How do you think Eddie would be when you have your period? Tbh i think he’d try his best and thats all he can offer 😭
lmao i actually think he'd be surprisingly great at dealing with your period. he already struggles with his own stomach issues (he eats like a racoon and he's lactose intolerant but would never give up dairy) so he always has a hot water bag and pain pills laying around to share. he's also very good at taking orders so whatever you tell him to do, he's doing it immediately plus he's a fast learner so he memorises the things you need/want during your period in no time. constantly giving you lower back rubs, massaging your knees and legs, fluffing your pillows and giving you his comfiest shirts to wear. he also always stacks up his bathroom with pads/tampons for you and his panty with your favourite snacks and chocolates.
one thing he's horrible at is reading your mood which sometimes results in him being scolded when he tries to kiss you because you just want to be wrapped like a burrito and left alone watching your comfort movie. he grew used it though and now he just retreats walking backwards like his hands up or if he's in a silly mood he pretends that he's getting arrested with his hands behind his back as he leaves the room
☆ New/old video of Joseph Quinn promoting AQPDO in Italian 🇮🇹 ☆ ☆ Yeah we aren't going to be ok after hearing this!! 👁🫦👁🫠🫠🫠🔥🥵 ☆ • Original clip credit @josephquinnhq via Tiktok •
Summary: Eddie can't take his hands off you(r butt).
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, perv eddie, implied chubby reader, reader got that jiggle, oral sex/anal sex, rimming, spit as lube, vaginal fingering with rings on, assfucking, cumshot, dirty talk, pet names (babe, baby, sweetheart, beautiful), porn without plot, established relationship, no use of y/n, not revised cus I honestly can't even with this dumbass one-shot, I just wanna post
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: writing smut makes me feel like a horny teen again and I hate it, which is why this lowkey buns (get it?) but like bear with me now
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The chaotic sprawl of Eddie's room had its own peculiar ecosystem, the kind of cluttered entropy that somehow functioned. The air carried that faint, warm amalgam of dust, musk, and something unmistakably him.
You were draped stomach-first across his bed, legs bent at the knee, ankles swaying idly in the air as you flipped through one of the less... incriminating magazines you salvaged from the corner of his room. The thin pages crinkled under your fingers, a soft sound that paired with your absentminded humming, something you didn't even realize you were doing.
It was quiet. Just you, the muted rustle of paper and a distant electric buzz of whatever amp he'd forgotten to switch off.
Peaceful, even--
Creek.
--oh. Well, that didn't last long.
The mattress dipped behind your bent knees, springs protesting with a familiar groan. You didn't bother looking back. You knew that weight, that particular brand of intrusion that always came with a little too much confidence and not nearly enough shame.
And right on cue, a broad hand settled over the back of your thigh, dragging upward in a casual, unhurried intent.
"What'cha readin', babe?" Eddie asked, voice dipped in that low tone he seemed to reserve exclusively for moments like this; when you were conveniently arranged in a way that made his brain short-circuit into something far less gentlemanly.
You shrugged, turning another page with lazy disinterest, refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. "Just some magazines I found. This one's a cooking one."
He hummed, though the sound lacked any genuine investment. His palm came down again, this time with a firmer pat, not quite rough but definitely purposeful. His eyes lingered as the contact set off a soft, enticing jiggle.
"Mm," he murmured, like he'd just discovered something profoundly interesting.
"Ooh--this one actually looks good." You lifted the magazine slightly, angling it back so he could see the glossy photo. Something baked.
There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to be suspicious.
"Looks delicious," Eddie said, tone rich with a kind of hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with food.
You accepted it at face value, lowering the page again, eyes skimming the instructions. Preheat the oven to-
Behind you, his hand had grown... exploratory. Less idle, more acquisitive. Fingers tracing the curve of your thigh, creeping higher with slow contemplation, like he was mapping territory he already knew by heart but insisted on rediscovering anyway.
You exhaled through your nose, rolling your eyes, but didn't comment. Not yet.
That is, until his hand slipped beneath the curve of your cheek, palm pressing forward. A second later, his other hand joined it, cupping the underside of your butt with a little force.
Okay. Yeah. He definitely wasn't listening.
You shifted slightly, a subtle attempt to dislodge him or at least remind him you were, in fact, trying to read. It lasted all of two seconds.
Because then something pressed into you. Not a hand, not quite.
Your entire body went stiff as realization crept in, slow and mortifying, just as you felt the unmistakable brush of his nose against your backside--followed by a long, exaggerated inhale.
"Oh my--dude--Eddie!" You twisted around, scandalized, catching him just in time to hear his pleased little groan.
"You smell s'good," he muttered into your ass, words slightly muffled, his grin evident in the way his lips curved where they were half-buried. He was absurdly earnest about it too, like, genuinely, thought this was a normal observation to share out loud.
And you felt all of it, the way his lips moved, the way he softly inhaled and sighed, the way the warmth seeped into your leggings. Your face burned instantly. "Get off my ass, Eddie."
"Why don't you just keep readin', hm?" he replied, entirely too casual for someone who had just done... whatever that was.
He finally pulled back, sitting up, dark curls falling into his face as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Like this was a perfectly standard Tuesday activity.
You narrowed your eyes, but before you could properly retaliate, his hands were back, firm on your legs as he nudged your knees apart slightly, settling in behind you.
His grin sharpened as his palms returned to their previous position, squeezing with slow, appreciative pressure, thumbs pressing in like he was testing the give of something he found particularly fascinating.
You turned back around quickly, burying your face in the magazine to hide the heat crawling up your neck. Focus. Cooking. Ingredients. Measurements. Anything but--
Smack!
The sound was sharp, cutting clean through your concentration. You jolted, the magazine crinkling in your grip as you whipped your head back again, eyes wide, face now thoroughly flushed.
"Eddie! Are you serious?!"
"Mhm." His response was maddeningly simple, completely unrepentant as he watched the aftershock with scholarly interest.
And then his hands resumed their rhythm. Cupping. Squeezing. Another smack he completely soaked up. He was chasing the movement, cataloging it, committing it to memory with an attention span he rarely afforded anything else.
A slow, deep breath of frustration escaped you as you gave in and turned away again, trying to force your mind back to the mundane world of glossy magazine pages. Maybe this is all it was; Eddie just being Eddie, a little perv who liked to mess with your butt on lazy evenings while you tried to read. That's all this could be.
With that thought, your eyes trailed back at the magazine, scanning for the paragraph you'd been halfway through.
But Eddie didn't like your attention shifting. He broke the rhythm of his casual touches and delivered a smack harder than before. You gasped feeling everything this time, flesh trembling under the impact, and you knew he saw all of it: the ripple, the flush, the way your hips clenched.
You whipped back around, heat rising in your cheeks, about to yell at your boyfriend, but before you could, his ringed hand grabbed your head, fingers curling into your hair, and turned it back around. Wha-
"Keep reading." His voice was low, a command, not a suggestion. It made you blink in disbelief, staring blankly at the wall. Was he seriously--?! You scoffed, wanting to shoot him a glare, but instead you listened (for whatever reason), looked back down at the cooking magazine and felt his hand retreat, leaving your scalp tingling.
You fumbled with the pages, adjusting the magazine in your hands as you listened to him behind you. Once you had a grasp, you flipped the page, the paper rustling softly, just as his hands found your ass again, giving it a good squeeze. Not just a pat, but a nice full grip that made the fabric of your leggings strain through his fingers.
You ignored his little hum of approval, trying to focus on the text about how this recipe was a number one choice for family dinners. But then, his hands gently rubbed up, fingers tracing the curve of your hips before they curled into the waistband of your leggings and your underwear. He gave a slow tug, pulling them down.
You froze, muscles locking as you felt your bottom exposed to the cool air of the room and his warm breath that ghosted over your skin. You looked over your shoulder, voice fluctuating. "Eddi--"
"Shh." He hushed you firmly before lifting your hips with ease, continuing to peel your leggings and underwear down until they slid completely off. Your heartbeat thrummed wildly as you heard the soft thump of your leggings hitting the floor, leaving your lower half completely bare, exposed to him and the room. "God..." He mumbled pleased, his warm hands cupping your bare ass like one would with porcelain, palms sliding over the flushed skin, tracing every curve and dip. You tensed, breath catching in your throat.
Was he seriously doing this? Your fingers clutched the magazine pages tightly, eyes wide as you felt the bed oscillating with him. He moved to lay behind you, half on the bed and half off. Once you felt him do another firm squeeze and press his soft lips to your cheek, you knew he was seriously doing this. His soft brown hair fell onto your skin, tickling it as he moved to give the other side the same tender kiss, his mouth lingering a second too long.
Nerves started to get to you as you let your head drop, your skin prickling with a warmth that spread. A slow fog of lust started to cloud your thoughts, your senses. Now, a dull, throbbing ache settled low in your belly.
You felt his soft breath and the shift of his hair as he moved back, just enough to get a good look at your bottom. Then his hands gripped your cheeks, spreading them apart with a gentle but firm pressure, exposing you further before he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging smack. You flinched, a small pant leaving your lips, body shuddering under the impact.
His muttered words were barely audible, but they cut through the haze of sensation you were drowning in. "You're getting wet down here."
Your chest seized in a sharp spike of embarrassment, a rush of heat flooding your face. But the shame vanished almost instantly, washed away as he spread your cheeks wider and leaned down.
The warmth of his breath hit your skin before his tongue pressed flat against your slick pussy, a slow meaningful stroke from bottom to top.
You gasped softly, a shudder wracking your spine as he licked a wet path upward, not stopping until his tongue reached your puckered star. You tensed again, a small moan escaping you as the sensation bordered on too much, too intimate. He laughed softly, the airiness of his chuckle hitting against your now saliva-slick parts.
"You taste s' sweet," he murmured, the words thick and appreciative. They made you melt, body softening into the mattress as you lowered your face into the covers, burying your embarrassment in the soft fabric. You shifted the magazine to cover the back of your head, a thin shield against the intensity of his gaze.
Eddie gave a sonorous but satisfied hum, the sound dripping with pleasure, before he fixed his ringed hands over your cheeks again, adjusting his grip to spread you wider, giving himself a better view, better access.
Then, just as before, he leaned down, his long hair brushing against your sensitive skin. Only this time, his plush lips met your hole with a soft kiss--a gesture so intimate it made you bite your lip hard, stifling a whimper. He came back up with an obscene, wet smack of his lips against your skin before diving down again for a few more kisses, each one lingering, each one making your arousal spike fiercely.
And it checked out: your folds slickened further, your clit beginning to throb with a persistent, needy pulse that matched your heartbeat. You felt yourself clench when he suddenly swirled his tongue around your rim, teasing the entrance with wet dizzying circles that made you release a loud, unfiltered moan.
You felt his lips curl up against your skin, a smirk you couldn't see but could feel, and his hands gently squeezed the softness of your ass before he lifted his head. You felt a pang of disappointment at the loss, a quiet whine building in your throat until you felt a sudden, shocking wet warmth splat directly on your hole, accompanied by a soft, "pwhut!" sound from him.
Did he just--?!
"Did you just spit on me?!" you scoffed, indignation flaring as you removed the magazine from your head, turning just enough to glance back at him. You saw him already looking at you with a wide, boyish grin, those doe eyes glittering with mischief and unadulterated fervor.
"Gotta lube you up, babe," he shrugged, the explanation casual, almost lazy, before his gaze dropped and he dipped down again. You immediately looked back in front of you, surrendering to what was coming as his tongue was back on you, swirling around once more before he slowly, steadily pushed it into you.
You groaned at the stretch, your toes curling from the slimy, wet feeling of his tongue entering you. If the throbbing wasn't bad before, it was undeniably overwhelming now, a relentless pulse between your legs that echoed the invasion.
"Ow... fuck," you breathed, the words strained. You altered your composure to your hands, finally letting go of the magazine so your hands could grip onto the blankets instead.
In response, his thumbs gently rubbed over your cheeks, a coaxing, soothing motion, before he moved his long tongue deeper, pushing further into you. He groaned just as you whined--the uncomfortable stretch transforming into something more pleasurable. A fullness that began to spark heat through your veins.
You blinked, feeling a little dazed, lost in the sensation, as one of his hands removed itself from your bottom. Your lips parted to ask what he was doing, but before you could speak, you felt the tips of his index and middle finger press against your weeping cunt. You gasped sharply as he sank his thick fingers easily inside, your walls fluttering around him instantly, producing a loud, wet, squelching sound.
"Eddie!" you hissed, your lips parting wide. A mix of shock and pleasure washed over you as he did one final push with both his tongue and his ringed fingers, burying them deep. He barely gave you a second to recover, to process, before he started to move--thrusting his fingers and his tongue in a relentless, synchronized rhythm. The dual sensations, the penetration from two points, made loud, wet squelches fill the air, though the sound was barely audible over your own ragged gasps and moans. The bed creaked softly under his movements, the whole room feeling charged, thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
You squirmed softly, a subtle undulation of your hips as you pressed deeper into the mattress, seeking relief. He kept swirling his tongue inside you, that slick, relentless motion stretching you more, exploring you with a filthy curiosity that made your breath catch. And what didn't help--every few thrusts, Eddie gave his fingers a little curl that sought out that tender, hidden spot inside you. You clenched around them instantly, a reflexive, desperate tightening. Your lower belly grew tight with aching pressure.
A string of high-pitched curses spilled from your lips, a breathless litany of "fuck" and "Eddie" and "god," cursing him, cursing his skilled hands, cursing the way he knew your body better than you did. It felt so good, an overwhelming tide of sensation that was pulling you toward a peak you could barely resist. Your body trembled, your limbs shaking, the pleasure building to a point where you knew you were teetering on the edge.
"I'm not--fuck--! I'm not gonna last!" you whimpered, your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as he started to curl his fingers more consistently, each thrust now accompanied by that wicked, upward twist. And then he hit it. That perfect spot, one that made you jolt, a sharp, electric spark shooting up your spine. Your body arched.
The sensation in your belly was too much, a building tsunami of pleasure, as was everything below: the fullness, the wetness, the relentless rhythm. You found yourself gasping out his name, "Eddie--Eddie--" before the climax crashed over you. You squeezed around his fingers and came all over them, a hot, gushing release that soaked his hand and dripped onto the sheets below. That harsh wave of ecstasy left you shuddering and moaning into the mattress.
You caught your breath, panting softly, whining as he gently, slowly popped his fingers out of you, the withdrawal spiking a tender sensation throughout your body. You tensed up more when he retracted his tongue from your ass, that slick, invasive sensation leaving you feeling empty, overwhelmed and sensitive.
You didn't need to look back to know what he did next. You heard the soft, wet sound of his fingers entering his mouth, the quiet suction as he sucked them clean of your juices. He groaned, a deep, self-satisfied sound that vibrated in the quiet room, and made your body prickle warmly. Shame and pride mixed in a confusing, heated flush.
"Mhm. Fuck, makin' me all hard, baby," he muttered, his voice brimming with lust. You gave a soft hum in response to his words, a dopey, post-orgasm smile spreading across your face as you floated back from your high, blissful and dazed.
Eddie quickly sat up, joining you fully on the bed behind you, settling on his knees. You heard the familiar, metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, then the rasp of his pants zipper being pulled down, before a hand came down beside your head, palm flat on the mattress.
"Did so good f'me sweetheart. Just relax now, I've got you," he murmured, leaning over you, his body shadowing yours. One hand pushed boxers down, the thick, flushed length springing free before he grabbed it and pressed down, sliding it between your cheeks. The hot firm flesh nestled comfortably against your wet skin. You sighed quietly, a contented sound, and looked over at his hand before gently reaching for it, your fingers brushing his. Eddie brought his other hand down, moving them so they were over yours, then curling his fingers around your hand. His fingers were still wet, slick with your release and his saliva.
He started to thrust, his hips snapping rhythmically, the tip of his cock disappearing between your bottom before peaking out from your wet crack with each movement, a lewd, tantalizing glimpse before it was buried again.
