Hell of a Summer
description: it's the summer leading into your senior year, and you decide to spend summer break with your best friend and roommate, violet munson. and of course, her dad. what starts as harmless flirting turns into something a little more...interesting.
pairing: dilf!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: dilf!eddie, 21 y/o reader, no y/n, best friend's dad, age gap romance, girl dad eddie, eddie and violet are literally twins, single dad eddie, shameless flirting, metalhead x metalhead, emo/goth reader, domestic fluff (like fr), gruncle wayne, violet munson being an instigator, stepmom jokes get too real, friends to lovers (?)
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, age difference, mentions of toxic family dynamics
WC: 5.9k
A/N: this one goes out to my dearest @bitterestwillow... hope you love it bestie🥰 i could actually make one-million parts to this, dilf eddie is my obsession bruh omgomgomg. reblogs are always appreciated <3 a slight note: going forward with requests, i will be replying a few at a time to pace myself and not lose track/forget. i see you in my inbox and i'm not ignoring you! just trying to balance requests, series, and my own fic ideas. i appreciate you all so much for trusting me with your ideas!! much love<33
“You’re going to absolutely hate it here.” Your roommate, Violet, says, nodding towards the Welcome to Hawkins Hell sign.
“You’re such a delight, y’know that?” You retort, taking a puff of your cigarette.
“I’m just saying! Why you agreed to spend the summer with my dad and I is beyond me. Hawkins is literally the most boring town on the entire planet.”
“‘On the entire planet’ is a stretch, Vi. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, it so is. I mean, look at that,” she motions towards the line of storefronts. “This town is stuck in the 70’s, terminally. We have to drive 20 minutes to get decent coffee. It’s deplorable.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, exhaling a plume of smoke out of the window. Was spending your entire summer break in small town Indiana your idea of a perfect summer? No, not by a long shot.
But it was by all means better than going back to your house, dealing with your dad, and that witch of a step-mom. So, summer break in Hawkins with Violet and her dad seemed like the lesser of two evils.
Besides, Violet was your best friend. You two met eachother freshman year due to random roommate assignments, and clicked off the jump. The second she started hanging Dio and Iron Maiden posters up, you knew you’d be thick as thieves.
Not just because of the music, either. Violet looked like she’d crawled straight out of a metal magazine and into your dorm room. Dark curly hair always messy in an intentional sort of way, tattoos peeking out from under shredded band tees and leather jackets, no matter the weather.
And somehow, you matched her freak perfectly.
The two of you moved through campus like a matched set; all dark clothes, tattoos, cigarette smoke, chunky silver jewelry, and enough attitude to make frat boys cross the street.
People always assumed you’d known each other forever. Maybe because you looked like alternate universe versions of the same girl.
Or maybe because Violet Munson was so painfully, undeniably her father’s daughter. And here you are, the summer into your senior year, and you’re closer than ever, living together for all four years.
“Alright, here we are. Home sweet shithole,” she mutters, pulling into her driveway.
Her house was not a shithole by any standard. It was a quaint, brick bi-level house with a dark blue door and bushes lining the sides. Sure, the lawn was a little overgrown, but that’s to be expected of a single dad who works long hours as a mechanic.
The driveway’s littered with evidence of him, too. A toolbox near the garage. Empty beer bottles sitting on the porch railing. A faded Corroded Coffin bumper sticker slapped crookedly onto an old cooler.
You snort softly as you climb out of the passenger seat. “Yeah, this is devastatingly awful, Vi. I may never recover.”
“Shut up,” she laughs, popping the trunk.
The summer air is thick and humid, wrapping around your skin instantly. Cicadas scream somewhere in the trees while Violet digs through her bag before triumphantly holding up a joint between two black-painted nails.
“Oh, thank God,” you sigh dramatically.
“Priorities.”
You lean against the hood while she lights it, the flame briefly illuminating the silver hoop through her nose. She takes the first hit before passing it over to you without a word.
It was easy with Violet, always had been.
