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@deeryangel
𓂅 dawn ⋆˚࿔ 18. black. anyprns | shy writer ( ´ ▿ ` ). ⟢
꒰ ᩧ 𓈒 tags to help myself keep track ⁄⁄͈ . ᴗ͈) 𝄞݂۫ 𓈒
୨ৎ eddie munson ₊ ᢉ𐭩 𝜗ৎ ࠬ ׅ ໑ ₊ clark kent ˚.⋆ 𝜗ৎ ᨳິ ׂ 𓈒 sean diaz ᨧֵᰍ ׅ ۫
꒰ ᩧ 𓈒 my fav fic writers ⁄⁄͈ . ᴗ͈) 𝄞݂۫ 𓈒
elegantpaperoperatormaker ⋆˚꩜｡ luveline݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ lovebugism 𓏲ּ𝄢
summers with eddie include…
- getting slushees and gas station hot dogs with him at 1 in the morning as you talk about the things you want to do with each other
- tracing the patterns on his hands as you sit in front of him in a warm bath in his trailer after a sticky day
- staying in motels overnight after long drives through hawkins instead of going home
- eating in diners ONLY!
- mindless drives that involve singing incorrect lyrics to songs and he does nothing to correct you
- tia blake & the mamas and the papas on radio as your legs prop up and stick onto his dashboard
- buying ridiculous trinkets and weird shirts at the thrift for $1
- stealing glasses off his face and wearing his leather jacket in 90 degree heat. bearing through it bc it’s his
- bikini top and shorts on the ready. eddie’s bought you a couple cute pairs
- silly keychain souvenirs that add to wayne’s mug and hat collection
- day drinking at the beach and sobering up as you tan
- trying on his rings end up in you casually mentioning having matching ones to him (he folds like a lawn chair; you didn’t even need to beg )
- his hands being your tests for nail polish colors, makeup, stick n pokes, everything under the sun
- free massages after a tense day
- fingers in mouth. fingers in mouth
- causal slaps on your ass that linger as he walks by you
- teasing him by standing behind him, raking your nails from his back up to his head, putting his hair into a bun, kissing the back of his neck when you’re done
- him laying on top of you, pressing his weight down in practically a bear hug as he pounds into you in the summer heat. the sweat and warmth makes you guys take extra time bathing, which he loves
- he loves swiping specs of food and liquids dripping down your chin off your face and into his mouth with his thumb
- his thumbs favorite place besides your bottom lip is your clit. rubbing it and feeling you squeeze around him makes his hips stutter and whimpers escape his lips as sweat beads on his skin
- late night pillow talk that turns into endless kisses around your face, being the thing that drifts you into sleep <3
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who didn’t expect much when his post about an extra bedroom went up. he got a couple inquiries over the following days, but you were the most notable. you were the only girl.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who tells himself he picked you solely because you were the best choice— not just because he thought you were pretty and he spent a half hour browsing your account.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who’s so, totally awkward with you the first couple weeks. he can’t stop fidgeting and shifting his weight. he makes references you don’t fully understand and yet, unbeknownst to him, you were a little charmed by it.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who takes whiffs of your body wash and shampoo when he showers. he grew weirdly obsessed with your scent. he somehow found it better than just asking you to sit a smidge closer during movie nights.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who stares when you walk around in itty bitty sleep shorts, eyes darting away when you turn back towards him. he could easily reach bowls for you, but he figured this was better— minus the boners.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who grows more confident the longer you live together. his personality is more open which, in tow, comes with guilty pleasure flirting that he gets a little too into.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie whose looked through your phone a handful of times. after living together half a year, you told him your password. you trusted him. he quickly scans your dms when you’re in the bathroom, occasionally clicking into your hidden photos. he’s taken secondhand pics of the material with his own phone.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who finds ways to show skin off when it’s not necessary. stretching when he doesn’t need to, flashing his chest tats when he could show you the ones on his arms, and walking through the apartment shirtless when he’s fresh out of the shower.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who once jerked off into a condom, tossing it in the top of the trash in hopes you’d see it and get jealous.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who can now only get off to pics of you or porn where the girls at least vaguely resemble you. his screen time on insta, twitter, and his camera roll has shot up immensely.
ᰔ perv!roomate!eddie who takes longer to do the laundry because he’s busy sniffing or pocketing the occasional pair of panties. he’d had to beg you to let him do yours in the first place, only relenting when he kept reassuring there was nothing to be embarrassed about. quite the opposite.
Hell Above
description: you and eddie have been dating for some time. you've never done anything to break his trust, but recently you've been sneaking off late at night with steve for "friend stuff". he becomes suspicious and follows you one night to catch you in the act. little does he know what "friend stuff" really means.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, established relationship, jealous!eddie, protective!reader, steve harringtons a homewrecker?, insecure!eddie, forced confession through fear, emotional hurt/comfort, the slightest bit of angst, steve catching strays, season 1/2 vibes
TW: blood, violence
WC: 6.3k
A/N: requested by @britttzy267 hope you love it!! i actually lowkey love the idea of a protective/insecure eddie...giving me some IDEASSSS🫣 reblogs are always appreciatedddd:) requests are coming, pls be patient! anyways, much love to you all<3
The rain had been coming down in soft, uneven taps against your bedroom window for the last hour.
Not enough to drown out the television, but just enough to make the whole room feel smaller than it was. Like the rest of Hawkins had blurred into something gray and distant.
Leaving only the glow of your bedside lamp, the low flicker of some old horror movie neither of you had been paying attention to, and Eddie stretched out beside you.
He was lying on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped lazily around your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to rest against your skin.
Not in a way that was trying to start anything, rather, just touching because he could. Because Eddie had this habit of acting like contact was casual while holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from floating away.
Your cheek was pressed to his chest, one leg thrown over his, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his pick necklace. Every now and then, his fingers would drag lightly over your hip, slow circles that made your eyes grow heavier.
“You’re falling asleep,” he murmured.
“No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m resting my eyes.”
“Mm-hmm.” Eddie’s voice dipped into that amused little rasp that always made him sound like he was one second away from laughing at you. “That’s what old men say before they pass out during game shows.”
You tilted your head just enough to glare up at him. “Are you calling me an old man?”
His eyes dropped to yours, all wide innocence under messy curls. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning now. “But I’m cute.”
You rolled your eyes, but you smiled before you could stop yourself.
Eddie caught it immediately. His grin widened, smug and pleased with himself, as if getting you to smile were some great victory he planned to brag about later.
“There she is,” he said softly.
The movie droned on, dramatic music swelling as some doomed girl crept toward a basement door.
Eddie’s breathing stayed slow beneath your cheek, and every once in a while, his thumb brushed the curve of your spine beneath your shirt.
It was easy; that was the thing about Eddie. For all his noise, all his dramatics, all the ways he filled a room before he even opened his mouth, being with him could be so easy it almost scared you.
He made your bedroom feel like a place outside of time, where there were no monsters, no secrets, no flickering lights or blood drying beneath your fingernails.
Just Eddie.
Just his heartbeat under your ear, the smell of rain and smoke clinging to his shirt.
Then the phone rang, loud enough to make you flinch.
Eddie felt it. His fingers paused against your back, as you lifted your head too quickly, eyes snapping toward the landline on your nightstand.
It rang again, shrill in the soft room, cutting through the movie and the rain and the fragile little pocket of peace you had let yourself sink into.
Eddie’s brows pulled together. “You expecting a call?”
“No,” you said too fast.
The phone rang a third time. You untangled yourself from him, colder the second his arm slipped away from your waist. Eddie shifted onto one elbow, watching as you reached for the receiver.
“Hello?”
There was static first. Then Steve’s voice, tight and breathless.
“Thank God. Is anyone with you?”
Your stomach dropped. You turned slightly away from Eddie without thinking, gripping the phone tighter. “What happened?”
Eddie’s expression changed.
Not much, just a small twitch of his brows, and shift in his mouth, but you noticed it.
Steve exhaled hard on the other end. There was noise behind him: muffled voices, something clattering, and Dustin, maybe, talking too fast in the background.
“It’s Will,” Steve said. “He felt something.”
Your eyes flicked instinctively to the window. “What kind of something?”
“The kind we don’t say over the phone.”
Your mouth went dry.
Behind you, Eddie sat up a little more, the mattress dipping with the movement. You could feel his gaze on your back, curious now.
“Where are you?” you asked.
“Johnathan’s house. Nancy’s here. Robin’s getting the kids.”
“The kids?” You lowered your voice. “Steve—”
“I know,” he cut in. “I know, okay? But he said it’s close. Like, really close. We need you.”
A cold pressure settled behind your ribs.
You closed your eyes for half a second, trying to think, trying to shove down the immediate pulse of fear that wanted to take over your body.
You had known it wasn’t over. Maybe none of you had ever actually said that out loud, but you had known. Things in Hawkins didn’t ever seem to stay buried.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll be there.”
Steve paused. “Are you sure? You sound—”
“I said I’ll be there.”
“Bring the stuff from your trunk.”
Your fingers tightened around the receiver. Eddie was looking at you fully now.
“Yeah,” you said, even quieter. “I know.”
Steve lowered his voice too. “And don’t tell anyone.”
Your chest squeezed as you glanced back at Eddie.
He was watching you with those big, dark eyes, no accusation in them yet, just confusion.
The kind of confusion that made guilt twist sharply through your stomach before you had even done anything wrong.
“I won’t,” you said.
Steve must have heard something in your voice because he hesitated again. “Are you alone?”
“No,” you said.
The silence on Steve’s end went tense. “Who’s there?”
You swallowed. “Eddie.”
“Oh.” Steve sounded immediately uncomfortable. “Shit.”
“It’s fine,” you said quickly.
“It’s not fine if he hears something.”
“He won’t.”
Eddie’s brows lifted slightly, like he couldn’t help it. Your pulse kicked harder.
Steve sighed. “Just… hurry, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And be careful.”
“I will.”
You hung up before he could say anything else.
For one second, you just stood there with your hand still on the receiver, listening to the dial tone hum faintly through the room.
Eddie broke the silence first. “Steve Harrington?”
You turned around.
He was sitting upright now, hair messy from your pillows, one knee bent.
His expression was trying to be casual, you could tell. He was aiming for teasing, maybe amused, maybe a little confused.
But his eyes were too focused.
“Yeah,” you said.
Eddie nodded slowly. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” He scratched at his jaw, then pointed loosely toward the phone.
“So, uh… does Harrington makes a habit of calling you late at night, or is this a special occasion?”
You tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t say it was like anything.”
You turned toward your closet, because looking at him felt impossible all of a sudden. “Steve just needed help with something.”
“With what?”
You pulled open the closet door and grabbed a sweatshirt from the hook inside. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Eddie repeated.
You could hear the shift in his voice now. You shoved your arms into the sweatshirt. “Yeah.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then, softer, “Is everything okay?”
That almost broke you.
Because he wasn’t mad, not really. He was giving you the chance to tell him.
He was sitting in your bed, in your room, asking if everything was okay, like he would believe you if you gave him something real.
And you wanted to. God, you wanted to.
But then you thought of El. Of Dustin’s shaking hands the last time he had called you from the Wheeler basement. Of Nancy loading a gun with trembling precision. Of Steve standing in front of the kids with that stupid bat, acting like he wasn’t scared when everyone knew he was.
You thought of Eddie seeing something with no face unfold itself out of the dark.
Your throat tightened. “Yeah,” you lied. “Everything’s fine.”
Eddie stared at you as you grabbed your sneakers.
“Baby,” he said, and you froze.
He didn’t use that voice often. The soft one. The one that asked you to stop running without actually saying the words.
You looked over your shoulder.
Eddie’s face had lost most of the teasing now. He looked concerned, but underneath that, something else was starting to flicker. Something he was trying very hard not to show.
“You’re kind of freaking me out,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” You sat on the edge of the bed and shoved your foot into one sneaker. “I just have to go help them with something.”
“Them?”
You tied the lace too tightly. “Steve and Robin.”
“And Nancy?”
You glanced up, and Eddie’s eyes narrowed just a little.
“You said, Steve. Then Steve said Nancy was there.” He tilted his head. “And something about kids.”
Damn it. You looked away again. “It’s just a friend thing.”
“A friend thing.”
“Eddie.”
“No, yeah, no, I got it.” He lifted both hands, rings flashing as if surrendering. “Classic friend thing. Mysterious late-night phone call. Whispering. Secret plans. Harrington asking if you’re alone. Totally normal.”
Your stomach twisted. “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“What does it sound like?”
You stood up too quickly. “I don’t have time for this right now.” The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
Eddie went still.
You noticed the way his shoulders settled, the way his mouth closed, the way something in his face shuttered like a window being locked from the inside.
“Right,” he said.
Your heart clenched.
“Eddie—”
“No, it’s fine.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing his jacket from where it had been thrown over your desk chair. “You’ve got places to be.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because what could you say?
Sorry, my friend’s brother who disappeared into another dimension felt a inter-dimensional presence, and now I have to go help your former high school enemies set traps for a monster that might currently be hunting children?
You almost laughed, or almost cried. Instead, you whispered, “I can’t explain it.”
Eddie’s eyes flicked over your face. For one second, you thought he might push. That he might get loud, or angry, or follow the thread of suspicion already forming between you until it snapped.
But he didn’t. He just nodded once, sharp and small.
“Yeah,” he said. “Starting to get that.”
You stepped toward him. “Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pull away from me.”
His expression cracked. Then he smiled, but it was wrong. Crooked in a way that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Kind of hard not to when you’re halfway out the door, sweetheart.”
That one hurt.
You reached for his hand, and for a second, he let you take it, his rings cold against your fingers.
“I’m not lying to you because I want to,” you said quietly.
Eddie looked down at your joined hands. “So you are lying.”
You closed your eyes. The phone call had lasted maybe two minutes and somehow, it had turned your entire room into a minefield.
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
His laugh came out soft and humorless. “From Steve?”
You let go of his hand like it burned.
“No,” you said, sharper than you meant to. “Not from Steve.”
Eddie looked at you then, and you could practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes.
The insecurity is trying to dress itself up as sarcasm. The hurt trying to become anger because anger was easier to feel.
You wanted to tell him so badly it physically hurt. But instead, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He nodded again. “Sure.”
“Eddie.”
“What?” His voice was quiet now.
“I love you.”
For a moment, his face softened. Not all the way, not enough to erase the damage.
But enough that you saw him, your Eddie.
The boy who held you too tightly when he thought you were asleep. The boy who kissed your forehead when he thought you wouldn’t notice. The boy who acted like he didn’t need anything from anyone and then looked at you like you were the first safe place he had ever found.
“I love you too,” he said. But there was a question buried inside it.
You heard it, but you just didn’t have time to answer.
So you kissed him quickly, desperately, like you could press an apology into his mouth and make him understand without words. His hand came up to your waist on instinct, but he didn’t pull you closer.
That was worse somehow. When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours.
“Be careful,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“I will.” Then you left.
The hallway was dark as you hurried down the stairs, your sneakers loud against the wooden steps. You grabbed the jacket hanging by the front door, shoved your arms into it, and stepped out into the rain.
Steve’s car was already idling by the curb.
You pulled your hood up and ran across the lawn, ducking your head against the rain. Steve leaned over from the driver’s seat and pushed the passenger door open before you reached it.
“Hurry,” he said.
“I am hurrying.”
You climbed in, soaked and breathless, slamming the door shut behind you. Steve looked past you toward the house.
“Did he ask?”
You glared at him. “What do you think?”
Steve winced. “Sorry.”
“Drive.”
Eddie stood in the middle of your bedroom for a long moment after the front door slammed downstairs.
The movie still played behind him. The lamp beside your bed cast everything in gold and soft and familiar light, but the warmth from earlier had vanished so quickly that it almost made him dizzy.
Like someone had opened a door and let all the comfort bleed out into the rain.
His jaw tightened. This was stupid, like actually stupid. He knew that.
You had never given him a reason not to trust you before, not once.
You kissed him in grocery store aisles. Held his hand always, all the time. Wore his t-shirt to bed every night because it “helps you sleep because it smells like him.”
Half the damn school knew you were together because you looked at him like he hung the moon, and Eddie knew that. He did.
So why did his chest feel like this?
Why did Steve Harrington’s voice keep echoing in his head?
Is she alone? And worse: It’s not fine if he hears something. Eddie scrubbed both hands down his face hard enough to sting.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself.
He felt insane. Possessive and jealous, like every shitty boyfriend people warned girls about. And maybe he wouldn’t have cared so much if it had been literally anyone else.
But it was Steve. Steve fucking Harrington.
Golden boy. Former king of Hawkins High. Rich parents, nice hair, stupid BMW. The kind of guy Eddie had spent years pretending not to hate because hating people like Steve was exhausting when they walked through life getting handed things Eddie had to claw for.
And the worst part? Steve wasn’t even a dick anymore. That would’ve made this easier.
Instead, Steve had apparently spent the last year becoming weirdly decent. The kind of guy people trusted, the kind of guy you deserved.
That thought hit him hard enough to make him laugh once under his breath, bitter and sharp.
“Yeah,” Eddie muttered. “There it is.”
Because that was the real problem, wasn’t it? Not Steve, and not even you.
It was the awful, crawling thing inside Eddie’s chest that always whispered the same truth, no matter how happy he got: Eventually, you would realize you could do better.
Why wouldn’t you? Steve had a future. Steve looked good standing next to you. Steve didn’t live in a trailer with a ceiling stain shaped like Florida.
Eddie leaned back against your desk, staring at the rain-slick window. He thought about the way you had looked during the phone call: panicked, guilty, and scared.
And God, maybe that should’ve reassured him more, because you hadn’t looked lovestruck. You hadn’t looked happy, you looked absolutely terrified.
But then there were all the other things. The weird disappearances lately. The bruises you brushed off. The late nights. The exhaustion.
And Steve, always Steve.
Eddie’s stomach twisted. Because he had seen it before. Not enough to accuse anybody. Not enough to feel justified, but just enough.
Steve looking at you too long when you laughed. Steve standing too close at lunch one afternoon while you explained something with your hands, moving all animated.
The way Steve always seemed to know where you were lately. How he picked you up after school twice last week. How Robin once joked:
“You two are basically attached at the hip now.” And everyone had gone weirdly quiet after.
At the time, Eddie had laughed it off. Mostly.
But now? Now all those moments were lining up in his head like evidence. And he hated himself for it.
Because a bigger part of him still believed you, even now. That was the worst thing. He believed you when you said you loved him. He believed the kiss. He believed the look in your eyes when you asked him not to pull away from you.
But he also believed something was wrong. And whatever it was, Steve Harrington was in the middle of it.
Eddie pushed off the desk abruptly.
“Nope,” he said aloud.
The empty room swallowed the word whole, and he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.
This was a terrible idea, a genuinely terrible idea. A mature person would go home. A mature person would trust their girlfriend.
A mature person would not drive around Hawkins in the rain looking for Steve Harrington’s car like some paranoid lunatic.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, Eddie has never claimed to be mature a day in his life.
The wet earth squelched beneath his sneakers as he crossed toward the van, rain immediately soaking through his curls and jacket. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off, low and mean across the dark sky.
His keys jingled in his shaking hand. Not from fear, definitely not from fear. Just adrenaline, anger, and something really ugly.
The van coughed twice before finally turning over.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Eddie muttered, patting the dashboard. “Don’t embarrass me tonight.”
The engine growled to life. A few minutes later, he was driving through Hawkins with his windshield wipers squeaking frantically against the rain.
At first, he told himself he was just clearing his head. Then he told himself he was just making sure you were okay. Then he told himself if he happened to see Steve’s car, maybe he’d ask what the hell was going on.
Totally reasonable, totally sane. Except that twenty minutes later, he was still driving.
Past the diner. Past Family Video. Past the darkened storefronts downtown. Every pair of headlights made his stomach jump. Every glimpse of a BMW made his pulse kick.
Rain blurred neon signs into smeared color across the windshield while his thoughts spiraled harder and harder the longer he drove.
Maybe you were at Steve’s house. Maybe Nancy was there, too. Maybe all of them were there. Maybe he really was being insane. Maybe… then he saw it.
Steve Harrington’s stupid BMW, parked right outside of Johnathan Byers’ house.
His stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.
Jonathan’s house sat dark and crooked beneath the storm, porch light flickering weakly against the rain.
The woods behind it looked blacker than usual tonight, dense and endless beneath the clouds.
Eddie stared at the BMW, then at the house. Then back at the BMW.
A dozen ugly thoughts clawed their way through his head immediately.
Maybe this was where you had all been disappearing to lately. Maybe this was why you’d been lying. Maybe Steve calling to make sure you were alone wasn’t because of some “friend thing.”
Maybe Eddie really had been stupid enough to miss what was right in front of him.
“Alright,” he muttered, shoving the van into park. “Fine.”
The rain soaked through his jacket within seconds of stepping outside.
Mud sucked at his sneakers as he crossed the yard toward the porch, thunder rumbling somewhere overhead.
The house looked abandoned from the outside. No movement behind the windows. No voices. No TV glow.
But Steve’s car was here, which meant you were here.
Eddie climbed the porch steps two at a time and shoved the front door open.
“Seriously?” he called, irritation already rising in his voice. “You guys couldn’t pick literally any less suspicious place to—”
The words died in his throat because the house was empty. Like everyone had left in the middle of doing something.
Couch cushions overturned. Flashlights were scattered across the coffee table. Half-open boxes of ammunition sitting beside crumpled maps and walkie-talkies.
And the air? The air smelled wrong; metallic, burnt, and rotting.
Eddie frowned slowly. “…Hello?”
No answer. Rain battered the roof overhead while the house creaked softly around him. Somewhere deeper inside, something buzzed faintly with static.
Then, a scream ripped through the house. Not human, not animal, but something else entirely.
Something deep enough to vibrate through Eddie’s ribs, and he froze.
Another crash sounded from down the hallway. Then the lights flickered once, twice.
Then all at once, every lamp in the living room exploded. Eddie shouted instinctively, throwing an arm over his face as glass rained across the floor.
Darkness swallowed the room whole. For one horrible second, there was nothing except the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Then he heard it: a wet clicking noise, slow and close. Eddie’s pulse stopped all together.
Something moved in the hallway. At first, his brain couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
It unfolded itself from the darkness in pieces: slick skin, impossibly long limbs, a body shaped almost human except for every part that wasn’t.
And its face…Jesus Christ.
Its face opened, like a flower peeling itself inside out. Rows of teeth glistened wetly beneath flickering lightning outside the windows. Eddie stumbled backward so hard he nearly slipped.
“What the fuck—”
The creature screamed. The sound tore through the house so violently that Eddie physically flinched.
Then it lunged.
Everything happened at once. A body slammed into him from the side hard enough to send him crashing onto the floor. Pain exploded through his shoulder as his back hit the hardwood.
Then your voice, “MOVE!”
The gunshot deafened him. The flash lit the room white for half a second.
The creature reeled backward with a shriek, black blood splattering across the wall as the bullet hit somewhere near its shoulder.
It stumbled, claws scraping violently against the floorboards. Not dead, just stunned.
“EDDIE, GET UP!”
You were on top of him for one frantic second, soaked from head to toe, hair sticking to your face, shotgun clutched tightly in shaking hands.
Eddie stared at you like he’d forgotten how. You looked terrified. Not guilty, not sneaky, but terrified. The demogorgon screamed again from the hallway.
Your head snapped toward it instantly. “Shit—”
You grabbed Eddie by the jacket and hauled him upward with surprising strength. His legs nearly gave out beneath him immediately.
“What IS THAT?!” he shouted.
“No time!”
Another crash. The creature slammed into the hallway wall hard enough to crack it. You shoved Eddie toward the kitchen. “RUN!”
He moved automatically this time, on pure instinct.
The two of you bolted through the dark house while the demogorgon shrieked somewhere behind you, its claws tearing into walls as it pursued.
Eddie nearly slipped on shattered glass turning the corner into the kitchen, catching himself on the counter while his brain struggled desperately to process what he had just seen.
Monster. Actual monster. Teeth. Face opening…
“What the FUCK!” Eddie yelled again.
“I KNOW!” you shouted back.
You sounded stressed enough that under any other circumstance, he might’ve laughed. Another gunshot exploded behind you. Nancy.
“GO GO GO!” Steve’s voice.
The back door burst open just as Robin appeared outside it, molotov cocktail in hand.
“There you are!” she yelled. “Move your asses!”
“What the hell is happening?!” Eddie shouted.
“No time!” Robin grabbed his arm and physically yanked him out into the rain.
The woods behind the Byers' house erupted with chaos.
Flashlights bounced wildly through the trees. Dustin and Lucas were dragging something heavy toward a trap near the treeline while Steve sprinted across the yard with nail bat in one hand and blood running down the side of his face.
Steve saw Eddie and actually stopped running for half a second.
“…Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.”
“YOU TOLD EDDIE?!” Nancy shouted from somewhere behind the house.
“I DIDN’T TELL EDDIE!” you yelled back.
The demogorgon burst through the back wall. Not the door, but the goddamn wall.
Wood exploded outward into the rain as the creature launched itself into the yard with a scream so horrifying that Eddie’s knees almost buckled on the spot.
Every single person started yelling at once. And Eddie finally realized you hadn’t been lying to hurt him. You’d been lying because monsters were real.
The demogorgon screamed loud enough to shake the trees. Rain poured in sheets across the Byers’ yard, soaking everyone within seconds as the creature staggered upright again, black blood dripping from its shoulder where you had shot it.
And then it looked directly at Eddie. It's horrible, flower-face peeled wider open, rows of teeth glistening.
Eddie physically recoiled.
“Nope,” he said immediately. “Nope. Absolutely fucking not—”
Then, the creature lunged. Steve swung the nail bat first.
“WATCH OUT!”
The bat cracked against the side of the demogorgon’s head with a sickening sound, nails catching flesh just enough to make the creature shriek and stumble sideways.
But it barely slowed.
“Steve!” Nancy yelled.
“I noticed!” Steve shouted back.
The demogorgon slammed him into the mud hard enough to knock the bat from his hands. Everything exploded into motion again.
Robin screamed. Lucas grabbed Dustin by the hoodie and yanked him backward.
You raised the shotgun, click. Empty.
“Shit.”
The demogorgon rounded on you instantly. Eddie’s stomach dropped so hard it felt like falling off a building.
“HEY!” he shouted before his brain could stop him.
Every head snapped toward him, including the creature’s.
“Oh, GREAT job, Eddie,” Robin yelled.
The demogorgon screamed and launched itself toward him. Eddie stumbled backward through the mud so fast he nearly wiped out completely.
“Oh my God—oh my GOD—”
Then, a bright light burst through the trees. A bike came tearing across the yard like a missile.
Mike nearly lost control, hitting the mud, skidding sideways while El clung to the back of the bike.
“LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT!” Mike screamed.
Everyone dove aside just as the demogorgon whipped around toward them. El jumped off the bike before it had even fully stopped.
Eddie just stared in awe.
The little girl from the wanted posters around town. The shaved-head kid everyone whispered about.
She stepped forward into the rain with blood already beginning to trickle from her nose.
El lifted one hand, and the creature froze mid-lunge. Eddie’s entire brain stopped functioning.
The demogorgon convulsed violently in midair as if something invisible had grabbed it by the throat. Its limbs jerked unnaturally, claws scraping against nothing as it let out this horrible choking scream.
Wind whipped violently through the yard, and the lights on the porch exploded.
El screamed. The demogorgon’s body folded inward with a sickening crack, and then it was launched backward into the trees hard enough to snap branches on impact.
Eddie blinked once, twice. Then he looked at El, then at the woods, then at you. Then back at El.
“…What.”
Nobody answered immediately.
Because honestly? Fair question.
El swayed slightly where she stood. Mike caught her immediately. “Easy, easy—”
“She okay?” Lucas asked.
“I’m fine,” El muttered weakly.
“You’re bleeding again,” Dustin said nervously.
“I’m okay.”
Eddie stared at the blood dripping from her nose. Then at the shattered porch lights. Then at the massive hole in the Byers’ wall.
Then at Steve Harrington, who was currently bent over in the mud trying to catch his breath with a nail bat in hand, like this was somehow normal.
Eddie laughed. Just one short, disbelieving sound.
“No,” he said immediately. “Nope. No. Absolutely not.” He pointed wildly toward the woods. “What the FUCK was THAT?!”
Nobody spoke.
“You people are insane,” he continued. “You’re all insane. There was a—” he gestured violently “—that thing, and then the little girl used her MIND—”
“Eddie,” you said carefully.
“No, no, don’t ‘Eddie’ me!” He looked genuinely frantic now, adrenaline making his voice crack slightly. “You all just acted like this is NORMAL!”
“It’s not normal,” Robin said.
“That is not comforting!”
Steve finally straightened up, wiping rainwater and blood from his face. “Okay. Alright. Everybody chill.”
Eddie rounded on him instantly. “You shut the hell up, Harrington!”
“Fair.”
“You knew about this?!”
Steve blinked. “Yeah?”
Eddie looked at you again. You looked exhausted.
Not guilty, just so goddamn exhausted. And suddenly, every weird thing from the last few weeks came rushing back all at once.
The bruises. The fear. The late-night disappearances. The whispered phone calls. The blood on your sleeve last Tuesday you claimed was from “helping Robin with her nosebleed.” The way you checked every dark hallway lately before entering it.
How Steve always seemed protective around you. Not flirty, protective. Like he was scared something would happen to you.
Eddie’s stomach twisted. “…Holy shit.”
Nancy stepped carefully around the broken wood scattered across the yard. “We didn’t want you involved.”
He looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “A little late for that!”
“We legally couldn’t tell you,” Jonathan said quietly from beyond Nancy.
Eddie turned. “What?”
Jonathan looked miserable. “The government got involved after Will disappeared.”
Eddie frowned. “…What?”
Jonathan rubbed tiredly at his face. “When Will came back… they made us sign papers. NDAs. Threatened our families.”
“They told us nobody could know,” Nancy added quietly. “Not parents. Not friends. Nobody.”
“They literally bugged our phones,” Dustin said.
“They still might,” Robin muttered.
“We tried telling people once,” Steve said. “It went badly.”
Eddie stared at all of them. And suddenly it all started clicking into place so fast it made him feel sick. The fear in your voice tonight.
It’s not fine if he hears something.
You hadn’t been sneaking around with Steve; you’d been fighting monsters, actual monsters. And trying like hell to keep him out of it.
Eddie looked at you again. Your hands were shaking, there was blood smeared across your cheek. You looked terrified that he was angry with you, and that nearly killed him.
“Oh my God,” he said softly.
Your expression crumpled slightly, relief and guilt tangled together.
“I wanted to tell you,” you whispered.
And Eddie believed you instantly, which honestly made him feel even worse.
Because while you had been carrying the weight of literal inter-dimensional horror, Eddie had been driving around Hawkins, convincing himself Steve Harrington was stealing his girlfriend.
Jesus Christ.
He scrubbed both hands down his soaked face.
“I thought you were cheating on me,” he admitted weakly.
Then Robin barked out a laugh so sudden she had to double over.
Steve looked offended. “With me?”
Eddie pointed at him immediately. “You are objectively suspicious!”
“You followed us to a monster hunt because you thought I was hooking up with your girlfriend?”
“When you say it out loud, it sounds bad.”
“It sounded bad in your head, too!”
“Okay, yes, maybe, but in my defense—” Eddie gestured helplessly toward Steve’s face “—you’re you!”
Steve blinked rainwater out of his eyes. “What does that mean?”
Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we do this later?”
You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
That got Eddie’s attention instantly.
His head snapped toward you so fast it almost hurt. At first, he thought you were laughing. Then, he realized your shoulders were shaking.
Rain poured down your face in uneven streams, sticking your hair to your cheeks, and suddenly Eddie couldn’t tell what rainwater was and what wasn’t because your eyes looked glassy and overwhelmed and dangerously close to falling apart.
“Hey,” he said immediately, taking a step toward you. “Hey, sweetheart—”
You let out another breathless sound, covering your mouth with one hand like you were trying to stop it. It only made it worse.
“Oh my God,” you laughed weakly, voice cracking straight down the middle. “Oh my God, this is such a disaster.”
“Nobody’s dead,” Robin offered.
“Robin,” Nancy said flatly.
“What? I’m helping.”
You shook your head hard, somewhere between hysterical and exhausted now.
“I was trying so hard to keep you away from this,” you said, looking at Eddie again. “Like, genuinely trying.”
Every ounce of defensiveness left Eddie’s body. You looked wrecked, not dramatic or manipulative, just tired in a way that went deeper than sleep.
“You think I wanted to lie to you?” you continued, voice wobbling. “You think I wanted you looking at me like that tonight?”
Eddie’s chest caved in on itself. “No,” he said quietly.
“I’ve spent weeks trying to make sure you didn’t end up anywhere near this stuff, and now you’ve seen a demogorgon before even getting the actual explanation.”
“That’s fair,” Dustin muttered.
You pointed at him without looking away from Eddie. “Not helping.”
“Sorry.”
Another shaky laugh escaped you, immediately collapsing into something more fragile. You scrubbed both hands down your face roughly.
“I just—I knew if you found out, you’d try to help.”
Eddie blinked. “Well… yeah.”
“Exactly!” you said, throwing your hands up. “That’s the problem!”
You looked at Eddie like you were frustrated with him for caring. Which, honestly, you kind of were.
“You don’t understand how dangerous this is,” you said, voice getting smaller now. Less frantic. More honest. “People die, Eddie.”
Your expression crumpled again almost immediately after saying it.
“We’ve almost died,” you admitted quietly. “A lot.”