"You're s'pretty back here," Eddie gasped, his voice trembling with desire. He snapped his hips a little harder, just to see you jiggle some more, to watch the ripple of your flesh under his thrusts. The sight, the sound, the feel--it was all a perverse, perfect symphony of his need.
You could only moan back, the sensations pulling you deeper into a hazy, blissful fog. Everything about him consumed you; the warmth of his hands curled tightly around yours, the pretty, ragged gasps and groans that escaped his lips, the steady, rhythmic thrusting of his cock between your bottom. It was all so hot, so overwhelming, so perfectly filthy.
"Fuck, baby," he breathed out, gripping your hands a little harder, fingers tightening around yours. A silent signal that he was getting close. You giggled quietly, a soft, breathless sound, your mouth curling upwards in a smile that was both amused and deeply content.
It was only a couple more thrusts, a few final, desperate snaps of his hips, before he abruptly let go of your hand and slipped his length out from between your cheeks. With a few rough, hurried pumps of his fist, he aimed himself down and came all over your ass, the sticky warmth spurting onto your skin in thick, hot stripes. You felt each splash, a startling, intimate heat, and a small moan left you as you looked over your shoulder to see your skin painted white, glistening under the dim light.
Eddie took a moment, breathing heavily, before leaning down to kiss you, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that left no room for protest. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, making you taste yourself. A mix of salt and sweat and sex.
It bothered you that his tongue was just somewhere else... but you shrugged it off reluctantly the thought flickering and fading. You kissed him back, your hands grabbing his shirt to bring him closer, to pull him into the heat of your body. He was a perv, yeah, (a dirty, unashamed, relentless perv) but he was your perv, and right now, that felt like everything you needed.
Finally, you pulled away, a string of saliva leaving your lips, connecting you both for a second before it broke. "We needa get cleaned up," you mumbled with a small, tired smile.
Eddie returned it, his grin lazy and satisfied, before quickly getting up. "Wait," he muttered, suddenly looking around the room, his dick still hanging out, soft now but glistening. He then grabbed and pulled out his chunky Polaroid camera from a pile of clutter on his dresser, grinning happily as he turned and pointed it at you, the lens focusing on your naked body.
"Smile, beautiful," he urged, his voice playful.
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the little cheeky smile that spread across your face as you looked at the camera, your expression both exhausted and euphoric. The flash went off, blinding white for a second, and you giggled as he quickly took the photo out and shook it, the image slowly developing in his hands.
"K' now we're good," Eddie declared, placing the camera and the fresh photo on his nightstand before helping you off his bed, his hands gentle on your plush hips. "So... shower?" he questioned with raised brows, a hopeful, mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Only if you help me wash all this off," you replied, your voice soft but teasing.
"Fuck yes!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm bright and genuine as he rushed you toward the bathroom for the inevitable phase two of his plan.
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nvm im a chud and don't wanna actually write my planned one-shots...
Thank you, Tumblr, for posting ts when I wasn't ready 😑
SUMMARY: when your ex bf shows up at a party, it brings back bad memories and starts an argument. after leaving on foot and walking to your apartment, you get surprised when someone you hadn’t expected shows up to drive you home
WARNINGS: —| 18+ | smut, drinking, eddie is an asshole, drug mention, addiction mention, felon-fresh-out-of-prison!steve, billy hargrove is dating readers best friend
“ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ! ”
“ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ! ”
The asphalt beneath your huarache sandals felt like molasses as you stomped further onto the lonely highway. Tomorrow you’d waltz back into StarCourt and find the bitch at Payless who claimed these were the shoes of the season, and give her a piece of your mind. Because no, Brenda, these were not the “it” girl sandals for the summer. These were walking wicker baskets of braided leather hell.
Never mind that it wasn’t her fault. None of this was. But damn did it feel good to have someone other than yourself to shoulder the blame for the reason that you were currently walking your ass all alone on Highway 7.
The air hung like a wet sheet the entire month of August, and September was following suit. No breeze. Only buzzing mosquitos and the sticky salt of burning tears on your cheeks to keep you company tonight.
What was supposed to be a night out— not just any night out but thee night where you would reclaim your confidence with a new outfit, a nearly sold out shade of lipstick, and a pair of cute toe pinching sandals —way to go Brenda— tonight was supposed to be the night you bounced back from your breakup.
⏾⋆.˚
When Steve Harrington, fresh from prison and breaking every violation of his parole, decided to throw a rager at his “new” house (aka: a rental out in the middle of nowhere where the lease was signed by Dustin Henderson who was currently attending college six states, and a few time zones away) it ended up being the perfect opportunity to get a little tipsy and maybe hook up with someone you had never laid eyes on before.
You had it all planned out, every minute detail of the night down to the very last cent of how much you’d need for a bottle of Strawberry Hill Boonesfarm.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay and have just one beer?” you pleaded outside of Lily’s car window.
Steve’s parties were never known to be casual, and you had to admit it was awkward showing up by yourself instead of being under the arm of your ex, like old times.
She laughed and ran fingers through her Farrah Fawcett-esque curls, her blue eyes catching the last rays of the sun, “you know I can’t. Billy is taking me out for our anniversary.”
A whopping four months with the King of Hawkins Community Pool, how could you forget?
You roll your eyes to the sky and stamp your foot like a dramatic toddler, “Invite him here then! You guys can have a drink or two and then go, please I’m begging, I can’t show up alone.”
“Nancy and Robin are already here!” Lily banters back with a giggle and points at Nancy’s Griswold station wagon parked next to another slew of vehicles, “you’ll be fine.”
Fucking Lily. Your right hand since diapers, more like sisters in sin. The two of you used to hold Hawkins by the short and curlies. Two best friends dating best friends. The four of you used to be inseparable… now it felt like those times were lived in another life.
“Goddd fine, tell Billy to at least use a condom.”
With a wink and a wicked grin she puts her car in reverse before calling out the window, “trojan doesn’t make them that big… have fun!”
Gross.
⏾⋆.˚
The living room was packed and hazy from clouds of smoke. People you haven't seen since graduation the year before were piled into the cramped, shack-like house.
Lower classmen who were now seniors, guys in grades above you who now wore wedding bands instead of silver rings adorned with a gaudy jewel and inscribed with some state champion bullshit class of 1980 something, Will Byers—who you swore was dead once right? — was even there.
Steve always threw the best parties Hawkins had ever seen, and it should have been on your mind that he would show up. But it wasn’t. You hear your name called and make eyes with the host. A thick mustache smirk greeted you and his arms wrapped you in a familiar hug. His signature sage and amber cologne accentuated the smoke from his Marlboros.
Where other girls flocked to Steve in all of his masculine glory, you never saw him in that light. To you, he was just another guy in Hawkins.
“Didn’t think you’d make it tonight, trouble,” he drawls in your ear before letting you go, “I’m digging the new hair.”
You pull away and roll your eyes playfully. The day you sat in the salon chair at Josie’s with puffy eyes and hiccuping cries, she took matters into her own hands and colored your hair a shade completely opposite of what it naturally was, and you felt like a new woman ever since. Out with the old.
“Haven’t missed a single party of yours yet. Do you think I’d pass on the first one since you got out?”
You weren’t sure how prison could have made someone better looking but Steve was living proof of just that. His shoulders were broader, arms thick and muscly under a grey heather shirt.
Steve cracks a smile and plucks a cigarette from behind his ear. “Hopin’ you wouldn’t, but I wasn’t sure since I heard a nasty rumor about you dumping Munson.”
Your heart sank at the mention of his surname. What happened between you and Eddie was way more complex than just you-breaking-up-with-him. It hurt to think about let alone laying it all out to his best friend.
Steve acknowledges your disdain, “So it’s true then? You and Munson are splitsville?”
You’re never here, you go radio silent for days at a time, Eddie. Please…I can’t keep doing this!
“It’s complicated... How does it feel to be back?”
“Agh agh, don’t change the subject. There’s always three versions of a story: yours, his, and the truth. And if you don’t remember, I refereed a lot of your arguments, and you two were always able to work it out.”
“This time it’s different, but enough of all that, I’m moving on.”
“Thatta girl. I get it, I won’t meddle into your shit. I’ll be your wingman tonight, okay? We’re in the same boat… I’m ready to not be alone tonight, y'know? Which reminds me, where’s Lily?”
“Steve…”
“I know, I know, she’s with Hargrove now…” Your silence is enough for him to understand. “I really fucked that up, why would she stay with a guy who’s doin’ time… she deserves more than that… more than me.”
Broken hearts must have been the theme for the night, but you refused to wallow in it any longer.
“Nope, no, we aren’t gonna do this. Any girl here would be crazy over you Steve, you’ve got that ‘good guy gone bad’ thing going, c’mon.”
⏾⋆.˚
It didn’t take long for Steve to get over his woes and remember exactly who he was. You and Nancy were huddled in a corner talking about how Vickie dumped Robin over summer break.
Apparently she decided she was now straight and no longer curious for the tall and clumsy Rockin’ Robin. You hear a high pitched squeal and turn your head in annoyance to see what the hell was going on.
A peek over your shoulder and you realize immediately who it is. She was twisting her brassy red hair around her finger, a flirty smile aimed at someone you couldn’t see in the crowded living room.
“Who’s that?” Nancy asked.
“My neighbor, Rebecca.”
“Wait! I think she’s seeing my brother. Does she work with Hopper?”
“Yeah, she just started working for Hawkins Police Department.”
“Introduce me.” Nancy demands and you give her a look, “What? I’m just seeing what’s so special about Rebecca that wasn’t special about Jane. Plus she’s talking to Andy. My mom and his mom are in the same book club and she told my mom that he just broke up with Alicia but she knows he’s always had a ‘thing’ for you.”
Andy? Yeah he was good looking. But not exactly your type. A little shameless flirting wouldn't hurt right?
Rebecca was smiling with her head thrown back, dancing along to Fleetwood Mac as you and Nancy elbowed your way across the living room. Over your shoulder you tell her to be nice and take it easy on the girl. She smiles her wicked mischievous grin that you know only means trouble.
Andy’s hair is darker than you remember it being. No longer shoved under a baseball cap but likely combed and feathered to make it look effortless. He’s talking to Rebecca and you realize he’s wearing a Hawkins PD issued shirt.
“Andy,” Nancy purrs, directing his attention towards the both of you. She officially introduces you to him and his eyes drink you in. Nance takes Rebecca by the crook of her elbow in a bony vice-like grip, her voice as sweet and fake as splenda.
It’s not long before the small talk between you and Andy develops into hushed whispers leaning against the living room wall, a breath and the neck of a beer bottle keeping your lips from his. He’s handsome. Eyes like sage and beach kissed skin.
You’re staring up into him, listening to him talk about arrests and a case that’s gone unsolved for more than ten years. He’s leaning in now, so close you can smell the spice of his gum, but you’re knocked off kilter.
“Mmph..”
“Shit sorry–”
You both speak at the same time, and when you realize the person who ran into you was someone you were actively trying to avoid. Your blood runs cold and your cheeks heat. Eddie.
If brown eyes could light fires you would be in flames. He looks to you then over to Andy. The shock value in your face is exactly what he wants. And he smirks when he catches your watering eyes, you won’t give him the luxury of seeing you cry. Not on his account. Not anymore.
Andy glares at Eddie, “Hey pal, what the fuck?”
“Eddie-bear…there you are!” Rebecca’s voice is like shrapnel in your ears, but nothing hurts worse than watching her peachy lips kiss his cheek like a routine greeting, her arms slithering under the same patch vest that you had made as a birthday present for him.
Of course he had moved on, it's exactly what you were trying to do tonight, right here, with Andy.
You hadn’t seen him since your breakup. Avoiding his normal hangs and haunts. Bypassing the trailer park anytime you could. Because of this exact reason. Seeing Eddie was too hard.
It set your heart aflame and your nerves rattling until they were sure to shrivel and perish. Like a phantom pain, seeing him with someone else, and not with you, not being a part of your life…was agonizing.
He hadn’t changed.
His curls still held a permanent halo of unruly frizz. A scar on his eyebrow paling into pink instead of branding a fresh deep cut like it was the last night you had seen him. When you ended it.
Nancy says your name and it brings you back to the present. Leaving the ghost of Eddie’s kisses on your neck in the past where they belonged. Dead and gone.
“I heard someone brought Jell-O shots,” she says absentmindedly, pulling your wrist and angling you away from the car crash that would surely unravel, “...let’s find out if they have raspberry.”
“Jell-O shots?!” Rebecca squeals, her eyes looking up into Eddie’s in wonder, “would you get me one? I need to powder my nose.” Without waiting for his response, she pinches his butt and leaves, her hips in rhythm to the music.
The awkward tension between you and Eddie isn't given a chance to surface. Saved by Nancy’s unashamed interrogation questions, “that’s cute, are you two fucking?”
Eddie chokes on his beer and you slap her arm, muttering her name in a tone that suggests you’d rather melt into the carpet than hear his answer.
“Chivalry Nance,” he glares, wiping his chin and letting out an annoyed sigh, “glad to see you haven’t changed.”
Nancy flashes her bright smile. “You know me. Reporter and such. So… what have you been up to? Still selling weed or have you moved onto dope and stealing catalytic converters?”
“Why don’t you ask Jonathan?”
Turning to leave you grab Andy’s hand. Not wanting to hear what Nancy spits back at Eddie, but knowing her it was going to be just as mean and vile as he was being.
Rebecca? Really? She was nice…pretty… but she was everything he claimed to hate. Popular. Ditzy. Fake. High conversations with him going on and on about conformity and government conspiracies flood your mind. Once he got going it was hard for him to stop.
Eddie was passionate about being unapologetically himself. He never cared about the image he portrayed, about the tainted Munson name he wore proudly, carving his own path, reclaiming his namesake. And that’s what made you fall for him so easily.
The Jell-O shots were melting and sticking to the counter, staining it in splotches of red and blue. Dustin Henderson didn’t have a chance in hell of getting his deposit back. Handing Andy one you trace your finger in the plastic cup and loosen it before handing it to him, a wink in your eye as you try to settle your nerves.
He returns your smile and strokes your chin, “who the hell was that?”
“Sorry about him, it’s my—”
“Is this how it’s gonna be?” You know it’s Eddie without even having to turn around and see his flared nostrils and furious eyes. “Sending your friends to scream at me because you’re too goddamn bitter and chicken shit to do it yourself?”
Fire burning in your chest you turn to chew him out, but the sight of him alone almost drove you to tears. Your lip quivers and you can see it register within his eyes, the effect he had on you, but his eyes narrow as if he chose to ignore it and trailblaze through your pain.
“Can I help you?” Andy interrupts.
“Run along dickhead, I’m not talking to you,” he fumes. His dark curls you loved swaying the more worked up he got. His voice deepened with anger and sounded broken but your ears filled with muffled dread as you felt your nose tickle. “Got something you wanna say? Or are you gonna stand there and cry?”
“Munson! Andy!”
Thank God for Steve and his impeccable timing. He pulls his friend into a hug and slaps him on the back, “what’s up you little fucker, thought you weren’t gonna make it tonight!” He turns to Andy then and his voice turns serious, “Hey man, I heard a walkie talkie noise going off by your Jeep, sounded kinda urgent.”
“Shit, ‘m on call,” Andy mutters before sprinting out the front door.
Eddie’s eyes seem to almost twinkle and he blinks away whatever turmoil he brewed, pushing it aside to seem nonchalant. “Plans changed Stevie boy. My date decided she wanted to meet more people in town, so what better place to do that, yeah?”
You snort and roll your eyes, plucking a Jell-O shot into your mouth. Dark eyes pierce your face. Eddie crosses his arms, eyebrows raised to his hairline.
“Everything okay, here?” Steve asks, lighting a cigarette.
“Oh yeah, fuckin’ peachy,” he seethes, his neck red and pupils constricted like he’s a snake, “I’m waiting for her to fill me in on the joke, but apparently the princess doesn’t speak.”
“Do you ever shut up?” you mumble mostly to yourself, mindlessly rubbing a stain on the counter with your finger.