You inhale slowly, letting your shoulders finally relax for what feels like the first time in months.
“Y’know,” Violet says, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “my dad’s gonna love you.”
You bark out a laugh. “You say that now.”
“No, seriously. You’re literally his exact type.”
You nearly choke. “Vi?”
“What?” she grins. “Hot goth women with emotional issues and nicotine addictions. That’s basically his demographic.”
“Ew, Vi!”
“I’m just being honest!”
Before you can respond, the low growl of an engine cuts through the quiet, and Violet immediately glances toward the street. A black-and-white van pulls into the driveway beside you both. Older model, and loud as hell.
“Speaking of the devil,” Violet mutters.
Your eyes widen slightly. “Shit, should we put this out?”
Violet looks genuinely confused. “Why?”
The driver’s side door swings open before you can answer. And oh, okay.
You expected an older guy, maybe tired-looking. Greasy coveralls. Generic middle-aged dad energy.
Not…him.
Not Eddie stepping out of the van in a black sleeveless Metallica shirt, grease smeared along his tattooed forearms, dark curls sticking to his forehead from the heat.
Late thirties, maybe early forties, sure. Still, unfairly hot.
“Hey, hon,” he calls toward Violet before his eyes land on you. They pause, just for a second too long.
Violet smirks immediately, clocking it. “Dad, this is the roommate I’ve been telling you about. Y’know, the one with functioning brain cells?”
“Mm.” His gaze flicks over you again, amused. “Heard a lot about you.”
You open your mouth to respond, suddenly very aware of the joint between your fingers.
Eddie notices too. Without missing a beat, he steps forward, plucks it right from your hand, and takes a drag like it belongs to him.
“Gotta make sure it’s not poison,” he says casually, smoke curling from his grin.
Up close, he smells faintly like motor oil, cigarette smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. Cologne, maybe. Or just him. Unfortunately for you, it works.
“So,” he says, handing the joint back to you this time instead of Violet, “you’re the famous roommate.”
You snort softly. “Famous feels generous.”
“Nah, trust me. I’ve heard plenty.” He points toward Violet with his chin. “This one calls me every other day bitching about classes, professors, existential crises—”
“Okay, wow.”
“—and somehow your name always comes up.”
Violet flips him off immediately. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“You’re my kid. Kinda legally obligated.”
He grins when she groans dramatically, and for a second, it clicks so clearly it’s almost stupid.
The resemblance. Not necessarily in exact features, though they definitely share the same eyes and dark curls. It’s the energy. The sarcasm. The loud personality packed into black clothes and silver jewelry.
Violet really is just a female version of him, which suddenly explains a lot.
Eddie turns his attention back toward you.
“But seriously.” He gestures vaguely around the neighborhood. “Why the hell’d you agree to spend your summer in Hawkins? If Vi didn’t already mention, sweetheart, this town sucks.”
You take another drag to buy yourself a second.
Because going home meant screaming matches and slammed doors. Because your dad somehow always found a way to make you feel seventeen again in the worst possible sense. Because your stepmother looked at you like something inconvenient she accidentally stepped in.
Instead, you shrug one shoulder casually. “Figured I’d switch it up this summer.”
“Mm.” That’s all Eddie says, just that soft little hum.
But his eyes linger on you for a second too long, like he hears the thing you’re not saying anyway.
Thankfully, Violet cuts in before the moment can settle too heavily. “Dad, tell her who’s coming over later.”
“Oh, right.” Eddie pushes off the van slightly. “Gruncle Wayne’s coming for dinner.”
You blink. “...Gruncle?”
Eddie immediately looks offended. “You never heard of a gruncle?”
“No sane person says gruncle.”
“It’s efficient!”
Violet laughs around her next hit before explaining, “Wayne’s technically my great uncle, but he’s basically my grandpa, so. Gruncle.”
“And he practically raised me,” Eddie adds, softer this time. “My uncle Wayne’s a good guy.”
There’s something fond in his expression when he says it.
