suddenly found yourself feeling a little embarrassed under his stare. “I saw the little one and immediately knew you were gonna throw a fit and beg on your knees if you’d seen it.” A quiet chuckle escaped you while you pointed towards the smaller dragon. “And then I saw the big one, and I figured you’d probably want matching dragons with her.”
For a moment, Eddie didn’t say anything. Which, honestly, should’ve worried you.
Eddie never stopped talking – ever.
Instead, he carefully reached into the suitcase and picked up the smaller dragon before grabbing the larger one as well. His thumb brushed over one of the felt wings while his eyes flickered between them.
“They’re matching.”
“That… was kinda the whole point, Eds.”
“They’re matching,” he repeated, sounding genuinely amazed by the concept. His eyes lifted towards you before dropping back to the dragons in his hands. “You bought me a dragon.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered back to you before eventually flickering back down.
“Can I cry?”
“Please don’t cry,” you murmured, eyebrows immediately furrowing as you reached for his shoulders. “You’re not allowed to cry.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You cried at the ultrasound yesterday.”
He pressed the larger dragon against his cheek and pointed accusingly at you. “That was different.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Eddie’s eyes softened almost instantly at the sound.
Before you could protest, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer until your stomach bumped gently against his shoulder, the dragons remained trapped between the two of you.
“You really bought us matching dragons?”
The question came out quieter this time.
Gone was the excitement from a moment ago, and so was the teasing; all that remained was that soft look he’d been getting more and more often lately.
The one that always made your chest ache.
“Yeah,” you replied with a small shrug. “Thought you’d like it.”
Dark brown, sparkling eyes stared at the smaller dragon for a few seconds before his thumb brushed over one of its wings.
“She’s gonna love this thing.”
“You mean you’re gonna love this thing.”
“That too.”
After your little dragon stunt the week before, Eddie had relentlessly begged Ron to give him Friday off so he’d have three full days to work on the nursery.
After ten straight minutes of big sparkling eyes and hands pressed together like he was praying, Ron had finally relented – and then begged Eddie to stop begging.
Somehow, he’d also managed to manipulate Wayne into helping.
And Steve.
Steve, who still hadn’t figured out you were pregnant until two weeks ago and remained perpetually ten steps behind everyone else when it came to understanding what was happening around him.
Which was how the three of them had ended up spending their Friday afternoon painting walls and wrestling with the forest-themed wallpaper Eddie had bought three days earlier.
Meanwhile, you had been banished from the nursery entirely. Eddie’s orders. Something-something about paint fumes and ladders and absolutely no unnecessary risks, mama.
So instead, you stood in the kitchen making another pitcher of lemonade while the apartment echoed with distant arguing, scraping, and the occasional sounds that probably shouldn’t have been coming from a room renovation.
The thick summer air drifted through the open windows as you stirred, and–
CLANG.
The spoon froze halfway through the pitcher.
“Everything’s fine!” Eddie immediately shouted from down the hallway. “Nothing to worry about!”
“Nothing to worry about?” Steve’s voice echoed through the apartment. “Are you serious right now?”
Another loud thump followed.
“It’s not even my nursery and you’re making me grow grey hairs!”
“Relax, Harrington,” you heard Eddie mumble from down the hallway. “It just slipped.”
“An entire roll of wallpaper doesn’t just slip, Munson.”
The apartment instantly erupted into another round of arguing.
A moment later, the nursery door creaked open. Heavy footsteps crossed the hallway, followed by a long, tired sigh as Wayne finally appeared in the kitchen.
“I know it’s kinda late,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “but you sure you wanna have him be the father of your child?”
A laugh immediately escaped you.
“Still weighing my options,” you replied as you pulled the spoon from the pitcher and poured him a glass of lemonade.
Wayne accepted it with a grunt. “Smart girl.”
“I heard that!” Eddie shouted.
“Good.” Wayne took a long sip. “Maybe if you spent more time painting and less time dropping things, I wouldn’t have to say it.”
The nursery was eventually abandoned shortly before sunset. It wasn’t finished, far from it, actually. But Steve had finally reached the point where he was threatening violence if he had to look at another strip of wallpaper.
The brushed had been rinsed, paint trays stacked neatly against the wall and wrapped in plastic film, and the remaining wallpaper pushing into a corner to be dealt with the next day.
While Eddie stayed behind to tidy everything up, Steve immediately headed for the kitchen.
“Care to leave some lemonade for the rest of us, Wayne?”
“No,” he answered without looking up from his glass.
“I’m dying here, man.”
“Do it somewhere else,” he grunted. “Not in my granddaughter’s home.”
“You Munsons are so annoying,” Steve muttered under his breath, followed by something rude and inaudible before dropping into the chair beside Wayne.
Meanwhile, the nursery had fallen quiet around Eddie.
He sat on the plastic-covered floor, hands fidgeting against his knees while his eyes wandered from wall to wall.
The scent of fresh paint still lingered in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of the wallpaper paste and the musty papery smell of freshly opened rolls.
It wasn’t even close to being finished – there were still bare corners and plastic sheeting everywhere in case paint dripped onto the floor.
But for the first time since the two of you’d moved into the apartment, it actually looked like a room. Not a storage closet, or a glorified dumping ground.
An actual bedroom.
Her bedroom.
A small smile tugged at his lips. She hadn’t even arrived yet, and somehow he’d already done more for her than his biological dad had ever done for him.
Meanwhile, Wayne had excused himself to the bathroom.
He shuffled down the hallway on his way back before slowing his pace when he noticed a messy mop of curls knotted into a hurried bun sitting on the floor – not moving, just looking.
For a moment, Wayne simply watched in silence from the doorway. Watched the boy he’d raised since he was six years old stare at a room that hadn’t really existed a month ago.
“She’s gonna love it, y’know.”
Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“Language, boy.”
“You literally taught–” He stopped himself with a sigh. “You know what? Never mind.”
Wayne ignored him completely as he stepped into the room, blue eyes slowly sweeping across the walls.
Eddie followed his gaze, scratching at the back of his head.
“You think so?” he asked quietly, referring to Wayne’s earlier comment.
“Absolutely,” Wayne murmured. “Unless she gets your taste.”
“Oh, screw you, old man.”
“Watch it, Edward,” he grunted, shooting him a look. “You’re talking to her grandfather.”
“And you’re talking to her father.”
“Just you wait and see,” Wayne murmured over his shoulder as he turned back towards the hallway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “She’ll side with me on this one.”
“No, she won’t.”
“She absolutely will,” you shouted from the kitchen, soft giggles mixing with Steve’s obnoxious snort.
“See?” Wayne called back. “Already outnumbered.”
“Oh, this is bullshit,” Eddie groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and followed him into the hallway.
From the kitchen, Steve’s voice immediately cut through the apartment.
“Can you at least give the kid a name before you make her pick sides?”
And just like that, it all went downhill.
The apartment fell silent – Wayne stopped halfway to the bathroom, while you blinked slowly at Steve before shooting him a look that immediately made him sink further into his chair.
“What?” he asked defensively.
“Okay, so–” Eddie immediately perked up. That should’ve been everyone’s first warning. “I was thinking–”
His hand started moving as he talked, gesturing wildly like it would somehow make whatever nonsense was about to leave his mouth more convincing.
“Oh, God,” you mumbled into your palm, already hiding your face.
“I’m not even here,” Wayne muttered from across the hall as he disappeared into the bathroom.
“What about Julian?”
Silence – complete, deafening silence.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped.
“Eddie–”
“Just let me explain!”
“Okay,” you sighed, looking at him with an exhausted look. “But if this somehow circles back to a musician, I’m out.”
“It doesn’t, I promise.”
Nobody believed him – not a single person.
“Just imagine our little girl,” Eddie continued, eyes glimmering beneath the amber sunlight spilling through the kitchen windows, “dressed entirely in pink because she’s probably gonna go through one of those princess phases one day.”
Steve instantly frowned. “What does that have to do with the name?”
“Everything, man. Everything.”
“How?”
Eddie pointed dramatically into the air.
“Because how metal would it be for a girly pink princess to be called Julian?”
Another pause was followed by Steve shooting him another exhausted look.
“That’s your reasoning?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s an awful reason.”
“You’re just scared of innovation,” Eddie muttered with a scowl settling on his face. “Julian for a girl is metal as fuck.”
While Eddie and Steve’s bickering continued echoing through the apartment, making Wayne shake his head from the safety of the bathroom, you’d fallen awfully quiet.
Somewhere during Eddie’s ridiculous rant, your hand had drifted to your stomach without you even noticing.
And then a surprised gasp suddenly escaped you.
“What’s wrong?” Eddie immediately turned towards you, nearly snapping his own neck in the process.
“She–she kicked,” you said quietly, looking down at your stomach. “When you said Julian.”
Your eyebrows pulled together as you lifted your face towards him, your lower lip already beginning to pout.
“What?”
“God, no,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Please don’t let the baby agree with this.”
“Shut up, Steve,” you murmured as you stepped closer to Eddie, already reaching for his hand.
The heavy silver rings around his fingers had been splattered with green paint hours ago, and he still hadn’t bothered cleaning them.
His hand trembled as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided it towards your stomach, pushing your shirt up with your free hand.
“Say it again?” you whispered.
“What? Julian?”
And there they were – the biggest, most glimmering brown eyes you’d ever seen in your life, frantically flickering between you and his hand when he felt a kick.
“Holy shit,” he whispered almost inaudibly.
The loud flush from down the hallway echoed through the otherwise silent apartment, followed by the bathroom door opening.
“Please don’t let him name her Julian,” Wayne muttered wearily as he walked into the kitchen, buckling his belt.
“Shut up, Wayne,” you murmured distractedly as your fingers squeezed around Eddie’s wrist.
You looked up at him, all soft and wide eyed while his thumb brushed gently against your skin.
Across the room, Steve shot Wayne a look while taking another sip of lemonade, the two of them silently communicating about the ridiculousness of it all while you and Eddie remained tucked into your own little world in the middle of the kitchen.
A small smile tugged at your lips the longer you thought about it.
“It’s… unconventional,” you admitted after a moment, eyes still fixed on Eddie’s. “But nothing about us has ever been conventional, has it?”
And you were right – absolutely nothing about the two of you had ever been conventional.
Most couples had a meet-cute.
You’d caught a fourteen-year-old Eddie smoking beneath the school bleachers and threatened to tell the principal if he didn’t let you try a cigarette. Somehow, that had turned into sharing cigarette smoke in comfortable silence whenever your paths crossed.
Then into friendship.
Before either of you realized it, you’d become best friends.
And somewhere along the way, Eddie had spent an embarrassing amount of years trying to convince himself he wasn’t hopelessly in love with you.
The first time he’d asked you out, you’d said no. Which had been fine – it absolutely hadn’t been fine, but he’d pretended otherwise – and so the two of you had stayed best friends.
Then, on a random October night when you were seventeen, you’d called him drunk as a skunk from a party a few towns over, in absolutely no condition to drive home. Nearly an hour after the call, you’d found yourself curled up in the passenger seat of his van while sleep slowly tugged at your eyelids.
And somewhere between the road and your driveway, a quiet I love you, Eds had slipped out before you could stop it.
The confession had nearly made him drive the van into a ditch. Not because he’d been distracted – well, maybe a little – but mostly because the two of you weren’t the type of best friends who told each other I love you.
It had taken Eddie two full weeks to convince himself that maybe – just maybe – you’d say yes if he asked you out again.
Then you’d beaten him to it.
Nearly choking on air as you forced the words out of your mouth, followed immediately by tears rolling down your cheeks for no reason other than pure embarrassment when he’d frozen right in front of you.
So, yeah.
Nothing about the two of you had ever been conventional.
Why start now?
“Are you serious?” Eddie asked quietly.
“As a heart attack.”
“Why are you allowed to say that and I’m not?” he immediately pouted.
“Because I said so.”
Wayne scratched at his beard as he mumbled something about needing a beer under his breath before immediately making a beeline for the fridge and the six-pack he’d brought with him earlier.
Because, apparently, Eddie wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol anymore.
Nobody but Eddie himself had established that rule, by the way.
“Kid’s been alive for five minutes and she’s already encouraging bad decisions,” Wayne murmured as he pulled open the fridge.
“I blame the family name,” Steve replied as he held up his empty glass. “Pass me a beer.”
Wayne and Steve hadn’t lingered for long after dinner. Both had mumbled tired goodbyes before leaving the apartment, dread already settling into their bones at the thought of spending another day wrestling wallpaper, paint and Eddie in the morning.
You rubbed lazily at one of your eyes as you shuffled out of the bathroom, steam and the scent of lavender soap following you into the bedroom.
Eddie sat on the edge of the mattress, tattooed chest and arms on display while damp curls clung to his neck and forehead. The stuffed dragon rested in his lamp, his eyes fixed on it as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb over one of it wings.
Only when a tired sigh escaped your lips did he finally look up.
The dragon was immediately abandoned in favour of reaching for you instead.
Eddie wasn’t entirely convinced that the universe hadn’t mixed him up with somebody else, because there was simply no logical explanation for how a Munson had managed to end up this lucky. Every time he looked at you, every time he felt your daughter move beneath his hand, it felt a little too good to belong to him.
Leaning forwards, he pressed a soft kiss against your stomach before resting his cheek there.
“Julian Munson sounds kinda cool doesn’t it?”
The question immediately caught him off guard.
Over the last seventeen weeks since you’d told him the news, you’d treated conversations about baby names like the plague. Every suggestion had been ignored, every discussion redirected, and every attempt at brainstorming swiftly shut down before it had the chance to go anywhere.
“Yeah?” he asked softly, looking up at you from where his cheek rested against your stomach.
“I, uh…” Your fingers drifted through his curls as your eyes flickered anywhere that wasn’t his face. “I was thinking.”
He immediately sat up a little straighter, completely overtaken by curiosity.
After all, those three words had become his trademark over the last few weeks.
“What about Elizabeth as her middle name?”
The circles he’d been tracing against your stomach stopped instantly.
“What?”
“Julian Elizabeth Munson,” you said softly, as though hearing it all together might somehow make it easier to process. “I think it sounds nice.”
It didn’t seem to help. If anything, it only rooted him further in place.
The silence stretched between the two of you while his hand remained perfectly still beneath yours. Then a soft sniffle broke it, quickly followed by another – the kind he was very clearly trying, and failing miserably, to hide.
“No, Eds,” you immediately mumbled when you felt your own bottom lip beginning to tremble at the sound. “Please don’t cry, baby.”
He lowered his head against your stomach instead, arms wrapping tightly around your waist.
“You’re gonna make me cry too,” you continued quietly. “And you know I’m an ugly crier.”
Another sniffle escaped him.
“You wanna name her after my mom.” The words came out muffled against your skin. “How do you expect me not to cry?”
Your chest ached.
Because suddenly he didn’t look like the twenty-three-year old man who spent his weekends painting nurseries and arguing over wallpaper colours.
He looked like the little boy who’d lost his mother far too young.
A sad smile tugged at your lips as you continued running your fingers through his curls, unable to stop yourself from wondering what his mom would’ve thought.
About the job Wayne had done raising him, about the man her son had grown into. About the apartment the two of you’d built together, and the nursery slowly taking shape down the hallway.
About her first grandchild.
Your eyes drifted across the messy curls pressed against your stomach, and something told you he was having similar thoughts.
Wondering what she would’ve said. Whether she’d have liked you. whether she’d been excited about becoming a grandmother.
Whether she’d be proud of him.
Somehow, you couldn’t imagine the answer being anything other than yes.
Somewhere over the last nine weeks, summer had quietly faded into fallen leaves, colder morning, and the sickening smell of everything pumpkin-spiced.
Meanwhile, your stomach had grown into something that could only be described as obnoxiously large – like one of those ridiculous balloons they kept suspended from the ceilings at airports.
Except those looked expensive and glamorous.
The exact opposite of how you felt.
You felt irritated, uncomfortable, and every other synonym there was. And you still had another twelve weeks to go.
Eddie, however, had been completely over the moon. The bigger your stomach got, the more fascinated he seemed to become.
He’d taken to documenting the entire thing with an almost alarming level of dedication, insisting on taking pictures every single day in the hopes of eventually have enough to make some sort of pregnancy collage.
According to him, future generations of Munsons would appreciate the art and the effort.
According to you, future generations of Munsons would think he was insane.
Said insanity had only worsened with the unfortunate arrival of October. Because, apparently, carrying his child wasn’t enough anymore.
Now he wanted seasonal pictures too.
The daily photographs had quickly evolved into pumpkin patch photoshoots, apple orchard photographs, and any other autumn-themed nonsense Eddie could think of.
At one point, he had even suggested balancing a tiny pumpkin on your stomach.
You were still considering breaking up over that one.
Unfortunately, the pumpkin incident had only encouraged him. Because apparently one seasonal photograph wasn’t enough. Neither were two, or five.
Or the three fully used disposable cameras – twenty-seven pictures per camera, mind you – hidden in the drawer of his nightstand.
Somewhere along the way, Eddie had become convinced that your daughter would someday appreciate having photographic evidence of every ridiculous milestone she’d experienced before she was even born.
You, meanwhile, were becoming increasingly convinced that Eddie had suffered some sort of head injury at work without telling you.
“Just one more, sweetheart.”
“That’s what you said six pictures ago.”
“This one’s important.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Halloween,” he said matter-of-factly.
Like the stupid Morticia-esque dress he’d thrifted a few days ago and practically shoved into your hands hadn’t already served as a reminder. Or the ancient hair straightener he’d dug out from the depths of your closet first thing that morning before sitting you down on the couch and burning himself more times than he could count. Or the bright red lipstick he’d adamantly swiped across your lips to complete the look.
It made you feel slightly better knowing he looked absolutely ridiculous himself.
His hair had been parted down the middle, bangs glued awkwardly to either side of his forehead with far more gel and hairspray than should’ve been necessary, while the rest had been pulled into a tight bun at the nape of his neck.
Combined with the striped suit, he looked less like Gomez Addams and more like a used-car salesman going through a midlife crisis.
“And because you absolutely get me going looking like Morticia,” he murmured from behind the disposable camera.
“I’m not having roleplay sex with you, Edward,” you muttered as you shifted into another pose. “Especially when I’m as big and round as fucking Jupiter.”
“Damn it, there goes my evening plans,” he sighed dramatically, circling a finger for you to turn around. “Just one more, mama. I promise.”
Before he could blind you with another flash, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment.
Your eyes immediately flickered between the door and him.
“Are you expecting someone?” you asked suspiciously, already squinting at him. “I thought we were going out.”
“No.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
“I did not,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“I can literally see the tips of your ears turning bright red from me calling you out.”
“That’s your lipstick.”
Another knock echoed through the apartment while you continued staring at him.
“Why do you look guilty?”
“What are you talking about?” he laughed nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I always look guilty.”
“True,” you admitted slowly, still squinting at him. “But now you look extra guilty.”
Eddie’s laughter somehow became even more strained as he made his way towards the door.
By the time the third knock echoed through the apartment less than ten seconds later, he finally pulled it open.
Wayne stood on the other side, looking half dead – literally, he was dressed as a zombie – and carrying four pizza boxed stacked on top of each other.
Behind him, a very impatient Steve dressed as Michael Jackson shifted from foot to foot, clearly regretting every life decision that had led him to this moment while his arms strained beneath an absurd amount of soda bottles.
“Eddie.”
“Wayne.” He blinked dumbly at the last-minute costume his uncle had thrown together. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Why are you dressed like that?”
Steve immediately pushed past both of them. “Move. My arms are falling off.”
Only then did your eyes slowly drift back towards Eddie.
“Edward.”
“What?”
“Why are they here?”
“I don’t know.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why are you sweating?”
“Because I’m wearing a suit.”
Before you could continue interrogating him, the doorbell rang.
Eddie immediately froze.
Which was not the reaction of an innocent man.
“Oh, no,” you murmured while dragging a hand down your face.
“What?”
Another nervous chuckle escaped him as he turned back towards the door.
Behind you, Wayne merely snorted and headed for the fridge to help Steve unload the drinks.
“Hello, my beautiful family!” Robin exclaimed from behind a set of fake vampire teeth, holding a suspiciously large gift bag in her arms.
Behind her stood the four boys-turned-men in matching khaki overalls, each carrying similarly suspicious bags.
Robin nearly knocked Eddie off his feet as he pushed past him and dropped the gift bag onto the coffee table before immediately wrapping you in a hug.
“God, look at you!” she squealed when she finally pulled away. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“I look fat and round, Robs,” you muttered before slowly turning your head towards your boyfriend. “Bedroom. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bedroom door closed behind you with a much harder noise than Eddie had been expecting.
To say he flinched would’ve been an understatement.
He looked approximately two seconds away from packing a suitcase and moving to China in the hopes of avoiding his inevitable murder.
“I promise,” he said slowly, eyes immediately flickering around the room as he searched for literally anywhere to look that wasn’t you. “I’m not throwing a baby shower.”
Another nervous chuckle escaped him when, through the corner of his eye, he noticed you crossing your arms beneath your chest.
Eddie immediately forced his attention back to the wall. Thinking about your breasts right now felt counterproductive to his survival.
“We’re just…” He waved his hands vaguely. “Having some people over.”
“Why is your voice cracking?”
“With food,” he added quickly, completely ignoring the question. “And presents.”
An exhausted sigh escaped you as your fingers instinctively found the bridge of your nose. “That sounds an awful lot like a baby shower, Eddie.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he choked out, finally daring to look at you.
“It really does.”
“It sounds more like a birthday party, if you ask me.”
“My birthday already passed.”
“Okay.”
“And yours is literally a month away.”
“Okay.”
“So whose birthday are we celebrating?”
Eddie’s mouth fell open, ready to mutter another okay, only for it to immediately snap shut again.
Silence – complete and utter silence.
He could practically hear his own eyelashes blinking – that’s how quiet the room had suddenly become.
“Halloween?”
“Halloween?” you repeated, slowly nodding your head with enough sarcasm to make him physically cringe.
“Yeah.”
Your tongue clicked against your teeth as your gaze briefly drifted past his shoulder before settling back on him.
“So,” you started slowly, arching an eyebrow, “you’re saying we’re celebrating the holiday that we’re already celebrating?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
While you stared at him with an increasingly incredulous expression, Eddie brought a hand up to scratch at his head, immediately forgetting about the ridiculous amount of gel he’d plastered into his hair. His face twisted before his eyes dropped straight to the floor.
“That… sounded a lot smarter in my head.”
“Oh, I’m sure it did,” you said dryly. “So the gift bags are filled with what? Candles and ritual ingredients to summon the Horned God?”
“The who?”
“Eddie.”
“Right, sorry,” he mumbled. “Wrong question.”
“Very wrong question.”