“Well well well… would ya look at that,” he mocks, hands raised out in a glorified praise, “the stuck up bitch can speak.”
Pushing yourself from the counter you stand toe-to-toe with him, glaring up at him with a years worth of venomous rage you’d been holding on to.
“It’s reassuring to know that you’ve stayed the same. Still a mean, fucked up bastard. That apple didn’t fall far from the tree… did it, Junior?”
Steve whistles low and steps between you two before either of you can throw drinks or you start screaming at each other and someone calls the cops. He knew how much Eddie hated being called that name. How much he tried to break that cycle between father and son. “That’s a low blow, honey… even for you.”
The hurt on Eddie’s face is painted on thick but you can’t find a single blood cell in your body to give a shit. If he wanted to be an asshole, so be it. You knew how to hurt him just like he did you. Two can play that wicked game.
He merely smirks and cocks his head back.
“If you were any good on your knees, I’d tell you to choke on it, sweetheart. Too bad you’re nothin’ but a lame cunt in the sack. Isn’t that right Steve?
Your body flings over Steve’s shoulder aiming for Eddie’s hair. But Steve is too quick and catches you at your waist and holds you away from your bullseye. Both you and Eddie are screaming at each other. You’re practically clawing at Steve’s arms as he tries to get you away from the kitchen and Eddie. You wanted to tackle him to the ground and rip his hair out. Slap him in the chest until he said he was sorry.
Eddie only eggs you on, talking shit behind Steve and moving around so you could see him— trying to get in your face just as much as you are to him with Steve being the only thing stopping both of you from ripping each other to pieces.
Steve yells for Nancy and she shows up ready to fight a bull if you asked. She ushers you out of the kitchen. Hiding your tears with her jacket.
“Go! Now!” Steve hollers, shoving Eddie down the cramped hallway and into his bedroom.
He’s huffing, hands on his hips in disappointment and disgust. Eddie leans against the dresser nursing a bloody nose he somehow managed in between fighting you and being manhandled down the hallway.
“Eddie,” Steve sighs, shaking his head, “of all the stupid things you could have said… why do you always go with that one?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, she always had it bad for y—!”
“I was locked up you fucking idiot! Remember that? How I took the rap and didn't rat you out? I did two years for your stupid ass and in thanks you show up at my house and accuse me of fucking your girl?”
He hangs his head back and sighs, blood trickling onto his lip, “I know dude, she just—fuck! She always knows how to piss me off. And I lost it.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair, “calm down and stop being such a prick for once in your life.”
“Fuck you man! You think a few years in the clink and suddenly you’re some big tough mother fucker?”
Eddie’s blindsided when Steve grabs him and tosses him into a wall, his shirt balled in his hands. He tries to throw him off but Steve is stronger.
“What the fuck! Get off!”
“No! You’re gonna listen to me. I don’t know what happened between the two of you but I do know that you had a fuckin’ problem man. You don’t think I know that Wayne had to pay off Rick’s goons so you wouldn’t get your throat cut? She came to me crying, begging me to help you.”
“Oh sure, way to bring that up! That was years ago! I haven’t touched that shit since.”
“Really? Cause right now I don’t believe a fuckin’ word you say.”
Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a poker chip. ‘Narcotics Anonymous 360 days’ printed on the blue painted surface.
Steve spins the chip around in his hand, his eyebrows piled into shock, and sits on the edge of his bed, “does she know?”
He scoffs and crosses his arms, his voice angry and breaking, “why would I tell her Steve? Ain’t gonna make a difference.”
“Oh and showing up tonight with some random chick after I told you she was here will?” Steve quips in a know-it-all type of way.
Eddie sits on the ground, forehead balancing on his knees. “We can barely be in the same room together without fighting. You saw her tonight, she didn’t even want to talk to me.”
It was true. He doesn’t know the last time you two had a talk that didn’t end in harsh words and tears on your cheeks.
Steve leans forward and ruffles Eddie’s hair like he’s ten. “Show her that you aren’t who you used to be. You’re not Junior. I didn’t tell her about anything you’re doing or how you finished school. But she’d wanna know that you’re doing everything you always said you would. Together or not, she cares about you.”
⏾⋆.˚
After Nancy thumbed away your tears you sniffed and caught your breath. “I’m gonna go, Nance. ‘m sorry… I can’t be here… I don’t wanna ruin Steve’s party, tell him I’m sorry okay?”
“No, come on don’t be stupid. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that. Same rules, just different place. Stay. Steve’s got an extra room or take the couch, you shouldn’t be driving.”
Shaking your head you hide another wave of tears, “I’m gonna walk, clear my head.”
Nancy’s eyes are brimmed with pretty blue glass as she holds her own tears in, “you can’t walk home, let me call Mike to pick you up.”
⏾⋆.˚
And that’s how you ended up here. Walking home in the dark sticky heat after a fight with Eddie. He brought out the worst in you and you did the same to him. What once felt like the love of a lifetime has now deteriorated into the worst relationship you’ve ever had.
Tonight was supposed to be yours! He fucking ruined it like he always did. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays— he would show up hours late and high as a kite, dead behind his eyes, his soul diminished.
Tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe at them hastily. God damn him. He was still doing it. Still getting under your skin and making you miserable. Would it ever stop? Would he? Ow.
Wobbling on one foot, you slip off each sandal and hold them by the backs, one more blister and you’d lay down and join the roadkill. Thank God for Mike Wheeler, hopefully you wouldn’t be walking much longer.
Headlights shine on your back and you move off to the side of the road, gingerly stepping along the gravely shoulder. A black trans am comes to a halt, the music dull and quiet.
“Thanks for coming to get me Mike,” you say, opening the passenger door and ignoring a familiar cloud of smoke lingering, “hope you weren’t in the middle of some—”
“Who’s Mike?”
No no no. Steve wouldn’t do this to you. Nancy wouldn’t have let him! Where’s his van? Why is he here? You had too many questions and didn’t even want the answers. You don’t bother slamming Eddie’s car door, leaving it wide open, scowling and walking away.
“Get in,” he barks through the open door, driving alongside you, “it’s late.”
You cross your arms and walk without looking his way, “Go away, Eddie. My ride is coming.”
“No, he’s not.”
“What?”
“Wheeler didn’t call him, I’m your ride home.”
Great. “No thanks.”
Eddie sighs in careful restraint, pulling his hands down his face and taking a deep breath. White knuckling the steering wheel. “Yeah princess, it wasn’t my idea either. So stop being a whiney little toddler and let’s go.”
You can’t take it anymore, you’re about to break. “Please, please leave me alone, Eddie. I’m begging you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie relents, almost bored and not even watching the road, “get in the car.”
Ugly, traitorous tears drop on your cheeks and you stop walking. “I’d rather meet an axe murderer than go anywhere with you.”
“Oh Jesus Christ! Quit being dramat—!” Eddie is hit square in the face by one of your sandals, the other misses and soars into the back seat.
You’re screaming into the night, voice hoarse and chest rising in a panic. “You’re always s— such an asshole!” you cry hysterically, “I hate you! I. Hate. You. I don’t wanna be around you! I don’t want to see you ever again! Leave me alone!”
In the time you’re yelling and screaming, Eddie throws the car in park and swings his long legs onto the pavement. He slams the passenger door shut and crowds you in until your spine is against the hot car.
His body heat sears into you, those dark eyes no longer holding anger but sadness. Eddie reaches up and wipes away a smear of mascara from your closed eyes. It’s too much for you to see him this close.
Your stomach is in your throat and you try to push him away but he holds your wrists and stops you. Turning your face away you sob into the night.
Eddie’s voice is quiet and calm, “you don’t wanna see me? Fine, I get it. But, goddamnit… please, get in the car so I can bring you home. Then you won’t have to see me again, ‘kay?”
Shaking your head you hiccup and try to pull away from him. “I don’t want to.. I can’t.”
“C’mon, you know I’m not gonna let you do this.” Eddie pulls your chin to him and you reluctantly open your eyes. You wish you didn’t. Seeing him like this in a pure vulnerable form makes you ache for how things used to be. He’s pleading with you now. “You can hate me and scream at me all you want on the way home.”
You don’t argue, exhausted from the night your nerves are fried. Grabbing the handle you turn without looking at him and get in. Beige carpet lays beneath your bare feet. This car is a lot cleaner than the van ever dreamt of being. As if he spent time and a lot of money on it.
Eddie gets behind the wheel and mutters, “seatbelt” before putting the car in drive. You can’t help but look over at him. The two years you had been avoiding him seemed to be good for him, too. He looked healthy, no longer haggard and purpled under his eyes.
Blood is smeared on the back of his hand, “your nose is bleeding.”
“I know,” Eddie grumbles, leaning over to the glove box, careful to not bump your knees. He takes a napkin and twists it before shoving the smallest bit in his nose. “It’s broke.”
“Was that fr—”
“That fuckin shoe you chucked at my head?” He said, eyebrows cocked in disdain, “yeah.”
You feel bad for hurting him, you had never thrown anything at anyone. Your emotions have always run high with him, it was a lose lose situation.
“I’m sorry.”
Eddie smirks and nods his head in acceptance. The drive back to town is quiet, no loud music blaring, no beer cans being tossed out of the window. It’s nice.
You never moved out of the apartment you shared together and when he pulls into the parking lot he shuts off the engine and turns towards you.
“Listen. It’s hard for me to see you too, sweetheart. I didn’t want to for a long, long time. I fucked up everything between us and why we had. I was fucked up. I know how shitty I was to you, fuck I deserve this broken nose.”
You’re crying again, whatever makeup you left on your face was rubbed away by your hands.
“It’s no secret. I hurt you, over and over and over again. And I’m so fucking sorry for that. When you left me, I…went off the deep end,” he hangs his head in shame and rolls the ring on his finger. “I put myself in rehab after that, got my GED. I’m doing good, better than I ever could have thought for myself.”
All you ever wanted for him was to be sober. The years you had together weren’t always bad, but they ended ugly and Eddie lost himself during that. You couldn’t keep picking up his broken pieces, they never fit.
“‘m happy for you, Eddie.”
He grabs your hand and his voice is urgent, “I ke—, fuck baby, I kept those promises I made, because of you… and I’m sorry that it took me losing you to do it.”
He never cried. Not once since you knew him did he ever show an emotion that showed he had a soft side. But now there’s tears in his eyes and you can’t help but want to comfort him. Despite everything, he was still Eddie. That long legged boy with the silly grin and rock and roll in his veins.
You hold his face, your fingers wrapped in his curls and your thumbs sweeping away the tears. He kisses your palm and you twirl your fingers deeper in his hair.
“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you deserved.”
Pressing your forehead to his, you both silently hold one another. It heals your heart, holding him while you're both breaking. It’s second nature to ask him to come up to your apartment. It's a habit the way his hands undress you. Fingers delicately sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders.
His lips on yours feel like home. Sweet, comforting, and soothing as he purrs into your skin with each kiss. He takes it slow, methodical in he way he fucks you for the last time. This is goodbye. He knows it and so do you.
“Tell me,” he begs as he’s taking you achingly slow, “baby please tell me you’re better without me.”
You’re focused on his neck, leaving a mark for another girl to find, not in a property type of way but you do it because you know him, you know he wants it.
“I’m…” you falter thinking of the past year and everything you’ve accomplished. You have a great job, friends who adore you, the answer is simple. He is the only thing missing, but you know how horrible you both are together. You know that keeping him will ruin him.
“Honey, please, tell me. I need to hear it from you, won’t leave if you don’t.” He’s asking for the closure you are both in desperate need of, so you give him what he needs… what you both need.
You kiss his neck, your fingers trailing down his arms so you’d remember him in your dreams, “we’re better apart, Eddie…we only hurt each other, this is the only thing we’re good at, and it’s not enough.”
Eddie nods and stops his ministrations to kiss your lips. Those dark eyes staring into your soul.
“God I loved you. I loved you so much.”
You can’t help but cry, it’s overwhelming but freeing, as if the last chapter of this part of your life was finally closing. It was tragically poetic the way you had loved him.
“I loved you too.”
The next morning you wake holding his hand. Heads on separate pillows, bodies not formed together. He’s angelic sleeping on your floral pattern sheets, broken nose and all, and you know this is the right decision.
The two of you don’t share breakfast. He gets dressed and you wave him goodbye from your balcony.
“Hey,” he asks after ducking into the car and holding up one of your sandals, “do you want these?”
Those awful shoes, basket weaved hell on your feet signifying a night that started head strong but ended in the closure you’d been seeking.
“Nah. I don’t need them anymore.”
⏾⋆.˚ ⏾⋆.˚ ⏾⋆.˚
A/N: omg hi! thanks for reading! i’ve had this in my docs since may 2024, and it was supposed to be car sex with eddie. but i like where it went, let me know if you liked it or didn’t!
taglist: i somehow misplaced my taglist so id you want to be tagged pls let me know!
description: heh so uh, not much to say here besides you're a goth baddie and eddie worships you and the ground you walk on. this is purley smut, hence the low word count. that is all, enjoy! requested by @julxsxx
pairing: dom!eddie x sub!reader (fem!reader)
tags: dom!eddie, alt/goth reader, solely smut, fully clothed eddie x fully nude reader, eddie edges you for eternity, he worships you, he's lowkey evil but we love him anyways
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!! i cannot stress this enough, PiV, unprotected, edging galore, pet names, you get it
WC: 1.8k
reblogs are always appreciated<3
The trailer door clicks shut behind you, and the world outside drops away like it was never real to begin with.
Eddie barely gives you a second to breathe before his hands are on you again, rough in a way that somehow feels careful; like he’s been holding back all night and finally decided he’s done pretending he can.
Your back meets the thin wall with a soft thud, and he leans in close, eyes flicking over your face like he’s committing every detail to memory.
You look like something out of a dream he doesn’t quite deserve.
Black on black, layered and intentional, like you built yourself out of shadows. Your tights are sheer and delicate, patterned just enough to catch his eye every time you shift.
The hem of your shorts brushes your thighs, rough-edged and worn in a way that feels lived in, not careless. Your top clings in all the right places, dark and soft, and there’s something about the way it frames your collarbones that makes his throat go dry.
And then there’s everything else.
Silver glinting at your lip, your nose, your ears. Chains and rings that catch the dim light of the trailer like little warnings. Ink winding up your skin in sharp, deliberate lines, disappearing beneath fabric like secrets he wants to uncover slowly.
You don’t look delicate, not really, but there’s something about you that feels untouchable in the best way. Like getting close is a privilege.
“Jesus,” he mutters, almost to himself, thumb brushing just under your lip piercing. “You have any idea what you do to me?”
You tilt your head slightly, playing it off, but your breath catches when his hand slides to your waist, fingers curling just a little tighter than before.
“Maybe,” you murmur.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds yours again, slower this time but deeper, more deliberate. He kisses like he means it, like he’s trying to prove something without saying a word.
One hand presses into your lower back, pulling you flush against him, while the other drifts up your side, thumb tracing over the edge of your tattoo like he’s learning it by touch.
You hum softly against him, and he exhales like it nearly wrecks him.
“Don’t do that,” he says, voice low, forehead resting against yours for a second.
“Do what?”
“Make those noises like you don’t know what they do to me.”
You smile, just a little, and it’s enough to make him lose whatever composure he had left.
His grip tightens again, not harsh, just sure, and he kisses you harder this time, all heat and intent. There’s something a little reckless in it, a little possessive, like he’s not used to wanting something this much and doesn’t quite know how to handle it.
He kisses you like he’s starving; deep, devouring, tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes that make your knees weak.
One large hand stays splayed across your lower back, pinning you to him, while the other starts peeling away your layers with deliberate patience.
First, the top. He breaks the kiss only long enough to tug it over your head, revealing the lacy black bra underneath.
Your breasts spill softly against the fabric, nipples already peaked from the cool air and the heat of his gaze. Ink curls over your ribs, delicate thorns and black roses that seem to breathe with every inhale.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough. He drags his mouth down your throat, sucking a dark mark just beneath your necklace.