You smile slightly. “Okay, gruncle’s actually kinda cute with context.”
“Thank you,” Eddie says dramatically, pointing at you. “See? She gets it.”
“Oh my god,” Violet mutters. “You found one person willing to entertain you, and now you’re never gonna shut up.”
“Correct.”
Eddie takes the joint from your fingers again before you can protest, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own as he does it. Still enough to make your stomach do something embarrassingly stupid.
“C’mon,” Violet says eventually, nudging off the van. “Before my dad starts his old man routine and lectures us about unloading the car.”
“I heard that,” Eddie calls behind you both.
“Good.”
You laugh quietly, grabbing one of your bags from the trunk while Eddie takes the heavier suitcase before you can argue. “Oh, I can—”
“Nope.” He shuts the trunk with one hand. “Guest privilege.”
“You say that now.”
“Sweetheart, I survived raising her.” He jerks his head toward Violet. “Nothing scares me anymore.”
“Wow.” Violet dramatically places a hand over her heart. “And in front of company.”
The inside of the house feels exactly like you expected, somehow. Warm lighting. Faint smell of coffee and cigarettes lingering in the air. Records stacked beside the stereo. Band posters framed on the walls like actual art pieces.
The kind of house where people actually exist in it instead of just passing through. Which weirdly makes something in your chest ache a little.
Violet leads you down the hallway while Eddie disappears toward the kitchen, already calling out something about beer and Wayne coming over “starving as usual.”
Then Violet swings open a door dramatically. “And here,” she announces, “is your luxurious guest suite.”
You step inside and immediately laugh. The “guest room” is really just a room someone shoved a bed into and hoped for the best.
There’s a full-length mirror leaning against the wall, an old wooden chair covered in clothes, and approximately six guitars scattered around the room alongside amps and tangled cords. Cases were shoved beneath the bed, and picks littered the nightstand.
You turn slowly. “...Jesus Christ.”
“I told you,” Violet grins. “My dad has a guitar hoarding problem.”
A voice pipes up from behind you instantly. “They are lovingly curated.”
You glance back to find Eddie leaning against the doorway now, beer bottle in hand. His eyes flick toward the guitar case slung over your shoulder, then back to you.
“Wait,” he says, straightening slightly. “You play?”
Something about how immediately excited he sounds makes you smile. “A little.”
“A little,” Violet repeats mockingly. “She’s being humble. She’s good.”
“Oh shit.” Eddie points at you like this is groundbreaking information. “You didn't tell me that!”
“You literally met me twenty minutes ago.”
“And you decided to withhold that valuable piece of information.”
Violet gestures vaguely around the room. “Unfortunately, there’s no space left for your guitar because my father and I are addicts.”
“Hey,” Eddie says defensively. “Half this stuff is yours.”
“Yeah, because you fed into my addiction.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Violet snorts while Eddie grins into his beer bottle, and again, that warmth settles over the entire house so naturally that it almost catches you off guard. Like this is just what they’re like.
Loud, sarcastic, comfortable with each other; a real family. It makes your chest feel weird in a way you don’t want to unpack right now.
“Well,” Eddie says after another second, pushing off the doorway. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart. Wayne’ll be here in an hour, and if Vi didn’t warn you already, he’s gonna interrogate you lovingly.”
“I’ll prepare myself emotionally.”
“Good plan.”
His eyes flick toward you one last time before he disappears down the hallway. And the second he’s gone, Violet whips and pulls you toward her room so fast it’s genuinely alarming.
“Oh my god.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“You think my dad’s hot.”
“I do not—”
“You absolutely do.”
“Violet.”
“He stole the joint from you, and you let him.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” She throws herself dramatically onto her bed. “Honestly? Respect.”
You scoff, sitting beside her. “Your father is like forty.”
“Thirty-nine.”
“That does not help your case.”
“It kinda does.”
You grab one of her throw pillows and smack her with it immediately while she cackles. “You’re insane.”