Eddie scans you from head to toe, and suddenly, all the little things he’d noticed lately become unbearable in hindsight. The flinching, the nightmares, the constant exhaustion, the random disappearances.
You hadn’t been pulling away from him. You had been trying to carry this alone, to protect him from it. Guilt hit him so hard it made his stomach twist painfully.
“Hey,” he said softly again, stepping closer this time. “Hey, c’mere.”
You shook your head immediately.
“No, because now you’re involved anyway!” you said, voice cracking again. “That thing literally almost ate you because you came looking for me!”
“Okay, technically, I came looking for Harrington.”
Steve threw both hands up. “Why am I catching strays?!”
“His suspicion is kinda warranted,” Robin retorts.
“You could’ve died,” you whispered.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “I need you to breathe for me, alright?”
You let out one watery laugh. “Don’t therapist voice me right now.”
“I’m not therapist voicing you.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Okay, maybe a little.”
Another broken laugh escaped you, and Eddie took that opportunity to gently pry the shotgun from your hands before you accidentally dropped it, and you let him.
Which honestly told him everything. You were exhausted enough to stop fighting.
Eddie set the gun down against the wet Earth carefully before reaching for you again.
The second his hands settled on your arms, something in you finally gave out.
You buried your face hard into his soaked jacket with a strangled sound, somewhere between frustration and relief, and Eddie immediately wrapped both arms around you tight enough to shield you from the storm itself if he could.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his chest.
That almost made him cry on the spot.
“What?” Eddie frowned, holding the back of your head protectively. “No, no, absolutely not. You do not get to apologize right now.”
“I lied to you.”
“You lied to me about interdimensional monsters,” he said. “That feels a little different than normal lying.”
A muffled laugh escaped you. Eddie rested his cheek against the top of your head for one brief second, eyes closing.
Then, quieter: “I’m the asshole here.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Eddie…”
“No, seriously.” He winced. “I spent, like… the last hour fully convincing myself Steve Harrington was stealing my girlfriend.”
Steve looked personally offended again. “I don’t want your girlfriend!”
“I know that NOW!”
“You thought I’d cheat on you with Steve Harrington?” you asked incredulously through tears.
“When you say it like that, it sounds—”
“Insane?” Robin supplied helpfully.
“Deeply insulting?” Steve added.
Eddie pointed at Steve. “You stay out of this.”
“No, absolutely not!” Steve said, genuinely offended now as rain dripped from his hair. “What does that even mean?”
You looked between the two of them, still half crying, half laughing from adrenaline overload.
“Eddie,” you said breathlessly, “seriously? Him?”
Steve’s face scrunched up. “Wow. Okay.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Wait, no, not like—”
“No, no, I heard it,” Steve continued dramatically. “‘Him?’ Like I’m some horrifying possibility.”
“You literally thought I’d cheat on you with a man who dresses like a substitute gym teacher,” you continued at the exact same time Steve said:
“I happen to dress very well, actually.”
Eddie barked out a startled laugh before he could stop himself.
Steve pointed at you both accusingly. “See? This is exactly why I don’t help people.”
Eddie looked down at you, hair plastered to your forehead from the rain, eyes glassy with leftover tears and adrenaline, and felt guilt twist sharply in his chest again.
You had spent weeks trying to keep him safe.
And he had spent tonight preparing to fistfight Steve Harrington in a parking lot. Your laughter faded into something softer as you tilted your head up at him.
“You really thought I was cheating on you?” you asked again, quieter this time.
Eddie grimaced.
“…In my defense, you and Harrington have been acting like deeply weird little freaks lately.”
Steve threw his hands up. “THANK YOU!”
“That was not a compliment,” you and Eddie said simultaneously.
Steve looked betrayed. “I’m carrying this team on my BACK.”
“You literally screamed when the demogorgon touched you,” Nancy said flatly.
“Because it was touching me, Nancy!”
Another laugh escaped you, and Eddie mentally swore the sound alone shaved ten years off his life expectancy from sheer relief.
You reached up slowly, touching his soaked jacket near the collar.
“I didn’t want this near you,” you admitted quietly.
“I know,” he said softly. “Little too late for that, huh?”
hope you all enjoyed!!!! i didn't have my laptop all weekend so i had to try to write on my phone...i now have so much respect for those who write fics on their phones that shit was HARD.
taglist is open!
taglist:
@echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @bonnieprincess @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @bitterestwillow @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
Aftercare - Eddie Munson x Reader - One Shot
To your surprise, Eddie Munson is not, in fact, a hit-it-&-quit-it kind of guy.
a/n - I missed writing him after I played around making a NSFW alphabet for everyone’s favorite metalhead yesterday . so here’s a lil one shot for him. yes, grilled cheese makes an appearance.
TW/CW - hookups, references to other hookups, aftercare, semi-established friendship, sweet!Eddie, oral (f! Receiving), no use of y/n, a lil bit of edging/orgasm denial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The anticipation in the Munson trailer had been thick enough to choke on when you’d arrived. For the week leading up to tonight, your stomach had been in a constant state of low-grade knots, flipping over every time you thought about Eddie Munson’s smirk, his rings, the way he looked at you like you were a riddle he was dying to solve. You liked him - really liked him - but the leap from casual friends to flirting at the record store or at The Hideout after he played on Thursday nights to being in his actual bedroom was a terrifying one.
Your track record with guys in Hawkins was, in a word, abysmal. It was a veritable catalog of fumbled hooks-ups in the backs of cars or stale bedrooms where you were primarily an afterthought. A vessel for someone else’s gratification. The guys didn't care if you enjoyed it or not, they just wanted to finish. Granted, most of them at least made sure they weren’t physically hurting you, but that was about it.
So, out of habit, you had steeled yourself for this to be another entry in that book - maybe a fun and chaotic one. But ultimately, you expected to yank your jeans on and leave feeling empty.
But Eddie hadn't let you feel empty for a single second. Though he had a baseline energy that could normally be only describe as “erratic”, he’d surprised you by taking his sweet time.
Your clothes weren’t immediately torn off upon entering his room, instead he had noticed the tremor in your hands when you first sat on the edge of his mattress (whether from nerves or low blood sugar, you weren’t quite sure) and hadn't made fun of you or been annoyed or even called the whole thing off. Instead, he had taken your hands in his, kissing your knuckles one by one until your breathing slowed. When he finally kissed you, it wasn't sloppy or rushed. It was deep and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.
And when things had gotten heated, his focus had been entirely on you. He hadn't just dived in - he’d actually asked what you liked, or didn’t. What felt best - be it a position or technique. He wasn’t happy with “good” or “fine” - no, no. He wanted your eyes to roll back in your head and for his name to be a whimper on your lips.
Eddie had watched your reactions with a hungry kind of fascination, adjusting the angle of his hips, the pressure of his hands, guided by the noises you made and the way your back arched off the mattress. He had held your gaze through it, his eyes blown wide and dark, murmuring praise that actually felt genuine. When you fell apart more than once - he was right there to catch you, whispering how beautiful you looked, how good you felt, making sure you knew that this wasn't just about him getting off.
The ceiling of his trailer was still swimming in your hazy vision, the faint yellow glow of the streetlamp outside cutting through the gaps in the blinds to stripe across the walls. Your chest was heaving slightly, heart rate just beginning to slow down to something resembling a normal rhythm, but your brain was still floating somewhere in the stratosphere. You felt boneless, thoroughly blissed out in the best possible way, and entirely ready to pass out exactly where you were.
You needed to leave, as neither of you had discussed anything about you spending the night, but maybe he would let you breathe for a second instead of immediately kicking you out of his home.
A moment later, you felt the mattress dip gently as Eddie shifted his weight. You braced yourself for the request for you to leave, for the cold shoulder that usually followed a hookup when a partner decided their part of the bargain was done.
Oddly, it didn’t come.
"You still with me, sweetheart?" Eddie’s voice was a low rasp, thick with post-sex haze, but laced with a gentleness that made your chest tight. He didn't wait for an answer before he reached out, his fingers - not rough or demanding, but achingly soft - brushing a few stray hairs away from your sweaty forehead. His eyes were locked on yours, scanning your face like he was looking for any sign of distress.
You blinked, trying to clear the fog. "Uh, yeah," you managed to get out. "I'm... yeah."
He smiled, a crooked, genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Good. Fuck, you’re amazing."
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks - not just the flush of sex, but something shyer. You weren't used to… what was this? Pillow talk? Post-sex praise? Whatever it was, you weren't accustomed to being looked at like you were something precious - rather than just a body to occupy space for a few hours.
"Stay here," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple that felt far too reverent for the grungy trailer park setting. "Don't move a muscle."
You watched as he climbed out of bed, unashamed of his nakedness as he padded across the room. Usually, this was the part where they disappeared to the bathroom to pee, and you started hunting for wherever the hell your bra had gone off to. But Eddie returned with a clean, soft washcloth he’d obviously wetted in the sink.
The warmth of the cloth was a shock against the sensitive skin between your legs as he gently cleaned you up. He didn't rush or treat it like a chore to get out of the way so he could sleep. He wiped away the sweat and your combined releases with a care that bordered on worship, eyes never leaving yours, checking in silently to make sure the pressure was okay, that you weren't too tender.
"Okay?" he whispered, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d left a rather impressive hickey not twenty minutes prior.
You nodded, overwhelmed by the simple intimacy of it. "Yeah. It's... Nice."
He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss your knee. "Just nice? I'm aiming for at least 'pleasantly pampered'."
"Pleasantly pampered, then. Absolutely,” you corrected with a small smile.
"Good. That's the goal."
To your surprise, after he tossed the cloth into the hamper, Eddie didn’t help you look for your clothes. He simply climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet up over both of you before gathering you into his arms. His skin was warm against yours, his heartbeat steady under your ear as he began to draw intricate patterns on the bare skin of your back. The sweetness sent a pang of emotion through your heart. You’d known him for a few years by this point, but you absolutely hadn’t expected all this.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice cut through your thoughts a few minutes later, and you glance up at him. “Lost you for a minute there.”
"I'm, uh, not used to…” you cut the words off before you could embarrass yourself.
Eddie stiffened slightly against you, his hand pausing its rhythm. "Used to what?"
"Being... Treated like this." You hesitated, but the safety of the dark and the lingering haze of the endorphins made you brave.
“What’d you mean?”
You exhaled. “It sounds kinda pathetic to say it out loud.”
“Try me.”
"Just, I don’t know. Like I matter. Most guys... they hang around long enough to get what they want and that's it. Either they’re kicking me out or they’re leaving. They don't care if I'm okay after. They don't ask if I liked it. During or after. And it’s fine, I mean, nature of the beast, right -“
Eddie pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his brow furrowed. The playfulness was gone from his face, replaced by something that looked a lot like disappointment.
"What do you mean, 'they don't ask'? How is that even possible? You're... You’re incredible. Why wouldn't they want to know if they actually made you feel good?"
You shrugged, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense scrutiny. You’d absolutely said too much. Eddie didn’t sign up for a sob story when he’d invited you over, so why the hell were you dumping all this shit on the first decent guy you’d been with in ages (or maybe ever)? Damn, you knew how to ruin a nice moment.
“I dunno. I'm just... Not the type they care about."
Eddie let out a sharp, disbelieving breath, shaking his head against the pillow. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of stupid things from the idiots in this town."
He reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear with a seriousness that made your breath hitch. "You are definitely the type to care about. If those guys made you feel like you weren't, then they're idiots."
"You don’t have to say stuff like that just because you fucked me, Eddie,” you whispered.
“I’ve known you for what, five years? So would it make you feel better if I’d say that even if we hadn’t just had sex, angel?”
"I -“ you thought for a moment, then shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I'm just not used to someone like you."
"Someone like me?" he echoed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ooh - a freak? Or maybe a - gasp - metalhead?"
"Well yes. But also no," you said, tracing a tattoo on his arm. "Someone who actually gives a shit. Someone who makes me feel like... Don’t like, but like I'm the only girl in the world when we're… Not that I’m gonna hold you to that, since this was a one-time thing, but you know what I mean.”
Eddie’s expression softened, the disappointment draining away into something warmer. He leaned in and kissed you, cutting off your words with a slow, deep press of his lips that left you dizzy all over again.
"Well, how about you try and get used to it," he murmured against your mouth. "Because I plan on making you feel that way a lot more often. If you’ll let me."
He settled back against the pillows, pulling you tighter into his side before you could protest. "Now," he said, his tone shifting back to that lighter, teasing cadence, though his eyes remained serious. "Did you eat today? You came over straight from work, right?"
You blinked at the sudden subject change, but you knew better than to try and deflect him by now. "Uh, yeah. But I had something from the vending machine, so I’m fine.”
Eddie let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "A vending machine snack? That’s not real food, babe. That's cardboard with artificial flavoring."
"Hey, it sustained me for our activities,” you defended weakly.
"It like seven at night and I wore you out pretty good," he shot back, grinning to show he was teasing. "I'm making you a grilled cheese. Don't argue."
“I should probably go home -“
“No.”
“What do you mean no? Where are my clothes?”
“Do you really need them?”
"I'm naked, Eddie."
"And you're beautiful," he countered without missing a beat, leaning in to kiss you, quick and sweet. "I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear if you’re suddenly feeling so bashful. Then it’s dinner time.”
He started to get out of bed again, the energy returning to his limbs now that he had a mission of selecting you a shirt and then preparing you dinner. After rummaging through his dresser, he dramatically draped a Dio tshirt over your head so you looked like a ghost before you properly put it on.
"You're seriously making me food right now?" you asked, watching him hunt for his boxers on the floor.
"Starvation is a terrible aftercare strategy," he said, stepping into his boxers and then jeans and buttoning them with practiced ease. "I'm multitasking. I can be a rockstar in the sack and a short-order cook. I'm a man of many talents."
You laughed, the sound bubbling up out of you without permission. It felt good. Oddly real.
"Extra cheese?" He asked, heading toward the small kitchenette, his hair a wild mess around his shoulders.
"Yes please," you called out.
"You got it, princess."
You sat there for a few moments, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the tiny kitchen - the clinking of the frying pan, the opening of the fridge, the hum of the stove. It was all so domestic. Sweet. Everything you had convinced yourself you didn't need out of a quick fling, wrapped up in a package of leather and tattoos and a heart that was way too big for his own good.
You pulled his t-shirt over your head, the soft fabric smelling like him, and settled back against the pillows, listening to him mutter to himself about the butter being too hard for his liking, following by some absentminded humming to a song you’d have to ask him about later.
Thoughts flooded your head in his absence. You weren't used to being taken care of - in or out of the bedroom, much less treated like something fragile and valuable. But as Eddie walked back into the room a few minutes later, holding a plate with two perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwhiches, glasses of lemonade, and a please look on his face, you felt like you could probably get used to it.
"Eat," he commanded gently, setting the food on the nightstand and crawling back under the covers with you.
You took a bite of the sandwich he brought you, the cheese stretching perfectly, and looked at him. He was watching you, eyes soft and small smile playing on his lips.
“Good?”
"Delicious. Thank you, Eddie," your words came out as a whisper.
"Don't thank me," he said, pulling you closer. "Just lemme take care of you. That's all I want."
The smell of melted butter and toast filled the small room, mixing with the lingering scent of sex and Eddie’s leather jacket draped over the chair. You took another a bite of the grilled cheese and hummed in appreciation. It was simple, but exactly what you needed.
Eddie was still watching you with a satisfied expression, leaning back against the headboard, his own sandwich half-eaten in his hand.
"You really weren't kidding about your cooking skills,” you mumbled around a mouthful. “Probably would’ve come over a lot sooner if I knew how great the room service was.”
Eddie laughed a moment before his expression shifted. The playfulness faded into something more intent, though his eyes remained warm. "I've been thinking."
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Sweetheart, you wound me,” though his grin belied his amusement at your response.
You paused, sandwich halfway to your mouth as you thought about what he’d originally said. The phrase I’ve been thinking rarely led anywhere good in your experience. "What’ve you been thinking about?"
"Us." He set the plate back down on the nightstand and turned his body toward you, one leg bent up on the mattress so he was facing you fully. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing. Like, I really don't."
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. "Okay," you said slowly, trying to gauge where he was going with this. "I... I had a good time too. I think I’m free on Thursday, but I have to get up early on Friday for a -“
"No, I mean... I want to see you. Exclusively." He rushed the words out, like he was worried if he didn't say them fast enough, he'd lose his nerve. "Like, take you on actual dates. Or pick you up from work sometimes. Bring you dinner when you've had a shitty day. I want to be the guy you call when you need something. Not just a release. Though I can give you that too."
Your eyebrows shot up, surprise rippling through you. You weren't expecting him of all people to want to lock this down after one night. Most guys in Hawkins were allergic to labels, treating "relationship" like a dirty word.
"You want to be… Exclusive?"
"Yes," he said, simple and direct. "If you'll have me, that is."
You stared at him, a little stunned. It was ridiculous, really, how much you wanted to say yes right that second, but your brain was still trying to catch up with your heart.
"Eddie... We literally just hooked up for the first time like two hours ago. Isn't that a little... Fast?"
He let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Why? Because I know what I want, and I think you do to?" He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "We’ve known each other for years, baby. I don't need to periodically hook up with you for like six months to know that I want something a bit more permanent.”
“Friendship and hooking up are two different -“
“I don't wanna share you.” The words came out in another rush, and a bolt of adrenaline shot through your veins. It wasn’t like Eddie owned you - but the fact that he wanted to slap a label on the two of you made you feel pretty good. “I don't want you going home with other random guys who don’t know how to make you feel the way you deserve."
You felt your cheeks heat up, his intensity washing over you. It was flattering, overwhelming, and more than a little terrifying. "I just... I don't know, Eddie. It's a lot to process."
"Is it?" He challenged, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes flashing with something dangerous and mischievous. He shifted closer, his hand landing on your bare thigh under the covers, his fingers tracing circles into your skin. "Or are you just used to settling for less? Because I think I can be pretty persuasive when I put my mind to it."
Your breath hitched as his hand slid higher, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Fuck, you still hadn’t tracked down your underwear from wherever he’d thrown it after stripping it off of you hours ago.
"Eddie..."
"Let me convince you," he murmured, leaning in until his lips were hovering just above yours. "Show you exactly what you'd be saying yes to."
Before you could formulate a proper response - before you could even tell him that you were already pretty convinced - he moved. In one fluid motion, he pulled the duvet back, exposing your legs to the cool air. He didn't give you a chance to cover up or shy away as he slid down the bed, hands gripping your hips and tugging you toward him until you were lying flat on your back, your legs falling open instinctively under his touch.
"Eddie, wait, I'm -“
"Shh," he hushed you, his breath hot against your inner thigh. "Just let me take care of you, baby.”
Eddie didn't bother to waste time with teasing or dragging it out. Before you could protest, he buried his face between your legs with a groan that sounded like relief, like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could nourish him.
The first touch of his tongue was electric. He licked a long, slow stripe up your center, gathering the wetness there and moaning like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. Your hips writhed against the mattress, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as the sensation overwhelmed you. He held you down, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs, large hands splaying across your stomach to pin you in place.
"You taste so fucking good," he mumbled against you, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through your core. "I could stay here all night. Want me to try, baby? I’ll do it.”
Without waiting for an answer, he dove back in, his tongue delving deeper, exploring you with a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive. He wasn't just trying to get you off - he was worshipping you. He was learning every fold, ridge, and sensitive spot. Relishing each gasp and whimper he could pull from your throat. He alternated between broad, flat strokes that had you seeing stars and pointed, precise flicks against your clit that made your toes curl. Eddie’s tongue speared into you, and your inner walls clenched instinctively. Pressure began to build low in your hips, and you ground yourself against his face, seeking friction.
You reached down, fingers tangling in his wild hair to pull him closer, needing more. He moaned at the sensation, which only aroused you more.
"Eddie, p-please," you gasped, head falling back against the pillows.
"Tell me yes," he demanded, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. His chin was shiny with your arousal, his lips swollen and red and eyes blazing with lust. "Tell me you'll be mine, and I'll let you finish."
You whined in protest, your hips rolling futilely against the air, seeking the sensations he was currently denying you. "That's... That’s cheating."
"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," he grinned, wicked and unrepentant. He leaned back in, pressing a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, but not moving his tongue. Just holding it there, teasing you with the promise of more pressure. "Say yes."
"You're impossible.”
"I'm persistent," he corrected, flicking his tongue once, hard, against the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake. You were so close to the edge. "Come on, gorgeous. You know you want to. We're so good together. Say. Yes
Then he did it again, a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, curling it just right, before pulling away entirely. His ringed hands flexed against your thighs, continuing to hold you open for him. It was clear he was barely holding himself back, and his wish to stay between your legs all night was likely not an idle threat.
“Please, baby.” His breath fanned over your center, and what little composure you had snapped.
You let out a sound of pure frustration, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "Okay! Okay, yes! Yes, I'll be your girlfriend!"
"Good girl," he growled, and then he finally stopped teasing.
He attacked your clit with renewed vigor, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it in tight, rapid circles. Your back arched off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat as the pleasure crested, sharp and overwhelming. He didn't let up, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you steady as he wrung every ounce of pleasure out of you. He let your thighs clamp around his ears, not complaining for a moment as your hips rode his face.
It was honestly unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was intense and all-consuming, a white-hot rush that started in your toes and shot up your spine, detonating behind your eyelids in an explosion of stars. You heard yourself crying out broken versions of his name, and possibly some iteration of a litany of curse words as the waves crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling in their wake.
He worked you through it, because of course he did. His movements slowed as you came down, gentle licks and kisses to help you ride out the aftershocks. When he finally pulled away, he looked wrecked. His hair was a disaster, his lips practically bruised, and his eyes were glazed over with a mix of lust and adoration that made your heart stutter as your own vision cleared.
Eddie crawled slowly back up your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, chest, and neck, until he was hovering over you, bracing his weight on his arms. He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, musky and sweet, and the sheer eroticism of it made your head spin. Not something you thought you’d ever be into, but there was a first time for everything.
"Don’t you taste good, sweetheart?" he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip.
"You're dangerous," you brought a hand up to cup his cheek gently.
"I'm yours," he corrected, turning his head to kiss your palm. "Exclusively. Remember?"
"I-I remember," you said, a smile finally breaking through the haze. "Gotta say. I think I'm going to like having a boyfriend who takes his job this seriously."
Eddie grinned, and it made your stomach flip. "Oh, I'm just getting started, babe. You have no idea."
I LOVED THIS SOMIUUCH
a complete re-do┃e.m.
eddie munson x shy!reader
on a night back in hawkins, you decide to drop by an old not-haunt just to see how your old not-friend eddie is doing.
what’s the harm in that?
18+ MDNI┃7.2k
cw: fluff-fest with angsty undertones. reserved/wallflower reader feat. some deep-seated insecurity (they say write what you know, y’know?) and flashbacks to a shitty first kiss that is for sure most definitely not ripped directly from sarah lore 👀
eddie is the Flirtmaster Supreme, I made him too smooth for his own good, truly. r wears a dress, uses she/her pronouns, drinks alcohol, and smokes weed (badly).
You might have guessed Eddie Munson would wind up running the Hideout.
He’d worked there throughout high school, possibly even before then. It had only added to the shroud of mystery and intrigue surrounding him—a source of endless fascination for you and the rest of your former classmates.
Well, okay, maybe that was just you.
Back then he was a lowly barback, bobbing and weaving around the same group of drunks every night, clearing empties and wiping down sticky tables, attempting the Sisyphean task of keeping the bathrooms clean in exchange for his band being allowed up on their so-called stage.
Now he was acting manager and in the process of buying out the original owner so she could retire. He made a lot of changes already—not that you’d ever dared set foot in here during your tenure at Hawkins High back in the day. But you (rightfully) assumed it was your average hole in the wall, with barely any light coming through the dirt-streaked windows; all the walls papered so thoroughly with stickers and graffiti you couldn’t guess what color they were; furniture so rickety and shoddily built it fell apart if you so much as looked at it wrong.
The space was still divey, but he’d changed up some of the decor and added some light fixtures over the bar so people could actually see what they were drinking. He’d swapped out the older standing tables for black vinyl booths that lined the walls, leaving the middle open for shows.
He’d also managed to construct an honest-to-god stage in the corner with lights, and a sound system and everything. At present it was empty, but according to the fliers tacked up on the door quite a few bands were slated to play there over the next couple of weeks. His own included.
And it seemed the interior wasn’t the only thing that had been updated.
His height still afforded him the same gangly frame you remembered from high-school, but he’d filled out slightly with more muscle and a bit of softness around his formerly bony hips—which you were most definitely not checking out as he spun a bar key on his middle finger and slipped it smoothly into the back pocket of his black jeans.
You had fully been expecting just to slide onto one of the newly refurbished stools that ran along the side of the bar and drink in relative anonymity. Instead, you were stunned to find recognition in Eddie’s eyes as he turned to greet you and your name fell easily from his lips.
Like he’d been saying it for years.
“This is a surprise,” he said, leaning casually on his side of the bar.
Your mouth dropped open, but not to speak. You just blinked back at him in silent stupor.
His arms were turned out, his sleeveless tank showing off the sinewy muscles wrapped around them and the same tattoos you must have wasted hours of class time staring at. He’d cut it off at the bottom,its curled hem barely skimming the top of his handcuff belt, and your mouth watered at the thought of him reaching for something over his head to reveal a sliver of his pale stomach and the tantalizing patch of sparse hair that swirled just below his navel.
“You know me?” you asked, still blanched with confusion.
“‘Course I do.” He gave you a warm smile, deep dimples forming on either side of it. “I think I only passed Old McDonnel’s class because you let me copy your notes every morning.”
He paused and took a long moment to let his eyes wander appreciatively up and down your form. You felt your thighs press, grateful for the oak shield that hid your reaction from his view.
“Don’t you know me?” he purred.
Jesus. You thought you might slide right off the freshly re-upholstered seat under you.
“Oh– I…um,” you cleared your throat, “Yeah, of c-course I do. You’re Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
“Ding ding,” he grinned. “Remembering my name gets you a drink on the house. Whad’you like?”
He pushed off the bar and tipped his head at the rows of bottles lined up behind him, never taking his eyes off yours. They glinted like shards of onyx under the warm glow of the pendant lights.
“A rum and ginger?” you replied sheepishly, praying he didn’t think you were too lame for not going with the typical whisky. But Eddie just shot you a wink as he reached for a clean glass.
“Mm, something sweet with a little bite? Sounds about right for you.”
You’re glad to have a moment to collect yourself when he looks down to scoop some ice out of the bin, because you were not remotely prepared for this onslaught of charm. You also weren’t sure where he got the idea that there was any bite to you at all, but the implication alone makes your body buzz watching him pour out the liquor and then spray in your mixer with the soda gun.
He placed the drink down in front of you, bubbles effervescing as he set a lime on the rim and juices dribbled down its side. He then waited, expectant smile on his lips as he watched you take your first sip. Only when you had, giving an encouraging nod and a quiet thanks, did Eddie finally tear his eyes away, seemingly remembering the rest of the people in the bar existed.
In a flash, he’d done a quick check with the scant number of other patrons, closing out one’s tab and replenishing another’s drink before he returned to his spot in front of you.
“So, what brings you in?” he asked. “You moved, right? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Y-yeah, I left for school and just…stayed away,” you chuckled. “I’m here for my dad’s birthday.”
Eddie plucked a maraschino cherry from a jar he produced seemingly out of thin air and dropped it into your drink, giving you another smile as he licked sticky red juice from his thumb.
“Sounds festive,” he hummed, veins in his hand bulging as he screwed the lid back on the jar.
Fucking christ on a cracker.
Was he trying to kill you?
“Well, I guess…” you cringed inwardly at the words before they even left your mouth, “I guess it’s sort of my birthday too? They’re a couple days apart, but we always mash ‘em together.”
“Oh, shit. Way to bury the lede, sweetheart!”
Eddie leaned on the bar again, folding his arms under his chest this time so his eyeline was level with yours and he could lean a little further forward, edging his way into your space.
“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “I don’t really celebrate it.”
“Well, that’s no good.” He shook his head. “You’re definitely worth celebrating.”
Pure fire rose in your cheeks at his leading tone, and you felt your brain whirring trying to think of a response. Thankfully, a rumbly and disgruntled voice from the end of the bar called out for some attention and saved you from yourself. Eddie’s expression soured and his eyes rolled as he straightened up to full height.
“Wha-a-at?!” he brayed loudly, shooting you a sly wink when he caught your wide-eyed gaze.
Your panic turned out to be unfounded, the owner of the voice giving up a wry chuckle, evidently not phased in the slightest by this outburst. The older man huddled against the wall simply smirked and snarked about how he needed to ‘quit flirting long enough to serve some drinks.’
“Bah! You’re just jealous, Ray,” Eddie scoffed, flapping a hand at him that turned into a warning finger. “And I better not catch you trying to sneak her out from under me, alright? She’s mine.”
This time, it wasn’t just your cheeks that caught on fire. Your entire body was searing, engulfed by flames, tingling as if you’d been dunked in a vat of magma. And your mind was blank—devoid of any thought aside from those two words flashing like a neon sign on a loop in your head:
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.
It had to be a bit. Just an off-handed comment he threw around without giving any thought to who it was being prescribed to. Even so, you allowed yourself to bask briefly in the satisfaction.
It made something stir deep within your gut. Some slumbering giant who had lain dormant for so long you were certain it had fallen into legend. A creature you tended from a young age, only to seal it away in a cavernous tomb before it could grow too large to contain—strong enough to decimate whole villages in a single strike.
But now it was awake. And making itself known by the ache at the crux of your thighs.
“Can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me it was your birthday,” Eddie chuckled as he came back to you with a teasing smile. “You’re really racking up the free drinks tonight, huh?”
You sputtered on the sip you’d just taken of the cocktail in front of you.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
He held a hand up to stop you, the other reaching blindly behind him to grab a bottle of rye he used to top off Ray’s drink. “Nope, uh-uh, don’t wanna hear it,” Eddie insisted. “It’s actually illegal for me to charge for a birthday drink. Unless, of course, you wanna see me in handcuffs?”
He leaned into your space again, lowering his voice for that last part.
His brow lifted in a suggestive arch, disappearing behind his scraggly bangs, and you felt like you might rip off a hunk of your stool you were gripping the seat so tight.
Was this real life?
Was Eddie Musnon…flirting with you?
The thought alone sets off a second heartbeat between your legs, practically throbbing.
Absolutely not, you answered yourself. He is a bartender and you’re at his bar. All he’s interested in is a good tip. Don’t be that guy at the strip club who thinks a lap dance ‘means something.’
“N…no,” you answered him meekly (also lying), “wouldn’t want that.”
Eddie nodded, still smiling as he grabbed a glass and started to dry it with a towel. Conveniently, remaining in the same spot in front of you.
“So, how’s the visit so far?” he asked.
“It’s good, um…just kind of strange being back,” you hemmed, hands wringing in your lap.
Eddie pulled his lower lip back with his teeth. A look you couldn’t quite name flickered in his dark eyes and he shrugged, his chin dropping to his chest as he watched his hands dry another glass.
“Yeah, well. You took off so fast after graduation I’m surprised you didn’t break the sound barrier.”
He kept his head bent, focused on his task, but he couldn’t stop his gaze darting up to watch you through the fan of his thick lashes. You felt your breath catch when your eyes met, and promptly looked away. You took another sip of your drink, mostly sucking air through your straw while you stared at the ice, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of the same thing you were…
Graduation night. The bonfire in the woods. The rows of trucks and cars parked haphazardly along the edge of the forest with their headlights shining into the treeline as the class of ‘86 reveled in the bacchanalia of their newly minted freedom.
The last high-school party any of you would ever attend.
You couldn’t say what ultimately possessed you to go. Maybe you’d been emboldened by the fact that it was most likely the last time you’d ever see any of these people again. Maybe it was just good timing that your friend from yearbook had offered you a ride seconds after you overheard some jock confirm with Eddie that he’d be there selling that night. Maybe you wanted, for once in your entire high school career, to do something a little bit reckless and decidedly un-like yourself.
Or maybe it was just the pure, unbridled hope you might run into him there.
Eddie’s lips parted to speak again, but he was cut off by a group of younger guys who had come in and immediately started asking him about drinks and where the darts were for the dartboards.
And while he dealt with them, you found yourself drifting back into the memory of that night…
Clutching the ringed hand he offered as you clumsily tried to navigate the roots that sprawled on the forest floor; making your way towards the outermost edge of the party. Still close enough to the blaze to be scantly lit, but far enough that no one would notice you with The Freak, standing behind the thick trunk of a tall, imposing oak.
You leaned back against it, the rough bark biting into your bare back and snagging slightly on the gauzy material of your sundress. You had talked yourself into buying the revealing garment by reasoning that no one would ever even see the spaghetti straps and the nakedness of your arms and shoulders and collar bones under the bulky cover of your emerald green robe.
But now, with Eddie’s gaze drinking in the sight of all your gloriously exposed skin, you were oddly pleased you hadn’t had enough time to change in between coming home from the dinner with your parents and rushing back out the door when you spotted your friend’s car pulling into the driveway.
The firelight flickered, reflecting in his eyes that were as black as the shadowy woods at his back, and you literally felt every thought in your head being obliterated. You tried to will yourself to speak but couldn’t manage so much as a squeak, having used up all your boldness to approach him at the fire and ask if he had anything to smoke. Stomach tying itself into knots with every word.
With a slow smile, Eddie pushed back the curtain of his long hair and revealed the joint he’d tucked behind his ear. He held it out in a quiet offering, but you made no move to take it from him.
