Eddie Munson’s Rings

My "primary" blog (according to tumblr) is @eddie-munsons-ringss (with two "s's" at the end) so if you see that username follow/like/comment on your posts just know it’s me lol

[eddie-munsons-rings]

PSA: minors please DO NOT INTERACT with literally anything on this blog it is basically all NSFW and 18+ (IM NOT KIDDING STAY OUT)

[harringtonstar]

⋆˙⟡ thinking about girl dad!Eddie Munson

Girl-dad!Eddie who just adores the little baby that’s half him and half you. Who was so nervous at first when his baby girl was born that his hands trembled when he held her. But now he’s so confident he’ll hold her in one arm, toss her in the air and even flip her upside down just to hear her giggle, because it’s his favorite sound in the world. Even if he gets a stern “Careful, Eddie!” from you. Eddie who when she first got into her grabby phase would tie his curls back so her little fists wouldn’t get tangled in his curls. But now he just leaves them loose, pretending to eat her chubby little hands when she grabs at his hair. And of course he’d buy matching little hair ties when her hair starts growing out.

You’d wake up for a middle of the night at the sounds of fussing from the baby monitor and Eddie’s already in her nursery. Just singing softly to her under his breath, the bottle already empty as he rocks her back to sleep. Girl-dad!Eddie who lets her draw new tattoos on him in marker, and when she’s a little older tries to teach her how to play guitar. And of course he would use her little voice as an opener on one of his songs he wrote for her. Girl-dad!Eddie who proudly wears the friendship bracelets she makes and the messy, glittery pink nail polish she gets all over his fingers when she paints his nails. He would just absolutely adore her.

[bambimunson]

ᰔ sweetheart!reader who has a big fat crush on eddie. you’ve mapped out your hallway schedule to get peeks at him in between classes, lingering by your locker just a minute too long if it means you can watch as he maneuvers through the crowd with jeff, those ridiculous rings glinting as he talks with his hands.

your attempts at convincing yourself it’s a silly, fleeting thing are futile because every time he actually notices you, your brain melts into something resembling warm pudding.

"thanks, sweetheart."

two words. he'd said them absentmindedly after you'd held the library door open for him last week. you've been living off them ever since.

you’re one of the students helping out with the upcoming bake sale; fitting for your sugar-coated personality. after a lot of pacing back and forth outside the cafeteria, you finally got the courage to make your way over to the boy.

approaching hellfire’s table had your stomach flipping— at least you were eased by the sight of mike, a boy you used to babysit courtesy of your friendship with nancy. eddie’s mid-laugh at something he had said and reaching for a pretzel when he spots you in all your feminine glory out of the corner of his eye. was that bile you felt in your throat?

you roll your shoulders, gathering two of the papers from the pile, “these are for next tuesday if any of you want to show.”

he looks at you, the orange and green flyers, then you again before carefully taking them from your grasp. there’s a brief pause as he scans the printed words. not his thing at all. not that he’d say that to your face.

he sticks his tongue in his cheek, “are you gonna be making anything for this?”

“…yeah. brownies.”

he meets your gaze then, big doe eyes blinking, “then i guess i have new plans.”

you flush at that. there’s an awkward pause that follows. with a nod, you finally spin on your heel, nearly tripping as you head to pass the rest of them out. you miss the smile that pulls at the metalhead’s lips.

[lis-likes-fics]

now that we're dead: act i

Pairing: mafia!Eddie Munson x reader Word Count: 11.5k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, mafia themes, noncon/rape elements, constant drugging, kidnapping, nonconsensual fingering, mentions of nonconsensual oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, degradation, praise, fingersucking, physical abuse/torture, psychological torture, Eddie's actually sick hehe, reader is mafia, mentions of murder, treated like a pet, kept in cage/tied up, stockholm syndrome, references to religion (no one is religious)... A/N: I worked on this over the span of exactly one year. Um...a bit of a passion project of mine, which doesn't bode well for reader. Verrry dark. Proceed with caution. it might take me another year to finish the second part but who knows! This one is actually beta-read, so enjoy that rare privilege. (if anyone wants a beta-reader, i might like to take a look teehee) Really hope you enjoy this, because this is only the first part of this. Was gonna post all at once, but I'm impatient so...enjoy and tell me what you liked! ;)

Everything feels incredibly loud.

You can hear the sound of your own breath in your ears, the faint pulse of your jugular pounding in your neck. The chair creaks with the slightest little movements of your body shaking within it. You can smell the dust on the floor and the smallest, tiniest sound of the steady blinking of a light on a camera.

You can't see anything, so you're not entirely sure if that light is the only one on, but seeing as you can't hear one, you assume not. It doesn’t help that your brain is hazy and clouded with whatever drug you’ve been hopped up on since you arrived.

You wish you could get this fucking blindfold off your face, but with the zipties tightly fastened around your wrists and ankles, it would be useless to even try.

He'd tied rope around your legs to the chair, keeping your thighs spread apart as cool air blew against your exposed pussy. The wet patch beneath you had yet to dry.

When you figure out who sold you out, you're going to kill them with your bare hands. It must have been Boar—the son of a bitch—it had to have been, especially after that incident at the restaurant. In your defense, he was being fucking stupid.

But first you had to figure out how to get out of here. Imagining all the ways you're going to skin that Boar alive when you get back is the only thing keeping your mind in order. No high could keep you from planning out every aspect of the way you’ll torture that man.

You don't know how long you've been here, you don't know if it's night or day. You can't even fully confirm that you're in a basement—the only times your blindfold is removed, a light blinds you from seeing anything past glimpses of your captor.

His voice keeps playing over and over in your head. Questions upon questions, taunts, pet names, all the things driving you fucking insane in a whirlwind of words that keep jumbling together or fading into nonsense. He'll be the first one you kill, and then you're going to find out who he belongs to and kill him in front of the rest of his men.

The sound of a heavy door being pulled open alerts you. Your entire body is riddled with goosebumps, and it takes so much focus and effort to keep your breath steady so as not to let off how exhausted you've become. You want to sleep, but every time you start to drift off, you’re interrupted by another Q&A session or pumped full of more drugs to keep you hazy.

“Hello, Kitten.”

You don't say anything—not that you can with your torn panties shoved in your mouth and wrapped around your head. You just sit there, your back as straight as you can get it. His voice, smooth and dark as velvet, fills every crevice of the room and your mind. You steel your thoughts.

“You're not gonna say hi back?” He tuts, and you can hear the fake pout on his lips. “And here I thought you missed me.”

His hand comes down on your shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You try to close your legs—having your body on full display for him was not something you found entirely enjoyable—to no avail.

He chuckles his growl of a sound. Your thoughts flash with the memory of the sounds he'd made when he was abusing your clit, where you could do nothing but sit there and take it, try not to whine so loudly when he made you cum for the fourth and fifth time.

You squeeze your eyes shut behind the blindfold to try and force the thoughts away. Your body is on fire, buzzing with anticipation and a sick need for him to touch you again. The callouses on his hands provide the best feeling against the sensitive aching of your clit. His hands are large and warm and—stop! He is quite literally assaulting you, you should not be dreaming about the way his thick fingers feel when they stretch you out and curl.

“I have some questions for you, the same ones as before,” he says. You can hear him circling you, and it takes everything not to feel the overwhelming tickling over your skin as he does it. “Like I said, if you answer my questions well, I'll take those panties outta your mouth. If not, they stay in.”

But he won't stop. No, he'd made that clear before when he'd said between your thighs, “I could never have turned this pretty pussy down.” He'd grabbed so tightly at your thighs, laughed every time you trembled—which was a lot when being blindfolded makes being eaten out a million times more sensitive. “I was always going to have a taste of you, whether you gave me my answers or not.”

You don't know how he knew you weren't listening, but he's suddenly snapping his fingers right in your ears. His voice is a bit louder now. “Hey, pay attention.”

You huff at the disorientation it brings but continue to stay silent. The last thing he needs from you is a reaction, and you sure as hell aren't going to give it to him.

“Answer my questions,” he says, a softly spoken warning. His hands land on your shoulders once more, and you startle.

He chuckles deeply, breathing down your neck as his large hands rub intently at your shoulders, working his thumbs into the sore muscle until your eyes are fluttering and you're trying your damndest not to fucking moan. Your body feels two seconds from going limp under his touch.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” He's met with stern silence. You can hear the wicked Cheshire grin on his face. “Perfect.”

You feel like your skin burns when his lips make contact with the space between your neck and your shoulder. You think he's just going to kiss you, but you nearly make a sound when his teeth come out to nip at your skin. It sends a shudder shooting straight to your core.

You wish you could press your thighs together, if not to hide yourself than to get the pressure you need. His lips curve into your flesh when the shocks had your thighs just hardly trembling.

The sick bastard accounted for that.

Your teeth tighten around the damp fabric in your mouth.

“Where are the rest of the assets your father owes to Pandemonium?”

You say nothing, tensing when one hand slides over the curve of your shoulder, slipping below your arm to rest against your ribcage.

“How long has the Lion been siphoning money, arms, and drugs from his drops?”

You clench your jaw around your underwear. You told him his methods would get him killed, instead it got you kidnapped, raped, and likely killed when they decide they no longer have use for you.

His hand reaches up and gropes you, squeezing your breast in his greedy palm as he noses along your neck. You feel his other hand on your thigh, experimenting. You fail to suppress your jolt—or worse, your gasp.

“Who else in your sector is involved with this?”

You imagine yourself at home. Not the mansion, not the safe houses, not even your secret place out of the city. Home, where you grew up before your father pulled you and your mother—The Coyote—back into his world before you were nine.

The tiny house by the lake where something broke every two days, and she made a game of trying to figure out how to fix it. The one that was insufferable in the summer when the air was sticky. The one with the back porch door that you refused to go through at night on account of the hoard of Daddy Longleg spiders decorating the frame (harmless or not).

Anything is better than thinking of the electric feeling of his hand finding the apex of your thigh and slipping forward toward the spent heat between them. Anything is better than feeling his warm lips at your ear, nipping and occasionally licking the spot that makes you shudder. Anything is better than his hand kneading your breast like dough and his near lecherous breathing.

“What other gangs or mafia are involved?”

His voice is so low and gentle, like honey in your ears. It sickens you, how he has the kind of voice you would shudder beneath if you'd met at a bar and taken him home. He has the kind of hands you would have let rip your clothes off and touch every inch of skin with. In the brief glimpses you'd seen through shadows of his face, you think he probably has the kind of face you would kiss stupid before sitting on. If you're unfortunate enough to learn it, the fucker might have the kind of name you'd be shouting to the rooftops, happily subjecting your father to your activities he has no interest in.

You're violently ripped from your thoughts when his fingers push inside of you. Despite the fight you try to put in, they slip in easily. You're still wet from earlier, and your stupid, dumb, traitor body is greedily sucking them in like a ticket machine at Chuck E. Cheese.

You don't mean to. It slips out, like it had before, when you whimper at the way two of his thick fingers fill you. They pump slowly in and out of you, and your legs tremble worse every time you try to make them stop.

“I really like when you don't answer me,” he breathes, his voice calm like he isn't violating your cunt. His fingers move inside of you, and you can feel each and every single movement. You feel it every time he curls them, spreads them, every time one tucks under the other before returning to its side.

Tears are beginning to sting in your eyes again, but you will them away. You don't need him to see that (again).

“This little pussy of yours is just so fucking warm and wet. I'm tempted to taste you again to see if it's still sweet.”

He hears the way your breath stutters between all of your rough ones. You can practically hear his smile. His hand moves from your tit, reaching up to cradle your throat. You tilt your head up—your reasoning being to get away from him—but end up simply baring your throat for him on full display once more.

He squeezes so gently. It cuts off no air supply, you still breathe the same as before (ragged and harsh in an attempt to hear your breath over the feeling of his fingers), but now your head is fuzzy and warm and not just from the drugs. Your pulse is hammering at lightning speed, and you know he can feel it beneath the fingers pressing against your jugular. He gets off on it, breathes a little deeper, moves a little faster.

“You always have the best reactions,” he fawns. “Even when you were fighting me before, you weren't screaming and wailing. God, you’re perfect.”

You're trying not to speak. You've already slipped a couple times (the first when you'd humiliatingly cried for him to stop before you'd come on his tongue) (the second when you were two orgasms in and said “please”; no “stop”, no crying, just “please” in a devastating whimper after his fingers fucked you through a terrible splash). You don't want to give him the satisfaction of your voice, especially when he's already enjoying the satisfaction of your determined silence and your body betrayals.

Fingers curl and rub right against your weakest spot. You keep your moan choked down, choosing to focus on your breath instead.

“Last question, sweetheart.” He rolls your earlobe between his teeth. The stubble on his cheek scratches the side of your face.

An unwelcome panic floods your system. You try to force it out, but it prevails as his hands continue to work you. He's not going to repeat his questions this time around, which means after he asks, he's done. He'll leave you be, and you'll be able to breathe again for a little while longer.

But that means after he asks, he's done. He'll leave you be, whether you've cum or not. As great as that is—it saves you a little more humiliation—you've been doing this long enough that your body has grown accustomed to the constant pleasure. It's unwelcome and entirely degrading…but he's brought you to another high that you're craving more than anything else. Between the drugs flooding your foggy brain and the hunger and thirst beginning to really make itself known in the pit of your stomach, another orgasm would be a reprieve that would sustain you for just a little longer.

The pad of his thumb finds your clit. He rubs in steady circles until he finds the spot that makes your legs shake. Focusing on it with startling precision, he builds up a high that makes you feel fuzzier than the drugs. In a low, final voice, he asks, “What else is the Pride hiding?”

Your jaw clenches hard until the panties still stuffed in your mouth is no barrier between your teeth. Your eyes are beginning to roll back behind the blindfold, and your chest aches with need. You're going to cum. He's going to watch you cum again, and he's going to taunt you and slap you and maybe even smear your own arousal all over your face again just to humiliate you further.

His fingers plunge faster and faster, a wet, sopping sound filling the air with filth. The pleasure tightens in your belly, it tightens in your fingers and toes and around your desperate lungs until–

“Okay.”

The sound you let out as he removes himself from you entirely is nearly a sob. You fail to keep it in as your body slumps as much as it can bound to this chair. The feeling of your pleasure retreats hastily, draining out of you like sand from a broken bag until you're left cold and aching.

You struggle. You forget about your restraint, you forget about your pride and your lost dignity. You yank and tug at the ropes and zip ties holding you down like a wild animal. The last amount of energy you have left in you frugally spends itself in the pursuit of anger and frustration and need as you growl and shout.

The bastard laughs. He sounds like he's having the time of his life watching you lose the last bits of sanity you feel you have left. He claps his hands together and guffaws as the strain gets to you, beating out the last ounce of strength you have left to throw your fit.

“Look at you go! Such a fucking joy you are. You never disappoint, do you?” You catch your breath, defeated for the moment as your muscles loosen into something useless. You're so exhausted now, heavy and spent without the help of a release to ease the pain of it.

You suddenly feel the warmth of his body only inches from you, leaning in close and lowering his voice to that husky sound you wish you could choke out of him. “I'm sorry, kitty, but I just don't have time to spend on making you cum. I'm a very busy man, and I have more important things to do.” A breathy chuckle looses from him. “And besides… only good kittens deserve to cum for their masters. Isn't that right?”

You huff sharply, saying nothing as your hands stay balled up in useless fists. “Maybe if you're good next time, I'll make sure you get to cum for me. How does that sound?”

You say nothing.

“Good girl.”

You feel his lips on your forehead, and your entire body tenses. A rush of cold replaces the warmth he once provided as you hear the sound of his heavy boots stepping away. “Don't miss me too much,” he says as he walks farther and farther. With the loud shutting off a thick door, he's gone.

You're left alone, exposed and shaking and wondering when he's going to come back to finish what he started.

~

You can feel yourself beginning to break.

It’s been days…you think. You don’t really know how long it’s been since you woke up in this cellar, surrounded by cold and cameras and a man who keeps using your body as a hobby.  Between the drugs, his fingers, and the lack of context clues, day and night kind of fuse together into one long string of time you have no control over.

You’re trying to hold on. But the longer you try, the more you ask yourself why. Why are you protecting that man? What are you protecting yourself from? He’s not coming for you. As far as your father knows, you’ve given everything up and he now has the excuse he’s been waiting for to put a bullet in your skull.

You’d hoped, at least, that when he finally did, he’d have the balls to do it himself. But what were you expecting really? Looking for any kind of courage in a bag of dicks. That’s your bad.

Every time you hear those heavy boots coming toward you, your body strings itself up tight in preparation for what you’ll have to endure for however long this man decides to entertain himself with you. It’s becoming harder and harder to distinguish between dread and anticipation. It’s all the same to the twisting in your gut, the clenching of your thighs, the way your heart beats a little faster when he touches you. When he calls you–

“Poor kitten, can’t keep herself together.” His voice rumbles in your ear as he plunges his fingers inside of you with ruthless abandon. “All you gotta do is answer my questions, baby. You know I’ll give it to you either way. Who else in your sector is involved?”

You gasp helplessly, your voice hoarse from the labor it’s been put through from falling apart so many times and then being so crudely put back together for the purpose of being torn apart once more. You’d given up on that part of your dignity a long time ago. He’s left you shaking, crying, pleading for mercy (whether that be more or less, you can no longer truly tell). The drool that gathers at the corners of your mouth and the tears that stain your cheeks started being ignored by you days ago.

His fingers dance on the line between pain and pleasure as they curl inside you. You’re dizzy, you’re needy, and you just want a moment to breathe. “C’mon, Kitten, where are the rest of the assets The Pride owes to Pandemonium?”

“Gone!”

He stops. Briefly, the room is silenced, with the exception of your gasps and sobs. You take the moment as it comes, sorting through your thoughts and feelings to turn them into something useful. He only allows you a moment.

“Gone?” he asks, starting up again, but this time with much slower and much gentler movements. His fingers press right up against that soft spot that makes your brain fuzzy, the one that he’s been abusing for days that’s at least grateful for the moment of tenderness.

“It’s gone,” you say. Your voice is rough with overuse. You’d be humiliated if you still cared by this point. “Gambled, used, sold. He never…” You run out of breath, hanging your head as you struggle to catch it. His fingerpads prod against you. “He never keeps what he takes! It’s the f-first to go so h-he can’t be caught with it.”

He becomes forgiving again. You take it with gratitude. “Who’s he gambling with? Who are his buyers?”

Your words are thick and labored. “No name groups outside of the territories. Gangs with n-no power to oppose him.” You take a desperate breath, throwing your head back and sucking down air like water. Your legs tremble. You’re surprised you’re making any sense.

“Where?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. Everywhere.”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

The way his tone shifts has you panicking for a moment. “He knows that I disagree w-with what he does, so he keeps me out of the details. He doesn’t trust me.”

He scoffs. “You’re his heir.”

It’s your turn to scoff. Your hands clench into fists, your jaw tightening with a hatred that takes him momentarily by surprise. “Yeah. And all his shit gets dumped on me to deal with when he gets himself killed.” Your lip twitches. “Or he’ll suddenly appoint that fucking pig to keep me in my place. I’m the one trying to get him to stop to keep me out of situations like this.”

He considers then, takes a pause to let the silence linger. “What else?”

You hesitate to answer. You’re worried he won’t like your response. “I don’t know.”

The silence stretches once more. You don’t realize you hold your breath in the space between you. You wait for him to say something. You wait for him to keep going.

“That’s alright.” You still don’t breathe. “You did very good for me, Kitten.” His thumb strokes a tender path down your cheek. It tickles through your tears. You let out a breath that has your whole body going heavy.

He pulls his fingers out of you. You hear his boots beginning to retreat from you, followed by the suckling of his fingers in his mouth just a second later.

You panic. “W-Wait.”

He stops. His voice is flat, uninterested. “What?”

You swallow hard. Your thighs tremble, the cold air of the space around you is cruel against your exposed cunt. “I… You…” Your fingers flex in lieu of more useless words.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” The air shifts, you can practically feel the smirk that settles over his lips with a devilish amusement. “Aw…did you wanna cum?”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not to this. You’ve already begged and plead, cried and sobbed when he used his mouth or his hands to fuck you within an inch of your life. Now you’re tied to this fucking chair with him so close to that fucking door…and you can’t ask him to do it again.

“Well,” he hums, “what did I expect?”

There’s another long stretch of silence. You listen to him contemplate. You listen, and you refuse to move a muscle. You don’t want to beg. You don’t want to ask.

“Oh, what the hell? I’ve got some time left, and you’ve been good.”

Mercy. He’s giving you mercy. His bootsteps approach once more, and your breath kicks up again in frantic welcome. You blame it on the drugs. You blame it on the haze. You blame it on the fact that your body has been surviving by him and his hand alone, and you crave to survive a little longer while he has you here.

You expect his fingers when he comes toward you again. You’re met instead with the heat of his mouth closing around your cunt, his tongue lapping along the seam of you to fill the emptiness he’s left behind. Your head falls back, you fill the air with the sound of your moans and your desperate breaths.