“In my defence, I wasn’t expecting paganism to be brought into this conversation.”
You stared at him for another moment before slowly shaking your head. There was no saving this conversation.
Or him, for that matter.
Another burst of laughter drifted down the hallway from the living room, followed almost immediately by the sound of the doorbell ringing again.
Your eyes narrowed.
“How many people did you call?”
“Uh…” Eddie trailed off, scratching at the back of his neck. “That’s probably Nancy and Jonathan. Or Erica. Maybe–”
“Alright, alright,” you interrupted with a groan. An exhausted hand dragged down your face. “You called half of Hawkins. Got it.”
“In my defence–”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“And I already know it’s gonna be stupid.”
Eddie frowned. “That was mean.”
“You know what’s mean?” you asked exhaustedly as you moved towards the door again. “Throwing a baby shower when I explicitly said I didn’t want one.”
Another ring of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.
With a defeated sigh, Eddie followed you back into the living room.
In the few minutes you’d locked yourselves in the bedroom, the living room had somehow shrunk in size.
Not only had Nancy and Jonathan arrived, just like Eddie had predicted, but so had the remaining two-thirds of Corroded Coffin, Lucas’ little sister Erica, and Max.
While a tornado had apparently swept through the kitchen, scaterring pizza boxes, bowls of candy and potato chips across every available surface, the dark red walls of the living room had suddenly become covered in decorations.
Most notably, an obnoxiously large banner displaying Julian’s full name now covered the framed pictures of you and Eddie hanging on the wall.
“Robin,” you murmured tiredly.
“Yes, my love?”
“Why is there a banner?”
Robin immediately looked at Eddie, comically large blue eyes settling on the metalhead turned dollar-store version of Gomez Addams.
He immediately looked at the ceiling before short-circuiting and flickering his gaze towards Wayne as though the man had suddenly called him over.
While Dustin and Gareth had quickly fallen into their usual argument over some ridiculous technicality, Nancy and Robin had started opening gifts on your behalf because your effused to sit down and do it yourself.
In fact, you refused to entertain anybody who dared utter the words baby and shower in the same sentence.
The scowl that had slowly worked its way onto your face suddenly disappeared when a strange, high-pitched squeal – somewhere between a gasp and a dying cat – cut through the constant hum of conversation. Wayne, who now sat in the armchair next to Robin, had suddenly become emotional over a tiny pair of baby boots.
That was more emotion than you’d seen from the man in the entire decade you’d known him.
You pretended the smile tugging at your lips was merely a twitch of annoyance.
Somewhere between the laughter, spilled soda, and the concerning amount of wrapping paper slowly taking over the hardwood floor, you eventually wandered into the kitchen.
It hadn’t even been your intention to corner Eddie – but when in Rome.
Eternally grateful that Wayne actually listened to your weird pregnancy pizza order – pulled chicken, jalapeños, extra red onions, a concerning amount of chimichurri, and a light drizzle of honey – you slipped your hands into the pizza box.
“I’m telling you, mama, this is not a baby shower.”
“Eddie,” you mumbled around a bite of pizza.
“Okay,” he relented. “It’s mostly a baby shower.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at him before you pushed yourself away from the counter and stepped towards the fridge.
“I just wanted people to celebrate her.”
A soft sigh escaped you as your hand wrapped around the bottle of garlic sauce.
“I know,” you replied quietly.
“And you.”
“Eds.”
“And us.”
The furrow between your brows softened as you tilted your head towards him.
“I’m being serious,” he said quietly before clearing his throat. “I just wanted one day where everybody could see how amazing you are.”
“Wait a minute,” you blinked, completely ignoring whatever he’d just said. “What do you mean, celebrate us?”
He gently pulled both the garlic sauce and your half-eaten pizza slice from your hands before setting them both on the counter behind you. Then he reached for your hips and pulled you closer – or what remained of your hips, anyway; you were fairly certain he was just holding your bump at this point.
“And I know you don’t like being the centre of attention, but–”
“Eddie.”
“Nothing,” he answerer far too quickly.
Your eyebrows immediately drew together again.
“Don’t make me call you by your government name again.”
His thumb stopped their usual lazy circles.
“Like, if I wanted to celebrate us, I’d ask you to marry me.”
Silence.
Complete, utter silence.
Somewhere in the living room, somebody dropped a bottle cap.
You were fairly certain your hearing had somehow deteriorated over the last twenty seconds, because whatever the hell you’d just heard definitely wasn’t what had come out of Eddie Munson’s mouth.
“What?”
The fact that you sounded more confused than annoyed somehow made everything worse.
His left eye had started twitching despite his best effort to stop it, and he was fairly certain sweat had started rolling down his temple again.
Noticing the pure panic in his eyes only confused you further.
“That’s not what I meant,” he choked out, fingers digging lightly into your sides.
When you opened your mouth again, Eddie immediately let out a nervous chuckle.
“I mean, I do.”
“Eddie.”
“I mean, yes, I wanna marry you,” he started rambling, fingers twitching against the stretchy fabric of your dress while his eyes flickered across every corner of the kitchen except your face. “Eventually.”
He immediately cringed.
“Not eventually-eventually,” he corrected with a groan. “Like… soon-eventually.”
Wayne, who still sat in the armchair with the tiny baby boots resting in his lap, sighed heavily as he – and everyone else – watched Eddie publicly set himself on fire.
“Eddie,” he said dryly.
“Jesus. What now?”
“Stop talking, boy.”
Robin immediately smacked Steve over the armrest when he started laughing.
You, meanwhile, remained completely silent as you stared at Eddie with an expression he couldn’t even begin to decipher.
“Bedroom?” you finally asked.
“Bedroom,” Eddie agreed immediately, desperate to escape the numerous pairs of eyes watching his breakdown.
This time, you closed the bedroom door much softer than you had the first time. The wood felt cool against your back as you leaned against it while Eddie sat down on the edge of the bed.
A soft sigh escaped him when he realised you weren’t immediately preparing another interrogating – which, somehow, felt worse.
“I just…” he trailed off quietly before extending a hand towards you. “I mean it, y’know.”
“The whole…”
You didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to understand.
“Yeah.”
His thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand while his eyes settled on a very specific – and very empty – finger.
“But not like that.”
He swallowed before finally lifting his gaze back to yours.
“I don’t even have a ring yet,” he admitted quietly. “Let alone anything planned.”
His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.
“Just… y’know?”
“Please don’t ask me just because I’m pregnant.”
“What?” His eyebrows immediately shot up. “Are you crazy?”
“You did not just call me that.”
“I would literally kill for you and you’re accusing me of wanting to marry you because I got you pregnant.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Silence settled between the two of you as yet another staring contest began.
You won. As usual.
“You know I would’ve said yes even if you’d asked me while you were taking a piss, right?”
“I know,” he chuckled softly, far less nervous than he’d been minutes earlier. “But that’s not what you deserve.”
“I literally don’t care, Eds.”
“But I do, sweetheart,” he replied quietly as he stood and wrapped his arms around you.
His lips found your temple with practiced ease, lingering there for a moment before he pulled away again.
Smiling.
The one you didn’t like, because it usually meant he was about to say something stupid.
“Especially since it’s gotta be perfect enough to take pictures.”
Before you even had a chance to respond, he was already pulling you towards the door.
“Speaking of,” he added, pointing towards the living room, “we gotta take a family picture out there.”
He immediately pulled you down the hallway and order – yes, ordered – you to stand next to Wayne.
He ignored the teasing smiles everyone kept throwing his was as he adjusted your position with the same level of concentration he’d normally reserve for fixing an engine.
Slowly, he added another person to the arrangement until, eventually, Jonathan was forced into camera duty.
“Nobody move,” Eddie warned, pointing a finger around the room. “And if you blink, I will know.”
“How?” Steve asked.
“I just will.”
Jonathan sighed, right before the flash went off. And for a brief moment, everybody froze beneath the bright burst of light.
Wayne sat in the armchair with the tiny baby boots still resting in his lap, while you stood beside him with one hand gently resting on his shoulder.
Robin had Steve – who looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else – in a headlock.
Somewhere behind them, Dustin and Lucas were making a face that would undoubtedly annoy future generations.
And Eddie stood beside you with one hand resting on your bump, the other arm softly curled around your back.
Smiling.
Completely unaware that twenty years from now, it would become one of his favourite photographs.
description: you move to Hawkins hoping to fly below the radar and, above all else, escape your past. when ominous notes begin to appear in your locker, insinuating that it won't be possible, you chalk it up to a coincidence. only when you find out that your friends have been getting anonymous notes that are a bit too personal do you realize this is bigger than some harmless prank.
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
tags: eddie munson x you, no y/n, PLL coded, PLL x ST, slow burn, mutual pining (it's coming, i promise), ST AU, season 1 x 4 vibes, eventual romance, everyone has something to lose, A knows EVERYTHING, eddie has a cruuuuush, reader has a HUGE secret
A/N: AGH HELLO!!!! i just started re-watching PLL for the MILLIONTH time and was hit with immediate inspiration. i hope you all enjoy:) this will probably be a 3-4 part series, so stand READY!!!
reblogs are always appreciated :))
enjoy, my loves. xoxo -A
The first days of anything new always suck. But the first day of school during your senior year in a small town where everybody seems to know everyone and everything? That shit blows.
So, naturally, when you walk into your first-period English class, you keep your eyes down and your appearance small. You kept your focus on the rows of desks instead, searching for an empty seat that wouldn't require you to introduce yourself to anyone before eight in the morning.
You slid into the chair, setting your backpack on the floor with a quiet sigh of relief. If you could just make it through today unnoticed, you'd consider it a win.
You knew the routine by now. Keep your answers short; don't volunteer any information people didn't ask for; smile just enough that you don't come across as rude; and, above all else, don't give anyone a reason to remember you.
If everything went according to plan, today would be painfully uneventful. By the end of the week, you'd just be another student sitting in the back of the class, and eventually people would stop wondering where you came from altogether.
That was the goal. Unfortunately, fate had apparently taken one look at your plan and decided it could use the laugh.
"I love your shirt."
The voice came so suddenly from beside you that your shoulders jerked, your hand flying to your chest before you turned toward it.
A girl with short, feathered hair was looking at you with a genuine excitement that couldn't have been faked, even if she tried. She leaned sideways in her chair, chin resting against the back of it as though she'd been waiting for the right moment to say something.
"Sorry," she said immediately, though she didn't look particularly sorry. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"No, you're fine." You let out an embarrassed laugh. "I just... wasn't expecting anyone to talk to me."
"Fair." She nodded once. "But that's a killer Fleetwood Mac shirt."
You glanced down instinctively, smoothing a wrinkle from the faded black fabric. "Thanks."
"They're my favorite."
"You've got good taste."
"I've been told."
Her grin widened, pleased with herself.
Up close, she noticed the rest of you almost by accident. The silver hoop through your nose. The dozens of piercings tucked along your ear. The random, pointless tattoos littered across your skin.
"Holy shit."
You blinked. "What?"
"I just realized you're, like..." She gestured vaguely in your direction. "Cool."
You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. "I don't know about that."
"No, seriously. We don't really..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "...get a lot of variety around here."
You looked around the classroom. That, you could believe.
"Polo shirts," she continued, counting on her fingers. "Pastels. The occasional denim jacket if somebody's feeling rebellious."
"I wore flannel."
"I like you," she decided.
"You've known me for, what, thirty seconds?"
"Thirty very informative seconds."
Before you could answer, the classroom door swung open.
"Made it before the bell," a voice announced. "That's gotta be some kind of personal record."
You looked up just as a guy stepped through the doorway, dark curls tucked beneath a bandana, a worn leather jacket hanging over a faded Dio shirt. A handful of silver rings flashed as he adjusted the backpack slung over one shoulder, scanning the room with practiced ease before his eyes landed on the two of you.
More specifically...you. He slowed just enough to be noticeable.
"There he is," she muttered, mostly to herself.
The guy wandered over, stopping beside her desk before hooking a thumb in her direction.
"I leave you unattended for five minutes, and you're already recruiting?"
Robin looked offended. "I am making a friend."
"You've said that before."
"And sometimes it's even true."
His attention drifted back to you then. He took you in, eyeing you up and down, quickly assessing what to say.
"...Hi."
You smiled politely. "Hi."
"I'm Eddie."
You gave him your name. He repeated it once under his breath, as if testing how it sounded, then nodded to himself. "Cool."
Robin watched the exchange with poorly concealed amusement.
"You had something else," she prompted.
"I did."
"You forgot it."
"I absolutely did."
"You do that a lot."
"I know."
He rubbed the back of his neck, giving you an awkward grin before looking back at you.
"Uh..." He cleared his throat. "Your shirt's cool."
Robin snorted. "I literally just said that."
"Oh," Eddie replied, refusing to look at her. "Then, I'm agreeing."
By the time first period was halfway over, your plan to remain invisible had been thoroughly dismantled.
It wasn't entirely your fault, though. Robin had an almost supernatural inability to whisper, and Eddie seemed physically incapable of letting the room stay quiet for more than five minutes.
Most of it wasn't even directed at you. It was little observations muttered just loudly enough for the two of you to hear whenever the teacher turned toward the board.
"...That's the third metaphor in ten minutes."
Robin didn't bother looking up from her notebook. "You're counting?"
"I have to entertain myself somehow."
Five minutes later…
"If Shakespeare wanted us to understand him, he would've written in English."
"He... did," you murmured.
Eddie frowned. "...Oh. Yeah."
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
By the time Mrs. O'Donnell called on someone to read aloud, you had already made the mistake of glancing toward Eddie whenever he sighed dramatically or whispered another running commentary under his breath.
Every time your shoulders shook with another laugh, he caught it from the corner of his eye, fighting a grin of his own before pretending to pay very close attention to whatever was happening at the front of the room.
Robin leaned toward you just enough to murmur, "Careful. He gets encouraged way too easily."
"I heard that," Eddie whispered.
"You were supposed to."
"I know."
The bell finally rang before Mrs. O'Donnell could assign anyone another passage, and the room erupted into the familiar scrape of chairs and conversations picking back up where they'd left off forty-five minutes earlier.
Robin was already slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "Lunch?"
You blinked. "Already?"
She nodded. Eddie appeared beside the two of you, adjusting the strap of his own bag. "Cafeteria cuisine awaits."
"I'm almost afraid to ask."
"You should be."
The three of you filtered into the hallway with everyone else and were immediately swallowed by the rush of students moving from every direction.
Lockers slammed shut in uneven rhythms, teachers called after kids who'd forgotten homework, and somewhere farther down the hall, someone was already arguing about Friday night's basketball game. The cafeteria wasn't much quieter.
You had barely stepped through the doors before Robin angled toward an empty table tucked near the windows.
"That's us."
"You have an assigned table?"
"We're creatures of habit."
"And deeply unpopular," Eddie added cheerfully.
Robin shrugged. "That too."
As the three of you crossed the room, a voice cut through the noise. "Well, would you look at that."
Tommy Hagan leaned back in his chair with an amused smirk, Steve and Nancy sitting across from him. Steve looked up first, following Tommy's line of sight before immediately realizing where this was headed.
"The Freak found himself another lost puppy."
A few nearby tables snickered, but Eddie didn't even slow down. "Morning to you, too, Hagan."
Tommy's grin widened. "Didn't realize Hawkins was taking transfers for the circus."
Before Eddie could answer, Nancy sighed loudly enough for everyone at their table to hear. "Tommy."
"What?"
"You don't have to be an asshole every time someone walks into a room."
"I'm just making conversation."
"No," Nancy replied evenly. "You're making yourself annoying."
Tommy rolled his eyes but finally shut up. Steve, who looked like he'd rather be literally anywhere else, offered Eddie the smallest apologetic nod.
Eddie answered with one of his own before continuing toward the empty table as though nothing had happened.
You glanced back once, surprised. Nancy caught your eye for only a second before giving you an almost embarrassed smile, one that seemed to apologize for the entire exchange without saying a word.
Robin noticed. "Huh."
"What?"
She pulled out her chair. "I don't think I've ever heard Nancy Wheeler willingly tell Tommy to knock it off."
Eddie dropped into the seat beside her. "Maybe Hell froze over."
Robin snorted. "Or maybe she's finally realizing he's exhausting."
You looked back one last time. Nancy had already gone back to her lunch, though something about the way she'd frowned down at her tray made it seem as if her mind were somewhere else entirely.
Lunch came and went quicker than you'd expected. Maybe it was because Robin had managed to carry ninety percent of the conversation on her own, effortlessly bouncing from stories about her mom to complaining about Hawkins High's criminal lack of decent music programs.
Eddie chimed in whenever the opportunity arose, usually with dramatic commentary that had you laughing into your milk carton before you could stop yourself. Somewhere between the cafeteria mystery meat and Robin's passionate argument that The Breakfast Club was wildly overrated, you realized you'd almost forgotten why you'd been so anxious that morning in the first place.
By the time the bell rang, the cafeteria erupted into organized chaos. Chairs scraped across the floor, backpacks were slung over shoulders, and students poured into the hallways as if someone had kicked over an anthill.
"You've got chemistry next, right?" Robin asked as the three of you spilled into the crowd.
You nodded. "I've gotta stop at my locker first."
"We're headed the other way," Eddie said, hooking his thumb down the opposite hall. "Government. Which, by the way, is a completely made-up subject. They already have a government. Why do I have to learn about it?"
Robin rolled her eyes. "You say that every week."
"Because every week it's still true."
She looked back at you. "We'll see you after? You have gym, right?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
The two of them disappeared into the stream of students, Robin nudging Eddie after he nearly walked into a sophomore because he wasn't paying attention.
The corridor was quieter now, most everyone already filtering into their classrooms. A few lockers slammed shut somewhere behind you, followed by hurried footsteps echoing against the linoleum.
You spun the dial, worked the stubborn latch open, and reached inside for your chemistry notebook. Something white fluttered forward and landed at your feet, causing you to frown.
It wasn't notebook paper; it was heavier, folded neatly into thirds. Slowly, you unfolded it. Inside, there were only two sentences.
You can change your address, but you can't outrun what happened.
Welcome to Hawkins, bitch.
— A
The blood drained from your face then. No. No. Nobody here knew; they couldn't.
The newspaper articles had disappeared. Every report, every interview, every mention of your name had been scrubbed before you'd even left town. The police had called it a gas leak; the government had made sure of it. Your aunt had promised you, over and over again, that it was over.
Your fingers tightened around the paper until it crumpled in your hand. Someone fucking knew.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.
Mrs. Halpern called on you twice in Chemistry, and although you answered both questions correctly, you couldn't have recalled a single thing she'd actually taught by the time the bell rang. The folded note sat heavy in your backpack, tucked inside your notebook, where you kept catching yourself checking to make sure it was still there.
By the time you reached the girls' locker room for gym, you were still trying to convince yourself there had to be a logical explanation.
Someone from your old town moved here. Someone overheard something. Someone was playing a cruel joke. Anything was easier to believe than the alternative.
The locker room hummed with the usual pre-class chatter, metal doors clanging open and shut as girls changed into oversized gym shirts and tied their hair back.
Robin dropped her backpack onto the bench beside yours with an exaggerated groan. "If Coach makes us run the mile, I'm transferring."
"Can you even afford to transfer?"
"I'll transfer emotionally."
You laughed quietly, grateful for something that felt normal. "I think that's just called giving up."
"It's called self-care."
Robin spun the combination lock on her locker. "You'll learn."
The latch popped open. Almost immediately, something slipped free and drifted onto the bench between you.
"Huh." Robin frowned.
You glanced over. "What is it?"
"Probably another announcement." She reached down casually, unfolding the piece of paper without much thought.
The smile disappeared from her face. It wasn't obvious, but it was just gone. Like someone had flipped a switch behind her eyes. Her gaze stayed fixed on the page for only a second before she folded it again so quickly you barely caught a glimpse of the handwriting.
"You okay?" you asked.
Robin blinked. "What?"
"You just... froze."
"Oh." She let out a tiny laugh that didn't quite sound real. "No, it's nothing."
She crumpled the note into her fist. "Just some idiot."
"What kind of idiot?"
"The anonymous kind."
She shrugged, forcing another smile as she shoved the balled-up paper into the pocket of her bookbag. "You know. Hawkins High. Thriving intellectual community."
Robin was talkative, almost relentlessly so. But for the rest of the time she changed, she barely spoke at all. Only once the two of you started toward the gym doors did she finally clear her throat.
"So..." she said, her usual brightness returning just a little too deliberately. "If Coach says 'give me two laps to warm up,' we fake our own deaths, right?"
You laughed. "I thought you were transferring emotionally."
"I've decided that's too much paperwork."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and Robin smiled back.
The note remained crumpled in Robin's backpack. She didn't look at it again until long after the final bell. When she finally unfolded it in the privacy of a bathroom stall, the words were exactly where she'd left them.
You can hide behind jokes all you want. Doesn't change who you look at when she isn't paying attention.
How long before Hawkins notices, too?
—A
By the time the final bell rang, Hawkins High emptied itself into the parking lot in waves.
Engines turned over one after another, buses hissed as their doors folded shut, and clusters of students lingered on the sidewalk, stretching out conversations they could've easily continued tomorrow. Eddie took his usual route toward the far corner of the lot, keys spinning lazily around his finger as he walked.
"You coming?" Robin called after him.
"In a second."
She narrowed her eyes. "You said that yesterday."
"And I meant it yesterday, too."
She snorted. "See you tomorrow, Munson."
He threw her a lazy salute before peeling away toward the battered van sitting by itself beneath the chain-link fence. Most people parked as close to the school as they could.
Eddie had learned pretty quickly that giving everyone else a little extra space saved him from finding mysterious dents and spit on his windows. He dug through his pocket for his keys, already fishing out a cigarette with the other hand when something caught his eye.
There was a folded piece of paper tucked beneath his windshield wiper.
He frowned. "Seriously?"
Probably another parking warning, or some freshman trying to be funny. He pulled it free, flattening the crease against the van's hood.
Guess the apple didn't fall very far from the chop shop.
Wonder what Uncle Wayne would think if he knew what you and your daddy really did during your father-son “bonding.”
—A
The cigarette slipped from between his fingers, landing forgotten on the pavement. No.
He read the note again anyway, then a third time. By the fourth, he realized his grip had tightened enough to wrinkle the paper.
"Eddie?"
Robin's voice carried across the parking lot, and he looked up.
She was halfway out of her own car, watching him. "You good?"
He glanced back at the note. Without thinking, he folded it once, then again. By the time Robin reached him, it had disappeared into his pocket.
"Yeah."
She studied him. "You don't look 'yeah.'"
He forced a crooked grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just realized I forgot I have homework."
Robin stared at him for a beat before laughing. "That might be the worst lie you've ever told."
"I've told worse."
"I know."