“I, um…I don’t know h-how,” you admitted, heart thumping relentlessly against your ribcage.
“That’s okay,” he said before placing the joint in between his lips instead. God, his lips…
Your pulse jumped, temples throbbing so hard you could scarcely breathe while he dug around in his jacket pocket looking for a lighter. He took a couple short, shallow puffs to get it going and a cloud of its earthy smell imbued your senses, blending with the sharper scent of the bonfire.
He then pinched it in the middle and held up the smaller end to your mouth.
“Just…take it slow,” he murmured, heavy-lidded gaze transfixed somewhere on the lower half of your face. “Don’t inhale too hard.”
You nodded, even though you barely registered the words he was saying you were still so deeply distracted by his lips, and the fact that your own were now so close to his fingers. Trembling like a leaf and desperately trying not to look like you were, you touched your mouth to the paper.
Oh fuck, mother bitch, that burned—
Tears immediately sprang in your eyes and you sputtered, trying to smother the cough as it burst forth and failing. It came out in a relentless string of dry hacks, your nose stinging and your throat tightening as you whipped your head sideways to avoid spraying spittle directly in Eddie’s face.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, the tiny smile he was trying to hide coming through in his voice as he rubbed his hand across your back in a wide circle, coaxing you through your fit.
Not that you could even enjoy the sensation of his warm palm on your bare skin.
He kept it up, though, until you were able to catch your breath and stand up (somewhat) straight.
“So-sorry,” you wheezed, giving your chest a solid thwap trying to clear your throat.
“Nah,” Eddie waved off your apology, grinding the lit end of the joint into the bark of the tree before he placed it back behind his ear. “It’s really fine. Happens to the best of us. Honest.”
You felt yourself slump against the trunk in an attempt to hold yourself up. It was tough to say if the dizzy, floating feeling in your head was due to the singular hit you’d taken off that joint, or just a reaction to Eddie’s very presence. He’d stopped rubbing your back, but hadn’t yet moved away from you. Still standing close enough you were breathing in the smell of his cologne.
Slowly, his hand came up to the side of your face and he pressed the pad of his thumb to the skin just beneath your lashes, swiping away a stray tear that leaked from the corner of your eye.
In that moment, everything had seemed to slow practically to a standstill. No more breeze rustling the tree branches overhead, no more drunken teenagers stumbling into one another, no more beers sloshing out of plastic cups and splattering on the soft earth. The scope of the entire world had narrowed down to you and Eddie and the negligible number of inches between you.
“You want, uh…water? Or anything?” he asked, his thumb still idly stroking your cheekbone.
Your head shook slowly, barely conscious of the moment, your eyes never leaving his. He gazed back at you, soft and endearing, the corner of his mouth crooked up. Looking at you almost like he knew all the things you’d been thinking as you laid in your bed at night. Like he’d seen you touch your fingers to your lips in the softest, barely-there brush, imagining it was his mouth.
His shoulder shifted and you felt his other hand on your hip, gripping you purposely. Deliberately.
All at once, it was too much. The heavy pounding of your heart in your chest too rapid, turning from anticipation to terror. You felt like you were behind the wheel of a racecar whose speed had climbed too high without you noticing, teetering on the verge of spinning out of control.
Almost hearing the screech of tires, you slammed down on the brakes.
“I-I have to go.”
With the ghost of his hand’s warmth still on your cheek, you slipped out of the space in between the tree and his body. In short, uneven strides you stumbled back to the party and gripped your friend’s forearm as hard as you could when you found her, insisting ‘we need to leave.’
And seeing the wild, panicked look in your eyes, she didn’t dare argue.
You wished he kissed you that night. You thought about it for weeks afterward, reliving every step in your head, pinpointing every humiliating second.
It was a fool’s errand, honestly. From the moment you approached him, you should’ve known.
Eddie Munson had plenty of girls to kiss. Plenty of girls whose pits didn’t sweat and whose knees didn’t buckle at the thought of someone getting close to them. Who didn’t tremble with full-body shakes like a neurotic chihuahua when someone put a hand on their hip.
You and he weren’t even friends. You’d never had so much as a real conversation.
The best you could muster was a timid ‘you’re welcome’ whenever he’d returned your notes after copying them, or a small wave when your eyes unwittingly met his across the cafeteria.
He talked, sure. But he could talk to anybody. He could debate a brick wall if the occasion arose. Any time he’d spent making idle chatter with you was surely just an attempt to fritter away a couple hours of class time. And you’d hung on his every word, barely offering a pittance in return.
“Sorry about that,” Eddie grumbled.
He slid back into his place in front of you just as the door behind you smacked closed. The group of guys who came in left just as quickly, evidently unimpressed with his selection of Scotch.
Truthfully, you couldn’t say you were sad to see them go.
“You okay?” he asked, his head dipping to catch your eye. “You want water, or…”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his as he trailed off, his face clouding with some strange expression as his fingers drummed on the surface of the bar. His gaze was suddenly distant, almost as though he too was recalling the last time he’d asked you that. Impossible as that was.
“N…no,” you exhaled the sharp breath you were holding. “I’m alright.”
Eddie nodded, his head bobbing longer than was necessary as if to a song that only he could hear before he grabbed a pint glass and filled it with water anyway, setting it down in front of you.
Even without that group of guys to deal with, Eddie got annoyingly busy after that. Annoying to him, at least. He grimaced every time somebody called him away either for a refill or to order.
The bar wasn’t crowded, by any means, but there was a consistent flow of people who needed him, demanding the attention he seemed antsy to direct somewhere else.
You got down to the last of your drink, and just as you were debating whether you should commit to another, a new one had appeared in front of you, delivered with a wink and a smirk from a dark-haired blur as he moved past you on his way down to the other end of the bar.
Smiling around the straw, you snuck a glance at Eddie and found him already looking back at you while he counted out l change. Your neck twinged with the urge to turn away, embarrassed at being caught, until you remembered he was the one who’d been caught looking at you.
And he didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
The small rush petered out and Eddie came back to you, letting out an exaggerated ‘whew!’ as he dragged the back of his hand across his brow.
“That almost felt like work,” he groaned.
Maybe it was the rum going to your head, but you couldn’t help giggling at the terrible joke, a hand coming up to cover your face when a soft snort unwittingly escaped through your nose.
Your eyes met his again, twin pools of espresso just about twinkling at the sound.
The bar was much emptier now, and quieter too. It wasn’t like it had been loud before, but now its silence felt sort of daunting. The kind of silence that made you feel anxious about how to fill it.
Thankfully, Eddie was adept as ever at defeating awkward pauses.
“You know…there’s a bunch of stuff I never knew about you,” he said after a few minutes.
“Really?” you scoffed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, lots of things,” he chuckled. “What about, like…your first kiss?”
Your fingers tensed around your glass. And you thought if you were a little stronger, it might have cracked open against your palm when every muscle in your face went still as stone.
You hated thinking about your first kiss.
Simply put, it was a mess. Brought on by a lethal mix of green apple vodka and your self-esteem at a record low. Sloppy and clumsy and too-quick. Over before you even had your bearings.
He just…attacked you. Pushed his face into yours, barely aiming. Like he was in a hurry to get it over with. Like you could’ve been anybody with a mouth and it wouldn’t make any difference.
It was a guy who was sort of friends with (and sort of wanted to fuck) your roommate. One you’d go with to parties or out to the bars. But he’d only ever engaged with you after he’d been drinking. Sober, you were lucky to get so much as a cursory greeting—assuming he got your name right.
The night it happened, you'd gone out with a big group and he’d been pestering you.
Not flirting, not as far as you could tell, just irking. Stealing sips of your drink, reaching behind you to pick up the hood of your sweatshirt and pull it up over your head, tugging on your sleeves, poking you, reaching behind his friend sitting in the middle seat of the cab to tickle your ear.
Then you got home and he started texting, asking for—no, telling—you to come over.
And to your credit, you tried to discourage it.
Begging him off with next time, some other time, another time. Because maybe if he could muster some of this enthusiasm when he was sober, you might find yourself a little more amenable to the idea. But then he hit you with the words you had no idea would still haunt you even years later:
honestly, it’s now or never.
You’d panicked. It had taken this long to find someone who was even willing to kiss you—who knew how long it would be before you could find another? Before you’d ever have another chance. So…you did it. Told him to meet you outside your dorm, and kissed him. And then he left. Because of course he didn’t just want to make out. But at least you had enough sense to shut that down.
You shook your head, mouth dry and your throat suddenly too tight for your words to get out.
“It, um…it was nothing to write home about.” you answered, staring at your lap.
Eddie, mercifully, either didn’t notice the immediate shift in your demeanor, or he simply elected to ignore it. “Okay, screw your first kiss,” he said daringly. “Tell me about your best one.”
Your fingers traced the edge of your glass, running down the ridges of the facets, freezing at his question. All ofthe air in your chest rushed out, leaving the cavity constricting as you struggled to breathe normally. The molten brown of Eddie’s eyes scanned over your expression, his features wrinkling with concern when he saw the pained look that came over your face.
“I don’t wanna do that,” you said quietly.
Something in your tone made Eddie’s gaze soften. He dropped down to his elbows, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice to a murmur. Something just for you to hear.
“How come?” he asked.
“Because I…” Your throat tightened in a thick, dry swallow and you had to take a swig of your drink before you could go on, “...because I’ve never really had a good one.”
The admission hangs in what little space there is between your faces. As soon as the words left your lips, you wished you could take them back. Suck them back into your lungs and rewind the whole evening until your feet carried you back out to the parking lot and over the gravel where your car was parked, back to your room at your parents house where you belonged.
“Never?” Eddie frowned.
And you can’t say if it’s the softness in his voice or the confusion in his eyes, but you keep going. Trying to shrug it off, trying not to sound so sad and pathetic. Broken and weary.
“They always kinda rushed it,” you said. “I didn’t get a chance to breathe or think, they just—”
“No drumroll,” Eddie finished for you.
His expression seemed to curdle like he’d just smelled something sour, his jaw ticking in a hard set frown. The veins in his arms stood out slightly as his grip tightened on the bar towel he’d been using to dry some glassware while you talked.
“That’s awfully disappointing,” he sighed, twirling the towel between his hands and then snapping it lightly against the edge of the bar with a soft tap. “Sometimes the lead-in is the best part.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrugged and swept the back of your hand across your cheek just to be sure you weren’t crying. “Clearly, I pick a lot of winners.”
Eddie chortled at that, his chest rising in a short puff. “Any of ‘em still live ‘round here?” he asked. “Gimme some names, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, no,” you shook your head rapidly, “this was in college. I never—”
You winced, cringing inwardly at what you’d been about to reveal: that you had gone most of your adolescent life without kissing anyone. That the thing most people had knocked out by the time they were pre-teens, you hadn’t managed until you were well into your twenties. And even when you did, it was always so dissatisfying. Lacking.
You let out a joyless laugh, glancing down at the drink in front of you. “I mean, nobody around here was ever interested, so—”
“Bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“I’m calling bullshit, sweetheart,” Eddie echoed himself, the sing-song words laced with a leading tone. “I know for a fact someone liked you.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed in disbelief as you went to take another sip. “Like who?”
That devilish smile twisted up the corner of his lips again, and he tilted his head. “Me, for one.”
Your sinuses erupted with pain as you nearly shot ginger ale out of your nose. You blinked furiously and your hand shot up to cover your face.
“Yo—you what?” you sputtered, still half-choking.
“Always thought you were cute,” he shrugged. “Got a thing for smart girls.”
You felt your stomach drop, plummeting to the dingy floor underneath your feet.
Jesus. Were you really so pathetic that Eddie Munson had to dream up some imaginary crush just to make you feel better? This was a level of rock bottom you’d never imagined hitting. With a trembling hand, you reached for a napkin at the same time Eddie offered you one, your fingers meeting briefly when you took it, static crackling in the air and tingling where you’d touched.
You dabbed under your nose, still burning from the threat of fizzy ginger ale shooting through it.
“I wasn’t that smart,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “Trust me.”
Eddie’s mouth popped open to respond, but he didn't get the chance. From the same spot he had not moved from all night, Ray’s voice cut through the low music playing over the sound system.
He said something about his chariot being on the way and having to cash out—assuming that Eddie actually wanted to get paid that night. The pair of them traded a few more friendly barbs you were starting to glean were par for the course for these two, and as Ray settles up it dawns on you.
Aside from him, you’re the only one left in the bar.
While you were distracted with Eddie, everybody else had steadily filtered out until it was down to just the three of you. And once Ray was gone, it would be just you and him. All alone.
Once he’d paid, Ray slid off of his stool and Eddie came out from behind the bar to help him over to the door. The two of them chuckled together as Eddie held it open for him and then pulled it firmly shut once they said their goodbyes.
But then, instead of returning to his side of the bar, he sidled up next to you instead.
You fought the instinct to jump when Eddie appeared at your side, the closest he’d been to you all night. His scent was even stronger, sweat and musk mingling with the aromas of bitters and liquor. It made you feel woozy, swaying on your stool like you’d taken a shot of 100-proof him.
“I need a break,” he said, nodding in the direction of the back door then tapping the pack of smokes rolled into his shirt sleeve that sat on his shoulder.
You blinked back at him mutely.
Was that your cue to get lost? If you weren’t here, would he be able to close up and go home? If he genuinely wasn’t going to charge you for your drinks, you had no tab to settle.
You could just tip him and go. Get out of his hair. God, his hair. His beautiful, beautiful hair.
“Oh…kay,” you said slowly, mentally flogging yourself for remaining in your seat when he was so clearly trying to get rid of you. But you couldn’t find the will to stand—not when you were being pinned down by his devilishly handsome smile and his penetrating, all-consuming stare.
He chuckled, letting his head fall to rest his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes shining as he smiled at you and then nodded at the back door again.
“Come keep me company, sweetheart.”
The back of the Hideout wasn’t all that different from the front.
Aside from the dumpsters and the wooden crates stacked next to them, it was nearly identical. And rather of an assortment of cars parked across the gravel lot, it was Eddie’s van pulled up next to the loading door, alongside the cinderblock structure.
A single flood light shone down on the two of you as he pushed the door open, brandishing his free arm with a flourish as though he was escorting you into a castle rather than an alley.
You giggled at the display, recalling how he used to do the exact same thing when you were leaving the one class you had in common—hanging back after the bell had rung so you and he were walking out at the same time, then scurrying ahead of you to grab the door and hold it before it closed.
Hugging yourself despite the balmy night air, your eyes darted about nervously, looking anywhere but at him, already mentally preparing an excuse for not taking a cigarette when he offered one.
Except Eddie didn’t even reach for his pack.
“So…” he said, spinning abruptly to face you, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Really?” you asked. “What’s that?”
“I just…” he sighed and tipped his head back, exhaling up to the sky. He brought his eyes back down and you swore tiny pieces of the moon had landed in them. “I think you deserve a good kiss.”
You stared back at him, speechless as you’d been when he recognized you the moment you came into the bar. Beneath you, your legs had started to tremble and you felt your breathing get heavier. Your shoulders tensed, thinking any minute you’d be hearing the blare of your alarm clock.
“Oh,” was all you could say.
Eddie licked his lips thoughtfully, taking a careful step closer to you. “And I,” he started with a thick swallow, “would really like to give you one.”
You felt your eyes widen, about ready to pop out of their sockets. The ‘YES’ you wanted to scream gets lodged so tight in your throat you think you might actually choke, mouth dropping open.
“Is that…okay?” he asked, tilting his head at you as he parsed your expression. It was more than okay. It sounded like a dream come true.
You took the deepest breath you could manage, chest shuddering with the effort, and nodded
“Okay,” Eddie said, letting out a breath of his own, as if he had been holding it. “Good.”
He took your hand in his and carefully brought it up to the nape of his neck. He helped you thread your fingers into his hair and encouraged you to grasp his curls firmly at the root. Your breathing hitched as his touch trailed over your knuckles and down your forearm to your elbow.
“Don’t be scared to hold on tight,” he burred low in your ear. “I like it when it hurts a little.”
Your grip tensed as his hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he backed you up to the brick wall. It felt gritty and cold against your back, but you couldn’t find it in you to care one bit.
Eddie’s hands squeezed again, sliding them up a little higher to your waist.
“Fuck, are you beautiful…” he murmured, his eyes flitting wherever they were able at such close proximity. The slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the graceful lines of your neck.
His voice was so soft, so adoring, you felt your knees liquifying. You wanted nothing more than to believe him implicitly, but you couldn't stop the little seed of doubt deep in your gut that quivered beneath the earth from peeking out through the undergrowth until it had sprouted.
“Really?” you whispered, hating how mousey you sounded. How timid and unsure.
He brought one of his hands up to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to the warmth of his palm, interrupted only by the cool bite of his rings that dissipated when they warmed to the temperature of your skin.
Still, you couldn't help but shiver when your eyes opened to find Eddie's gaze focused so intently on yours, squinting in a bemused sort of way.
“Do you honestly not know?” he asked you with a slow grin. “You really don’t see it?”
All you could do was shrug. You didn't think you were, like, hideous or anything. But you had never been particularly impressed by your looks. And no one had ever looked at you or acted like you were some ethereal being who'd fallen to earth just to grace these mere mortals with your face.
Well, at least not until now.
“Eddie, you…”
He shook his head, stopping your words on their way out of your mouth. Like somehow he’d heard the ‘don’t have to do this’ you’d been thinking.
“I know,” he whispered, close enough that his breath hit your skin in a soft puff. “I want to.”
He took a long moment, letting the edge of his thumb brush along the high points of your cheek. His gaze only grew more intense, his face inching closer as his eyes began to flutter closed. You felt your foot hovering over that imaginary brake pad, threatening to slam down on it just like it had all those years ago. But it never does.
You don’t let it.
His nose touched your face before his lips, its rounded tip pressing into the apple of your cheek before your mouth melds with his. It’s the softest, slowest, most tender kiss you ever experienced. He lets you have all the time in the world to think about it, to notice the ways his movements ebb and flow, his jaw and mouth all working together.
To feel the way his chest expands, taking the deepest breath of you he can and holding it inside his lungs like he can’t stand the idea of losing whatever part of you he just inhaled.
You have all this time to think, but your head has never been so empty. No, not empty. Quiet.
It’s as if sound itself ceases to exist. Not even your own rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears is enough to break through the pure peace of finally, finally getting to kiss Eddie Munson.
There’s no more cars whizzing past, speeding down the two-lane highway. There’s no more hum of the exhaust fan or relentless buzz of the bare bulb flickering over the back door.
There’s just…nothing.
Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s mouth tenaciously exploring yours, dragging every second out into a minute and savoring like it’s something precious—something he’s scared he’ll never get again.
He doesn’t dare pull back when your lips part with a quiet click, just stays right there with his face close to yours and his shaky breath expelling. It’s only as the world slowly leaks back into focus that you realize his fingers are trembling against your waist and his bottom lip is quivering.
“That was…wow.”
You can’t help but laugh gently at his words, dizzy with the elation that went straight to your head. His eyes flit across your face, his brows lifting in a silent request for more.
Your nod is shaky, but lacks no enthusiasm. And it’s all the permission he needs to dive back in.
He takes you faster this time, clutching you harder to pull you tighter against him. There’s a latent strength in his arms, a tension coiled in his corded muscles he’s working so hard to restrain.
Don’t, you wanted to scream at him. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, I want it all—
God, you wished you could will the words to leave your throat. They sat there, lodged firmly in your esophagus, practically cutting off air supply.
Eddie moved his hands upwards to cup your face, squishing your cheeks just a little as he cradled them tenderly in his calloused palms.
You hummed into his mouth, excited and anxious all at once, and Eddie sucks in a breath through his nose. Like he’s not gonna let something stupid like breathing get in the way of this.
You break apart just shy of your lungs bursting, the both of you panting heavily into one another’s mouths, trying to catch your breath. He blinks heavily, dazed and delirious as he asks,
“When’s your birthday?”
“Wh…huh?”
“Your birthday,” he repeated, still panting, “was it today?”
You tried to think—a Herculean sort of effort when you could still taste Eddie’s lips on yours—and finally sifted something from the primordial ooze he’d turned your brain into.
“N-no. It’s, uhh…” It took you a second to remember what day it even was. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Thank god,” Eddie grinned and breathed out in relief. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?” You blinked a couple times, brow pinching together. “Out…where?”
“Like for a date, out,” he couldn’t help but snicker. “Movie. Dinner. General revelry?”
Warmth exploded in the middle of your chest. “You…you’re not working?”
“Peg’ll cover for me,” he said assuredly. “If it’s for something important.”
“And I’m…” you looked back at him, hope shining in your gaze, “...important?”
He smiled at you again, eyes all peaceful and dreamy as he reached up to trace the side of your face, sweeping the tips of his fingers from your temple to the bottom of your chin.
“If you even have to ask,” he sighed and shook his head, “I didn’t do my job right.”
And then his mouth is on yours again, his hand sliding back to cup the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply. It’s not, not a sweet kiss, but it’s not just sweet. There’s a little something more to it this time. Something dizzying and breath-stealing and…hot.
You feel his body press up against yours fully before he remembers himself, but the loss of heat and pressure makes you mewl pitifully into his mouth. No. Don’t. Stay, you want to beg.
Your hands moved out of their own volition and grasped fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him back into you. His laugh rumbles low in his throat and you can feel him smiling into your next kiss.
A smile that doesn’t dim one bit when you part.
“Should we, um…” you heard your own giggle, the twitterpated reaction semialien to your dazed and dopamine-addled brain. “Should we go back in?”
Eddie let out a tiny noise that sounded dangerous close to a whine. “What for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” you tittered, “just to be sure you’re not being robbed blind or something?”
You glanced at the door, imagining the bar filled with big disgruntled men ransacking the liquor on the other side, descending into chaos with no one to stop them. Eddie’s teeth flashed in a grin, dark chuckle stuttering in his chest, a mischievous edge to the sound you remembered well.
Normally hearing it right before he did something particularly devious.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against yours, “the door’s been locked and the sign’s been off since Ray left.”
big time snuggles for reading my lil indulgence 😌 this one is for the bad-kiss-havers, we deserve a re-do. love you, mean it!
lessons in sociology
pairing: eddie munson x reader
summary: Eddie Munson is your good friend and study buddy for sociology. when he mistakes the novel you're reading for your sociology textbook, you get a more...hands on approach to learning about power dynamics.
wc: 7.2k
order up: college!au, friends to lovers, d/s dynamics, jealousy, confessions
tw: explicit smut, p in v unprotected, d/s dynamics, use of petnames [princess, sweetheart, baby, honey, guys a whole mess of honorifics], spanking, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, ropeplay mention
a/n: hi hi hi, i have so many eddie requests in my inbox and while he isn't my brainrot rn, i really hope you guys enjoy this one because i loved writing it.
masterlist
Your dorm room felt smaller during midterms.
Books everywhere. Highlighters bleeding through thin pages. Half-drunk cans of cola sweating onto your desk because you kept forgetting they existed.
Eddie Munson was sprawled across the floor on his stomach, boots kicked off, rings tapping idly against his soda can as he flipped through his notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said for the third time, pushing his hair out of his face. “The professor literally said the theme was power dynamics. That’s, like, my whole brand.”
You shot him a look from your desk chair. “It's not a campaign metaphor, Munson.”
“Everything is a campaign metaphor,” he countered.
There was a comfortable rhythm to this.
You quizzing him. Him derailing you.
It was easy, being like this. Friends who studied together. Friends who argued about symbolism. Friends who definitely did not think too hard about the way the other stuck his tongue out a little when he concentrated.
Eddie groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back. “I need a different book. The one with the red tabs. It’s on your bed, I think.”
Your stomach dropped.
Because yes, there was a book with red tabs on your bed.
But it was not the sociology textbook.
It was tucked half beneath your comforter, face-down, like it had tried to hide itself at the last second. Black cover. Embossed lettering. A very intentional ropework design worked into cover in a way that was… not subtle.
You opened your mouth.
“Wait—”
Too late.
Eddie was already on his feet, crossing the room in three lazy steps, reaching down to grab the book from your bed before you could physically launch yourself at him to stop it. His fingers curled around the spine, and he lifted it casually, flipping it over—
—and froze.
"This is... not your sociology textbook." He says, eyes wide as he flips through the pages.
Your blood ran cold. It was a specific, visceral feeling, like an ice cube sliding down your spine.
Everything faded to a dull roar in your ears. The only thing that existed was Eddie, standing there, holding the single most damning object you owned.
He didn’t flip through it with shock or disgust. There was no theatrical recoil. Instead, his thumb brushed against the pages with a strange, focused curiosity. His eyes, wide and dark, weren't judging; they were reading. Absorbing.
He finally looked up, but not at you. His gaze landed on the open textbook on your desk, red tabs that marked actual academics and not fantasies.
A slow, disarming smile started at the corner of his mouth, one that you’d seen a hundred times after a good roll of the D20.
“Y’know,” he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that felt like it vibrated right through the floorboards. “This… is a much more practical application of power dynamics than our textbooks.”
Your throat was dry.
"Thats not funny, Eddie." You turn, face red. "Give it back."
He tilted his head, studying your blush as intently as he'd studied the book. He didn't move to give it back.
"I promise you, my porn stash is way more embarrassing than this." He waved the book around a little. "At least yours has literary merit."
"It's not porn!" you shot back, your voice a little too loud in the small space. "It's research!"
The excuse sounded flimsy even to your own ears.
Eddie's smile widened. "Research," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "For what? Your dissertation on rope burns?"
He was teasing you, but it wasn't cruel. It was… interested. He wasn't making fun of you. He was engaging. He held the book out, not quite close enough for you to snatch back.
"This shit isn't even accurate," he said, tapping a page. "This is all showmanship. They forgot the most important part."
You blinked, confusion warring with humiliation. "What part?"
"The conversation." His eyes met yours, and for a second, the teasing faded. There was something serious there. Something intense but inherently safe.
"Well, the conversation isn't the sexy part." You mutter.
"Oh so you're admitting it's porn now?" He smirks and you narrow your eyes. "And also... the conversation is definitely the sexy part," he added, stepping closer. "It's the whole point."
You held your ground, even though every instinct screamed at you to snatch the book, throw him out, and crawl into a hole for the rest of eternity. Instead, you lifted your chin. "You think so?"
"I'm well versed, yeah."
He finally lowered the book, setting it down on your desk, on top of your sociology textbook. The juxtaposition was dizzying. Academia and anarchy. Theory and practice.
He took another step into your personal space. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the joint he smoked outside.
"I'm going to guess you haven't put this into practice yet," he said softly.
You couldn't answer. The lie was stuck in your throat. Because he was right. The book, the fantasies—they'd always been in your head. A private world.
A world he had just stumbled into.
"So tell me," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, looking you directly in the eye. "Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?"
He waited.
And the silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
His question hung in the air between you, shimmering and dangerous.
Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?
It was a test. A doorway. A chance to step out of the theory and into the practice.
"I mean, I don't exactly have a partner to, you know..." Your hands flew up in a vague, helpless gesture. "It's not like I can just walk into a bar and ask 'Hey, any of you guys into safe, effective, and nonjudgmental bondage?'"
The joke landed weakly, but Eddie didn't laugh. He just watched you, like a predator assessing prey. He leaned against your desk, crossing his arms, the casual posture doing nothing to hide the focus in his gaze. He picked up the book again, not to mock you this time, but to flip to a specific, dog-eared page.
"Okay," he said, tapping the pages of a sex scene you had clearly marked with interest. "This, for example. The rope work is all wrong for this position. It would cut off circulation after five minutes."
You blinked. "You... you know about ropes?"
He shrugged. "I have hobbies. Guitar isn't my only practical area of expertise." He met your eyes again.
"I guess that makes sense for your whole... look." You gesture vaguely at him.
That one does make him laugh a little. "Yeah sure the whole aesthetic probably doesn't hurt." He smirks at you, eyes scanning over you again. "But the look is just a bonus. Not a guarantee. I know people who are vanilla as hell who dress like me. And I know people who would put this whole book to shame who wear polo shirts."
You think about that for a second, mulling it over as he speaks again.
"Do you like my 'look' or something? You getting off on the thought of me being the one tying you up?" He teases you, but it's not a joke, not really. It's a question.
The question hung there, an invitation wrapped in a dare. Your cheeks burned, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
"Okay, light teasing was fine but don't purposely be an ass about this." You warn him, the bite in your words making him raise an eyebrow. "And... yeah. The thought occurred once or twice. I'm not blind." The admission felt like ripping off a band-aid—painful, but necessary.
Something shifted in Eddie's expression. His smirk was softer, like he didn't expect you to admit it. He let it hang in the air for a beat, savoring the victory.
"Once or twice, huh?" he mused. "That's... nice."
He set the book down again, this time closing it. The conversation was moving on, past the fantasy and into reality.
He sits on your bed, not like he usually does where he's just sprawled out with no care in the world. This was different. He sat close to the edge, leaving a space between you, but the air crackled with new possibilities. He rested his hands on his knees, a position that was open, non-threatening, but still completely in control.
"I've thought about it like, way more than once or twice honestly. I've thought about what it would be like with you. So, like, if you want to try some things, or even just talk about them, I'm more than willing to be your partner in crime."
You couldn't speak, but he continued.
"Unless, you know, you'd rather ask that guy from your history class. What's his name? Mark? The one who looks like he was grown in a lab to sell minivans."
"Mark is just my project partner." You roll your eyes. "He's literally been here once to study."
"You laugh at his jokes a lot in the dining hall." He shoots back. "I've seen it."
You had no comeback for that. Because he'd noticed. And you had laughed. But Mark's jokes were safe. They were about midterms and dining hall food. Eddie's jokes were about things that made your stomach flip.
"Okay, that doesn't mean I want to jump his bones. And even if I did, which I don't, how is that even rele--"
It hits you then
"You're jealous." You say it out loud, a statement, not a question.
Eddie didn't flinch. He didn't deny it.
He just shrugged again, that infuriatingly casual gesture that meant everything and nothing.
"I'm territorial about things that interest me," he said simply.
You were no longer just a study partner.
"Look. We've been friends for a while. You know me. You know I'm not a creep. We can just… talk. No touching, no ropes, nothin'. Just words. We lay it all out. Boundaries. What you're curious about. What's an absolute hard 'no'." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering again. "Safe words. Pet names. the whole deal."
He was laying out a curriculum. A syllabus for your most private, secret class. And the professor was the guy who made fun of your D&D character for being too lawful good.
"This is insane," you whispered, the words feeling like bubbles in your chest.
"Is it?" He stood up and walked to your door, closing it and twisting the lock.
"Eddie... what if I say yes?"
He paused, his back to you for a second, before turning around. He leaned against the door, hands in his pockets.
"Then the real research begins." He gave you a small, genuine smile. "But only if you say the word."
The choice was yours.
"Okay." The word was barely a whisper.
He pushed off the door and walked back toward you, gesturing at your bed. "Okay. Rule one. Sit."
You carefully moved from your desk chair and sat on the bed, your back ramrod straight, perched on the very edge of the comforter like it might give way beneath you.
He sat down, leaving a careful foot of space between you. The mattress dipped with his weight, pulling you closer.
"You're tense as all hell, princess. Relax." The pet name was new. It wasn't teasing. It was... grounding.
You tried to unclench your shoulders.
"Let's start easy. Your safe word. It needs to be something you'll remember even if your brain is all fuzzy. Not something you'd normally say during sex. 'No' and 'stop' can be part of the scene. Your safe word is what makes the scene stop. No questions asked."
"Scene? That's so formal. So..."
"It's practical," he corrected gently. "It keeps things from getting messy. So. What'll it be?"
You thought for a moment, your mind racing. "Dragonfruit." It was stupid, random. No one would ever shout it accidentally.
A slow grin spread across Eddie's face. "Dragonfruit. I love it. Okay. That's ours. If you say it, we stop. Everything."
He shifted a little closer, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"Is there anything you like to be called? Or don't like?" He says, more seriously now. "Some people like being called a slut or a whore. Some people like 'good girl'. Some people hate it. There is no right answer, it's all about you."
The directness of the question made your breath catch. "Good girl," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with heat. "I don't think I'm ready for degradation yet..."
Part of you was worried saying that like you'd dissapoint him or something. but he just nodded, like you'd given him a perfectly reasonable answer.
"Alright. 'Good girl' it is. We can save the other stuff for an advanced class." The wink he threw you was both a joke and a promise.
"What about you?" you found yourself asking.
He seemed surprised by the question for a second. "Oh, well, I guess I'm pretty fine with most things. I mean, you could probably call me an asshole and I'd still like it cause it was your voice."
He said it so casually, as if he were discussing his favorite brand of guitar strings, and not the thought of you moaning for him.
"I liked when you called me princess..." You admit. "You could call me that."
"Princess," he repeated, the word soft on his tongue. "I can do that."
He was so close now. You could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
"Okay, new question..." Those big eyes drag down your figure. "Can you come sit on my lap? I want you closer."
He wasn't just asking a question about a hypothetical scenario anymore. This was real. This was happening.
Your body obeyed before your brain could catch up. You slid across the small space between you, the comforter a whisper under your knees, and settled yourself onto his lap.
His big hands went to your waist automatically, steadying you. He was warm, solid. You could feel the worn denim of his jeans against the thin material of your leggings.
"Alright. First lesson." His breath was warm against your ear, making you shiver. "Power isn't about force. It's about control. My control, your surrender."
You nod, mentally taking notes and he smiles before leaning into to whisper in your ear.
"You can always say no." He says gently. "Right now, to me. You can say 'no, Eddie, I don't want to sit on your lap' and I'll let you go, no questions asked. This is still a conversation."