“And you wanna fuck my dad.”
“Oh, my god.”
“I’m just saying—”
“It’s all fun and games until I become your stepmom or something.” The words leave your mouth entirely on instinct.
Then Violet sits bolt upright so fast it’s horrifying, and her eyes widen. Then slowly, slowly, a grin spreads across her face so evil it should honestly be studied professionally.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, this summer is about to be so interesting.”
“You’re a sick individual, y'know that?”
About forty-five minutes later, the house smells like takeout pizza, cigarette smoke drifting in from the open kitchen window, and whatever cologne Eddie sprayed on himself after his shower.
Not that you noticed, at all. Heh.
You’re perched on the counter beside Violet, nursing a beer while she digs through the fridge for ranch. Eddie’s leaning against the opposite counter in a fresh shirt now, curls still damp at the ends from his shower, tattoos on full display beneath pushed-up sleeves.
Which feels targeted, honestly.
Then the front door swings open. “Hellooo!” a voice calls.
“Kitchen!” Violet yells back instantly.
Heavy footsteps echo through the house before an older man appears around the corner carrying a twelve-pack under one arm.
Wayne looks exactly how you imagined he would, somehow. Weathered Carhartt jacket despite the heat, graying beard, tired kind eyes. The sort of face that looks permanently worn in from years of hard work and little sleep.
The second Violet sees him, she hops off the counter. “Gruncle!”
“There’s my girl.” Wayne smiles immediately, opening one arm for her to hug him. “Missed me already?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Brat.”
He presses a kiss to the top of her head anyway before finally noticing you standing there beside Eddie.
Wayne pauses, looks between you and Violet once, then twice.
“What are you two, siamese twins?”
You burst out laughing instantly. Because honestly? Fair.
You and Violet are both standing there in shorts and oversized band tees, tattoos exposed, silver jewelry glinting beneath the kitchen lights like matching warning labels.
“Basically,” Violet says proudly.
Wayne shakes his head fondly before stepping toward you. “Wayne Munson.” He offers his hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Heard about you for years now.”
You shake his hand, smiling. “That bad, huh?”
“Nah.” He jerks a thumb toward Violet. “If she keeps somebody around longer than a semester, they’re usually alright.”
“Wow,” Violet says flatly. “Love the faith in me.”
“You ate glue in second grade.”
“That was one time.”
Wayne ignores her completely, attention turning back toward you. “Where you from, sweetheart?”
“Chicago.”
“Oh, big city girl,” he nods knowingly. “What’d Hawkins ever do to deserve that?”
“She lost a bet,” Eddie says from beside you.
You snort into your beer. “I’m starting to think everyone in this town’s contractually obligated to insult Hawkins at least once an hour.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Eddie says seriously. “It’s tradition.”
The kitchen settles into easy conversation after that. Wayne telling stories about Eddie as a teenager while Violet heckles both of them relentlessly from the counter.
Eddie threatening to expose childhood stories in retaliation. Beer bottles clinking against countertops while some old metal album plays low through the speakers in the living room.
And it’s strange how quickly you settle into it. Like you’ve been in this kitchen before. Like, there’s already a place carved out for you between all their sarcasm and noise.
At one point, Wayne glances toward you while Eddie and Violet argue over music in the other room.
Then he leans slightly closer. Quietly, conspiratorially, he says, “Good luck surviving those two.”
You grin into your beer. “Think I’ll manage.”
By midnight, Violet is fully unconscious. Not dead, despite Eddie checking twice. Just absolutely obliterated by the combination of beer, pizza, and insisting she could “totally outdrink” both you and her father.
Which apparently she could not.
“She gets that from you, by the way,” you whisper as Eddie throws a blanket over her sleeping form, sprawled diagonally across the bed.
“Absolutely not.”
“She literally fell asleep holding a breadstick.”
“That’s called efficiency.”
You laugh quietly while Eddie shakes his head fondly at his daughter before shutting her bedroom door most of the way behind you both.