She gave him one last suspicious look before climbing into her car. "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
He waited until her taillights disappeared out of the parking lot before climbing into the driver's seat. For a long time, Eddie just sat there, staring at the folded note resting in his lap.
By the time Nancy stepped through the front door, she was already mentally sorting through calculus homework and college applications.
"Kitchen!" Karen called from somewhere down the hall.
Nancy slipped off her backpack. "I'm home."
"There was something in the mail for you."
Nancy paused. "What kind of something?"
"I don't know." Karen appeared around the corner, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Large envelope. I put it on the kitchen table."
Nancy's stomach gave a hopeful little flip. Emerson, it had to be. She'd been waiting all week. She crossed into the kitchen, already smiling to herself as she spotted the manila envelope sitting neatly beside the fruit bowl.
No return address, strange. She picked it up anyway. It wasn't heavy enough to be a packet. No school logo, no crest, nothing.
Her smile faded as she slipped a finger beneath the seal and pulled it open. A photograph slid onto the table.
It took her a second to understand what she was looking at.
It was her. Jonathan stood across from her beneath the pavilion at Lover's Lake, the two of them caught in the soft glow of a lone flashlight. She was smiling at something he'd said, one hand resting lightly against his arm while he looked at her with an expression she knew all too well.
The moment right before someone leaned in.
Another photograph. Same night, but closer, their faces inches apart. Then another. And another. Each one taken from somewhere in the darkness beyond the light. Someone had been watching them.
At the bottom of the envelope was a folded index card. Nancy unfolded it with suddenly trembling hands.
Poor Stevie.
He still thinks he has you all to himself.
—A
"Nancy?"
Karen's voice floated in from the living room. "You okay?"
Nancy's eyes never left the photographs. Someone had followed them. Someone had stood in the dark, close enough to capture every glance, every smile, every hesitation she hadn't even admitted to herself. She hurriedly gathered the photographs into a pile just as her mother stepped into the doorway.
"What was it?" Karen asked.
Nancy forced the envelope shut and tucked it beneath a stack of textbooks before looking up.
"...Nothing."
Karen frowned. "I thought it was from Emerson."
"So did I."
"Maybe tomorrow," Karen offered gently.
Nancy managed a smile that felt brittle around the edges. "Yeah."
Karen returned to the kitchen. Nancy waited until she was gone before pulling the photographs back out.
Jonathan didn't get home until well after dark.
The grocery store had been busier than usual, and by the time he pulled into the driveway, every light in the Byers' house except the one over the stove had already been turned off. Joyce had left for her night shift an hour earlier, and Will had almost certainly gone to bed.
He killed the engine and sat there for a moment, rubbing his eyes tiredly before climbing out. Something sat in front of the screen door: a cardboard box, no bigger than a shoebox. No shipping label, no postage stamp.
Just his name written neatly across the lid in black marker.
Jonathan frowned. "...Mom?"
He glanced toward the road, but nothing greeted him. He picked the box up and carried it inside, setting it carefully on the kitchen table. For a second, he considered leaving it unopened, but curiosity eventually won, and he peeled back the tape. Inside was a thick stack of photographs. His stomach sank before he'd even picked one up.
Steve. Nancy. The photographs from the school's developing room, the ones he'd sworn he'd thrown away. One after another.
Steve with his arms around Nancy. Nancy lifting her shirt. Steve kissing her neck. Every single picture he'd secretly taken through the trees that night.
His breathing slowed. "No..."
He knew these; he knew every frame. Hands suddenly unsteady, Jonathan thumbed through the stack faster. They were all there, every single one. Even the negatives. Tucked beneath them was a folded piece of paper.
Poor Johnathan. Can’t have her all to himself, so he settles for watching from the outside.
Would be a shame if Nancy saw these, wouldn’t it?
—A
Steve didn't think twice when he got home.
His parents were gone, as usual. The house sat in complete silence, the only sound coming from the grandfather clock ticking somewhere deeper inside. A note rested on the kitchen island in his mother's handwriting, letting him know dinner was in the refrigerator if he wanted it.
He tossed his keys into the bowl by the front door. "I'm home," he called anyway.
No answer.
"Shocking."
He took the stairs two at a time, already reaching for the collar of his polo to tug it over his head. By the time he pushed open his bedroom door, he was thinking more about tomorrow's basketball practice than anything else. Then he stopped.
There was an envelope sitting in the middle of his bed. Cream-colored, perfectly centered against the navy comforter.
Steve frowned. "...What the hell?"
He crossed the room and picked it up. Steve.
He slid a finger beneath the flap. A single photograph slipped into his hand. Nancy. Jonathan. Lover's Lake.
She was smiling at him. Not the polite smile she gave strangers, not the one she wore in yearbook pictures. The real one.
Steve stared at it. Then another photograph. Jonathan was looking at Nancy like she was the only person in the world. Another. Their hands brushed as they walked. Another. The distance between them disappearing.
Steve's jaw tightened. Folded beneath the photographs was an index card.
Funny thing about second choices...
...they never know they're second until someone better comes along.
—A
His first instinct was to laugh; it had to be fake. Some asshole with too much time on their hands. Nancy loved him.
Didn't she?
The next morning, you told yourself yesterday had been a fluke. One note, one sick joke, and nothing more.
You repeated it in your head while getting dressed. On the drive to school. Walking through the front doors. Even as you smiled at Robin when she waved from farther down the hallway.
Normal, everything was going to be normal. You reached your locker before first period, balancing your chemistry book against your hip while you worked the combination.
The latch clicked, and you pulled the door open. Something slid forward. It didn't flutter to the floor like yesterday's note; it hit the tile with a dull slap.
A newspaper clipping, yellowed around the edges, and folded in half. Slowly, your knees bending almost without permission, you picked it up. The headline stared back at you:
LOCAL TRAGEDY LEAVES DOZENS DEAD
No. No, no, no.
Your hands shook as you unfolded the rest. The article had been blacked out in places with thick marker, entire paragraphs disappearing beneath uneven strokes, but one grainy photograph remained untouched.
At the bottom of the clipping, written across the photograph in neat black ink:
Still think it was an accident?
Run all you want. It’ll find you anywhere; I’ll make sure of it.
—A
You burst through the side doors, the crisp morning air hitting your face like ice water as you crossed the practice field without looking back. The grass was still damp with dew, soaking through the canvas of your sneakers as you headed toward the line of trees bordering the property.
Only when the school disappeared behind the branches did you finally stop. Your hands found your knees. Your chest tightened until it felt like someone had wrapped steel bands around your ribs.
"This is not happening," you whispered to yourself. "It's not happening."
The clipping was still clenched in your fist, crumpled beyond recognition. You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Hey..." The voice was so soft you almost missed it. "...Sweetheart?"
Your head snapped up.
Eddie stood a few yards away, one hand still holding the cigarette he'd apparently forgotten to smoke. His backpack hung lazily from one shoulder, concern replacing the easy grin he usually wore.
"You okay?"
You immediately wiped at your face with the sleeve of your flannel. "Yeah."
He looked at you for a long second. Then, with the smallest shake of his head, he started toward you.
"Usually," he said carefully, "when girls are crying and tell me they're fine..."
A corner of his mouth tugged upward. "...they're generally not."
A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Is that right?"
"It's one of the few things I've actually learned in nineteen years."
You looked down at the ground. "I just... needed a minute."
"Mhm."
"I'll be okay."
"Mhm."
"You don't believe me."
"I believe that you think you'll be okay."
He shifted his weight, glancing toward the school before looking back at you.
"But I also think whatever made you sprint into the woods before first period probably wasn't a pop quiz."
"...Hey."
You looked up.
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong." His voice stayed quiet. "But... whatever happened back there scared the hell outta you."
You swallowed. "I know."
"And I know we've known each other for..." He checked an imaginary watch. "...roughly twenty-four hours."
A weak laugh escaped you.
"So maybe I'm overstepping."
"No."
"I just..." Your voice caught before you could finish.
"There are..." You paused, searching for words that didn't sound completely insane. "There are things that have happened in my life that..." You shook your head. "Nobody here is supposed to know."
Eddie's brow furrowed. "Okay."
"I mean nobody. But somehow, someone else does.”
Eddie looked away for a second. "...When you say 'someone else'..."
"...You mean..." He stopped himself. "...Things nobody should know?"
You stared at him. "...Yeah."
Eddie reached into the inside pocket of his vest. He didn't say anything; he simply unfolded a wrinkled piece of paper he'd been carrying around since yesterday and held it out toward you.
You looked down. The handwriting. The black ink. The signature. Your stomach dropped.
You looked back up at him. "...You got one."
"I got one."
"When?"
He gave a humorless laugh. "Yesterday."
Your heart started racing all over again. "You didn't tell anybody?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. "I figured somebody was screwing with me."
"I thought..." You looked back toward the school. "...I thought somebody had followed me here."
"I don't even know who'd know mine." He sighed.
Your fingers tightened around the crumpled newspaper clipping. "...Mine shouldn't exist."
Eddie looked at you. "What do you mean?"
You hesitated. Then slowly opened your hand just enough for him to see the edge of the yellowed newspaper.
Not enough to read it, just enough for him to realize it wasn't from yesterday. His eyes flicked from the clipping to your face.
"...Jesus."
You nodded once. "I wasn't lying."
"I know."
"No, I mean..." Your voice cracked. "I really don't know how they know."
"...Are you kidding me?" Robin's voice carried through the trees a second before she did. She pushed through the brush, hands thrown up in disbelief as she looked between you two.
"What the hell, guys?"
Eddie looked over. "Oh. Hey, Rob."
She blinked. "'Hey, Rob?'" she repeated. "Why aren't either of you in class?"
You instinctively wiped beneath your eyes.
"...Were you crying?"
"I'm okay."
She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe either of you."
Eddie pointed at you. "See? I told you."
"Told me what?"
"That whenever somebody says they're fine while actively crying..."
Robin finished the sentence with him. "...they're usually not."
She looked between the two of you again. "I went to English."
Neither of you said anything.
"I figured maybe one of you overslept." She shrugged. "Then neither of you showed up."
"So I told Mrs. O'Donnell I had to use the bathroom."
"You skipped class?" Eddie asked.
"I skipped five minutes of class."
"You've changed."
"Oh, shut up."
Robin's gaze drifted to the folded paper still hanging loosely from Eddie's fingers. "...What's that?"
Eddie looked down, then back at her. For a moment, it looked like he was weighing whether to answer. Finally, he held it up.
Her eyes scanned the page, the color draining from her face.
"...Where'd you get that?"
"On my van."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"You... never said anything."
"I wasn't exactly eager to advertise it."
Robin swallowed. "...It was signed, wasn't it?"
Eddie frowned. "...Yeah."
Robin let out a slow breath through her nose. "No way."
"What?" Eddie asked.
She stared at the ground for a second before reaching into the pocket of her jacket.
"I thought..." she muttered. "I thought somebody was just being an asshole."
She unfolded a wrinkled piece of notebook paper. The black ink matched Eddie's perfectly. The same sharp handwriting, the same signature at the bottom.
—A
"You too?" you asked quietly.
Robin nodded once. "I found it yesterday."
"You didn't tell anybody?"
"I was kind of hoping if I ignored it, it'd magically become somebody else's problem."
Eddie gave a humorless laugh. "How'd that work out?"
"...Poorly."
Neither of you asked what the note said; Robin was grateful for that. She folded it back up before either of you had a chance to read it, stuffing it into her pocket with a practiced shrug that fooled absolutely no one.
"It was..." She searched for a word, eyes fixed on the dirt beneath her shoes. "...Personal."
Eddie looked from Robin to you, then back toward the school barely visible through the trees. "I don't think this is a coincidence anymore."
Robin shook her head. "No."
You tightened your grip around the crumpled newspaper clipping still hidden in your sleeve. "...Neither do I."
You made it back before second period ended, after Eddie insisted on walking you to the side entrance, the two of you agreeing, without ever really saying it aloud, that whatever was happening would stay between the three of you for now.
At least until you understood it.
By seventh period, you hadn't retained a single thing your teachers had said. Every unfamiliar face in the hallway made your stomach tighten. Every folded piece of paper you saw sticking out of someone's notebook caught your attention for just a second too long.
When the final bell rang, you waited for the hallway to thin before ducking into the girls' bathroom. Maybe splashing some cold water on your face would make you feel less like your heart had been living somewhere in your throat all day.
Someone stood at the sinks with their back to you, shoulders rigid beneath a pale blue sweater. You recognized the chestnut curls before she turned around. Nancy Wheeler.
She startled at the sound of the door closing, hastily folding a piece of paper in half.
"Oh."
Nancy quickly wiped beneath one eye, forcing the kind of smile that only made it more obvious she'd been crying.
"Sorry," she said quietly. "I... didn't know anyone else was in here."
You shook your head. "It's okay."
You'd spoken exactly twice before. Once when she'd apologized for Tommy in the cafeteria. Once in Chemistry, when she'd handed you a pencil after yours rolled beneath a lab table.
"...It's Nancy, right?"
She nodded. "...Yeah."
"I'm..." You gave her your name.
"I know."
Nancy looked down at the folded paper in her hands, almost instinctively trying to hide it behind her sleeve.
Your eyes followed the movement. Then slowly, very carefully, you asked, "That’s from A, isn’t it?"
Nancy's head snapped up, the color draining from her face. "...What?"
"You heard me."
"...How..." she whispered. "...How do you know that?"
You reached into your backpack. Without saying a word, you unfolded the now-soft newspaper clipping you'd carried around all day.
Nancy's eyes flicked from the article to the black ink scrawled across the bottom, then to your face.
"...Oh my God."
You nodded once. "I'm not the only one."
Nancy looked back at the letter in her own hands. "You too?"
"Me."
"My friend."
"...Actually..." A humorless smile tugged at your mouth. "...Four of us."
Nancy looked up quickly. "...Four?"
You nodded. "Eddie, Robin…"
"And now..." Your eyes settled on the paper still trembling in her hands. "...You."
Nancy leaned back against the sink as though her knees had suddenly forgotten how to work.
Nancy barely had enough time to fold the letter back into its envelope before the final bell echoed through the building. Students spilled into the hallway in every direction, conversations overlapping into one constant wall of noise.
She looked at you. "...I don't think I can do this by myself."
"You don't have to."
The two of you stepped out of the bathroom together and were immediately swallowed by the crowd.
"Nancy!"
The voice cut through the hallway sharply enough that people nearby turned to look. Steve.
He was pushing through the crowd, jaw tight, one hand clutching something so tightly it had crumpled around the edges.
He stopped in front of her. "What the hell is this, Nance?"
Nancy frowned. "...Steve?"
He held up a photograph. Even from where you stood, you recognized Jonathan's jacket. Nancy's eyes widened.
"...Where did you get that?"
"So it's real?"
"Steve, let me see it."
He pulled it back before she could reach it. "No."
His voice wasn't angry so much as... hurt. "You tell me why somebody left this in my locker."
Nancy's face went pale. "Locker...?"
Steve flipped the photograph around. On the back, written in thick black marker, were three words.
Ask your girlfriend.
—A
Nancy felt the blood drain from her face. "...No."
Steve stared at her. “‘No' what?"
"No, I mean..." She shook her head frantically. "Steve, somebody's doing this."
"Doing what?"
"They—"
"They what?"
"They've been sending—"
"Nance." His voice cracked. "It's a picture."
He turned it back over. This time, you saw it clearly: Nancy and Jonathan, standing beneath the pavilion, Jonathan's hand cupping her cheek, and Nancy kissing him.
"Were you ever gonna tell me?"
The hallway had gone almost completely silent around them. People slowed as they walked by, and the whispers started.
Nancy took one desperate step toward him. "It wasn't—"
"What? What it looks like?"
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Steve let out a hollow laugh. "I defended you."
His eyes shimmered with disbelief more than anger. "When Tommy started running his mouth yesterday, I told him to shut up."
He looked down at the photograph again. "I thought we were okay."
"We are."
"Are we?"
Steve didn't say another word. He looked at Nancy for one long, unreadable moment before turning on his heel and shoving his way through the crowd.
"Steve!" Nancy hurried after him. "Steve, wait!"
By the time the three of you spilled out into the afternoon sun, Steve was already halfway across the parking lot, moving with long, determined strides.
"Steve!" Nancy called again.
Then Steve stopped, not because of Nancy, but because he'd spotted Jonathan. Jonathan had just stepped out of the school, camera bag slung over one shoulder, as he headed toward the student lot.
Steve changed direction without hesitation.
Your stomach dropped. "Nancy..."
Jonathan looked up just as Steve reached him. "What—"
His sentence was never finished; Steve's fist connected squarely with his jaw. Jonathan stumbled backward, crashing into the side of a parked car before sliding onto one knee.
The parking lot erupted while Nancy shoved past you. "Steve!"
Jonathan wiped at the blood already forming at the corner of his mouth, looking up in complete disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Steve was breathing hard, and his hand was still clenched into a fist. "You wanna tell me?"
"I don't even know what this is about!"
Steve barked out a bitter laugh. "No?"
He reached into his backpack and yanked out a thick manila envelope. "You don't recognize this?"
Before Jonathan could answer, Steve threw it at his chest. The envelope burst open the second it hit him. Photographs scattered across the asphalt, dozens of them.
Nancy instinctively looked down, her face draining white.
She recognized herself immediately. Standing in Steve’s bedroom, shirt rising over her head, then another of them kissing, then her bra…
Jonathan stared at them, his entire body going still. "...No."
Nancy slowly bent down, picking up one of the photographs with trembling fingers. Then another, then another. Each one felt worse than the last.
She looked up at Jonathan. "...You took these?"
He couldn't answer. "Nancy..."
"You were watching us?"
"It wasn't—"
"You were watching us."
Steve shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. "This is the guy you cheat on me with, Nance?"
Nancy's eyes never left the photographs in her hands; there were simply so many. So many moments she'd never known someone else had witnessed.
Then, something caught your eye. Another folded piece of paper had slipped from the envelope, drifting beneath Jonathan's shoe. You reached down before anyone else noticed and unfolded it. The now-familiar handwriting stared back at you.
Smile for the camera.
Everybody loves a good love triangle.
—A
"What the hell's going on?" Robin's voice carried over the crowd as she and Eddie hurried across the pavement, weaving around students who had already formed a loose circle around the fight.
"Move, move—excuse me—"
She squeezed between two juniors just as Eddie stepped around the edge of the crowd.
His eyes found you immediately. "Hey."
He reached your side, his expression pinched with concern. "You okay?"
You looked at him, still clutching the folded note, but before you could answer, his gaze dropped to the photographs scattered across the asphalt.
Nancy. Steve. Jonathan. Dozens of them. Some half-crumpled beneath students' shoes, others fluttering in the breeze.
"...Oh. Oh fuck."
Robin finally reached the front of the crowd beside him, her eyes darting from Steve, who was still glaring at Jonathan, to Nancy standing frozen with a photograph in her trembling hands.
"What..." She bent to pick one up. "...the hell?"
She looked up at you. "This..." she said quietly. "This isn't..."
You gave the smallest nod. "...Yeah."
Eddie's eyes narrowed. "It's them."
You nodded again. "The same person."
Robin's stomach dropped. She looked back toward Steve and Jonathan, neither of whom had noticed the three of you yet.
"...They don't know."
"They have no idea," you replied.
Eddie watched Steve shove Jonathan back another step before looking down at the photographs littering the ground.
His jaw tightened. "...This is exactly what they wanted."
Robin frowned. "Who?"
Eddie looked between you and Robin. "The person sending the notes."
It wasn't just three separate secrets anymore; it was one game. And somehow, all of you had been invited to play.
A fr.
well, I hope you all enjoyed :)))) part two will be out soon, promise.
˚꩜｡pairing: 40s!eddie munson x 20y!fem!reader
˚꩜｡summary: Coming home from the summer was supposed to mean backyard barbecues, Fourth of July fireworks, and spending time with your parents before your final year of college. Falling into bed with your dad's forty-something tattoo artist had definitely not been part of the plan.
˚꩜｡tags/tw: 18+ explicit sexual content, minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!f!reader, big age gap, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, squirting, fourth of july jumpscare (this is a joke pls dont shoot me), 1 comment about reader losing weight but no descriptions of how much and/or body type, im sharing my parents w u guys in this one bc they’re cool and i miss them, underage drinking, smoking marijuana/tobacco, reader has tattoos, mentions of getting a tattoo as a minor, kinda self indulgent sorry, the faintest of angst at the end, lemme know me if i forgot anything :)
˚꩜｡word count: 17.1k+
˚꩜｡a/n: so i know it has been six days since the fourth, but i saw this tiktok and i immediately started to write this so all credits to @/arthursfemalehorse on tiktok for the edit that inspired this<3 (this was supposed to have been posted two days ago but i got too horny to continue writing)
At eighteen, freshly graduated from high school, you couldn’t wait to forget your old life, sever all contact with your old classmates, and never return to the godforsaken town of Hawkins, Indiana, where you had been born and raised.
Now, at twenty-one years old, and just one year shy of graduating NYU and snatching your master’s degree in Art Therapy, you couldn’t wait to return to the sleepy little town.
It had nothing to do with missing your old mates or the achingly slow routine you’d left behind two years earlier. Hell, it wasn’t even because you missed your parents — which you did, obviously — but that wasn’t the reason you were planning to move back.
New York was, for lack for a better, great. Truly. It was everything you’d dreamt about throughout your teenage years — multicultural, freeing, authentic in a way that demanded respect, with a shit ton of opportunities Hawkins couldn’t even dream of offering.
But it was also… just too much.
Too loud. Too smelly. Too busy. Too anxiety-inducing.
Hawkins, on the other hand, wasn’t amazing. Most of the time, it wasn’t even fun.
But it offered a quiet that you never realized you needed until you moved to the East Coast, without ever asking anything in return.
It wasn’t a place that expected — nonetheless demanded — you to keep up, nor did it punish you for slowing down and taking a breather. You could leave the house without planning every minute of your day around subways delays, packed sidewalks, and whether or not you could afford another ridiculously overprices coffee just to justify sitting somewhere for an hour.
In Hawkins, you knew the cashiers at the grocery store and which roads flooded first after heavy rain. You knew which diner stayed open the latest, where to get your tires replaced without getting ripped off by some surprise inspection tacked onto the bill, and exactly which back roads to take if you simply wanted to drive with the windows down for a while.
It was the kind of comfort you missed in the big city.
So the moment your final summer break before your last year of graduate school rolled around in the middle of May, you’d already made up your mind — you were going home for the first time in two years.
Unfortunately, your bank account had other ideas.
Rent in New York — even while sharing a shoebox apartment with two other girls — had a funny way of reminding you that dreams didn’t pay themselves, and neither did tuition. So instead of immediately packing your bags and hopping on the first plane to Indiana, you picked up every extra shift your manager was willing to throw your way.