Your shorts are next. He sinks to his knees slowly, eyes never leaving yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags them down your legs, taking the sheer patterned tights with them.
Inch by inch, he exposes you: thighs, the curve of your ass, the tattoo just above your left breast now fully visible. When he reaches your ankles, he helps you step out, leaving you in nothing but the black bra and matching panties.
You’re already trembling.
“Eddie…” you whisper, voice breathy.
He rises, pressing you back against the wall, and kisses you again; harder this time. His hand slips between your thighs, cupping you over the damp lace.
“So wet already, baby. You’re soaking through these pretty little panties for me.”
You moan into his mouth, hips rolling against his palm. “Take yours off too… please. I want to feel you.”
Eddie pulls back just enough to grin; wicked, dimpled, mean in the sweetest way. “Oh no, sweetheart. Not tonight.” He grinds the thick ridge of his cock against your thigh through his jeans, letting you feel how hard he is.
“You’re gonna stay completely naked for me… and I’m keeping every stitch on. I want you dripping all over these jeans.”
He doesn’t give you time to argue.
With one smooth motion, he unhooks your bra and lets it fall, then hooks his fingers in your panties and drags them down your legs until you’re completely naked; nothing but silver jewelry, smudged eyeliner, and bare skin.
He drinks you in like you’re sacred.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice reverent. “Look at you. You’re a fucking masterpiece.”
He scoops you up and carries you to the couch, dropping down with you straddling his lap. The rough denim of his jeans rubs right against your bare, soaked center. You gasp at the friction.
Eddie’s hands grip your hips, guiding you to grind slowly against him. “That’s it. Ride my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess.”
He kisses you again, deep and claiming, while one hand slides between your bodies. Two thick, ringed fingers glide through your folds, circling your swollen clit with maddening slowness.
Every time you try to chase more pressure, he pulls back, teasing, edging you mercilessly.
“You don’t come until I say,” he growls softly against your lips. “I want you shaking for me.”
He pushes two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against that spot that makes you see stars, fucking you slow and deep while his thumb tortures your clit.
You’re moaning, riding his hand, tits bouncing softly with every thrust of his fingers. He leans in and sucks one nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make you cry out.
When you’re right on the edge, thighs trembling, he pulls his fingers out completely.
“Not yet, doll.”
You whine in frustration. He only chuckles darkly and flips you onto your back on the couch, spreading your legs wide.
Then he drops to his knees between them, leather jacket creaking, and buries his face in your cunt.
His tongue is merciless. Long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit, then sucking the swollen bud into his mouth while two fingers push back inside you.
He eats you like he’s worshipping and punishing at the same time; growling praises into your pussy between strokes of his tongue.
“So fucking sweet… taste like heaven… gonna keep you on edge until you’re begging.”
He brings you right to the brink again and again, fingering you deep, sucking your clit, curling his fingers just right, only to stop every time your walls start fluttering. Tears of frustration prick your eyes.
“Eddie—please— I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh tenderly even as his voice stays dominant. “You’re gonna be so good for me. Hold it, baby. I know you can.”
Finally, when you’re a sobbing, dripping mess, he stands up, unzips his jeans just enough to free his cock. Thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, and pulls you back into his lap.
He lines up and sinks into you in one slow, devastating thrust, stretching you open until you feel the texture of denim underneath you.
“Fuck— so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and loving. “My beautiful girl… taking my cock so well.”
He starts fucking you hard, deep, possessive strokes that make your tits bounce and your moans fill the trailer. One hand stays wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking possessively, the other gripping your ass, guiding you down onto him with every thrust.
He sets a brutal rhythm, then slows it torturously when you get close, grinding deep and holding you there, refusing to let you tip over.
“Not yet,” he growls against your ear, nipping the lobe. “Hold it. I want you desperate. I want you fucking dripping down my balls before I let you come.”
You sob his name, nails digging into his leather jacket. He kisses you through the frustration, soft, sweet, worshipful, even as he denies you.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby… so fucking good… look at you, falling apart on my cock… so perfect…”
He edges you like that for what feels like forever. Pounding you deep and fast until your thighs shake, then slowing to lazy, grinding thrusts that keep you right on the razor’s edge.
Sweat beads on your skin, and your lipstick is smeared across his mouth. Every time you beg, he only praises you more.
“Shh, I’ve got you… just a little longer… you can take it… you’re mine, sweetheart. All fucking mine.”
When you’re a trembling, sobbing mess, clawing at his shoulders and chanting his name like a prayer, he finally gives in.
“Come for me,” he commands, voice wrecked with love and lust. He slams up into you hard and fast, thumb finding your clit again. “Come all over my cock, baby. Right now. Let me feel you fall apart.”
You shatter with a broken cry, clenching around him violently, soaking his jeans and thighs exactly like he wanted. The orgasm crashes through you in wave after wave, vision whiting out as pleasure rips you apart.
Eddie follows right after, burying himself deep with a low, guttural moan of your name, pulsing inside you as he fills you up.
He holds you tight afterward, still buried deep, arms wrapped around your bare back while his chest presses against you.
He kisses your sweaty temple, your smudged eyeliner, your swollen lips; soft and reverent now that the storm has passed.
He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there with you, still wrapped around him, your breath uneven against his neck while his hands slowly drag up and down your back like he’s grounding himself in you.
Eddie pulls back just enough to look at you. Your lipstick is wrecked, eyeliner smudged beneath your eyes, hair a tangled mess from his hands. His thumb brushes gently under your eye, softer now.
“You okay?” he asks, voice lower than before, stripped of that edge, like he means it.
Then you huff out a quiet laugh, eyes half-lidded, panting, and murmur, “Fuck you.”
His mouth twitches, dimples cutting deep as something dark and amused flickers back into his expression.
“Again?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, already pulling you a little closer. “Okay… if you say so.”
me after writing this one^^^^ i hope you all enjoyed! ik it's more of a shorter fic than usual but I figured id get right to the point with it LMAO
wholesome request - you and Joe can’t stop kissing, just lots of kisses
ok so i read this and then my mind did something else to it and so... it's not exactly this, but it also isn't not.... am i making sense? im not. its fine. i wrote something with kisses in. enjoy!
Wordcount: 2.8K
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Mint Condition
You’re on the sofa together, half-watching something neither of you actually chose with any real intention. The TV’s more on because the room feels a bit better with background noise. Joe’s got work in his lap, and you’re half in your phone whilst one of those coming-of-age films that clearly wants to be taken seriously, isn’t getting taken seriously by either of you. It’s all soft lighting and long pauses, teenagers staring at each other like every glance is life-altering.
Joe is slouched beside you, one leg stretched out, the other tucked underneath him, his attention drifting in and out in that way it does when he’s not fully invested but also not quite ready to turn it off. His fingers play with the edges of paper pages, and every now and then he reacts a fraction too late to what’s happening on TV, like he’s catching up to the scene rather than following it.
There’s a moment where someone confesses their feelings in the middle of a hallway, awkward and overly intense, and you feel yourself reacting before you can stop it, a small shift in your posture, a quiet sound under your breath.
Joe glances at you. “What?”
You keep your eyes on the screen for a second longer before answering. “Just thinking.”
“Mm.” Joe huffs a breath, “That’s never good, is it?”
You ignore him, but the thought doesn’t go away. It lingers, pulling your attention away from the film and toward him instead.
“Wondering what you were you like in school…” you ponder, still looking forward like you’re not really talking about him.
He snorts softly, immediate and dismissive, eyes on his work still. “Normal.”
You turn your head slowly to look at him. “Normal.”
“Yea.”
“Just normal?”
“Yep.”
“All right, that’s not evasive at all.” You shift slightly so you’re angled more toward him, studying his face now instead of the screen. “You weren’t normal.”
“I was.” he says, like he genuinely believes it. “Normal and boring. Just, all right. I was fine. Went to school, did what I had to do, nothing interesting.”
“That still tells me nothing.”
He exhales, like you’re asking something unnecessarily complicated, and folds papers back into place before he leans forward to discard work onto the coffee table. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
You glance back at the film for a moment, at the overly dramatic scene that’s still unfolding, and then back at him again, piecing together your own version instead.
“I bet all the girls really liked you.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” he frowns deeply as he sits back and gets a bit more comfortable against your side. “Which is fine, actually. I didn’t like them either. Girls were icky.”
You stare at him for a second as he pulls you closer, trying to decide if he’s serious or not.
“I’m sorry, what? Girls were icky?”
He’s holding you suspiciously close for someone who thinks he can make comments about girls like that.
“Of course they were,” he continues, settling into it now. “Always coming up to me and being all weird.”
Joe makes a face like he’s recalling something genuinely horrific from his childhood before he wiggles a few fingers at his own face and says, “Going on about my eyelashes and things.”
You watch him for a moment, and it only takes a second for Joe to fill the silence.
“They’d be like, ‘oh my God, your eyelashes are so long,’ and then they’d just… stand there, batting their own sticky long fake eyelashes, expecting a response from me.”
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shifting so you’re fully facing him now.
“Joe, that’s flirting.”
He fully ignores you, even though you know full well that he’s heard you perfectly fine. His frown stays as he rambles on, “And then they’d do this stupid thing where they’d grab your wrist…” he’s already grabbed hold of yours to demonstrate. “And they’d compare hand sizes, like, ‘oh my God, look how big your hands are,’ yea, and? So what, I don’t know, that’s not my fault, is it?” Joe huffs.
You stare at him, genuinely baffled now. Is he being fucking serious? You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you shake your head at him. “Oh come on, you cannot be that big of an idiot.”
“What?” he says, dropping your hand, though there’s something slightly off about the way he says it now, something that doesn’t quite add up.
You lean in just a fraction, watching him more closely. “You know that’s peak teenage girl flirting.”
He holds your gaze for a second too long, and that’s all it takes. There’s a flicker of something there, something amused, something aware, before he looks away again.
“Girls are icky anyway,” he says, shrugging it off as he leans back into the sofa. “You’re icky.”
You let out a quiet, disbelieving sound, turning back toward the TV. “Okay, so you were a real loser in school. Got it.”
He doesn’t respond, but when you glance at him again, there’s still the hint of a smile he hasn’t quite managed to hide.
Yea, this dickhead wasn’t a loser. The fact that he’s trying to sell the idea to you that he was one is what might make him one, though. You don’t bring it up again though. You don’t want to fall into a trap where you end up arguing that Joe was cool when he was in school.
You’re back in your phone when the film finishes, and it’s a surprise to you both how quickly the time’s gone. It’s late by now, and you both have early alarms already set.
“I’m going to bed,” Joe says, like an afterthought, already moving.
You hum in response, scroll down to another social media post and watch him disappear down the hallway. You give it a minute before getting up yourself, more out of habit than anything else, trailing after him toward the bathroom.
Joe is stood at the sink when you walk in, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand braced against the counter as he brushes his teeth.
You lean your shoulder into the doorframe for a second just to look at him, taking him in through the mirror.
There’s not a chance this guy didn’t have girls fighting over him at lunch time, you think. There’s definitely the possibility that he didn’t know what to do with any of the attention, but, fuck off, he’s absolutely lying to you.
You suppose it’s nicer to be lied to this way ‘round, but calling you icky was… a choice.
Joe’s a choice too.
Your choice.
It’s annoying that looking at him now only affirms it, even though the bathroom’s a right mess and he’s got foamy toothpaste dripping down his chin.
“Y’know what,” you say after a second, pushing yourself off the frame and stepping inside, “I think I sort of get it…”
He glances at you in the mirror, briefly, toothbrush still in his mouth.
You move closer, slow and deliberate, watching his reflection as you go. “Why you were such a bad kisser when we first got together.”
He freezes, and then slowly turns his head just enough to look at you, eyes narrowing around the toothbrush. “–mmph?”
You smile, completely unbothered, stepping in behind him. “Yea, sorry, but it just makes sense a bit now… all those girls flirting with you and you’re just… completely clueless, missing all of it entirely.”
You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, quick and light. Just a little baby peck.
He makes a noise of protest, garbled by foam, tries to lean away a little because he doesn’t trust this tone of yours, but you’re too quick and get him again. Bit wetter that time.
“And then, eventually, I come along,” you continue, already aiming for his jaw this time, “and have to teach you everything from scratch.”
He pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth just long enough to try and respond. “Tha’s– noh–”
You kiss him mid-sentence, right at the edge of his mouth, quick and deliberate, kind of gross because you definitely got some toothpaste there too, but it’s fine. What’s cleaner than toothpaste?
Joe jerks back immediately, shoving at you with his free hand. “I’m b–ushing my teef–”
“Come here,” you’re fighting him now as you laugh, trying to pull him closer so you can kiss him some more, but Joe’s strong and he’s got a wet toothbrush for a weapon.
“Shtop! You’re being–…” he pauses to spit into the sink. “You’re being disgusting,” he finishes more clearly. He looks at you for a second, tries to get it across to you with just his eyes that he doesn’t appreciate being distracted from brushing his teeth whilst you make fun of him for being green when he was in school.
Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work, but you stop trying to fight him for a moment which in turn makes Joe return to the job at hand.
You tilt your head a little as you watch him. “Didn’t you just say girls are icky?”
It’s his own fault really, all of this.
“Mmph–” he argues with his mouth full and his forehead in a deep frown.
You ignore him and lean in again, pressing another kiss just under his jaw, as wet as you can get it this time, mouth half open, tongue touching his unshaved face, pleased with the way his shoulders tense.
He plants his hand flat against your forehead and pushes you back, has to tilt his head back to not dribble toothpaste everywhere and manages a very foamy, “Shtay. Dere.”
“I’m just being nice!”
“I–ong cahr.”
You let him think he’s won, but only briefly, because the second he stops pushing you back so hard, you giggle, “You’re just mad I improved your technique,” and dip in towards his neck.
Joe nearly gives himself whiplash with the speed of which he jerks back, “Mm! Mno!” whatever he’s trying to say is completely ruined by toothpaste. “Nnyou’re– icky! Icky–”
You’ve got your hands around his neck to pull him towards you with all your strength. It works. You’re almost hanging from his neck, but it works, and you get close enough for another smooch.
It’s only at the very last millisecond that you change your mind.
Instead of going for a kiss, you’re quick to stick your tongue out and lick him from just under his jaw to just about his cheekbone in a quick swipe.
He freezes completely and lets his toothbrush hang from his mouth as he stares at you in the mirror.
You can’t help but be all smiles and all ego as you reach for your own toothbrush. “Yea, no, I see your point. Super icky, me.”
There’s a beat where he just stares at you. Foamy toothpaste threatening to drip from his chin as you casually uncap the toothpaste for yourself.
“Yea, okay,” Joe drops his toothbrush into the sink with vigour. “You’re not fucking getting away with that,” he says, already moving, grabbing your arm and pulling you back toward him with so much strength, your shoulder crashes into his chest. You think it must hurt him more than it hurts you, but before you can even say anything, the first cold and unmistakably foamy and wet kiss lands on your cheek.
Ew.
You make a muffled noise of protest as you try to regain some control, but this motherfucker keeps you close and presses his face to yours once more. It’s not even real kisses – he’s just trying to cover your whole face in his minty spit and it’s fucking working.
You’re screeching as you try to fight him off, but he just keeps going, completely unapologetic, pressing his lips to your other cheek, then your jaw. Your nose next before he gets your chin.
“This is your own doing,” he enunciates perfectly, completely careless about where all of the toothpaste inside of his mouth ends up.
You twist away, half-laughing, but he doesn’t let you go until he’s also gotten you across your forehead, and when you catch your reflection in the mirror, there’s toothpaste smeared all across your face in uneven wet streaks.
It’s in your hair too.
And down your top.
You look at Joe and realise he doesn’t look much different; he’s covered in his own white foamy spit as well.
“Oh my God, what the fu– and I’m the icky one?!” you argue, and all Joe can do is laugh.
“Yea, look at you,” he muses, and earns himself an elbow in the side.
He jolts immediately, and you take the opportunity to lean in and press a quick, messy kiss to his cheek in retaliation. Joe easily lets you, since you’re both fucking covered in the worst of it already. When you lean back to see if you’ve done any more damage to his cheek, Joe takes hold of your face, cupping your whole head in both of his palms and kisses you square on the mouth.