Your thighs tremble around his head as he licks you with precision and mess. You feel the mix of your arousal and his saliva leaking through your folds and making a puddle beneath you, one you’ll have to sit in once he leaves. It’ll soak into your skin as a reminder that he’s broken you.

He’s broken you, and you’ve let him.

Your hips rut against his face as much as you can manage it, relishing in the scratch of his stubble. His dull nails dig into the flesh of your thighs until you’re crying out from the pain. You can feel his smirk against your skin, taunting, knowing.

“This what you needed, baby?” he goads, sinking his fingers into you once more. They pump and curl and coax you closer to where you want to be. Somewhere along the way, the painful pleasure he’s been giving you became intoxicating, more of a drug than the ones he’s got coursing through your veins. “You need me to make you feel good?”

Your answer is nothing short of a sobbing whine as he tortures your aching clit. He laughs cruelly. “If you ever get out of here…no one will ever be able to make you feel good again.” He laps at your cunt, drinks you up with pleasure. “I’m gonna have you crawling back to me on your hands and knees, Kitten.”

Your vision goes slant, your muscles spasm with each curl, each lick, each suck. Your hips search out the pleasure. You let yourself drown in it as those crashing waves continue to approach. “G-God, please. Fuck, please, please, please.”

“Cum on my fuckin’ fingers, you little slut.”

You burst. It nearly stops your heart, has your head falling back with the intensity as you gasp. You shake with every wave. You let it take over you. And he gives it to you until you’re breaking down into a bout of humiliated sobs.

He stands, walks around you and wraps his hand around your chin. The top of your head presses against his belly, his thumb strokes tauntingly up and down your jaw. Then he removes your blindfold.

Fuck. The face that stares back at you is twisted with sick pleasure, with amusement and wonder as your breath stutters in trying to steady itself. He’s pretty, with wild hair and dark eyes, with stubbled cheeks and a big nose that he’s rubbed into your clit more times than you can count. His lips are plump, swollen and wet from your undoing.

He licks his lips, eyes almost black as he looks down on you. He grins. It’s charming and evil.

“Good girl.”

His rough hand smacks across your face hard enough to pull a grunt from you. Your cheek stings in the shape of his palm. He steps back and walks away, leaving you to sit alone in your mess, naked and shaking and still aching for him.

~

You’re startled awake by the sound of the door scraping against the floor. You look toward it frantically, straining your eyes to see past the light still obscuring your view of anything outside of it.

The first thing you notice is the smell.

Food. There’s a plate of food that is set down on the metal table in the room. It’s not a shitty snack meant to tie you over until he decides to feed you again. It’s not a shot glass of water for you to down in less than a second. It’s a bowl with soup, still warm and fragrant and calling to you. Your eyes are immediately stuck to it, mouth practically watering, tummy gurgling with a hunger you stopped paying attention to a long time ago.

Your eyes find your captor, your torturer, as he comes closer. In his other, you see an unlabeled box. You shrink away instinctively.

When he gets close, he pulls up a chair opposite you with a loud scrape against the floor that grates at the migraine you’ve been nursing since you arrived. He sets the box in the space between your spread thighs and opens it.

Bandages…and antiseptic?

You watch him flick a switchblade open, the steel glinting in the concentrated light. You brace again, just to feel the blade press against your skin, between your ankle and the zip ties restraining you, snapping it in two and freeing you by that much. He does the same to your other ankle.

Then he takes a cloth and the antiseptic in the box and cleans the cuts torn into your skin with plastic, cuts made by your fight and your resistance, which has long since faded. It burns like hell, but it’s better than an infection that would lead to amputation.

He does it again with the ties around your legs, then your wrists and your arms, until you’re free. He eyes you once your restraints are gone. There’s a warning there that you think is utterly useless. Between your utter lack of strength, the fact that you wouldn’t even be able to reach the door, and the fact that—if you somehow managed to get that far—you’d probably be shut down immediately by whoever manages to find you outside of this cellar.

You’re not an idiot. You’re just pathetic.

When he’s wrapped all of your wounds with bandages and hands more tender than you expected, he takes you by your arm to make you stand. You struggle. You stopped being able to feel anything but spasming pleasure in your legs a long time ago. They feel like jelly beneath you as you try to stand. He ends up carrying most of your weight.

Before you even have enough time to process being free from your chair, you’re being shoved into a kennel.

You stare at the floor with a clenched jaw and labored breaths. You’re locked in a fucking cage. Like an animal. You’ve spent the past—has it been a week?—being degraded and reduced down to a fucking kitten just to be treated like a fucking pet. Next, he’ll slap a collar around your neck and have you licking out of a bowl.

He sets the soup in front of you. On the floor.

From here, you can make out the shape of the bowl he’s given to you. It’s a doggy bowl. You look up to meet his gaze, entirely unimpressed and trying not to look as livid as you feel for fear of retaliation.

He lets a smirk curl his lips. “Eat.”

You don’t say anything immediately. Your stomach churns and growls at the mouthwatering smell. Your gaze meets his again as you hold yourself back. “Is it poisoned?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

He tilts his head. His smirk remains intact. “Why poison you if we can just shoot you?” It’s an honest question.

You shrug and look back down at the bowl. You’re starving. “You could dump my body somewhere and blame it on The Serpents.” You swallow hard. “Infighting, pandemonium. Like Lucifer wants.”

His smile grows. His gaze somehow darkens. He nudges the bowl closer to you, and the smell of bone broth is dizzying.

“Eat.”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out something balled up in his fist before tossing it at you. He closes the kennel door soon after, clicking a lock that keeps you perfectly secure. Then he turns to leave.

Your pulse jumps to your throat at the sight of him getting closer to the exit. “Wait,” you call, sounding more pathetic than you intended. He stops, but he doesn’t turn. You open your mouth to say something else, anything. You just…don’t want to be left alone again.

Nothing comes out. He leaves without a glance back.

Your head falls, looking back down to what he’s given you. Reaching out and touching the balled up fabric, it unfurls and reveals to you a pair of underwear. Well, it’s a thong. It’s not much, but you suppose it’s better than being stark naked as you clumsily slip them up your thighs to “cover” yourself.

Then you find the bowl in front of you. Your stomach growls again, and you can feel something rising in your throat, something you have to choke down to scare away the heat and the stinging. You bring the bowl shakily to your lips and moan at the first sip.

~

A sharp cry mauls its way up your throat before anything else. Pain ripples from the side of your neck like fire as you frantically claw at your skin. Your vocal chords are torn raw as you gasp and scramble up to stand, hitting your head against something loud that echoes off concrete walls before you can get to your feet.

Right…the cellar. And the cage.

You look up, wide eyed with your jaw clenched so hard that it hurts. Staring back at you is not the same man who’s been with you this whole time.

He’s got bags under dark eyes, and hair much lighter and much more tame. It falls over his ears and down to his chin in straight, brown locks. He tilts his head as he looks down on you, his thumb stroking a stick in his hand that you come to identify as a stun gun. He doesn’t seem any kind of impressed or amused. But the unmistakable anticipation in his gaze makes you feel bare, barer than you are curled up on the cold, hard floor in nothing but a flimsy thong.

It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks, his voice flat. “Get back.”

You don’t move, holding as steady as you can as if you have any kind of actual footing here. “Where is he?” You curse yourself and your voice for sounding so thin and weak. It’s better than it was before, but not by much when you’ve just woken up screaming.

His head tilts again. His tone remains the same. “Who?”

“The guy who’s been here?”

There’s a moment of silence. His tone remains the same as his fingers flex around the taser. “Busy.”

You huff. “Doing what?”

Your scrambling doesn’t save you from another shock, this time to your side, as you watch him stick his stun gun between the bars of the cage you’re stuck in. Your whole body goes tense as a silent shout strains in your throat. “Sure are talkative, all of a sudden,” he quips.

You hold yourself up weakly with your hands, trying to catch your breath and hold your tongue. “Doing. What?” Two more sharp shocks send you to the ground. You cry out once you’ve gained access to your voice again. Electricity spasms through muscle and vein.

“Get. Back.”

You don’t protest again. Dragging yourself to the far end of the cage, you watch him unlock the cage. “Turn around.” You do as you're told, though not without attitude. You feel him harshly grab your wrists, twisting them both behind your back and locking them tight with metal cuffs. Tight enough to cut.

He drags you out without a care in the world for how you struggle to keep up. He hoists you to your feet, and you have to work not to let a cry fall from your lips from the pain. It’s not long before you’re being shoved into the same chair you’d been condemned to before.

Your mind is reeling. You don’t know where the other one is, and you can already tell you much prefer him to this freak. He takes his time in restraining you further, tying you down to the chair with more cruelty. He makes sure every move hurts. He makes sure your jaw stays clenched tight.

He steps back, looks you up and down before he’s circling your chair like a predator. You keep his gaze until he’s out of sight, and then find it once more the moment you’re able. Your gaze is hard as his, though each circle makes him seem more and more eager. You watch him lick his lips and fight the shudder that rushes through your spine.

He stops in front of you. You stare.

Silence stretches and nobody moves. He crosses his arms over his chest and observes you like he’s mapping something out in his head. You watch him move closer. You watch him raise the stick. You flinch hard when he presses it into your gut.

Nothing.

You keep bracing for it, waiting, holding your breath in anticipation of the pain. But nothing comes. You slowly open your eyes again, dragging your gaze back up to his own.

He smiles.

The burning pain sears your insides, makes your whole body clench as he presses the shock stick to your gut and holds it there just a little longer than he should. He watches in twisted pleasure, his eyes lidded and his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, as your body seizes. He sinks his teeth into his lip and groans.

He says something—a question. You don’t have the strength to answer. The ringing in your ears keeps you from even being able to hear the question in the first place. Your horrified gaze finds him again, smiling like a madman as he murmurs, “Oh, thank God.”

He turns to the metal table, where you finally see a bag laying in wait. He opens it, and the first thing he pulls out is a long, thin piece of cloth, which he places over your eyes and around your head. Once again, you’re blinded from the rest of the world.

“You and I…” he sighs slowly, mirth filling his voice like he just can’t help himself as he lowers what you assume to be a rag onto your face, “...are going to have a lot of fun together.”

The next sound you hear is the heavy sloshing of water.

~

You jolt up and scramble to the corner of your cage like a frightened animal, small and helpless and shaking as tears instinctively spring to your eyes and burn. Your lungs gasp for precious air, your body already scorches and seizes from what’s to come.

You stopped being able to register the sound of your own voice pleading a long time ago—so when you’re desperately begging “no, please, please don’t, please” and blindly searching for any sign that someone is listening, you assume it falls on deaf ears. Still, you beg.

A low whistle echoes off the walls of the cellar. Your body tenses. You almost missed it over the sound of your hoarse gasps.

“Oh, poor girl,” a familiar voice hums. “You look rough.”

You don’t say a word. Your breath stops in your chest, and a cacophony of confusing feelings rushes through you and keeps you scared and confused. Is that… No, it can’t be. He left you behind days ago. You’ve already resigned yourself to the idea that he was never coming back for you.

Heavy boots continue to approach you. You tuck yourself even tighter into your corner, trying to offer yourself the allusion of safety. Every resounding step makes your heart race. It stops right in front of the cage.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he purrs.

You feel like you’re going to cry…but you can’t tell why. For some reason, the sound of his voice makes your muscles ease up and your breath calm. He’s back. It’s him.

When you don’t respond, he continues on. “Hope he didn’t hurt you too bad,” he says.” But it looks like he went easy on you.”

Bile rises in your throat, and you can’t tell if it’s that weird relief in your gut, fear at the mention of him, or anger that this is how he chooses to greet you.

Your voice is as hoarse as ever. It’s scratchy and raw, low and cracking as you try to speak without sounding as pathetic as you look and feel. “Th-that…was easy?”

A sigh, something that could be amused if you listen hard enough. “He gets carried away sometimes.”

You don’t respond. It’s really hard to find words, to find any semblance of safety in the simple act of talking. You feel like opening your mouth will be enough to earn that same frantic suffocation, that same searing shock straight through your veins. What do you say to him? What can you say? What is there to say?

“You…” you swallow thickly, feeling yourself shudder all over again, “...l-left.”

He makes that taunting, tutting sound, his tone full of mocking. “Sorry, kitten,” there's a shift, something… something sweeter? No, you're certain that can't be it. You're delirious, sore and tired and still fucking high. Your head is full of cotton, still. It's airy, and there's an awful buzz in your ear that feels a little less harsh with his voice as he says, “I've been away, but I'm back now.”

You hear a shuffle, and then you hear the jingling of keys on a chain, one scratching against a lock before that familiar click is heard. The sound of the door creaking open makes you smaller. His voice resounds in the cellar, still low, still relatively mocking, but somehow still soothing in the strangest way.

The slightest touch of his fingers at the side of your face startles you so much that you actually yelp when you jump. You hear him chuckle before he continues, even as you tremble like a frightened animal. Then…he takes off your blindfold.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. When they do, the first thing you see is him. He’s…still pretty. Still maddeningly, evilly, unfortunately pretty. His wild hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands curling at the sides of his face and framing him perfectly. He’s dressed in black, dangerous in a charming sort of way. Black leather, bulky rings, studded earrings, stubbled cheeks and you swear you see black liner around his eyes.

“I hear we haven’t given up any information since our last questioning,” he hums. You don’t respond, and he tilts his head with a grin. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t wanna confess to his ugly mug either.”

You remain still and silent, staring at him with wide, wet eyes. When he lifts his hand, you flinch like you’re ducking away from him. He pauses, narrows his eyes. “You’re not gonna bite me, are you?”

You stare, then slowly shake your head. His smile returns, and he continues to reach out to you. You tense and brace for the worst, shutting your eyes tight, no matter how much it hurts. His hand continues reaching out, his finger curling beneath your chin and lifting it slightly so he can see your face. He watches you carefully, assessing the damage that comes in split lips and skin, a bruise around your left eye, dried blood. Your hair is a mess, you’re dirty and your skin looks less than healthy.

The softness of his touch confuses you, but your body accepts it before your mind can as you feel yourself slowly and involuntarily relaxing. You swallow thickly, your throat sore and scratchy. You already regret speaking before you’ve said a word, but still you do.

“Y-you left…”

He hums, his eyes finding yours again. “Had some things to take care of.” Your chin is creasing, your bottom lip trembling like you’re stifling a sob. He just makes the face right back at you, looking barely sympathetic and mostly just condescending as he does it. Then it drops again as he continues to take you in, your grimy skin, exposed apart from that flimsy thong and in need of some care. His eyes find yours again.

“Your voice sounds a little rough,” he says. “You need some water, sweetheart?”

Your body seizes with fear. You flinch wildly and feel yourself scrambling uselessly, despite already being tucked into the farthest corner of the cage with nowhere else to go. Your voice trembles, cuts in and out as you whisper a barely restrained sob. “Please n-not again.”

He tuts, that same mocking sound that makes you crazy in more ways than one. His head tilts to the side and he juts out his bottom lip. “Oh, honey,” he sighs. “Did he waterboard you? He really likes that.”

You just continue to hide your face, rather than respond. Your lungs are already seizing, you can already feel your body preparing to fight for air, your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. You can feel the heavy weight of the wet cloth over your face. You already feel that panic feeding on your insides, suffocating.

His hand comes to the back of your head, cradling you like he actually cares about your potential fragility. His thumb strokes your cheek with too much tenderness not to leave you scrambled and confused.

“Don't worry, sweets. I'm not gonna do that to you.” His fingers play with a strand of hair, his voice sounding way too soothing for your own good. “I don't find his kind of torture as rewarding as he does. And I wouldn't hurt you unless I had to.”

The irony is rotten in your belly, sour on your tongue. Something bitter makes its way up your throat, and that sarcasm that lives in you slips out before you can stop it, like reflex, like instinct. “No…” you murmur in your broken voice, “you prefer raping your victims and letting other men torture them. Much better.”

You don't have time to process anything before your head is being slammed into the cage. Shock blossoms before the pain does. You cry out either way as your body slumps down. You feel the cruel pulse of the pain a moment later, your brain foggy and your vision hazy. You don't have the strength to do more than cradle yourself and try, uselessly, to shoot farther away from him.

The look on his face isn't necessarily angry. He looks at you like you've been pestering him, sighing and rolling his eyes like you're nothing more than a nuisance, a bug buzzing in his ear that he catches out of the air with his bare hands.

“I said I don't find it rewarding, not that I wouldn't do it. Show some fucking respect.” His gaze pierces you, makes you shiver like nothing more than some frightened prey animal waiting to be devoured.

His stare doesn't falter. Not when fresh, hot tears build in your eyes. Not when they spill over your cheeks as you struggle to keep from sniffling like a pathetic little creature. Not when you sway like you're seconds from passing out.

“Apologize,” he commands. His tone is flat and leaves no room for refusal.

But you can't find your voice. Your tongue is heavy as lead in your mouth, and you can hardly see straight. Blinking past the fog is its own heap of effort that requires your full attention.

His jaw ticks, and a scoff passes through him. He raises a hand to scratch at his stubbled cheek. “Okay. Let me go grab him again—maybe he can get an apology outta you.”

He moves to stand. Your heart jumps up to your throat, ice shocks your system and kicks it into overdrive, leaving you behind as nothing more than a weight being dragged around like a ragdoll.

Your words are a mess of syllables, jumbled and rushed and pitched with fear and desperation. You find yourself scrambling toward him. If you'd been standing, you would have thrown yourself at his feet and damn near kissed his boots, the way you ramble your atonement.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry,” you gasp. You can't find anything else to say. The more you try to appease him, the more you panic, the less words make sense in your brain until the only thing that makes sense is how sorry and how pathetic you are. You rattle off your pathetic apologies over and over again until he's cutting you off with a thick palm over your mouth.

“Better,” he says. He lingers a moment, looking you up and down. You don't have the energy or the dignity to try to cover yourself from his predatory gaze anymore.

He sighs, finally grabbing you again and pulling you out of the cage. You can't stand very well, your legs a useless heap of bone and muscle beneath you. You look like a baby deer, the way you struggle to walk at his side.

He lowers you back into your chair. You're terrified he's going to hurt you anyway. It's hard to tell with him, whether or not he's going to hurt you M He's finicky and impulsive. He keeps you on your toes and doesn't allow you a moment to gather yourself enough to think clearly. Even if he did, this brain fog from the pain and the drugs and the need for food and water don't allow much to work with.

He fastens you to the seat. Once you're secure, he turns his back on you to go towards that steel table you've grown accustomed to seeing nothing but weapons on. You're already bracing yourself for the incoming pain. You're already preparing to be beaten.

But when you look over, you don't see weapons. No blades, no dirty rag, no bucket of water, no brass knuckles to dig into your flesh. Instead, you see another bowl of soup and glass of water, accompanied with that same box from before that he'd used to bandage your wounds before leaving you behind for however many days.

A mix of emotions is spiraling through you and making thinking that much harder. He's wetting a cloth with antiseptic and pulling out a wad of bandages. The smell of the soup finally hits you again, and you're drooling like the dog they've been treating you as.

Your swallow thickly as you watch him sort through that box. In a weak, little voice, you murmur those same little words haunting your mind. “You left me.”

He pauses, his chin tilting toward his shoulder before continuing as before. “Had to,” he says plainly, turning around with a rag in his hand that makes you flinch. Your lungs anticipate their struggle before your brain can explain that it's not meant for them. “I had work to do, and I couldn't leave you alone.”

He comes up close, raising the rag to your brow as he gently dabs at your split skin. You win e harshly but stay otherwise still. Your gaze falls, and you're swallowing down the heat in your throat and the burning in your eyes. You sound just as pathetic as before, but there's a growing bitterness mixing with a sort of pain and disgust you wish you didn't feel.

“You left me…with him.”

His eyes find yours briefly, before averting right back to your wounds as he continues to clean you up with more care than you originally thought him capable of.

“Either that or with the rest of the dogs. I don't want to leave my girl with big scary men who'll probably kill her once they've used her up.” The thought invades your mind like a plague, the room flooding with disgusting, evil men who would pass you around like a fucking toy. They'd laugh as they ruined you, they shove your face in it the same way someone would a dog's face to their own shit on the living room floor. “At least with him, I know they won't.”

It's hard right now to listen to him and not find the rationality in his words. A lesser evil, a kinder torture than the one you could have endured. In a way, he did save you from that pain, that torment, that soul-crushing humiliation that would kill you long before they did. Was the alternative desirable? Absolutely not. But it's better than what a group of twisted, perverted men would have done to you had they just been given a chance.

But you don't want to give that to him. He protected you, sure, but he's been hurting you still. Even as he bandages your wounds, gives you food and water, touches your face with tender fingers that make you melt the way you never should…

The confusion gives way to anger. It's an easier emotion, one you could run on until your heart gave out. You give in to it because the alternative is accepting that he has had a certain extent of good intentions for you. You can't do that. You just can't.

“You're lying.” You shake your head, letting the anger fuel you enough to seethe. “You're a liar, you don't care–”

The pain is sharp and disorienting as it flashes across your face. Your vision briefly goes black as the smack of his thick palm renders you silent, other than the pitiful sniffles you struggle to contain.