Wayne headed home an hour ago after dramatically claiming he was “too old for this shit.” The TV’s off. The kitchen cleaned up except for a couple of empty beer bottles sitting beside the sink.
You linger awkwardly for a second in the hallway, then reach into your pocket for your cigarettes.
“I’m gonna go outside for a minute.”
Eddie glances toward the pack in your hand and nods knowingly. “Yeah, me too.”
Of course he is.
The night air is cooler now, wrapping around your bare arms and legs as you step out onto the front porch. Crickets hum loudly in the grass while somewhere down the street, a dog barks once before going quiet again.
Small town silence, the kind you’re still not used to.
You sit on the porch steps while Eddie leans against the railing beside you, flicking his lighter open. The flame briefly catches across his rings and tattoos before he cups it toward your cigarette first.
A gentleman, unfortunately.
“You know,” he says after a second, smoke curling from his mouth, “you’re handling Hawkins suspiciously well so far.”
“I’ve only been here like six hours.”
“And yet you haven’t tried to flee.”
“Maybe I’m waiting until tomorrow.”
“Smart.”
You grin faintly, staring out toward the dark street ahead of you. For a minute, neither of you says anything. Just smoke quietly beside each other while the porch light buzzes overhead.
“So what’s the real reason you came here?”
You glance toward him automatically. “Hm?”
“The real reason.” He gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “Because no offense, sweetheart, but no twenty-one-year-old voluntarily spends their summer in Hawkins unless they’re hiding from something or recovering from something.”
You try to cover it with a laugh. “You always interrogate your daughter’s friends like this?”
“Nah.” His eyes meet yours then. “Just you.”
Your stomach does something deeply irritating. You look away first, exhaling smoke slowly. “My family’s just… a lot.”
Eddie stays quiet, not the impatient kind of silence either. The kind that waits.
You shrug one shoulder eventually. “My dad remarried a couple of years ago. She hates me, I hate her, my dad pretends none of it’s happening.”
“That sucks.”
You glance toward him again. “Yeah. It does.”
He nods once like he understands something you didn’t fully say out loud. Then, because apparently he can sense when you’re getting too vulnerable, the corner of his mouth tugs upward.
“Well.” He takes another drag. “Good news is you’re safe here.”
Your brows lift slightly. “Safe?”
“Yeah.” He gestures toward the house behind you. “Vi likes you, Wayne likes you, and I already decided you’re tolerable.”
You laugh softly. “That so?”
“Mhm.”
“You decide that before or after stealing my joint?”
“That was actually the deciding factor.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Eddie watches you for another second before speaking again.
“Plus,” he adds casually, “you’re pretty.”
You cough once, glaring immediately while Eddie grins outright now.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You flirt like a divorced dad.”
“I am a divorced dad.”
“Were you ever even married?”
“Details.”
You laugh again before you can stop yourself, and Eddie’s expression shifts slightly when he hears it. Like he enjoys making you laugh a little too much already.
Which feels dangerously good. Especially when he looks at you like that beneath the dim porch light, cigarette between his fingers, curls falling into his face while the entire town sleeps around you both.
“For real, though,” he says quietly. “Thanks for being good to my kid.”
The sincerity catches you off guard enough that you blink at him.
Eddie shrugs one shoulder, eyes drifting toward the house behind you. “Vi acts tough, but she’s always had a hard time letting people in. Most people don’t really… stick around.”
“She’s my best friend,” you say simply. “I don’t know where I’d be without her.”
Eddie looks back at you then, and whatever he sees makes something warm settle into his expression.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I can tell.”
Then Eddie clears his throat slightly, the teasing glint returning to his eyes before the moment can get too heavy.
“Still think you’re trouble, though.”
You scoff immediately. “Me?”
“Mhm.” He points at you with his cigarette. “You walked into my house lookin’ like… And now my daughter’s already smoking weed and passed out drunk.”
“She was smoking weed before I got here.”