“Mm,” you hum before you pull away and wipe at your mouth like it’s the most disgusting thing Joe could’ve done before turning back to the mirror. “Well done. I’ve got to wash my hair now.”
Joe exhales through a smile, and can’t help the schoolboy-naughty face as he says, “Nah, you’re in mint condition still.” which earns him a weak slap to the chest from the back of your hand. Laughing, he shakes his head at the look of you trying to brush the paste from your hair as he turns the tap on to give his face a wash. There’s a softness to the way he looks at you before he dips his head down to splash some water onto his skin, something wholesome and quieter hidden in his eyes that silences you in return.
Without any more funny business, Joe washes his own face first before he helps you wipe down yours. You fall back into routine after that, brushing your teeth without smearing any of it across anyone’s face. Every so often, your eyes meet in the mirror, and Joe will scrunch his nose up at you whilst letting his mouth pull into a small smile neither of you fully acknowledge.
When you finally set your toothbrush down, he glances at you, then steps closer and hesitates just briefly. You don’t shy away from him now that there’s nothing to gross you out, and when Joe leans in to kiss you properly, you’re fully there for it.
The kiss is clean this time, slower, and a lot more purposeful. Joe stretches it just long enough for you to lose yourself into it a little, both hands on your face at first before one finds the back of your neck to keep you in place. You find yourself gasping into it as your whole front presses against all of his. You don’t want this to end. Ever.
When he finally, eventually, pulls back, it takes you a second to properly come back into yourself. Your eyes take longer to open, and when they eventually do, they look right into his. With your lips still parted, your next breath catches strangely on the way in, like your body hasn’t quite caught up yet with what just happened.
Joe notices.
You see it happen in real time, the way something warm and pleased unfurls across his face, boyish and unbearably self-satisfied with what he’s just done to you. His chest lifts with the effect he’s had on you, pride settling into the slight curve of his mouth as he looks at you like he’s personally responsible for the state of you, which, annoyingly, he sort of is.
“Mm,” he says softly, clearly delighted with himself. “You taught me well.”
You blink at him, still a little dazed, then narrow your eyes as the meaning catches up to you. “What?”
Joe’s smile only deepens. “Got you so bad you forgot where you were for a second there, didn’t you?”
You let out a breath that is half laugh, half disbelief, and shove lightly at his chest even though it does absolutely nothing to fix the fact that he’s fucking right.
“Can’t help but ask now…” he says as his flat hand slaps the doorframe as he’s about to leave the room. “What were you like in school?”
You hum softly against your own smile as you make eye-contact with him through the mirror.
“Great question, actually.”
And Joe already knows what the answer is going to be just by the glint in your eyes and the way you have to bite into your lips to hold back your laughter.
Your friend Eddie Munson loves getting under your skin - but maybe it's about time you got under him instead.
Authors Note - apparently I dabble in one shots instead of sleeping now. enjoy this truly self-indulgent smut because I was thinking about Eddie's rings he always wears. <3
CW/TW: smut, oral (f receiving), bantering, sexual tension, kitchen counter shenanigans, no use of y/n, Eddie's shameless idk what to tell you.
"You cannot be serious.” You remarked, leaning back against the rough brick of the theater wall, arms crossed over your chest as you watched Eddie Munson pace ina small circle in front of you. "You’re telling me that the third act - the part where the protagonist literally sacrificed his soul to save the world - was lazy writing?"
Eddie stopped pacing and whirled on you, the heels of his boots scuffing against the ground. He held his hands out, palms up, as if appealing to the cosmos for some back up. "It wasn't lazy, it was predictable. Which is arguably worse.”
“How is that worse?”
“It’s the narrative equivalent of Wonderbread, sweetheart. Empty and plain with zero nutritional value.”
“Hey, I love Wonderbread.”
“Not important -”
“Rude -”
“Point is that he had the dagger! Right there! Why summon some ancient evil when you can just stab the guy?"
"Because the dagger was broken, idiot," you countered, trying to keep the grin off your face. Your friend took some fantasy movies far too seriously. "Did you even watch the movie?”
Eddie scoffed, stepping closer. He was invading your personal space, something he’d been doing a lot lately. "The dagger being broken is a plot contrivance designed to force the melodrama. It’s cheap. And stupid. And I hated it."
“You’re bitching like a little baby.”
“Am not.”
"It’s called tension, Eddie. Something you wouldn't know tension if it walked up and bit you on the -"
"Excuse you, my lady - but I know tension," Eddie cut you off, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step forward, quickly eliminating the remaining distance between you until you had to tilt your chin up to look him in the eye.
The air between you, usually filled with the comfortable static of your bickering, suddenly felt… Thick. Charged. It was like the atmosphere right before a thunderstorm. It clung to you, heavy and electric against your skin.
Eddie reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. The touch lingered, his ringed knuckles grazing the line of your jaw. It wasn't the first time he’d touched you tonight, or even this week, but this felt different. Far less accidental or platonic. More intentional. And he didn’t drop his hand to his side.
"I know plenty about tension," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours, searching for something you couldn’t quite place. Or that you didn’t want to. "Like… Right now. For example."
Your breath hitched in your throat, just slightly. Maybe if he notices, you could blame it on the cool, nighttime air. Though you knew it would’ve been a lie. You stood your ground, refusing to step aside. "Is that so?"
"Mhm." Eddie smiled, but it wasn't his usual manic, energetic grin. It was softer at the edges. Still charming, but infinitely more likely to get you into trouble.
“Smartass.”
"Oh, come on. You're standing there looking at me like you wanna throttle me, but… Your pupils are huge. I can see ‘em from here."
“Well, you’re in my face.”
“They’re still way too big.”
"Maybe it’s the adrenaline," you lied smoothly. "From the movie. The chase scene."
"Right. The chase scene," he teased, his thumb traced the curve of your jawline to just under your lower lip. Your pulse skyrocketed, and you wondered if he could feel it. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "Adrenaline sure makes you do crazy things, doesn't it?”
“Such as?”
“Makes you say things you don't mean. Do things you shouldn't." There was a challenge in his tone. A question hanging in the air between you, unspoken but loud.
How far are we gonna take this?
You narrowed your eyes at him, masking the flutter in your stomach with a practiced smirk. You weren't quite ready to fold. Not just yet. Maybe you wanted to see just how far Eddie Munson was willing to push before he remembered that - up till recently, apparently - you were nothing more than his good friend.
"You're projecting, Munson." You rolled your eyes. "Just because that scene had you gripping the armrests like a terrified toddler doesn't mean the rest of us were affected in any way whatsoever."
Eddie laughed. It vibrated in his chest and seemed to transfer straight to yours, given your proximity. He didn't move away. Instead, he got closer, bracketing your hips with his hands, placing them on the wall on either side of your body. He wasn't quite touching you, but he made a fairly effective cage. The smell of his leather jacket, mixed with cigarette smoke and some sort of woody cologne enveloped you.
"Terrified toddler?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know, I was… Invested."
"Invested." You repeated, the word tasting dry on your tongue. You glanced down at his hands for half a second, then back up to his eyes. He knew what he was doing, and so did you. Let him see that you weren't oblivious to the shift your conversation had taken. "You were sweating. I think you still are."
"I run hot," he said without missing a beat. His gaze drifted down to your mouth, then back up, darker this time. "You know that."
"Do I?"
Eddie leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. Don’t do anything stupid.
"Yep. I think you know a lot of things about me that you don't let on. And I think," he paused, his eyes flicking over your face with an intensity that made your knees want to buckle. "That you liked the movie a lot more than you're saying. You’re just arguing to be difficult."
"I'm always difficult," you whispered back, testing the weight of the moment. You didn't pull away from the wall or push his arms away. You simply watched him.
"Yeah, I know." Eddie’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. "That's the problem."
He held the pose for a heartbeat longer, the space between your lips minuscule, before he finally pushed himself off the wall with a groan. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair, effectively breaking the tension but leaving the aftermath of it swirling in the cool alley air.
"Come on," his tone returned to its normal volume and cadence. Though the playful glint in his eye hadn't faded. "Let's get you home before you start analyzing the cinematography of the goblin caverns."
You pushed yourself off the wall, legs feeling a little unsteady beneath you. "I already have notes, actually."
"Of course you do," he laughed, bumping his shoulder against yours - harder than necessary, definitely on purpose. "God forbid you just enjoy a moment."
"I enjoy plenty of moments," you said, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide the fact that your fingers were trembling slightly.
"Do you?" He glanced at you sideways, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you really?"
You didn't answer as you matched his pace on the sidewalk, the city lights flooding your vision. Wondering how much longer you could keep up this act before one of you broke and did something.
The Hideout was… Sticky. Loud. And it smelled exactly like one would expect it to - stale beer and questionable life choices.
But watching Eddie onstage was worth it. He truly transformed when he had a guitar in his hands. The goofy, rambling guy who argued about movies or planned DnD campaigns vanished, replaced by some confident force of nature. When his eyes locked onto yours from behind the mess of hair mid-guitar solo, you felt it like a physical tug.
By the time his band had finished their set, the adrenaline buzzing in your veins had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the way Eddie had been looking at you.
Friends don’t look at one another like that. Do they?
He found you at the bar afterwards, breathless and grinning, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Did you see that solo?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Did you hear the way I nailed that transition?"
"It was adequate," you shouted over the lingering noise of the crowd, fighting a smile. "If you like that sort of thing. Very… Enthusiastic."
"Adequate?" He laughed incredulously, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. "I poured my soul out for you people, and all I get from you is adequate? You wound me."
"Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check, Munson.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, it's a full-time job."
“Sounds exhausting. I hope you’re at least getting good benefits.
Eddie took a swig of water, his eyes never leaving yours. The post-show energy was slowly simmering into something else. Something heavier.
After a moment, he glanced down at the top you were wearing - some skimpy, backless number that felt appropriate for a dive bar and nowhere else. You weren’t even sure why you’d worn it. To tempt fate? Or a very specific lead guitarist?
"Also, since you're my dedicated ego manager," he started, stepping closer so the two of you didn't have to shout anymore. "You should probably come back to my place. We need to debrief. I think there were structural flaws in the second set that require immediate action. Over grilled cheese."
You raised an eyebrow. "Grilled cheese? It’s one in the morning."
"That’s the best time to eat it." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Besides, I found my VHS copy of that one movie you hate. We can watch it, and you can tell me exactly why I’m wrong."
“I thought you hated my movie analysis.”
“What on earth would give you that idea?”
“The time you told me god, I hate it when you do that - can’t you just enjoy the movie.”
“Don’t act like you don’t also have totally bullshit opinions on movies sometimes.”
Eddie shrugged. “A broken clock is right twice a day, sweetheart. Now. Sandwiches?"
You knew you should go home. That friends didn't usually go back to each other's places at one in the morning for grilled cheese and movie critiques when the air between them was already thick enough to choke on. But… Fuck it.
"Fine. But if you burn mine, I'm leaving."
"Deal."
Back at his trailer, the atmosphere shifted. Almost imperceptively at first. It was just the two of you in the dim light of the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. You’d hoisted yourself up onto the counter, needing the height to feel less vulnerable. The air was cool against the exposed skin of your back, raising gooseflesh along your spine.
"Ah, grilled cheese," Eddie announced, pulling a pan out from a pile of dishes in the drying rack. He moved with a kind of restless energy, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel to expose the tattoos winding up his forearms. "The breakfast of champions. Or their midnight snack. Whatever."
"Are you going to burn it?" You asked, watching him slap butter into the pan.
"I thought the deal was that I don’t burn it.” He scoffed, flipping the butter knife with a flourish. "Besides, I’m a culinary master. Have a little faith.”
He turned to grab the cheese, and you shifted your weight, turning slightly to reach for a glass of water you’d left near the edge. The movement stretched your back, arching it.
Eddie glanced up and stopped. The sound of the butter sizzling in the pan was suddenly the only audible sound in the small space.
"You know," his voice dropped, losing the playful lilt. "You’ve been distracting me all night."
You froze, your hand hovering over the water glass. "I was just sitting in the corner."
"Yeah." He turned fully toward you now, abandoning the stove. He walked over slowly, the heavy tread of his boots muffled by the linoleum. Your throat felt dry. "I kept looking at you. Wondering."
"Wondering what?" You turned your head to look at him, your heart rate picking up speed.
"Wondering how you’re not cold," he murmured, stopping at the end of the counter beside you. His gaze burned a trail down your neck. "There’s like, no back on that thing. It’s just… skin."
“I think it’s called a halter top.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. It’s… Breathable.” You managed, though your voice was thinner than you intended.
"Breathable." He repeated thoughtfully. Slowly, he raised his hand, his fingertips brushing against your shoulder. "It’s dangerous."
"Dangerous?" You tried for a scoff, but it came out as a breath. "It's a shirt, Eddie."
"Is it?" Eddie leaned in, his face hovering inches beside yours, as you tried to face straight ahead. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his gaze go to the expanse of your back. "It looks like an invitation."
"An invitation to what?"
"To touch." He said it so simply. So matter-of-factly. Then, he did it.
But he didn't use his palm. He used his knuckles. The chunky silver rings he always wore were freezing cold, a contrast to the now rather feverish heat of your skin. He dragged them down the center of your spine, slowly.
Agonizingly slowly.
The sensation was violent. It was a line of ice that sparked nerve endings you didn't know you had. Your back arched instinctively, a sharp intake of air hissing between your teeth as your body chased the touch.
"Eddie," you gasped, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. "W-what are you doing?"
He didn’t respond, and his hand didn't stop. It traveled lower still, tracing the dip of your spine. The metal rings brushed your skin in a drag that was oddly erotic. He repeated the action upwards, watching your reaction carefully. When he reached the base of your neck, he paused, his thumb flicking the flimsy tie that barely held the fabric to your body.
“Eddie…”
With a slight shift, his fingers slid around to your side, his rings biting into your ribcage as he pulled you down and off the counter, so you were pressed flush against him. Looking up, he was so close you could see the flecks of gold in his brown irises.
The contact was electric. You could feel the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscle of his thighs. You were suddenly overwhelmed by his touches, and the way he seemed to swallow you up. Your hands landed on his waist to steady yourself, fingers twisting into the fabric of his flannel.
“I think… This is probably a bad idea.” You breathed, trying to keep the upper hand, but you were drowning in him.
"And I think," Eddie whispered, "that you’re already trembling."
"I'm cold.”
"Liar. I think it’s been established that you aren’t." He smirked, a wicked, knowing tilt of his lips. He brought his other hand up, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back further, exposing your throat. He leaned in, his nose tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re burning up.”
“I’m sure you wish you had that effect on me, Munson.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
You could feel his heartbeat against yours, or maybe it was just your own that thundered in your ears. He was right. The air in the kitchen was stifling, heavy with the smell of butter and… Him. You were trapped between the counter and the hard line of his body, and you didn't want to move.
"This is a bad idea," you repeated, but your hands were pulling him closer, not pushing him away.
"Probably the worst one we've ever had," he agreed, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. He pressed a kiss there, light as a feather, but it made you shudder. "But I'm done thinking, aren't you?"
"Maybe, I - Mhm.” His teeth grazed your earlobe.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze dark and stripping away every defense you had. Not that you had many. He moved his hand from your side, trailing his fingers back up your spine, slower this time, dragging the cold metal of his rings over every inch of skin he could reach.
"Say yes." He murmured, sounding rough and almost desperate. If you’d wanted him to, he probably would’ve gotten on his knees and begged. “Please.”
The tension in the room pulled tight as a bowstring. Ready to snap. The sizzle of the burning butter in the pan had turned to an aggressive hiss, but neither of you cared. You were lost in him. The cold metal on your skin. The feeling of his body against yours. And above all, the undeniable, terrifying fact that you wanted him to ruin you.
"To what? Grilled cheese?" You teased weakly, your lips hovering inches from his.
Eddie let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. "To hell with the grilled cheese."