You don't meet his gaze when he speaks. You can't. You're afraid it'll break you more than you've already broken.

“Sorry, baby, but I can't have you disrespecting me like that,” he says. That same hand makes you flinch before you realize he's come to cradle the side of your face with that same gentleness that baffles you. You're shaking, refusing to look him in the eyes.

He sighs slowly, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guiding you to look back at him. You stare past him, exhausted and in pain and confused and wanting nothing more than a break from the madness.

He doesn't speak, he doesn't move. He remains completely still until you're forced to finally meet his waiting gaze.

You always thought yourself stronger than this. You've spent your whole life trained to take the pain, to return it tenfold, to be a force to be reckoned with no matter the challenge. You've always had so much strength and power and now? Now you're nothing more than sniveling prey, trembling like a leaf and struggling to look a man in the eyes as you fear the next time he decides to hurt you again.

His gaze is intense. He's unyielding. He strips you of any fight, any sliver of strength left in you. You're nothing under his gaze, and you can't tell if it's hurting you to be so useless or if it's a relief to let go of that fortitude that's been keeping you semi-sane.

He tilts his head. “I could have left you behind and never come back.” His voice is a purr. You shudder under it. “I could have told him to kill you. I could have killed you myself.”

Something in his eyes softens. You can't take it. You're barely holding on to whatever it could possibly be that you have left to hold on to. “But I don't, and I won't. Because you're mine, and I like my things to be treated well.”

He holds your gaze a moment longer before letting you go continue patching you up. You both sit in silence for a while. He disinfects your cuts and scrapes. He covers your wounds with tender fingers. He makes sure to take extra care in smoothing his thumb over each bandage before he moves on to the next.

When you speak again, he's on his knees with your hand in his own. He's cleaning blood and dirt from under your nails, wrapping bandaids over your fingertips, which had been scraped to hell from all the torment.

“Why am I still here?” you whisper. There's no bite, there's no strength. You're nothing more than a broken down girl in a cellar. “I already told you I don't know anything else, and it's not like my father will give up anything for me. He hates me just as much as I hate him.”

He's silent as he listens to you, stroking his fingers over your own with too much care. Something in you is melting down to nothing, and you let it because you don't care enough not to at this point. You're tired, and there's little point in fighting if you're just going to get hurt again.

If it were possible, you sound even weaker. You're slumped over and you feel heavy. You're certain your body is warning you of its impending shut down. “I'm not useful to anyone anymore… So why not just kill me and be done with it?”

He looks up at you from where he's knelt. One of his hands lands on your thigh, stroking the length of it with the slowest touch. “Believe it or not, Kitten,” he says, “you're of plenty use to me.”

He parts your thighs, and your heart begins to race all over again. The cold air of the cellar is crawling over your skin and leaving you trembling. “Y-You…” you swallow thickly, “...can find anyone else to use. You don't need me.”

He chuckles darkly, pulling the thong down your thighs to reveal yourself to him once more. “No one else is as fun as you, Kitten.”

You're exposed again before long, and you're too warm and too wet for him to resist licking his lips at the anticipation of you: the taste of you, the smell of you, the feeling of you trembling against his tongue once he finally gets to have you again.

You shiver and feel yourself beginning to squirm. “If this is all I'm good for,” you gasp, “you should just kill me now.”

He laughs. You feel his fingers a moment later, his knuckles dragging through your folds. Your leg jerks against your restraints. You're not entirely sure where you're trying to go, what you're trying to do. You just know that your body is aching, and you know that he's going to give you this pleasure whether you want it or not.

“You don't mean that,” he taunts. The pad of his thumb glides along your seam before lining up with your clit. He doesn't rub or stroke, he just holds it there, applying a miniscule amount of pressure—just enough to have you yearning for more.

“Does it matter?” Your breath shakes. His eyes stay locked on you, smirking like he knows something you don't. “Once Lucifer knows I'm useless, he'll get rid of me anyway. I'm a loose end, and loose ends are dangerous.” You speak in a rush, like the words will stop him if you get them out fast enough. (Is that even what you want?)

He lets a breath pass through him, amused and enjoying the way your hips search for his touch, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. “You can keep acting strong, sweetheart,” he coos, “but you're perfectly happy being here with me.” His smile spreads like something twisted. His dark eyes glisten, his thumb presses a little tighter. “You like being drugged up and used.”

You shake your head. It would be frantic if you could put enough energy into trying to be stern about this. Your voice comes out as a weak little “n-no”, completely and utterly unconvincing.

He raises his free hand, presses his finger to his plush lips with a taunting little shush. He says nothing else as he drags his thumb down and pushes it inside of you. Your jaw drops down. Your body had gotten so used to him, you've been craving his touch since the moment he left, and the feeling of it now is far too intoxicating as you let the thickness of him fill you.

“There you go,” he purrs in your ear, a dark rumble that you feel reverberating in your spine. “I know you missed me, sweetheart. Open up for me.”

You obey. You don't mean to, but it happens anyway. Something in you relaxes, makes way for him to sink his thumb deeper. Your jaw goes slack, tears spring to your eyes. His crooked smile widens, and then he pulls his thumb out of you.

The sound you make is dreadful. He laughs when your thighs shake, but you don't have the energy to be ashamed. Instead, you meet his eyes with a needy gaze and let yourself succumb, for the moment, to your cruelest desires. He watches in real time, his eyes getting dark in a way you have yet to see. You feel so exposed under his gaze—moreso than you already are. It's like he's cut you open, split you down the middle, and pulled your skin apart just to see what was inside.

He likes what he finds.

Without another word, he pushes two thick fingers inside of you. Tears fall down your cheeks, more relieved than you will ever let on. It feels so much better than it should—like you're finally being fulfilled after having something inside of you be empty for so long. Your head falls as you moan, parting your thighs by that much so he can sink them deeper.

He buries his fingers down to the base and curls his other hand around the back of your neck. Without any kind of tenderness, he pulls your head back up and presses your forehead to his. “Watch me,” he says as he slowly begins to thrust his fingers at a steady, tortuous pace. “I want you to watch me while you cum on my fingers like the sick little thing you are.”

Something twists inside of you like a rag, tighter and tighter like it's waiting to burst. His steady pace becomes faster and faster until your cries and moans are being echoed right back at you, the slick and squelching sounds of your pussy filling your skull. Your hips search out his touch as he fucks you on his fingers, wetter and wetter as he hits that squishy part in you over and over again. Relentless, unyielding.

Every time your eyes begin to drift shut, he huffs as he shakes his head. “Eyes on me.” A command, one you listen to without protest every single time. You keep your gaze locked on his, his eyes boring into your own until you feel like he's seeing something he should not have been able to find.

Your gut tightens, something in your chest curls in on itself. The palm of his hand presses itself up against your clit. You buckle under the pressure. “Ahh, please.” Your hips buck forward. “Please, God, please.”

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head without ever relenting. “You're not gonna find God here, Kitten.”

His calloused fingers stroke inside of you, deep and deliberate. They sink into you until you're gasping at how far he's gone. His gaze holds steady. In his eyes is a darkness that stirs in your gut, it winks back at you while you try not to lose yourself in the comfort of its familiarity.

“Keep lookin’ at me. There you go.”  His voice rumbles between you, sinks deep into your skin and into your brain until it's imprinting itself there. Something in you goes slack, it sighs like it's relenting to something that it had spent so much energy trying to resist. Your brain gets hazy and confused, makes it hard to see past anything but the way his gaze bores into your own like it holds a secret you already know.

“Let it go, baby.” He leans in close, and you miss the way your head tilts up to meet him until his lip curls into another dangerous smile. “That's right. Give it up,” he purrs. He gets so close, his lips brush your own, and you nearly choke at how bad you find yourself needing more.

His eyes consume you. The pleasure builds, crawling up your throat and infecting your brain. Everything else fades away until the only thing you can see, the only thing you can feel, is him. His gaze burns with possession, with a dark and twisted hunger. His fingers fuck you like he's rewiring the very processes of your brain, changing the fabric of your being.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and ragged. “D-don't…please.” Your eyes fill with tears, blurring your view of him.

His free hand reaches up, slow and tender and deceivingly kind. He strokes your tears away with a calloused thumb, clearing your gaze so you can see his smile. Inches away, with a voice dangerously soft, he purrs, “Oh, sweetheart… I already have.”

You're blinded by the orgasm that tears through you like something dark and destructive. Your jaw goes slack as your mouth drops open to let out the choked sob that claws its way up your throat. Still watching him, still finding yourself utterly lost in the sight of him, you come apart like wet sand in his hands.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice something close to a growl as he works you through the ecstasy. “Such a pretty, perfect little kitten… There you go. Give it to me, baby.”

Your brain goes numb, your skin and your gut and everything else about you is on fire. It burns down until you're nothing but a crisped little thing on the ground. You find solace in his eyes, the very things that have turned you inside out and altered your soul.

His lips crashed into yours as your pleasure continues to spasm. You shake and tremble as the kiss renders you otherwise paralyzed. His hand wraps around the back of your head and holds you to him as he devours you, his teeth sinking into your lip, his tongue invading your mouth and finally having a taste he's been salivating for since the beginning. The chill of his piercing laps at the roof of your mouth, and you want to suck on it until silver is all you know.

Your mouths mash together like they don't know how to do anything else. You don't find yourself pulling away. If your hands were free, you would tangle your fingers in the fabric of his shirt and pull him so close that your bodies would meld into one.

And when he goes to pull away, you lunge forward as much as your restraints will allow and consume him right back. You breathe him in and suck on his mouth until you're unsure if there was ever a time where he wasn't with you, where he wasn't this close and more. His fingers curl cruelly against a spot in you that makes you moan into his mouth and lap him up like he's the air you've been surviving off of your entire life.

Your lungs burn, your vision goes spotty behind your eyelids. He infects you like a sickness, like a disease that leaves you aching. Incurable, chronic, hooked to him like life support.

When he pulls away this time, you can't get any closer. You chase his lips, and his laughter rumbles like a growl. He watches you through lidded eyes, and you gasp for air that makes you sick with need. Your whole body shakes when he thrust his fingers deeply into you one last time before pulling out, emptying you like he's pulled your insides out and left them exposed on the dirty, concrete floor.

You never look away from him. He towers over you, his other hand still holding tight in your hair, his lips swollen and his breath almost as ragged as your own.

You moan around his fingers when he shoves them into your mouth. He presses down on your tongue, pushes them deeper until you're nearly gagging at every movement. You suck around them as you helplessly watch him. Drool oozes from the corner of your mouth and down your chin, dripping down onto your thighs.

His head tilts back, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. His lip curls into something primal as you lick his fingers clean of your own slick. Another praise rumbles in his chest and fills your head up. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wipes them over your chest where he smears your saliva. Your gaze stays glued to him, hooded and dazed as you gasp for breath. You don't even notice yourself drooling still, even as it slicks up your chin and your chest and the bare skin of your thighs.

He watches you like you're a sight to behold, and you drink up the darkness in his eyes like whiskey. “Lucifer doesn't want to get rid of you,” he rasps, still inches away. His eyes dart between your own and your wet, parted lips. “Like I said, you're mine now. And as long as you know that, I have use for you.”

His words strike you like lightning, and you shudder at the way it shocks you as such. How stupid you've been not to figure it out, how naive to assume someone like you would be left in the hands of a miscellaneous. It settles in the pit of your stomach, it twists itself in knots that you find yourself hoping never go away.

“Lucifer,” you breathe, your voice barely above a broken whisper.

His lips curl into something devilish. He tightens his hold in your hair, pulls you closer until your foreheads are pressed together and he fills every speck of your sight.

He pushes forward, catching your lips once more with just as much possession, just as much lust and greed. You whimper and whine, just as eager to taste the hunger dripping from his mouth like honey. He pulls away with a smack, and licks his lips for good measure.

“Please…” he purrs, “call me Eddie.”

Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr @joonbread Eddie the Banished taglist: @iiiiluvhobie @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom @hiscrimsonangel @sadbitchfangirl @mediocredreams Taglist here...

[bambimunson]

ᰔ older!beefy!eddie whose metabolism slowly began to catch up with him in his mid-20s. he now does mechanic work, still doing gigs with occasional bartending help when needed. you first met when your engine started making a weird sound and you came in looking like a lost puppy.

god, were you a flirt.

eddie knew he was screwed from the moment he first set his eyes on you. he had to admit, you made him feel like a bit of a creep. you were at least ten years his junior. town freak to town pervert? not a title change he’d be fond of.

but he was only a man. he wasn’t exactly the most popular in high school. he was going to make up for it now.

“eddie. oh, please.”

you were a blabbering mess on his bed— he already had scratches across the expanse of his back.

there’s a focused furrow line between his brows, teeth buried into the plump of his bottom lip. he’s keeping you face down ass up with a ringed hand pressed to the small of your back as he thrusted into you. he would’ve never thought someone would be this desperate for him.

“‘s okay..” he shushes lowly. his pace stays the same but his movements are gentle as he leans down to wrap the crook of his elbow around your neck, burying his forehead into your shoulder.

if he were to take you clenching around him as any sort of sign, he assumed you liked his arms.

[candylandslut]

꒰੭ ﾟ ׅ sweetest girl in town ໒ 🎀 ﾟ ꒱

eddie didn’t do soft. his whole existence ran around heavy metal and a fantasy game— so when he found himself smitten with a girl who religiously listened to madonna and squealed at baby bunnies, he figured the universe was playing a joke on him.

you’d show up to hellfire sessions with a pink scrunchie and a container of homemade cookies, cheering the loudest when his campaign took a particularly creative twist. you chose to sit cross-legged on an amp while he practiced, humming along even when the riffs were too heavy for your taste.

he’d never admit it, but he always let you play with his hair behind closed doors whether it was just twirling the strands or braiding it. pampering him was your guilty pleasure; you’d put eyeliner on him before gigs at the hideout once or twice.

turns out the freak and the girl who liked glittery pens fit together just fine.

[risfics]

how it feels entering an 'x reader' tag and seeing other maladaptive bitches sharing the same exact slimy, gooped out, gooey thoughts about ur fav fictional character

[natangelix]

Practice Help

18+ MDNI | guitarist!Eddie Munson x girlfriend!reader | one shot | 1.2k

You know what they say about guitarists and their fingers.

Genre smut, established relationship

TW/CW no Y/n, profanities, fingering

m.list

From his high school years, you knew Eddie was going to be a great musician. You never doubted for a second that he would eventually be a famous guitarist, thus you supported him through every single process of becoming one. One very important process where your participation was needed greatly was practice.

Today was one of those moments where he needed your help. He had been back from practice for a few hours only to lock himself up in his mini studio in your shared home. You initially thought he needed some alone time, so let him be. Until you felt arms snaking their way around your waist as you were making a drink.

You tensed in your stance, instinct went faster than you could stop it, only to relax back into the arms of your lover when you felt him nuzzling against the crook of your neck. You let out a giggle as his mop of curly hair tickled your neck.

"Eddie," you whined softly. "I'm making a drink for you right now."

"What are you making?" His voice was muffled by your neck, lightly tickling you.

You giggled again. "I think it's obvious from the smell. Guess."

He raised his head from the crook of your neck to peer over your shoulder at the glass in front of you. "Hot chocolate."

"You're right!" You turned your head toward him to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I was just done making it."

"But there's something else I want right now." Without having to look at him, you knew he was pouting from his voice alone.

With a knowing sigh, you turned around to face him which made him cage you to the counter with both arms. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. At this point, his face was dangerously close to yours, his lips were almost touching yours.

"You want a kiss-" You closed the gap and planted a kiss on Eddie's lips. "-or something more?"

"More," was his only answer before he devoured you in a heated kiss.

As if it was orchestrated, your lips moved in rhythm with his. Biting his bottom lip, opening your mouth when his tongue was asking for permission by licking your lips, and moaned against the kiss as his tongue explored your mouth. Unbeknownst to you, your moan stirred something inside him.

With one swift motion, he swiped you up and carried you bridal-style without having his lips leaving yours. Then he began making his way back to his studio. Once he crossed the door to his studio, he shut it close with his heel. With a soft thud, he laid you down on the sofa, letting your body bounce until it settled before latching his lips to yours again.

As moans erupted both from your and his throats, your hands flew to the hem of your shirt, wanting to relief yourself from the rising temperature that was caused by Eddie's kiss alone. Still kissing you, he helped you take off your shirt, only pulling away for a split second when pulling it through your head. The same was repeated on his shirt after you tugged on the hem of his shirt, wordlessly demanding him to take off his shirt as well.

Within a few minutes, not only that both your shirts were on the floor, but they were also quickly accompanied by your pants and underwear, leaving the both of you butt naked inside his studio.

From years of knowing him, you knew right away that the moment you were fully naked under him, his hand would start wandering on your body. As his left hand found its purchase on your breast, fondling it with the same care he showed his guitars, his right hand flew to your slick, pulsing core. He drew lazy circles on your cunt, pulling out a string of broken moans from you that he greedily swallowed in a kiss.

On instinct, you began slowly grind against his fingers, demanding to get get more friction on your most sensitive part. He seemingly understood the silent message as his now slick fingers went faster against your cunt.

More moans left your lips right into his mouth. You pulled back from the kiss momentarily, a string of saliva connected the both of you as you said, "I need more."

"More? Alright. I can give you more." Without any more warning, he inserted a finger in, going as deep as he could until his ring touched the lips.

The cold touch of his ring accompanied by his finger curling inside you moan louder as your muscles contracted around him, as if trying to get more of him or trapping him inside. Then Eddie began to slide his finger out until only the tip of his finger in before sliding it back inside. He repeated the motion, every insertion always followed by him curling his finger and grazing your most sensitive spot before pulling out again.

"Just like that, Eddie. Please," you whined under him, always becoming so putty under his long, trained fingers.

It doesn't take long for him to start inserting the second finger in which elicited more moans out of you. And soon joined his third finger. With three fingers inside you, he now began to slide in and out of you. Every time he was inside you, he curled his fingers and grazed your sensitive spot again. Every minuscule movement inside you were amplified at least ten-fold until you were turned into a moaning and whining mess.

By this point, Eddie probably could guess that you were getting more and more overstimulated and that you were getting closer to your orgasm. Being a good boyfriend that he was, he picked up his pace and helping you to get your much deserved high. He used his other hand to play with your nipple, twisting and pulling it that only made you feel even more overwhelmed with pleasure.

"Are you close?" he asked, his hands never stopped their ministrations on you.

You frantically nodded, unable to let out anything coherent other than moans.

"Then come."

Taking it as a permission, you let yourself go over the cliff of pleasure as a loud moan filled the entire room. Your hips bucked, meeting his fingers in the middle, asking for more.

Knowing for what you wanted, Eddie never stopped pumping his fingers inside you, feeling the tight contractions made by the wall of muscles and carrying you through your high. He only pulled out of you once your hips were back down on the couch and you let out a tired, content sigh.

Without words, Eddie stood up, grabbed a piece of clothing from the mountain of clothes on the floor and started to help you cleaning up your wet, sticky core. Although he was being very gentle and the fabric was soft, your swollen pussy still felt raw and pulsing.

"Eddie," you called for him.

From between your legs, he looked up. "What is it? Does it hurt?"

You shook your head. "Not really," you lied, just to make him worry less about you.

Satisfied that you were no longer sticky, he let the fabric drop and stood back up. "Then you should rest. I need to continue my practice."

"What about you?" You eyed his cock that was hard and leaking pre cum at the tip. "Don't you want to get some release?"

He leaned down on you to press a light kiss on your forehead. "We'll do it after you get some rest and I finish my practice, okay?"

"Just don't forget the drink I made you."

m.list

[aphrahdite]

𓏲 ✉️ྀི ׂ 𝓮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝓯𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 ⋮ 𝟏𝟖+

there was an ongoing build-up of friction. the heat between your legs growing as you lay with eddie. your legs wrapped around his side, encapsulating one of his between your own. and every time he moved in even the slightest, you fought the moans daring to escape your lips. he didn’t know what he was doing to you — that he was causing you such pleasure simply because he didn’t know how to be still.

“you want a drink, baby?” he asks, leaning towards the pile of discarded water bottles and beer bottles he had yet to clean up, to gather you a fresh one.

his leaning, causes his leg to push right up against your heat, and you can’t take it anymore. “eds, stop moving!” you pout, slapping him on the chest lightly.

he pulls right back, brows knitted with deep confusion and a hint of worry. big dewy eyes staring at you, “why? what’s wrong?”

“nothing. you just keep moving and it’s…” your words trail off when your eyes pan down to where his thigh was being held hostage by your legs. he follows your gaze, quick to understand what was really going on.

“oh,” there’s a glimmer in his eyes, a knowing look, as he sees what he’s doing now, and a smirk begins to pull at his lips. “you don’t really want me to stop though, do you?”

he could see right through you. drawing your bottom lip in, you shake your head and a soft chuckle releases from him as he purposely moves his thigh again.

“eds,” you whimper his name, meeting his gaze once more.

through his lashes, and dishevelled bangs, he peers at you, pupils dilating under the dim light of his room. eddie’s favourite thing in the world was bringing you pleasure, helping you embrace your sexual side, but mostly just you — he loved you — and how trusting you were with him. it made him feel special. important. and to you, he was.