Mornings behind the espresso machine turned into afternoons. Afternoons bled into closing shifts. Before you knew it, six weeks had disappeared somewhere between burnt coffee, impatient tourists, and people who genuinely believed ordering six different modifications somehow made them easier to deal with.
It wasn’t until the first week of July, when your savings account finally looked healthy enough, that you were able to point yourself towards Indiana.
Not forever. Come mid August, you’d be squeezing back into your apartment, picking up where you’d left off, and tackling one final year before graduation. But for the next month and a half, Hawkins was home again.
Funnily enough, the cheapest flight back from New York to Indianapolis landed in the middle of the night on the Fourth of July — only forty bucks cheaper than the alternatives, but still. An extra forty bucks for a college student meant not eating ramen for four consecutive days.
And, considering, you hadn’t given your parents an exact date for your return, arriving early on the holiday made for a nice surprise.
What wasn’t a nice surprise, however, was the half-hour delay it took to get off the plane. The two-hour drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins in a cramped rental car wasn’t exactly enjoyable either, although the endless stretches of cornfields and the occasional herd of cows were enough to pull a small smile onto your face again.
The weather had already been bordering on suffocating at almost ten in the morning when you passed the Welcome to Hawkins sign, and the cracked windows of the car did little to help in that regard.
But it was the Fourth, and that meant your parents were probably putting up the pool — if they hadn’t already done it the day before — and that an endless supply of ice-cold drinks was already waiting for your surprise return.
You instinctively turned the volume of the radio down as you made the familiar right turn into your old neighbourhood.
The early morning sunshine stretched across the quiet streets, warming the asphalt as it spilled between neat rows of modest houses and leafy trees. Tall utility poles and tangled power lines framed both sides of the road, looking exactly as they had the day you’d left.
Your foot eased off the accelerator almost automatically when the familiar house came into view. The wraparound porch looked exactly as you remembered it, supported by simple wooden posts and bordered by a railing that had hosted more lazy summer afternoons than you’d probably ever admit missing.
And then you noticed the ridiculous red, white and blue decorations your dad insisted on dragging out of the attic every year.
A massive American flag covered nearly the entire front window. Patriotic garlands hung from the porch ceiling. And, judging by the perfectly coordinated flower beds, your dad had somehow convinced your mom to plant red, white and blue flowers just in time for the holiday.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That… was definitely something you hadn’t missed.
You’d save the annual debate about nationalism, capitalism, and the political and economical state of the country and why you didn’t believe the Fourth of July and its founding fathers were something worth celebrating for another day. Preferably one that didn’t involve your father.
The engine died with a quick twist of your wrist, followed by the familiar click of your seatbelt, but you didn’t get out just yet. Instead, you sat there for another moment, your shoulders relaxing almost instantly as you looked at the house you’d once spent every waking moment trying to escape.
Your street had barely changed. Down the road, Mr. Flynn was moving his front lawn like he did almost every morning, while the kids of number 61A were already testing fireworks far too early.
Your lips curled into a small smile as you finally pushed the car door open and made your way to the trunk to grab your bags.
The fence around the house had recently been given a fresh coat of lacquer, and the brick path leading to the backyard had clearly been scrubbed clean days earlier.
Pushing open the familiar creaking gate and stepping into the backyard pulled a content sigh from your chest as you finally set the heavy bags on the ground.
“You here already, Ed?”
Your dad pushed the screen door open with one hand while carrying a heavy-looking cooler in the other.
“Who is Ed?” you asked when your eyes landed on your greying father.
A heavy thud echoed through the otherwise quiet backyard as he let the cooler slip from his hands, standing frozen between the back door and the patio.
“What the fuck?”
“Please don’t curse this early in the morning!” your mom called from somewhere inside the house.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be cursing too if you saw what the fuck I’m seeing.”
While your dad remained rooted to the spot, eyes still wide with disbelief, your mom mumbled something unintelligible as he made her way towards the backyard.
The towel she’d been drying her hands with joined the cooler on the ground.
“What the fuck?”
“Told you.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped you as the two of them simply stared.
“I told you guys I was coming home from the summer.”
“But not that you were coming today!” She hurried over and wrapped her arms around you, only pulling back enough to cup your face between her hands. Her eyes searched every inch of it like she hadn’t seen you in decades. “Why didn’t you call? We could’ve picked you up from the airport.”
“I wanted to surprise you guys.”
Your dad finally seemed to reboot.
“Did you rent a car?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Hi to you too, Dad.”
“How much was it?”
“That’s your first question?” You tilted your head in disbelief.
“Oh, Pigeon,” your mom whispered, still holding your face. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been eating properly?”
“Mom, I’m fine—”
“Rentin’ a car is expensive,” your dad muttered, already fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “On top of paying New York rent? Jesus, Pigeon. You should’ve called.”
“Dad, I rented the car for three days—”
“I’m sending you money.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Almost twenty-one years old, and you were still their baby girl — apparently incapable of looking after your own health or your own finances.
Not that there was any point to trying to convince them otherwise, their minds had already been made up.
The cooler had been completely forgotten beside the screen door as your dad wrapped his hands around the handles of your bags — despite your repeated insistence that you were more than capable of carrying them yourself — and made a beeline for your childhood bedroom.
He was still going on about the rental car as you followed him up the creaky staircase, only abandoning the subject once he’d nudged open the familiar white bedroom door with his foot.
The door was still decorated with stickers. The walls were still painted your favourite shade of pale green, and the embarrassingly emo and scene band posters you’d sworn you’d take down before leaving college were still scattered across them.
Aside from the new rug in the middle of the room, nothing had changed.
“You should call your friends,” he said as he set your bags down on the bed. “See if anyone’s around to hang out.”
“I kinda lost touch with everyone, Dad,” you replied with a small shrug. “I’m perfectly happy hanging out with you two.”
“Well, us two and Eddie.” He scratched at his beard. “And a handful of our other friends too.”
“Who’s Eddie?” You frowned.
“Eddie Munson.” He pushed the sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt farther up his arm, revealing the tattoo he’d gotten the year before. “He moved back last year when his dad got sick. Opened a tattoo studio downtown not long after.”
Your hand reached out almost on instinct, fingertips brushing over the healed ink.
The words of an embarrassingly sentimental poem you’d written in elementary school curved neatly around his upper arm, permanently preserved in your own unmistakable chicken-scratch handwriting.
And just above it sat a black-and-grey coloured realistic pigeon.
You still weren’t entirely sure which tattoo was more ridiculous.
“I still can’t believe you actually got this tattooed,” you snorted, looking back up at him.
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled, tugging his sleeve back down. “Can you blame me for being obsessed with my only child?”
“If your obsession makes you do stupid things?” You folded your arms. “Then yes. Absolutely.”
He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on his hips in that particular way that always told you your dad was about to call you out.
“Says the girl who got 1D tattooed on her ankle when she was fourteen.” He pursed his lips for a moment before they curled into a disbelieving grin. “Still have no idea how you managed to get a tattoo back then.”
“Black ink from a pen and a sewing needle.” You shrugged as you unzipped one of your bags. “Saw a tutorial on YouTube.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Your giggles echoed through the bedroom as your dad simply shook his head, muttering something about teenagers while backing into the hallway.
“Put your bikini on. It’s gonna be hot today,” he said, pausing in the doorway to rap his knuckles against the frame, and then pointed a finger at you. “And then get downstairs and help me with the grill.”
“Aye, captain,” you laughed. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Good.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over the bedroom once again.
You let yourself sink onto the edge of the mattress before eventually falling backwards with a soft whump, the old springs protesting underneath your weight just as they always had, and you let your eyes wander across the familiar room.
The glow-in-the-dark constellations were still stuck to the ceiling. The bookshelf tucked beside your desk still leaned ever so slightly to the left after you’d tried to climb it when you were ten. The faded Polaroids hanging from the mirror still showed smiling faces you’d long since lost touch with.
Nothing had changed — not really.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were kind of grateful for it.
It took you a few more seconds of studying an older, more innocent version of yourself before you finally pushed yourself off the bed to change into a bikini like your dad had suggested.
For a second, while pulling open one of the drawers, you considered putting on the ridiculous American flag bikini as a joke, but the thought of your dad embarrassing you by saying something along the lines of, “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Celebrating the American spirit!” was enough to make you think better of it.
So you opted for another one instead — the one with the gold sequins and pink beads you’d bought during your junior year in a desperate attempt to impress Andrew Harrington.
Despite what your mom had claimed downstairs, you hadn’t actually lost weight. If anything, somehow surviving almost exclusively on ramen and bread had convinced your body that your chest needed to grow another cup size. The bikini still fit, but the straps leaned a little more to the digging into your shoulders side.
A pair of light-washed denim shorts covered the bottom half of your bikini, and your sneakers were swapped for sandals.
The familiar creaks of the staircase were drowned out by the unmistakable roar for a pickup truck pulling into the driveway as you made your way downstairs.
“Dad,” you called as you stepped into the kitchen. “Need anything from inside?”
“Uh…” he thought aloud for a second. “No, Pigeon. I think we got everything already.”
You hummed in acknowledgement and wandered over the fridge instead.
Having a beer at ten-something in the morning wasn’t exactly frowned upon if it was the Fourth of July, right?
You grabbed one from the bottom shelf before popping the cap off against the edge of the countertop, taking a long sip as the icy bitterness settled pleasantly against the summer heat that had already begun creeping into the house through the open windows.
Outside, a car door slammed shut, and your dad’s voice carried through the open window almost immediately.
“About time you got here!”
A man’s laugh answered him.
“Had some things to sort out.”
You were halfway through another sip when your dad called again.
“Pigeon! Come out here for a sec!”
Beer still in hand, you made your way towards the backyard, already half-expecting him to need help moving the grill or finally dragging the pool out of the garage.
Your dad stood barefoot on the grass, tongs in one hand and a bag of charcoal in the other, a broad grin already spreading across his face.
Beside him stood a man in a faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark three-quarter shorts, two six packs tucked beneath one arm.
Greying curls brushed his shoulders, a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head. Tattoos disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, and you were fairly certain you caught the glint of a small silver hoop through one of his nostrils.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open.
“Well,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing this is the famous poet who wrote Lovely Purple Pigeons.”
A warm laugh escaped you as you finally snapped out of your thoughts. Shaking your head, you walked down the few steps towards the two men before offering him your hand.
“Well, I’m no Emily Dickinson,” you joked, “but I’m glad you enjoyed my greatest work.”
You ignored the feeling of your tongue sliding over your bottom lip when a large, calloused hand wrapped around yours, his handshake firm without being overbearing.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said with a smile. “Kinda impossible not to become a fan of your work.”
“I’d say the same,” you replied, “but I still think letting my dad get that tattoo counts as a felony.”
That pulled another laugh from him.
Meeting new people had never exactly been your favourite thing. While you weren’t the most sociable person in the word, you weren’t exactly an introvert either. More often than not, though, first conversations felt painfully awkward.
Meeting Eddie was nothing like that, and conversations came surprisingly easily.
He laughed at your jokes — whether because they were actually funny or simply because he was being polite, you had no idea — and every question he asked felt genuine instead of obligatory.
More importantly, he never once spoke to you like you were still fifteen. Considering most of your parents’ friends still seemed convinced you were, that alone was enough to make you like him.
Your dad, who had wandered over to the grill while you and Eddie were talking, pulled you out of your thoughts when he spoke again.
“Emily Dickinson has nothing on you, Pigeon,” he called over his shoulder before doing a double take. “…Is that a new one?”
Your eyes followed his line of sight to the palm-sized, fine line design of a little fishing boat resting against your ribcage.
“Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Got it during spring break with a friend.”
“You don’t even like boats.” He frowned.
“It’s an inside joke from when we were, uh,” You hesitated for a second before taking another sip of your beer, “…stoned.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“There was something about boats and Led Zeppelin.”
“I don’t even wanna know.”
“Tattoos and Led Zeppelin?” Eddie laughed beside you. “Oh, I definitely wanna know.”
You looked over at him, only to find warm brown eyes already fixed on yours, and your mouth opened and then immediately closed again.
A stupid little laugh escaped you as warmth crept across your cheeks.
“It’s really not that interesting,” you warned.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jokingly rolling your eyes at him, you gave in anyway.
You told him about spending spring break in Florida with one of your roommates, getting far too high one evening, and somehow ending up in a twenty-minute conversation about whether Led Zeppelin sounded more like the name of a rock band or a fisherman boat.
Somewhere along the way, your roommate started pronouncing Zeppelin in an exaggerated Southern accent that had reduced the two of you to tears.
Looking back, it wasn’t even that funny — not unless you’d been there, at least.
“See?” you finished with an awkward shrug. “It’s one of those stories.”
The crowfeet beside his eyes deepened as he laughed.
“No, I get it.” Eddie smiled. “I’ve got a shit tone of those too.”
Adjusting the two six-packs, he nodded towards your side.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You returned the nod before turning slightly, lifting your arm just enough for the tattoo to come into view.
Eddie stopped closer — not enough to crowd you, but just enough to see the details.
“Can I?”
You nodded again, and his fingertips brushed lightly against your skin as he gently stretched it, the touch careful and practiced in a way that immediately gave away years of experience. Professional. Matter-of-fact, even.
Which definitely didn’t explain the fresh wave of heat climbing into your cheeks.
“It healed really well,” he said quietly, studying the delicate shading. “Nice line work.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “I’ll pass the compliment along.”
“Ribs are a bitch to get tattooed.”
“It honestly wasn’t that bad,” you admitted. “It tickled more than it hurt.”
“Huh.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “That’s a first.”
He let his hand fall away before straightening to his full height, and only then you realised just how much taller he actually was.
Well over a foot, if you had to guess. Which definitely wasn’t something you were thinking about either.
His eyes lingered on yours for just a second longer before he looked over towards your dad.
“So,” he said, lifting the six-packs. “Where do you want these?”
Your dad muttered something unintelligible while gesturing vaguely towards the house.
Eddie looked back at you.
“You wanna show me where the kitchen is?”
You raised an eyebrow at that.
If Eddie was more than just your dad’s tattoo artist — which, judging by how comfortably the two of them interacted, he clearly was — then he absolutely knew where the goddamn kitchen was.
But still.
“Sure.”
Turning on your heel, you led the way inside.
Entering the kitchen, your mom had just put the lid on the bowl of potato salad before turning around and making a beeline for the backyard.
Balancing the bowl on her hip, she pulled Eddie into a quick side hug, asking how his dad had been while you set your bottle down on the counter and opened the fridge.
“I’m gonna see if your dad needs any help,” she said over her shoulder. “Be right back.”
You hopped up onto the counter beside your beer as Eddie stepped over the fridge.
“How long are you staying?” he asked absentmindedly while tearing the plastic wrapping off one of the six-packs.
“I fly back on the twentieth of August,” you answered lightly.
A low whistle escaped him before he spared you a quick glance as he returned to stocking the already overcrowded fridge.
“That’s a long time to spend in a town like Hawkins.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Especially when you’ve got New York to go back to.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for your bottle again. Your fingers absentmindedly started peeling away the label. “It’s just…”
The sigh that followed was almost drowned out by the refrigerator humming as it struggled to keep up with the summer heat and the open door.
“It’s not what you expected?” Eddie offered.
“No, it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “More than I expected, actually.”
You looked down at the bottle slowly turning between your fingers.
“But I guess I found out there’s beauty in simplicity, too.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you after that.
Eddie finished squeezing the last few cans into the fridge before his eyes drifted towards the nearly empty bottle in your hands.
Without asking if you wanted another one, he reached in one last time and grabbed two cold beers.
“I spent twenty years trying to escape this place.” He popped the caps off both bottles with a battered old lighter before holding one out towards you. “Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Yeah.” You bit your lip as your fingers curled around the cold bottle. “I’m thinking about moving back next year.”
His eyebrows lifted at the confession.
Taking a long sip of his beer, he stepped closer to the counter and leaned against it, turning his face towards you.
“It’s the rent, isn’t it?” He teased.
“Definitely.” A laugh escaped you before you took another sip.
The sound of clattering dishes and your parents’ laughter drifted through the cracked kitchen window, filling the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you.
“So…” you spoke up after a few moments. “Your own studio, huh?”
Eddie’s eyes, which hadn’t really left your face since he’d walked over, softened into a smile before he glanced down at his boots.
“It’s busier than I expected,” he admitted, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. “Guess Hawkins isn’t the conversative little town it used to be.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Oh, yeah.” A disbelieving chuckle slipped from him. “The principal called my old man the first time he saw this.”
He swapped the beer into his other hand before extending his right arm towards you, and your eyes immediately fixed on the faded marionette inked across his forearm.
“Master of Puppets by any chance?” you asked quietly.
His gaze lifted from the tattoo to your face. “You’re a Metallica fan?”
You tipped back the last of your first beer before answering.
“I went through a metal phase,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Always skipped that song, though.”
Eddie tilted his head back dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as though you’d personally offended him.
“Oh, fuck off.”
A laugh burst out of you at his antics.
“Welcome Home was my favourite.”
“Jesus,” he sighed. “That’s somehow even more depressing to hear, sweetheart.”
The word settled somewhere low in your stomach.
Not because it was particularly intimate — if anything, it rolled off his tongue with the effortless ease of someone who’d probably called half the town sweetheart at one point or another.
But it somehow felt different directed at you.
Heat crept into your cheeks as you looked away, your tongue absentmindedly sweeping across your bottom lip before your attention dropped to the empty bottle in your hand. You rested it against the windowsill, intending to throw it away later.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, searching for the right words. “Guess I–”
“Pigeon!” Your dad’s voice boomed from the backyard. “Help me light the goddamn grill, for the love of God.”
You squeezed your eyes shut before answering.
“Coming!”
Eddie’s snort of laughter followed you as you hopped off the counter.
“I should probably go save him from himself.”
“Probably for the best,” he grinned. “I’d hate for your old man to burn his eyebrows off before lunch.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the back door.
Being your parents’ only child, your dad had spent the better part of twenty years making sure you knew how to do just about everything he could think of — from managing your finances, although he sometimes questioned your abilities, to cooking what he insisted was the perfect steak.
Which was why, apparently, you were the only person capable of getting the grill started.
The very same grill he’d begged for two Father’s Days ago after doing, in his words, extensive research on the best one money could buy.
Your beer instantly found a home on the folding table beside it as you crouched down to inspect the brand-new gas cylinder.
A sigh escaped through your nose as you shot your dad a quick glance before you reached down and connected it to the grill.
“Just tell me your knees are hurting next time.”
“That’s slander.”
“No,” you replied, straightening back up. “That’s old age, Dad.”
Somewhere behind you, Eddie laughed.
You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch him leaning back in one of the lawn chairs, beer balanced against his tattooed knee and a grin still lingering across his face.
Your dad, meanwhile, looked thoroughly offended.
“I’ll have you know these knees still work perfectly fine for my age.”
“Clearly.”
You turned the gas valve before pressing the igniter, and the grill roared to life on the first try.
“There.” You dusted your hands together. “Happy?”
“I would’ve gotten there eventually.”
“But you wouldn’t have gotten back up.”
The familiar creak of the backyard gate interrupted whatever comeback your dad had been preparing.
A chorus of cheerful greetings immediately followed as a handful of familiar faces filtered into the yard, coolers swinging from their hands and bowls of homemade food balanced carefully against their hips.
Your mom was already making the rounds, hugging nearly everyone before they had both feet inside the gate.
It didn’t take long for the backyard to settle into the kind of comfortable chaos that only existed at neighbourhood barbecues. Someone had already claimed the lawn chairs beneath the shade, while another group gathered around one of the many coolers in search of cold drinks.
Laughter drifted across the yard, blending with the occasional pop of early fireworks somewhere in the distance as the late-morning sun climbed steadily higher.
“You wanna help me with the pool?” Your mom asked as she approached, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “God knows your father will take too long getting it out of the garage.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Keeping her arm around you, the two of you made your way towards the garage.
During one of your many phone calls, your mom had mentioned she was planning on spring-cleaning it, but you hadn’t actually believed her until you stepped inside.
Gone were most of the shelving units that had once covered the entire back wall, along with the countless heavy boxes that had sat on top of them. The concrete floor looked freshly swept, and judging by the faint smell that still lingered in the air, the walls had recently been given a fresh coat of paint, too.
“So,” your mom started casually as she searched between the remaining boxes, “what do you think of Eddie?”
You turned towards her just in time to stop yourself from looking quite as startled as you felt.
“Uh…” You cleared your throat. “Yeah. He’s… cool.”
If she’d noticed the slight hesitation or the awkwardness creeping into your voice, she didn’t let on.
“He’s handsome too, isn’t he?”
“Mom.”
She dismissed your protest with a wave of her hand, a grin already spreading across her face.
“Oh, come on. I’m not blind, Pigeon.” She crouched down to tug at a large carboard box before looking back up at you. “And I’m closer in age to him than I am to your father.”
Right.
The age gap between your parents was practically the size of the Atlantic Ocean.
But still somewhat smaller than the Pacific Ocean-sized gap between you and Eddie.
Guess having a thing for older men ran into the family.
“He kind of looks like one of those boys you have all over your bedroom walls.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Just… older. And without make-up.”
“I guess.” You shrugged, hoping the conversation would die there.
The sound of cardboard scraping against metal shelves echoed through the garage as your mom finally managed to wrestle the pool box free.
She let it drop onto the floor with a heavy thud before turning back to you, the faint smile she’d been wearing slowly softening.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” You nodded a little too quickly before reaching down for one side of the box. “Of course, Mom.
She studied you for another second or two before deciding not to push any further, and offered you a warm smile.
“Come ne.” She grabbed the other end of the box and nodded towards the backyard. “The longer we wait the longer it’ll take to fill the pool.”
The box was just as awkward to carry as you remembered, and your mom laughing at the disastrous way the two of you shuffled back towards the party definitely earned her a look.
Somehow, the two of you managed to carry it across the backyard before dropping it onto the grass with a heavy thud.
You immediately crouched down to pry open the cardboard flaps, fishing the instruction booklet from the top for a quick refresher. A few pages flicked by beneath your thumb as your eyes skimmed over the familiar diagrams.
“We’ve been putting this thing up for almost a decade, Pigeon.” Your mom looked down at you as though consulting the instructions was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever witnessed. “We don’t need the instructions.”
“Last time I was here, this thing nearly collapsed,” you muttered dryly, still scanning the pages.
A teasing smile spread across her face. “What happened to all that loud Girl Power thing of yours?”
“I turned the volume down,” you deadpanned, setting the booklet aside before reaching for the folded blue liner.
The plastic unfolded with a dramatic whoosh, nearly knocking your backwards. Your mom burst into laughter, gripping the edge of one of the folding tables to steady herself.