The next instant, he sealed his mouth over yours.
Eddie’s kiss was hungry. Far from the sort of tentative exploration that most first kisses between two people normally have. It felt as though he’d been waiting for the feeling of your lips on his for months - if not years. The searing kisses were erotic in their intensity, tasting of the lingering sweetness of the soda he’d had on stage. His teeth pulled at your lower lip, and you gasped into his mouth. Your hands fisting into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Up," he commanded against your lip. Not waiting for you to comply, he gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he hoisted you onto the counter. You winced slightly as the edge hit the back of your thighs, but the pain was swallowed instantly by the pleasure of him settling into the cradle of your hips.
"Eddie," you breathed, breaking the kiss to look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen as yours were.
His hands carefully slid under the hem of your top, his palms cool and rough against your ribs. "God, you feel like a fever."
Eddie pushed the scrap of fabric up, and you raised your arms, letting him pull it over your head. It landed somewhere on the floor, forgotten instantly. You felt only him. The grip of his hands. The way his eyes raked over you like he was starving.
"Lie back for me." The timbre of his voice dropped to that low, rumbling register that made your thighs clench.
"Eddie, the counter? Really? I-" Your voice lacked a great deal of conviction.
"I'll make it worth it." He winked, nudging your knees apart. "Lie back. Please."
The addition of the word, spoken with a mock-polite tone, sent a confusing jolt of heat through your veins. You leaned back, your elbows hitting the laminate surface, watching him through half-lidded eyes.
Eddie didn't waste a moment of your time. He dragged his knuckles down the center of your chest, over the swell of your breasts, the metal rings sliding temptingly across your smooth skin. It seemed like your friend - friend? Can we still use that term? - was a fucking tease. Probably should’ve called that one.
"Lift your hips.”
You obeyed, arching your back as he deftly unbuttoned your pants and tugged the denim down your legs. The scrap of lace that could only loosely be referred to as underwear was also quickly removed as Eddie tore through them with a quick snap.
“Hey!” You protested as he shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. “I liked those.”
“So did I, sweetheart.” He grinned.
You shivered as the air hit your center, but before you could process the exposure, his hands were back on you.
"Look at you," he whispered, sounding a little awestruck. He ran a finger down your center, and you bit your lip to resist an unbidden moan escaping you. Make him work for those noises. "And you tried to tell me I had no effect on you."
"I'm a lot of things, but not - oh my god -" The air was stolen from your lungs as his thumb found your clit, circling it slowly. Maddeningly.
"No?" He smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh. "What's the word, then?"
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh, but I’d really love it if you did.” Eddie lightened his touch, and your hips bucked, seeking a return of the friction that he was trying to cruelly deny you. “Say it. What are you?”
"Desperate." The word tore from your throat as he reapplied a little more pressure with his thumb.
Sure you were probably setting feminism back a few decades, but the suffragettes of old had probably never experienced the skilled ministrations of a metalhead guitarist named Eddie Munson. You assumed.
"Good." He lowered his head, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. "Me too."
The first drag of his tongue against you was slow. Torturous. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the taste of you. You cried out, head falling back against the counter. Your hands tangled in his hair to anchor yourself, for all the good it did you.
"Eddie, fuck -" Your hips bucked against him involuntarily. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body.
"Stay still," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. "Lemme take care of you."
"I don't need -"
"Yes, you do." He smirked, a wicked, arrogant tilt of his lips. “And lucky for you, I’m a gentleman."
Put that tongue back to work, or I’m going to scream.
"A gentleman?" You scoffed breathelessly. "You're eating me out on your kitchen counter."
"Semantics. A gentleman," he insisted, "knows that the lady always comes first."
Before you could retort, he buried his face between your thighs again. He wasn't as gentle this time. It felt like he was trying to devour you, working you with a furious precision, alternating between broad, flat strokes that made your toes curl and tight, flicking movements against your clit that had you seeing stars.
You could feel the pressure building low in your body. A tight coil of heat that wound tighter with every pass of his tongue. You arched your back, a broken moan finally tearing from your throat as he slid a finger inside you, crooking it just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur.
"Oh, god -"
“He’s not here, sweetheart. Lucky us.”
You gasped as he sucked against you, your thighs trembling around his head at the sensation. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?" He mumbled against you, not lifting his head. "Use your words."
"M-more," you begged. God? If you are there - please never let him remember that I begged for him at any point. "I need more."
He happily obliged, adding a second finger, stretching you, filling you while his mouth continued its assault on your clit. The stretch was intense, a burning pleasure that bordered on pain. And you loved it. Admittedly, you also didn’t mind the way he took control. The way he seemed intent upon making you fall apart.
Then the coil snapped. Your back bowed off the counter, a desperate, gasping groan tearing from your lips as your release crashed over you. It washed through you in waves, stealing your breath and your reason,leaving you limp and trembling. But Eddie didn't stop. He worked you through it, his fingers slowing, his tongue gentling, drawing out every last aftershock until you were begging him to stop, pushing at his head with weak hands.
"Enough," you gasped, your chest heaving. "T-too much."
"Never too much," he muttered, pressing one last, chaste kiss to your oversensitive clit before lifting his head. His hair was a wild mess from your fingers and he looked positively feral. Proud, even. "You taste like sin."
"That cannot possibly be true."
"Agree to disagree, gorgeous." He leaned over you to capture your mouth in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it sent a fresh jolt of arousal through your body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard line of his erection pressing through his jeans. “Didja have fun?”
“Yeah.” You admitted against him, only slightly begrudgingly.
"I told you. I'm a gentleman."
You laughed breathlessly. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're a wreck," he teased, his hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "Hmm. I think I like you like this."
"Oh?" You challenged him, lifting your hips to rub against him, feeling his breath hitch.
Eddie groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"You started it." You nipped at his earlobe, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the muscles of his back, scraping his skin with your fingernails. "Take me to bed, Munson. The counter is hurting my ass."
He looked almost surprised as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder as he picked you up with ease and carried you toward the bedroom.
It was dark, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds and the lighter he flicked to light a clove cigarette sitting in an overflowing ashtray. He dumped you unceremoniously onto his mattress, which was a chaotic pile of black sheets and mismatched pillows, smelling faintly of sandalwood and the distinct scent that was just… Him.
Before you could even sit up, Eddie was crowding over you, crawling up the bed like a predator stalking its prey. He had stripped off his flannel and his t-shirt at some point between the kitchen and the hallway, leaving his upper half bare. Your eyes traced the ink winding around his arms, the definition of his collarbones, the scattering of hair that trailed down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
"Like what you see?" Eddie teased, noticing your gaze.
"I'm evaluating." You propped yourself up on your elbows. "This lighting is terrible."
In one quick motion, he caught your ankles, dragging you down the bed until he could bracketed your thighs with his hips. "You're staring."
"Hard not to when you're, like, looming over me. Fucking Christ."
Eddie grinned, reaching for the button of his jeans. "You're mouthy tonight. I like it."
"I'm always mouthy."
"Yeah, but tonight it’s really doin’ somethin’ for me, not gonna lie." He shucked his jeans and boxers in one efficient movement, kicking them off the side of the bed.
Your breath hitched as Eddie finally settled over you, his skin hot against yours. He was heavy, solid, and the reality of your current situation hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d rarely considered the possibility of being naked and aroused underneath Eddie Munson. You reached up, your hands tracing ink on his chest, your fingers tangling in the chain hanging around his neck.
"You talk a big game for a guy who tripped over his own shoes earlier." You murmured, trying to regain some semblance of control.
He laughed. "Don't pretend you didn't like the view."
"I tolerate it."
"Tolerate this." Eddie growled, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. He ground his hips against yours, his length sliding through the wetness left over from your earlier tryst, creating a friction that made your toes curl.
"Condom?" You managed to gasp against his lips. “Unless you’d like to be a father?”
He froze for a fraction of a second, then cursed, reaching over to the nightstand. He yanked the drawer open so hard the whole bedside table nearly tipped over. He fumbled around inside, his movements jerky and desperate.
You watched him briefly struggle with the foil packet in the dark. "If you drop that, I'm walking home."
"I'll have you know that I’m a professional." He finally ripped it open with his teeth. "Watch and learn."
You watched, silently appreciating the way his forearm muscles flexed as he rolled it on. All those hours practicing Metallica songs seem to have paid off. When he turned back to you, his expression was serious, the playfulness replaced by a surprising intensity and seriousness.
"You sure about this?" Eddie asked, his voice rough.
"Eddie," you sighed, reaching up to pull him down by his shoulders. "If you aren’t inside me in the next seven seconds, I'm going to strangle you with the underwear you ruined earlier.”
“Seems a little dramatic, sweetheart.”
“I sweat to God, I’m going to scream.”
"Good," he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. "That’s the idea." He pushed inside you in one smooth, deep stroke.
Your head fell back, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he filled you. It was a stretch. A burning, pleasurable fullness that stole the air from your lungs. There was a brief moment of pain that thankfully gave way to a heavy, pleasurable sensation. He paused, his forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged.
"Okay?" His voice was tight.
"Move," you commanded, digging your heels into his lower back. "Just move. Please."
You didn't need to tell him twice. The rhythm he started was slow and deliberate, dragging his hips back before sinking deep again - stealing the breath from your lungs with every stroke. It was maddening. And perfect.
"You feel incredible.” He groaned, his face buried in your neck.
"You're just saying that because you're inside me," you teased, though your voice was breathless and trembling.
"I'm saying it because it's true." He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours. It made the scenario that much more intimate.
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
"I - fuck, sweetheart. You're so w-"
You covered his mouth with your hand. "Don’t ruin the moment with something gross, Munson.”
“Why, got something against me being happy you’re soaked for me?”
“Ew.” He hit a spot inside of you that made stars burst in the corner of your vision. “I’m always s- nevermind.”
He stilled, his eyes widening slightly as he caught your heat-of-the-moment slip. You glanced away.
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." Eddie smirked, a wicked, arrogant tilt of his lips. "I'm never letting you forget that."
He picked up the pace, his movements becoming harder, faster. The bed frame was hitting the wall with a rhythmic thump. The sound was obscene in the quiet room. You met him thrust for thrust, the friction building a brand new coil of heat low in your belly.
Then, you felt it.
The cold, sharp bite of metal against your breastbone.
Eddie had braced his weight on one arm, bringing his other hand up to palm your breast. The heavy silver rings on his fingers were somehow freezing cold against your fever-hot skin. He squeezed, his fingers digging in, and the rings gently pinched your nipple, sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your core.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you gasped, your back arching off the bed. "Do that again."
"What? Oh." He did it again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the cold metal over the sensitive peak, closing it between the rings. "This?"
"Yes." You were practically panting now, your body thrumming with the contrast of temperatures. "Your rings… They're cold."
"Mhmm. I know," he murmured, watching your face intently. "You like it?"
"I love it." You reached up, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand against your chest. "D-don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it." He leaned down, taking your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue and teeth hot while his fingers continued their torture on the other side.
The dual sensations - the heat of his mouth, the cold of the rings - was delicious. You cried out, your hips bucking up to meet his, desperate for more friction, more depth. Just more of him.
"Damn, you're so responsive," he groaned, releasing your nipple with a pop. "I love how you react to me."
"I'm reacting to physics." You managed, though it came out as a breathless moan. "Thermodynamics.”
“Babe, you’re so sexy when you’re sayin’ big words I don’t know.”
“It - It’s h-hot and cold -”
"Shut up," he laughed, his rhythm faltering slightly. "You're ruining the moment."
"You love it." You tightened your legs around his waist, grinding against him, feeling the brush of his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust. "You love that I talk back."
"I do," he admitted huskily. "I love that you're stubborn and difficult. And that you're close. I can feel it."
He was right. The pressure was building again, insistent and overwhelming. You could feel the hot wave creeping up on you, threatening to shatter you for the second time that evening.
"Eddie," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders. "I need -”
"I've got you, sweetheart."He shifted his weight, bringing his hand between your bodies. He found the apex of your center, his rings hitting the bundle of nerves just as his thrusts became punishingly deep.
You saw white. The combination of the varying sensations and deep friction was your undoing. A cry that was half his name, half a sob fell from your lips, your body shaking with the force of it. You felt him tense above you, his rhythm breaking as he followed you over the edge. He buried his face in your neck with a guttural moan.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, ragged and loud. The air smelled of sex and sweat and clove cigarettes. It was somehow just right.
Eddie collapsed beside you, flinging an arm over your midsection. You turned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine.
"Okay," you breathed. Eddie turned his head to press a kiss to your shoulder. "I take it back."
"Take what back?"
"I called you adequate earlier" You murmured. "And that… That was definitely not adequate.”
Eddie gave a weak laugh. "No. It wasn't."
“It far exceeded my expectations, thank you Mr. Munson.” You grabbed his hand and shook it as though you were brokering a business deal. “Much appreciated.”
Eddie lifted his head, grinning down at you, his hair a wild halo around his face. "I think we might need to double check my adequacy at some point. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. You know. For science."
"I think science can wait," you said curling into his side, resting your head on his chest. "I'm exhausted. "
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand stroking your hair. "Me too."
You lay there in the quiet, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the steady thump of his heart. It was comfortable. Right, even.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?"
"You still owe me a grilled cheese."
He groaned, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. "Go to sleep."
Omg yesss!!! Tell us how he asked for a divorce!!!
all right babes, here we go, the little snippet pre something somehow someday in which joe speaks the word divorce into the universe and fucks everything up 🖤
Wordcount: 2.8K
---
Everything Except Enough
Your face still feels tight from crying. Salt-dried in places where you didn’t quite catch all of it with your sleeve.
“Are we done?” you ask, but don’t get an immediate response from Joe.
With your lashes clumped together and your nose blocked on one side, your head aches faintly from the force of crying. You can still taste it too. The faint, metallic tang that always lingers at the back of your throat after you’ve been upset.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slightly hunched, arms folded in a way that isn’t quite defensive but isn’t relaxed either.
The fight is technically over, you think. Or at least, it’s paused.
That’s how your fights tend to go, usually. You burn through them quickly, never cruel enough to leave real permanent damage, but also never calm enough to actually fix anything. This time, you’d both cried. That always feels like a marker, like something significant must have happened if you’re both in tears instead of just one of you. Like that equals progress.
It doesn’t.
They just mean you’ve reached the limit of how much you can say without breaking.
The room is quiet now. Too quiet. It hadn’t been about five minutes ago when your voices were overlapping, rising, tripping over each other in a messy rhythm you’ve perfected over time.
Joe is sat on the bed on the other side, near the window. You can feel him there without looking. You can sense the shift of his weight, the way he stares out onto the balcony, the quiet exhales he keeps letting out like he’s trying to regulate something inside himself.
Neither of you has said anything for a minute, which is unusual.
Usually, one of you fills the silence quickly, and it’s usually him. He usually scrambles to fix it before it settles into something permanent.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he’d said earlier, voice cracking slightly, blinking too fast.
“I know,” you’d replied automatically, because you hadn’t meant your words either.
And now there’s just this… the awkward stupid quiet after.
The argument has technically ended, smoothed over in the way it always is, you’ve gotten good at it now, but nothing actually feels better. You’re still a little angry. You wipe under your eye with the heel of your hand, even though there aren’t fresh tears there. Just residue.
“Are we done?” you ask eventually, your voice hoarse from crying, lined with something that could tip back into irritation if pushed the wrong way. You mean with the fight. Are you done fighting?
Joe doesn’t answer straight away. He hears another question in the one you just asked...
You finally look at him. Turn half your body and look at him over your shoulder across the bed.
He looks… well, not better.
Something inside of you wants to say something light-hearted. Something to bridge the gap. A joke, if you can manage it, you’re usually good at pulling things back from the edge before they tip too far.
Before you get the chance to, Joe exhales slowly and then says, “We need to talk…”
You almost laugh. It comes out in a short humourless huff.
“We just did.”
“That wasn’t–…” he cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly. “That’s not what I mean.”