"I know." You say, a little breathless.
"But you aren't going to say that, are you? No... you want this."
"I do."
"Good girl." The words were a low rumble you felt straight between your legs. "I'm going to put my hands on your thighs now. Just to hold you. Alright?"
You could only manage a small nod.
You could feel the weight of his rings through your leggings.
"Looking so pretty, all for me." He whispers and you lean into him, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You trusted him. You'd known him for years. He was safe.
This was what he meant, about the conversation. Every touch was a question. Every reaction, an answer.
"Are you going to be good for me?" He asks.
"Y-yeah," you manage. "I'll be good."
His grip on your thighs tightened just a fraction.
"I know you will." He nosed at your neck. "Now, hands behind your back. Let me hold them."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You swallowed, your throat tight, and slowly, deliberately, you moved your arms behind you, lacing your fingers together at the small of your back. The position pushed your chest out, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, incredibly exposed.
He made a soft, satisfied sound.
"Always like it when you wear a low cut top like this." He admits. His hands slid from your thighs to your back, covering your clasped hands with one of his own. The gesture was light, not restrictive, but it felt impossibly final.
His other hand came up to trace the neckline of your shirt, a single finger grazing your collarbone, then dipping lower, following the curve of your breast. He didn't grab, didn't grope. He just… explored. Mapping the territory.
"Your heart's beating so fast," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I can feel it."
You couldn't answer. All your focus was on the path of his finger as it drifted to the peak of your breast, circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.
"Responsive little thing, aren't you sweetheart?" He teases.
He circles it a few times, making you squirm on his lap and you can already feel the hard length of him through your layers of clothes. The evidence of his own desire.
His other hand still holds your wrists.
"You like your nipples played with? I know you're sensitive." He asks and you nod again. "Let's see more of these pretty tits."
He doesn't ask to take your shirt off. He just does.
He expertly pulls the shirt over your head in one fluid motion, momentarily freeing your hands before he catches them again, this time pressing them more firmly into the small of your back. He then goes for the clasp of your bra and he undoes that too, pulling it down your arms until you're topless for him.
"Look at that." He whispers and it's the most turned on you've ever heard him.
He runs his thumb over the pebbled flesh of your nipple, and your breath hitches. The calloused pad of his thumb created a delicious friction, a direct line of heat pooling in your core.
"I'm going to pinch," he warned, his voice a dark promise. "Just a little. To see how you like it."
You tensed in anticipation.
He didn't make you wait long. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying a slow, deliberate pressure. A sharp, surprising jolt of pleasure-pain shot through you, pulling a soft gasp from your lips.
"Good," he rasped. "You like that."
It wasn't a question. He read your body as easily as he read the tabbed pages of your sociology textbook.
He keeps pinching and playing as he trails soft kisses from your collarbones and lower, purposefully avoiding where you want his mouth. He was kissing all around your breasts, teasing you with featherlight touches until you're squirming and whining.
"Shh, be patient." He whispers against the skin of your breast. "I'll get there."
He does it again to the other breast. The pinch, the pleasure, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He was testing you, seeing what made you gasp, what made you squirm. And you were arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.
He finally lowered his head, taking one peaked nipple into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, before grazing it lightly with his teeth.
The whimper that left you was undignified. Needy.
He pulled back, releasing you with a soft 'pop'. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with an emotion you'd never seen directed at you before. Possessiveness. Pride. Awe.
"Look what you do to me," he murmured, one of his hands releasing yours to guide your own down, pressing it flat against the hard bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.
"You're going to have to take care of that later, aren't you?" He says, pushing your hips down a little, making you grind against him.
The friction was obscene, a delicious drag through the layers of clothing that sent sparks skittering up your spine. You did it again, a little more boldly, rocking yourself against the rigid length of him. A groan rumbled in his chest, a purely male, primal sound of appreciation.
"Not yet," he said, his grip on your waist tightening, stopping your movements. "That's a reward. And you haven't earned it yet."
He shifted you slightly, adjusting your position so you could feel him more acutely, a perfect, infuriating pressure against your clothed core. His free hand drifted down to the waistband of your leggings. His fingers toyed with the elastic, a casual touch that made your entire body clench with anticipation.
"You're soaked through already, aren't you, princess?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. All this fuss just from me playing with your pretty tits."
"Is that weird?" You ask, a little nervous now.
"Not at all. It's perfect." He says gently. "It means your body is honest. It tells the truth. And right now, your body is telling me how much you want this."
His fingers dipped below the waistband, not touching you where you craved it most, but just resting against the soft skin there.
"We could stop right now," he offered, his tone maddeningly level. "We can stop anytime you want. We can just put your shirt back on, order a pizza, and fail our sociology midterm together. All you have to do is say one word. Do you remember our word?"
"Dragonfruit," you whispered, testing it on your tongue. It felt foreign, distant. Not what you wanted at all.
"Now, tell me what you do want."
You took a shaky breath. "I want you to touch me."
"Touch you where? You have to use your words."
Every nerve ending was on fire. "My... I want you to touch me between my legs."
"Good girl."
He finally moved, his hand sliding further down, past the damp cotton of your underwear, through your slick folds. He didn't rush, exploring you with a surgeon's precision.
"This pussy is so fucking wet for me, princess." He breathes out in awe.
He found your clit with an unnerving ease, a single finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You jolted, a sharp inhale of pleasure.
"Right there?" he asked, feigning innocence.
You could only nod, your head falling back against his shoulder as he continued his slow, torturous circles. He was drawing it out, making you feel every spark, every tremor. You were wound so tight, a trembling knot of need.
Your hips began to move of their own accord, chasing the friction, the building pressure. But he stopped you again, holding you still with a firm grip.
"Uh-uh. My pace," he chided softly. "You don't get to finish until I say you can."
A whimper escaped your lips, a sound of pure frustration.
"Patience," he murmured, kissing your temple.
You notice now, that he hasn't kissed your lips, but you don't make a comment on it, too busy feeling everything else to care.
He was a master of this, a conductor of your pleasure. He varied the pressure, the speed, watching your every reaction, learning what made you gasp, what made you whine. He slipped a finger inside you, then a second, curling them upward to stroke that spot that made your vision blur.
"You think I should let you come soon?" he asked, his voice a dark, intimate rumble. "You've been so good for me. Sitting still. Taking what I give you."
"Please," you begged, the word ripped from you. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?"
"Please let me finish."
He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "Since you asked so nicely."
He increased the pressure on your clit, the circles becoming faster, more demanding. His fingers inside you stroked with renewed purpose. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap.
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. Soak my fucking hand." he commanded.
You were cumming by the time he said 'let go', your body convulsing in a blinding wave of pleasure. You cried out, your back arching, your hands still trapped behind you, leaving you nothing to hold onto but him. He held you through it, his movements slowing, gentling, as you shuddered and trembled.
When you were riding out the after shocks he released your hands, letting you decide where to put them. You immediately brought them around to his shoulders, clinging to him. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, catching your breath.
His hands came up to your back, stroking you slowly, grounding you. He whispered sweet nothings against your hair, words of praise and affection.
"I know that wasn't as extreme as what your little book had, but trust needs to be built up slowly for things like that." He says softly, kissing your shoulder. "We'll get there.
You could feel the rapid, steady beat of his heart against your cheek. You could still feel the hard press of his arousal against you, a silent testament to his own restraint.
"Eddie..." you whispered, your voice hoarse. "You didn't..."
He shushed you, a finger gently tilting your chin up. "Hey. it's okay. Tonight was about you. About learning you."
You looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen from where he'd been kissing your skin, and his eyes were dark and soft and full of an emotion that made your chest ache.
Without thinking, you leaned in and finally, finally kissed him.
He didn't move at first and you pulled back quickly, suddenly feeling stupid.
Was kissing not okay in this arrangement?
Did he only want the physical part?
Did he even like you like that?
Before you could speak, he did it first.
"Hey you, don't look like that. It's not what you think." He says gently.
"I- I just thought..."
"I know what you thought. And it's okay. I wanted to kiss you. More than anything."
"So why didn't you?" You ask, not in an accusatory tone, but a genuinely curious one.
"Because if I kissed you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it if this was just a one-time thing. Or if this was just about sex. I wouldn't have been able to control myself, and we might not be here right now."
This confession was so raw, so vulnerable. It was more intimate than anything you'd done.
"So... what is this then?" You ask, your heart pounding.
"It's whatever you want it to be." He says honestly. "But I want it to be something. Something real."
You lean in again, slowly, giving him the chance to pull away.
He didn't.
He met you halfway, his lips finally claiming yours. It wasn't a kiss of frenzy or desperation. His hands cupped your face, holding you tenderly, as if you were something precious. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of you, of the cola he'd been drinking hours ago. He kissed you slowly, deeply, a conversation without words.
When you finally parted, you were both breathless.
"Do you still want me to do something about..." You trail off, letting your eyes flick down to the very prominent problem in his pants.
He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Princess, you have no idea how much I want that. But I also want to do this right. So... right now, nothing too demanding, just let me fuck your brains out?"
You laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made your whole body feel lighter.
"You're an idiot."
"You know what?" He says with a teasing smile, before flipping you so he was hovering over you on the bed. "I like it better when you're on your back, anyway."
He made quick work of your leggings and underwear, tossing them aside. He stood up to strip off his own clothes, and you watched him, your gaze hungry. You'd seen him shirtless before, at the lake, at a party, but this was different.
The chain around his neck rested in the dip of his collarbone. His chest was lean, a smattering of dark hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. He was all sharp angles and wiry strength. And as he pulled down his boxers, your breath hitched.
"You want this huh? This is what you were grinding against earlier?" He smirks. He was long and thick, flushed with arousal, curving up towards his stomach.
He climbed back onto the bed, settling himself between your legs.
"Take what you want," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Your hand trembled as you reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm as you guided him to your entrance, and he pushed forward, just the head breaching you.
A shared gasp. You were so wet, so ready for him, but the stretch was still intense, a delicious burn.
"Oh, good girl, you listen so fucking well," he praised, before sliding the rest of the way home with one slow, deep thrust.
He filled you completely, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Fuck," he breathed, burying his face in your neck. "You feel better than I ever imagined."
He started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls was a fresh wave of pleasure. This was different from the sharp, focused intensity from before. This was a deep, all-consuming fire.
"Look at me," he demanded, pulling back just enough to see your face. "Hold on to the headboard."
You obeyed, your hands finding the cool metal bars of your headboard, as he began to move again. This new angle let him hit that spot inside you with every thrust, making your toes curl. He wasn't just fucking you anymore. He was claiming you. Marking you from the inside out.
"Who's making you feel this good?" he grunted, his hips snapping a little faster.
"You are," you moaned, your knuckles white where you gripped the headboard.
"Whose cock makes you feel this good?" He asks, a dark look in his eyes.
"Yours," you gasped, the words torn from you. "Only yours, Eddie."
"Fuck yes, it does." He says, a smirk on his face. "Not some loser from the dining hall." He speeds up a little, getting cocky. "Not your project partner. You wanna know who knows exactly what to do with you? Me." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust and you can't help but arch your back.
"You're mine now, sweetheart. This pussy is mine to use." His voice is a rough possessive rasp as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear. "Gimme a color, princess. Are we green?"
You were so far gone, but you knew what he was asking. "Green," you moaned. "So green, Eddie."
He smiled, a triumphant, feral grin. "Good girl. You want me to keep talking like this, honey? You want me to tell you how I'm going to fuck you every day after our study sessions from now on? How I'm going to bend you over that desk until you're screaming my name?"
"Yes," you whined, a desperate, needy sound. "Please."
"Then I guess I'll have to do it." His hips began to piston faster, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. "Would you like that, sweetheart? To be my good little girl? To cum whenever I say?"
"I would," you cried out. "God, I would."
He brought a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again. He didn't circle it this time. He pressed down, hard, in direct counterpoint to his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he commanded. "All over my cock."
Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and overwhelming. You screamed his name, a raw, ragged sound, as you convulsed around him, your body spasming with the force of your release.
"Mmm, gonna wake up the whole dorm." He praised. "Such a good fucking girl." He kept thrusting through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.
He pulled out and kissed you softly, the kiss slow and deep as you shook under him. You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and insistent.
"You still haven't..." You begin, trailing off again as you try and catch your breath.
"I haven't bent you over the desk yet." He grins, before he pulls you up from your comfortable spot on your back.
His hands were on you instantly, guiding you to your feet and then turning you, walking you the few steps to your desk. He swept his arm across it, the textbook with the red tabs, a stack of flashcards—all of it clattering to the floor in a mess of academic debris.
His lips are kissing by your ear as he speaks, caging you in from behind. "You need me to get a condom?" He asks, and you are a little surprised by the question.
"I'm on the pill." You say quickly, and he makes a happy humming sound, kissing the back of your neck.
"Perfect." He whispers, before he's pressing your chest flat against the desk. The cool wood was a shock against your heated skin.
"Think you can handle a little more for me, baby?" He asked, his hands stroking over your ass.
You nod, your face turned to the side, your cheek pressed against the smooth wood.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you breathe out. "I can handle more."
He doesn't enter you right away. Instead, he kneels, spreading your cheeks, and you feel the hot, wet shock of his tongue against your pussy. He licks a long, slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, groaning at the taste.
"Fuck, you're delicious," he murmurs, before diving back in.
He was relentless, eating you out with a single-minded focus that left you trembling. He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and pointed, targeted flicks against your clit.
His hands grip at the fat of your ass as he eats you out like a man starved, and you can't help but push your hips back against him. He eats it until your legs are shaking and you're whining for him to stop. When he does, he stands up, his chest heaving.
He pauses and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You glance behind you to see him taking the rings off his right hand, leaning over your back to put them on the desk as he places small kisses on your back.
"What are you..."
Your whisper turns into a whine when a callous palm hits your ass cheek. Not hard, but enough that you gasp at the suddenness.
He shushes you gently, rubbing the reddening mark. "Just a little color for my pretty girl." He murmurs. "You like that? Just a little sting?"
You nod, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and confusion.
"Words, baby." He reminds you.
"Y-yes. I like it."
He spanks you again, this one harder, and you feel the jolt of it deep in your core. He alternates between spanking you and rubbing the tender skin, until you're a quivering, whimpering mess.
Another smack and you don't even register when he lines himself up with your entrance, and glides in, slick and easy, bottoming out with a deep groan. The angle was different, deeper, and it made you feel utterly possessed.
He set a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breaths. One of his hands grabs your face as he leans over to kiss you.
"Taste how fucking sweet you are?" He whispers against your lips. You're nodding dumbly as he continues to fuck you, tongue licking into your mouth.
His other hand slides around your body, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. It was too much, too intense, and you tried to squirm away.
"Uh-uh. You take it," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
"Take everything I give you, princess." He was praising you, his words stoking the fire in your belly. You were already so sensitive from your previous orgasms, every drag of his cock against your walls a fresh wave of pleasure.
"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.
More? Faster? For it to never end?
"I know, I know." He cooed at you. "Good girls like you need to be fucked until they can't think straight."
You clenched around him, and he grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second.
"Yeah, you like me saying that, don't you? You like being my good girl." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust that makes you see stars.
Your clit was throbbing under his thumb, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. Your body was a live wire, humming with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Gonna cum," you sobbed, the words barely intelligible. "Eddie, I'm gonna cum."
He pressed you down more against the desk, his hips snapping faster, harder. He leans over your back so you can feel the sweat from his chest on your skin as he speaks right into your ear.
"Come on," he urged, his voice rough with strain. "Cum for me. One. More. Fucking. Time."
You whined out, needier than ever, as your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down on him. Your legs gave out, and you would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't been holding you up, pinning you to the desk.
He gathered your hair in one of his hands, pulling your head back slightly, the angle new and dizzying as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. This let him see your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. He looked wild, untamed, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"That's it, baby. Milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl." He moans as he starts to lose the steady rhythm. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.
"Gonna fill you up," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "Mark this pretty little pussy as mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, and you felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you. He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, both of you breathing heavily, trying to come back to earth.
His hand in your hair changed from a grip to soothing stokes
His fingers danced up your body from their ruthless attack of your clit, to splay across your stomach. You feel him press gently. He was still inside of you. Softening, but still present.
"You okay?" he murmured against your spine, the words muffled by his soft kisses to your skin.
You managed a weak nod, not trusting your voice.
He laughed softly, the vibration traveling through you. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He slowly pulled out, and the emptiness you felt was acute. You could feel his release begin to trickle down your thigh, a sticky, intimate reminder of what you'd just done.
He helped you to the bed, tugging you back into his arms. You both were sweaty, sticky, and your room was a mess. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You curled into his side, your head on his chest. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart was a comforting anchor in the haze of satiation.
His hands never stopped caressing through your hair.
He was quiet for a long time, just stroking your hair and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.
"So," he said, his voice quiet. "Is the reality better than the book?"
You thought about it for a second. The book was theory. This was practice. This was real.
"I thought you said you weren't done with me?" You manage, weakly.
He just pulls his head back enough to get a proper look at your face, the most genuine smile accentuated by his dimples.
"Yeah, the aftercare. The cuddles. The praise. That's all part of it." He said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Being the one who has to clean up our mess."
He sits up, leaning over the side of the bed to grab the t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He carefully, almost reverently, began to clean you up. The cotton was soft against your sensitive skin.
"You're so good at that," You say softly, referring to the entire night, but more specifically the way he was taking care of you.
"Yeah? Well I'm a man of many talents." He teases, but the way he's looking at you is soft.
He's gentle, methodical, as he wipes away the evidence of your night together. Once he's satisfied, he tosses the shirt aside and pulls the comforter over both of you, cocooning you in the warmth of the small bed.
You're quiet for a long time again. Just listening to each other breathe.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hm?"
"About the kiss earlier..." he started, his voice a little hesitant. "When I said I didn't know if I could handle it if this was just a one-time thing... I meant it."
He shifts a little, so he's looking you in the eye. "This was never gonna be just a one-time thing for me. You have to know that. I've been wanting this for so long."
You are looking up at him in the dim light of your desk lamp. He's looking at you with a unguarded expression that you'd never seen from him before.
"You really have? I thought... I thought this was just... you know, because of the book."
He let out a small, breathy laugh. "Sweetheart, the book was just a convenient excuse. A cosmic sign from the universe to finally do something about the massive, soul-crushing crush I've had on you since we were assigned as lab partners in freshman chemistry."
His signature smirk reappeared then.
"The fact that you're also into the same filthy shit I am? That's just a very, very lucky bonus."
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated happiness.
"So, what now?" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.
"Now I get to enjoy this body being all soft in my arms." He says, kissing your forehead. "Now I get to wake up next to you and make you breakfast. Now I get to walk you to our sociology class and sit next to you knowing exactly what you sound like when you orgasm."
He pulls you closer. "And now I get to tell you that I want to be your boyfriend. If you'll have me."
You tilt your head up to look at him, a slow, genuine smile spreading across your face.
"I'll have you," you said simply.
"Oh, no enthusiasm for the man who made you cum three times in an hour?" He teases gently. You just lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet.
"I think you fucked all the enthusiasm out of me." You mumble against his lips.
He chuckles, satisfied and proud.
"It's a skill." He smirks. "But don't worry. I'm a great teacher. We'll build up your stamina." He winks, and you feel a fresh wave of heat wash over you.
He pulls you to his chest, safe and warm. You could get used to this.
"Next time," he whispers against your hair. "Next time I'll bring my ropes."
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I'll hold you to that."
He held you tighter, a silent promise. The night wasn't over. Your time exploring each other, it seemed, had really just begun.
can’t talk rn my mouth’s gagged with her panties >_0 !
“haaahh—fuck baby just like that—nngh…”
“god you’re just a whore satoru. it’s disgusting.” you mewled, your hand pumping his flushed cock, up and down, his thighs shaking slowly while he throbbed in your hold. it was filthy, almost pornographic, the way he was moaning while you were giving him a mere handjob.
you whisked your hand away, with gojo practically whimpering at the loss of contact, before you slowly bent over, getting rid of your pretty blue laced panties, while gojo eyed your dripping cunt like a man starved.
you turned around, moving closer to him panties in hand while he eyed you like prey.
“you finally gna ride me pretty?” you moaned, almost smug, right before you leaned over, cupping his jaw, staring him right in the face.
“nah. just getting you to shut the fuck up so i can get the job done.”
“w—wha-mmph!” you shoved the baby blue panties wet with your slick into his mouth, muffling his voice before you wrapped your pretty hands around his cock again, jerking him off, your hands moving in quick strokes while he struggled to form coherent sentences, biting down on your soaked panties while lolling his head back on his stupid chair.
his tip was flushed an angry shade of red, leaking copious amounts of precum while you moved your hand along his dick, occasionally squeezing while he whimpered and whined like the pathetic slut he was.
“mmmph—nngh pphleashh—” tears were brimming at the corners of his eyes, gods you were so mean, it just wasn’t fair. :(
he came in spurts, his cum coating your hands and his abs while he whimpered into your panties, his cock slowly softening in your grasp before you gave it a final squeeze.
you moved your hands up, finally taking the panties out of his mouth, his drool pooling around his lips—a string of saliva connecting him to your poor, stained panties.
“now, that wasn’t so hard, was it ‘toru?”
and he swore he could feel his cock slowly harden. again.
yeah im a genius yooo
dividers: @/pixopix .
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
✮⋆˙ | Eye Tag
⤷ ゛ SYNOPSIS ˎˊ˗ In which Robert is sick of playing eye tag with you, and decided that SDN’s annual Banquet is the perfect time to make that clear...only, you seem to make it your goal to make him as worked up as possible. :: AFAB!reader x Robert R.
CONTENTS - everyone seems to keep you away from Robert grrr, oral sex m!rec & f!rec a little, 2 creampies (wrap it up), ridiculous tension, exhibitionism and dumbification if you squint, z-team cameo, light choking, marking, p in v, porn with plot, nervous Robert blink and you miss it, spanking, fingering f!rec, deepthroating, slight breath play, Robert is obsessed with your eyes/eye contact, idek this shit just raunchy...
GENRE & WC - smut, 7.4k (oops..)
authors note: not fully edited lawddd, but enjoy
bzzt!
bzzt!
— The faint buzzing in your purse caused you to perk up ever so slightly, hands reaching into your small purse to dig out your phone.
The buzzing seemed to catch the attention of your teammate, and “date”, Victor. His large bat ears twitching as he glanced over at you for just a moment before returning to the back of the drivers head.
“Robert?” Victor questioned, his gaze still locked forward. He was fully aware of whatever weird HR violation you and Robert had going on, often being subjected to hear you ramble about it after work every day…hence why he’s even your date tonight in the first place. You want Robert’s attention, his jealousy. So of course he would help you, like any good friend.
And dammit, if Victor wasn’t ecstatic at the opportunity to piss off Robert. Two birds with one stone.
“God, i hope so.” You grin, biting your glossed up lip as you open your phone, the bright glow causing you to squint for a moment as it illuminated your face in the dark car, all the while you pointedly ignoring the small head shake and snicker Victor gives you. Though the moment your eyes land on your message notifications, they practically light up.
Robert : 8:38pm —
“ Hey.”
“On your way yet?”
You scan over the text quickly before your fingers are flying over the keyboard, typing up a response so uniquely you that you’re sure Robert rolls his eyes when you send it.
You : 8:39pm —
“Why? Do you wanna see me that badly?”
You wait impatiently for his reply as you watch the 3 bubbles pop up in the corner of your text, heeled foot tapping against the floor of your Uber. Meanwhile Victor’s getting invested now, his blinded gaze finally leaving the back of the drivers head as it makes its way to you. “What’d he say?—Actually, what did you say?” He questioned as his eyes narrowed for a moment.
“Just wait…he’s typing.” You huff in response, to which Victor holds his hand up in mock surrender.
Robert : 8:41pm —
“Maybe. Is that an issue?”
You nearly squealed like a school girl. You were an absolute sucker for your ridiculously hot ( and miserable ) boss-of-sorts. The way he seemed to handle your attitude and teasing so easily…the idea of it made you dizzy and fuzzy in the legs. You quickly shook off the thoughts—you had to reply; and fast.
You : 8:43pm —
“Mmm…no.”
“Just wanted to hear you say it.”
You grinned at your own reply, but before you could even think at what he would say, his reply was sent.
Robert : 8:43pm —
“Thought so. Let me know when you get here.”
It's like he nearly predicted your text.
What he couldn't predict? The fact that you wouldn't listen.
You've arrived at the banquet with not as much as a text to Robert about your arrival, your arm was snuggly wrapped around Victors as the two of you walk inside, allowing yourself to admire the large ballroom.
A gorgeous high painted ceiling with dangling chandeliers, your eyes darting around the circular ballroom to the velvet-floored hallways, each leading to a guest's suite, your rooms keycard now snug in your purse.
"Hey...i'm gonna leave you alone for just a sec, alright?" Victor suddenly speaks up, his tone suspiciously sheepish.
"Victor-?" You spoke up, only to see a small white baggy peak from his pocket as he walked off, his arm untangling from yours. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.
"I'll meet you at the table!" He calls over his shoulder, giving a small wave before he disappeared into the crowd.
"Asshole.." You muttered, letting your gaze scan the room, eyes lingering for an extra second on familiar faces...and when the eyes you felt burning into the back of your skull became almost unbearable, you finally crane your neck, looking over your shoulder to meet the gaze of familiar-dark and serious, eyes.
Just as a grin began to form on your lips, you were suddenly tugged forward when a familiar Australian accent rang out in your ears.
"Late, as always," Malevola teased, pulling you along to dance. "Y'know, Robert's been looking for you since he got here,” She snickers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you swayed.
"I know, he texted me." You replied with a grin, taking the moment to glance back over your shoulder.
And you couldn't hide the shiver you felt when you realized he was still looking right at you.
You decide to play it off, flashing him a smile before turning back to Malevola, your conversation inaudible to Robert from across the room as he narrowed his gaze in your direction, almost desperately trying to read your lips.
"If he keeps this up, he'll burn two holes into your head at this rate," Malevola spoke up over the music, almost sighing as she shakes her head.
"You think so? We've played longer games of whatever this is, believe it or not." You replied, nearly grinning to yourself as you swirled the wine in your glass--which you had swiftly taken from a waiters tray when he breezed by with the quick offer.
"Maybe you should give him a break? Actually speak to him?" Malevola questions, almost, just almost, feeling bad for Robert with your obvious teasing.
"Probably...I was hoping he'd decide to come up to me..but I guess he's being patient," you huffed, cheeks puffing for just a moment before looking back at Robert. only to find him seated at a table. Alone.
"...But I've never been patient, honestly." You shrugged, giving Malevola a swift wave before turning on your heel and making a beeline for Robert, eyeing his black satin button up and the way it fit him in a way that was almost sinful.
When you finally made your way over to Robert, you sat down beside him, your chair facing his as you leaned an elbow onto the table.
"You never texted me," Robert spoke up the moment you sat down, forcing himself to keep his gazed locked on his drink. "Was it on purpose? Or do you just enjoy fucking with me—?" He questioned, his tone laced with sarcasm as usual, but a hint of something else was in his voice. restraint, maybe?
"Maybe. Is that an issue?" You mocked, quoting his text from earlier with a shit eating grin on your face.
His gaze immediately narrowed, biting back whatever slick comment was on his tongue. "Don't even start being like that. You—.." He cut himself off, whatever he was planning to say dying on his tongue almost immediately when he felt your heel graze the inside of his calf.
He nearly gave a sigh.
"Don't what?" You spoke, honeying your tone as you played oblivious, heel running up and down his leg slowly.
"Don't...just don't be an ass, yea?" He suddenly spoke up, rough hand grabbing your ankle under the table to stop you—and to give himself a moment to think about anything but the way you look in that dress. "Quit it, will you?" He mutters, keeping your ankle firm in his grasp.
But you didn't miss the way his thumb ran across your skin for just a moment.
Before you could speak, he sighed, pressing his forehead against his own glass of wine, his eyes shutting for a moment before they opened to find your gaze. "By the way, you...you look—" He began, his eyes trailing down your form before he was cut off by a voice behind him.
"Well! You've finally Arrived, Phenomenal!" Katon speaks up, his chest puffed out and confident as usual. Meanwhile Roberts eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the interruption.
But It was Katon, Phenomaman of all people. You wouldn't choose him over Robert, that much Robert knew. You knew it too.
So when you agreed to his invitation to dance, you didn't miss the way Robert nearly shattered his glass in his hand at being blown off for the umpteenth time tonight. He was seething.
Dammit, he was needy. And you in that god forsaken dress wasn't helping him at all right now.
You spared him a singular glance over your shoulder, giving him a look and a wave before you blended into the crowd with Katon to dance.
But to Robert, you did the exact opposite. You stood out in the crowd to him like a sore thumb. Your figure swaying along with Katon--and it was pissing him off immensely. You should be dancing with him, you knew that.
So why were you so insistent on being difficult?
He saw you. Saw the way you kept glancing back over in his direction. The way you swayed a little more when your back faced him. He saw it all.
So when you excused yourself from Katon to the ballrooms balcony, he was on his feet following you.
You gave a deep sigh as you leaned on the balcony's railing, the air refreshing on your lungs and the breeze cooling down your skin, until you were suddenly warm again, looking down only to find two arms on either side of you, the familiar black satin rolled up to the elbows to reveal the even more familiar scars.
"Robert,—"
'"What the fuck are you playing at? Huh?" He suddenly snapped, his voice warm against your ear. "You've been acting up all night, the hell's your problem, huh?" He adds, grabbing you firmly by the waist as he spins you around, his gaze burning into yours.
"...Been driving me crazy all god damn night, care to explain why that is?" His voice just barley above a whisper as he speaks, his gaze dropping down to your lips for just a moment before returning to yours, quietly waiting for your response.
You had to fight for your damn life to fight back the smirk that threatened to form on your lips. You had been driving him crazy all night...and you loved the way it was turning out. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about Robert, I've been socializing, who says ive got time to be worrying about you?—"
Roberts grip tightened on your waist, tugging you closer till your noses nearly touched. "Don't give me that bullshit right now. I've been keeping my eye on you. you know I have." He spoke, the end of his sentence sounding almost breathless as his hair gently blew with the wind. His gaze locked on yours.
"I know," You whispered in return. Your own gaze unwavering, stone hard against his own as your hand moved to caress his shoulder, pulling him closer ever so slightly.
"God dammit," He sighed, pulling away as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair then down his face as he turned away from you for a moment, taking in a deep breath--like he was trying to control himself, undoing the top button of his shirt before finally turning back to you. "you—"
"What're you two doing out here? Party's inside, bitches," Alice's voice suddenly rang out, her half pink and half blue bob seeming brighter under the balcony lights, causing a grin to fall onto your lips at Roberts frustration. he looked like he was about to snap.
"Yea...we—" You began before Robert spoke over you, his gaze still locked on you as he spoke over his shoulder. It seems no one could finish their sentences right about now.
"We..were just about to head back inside." He spoke, his tone suspiciously measured as he raised his brows at you in silent warning.
Only when Alice walked back inside did Robert Practically pounce on you, leading you back inside by the wrist as he kept his gaze cool and measured as you both weaved through the crowd and upstairs--to the suites.
"Thought you were all calm and collected Robert, what happened to 'not in a business setting'?—" You snickered as he practically shoved you into his suite. Your purse sliding off your arm onto the small dining table.
Though, before you had the chance to admire the absurdly large Suite SDN gave him, you were being spun around, stumbling until your lower back hit the back of the suites gray couch. One of Roberts hands landing firmly beside you on the couch, the other on your waist as he pulled you in, his lips finally crashing onto yours.
It wasn't soft, it was needy, desperate. Like he had been aching for this moment and was finally letting It all out. His tongue swiped against your lips before slipping past, giving a soft groan as he pressed closer to you.
The kiss was dizzying. He barley gave you a moment to breath, leaving you gasping against his lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling breathlessly when he picked you up by the thighs, staggering to sit on the couch with you perched on his lap.
His hands were greedy, exploring every inch of your body they could reach as his lips stayed on yours.
"Never knew you were so needy," You teased against your mingling breaths, only for him to wrap his hand around the nape of your neck and pull you back into the kiss.
"Shut it." He muttered in reply between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip enough to make you gasp before slipping his tongue back past your lips. His free hand finding purchase on your hip, holding you down firmly on his lap.
You couldn't help the moan that slipped past your lips as he held you down against his lap, feeling something—him, between your legs. You felt a rush of pride as you rolled your hips against his own, pulling a gasp from him before he held your hips still.
"You keep pushing your luck," Robert muttered, pulling back from the kiss as his hands rested on your hips, his thumb running over the skin of your dress as he tightened his grasp periodically.
He fought back a grin when you followed his lips for a moment when he pulled away, scoffing at the small, almost unnoticeable frown that formed on your lips.
You wanted to make a sly remark—anything, just for the sake of being difficult. Yet you only found yourself staring at him, not quite catching whatever look he gave you before Robert—to what you could only name, manhandled you over his lap, one hand holding you down while the other rested on the back of your thigh.
“Maybe.., I should fix that.” He spoke with a quick raise of his brows, tone cool and measured as he began pulling your dress up, the fabric scrunching up right on your hips to reveal your panties underneath.
Your gaze widened at the sudden predicament you found yourself in, collecting your thoughts before looking over your shoulder at Robert as your hands held the side of his thigh tightly.
“You wanna spank me?” You nearly laughed. Robert was the most vanilla looking man you’ve ever seen in your life. No way in hell was this man kinky—let alone into spanking. “You wouldn’t, no, you couldn’t! You’re the same guy who looked at sonar weird for liking cuffs—shit!”