“you want me to keep going?” his voice is low now, watching as your chest rises when he moves his leg closer to your centre. you nod rapidly, panting when he pulls it away again. “move for me.”

you do as he says and slowly start to roll your hips against him. a moan escaping you as the texture of his jeans through nothing but the thin material of your panties rubs across your nub. the feeling sets your region alight and you thank yourself for deciding to wear a skirt that day.

as you continue to move, your sweetness begins to build, a slick developing between you and eddie. it makes it easier for you to move against him. a ball of pleasure grows in your stomach as eddie pulls your flimsy little skirt up, revealing your ass and giving it a tight squeeze. the cool touch of his rings causing you to hiss.

“fuck, eddie,” you moan his name, trying to keep your eyes on him, but they flutter closed from time to time. "feels s'good."

you cling onto him now, hands gripping at the thin material of his hellfire shirt, as the other reaches behind his head, getting tangled between his curls. it's then that he starts to help you move, his hand firmly grasping your ass as he does so.

"you like that, huh? you like moving your pretty little clit against me like that?" your eyes blow wide with desire, the wetness in your panties now transferring to his pants, but you knew that he didn't care. he loved getting your juices on him.

setting yourself into a steady rhythm, the sensation almost becomes too much as you jut your hips faster now, and eddie removes his hand from your ass to tilt your chin towards him. "i want you to look at me when you cum, okay? i want to see how good i'm making you feel."

you nod rapidly, brows upturning from the pleasure, and earning yourself a 'good girl'. eddie slides his thumb across your bottom lip, before pressing down to open it up.

“such a pretty hole.”

“fuck, eds.” you moan, his thumb rolling back and forth across your lips still.

"cum for me, baby. let it out." he says, making sure that your eyes remain locked with his, your mouth bursting open and body convulsing around him as the pressure that had been building finally comes tumbling down. "there it is." he lets out a breathy chuckle, forever in awe of how beautiful you looked when you reached your high.

you fall into him, trying to catch your breath, and after a moment you move to lay on your back spent, chest rising and falling dramatically as you stare up at his ceiling. "fucking hell." you sigh.

"you know i'm never gonna sit still ever again, right?" he leans towards you, snaking his hands around your neck, his rings no longer cool to the touch, and pulling you in for a heated kiss as you giggle. "that was so fucking hot."

"oh, i bet you liked it." you raise an eyebrow at him, hand reaching down to feel the stiffness in his pants.

"you could definitely say that."

𝓵𝐨𝐨𝐤𝓲𝐧𝐠 𝓯𝐨𝐫 𝓶𝐨𝐫𝐞 .ᐣ bookshelf taglist form guidelines

[kinda2sleepy]

Dead Flat Virgin

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader) MDNI

summary: Eddie is a raging Demi-sexual with his first real crush and no ability to act on it on account of being as shy as hell is hot. So maybe you gotta bully him gently into action.

warnings: Smut, no use of y/n, abuse of the second POV, unedited, smut with plot, arguing as flirting, shy Eddie, mildly dominant reader, virgin, first time, hand job

wordcount: 5.4k

a/n: This is pretty inspired by a Drabble I saw by @bambimunson and have been cooking on it for a few days. I’m on a little writing kick apparently. Please please PLEASE 18+ ONLY. And don’t feed my work into AI I work really hard :((

Eddie could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand, which… really was a generous way to say he was a flat dead virgin. Not for lack of trying to tackle that specific issue, he had made a few attempts with girls floating in the circles he entered. The pub, gigs, hell even a pretty gal who’d been in the local dnd community for a bit. It always tended to end the same way, a hot make out session, some wandering hands and he just… couldn’t get it up. Not that they weren’t hot as shit, or pretty enough, or really anything else.

He’d always had a nagging sense of unease, of removal and discomfort. He just.. wasn’t in it. He could barely cite their names, couldn’t remember their eye color when they closed their eyes, and he couldn’t tell you the first thing about them.

He didn’t get it. He would question it through the years, but never really had a proper label. His friends could fuck and turn out girls with the bat of an eye. But Eddie? Eddie couldn’t get his dick to stand.

That was, until you slid into place in his life. You walked the same line. Pubs, gigs, dnd, concerts, shops. He ran into you often, you chatted often. At first, you were a pretty smile and a collection of interesting conversations. Then you were a number in his phone book. A presence among his friends, and in his apartment. You were his friend, and one of the first girls he’d really gotten to know in any meaningful way since preschool when the alienation between genders started.

It was really just.. natural progression that he’d form a crush. Totally innocent, a small hint of flirtation he’d float your way, and you’d bite, just as small. It thrilled him, but he knew better than to jump feet first into murky waters. So it carried for weeks, regular conversations in irregular situations. You’d lay on the carpet in his bedroom, spinning a record from The Smith’s, and puffing a joint which sat between your lips. He’d try so hard not to stare at the state of you, your shorts, your fanned out hair, the scabs on your knees.

He’d flirt more. You’d meet him halfway.

He’d tease the lines and you’d tease them back.

He knew the ball was squarely in his court. His virgin, terrified court. So he never quite crossed those lines, never took his shot.

So maybe you changed the rules a bit.

Guys always made the first move. That was among the rules, in the book of dating, your friends had laid out when you were still young.

This time, for once in your life, you didn’t wanna be solely chased by some poor bastard. You had waited, and sat pretty for Eddie each time he floated an attempt your way. You stayed poised each time he set up his moment, but he never carried it out. You’d both hold your breath, and it’d pass.

The setting sunlight painted the carpet in heavy, beaming puddles of orange and yellow, spilling from Eddie’s open apartment window and breaking through parted blinds. You laid in the fixture of the receding sun, in the same way you did each time you ended up at Eddie’s.

It was ritualistic.

The record player was dusty and well loved, its hinges creaking quietly as Eddie lifted the cover, the wood groaning. You waited, hand lifted and two fingers parted on a joint.

He slid the vinyl from its sleeve, the material crumpled from use but still intact. Your eyes moved from his steady hands as they lowered the track into its rightful place, instead finding the water stain on his ceiling you swore was getting bigger throughout the weeks.

Outside your vision, he fiddled, the crackle of power, the smooth lift of the lever, the distinct preamble before the music crackled to life.

The carpet dipped under his feet with each step, his weight moving between steps as he padded closer to you and sank down at your side. You fished in the back pocket of your jeans, lifting your hips to dip into the fabric. You pull free a small, pink lighter. It was due for replacement, but neither of you were quite ready to make that decision.

The flame came in a muted whoosh of air, then proceeded by quiet building lyrics. Your eyes landed on Eddie, whose gaze was already heavy on you. His eyes were rich earthy soil, widening a fraction as they were caught boring into your face. He smiled, shy and toothy all at once. “What?” He asked, a breathless huff escaping his parted lips.

You exhaled smoke in a controlled, slow breath, a small foggy cloud dancing in the rays of sunlight still painting you orange and gold. “What are you thinking about?” You pointed with the joint, motioning vaguely towards his head before then offering it to him, hand spreading.

He plucked it from between your fingers, bringing it to his own mouth, his drag much more urgent and rough than yours. He held it in his lungs as he responded. “That I like this song.”

You muse, a quiet rumble of sound somewhere in your chest and throat. Shifting your weight, you raise on an elbow, bringing your eye line closer to his own. His gaze never leaves you, still heavy, still searching.

Your legs cross underneath you, body sagging to place your elbows on your knees, letting your posture retain its lazy bend. “What’re you really thinking about?” You insist, noting the way his silver rings look almost gold in this light.

His eyes flicker away from you finally, their weight lingering on you despite their absence. He’s smiling, an awkward, shy thing that hides behind his lifted hand and the joint in it.

He takes another drag, slower this time. You watch his throat move, his chest rising. “You always do this.” He points out, tracing the edge of your silhouette but not quite brave enough to look at you again. “Come here, lay on my floor and.. I dunno. I was just thinking it was funny.”

You stiffen a bit, considering the implications. Did he dislike it? Had he begun to resent your presence?

He seemed to read your thoughts, his mouth rushing to fix his earlier statement, to sooth away the crease between your brows. “I like it,” he added, holding his hand out, open, palm down as if to physically halt your doubts. “I guess I was just wondering why you keep coming back?”

“Oh,” your lips linger in their parted position, forming around the sound despite its short lived nature. You lift a hand to quizzically cup your jaw, pursing your lips as if he’d asked you a difficult question. You hum, narrowing your eyes towards the ceiling. “Hmmm, mayyybee… I like hanging out with you…?”

He scoffed at your sarcasm, tossing his extended hand upward to swat away the very air of you before letting it land on his knee where it rested against the carpet.

You roll your eyes, lifting to your knees to shuffle closer. Your back meets his mattress as you turn to sit side by side with the man, taking his joint from his fingers. “I do.” You add quietly, not daring to look at him. It was your turn to hide behind the joint, taking a slow, prolonged pull of smoke that made your lungs sputter.

Eddie is brave enough to look at you, though he’s forced to rub his palms against the faded fabric of his ripped jeans to do away with the sweat collecting in his palms. He felt pathetic, getting so nervous just sitting near you. How was he supposed to do more if just looking at you made his stomach tie itself into knots?

“I..” he begins, and quickly ends as he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like he was some all hated, unloved freak who’d never received a compliment in his life. But he suddenly felt like one, like every other compliment he’d ever been given was suddenly obsolete because you had just so plainly admitted you liked spending time with him.

“You’re so gross.” He teased instead, sliding easily into something safe, something known. “Don’t get all sappy on me.” He bumped your folded leg with his arm, chuckling quietly to himself, despite the inward cringe running cold in his stomach and chest.

“You asked.” Your huff wasn’t annoyed, but it was quiet and accompanied by a lazy eyeroll. Eddie didn’t miss it, and felt suddenly.. forlorn. Like he’d personally strangled his chance at you in this moment.

His brows creased, a lump in his throat as his eyes pressed closed. His fingers tangled through his hair, one hand pushing curls flat along one side of his head. “It’s just,” he let a harsh breath escape his lips. “Why?”

“Why?” You echoed, and he could feel your gaze without needing to open his eyes.

He nodded.

You didn’t respond immediately. He feels your weight shift beside him, and he fears the sight that’d greet him if he looked now.

“Sometimes, when I’m with you, I wish time would just stop.”

He looks at you. You’re staring at him.

“Yeh?” He asks, a breathless grin finding its way across his lips.

“Yeh.”

He wants to ask more, and he’s sure he will, as soon as the goofy grin eating away at his face lets up. It doesn’t, and he’s too impatient to wait it out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You huff frustratedly at him, fingers twitching around the joint before stubbing it out in the nearby ashtray. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

He clicks his tongue, chasing you in your retreat. His face moves back into your line of sight, his long limbs carrying him across the carpet as he leans nearly over you, chest meeting your knees. “No no,” he insists, lifting onto his knees to lift his hands from the ground.

They feel clumsy and thick as they come up to land on your knees, pushing you deeper into the mattress edge and the carpet to keep you from moving, pinning your legs to your chest and making you feel smaller than usual.

“What’s that mean?” He asks again, his head moving aside to chase your avoidant gaze before upward as it flickered away again. He speaks your name with a firm, commanding grin and you finally still.

Your brows furrow, expression hard and frustrated but he can see the color creeping into your skin even as his figure casts dark shadows across you.

You are stubbornly quiet for a second before sucking in a reluctant breath. “You haven’t figured it out already?”

He shakes his head, encouraging you with a tilt quickly after.

Your hands wring around themselves, nerves and fear clashing all at once.

You get now why he’s always shied away from saying or doing anything.

“I like hanging out with you.” You repeat, harder this time like that could answer the bigger question if he’d just consider the implication.

“Why?” He urged, and the conversation was giving you déjà vu.

You stare holes into his face, desperate and frustrated. A frog jumps in your throat and your jaw clenches. “I like.. you.” Your hands still and your eyes silently plead with him to use his stupid brain for once.

He blinks down at you, his hands feeling too heavy on your skin, still pushing you weakly in place. He opens his mouth to make a smart retort, but finds himself hesitating.

His lips close with a small, rough exhale.

It wasn't enough. You liked him. But why? In what way? He was being unfair, forcing you to do the heavy lifting. He knew it blatantly, and yet couldn’t force himself out of the motions of it.

“Eddie,” you spoke again, commanding and shaky. He nods to show he’s listening. You chew your lip. “This isn’t fair.”

He chuckles hoarsely, mouth feeling dry and useless. “I know.” It’s a mumble of sound but it’s enough to make you frown at him.

You push at his chest in a sudden motion that makes him rock back a bit, catching himself with one hand and giving you a look of wide eyed surprise. “Do something.” You urge, huffing. “Anything.”

He gapes at you for a second too long, mouth parted open and eyes blinking wide like a fish pulled right from the sea and forced to face the sun.

He stammers, half chuckling and half trying to brush you off as his free hand waves between you two, trying and failing to clear the air.

“Eddie.” You complain, throaty and impatient as your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist and hold him still, forcing him to stop.

He’s red. Had he been that color this whole time? It wasn’t the light dusting that’d become a permanent fixture in your presence. He was damn near nuclear red, like hot metal.

He deflated in a huff, falling back to plant his ass in the carpet, his legs sprawled against yours in a messy tangle as you unfolded yourself from the ball he’d curled you in. You crept forward, onto your knees again to invade the edges of his personal space. His head hung back, eyes closed but face turned towards the ceiling.

You could practically hear the thud of his heart against his ribs, a dull hammer in his chest that made breathing feel akin to manual labor.

You stopped short of him, hands flat on his thighs and knees digging into the carpet between his parted legs. He lifted his head to look at you, still sagging into his hands.

He mulled his thoughts, chewing at the full skin of his bottom lip before muttering out an indignant. “Fine.”

You perked at the word, spine straightening like a taunt cord. He didn’t move immediately, just stared through his bangs before creeping forward.

One hand cradled underneath your arm, near the edge where your shirt sleeve met the body of your t-shirt, encouraging you to meet him halfway as his face dipped forward.

Your mouths hovered for a second too long, like the final stretch of distance between you was taped off in concrete walls by a world of doubt and anxiety. Eddie moved through it in a final tilt of his head, his lips slotting with yours in an awkward, warm press of mouths.

It wasn’t sparks of lightning like you’d read about in books, or fireworks booming behind your closed eyes. It was all tingles and sensation. The pressure firmed, less a brush of lips and instead more solid, tangible.

His mouth parted with a throaty exhale, his head dipping to angle sideways. You squeezed your eyes tighter closed, shyly letting your jaw slack open. His tongue teased the small gap between your lips, a faint smile touching his expression before his hand lifted from your arm to tuck your cheek into his palm.

He guided you with him, a slow dance of teeth and tongue, of languid kisses and breathless exhales.

The room spun in sharp dizzying circles around you, the smell of smoke and the taste of weed staining your senses and bleeding into the almost spicy scent of his breath.

When he pulled away, you felt clumsy and out of place, eyes opening almost fearfully. You’d expected to find his goofy grin or teasing eyes. He was avoiding your gaze instead, shrinking into himself. It was strange to see someone as loud and overtaking as him.. shy.

“What?” You managed out, insecurity bubbling to the surface and gnawing you raw from the inside out until you felt the sharp, cold prick of rejection taking root.

“Nothing.” He spat, defensive and clipped, his legs shifting underneath your hands and attempting to close despite your position between them, leaving you bracketed by his knees. His hand dropped from your face to his lap, palm down and spread to hide beneath. “Wait-“

Your gaze dropped with his hand, catching the difference of his usually loose jeans, which now seemed uncomfortable and tight where his hand hovered. You froze. He was quick to lean forward off his opposite hand, catching your face to turn your gaze back up.

The gears in your head turned in slow, lazy motions, sputtering and not quite able to click the information together properly. Or maybe you didn’t want them to.

Eddie looked utterly caught, sweaty and red and unable to meet your eyes, his own fluttering around at anything but the face held in his hand.

“You’re hard.” You stated, blunt and questioning all in one. Eddie glared.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious, I hadn’t noticed.” He gritted out, tugging the fabric of his jeans to create some form of give.

Why, in all the years he tried, did his stupid dick wanna pitch an angry fit now? When you were only kissing, barely touching him and looking at him like a deer in headlights?

He cursed all the times he’d fisted the stupid hellian to the thought of your smile, the way you said his name, to every tiny detail about you that nestled in the folds of his useless, stupid brain. He’d fucking Pavloved himself to pop a boner at the worst times. Now here he was, caught red handed in the face of it.

Your hands, which still rested on his thighs, squeezed gently and your body leaned a fraction further towards him as if gravity itself urged you deeper into his orbit. He was almost inclined to lean away, to gather up what dignity he had left and bolt far, far away from you.

“Why?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and it was his turn to be frustrated. “That’s a stupid fucking question.”

You smiled, biting at your bottom lip in a half hearted attempt to stop. “I thought you liked stupid questions.”

He huffed, chest heaving under the weight of his discomfort and the deep seated ache he was experiencing.

Were you making fun of him?

“Fuck you.” He spat and you closed your mouth, biting at the skin of your lip. He watched, attention rapt.

You edged ever closer, lifting your face level with his to find his mouth with yours. He was stiff but melted fractionally into the press of your lips.

Your thumb pet at the pocket seam of his jeans, reminding him where it rested before letting it lift, slow, shaky and so so shy. Your fingers brushed underneath his hand where it hovered at his jeans, sliding into the space that he’d been so intent on hiding. His fingers flexed, gripping yours instinctively.

A small nip at his bottom lip had him shuddering, his grip on you loosening. Your palm sank, meeting the rough fabric of his jeans again, and curling into the fullness underneath.

His breath punched out of him, his mouth stilling against yours as his attention strayed.

“Wait- wait-“ he gaped as you gave him a firm, exploring stroke, your thumb and pointer meeting around what you could only guess was the ruddy head of his dick.

A low, pained noise rumbled from his throat making you pause, pulling back from him only enough to look at his face, already dewy with sweat. His eyes were tightly closed, a lip curled slightly to expose teeth. His jaw worked, shallow breaths pulling from him and you suddenly felt a little guilty.

“Want me to..” You let your fingers slack partially, drawing back to retreat but his palm pressed over yours, pinning you in place. He shook his head, his curls bouncing in the sharp motions.

“No… no, it’s..” the brown of his irises came into view through his dark lashes, his lids parting in a slow, shy manner before his eyes lifted to meet yours. You offered a tiny smile, hair falling into your face as your head dipped one way. He huffed quietly, turning away from you again. His weight slacked backwards, his torso dipping from your proximity and landing on his elbows.

His curls fell across the carpet, his head falling back and revealing the length of his throat. The milky skin was flushed there, too. For a moment, you thought about what’d it’d be like to settle your lips there, or your teeth. A place so intimately his, where his scent would be so strong and so inescapable.

You hadn’t realized you were moving until your nose bumped clumsily into his Adam's apple, lashes fluttering as you pulled him into your lungs. It wasn’t exactly what you’d expected. It was spicy in nature, like damp cinnamon sticks, but heavy and earthy- the weed no doubt, maybe cigarettes.

“What’re you doin’?” His voice rumbled underneath you, his throat moving around the words and making his Adam’s apple bob.

He was watching you when your face lifted to greet him. His brows were furrowed, his expression almost frustrated but really he was just overwhelmed. The stiff set of his sprawled out body told you that much.

You didn’t know how to respond for a long moment, feeling caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Finally, you formed the words. “Got curious.”

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his head lulling back again. “Weirdo.” He mumbled, no more than a grunt really.

You stayed just like for a moment, your hand cupping his erection, your face hovering close enough to study his ever moving face, your body perched over his, held up on your free hand where it sat planted to his side.

His eyes squeezed closed for a lingering second, a breath escaping his lungs from parted lips before he sucked his supple bottom lip between his teeth to worry.

“I’ve never..” he mumbled finally, eyes blinking open and risking a glance towards your face, which was notably fixed in an expression he couldn’t read with a map and a tour guide. You tilted your head in encouragement, urging him to keep talking.

He didn’t, closing his eyes again. Instead, his fingers pressed gently into the back of your hand and his hips stirred underneath you, angling up to rut into your palm.

You tried to push, craning your body closer until you were nearly laying on top of his laid back figure, separated by a mere inch. “Never what, Eddie?”

He cursed quietly, beads of sweat becoming apparent on his brow and cheeks, likely from the blood pooling under his flushed skin. “You know,” he cocked his head to nod towards you, avoiding saying the words out loud.

“Fucked anyone?” You supplied, the words feeling crude and out of place put together on your tongue.

He rolled his eyes again. “No- I mean- yes- I haven’t.. done that yet but,” his lips formed a line and he briefly met your gaze, trying to urge you to understand.

You understood. You wanted him to say it.

“What, Eddie?”

He seethed, the dying amber light of sunset catching his teeth before, finally- finally- he frustratedly snapped. “I’ve never been touched like this before.”