“Yeah, but now she has an audience.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Eddie says, stepping closer just enough for his shoulder to brush yours lightly again, “you’re still out here talking to me.”
Your stomach flips in the most humiliating way imaginable, especially when he smiles afterward.
You should probably move away; that feels like the smart thing to do here.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are, cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers while Eddie sits close enough now that you can feel the heat coming off him in the cool night air.
Which is maybe a problem. A huge one, actually.
Because he’s your best friend’s dad. Because you’re living in his house all summer. Because Violet would absolutely lose her mind if she knew the way her father was currently looking at you.
And worst of all, because you really, really want him to keep doing it. You exhale slowly, trying to gather at least one coherent thought.
“I dunno if we should do this,” you admit quietly.
Eddie’s brows lift slightly. “Do what?”
“You know what.”
His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Sweetheart, all I’ve done is compliment you and steal your weed.”
“You’re flirting with me.”
“Guilty.”
You groan softly, rubbing a hand over your face. “Eddie.”
The way his name sounds coming out of your mouth makes his expression shift for half a second.
Then, casually, as anything, he says: “What, you worried about becoming Vi’s stepmom?”
Your eyes widen so fast it’s honestly embarrassing. Eddie immediately breaks into a grin.
“Oh my god,” you whisper. “She told you?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you—”
“The walls in this house are paper-thin, sweetheart.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, clearly enjoying your horror. “And you two were not exactly quiet.”
You physically cover your face with both hands. “Oh my fucking god.”
From somewhere behind your palms, you hear Eddie laugh. Entirely too pretty sounding for a man his age, honestly.
“I’m gonna die,” you mumble.
“Nah.”
“I need Violet to actually kill me with her bare hands immediately.”
“She’d probably just ask if she needed to leave the house for us.”
You lower your hands just enough to glare at him. “That is not helping.”
“Sorry,” Eddie says, still visibly amused. “Just tryin’ to make you feel better.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“A little.”
The porch light catches the silver in his rings when he reaches over and gently pulls your cigarette from your fingers before it burns too close to your skin.
The gesture is so absentmindedly caring that it almost does you in completely. Then he hands his back, and your fingers brush his.
And suddenly neither of you are smiling quite as much anymore. Eddie looks at you for a long second before speaking again, quieter this time.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”
You shake your head immediately. “You’re not.”
That answer comes out a little too fast. His eyes flick down to your mouth for the briefest second before back up again.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Your heart stumbles over itself. Because there’s something almost unfair about the way he looks at you right now. Like he’s trying very hard to behave himself, and failing a little.
“You’re trouble,” you whisper.
Eddie smiles slowly.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you walked into my house looking like that. We’re way past figuring out who the trouble is.”
The porch conversation lingers for a couple more minutes. Eddie’s looking at you like he’s already decided how the rest of the night is going to go, and you’re pretending your thighs aren’t pressed together under the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.
You don’t remember who moved first. Just that one second you’re both standing there, the next his mouth is on yours; slow at first, like he’s giving you an out, then deeper when you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer.
He tastes like smoke and mint and something that makes your head spin. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, rings cool against your flushed skin.
“Inside,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “Before I bend you over these steps like a fucking animal.”
You laugh breathlessly, but your pulse is hammering. He walks you backward through the quiet house, one hand on your waist, the other pushing open the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall.
The second it clicks shut behind you, the restraint snaps.
Eddie kisses you like he’s starving; tongue, teeth, hands everywhere. He peels your tank top off, groans low when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. His mouth is on your tits immediately, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, one hand kneading the other while he backs you toward his bed.
“Been thinking about this since you stepped out of that car,” he admits, voice gravelly. He pushes you down onto the mattress and drops to his knees between your spread thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Look at you. Fuck.”
He doesn’t tease. He yanks your shorts and panties down in one rough tug, spreads your legs wider, and buries his face in your center like a man on a mission.
You choke on a moan.
He eats you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, long, filthy licks from your entrance to your clit, sucking your clit into his mouth with obscene wet sounds, tongue fucking into you while his hands pin your hips down.