Your ridicule towards him was cut short by a your gasp, followed by a sudden stinging and loud ‘clap—!’ as his hand landed down against your skin, the area slowly beginning to feel warm.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” He questions with feigned curiosity, his hand rubbing the reddening skin of your ass as the other held your back down.
Your hands squeezed the cotton fabric of his slacks as you took a moment to recover from the sting, your gaze firm on the carpet floor of the suites living room. "Hah—you are fucking unbelievable, Robert..” You breathed out, a grin forming on your lips.
“If you wanted to touch my ass that bad, could’ve just asked, y’know.” You teased, before you felt his hand land once—then twice, each hit on a different cheek as you kicked your legs up with a small squeal.
“Oh yeah, sweetheart?..you make it sound so easy,” He spoke, his voice lower then before as he gave a sigh through his nose.
Smack—!
“As if you wouldn’t tease and tease, like you already have been all night.” He continues, his hand rubbing the tender skin as he chooses not to comment on the way your thighs squeeze together, only moving his hand to hold them apart.
“Robert—“ You huffed out, trying not to sound as breathless as you actually were. “I thought you’d hit harder than that,” you murmured, grinning at your own comment.
“jesus, you just don’t know when to quit it, do you?” He muttered, suddenly yanking you up so your back was pressed hard against his back, his knees keeping your legs pried open. Before you even had the chance to comment he landed another smack onto you, except this time right between your legs.
“Shit—!” You jolted, your thighs tensing as they tried to close, but his legs kept you open—vulnerable. Your hand reached back to tangle itself in his hair behind you, taking a moment to tug on his brunette locks, the other bracing itself on his thigh.
Robert’s hand slid down from your knee, his fingers grazing over the dampening patch on your panties. “You love this shit, don’t you?” He mutters quietly against your ear, almost like a realization.
He doesn’t flinch when you tug at his hair, only letting his fingers lightly brush over your panties once more before slowly moving to pull them aside, 2 of his rough fingers trailing up and down between your slit. “Fucking soaked. You get off from driving me god damn crazy, pretty? Being all rough with you cause’ you pissed me off?” He spoke, and he nearly scoffed when you gave a soft sigh.
“Mhm…pissed off is a damn good look on you,” You breathed out with a smile as you felt his finger circle your clit, hands tightening in his hair again for just a moment. Your back arched against his touch as he pressed down a little harder, his free hand rubbing up and down your waist.
“you’re annoying as all hell, i hope you know that.” He mutters quietly agaisnt the skin of your neck, his lips brushing your pulse as he nips at the warm skin before soothing the sting with a lick.
“You love it,” You teased, and all he gave in response was a small hum against your neck before his hand on your waist slid down, slipping in 2 fingers, letting them curl agaisnt your gummy walls. His other hand remaining focused on your clit, teasing with feather light circles.
“Mmn—God..” You moaned softly, biting down on your bottom lip as your hips rocked against his fingers, leaning your head back onto his shoulder as he continued peppering kissing and leaving bruising marks along the column of your throat. He gently groaned when you tugged on his hair again, his hips bucking up instinctively before relaxing.
His fingers continued their ministrations, scissoring you open as he kept his face buried in your neck. Your moans and whines made it increasingly difficult not to just fuck you stupid on the couch. When he pulled away from your neck, His hand slipped away from your clit, slowly dragging up your body, grazing your hardened nipples before wrapping around your throat.
Not enough to make it hard to breathe, but enough to let you know he could—and would, if he was tempted.
You whined at the loss of his hand, but it was quickly forgotten when his fingers brushed against that soft spot inside you, starring your vision for a moment as you squirmed, your breathing becoming labored.
“Look at you now, what happened to all that talk, hm? Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re all whiny.” He couldn’t help but snicker, tightening his grip for a moment when you didn’t reply. “I asked you a question, pretty girl. Answer it.”
You bit at your bottom lip, your hand coming down from his hair to cup your boob, toying with your hardened nipple as your hips squirmed, letting your clit grinding against his palm.
“Keep going,” You breathed—begged. You could be difficult later, right now all you wanted was for the knot forming in your stomach to be satiated.
Robert gave a half-hearted scoff as a small smile fell onto his lips. “Thought so,”
His forearm flexed as he began to quicken the pace of his wrist, your cunt squelching with each thrust of his fingers. Meanwhile your back arched, hands toying with your breast as you moaned you pleas of ‘being so close.’
"Ngh, fuck! Robert, m'comingm'coming—!" You gasped out, vision nearly blurring as one of your hands grasped his wrist, feeling the knot in your stomach come undone as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs shaking as he kept them pried open.
When he finally felt you squeeze around his fingers, his grasp on your throat loosened slightly, letting you ride out your high as his continued to pump his fingers until you began to whin that it was 'too much'.
"Oh, so now you wanna complain?" Robert mocked, his hands rubbing the inside of your thighs before maneuvering you—slightly gentler than before, as he puts you on the floor, the soft carpet grazing your knees as you knelt infant of his man-spread form.
You finally caught your breath, hands resting on Roberts knees are you gazed up at him, eyes glossed over with need. "What? You want me to suck your dick?" You questioned between deep breaths, a grin forming on your lips as you gazed up at him.
"And if I do? You gonna do it, or you going to whine that it's 'too much' again?" He snickered, only for his smile to falter slightly as you reached for his slacks, hurriedly tugging down the waist band along with his boxers, his cock suddenly springing free.
You took a moment to admire him, his cock long and veiny, twitching with need as a drop of precum dripped down the side from his reddened tip. You took him into your hand, gently stroking him as you leaned forward, your gaze never leaving his as you licked your lips.
“You think I can't take it? You've really gotta cool your ego, Rob–” You began, continuing to be difficult as always until Robert took ahold of his cock from you, swiftly leading your head closer by your jaw and squishing your cheeks to open your mouth.
“Open up. Tongue out.” He ordered, his tone not leaving room to argue.
You didn't hesitate to stick out your tongue, feeling the weight of his tip against it as he slowly began sliding himself deeper into your mouth–inch by inch, every bob of your head taking him deeper.
“You wanna act like you can take it? Then take it, and stop fucking talking for once,” He nearly groaned. His head tilted back as his hand found purchase in your hair, guiding your head across his length. Meanwhile you gave a small moan around his cock as he guided your head, gagging around his length.
“Fuck, youre so pretty like this..should keep this bratty mouth stuffed more often, hmn?” He mocked, pushing your head down til your nose brushed against his pubes, leaving you there gagging. Robert moaned your name quietly under his breath, his breathing becoming ragged and deep as he ran his free head over his face.
He kept you there till he felt your nails dig into his thigh, only then did he finally pull you back, giving you a moment to breathe as you gasped and coughed. When you finally calmed down, he guided your mouth back onto his cock, watching as your thighs squeezed and rubbed together before your hand slowly drifted down.
“Hands off.” He spoke up, and when you didn't listen, he pushed your head deeper. He only eased up when we watched your hands fly away from in between your legs.
“Mmnf–” You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him twitch in your mouth as his eyes rolled back, his chest beginning to rise and fall harshly.
“Shit, sweetheart, m’almost there. Keep going for me, alright?” He breathed out, his hips instinctively bucking into your mouth as you continued to gag around his length. The moment he felt your tongue trace a vein on the underside of his cock, he swore he saw stars. His whole body tensed as he came undone, his hand holding you down as he came down your throat, the feeling of you swallowing around him prolonging his high.
He let go of your hair, letting you pull back as you coughed, your voice hoarse and scratchy as you spoke with a hand coming up to fix your now tousled hair. “That's all you got?” You scoffed, keeping up that same attitude as you looked up at him, but it was obvious you were starting to crack.
Robert couldn't control the breathy laugh that left him, sitting up as he met your gaze. “Listen, if you wanted me to fuck that attitude out of you, y’couldve just said that.”
You couldn't even think of a response before he was picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder. arm wrapped firmly over your back as he made a beeline for the bedroom.
“I can walk by myself, Robert. Put me down–fuck!” You spoke, squirming in his grasp until he landed another firm smack onto your ass, causing you to tense up as you looked back, only to find him already looking back at you.
“No. Quit the squirming already.” He replied before looking forward and opening the room door.
The moment he tossed you onto the bed, you were surrounded by a plush blanket, looking up at the curtains that surrounded the circular canopy bed. Yet you only had a moment to take in the room before Robert began to undo the ties, letting the curtains fall around the bed, effectively hiding you two from the rest of the world.
“What’re you–” You began to ask, keeping that smug look on your face as you looked in Robert's direction, knelt in front of your laid out figure.
“Strip, pretty.” He interrupted suddenly, fully taking off his belt that had already been undone in the living room and tossing it beside you. “Because as much as I love you in that damn dress, I need it off. Now.” He admitted, his eyes trailing up and down your form.
“Cant even ask nicely?” You snickered, taking your time as you sat up on your knees, keeping your gaze locked on his before you slowly–teasingly, began to take off your dress, finally letting it fall off your body as it pooled around your knees, laying back down to fully pull it off.
And he smirked to find that, to his pleasant surprise, you wore no bra. Better for him.
Without another word, he leaned forward, one hand resting beside you while the other squeezed your waist, pulling you up to meet him as he kissed you just as greedily as before. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling around one another as you moaned into the kiss.
He removed his hand from your waist, moving to undo the buttons of his own shirt as he kept his lips on yours. The moment he got to the last button, he pulled the satin fabric off, prying it from his arms behind him before tossing it god knows where, his hands rushing back to find your skin–you. He breathed deeply as his hand tangled in your hair, his hardening cock pressing against your thigh before he began moving down, trailing hot opened-mouth kisses down your hickey adorned neck and sternum until he reached the lacey hem of your panties,
He gave a huff before tearing them without a second thought, his low gaze immediately landing on your blushing clit, not hesitating when he leaned down to kiss and suck on it as you tossed your head back, thighs squeezing around his head before he pulled back.
“Turn around for me.” He whispered, placing one last chaste kiss against your clit before taking your hips to guide you as you turned onto all fours. You felt his hand push your head down against the plush pillow before trailing firmly down your back, leaving you arched downwards.
“Do you do this often with your sex dolls at home?” You spoke over your shoulder, words laced with your usual teasing and honeyed tone as you stretched your arms out in front of you before relaxing.
‘Yes, actually. All the time. I bend them over just like this, and fuck them for hours while i pretend theyre you.” He replied–way too casually. His hand kneaded the skin of your ass before he let his thumb run down the puffy lips of your cunt, marveling at the way your hips squirmed and pushed back against his thumb.
“Are you always this desperate?” He suddenly fired back, raising a brow as he let his thumb circle your clit, watching you clench around nothing.
“Im never desperate, Robert.” You breathed out, but the way you shivered told a different story.
“Right…and I'm the president.” He snickered while pulling his hand away, pulling your hips back to feel his cock resting between your plush ass, heavy and hard.
He reached over you to grab both your wrist with one hand, his other reached beside you to grab his belt, not even blinking once before he began to tie your wrist behind you, letting your binded wrist rest on your back. He watched you squirm and tug on the new restraints with a huff.
“Wow…look at you, huh? How many times have you played out having me bent over in a suite?” You spoke up, giving a breathy giggle.
“Oh, I don't think you wanna know.” He chuckled quietly, before moving his cock to your cunt as he guided the tip up and down your folds, using your cum as a make-shift lube.
“Don’t scream, sweetheart.” He warned with a grin before he slammed his hips against your ass, filling you to the brim in one thrust as one hand rested on your hip, the other holding your bound wrist.
“Oh—!” You gasped, the side of your face nuzzling against the pillow as your back arched deeper, biting down on your bottom lip to muffle a whine that left your lips.
You felt your eyes roll back as Robert began pumping in and out of you, soft pants leaving his lips as he pressed his palm against the back of your head, fucking you into the mattress at a teasingly slow pace.
“How’re you doing down there, pretty? Hm?” He teased, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust.
You gave a gasp as you felt his tip push against your cervix, your nails digging into your palm as you tried to catch the breath he continuously kept knocking out of your lungs.
The way he was talking wasn't helping either, every comment that left his lips only seeming to make you needier.
“Mhmmn. That feels so good, doesn’t it, pretty girl?” He panted against your ear as his hand on your head moved to wrap around your throat once more, his hips quickening their pace. “See how good I can make you feel when you just lose the attitude and behave?”
All you could give was a nod and whine out a pathetic “Mhm!, Yes—God, yes—“ , letting him marvel at just how easily he broke you down. He was so deep couldn't decipher where he’d end and you began.
You felt your vision begin to blur, your breaths labored as you blabbered absolute nonsense about wanting more and wanting it hard.
“Shit, you’re so pretty, sweetheart—Don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” He gasped against your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy. A groan slipped past his lips as he kept his pace quick, the force of his hips jolting you forward with each thrust just for his hand on your throat to keep you in place.
His hand on your throat only egged you on further, a dizzy, fucked-out giggle slipping past your lips before it bled into a moan, wrist still tugging on the tight leather around them.
He gave a shuddered breath when he felt your gummy walls squeeze around his cock like a vice, the faint ‘shlick’ echoing throughout the room as his hips rammed forward against your ass. Each of his thrust added onto the ring of white that’s already gathered on the base of his cock.
You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back as the muscles in your thighs tensed, the waves of hot pleasure shooting up your spine every time be brushed against that gummy spot inside you leaving you at its mercy. Leaving you to just feel.
The smell of sex filled your nostrils, your breath catching in your throat with every pulse and twitch roberts cock gave inside your weeping cunt. You tried to speak, to beg or mock–but your tongue felt fuzzy and heavy against your lips.
You felt that familiar knot of pressure forming in your lower tummy, your whole body tensing as your arms writhed behind you. The feeling of Roberts tongue dragging up and down your neck only pushed you further to the edge, your legs beginning to shake as you felt a wave of pleasure crashing over you.
“You close, baby? Gonna let that pretty pussy finish all over my cock with me?” Robert spoke, his voice low as a moan slipped past his lips, his abdomen tensing as he felt himself get closer with each pump in and out of your dripping cunt. All you could muster was a nod,feeling him twitch inside you like he was trying not to fill you to the brim right then and there,
“Cmon sweetheart, finish for me. And let me see that pretty face while you do.” Robert urged teasingly, watching as your glossy eyes focused back onto his. “Oh, and say thank you.” He whispered against your ear.
The moment your gaze met his, he was a goner. Your fucked out expression was enough to tip him over the edge as he kept his gaze locked on yours. His eyes fluttering as he spilled his seed into you, the sudden feeling sending you crashing over the edge with him.
“Robert, fuck, thank you–!” You managed to blabber out between your muffled moans into the pillow. Your arms and thighs tensing as your vision went white before you blinked all the stars away.
Robert continued to fuck you through the aftershocks, his hips stuttering for just a moment as he groaned against your shoulder blade.
The two of you took a moment to catch your breath, roberts hand leaving your throat as he undid the belt around your wrist before tossing it aside just as before.
Robert quickly flipped you around, the tip of his half-hard cock still inside you as his hands caressed the underside of your thighs before he slowly began pressing them further, and further, until he had you folded into a mean mating press with your calves dangling off his shoulders.
You gave a small groan as you adjusted to the sudden change in position, the hunger in Robert's eyes still visible as you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your eyes trail down his scarred torso.
Suddenly without warning, Robert bottomed himself out inside you once again, groaning at the way your gummy and overstimulated walls practically hugged his cock like they were made for each other.
Your hands immediately began scrambling, one tugging and tightening in his hair while the other found purchase on his back, nails digging into the already scarred skin as you tilted your head back, mouth hung open as you let out a string of moans, every pump of his cock inside your greedy cunt quickening his pace.
Robert swore it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
His hands held your waist tight, leaving you arching up as he kept pulling you back to meet his thrust, his cock pulling out of the tip before slamming back in, kissing your cervix enough times to make your body jump.
“Shiiit–s’too much, Robert–mmn!” you whined out, head still tilted back as he fucked you stupid, your attitude lost somewhere deep in the depths of your brain that refused to function right now.
“Eyes on me baby. Look at who’s making you feel this good, yea? Who’s using you like you’ve practically been beggin’ him to.” He spoke firmly amidst your gasps, one hand moving up from your waist to grasp your chin, leaning your head forward as he made sure your eyes were locked on him.
His head moved down to let his lips graze your tits, his tongue swirling around your perky nipple as his mouth closed around it, watching your back arch before switching to give the other the same attention, all the while his eyes remained locked on your hazy ones.
The way his chest pressed against your inner thighs left you folded like a lawn chair, his cock pumping deeper at the welcoming angle. You couldn't even think, mustering up a slurred “Please–”
You were a writhing mess, Roberts hands back on your waist as he made your back arch up towards him. You nearly squealed when you felt his hand pressing down on your lower stomach, a curse slipping past his own lips as his brow furrowed at the feeling.
“You take me so good, gorgeous...I've got you.” Robert whispered, leaning forward as his free hand raised up to your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before sliding it past, groaning as he felt you bite down and run your tongue over it.
You two were both a panting and sweaty mess, curses and murmurs slipping past both your lips before you suddenly heard a door slam, and what followed after was a stuttering and nervous voice.
Seems Waterboy was still on janitor duty for tonight…even though Robert swears blazer said he could take off.
“Any…Anyone here–In here?” Herman spoke up, his cleaning supplies in his bag as his voice rang out.
The two of you were hidden from the poor man's view by the curtain around the bed, yet you still froze in place, his cock stilling as it remained stuffed inside your cunt. He wouldn't move, christ, he wouldn't even breathe.
Until he felt you clench around him, a small sigh leaving him as he kept his face in the crook of your neck.
And then he dragged his hips back and forth, slow and deep. Once, and then twice, until he found a pace that was enough to make you tense and squirm while keeping the sound of your weeping cunt muted.
“You can be quiet for me, can’t you pretty girl?” He whispered against your shoulder, a hand still pressing down on your lower tummy while his other moved to push his middle and index finger into your mouth, letting you bite down on them as you gave a shaky sigh and a nod.
He smiled at your obvious attempts to stay silent, placing a kiss onto your shoulder.
faint footsteps trail into the room, the sound of fabric on fabric ringing through the quiet room as Herman cleaned up the discarded clothes on the floor. All while Robert continued to bury his cock deep into you. He pulled his fingers from your mouth a shit-eating grin on his lips as he leaned up to kiss you, his movements teasingly slow and hard.
But you could feel how tense he was, your nails digging into his biceps as you kissed him back. He was teasing himself just as much as you by doing this, yet he maintained his semblance of control.
The moment you heard the suite doors shut for a second time, you let out a moan against Robert's lip, one you’d been holding back ever since Herman entered to clean.
Roberts' pace immediately quickened as he panted against your lips–harder, faster. His breaths were harsh as he moved his hand from your lower tummy down to your clit, rubbing and pinching the sensitive bud. “Look at you, pretty, all dumb and desperate for my cock like you need it to live.” He spoke, his own voice beginning to sound needy.
He was close, stupidly close, and he wanted to finish with you.
You felt tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer fucked-out bliss you felt, gasping and whining out half-prayers, half pleas for more.
Robert's thrust grew sloppy and uneven as he felt you clenching around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he’d think you didn't want him to leave. His rhythm grew completely off–all because of you, and what you didn't even realize you did to him.
His free hand flew to your waist, his grip bruising as he kept you close to him, moans spilling from both your lips like some erotic harmony as you both chased your release. He's muttering breathlessly against your shoulder, as your nails dragged down his back.
“Fuck-s’good–Robert, m’close..” You whimpered against his lips as he went to kiss you, tongue and teeth clashing with pure need.
“Thats it, sweetheart–cmon.” He grunted, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside of you, a shudder running through your wrecked body when you cried out a moan due to him continuing to fuck you through your undoing.
“Too much, please–” You nearly sobbed from the sudden overstimulation, catching your breath with a sniffle as he slowly pulled out with a groan, letting your legs fall onto the bed on either side of him, aching.
Robert quietly mourned the loss of your warm cunt before hands found your face, pulling you into a kiss.
Except this time it was soft–gentle. Like he was conveying every deep-seated feeling he had harbored for you into it.
“Dont ever fucking make me chase you around like that again, pretty.” He whispered against your lips, nearly pleading between laboured breaths as he rested his forehead against your own.
“Youre mine, alright?” He added quietly before kissing you again softly.
You gave him a lazy nod, your body too tired to muster up the energy to speak, simply finding yourself melting into the comfort of the bed, your eyelids beginning to feel heavy.
“Hey…let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart..then you can sleep.” He murmured softly as he got off from above you, placing one last kiss onto your tummy.
You gave a soft grumble in protest, reluctantly opening your eyes as you watched him pull back the curtains, revealing the before messy room to now be organized.
“Huh. Guess Herman did a pretty good job,” Robert spoke with a small chuckle before heading towards the suite's bathroom.
You laid there, eyes quietly roaming your surroundings before a small chuckle left your lips, causing Robert to come back with a damp rag and confused look on his face.
“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” He spoke, not being able to help the chuckle that followed after watching you.
“Just…” You spoke up, voice hoarse. “i always thought you were a vanilla kinda guy,” you whispered with a small snicker, jolting when the cool rag gently brushed against your sensitive cunt.
“Well,” Robert shrugged, gently cleaning you up. “Now you know I'm not.” He murmured, taking a shirt he grabbed from his suitcase and gently helping you put it on.
“Now, quit questioning how kinky I am and get some sleep.” He spoke, laying down beside you as he tugged the blanket over both of you.
“The banquet isn’t that important anyways.” He whispered against your hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close as he let himself relax.
You all but melted into Robert’s arms, cuddling up close to him as you found yourself dulling into sleep almost immediately
And as you drifted off, you found yourself thinking you could really get used to this.
Sonar : 11:28pm —
"Ma'am, you won a fucking award, where are you??"
"..You guys still fucking or what?"
a/n - check out my newest Robert piece here !
Fade Into You
description: you and eddie sneak away to lovers lake for a quiet night, fairy lights strung in the back of his van and a joint burning between you. what starts as an easy, hazy date turns into skinny dipping in the cold water, soft laughter, and the kind of closeness that only the two of you could ever share
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: boyfriend!eddie, established relationship, no y/n, extreme tooth-rotting fluff, soft & romantic smutt, eddie being a munch, night swim at lovers lake, skinny dipping, soft eddie, this man is so cute, they are so sickeningly cute, i need what they have, i'm unwell about this, the fluff is excruciating, i love boyfriend eddie
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!, smoking
WC: 3.5k
A/N: hiiiii! this request came in from my dearest @bitterestwillow i hope i helped make your vision come to life! i know it's a shorter fic, but i figured some would appreciate the shorter format. reblogs are always appreciated <3 i hope you all enjoy!
The van smells faintly like weed, leather, and something warmer that’s just simply, Eddie.
It’s parked crooked near the edge of Lovers Lake, tires half in the dirt, half on gravel, like he didn’t have the patience to line it up right before pulling you into whatever this night was supposed to be.
Fairy lights glow softly along the inside ceiling, tangled a little unevenly where you insisted they’d look “better imperfect,” and now they cast this golden, hazy light that feels like it belongs to a different world entirely.
Blankets are piled in the back, mismatched and soft, a couple of pillows shoved into the corner like an afterthought. It’s not fancy or polished, just something that is yours, together.
You’re cross-legged on one side, knees brushing his thigh, passing the joint back and forth between slow conversation that doesn’t really have a direction.
The lake outside is dark and still, just a faint shimmer under the moonlight, and the only sounds are distant crickets and the quiet crackle of the lighter when Eddie relights the tip.
He exhales toward the ceiling, watching the smoke curl into the fairy lights. “Y’know,” he murmurs, voice a little slower now, a little softer, “this is... kinda perfect.”
You smile, leaning your head back against the van wall. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He turns his head, eyes lingering on you longer than necessary, like he’s studying something he’s not quite over yet.
“Got the lake, got the van… got you.” Then, quieter, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, “Best part.”
There’s a warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the joint.
You take another drag, slower this time, feeling it settle behind your eyes, everything going just slightly floaty.
The world softens at the edges, and the lights blur a little. Eddie’s voice feels closer than it should, even though he hasn’t moved.
“You’re staring,” you tease, passing it back.
“Can you blame me?” he says immediately, like it’s obvious. His fingers brush yours when he takes it, and even that small contact makes your heart skip a beat.
You laugh softly, but it fades into something quieter when he doesn’t look away.
There’s this moment where neither of you says anything. Just the hum of the night, the slow rhythm of breathing, the weightless feeling settling deeper into your limbs.
And then Eddie nudges your knee with his. “C’mon.”
“Where?”
He grins, a little crooked, a little mischievous. “Trust me.”
He hops out of the van first, nearly tripping over the door frame, which makes you laugh harder than it deserves.
“Shut up,” he mutters, reaching back to help you down anyway, hands steadying your waist for just a second too long.
The air is cooler outside, brushing against your skin, grounding you just enough. The lake stretches out in front of you, quiet and inviting, the surface barely rippling.
Eddie gestures dramatically. “Your chariot awaits.”
You squint at the water. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.”
“It’s freezing.”
“Only for, like, a second,” he insists, already tugging off his jacket. “Then you go numb. Which is basically the same as warm if you don’t think about it too hard.”
“That is the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, but it’s convincing, right?”
You hesitate for maybe half a second before laughing, shaking your head. “You’re insane.”
“And you love it.”
He’s already stepping out of his shoes, then his shirt, not in a show-off way, just… comfortable. The moonlight catches against his skin, all soft edges and familiar lines, and for a second, you just watch him.
“C’mon,” he says again, gentler this time.
There’s a brief pause where you consider your life choices, and then you follow.
The water is cold. You gasp the second it hits your ankles, grabbing onto his arm instinctively as you wade in, the chill climbing higher and higher until you’re half-laughing, half-protesting.
“Oh my god, Eddie—”
“I told you! One second!” he laughs, holding onto you as you adjust, his hands steady at your sides.
And then it levels out, somewhat. Not warm, but manageable. The kind of cold that wakes you up, that makes everything feel sharper and brighter.
You move deeper together, until the water laps at your shoulders, until the world feels distant and quiet, and just the two of you exist in it.
Eddie watches you, softer now. “You okay?”
You nod, pushing wet hair back from your face. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”
He smiles, something gentle and real.
For a while, you just float there, close enough that your arms brush, and your legs tangle under the surface. The lake carries you slowly, lazily, and the high wraps everything in this dreamy, almost surreal haze.
Then his hand finds yours. You turn toward him, and he’s already looking at you like that again. Like you’re something he’s trying to memorize.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
You laugh softly. “Hi.”
The kiss starts slowly and carefully, like he’s asking without saying it out loud. And you answer the same way.
It deepens gradually, naturally, his hand sliding from yours to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The water shifts around you, rippling softly with every movement, every breath.
There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing demanding. Just warmth, despite the cold water. Just the quiet certainty of being wanted.
His forehead presses against yours when you finally pull back, both of you a little breathless, a little dazed.
“Still think it was a bad idea?” he whispers.
You shake your head, smiling. “No. I think you might’ve been right.”
He grins, soft and proud, and leans in again, slower this time.
The kiss lingers for a moment after you pull back, like neither of you is fully ready to let it end. Your foreheads stay pressed together, his breath against your lips, your hands still resting at his sides beneath the water.
And then his expression shifts. Not away from you, just his usual look, mischief creeping back in.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, thumb brushing along your waist, “for someone who was so against this idea…”
You narrow your eyes, already suspicious. “Eddie—”
He dunks you.
One second you’re looking at him, the next you’re gasping as cold water rushes over your shoulders and hair, your laughter bursting out before you can even be mad.
“Oh my god!” you sputter, shoving at his chest when you resurface. “You did not just—”
He’s already backing up, hands raised in surrender, grin wide and unapologetic. “Hey, hey! Scientific proof! Fully acclimated now!”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, smug, “but you’re smiling, so—”
You lunge for him. This time, he’s the one caught off guard, your hands pushing against his shoulders as you try to dunk him back, and he yelps, stumbling as the water splashes up around both of you.
“Whoa—okay—hey—!”
“Payback!” you laugh, clinging to him as he tries to twist away, both of you slipping and half-floating, half-tripping through the water.
He grabs your wrists, steadying you before you can both go under again, and suddenly you’re pressed close, laughing breathlessly, water dripping from your hair and down your face.
“You’re evil,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s no heat in it, just pure affection. “Absolute menace.”
“You started it.”
“And I regret nothing.”
You squint at him, trying to look serious, but it breaks the second he flicks water at your face with his fingers.
“Oh, it’s on,” you warn.
“Bring it.”
What follows is less of a fight and more of a disaster. Splashing, slipping, grabbing onto each other just to stay upright, both of you laughing so hard it’s impossible to keep track of who’s winning.
At one point, you manage to actually dunk him halfway, his hair going under and popping back up in messy curls, and the look on his face is so dramatically offended that you lose it completely.
“That was a low blow,” he says, pushing his hair back. “I trusted you.”
“You dunked me first!”
“Details.”
He reaches for you again, but this time it’s slower, less chaotic. His hands settle at your waist, steadying you as the laughter fades into something softer again.
You’re still smiling when you look at him. He’s already looking at you.
There’s a quiet shift, like the world narrows back down to just this space between you, the water gently moving around your bodies, your breathing slowly evening out.
His thumb traces along your side absentmindedly. “You’re… really pretty like this, y’know.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “Cold? Wet? Probably look like a drowned rat?"
“Nah,” he shakes his head, a little softer now. "Happy.”
You don’t have a comeback for that. Instead, you step a little closer, your hands finding his shoulders again, but this time there’s no attempt to push him under.
He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, a quiet, almost-kiss that lingers longer than necessary.
“You still freezing?” he murmurs.
“A little.”
“C’mon, then.”
This time, when he takes your hand, it’s not to pull you deeper. It’s to guide you back toward shore, fingers laced with yours, steady and warm despite everything.
You stumble a little getting out, both of you laughing again as the night air hits your skin, colder now in contrast.
Eddie’s quick to grab one of the blankets from the van, wrapping it around your shoulders before even thinking about himself.
“Here, here—sit,” he says, ushering you into the back like it’s second nature.
“And you?” you ask, watching him.
He shrugs, reaching for another blanket. “I’ll survive. Rock and roll, baby.”
You roll your eyes, but tug him down next to you anyway, wrapping part of yours around his shoulders so you’re both tucked in together.
“That’s cheating,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Shut up.”
He grins, settling in closer, arm sliding around you like it belongs there. Outside, the lake goes quiet again. Inside, under the fairy lights and the lingering buzz from the joint, everything feels warm.
The blankets are soft and a little scratchy in that well-loved way, but they hold the heat between your bodies quickly. Eddie’s arm stays looped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy little circles against your damp skin through the fabric.
The soft light overhead paints everything in warm gold and faint pink, turning the water droplets still clinging to your collarbones into tiny sparkling stars.
You’re both quiet for a minute, just breathing together, the high making every small touch feel electric and cushioned at the same time. His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw.
“You’re shivering,” he murmurs, voice low and a little raspy from the cold and the smoke.
“I’m okay,” you whisper back, but he’s already shifting, pulling you more fully into his lap so your chest presses against his. The blanket wraps around both of you like a cocoon.
Eddie’s free hand slides up your back, slow and careful, warming you with the broad heat of his palm. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me fix that.”
He kisses you again: soft at first, then deeper, unhurried. His lips are still cool from the lake but warm quickly against yours.
There’s no rush in it, just the quiet sound of the kiss, the faint rustle of blankets, and the distant lap of water against the shore.
When he pulls back just enough to speak, his forehead rests against yours.
“Can I take care of you?” he asks, so gently it makes your chest ache.
His eyes are dark and warm, pupils blown wide. “Wanna make you feel good. That okay?”
You nod, biting your lip around a smile. “Yeah, Eddie. Please.”
He lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh, like he can’t believe how lucky he is. “That’s my girl.”
His hands move with deliberate care, peeling the damp blanket down just enough to expose your shoulders, your chest.
He kisses every new inch of skin he reveals: your collarbone, the center of your sternum, the soft swell of one breast, slow, open-mouthed presses that leave warmth blooming in their wake.
“Tell me if it’s too much or if you want me to stop, okay?” he murmurs against your skin. “We’ve got all night. No rush.”
You thread your fingers into his damp curls, nodding again. The weed and the cold have left you floaty and hypersensitive; every brush of his mouth feels like sparks.
Eddie shifts you both until you’re lying back on the pile of blankets, him hovering over you on his elbows so he doesn’t put too much weight on you.
He kisses down your stomach, slow and reverent, pausing to nuzzle his cheek against the soft skin just below your navel. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers. “Every part of you. Drives me crazy how much I love looking at you.”
When he reaches the top of your hib, he looks up at you through his lashes, curls falling messily around his face.
“Can I?” he asks, fingers already hooked gently at your skin.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He moves down with the same patience, kissing every new stretch of thigh he uncovers: inner knee, the sensitive skin just above it, higher, until he’s settled between your legs, broad shoulders keeping you open for him.
Eddie presses a soft kiss to the crease of your thigh, then another, like he’s savoring the moment. His breath is warm against your core when he finally speaks again, voice low and soothing.
“Just relax for me, okay? I’ve got you.”
The first slow lick makes your back arch, and a soft sound slips from your throat. Eddie hums in approval, the vibration traveling straight through you.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
He doesn’t dive in; he explores. Gentle, broad strokes of his tongue, learning exactly how you react to each motion. Every time your hips twitch, or your fingers tighten in his hair, he adjusts, listening.
“Right there?” he asks softly when he finds the spot that makes your breath hitch. “Yeah? Good. Gonna stay right here then.”