“Oh, shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You carried me for nearly ten months. I’m literally capable of reading your thoughts, Mom.”
Still chuckling, she helped you spread the liner across the grass while the metal poles clicked together with familiar little snaps.
As always, the liner refused to cooperate, folding in on itself every other minute before one of you inevitably sighed, untangled it, and started again.
From the other side of the backyard, Eddie tipped his bottle back before glancing over at the two of you with quiet curiosity.
“Should we help them?”
Your dad looking over his shoulder, and a chuckle escaped him before he turned his attention back to the burgers sizzling on the grill.
“Not if you wanna keep your head.”
By the time the pool was finally standing upright instead of threatening to collapse every five minutes, the sun had climbed high enough for the backyard to shimmer beneath the relentless July heat.
Burgers and hotdogs had long since disappeared from paper plates, coolers had been emptied and restocked more than once, and you’d already claimed the half-filled pool despite the water still being cold enough to make you swear.
The other guests drifted in and out of the house as though it were their own, someone had put on a questionable summer playlist that crackled through the garden speakers, and every now and then another firework echoed somewhere across town despite it only being four in the afternoon.
Somewhere between rescuing your dad from overcooking another batch of burgers, helping your mom carry dishes back and forth, and watching Eddie seamlessly weave himself into every little task the afternoon seemed to produce, he had quietly made it a habit to bring you a fresh beer whenever he got one for himself.
You never asked. He simply remembered.
You’d spent the last ten minutes talking to one of your mom’s friends about New York, college, and the seemingly endless questions of the existence of someone in your life.
“So you’re still studying psychology?”
“Art therapy,” you corrected with an easy smile, grateful for the change of subject.
“Oh, right!” she laughed. “I keep forgetting.”
She excused herself to the bathroom not longer after that, and before the chair she’d left beside the pool had even stopped rocking, a smudge of black dropped into it.
Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, one arm draped over the backrest of the pool.
“First Zeppelin, then Metallica, and now art therapy.” He took a slow sip of his beer as his eyes drifted towards you. “You’ve got a surprisingly eclectic résumé.”
A laugh escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
Silence settled between the two of you for a few seconds before he broke it again.
“I gotta admit,” he started, unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” Your eyebrow lifted.
“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully and took another sip of beer. “I’ve heard so much about you over the last year that I think I accidentally invented an entirely different person.”
He looked you up and down — but not once did he linger anywhere below your clavicles.
“You’re considerably more interesting that I had imagined.”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you tilted your head to the side.
“I would’ve thought you’d have learned how to flirt better at your old age.”
Eddie barked out a surprise laugh.
“Old age?”
“You heard me.”
He was still too busy laughing to notice your fingers curling around his beer bottle. You stole it from his hand with surprising ease before taking a slow sip without ever breaking eye contact.
His laughter faded as you tipped the bottle back.
“Careful. Keeping doing things like that,” he smiled, “and people are gonna think you like me.”
“What if they are right?”
Your fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary against his when you handed the bottle back.
“I don’t know.” He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle again. “You tell me.”
Neither of you looked away, and after a moment, Eddie scratched thoughtfully at his beard.
“You wanna know something,” he began slowly, his eyes dropping briefly to the bottle in his hand before finding yours again. “I’ve been trying very hard not to flirt with you all day.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded once.
“Thought it’d be inappropriate.” His gaze flickered towards your parents for the briefest of moments before returning to you, shrugging lightly. “You know… Me being friend with them and all.”
The pool creaked softly as you leaned back against the wall, cool water lapping gently around you. Tilting your head back just enough to let the afternoon sun warm your face, you closed your eyes with a quiet sigh.
“You’re forgetting there’s a big age gap between them too,” you murmured.
Silence settled for another moment — long enough for you to become acutely aware that he still hadn’t looked away.
In fact, you were fairly sure his eyes had trailed somewhere past the tight straps digging into your shoulders.
“Thirteen isn’t quite the same as twenty-three, sweetheart,” he replied distractedly.
“No,” you admitted as a quiet laugh escaped you, opening your eyes again. “I suppose not.”
“It’d be different if I didn’t know them.”
You studied him for a moment, catching the way his gaze indeed lingered on your bikini before trailing up to meet yours.
“You know,” you stared slowly. “You’ve been doing a terrible job with the whole not flirting thing.”
“Yeah?” Eddie barked out a laugh. “Thought I was being subtle.”
“There wasn’t anything subtle about the way you just stared at my breasts, Eddie.”
You bit your bottom lip to stop the smile threatening to spread across your face as you watched his mouth fall open.
That was clearly not something he’d been expecting, and for what was probably the first time all afternoon, he looked completely speechless.
His mouth opened once, only for him to close it again. then he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, clearly searching for something — anything — to say.
Somewhere behind him, your dad’s booming laugh cut through the silence that had settled between the two of you.
“Ed!” he called from the grill, and pointed towards the man standing next to him. “Get over here. You gotta hear this.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered back to you for one last glance before he pushed himself up from the chair.
“Try to pay attention,” you called after him before he’d fully turned around, and then lowered your voice just enough as you continued. “And try not to imagine them without the bikini.”
If he hadn’t been flustered before, he certainly was now — the flush spreading across his milky cheeks deepened as he paused mid-step, his mouth opening before immediately closing again.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Then, as he started walking backwards towards your dad, he pointed the neck of his beer bottle in your direction.
“We’re not done with this.”
A grin tugged at your lips.
“Promise?”
For a split second, he looked like he’d forgotten how words worked.
Then he simply shook his head, mumbled something and laughed under his breath as he finally turned away.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away much the same way the earlier hours had.
Somewhere along the way, your dad had insisted on putting on his classic rock playlist after declaring the previous one too depressing, despite nobody remembering who’d put it on in the first place. A few more neighbours filtered through the creaking backyard gate with desserts balanced on plates, while the coolers slowly emptied for what had to be the fifth time that day.
Every now and then, you’d catch Eddie looking your way.
Sometimes he’d smile. Other times, he’d simply lift his bottle ever so slightly in your direction before absentmindedly dragging his tongue across his bottom lip and returning to whatever conversation he’d been pulled into.
And every single time, your stomach betrayed you over the smallest breadcrumb of attention he offered.
The relentless July sun eventually began to lose some of its bite, giving way to a softer warmth that settled over the neighbourhood, while the sky above slowly traded its bright afternoon blue for streaks of peach and pale gold stretching lazily between the telephone poles.
The water that had felt heavenly just an hour earlier had cooled enough for goosebumps to creep across your arms. With a quiet sigh, you climbed out of the pool and reached for the towel draped over one of the lawn chairs.
As you dragged it over your arms, your gaze wandered across the backyard.
People were sitting instead of standing now. The grill had long since been turned off, paper plates were stacked in uneven piles on the folding tables, and the softer evening light settled gently across everyone’s faces.
This was exactly what you’d missed; not the fireworks, or even the stupid holiday, just this. People lingering without watching the clock. Conversations drifting from one topic to the next. Nobody in a hurry to leave.
After drying your feet just enough to slip your sandals back on without worrying about eating shit in front of half the neighbourhood, you made a beeline for the house.
You had barely let go of the screen door behind you when it was pulled open again from the other side. The damp strands clinging to the back of your neck barely shifted as you glanced over your shoulder.
Eddie.
“…Toilet,” he mumbled, though the word lost some of its conviction when his eyes betrayed him and briefly flickered to your hard nipples peeking from underneath the bikini before snapping back to your face.
“Right.” The corners of your mouth twitched as you turned around and continued walking. “You know where that is or do you want me to show you that too?”
The screen door slammed shut behind him.
“Funny,” he muttered, falling into step a few paces behind you.
Resting you hand against the banister, you paused just long enough to watch Eddie reach for the downstairs bathroom door, only to find it occupied.
“Be out in a minute,” your dad’s muffled voice called from the other side.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you watched Eddie pull a face.
“There’s one upstairs you can use,” you offered softly before turning towards the staircase without waiting for an answer.
The heavy footsteps against the old wooden steps were enough, anyway.
Once upstairs, you silently pointed towards the door next to yours before disappearing inside your own room.
Pretending to have forgotten to close the door behind you wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?
Biting your thumb, you waited for a moment until the loud flush from the bathroom next door slipped through the cracked bedroom door, followed shortly by the brief hiss of the sink before throwing the bikini on the wooden floor with a wet slap!
A content sigh escaped you at the freeing feeling of finally peeling it off, the towel quickly finding its way across your chest before you leaned over your bed in search of the first oversized shirt you could find in your bags.
While pulling the shirt out of your bag, the familiar stick-covered door creaked further open again.
“Interesting interior design.”
You glanced over your shoulder just enough to Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes slowly wandering across the pale green walls before landing on you.
“One Direction and Black Veil Brides posters weren’t exactly what I was expecting.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme today, huh?” you replied with a small smile before turning back and throwing the towel onto the bed before pulling the shirt over your head.
It took him longer than expected to find a reply.
“You keep surprising me.”
Behind you, Eddie wandered farther into the room with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, taking his time looking over the bookshelves and framed photographs scattered between rows of well-loved fantasy books.
You’d long since stopped feeling embarrassed every time someone looked at your old pictures. If anything, they only made you feel strangely nostalgic now.
“How old were you here?” he asked quietly, his attention fixed on a framed picture of you and your dad and a sea of strangers behind you.
You followed his gaze, landing on the picture your mom had taken at your very first concert.
Mark Knopfler — not exactly your first choice, but after your parents had failed to find someone willing to babysit, you’d ended up having to tag along anyway. Looking back, it had eventually become one of your favourite childhood memories.
“Twelve, I think.”
Taking advantage of Eddie’s attention remaining glued to the picture, you stepped out of your damp bikini bottoms before pulling on a pair cotton shorts you’d fished from your bag.
The quiet rustle of fabric followed by the metallic clink of a small tin opening finally pulled his attention away from the picture. His eyes settled on the weathered little metal box resting in your hands, the dents and scratches along its surface giving away years of previous owners.
“You smoke?” you asked, holding up the small resealable bag tucked.
A crooked smile slowly spread across his face.
“I used to deal when I was your age,” he admitted with an almost sheepish shrug. “Obviously I don’t anymore but…” His eyes flickered briefly towards the bag before finding yours again. “Yeah. I still smoke on occasion.”
Your eyes wandered over him almost absentmindedly, taking in the faded band shirt, the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric, the rings decorating his fingers and the curls brushing his shoulders before one corner of your mouth tugged upwards.
“Yeah, I can see that.” One teasing eyebrow lifted. “I bet you had the whole bad-boy thing going on.”
A warm laugh rumbled from his chest.
The silence that followed settled comfortably between the two of you as you returned to the task at hand — grinding the buds, laying a thin layer of tobacco onto the rolling paper, and tucking a paper filter into one end.
Heavy footsteps echoed softly against the walls as Eddie wandered farther into your room before eventually settling onto the edge of your bed beside your begs.
“Not bad,” he murmured, watching your fingers roll the paper back and forth before your tongue swept across the adhesive strip to seal it shut.
The brief glance at your mouth hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Many years of experience,” you chuckled.
“You say that like you’ve been smoking for a decade.”
“Eh.” You shrugged. “Half of one.”
You tapped the finished joint against the little metal tin a few times to pack the contents before pushing yourself off the bed and making your way over to the window seat.
Eddie’s eyes drifted towards the open bedroom door.
“Your parents don’t mind?”
A laugh escaped you as you accepted the lighter he held out before patting the empty cushion beside you.
“My dad doesn’t care as long as I’m not doing coke,” you replied with a shrug. “And my mom will probably ask for a hit later.”
The old wooden window seat creaked beneath the added weight as Eddie settled beside you. It was just wide enough for the two of you, provided you both kept your legs on the ground or close to your chests.
The excess paper burned away beneath the warm flame of his lighter, and before long the room filled with the familiar earthy scent you only let yourself indulge in every now and then.
The first drag hit the back of your throat in a sharpness that almost made you cough — though, thankfully, not quite to embarrass yourself — and left behind the grassy, slightly citrusy taste you’d always associated with summer evenings.
Just like that, the joint began making its way back and forth between the two of you while the muffled sounds of laughter, music and clinking bottled drifted up from the party downstairs.
“So…” Eddie finally spoke after another drag, exhaling the smoke slowly through his nose. “Art therapy.”
You looked over at him.
“What do you actually do?”
“It’s pretty much in the name,” you smiled, handing him the lighter when you noticed one side of the joint had started burning unevenly. “Traditional therapy doesn’t work for anyone.”
Eddie took another drag while he waited you to continue. When you didn’t, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“Tell me more.”
“You sure?” A small smile tugged at your lips as you accepted the joint back from him. “Because once I get started, I tend not to shut up.”
“I enjoy flirting with you,” he admitted with a quiet smile, “but I’d like to get to know you better, too.”
The warmth that spread across your cheeks had absolutely nothing to do with the weed of the last few remaining streaks of golden sunlight.
Your eyes dropped briefly to the lighter turning absentmindedly between his fingers before you took another drag and handed the joint back.
“We guide clients through different themes and encourage them to express themselves through art,” you began, speaking a little slower than before as the familiar fogginess settled comfortably over your thoughts. “Afterwards, we reflect on what the creative process might be communicating rather than focusing on whether the artwork is actually… good.”
Eddie nodded quietly, never once interrupting or taking his eyes off of you.
Encouraged by the genuine interest in his expression, you found yourself explaining how different materials could encourage different forms of expression, why the finished piece almost never mattered, and how every client inevitably communicated something unique through whatever they created.
Only when you heard yourself wandering into the four levels of expression did you finally stop.
“Sorry,” you mumbled with a sheepish smile, scrunching your nose.
“What are you apologising for?” Eddie asked gently, tilting his head before offering the joint back to you.
“I tend to…” you shrugged, lighting the uneven edge again before taking another drag. “Ramble.”
“You shouldn’t apologise for being passionate about something.”
His words settled over the room almost as softly as the evening sunlight pouring through the open window.
“You’ve got this look on your face when you talk about it, you know.”
“What look?” You frowned.
“The same one people get when they’ve found the thing they’re supposed to do.”
It took a few long seconds for his words to truly settle while all you could do was look at him.
No teacher, no classmate, not even your parents had ever described it that way.
And somehow, hearing it from a man you’d only met that morning made something warm settle quietly in your chest.
The grip you had on the joint faltered ever so slightly as your lips slowly parted.
Before you could think twice about it, you pushed yourself away form the wall and reached up to cradle his face between both hands, gently pulling him into a kiss.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Eddie’s lips were every bit as soft as they looked.
It took him the briefest moment to realise what was happening before his eyes fluttered shut and his head instinctively tilted, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.
One of his ringed hands, warm and calloused, settled naturally against your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the fabric of your shirt before you slowly pulled away again.
“…Sorry,” you breathed, slightly out of breath.
Hazy brown eyes searched yours for a quiet moment while his free hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You really gotta stop apologising, sweetheart,” he murmured with a chuckle, his gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“Sor–”
The word died somewhere behind a bashful laugh as your eyes darted anywhere but his face. When you finally looked back at him, he still hadn’t moved.
This close, you could make out the crow’s feet fanning gently from the corners of his eyes and the faint smile lines that years of laughter, cigarettes and sunshine had carved into his face. Even the way he smelled was somewhat different now that there was hardly any space left between you — a clean, woodsy scent with something faintly minty lingering beneath the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
Almost distractedly, your tongue swept across your bottom lip before you leaned forwards once more, pressing a lingering peck against his lips.
“Why tattooing?” you asked quietly as you settled back against your side of the window seat.
Eddie’s hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before reluctantly slipping away.
“That’s one hell of a subject change.” He replied with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A quiet laugh escaped you when you realised you were about to apologise again before stopping yourself.
“I know.”
He reached for the joint absentmindedly, brushing his fingers against yours for a moment longer than necessary,
“Because it isn’t only about tattooing.” His eyes found yours again after he lit the joint. “It’s about making people feel heard for a couple of hours.”
He shrugged lightly and took a drag before continuing.
“The ink’s just the excuse they give themselves for walking through the door.”
“That sounds familiar,” you murmured, gently taking the joint from his fingers.
Eddie’s eyes drifted briefly toward your bent legs before he wrapped a hand around your shins and effortlessly pulled them across his lap.
“I guess that’s another thing we have in common, huh?” you added with a small smile.
Somewhere across town, the first proper fireworks of the evening split the sky open, their heavy booms rolling across Hawkins until they drifted through the open bedroom window.
You’d been too distracted by the bursts of colour blooming against the deepening purple sky to notice that Eddie hadn’t looked away once.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the evening?”
An easy laugh escaped you.
“It would, yes,” you admitted, slowly catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you turned back toward him. “But you’d also be right.”
“Good.”
The smile that spread across his face was slow and unhurried.
He looked at you through his lashes for a quiet moment before his lips pulled into a smile.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to invite myself over to your place?”
Your attention barely lingered on the dying joint as you stubbed what remained of it against the brick windowsill outside before looking back at him.
“I was actually hoping you’d say that.”
His thumb, heavy silver ring catching the last of the evening light, traced slow, absentminded circles just above your ankle while the fireworks continued blooming somewhere beyond the open window.
Your eyes drifted past him and landed on the open bedroom door, where the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking bottles still floated up from the backyard.
“We should probably head back down,” you suggested quietly.
Eddie let out a thoughtful hum.
“Probably.”
Neither of you made any move to leave just yet. His thumb continued tracing slow circles against your ankle while your eyes slowly found his again.
“…Definitely.”
Another few seconds passed before the two of you finally laughed and pushed yourselves off the window seat.
You slipped your sandals back on before turning around to find Eddie leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What?”
“Just admiring the view,” he answered lowly.
A quiet chuckle escaped you as you shook your head.
“You definitely don’t know how to flirt.”
“And somehow I still got you to kiss me, hm?”
Uncrossing his arms, he reached out and gently pulled you toward him by your waist.
Under the warm glow spilling in from the hallway, his eyes looked closer to amber than the deep brown you’d grown used to over the course of the afternoon.
His gaze wandered painfully slowly down your face before settling on your lips, his tongue absentmindedly sweeping across his own.
Then he leaned down until his lips found yours again.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly against your waist as a quiet, involuntary sound escaped you when his tongue brushed softly against your bottom lip, and for one brief moment the rest of the house disappeared entirely.
“Now we can go downstairs,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
Eddie stepped back as though he hadn’t just turned your already hazy mind into complete mush, only sparing you a grin over his shoulder before making his way toward the staircase.
“You comin’, sweetheart?”
The conversations in the backyard hadn’t even faltered when the two of you stepped outside again.
Well… Almost.
Your mom looked up from her folding chair, her slightly bloodshot eyes moving from you to Eddie and back again while one eyebrow slowly lifted.
The smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth was barely contained before she decided to let whatever she’d noticed slide.
“Did you seriously smoke without offering your own mother a hit?” she asked instead, narrowing her eyes at you before finally giving in to the grin.
“You were busy,” you shrugged, reaching for her beer and stealing a quick sip.
“Was I now?”
“There’s more than enough upstairs if you want to roll yourself one.”
By the time your mother had finally worked up the motivation to leave her chair and roll herself a joint, and the first few proper firework bloomed overhead, most of the neighbours had settled into folding chairs scattered across the backyard.
The conversations had quieted, drifting lazily beneath the warm July night while bursts of colour painted the sky overhead every few minutes. Somewhere between the booming fireworks and the shrieks of the neighbourhood children slowly fading as midnight approached, the backyard gradually began to thin out as people responsibly decided they’d had enough to drink and wandered back home.
It hadn’t taken long for your mom to return with a slightly wonky-looking joint between her fingers before settling back into the chair beside your dad, while he and Eddie effortlessly fell back into conversation.
You had quietly started making your way around the backyard, gathering abandoned paper plates in one hand and empty beer bottles in the other.
“Leave it, Pigeon,” your mom called softly from her chair. “We can do it tomorrow.”
“It’ll rain tomorrow,” you replied absentmindedly as you dropped another stack of paper plates into a garbage bag. “Besides, I don’t mind.”
Somewhere between politely turning down the joint your mom offered him and your dad deciding to get up and help you, Eddie quietly slipped inside to use the bathroom.
While you held the garbage bag open, your dad tossed in whatever disposable cups, napkins and paper plates he’d come across, the two of you working together in an easy silence that only came from having done this after every barbecue for as long as you could remember.
“You know, Pigeon,” he started quietly after a while, glancing up at you before pointing toward his nearly white hair, “as you can probably tell… I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You merely blinked at him before reaching for another abandoned plate.
“And I’m not blind either.”
“Dad—”
“I’d be a hypocrite to, I don’t know…” He vaguely gestured over his shoulder. “…tell you not to see him.”
“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief moment as warmth crept steadily up your neck. “I really don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Me neither,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “Glad we got that sorted.”
His attention drifted toward the screen door just as the faint sound of the downstairs bathroom door opening echoed through the house, followed by the familiar weight of heavy footsteps making their way back outside.
“Listen, I’m just saying…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you wanna go with—”
“Dad.”
“Yep. I’m done talking.”
He clapped his hands together once before plucking the garbage bag from your grip. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the large bin just outside the fence gate, leaving you standing in the middle of the backyard with burning cheeks and absolutely no desire to think about the conversation you’d just had.
The backyard had grown quiet by the time the very last neighbours wandered — more like stumbled — home, offering lazy waves and promises to see one another before the next barbecue.
Your mom stretched with a content groan as she pushed herself out of her folding chair, gathering the last few empty bottles with her joint carefully balanced between two fingers, while your dad carried the final cooler back towards the garage.
Eddie stepped back into the backyard and held the screen door open for your mom before making his way over to where you stood.
“So…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You still serious about inviting yourself over?”
The way he stood awkwardly in front of you — absentmindedly rubbing at his neck while looking at you with an expression that betrayed far more nerves than he’d probably care to admit — pulled a small smile onto your lips.
It was surprisingly easy to forget the age difference when he looked at you like that.
“If I’m still allowed to be presumptuous.”
“Always.”
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you while your eyes drifted somewhere over his shoulder.
Your dad had apparently taken the long route back inside through the front door and now stood in the kitchen beside your mom, and had his back turned towards the backyard.
Mostly.
Every now ant then, he’d steal a quick glance over his shoulder while pretending to be far more invested in the conversation he was supposedly having with your mom.
A quiet sigh escaped you.
“Can we get out of here before my dad tries to talk to me again?”
Eddie followed your gaze towards the open kitchen windows.
“Did he say something?”
The question came so casually that you almost answered it. But instead, your eyes squeezed shut for the briefest moment.
“Please don’t ask.”
“That bad?” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, but now I’m invested.”