You almost wanted to praise him for finally raising to meet you halfway. Well, it was more seventy thirty, but you were feeling generous and the point still stood.

“Do you want me to stop?”

His startled expression boarded on panicked at the mere notion. “Jesus H. Christ- no.”

Your tongue poked into your cheek in thought, your eyes flickering between his, his warm eyes dark as the sun sagged behind the Earth and gave into the dusty blues and purples of night. Yet, unexplainably, he looked so damn soft.

“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him a testing squeeze before sliding your hand free from his, taking away the pressure and heat of your palm. He almost thought it to be merciful, if not for the gut wrenching disappointment that came with it. “C’mere.”

He lifted with you as you crawled off him, pulling his arms with regardful but insistent tugs until you were both tumbling into his bed. Anxiety and terror and excitement thrilled through him all at once as his sheets crumpled underneath your shifting and scooting.

His back pressed to your chest, his body cradled by yours and your sides pressing into his springy mattress. One of your arms looped underneath his body, hand splayed across his chest to tug up his distress band tee, and the other circled across his hip and waist.

“How’s this?” Your breath fanned the back of his neck, musing curls, chin propped against his shoulder blade before dipping to replace with your cheek.

Eddie’s brain was still catching up, still trying to figure out what ‘this’ was. Regardless, he nodded. You clicked your tongue and he jumped to speak. “It’s uh- good. It’s- what are we doing?” The caution in his voice made you snicker.

“Just watch.”

He swallowed and did exactly that. Watched in the dim light as your hand fumbled with his belt buckle, lonesomely accomplishing what he likely couldn’t do with both of his own shaking hands. His jeans parted open, the button and zipper giving you much less grief, before your fingers dipped into the waistband of his briefs.

You didn’t go for his dick immediately. Instead, you traced the path of his happy trail with a firm drag of fingertips, letting it lead you naturally towards the base of his saluting erection. Your pointer and middle finger parted opposite of your ring and pinky, surrounding the base of his dick.

Curls gathered against your palm, your thumb petting them down lazily, with no real intention. You hummed into his shoulder, questioning and encouraging all at once.

Eddie had been holding his breath, noticeably. He let it all out in one miserable exhale, his unsure hands finally deciding they needed to be holding something. He decided on you, one hand perching on your hip where it laid behind him and the other gripped yours where it gathered his tee, fingers clinging to your wrist.

“Wanna keep going?”

He nodded desperately.

You bit back a chuckle, lifting your hand higher to sweep your fingers together and to one side of his dick, curling them along the veiny underside. Eddie shifted, lifting one thigh and pushing himself into your hand.

Your touch firmed, wrapping properly around him and stroking upward, towards the tip of his length. And hell, if he didn’t have quite a bit of that. He was thick at the base, but bulged slightly along the underside, making your fingers spread wider to accommodate.

Christ.

He jerked as your thumb pet across the weeping slit of his cockhead, spreading messy precum. You chewed your bottom lip, closing your eyes to imagine what he looked like. You wondered if his skin was just as pale there too, or if he'd be flushed like his face had been- like his face still was.

“Shit-“ he grumbled, his head turning towards his pillow to muffle a broken sound as you gathered the slick droplets with your fingers and stroked him loosely, focusing on the needy, more sensitive head of his cock.

He pulsed in your hand, jumping and jerking in time with strangled, gasping sounds from his parted mouth. You regretted not being able to watch his face as he made those pretty sounds. You just knew he’d look so perfect with his expression screwed and flushed.

His hips, which he’d been trying to keep still, spasmed and rutted each time your hand dropped from tip to base, coating his cock in his own pre. Your name tore from his mouth and you felt your thighs ache before pressing together, trying to dull the needy bloom between them.

“Ah- fuck!” Eddie cursed as your hand tightened around him, brave enough to squeeze him a little tighter. You kept your cheek pressed to his shoulder before growing shy and turning to hide your face between his shoulderblades, tucking yourself tighter against his lanky frame.

Slowly, you grew more insistent. Eddie didn’t have the wherewithal to stop his hips from rolling to meet the repetitive glide of your hand, creating a messy, sloppy rhythm. The slick sound of skin on skin was horrifyingly embarrassing- he had really made such a mess?- but Eddie couldn’t even begin to process that shame when his senses were already in such a state of disarray.

His breaths punched out in throaty groans, trailing whines and needy keens that only spurred you on.

“You gotta- I’m- wait, I’m gonna-“ He couldn’t even string the words into order, his brain drawing blanks and his mouth falling open to tear much needed air into his lungs.

You held him on a cliffs edge, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he was even supposed to be there.

“Yeh?” You asked his back, words spoken straight into the column of his spine.

You didn’t really need an answer, you basically had it in your hand. His cock was throbbing in your grasp, sharp and hard enough to send shivers quaking through his body each time your fingers squeezed the head of his cock before dipping again.

He nodded anyways, expecting you would stop, expecting that you wouldn’t want to pull that out of him.

But why wouldn’t you?

You nodded in understanding and pulled him by his chest, pressing kisses against the back of his neck as you picked up the pace of your strokes.

You’d watched enough porn to know this part was messy, usually carried out by desperate, fast strokes and you weren’t gonna torture the poor guy more than necessary.

Thing about porn though? Most of those guys' dicks were half numb from overuse and too many people touching them. Eddie, on the other hand, was sensitive as all hell.

You had essentially spartan kicked him off the damn cliff, for lack of better phrasing.

His orgasm smacked him like a stop sign in a tornado, his body going stiff and rigid as it locked up, his mouth falling open in a sob as he snapped apart like a dropped Lego set.

His thighs shook as he painted the inside of his briefs, soaking through the cotton material and your fist with sticky, thick streaks of his spend.

You slowed to a stop as the last of his moans turned into whines, more wince than pleasure, but didn’t let him go just yet.

Eddie’s chest was heaving and your arm burned from the effort. How did guys do that? You felt sore. Eddie was the first to move, shifting to roll from his side to his back without knocking you with his shoulder or squishing you. You slipped your hand from his underwear as he did, holding it up and away from the both of you to avoid spreading the mess from its local residence.

Eddie’s eyes met yours, face burning with color and sweat clinging to his skin, along with messy strands of hair. You reached to push them away before catching yourself and retracting your hand before it had the chance to contaminate his poor face. Instead, you slid your other arm free and used that hand.

He gave you a weak, entertained laugh and you tilted your head at him, a smile touching your own lips.

“It’s not like- radioactive, ya know?” He motioned towards the sticky cum clinging to your skin.

“Eh, basically.” You hummed, giving your own arm a narrow eyed look over before shaking your head solemnly. “I think I’ll have to amputate.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and lightly tapped your cheek with his knuckles in the most pathetic slap of your life. If it could even be considered a slap.

“I’ll get the med kit.” He pretended to fumble for a nonexistent first aid kit on his nightstand, instead knocking over an empty beer can and cursing under his breath. He peered over to make sure it was as empty as it sounded before returning his attention to you.

You were staring expectantly at him. He blinked a few times before his eyes popped open wider in understanding and he sat up in a quick motion, making his fuzzy head spin. “Oh- shit, right- yeh.” He fumbled to tuck his dick back into his sticky underwear, cringing at the feeling and sprung out of the bed to scrounge for a shirt or something he could use to clean you up.

[munsonsdangerousgirl]

₊ ° ⊹ ♡ 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

☆ “𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.”

📞·˚ ༘ ┊͙ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one morning when you and eddie wake up after a sleepover at his trailer, you decide to show him a couple of moves you learned while taking jiu-jitsu classes.

𝓞𝓡 , you and eddie’s friendship turns into something more when you accidentally grind on him while playfighting . . .

⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: smut, inspired by this post (thought the 7th link was eddie coded) , never proofread , best friends to…? , i always have to write eddie as a yearner , grinding/dryhumping , pervy! eddie & pervy! reader , pretty filthy if i do say so myself , lots and lots of teasing and dirty talk , praise mixed with degradation , a lot of position switches too since they’re wrestling , reader licking eddie through his boxers , oral (m receiving) , spanking , fingering , p in v , some orgasm denial ig , creampie (be safe horndogs.) , pining eddie , angsty ending

eddie woke up to the sunlight spilling through the window, a slow gold that slid across the floorboards and crept up the rumpled sheets. he yawned softly, shifting to find a more comfortable angle, and the movement stirred you from sleep—a low, sleepy hum escaping your throat before you even knew you'd made it.

his eyes fluttered open at the sound. the haze of sleep cleared just enough for him to register that you were here, in his bed, your face half-buried in his pillow. something in his chest pulled taut.

“mm. morning," he murmured, his voice rough and low.

"good morning," you mumbled back, not opening your eyes. you nuzzled deeper into the pillow, your breath slow and even.

he watched you for a long moment—longer than he meant to. his gaze traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned against your skin, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. the morning light caught the edges of your face, highlighting every small feature he already thought was beautiful, and he felt something warm bloom low in his chest.

he caught himself and cleared his throat.

“so," he said, quiet, "we didn't finish the movie."

you nodded, eyes still closed. "mhm. i knocked out on the couch."

you said it with a hint of sheepishness that made him chuckle. "i know. i tried to be quiet when i snuck away."

a lazy grin spread across his face even though you didn’t see it, boyish and unguarded in the soft light.

"wow. so careless of you," you teased, your voice still thick with sleep. "not even bothering to carry me over to your bed like a gentleman."

he scoffed, but the grin didn't fade—it softened, turned almost tender, even though you couldn't see it. "why?" he asked, voice dropping to something quieter. "why should i have to be a gentleman? it’s my room."

"cause i’m a girl, dumbass. it’s like an unspoken rule."

a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and the sight of it made his heart stutter. he covered it with a laugh.

"oh, right. 'cause you're too dainty and delicate to sleep on the worn-out couch in my living room, huh?"

his hand found your hair, fingers threading through the mess of it, ruffling gently. you finally opened your eyes, swatting at his hand with a giggle.

“careful. i know jiu-jitsu, y’know.”

eddie’s eyes went wide, a slow grin spreading across his face as the memory surfaced. “oh, shit. yeah—you’ve been taking classes, right? you told me you’d show me some moves.”

you blinked, the haze of sleep parting just enough for confusion to settle in. “oh my god, really? i said that?”

“yeah.” he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with that lopsided smirk that always made your stomach flip. “you said you’d show me your bjj.”

you stared at him. “my what?”

“your bjj,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “your brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

a beat of silence, and then you relaxed, a laugh bubbling out of you. “oh. guess i did.” you stretched your arms above your head, the movement pulling your spaghetti strap tank top up just slightly. “i bet i could show you some moves right now.”

eddie’s eyebrows shot up, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “right now? in the morning? before breakfast?”

“what’s the matter, eds?” you tilted your head, voice dropping into something teasing and sweet. “too chicken?”

he scoffed, pushing himself upright, the challenge landing exactly where you aimed it. “i’m not chicken. i’m just saying—you’re in my bed, in my room, and you wanna grapple with me first thing in the morning?”

“scared i’ll pin you?” you shot back, sitting up slowly, the sheet pooling around your waist.

his grin turned sharp, playful, his gaze dragging over you in a way that was half challenge, half something else entirely. “sweetheart, i’d like to see you try.”

“so it’s an invitation?”

“it’s a warning.” he leaned in, close enough that you could smell the sleep on his skin, his voice dropping to a murmur. “i don’t go easy on people who threaten me in my own bed.”

your heart stuttered, but you held his gaze, a smile curving your lips. “good. i’d be offended if you did.”

the second the words left your mouth, eddie lunged.

you let out a surprised yelp as he crashed into you, the both of you tumbling back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and laughter. the sheets twisted beneath you, and his weight pressed you into the pillows for half a second before you squirmed, hooked a leg around his, and rolled.

he hit the mattress with a grunt, the breath punched out of him. "shit—"

"too slow, eds," you breathed, already scrambling to pin his wrist to the bed.

but eddie was wiry and quick. he twisted beneath you, his hip bucking up hard enough to throw off your balance, and suddenly you were the one on your back again, his knee wedged between your thighs, his hands catching your wrists and pressing them into the pillow on either side of your head.

"who’s slow now, huh?" his voice was rough, his chest heaving against yours. a strand of his hair fell loose, brushing your cheek.

you bucked, trying to throw him off, but he had you pinned good. your breath came fast, a laugh hitching in your throat. "beginner’s luck."

"beginner's—" he laughed, breathless and disbelieving. "nah, this is just talent."

"talent my ass." you twisted your hips, and he made a small, strangled sound as your thigh pressed up between his legs. his grip on your wrists loosened just enough. you shoved, and he went rolling sideways, the two of you grappling across the rumpled sheets in a mess of grunts and half-stifled curses.

"fuck—" he grabbed for your waist, but you were already moving, swinging a leg over his torso and dropping your weight onto his chest. the air left him in a sharp oof.

"gotcha."

he bucked beneath you, strong and stubborn, his hands finding your hips, fingers digging in as he tried to unseat you. "not yet, you don't."

"eddie." you pressed down harder, your thighs squeezing his ribs. his back arched, muscles straining, and you could feel every shift of him beneath you, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. "just tap out."

"no."

you grinned, shifting your weight, and his breath stuttered as you bore down, one hand pinning his wrist to the mattress, the other pressing against his chest. "come on, say it."

“n-no, it's not happening."

he twisted again, and you almost lost your grip, your core tightening with the effort of holding him down. your hair fell forward, curtaining both your faces, and for a moment, all you could see were his eyes, dark and glittering and fixed on yours.

"tap," you said, softer now, but no less certain.

he held your gaze. his chest heaved. and then, slowly, his fingers curled against the mattress, and he tapped twice against the sheet.

a triumphant laugh broke out of you. "yes! yes." you flopped forward, your forehead dropping to his sternum, your body still shaking with the exertion. "i told you. i told you."

"okay, okay." his voice was strained, breathless, but there was a smile in it. his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his heart hammering hard and fast. "that was... that was pretty good."

"pretty good?" you lifted your head, propping your chin on his chest. "i destroyed you."

"you got lucky."

"i got good."

he snorted, but his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. his touch lingered, just a beat too long. "alright, hotshot. rematch."

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure you can handle another round? i’d hate to embarrass you twice in one morning."

"embarrass me?" he laughed, sitting up beneath you, and you had to scramble to keep your balance as he shifted. "i'm just warming up, sweetheart."

"mhm." you slid off him, settling onto your knees on the mattress, already rolling your shoulders. "so, same rules?"

"same rules." he mirrored you, his hands coming up in a loose guard, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "but this time, i’m not going easy on you."

"aw, you went easy on me?"

"i went gentle. i could’ve—"

you lunged.

but this time, he was ready. he caught your wrist, pivoted, and for a second, you thought he had you. but you dropped your weight, twisted, and wrapped your legs around his torso in a move that had him grunting in surprise.

"what the—"

you locked your ankles, your thighs squeezing tight around his neck, and suddenly he was trapped, his face pressed against the inside of your thigh, his body bent at an awkward angle as you rolled onto your back, pulling him with you.

"it’s triangle choke," you said, voice strained with effort.

his response was muffled. something between a laugh and a groan.

you tightened your legs. his hand came up, slapping weakly at your thigh. once. twice.

"tap?" you asked, breathless.

he tapped again, harder this time, and you loosened your hold, letting him pull his head free. he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, a hand pressed to his face.

"holy shit."

you grinned, rolling onto your side to face him. "see? i’m pretty good.”

he let out a breathless laugh, still catching his wind. "you didn't tell me you could do that."

"figured i’d keep it as a surprise."

he turned his head, looking at you with those big, dark eyes, his cheeks flushed, his hair a wild mess. "well, it definitely worked. that was... i didn't see that coming."

"most people don't." you propped yourself up on one elbow, feeling warm and pleased and a little smug. "you okay down there?"

"define okay." he shifted, clearing his throat, and you noticed the way his gaze dropped to your thighs for half a second before snapping back up. "i think i need a minute."

"from one round?"

"from that round." he sat up slowly, running a hand through his tangled hair. "you’ve been holding out on me."

"i told you i’d show you some moves."

"yeah, but i thought you meant, like... a wristlock or something. not..." he gestured vaguely at his own neck. "not getting put in a headlock by your legs."

you laughed, bright and genuine. "you liked it."

he swallowed. "i didn't say that."

"well, you didn't not say it."

he opened his mouth. closed it. looked away, a grin tugging stubbornly at the corner of his lips. "alright, fine. maybe i liked it. a little."

"just a little?"

he looked back at you, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that made your stomach flip. "maybe more than a little."

you held his gaze for a long moment, searching his eyes for something you weren't sure you'd find. that look in his eyes was still there, and it made your chest feel tight, so you looked away first.

there was something tense in the air, thick and unsaid. you cleared your throat.

"well, either way, you haven't pinned me down." you tried for teasing, but your voice came out a little quieter than you'd intended.

eddie scoffed, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "that’s 'cause I wasn't trying. if i did try, i would've pinned you down a long time ago."

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "yeah, right. you told me you weren't gonna go easy."

"i was joking," he clarified, and there was an edge of sincerity now. "if i did, i’d probably hurt you."

you snorted, not buying it for a second. "sure, eddie."

"don’t 'sure, eddie' me."

"then don't be so full of shit."

“oh, shut up.” he laughed.

“make me.”

so he did.

you two tumbled back onto the mattress, arms tangling, breath coming fast. there just the sound of your ragged breathing, the rustle of sheets, soft curses slipping out as you fought for leverage. his knee dug into the mattress beside your hip. your hand slipped against his forearm, both of you slightly slick with sweat.

then he had you.

he flipped you onto your stomach and pressed his weight down, chest against your back, the side of your face squished into the pillow. his breath was hot against your ear, ragged, triumphant.

"not so tough now, huh?" he was panting. "told you i’d pin you down."

you squirmed, thrashing beneath him, trying to find an angle, a gap, anything. but the movement dragged your ass back against him through his jeans, and he felt that unmistakable pressure.

his breath hitched. "hey—stop."

"i’m trying to get out," you shot back, still writhing.

"then—fuck—try a different way."

you didn't listen. you kept moving, kept twisting, until you heard it—a soft, low groan he couldn't quite swallow.

you froze.

then it clicked.

you went still for a second, letting the realization settle warm in your chest. and then you didn't stop. you moved again, slower this time, more deliberate—rolling your hips back against him with intention.

"jesus," eddie breathed, his voice cracking. his forehead dropped against the back of your shoulder. "you’re gonna kill me."

you didn't let up. you kept moving, slow and lazy, dragging your hips back against him like you were still searching for an escape. your voice came out sweet, breathless, edged with false concern.

"what’s wrong?" you murmured against the pillow. "getting tired, eds?"

he was quiet for a moment, just breathing—shallow, uneven, his chest heaving against your back.

"n-no," he stammered, and you felt his fingers twitch where they gripped your wrist. "i’m not tired. i can—" a sharp inhale as you rolled your hips again. "i can do this all day."

you hummed, a soft, pleased sound. "mm. if you say so."

you shifted beneath him, pretending to search for leverage, but you angled your hips deliberately this time—grinding back against him in a slow, torturous arc. his pelvis met yours, and you felt him through the denim, hot and hard and straining.

his breath stuttered.

"fuck—" it was barely a whisper, punched out of him before he could stop it.

you kept going. kept squirming. kept rolling your hips like you had no idea what you were doing, like this was just part of the game. and he let you. he didn't pull away. didn’t tighten his hold to stop you. he just stayed there, taking it, his breathing growing rougher by the second.

another soft groan escaped him, low and involuntary, vibrating against your spine.

"having fun up there?" you asked, your voice syrupy sweet.

he didn't answer. his jaw was clenched so tight you could almost hear his teeth grinding.

you moved again—slower this time, dragging your hips back in a languid, deliberate roll, letting him feel every inch of the friction. his breath caught. his whole body went rigid.

"okay." his voice was strained, hoarse. "okay, what the fuck kind of strategy is this?"

you blinked, all innocence. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"bullshit." but there was no heat in it. his voice had gone soft, almost wondering. "you know exactly what you're doing."

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his expression from the corner of your eye. his face was close—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his brow was furrowed, his lips slightly parted. he looked wrecked.

your stomach flipped.

"i’m just trying to get out," you said, but even you didn't believe it anymore.

eddie’s jaw clenched. he stared down at you, and for a long, heavy moment, he didn't move. didn’t speak.

his mind was racing.

the two of you had always been touching, teasing, pushing boundaries until they blurred. he’d bite your shoulder just to hear you yelp, and you'd retaliate by stealing his shirts and refusing to give them back. sometimes he'd lick your face when you were being annoying, and you'd shove him into walls, laughing. it was easy. it was fun.

but this?

this was different.

he’d been in love with you for so long he couldn't remember when it started. it had crept up on him slow, like sunrise—imperceptible until suddenly everything was golden and warm and he couldn't look away. he’d watched you laugh, watched you get frustrated, watched you fall asleep on his couch with your mouth hanging open. he’d memorized the sound of your footsteps, the way you said his name, the way your hand felt small in his when you weren't paying attention.

and now you were beneath him, grinding against him like you were trying to undo him, and you didn't even know. you were just playing. just trying to win some stupid game.

but for him, this was everything he'd never let himself have.

he swallowed hard.