Your shoulders tense again as you turn around even more, one bent leg taking up more space on the bed whilst the other remains on the floor.
Joe copies you and scoots a bit more towards the middle of the bed.
“Okay,” you say flatly, stopping to sniffle before you continue. “Then what do you mean?”
Joe buys a bit of time by running a hand over the back of his neck. He didn’t need that reminder of how he made you cry. You notice the way Joe’s shoulders round forward like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing, like that might soften whatever he’s about to say.
“All right. I’ve been… I’ve been thinking,” he starts, and you feel the immediate urge to interrupt.
You don’t, though.
“I think maybe we need to…” he pauses, and he stretches the silence just long enough for your brain to start filling in the blanks on its own.
“We need to what?” you prompt, sharper than you intend, impatience slipping through.
Joe looks at you then, and something about it makes your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the argument you just had.
“I think maybe we need to call it what it is.”
Your body reacts before your mind does.
“No.”
It’s immediate. Instinctive, like a reflex. Joe blinks, thrown slightly by the speed of it.
“I haven’t even–”
“No,” you repeat, shaking your head, pushing yourself up from the bed, hoping the movement will help you shake off whatever direction this is heading in. “No, we’re not doing that.”
Your voice still has that rough, worn edge from crying, but you sound firm in the leftover adrenaline of the fight you just had.
Joe frowns as he watches you carefully.
“Hey,” he says softly, a bit confused at your reaction. “Can you just–”
“No, I can’t. Because this is what you do,” you cut in, pacing a small step before turning back to him. “You say something vague and heavy and expect me to just… meet you there. I’m not doing that right now, Joe.”
He frowns slightly.
“That’s not what I’m–”
“It is,” you insist, your tone tightening. “You’ve been thinking, you’ve been sitting on something, and now you’re about to drop it like it’s… like it’s already decided. Don’t I get a say?”
You’re still breathing funny, still not fully out of the emotion of the argument. Your chest rises and falls a little too quickly with the wish to deny whatever Joe is trying to tell you. You know what he’s going to say. It’s been on your own mind for weeks now, but you’ve ignored it every single time it’s popped up. Maybe that’s why the gut-reaction is to also ignore it now that Joe is trying to vocalise it.
Joe exhales slowly.
“I’m not trying to blindside you,” he says.
You let out a short laugh.
“It feels like you are.”
You look each other in the eye for a moment, and it feels like the seconds stretch on for hours until he suddenly says,
“We need to get divorced.”
Your brain stalls, like it’s been given something it doesn’t know how to process. You register the words individually, but they don’t assemble into meaning. They just… exist, floating somewhere just out of reach.
You stare at him, waiting for something else to follow. For him to clarify himself, or to maybe soften it. To correct himself.
None of that happens.
“No,” you say again, but much shakier this time as your face screws up.
Joe thought you were on the same page. All arrows were pointed in the same direction. The fact that you’re acting all panicked makes his expression shift into a deeper concern.
“Hey–” he reaches an arm out that you immediately step away from.
“No!” you repeat, firmer now, shaking your head, your hands coming up slightly like you’re physically pushing the word away from you. “Are you joking? No, we’re not– Joe, we’re not doing that.” Your voice has sharpened a bit more, the leftover anger from earlier rising to meet this new threat. “Why would you even say that right now? We just had a fight. We’re both upset. You don’t just–… you don’t just throw that in like, it’s–”
“I’m not throwing it in,” he says, still calm, voice full of soft care for you. It’s the exact opposite of how you sound.
“Yes, you are,” you snap. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Your face feels hot again, the skin around your eyes all tight. You swipe there with your fingers, even though there are no new years yet.
“This is exactly what I mean,” you continue, your words coming quicker now, building momentum. “You take a moment where things are already bad and then you escalate it into something much bigger than it actually is.”
Joe’s brow furrows. “Bigger than it actually is?”
“Yes,” you say, like it’s obvious. “This is just a rough patch. We’ve had rough patches before. We’ve fought before. That doesn’t mean we just–” your voice catches slightly, but you push through, “–suddenly need to end everything.”
Joe doesn’t respond straight away. He’s not arguing, which is good, but the lack of immediate pushback from him scares you. You want him to defend himself. To tell you why you’re wrong so you can fall back into an argument that you know how to fix with hot wet kisses and strong embracing arms.
But instead, Joe’s just… watching you.
“Baby… why are you reacting like this?” he asks quietly.
You frown and copy his. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says slowly, getting up from the bed and taking a small step closer, “you’re not even really… hearing me.”
Something sharp flares in your chest.
“No I am hearing you. I am!” you shoot back. “I just think what you’re saying is fucking ridiculous.”
Joe’s gaze softens as he stalks closer.
“It’s not coming out of nowhere, darling,” he says.
“Yes, it is,” you insist immediately.
“It’s not.”
“It is, Joe.” your voice cracks on his name, and your control slips.
“It’s not,” Joe repeats, still gentle, still steady, close enough now for him to carefully reach up and hold you by the shoulders. He hesitates, unsure if you’ll let him touch you. That hesitation does something to you, because you don’t think it should be there. Not after everything.
“We’ve been circling this for weeks, haven’t we?”
“No, we haven’t,” you sound all high-pitched as your throat closes up and your eyes fill back up with fresh new tears.
You know Joe’s right. You have been circling it for weeks. You’ve just been calling it other things. Taking a break. Not working out together. Another rough patch. Anything but that word.
“Look at you. This isn’t okay. We’ve not been okay for a while now.” Joe says, pulling you in for a hug.
“We’re fine.” You argue, but even to your own ears that sounds like a thin lie. “We’re j-just–” you get interrupted by a sob of your own. “We’re just c-coming down from it.”
“Hey, hey…” Joe says gently as he places a large palm over the back of your head and pulls you in tighter. “We’re not fine. We both know we’re not.”
You shake with silent sobs in his arms.
“Talk to me,” Joe says after a moment has passed where you haven’t confirmed or denied what he’s saying.
“I am talking to you.” Your voice wobbles.
“No you’re not,” he sighs into your hair. “You’re pushing it away.”
“I just–” you stop, swallowing hard. “I just don’t understand why you’d say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I want to hurt you…” Joe pulls back, goes for some wet eye-contact that makes his whole face screw up.
“Then why say it at all?” you ask, voice small, drained of all fight.
“I’m saying it because we can’t keep doing this,” Joe moves his hands up to wipe your cheeks for you, and it makes your breath stutter.
“This?” you echo weakly.
“This,” he repeats, ducking his face a bit closer. “The fighting. The crying. The distance. The way we keep… patching things up temporarily without actually fixing them.”
You shake your head again, but it’s barely there.
“We could fix it,” you whisper. “We always do.”
You don’t and you fucking know it. Before you’ve even finished the sentence, your chest caves in on itself and your knees want to buckle. Joe’s quick to grab onto you, and pulls you back into his chest now that you can’t hold any of it in anymore.
You can feel it now.
Divorce.
You’re crying like a child, folded into Joe’s front whilst everything you’ve been holding off finally catching up to you. You clutch at him instinctively, because this is the place where you go when things fall apart and now it feels like it’s the last time you’re going to be able to do that.
“I don’t want this,” you cry into his shirt, mouth full of saliva, voice muffled and uneven.
“I know,” he murmurs as he repositions his arms to hold you tighter. “Me neither.”
“Then don’t–” your words break apart. “Don’t say it like it’s decided already.”
You can feel Joe’s chest shake through a slow exhale.
“I don’t want this either,” he admits. “But that doesn’t take away how it’s been going…”
You shake your head against him.
“No,” you whisper weakly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Joe pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, and you are confronted by his own wet eyes, tear streaks down his cheeks. You both move hands towards each other’s faces to thumb away tears that don’t stop coming, and when Joe cups your face with both his hands, you lean into his touch and close your eyes. You wish he’d hold you like this forever.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
You open your eyes, lashes still half stuck together, and, God. He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Not at all distant or detached like he had done during your fight. He’s right here with you.
“I love you,” he says half through his teeth, snotty and wet, somehow wobbly and tight at the same time.
“I love you too,” you reply immediately, because that’s something that’s never been in question. Never.
Loving each other isn’t the problem. Will never be the problem. It’s a shame that it isn’t enough to save it. To save you.
“Then please trust me,” he says quietly. “When I say this isn’t working.”
Joe’s showing you something you’ve been refusing to look at for a while now, and it sucks.
“We tried, all right?” he adds, softer now. “We really did.”
Your hands loosen slightly where they grip his shirt, and you hate how much you want to argue him on his words. Tried is past tense. That means it’s over. But you have little ground to stand on, because he’s right. You did try. You really, really tried.
“But I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper, face screwing up all over again, and Joe’s expression crumples at the sight of it.
“You’re not,” he says quickly. “Not like that.”
It doesn’t help, but you take his word for it simply because you want it to be true.
So you nod. Reluctantly.
“Okay,” you whisper.
It feels a little like you’re both letting go of something fragile that’s been hurting your fingers and now you’ve just watched it shatter into a million pieces on the floor.
Joe nods too before he rests his forehead against yours.
You’re too close, too intimate for a couple who have just decided to divorce each other. You shouldn’t find comfort in holding each other like this, but neither of you moves away, and Joe decides that he won’t be the first to pull away. He’ll wait for you to let go of him first, and then it’ll be sealed. For right now though, he’ll hold you like you’re still his and he is still yours, arms wrapped around each other tightly and faces pressed together.
“We really gave it our best shot, didn’t we?” you murmur.
“Yea,” Joe agrees. “We did.”
You close your eyes. Let yourself stay here in his arms for just a second longer. Everything makes sense here, and you’re afraid it always will – even if it won’t anymore.
When you finally pull back, salt-dried in places neither of you managed to wipe clean, your head feels faintly sore with the force of it all. Nothing about you feels resolved, only wrung out.
The quiet from before has returned, except then it was the pause after the fight. Now, it’s the silence after the truth’s been spoken into the room.
Joe keeps one hand on your arm for a second longer before he lets it fall away, and you realise with horrible clarity that this is what the end looks like… it’s not slamming doors or cruel remarks. It’s two people holding onto each other for as long as they can whilst knowing it won’t save them.
On the surface, it makes sense.
You can accept this, nod along with it, let it sit where it’s supposed to.
But deeper down, it hasn’t caught up yet. You won’t allow it to, and you suspect it’ll take a while before it does.
Maybe someday, it’ll make sense there too. Somehow.
what about ex husband joey that needs you to take him back immediately cause he can’t live wo youuuuu
the way i had never even CONSIDERED ex-husband joe omg wtf thank you so much for this request !!!!! ive tried my best setting the scene, but i need for you to let me know where you want me to take it bc... what happens now? where do i take it? or is this it? help!
Wordcount: 3.3K
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Something Somehow Someday
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five
You see Joe walk in and let a smile spread across your face as you bring your hand up to rest your chin on. What a sight. Fucking still.
He’s still the same flustered looking man, in clothes someone else chose for him, hands going from his pockets to straighten his jacket, to adjust his trousers somewhat.
He’s only half listening to the person who’s welcomed him into the room, eyes scanning around, face expertly unchanging as his eyes land on you.
He excuses himself, gives the person speaking a warm touch to the arm and a small smile and then all but jogs over to where you’re sat.
“Hey–”
“Hands.”
Joe cuts you off with a deadly serious stare, leaning in slightly as he nods up, asking you to show him your hands. You straighten your spine, facial expression changing to look at him as innocently as you can whilst you show him both your open palms.
Joe tuts, eyes closing with faux frustration. “Empty.” Joe concludes through his teeth, like he’s angry about it, and looks around to locate a waiter to wave over.
It’s how you met.
The first real move Joe had ever laid on a person. He’d asked to see your hands and pretended to be outraged to find you without a drink. And it had fucking worked.
He’s used it on you ever since, and it still makes you melt.
A waiter gets flagged over, you get to order your drink, Joe asks for the same and finally breaks into a smile when he sits down in the chair next to you.
“Hi,” Joe leans in for a seated hug, “How we doing?”
“Oh, you smell nice,” you compliment over his shoulder, and with practiced ease, Joe sticks his neck out a little bit for your nose to touch his skin as you take another good whiff.
To anyone looking at you, sat side by side in the corner of the room together, you know you look like a couple, all familiar and comfortable.
You aren’t.
Familiar and comfortable, yes. Absolutely.
A couple, however? No.
You had been, though.
Before.
You’d gotten married on fast forward, which is what everyone remembers most.
People like speed when it looks romantic. They like the shorthand of it, the when you know sort of thing, the way urgency gets mistaken for certainty. You and Joe can tell the story with practiced ease, the meet-cute that smoothed into something charming, the decision framed as brave rather than slightly unhinged.
You got together just as quick as it all broke apart.
But, God, if you could relive those first four months, you would a million times over. The world had narrowed around the two of you, and everything else became background noise once the feeling took hold. You didn’t care about logistics, about geography, or timing: you cared about each other and nothing the fuck else.
Loving Joe was immediate and total. A thing that demanded to be acted on before it cooled or got questioned. And you were both good at decisive gestures, both bad at patience.
It just worked.
The wedding was small but intense. You remember feeling a strange electricity in the room, everyone there watching something unfold faster than they would personally dare, no one ballsy enough to touch it in fear of being shocked. You’d stood across from Joe, hands clasped, never thinking this is forever, but deeply feeling this is right. That distinction felt important at the time.
People said kind things like, you two make sense, and this suits you entirely.
You believed them at the time, even though they very likely were saying very different things behind your backs. Something you only realised until after it had all fallen apart. When people suddenly felt comfortable telling you, it all did go very fast, and this was never going to end well was it?
You thought it did though.
You thought it was going to end well.
It’s why the actual marriage, the actual day-to-day shape of being married to Joe, arrived a lot more quietly. Distance asserted itself first, unapologetically. Jobs refused to bend, schedules held just enough empty space for sleep, and time zones turned conversations into negotiations.
Your love for each other didn’t shrink, but it stretched thin. It got pulled across calendars and departure gates, half finished texts and phone calls cut off.
You’d started fighting about random things that weren’t the problem, the arguments never cruel. Thinking back, you’re secretly proud of that. There was never any name calling, no deliberate wounds inflicted. Instead there was frustration disguised as irritation, and loneliness misfiled as anger. Joe’d snap at you over your tone, and you’d snap at him over timing. It was always a back and forth about who forgot to call and when.
Every fight always ended in the same way: tears that arrived too suddenly, apologies that came too fast, the pair of you desperate enough to smooth things over before the big wet bag of cement hardened into something negative.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Joe would say all the time, voice cracking as he’d rapidly blink back tears.
“I know,” you’d reply, because you hadn’t meant any of your words either.
You just missed him.
Missed each other.
So you became experts at repair. Repair, not resolution. You’d fix the surface whilst the fault lines widened underneath, slowly swallowing up everything your marriage really needed to survive.
By the end, neither of you were happy.
Not fully.
It’s the one thing you wouldn’t say out loud for ages, until the moment you finally did which when divorce was already on the table. You’d waited until the very last moment, kept it together until it was one hundred per cent crystal clear that… this was it.
The end.
You loved each other fiercely still, but you just couldn’t work it out together in the way you wanted to.
The first time the word divorce fell in conversation, it wasn’t explosive. It felt careful, grief-stricken, and mutual. You sat across from each other and acknowledged the obvious: this wasn’t how you’d imagined it.
Wanting, as it turned out, wasn’t enough to be able to sustain.
You cried together.
Held hands.
Said things like, “We tried, didn’t we?” and really meant it.
Without any animosity the decision was a surgical clean cut. That’s how you both described it after, when others asked.
Papers got signed.
Rings came off.
Relief braided tightly with loss. No winners, just two deeply sad people who didn’t think they’d lose each other this quickly in life.
You hugged for ages in the doorway after it was done. A long, quiet embrace that felt too intimate for people who’d just gotten divorced, but neither of you wanted to be the first to let go.
“Take care of yourself, yea?” Joe whispered into your hair.
“You too.” You’d answered wetly, and had let Joe wipe the tears from your face with both his hands.