Before you had the chance to explain that no, he really didn’t, your mom reappeared in the screen doorway and leaned casually against the frame behind it. Her eyes wandered from you to Eddie and back again while she absentmindedly patted her pockets in search of her lighter.
“Take your keys,” she mumbled around the joint tucked between her lips before finally lighting it and taking a slow drag. “You’re too old to be sneaking in.”
A horrified groan escaped you.
“Mom.”
“You’re complaining like I’m not a cool mom or something,” she laughed, completely unfazed by the look you shot her as you brushed past.
“Right now?” you muttered while disappearing into the kitchen. “You damn straight you aren’t.”
Your keys were still sitting exactly where you had dropped them that morning.
By the time you stepped back outside, Eddie had pressed his lips together so tightly they had almost disappeared, and the warning finger you pointed at him did absolutely nothing to help.
“Don’t.”
His shoulder bounced ever so slightly, while a reluctant laugh escaped you despite your best efforts as you guided him towards the fence gate. By the time the two of you stepped out into the quiet street, your parents had already disappeared upstairs for the night, leaving only the warm porch light glowing beside the screen door.
The walk to Eddie’s truck passed in an easy silence — the kind that settled naturally after spending an entire day talking.
He unlocked the passenger door for you before making his way around to the driver’s side, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled away from the curb that the two of you finally looked at each other.
Neither of you said a word for a moment. Then, almost simultaneously, the memory of your mother’s comment caught up with you. The first laugh escaped Eddie, while yours followed a heartbeat later.
Within seconds, the cab of the old Ford filled with the kind of helpless giggles that only came after an exhausting — but undeniably wonderful — day.
“She’s unbelievable sometimes.”
“Your mom really doesn’t have a filter, huh?”
He glanced over at you, his grin softening as he brought the truck to an easy stop at a red light.
Your own smile lingered with the familiar streets of Hawkins rolled quietly past outside, the last few fireworks still blooming overhead as Eddie shifted the gears once the light turned green and turned onto the road leading towards downtown.
There was little movement left at that hour and even less sound, save for the occasional firework rumbling somewhere in the distance.
The warm glow spilling from inside one of the storefronts caught your attention long before Eddie slowed the truck to a stop. The neon sign above the tattoo studio had been switched off for the day, but a lamp somewhere inside still cast a welcoming light through the front windows. Through the glass, you could make out framed flash sheets and posters covering the walls, the familiar outlines of tattoo chairs sitting further back in the room.
Eddie switched off the ignition before turning towards you.
“This is me,” he said quietly, gesturing towards the apartment above the studio.
“Must be nice,” a small smile tugged at your lips as you followed his finger, “never being late to work.”
A laugh rumbled from his chest as the click of your seatbelt echoed through the cab. “You’d be surprised how often I’m late.”
“Eddie.” Your eyebrows lifted as you turned towards him.
“How would they know I wasn’t upstairs finishing someone’s design?” he replied with a grin as he pushed open his door.
The heavy door of the old Ford creaked far louder than either of you would’ve liked as he walked around to open yours, though neither of you paid it much mind — compared to the occasional boom of fireworks still echoing somewhere over Hawkins, it barely made any sound at all.
Eddie pushed the passenger door shut behind you with one hand while digging through the front pocket of his short for his keys.
The warmth of his palm settled against the small of your back as he guided you towards the unassuming door tucked beside the storefront window, its surface covered in layers of old stickers and faded spray painted tags.
The lock gave way with a quiet click before he nudged the door open with his foot and gently tugged you inside by your wrist. After pushing it shut behind the two of you, he shot you a quick glance over his shoulder as he led you up the steep staircase.
Neither of you made any attempt to fill the comfortable silence by the time you reached the top. The moment Eddie stepped into the narrow hallway leading towards the living room, he crouched down to loosen up the laces of his boots before straightening again and flicking on the lights.
And suddenly, the apartment was there — like it had been ripped straight out metalhead magazine.
The polished wooden floors carried a dark lacquer that caught the warm light overhead, while the walls had been painted a deep shade of grey that border on charcoal and decorated with framed vintage band posters. It wasn’t overly tidy, but it wasn’t messy either.
Just… extremely Eddie.
Your eyes wandered curiously around the living room as you stepped farther inside.
Eddie lingered in the doorway leading to what looked like the kitchen, his lips pursed slightly as his gaze quietly followed you taking everything in.
“You, uh…” He scratched at his beard. “You want something to drink?”
Your tongue swept across your bottom lip as you slowly approached the leather couch, your fingertips trailing absentmindedly along the backrest.
“Are you nervous?” you asked gently instead of answering.
A quiet, awkward chuckle escaped him.
“Kinda, yeah,” he admitted with a bashful smile. “It’s, uh… been a while.”
Your gaze lingered on his face for another moment.
The thin silver hoop through his nostril caught the warm light overhead, and his salt-and-pepper curls had become just frizzy enough throughout the day that they felt impossibly soft beneath your fingers as your hand found the back of his neck.
Had it not been for the genuine uncertainty and awkwardness swimming in his brown eyes, it would’ve been impossible to believe what he’d just said.
Not when he looked like that. Like he had just stepped out of a fucking Lana Del Rey music video.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, your nails lightly scratching at the curls near the nape of his neck. “It’s been a while for me too.”
The nervous glimmer in his eyes slowly melted into something closer to disbelief as his hands settled more firmly against your hips, gently drawing you closer.
“Bullshit,” he snorted, fingertips pressing playfully into your sides. “You’re way too smart and ridiculously beautiful.” His eyes wandered across your face. “No way you don’t have an entire fucking queue of men begging for your attention.”
A bashful laugh escaped you.
“Yeah, well…” You shrugged lightly. “New York’s full of douchebags who think playing Hey There Delilah on an acoustic guitar is the secret to get girls to hop on their dicks.”
“Hey There Delilah?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Seriously?”
“Either that or Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.” You rolled your eyes. “And believe me, neither of them sound particularly romantic in that annoying Dave Mustaine kind of twang.”
“Hey, now,” he said, lowering his voice. “No Dave Mustaine slander in my home.”
A grin slowly tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Or what?”
The faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the apartment settled between the two of you while Eddie simply looked at you.
Long enough for three cars to pass somewhere out on the street below.
Of all the shit you’d thrown his way throughout the day, surely this wasn’t going to be the thing that finally made him reconsider inviting you over.
A startled shriek escaped you when he suddenly swept you off your feet and effortlessly threw you over one shoulder.
“I’m getting real tired of that fucking mouth of yours,” he muttered, unable to hide the laugh threatening to break through his voice as he carried you out of the living room and back towards the hallway.
While the view of his ass was admittedly nice, it also meant you had absolutely no idea where he was taking you.
The dull thud of his foot against a door echoed through the apartment before old hinges creaked in protest, followed by the faint rustling of fabric somewhere in the darkness as Eddie stepped inside the pitch-black room.
Finally pulling you off his shoulder, another wave of shriek-induced giggles escaped you when your back met a surprisingly soft mattress, the old springs dipping beneath your weight.
For a brief moment, all you could make out was Eddie’s silhouette standing over you, tall frame and broad shoulders, barely outlined by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtain.
Your heart stumbled over itself when the faint outline of his body disappeared around the other side of the bed before he reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
There was something inherently unfair about the way the warm amber light settled across his face when he looked back at you, turning his eyes into something closer to honey than brown.
You couldn’t remember who moved first. One second you were still leaning back on your elbows, and the next Eddie was straddling your lap, both hands buried in your hair while your mouth instinctively parted for his.
He kissed you slowly at first, like he wasn’t feeling the same desperate drop in his stomach that had just swept through yours. Then, the moment your barely contained sigh reached his ears, the kiss deepened.
He tasted faintly of the last beer he’d had hours earlier, and it only made your head spin faster when his familiar, comforting scent settled around you. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the heavy silver rings scratching lightly against your scalp while the other cradled your cheek as though you were something impossibly delicate.
This wasn’t anything like the kiss you’d shared back in your childhood bedroom — not even close.
He kissed you like a starving man. Teeth brushed against teeth, his tongue met yours with an urgency that stole the air from your lungs, and his fingers tightened gently around the strands of your hair before giving them an experimental hard tug.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice rough as he slowly pulled back just enough to look at you.
A dry lump settled in your throat beneath the weight of his gaze, and swallowing around it became nearly impossible when his hands drifted from the back of your neck to the curve of your waist.
“I mean… That fucking bikini?” A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he pushed a few loose curls away from his face, holding them back for a moment while he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Teasing me like that all day was fucking unfair.”
The slightly nervous, awkward man from just minutes ago had disappeared, his voice lowering into something quieter, more confident — and just a little condescending.
Eddie was the first to lose his shirt, tugging the dark fabric over his head and making his curls bounce free in the process.
“Fuck.”
The word slipped from your mouth before you had the chance to stop it.
The loose-fitting shirt he’d worn all day hadn’t done his body any justice. He was built in that particular way that wasn’t overly muscular, but just enough for the ink stretched across his skin to move with every shift of his shoulders and every steady breath he took.
Your eyes couldn’t decide where to settle — on the large neo-traditional Saint George slaying the dragon spread across his stomach, on the mirrored goats framing the saint, or on the blacked-out star that had replaced his left nipple.
Warm fingertips gently harshly into your cheeks finally pulled your gaze away from the artwork scattered across his chest and back, forcing your eyes to meet Eddie’s once again.
A knowing smile had already settled across his lips by the time you looked up.
“If you could only see yourself right now, sweetheart,” he chuckled, giving your cheek a couple of light, teasing taps. “Looking all dumb and drunk…” His grin widened ever so slightly. “…And I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Eddie’s expression softened just enough as he lowered his voice.
“You tell me if I start doing something you don’t like, yeah?”
You merely blinked up at him for a few long seconds, your mind too busy trying to catch up with everything he was making you feel to form a coherent thought. Eventually, you gave him a small, stiff nod, his fingers still gently pressing into your cheeks.
“Words, sweetheart.”
A quiet groan escaped you.
“Yes, Eddie.”
His eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly searching for any signs of hesitation or discomfort before he finally let go of your cheeks when he found none. The bed creaked beneath the two of you as Eddie pushed himself off your lap and stepped to the foot of the bed instead.
The loss of his weight and the overwhelming warmth of his presence was immediate. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed the way your eyebrows had drawn together ever so slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he slowly peeled off his shorts, his eyes never once leaving your face.
You couldn’t help the way your gaze wandered lower with every new inch he revealed.
He really was a walking piece of art. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, different tattoo styles stretched across his legs, and scattered freckles and little moles interrupted the ink here and there, making him feel all the more real beneath the artwork.
And then your eyes trailed back up, stopping right at the ridiculous volume he’d been packing underneath his clothes.
The heavy denim hit the floor with a dull thud before Eddie made his way around the bed once more. He gave your cheek another three gentle taps before helping you to sit up, only to step in behind you a moment later. The mattress dipped softly beneath his weight as he settled against the headboard, drawing you back with him until his bare chest rested flush against your back.
“The first thing I’m gonna do,” he murmured absentmindedly, his hands settling around your thighs as his thumbs alternated between slow strokes and gentle squeezes, “is take a good, long look at whatever you’ve been hiding from me underneath that shirt.”
His fingertips gradually wandered higher until they found the hem of the oversized fabric.
“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping another notch as he slowly began gathering the fabric in his hand, “when I’m done teasing you…” The shirt slid painfully slowly up your frame. “I’m gonna do what I’ve been wanting to do all fucking day.”
One hand left your waist and slowly travelled upwards until it settled against your cheek, gently turning your face towards the full-length mirror standing against the opposite wall.
It had been hidden behind his frame when he’d stood at the foot of the bed, but now there was nothing shielding your reflection from view.
Eddie rested his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing featherlight kisses along your skin while the hand curled around the hem of your shirt continued slowly pulling the fabric higher. Only when the fabric reached your shoulders did he finally have to lean back from you, lifting it the rest of the way over your head. The oversized shirt fell to the ground without either of you paying much attention to it.
His warm hands trailed your arms as the two of you looked at your reflections in the mirror.
Your breath, already quick and shallow, hitched as Eddie leaned to kiss the crook of your neck. His lips left intense and tingling kisses in their trail, and it felt like his dark eyes, transfixed on the way your ribs expanded as you fought for air, bore holes in you.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your neck. He propped his chin on your shoulder, leaning forwards and flickered his gaze down to your breasts, warm fingers trailing to meet the spot where his gaze had been fixed. “They’re even better than I’d imagined.”
Your fingers were tearing all the loose skin around your nails and your throat went dry when Eddie’s hands cupped your breasts. Four of his ringed fingers found the underside of your boobs, while his thumb traced soft circles right above your nipples.
When Eddie felt your face angling to meet his eyes, he immediately curled his thumb and forefinger around your nipples, tugging hard to get your attention.
“Eyes on the mirror.”
The hard squeezes he gave you only made your back arch away from his chest, which was apparently something else he wasn’t satisfied with; he put more pressure on your breasts, not only on the fingers around your nipples, but to pull you back flush against his chest.
“F-fuck.”
You blinked, taken aback by the way Eddie was playing with your chest. The warmth of his fingers and the harsh tugs sent a thrill down your spine. The world narrowed to the press of his chest against your back, the way he touched you, the slide of his lips against your neck.
Eddie’s fingers rolled your nipples, relishing the way you kept arching away from him only for him to pull you back twice as hard. His dark eyes found the mirror again, and the reflection showed him everything – the parted sheen of your lips, the feverish glaze of arousal in your eyes. It was dizzying, intoxicating even, and he’d decided then and there that he could watch you come undone like this forever.
“M-more,” you whimpered. “Please.”
A condescending chuckle escaped Eddie at your request. He increased the pressure, pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples until you’re choking on your own breath and writhing against him.
He kept drinking in the sight of you, desperate for more. Reverently, he covered you with his hands once more, thumbs circling your nipples before he ducked to suck the spot right beneath your ear. The hot suction made you cry out, fingers reaching out to tangle in his greying curls to hold him closer. Teeth grazed lightly before soothing with flicks of his tongue.
The way you’d started to rock your hips against the bed hadn’t gone unnoticed by him — not when the small of your back hit his erection every time you ground back and forth.
“You’re so responsive,” he praised huskily, trailing biting kisses across your neck and shoulder. “Gonna make you fall apart.”
The wicked promise sent a fresh wave of heat flooding your veins. You could only nod frantically, surrendering yourself to whatever the fuck he wanted to do to you.
When a broken whimper escaped you, Eddie gentled his touch, caressing your trembling form with soothing strokes. He let go of one of your breasts and cradled your face in his hand. He pressed tender kisses to your temple, to your cheekbone, to the corner of your mouth. He traced the delicate line of your jaw, the graceful column of your throat, marvelling at the power he wielded over you.
He let go of your face, not without turning you back towards the mirror, and trailed his hand down your abdomen, dipping just below the waistband of your shorts—
Only to immediately retreat with a teasing nip at your belly.
You feel his lips, still resting against the side of your cheek, pull into a smirk when another broken whimper escaped you.
Eddie flickered his eyes up to meet your through the mirror. He drank in the sight of you drunk and desperate in his hold. With deliberate slowness, he hooked his free hand in your waistband, dragging the elastic just low enough for him to find a thin lined tattoo that had been hidden under your bikini all day — he couldn’t read what it said from where he sat, but he’d find out soon enough.
“P-please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” he purred, trailing his hand lower until his fingers were met your drenched folds. He slowly circled your aching clit, watching your body bow off the mattress with dark eyes. “This?”
“E-Eddie—”
“Or maybe this?”
Without warning, he plunged two thick digits inside you, pumping steadily as his palm ground against your swollen clit. Your shattered moan was music to his ears, spurring him on. He worked you mercilessly, curling and stroking your inner walls until you’re writhing mindlessly, chasing the feeling.
Eddie abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you bereft and whimpering. He caught your pleading gaze through the mirror, a wicked glimmer dancing in his dark eyes.
“I’m not done teasing you, sweetheart.” He sucked harshly at your throat, sinking his teeth in the skin before smoothing it out with his tongue.
His calloused hand mapped the contours of your body, cupping and teasing until you were all but a puddle on his bed. Deft fingers plucked at your nipples, rolling and tugging until the sting blended into electric pleasure.
And then his touch is nowhere to be felt — not his hands on your breasts, his plush lips against your neck, or even his warm chest against your back.
Standing up from behind you, he guided you until you were perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the mattress. He knelt before you, the heat of his gaze searing as he slowly pulled your shorts down your thighs, inch by torturous inch until you were bare in front of his eyes. Your breath came even shallower and faster, skin prickling with anticipation.
Eddie froze at the sight of your tattoo, his eyes darkening and his lips pulling slowly into a smirk.
“Valentine, huh?”
He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his tousled hair. His gaze darted between your face and the ink marring your skin. Slowly, he reached out to trace the still-healing letters with the tip of his finger, watching your skin jump and quiver under his touch.
When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, the look in them is dizzying. His ringed fingers danced higher, teasing the creases of your thighs. He parted your legs with a practiced touch, exposing you fully to him.
The first swipe of his tongue is electric, drawing a broken moan from your lips. He growled low in approval, doubling his effort until you were trembling and whimpering helplessly.
It was one thing when boys eat you out, but this?
Eddie acting like he was hungry, making out with your pussy?
Jesus fucking Christ.
Dark grey curls tickled the insides of your thighs as pressed his face harder against your slick folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit and tongue circling your leaking slit.
With one final, devastating lick, Eddie pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate. His dark eyes bores into yours through his lashes as he issues a husky directive.
“Keep those pretty eyes on yourself.”
He hooked one trembling leg over his broad shoulder, spreading you wider. Cool air met your dripping core, followed by the hot rasp of Eddie’s tongue painting your slit. Your reflection was debauched perfection – hair mussed, the thinnest layer of sweat covering your forehead, lips parted on breathy cries.
Just as you crested the peak, teetering on the knife’s edge, Eddie retreated once again. Denial clawed viciously at your insides. He grinned at your anguished whimper, clearly relishing in the control he held over your pleasure. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, pupils blown wide with need. Eddie drank in the sight, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he prepared to drive you wild once more.
Then, without taking his rings off, he pushed two fingers in your dripping pussy, pumping steadily as he leaned back down to suck at your clit. He maintained his punishing pace, alternating between deep, probing thrusts and fluttering licks that made you see stars.
“F-fuck. Ed-Eddie!”
The coil wound tighter with each pass of his tongue, with each hard, curling thrust of his fingers, until you writhed shamelessly, reduced to garbled curses and pleading whimpers of something that vaguely resembled his name.
Ecstasy crashed over you in dizzying waves, every nerve ending alight with bliss. Eddie worked you through it, wringing out every last shudder and aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.
You watched through hooded eyes as he rose, stalking towards you with a shiny lips pulled into a knowing, cocky smirk and a glint in his eyes.
His knees made a faint cracking sound as he climbed up the bed. With tender care, Eddie gently pulled you upright, gathering your limp form into his arms. He claimed your mouth in a deep, searing kiss, swallowing your dazed whimpers at the taste of your own release.
You clung to him, moulding your arms around his neck as his tongue brushed against yours. He guided you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. The solid heat of him grounded you even as residual tremors wracked your frame. Calloused fingers trailed reverently over your sweat-slick skin, mapping every dip and swell.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered when he pulled away from your lips, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Just breathe.”
Eddie continued cradling you close, murmuring soft reassurances. His wandering hand slipped lower, deft fingers pushing his boxers down just enough to free his straining length. You felt the swollen tip notch against your slit, poised to claim you fully.
“Gonna fill you up now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravelly with need.
His other hand still held the back of your head, pushing you down to keep you in the crook of his neck while he pushed himself deeper and deeper, until he sheathed himself to the hilt.
“Ed– Mhmm!” Your cry is muffled against his sweat-dampened skin as he started to move, rolling and grinding until you were a boneless, pliant thing in his arms. His hand roamed restlessly, mapping every hidden place that made you gasp and writhe until reaching your ass, pulling you harder against him.
“Keep looking in the mirror f’me, weetheart.”
The filthy visual drove you wild — tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and tattooed back, the depraved picture the two of you painted together. Eddie’s murmured command urged you on, hips moving in filthy counterpoint to his steady thrusts.
“F-fuck. Just like that,” he groaned approvingly, fingers digging bruises into the globe of your ass.
He moved faster, harder, grinding deep until you were sobbing wordlessly. Distantly, you registered the crude slap of skin on skin, the lewd squelch of his cock working in your sopping cunt. Tension coiled tight and taut, winding higher with each precise hit against that delicious, hidden spot. You were so close again, watered eyes staring back at the ridiculous way Eddie had your eyebrows pulled together and your teeth sunk in his shoulder.
You convulsed in his arms, wailing your release to the ceiling. He worked you through it ruthlessly, wringing every last drop until you collapsed limply against his tattooed chest, utterly spent.
Eddie, not being a complete monster, gave you a brief moment to catch your breath before gently pushing you onto your back. He positioned himself between your spread thighs, looping one leg high up over his hip. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, stretching you deliciously.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned out as he gave you a hard thrust. “Crying as I fuck you stupid.”
His intense gaze locked with yours, dark with hunger and devotion. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew until just his tip remained nestled inside your slick walls. Gripping your thigh, he rolled his hips in a slow, sensual grind, until he had you arching into his touch.
“P-please, Eddie,” you whimpered.
Eddie’s eyes gleamed with delight at your breathy plea. He maintained his torturously slow rhythm, leaning down to capture your nipple in his teeth, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. He soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue before switching to the neglected nipple, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.
“Hm? You want more?” Eddie rumbled, voice dripping in sin. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”
He straightened up, hands gripping your raised thigh as he powered into you with deep, jarring strokes. The change in pace had you seeing stars, inner walls clamping down desperately. Eddie set a brutal pace, grunting with effort, determined to unravel you one more time before he even considered letting himself come.
Eddie’s calloused finger found your swollen clit, circling maddeningly as he pounded into you. Electric shocks of pleasure radiated outward as he varied his technique — brushing feather-light, flicking firmly, rubbing in maddening figure-eights until you’re writhing beneath him, incoherent with need.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned out, eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the salty tears rolling down the sides of your face. “Just one more, that’s it.”
Another finger joined the fray, plunging deep in tandem with his thrusts. The dual stimulation proved too much, and your orgasm barrelled through you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.
Eddie’s eyes widened as your release gushed forth, wetting the base of his cock and the lowest part of his stomach.
“F-fuck,” he groaned, momentarily stunned by the sight of you squirting over him. “So beautiful when you let go f’me.”
He didn’t relent, continuing to pump into your spasming heat. Overstimulation warred with reluctant pleasure, keeping you suspended on a razor’s edge. Eddie’s grip tightened, anchoring you as he ground deeper, working you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm.