"you think i give a shit?" his voice came out low, rough, but underneath it—soft. vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself sound. "i don't care if you're trying to get me to tap." his breath hitched as you shifted again. "it’s not—fuck—it's not gonna work."

he held himself still above you, every muscle coiled tight, his forehead nearly pressed to the back of your head.

"i can do this all day," he repeated, but the words came out broken, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

you should have stopped. you knew you should have stopped. the game had changed, shifted into something heavier, something that made your skin prickle with awareness. but his voice—that soft, rough edge to it—sent a thrill through you that you couldn't name.

so you didn't stop.

you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, and you heard him choke on a breath above you.

"eds," you whispered, and there was no teasing in it now—just curiosity, just heat. "you sure you're okay?"

he let out a breathless laugh, shaky and raw.

"no," he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "i’m really, really not."

the sound of his voice—that broken, breathless confession—settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and electric. it made you bold. made you reckless.

you moved again.

harder this time. slower, deeper, rolling your hips back against him with deliberate pressure, no longer pretending to search for escape. your body pressed flush against his, the friction sending a shock of heat through your veins. you felt him twitch against you, felt the sharp intake of breath that followed, and something dark and hungry unfurled in your stomach.

a low groan rumbled from his chest. it was guttural, involuntary, the kind of sound that seemed to surprise even him. his forehead dropped to the back of your head, his breath hot and uneven against your hair.

"oh, fuck," he breathed, the words barely audible, more air than sound.

you didn't stop.

you rolled your hips again, slower this time, letting the movement drag out until you could feel every inch of the contact. the denim of his jeans was rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, and the friction was maddening—not enough, never enough, but enough to make your pulse hammer in your throat.

his hands were still on your wrists, but his grip had gone slack. he wasn't holding you anymore. he was just... there. braces above you, trembling, his whole body taut as a drawn bowstring.

another roll of your hips. slower. harder.

his breath stuttered. a soft, broken sound escaped his lips—half groan, half whimper—and it sent a jolt straight through you. you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the space between your thighs. your skin flushed hot, your own breathing growing shallow.

you hadn't expected this. hadn’t expected him to sound like that. hadn’t expected the way it would make you feel—powerful, yeah, but also desperate. hungry in a way you didn't have words for.

you arched your back slightly, pressing your hips more firmly against him, and the sound he made in response was almost too much. a strained, shuddering exhale that turned into a low, guttural moan. his hips twitched involuntarily, pressing back against you, and you felt the hard length of him through the layers of fabric.

he was losing control.

you could feel it in the way his breathing had gone ragged, in the way his body shuddered against yours, in the way his fingers curled weakly around your wrists like he was holding on to the last shred of his composure.

you moved again—a slow, grinding circle of your hips that made his breath catch and then release in a shaky, desperate groan.

"jesus christ," he whispered, the word cracking at the edges. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. barely recognizable.

your body responded before your mind could catch up. a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. you were getting wet. you could feel it—a slick, growing warmth between your thighs that made the friction of your movements even more maddening.

you wanted more.

you shifted your hips, angling yourself differently, and when you rolled back against him this time, the pressure was perfect. the seam of your shorts pressed against you just right, and a small gasp escaped your lips.

eddie heard it.

his whole body went still for a moment, and then he let out a sound that was almost wounded—a low, desperate groan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. his hips moved against yours, grinding back in a slow, instinctual rhythm, and the feeling of him moving with you sent a shudder through your entire body.

your breath came faster now. your skin was hot, flushed, sensitive to every brush of fabric, every shift of his weight above you. you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, could smell the faint, familiar scent of him—cigarette smoke and worn leather and something warmer underneath.

his mouth found the curve of your shoulder.

it was tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against your skin, featherlight. but then you rolled your hips again, and his breath hitched, and his lips parted. his mouth pressed open against your shoulder, hot and wet, and you felt the faint graze of his teeth.

a shiver ran through you.

he did it again—his lips dragging across your skin, his breath hot and uneven. his hips moved with yours now, matching your rhythm, grinding against you in a slow, torturous push and pull that made your head spin.

his breathing was loud in your ear, ragged and uneven, punctuated by soft, helpless sounds that he couldn't seem to suppress. a groan here. a shuddering exhale there. a whispered curse that dissolved into a moan as you pressed back against him harder.

you were both moving now. no pretense. no game. just the slow, grinding rhythm of your bodies, the heat building between you, the sounds of his breathing filling the quiet room.

his hand moved.

it happened slowly—his fingers loosening around your wrist, sliding down your arm, trailing across your skin with a featherlight touch that made you shiver. his palm came to rest on your hip, his fingers curling against the curve of your waist.

he didn't pull you. didn’t guide you. he just... held you. like he needed something to hold onto.

his thumb traced a slow, absent circle against your hip bone, and the tenderness of the gesture, in the midst of all this heat, made your breath catch.

he pressed his forehead to the back of your head again, his breathing ragged, his body shuddering against yours.

"fuck," he breathed again, the word barely audible, wrecked and raw and reverent all at once.

you rolled your hips in response, slow and deep, and felt his whole body tense. his fingers dug into your hip, his breath caught in his throat, and a low, shuddering moan escaped him—longer than the others, more desperate, more broken.

he was completely lost in you.

and the sound of it—the feeling of him falling apart against you—was turning you on more than you had ever expected.

the shift in rhythm was subtle at first—a slight increase in the roll of your hips, a little more pressure as you ground back against him. but eddie felt it immediately. his breath stuttered, a soft, strangled sound catching in his throat.

you did it again. faster this time. harder.

his hips jerked in response, meeting your movements with a desperate, uncoordinated thrust. his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

"god," he breathed, the word barely a whisper, lost in the space between your bodies.

you moved faster. harder. the rhythm of your hips grew urgent, driven by something primal and hungry that coiled low in your stomach. the friction was maddening—rough denim and thin cotton, the heat of his body searing through the layers, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the room.

his eyes were shut.

you could feel it in the way his body moved against yours—blind, instinctual, lost. his brow was pressed to the back of your head, his lips parted, his breath hot and uneven against your scalp. his mind was blank. empty of everything except the feeling of you moving against him.

god, she feels so good.

the thought surfaced and drowned in the heat flooding his senses. he couldn't think. couldn’t form words. all he could do was feel—the slow, torturous grind of your hips, the soft sounds you made, the way your body fit against his like it was made for him.

he had imagined this before. late at night, alone in his van, when his mind wandered to places it shouldn't. he had pictured your hands on him, your mouth, your body pressed against his. but he had never let himself believe it could actually happen. you were too good for him. too bright. too far out of his reach.

but you were here. moving against him. making him feel things he didn't have words for.

and he was in love with you.

the thought hit him like a freight train, sharp and undeniable, and it made everything worse. made the ache deeper. made the heat in his blood burn hotter. because it wasn't just physical—it had never been just physical. every roll of your hips, every soft sound you made, every brush of your skin against his—it all meant something more to him.

his breathing grew ragged. shallow. his chest heaved against your back, and a low, desperate groan escaped his lips—louder than before, raw and unguarded.

your hips moved faster, grinding harder, and he felt himself losing the last thread of control.

“fuck," he gasped, the word cracking. "fuck, sweetheart—"

his hips bucked against you, chasing the friction, chasing the heat. his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he couldn't bring himself to care. all he could think about was you. the way you felt. the way you moved. the way you were unraveling him piece by piece.

i’m gonna—

the thought came too late.

his body tensed. his breath caught. and then it hit him—a wave of heat that crashed through him without warning, pulling a loud, broken moan from his lips. his hips jerked against you once, twice, as he spilled into his jeans, the release sudden and overwhelming and completely beyond his control.

he gasped. panted. his body shuddered through the aftershocks, his forehead pressed hard against the back of your head, his hands trembling against your hips.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

the only sound was his ragged breathing, loud in the quiet room, slowly evening out as the haze began to clear.

then his lips found your shoulder again.

soft, open-mouthed kisses, warm and trembling, trailing across your skin. he wasn't thinking. he was just... feeling. trying to ground himself. trying to remember how to breathe. his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the taste of your skin.

but then you moved.

in a flash, you twisted beneath him, your body rolling with sudden, fluid grace. he barely had time to register the shift before you were on top of him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands pressing his shoulders down against the mattress.

he stared up at you, wide-eyed, chest still heaving. a beat of silence. then a low, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

"you’re kidding me," he said, his voice still wrecked, still rough around the edges.

you pressed down harder, and he groaned—a soft, defeated sound that melted into another laugh.

"fine. fine." he raised his hands, palms open, and tapped twice against the mattress. "i tap. you win. congratulations, you defeated me, you little shit."

a grin spread across your face, bright and victorious. but there was a glint in your eyes. a question.

"did you just... come in your pants?"

his face flushed red.

he let his head fall back against the pillow, one hand dragging down his face.

"jesus christ," he muttered, his voice muffled behind his palm.

you raised an eyebrow, waiting.

he groaned. long and dramatic and full of self-pity. then he let his hand drop, staring up at the ceiling like he was praying for the floor to swallow him whole.

"yeah," he said, the word clipped and frustrated. "yeah, i did. i fucking came in my pants. you happy now?"

a laugh bubbled out of you—bright and genuine, not mocking, but warm. surprised.

"i didn't even do that much," you said, your voice teasing, but soft.

eddie’s eyes finally met yours. there was something in them—something raw and unguarded, something that made your laughter fade at the edges.

"yeah," he said quietly. "you did."

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. he meant more than he was saying. you could feel it in the way his gaze held yours, in the way his chest was still rising and falling too fast, in the way his hands had come to rest on your thighs—not pushing, not pulling. just... holding.

but you laughed it off, shaking your head, rolling your eyes with playful affection.

"guess i’m just that good."

the grin returned to his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. he was still looking at you like you were something he couldn't quite believe was real.

"yeah," he said again, softer this time. "i guess you are."

eddie’s eyes searched yours.

he told himself he was just looking. that he was just waiting for your next move, reading your body language, trying to figure out what you were going to do next. that’s all it was. just strategy.

but it wasn't.

he was looking for something else. some flicker of warmth, some crack in the playful facade that would tell him you felt even a fraction of what he felt. some sign that this meant more to you than just a game. some hint that you saw him—not just eddie the freak, not just eddie the dealer, not just eddie the guy who was convenient and willing and pressed against you in the morning.

but there was nothing.

your eyes were bright with mischief, sparkling with the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of winning. there was heat there, sure—a lazy, satisfied kind of desire that told him you were enjoying this. but it was surface-level. fun. a game you were playing because you could, because he was letting you, because it was easy and exciting and meant nothing the next day.

something in his chest cracked, just a little.

he looked away.

the ceiling was suddenly very interesting. water stains. a crack running from the corner to the light fixture. he focused on that instead of the weight of you on his hips, the warmth of your thighs bracketing his waist, the way his heart was pounding in his throat.

"wasn’t fair though," he said, forcing his voice into something lighter, something that sounded like him. "you grinding your ass up against me like that. pretty sure it's cheating."

you rolled your eyes, and he could feel the movement, could feel the shift of your weight as you adjusted above him. "i still won. plus you weren't really in a rush to stop me."

he snorted. "yeah, well. i was being polite. didn’t wanna hurt your feelings."

"uh huh. very chivalrous of you."

"i am a gentleman."

"you came in your pants."

"gentleman," he repeated, louder, and you laughed.

the sound did something to him. made the crack in his chest spread a little wider. he wanted to bottle it. keep it. listen to it on repeat in the lonely hours of the night when he was alone in his van, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.

but he didn't say that. he just grinned, letting the banter carry him, letting it be enough.

"rematch," you said, and before he could respond, you were moving.

this time, you were faster. smarter. you caught him off guard, your body twisting with practiced ease, and suddenly your legs were around his head again, your thighs pressing against his ears, and he was trapped.

"jesus christ—"

he struggled, but half-heartedly. his hands came up to grip your thighs, but he wasn't pushing. he was holding. his breath was warm against the inside of your leg, and he could feel the heat of you through your shorts, could smell the faint scent of your skin, could feel the way your body settled against his with comfortable familiarity.

but you didn't stop there.

you shifted. adjusted. your hips lowered, and suddenly you were positioned differently—not just holding him, but using him. your weight settled lower, and he felt the damp spot there, still cooling, still embarrassing.

your mouth found it.

"oh, fuckkk—"

he groaned, loud and broken, his hips bucking up instinctively as your lips pressed against the wet denim. the fabric was rough against your mouth, but beneath it, he was sensitive, aching, still trembling from the aftershocks of his release.

"fuck, this again?" he gasped, his voice muffled between your thighs.

you paused, just barely. your lips ghosted over the damp spot, and he could feel your smile against the denim.

"want me to stop?"

he knew what you were doing. you were giving him an out. a chance to say no, to retreat, to save whatever shred of dignity he had left.

but he didn't want an out.

he wanted you.

“no," he said, the word coming out rough and desperate. "don’t—don't stop."

your hands found the button of his jeans. the zipper. the sound of it lowering was loud in the quiet room, and eddie’s breath caught in his throat. he stared up at the ceiling, at the water stains, at the crack in the corner, and tried to remember how to breathe.

you pulled the denim open. his boxers were visible now—dark blue, damp in the center, clinging to him. he was half-hard again, stirred by the friction, by the heat of your mouth through the fabric, by the sheer overwhelming reality of you.

your tongue touched him through the cotton.

he moaned—a sound he couldn't control, couldn't hold back, couldn't disguise. it was raw and desperate and full of everything he was trying not to feel.

his hands found your thighs again, gripping tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

don’t feel this. don’t feel this. don’t feel this.

but he did.

he felt everything.

the wet heat of your mouth through the thin fabric. the slow, deliberate drag of your tongue along his length. the way you explored him like he was something to be savored, something to be learned. the way your breath ghosted over him between licks, cooling the spots where your mouth had been. you were basically cleaning up his release.

his chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. his hands trembled against your thighs, and he couldn't tell if he was trying to push you away or pull you closer.

"f-fuck," he stammered, his voice cracking. "do whatever you want to me. i’m still not gonna t-tap again."

you laughed against him—a soft, warm sound that vibrated through the cotton and made his hips jerk.

"we’ll see about that," you murmured. “you’re pretty easy to manipulate.”

eddie groaned softly as you licked him again. “s-shit, can you just put it in your mouth already?”

you hummed against him. “that’s not something a gentleman would say, eds.”

“i don’t care,” he panted. “just… please. just put my cock in your pretty mouth, please. instead of just… eating the come while you clean me off.”

you paused, a small smile forming at your lips. “you think my mouth’s pretty?”

he swallowed hard, realizing he had to be careful with his words if he was gonna keep this up.

“y-yeah. i think you’re pretty,” he failed immediately. “whatever. come on, just suck my—“

and then your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers.

he lifted his hips without thinking, helping you, letting you. the fabric slid down, and then he was exposed—hard and aching and damp with his own want. the air was cool against his skin, but your mouth was warm, and when you kissed him there—soft, almost tender—he thought he might die.

"fuck," he breathed, the word barely a whisper.

you kissed him again. slower this time. your lips pressed against the head of his cock, gentle and deliberate, like you had all the time in the world. like you wanted to memorize the shape of him, the taste of him, the way he gasped and trembled beneath you.

and then your tongue.

a slow, flat stroke from base to tip, and his whole body arched. a desperate, broken sound tore from his throat, and his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to leave marks.

you gave him more.

your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and perfect, and he felt his mind go blank. there was nothing but you—the feel of your lips, the stroke of your tongue, the way your throat relaxed to take him deeper. his hands slid from your thighs to your hair, fingers threading through the strands, not pulling, just... holding.

he was panting. moaning. muttering your name like a prayer, like a plea, like a confession.

"god, you—" his voice broke. "you feel so good.”

suddenly an idea popped into eddie’s head.

he arched his back deliberately, letting out a guttural moan that echoed through the small bedroom.

“fuuuuck, sweetheart. just like that. you’re gonna make me come again. right in that pretty mouth of yours—god..." his words were calculated, designed to throw you off your game while his hands gripped your thighs tighter.

you continued your work, taking him deeper as your tongue swirled around the sensitive head. your own arousal was building from the power dynamic, from having him completely at your mercy beneath you. but you weren't expecting what happened next.

the moment your mouth finally released him with a soft pop, replacing it with your hand stroking his length firmly, eddie moved. fast and decisive. in one fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, breaking free from your triangle hold with surprising strength fueled by adrenaline and arousal.

before you could process what was happening, you found yourself bent over his knee, your stomach pressed against his thigh, your ass raised high in the air. your hands braced against the mattress, steadying yourself as shock rippled through your body.

"what the fuck, eds—"

"yeah, right," eddie growled, his voice dripping with dark amusement as he positioned himself behind you. one strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you securely in place while his other hand hooked into the waistband of your shorts. "thought you were gonna get me again, huh?" he yanked your shorts down roughly, the fabric sliding past your hips and pooling around your knees along with your panties, leaving your lower half completely exposed to him.

his eyes darkened as he took in the sight before him—the curve of your ass, the glisten of moisture coating your inner thighs, the way your body trembled with anticipation and surprise. "holy shit," he breathed, his hand trailing possessively over the smooth skin of your rear. "look at you. all that just from teasing me, huh?"

"you’re such a good little slut for me, aren't you?" his thumb circled your entrance teasingly, feeling how wet you actually were. a low groan escaped him at the discovery. "this is what you wanted, wasn't it? to get me so worked up i couldn't think straight?"

the sharp crack of his palm against your bare flesh sent a jolt of sensation racing up your spine. you gasped, your fingers curling tightly into the rumpled sheets beneath you as the sting bloomed across your skin. a full-bodied shudder ran through you, and you whimpered—a sound that was equal parts pain and desperate need.

"eddie..."

hearing his name on your lips did something to him. something beyond the physical. the sight of you bent over his knee, your back arching involuntarily, your thighs trembling, your skin flushed pink wherever he'd touched—it hit him somewhere deep. like a punch directly to his heart.

"yeah? you like that, sweet girl?" his voice was rough and low, vibrating with barely restrained desire. his thumb traced slow circles over the reddened spot on your ass, soothing and tormenting in equal measure. "if you tap, i’ll play with you. i’ll make you feel reeealll good, i promise."

he gave you a moment to consider it. his hand rested warm and heavy on your hip, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you exactly who was in control now.

but you didn't tap.

of course you didn't. because you were competitive. because tapping meant admitting defeat. and you'd rather burn than give him the satisfaction.

eddie noticed. a slow, knowing grin spread across his face as he read your silence loud and clear.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker. possessive. "my stubborn girl."

his hand lifted, hovering in the air for one agonizing second—letting you anticipate, letting the anticipation build to almost unbearable levels—before his palm came down again with a firm, resounding smack against your other cheek.

"ah—!" the moan tore from your throat before you could stop it. your hips bucked involuntarily, pushing back against him in a way that was entirely contradictory to your attempt at maintaining composure. your walls clenched around nothing, your body betraying every ounce of defiance your mind was trying to cling to.

"there we go," eddie praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. his free hand slid between your legs, his fingers parting your slick folds with ease.

the sensation of his finger dipping into your heat was overwhelming, a sudden intrusion that made your breath hitch violently. he didn't rush; instead, he used his fingertip to circle your entrance, dragging through the thick, honeyed slickness he’d already observed. the sound of his movements—the wet, rhythmic sliding of skin against skin—was deafening in the quiet of the trailer.

"god, look at you," eddie groaned, his voice cracking with a primal sort of hunger. “you're fucking drowning in it, sweetheart. absolutely soaked. every time i touch you, you just... you melt."

he pushed a single finger inside, testing your tightness, and you let out a broken, high-pitched whimper that sounded nothing like your usual self. you tried to keep your jaw clenched, tried to maintain some semblance of that stubborn pride, but your body was a traitor. your hips were practically begging for him to fill the void, tilting back toward him instinctively.

"all you gotta do is tap, sweetheart," he whispered, “just one little tap and i’ll play with you. i’ll give you exactly what you’re aching for. you think i don’t know how much you want this? i’ve known you for so long, i’ve picked up a thing or two about what makes you lose your mind."

he pulled his finger out almost entirely, only to drive it back in deeper, pushing past the initial resistance until he hit that sweet spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"mmmgh—eddie, please—"

“please what?" he mocked softly, though his breathing was coming in ragged, heavy bursts now. he was losing his own battle with control, his cock twitching rhythmically. "tell me what you want. tell me you can't take it anymore. tell me you're ready to tap."

despite the mounting tension, you still didn't tap. you clung to the sheets, your knuckles white, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps as you fought the urge to give in.

eddie let out a low, dark chuckle. "still no, huh? you’re really going to make me edge you? it’s just one little tap, baby."

the nickname hit you like a physical wave. the word 'baby'—spoken in that specific, low register—sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, causing your internal muscles to clench tightly around his fingers. eddie groaned softly as he felt the sudden, desperate grip of your walls. it turned him on viciously, but it also made his heart clench with an intensity that terrified him. the raw intimacy of it, the way you reacted to him, made him want to make you feel good.

"yeah, you like it when i call you that, baby? fuck, you look so pretty like this. come here."

he shifted his weight, leaning over you more aggressively. he didn't let go of your heat, but he reached around, pressing his thumb firmly against your lips. you didn't hesitate; you leaned into it, sucking on his thumb with a desperate hunger, your whimpers muffled and wet against his skin.

"yeah, suck on that, sweet girl. drool on it if you want to," he groaned, his voice sounding strained, almost pained. "just take it. take everything i’ve got."

his fingers inside you shifted gears, moving from a slow tease to a rough, demanding pace. he was driving into you now, hitting that precise spot over and over again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. he could feel your body shaking, your breath hitching in a way that told him you were seconds away from shattering.

eddie pulled his thumb from your mouth. before you could even gasp for air, he slid his hand down, pressing that same thumb directly onto your swollen, hypersensitive clit. he began to rub in a fast, relentless rhythm, perfectly synchronized with the rough pace of his fingers inside you.

the dual stimulation was too much. your head snapped back, a loud, broken cry escaping your throat as the world dissolved into white noise and pure, blinding pleasure.

as waves of pleasure crashed over you, eddie kept up the relentless pressure. his fingers curled inside you, grinding against that perfect spot while his thumb circled your clit in tight, deliberate motions that had you seeing stars.

“come on, baby, you're so close, aren't you?" he taunted, his voice a mix of dark amusement and genuine wonder. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade, breathing heavily. "so fucking close to coming, huh? your wet, sloppy pussy's just aching to come, yeah? not until you tap though."

he punctuated his words with another sharp slap to your ass. the sting shot through the pleasure, intensifying it to an almost painful degree. you cried out, your whole body convulsing as a second orgasm threatened to tear you apart.

"c’mon, tap. i tapped for you earlier, baby," he murmured, his voice shifting into something sweeter, almost tender despite the cruel teasing. his thumb slowed its rhythm, becoming gentler as he coaxed you. "don’t you want to come? don’t you want to come for me?"

he knew you were fighting it. could feel the tension in your muscles as you battled against your own body's demands. it was infuriating and beautiful all at once. his heart swelled with something far deeper than simple lust.

"just one tap, sweetheart. give in. let me win this round," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

“please... eddie... please, i can't..." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking. you tried to pull away, to find some relief, but his hand on your hip was an anchor, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. "let me... just let me come, please!"

eddie’s grip tightened. he didn't relent; if anything, he increased the pressure, his fingers curling deeper, driving into you with a newfound, predatory urgency.

"no, baby, not yet," he purred, the teasing sweetness still there mixed with raw, commanding hunger. "don’t fucking come until i tell you to. you gotta tap."

"you’re... you're such a dick!" you sobbed out, a mixture of a laugh and a cry. you hated how much you loved this. you hated that even through the haze of ecstasy, your pride was still standing, stubborn and ridiculous. "fuck, i hate you, eddie!"

"yeah? you hate me?" his thumb worked your clit with a frantic, punishing speed that made your hips buck uncontrollably. "is that right? no, you don't hate me, sweetheart. you love—“ he paused. “…this. you love being told what to do by me, don’t you?”

he leaned down, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, leaving a mark that made you whimper.

"yeah? you’d rather i just edge you like that?" he taunted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register that sent a fresh chill of arousal down your spine. "just drill that fucking pussy with my fingers? is that what you want? guess i should just fuck you then, huh? i’ll flip you over, pin you down, and pound you until you can't even remember your own name, let alone how to be stubborn."

the mental image was too much. your breath hitched, your lungs feeling too small for the air you were trying to pull in.

eddie’s gaze was unwavering; he watched every tremor of your muscles, every frantic roll of your eyes, looking for any sign of surrender. but even as his lust burned white-hot, a deep, aching pang of longing throbbed in his chest. he didn't just want to conquer your body. he wanted to pull you into his arms and kiss you until neither of you could breathe, to tell you everything he had been hiding behind jokes and hair-ruffling for years.

“yeah," he breathed, his voice a jagged edge of desire. "i’m gonna pump that pussy full of come. is that what you want, baby? to feel me inside you, filling you up?"

you were a broken, moaning mess. your protests had dissolved into incoherent pleas, your pride finally buckling under the sheer weight of the sensation. you were hovering on the precipice, your entire being vibrating with the need to shatter, but eddie was a master of torment. every time you reached for the peak, he shifted his rhythm, pulling back just enough to leave you gasping and empty.

suddenly, the friction stopped. the sudden absence of his fingers felt like a physical wound.

before you could even find your breath to protest, eddie moved. with a surge of strength that caught you off guard, he gripped your hips and flipped you over. you landed hard against the mattress, your legs falling open instinctively, your chest heaving as you stared up at him through a veil of damp hair.

he didn't care about the game anymore. the competition, the tapping, the teasing—it had all been burned away by a sudden, primal necessity. he needed to be in you.

eddie hovered over you, his eyes dark and hooded, looking like a man possessed. he guided himself to your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick, swollen folds. he paused for a heartbeat, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.

then, with one heavy, decisive thrust, he drove himself home.

"oh god—oh god, fuck," he groaned, the sound tearing from his lungs as he buried himself deep within you. the sensation of your tight, pulsing heat swallowing him whole was almost more than he could bear.

your hand immediately found his arm, fingers digging into the taut muscle of his bicep as you tilted your head back against the pillow. the sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, sent sparks cascading behind your eyelids. a raw, guttural moan escaped your lips, his name tumbling from them without thought.

"oh fuck, eddie, you feel so good..."

the praise hit him like a freight train. his cock twitched inside you, swelling thicker as a shudder rolled through his entire body. the way you looked beneath him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed crimson, your nails leaving crescent marks in his skin—it was beautiful. devastating. everything he'd ever wanted and more.

it wasn't just the sex; it was the fact that it was you. hearing you worship him, feeling your hands clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth, sent a wave of possessive, overwhelming love through him.

"yeah?" he panted, his hips finding a slow, rolling rhythm as he settled into the depth of you. "that feel good for you, baby? take that cock, sweet girl, take it all in." his voice was reverent, almost worshipful, despite the crude words. one hand slid under your lower back, arching you slightly, changing the angle just enough to make you gasp.

he began to move. slowly at first, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him like a glove, then gradually building momentum. each thrust was deliberate, deep, pushing to the hilt before withdrawing almost all the way, only to slam back inside with a force that made the bed creak in protest. the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting filled the trailer alongside your cries.

"hold onto me," he grunted, his pace quickening. "don’t let go, okay? not... not ever."

your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, and eddie’s control fractured further. he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in while kissing at the skin—taking in the scent of sweat mixed with your perfume—as his hips pistoned into you with increasing desperation.

"i’m not gonna last," he admitted as he pulled back, his voice cracking. "not without you. come with me, baby, please. you’ve been so good. you can come now."

as your moans grew louder, more desperate, eddie’s gaze flickered downward. for a split second, he looked at your lips—swollen and parted and glistening—and something in his expression shifted. raw vulnerability flickered across his features before he masked it with another thrust.

you noticed.

"what, y-you wanna—fuck—kiss me, eds?"

you couldn't help yourself. even now, even with his cock driving into you and your entire world dissolving into sensation, you had to tease him. had to push him just a little further.

he swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. he saw the desire, the need reflected in your eyes, and suddenly, the longing that had been building beneath the physical urgency erupted. it was a desperate bid to bridge the gap between the physical act and the soul-deep connection he craved.

he closed the distance in an instant. his mouth crashed onto yours—deep, messy, and passionate. it was hungry, a furious expression of every moment of wanting, every unspoken feeling that had coiled inside him for so long. he kissed you with the ferocity of a man who was pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that kiss, trying to communicate everything he couldn't say aloud.

your initial surprise melted away instantly, replaced by a reciprocal fire.

as you met his mouth with a desperate, frantic hunger, your movements were driven by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of him—the friction, the heat, the primal urge to feel more, to lose yourself in the pleasure he was providing. you were chasing the peak, riding the wave of physical ecstasy that threatened to drown you.

but eddie... eddie was somewhere else entirely. every time his lips pressed against yours, it wasn't just about the sensation; it was almost like a prayer. he was trying to anchor himself to you even as the world blurred around the edges.

he broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged, uneven hitches. his lips migrated from your mouth to your jawline, trailing hot, wet kisses down to the sensitive dip of your neck. his nipped at your skin, his teeth grazing you just enough to make you arch your back, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

"come on, baby... come on my cock," he groaned against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that thrummed through your entire body. he found your clit again, his thumb working with a rhythmic, punishing precision that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. "i got you, i got you. fuck, you look so pretty... you look so fucking beautiful..."

the praise, delivered with such raw, unadulterated devotion, was the final catalyst. your world fractured. a sharp, high-pitched cry escaped your throat as your muscles convulsed around him, the orgasm crashing over you in violent, delicious waves.

eddie let out a low, guttural groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he felt you tremble beneath him. he didn't slow down; if anything, the feeling of you tightening around him drove him closer to the edge. "oh, fuck... atta girl. atta girl, you did so good," he murmured, his voice thick with pride and adoration. he peppered your neck with frantic, soothing kisses, trying to steady you even as his own control began to disintegrate.

his body continued its relentless, insistent rhythm, each thrust a testament to the building storm within him. his words were a low, husky promise, his voice scraping against your skin like a gentle rasp. "oh, i’m gonna come... gonna come inside you, baby, you want it? you want me to come in that wet little cunt of yours?"

your response was a desperate, whimpish nod, your voice barely audible over the thrumming of your pulse. "yeah, eds, i want it. give it to me." the words were a siren's call, beckoning him closer to the edge.

and then, in an instant, he was over it. a low, breathless groan escaped his lips as he came hard inside you, his body locking up in a spasm of release. soft curses and a string of muttered oaths accompanied the violent, shuddering convulsions of his climax.

“f-fuck, oh god, yeah…”

as you both panted, struggling to catch your breath, his gaze met yours in a fleeting, shining moment. his eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with the aftermath of his orgasm, but beneath the haze of pleasure, a glimmer of something else lingered. something that looked almost like hope.

he kissed your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips tracing a soft, comforting path along the delicate curve of your skin. his hand rose to your hip, resting there lightly as if anchored to your very existence.

then your hand moved up to tangle itself in his damp curls, fingers threading through the long, wavy strands with a gentleness that made his heart ache.

to eddie, that gesture was everything. that simple, innocent touch told him more than any confession ever could. for one fragile, suspended moment, he allowed himself to believe—that maybe, just maybe, you saw him differently. that the connection he felt wasn't just one-sided.

but he knew better.

"come here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and tender. he tilted your chin up with careful fingers, guiding your lips toward his. the second kiss was a revelation compared to the first. softer. slower. still carrying the embers of the previous passion, but burning with something deeper—something patient and aching and brave all at once. his lips moved against yours with a reverence that bordered on worship, savoring every millimeter of contact.

you hummed against his mouth, and the sound made his chest tighten painfully.

don’t pull away. don’t pull away. don’t pull away.

he kissed you until neither of you could breathe, and then he kissed you some more.

but as you pulled back, a soft giggle slipped from your lips. eddie smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. “what?”

you shook your head, still a little breathless. “nothing. just… didn’t expect us to become fuck buddies, i guess.”

your words landed like a knife between his ribs. fuck buddies. two words that reduced everything he'd just experienced—the emotional nakedness, the quiet desperation in his own kisses—to something casual.

like it was something transactional

he kept his expression carefully neutral, but the muscle in his jaw tightened. he looked away, staring at the wall of his cramped bedroom as if it contained the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. his thumb traced an absent circle against your hip, the motion mechanical now rather than intentional.

"yeah, me neither," he said quietly. too quietly. the words carried far less weight than the silence that surrounded them.

he expected this to happen, but it still pained him to hear how casual you were about it. he felt like an idiot for even letting himself hope.

you laughed lightly, and he forced a small smile, still not meeting your eyes. he could feel the shift between them—a subtle, imperceptible cooling, like a cloud passing over the sun. you probably didn't notice it. or maybe you did and simply didn't care.

he cleared his throat, disentangling himself slowly. the loss of contact was immediate and acute—like a phantom limb, he felt the absence of your warmth against his skin with painful clarity. he sat up on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled curls, trying to collect himself.

"so," he started, his voice settling back into its usual easy cadence—but something underneath it had shifted. a guard going back up. walls rebuilding brick by brick. "guess we should, uh... probably get breakfast or something."

he stood, stretching his tall frame, deliberately keeping his back turned to you. he needed a moment to compose himself—to push down the ache that was blooming in his chest like a bruise turning purple. he grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, the mundane act helping to ground him back in reality.

it’s fine. it’s just sex. just because you caught feelings doesn't mean she owes you anything.

he glanced over his shoulder, forcing that signature lazy grin. "unless you wanna stay in bed all day. i’m not complaining either way." the joke fell flat in his own ears, and he hoped you didn't hear it.

you didn't notice the flicker of pain in his eyes or the way his smile didn't quite reach them. as he sat back down, you simply leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. to you, it was a sweet gesture of affection; to eddie, it was a gentle twist of a knife, a reminder of how effortless this was for you while he was drowning in it.

“can’t. i gotta get home soon or my parents will freak,” you said, your voice light and cheerful. you stood up, grabbing your panties and shorts from the floor and tugging them on with a casualness that made his heart sink. eddie sat there, frozen, watching you with a longing so profound it felt physical. he traced the line of your silhouette, memorizing the way you looked in the morning light, knowing that the intimacy he’d just felt was a secret he would have to carry alone.

“fuck, where are my keys?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“probably on the dresser, sweetheart,” he answered softly, his voice lacking its usual theatrical energy.

you found them and let out a sigh of relief, stepping back into his space one last time to plant a quick, friendly kiss on his cheek. “thanks, eds. and thanks for… whatever this was,” you added with a little chuckle, the phrase 'whatever this was' echoing in his mind as a definitive label for their new arrangement. “i’ll see you later, yeah?”

you were already halfway to the door, your energy buzzing and untroubled. eddie just sat there, his shoulders slumping slightly as the silence of the room rushed back in to fill the void you left behind. he nodded, his gaze softening into something mournful.

“yeah,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “see ya.”

he waited until the sound of your footsteps faded and the door clicked shut before he let out a long, shaky breath. he sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, the ghost of your scent still clinging to his skin and the crushing weight of an unrequited love settling heavily in his chest…

[moontannedmunson]

thinking about that one former!hs!teacher!eddie piece i started a few weeks ago

[hamilhansen]

Imagine you just had your first baby with Eddie and you’ve decided not to continue breastfeeding, it just wasn’t working out for whatever reason and you decide to stop around week six.

And you can’t figure out why your milk supply just won’t dry up. You’ve been leaking constantly, small dribbles here and there, but enough to have to wear the little pads in your bra to catch the moisture. You’re pretty sure it’s well past time that they dried up, the doctor said you’d stop producing if they weren’t being stimulated.

Turns out Eddie’s been suckling tiny amounts of milk out of them when he latches onto your nipples during sex.

You find out when you’re four months post-partum and mention that your boobs are STILL leaking and he says “Oh yeah, I got some last time I was suckin’ on ‘em. Doesn’t taste as weird as you’d think.”

And you just look at him with wide eyes, completely exasperated and he has the audacity to gawk back at you, confused at the look you’re giving him and just says “…What?”

(@dathomireternal you said drunk Eddie needs boobs to live and this is where my mind landed and I don’t know why 🙃🤣)

[lovrre]

All roads lead back to Eddie Munson smut

[dixontardis]

Heyyy! So glad your back!

Could you do an Eddie Munson Fluff? Reader and Eddie are smoking a joint together. Reader having a low tolerance and getting really stoned. Admitting she has a crush on Eddie. Reader is new to Hawkins, and Eddie is her only friend. Reader is scared he doesn’t like her back, but is definitely wrong hehe.

Thank you <3

A/N: sorry on the wait for this, here you go!!

warnings: weed use

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

The faint glow of the string lights Eddie had strung across the ceiling of his trailer cast a warm, hazy halo over everything. Ozzy was playing low on the stereo and the sweet, skunky scent of the joint filled the small space. You were curled up on the worn couch beside him, knees tucked to your chest, passing the joint back and forth like you’d done a handful of times since you moved to Hawkins three months ago.

Eddie was your only real friend here. Everyone else at Hawkins High either ignored the new girl or whispered about her hanging around with “the Freak” But Eddie? He’d welcomed you instantly, offered you a seat at the Hellfire table on day one, shared his lunch when you forgot yours, and never once made you feel like an outsider.

Tonight, though, your tolerance was betraying you hard.

“Shit” you mumbled, giggling as the smoke curled out of your mouth. Your head felt floaty, like it was full of helium balloons. The edges of the room were soft and sparkly. “Eddie… I think I’m really, really stoned”

He laughed that bright, infectious laugh, his dark curls bouncing as he leaned back against the couch, one arm draped casually behind you. “Yeah? Lightweight” he teased, but his brown eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners. “Told you to take it easy on the second hit, sweetheart. You’re cute when you’re gone, though”

You buried your face in your hands, peeking at him through your fingers. The words were bubbling up before you could stop them, loosened by the weed and the safe warmth of his presence.

“I have a crush on you” you blurted, voice small but steady, “Like… a big one. I’ve been scared to say it because you’re my only friend here and what if you don’t feel the same and then it gets weird and I lose you and I’ll have to eat lunch in the bathroom again-”

Eddie’s eyes widened, the joint pausing halfway to his lips. For once, the King of Dramatic Monologues was speechless for a solid three seconds.

Then he grinned - slow, crooked, and devastating.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice dropping into that gentle register he only used when it was just the two of you. He set the joint in the ashtray and turned fully toward you, one ringed hand gently pulling yours away from your face. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Sweetheart, I’ve been crushing on you since you sat down at my table and asked if the dice were ‘demonic’ or just ‘nerdy’ Thought you knew”

Your heart did a somersault that felt extra dramatic in your stoned state. “You...what?”

Eddie chuckled, scooting closer until your knees bumped. “I like you. A lot. More than a lot. You’re the only person in this shitty town who looks at me like I’m not just some devil worshipping reject. You laugh at my dumb jokes. You get excited about campaigns. And you’re funny as hell when you’re not overthinking everything” He tapped your nose lightly. “Also, you’re stupidly cute when you’re high. Look at those big eyes”

You let out a watery little laugh, the relief hitting you like a second wave. “I was so scared..”

“C’mere” he murmured, and before you could overthink it, he tugged you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, you melted against him, face tucked into the crook of his neck as he rubbed slow circles on your back.

“You’re not losing me” he said softly, lips brushing your hair. “Not ever. We’re stuck with each other now, newbie. Hellfire, late night smoke sessions, the works. And if you want… we can do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing too. I’m down. Way dow”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, cheeks warm, grin dopey from both the weed and the happiness flooding your chest. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah” He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Been waiting for you to say something, but I didn’t want to pressure you. Figured you’d come around when you were ready”

You laughed again, “I’m really high right now”

“I know” he said fondly. “It’s adorable. We can talk more when you’re less floaty. But for the record..” He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, then one to the tip of your nose. “I like you back. A stupid amount”

You snuggled deeper into his chest, the music fading into a cozy blur as his heartbeat thumped steadily under your ear. Hawkins still felt strange and lonely sometimes, but right here, wrapped up in Eddie Munson, it finally felt like home.

-------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @gennemi @staley83 @catmomstyles3 @dumbfxck00 @bad-wolf1991 @crimsoncircuit

Click here for request info - taglist info 

[moontannedmunson]

Pool Cues & Crossed Lines

⋆˚꩜｡pairing: eddie x bff!fem!reader ⋆˚꩜｡summary: After three months of listening to your best friend brag about the size of his dick, you finally decide to call his bluff. ⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit sexual content 18+ minors do not interact | no y/n, afab!fem!reader, best friends to lovers, alcohol use, light praise kink, unprotected p in v, eddie is a cocky mf, i think that’s all? ⋆˚꩜｡word count: 4.8k+ ⋆˚꩜｡a/n: loosely inspired by this post right here, that has been sitting for literal years in my likes lol hope this is readable x // still on my writing break! just wanted to drop this<3

Eddie Munson was the bane of your fucking existence.

He was too loud, always yelling or laughing directly into your ear until it rang for the rest of the night. He was kind of disgusting too, forever burping in your face or wearing the same dirty socks because he’d forgotten to do the laundry again. He was annoying in every sense of the word. In fact, if you looked up annoyance in the dictionary, you’d literally find a picture of him grinning proudly at the camera.

Unfortunately, you’d grown more than used to all of it, considering he’d also been your best friend for years.

Although, lately, you’d been seriously considering giving him a different title instead. Best asshole. Best cocky motherfucker. Best creep.

Those last two had a nice ring to them, actually.

Especially considering that, ever since he’d lost his virginity three months ago, he’d developed an insufferable habit of flashing you that smug, sideways grin while going on and on about how big his dick supposedly was.

“I’m serious, sweetheart.” He leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself as his gaze dragged lazily over you before settling on your face again. “There’s no way someone like you could fit it.”

Ignoring the second glance he snuck down your cleavage as you leaned over the pool table, you lined up your shot with steady hands and fixed your eyes on the cue ball.

“What do you want me to say, Eddie?”

You pressed the tip of your tongue against the inside of your cheek as the cue brushed over your knuckles while you drew it back, just enough to steady the swing.

“Congratulations?”

The stick slid forwards in one smooth, measured movement, sending the cue ball snapping across the felt.

“Or condolences for never, ever finding someone willing to hop on your monstrous dick?”

One by one, the balls found their places. The striped ball disappeared into the pocket with a muted click, clean and final.

You didn’t rush to celebrate. Instead, you studied the table for a second longer, taking in the angle you’d left yourself before stepping into position for your next shot. It looked good when you leaned over the felt, cue gliding through your fingers as you lined it up.

Except it wasn’t, and the object ball caught the jaw of the pocket with a dull clack before spinning back onto the table.

“Aw, fuck,” you muttered under your breath, straightening as you stepped aside.

Eddie let out a low whistle as he took your place, that stupid, cocky grin still plastered across his face. Leaning over the table, he tapped the cue against the rail once before lining up his own shot. A sharp crack echoed through the empty bar as the cue ball connected, sending one of the solids banking neatly into the corner pocket.

“Listen, dude, I’m just saying.” Eddie shrugged as he pushed himself upright and reached for his beer.

Circling the table with your cue balanced loosely in one hand, you searched the table for what he’d left behind.

“Saying what, exactly?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“That it’s a genuine problem,” he replied over the rim of his beer bottle. “Remember that girl I fucked in the back of the van last week?”

Before you could even tell him to stop, he was already launching into the story.

Apparently, she’d spent half the time insisting he was too big while stubbornly trying to take all of him anyway.

You answered by leaning over the pool table once more, deliberately focusing on your shot instead of the absolute bullshit coming out of his mouth. The cue slid smoothly through your fingers before the cue ball rolled forward with a satisfying crack.

“Dude.” You scrunched your nose in disgust as you straightened. “I do not need to know all the details.”

Eddie flashed that infuriating grin again, dragging the tip of his tongue lazily across his lower lip.

“You don’t have to hear the details,” he said with a shrug. “You could always skip straight to the practical demonstration.”

And there it was.

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had held your gaze a little longer than necessary while spewing some ridiculous bullshit about taking him for a test drive. It came with years of friendship – careless, empty words tossed around for no other reason than to get a rise out of you.

But, see, Eddie had somehow forgotten who he was talking to – you. The physical incarnation of intrusive thoughts, and the only person who could match Eddie’s freak – or his stupidity.

The rest of your friend group had perfected the art of staying out of it; they’d learned years ago that the quickest way to become collateral damage was to accidentally encourage either of you.

And once one of you committed to the bit, the other treated it like a declaration of war.

Big mistake on Eddie’s part for forgetting that.

“Alright,” you said with a dramatic sigh as you pushed yourself away from the pool table. “Strip.”

Eddie’s hand stalled halfway to his mouth, the beer bottle hovering just below his lips. The cocky grin faltered for only a second before he recovered with a chuckle.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

“I’m  serious.” You raised an eyebrow. “You closed the place an hour ago. It’s just the two of us here.”

Crossing the room, you slid your cue back onto its rack before grabbing your beer from the table behind him. You tipped back the last mouthful and set the empty bottle down with a hollow thunk before turning back to him.

“So…” You folded your arms across your chest. “Strip.”

“I’m not just gonna–”

“Why not?” You tilted your head, all mock sympathy. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself?”

Eddie scoffed, although it lacked some of its earlier confidence. “Of course not–”

“Then fucking strip and get on the pool table.”

Eddie blinked, caught off guard for the briefest moment, before that crooked grin slowly crept back onto his face. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the grin returning despite the lingering pink in his cheeks.

“Jesus H. Christ. You’re actually serious.”

“I’m dead serious, Eddie.” You kept staring at him, thoroughly unimpressed by the fact he still hadn’t moved. “Do I have to come over there and do it myself?” You’d barely finished the sentence before uncrossing your arms and taking a few deliberate steps towards him. “Because I will.”

“What–”

“You know, I don’t believe a word that’s come out of your mouth for the past three months.” You stopped in front of him, curling your fingers into the open front of his flannel just enough to tug him a fraction closer. Holding his gaze without blinking, you added, “So here’s your chance, big boy. Prove me wrong.”

Eddie searched your face for the punchline, but there wasn’t one.

The flirting had become second nature a long, long time ago, neither of you really able to pinpoint exactly when. Somewhere along the way, the lingering touches, the forced proximity, and the teasing words had all become part of the game the two of you played more often than not.

A game that had never gotten this far before.

And somehow, Eddie didn’t seem to mind.

A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind his back and set his beer on the edge of the table, and then his hands settled on your hips instead.

“Look, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckled, tightening his grip on your hips. “How about you take me out to dinner first, hm?”

“You already made me buy you a shot during your shift.” You shot him an unimpressed look before tightening your fingers around his flannel. With a firm tug, you slipped it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor between you. “You’re stalling, and I’m getting impatient.”

A crooked grin spread across Eddie’s lips as he flickered his gaze up and down your face. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

His gaze lingered on yours for another beat as the tip of his tongue swept lazily across his lower lip. Giving your hips one final squeeze, he finally let go and took a few unhurried steps backwards. He winked, and then reached for the button of his jeans.

“This better be worth my time, Munson.”

Taking a few steps back yourself, you leaned against the edge of the pool table before hoisting yourself up to sit on it.

Ignoring the raised eyebrow Eddie shot your way, you hooked your fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and peeled it over your head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere in his general direction.

Eddie’s ringed hands stalled for the briefest moments as his eyes wandered over your frame – or, more specifically, the lacy bra hugging your chest just a little too well for his own peace of mind.

This felt vastly different from seeing you in a bikini.

Maybe it was because there was nothing casual about it. Nothing accidental about you taking your shirt off for him, on purpose.

Or maybe it was the faint outline of your nipples beneath the lace.

Whatever the reason, it was definitely not why his fingers hesitated for that split second before he forced himself to continue undoing his jeans.

Eddie’s entire shift had been so fucking loud that, by the end of it, his head had been pounding behind his temples.

Now though? The quiet was somehow worse. The low hum of the bar fridges beneath the counter and the steady ticking of the clock somewhere behind him suddenly sounded deafening. There was no music or drunken chatter to drown out the frantic pounding of his heartbeat – or the fact that you didn’t seem to have any intention of backing down.

Which, naturally, meant Eddie wasn’t about to back down either.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat and praying you hadn’t noticed, he forced that cocky grin back into place before kicking off his shoes and shoving his jeans down the rest of the way.

“Gonna take off that skirt of yours,” he scoffed as he hooked a thumb beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head, “or do you want me to do it?”

“Hm.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider the offer as the tip of your tongue swept lazily across your lower lip. “Promise not to cum the second you see my panties?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, though the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth never quite disappeared. “Real funny, sweetheart.”

He closed the distance between you with a couple of slow, deliberate steps. Curling his hands around your hips once more, Eddie lifted you off the edge of the pool table in one smooth motion, earning a startled shriek from you. He pulled you flush against his bare chest, looking at you through his lashes before a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

His tongue swept lazily across his lower lip as he let his hands drift from your hips to the waistband of your skirt. Tilting his head forwards, he brushed the tip of his nose against yours while his fingers found the button.

The soft click of it coming undone echoed through the otherwise silent bar, and then came the quiet rasp of the zipper down. The sound lingered in the air for a moment before your skirt pooled around your ankles with a muted thud.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked quietly, his fingertips lingering against the bare skin of your waist.

His grin lingered as his hands drifted back down to your hips. Warm, calloused fingers settled against your skin before tightening just enough to lift you onto the edge of the pool table once more.

“You gonna keep stalling, or are you gonna show that supposedly big dick of yours?” you murmured, instinctively curling your legs around his waist as a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Eddie scrunched his nose in mock offence, looking almost genuinely offended by your choice of words. “Don’t objectify me.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing for the last three months?” You shot him a flat look.

He opened his mouth like he’d already thought of the perfect comeback, only to stop himself halfway through. A dry, disbelieving laugh escaped him instead as he shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“…Yeah, alright. Fair enough.”

For a second, you couldn’t remember what either of you had been saying as your gaze drifted across his face. It lingered on his parted lips for the briefest moment before finding his eyes again.

Eddie had always been Eddie – loud, obnoxious, and completely insufferable. The kind of asshole who’d burp in your face just because he knew it’d piss you off, steal fries off your plate after insisting he wasn’t hungry, and somehow turn every conversation into an opportunity to talk about himself.

Somehow, standing this close to him now, with your legs curled around his waist, he also looked unfairly handsome.

You hated that realisation.

More than that, you hated the fact that your eyes kept drifting back to his mouth – and that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by them.

You could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched into that stupid, cocky grin, and the way he stood there looking entirely too pleased with himself, as though he’d already decided he’d won.

There was no way in Hell you were about to let Eddie win this round.

So, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forwards and pressed your lips against his.

Eddie froze for the briefest moment, clearly caught off guard by the sudden kiss. His eyes widened just slightly before they fluttered shut again, a quiet, almost disbelieving hum escaping him like he hadn’t expected you be the one to close the distance first.

Then, as if remembering exactly who he was kissing, that familiar confidence returned. His grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly as he tilted his head, meeting you halfway and deepening the kiss with an ease that made your stomach twist.

His lips were every bit as soft as they’d looked, and it drove you just a little bit insane how unfairly good the asshole was at kissing. The steady pressure of his mouth against yours sent warmth blooming through your chest, only intensifying when he lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before finally drawing back enough for the two of you to breathe.

“I thought I’d told you to get on the pool table,” you murmured, still slightly out of breath.

Looking up at him through your lashes, you swept your tongue across your lips, unconsciously catching the lingering taste of the kiss as you slowly unfurled your legs from around his waist.

Eddie, however, didn’t seem all that eager to let go. One hand lingered on your hip while the other drifted to the strap of your bra. He gave it a curious tug before letting it snap gently back against your skin, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Getting desperate already?”

“Just wanna get this nightmare over with,” you replied with a dramatic roll of your eyes, giving his chest of a half-hearted shove.

“Sure, sweetheart.” Eddie chuckled as he finally let go of your hip. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Turning just enough for the small of his back to meet the edge of the pool table, he hoisted himself onto it before shuffling towards the middle of the green felt. Once has was comfortably settled, he folded his arms behind his head and looked over at you with some infuriating grin.

“Gonna make me sit here in anticipation just so I can be impossibly disappointed?” you scoffed, pushing yourself away from the edge of the table anyway.

“Wanna do the honours?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he nodded towards his boxers.

Resting one knee on the felt before the other, you shuffled closer until you found yourself sitting between his parted legs. The green felt rubbed roughly against his back, but Eddie didn’t seem to care too much about it when your soft hands trail up his thighs.

Your gaze was fixed on Eddie, studying and memorising every single twitch of his face as you skimmed your fingers against the cotton material of his boxers before pulling back again.

You reached behind and unclipped your bra, slowly pulling the straps down your arms until there was nothing to keep Eddie’s eyes from drinking you in. Just for the Hell of it, you threw the lacy material in his face with a smug grin spread across your lips.

The soft glow of the bar casted soft shadows across your exposed chest, highlighting every dip and curve. His dark brown eyes are completely on your breasts, commuting each detail to memory – perfect, with a beautiful roundness to them, and hardened nipples that nearly drove him insane. Eddie’s palms itched to touch, to feel their weight in his ringed hands, and it took all of his self-control not to reach for you, to pin you down and cave in, to Hell with this stupid game between you.

But he waited, breath held, for you to make the next move as he did his best to keep that confident, stupid smirk on his face.

Eddie’s eyes pulled away from your breasts to the red lacy bra that had fallen onto his chest. “You know I’m keeping this, right?”

“You get souvenirs and I get disappointment?” you muttered, leaning forwards. “Doesn’t sound fair to me.”

“Only disappointment that you won’t make it fit, sweetheart.”

Anticipation coursed through your veins as your fingers grazed his hips before curling around the waistband of his boxers. Eddie lifted his hip silently, letting you slide his boxers down his thighs until he kicked it somewhere to the floor behind you.

The cool air fanned his bare skin, raising goosebumps in its wake – or maybe that was just the weight of your parted lips and gaze fixed on his cock.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The bastard hadn’t been lying.

There was absolutely no fucking reason for someone’s dick – especially Eddie’s, of all fucking people – to be this big.

He was long, a little thicker than your wrist, and the tip of his cock, swollen and desperate, was a beautiful shade of pink that matched his lips almost perfectly. And his balls, holy– They were absolutely perfect. Big, and round, and slightly droopy, beautifully adorned with a bush of tight, dark curls.

The lack of reaction – which, frankly was a reaction in and on itself – merely made Eddie’s smug grin widen as you kept staring dumbly at his cock.

“So, what do you say, sweetheart?” He chuckled lowly, reaching for one of your thighs. He trailed a finger along the seam of your inner thigh, delighting in the way you shuddered. “Is it gonna fit? Or is it too big for you?”

“I–”

“It’s okay if it doesn’t,” he reassured mockingly.

The tension between you stretched taut and electric as he guided your hand to his aching length. Eddie buckled into your palm, a low groan escaping his lips at the touch of your hand – so much softer, warmer, smaller than his.

“Shut up,” was all you could muster, although it sounded low and unconvincing.

You gave him a few curious flicks of the wrist before letting go of him again. The absence of your touch was infuriating, but the feeling quickly melted away as he watched, transfixed, as you shuffled to straddle him.

“Make me, sweetheart.”

You hovered right above his cock, and impatiently pulled your panties to the side while you lined him up with your free hand. Keeping your gaze fixed on Eddie’s, you swallowed hard before taking a deep breath and sinking down on his cock in one quick move.

A strangled gasp tore from your throat – or was it Eddie’s? – as you enveloped him in your slick heat. His hands immediately reached for your hips, his head mercilessly falling against the hard pool table.

“Jesus–” His breath hitched.

You let out a broken moan as you gave yourself good few seconds to get used to the forced stretch – he’s too long and too fucking thick, hitting you in all the right places while also making you feel completely impaled.

Biting your lip to keep the broken moans from escaping, you slowly began moving your hips in languid rolls. Each drag of your slick walls along his aching cock sent shockwaves rippling through you. You’re drowning in the feeling, lost to everything but the addictive pressure of his swollen tip hitting your cervix each time you sank back down.

“I– Fuck,” you whimpered, reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Son of a–” he gritted out, voice wrecked with need. He let out a strained chuckle while digging his fingers into your hips. “If you could only see yourself, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s gaze locked with yours, pupils blown wide and dark with desire.

“I-I can take it,” you whimpered, biting your lip when he rocked up into you, meeting your rhythm stroke for stroke. “S-see?”

“You for sure showed me, sweetheart.” He shot you that cocky smile you hated, moving your hips back and forth to help you. “I’m so upset I was wrong.”

“You’re so fucking i-insufferable,” you gritted out, voice wrecked with need.

The pool table beneath you creaked as Eddie’s hips pistoned frantically while he kept guiding you. He thrusted up into your slick pussy, meeting each roll of your hips with growing urgency. The wet, sticky sounds of his cock filling you filled the silent bar, obscene and thrilling.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised hoarsely. “You were made to ride my big, fucking cock, hm?”

The way he filled you to the brim made you feel hyper sensitive, and it’s too much and it fucking hurt, but holy shit did he feel incredibly good.

Eddie watched you through half-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of your cock-drunk expression. Your breasts bounce with each impact of your bodies, hardened nipples just begging for attention. Leaning up, Eddie captured one in his mouth, suckling greedily while he kept thrusting up in the same pace. He growled into your cleavage, biting down.

“J-Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.” He breathed as his eyes trailed down to where you were connected, watching in fascination at how you were practically drenching his cock. “You take me so fucking well. Greedy pussy gripping, hm?”

With a broken whimper, you pushed Eddie back down onto the felt table, and sped up your movements. The tiny curls around the base of his cock brushed against your swollen clit with every roll of your hips, pulling broken moan after broken moan. He was balls deep inside of you, hitting that special spot, determined to melt your brain until you couldn’t even form thoughts anymore.

Eddie’s cheeks were impossibly flushed as he stared up at you with half-lidded eyes as his tongue slipped out from between his lips. You leaned forwards, digging your nails into his shoulders as you smashed your lips against his for a messy kiss of spit and clanking teeth.

“I’m c-close, Eds,” you panted against his neck, teeth grazing his sensitive skin. “S-so fucking close.”

“Already, sweetheart?” Eddie scoffed, punctuating the question with sharp thrusts. “Fucking do it then, soak my cock.”

He ground against your sensitive spots, determined to push you over the precipice as his fingers found your swollen clit, stroking it with firm, purposeful circles. His own lips dropped open, a whiny groan slipping past his lips when you whined, loud and needy – he couldn’t help it, not when you looked like this.

Arching your back and crying out his name, you kept taking every deliciously painful thrust he gave you and, in return, you made him squirm under you with every clench of your pussy. He matched the tight circles he drew with his thumb to the quick snap of your hips, feeling the friction burning in your veins until your orgasm finally snapped.

“E-Eddie! Fuckfuckfuck.” You came hard with a loud cry of his name, soaking his cock as your thighs jerked. Distantly, you could feel a slick gush trail down to Eddie’s hips, sticky and addictive.

Eddie watched your body tremble before tensing, hips frozen against his as you threw your head back with a broken cry. His pubes tickle the inside of your thighs just right,

Frantically, he thrusted up, again and again, your body bouncing with every move. His grip tightened around your thighs, nails leaving crescent impressions in your soft skin.

“W-where do you want me, sweetheart?”

“I-inside, Eds,” you pleaded, high and desperate. “P-please, I need it. Fill me up.”

“Like you’re not filled enough already,” he scoffed against your lips. “Fucking take it then.”

Pleasure crested sharp and urgent, with one more thrust, two– then bliss exploded through him, stealing his breath and scattering coherent thought. You let him bite your lip while he throbbed and spilled into you, filling you to the brim until he’s practically covered in his own seed.

You slumped forwards, burying your face in the crook of his neck as it took you a good minute or two to come back down to earth. Eddie gave your hip a lazy squeeze, a contented sigh escaping him while his other hand drifted slowly up and down your bare back. His calloused fingertips traced absent-minded circles against your skin as he tried to steady his breathing.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up just enough to look at him. Your eyes met his, still slightly glassy, and you swallowed hard before a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“So…” you started softly, only for the rest of the sentence to die somewhere between your brain and your mouth.

“So,” Eddie echoed with a tired chuckle, his thumb lazily brushing against your hip. The silence that followed wasn’t nearly as awkward as you’d expected; if anything, it felt strangely comfortable. “That was definitely… worth the wait.”

Eddie’s grin wasn’t nearly as cocky anymore; it had softened into something you’d never seen directed at you before. Or maybe it always had been, and maybe you’d just never noticed it before.

“You…” You swallowed, suddenly finding it much harder to get the words out than you’d expected. “You make it sound like this wasn’t just about proving a point.”

Eddie’s gaze wandered across your face before settling on your eyes again, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest of smiles. “Because it’s wasn’t. Not really.”

The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that they almost caught you off guard.

Truth be told, it wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed your mind – because it had. More than once, actually, if you were being completely honest with yourself.

Somewhere between lazy movie nights, sharing his bed after one too many drinks, lingering hugs that lasted a second too long, and countless inside jokes that blurred the line between friendship and flirting, you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Actually crossing that line, though… you’d never imagined it would happen because neither of you knew when to shut up.

Eddie let out a quiet breath through his nose, his thumb brushing another slow circle against your hip. “Didn’t think you’d ever look at me like that,” he admitted.

You looked at him for a long moment before a quiet laugh escaped you.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“What did I do now?” His eyebrows pulled together in mock confusion.

“Instead of telling me about…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “…whatever this is, you spent the last three months talking about how dick was in the hopes I’d just cave.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, averting his eyes away from you. “Sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud.”

“Because it is stupid,” you chuckled. “And so are you.”

A tired groan slipped past his lips as he pushed himself up, not caring if the remnants of your activities stained the green felt of the pool table beneath him. The hand on your back was warm as he trailed it up to cradle your cheek.

“So…” he trailed off, his voice quieter than before. “Do you wanna–”

“Give this a shot?” you finished for him, your eyebrows lifting ever so slightly.

Your gaze drifted slowly across his face, as though you were trying to commit every freckle and crooked smile to memory. By the time your eyes had found his again, your expression had softened.

“Yeah.” You held his gaze for a long moment before your smile grew a fraction wider. “I think I’d be pretty stupid not to.”

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[fxckmarrykill]

i don't wanna just fuck that man. i need to love him, cherish him, treat him better than anyone's ever treated him in his miserable life. tell him that I love him so much. call him my sweet boy, show him that he's needed, that he can be loved. just squeeze him really hard. love on him. everything, really.