His curls tickle your thighs, nails digging into your skin, and when he groans against you, the vibration shoots straight up your spine.
“Eddie...fuck—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark. “Taste so fucking good, sweetheart. College boys ever eat this pretty pussy like this?”
He dives back in before you can answer, two thick fingers sliding into you, curling just right.
You swear under your breath, hips grinding against his face. He doesn’t let up. Not when your thighs start shaking. Not when you’re whimpering his name like a prayer.
He sucks your clit hard and curls his fingers again, and you come so suddenly it punches the air out of your lungs, back arching off the bed.
He keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. He wipes it with the back of his hand like it’s nothing, then stands up and strips his shirt off. The sight of him, tattoos, scars, that happy trail leading down into his jeans, makes your mouth water.
He grabs something from the nightstand drawer. A sleek black vibrator. Your eyebrows shoot up.
Eddie smirks, climbing over you. “Not competition, baby. Just gonna make you feel even better.” He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, while he works his jeans open. His cock is thick, flushed, and beyond what you had imagined. He strokes himself once, twice, watching your face.
“You sure?” he asks, suddenly serious for half a second.
You nod, pulling him down. “Yes. Please.”
He lines himself up, then presses the vibrator against your clit on the lowest setting, the buzz making you jolt.
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt, stretching you open in the best way.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “So fucking wet for me.”
He starts moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that make your toes curl. The vibrator stays pressed to your center the whole time, buzzing steadily while he fucks you.
Every stroke grinds it harder against you. You’re moaning loud enough that you’re glad Violet’s passed out cold down the hall.
Eddie’s experienced; there’s no other way to say it. He knows exactly how to angle his hips, when to speed up, and when to grind deep. He watches your face the entire time, drinking in every reaction.
“Nobodies fucked you like this, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked as he snaps his hips harder. “Don’t eat you like this? Don’t make this pretty pussy cream all over their cock?”
You shake your head, nails digging into his back. “N-no, Eddie, fuck—”
He clicks the vibrator up a setting, and you nearly scream. The combination is devastating; his thick cock dragging against your walls, the relentless buzz on your clit, the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.
He leans down, mouth against your ear. “Gonna make you come again. Want to feel you squeezing me when you do.”
You do, hard. The orgasm crashes over you so intensely that your vision whites out for a second. Eddie fucks you through it, cursing under his breath, pace turning punishing.
He pulls the vibrator away only when you’re whimpering, then flips you over onto your stomach like you weigh nothing. He pulls your hips up and sinks back into you in one smooth thrust, hand reaching around to circle your oversensitive clit with his fingers.
“Again,” he growls. “One more, sweetheart. Give it to me.”
You’re a mess. Face buried in his pillow, ass up, drooling and moaning while he rails you from behind. The wet slap of skin, his low groans, the way he keeps telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, it all sends you spiraling again.
When you come the third time, clenching around him like a vice, Eddie finally lets go. He buries himself deep and comes with a broken groan of your name, hips stuttering, body shuddering against yours.
For a long minute, the only sounds are both of you trying to catch your breath.
Eddie pulls out carefully, then collapses beside you and pulls you into his chest. His hand strokes down your back, lazy and soothing.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “You’re gonna kill me this summer.”
You laugh weakly, still floating. “Good thing you’re experienced.”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Damn right.”
You wake slowly to warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes. For a second, you’re disoriented. Heavy blankets. Morning light spilling gold through half-open blinds. A tattooed arm wrapped loosely around your waist.
Then everything from last night comes rushing back at once.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
Before you can spiral too hard, lips press softly against your shoulder, then your neck.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice is rough with sleep.
You turn your head slightly to find him propped up on one elbow beside you, curls an absolute disaster, dark tattoos disappearing beneath the sheets pooled low on his hips. It’s deeply unfair that he still looks this good at six in the morning.
“You have work,” you mumble sleepily.