“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the side of your neck as he quickened his pace, desperate for his own release. “I– Fuckfuckfuck.”
Your spasming walls milked his cock mercilessly. With a guttural groan, he hilted deep, painting the insides of your pussy in thick, milky ropes of cum.
Wave after wave crashed over the both of you, seemingly endless. Through it all, he kept your trembling form anchored, murmuring praises into the sweaty crook of your neck.
“Good girl, took me so well.” Eddie placed a lingering kiss against your throat.
Eddie held himself up, gazing down at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide with satisfaction, damp grey curls clinging to his eyebrow. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his sculpted torso, highlighting every ridge, valley and detail of his tattoos.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered.
“I’ve never–” You gulped down, licking your lips as your eyes trailed down to the base of his cock. “Not with somebody else, I mean.”
Eddie followed your gaze to the few translucent beads decorating his happy trail, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached down, swiping a finger through the slick trail, bringing it to your lips for a taste.
The gesture made a whole new wave of heat spread across your face. Hazy with the aftermath, your lips instinctively parted further, while Eddie hummed at the sight of you sucking his finger.
A broken moan spilled from your lips as Eddie slowly pulled out. The loss of the fullness left you aching, empty in a way that bordered on painful with your muscles fluttering weakly in protest, seeking to draw him back in.
Eddie pressed soothing kisses to your dampened temple. Carefully, he arranged you atop the tangled sheets, cradling your spent body flush against his larger frame. One hand drifted low to gently clean his leaking cum while your fingertips traced the bold lines on his stomach.
“Didn’t take you–” You cut yourself off with a broken hiss when Eddie’s fingers thrusted back into your pussy. “F-for the rel-religious type.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled — whether it was at your comment or on the way you’d reacted at the intrusion, you didn’t know. “Just have a thing for dragons.”
His deft fingers continued their shallow thrusts, coaxing forth fresh waves of sensations.
“What about that Valentine tattoo of yours?” he urged, voice low and enticing as he ignored the strangled whimpers spilling from your lips. The pad of his thumb found your swollen clit, circling with maddening slowness. “Tell me about it.”
“J-just thought it’d be hot.” You gulped down at the sight of Eddie’s lips stretching into a grin. “Someone reading it if they went—”
Eddie’s grin widened at the confession. His free hand traced idle patterns across your skin, while the other continued abusing your overly sensitive pussy.
“P-please, Eddie,” you begged. “I c-can’t.”
“Just one more?” he whispered back, biting his bottom lip. “Please, sweetheart.”
His eyes had softened at the broken sounds spilling from your lips, but there was no mercy in them. The answer you gave him, another broken whimper, was punctuated with a curl of calloused fingers, grazing that deep spot.
Your spine arched helplessly, mouth falling open on a silent scream as new tears rolled down the sides of your face. Through the haze of overstimulation, Eddie’s face came into focus above you, awash with smug satisfaction.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just one more, that’s it.”
“Eddie!”
He gathered you tenderly into his arms as you shuddered through the aftershocks, ragged breaths mingling with your whispered name.
“Atta girl,” he murmured approvingly, stroking damp strands of hair from your eyebrow. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”
You felt absolutely boneless in his embrace, barely incapable of pushing his hand away when he gave your clit one last, teasing, flick. Eddie’s fingers mapped soothing circles across your back, gentling you from the high.
“I could really use that drink now,” you mumbled tiredly against his chest.
A quiet chuckle rumbled beneath your cheek. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Eddie shifted carefully beneath you before easing you back onto the mattress. The bed dipped as he climbed off, pausing only long enough to brush a few strands away from your face before disappearing through the bedroom door.
The room fell strangely quiet without his presence. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the old floorboards creak beneath his footsteps somewhere down the hall while the occasional boom of another firework echoed faintly through the open bedroom window.
The corner of your mouth tugged upwards before you could stop it.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You’d left New York that morning convinced you were coming home for nothing more than a quiet summer with your parents. Instead, you’d somehow ended up in the apartment of the ridiculously handsome tattoo artist you’d met at ten-something in the morning.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway carrying two empty glasses in one hand, a bottle of water tucked underneath his arm and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
“There she is,” he smiled when he found you exactly where he’d left you. “Didn’t know which one you’d want.”
“Water, please.”
He crossed the room and handed you the bottle before settling back onto the mattress beside you, balancing a on one thigh while he poured himself a generous splash.
The water was almost painfully cold against your dry throat. You hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until nearly half the bottle disappeared in one go.
“Damn,” Eddie chuckled, watching you lower the bottle. “You weren’t kidding.”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.
The room settled into another comfortable silence. Outside, another firework bloomed over Hawkins, briefly washing the bedroom in flashes of red and gold before fading back into the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Eddie rested against the headboard, his shoulders brushing yours as he lazily turned the whiskey around in his glass.
“So…” he said after a while.
“So...”
A teasing smile spread across his face. “I think your mom likes me.”
That pulled a laugh from you loud enough to echo around the bedroom.
“Obviously. You’re her friend.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tilted his head.
“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, taking another sip of water. “She’s probably thinking you’ll tattoo her for free now, since you fucked her daughters brains out and all that.”
Eddie barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his whiskey.
“I knew there was a catch.”
“There always is.”
He looked at you for a moment, the grin lingering on his face. He swirled the amber liquid around his glass for another second before speaking again.
“What’s yours?”
“My what?” You frowned. “My catch?”
“There’s gotta be one, right?” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the nightstand. “Because a girl your age, pretty and smart and funny, doesn’t just sleep with someone my age after meeting, what? Fifteen, sixteen hours ago?”
You looked at him for a long moment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening the longer you held his gaze.
“That’s not fair.” You ignored the confusion that flickered across his face, and turned to set your water bottle on the nightstand before reaching for your discarded shirt. “Not to me, and not to you either.”
“Sweetheart, wait.” His voice lost every trace of teasing. Before you could pull the shirt over your head, his hand found your wrist, not enough to stop you by force, only to make you pause. “I didn’t mean…”
He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I wasn’t trying to put words in your mouth.” His eyes searched for yours as he let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “I guess I still have a hard time believing someone like you would look at someone like me and think, Yeah that’ll do.”
“I didn’t come home with you because you’re some hot, older tattoo artist.”
He stayed quiet, and you could almost see him trying to work out what you were going to say next.
Your eyes drifted away for a moment, replaying the day in your head. The beers he’d quietly kept replacing before you’d even realised yours was empty. The way he’d helped your dad with the grill without being asked. The way he’d sat beside you in your childhood bedroom, genuinely listening while you rambled his ear off about art therapy.
“You looked at me all day like I was someone worth getting to know.” A small smile found your lips, and you slipped your fingers around his. “You actually listened when I started rambling.”
A soft scoff escaped you, followed by easy chuckles as your eyes trailed him up and down.
“The tattoos are nice, and the curls definitely helped too.” Your expression softened. “But I came home with the man who made me feel like the most interesting person in every room we walked into today.”
Your eyes drifted down to the floor, finding his black shirt lying forgotten close to where yours had been. Without saying a word, you tossed yours back down next to it and reached for his instead.
Neither of you felt any need to fill the silence while you slipped your arms through the sleeves, the fabric hanging far too large on your frame and carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and mint, cigarettes and whatever laundry detergent he used.
When you turned back around, you found Eddie staring at nothing in particular, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Hey.”
His dark brown eyes lifted immediately.
“C’mere,” you whispered.
You eased yourself back onto the mattress before shuffling closer and gently tugging at his arm until he followed, settling onto his side to face you.
His hand found your waist almost instinctively while yours came to cradle his jaw, your thumb lazily tracing circles along the stubble covering his cheek.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Studio’s closed on Sundays.”
“Good.” A small smile found your lips. “I want a private tour. After you make me breakfast.”
“Oh, wow.” The grin that spread across his face was slow enough to make your own grow wider. “Demanding, are we?”
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description: Eddie Munson has been a regular at your coffee shop for four months before either of you finally exchange names. After that, it's easy conversations and the sort of harmless crush you swear you'll eventually get over. Meanwhile, your sorority house becomes the target of increasingly disturbing phone calls. You just never think any of it has anything to do with the sweet guy who calls you 'sweetheart' every morning at seven.
pairing: ghostface!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: ghostface!eddie munson, stockholm syndrome ish! reader, obsessive!eddie, stalker!eddie, dark romance, predator/prey dynamics, possessive!eddie, yandere vibes, knifeplay, fear and attraction, the mask STAYS ON, dead dove, if crazy why boyfriend shaped
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!! (like fr). stalking, home invasion, coercive behavior, CNC themes, power imbalance, murder, mentions of rape, alcohol use, dead dove
WC: 8.4k
A/N: well well well...the longggg awaited part two is here. i had this and 'i pine, i perish' in my drafts for WEEKS but i had zero time to edit/finalize them etc...BUT i just got an IUD so i am bed-ridden, meaning lots of writing >:).
****disclaimer****: hi <3 friendly reminder that this is a Scream-inspired work of fiction. i am certainly not endorsing any of the behaviors depicted here in real life (w/o consent, ofc). if you're here because you enjoy horror and fictional men who desperately need to be institutionalized, you're in the right place.
reblogs are always appreciated <33
xoxoxoxoxo enjoy, my loves :)
You sat there panting, the haze of sensations slowly fading as Eddie’s head rested in the crook of your neck, catching his breath.
For a moment, everything felt oddly normal. Just you, sitting at your desk, post-sex with a guy you’ve had a crush on for what felt like forever.
Then the cruel realization began to hit when you analyzed your surroundings: Eddie’s cloaked body and masked face pressed against your bare body, knife still gripped tightly at your side, and the looming fact that your former sorority sisters and friends were all dead.
Every single one of them. Besides you.
The reality of it settled heavily into your chest as your gaze slowly drifted to the white mask still obscuring his face. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved.
Then, slowly, your hand reached up. Eddie stiffened; you felt that immediately. But he didn't stop you.
Your fingers found the edge of the mask and peeled it away.
Eddie stared back at you. Not a stranger, not some faceless monster, just Eddie. The same dark curls. The same amber eyes. The same face that had smiled at you every morning across a coffee counter. The same face that had called you sweetheart. The same face you'd spent months developing a crush on.
For a second, neither of you seemed capable of processing it. You already knew. Some part of you had known long before he started talking. Long before he'd mentioned the coffee shop. Long before he'd started listing all the tiny details he'd memorized about you.
Still.
Actually seeing him felt devastating. Eddie's expression shifted through a dozen emotions at once. Relief. Fear. Regret. Something dangerously close to panic.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. "It was you."
Eddie looked away. For the first time all night, he looked genuinely exhausted. He leaned forward, grabbing a discarded shirt from the floor beside your desk before handing it to you.
"Put this on."
You stared at him. For one brief second, he almost looked embarrassed, like the situation had suddenly become too real for him too. Slowly, you pulled the shirt over your head.
Then the bedroom door opened, and both of you looked up.
A second Ghostface stood in the doorway. His gaze bounced between you and Eddie, then to the discarded mask sitting beside him.
"...Oh." The voice was familiar.
Gareth. The freshman. The one they'd all laughed about. The one Madison had humiliated. The one who'd ended up in the hospital.
Gareth slowly reached up and removed his own mask. "Well."
He blinked. "I guess we're past secret identities."
You stared, your brain struggling to keep up.
Gareth looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie. "What are you gonna do with her?"
The question hung in the room. Eddie's jaw tightened as he turned to you.
"What do you want?"
You almost laughed. The question felt absurd.
"What do I—" Your voice cracked. "I want to be alive."
Silence. Eddie nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. "Okay."
Gareth frowned. "Okay?"
Eddie ignored him. Instead, he stood and began pulling the mask back on. The motion made your stomach drop.
"Eddie..."
He paused, then looked at you. The black eyes of the mask stared back.
"If you're the only survivor who walks out of this house untouched, they're going to arrest you."
The realization hit almost immediately, and your blood ran cold. Eddie continued.
"They'll think you did it."
"They'll think you helped."
"They'll think something."
Gareth shifted awkwardly. "He's got a point."
You looked between them, horrified.
"What are you saying?"
Eddie's shoulders rose and fell. "I'm saying I need them to believe you survived."
The room suddenly felt like it was impossible to breathe in.
"Eddie—"
"I'm sorry." Again, always with the sorry.
Before you could move, his gloved hand caught your shoulder. The next few moments blurred together. A shove, the edge of your desk catching your back hard. The cold tang of a knife slicing your arm. Then a straight plunge into the side of your hip. Pain began to explode behind your eyes.
Next, the floor rushing up to meet you. Voices becoming distant, muffled. Somewhere far away, you thought you heard Gareth arguing. Thought you heard Eddie snap back at him. Then darkness swallowed everything whole.
The next thing you became aware of was noise, so much noise. Radios. Voices. Footsteps. Someone saying your name. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
When they finally opened, bright lights immediately stabbed through your skull, and you winced. A police officer was kneeling beside you. Another stood near the doorway.
The room was packed with people. Crime scene tape. Paramedics. Flashlights.
Questions. Questions. Questions.
"What happened?"
"Can you hear me?"
"Do you know your name?"
You swallowed, and your throat felt raw. The last thing you remembered was Eddie. The mask. His eyes. The apology. Then nothing.
As the room spun around you, a paramedic gently guided you back against the wall.
"You were very lucky," she said softly.
Lucky. The word echoed strangely in your head.
The hospital room smelt like antiseptic and soap, and the buzzing of the overhead lights did nothing to soothe the pounding in what felt like your entire head.
It’d been a long day of answering questions between doctors, police officers, FBI agents, and worst of all, your mom. Every time somebody new walked into the room, it felt like the same conversation all over again.
What did you see? What do you remember? Did either of the attackers say anything? Did you recognize them?
You'd become very good at answering without actually answering.
"No."
"I don't know."
"It happened really fast."
"I'm not sure."
The lies got easier every time, which somehow made you feel worse. By the time the sun started setting outside the hospital windows, a detective was sitting across from your bed with a legal pad balanced on his knee.
"We're almost done," he promised.
He glanced down at his notes. "The nurses said you mentioned seeing two individuals upstairs."
You nodded. "I think so."
"You think so?"
Your fingers tightened around the hospital blanket. "I don't know."
He studied you carefully. "Do you remember anything else?"
The mask. The voice changer. Eddie's face. The flowers Gareth had brought Madison. Coffee cups. Blueberry muffins. Mornin', sweetheart.
You swallowed. "No."
The detective held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay."
It should've felt like a relief. Instead, guilt settled heavier in your chest.
Because you knew things; not everything, not enough, but more than you were telling them. More than anybody else in that building knew.
You'd spent hours trying to understand why. Why you were protecting him. Why every opportunity to tell the truth died before it reached your lips. It wasn't because he deserved it, you knew that much.
People were dead. Girls you'd lived with. Girls you'd laughed with. Girls whose names would be plastered all over the news for weeks. What Eddie did wasn't excusable. There wasn't a version of the story where it became okay.
And yet...
Every time you imagined saying his name aloud, something inside you recoiled.
Maybe because the version of Eddie sitting in your memories didn't match the version everyone was hunting.
Maybe because you couldn't reconcile the guy who fed stray cats and complained about hot dogs with the person standing behind the mask.
Maybe because part of you still couldn't believe they were the same person.
Or maybe because you were a coward. You honestly weren't sure anymore.
The detective eventually left while your mother stayed, unfortunately. The second the door clicked shut, she crossed her arms.
"There's something you're not saying."
You nearly choked. "What?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I know that face."
"There is no face."
"There absolutely is."
You groaned. "Mom."
"I'm serious." She sat down beside the bed. "You look guilty."
"I survived a massacre."
"I know."
The teasing disappeared immediately, and her expression softened. "I know."
After a moment, she reached over and squeezed your hand.
"The police said you can't go back."
You nodded; you already knew that much.
The sorority house was still an active crime scene. Forensics. Evidence collection. Photographs. Investigations. The place wouldn't be reopened for months, maybe longer.
The thought felt strange. Your entire college life had taken place inside those walls, and now they were covered in yellow tape.
Your mother sighed. "I found you an apartment."
You looked up. "What?"
"Off campus."
"When?"
"Today."
"Mom."
"What?" She shrugged. "I was stressed."
"It's in a good neighborhood."
"According to who?"
"According to me."
"That's not reassuring."
"It has security."
"Mom."
"It has locks."
You rolled your eyes.
She pointed at you. "I'm being serious."
A few hours later, after discharge papers and prescriptions and a dozen final instructions from nurses, you found yourself standing in front of a small apartment building on the edge of town.
It wasn't fancy. Just brick, three floors, quiet. The kind of place students rented when they wanted to avoid roommates and campus drama. Normally you'd have hated it. But tonight, it felt like a fortress.
Your mother helped carry in your things. A few bags of clothes. Textbooks. Your laptop. The essentials.
Neither of you acknowledged how little there was. Most of your belongings were still sitting inside a house nobody was allowed to enter.
Eventually she hugged you goodbye, a little too tightly, then she left. And for the first time since last night, you were completely alone.
You brushed your teeth, changed into sweatpants, and locked the front door twice. Checked the windows, and then checked them again.
By the time you crawled into bed, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones.
The mattress wasn't comfortable. The room didn't feel like yours. The ceiling looked wrong. Hell, everything looked wrong.
You rolled onto your side and pulled the blankets higher.
A week passed. At least, you thought it had been a week. Time felt strange now.
Days blurred together in a cycle of police interviews, missed classes, awkward condolences from people you'd barely spoken to before, and the constant feeling that everyone was looking at you differently.
The Survivor. The Final Girl. The Poor Thing. You hated all of it. The apartment helped a little.
You'd settled into a routine of locking every door twice before bed and checking the windows every night before sleeping.
The bruises across your body had faded from deep purple to sickly yellow, and the stitches in your scalp had finally stopped pulling every time you brushed your hair.
On the surface, things were beginning to resemble normal again. At least as normal as they could. Work had helped more than anything. The coffee shop was familiar, predictable.
Most mornings, you could almost convince yourself your life hadn't exploded. The problem was that every morning at seven, your eyes still drifted toward the front door.
The bell would jingle, A customer would walk in, and for one stupid second, your heart would jump. Only to sink again.
Because it wasn't him, never him. No dark curls. No leather jacket. No crooked smile. No "Mornin', sweetheart."
At first, you'd told yourself it was because he was hiding. Then because he was smart. Then because he was gone. The truth was probably all three. By the end of the week, you'd stopped expecting him altogether.
Which was exactly why you nearly dropped your keys when you walked into your apartment Thursday night.
The place was dark. You'd spent the entire day on campus meeting with professors and trying to convince everyone that no, you didn't need special treatment.
You were exhausted, and all you wanted was a shower and eight consecutive hours of sleep. You pushed open the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind you.
Then, you reached for the light switch, but the lamp in the corner flickered on instead. You froze.
Somebody was sitting on your couch. For one horrifying second, every muscle in your body locked. Then the figure leaned forward.
Dark curls. Black jeans. Familiar tattoos.
"Eddie."
He was sitting there like he'd been waiting for you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, and an open bag of pretzels resting in his lap.
Like, this was completely normal. Like he hadn't been the subject of a statewide manhunt seven days ago.
Eddie looked different. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper than you'd ever seen. His jaw was covered in several days' worth of stubble. But it was him. No mask. No voice changer. Just Eddie.
For a long moment, he simply stared at you, like he was making sure you were actually there. Then he glanced toward the locked door, back at you.
And said the first thing that came to mind. "You didn't rat me out."
You blinked. Of all the things he could've said, of all the possible openings, that was what he landed on.
"You broke into my apartment."
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "That wasn't a denial."
"Eddie."
"It wasn't."
You stared at him, and he stared right back. The familiar smile slowly faded, until there was nothing left except something that looked suspiciously like disbelief.
"You didn't tell them."
"No."
"Why?"
You looked away first. "I don't know."
"That's a lie."
"Probably."
Eddie exhaled quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor, then back to you. "I kept waiting."
"For what?"
"For the cops to kick my door down."
You swallowed. "Do they know where you live?"
"No." The answer was immediate.
"I haven't exactly been staying there."
Of course he hadn't.
You suddenly realized you'd never actually asked yourself where he'd been.
Eddie glanced around. "You got a nice place."
You looked at him incredulously. "That's your contribution?"
"What?"
"You vanish for a week."
"Mhm."
"I find you sitting in my apartment."
"Technically your living room."
"And your first real observation is that the place is nice?"
He considered that. "Second observation."
You folded your arms. "And the first?"
For the first time since you'd turned on the light, something softened in his expression. The concern you'd seen in your bedroom that night. The concern he'd spent the last week trying and failing to hide.
"You look okay."
You swallowed hard. "I mean, I'm not okay."
The words came out quieter than you'd intended. "How can anyone be okay considering what happened?"
The moment the sentence left your mouth, something changed in Eddie's expression. The concern disappeared; his jaw tightened and his eyes hardened.
He looked away and laughed once, a short, bitter sound. "Right."
"Eddie—"
"No."
He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away from the couch before dragging a hand through his hair. "No, you're right."
His voice was growing sharper now. "I should've just killed you."
The words hit like a slap, and your stomach dropped. "Eddie."
"I'm serious." He spun back toward you. "This is exactly why I shouldn't have come here."
"Eddie—"
"I knew this would happen."
His hands were shaking, not with fear, but with frustration. "I should've left you alone."
You stared at him, trying desperately to reconcile the guy standing in your living room with the one who'd spent months making you coffee-shop playlists and complaining about professors.
Finally, you found your voice. "Why?"
The question stopped him.
His expression flickered. "What?"
"Why did you do it?"
Silence.
"Eddie."
He looked away immediately. The first genuine hesitation you'd seen from him all night. "Don't."
"Why?"
His jaw tightened. "Because."
"Because what?"
"Eddie."
His refusal somehow scared you more than his anger. Slowly, you reached for your phone resting beside you on the couch. The movement was instinctive; you barely realized you were doing it.
Eddie did. His eyes snapped downward; then he was moving. His hand wrapped around your wrist hard before your fingers ever reached the phone.
You flinched, the reaction hitting him just as hard as it hit you. Eddie froze, staring at you while you gave him a look with scared eyes. Then his grip loosened immediately.
"I'm sorry."
His voice dropped, the anger disappearing almost as quickly as it'd arrived.
"I'm sorry."
He slowly released your wrist. You pulled it back against your chest, both of you breathing harder than before.
"I wasn't gonna call anybody." The lie sounded weak even to your own ears.
Eddie looked unconvinced. Finally, he sat back down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"The plan wasn't supposed to be this. We were angry."
His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"After Gareth."
You thought about the stories. The hospital. The rose. The humiliation.
"Originally, it was only supposed to be Donovin."
“The pledgemaster?”
Eddie nodded.
"Just him. We spent weeks planning it."
His laugh was humorless.
"Actually planning it. The mask. The voice changer. The calls. The whole thing."
He shook his head.
"Then Madison happened."
You closed your eyes briefly. The name still hurt.
"She wasn't the only one."
Eddie's voice had grown colder now.
"They all knew. They all laughed, all helped."
You thought back to the common room. The stories. The laughter. The way nobody had seemed bothered. Still.
"They didn't deserve—"
"No." His head snapped up. "They deserved worse."
The intensity in his voice made you recoil. Immediately, he saw it, and immediately, he hated himself for it.
"Eddie..."
He looked away. "You know what the funny part is?"
You didn't answer.
"I didn't even know you were one of them."
That surprised you. "What?"
"The sorority." His eyes found yours. "The day I asked your name."
Your stomach dropped. "My sweatshirt."
"Kappa Delta."
You remembered. "Oh."
Eddie laughed quietly. "I went home, and I was pissed."
The admission caught you off guard. "Why?"
"Because I liked you." Its honesty made your chest ache.
"And suddenly I find out you're one of them."
His gaze drifted toward the window.
"I thought I'd been wrong about you. So I started watching."
The words should've terrified you; they did. But they also sounded deeply pathetic and deeply human.
"I kept waiting for proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That you were like them. You never were."
He looked down.
"I watched you leave parties early. You spent Friday nights reading. You worked extra shifts. You brought leftovers home for the girls who couldn't afford takeout."
Your eyes burned.
"I watched you defend Gareth."
The room fell silent.
"And then I realized you weren't one of them."
A tear slipped down your cheek. "Eddie."
"No." He shook his head. "I know what you're gonna say."
"Do you?"
"They were your friends."
The words shattered something inside you immediately. Because they were. You started crying before you could stop yourself.
"They were." Your voice cracked. "They were my friends."
The apartment blurred.
"I lived with them. I knew them. They had families. They had—"
"I did you a favor."
The words cut through your sentence. You stared at him, horrified.
Eddie looked almost offended by your reaction. "They were awful to you."
"What?"
"They talked about you constantly."
The anger was back. Not directed at you, but at them.
"You think they liked you?"
"Eddie—"
"They made fun of you."
His voice rose. "They called you weird. They called you desperate. They thought you were embarrassing."
You shook your head. "No."
"Yes. They did." The certainty in his voice made your stomach twist.
Eddie leaned forward. "They had plans for you."
The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. "What plans?"
His jaw tightened. For the first time all night, he looked genuinely furious.
"The end-of-year retreat."
You frowned. "What about it?"
"They were going to frame you."
The words hit like ice water. You stared. "What?"
"They wanted to dump all the chapter finances on you."
His eyes darkened. "They were planning to accuse you of stealing."
Your breathing stopped.
"They thought it'd be funny."
"No."
"They did."
"Eddie."
"I heard them."
The conviction in his voice left no room for doubt. "They thought because you were quiet and not that involved, nobody would defend you."
He laughed bitterly. "Madison called you expendable."
The tears kept coming. You didn't know what hurt more. The possibility that he was lying, or the possibility that he wasn't.
Across from you, Eddie sat silently while the tears kept coming. You hated it, hated crying in front of him.
Hated that he was seeing you like this. Hated that some sick part of your brain still found comfort in the fact that he was here at all.
Your vision blurred as you wiped angrily at your face.
"Eddie, they were my friends." The words came out broken.
"They were awful friends." His response was immediate, like he'd been waiting to argue.
You laughed bitterly through your tears. "You don't get to decide that."
"No?"
"No." You shook your head. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies because they were mean."
For a second, you thought he was going to get angry again. Instead, his shoulders slumped.
The fight seemed to leave him all at once. Slowly, he moved closer. You should've moved away; you really should have. But you didn't.
"Eddie—"
"I'm not saying what I did was right."
You looked at him skeptically. "Really?"
"No." The honesty caught you off guard. "I'm saying I'm glad you're alive."
His voice had gone quiet, almost tired. "If that makes me selfish, fine."
You simply stared at him, and he simply stared back. Not like Ghostface, not like the guy the police were hunting, just Eddie.
The same guy who used to lean against the coffee counter every morning and give you butterflies with a simple grin. The same guy who remembered your favorite pastry. The same guy who somehow existed inside the same person who had destroyed your life.
"You deserve more than that place." His voice softened. "You deserve more than people who treat you like an afterthought."
You looked down. "They weren't all bad."
"No." His expression softened too. "I know."
The admission surprised you.
"I know they weren't."
Then Eddie carefully reached over and wiped away a tear you hadn't realized had escaped. The gesture felt strangely intimate.
"I was terrified you died."
Your eyes lifted to his. "What?"
"The night at the house." His jaw tightened. "When you got knocked out."
“Got knocked out.” Not, “After I knocked you out.”
The memory flashed through your mind. The bedroom. The mask. The darkness.
Eddie looked away. "I kept checking the news."
A humorless laugh. "Turns out every news station in the country was talking about you."
The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. "That's creepy."
"I know."
The fact that he agreed immediately made you laugh weakly. For the first time all night, the tension eased. Enough for you to finally ask the question that had been lingering in the back of your mind.
"So where have you been?"
Eddie leaned back into the couch. His expression immediately became more guarded. "What do you mean?"
"You and Gareth."
You shrugged. "It's been a week. No arrests. No suspects. No police showing up at your door. So, where have you been?"
For a moment, he seemed to debate whether he should answer. "Moving around."
"Moving around?"
"We stayed at a motel for two nights."
Your eyebrows rose. "A motel?"
"It was disgusting."
"I can imagine."
"The shower looked like it had diseases."
You snorted.
"I knew you'd find that funny."
The brief smile faded, then Eddie shrugged. "After that we split up for a little bit."
Your stomach twisted. "You split up?"
"Temporarily."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "We figured if they started looking at one of us, they'd find both of us."
Its practicality made your skin crawl, as they'd planned for this. Maybe they had.
"They haven't questioned you?"
Eddie shook his head. "Not once."
"What about Gareth?"
"Nope."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
His expression darkened. "They've been focusing on people connected to the sorority."
Your stomach sank. Of course they had.
"Campus security. Ex-boyfriends. Former pledges." Eddie laughed quietly. "One detective apparently thinks it was a drug deal gone wrong."
"What?"
"I know." He shook his head. "It's ridiculous."
The fact that he found the investigation amusing made you feel sick all over again.
A week ago, that would've been the biggest red flag in human history. Now it barely cracked the top ten.
"So you're just..." You gestured vaguely. "...hiding?"
"Pretty much." His eyes met yours. "We're trying to stay quiet. In case somebody finally starts asking the right questions."
You nodded, looking down at the floor.
You don’t know why you felt the need to tell him this next part. It felt almost as though you owed it to him. Why? You don’t know.
“You know…the uh, hospital had asked me some questions.”
He tilted his head. “What kinds of questions?”
You nervously bit your lip, a nasty habit you picked up somewhere after the events of this week.
“When they were giving me a full-body exam, you know…checking me out and whatnot. The nurses, they—” you paused, searching for the correct way to put it.
“They said that my vaginal tissue looked damaged. They assumed that you, that whoever it was—”
“No.”
You looked at him then, his eyes shifting to a combination of fear and sincerity.
“I would never do that to you. Do you think—did I?”
The question hung between you.
For the first time since he'd shown up in your apartment, he looked genuinely afraid of the answer. Not scared of prison. Not scared of getting caught.
Scared of you. Scared of what you might say.
Slowly, you shook your head. “No.”
The tension in his shoulders immediately eased.
“No,” you repeated. “I don't think that.”
Eddie let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days. “Okay.”
You looked down at your hands. “The nurses kept asking. They asked if I remembered everything.”
Your throat tightened. “They asked if somebody had forced me.”
Eddie's jaw clenched. You could practically see him replaying that night in his head. Every moment. Every choice. Every mistake.
“And?”
You swallowed. “I told them no. I told them I wasn't assaulted.”
Eddie stared at you, the realization slowly settling across his face.
You laughed bitterly. “Which was apparently not the answer they expected.”
“Sweetheart—”
“They wanted to do a rape kit.”
His expression immediately darkened.
You continued before he could interrupt. “And I refused.”
Eddie didn't move, didn't blink, didn’t breathe. He simply couldn’t.
You looked away. “The only DNA they would've found would've been yours.”
The words sounded strange spoken aloud, like you were talking about somebody else's life.
“They would've found evidence you were there.”
His eyes never left you.
You forced yourself to continue. “So I said no.”
Eddie looked stunned. “Why?” The question came out almost immediately.
You laughed once. “That's kind of what everybody keeps asking me. What I keep asking me.”
“No.” His voice was softer now. “Why?”
You rubbed your forehead. “I don't know.”
It wasn't entirely true; you did know, you just hated the answer.
Because somewhere between the coffee shop and the apartment and the hospital room...You'd made a choice.
A terrible one. A great one. One you still couldn't explain.
You looked up at him. “I knew what would happen.”
His brow furrowed.
“If they found your DNA, they'd start asking questions.”
“You covered for me.”
You nodded.
“You covered for me.”
Neither of you spoke for several seconds, then Eddie leaned back against the couch, looking completely bewildered. Like this outcome somehow even surprised him.
“You should hate me.”
The statement caught you off guard. “What?”
“You should.”
His eyes found yours. “Everybody else does.”
The sincerity behind it made your chest ache.
You shook your head. “I do hate you. Part of me does.”
Eddie nodded once, accepting it. “That's fair.”
Tears burned behind your eyes again. “Eddie, I don't understand anything anymore.”
His gaze softened immediately. “I know.”
“I hate what you did.”
“I know.”
“I hate that I lied.”
“I know.”
Your voice cracked. “And I hate that you're sitting on my couch right now and all I can think about is whether you've eaten anything this week.”
The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie froze.
Eventually, he looked down at the floor, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“I had a gas station hot dog yesterday.”
You stared at him, then groaned. “Eddie.”
“What?”
“A gas station hot dog?”
“It was surprisingly good.”
“You are unbelievable.”
The laughter faded quickly. Not because anything was funny, but because reality was still sitting between you on the couch.
"So what now?" He asked.
You stared down at your hands. You'd spent the entire week avoiding that exact thought. Now here it was, sitting beside you, looking at you, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know."
Eddie nodded once, as he'd expected it.
You swallowed. "I don't know what this is."
His gaze stayed fixed on you.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Then you laughed bitterly. "Part of me still likes you."
The admission hurt more than you'd expected. Because it felt wrong, terribly wrong.
"But every time I look at you..." Your eyes stung. "I see what happened."
Eddie's expression faltered. "I know."
"I see the house."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
"I see Madison. I see all of them."
Eddie looked away first. "I can't change that."
The honesty caught you off guard.
"I know."
"I wish I could."
"What if… I tried?"
You frowned. "Tried what?"
"To make it up to you."
A short laugh escaped you. "How exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"I don't know. But I'd figure something out."
You stared at him. There was something absurd about the conversation.
As if the two of you were discussing a bad breakup instead of mass murder. And yet...a part of you wanted him to prove you wrong, to fix his mistake.
"Okay." The word slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie blinked. "Okay?"
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
You weren't sure what you were agreeing to. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But for now, it was all you had.
Then Eddie's eyes drifted toward the dark circles beneath yours. The bruises still fading along your jaw. The way your eyelids kept drooping.
"You look tired."
You let out a laugh. "Observant."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
He stood slowly and almost reluctantly. Something in your chest dropped: the realization that he was about to leave, that you'd be alone again.
Eddie shoved his hands into his pockets. "I should go."
You nodded. Then, something took over you.
"Eddie."
He stopped immediately, turning back. "What?"
The question sat in your throat for several seconds. Long enough that you nearly changed your mind. "Stay."
Your face burned. "I just..."
You looked away. "I don't really want to be alone tonight."
The confession hung awkwardly in the air.
Eddie stared at you, for once looking genuinely surprised.
If anything, he thought you’d want to be alone, at least away from him. He’s the reason you’re afraid of the dark in the first place. But who was he to complain?
His expression softened then, the same way it used to in the coffee shop when you'd hand him a free pastry at the end of your shift.
"Okay."
Your chest tightened. "Okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
The answer was simple, like there had never been another option. You watched him settle back onto the couch. Then he patted his lap once, and you scootched over, resting your head on his thigh.
Within seconds, his fingers began raking through your hair. And within minutes, you drifted off without a second thought.
When you woke up the next morning, you were in your bed. Blankets wrapped around you just the way you liked, somehow in your pajamas, hair brushed, makeup off.
And Eddie was nowhere to be seen.
You looked around for a moment, scanning the room. Then the front door clicked open, causing you to jump upright.
“Who’s there—”
Eddie peeked his head in the doorway with a carry-out tray of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, kicking the front door closed with his foot.
“Just me, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “Have you ever seen horror movies? You should never ask ‘who’s there?’ You’re basically asking to get mu—” He paused, reading your expression.
“Anyway, I got your favorites.”
Your chest fluttered despite the comment. You turn to hop out of bed but pause at your keys still on the nightstand, raising your eyebrow while looking at Eddie.
“How did you…”
“Oh, I uh…made a second set.”
You nodded once, like that made sense. It shouldn’t have made sense.
But, in the series of events from the past week, this was one of the most normal ones.
"Anyways..." Eddie slid the coffee toward you before taking the seat across from you. "Got any big plans today?"
You pulled out one of the barstools at the small kitchen island. "Class at noon and then another at five."
He nodded.
"After that, I've got some staff and TAs mixer at one of my professors' houses."
"Sounds riveting."
"It'll probably be painfully awkward."
"You're definitely getting cornered by somebody who wants to talk about their dissertation."
"I wouldn’t even know what their dissertation is on."
"Doesn't matter." He shrugged, "They'll find a way."
A laugh escaped you as you unwrapped your breakfast sandwich.
For the next half hour, the conversation drifted effortlessly between complaints about professors, the coffee shop, Gareth's inability to cook anything that wasn't boxed macaroni, and Eddie's insistence that gas station coffee "wasn't that bad."
"It is."
"It builds character."
"It builds stomach ulcers."
"Semantics."
By the time the coffee cups were empty and the paper bag sat crumpled between the two of you, it almost felt normal.
Like you weren't sitting across from a murderer, and like he hadn't shattered your life barely a week ago.
Eventually, Eddie stood, gathering the trash before tossing it into the kitchen garbage.
"I should probably disappear again."
You nodded. "Probably."
He lingered for another second. "You'll lock the door?"
A small smile tugged at your lips. "I'll lock the door."
"And the windows."
"Yes, Mom."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. There are some weirdos out there after all."
"I know."
Satisfied enough, he gave you one last look before slipping quietly out the front door.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Your classes came and went without you retaining much of anything, your notebook filling with half-finished sentences and absent-minded doodles instead of lecture notes.
Every so often, you'd catch yourself staring out the classroom window, wondering whether Eddie was somewhere out there doing the same.
By the evening, the faculty mixer felt like the last place on earth you wanted to be. You almost skipped it.
Instead, you showed up fifteen minutes late with a bottle of cheap wine and every intention of making a polite appearance before slipping out after twenty minutes.
That plan lasted exactly twenty minutes. Someone handed you a drink, then another. Your professor insisted you stay for dinner. Another TA challenged everyone to a ridiculous card game. Before you knew it, hours had disappeared.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the relief of pretending, just for one evening, that your life hadn't become the lead story on every local news station.
Or maybe trauma had a funny way of convincing you to stay wherever your thoughts couldn't catch up to you.
Whatever the reason, by the time you finally stumbled back toward your apartment, the streetlights had already flickered on.
Your head buzzed pleasantly. You fumbled your keys into the lock and pushed the door open.
"...Huh."
The apartment was completely dark. No lamp by the couch. No light over the stove. You reached instinctively for the switch beside the door.
Click. Nothing. A power outage, perfect. You sighed to yourself, kicking your shoes off by the entryway.
“Fuck it,” You slurred. "I guess I'm going to bed."
Using the light from your phone, you carefully navigated the familiar apartment, shadows stretching strangely across the walls as you made your way toward the bedroom.
You sighed, already reaching for the bedside lamp out of habit, when a gloved hand clamped over your mouth from behind.
Your scream died against warm leather. The phone clattered to the floor, screen cracked but still glowing faintly.
"Shhh, sweetheart," his voice danced right against your ear. "It's just me. Missed you."
Your heart slammed against your ribs, half terror, half something far more dangerous. The alcohol still buzzed warmly in your veins, loosening the edges of your fear into something slick and needy.
You felt the hard press of his body against your back, the robe, the familiar weight of him.
He slowly removed his hand, but the knife's cold, flat side traced lightly down the side of your neck instead.
"You've been drinking," he observed, voice low.
"Did you miss me, too?"
You swallowed hard. "Eddie..."
He spun you around and shoved you back onto the bed. The mask loomed above you in the near-darkness, white and expressionless, knife glinting as he climbed over you.
Straddling your hips, he pinned one wrist above your head.
"I hope you don’t mind, but I read your diary, pretty girl."
The words hit like ice water. Your eyes widened. "You—"
"While you were out playing normal at that mixer." He tilted his head, the mask's black voids staring down at you. "Couldn't help myself. You left it right there on your nightstand like an invitation."
His free hand roamed down your body, squeezing your breast through your top, thumb dragging over your nipple until it peaked.
"All those late-night entries about the mask. About the knife. About wanting to be chased. Caught. Used." He chuckled lowly.
"My sweet, filthy girl. You get wet thinking about the man who slaughtered your friends, pinning you down and ruining you."
Heat flooded your face. Shame. Arousal. The conflicting storm that had lived in you since that night.
You squirmed beneath him, but his weight kept you trapped.
"Eddie, I—"
“Uh, uh,” he tsked. “I know what you really want, princess. We can have fun, but I don’t want to hurt you."
He tilted his head in thought, slowly sliding the knife down the side of your face.
"How about we make a safe word. You know what that is, sweetness?"
You nodded once, “Mhm.”
“Good girl. If anything gets to be too much, just say ‘red’, okay, sweetheart? I’ll stop the second you say it. No questions."
You nodded pathetically and quickly.
"Good girl." The knife slid lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt and slicing upward in one clean rip.
Fabric parted like paper, baring your breasts to the cool air.
He groaned. "Fuck, look at you. Been hard for days thinking about this."
He rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he already was under the robe.
The knife traced circles around one nipple, the sharp point never quite breaking skin, just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch.
"You like this, don’t you?" He leaned down, mask brushing your cheek. "The monster in your room while you’re drunk and helpless, begging to be caught."
You whimpered, hips rolling up to meet him. He laughed darkly and shoved your skirt up, yanking your panties aside.
Two fingers pushed into you without warning, curling deep.
"So fucking wet already. Greedy little thing." He pumped them slowly, scissoring, stretching you while the knife stayed pressed to your sternum like a threat and a promise.
You moaned, clenching around his fingers. He added a third finger, fucking you harder, thumb grinding against your clit.
"Eddie—please—"
"Please, what?" He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so you were ass-up, face pressed into the mattress.
The knife traced down your spine, then lower, teasing between your cheeks. "Please fuck you? Please hurt you? Please remind you exactly who you belong to now?"
You heard the rustle of fabric as he shoved the robe open. Then his cock, hot and bare, nudged against your entrance. He rubbed it through your slick folds, teasing.
"Say it."
"I want it," you gasped, pushing back against him. "Want you. Want all of it. Please."
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, the stretch burning so good.
He didn’t give you time to adjust. He fucked you hard, one hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing the flat of the knife to your throat from behind.
"Such good little girl," he growled through the changer, hips snapping relentlessly.
He perfectly dragged inside you with every stroke, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"Taking my cock so well. You tremble under me, and yet, you’re still creaming all over the monster who owns you."
You were babbling, moaning, pushing back to meet every thrust.
The knife stayed at your throat, a constant cold edge that made your pussy flutter tighter around him. He reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, merciless circles.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. It’s all yours."
The orgasm crashed over you violently, your whole body shaking as you clenched and pulsed around him. He fucked you through it, snarling praise and filth, until your legs gave out.
He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and straddled your chest. The mask hovered above you as he stroked himself fast and rough.
"Open."
You obeyed, tongue out, eyes locked on the white mask. He came with a guttural groan, painting your tongue, your lips, your tits in thick ropes. You swallowed what you could, dazed and trembling.
Eddie dropped the knife to the side and finally tugged the mask off, tossing it aside. His real face, flushed, curls wild, eyes dark with obsession and something softer, stared down at you.
He leaned down and kissed you messily, tasting himself on your tongue.
"Still with me?" he murmured against your lips.
You nodded, boneless and floating. "Yes..."
He huffed a quiet laugh and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. His fingers stroked through your hair, gentle now, the chaos temporarily sated.
“That wasn’t too much?”
You shook your head against his chest, humming something incoherent. Your body still buzzed, boneless and warm, the ache between your thighs a pleasant reminder of how thoroughly he’d wrecked you.
Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other tilted your chin up for a lazy, lingering kiss. “C’mere. Let me take care of you.”
He slipped out of bed after a minute, disappearing into the hallway. You heard him fumbling around, then a few distant clicks.
The lights in the apartment hummed back to life, the lamp on your nightstand flickering on and bathing the room in a soft glow.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but his boxers and that crooked, satisfied smile.
“Breaker box in the hall closet,” he explained with a shrug, like breaking into your apartment and knowing its secrets was the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured you’d want to see my pretty face afterwards.”
He returned with a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom, a glass of water, and one of your oversized t-shirts.
Settling back into bed, he gently cleaned you up; careful between your legs, wiping away the mess with tender strokes and soft murmurs of praise.
Once you were clean, he helped you into the shirt, then tugged you back against his chest under the blankets.
His arms wrapped around you securely, one leg tangled with yours as he pressed lazy kisses along your shoulder and the side of your neck.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered, voice low and sweet. “Need anything else?”
You smiled and shook your head sleepily, curling tighter into him. It was strange, really, the stark contrast from how he had acted ten minutes before to now.
The switch was so effortless it made your head spin, as though the tenderness and the terror had always belonged to the same person.
I saw your comment on my fic and am really glad someone can relate!! I have been feeling a little unsure since taking a massive break between the first 2 chapters and the most recent 2 and haven't seen any feedback besides likes, so I just wanted to thank you 💕
omg hi 😳!! literally when I first read your fic I was like “reader is so me” !! your fic deserves more likes and reblogs bc it’s soooo good literally one of my favs! I have a list on my notes app on fics I reread a lot and ofc your fic is there!! BC I LOVE IT TRULY
also wanted to thank you for continuing your writing bc I really do love it! you have blessed my eyes with your work so thank you!!
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