He’s relentless in the gentlest way; sucking softly, licking slow circles, occasionally pressing open-mouthed kisses like he’s making out with you. Between every few strokes, he talks you through it, voice muffled and warm against your skin.
“You’re doing so good for me… so fucking sweet… let me hear you, baby, don’t hold back.”
One of his hands slides up to lace his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. The other rests on your lower belly, thumb stroking soothing arcs, keeping you grounded while his mouth works you higher and higher.
When your thighs start to tremble around his ears, he doesn’t speed up. He stays steady, with perfect pressure and perfect rhythm.
“Close?” he whispers, lips brushing against you. You hum and nod, taking in one sharp inhale. "Yes."
“It’s okay. You can let go, I’m right here. I’ve got you. Come for me, sweetheart.”
The orgasm rolls through you slow and deep, like warm honey spreading through your veins.
Eddie keeps licking you through it, gentle and praising, murmuring soft little “that’s it… good girl… so pretty when you come” until you’re boneless and panting.
He kisses his way back up your body, slow and lazy, until he’s hovering over you again, lips shiny and smiling.
“Hi,” he says, the same way he did in the water.
You laugh breathlessly, pulling him down into a kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“Hi.”
Eddie settles between your thighs, not pressing in yet, just letting his weight rest warm and safe against you. His cock is hard and hot against your hip, but he makes no move to rush.
“You still with me?” he asks, brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “We can stop here if you want, sweetheart."
You shake your head no, wrapping your arms around his neck. "More. Please, Eddie."
He groans softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. “God, I love when you say please like that.”
He reaches down between you, guiding himself to your entrance with one hand while the other cradles the back of your head.
The head of his cock nudges against you, warm and slick from how wet he’s made you.
“Deep breath, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Gonna go slow, tell me if it’s too much.”
He pushes in inch by careful inch, eyes locked on your face the whole time, watching every flicker of expression.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaky with restraint. “You feel incredible. You're taking me so well, sweetheart.”
When he bottoms out, he stills, buried deep, holding you close while you both adjust. His lips brush your temple, your cheek, your mouth; soft, scattered kisses.
“Okay?” he whispers.
“Perfect,” you sigh.
Only then does he start moving, slow, rolling thrusts that feel more like rocking together than fucking. Every stroke drags deliciously, deep and intimate. He keeps his weight on his forearms so he can look at you, foreheads almost touching.
“Love you like this,” he murmurs between kisses. “My pretty girl… feels so good, baby. You’re taking me so good.”
His hand slides down to where you’re joined, thumb finding your clit in gentle circles that match the rhythm of his hips.
“Gonna make you come again,” he promises, voice low and sweet. “Want to feel it around me this time. Can you do that for me?”
You nod, already climbing again under his patient care. He never speeds up, never gets rough; just steady, deep, loving thrusts and that perfect pressure from his thumb.
When you come the second time, it’s even softer, a slow wave that pulls a quiet, broken moan from your throat. Eddie follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you with a shaky groan of your name.
For a long time afterward, you just stay tangled together under the blankets, his weight a comforting blanket of its own.
He presses lazy kisses to your shoulder, your neck, wherever he can reach without moving too much.
“You okay?” he asks eventually, voice muffled and sleepy-satisfied.
“Better than okay,” you whisper, carding your fingers through his drying curls.
Eddie lifts his head just enough to smile at you: crooked, warm, completely in love. He then lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, like he’s still a little overwhelmed by you, by this, by everything that just happened.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, softer now.
He shifts just enough to pull the blanket back up over both of you properly, tucking it around your shoulders before settling back down, this time on his side so he can face you.
One arm stays draped over your waist, keeping you close, like he’s not fully convinced you won’t disappear if he lets go. You nuzzle yourself in more, head completely rested on his chest.
For a minute, neither of you says anything. Just the quiet hum of the lake outside and the faint buzz still lingering in your limbs.
“Think we killed the joint,” you mumble, voice lazy, words a little slower than usual.
Eddie snorts softly. “Tragic. Moment of silence.”
You huff a quiet laugh against his chest. “You’re so stupid.”
“Yeah,” he says easily, brushing his nose against yours, “but you’re still here.”
Your fingers drift up his arm, tracing along his tattoos absentmindedly. The lines blur a little under your touch, the lights making everything look softer, warmer.
“Best date ever?” you ask, barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Best everything ever.”
You smile, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. He chases it, turning his head just enough to catch your lips properly, but this time it’s slow. Sleepy. Gentle in a completely different way than before.
His hand slides up your back again, slower now, fingertips barely grazing your skin in a way that makes you melt further into him.
“Y’know…” he murmurs, lips still brushing yours between words, “we should, like… do this again.”
You hum, amused. “Skinny dipping at midnight?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But next time, I bring towels. And, like actual snacks. Maybe a boombox. Really elevate the experience.”
You laugh softly. “Wow. So romantic.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, though he’s smiling. “Gonna make this a whole thing. Freezing our naked asses off in Lovers Lake? That’s us now.”
You tilt your head, studying him in the low light. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His thumb brushes along your cheek. “Got a good thing goin’. Not letting it go.”
You just lean in and kiss him again. He sighs into it, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.
When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded, curls falling into his face.
“Stay with me a little longer?” he asks, voice softer now, almost shy underneath everything else.
You smile, nudging your nose against his.
“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”
“Good,” he whispers.
gah i hope you all enjoyed:)
requests are open!
beasbuggies:
@kozume-ko, @obsessed-eddie, @doomdabss, @julxsxx, @leelei1980@hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm
lessons in sociology
pairing: eddie munson x reader
summary: Eddie Munson is your good friend and study buddy for sociology. when he mistakes the novel you're reading for your sociology textbook, you get a more...hands on approach to learning about power dynamics.
wc: 7.2k
order up: college!au, friends to lovers, d/s dynamics, jealousy, confessions
tw: explicit smut, p in v unprotected, d/s dynamics, use of petnames [princess, sweetheart, baby, honey, guys a whole mess of honorifics], spanking, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, ropeplay mention
a/n: hi hi hi, i have so many eddie requests in my inbox and while he isn't my brainrot rn, i really hope you guys enjoy this one because i loved writing it.
masterlist
Your dorm room felt smaller during midterms.
Books everywhere. Highlighters bleeding through thin pages. Half-drunk cans of cola sweating onto your desk because you kept forgetting they existed.
Eddie Munson was sprawled across the floor on his stomach, boots kicked off, rings tapping idly against his soda can as he flipped through his notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said for the third time, pushing his hair out of his face. “The professor literally said the theme was power dynamics. That’s, like, my whole brand.”
You shot him a look from your desk chair. “It's not a campaign metaphor, Munson.”
“Everything is a campaign metaphor,” he countered.
There was a comfortable rhythm to this.
You quizzing him. Him derailing you.
It was easy, being like this. Friends who studied together. Friends who argued about symbolism. Friends who definitely did not think too hard about the way the other stuck his tongue out a little when he concentrated.
Eddie groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back. “I need a different book. The one with the red tabs. It’s on your bed, I think.”
Your stomach dropped.
Because yes, there was a book with red tabs on your bed.
But it was not the sociology textbook.
It was tucked half beneath your comforter, face-down, like it had tried to hide itself at the last second. Black cover. Embossed lettering. A very intentional ropework design worked into cover in a way that was… not subtle.
You opened your mouth.
“Wait—”
Too late.
Eddie was already on his feet, crossing the room in three lazy steps, reaching down to grab the book from your bed before you could physically launch yourself at him to stop it. His fingers curled around the spine, and he lifted it casually, flipping it over—
—and froze.
"This is... not your sociology textbook." He says, eyes wide as he flips through the pages.
Your blood ran cold. It was a specific, visceral feeling, like an ice cube sliding down your spine.
Everything faded to a dull roar in your ears. The only thing that existed was Eddie, standing there, holding the single most damning object you owned.
He didn’t flip through it with shock or disgust. There was no theatrical recoil. Instead, his thumb brushed against the pages with a strange, focused curiosity. His eyes, wide and dark, weren't judging; they were reading. Absorbing.
He finally looked up, but not at you. His gaze landed on the open textbook on your desk, red tabs that marked actual academics and not fantasies.
A slow, disarming smile started at the corner of his mouth, one that you’d seen a hundred times after a good roll of the D20.
“Y’know,” he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that felt like it vibrated right through the floorboards. “This… is a much more practical application of power dynamics than our textbooks.”
Your throat was dry.
"Thats not funny, Eddie." You turn, face red. "Give it back."
He tilted his head, studying your blush as intently as he'd studied the book. He didn't move to give it back.
"I promise you, my porn stash is way more embarrassing than this." He waved the book around a little. "At least yours has literary merit."
"It's not porn!" you shot back, your voice a little too loud in the small space. "It's research!"
The excuse sounded flimsy even to your own ears.
Eddie's smile widened. "Research," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "For what? Your dissertation on rope burns?"
He was teasing you, but it wasn't cruel. It was… interested. He wasn't making fun of you. He was engaging. He held the book out, not quite close enough for you to snatch back.
"This shit isn't even accurate," he said, tapping a page. "This is all showmanship. They forgot the most important part."
You blinked, confusion warring with humiliation. "What part?"
"The conversation." His eyes met yours, and for a second, the teasing faded. There was something serious there. Something intense but inherently safe.
"Well, the conversation isn't the sexy part." You mutter.
"Oh so you're admitting it's porn now?" He smirks and you narrow your eyes. "And also... the conversation is definitely the sexy part," he added, stepping closer. "It's the whole point."
You held your ground, even though every instinct screamed at you to snatch the book, throw him out, and crawl into a hole for the rest of eternity. Instead, you lifted your chin. "You think so?"
"I'm well versed, yeah."
He finally lowered the book, setting it down on your desk, on top of your sociology textbook. The juxtaposition was dizzying. Academia and anarchy. Theory and practice.
He took another step into your personal space. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the joint he smoked outside.
"I'm going to guess you haven't put this into practice yet," he said softly.
You couldn't answer. The lie was stuck in your throat. Because he was right. The book, the fantasies—they'd always been in your head. A private world.
A world he had just stumbled into.
"So tell me," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, looking you directly in the eye. "Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?"
He waited.
And the silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
His question hung in the air between you, shimmering and dangerous.
Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?
It was a test. A doorway. A chance to step out of the theory and into the practice.
"I mean, I don't exactly have a partner to, you know..." Your hands flew up in a vague, helpless gesture. "It's not like I can just walk into a bar and ask 'Hey, any of you guys into safe, effective, and nonjudgmental bondage?'"
The joke landed weakly, but Eddie didn't laugh. He just watched you, like a predator assessing prey. He leaned against your desk, crossing his arms, the casual posture doing nothing to hide the focus in his gaze. He picked up the book again, not to mock you this time, but to flip to a specific, dog-eared page.
"Okay," he said, tapping the pages of a sex scene you had clearly marked with interest. "This, for example. The rope work is all wrong for this position. It would cut off circulation after five minutes."
You blinked. "You... you know about ropes?"
He shrugged. "I have hobbies. Guitar isn't my only practical area of expertise." He met your eyes again.
"I guess that makes sense for your whole... look." You gesture vaguely at him.
That one does make him laugh a little. "Yeah sure the whole aesthetic probably doesn't hurt." He smirks at you, eyes scanning over you again. "But the look is just a bonus. Not a guarantee. I know people who are vanilla as hell who dress like me. And I know people who would put this whole book to shame who wear polo shirts."
You think about that for a second, mulling it over as he speaks again.
"Do you like my 'look' or something? You getting off on the thought of me being the one tying you up?" He teases you, but it's not a joke, not really. It's a question.
The question hung there, an invitation wrapped in a dare. Your cheeks burned, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
"Okay, light teasing was fine but don't purposely be an ass about this." You warn him, the bite in your words making him raise an eyebrow. "And... yeah. The thought occurred once or twice. I'm not blind." The admission felt like ripping off a band-aid—painful, but necessary.
Something shifted in Eddie's expression. His smirk was softer, like he didn't expect you to admit it. He let it hang in the air for a beat, savoring the victory.
"Once or twice, huh?" he mused. "That's... nice."
He set the book down again, this time closing it. The conversation was moving on, past the fantasy and into reality.
He sits on your bed, not like he usually does where he's just sprawled out with no care in the world. This was different. He sat close to the edge, leaving a space between you, but the air crackled with new possibilities. He rested his hands on his knees, a position that was open, non-threatening, but still completely in control.
"I've thought about it like, way more than once or twice honestly. I've thought about what it would be like with you. So, like, if you want to try some things, or even just talk about them, I'm more than willing to be your partner in crime."
You couldn't speak, but he continued.
"Unless, you know, you'd rather ask that guy from your history class. What's his name? Mark? The one who looks like he was grown in a lab to sell minivans."
"Mark is just my project partner." You roll your eyes. "He's literally been here once to study."
"You laugh at his jokes a lot in the dining hall." He shoots back. "I've seen it."
You had no comeback for that. Because he'd noticed. And you had laughed. But Mark's jokes were safe. They were about midterms and dining hall food. Eddie's jokes were about things that made your stomach flip.
"Okay, that doesn't mean I want to jump his bones. And even if I did, which I don't, how is that even rele--"
It hits you then
"You're jealous." You say it out loud, a statement, not a question.
Eddie didn't flinch. He didn't deny it.
He just shrugged again, that infuriatingly casual gesture that meant everything and nothing.
"I'm territorial about things that interest me," he said simply.
You were no longer just a study partner.
"Look. We've been friends for a while. You know me. You know I'm not a creep. We can just… talk. No touching, no ropes, nothin'. Just words. We lay it all out. Boundaries. What you're curious about. What's an absolute hard 'no'." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering again. "Safe words. Pet names. the whole deal."
He was laying out a curriculum. A syllabus for your most private, secret class. And the professor was the guy who made fun of your D&D character for being too lawful good.
"This is insane," you whispered, the words feeling like bubbles in your chest.
"Is it?" He stood up and walked to your door, closing it and twisting the lock.
"Eddie... what if I say yes?"
He paused, his back to you for a second, before turning around. He leaned against the door, hands in his pockets.
"Then the real research begins." He gave you a small, genuine smile. "But only if you say the word."
The choice was yours.
"Okay." The word was barely a whisper.
He pushed off the door and walked back toward you, gesturing at your bed. "Okay. Rule one. Sit."
You carefully moved from your desk chair and sat on the bed, your back ramrod straight, perched on the very edge of the comforter like it might give way beneath you.
He sat down, leaving a careful foot of space between you. The mattress dipped with his weight, pulling you closer.
"You're tense as all hell, princess. Relax." The pet name was new. It wasn't teasing. It was... grounding.
You tried to unclench your shoulders.
"Let's start easy. Your safe word. It needs to be something you'll remember even if your brain is all fuzzy. Not something you'd normally say during sex. 'No' and 'stop' can be part of the scene. Your safe word is what makes the scene stop. No questions asked."
"Scene? That's so formal. So..."
"It's practical," he corrected gently. "It keeps things from getting messy. So. What'll it be?"
You thought for a moment, your mind racing. "Dragonfruit." It was stupid, random. No one would ever shout it accidentally.
A slow grin spread across Eddie's face. "Dragonfruit. I love it. Okay. That's ours. If you say it, we stop. Everything."
He shifted a little closer, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"Is there anything you like to be called? Or don't like?" He says, more seriously now. "Some people like being called a slut or a whore. Some people like 'good girl'. Some people hate it. There is no right answer, it's all about you."
The directness of the question made your breath catch. "Good girl," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with heat. "I don't think I'm ready for degradation yet..."
Part of you was worried saying that like you'd dissapoint him or something. but he just nodded, like you'd given him a perfectly reasonable answer.
"Alright. 'Good girl' it is. We can save the other stuff for an advanced class." The wink he threw you was both a joke and a promise.
"What about you?" you found yourself asking.
He seemed surprised by the question for a second. "Oh, well, I guess I'm pretty fine with most things. I mean, you could probably call me an asshole and I'd still like it cause it was your voice."
He said it so casually, as if he were discussing his favorite brand of guitar strings, and not the thought of you moaning for him.
"I liked when you called me princess..." You admit. "You could call me that."
"Princess," he repeated, the word soft on his tongue. "I can do that."
He was so close now. You could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
"Okay, new question..." Those big eyes drag down your figure. "Can you come sit on my lap? I want you closer."
He wasn't just asking a question about a hypothetical scenario anymore. This was real. This was happening.
Your body obeyed before your brain could catch up. You slid across the small space between you, the comforter a whisper under your knees, and settled yourself onto his lap.
His big hands went to your waist automatically, steadying you. He was warm, solid. You could feel the worn denim of his jeans against the thin material of your leggings.
"Alright. First lesson." His breath was warm against your ear, making you shiver. "Power isn't about force. It's about control. My control, your surrender."
You nod, mentally taking notes and he smiles before leaning into to whisper in your ear.
"You can always say no." He says gently. "Right now, to me. You can say 'no, Eddie, I don't want to sit on your lap' and I'll let you go, no questions asked. This is still a conversation."
"I know." You say, a little breathless.
"But you aren't going to say that, are you? No... you want this."
"I do."
"Good girl." The words were a low rumble you felt straight between your legs. "I'm going to put my hands on your thighs now. Just to hold you. Alright?"
You could only manage a small nod.
You could feel the weight of his rings through your leggings.
"Looking so pretty, all for me." He whispers and you lean into him, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You trusted him. You'd known him for years. He was safe.
This was what he meant, about the conversation. Every touch was a question. Every reaction, an answer.
"Are you going to be good for me?" He asks.
"Y-yeah," you manage. "I'll be good."
His grip on your thighs tightened just a fraction.
"I know you will." He nosed at your neck. "Now, hands behind your back. Let me hold them."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You swallowed, your throat tight, and slowly, deliberately, you moved your arms behind you, lacing your fingers together at the small of your back. The position pushed your chest out, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, incredibly exposed.
He made a soft, satisfied sound.
"Always like it when you wear a low cut top like this." He admits. His hands slid from your thighs to your back, covering your clasped hands with one of his own. The gesture was light, not restrictive, but it felt impossibly final.
His other hand came up to trace the neckline of your shirt, a single finger grazing your collarbone, then dipping lower, following the curve of your breast. He didn't grab, didn't grope. He just… explored. Mapping the territory.
"Your heart's beating so fast," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I can feel it."
You couldn't answer. All your focus was on the path of his finger as it drifted to the peak of your breast, circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.
"Responsive little thing, aren't you sweetheart?" He teases.
He circles it a few times, making you squirm on his lap and you can already feel the hard length of him through your layers of clothes. The evidence of his own desire.
His other hand still holds your wrists.
"You like your nipples played with? I know you're sensitive." He asks and you nod again. "Let's see more of these pretty tits."
He doesn't ask to take your shirt off. He just does.
He expertly pulls the shirt over your head in one fluid motion, momentarily freeing your hands before he catches them again, this time pressing them more firmly into the small of your back. He then goes for the clasp of your bra and he undoes that too, pulling it down your arms until you're topless for him.
"Look at that." He whispers and it's the most turned on you've ever heard him.
He runs his thumb over the pebbled flesh of your nipple, and your breath hitches. The calloused pad of his thumb created a delicious friction, a direct line of heat pooling in your core.
"I'm going to pinch," he warned, his voice a dark promise. "Just a little. To see how you like it."
You tensed in anticipation.
He didn't make you wait long. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying a slow, deliberate pressure. A sharp, surprising jolt of pleasure-pain shot through you, pulling a soft gasp from your lips.
"Good," he rasped. "You like that."
It wasn't a question. He read your body as easily as he read the tabbed pages of your sociology textbook.
He keeps pinching and playing as he trails soft kisses from your collarbones and lower, purposefully avoiding where you want his mouth. He was kissing all around your breasts, teasing you with featherlight touches until you're squirming and whining.
"Shh, be patient." He whispers against the skin of your breast. "I'll get there."
He does it again to the other breast. The pinch, the pleasure, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He was testing you, seeing what made you gasp, what made you squirm. And you were arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.
He finally lowered his head, taking one peaked nipple into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, before grazing it lightly with his teeth.
The whimper that left you was undignified. Needy.
He pulled back, releasing you with a soft 'pop'. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with an emotion you'd never seen directed at you before. Possessiveness. Pride. Awe.
"Look what you do to me," he murmured, one of his hands releasing yours to guide your own down, pressing it flat against the hard bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.
"You're going to have to take care of that later, aren't you?" He says, pushing your hips down a little, making you grind against him.
The friction was obscene, a delicious drag through the layers of clothing that sent sparks skittering up your spine. You did it again, a little more boldly, rocking yourself against the rigid length of him. A groan rumbled in his chest, a purely male, primal sound of appreciation.
"Not yet," he said, his grip on your waist tightening, stopping your movements. "That's a reward. And you haven't earned it yet."
He shifted you slightly, adjusting your position so you could feel him more acutely, a perfect, infuriating pressure against your clothed core. His free hand drifted down to the waistband of your leggings. His fingers toyed with the elastic, a casual touch that made your entire body clench with anticipation.
"You're soaked through already, aren't you, princess?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. All this fuss just from me playing with your pretty tits."
"Is that weird?" You ask, a little nervous now.
"Not at all. It's perfect." He says gently. "It means your body is honest. It tells the truth. And right now, your body is telling me how much you want this."
His fingers dipped below the waistband, not touching you where you craved it most, but just resting against the soft skin there.
"We could stop right now," he offered, his tone maddeningly level. "We can stop anytime you want. We can just put your shirt back on, order a pizza, and fail our sociology midterm together. All you have to do is say one word. Do you remember our word?"
"Dragonfruit," you whispered, testing it on your tongue. It felt foreign, distant. Not what you wanted at all.
"Now, tell me what you do want."
You took a shaky breath. "I want you to touch me."
"Touch you where? You have to use your words."
Every nerve ending was on fire. "My... I want you to touch me between my legs."
"Good girl."
He finally moved, his hand sliding further down, past the damp cotton of your underwear, through your slick folds. He didn't rush, exploring you with a surgeon's precision.
"This pussy is so fucking wet for me, princess." He breathes out in awe.
He found your clit with an unnerving ease, a single finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You jolted, a sharp inhale of pleasure.
"Right there?" he asked, feigning innocence.
You could only nod, your head falling back against his shoulder as he continued his slow, torturous circles. He was drawing it out, making you feel every spark, every tremor. You were wound so tight, a trembling knot of need.
Your hips began to move of their own accord, chasing the friction, the building pressure. But he stopped you again, holding you still with a firm grip.
"Uh-uh. My pace," he chided softly. "You don't get to finish until I say you can."
A whimper escaped your lips, a sound of pure frustration.
"Patience," he murmured, kissing your temple.
You notice now, that he hasn't kissed your lips, but you don't make a comment on it, too busy feeling everything else to care.
He was a master of this, a conductor of your pleasure. He varied the pressure, the speed, watching your every reaction, learning what made you gasp, what made you whine. He slipped a finger inside you, then a second, curling them upward to stroke that spot that made your vision blur.
"You think I should let you come soon?" he asked, his voice a dark, intimate rumble. "You've been so good for me. Sitting still. Taking what I give you."
"Please," you begged, the word ripped from you. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?"
"Please let me finish."
He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "Since you asked so nicely."
He increased the pressure on your clit, the circles becoming faster, more demanding. His fingers inside you stroked with renewed purpose. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap.
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. Soak my fucking hand." he commanded.
You were cumming by the time he said 'let go', your body convulsing in a blinding wave of pleasure. You cried out, your back arching, your hands still trapped behind you, leaving you nothing to hold onto but him. He held you through it, his movements slowing, gentling, as you shuddered and trembled.
When you were riding out the after shocks he released your hands, letting you decide where to put them. You immediately brought them around to his shoulders, clinging to him. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, catching your breath.
His hands came up to your back, stroking you slowly, grounding you. He whispered sweet nothings against your hair, words of praise and affection.
"I know that wasn't as extreme as what your little book had, but trust needs to be built up slowly for things like that." He says softly, kissing your shoulder. "We'll get there.
You could feel the rapid, steady beat of his heart against your cheek. You could still feel the hard press of his arousal against you, a silent testament to his own restraint.
"Eddie..." you whispered, your voice hoarse. "You didn't..."
He shushed you, a finger gently tilting your chin up. "Hey. it's okay. Tonight was about you. About learning you."
You looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen from where he'd been kissing your skin, and his eyes were dark and soft and full of an emotion that made your chest ache.
Without thinking, you leaned in and finally, finally kissed him.
He didn't move at first and you pulled back quickly, suddenly feeling stupid.
Was kissing not okay in this arrangement?
Did he only want the physical part?
Did he even like you like that?
Before you could speak, he did it first.
"Hey you, don't look like that. It's not what you think." He says gently.
"I- I just thought..."
"I know what you thought. And it's okay. I wanted to kiss you. More than anything."
"So why didn't you?" You ask, not in an accusatory tone, but a genuinely curious one.
"Because if I kissed you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it if this was just a one-time thing. Or if this was just about sex. I wouldn't have been able to control myself, and we might not be here right now."
This confession was so raw, so vulnerable. It was more intimate than anything you'd done.
"So... what is this then?" You ask, your heart pounding.
"It's whatever you want it to be." He says honestly. "But I want it to be something. Something real."
You lean in again, slowly, giving him the chance to pull away.
He didn't.
He met you halfway, his lips finally claiming yours. It wasn't a kiss of frenzy or desperation. His hands cupped your face, holding you tenderly, as if you were something precious. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of you, of the cola he'd been drinking hours ago. He kissed you slowly, deeply, a conversation without words.
When you finally parted, you were both breathless.
"Do you still want me to do something about..." You trail off, letting your eyes flick down to the very prominent problem in his pants.
He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Princess, you have no idea how much I want that. But I also want to do this right. So... right now, nothing too demanding, just let me fuck your brains out?"
You laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made your whole body feel lighter.
"You're an idiot."
"You know what?" He says with a teasing smile, before flipping you so he was hovering over you on the bed. "I like it better when you're on your back, anyway."
He made quick work of your leggings and underwear, tossing them aside. He stood up to strip off his own clothes, and you watched him, your gaze hungry. You'd seen him shirtless before, at the lake, at a party, but this was different.
The chain around his neck rested in the dip of his collarbone. His chest was lean, a smattering of dark hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. He was all sharp angles and wiry strength. And as he pulled down his boxers, your breath hitched.
"You want this huh? This is what you were grinding against earlier?" He smirks. He was long and thick, flushed with arousal, curving up towards his stomach.
He climbed back onto the bed, settling himself between your legs.
"Take what you want," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Your hand trembled as you reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm as you guided him to your entrance, and he pushed forward, just the head breaching you.
A shared gasp. You were so wet, so ready for him, but the stretch was still intense, a delicious burn.
"Oh, good girl, you listen so fucking well," he praised, before sliding the rest of the way home with one slow, deep thrust.
He filled you completely, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Fuck," he breathed, burying his face in your neck. "You feel better than I ever imagined."
He started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls was a fresh wave of pleasure. This was different from the sharp, focused intensity from before. This was a deep, all-consuming fire.
"Look at me," he demanded, pulling back just enough to see your face. "Hold on to the headboard."
You obeyed, your hands finding the cool metal bars of your headboard, as he began to move again. This new angle let him hit that spot inside you with every thrust, making your toes curl. He wasn't just fucking you anymore. He was claiming you. Marking you from the inside out.
"Who's making you feel this good?" he grunted, his hips snapping a little faster.
"You are," you moaned, your knuckles white where you gripped the headboard.
"Whose cock makes you feel this good?" He asks, a dark look in his eyes.
"Yours," you gasped, the words torn from you. "Only yours, Eddie."
"Fuck yes, it does." He says, a smirk on his face. "Not some loser from the dining hall." He speeds up a little, getting cocky. "Not your project partner. You wanna know who knows exactly what to do with you? Me." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust and you can't help but arch your back.
"You're mine now, sweetheart. This pussy is mine to use." His voice is a rough possessive rasp as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear. "Gimme a color, princess. Are we green?"
You were so far gone, but you knew what he was asking. "Green," you moaned. "So green, Eddie."
He smiled, a triumphant, feral grin. "Good girl. You want me to keep talking like this, honey? You want me to tell you how I'm going to fuck you every day after our study sessions from now on? How I'm going to bend you over that desk until you're screaming my name?"
"Yes," you whined, a desperate, needy sound. "Please."
"Then I guess I'll have to do it." His hips began to piston faster, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. "Would you like that, sweetheart? To be my good little girl? To cum whenever I say?"
"I would," you cried out. "God, I would."
He brought a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again. He didn't circle it this time. He pressed down, hard, in direct counterpoint to his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he commanded. "All over my cock."
Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and overwhelming. You screamed his name, a raw, ragged sound, as you convulsed around him, your body spasming with the force of your release.
"Mmm, gonna wake up the whole dorm." He praised. "Such a good fucking girl." He kept thrusting through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.
He pulled out and kissed you softly, the kiss slow and deep as you shook under him. You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and insistent.
"You still haven't..." You begin, trailing off again as you try and catch your breath.
"I haven't bent you over the desk yet." He grins, before he pulls you up from your comfortable spot on your back.
His hands were on you instantly, guiding you to your feet and then turning you, walking you the few steps to your desk. He swept his arm across it, the textbook with the red tabs, a stack of flashcards—all of it clattering to the floor in a mess of academic debris.
His lips are kissing by your ear as he speaks, caging you in from behind. "You need me to get a condom?" He asks, and you are a little surprised by the question.
"I'm on the pill." You say quickly, and he makes a happy humming sound, kissing the back of your neck.
"Perfect." He whispers, before he's pressing your chest flat against the desk. The cool wood was a shock against your heated skin.
"Think you can handle a little more for me, baby?" He asked, his hands stroking over your ass.
You nod, your face turned to the side, your cheek pressed against the smooth wood.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you breathe out. "I can handle more."
He doesn't enter you right away. Instead, he kneels, spreading your cheeks, and you feel the hot, wet shock of his tongue against your pussy. He licks a long, slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, groaning at the taste.
"Fuck, you're delicious," he murmurs, before diving back in.
He was relentless, eating you out with a single-minded focus that left you trembling. He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and pointed, targeted flicks against your clit.
His hands grip at the fat of your ass as he eats you out like a man starved, and you can't help but push your hips back against him. He eats it until your legs are shaking and you're whining for him to stop. When he does, he stands up, his chest heaving.
He pauses and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You glance behind you to see him taking the rings off his right hand, leaning over your back to put them on the desk as he places small kisses on your back.
"What are you..."
Your whisper turns into a whine when a callous palm hits your ass cheek. Not hard, but enough that you gasp at the suddenness.
He shushes you gently, rubbing the reddening mark. "Just a little color for my pretty girl." He murmurs. "You like that? Just a little sting?"
You nod, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and confusion.
"Words, baby." He reminds you.
"Y-yes. I like it."
He spanks you again, this one harder, and you feel the jolt of it deep in your core. He alternates between spanking you and rubbing the tender skin, until you're a quivering, whimpering mess.
Another smack and you don't even register when he lines himself up with your entrance, and glides in, slick and easy, bottoming out with a deep groan. The angle was different, deeper, and it made you feel utterly possessed.
He set a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breaths. One of his hands grabs your face as he leans over to kiss you.
"Taste how fucking sweet you are?" He whispers against your lips. You're nodding dumbly as he continues to fuck you, tongue licking into your mouth.
His other hand slides around your body, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. It was too much, too intense, and you tried to squirm away.
"Uh-uh. You take it," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
"Take everything I give you, princess." He was praising you, his words stoking the fire in your belly. You were already so sensitive from your previous orgasms, every drag of his cock against your walls a fresh wave of pleasure.
"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.
More? Faster? For it to never end?
"I know, I know." He cooed at you. "Good girls like you need to be fucked until they can't think straight."
You clenched around him, and he grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second.
"Yeah, you like me saying that, don't you? You like being my good girl." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust that makes you see stars.
Your clit was throbbing under his thumb, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. Your body was a live wire, humming with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Gonna cum," you sobbed, the words barely intelligible. "Eddie, I'm gonna cum."
He pressed you down more against the desk, his hips snapping faster, harder. He leans over your back so you can feel the sweat from his chest on your skin as he speaks right into your ear.
"Come on," he urged, his voice rough with strain. "Cum for me. One. More. Fucking. Time."
You whined out, needier than ever, as your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down on him. Your legs gave out, and you would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't been holding you up, pinning you to the desk.
He gathered your hair in one of his hands, pulling your head back slightly, the angle new and dizzying as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. This let him see your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. He looked wild, untamed, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"That's it, baby. Milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl." He moans as he starts to lose the steady rhythm. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.
"Gonna fill you up," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "Mark this pretty little pussy as mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, and you felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you. He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, both of you breathing heavily, trying to come back to earth.
His hand in your hair changed from a grip to soothing stokes
His fingers danced up your body from their ruthless attack of your clit, to splay across your stomach. You feel him press gently. He was still inside of you. Softening, but still present.
"You okay?" he murmured against your spine, the words muffled by his soft kisses to your skin.
You managed a weak nod, not trusting your voice.
He laughed softly, the vibration traveling through you. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He slowly pulled out, and the emptiness you felt was acute. You could feel his release begin to trickle down your thigh, a sticky, intimate reminder of what you'd just done.
He helped you to the bed, tugging you back into his arms. You both were sweaty, sticky, and your room was a mess. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You curled into his side, your head on his chest. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart was a comforting anchor in the haze of satiation.
His hands never stopped caressing through your hair.
He was quiet for a long time, just stroking your hair and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.
"So," he said, his voice quiet. "Is the reality better than the book?"
You thought about it for a second. The book was theory. This was practice. This was real.
"I thought you said you weren't done with me?" You manage, weakly.
He just pulls his head back enough to get a proper look at your face, the most genuine smile accentuated by his dimples.
"Yeah, the aftercare. The cuddles. The praise. That's all part of it." He said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Being the one who has to clean up our mess."
He sits up, leaning over the side of the bed to grab the t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He carefully, almost reverently, began to clean you up. The cotton was soft against your sensitive skin.
"You're so good at that," You say softly, referring to the entire night, but more specifically the way he was taking care of you.
"Yeah? Well I'm a man of many talents." He teases, but the way he's looking at you is soft.
He's gentle, methodical, as he wipes away the evidence of your night together. Once he's satisfied, he tosses the shirt aside and pulls the comforter over both of you, cocooning you in the warmth of the small bed.
You're quiet for a long time again. Just listening to each other breathe.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hm?"
"About the kiss earlier..." he started, his voice a little hesitant. "When I said I didn't know if I could handle it if this was just a one-time thing... I meant it."
He shifts a little, so he's looking you in the eye. "This was never gonna be just a one-time thing for me. You have to know that. I've been wanting this for so long."
You are looking up at him in the dim light of your desk lamp. He's looking at you with a unguarded expression that you'd never seen from him before.
"You really have? I thought... I thought this was just... you know, because of the book."
He let out a small, breathy laugh. "Sweetheart, the book was just a convenient excuse. A cosmic sign from the universe to finally do something about the massive, soul-crushing crush I've had on you since we were assigned as lab partners in freshman chemistry."
His signature smirk reappeared then.
"The fact that you're also into the same filthy shit I am? That's just a very, very lucky bonus."
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated happiness.
"So, what now?" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.
"Now I get to enjoy this body being all soft in my arms." He says, kissing your forehead. "Now I get to wake up next to you and make you breakfast. Now I get to walk you to our sociology class and sit next to you knowing exactly what you sound like when you orgasm."
He pulls you closer. "And now I get to tell you that I want to be your boyfriend. If you'll have me."
You tilt your head up to look at him, a slow, genuine smile spreading across your face.
"I'll have you," you said simply.
"Oh, no enthusiasm for the man who made you cum three times in an hour?" He teases gently. You just lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet.
"I think you fucked all the enthusiasm out of me." You mumble against his lips.
He chuckles, satisfied and proud.
"It's a skill." He smirks. "But don't worry. I'm a great teacher. We'll build up your stamina." He winks, and you feel a fresh wave of heat wash over you.
He pulls you to his chest, safe and warm. You could get used to this.
"Next time," he whispers against your hair. "Next time I'll bring my ropes."
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I'll hold you to that."
He held you tighter, a silent promise. The night wasn't over. Your time exploring each other, it seemed, had really just begun.
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ you try to get bf!toji to crack a genuine smile and you . . . win ?! :: cws. fluff, lightly suggestive.
“you should smile some more,” you comment unexpectedly as the television runs in the background. toji raises an eyebrow, amused yet curious at the way you interrupted the peace.
your sluggish lover looks down at you as you sit up on his lap. his arms loosen up around your waist, though his manly hands don’t leave their favorite spot—your ass.
toji gives it a squeeze, huffing at the way you’re blocking his sight with your head, “what ‘re ya on, girl?”
he figures it’s just you trying to strike up a silly little conversation again, for the sake of entertainment. he tilts his head to the side so he can continue watching the show.
your hands come up to cup his face. your palms are actively being prickled by his stubble, the man not having bothered to shave this morning. not that you’re complaining. you love it when toji leaves that stubble on his face. it gives him a more manly look.
“smileeeee,” you exclaim and use both your index fingers to turn the corners of his mouth upwards. his lips are morphed into an awkward, forced smile that makes you frown.
you secretly hoped that toji would go along with your request, but he doesn’t. that same expressionless face stares right back at you. his ‘smile’ instantly disappears the moment you drop your hands to your sides.
the black-haired man runs his fingers up your waist. and arms. he nonchalantly pinches your cheeks for a second, properly positioning your body so he can watch the television in peace.
toji places his chin on your shoulder, half lidded eyes lazily following the people on screen.
“i wanna see you smile again, cmonnn,” you whine and try to push toji’s head back, though he stubbornly refuses. he easily overpowers you and pins your wrists down against your sides, nearly crushing you in a ‘hug’.
he takes a deep breath and sniffs your perfume. he places a quick kiss on your throat, thinking it’d pacify you for now.
“i would if y’ could make me laugh, doll,” toji answers in a gruff voice. he falls silent again as he’s too focused on the show.
you frown at his comment and can’t help but feel slightly offended. you roll your eyes and push back from toji’s tight embrace, if that’s what you can even call it. you pout and cross your arms over your chest. you stare at him, his green eyes glancing back at you for a second.
seeing you get all sulky because of what’s supposed to have been a lighthearted comment, is adorable. though toji doesn’t say that stuff out loud.
“you’re saying i’m not funny?” you ask. it’s more of a rhetorical question. your partner shrugs and yawns, one hand of his sneakily slipping under your shirt. his meaty fingers glide up to your bra, tracing the outline.
it’s another action of his in attempt to distract your mind from this entire conversation. however, it fails as you swat his hand away. toji clicks his tongue and gently swats you back—resulting into a lighthearted mini fight between the two of you.
your slaps against his biceps may seem hard to you, but to the bulky man they’re child’s play. it feels like nothing, while you’re trying your best to stand up for yourself. toji’s revenge smacks are light taps against your ass and hands.
he’s not putting in any actual effort, unlike you.
“if that’s how you wanna take it, then yeah, y’ ain’t funny,” toji adds fuel to the fire, amused by how upset you’re getting.
he doesn’t mean anything he’s saying; he’s simply interested in your adorable reactions. you look cute—thinking you’re doing something to him while you slap his bicep as response to his sneaky remarks.
you huff and roll your eyes. then the little unserious tussle between toji and you continues.
“bastard,” you answer and stick your tongue out to him. your lover lets out a puff of air through his nose at your weak attempt of insulting him.
he indulges you again.
“what’ddya say there?” toji questions in a low tone. he easily grips your wrists and flips you over until your back hits the soft sofa. your hands are gathered above your head and his face is close to yours.
that doesn’t stop you from being bratty, however, no matter how intimating toji tries to act. his black bangs brush against your forehead.
“bastaaaaaard, you’re an asshole,” you shamelessly continue, your voice echoing in his ear. the black-haired man stares at you with a blank stare for a couple seconds, letting you blow off some steam.
you don’t know how cute you are right now to him. toji can just eat you up right then and there; having his girl try to act fierce around him is such an endearing sight.
without knowing it, toji’s scarred lips curl up, a faint smile appearing on his face. he doesn’t bother moving or setting your hands free.
“heh, right—i am, aye?” toji nods and places a chaste kiss against your jawline, biting that same place not a second later. he lifts his head up and stares down at you with that same subtle smile.
you’re a bit shocked by the fact that he actually smiled. you love seeing toji show hints of happiness, which he rarely does. but when he smiles, you know it’s going to be a beautiful sight.
and it sure is now.
you’re too caught up staring at his handsome face to realise that that cherished smile has turned into a teasing grin. toji’s free hand slides up to grab your bottom lip, pulling back and letting go to watch it bounce back in place. his warm breath gently hits your cheek and you feel a shiver run down your spine;
“y’know if y’ want to, i can show ya how much of an asshole i really can be.”
12 Fractures
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
description: you move to hawkins expecting nothing, and somehow end up with eddie munson looking at you like you hung the stars; and it only gets worse (better) from there. what follows is a series of soft, everyday moments: hellfire sessions where he’s definitely not biased toward you, late night lake swims with his friends, wayne treating you like you’ve always been family, and quiet evenings tangled together in his room with a guitar, a joint, and a kitten you accidentally end up raising together.
tags: eddie munson x reader, no y/n, soft eddie munson, tooth-rotting fluff, pure fluff no angst, fluffy smut, established relationship, friends to immediate lovers vibes, “he’s obsessed with you but in a soft way”, acts of service eddie, protective but gentle, clingy eddie munson, domestic eddie, trailer park romance, wayne munson loves you, found family, hellfire club shenanigans
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!, overwhelming fluff
WC: 9.4k
A/N: i actually sobbed at how fluffy this is, i'm obsessed with soft eddie. had to redeem myself after yeah boy & doll face (sorry not sorry). reblogs are appreciated, always. enjoy this complete mush of a fic, i hope it brightens up your day:)
You moved to Hawkins your freshman year, expecting the usual, small-town stares, whispered judgments, and the slow and awkward process of trying to wedge yourself into a place that didn’t make room for new people easily.
But Eddie took one look at you and reacted like something out of a movie, like you’d stepped into existence just for him, like the universe had finally decided to throw him a bone.
Because from the second you walked into that cafeteria, he was staring, completely and utterly gone on you before you’d even said a word, eyes wide, elbow digging into whoever was sitting next to him as he muttered something about “holy shit” under his breath like he’d just witnessed something divine.
And maybe it should’ve been weird, the way he gravitated toward you so fast, the way he talked to you like he already knew you, like he’d been waiting for you.
But then he made some offhand, half-mumbled D&D reference under his breath one afternoon, something stupid and specific he didn’t expect anyone else to catch, and you laughed, like really laughed, correcting him without missing a beat, and the look on his face after that was almost comical, like he’d just had every belief he’d ever held confirmed in a single moment.
Because not only were you beautiful in that effortless, can’t-look-away kind of way, but you got it, you got him, his music, his campaigns, the weird little things he loved that most people rolled their eyes at, and from that point on, he was done for.
Completely devoted in that loud, soft, overwhelming way of his, treating you like something precious, something unreal, and somehow, impossibly, you fit into his life like you’d been there all along, like you were never out of place, just late.
And by the time Hellfire rolls around after school, it’s not a new thing anymore, not some shocking development that has everyone gawking, it’s just you and Eddie. Established, settled into each other in a way that feels easy, like it’s always been like this, like you’ve always had your seat beside him at the head of the table, your character sheet half tucked under his arm because he kept pulling it closer without realizing, your knee pressed against his under the table in that absentminded, constant way that never really breaks.
Eddie still runs the campaign like it’s life or death, voice dropping into that dramatic cadence as he paints out the scene, hands moving animatedly as he talks, but there’s a softness threaded through it now, something quieter.
Because every so often his attention flickers to you, just for a second, just enough to check in, like he needs to make sure you’re still there, still with him. And you always are, leaning into it just as naturally, murmuring your next move, tossing in a clever idea that has him pausing mid-narration with a little grin tugging at his mouth.
“Hold on,” he says, pointing at you with his pencil like you just unlocked something, “say that again, that’s actually genius.”
“It’s really not,” you laugh, ducking your head a little as Gareth lets out a quiet, exaggerated groan from across the table.
“Here we go,” Gareth mutters, but there’s no real bite to it, just habit.
“You’re his favorite player,” Jeff adds, shaking his head, though he’s smiling a little when he says it, because it’s true, painfully obvious, and not really a problem.
“Nuh-uh,” Eddie shoots back immediately, offended on principle, even as his hand finds yours under the table like it always does, fingers hooking loosely with yours before he even realizes he’s doing it.
“You literally just rewrote an encounter because she said one thing,” Dustin points out, pushing his hat back slightly as he eyes Eddie with a knowing look.
“That is called collaborative storytelling, Henderson,” Eddie replies, defensive but grinning, because he knows he’s been caught, because he doesn’t actually care.
From beside him, you squeeze his hand once, light and grounding, and he squeezes back just as quick, thumb brushing over your knuckles before he pulls away to keep the game moving, falling right back into character as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just soften for a second in front of everyone.
Across the table, Mike watches the whole exchange, then glances at Dustin.
“At least they’re less gross now,” he mutters.
Dustin shrugs. “Yeah, we’ve adapted.”
And that’s really what it is, because the teasing never goes too far, the jokes are easy, familiar, wrapped in the same kind of affection that’s extended to you without question. Like you were folded into the group just as naturally as you were into Eddie’s life, your laughter mixing in with theirs, your ideas shaping the campaign, your presence just part of it now.
Eddie still bumps his shoulder into yours when something funny happens, still leans a little too close when he’s explaining something to you, still looks at you like you’re the best thing in the room, even when he’s in the middle of something he loves. But it’s quieter, softer around the edges, less overwhelming, and more constant.
And when the session winds down, dice being gathered and papers shuffled, he nudges your foot under the table, glancing at you with that familiar, fond little smile.
“You staying over?” he asks, casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer.
You smile back. “Obviously.”
And from across the table, Gareth groans again, dragging a hand down his face.
“Get a room.”
Eddie doesn’t even bother looking at him this time. “Way ahead of you, man.”
By the time Hellfire wraps up, everyone starts filtering out of the room.
It feels natural, expected, the way you fall into step beside Eddie like it’s second nature, his shoulder bumping yours as you walk, his hand brushing against yours once, twice, before finally just taking it, fingers lacing together like he got tired of pretending he wasn’t going to anyway.
The drive back to the trailer is easy, filled with half-finished jokes and music playing low through the speakers, Eddie drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while he talks, animated as always, but softer around you, glancing over every so often like he just likes looking, like he can’t quite help it, and when you laugh at something he says, he grins, wide and a little proud, like he did it just for that.
When you pull up, the porch light is already on.
“Wayne’s home,” Eddie says, unnecessarily, but there’s a hint of something warm in his voice, something that mirrors the way your chest lifts a little at the thought.
You barely make it through the door before it happens. “Well, there she is—”
And then Wayne is right there, pulling you into a hug before you can even get a proper hello out, big and warm and grounding, the kind that feels like it’s been waiting all day, like he’s genuinely, truly happy to see you.
One hand patting your back as he lets out a quiet, “Missed you, kid.”
You laugh, a little surprised but melting into it anyway, hugging him back just as tight. “I was literally here yesterday.”
“Still counts,” Wayne replies easily, pulling back just enough to look at you, giving you that once-over like he’s checking you’re alright, like he always does, before nodding to himself, satisfied. “You eat yet?”
“Yeah, at school,” you say, smiling.
Eddie leans against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with a fond, slightly amused expression, like this is his favorite kind of scene, like he could stand there forever and not get tired of it.
“Wow,” he cuts in dryly, “glad to know I rank below her now.”
Wayne snorts. “You don’t rank at all, boy.”
You laugh again, glancing over at Eddie, who’s already pushing off the wall, crossing the space in a few easy steps to hook an arm loosely around your shoulders, tugging you into his side like he’s reclaiming you, even though there’s no real need.
“She’s my favorite, don’t worry,” he mutters, low enough for just you, pressing a quick, absentminded kiss to your temple like it’s instinct, like it’s habit.
Wayne pretends not to notice, but there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth when he turns back toward the kitchen, shaking his head just slightly.
“You two are somethin’ else,” he says, not unkindly.
And the rest of the night settles in just as easily, like it always does, like you belong there, moving around the small space without hesitation, grabbing a drink from the fridge while Eddie hovers close behind you, stealing sips and nudging into you just to be annoying.
Wayne chiming in every so often from the other room, the TV murmuring in the background, everything warm and familiar and uncomplicated in a way that feels rare.
At some point, you end up on the couch, Eddie half sprawled over you like he forgot personal space is a thing. He’s just rambling, talking about something unimportant, his voice quieter now, more relaxed, his head tucked into your shoulder, while your fingers toy lazily with the rings on his hand.
When the phone rings from the kitchen, sharp and sudden against the low hum of the TV, and Wayne calls out a distracted, “Eddie!” without even looking up.
Eddie groans immediately, tightening his hold on you like answering it is a personal inconvenience, but you nudge him lightly, laughing. “Go.”
He drags himself up with a dramatic sigh, shuffling into the kitchen, and you can hear his muffled, “Yeah?” followed by a pause, and then, “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
There’s a pause, and then his tone shifts, less annoyed now, more intrigued. “…Night swim?”
You perk up a little at that, glancing toward the doorway as he leans against the wall, one hand dragging through his hair while he listens, and then he glances back at you, eyes already lit up with something playful.
“Yeah, alright, alright—we’ll be there,” he says finally, hanging up before wandering back in.
“We?” you echo, smiling.
He shrugs, dropping back onto the couch beside you, a little closer than necessary, knee knocking into yours. “Gareth, Jeff, Henderson, Wheeler, apparently Sinclair too, decided they wanna have a highly irresponsible bonding experience at the lake.”
You grin. “Sounds fun.”
“Oh, it’s gonna be a disaster,” he says, but he’s already reaching for your hand again, tugging you up off the couch. “C’mon.”
Wayne just glances over as you both head for the door, giving you a small, knowing look. “Don’t stay out too late.”
“No promises,” Eddie calls back, already halfway out, and you laugh as you follow.
By the time you get to the lake, the sun’s dipped low enough that everything’s bathed in that soft, dusky blue, the water stretching out dark and still, broken only by the occasional ripple, and you can hear them before you see them, laughter echoing across the shore, loud and unfiltered.
“Finally!” Gareth calls out the second Eddie’s van pulls up, throwing his hands in the air like you’ve both personally delayed the evening, while Jeff gives you an easy smile from where he’s perched on a cooler.
“Hey,” Jeff says, nodding at you, and there’s that familiar warmth in it, that easy acceptance that never feels forced.
“Hi,” you grin, hopping out as Eddie comes around the front of the van, immediately gravitating toward your side like it’s instinct.
“Look who decided to show up,” Dustin adds, but he’s already smiling at you, pushing his hat up as he steps closer. “Hi.”
“Hi, Dustin,” you laugh, and Mike gives you a small wave from behind him, while Lucas offers a casual, “Hey,” that still somehow feels genuinely glad to see you.
It’s easy, slipping into it, into them, like you’ve always been part of this, the conversation picking up around you without hesitation, someone handing Eddie a drink, someone else offering you one, the air already smelling faintly of smoke as a joint gets passed around, laughter rising and falling in waves.
Eddie stays close, not in a way that cages you in, but in that quiet, constant way of his, an arm brushing yours, his hand finding the small of your back when you move past him, grounding, present, like he just likes knowing where you are.
At some point, someone dares someone else into the water, and it spirals from there, shoes getting kicked off, shirts tossed aside, the night air cool against your skin as you wade in, the water colder than expected, making you gasp and laugh at the same time while Eddie wades in right behind you.
“Jesus—” he hisses, sucking in a breath, “this is freezing.”
“You’re the one who said we would go,” you shoot back, splashing him lightly, and he narrows his eyes at you, a grin already creeping in.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”
You barely have time to react before he’s lunging forward, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you under with him, both of you going under in a mess of laughter and cold water, the shock of it stealing your breath for a second before you’re both resurfacing, gasping and laughing harder.
“Asshole,” you grin, shoving at his shoulders, but he just laughs, pushing wet hair out of his face, eyes bright and fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire lake.
“Worth it,” he says, completely unashamed.
Around you, the others are just as chaotic, Gareth and Jeff shoving each other under, Dustin yelling something about strategy even now, Mike trying and failing to stay dry while Lucas just shakes his head, laughing, and it all blurs together into something loud and alive and young, the kind of night that doesn’t feel like it needs anything more.
Eventually, you drift back toward shore, dripping and breathless, collapsing onto the grass beside the others, someone turning the music up just a little, the sky stretched wide above you, stars just starting to peek through.
Eddie flops down beside you without a second thought, close enough that your arms brush, his hand finding yours again, fingers slipping together like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thumb tracing slow, lazy patterns over your skin.
“Good call,” he murmurs, turning his head slightly to look at you, voice softer now.
You smile, squeezing his hand once. “Yeah.”
And around you, his friends keep talking, laughing, passing things back and forth, but every so often, one of them glances your way, smiling just a little, like they’re glad you’re here too. Like you belong just as much as he does.
By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve already decided you’re not going to say anything.
Not about the date, not about the way it’s been sitting quietly in the back of your mind all week, not about how Eddie hadn’t mentioned it once, not even in passing, not even with one of his offhand, teasing little comments that usually give everything away before it even happens.
You tell yourself it’s fine, that it’s just a date, that maybe it means more to you than it does to him, even if that thought sits a little heavier than you want it to.
So when you pull up to the trailer that afternoon, it’s with that same soft, familiar feeling you always get, something warm and easy settling into your chest, because regardless of anything else, this place, him, it all feels like home now.
You don’t even knock. You just push the door open like you always do, and stop.
Because Eddie has never done anything halfway in his life, and apparently that extends to romance.
The entire trailer looks like it’s been transformed, dim and glowing with mismatched candles scattered across every available surface, the curtains drawn just enough to let in soft, filtered light.
A blanket fort was somehow constructed in the middle of the living room, like something out of a childhood dream, sheets draped, pinned, and layered with a kind of chaotic determination that could only be his.
The inside lit up with more soft lights and lined with pillows and stolen cushions, and right in the center of it all is Eddie, standing there like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, nerves and excitement tangled together in the way he shifts his weight when he sees you.
For a second, you just stare.
“Hi,” he says, a little breathless, like he’s been holding it.
You blink, still taking it in, the candles, the fort, the faint sound of music playing low in the background, something soft and scratchy from a tape he probably rewound three times to get right.
“…Hi,” you echo, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
He huffs out a small laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, suddenly looking a little unsure, like maybe he went too far, like maybe this was too much. But then he straightens slightly, stepping toward you with that familiar spark flickering back in.
“So,” he starts, gesturing vaguely behind him, “before you say anything, yes, I know this looks like I lost my mind, but in my defense, I had a vision.”
You laugh softly at that, finally stepping inside, letting the door fall shut behind you as your eyes drift over everything again, slower this time, softer.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” you tease gently, raising a brow.
His eyes widen immediately, scandalized.
“Forgot?” he repeats, offended, placing a hand over his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Sweetheart, I have been planning this all week.”
You blink. “What?”
He grins then, a little sheepish, a little proud, reaching for your hands and tugging you further into the trailer, closer to him, closer to all of it.
“I didn’t say anything because I wanted it to be a surprise,” he admits, squeezing your fingers once, his voice dropping just a little, softer now. “Anniversary and all. Kinda hard to top our first date, so I had to get creative.”
Your chest tightens in the best way, warmth blooming out slow and overwhelming as you look at him, really look at him, at the way he’s watching you now, like he’s waiting, like your reaction matters more than anything else.
“You did all this?” you ask, almost incredulous.
He shrugs, trying for casual and failing miserably. “May have bullied Wayne into leaving for a few hours.”
You laugh, shaking your head, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you, your hands still in his.
“It’s a lot,” you say, but your voice is soft, fond.
His smile falters just slightly. “Yeah? Too much?”
“No,” you murmur quickly, squeezing his hands back, stepping even closer, “it’s perfect.”
And the way his face lights up at that is immediate, bright, and boyish and so undeniably him that it makes something in your chest ache.
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t hesitate after that, pulling you in fully, arms wrapping around you tight, like he’s been waiting to do that all day, burying his face into your hair for a second before pressing a kiss there, soft and lingering.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs.
You smile into him, arms sliding around his waist.
“Happy anniversary.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, eyes softer now, quieter, and then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in, kissing you slow and warm, like he’s got nowhere else to be, like he built this whole thing just for this moment.
When he pulls away, it’s only to grab your hand again, already tugging you toward the blanket fort with a grin.
“C’mon,” he says, dropping back into that playful tone, “I got snacks, I got movies, I got a whole evening planned, you’re not allowed to leave.”
You laugh, letting him pull you along, ducking into the fort with him, the space warm and soft and dim around you as you settle in together, legs tangling, his arm finding its place around you like it always does.
And as the music hums low in the background, candles flickering softly around the room, you realize he didn’t forget at all. He just made it his.
He doesn’t let you get too comfortable before he’s already shifting, that familiar restless energy kicking in like he’s been holding onto a secret for way too long, and you barely get settled into the blanket fort before he’s sitting up a little straighter, eyes lighting up in a way that immediately gives him away.
“Okay,” he says, clapping his hands once like he’s about to present something life-changing, “so, first things first.”
You laugh softly, tucking your legs under you as you watch him crawl out of the fort, already rifling around like he’s put this in a very specific order.
“Munson,” you tease, “what did you do?”
“Everything,” he shoots back, not even missing a beat, before reappearing with a crinkled takeout bag, setting it down between you like it’s something sacred. “Exhibit A.”
You blink, glancing down, and the second you recognize the logo, your eyes widen.
“No way.”
“Oh, there is absolutely a way,” he grins, clearly pleased with himself, already opening it up so the smell hits immediately, warm and familiar and yours. “Drove all the way out to that place you like, the one a town over, because apparently Hawkins doesn’t understand how to make decent lo mein.”
You stare at him. “Eddie—”
“I know,” he cuts in, dramatically, “I’m incredible. Hold your applause.”
But he’s watching you closely when he says it, waiting for that reaction, and when you just smile at him, soft and a little overwhelmed, it’s like something in him settles.
“Okay, okay, next—”
Before you can even respond, he’s reaching again, this time pulling out a bottle with a flourish, holding it up between you like it’s a trophy.
“And before you say anything,” he adds quickly, “yes, I know this looks fancy as hell, and no, I did not suddenly develop refined taste.”
You squint at it. “Is that wine?”
“Expensive wine,” he corrects, pointing at it. “Gareth mentioned one time his parents had it, said it was like, life-changing or whatever, so I had to go to—” he holds up three fingers, “—three different stores to find this exact one, because apparently the universe likes to make things difficult for me.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he says, popping the cap of the takeout container like he’s proving a point, “you love me.”
You lean forward slightly, nudging his shoulder. “Unfortunately.”
“Wow,” he breathes, clutching his chest again, but he’s smiling, bright and easy, already moving on.
“Okay, okay—now—this is important.”
He reaches behind him again, pulling out a small baggie, holding it up between two fingers with a conspiratorial look.
“I had to call in a favor for this one,” he says, lowering his voice like it’s some grand secret. “Rick got it special for you from California.”
You raise a brow, amused. “Special, huh?”
“His words, not mine,” Eddie shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eyes, a little proud, a little playful. “Figured, y’know, anniversary deserves only the finest delinquent activities.”
You laugh, leaning back on your hands, shaking your head at him. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re still here,” he shoots back, quick as ever, before his expression softens just a touch.
“Also,” he adds, a little quieter now, gesturing toward the small TV he’s dragged closer to the fort, “movie’s already queued.”
You glance over, and your face lights up. “No way.”
“Oh, yes way,” he grins, practically vibrating now, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show, front and center, because I pay attention, thank you very much.”
You look back at him, something warm and full blooming in your chest, because he does, he always does, in these little, careful ways that feel bigger than anything.
“Eddie…” you start softly.
“I’m not done,” he interrupts quickly, holding up a finger, and there’s something different in his tone now, something a little more nervous, a little more tentative.
You tilt your head. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head, already pushing himself up again, but this time there’s a slight hesitation, like this part matters more, like this is the one he’s not entirely sure about.
“Stay here,” he says, softer now, before disappearing down the short hallway.
You sit there for a second, heart beating just a little faster, curiosity creeping in, listening to the quiet shuffle of movement from the other room, and then— “Okay,” he calls, voice just a little tight, “you can come here.”
You push yourself up, stepping out of the fort and toward him, and when you round the corner, you come to a screeching halt.
Because Eddie’s standing there, holding something small and moving in his hands, his expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.
It’s a kitten. Tiny, black, barely bigger than his palms, little ears perked and eyes wide, blinking slowly in the low light as it shifts against his fingers.
For a second, you don’t say anything.
“I—uh—” Eddie starts, stumbling over his words for maybe the first time all day, “you mentioned once, like—two years ago, I think? That you had a cat, black one, said it ran away, and I just—” he exhales, shaking his head slightly, “I don’t know, I saw this little guy and I thought—”
You step closer without even realizing it.
“He’s—he’s yours,” Eddie finishes quickly, like he needs to get it out before he overthinks it, “if you want him, I mean—if not, that’s cool too, I can—y’know—figure something out, I just—”
“Eddie.”
Your voice stops him instantly. You reach out slowly, gently, and he carefully transfers the kitten into your hands, watching you the entire time, as if this is the moment everything hinges on.
The kitten curls almost immediately against your palm, small and warm and real, and something in your chest just softens completely.
“He’s perfect,” you whisper.
Eddie exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for hours, shoulders dropping as relief floods his expression, quickly replaced by that familiar, boyish grin.
“Yeah?” he asks, softer now.
You nod, looking up at him, eyes shining just a little. “Yeah.”
And that’s all it takes. Because the next second, he’s pulling you in again, careful of the kitten still in your arms, but holding you close anyway, pressing a kiss into your hair like he can’t help himself.
“Happy three years,” he murmurs, quieter this time.
You smile into him, holding both him and the tiny little life he just handed you, something warm and steady settling deep in your chest. “Best one yet.”
For a second, neither of you moves, like the moment is too soft to rush, like even the air shifted a little around you, and the kitten lets out the tiniest, questioning meow from where it’s curled in your hands, blinking up at you like it’s already decided you’re safe.
Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, still hovering close, still watching your face like it’s the most important thing in the room. “Okay, okay—hold on,” he says gently, reaching out just enough to brush a finger over the kitten’s head, careful, almost reverent. “I, uh… I set something up for him. Didn’t just throw a cat at you and call it a day, I swear.”
You smile at that, soft and a little dazed, letting him guide you back toward the living room where, tucked into the corner near the couch, there’s a small makeshift setup, a box lined with blankets, a little bowl, something that looks suspiciously like one of Eddie’s old shirts folded up for extra comfort, and it’s so him it almost makes you laugh again.
He crouches down, taking the kitten carefully from your hands and placing him into the little space, adjusting the blanket like he’s trying to get it just right, and you just watch him for a second, the way he handles something so small, so gently, like it matters, like it’s already part of something bigger.
“He’ll be okay for a bit,” Eddie says, glancing back at you, a little unsure again now that the moment’s settling.
You step closer, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee until he looks up at you properly, and then you smile, softer this time, steadier.
“He can be ours,” you say simply.
He freezes. “…Ours?” he repeats, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.
You nod, reaching out to tug lightly on one of his curls. “Yeah. Ours. Dual custody.”
And the way his face changes is immediate, something warm and almost bright breaking through, like you just handed him something he didn’t even know he was allowed to want.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, grinning, shaking his head a little like he’s trying to process it. “Okay. Yeah.”
You laugh, nudging him back toward the fort. “C’mon, Munson. You had a whole evening planned, remember?”
“Right,” he says quickly, snapping back into it, already grabbing your hand again like he can’t not, tugging you along with him.
Back in the fort, everything feels even warmer now, cozier, like the world shrunk down to just the two of you and the soft glow of candlelight, the faint flicker from the TV already starting up, and Eddie wastes no time settling in close, one arm wrapping around you the second you sit, pulling you into his side like you belong there, like that’s just where you go.
You crack open the takeout, the smell filling the small space as you both immediately dig in, sharing without even thinking about it, him stealing bites from your container, you swatting his hand half-heartedly before doing the exact same thing back, laughing under your breath as he dramatically complains.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, mouth half full.
“You started it,” you shoot back, nudging his knee with yours.
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grinning, “I regret nothing.”
The movie plays in the background, familiar and comforting, lines you both half-know, half-quote under your breath, and at some point, Eddie leans over to pour a little of the wine into two mismatched cups, handing one to you with an exaggerated flourish.
“To us,” he says, softer now.
You smile, tapping your cup against his. “To us.”
A little later, when the food’s mostly gone and you’re both settled deeper into the blankets, his head ends up in your lap without either of you acknowledging how it happened, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his hair while he watches the screen, quieter now, content in a way that settles into his bones.
There’s a scene playing, something theatrical and bold, and Eddie snorts lightly, tilting his head just enough to look up at you.
“You know,” he says, voice low and thoughtful in that half-joking way of his, “if David Bowie ever saw this, he’d either think it’s genius or be deeply offended.”
You laugh softly, glancing down at him. “You think about Bowie a lot, huh?”
“Only when I’m trying to impress you,” he shoots back instantly, smirking, but there’s no real bite to it, just warmth.
You roll your eyes, smiling anyway, fingers still playing with his curls, and he hums quietly at the feeling, eyes drifting half-closed for a second like he’s soaking it in.
And for a while, that’s all it is.
Soft music, quiet laughter, shared food, his hand finding yours again, even from where he’s half sprawled across you, the faint sound of the kitten shifting somewhere nearby, and the steady, comforting weight of him against you.
The movie keeps playing, but neither of you is really paying attention anymore. Eddie’s eyes have gone heavy-lidded under your fingers, soft little hums escaping him every time you scratch just behind his ear or tug gently at a curl. The candlelight flickers across his face, catching on the faint scatter of freckles and the tiny scar on his cheek you’ve kissed a hundred times.
Eventually, the credits start rolling, and he shifts, rolling onto his side so he can look up at you properly, one hand sliding up to rest on your thigh.
“You’re staring,” you murmur, smiling down at him.
“Can’t help it,” he says, voice low and a little rough from the quiet. “Still can’t believe you’re real sometimes. That all this—” he gestures vaguely at the fort, the candles, the whole ridiculous, perfect evening “—is real.”
Your heart does that familiar flip. You lean down and kiss him, slow and sweet, tasting the faint trace of wine and soy sauce on his lips. He sighs into it, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, keeping you there like he never wants to let go.
When you pull back just enough to breathe, he whispers against your mouth, “Best anniversary yet?”
“Best one yet,” you confirm.
He grins, that crooked, boyish thing that still makes your stomach flutter after three years. Then his expression shifts: something warmer, a little darker, a little hungrier, while staying so soft around the edges.
“Still got one more thing planned,” he says, voice dropping. “If you’re up for it.”
You raise a brow, playful. “Does it involve more takeout?”
“Nope.” He sits up slowly, crawling over you until you’re gently guided onto your back among the pillows, his body hovering above yours. The blanket fort feels even smaller now, cozier, like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you and the warm glow of the candles.
“It involves me showing you exactly how much I love you. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you forget every other anniversary we’ve ever had.”
Your breath catches. “Eddie…”
“Yeah?” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours, then trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down the side of your neck. His hair falls forward, tickling your skin in that familiar way that always makes you shiver. “Tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart. Always.”
“It’s never too much,” you whisper, fingers already sliding into his hair, tugging lightly the way you know he likes.
He makes a quiet sound at that; half groan, half laugh, and kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue brushing yours with lazy reverence. His hands start to wander, slow and deliberate, slipping under your shirt to trace warm patterns over your ribs, your waist, the curve of your hip. Every touch feels worshipful, like he’s memorizing you all over again.
You tug at his shirt, and he helps you pull it off, tossing it somewhere outside the fort. Then it’s your turn, his fingers gentle as he peels your clothes away piece by piece, pausing to kiss every new inch of skin he reveals: the hollow of your throat, the top of your shoulder, the soft underside of your breast. When he mouths at your nipple, tongue circling lazily, you arch into him with a soft gasp.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs against your skin, voice reverent. “All mine.”
The possessiveness in his tone is soft, not sharp—wrapped in so much love it makes your chest ache. You pull him back up for another kiss, legs wrapping around his hips to draw him closer.
He’s already hard against you, the evidence pressing warm and insistent through his jeans, but he doesn’t rush. Instead, he rocks against you slowly, grinding in these lazy, teasing circles that have you both breathing heavier.
“Eddie… please,” you whisper, fingers digging into his back.
He hums, nipping gently at your bottom lip. “Please what, baby? Use your words for me.”
You feel the light flush creep up your cheeks, but the way he’s looking at you, so open, so adoring, makes it easy. “Want you inside me. Want to feel you.”
His eyes darken, pupils, blowing wide. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up nice and slow?”
You nod, biting your lip, and he groans softly, forehead dropping to yours for a second like he needs to collect himself.
“Anything for you, sweeheart,” he says, voice thick.
He sits back just long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down, kicking them away, then he’s back over you, skin to skin, the warmth of him overwhelming in the best way. One hand slides between your legs, fingers gentle and practiced as he checks how ready you are, circling your clit with just the right pressure until you’re whimpering softly into his mouth.
“So wet already,” he praises quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Always so good for me.”
When he finally pushes inside: slow, careful, letting you feel every inch, you both moan, the sound muffled against each other’s skin. He bottoms out and stills, buried deep, arms braced on either side of your head so he can look at you.
“Love you,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “So fucking much.”
“I love you too,” you breathe, hands sliding up his back, nails lightly dragging in that way that always makes him shiver.
He starts moving then: long, deep, unhurried thrusts that feel like they’re meant to last forever. Every roll of his hips is deliberate, angled just right to make you see stars, and he keeps murmuring against your ear the whole time: how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel around him, how he’s never letting you go.
At one point, he catches your wrists gently in one hand, pinning them above your head, not hard, not restraining, just enough to make you feel held, claimed in the softest way. His free hand slides down to hitch your thigh higher around his waist, changing the angle, and the new depth pulls a broken little sound from your throat.
“That’s it,” he encourages softly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Wanna hear how good I make you feel.”
You do, soft moans and whimpers that he drinks in like they’re the best music he’s ever heard. The pace stays slow and deep, but he starts grinding on every thrust, pressing against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. When his thumb finds your clit again, circling in tight, lazy loops, you’re trembling beneath him.
“Eddie—close—”
“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” He kisses you through it, swallowing your cry as you come, clenching around him in waves that pull him right over the edge with you. He buries his face in your neck as he finishes, hips stuttering, a low groan vibrating against your skin while he fills you up, warm and deep.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you moves. He stays inside you, softening slowly, both of you catching your breath in the quiet glow of the fort. Then he carefully releases your wrists, bringing one to his lips to kiss the pulse point there, tender and sweet.
He pulls out gently and rolls to the side, immediately tugging you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. You tuck your face against his neck, listening to his heartbeat slow down, one leg draped over his.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs again, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips.
You smile against his skin, fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest, right over the bat tattoos you love so much. “Happy anniversary, my love. Best one ever.”
He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Told you I don’t do anything halfway.”
Outside the fort, the kitten lets out a tiny, sleepy meow, and you both laugh quietly, the sound warm and content in the candlelit space.
“Guess we should check on our little guy soon,” you whisper.
“In a minute,” Eddie says, tightening his hold on you just a fraction. “Right now, I just wanna hold you. And maybe round two after we make sure the furball’s okay.”
You grin, already feeling the lazy heat of anticipation curl in your belly again. “Deal.”
He kisses the top of your head, voice sleepy and satisfied and so full of love it makes everything feel perfect. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you more.”
“Not possible,” he whispers back, and you can hear the smile in it.
The candles keep flickering softly around you, the blanket fort a little cocoon of warmth and safety, and for tonight—for this perfect, ridiculous, wonderful anniversary—nothing else in the world matters except the two of you (and the tiny black kitten snoring in the corner).
A month later, Sunday settles over the trailer slowly and easily, the kind of afternoon that feels warm without trying. Sunlight slipping through the windows in soft streaks while something simmers on the stove, filling the whole place with the kind of smell that makes it feel more like a home than it already does.
You’re curled up on the couch with your feet tucked under you, the little black cat—yours, still something that makes your chest soften every time you think about it—pacing back and forth across the cushions like he’s got somewhere very important to be. Tail flicking, paws light and curious as he investigates absolutely everything in his path, which, unfortunately for him, includes Wayne.
Wayne’s sitting in his usual chair, glasses low on his nose, trying very hard to focus on the TV while the kitten circles his boots like a shark, occasionally batting at the laces with tiny, determined swipes, and for a solid minute, he holds strong, ignoring it with the kind of stubbornness that says he refuses to be won over.
“Don’t start,” he mutters, not even looking down.
The kitten does not care.
If anything, he gets bolder, hopping up onto Wayne’s knee with zero hesitation, tiny claws catching just enough in the fabric of his jeans to steady himself, and you bite back a laugh from the couch, watching the whole thing unfold.
Wayne sighs. A long, put-upon sigh.
And then, like clockwork, his hand comes down anyway, rough fingers softening as they settle against the kitten’s back, giving him one reluctant scratch behind the ears.
“Yeah, alright,” he grumbles, but there’s no real annoyance there, just a quiet kind of fondness creeping in despite himself. “You’re a menace, you know that?”
The kitten purrs like he just won something. From the kitchen, Eddie snorts.
“Traitor,” he calls out, leaning against the counter with a grin, wooden spoon in hand like he’s been helping even though it’s very clear Wayne’s the one actually cooking. “Told you he’d cave.”
Wayne shoots him a look. “Ain’t caving. Just keeping the peace.”
“Mhm,” Eddie hums, unconvinced, before his attention shifts back to you almost immediately, like it always does, his expression softening just a touch when your eyes meet, something quieter settling in.
“You good over there?” he asks, casual, but there’s that underlying check-in threaded through it, that constant, gentle awareness of you.
You smile, nodding. “Yeah. Smells amazing.”
Wayne glances over at that, giving a small nod of acknowledgment. “Should be ready soon. You like pot roast, right?”
“I do,” you say quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “Thank you.”
He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, but there’s a faint, approving look that crosses his face, like he’s glad, like it matters.
“Good,” he mutters, turning back to the stove.
Eddie pushes off the counter, then, wandering over without a real destination, just ending up near you because that’s usually how it goes, dropping onto the couch with a soft thud and immediately stretching out, one arm slung behind you along the backrest before he leans in just enough to bump his shoulder against yours.
“Careful,” he murmurs, glancing at the kitten now fully settled in Wayne’s lap, “he’s gonna start liking him more than us.”
“Speak for yourself,” you tease lightly.
“Unbelievable,” he breathes, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth, eyes flicking back to you, softer now, before he reaches over to tug gently at your sleeve, pulling you just a little closer without making a big deal out of it.
It’s subtle, the way he does it, not loud or over the top like he can be, just a quiet kind of closeness, your knee knocking into his, his fingers brushing yours for a second before settling, like he just likes being near.
In the kitchen, Wayne calls out that dinner’s ready, and everything shifts into motion, plates being set, the small table filling up with more food than you expected, the three of you moving around each other easily in the tight space, the kitten weaving through legs like he’s part of it all now.
Dinner is simple, warm, filled with easy conversation and the occasional jab from Wayne at Eddie that makes you laugh, Eddie firing back just as quick, but every so often he glances at you, checking in, smiling when you meet his eyes, like this, this right here, is enough.
And when you’re all done, plates half-cleared, the evening settling in softer now, Eddie nudges your foot under the table, just once, just enough to get your attention.
“Stay tonight?” he asks, quieter this time.
You look at him, then around the small trailer, at Wayne, at the kitten now curled up and dozing like he owns the place, at the warmth that seems to live in every corner.
And you smile. “Yeah,” you say softly. And Eddie grins, like that was always the plan.
Night settles differently when Wayne’s at the plant, quieter, like the whole trailer exhales a little, the usual low murmur of the TV replaced with something softer, something that belongs just to the two of you, the only light coming from Eddie’s room spilling warm and dim into the hallway as you pad your way in, already knowing exactly where he’ll be.
He’s sprawled across his bed, guitar resting lazily against his lap, one hand picking at the strings without any real structure, just sound for the sake of it, something slow and easy that fills the space without demanding anything, and he glances up the second you step in, a grin already pulling at his mouth like he’s been waiting.
“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, shifting just enough to make space, like there was ever a question of whether you’d be there.
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, climbing onto the bed and settling in beside him, legs brushing, shoulders bumping lightly as he passes you the joint without a word, already lit, already halfway through, like this is routine now.
You take it, inhaling slowly, the faint smell of smoke mixing with whatever cheap cologne he’s wearing and something distinctly Eddie, something warm and familiar that settles into your senses just as easily as he does, and when you pass it back, he takes it with a quiet hum, eyes flicking over you for just a second longer than necessary.
“You’re staring,” you tease lightly.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, completely unbothered, taking another drag before leaning back against the wall, guitar shifting with him. “I do that.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head, and he just grins, like he won something.
He starts playing again after that, a little more focused now, fingers moving more deliberately over the strings, piecing together something that almost sounds like a real song, until it doesn’t, until he veers off into something completely random, muttering lyrics under his breath that make absolutely no sense.
“—and the dragon cries in D minor—” he mumbles, voice low and dramatic.
You snort immediately, covering your mouth to stifle it, but it only makes it worse.
“Stop,” you laugh, nudging his knee with yours, “that’s not even—what does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, pausing just long enough to point at you with exaggerated seriousness, “you lack vision.”
“Clearly,” you shoot back, still giggling.
He smirks, pleased with himself, strumming a little louder now just to be annoying, but there’s a softness to it, a playfulness that never tips into anything sharp, just him being him, comfortable enough to be ridiculous around you.
Somewhere in the middle of it, the kitten decides to re-enter the scene.
There’s a sudden thump as he launches himself onto the bed with absolutely no grace, skidding slightly on the sheets before regaining his footing, immediately zeroing in on Eddie’s guitar like it’s a personal enemy.
“Oh, no—no, no—” Eddie laughs, lifting the guitar just in time as tiny paws swipe at the strings. “You are not qualified for this, sir.”
The kitten does not care.
If anything, he doubles down, batting at the moving strings with all the confidence in the world, tail flicking wildly, and you’re laughing again, reaching out to scoop him up before he fully commits to destroying the instrument.
“He just wants to be involved,” you grin, settling him into your lap.
“He wants to sabotage my career,” Eddie corrects, but he’s smiling, shaking his head as he sets the guitar aside, attention already shifting back to you.
The kitten squirms for a second, then settles, purring faintly as he curls against you, and Eddie watches the two of you like that’s the most important thing in the room, something soft flickering across his face before he leans forward slightly.
“So,” he says, nodding toward the little menace now comfortably nestled in your lap, “we gotta name this guy.”
You glance down at him, then back up at Eddie, thoughtful. “It has to be something cool.”
“Obviously,” Eddie agrees immediately, like there was never another option. “We don’t do lame names in this household.”
You hum softly, running your fingers along the kitten’s back, thinking, while Eddie watches you, patient in that rare way he only is with you.
“Ozzie?” you suggest finally, glancing up.
There’s a pause. And then Eddie’s face lights up.
“Ozzie,” he repeats, grinning wide, like you just said something genius. “That’s—oh, that’s perfect.”
You smile, a little proud. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nods, leaning in just enough to gently tap the kitten’s head. “Welcome to the family, Ozzie. Try not to ruin my life.”
Ozzie blinks at him. Unimpressed. You laugh softly, and Eddie looks back at you, something warm settling into his expression again, quieter now, the kind of look that lingers.
“Good name,” he murmurs.
You shrug lightly, smiling. “We’re good at this.”
“Yeah,” he says, softer, like he means more than just the name, like he means all of it.
And then he leans back again, reaching for the joint, passing it to you once more, the guitar forgotten for now, the music replaced with something quieter, something steadier, your shoulder pressed into his, Ozzie curled warm and content between you both.
The field feels softer this time, like it remembers you, like it’s holding onto every laugh and every lazy afternoon you’ve spent tangled up in it, the wildflowers brushing against your legs as Eddie leads you further in, his hand wrapped around yours a little tighter than usual, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.
You notice it immediately.
“You’re being weird,” you murmur, glancing up at him.
He snorts. “I am always weird, sweetheart. Be more specific.”
You smile, nudging your shoulder into his. “No, like nervous weird.”
That makes him falter just slightly, just enough for you to catch it, his grip tightening for a second before he exhales, shaking his head like he’s trying to play it off.
“Okay, rude,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, just a hint of something softer underneath. “C’mon, just—sit with me for a second.”
He pulls you down into the grass with him, settling back like he always does, but this time there’s a slight hesitation before he leans into you, like he’s distracted, like his mind’s somewhere else, and you turn toward him fully now, studying his face.
“Eddie,” you say gently, “what’s going on?”
He huffs out a small laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes flicking away for a second before landing back on you.
“Okay,” he says, quieter now. “I need you to do something for me.”
You raise a brow. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” he promises quickly, then pauses. “…Okay, it might be a little ominous, but in a good way. Like—fun ominous.”
You laugh softly. “That doesn’t make it better.”
“Just—trust me?” he asks, and there’s something about the way he says it, a little more earnest than usual, that makes your chest soften.
“Always,” you murmur.
He nods once, like that was all he needed, and then he reaches into his jacket, pulling out an envelope, a little crinkled at the edges from being carried around too much, like it’s been living with him for a while now.
His name is on the front. Your smile fades into something softer, more curious.
“What’s this?” you ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just holds it out to you, fingers lingering for a second before letting go.
“Open it,” he says.
You take it slowly, turning it over in your hands, glancing back up at him once like you’re checking, like you’re asking if this is really happening, and he just nods, watching you like everything depends on this moment.
So you open it. Carefully, gently, pulling out the letter inside, unfolding it with slightly shaky hands as your eyes scan the page, and then stop. Your breath catches.
You look back up at him immediately, wide-eyed. “Eddie—”
“Keep reading,” he says softly, but he’s smiling now, a little nervous, a little hopeful, like he already knows what you’re seeing.
You look back down, rereading it just to make sure, just to know, your heart pounding a little louder in your chest with every word, every confirmation that this is real, that this is happening.
He got in. The same school. The same one you’re going to. When you look back up at him this time, your expression is completely different, something bright and overwhelming breaking through all at once.
“You—” you laugh softly, shaking your head, “you got in?”
He nods, biting back a grin, like he’s trying to stay cool and failing miserably. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
You stare at him for another second like you’re trying to process it, like your brain is catching up to your heart, and then you lunge forward, wrapping your arms around him so fast he barely has time to react before you’re holding him tight, the letter crinkling between you.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, laughing into his shoulder. “Eddie—”
He laughs too, a little breathless, arms coming around you instantly, pulling you closer like he doesn’t ever want to let go now that he knows.
“Yeah,” he murmurs into your hair, “that’s about the reaction I was hoping for.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, hands still gripping his jacket, eyes shining.
“You didn’t tell me,” you say, but it’s not an accusation, just disbelief.
He shrugs a little, softer now. “Didn’t wanna jinx it. Figured I’d wait until I knew for sure.”
“And then you just—hand me the letter?” you laugh, incredulous.
“Dramatic reveal,” he says simply, like that explains everything. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
You shake your head, smiling so wide it almost hurts, and then you lean in, pressing your forehead against his.
“You’re coming with me,” you whisper.
He exhales, something warm and relieved settling into his expression as he nods.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “If you’ll have me.”
You laugh again, softer this time, like the answer is obvious, like it was never even a question, and then you kiss him, slow and warm and a little giddy, like everything just shifted into place.
He melts into it instantly, hands coming up to hold your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s memorizing the moment, like this is something he wants to keep.
When you pull back, you’re both smiling, a little breathless, a little dazed.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours, “I had this whole speech planned about the future and destiny and all that dramatic crap.”
You grin. “What happened to it?”
He shrugs, eyes soft. “Didn’t need it.”
You laugh quietly, settling back against him, the letter still clutched in your hand, his arm wrapping around you like it always does, pulling you in close as the wildflowers sway gently around you.
And for a while, it’s just that. His fingers laced with yours. Your head on his shoulder. Your whole future out in the open, no doubts, no arguments, just certainty.
I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED:)) i could make this a series but i wanted to leave it off in a good place if i never get around to it.
thank you for your request @enne02 <3 hope i did your vision justice!
requests are open! check my page to see guidelines.
much love to you all!! xoxo
୨୧ choso’s just about as pathetic as a man can get. ୨୧
this realization comes to you after gojo begs you to give his friend a chance.
“please,” gojo says, and you scowl at him. “he’s nice. and i’m pretty sure he has a massive thing for you.”
“me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’ve never talked to him in my life.”
gojo sighs, flopping back onto your couch. “if i ever, like, loosely mention you in conversation, i swear he blushes.”
that’s how you end up in the living room of the frat friday night. loud, warm, the air slightly hazy.
choso right beside you on the couch, barely looking at you at first, all hunched shoulders and quiet glances, dark hair brushing his neck, dermal piercing catching the light every time he nervously shifts.
yeah, you think, he’s cute.
you end up sharing a joint, and that’s when you notice how he freezes every time your fingers brush his, how his breath hitches. it’s not subtle. not even a little. and when you lean a bit closer, knee nudging his, he almost drops it. across the room, gojo and the others are already smirking like they know exactly how this is going to go.
they don’t even try to hide it when they leave. gojo claps choso on the shoulder, says something low that makes his ears turn red, and suddenly it’s just the two of you on that worn-out couch, the music muffled now, the air heavier.
choso apologizes. for his friends, for himself.
you remember thinking how easy it is to get a reaction out of him. how all it takes is a hand on his chest, a soft question, and he’s unraveling right in front of you.
he nods at everything, says yes too quickly like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he hesitates. when he slips and said “please,” you know you have him.
“d’you like me, cho?” you murmur with glassy eyes, hand sliding up his collar and pressing against his nape, fingers deftly threading through inky hair.
“g—yes. yes, so much,” he exhales, voice shaking slightly as you pull him closer to you.
“wanna fuck?” you whisper, straddling yourself on his lap and relishing in the small, broken sound he makes when your glossed lips suckle at the junction of his neck.
“here? now?” his eyes bugger wide, hands squeezing your waist as your lips trail up, and up, and up, until you’re sliding your tongue in his mouth, bracketing your lips against his, swallowing his needy little moans.
he pants into your mouth as your hands pull at his hoodie and he shrugs it off wordlessly, cheeks flushed as your eyes trail down the milky expanse of his chest.
“pretty,” you murmur, and he whines, hands frozen at his sides when you slip your shorts off and toss them to the side.
“as much as i wanna feel your mouth on me,” you breathe, pupils blown, “i need to feel you in me. now. yeah?”
“y—yeah,” he shudders, hands fisting the couch beside him nervously as you tug his jeans and boxers down mid-thigh, his cock beading precum as it aches towards his stomach.
“i—ohmygod,” he slurs, whimper being pulled from his throat as you sink down on him in one shot. “please—”
“haven’t even done anything,” you say, hands locking onto his shoulders as you lift your hips slowly before dropping them back down, the motion making choso buck up desperately and moan into your neck.
“m not gonna last,” he whines pathetically, and you sneer, telling him to be good for you or you’ll stop.
you think it’s 30 seconds before he’s cumming, head falling back against the couch with a strangled sound.
he whimpers when you ask him which direction his bedroom’s in.
overstimming crybaby! choso who doesn't listen — 18+
choso hates when you leave the house too long.
ever since the two of you started living together, he became more aware of how extroverted you are compared to him. going to work or school, having lunch dates with your friends, and worst of all, going out at night in mouthwatering outfits for a girls night while he's forced to wait for you at home.
you always tell him he's welcome to go out too, that he has friends of his own and siblings to hang out with, but he just wants to be with you, and he knows he won't be able to enjoy himself outside with you somewhere dancing in a little dress without him.
you left tonight in a corset top and a mini-skirt where if you bent down, you could see your g-string thong poking out. "please don't leave," he whines, pawing at you as you tug on your heels. "you made me hard, see?" he punctuates his words by rubbing his cock against the swell of your ass, dumping his body on you and wrapping his arms around your body, his mouth travelling along your neck greedily.
"i can't take care of it by myself... 'm gonna cum just looking at you and then it'll get swollen again. just a quickie, please? please please please, i just wanna cum inside you... i don't like it when it's anywhere but inside you, i want you full of me... i want you to smell like me." he rambles incessantly, pawing at your breasts like a puppy in heat.
"cho calm down!" you insist, finally managing to peel him off you as he slumps to his knees at the front door, staring at you with huge, wet puppy eyes. you almost fold, really, especially when he crawls over to you and wraps his arms around your waist, trying to nudge his head under your skirt so he can at least huff your pussy before you go... but you nudge him away, looking down at him.
"ill be home in a few hours. if you just wait for me, i promise you can creampie me as much as you like, mkay?" you instruct softly, petting his soft black hair. "until your cum's pooling out of me. just make sure you don't touch until i get home."
he nods obediently, accepting your headpats and your little smooch to his forehead before you wave and strut out, leaving him hard and needy.
he tries.
choso tries so hard to be your good boy and just wait until you come back, but he can't help it. you just looked so good, smelled so good... he can't get his mind off you or how hot you are, and before he knows it, he's ran to your shared bed, specifically onto your side where your scent's the strongest, and whips out his drooling thought to pump it to the thought of fucking you into the mattress.
he knows you'll be upset and you might even punish him if he gets caught, but he can't help himself, really. he's willing to accept the punishment as long as he can cum just once before you get home.
and so choso fucks his fist desperately, turning onto his tummy and getting on his knees so he can stuff his face into your pillow and jerk himself off, sniffing your scent in the meantime.
he's already so caught up in the thought of you and how good it feels to relieve his boner when you come back into the house, having forgot something in your room, and find choso getting himself off minutes after you told himself no touching.
"choso." you call his name firmly, announcing your presence just as he's supposed to cum. he jumps up with his dick out, hard and red and leaking from his ruined orgasm, and looks at you, whimpering.
"no no, don't let me stop you." you say, already annoyed as you walk over to him, standing in front of where he's seated. "don't let me interrupt you getting yourself off when i deliberately told you not to. i love when you don't listen to instructions."
not understanding your sarcasm, choso whines softly and looks up at you as you stand over him, going back to moving his hand up and down around his cock, moving his fingers along the tip and circling the sensitive slit with his fingers while you watch him angrily. in that sexy little outfit, no less.
his hips convulse and his eyes roll as his first orgasm comes back, and he keeps pumping as cum shoots out from his reddened tip, making a mess of his fist as he wrings the cum straight out of himself. panting, he starts to slow down and reach for you, but you shake your head, pushing him back into a laying position and sitting beside him, just out of reach.
"no cho. keep going, since you wanted to touch yourself so bad. apparently you can cum in places other than inside me."
he whines and shakes his head profusely. "no! that's not true, i was just desperate and you were Ieaving me! i had no other choice, please don't make me use my hand again, please... please please please!"
you roll your eyes at the babbling and push his hand out of the way, opting to stroke his cock yourself. immediately, he reacts much better to your softer, smaller hand. it just feels so much better, more intentional and tighter. it's closer to fucking your pussy, though not the full thing, it's better than what he'd been doing before.
he enjoys himself quite a bit, having fun cumming a second time in your hand, and tries to reach for your lap, hoping now that he's cum twice outside you that you'll finally give in and fuck him, but you slap his hand away, resuming your rough, firm strokes around his cock. you go from base to tip firmly with your hand squeezed around him. not enough to hurt, but it's not gentle either. and for someone who's already cum twice, he's a bit too sensitive for anything more.
he whines and squirms under you, thinking he'd get his way after two orgasms, but he's been proven wrong. choso's started sobbing, fat, pretty tears streaming down his face and dampening your pillow as his hips thrust dumbly into your hand. he can't handle more, clearly, and yet his body chases your touch, staring up at you pathetically while you pump his poor flushed cock until he cums again, and again, and again.
by his fifth orgasm, he can't even think straight anymore, just keeps whining and crying your name but not pushing you away or using your pre-established safe word, allowing you to overstimulate him while his cock is smeared in several thick, creamy loads. you've switched to your other hand since your dominant one has gotten tired, and you stare at him lazily as he cries and begs for forgiveness. "this is what happens when you don't listen, hm?" you tut mockingly. "now i didn't get to go out and you don't get to breed me. all you had to do was be a good boy."
he hiccups and lets out one last fat load onto your soaked hand, watching as his cock twitches and throbs, finally going limp in your hand after dousing you in cum.
he whines and blinks up at you pathetically, sniffling and drooling. his lips are red from him biting and sucking them so much while you were stroking him.
" 'm sorry," he tries one more time, giving you a pathetic pout and hoping you'll at least give him a kiss. you oblige, kissing his swollen, sticky lips and shaking your head before grabbing a towel and some water so he can cool down and go to sleep, where he can think about what he did and how he can make it up to you tomorrow.
choso thinks—no, believes—you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. it’s worse in the summer! he swears he gets such a frustrating boner seeing you under the sun..
watching you have fun with yuuji at the beach with your tits bouncing ’n all is straining his cock in his shorts like a horny teenager. god— why did you have to wear that top? not that he’s complaining, though!
by this point, choso’s swallowing his own saliva to keep himself from drooling at the picture of you jerking him off, your delicate hands wrapping around his length—pumping it softly, with measured paces that make him whimper. then when you take him and he gets close, he’ll feel your throat tightening around his cock— and, and, and, and—
“choso! wanna join us?”
“huh? ...nope.. you guys can have fun.”
choso’s dirty fantasies are interrupted by yuuji beaming at him, holding two mini buckets and a toy shovel. although choso did want to join, he wanted to watch you first like a damn pervert, and create sexual imaginations of you two in the most absurd positions getting eachother off.
choso wishes that fantasy of his were real. with you sucking him off behind a palm tree, your eyes heavy with lust, carefully gauging his reaction when your tongue meets the slit of his tip, and down his cock when you trace the veins around it.
he moans, almost faintly so—just enough for the both of you to hear it. he feared that yuuji, who went to buy ice cream, will catch you two by the tail fucking like mutts in heat. you giggle—adorably, if he’d say so—when choso whines. his chest heaving as you continue to tease him with slow, agonizing kisses and licks to his leaky tip, one of your hands coming down to cup his balls as your mouth works toward taking him fully.
but of course, that was just a figment of his imagination.
the view from where choso was sitting at was perfect, as he could see everything from here. the calm waves of the sea, the fluffy clouds, the seashells glimmering in the sand... and your thick ass whenever you turned around. choso swears there must be a god somewhere and somehow, blessing him with the gift of your existence—he seemed to think that your curves were made to be carressed and worshipped by him, and him only.
choso could never come face with the truth that he can only come to you. god, it was almost pathetic. even pictures of hot women didn’t help him when he wanted to chase that ephemeral feeling of release and satisfaction. jennifer lawrence—yuuji’s crush—was like nothing to choso. sure, it made him hard one way or another—but it could never compare to how you make him feel.
and instead of enjoying the summer vacation with you and yuuji’s friends at the beach right now, he’s thinking about guiding your hands to his throbbing cock to teach you how to jerk him off if you ever didn’t know how to do it. well, do it how you wanna do it—he’ll come like a crying puppy regardless anyway.
but for now? choso has to stick to a dumb playboy magazine covering his stupid boner for you—and the pain of your gorgeous body being something that he can’t touch and own.
“chooo, come with me to get the containers from the car! i need some help in carrying it!” you grin.
and... maybe choso will get there sooner than he expected.
surprise eddie munson
opening your front door is always scary because you never know what’s waiting for you: a serial killer, a long-awaited package, a friend, family, or even your boyfriend. with a new piece of jewelry twinkling around his thin eyebrow. your own eyebrows furrowed, and your jaw went slack. “what the fuck?” you say, giving him a warm welcome into your home. the new addition distracted you from the bouquet in his hands, which was soon to be on your countertop.
his keys rattled against the marble as he placed his belongings down. “found a shop that took walk-ins.” “only 50 bucks,” he bragged, smiling as he made himself at home on your couch. “50 bucks for one piercing is insane, you got scammed, bad,” you sigh as you straddle him. holding his smooth face, your hands move his head in every direction so you could get a closer look at him and his new friend, shaking his messy curls in the process. “did i?,” he asks, sticking his tongue out. showing you the silver ball in the center of his tongue.
speechless. absolutely gobsmacked. he looked so good. like panty wetting good. “holy fuck, did it hurt?” you ask, your curiosity still getting the best of you. snickering, he shakes his head. messing up his curled hair in the process. “nah but it should be soon, according to the piercer,” he grins, devilishly. “did you wanna eat something before it starts? i have food in the fridge, or we could order something.” gripping your waist tighter and pulling you closer, eddie grins stupidly. “yeah, I could eat.”
before you could speak, eddie flipped you onto the soft couch cushions. his silver chain dangled over your face as he hovered over you, lust-filled brown eyes scanning your features. “pervert, you know what i meant.” you groan, hoping he didn’t notice your squirming or your thighs squeezing together at the mention of getting head. “yeah, and i don’t really care. i want to eat you.” your protests go to waste within seconds as he leans in, plush lips engulfing yours for a messy kiss.
your tongues swap spit passionately as the kiss gets deeper, eddie’s face smushing with yours as he moves. the ball sends shivers down your spine. your hands find his neck as he pulls away, taking a deep breath before trailing his kisses down your neck, lips feeling hot against your skin. his hands grope your tits through your thin shirt as he moves down your body. you moan at his rough touch, the sound bringing a smirk to his lips. “saving these for later,” he mumbles, forcing himself to move away from your breasts.
his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them and marking the insides with ease. your attention remained on the pierced boy as he kissed above the waistband of your shorts, his movements slow and calculated. his mouth opened in what you thought to be a sloppier kiss. wrong. his perfect teeth sank into the fabric to get a good grip before he pulled. “asshole. what if i liked these shorts, huh?” you complain, grabbing his hair in retaliation. he only spared you an annoyed glance before stripping you bare.
he was salivating at the sight of you under him, so perfect, so irresistible, so much so that he wished he could take his time with you. the cold metal sent shockwaves throughout your lower half as he licked long and wet stripes along your inner thighs, brown curls tickling your skin. your moans were already filling the air, and he hadn't even touched you where you needed. leaning closer in between your legs, he sniffs your pussy, letting the smell fill his lungs before he feasts on it.
his tongue took your breath away, for the second time today, you were rendered speechless. eddie was always talented with his mouth, but this was on a different level. his muscle moved slow and fast at the same time, focusing on touching every part of your pussy. the tip of his tongue flicked at your clit, adding to the arousal that collected from the prior makeout. your fingers play in his dark hair as he eats like a starved man, moaning and groaning into you like you were his last meal.
“shit shit—baby—fuck” you moan, feeling his nose brush your sensitive clit as he licks all inside your folds. the metal ball glides smoothly inside and around your pussy, the movements picking up your wetness with ease. he mumbles something that you couldn’t hear before bringing his fingers up to spread you wide. you could see the determination in his features, and it turned you on. bad. “don’t even care if it starts t’hurt, i'm not gonna stop, i can’t,” he murmurs, diving back in for more.
he’s greedy, messy even, mouth making the most obnoxious sounds imaginable, but he’s desperate. you can feel it in his every movement and hear it in his moans and grunts as he goes down on you. your moans overshadow his in the slightest bit as he sucks on your clit, bouncing off the walls and straight into his ears. he smiles dumbly in response, knowing he was giving you so much pleasure. “fuck i’m close,” you whine, squeezing your thighs around his big head.
“do it, baby, give it to me,” he urges, tracing soothing circles into your skin. he eats you like he’s starved once he hears the pitch of your moans increase, getting sloppier and sloppier. he grunts into your folds as you grind onto his face, desperately chasing your orgasm. his ringed hands hold your thighs encouragingly, taking you there. the metal sends you over the edge, making you shake and tremble around him and squirt all over his pretty face. “fuck if i’d known you’d make such a mess, i woulda gotten this sooner, princess.”