And then it was done.
You’d left and would probably never return.
The expectation was that the distance would do its job. You’d both expected clean lines that lead away from each other in complete opposite directions and that time would heal all wounds, eventually.
Instead, you end up orbiting.
Every time your lives brush close enough, through either chance or choice, you meet up.
It’s never framed as a nostalgic thing. It’s always just to talk. To catch up. You still care enough to want to know how he’s doing, and he still cares enough to want to ask it face to face instead of over text.
He becomes a quick coffee before you have a meeting.
You become a quick drink before he’s off to an event.
Sometimes the quick coffee stretches into a long walk, and sometimes the quick drink carries on ‘til last orders.
You keep each other updated on your lives with a familiarity that hasn’t dulled. It’s just… shifted a little. You still feel comfortable with his hand on your thigh and he still lets you play with the small curls in the nape of his neck.
The inside jokes remain the same. The bits. The way your stomach tightens when you make eye contact across a crowded room. You feel comfortable enough to joke about your empty finger, flashing it at him dramatically, throwing a giggly “too soon?” across the table when he fake cries at the sight of it. You easily tell him how you’re all interesting now, because, “Divorce gives you character, doesn’t it?” In turn, Joe feels comfortable enough to ask you about all your other boyfriends, cracking his knuckles and joking about how he hasn’t gotten in a fight in a while and he might be a bit rusty. He easily tells you that you were always interesting, and that he still thinks his finger looks empty, even though he wears rings often.
You laugh together, because if you didn’t, there’d be tears every single time.
“Why did we divorce again?” gets answered with, “Should we unsign the papers?”
You know you still share too much with each other. Deep feelings, fears, your worries – it’s always been on the table, all of it, and neither of you wants to swipe any off it of. When one of you asks the other how they are, the answers are raw and honest, a stream of consciousness that doesn’t feel out of place at all. You want to know. Want to keep knowing.
Each meeting ends with hugs that linger, the both of you reluctant to disengage. There’s always a soft murmured miss you, this still feels weird, will your shoulders ever feel less tense, say hi to your mum for me ok? which is carefully understood to be all sentiment, and not an actual invitation.
You’re incredibly on the same page.
Both incredibly respectful of the line.
Never crossing, even though you won’t really veer from standing near it.
It’s a chapter finished, absolutely.
But you can’t really close the book.
Sat next to each other now, going for pre-dinner drinks of two separate dinners in the same area that you won’t be having together, it’s so very evident that neither of you can close this book.
Or wants to, for that matter.
It’s why you ask him how he’s doing twice. He gets all the pleasantries, all the surface level stuff out of the way and then, when you ask again, he sighs deeply. Then shrugs.
“You know.”
Joe has a sip of his drink, fully expecting the non-explanation to explain exactly enough, and it’s stupid that it does.
“Yea… I’m sorry.”
He lets your apology sit for a moment, rolling the rim of his glass between his fingers, watching the ice shift and knock softly against itself. He’s staring into it, not really looking at anything, just buying time, debating whether or not he should say anything.
“It’s weird,” he sits up a little, deciding to just get into it, because who else can he talk to about this? “I keep thinking… maybe I just haven’t found it again yet, you know?”
You don’t interrupt. You know better than that. You used to be married to this man after all.
“When we first met,” Joe continues, glancing up at you briefly before looking away again, “It was… do you remember? It was so loud. Everything. Everything was loud. Colours were louder. Music sounded better. Food tasted like something... more? More. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
You nod slowly, and let one of your hands cover the one that’s holding your thigh under the table.
“I guess I thought that by now, things wouldn’t still be so…” He exhales through his nose.
“Grey.” You finish for him.
“Mm. Not grey, but… it’s definitely all a bit muted.”
You almost give in to the overwhelming urge to hug Joe. To awkwardly get up from your seat to go sit on his lap so you can hug his neck and press his face into yours so he can hide away for a moment. Instead, you just give his hand a squeeze.
“I go on dates, you know,” he says, almost apologetically, as if he owes you the information. “Nice people. Smart. Attractive. All objectively great, and I feel…” Joe gives a small, humourless smile when he looks at you, and says, “Nothing.”
“Joe…”
You know he’s not sharing this to make you feel shit, and that you’re not at fault here, but you’re part of the problem here, aren’t you? You at least partially to blame, which isn’t Joe’s point, but it does make you feel bad for him. Sad for him.
Joe frowns as he continues, “Or I feel… maybe not nothing, but there’s always the absence of something, which actually might be worse. It’s never that…” Joe snaps his fingers. “It’s never that.”
You shift slightly in your seat, your knee brushing his under the table. Neither of you acknowledge it, so you leave it there to rest against his.
“Maybe…” you start, a little careful. “Maybe you shouldn’t look for the same thing? But like, maybe you can find something else with someone else.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I’m actively looking but, it’s starting to feel,” he says, quieter now, “like, I imagine this is what it feels like to come off of drugs and nothing else is ever going to hit the same.”
There it is. The hollow. It’s kind of like how you felt during most of our married days. It’s painfully relatable, and you don’t like to think back to all the things you did to try and bring back that spark you once had. You understood how rare it had been, and you’d tried holding onto it, finger nails digging in until they all broke and bled.
It’s a heavy thing to talk about.
You could say something hopeful, something about time, or about healing, or about how first loves always feel like that because you didn’t know better yet.
But you did know better.
You weren’t each other’s first loves.
That’s just what it had felt like.
You had lived that with him.
“I get it,” you say instead, because you do, and there’s nothing else to really say about it.
Joe looks at you then, makes eye-contact and searches for the resistance he thought he was going to get from you. There is none.
“Would be great if you told me how you did that so I can tell others how to bewitch me,” Joe jokes lightly. “No, sorry. Sorry, I’m… I shouldn’t complain. I’m not complaining. I’m fine, really. Just… a bit empty.”
Joe scrunches his face at the word ‘empty’ but drops it immediately and smiles after.
“I know I don’t feel quite as… empty,” you add, trying for honest but kind. “But I do know what you mean.”
He nods once. Hard. Goes for a sip of his drink, but a thought interrupts him mid-swallow.
“Mm. It’s like,” he says, wiping at the side of his mouth with the back of his hand as he searches for the words, “Fine is fine. I know that. I’m not ungrateful.” He lifts his glass in a vague gesture. “I’ve got work I like. A flat that doesn’t leak. Friends who show up. I’m sleeping. Eating. Exercising like a twat.”
You snort despite yourself.
“I mean, Jesus,” he continues, leaning back. “By all metrics, I’m doing great. I just…” he sighs, then shrugs.
You hum in agreement, noncommittal but understanding.
“Mid-thirties realism,” you offer dryly. “Very sexy.”
He laughs properly at that, head tipping back slightly, his hand rubbing up and down your leg before patting it. You grab hold of it in your lap, fingers intertwining, which you know isn’t what a divorced couple is meant to do, holding hands, but no one can see, and it feels nice.
“How about you?” he asks, turning the question on you. “How are you doing? Shoulders still in constantly need of massaging?”
You don’t answer right away.
You nod slowly, eyes dropping to your glass, watching the condensation trail down the side.
“I’m good,” you say.
Joe’s head tilts almost immediately.
“Yea?” His voice is gentle, but there’s suspicion there too. He knows you too well. “Good good, or… good?”
You smile at him, small and noncommittal.
“I’m okay,” you say. “There’s a lot to be happy about.”
“Such as?” he prompts.
You list them, because they’re real, and you don’t have to lie.
You’ve got a job that feels steady. Friends who make you laugh, who make you feel supported. A routine that doesn’t feel like punishment. Sleep that comes easier now. A sense of yourself that feels more solid than it did when you were married and constantly reaching for something that turned out to be ungrabbable.
Yea.
You’re doing okay.
You don’t mention romance. It feels a bit awkward to after Joe allowed himself to tell you so openly about the lack of success he’s experiencing there.
He notices.
“And…?” he asks lightly. “Anyone?”
You meet his eyes then, just for a second.
His hand is still resting on your thigh, holding onto your hand with all five fingers.
You don’t know how to answer with words, so instead, you smile, soft and knowing, and then reach up to fix his hair where it’s fallen slightly out of place. Your fingers brush his temple, linger for half a second too long.
You pout at him, playful and fond and entirely noncommittal.
It’s a non-answer which says everything.
Joe’s breath stutters almost imperceptibly. He nods to himself, then brings your hand up to his mouth to kiss it before he lets go of it. Usually there’s a joke here, one about showing empty hands to other men like it’s the most scandalous promiscuous thing you could ever do.
But he remains silent.
“Joe…”
He shakes his head as he frowns, grabs his glass to take a long sip, eyes on the ice cubes inside.
“You’re right though.” you try. “All the things you said, it’s not–”
“No, don’t, you don’t have to… ” he says quietly. “It’s good. I’m glad. That you’re doing so well, I mean.”
The moment passes without ceremony, but it leaves a dent.
He clears his throat loudly, asks you about the dinner you’re off to after this, and the conversation moves onto ‘the rest of the night’. Logistics. Who you’re meeting. Where he’s heading. The occasions, the locations, the people you’ll both be seeing. He tells you to make sure you don’t forget your phone in a toilet stall again. You scoff because, my God, that happened one time. You tell him to charm the pants off everyone so he gets more jobs, and he smiles because it’s hard not to when you cheer him on like that.
Eventually, time runs out the way it always does.
“I’ve got to run.”
“Yea, me too.”
You gather your things, you stand, you hug.
Off to two separate dinners. Two parallel lives.
As you step away, you glance back once, just to make sure he’s okay. You’ll worry about it later if you don’t.
Joe lifts his glass in a small salute before he drains it.
Still here, it says. Still us.
You walk out with that thought, a quiet certainty settling deep within your chest.
summary the time you and eddie realised you needed to get your own place, for wayne’s sanity if nothing else.
warnings smut (18+), making out, fingering f!receiving, dirty talk, both people being absolutely down bad for each other, wayne walks in on… well that. And eddie being his ideal self <3 if i’ve missed anything please let me know!
Thinking about the day you and Eddie realised that you needed to get your own place. For Wayne’s sake, if nothing else.
It was the middle of winter, cold days with even colder nights and there was just something about the low noise of the tv — some show playing in the background neither of you cared too much for — the yellow glow of the space heater and the quiet hum of the fridge that echoed throughout the trailer on those slow nights. That made you… well… really desperate. The coziness sinking into your bones and making it so all you wanted to do was be tangled up with Eddie, whilst he whispered things to you that were so dirty you’d have the air taken straight from your lungs.
Eddie knew it. Sensed it the minute you couldn’t sit still any more, moving every two minutes and playing with the rings on his hands. Sliding them off and back onto his fingers, that gave away what you were trying to hide.
Eddie didn’t do subtle, didn’t appreciate it. He believed honesty was a dying art and God forbid if he would ever let his girlfriend get away with not telling him that she was ready to jump his bones if he didn’t do it first.
I mean what kind of a man would he be if he didn’t stand by ready to help out a girl who was distressed. Sexually distressed — or plain desperate as he called it — but still! A damsel in distress no less,
No, subtlety just didn’t fly in the Munson home.
Which is how, no more than fifteen minutes later, you were lying on your back on the couch. Blankets and cushions piled underneath you, the space heater suddenly feeling far too hot. With Eddie above you, one hand holding him up and the other resting gently on your neck as he kissed you with such desperation you thought you might need to hold an emergency intervention to remind him he needed… oh you don’t know.. air to breathe?
But that would mean stopping kissing him, and when his tongue ran across your bottom lip suddenly you truly could not remember why anyone thought air was so important anyway.
“Christ sweetheart, you’re needy tonight, huh?” Eddie pulled away from you no more than a centimetre, believing anymore would be entirely sinful right now. His hand that had been resting on your neck had moved down to your stomach, resting just above where you needed him most — your hips gently jutting up as you realised where his hand was, desperately trying to get him to just touch you already.
“Eddie, please — don’t make me beg” your voice blended with the other sounds of the room, sitting comfortably between the low rumblings of the tv and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Eddie always thought that you were made for him. All of him. You even suited his home.
“I would never” Eddie answered, his signature smirk spreading across his face. He always made you beg, it was practically custom now. You couldn’t blame him he argued. If you could hear how you sounded when you needed him to touch you? All breathy voice, whine and moans gracing his ears like the perfect song? Of course he made you beg.
But tonight something must have snapped in Eddie because he immediately moved to pull off your bottoms. Your pyjama pants going flying across the room to God knows where (you’d worry about that later) and your underwear slipping off in succession. Eddie placed those in his back jean pocket. Because of course he did.
“What my girl wants my girl gets, right?” Eddie was either talking to you or himself but either way when he leant back down and attached his lips to your neck, sucking at your pulse point and moving his hand down to touch you right there, you didn’t care who he was talking to anymore.
“Jesus Eddie” Your hand flew up to rest in his hair, pulling at it whist you also attempted to keep him against your neck, leaving a myriad of marks you would have to attempt to cover up tomorrow.
Eddie’s fingers found exactly where you needed him, slipping inside you as your back arched off the sofa and the filthiest whine he had ever managed to pull from you filled the room.
“That’s my girl, fuck keep making those pretty noises f’me” Eddie moved to kiss you again, leaving no time for you to respond as his tongue met yours. You moaned as he worked to bring you closer to the edge, his fingers playing you like his guitar as he rolled his own hips down against the sofa, feeling just as worked up as you were.
But Eddie had a rule. You should always come at least once before he did. You never complained.
Eddie and you moved against each other like a symphony that had been played for a thousand years. His fingers knew exactly how to move to get you right to the edge. He kissed you breathless and you responded with a tightening grip on him and breathless moans that one day he was sure he’d have to add to a corroded coffin song. They were just too pretty.
It was at this exact minute — both of you a mess of heavy breaths and gridding against each other — that the trailer door swung open.
“Hey kids, the roads are getting blocked, snows been coming down heavy for the past few hours so the plant sent us all—“
Oh.
Oh god no.
Wayne stopped abruptly as he set on his eyes on his nephew doing things to you he was sure he could ever recover from.
You froze and turned your head to hide in the sofa cushions. Luckily for you, Eddie moved fast, grabbing the first blanket he could get his hands on to cover you up before Wayne could be entirely traumatised.
“Wayne — shit, fuck, Jesus — okay, um wow sorry?” Eddie sounded as flustered as the first time he had asked you out on a date in senior year (his first time round) and despite the embarrassment flooding your body you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the sound of him.
“Jesus Christ.” Was all Wayne could bring himself to say. Hands rubbing across his face as he looked anywhere else but at the two of you.
“I — we — thought you weren’t home till… morning” Eddie sat up and attempted to pull you up with him.
No. You loved him but the man was on his own right now.
“Bad weather, sent us home. Here I am” Wayne was speaking as if the shock of what he had seen had reset his vocabulary.
“Yup, got it. Good, well okay then!” Eddie jumped up and this time he got a firm enough grip on you to pull you up with him, your entire being focused on keeping that goddamn blanket wrapped around you.
Eddie took your free hand and pulled you behind him towards his room, moving so fast he tripped over a cushion and the coffee table along the way, whisperings “oh Jesus” and “who the hell needs this much furniture” to himself as he went.
“Eddie…” Wayne’s voice cut through Eddie’s desperate ramblings and Eddie flung himself around to face his uncle.
“Yes! What can I — do you need something?”
After this you reminded yourself to try and teach Eddie the art of shutting up in situations like this.
“You have… underwear hanging out your pocket”
“… yep.” Was all Eddie could muster, and for that you were grateful. You had never wished for a situation to be over quicker than this one. You really hoped this hadn’t taken you off Wayne’s Christmas gift list. You looked forward to that new mug every year.
As you and Eddie made a final dash to his bedroom all you could hear as the door closed and you could finally breathe a sigh of relief was Wayne calling out “use protection for the love of all that is holy!”
.
.
.
this was written in about twenty minutes in the notes app of my phone with a blinding headache so if i’ve missed anything or made any silly mistakes i’m very sorry!