“I know.” He kisses you once more, quick and lazy this time. “Tryin’ very hard to be responsible about it.”
“Mm. Don’t.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath like he can’t help it. “Dangerous thing to say to a man already running late.”
You grin against the pillow while he leans down to kiss you properly this time. Slow enough to make your stomach flip all over again. When he pulls back, he brushes his thumb along your cheek once before sighing dramatically.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “car engines wait for no man.”
“Tragic.”
“I know. I’m devastated too.”
You watch him drag himself out of bed, immediately mourning the loss of warmth while he pulls on jeans and a black work shirt.
He catches you staring when he turns around. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were checking me out.”
“I absolutely was not.”
“Sweetheart, I’m forty, not blind.”
“Thirty-nine,” you correct automatically.
Eddie points at you immediately. “See? You know the number now. That’s intimacy.”
Eventually, you force yourself out of bed too, tugging your pajamas back on while Eddie disappears into the kitchen. By the time you walk out there, he’s pouring coffee into two mugs.
The domesticity of it hits you like a truck.
Eddie, standing in his kitchen in work boots and rolled sleeves, making you coffee like this is normal. Like this happens all the time.
He glances over when he hears you, then visibly pauses.
“What?” you ask suspiciously.
His mouth twitches. “Nothin’.”
“Eddie.”
“You put your shirt on inside out.”
You look down immediately. Fuck.
“You could’ve told me sooner!”
“Nah.” He slides a mug toward you, smirking into his own coffee. “This is way funnier.”
You flip him off while fixing it properly, and Eddie just laughs again before checking the clock.
“Shit. Okay, I really gotta go.”
He downs the rest of his coffee, grabs his keys off the counter, then pauses beside you on his way to the door. For a second, he just looks at you.
Then he leans down and kisses you once, quick but warm enough to make your face heat immediately afterward.
“Behave while I’m gone,” he says.
“You first.”
Eddie grins. “Impossible.”
Then he’s gone.
You linger in the kitchen for a while after, nursing your coffee and trying very hard not to think too deeply about the fact that you just spent the night in your best friend’s dad’s bed. Which works for approximately twelve minutes.
An hour later, Violet finally shuffles into the kitchen looking half-dead.
“Morning,” she rasps.
“Morning.”
She grabs orange juice from the fridge before narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously over the carton.
You immediately tense. “What?”
“…Nothin’.”
“Violet.”
She squints harder, then her eyes slowly widen. “Oh, my god.”
Your stomach drops instantly. “What?”
“You fucked my dad.”
You nearly choke on your coffee. “I did not—”
“Your shirt’s on backwards, genius.”
You look down. Again?!
“Oh my fucking god.”
Violet bursts out laughing so hard she physically has to lean against the counter.
“You’re an idiot,” she wheezes.
“I hate this house.”
“No, you don’t.”
You bury your face in your hands while Violet continues cackling like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to her.
Finally, muffled through your fingers, you groan: “Why are you being so weirdly okay about this?”
Violet shrugs, still grinning. “Because I genuinely don’t care.”
“You should care!”
“Why?”
“Because that’s your father!”
“And you’re my best friend.” She takes a casual sip of juice. “Honestly, this is kinda ideal. Now, if you marry him, you legally can’t move out of my life.”
You stare at her in horror.
Violet points at you immediately. “Also, to be clear? I called this the second he stole your joint.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…Probably not.”
“Exactly.” She grins wickedly. “Besides, this is funny as hell for me personally.”
“You are a sick individual, Violet Munson!”
“Yeah, yeah. Take a number.”
personally? i am HERE for this fic. lawd knows i love me a good older man, and an older eddie? phew.
taglist is open!
part 2?
plsplsplsplspls
no bc im lame
beasbugs:
@kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @julxsxx, @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-ofasphodel @whitakerstorm @dreamerjj @sariahs-stuff @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @sisteramycatherine @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullstevepeachpuffs25 @abirdinthehouse @m-art000 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm
