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."
Johnny loves space, Johnny loves when you wear his shirts. Wc: 540 | Masterlist
The first time you steal a shirt from Johnny, he’s so down bad for you he almost flies outside to write your name with fire in the sky. Okay, maybe he was being a little dramatic, but he’s just a guy! And seeing you all curled up in bed wrapped in him altered his brain chemistry.
But there was something that tugged at the back of his mind.
You know how he wears those XS, very tight and cropped slutty t-shirts? Well, they hardly give those “I’m wearing my boyfriend’s oversized clothes” vibes. He doesn’t do oversized. You wouldn’t catch him dead. His sweaters are “normal” at least, so he loved when you stole those too, but he had to do something about the shirts so he could see you drowning in them like god intended.
So he goes to Reed, the one in charge of hearing every single demand Johnny had regarding his fireproof clothing ever since the accident. He finds it weird when Johnny requests for some shirts “a few sizes up” with regular length, even saying ‘the longer the better’, but to be honest he finds anything Johnny asks for weird–and annoying–so he complies, because the sooner he says yes to him the sooner Johnny can leave his lab and let him work.
The batch of new clothing arrives, and things keep getting weirder, because Reed has never ever seen Johnny Storm so happy about a shirt that doesn’t constrict his breathing before. Yet he was so delighted when he received them, that Reed feared Johnny was going to kiss him out of pure newfound fabric enthusiasm.
Thank god he didn’t.
However, a few weeks go by, and he never sees Johnny actually wear them during the day, or to go out. He only caught him once or twice when he got out of the lab late and Johnny was raiding the kitchen for a midnight snack. It was a weird sight, seeing Johnny so…covered.
Huh. Guess he wanted to sleep more comfortably, he thinks. Even though he was sure Johnny slept shirtless. Whatever.
It all clicks to him when he comes across you instead of Johnny on one of those nights, and you’re wearing one of those shirts. Hair tousled, agitated expression, and a few marks he pretends not to see on your neck. Judging by your flushed look, and the fact that he had to soundproof Johnny’s bedroom soon after you started dating, it’s not hard to guess what you two had been up to.
The burgundy shirt 2.0 covers all of you. You’re swimming in fireproof fabric. It’s clear what intentions Johnny had when he ordered them.
Huh. And he actually thought Johnny wanted to wear more fabric. He was probably only wearing them before you so they smelled like him by the time he took them off and you wanted to wear them.
The realization was far more intimate than he expected.
Reed loves his peace of mind, Reed doesn’t love to get involved in these things. Even if unintentionally. But…there’s still a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, because he can’t deny it:
reading the nancy & robin book rn and tell me why it's almost, or pretty much just as interesting as the damn final hello I love this duo so far I yearned for more 😞
probably going to take a week or longer off of (trying to) consistently post, a pet just died this morning and a lot of other stresses are affecting me and I want to continue to write for fun and not make it seem like a job, so that calls for a little break :)
Summary: Eddie hasn't ever seen what you look like underneath his old scraps that you call his clothing. Don't get him wrong, he adores you in everything you wear, but seeing you in this moment, bathed in the calm light where he sees all of you? It means everything to him, and a little too much to you.
Content: mild hurt/comfort, fluff, insecurity talk, mentions of past bullying, stretch marks, talk of weight, getting drunk, nicknames, chubby!reader, reader is described as shorter then eddie, non-sexual grabbing/cuddling, overthinking, mention of dealing/drugs, sexual innuendo but no smut
₊⊹⁀➴ w/c: 1,9k ･ a03 ･ prompts ･ ST masterlist
When Eddie first found out you had stretch marks, it was completely accidental. You had decided to change in front of him, which had been normal as of late because you two had been starting to get domestically natural and comfortable with each other as the months sped by, pulling your shirt over your head to swap it out for one of his larger ones, or an old flannel he hated and you were overjoyed to cuddle up in, both options luckily towering over your frame as he was much taller than you.
He usually just hummed to himself while skimming through a magazine or playing a couple cords of his guitar when your bra came into his sight, avoiding your half-naked frame. This time, he let himself have a right to look at you, admire the body underneath his shirts and pajamas, let himself look a little deeper into you.
Your fairy light sparkled little specks of light onto you, showered in both his mental praise and a surprisingly trance-inducing pattern of little freckles made of the reflection bouncing off you.
That's when he saw the lines. Some faint, some prominent, the smooth draw of your skin guiding his eyes downwards your soft stomach as he saw the skin delightfully poking out and blessing his vision, almost gesturing his hands towards you. Hee wanted to touch it— caress you, hold you, god.
You never knew he had a thing for your stature. He loved having something to grab, something to hold onto like it was his. Your body that may be lined with scars or past marks, that's sprinkled with freckles or acne or whatever might be under there.
But most of all, he admired the stretch marks he witnessed when you stretched, when you let his hands wander under your shirt, first curious to grab your breast and coddle it in his hands, secondly to run his palm over your lower stomach.
"Eds, what're you doing?" You questioned, nervous at first as he squeezed you gently.
"Just admiring you, baby— all this skin to love down here" he nuzzled his curls into your shoulder, inhaling your natural scent mixed with your perfume to create a fuzzy feeling in his head, like you were surrounding him in a bubble of all you.
You attempted to shimmy out of his squirmy touch, thinking that maybe he'd get uncomfortable with you and realize it wasn't what he wanted— that's what your mind always preached. Words from people who liked to poke and prod, let you know what they thought of you and really let it sink in, let you digest the mean comments.
Being comfortable in your own skin wasn't something you learnt. It was something you just got used to instead, letting it bother you, although now it got drained out to an afterthought. When Eddie was touching you, it felt different. Intentional. And now, of course, you felt like maybe you should've been different. Should've listened and let them get to you. Maybe you'd be someone else, someone thin and someone able to wear that tight top and those cute tiny shorts.
"Sweets? What ever you're thinking about in that pretty little head, you've been thinking way too hard about it" he commented with a kiss to your temple, feeling his warm breath on you that had snapped you out of it.
He could feel the tension in your body, not really leaning into him anymore but a simple hover, pouting once you left his lap and the pressure of you over him was gone.
"What's wrong?" Still too close for comfort, you just said, "I just gotta go to the bathroom, Eds."
"Okay" he said, though it was both low and suspicious as he watched you walk into the hallway of his trailer and lock the door shut.
He still remembers the night you expressed yourself, too vividly— it had been when you got drunk on a whim, and a very carefree drunk at that. Eddie had been there to deal, letting you tag along just because. You had never been to parties like that, never one to stick around because, quite frankly you didn't care for Hawkins and their very loud traditions of messy teens that only lived for gossip.
Now being closer to what seemed like a full-fledged adult, you wanted to let loose for once, making it known to Eddie when you came stumbling along all giggly, hands slung over his shoulders as he held you with a lopsided grin.
"What exactly did you get yourself into, darling? My god, you reek of that stuff" it was teasing, but your face still shrunk as you couldn't understand that completely in your state.
"M'sorry Eds. You're so kind.. shouldn't have drank s'much. Surprised you still want me"
"What?" He was concerned now, finally getting a chance to see how you acted through the dizziness and warmth that was unfortunately somehow really good alcohol.
"Mm— thought you'd want Chrissy or something.. she's reallll nice. And got that cheer outfit.. she can do a twirl and jump real good... you could tell me, it's alright Eds." All slurred and slow.
He instead looked you in the eyes like you were absolutely insane for the statement you had just made, his mind reeling and wondering where the hell you got the idea he'd genuinely want someone like Chrissy instead of you by his side. You knew him like nobody else.
"Baby— I think it's time to get you home, alright? Gonna load you in my van, get you a little snack and tuck you in nice and tight." He gave a peck to your forehead just to really nail it in, and as he held his hands white knuckled to the wheel, he pondered just what had been going through your mind you hadn't wanted to tell him.
Not on purpose of course, just.. what did you keep to yourself in quiet suffering? And why couldn't you realize he picked you for you? He loved the way your hair felt against his neck when you cuddled and you showered him in stupid little comments that made his heart flutter, the way you looked so damn good in his clothing and the way you never judged him for what he decided to wear in return. The way you loved so eagerly and carefree.
The way your eyes sparkled when he brought you gifts and delighted you with food, beginning to realize you loved late nights, blankets and plushies mixed in with a movie, liked how his chest vibrated as he hummed and you listened to his heart as a steady beat beneath you, like he'd listen to the drum set while focused on getting the notes right at practice.
You treated him like he was just Eddie. Not a freak. Not extravagant and dramatic even though he definitely was. You were intrigued by his drawings and enamored by his tattoos. You loved tracing them with care and pressing your lips into his skin like they'd become one with you. Admired his scars and bites that lined his chest and worshiped them like they were the moon and stars.
Why couldn't you understand he wished the same for you? Wanted the same for you?
He decided to approach the bathroom, knocking before speaking up. "You doin' alright babe?"
You tried not to squeak through the door, holding your stomach as you felt your nausea squeeze the inside of your gut like tight restraints.
"Be right out!" You tried, voice unsteady.
That's when Eddie got tired of waiting. He found a safety pin of yours on one of his side tables, clicking it leisurely into the lock like he'd done it a thousand times. And with a click, he had proudly done it again as he opened the creaking door to you on the toilet, eyes glassy and unsure, almost dazed as you looked up at him.
"Hey, hey.. what's wrong?" He knelt down a bit, cradling your face and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while trying to etch out the expression on your face that had your brows furrowed and your mouth in a tight line.
"I— I'm sorry Eds, disappointed you again" you cried, unable to hold back the sobs that now racked your body. He brought you into him immediately, hands rubbing your back in reassuring circles as he muttered praises in your ear.
"You did nothing wrong sweetheart— please let me get you into bed, somewhere comfy alright? Make you feel a little better" you nodded in the comfort of his collarbone, letting him guide you up carefully as he still kept an eager arm slid around your waist like a protective lifeline.
Once he sat you down in the familiar plaid of his boyish bed sheets, he fluffed the pillows and let you situate yourself until you were breathing a little better, less tight breaths and more long sighs racking your chest instead.
"Please" he begged, desperately pleading. "Tell me what's wrong baby" he held your hands, interlacing your fingers as you traced his rings. He smiled, but remained upright and tight.
"you.. you remember that night that I drank too much... because I— I remembered the morning after and... started thinking again about how better off you'd be with someone like—"
"No"
He stopped you in your tracks, eyes widening as you looked up at him, locking eyes suddenly.
"No?"
"I don't want a cheerleader. I don't want someone who'll push my head into lockers and call me names that I couldn't care less about back then. I don't want a girl at The Hangout who's giving me kissy lips and smudging her lipstick on a drink. I want you."
"I want the girl who's stayed with me through a fucking battle of the underworld for god sake, saved me from killer bats and a big guy with vines. The girl who loves me— loves goddamn Eddie Munson of all people through every silly fucking thing I've done in my life" he laughed half-heartedly at that, sighing before he continued.
"You're it for me. I don't care that you got a little weight on you— in fact, I fucking love it. Love your stomach. Your skin. Your warmth, your smell, i'd worship your feet if you asked me too" you laughed in tandem at that one, letting your tears dry on your cheeks as you pressed your foreheads together.
"A little too kinky for me, Eds"
He paused, letting the silence sink in before continuing.
"I love you" he pressed a finger to your chest. "Not only for how you look, but for everything in here too. Everything that loves me. Everything that makes you, you. And I'll kiss those stretch marks til the day I die if it means you'll understand how much I appreciate them."
You smiled dumbly, now letting him pull you in for a sloppy kiss through your fogged eyes. You felt his cracked lips on yours, the faint lingering taste of weed and whatever soda remained, deepening it as you tasted something uniquely him.
"You're my obsession" he muttered through it, taking you down into the pillows with him, now buttering you up as he scattered more across your neck.
His hands slid under your shirt, now letting him as he lifted it up to cheesily lick up one of your marks, giggling as it tickled. He looked up at you, evil expression as he continued, grabbing at your sides as you clawed as his mess of curls.
"Let's see how much you doubt yourself after this, hm? I call this the Eddie treatment—"
Reader admires Eddie’s battlejacket and wants to make one of her own, but turns out to be a terrible seamstress. Luckily, Eddie’s there to comfort and help guide in some fluff. Could potentially be smutty ‘cuz of like some finger-talent innuendo.
Just thinking of his face lighting up when he sees you put it on the day of actual battle..
-
Iron Maiden, Metallica, Ozzy Osbourne and AC DC patches were staring back at you, a pout appearing on your face at the way you attempted to handle the needle.
Eddie was always the one with a knack for crafts. The man started when he was a freshman, always wanting to create little trinkets or drawings or clothing after joining his first D&D session in '78. From then on, the desire to do things by himself just went on— the list doubled.
Your boyfriend had tremendous skill with a needle. Whether it came to sewing or playing a guitar, the man had a mad steady hand compared to yours, which troubled you by the way you shook even though you tried your best to steady yourself while holding down the ripped denim jacket on the table in front of you.
It was one of Eddie's older jackets. One he had no problem gifting to you when you asked, a wide grin on his face because he adored when you wore any clothing item of his; a dream come true.
You were with him when graduation seemed a big feat, and now fighting monsters was the norm. From paper and a board to real life weapons and blood, you hadn't expected to actually need something to keep you protected going into this with him.
So you were stuck. Hurting. Pining yourself with the stupid pointed tip and the way you could never get them on quite right. Every moment had become a challenge, less desire and passion put into the project and more of an anger fueling mission.
That was, until, you felt the slow drag of arms float around you, pulling you back into a steady chest where a heartbeat raced loudly and a wild cologne filled your senses. Eddie circled your jaw with his fingertips, eyes peering over your shoulder to see what you were up to now, so late at night. He held your chin supportively, lulling you in with his familiar scent and a silent comfort as he huffed a laugh when you dropped all the materials with a loud dramatic sigh.
"What's wrong, babe?" He wonders out loud, still trying to figure out where you're going wrong.
"Can't do this like you, Ed's. M'hands are too shaky" his shoulders immediately relax, a small smile present on his face that nothing truly bad has happened.
"It's okay. Let me help?" He asks, practically muttering as he continues onward without an answer, situating himself in a chair closely beside you and pulling the fabric taut while his hands enclose yours.
He guides you in a gentle rhythm, letting your hands glide together as he teaches you a solid in-and-out motion that has the patches secured without a problem, cue to him yanking on it and squeaking in unprecedented joy when they stay on, clapping his hands on your shoulders.
"See! I told you that you could do it. You're going to look so badass out there with me" his eyes glisten as he says it, so involved and genuinely proud of the way you've done it, almost making you tear up.
His fingertips rest easy on your open palm now, and you admire the rough tips, calloused hands that range much bigger than yours, putting an utterly steaming scenario in your head. He's still soaking in a patch-filled victory, not picking up the way your eyes darken at the sudden realization of his skilled hands.
His rings gleam, making it even harder for you to hold back as you begin to climb him on the creaky chair he's still sitting on.
"B—babe?"
"Can you show me another lesson with those hands, Munson?" You whisper in his ear, biting the skin.
pwease pwease pwease i yearnnn for eddie x sinclair!reader or just black reader representation in general can i please get a fic based off of that pic of JQ as george harrison like maybe its older!eddie where hes crushing on his sons girlfriend and its the most kinkiest sex ever idk lol bye
I was a little too tired to write a full smut scene I hope you don't mind..
-
You weren't supposed to be doing this. You knew it was wrong. Your boyfriend, just upstairs playing his god forsaken game with a group of his friends— assholes— and yelling like they were teenagers again even though they were old enough to know better.
He didn't appreciate you— not enough. Your older brother Lucas had warned you, but you refused to listen to his constant complaints that were so obviously true. So now?
You were stuck with Mr Munson. The older, refined father— hair long and clothes longer, still tattered in a way that spoke of taste far younger than you. His house hummed with reminisce of his metal past, the familiar tang of the music flooding your ears whenever you came over.
He always welcomed you with a smile, eager to please. You realized that he had some facial hair now, whether it was him growing into his age or just a personal preference you didn't know, and you tried not to. Keyword, tried.
If curiosity hadn't killed the cat? You wouldn't have asked him. You wouldn't have let him guide you gently to the couch with him, sat down mere inches apart. Let him touch you so... sensually.
Your hair, nicely flowing down your shoulders had fallen onto his because of the position, revealed in the best yet worst way possible. Your top gave nothing to the imagination, boobs nearly pouring out into the older man's face as he grinned almost devilishly. He curled a piece of your hair left out of your braids absentmindedly, acting like he hadn't known what he was doing. What he was teasing. Breath too close to your lips to be sane enough to even think about the action with any clarity.
His eyes were a deep brown, and you realized more of a hazel when he got closer, lips touching as he dug into you with a refined hunger. Tasting the strawberry of your lipgloss, he surprisingly moaned into you, and you sat there wide eyed before being flipped onto his lap into a straddling position.
"M—mr Munson—" you tried before he dove back in for more against you, tongue wrestling with yours as he suckled on it.
"Eddie" he grumbled, voice edged with a gruff both sexy and intimidating.
You could feel him harden in his jeans, grasping onto you anywhere he could hold, even if it meant a bruising grip on your hips. The fabric of your shorts did nothing to surprise his hardening bulge. You were the best thing he had felt in twenty goddamn years.
He still had chains that ghosted the side of his jeans, clanging around as you moved with a horny fervor born from neglect of his own son. Never feeling anything as good as the hard ridge of his cock through the rough denim, he thrust up into you through the fabrics, making you whine intently as he brought a hand to your mouth, coating your lips in your own saliva that had dribbled out before dipping them sinfully into your mouth, keeping you quiet and occupied as they explored your warmth.
He gripped your chin to bring you closer, a lingering dominance over the way he took the reins of your body. You were young— and he was hoping to take advantage of that in every way he could. It felt wrong.. but it felt so right at the same time.
Pliable on top of him, so good, so vulnerable, so eager.
I'm really craving Eddie rn for some reason I think I'm having withdrawals.. if anyone has some blurb ideas they'd like to donate that maybe will get turned into a fic eventually lmk lmk flood my inbox pls I am desperate for this man.
Summary: After graduating, you and Robin decide to take the time on vacation visiting little nooks and crannies of the world that lingered outside of Hawkins. Stumbling across your own little beach resort of sorts, Robin decides to soak up this time with you in more than one way.
Warnings: MDNI 18+, mention of stretch marks & love handles, fingering, oral (f!rec), cunnilingus, making out, teasing, hickeys, pleasure top!Robin, bottom!reader
Req: hi! I'm wondering if u could write a Robin Buckley fic inspired by the lyrics "I'm in his favorite sundress, watching me get undressed" [read more..]
₊⊹⁀➴ w/c: 2,6k ･ a03 ･ prompts ･ ST masterlist
Your car hauled to a stop when Robin had exclaimed that you reached the place on the map she held half-crumpled and sideways within her sweaty fingertips. Her hair was up, still relenting the hair-do because some strands had strayed from their proper place, turning to you as they flew from her forehead in the wind of an open car window.
"We finally made it" she grinned, excitement making her squeak.
"That, we are" both doors opened at the same time, and both your expressions stilled as you took in the scene you stumbled across. The sun lit the expanse of greenery that roamed for a couple miles, trees and bushes, flowers that gave way to beautiful colors of the different shades of green, pinks, whites, yellows and so on.
The bugs hummed quietly, and the sun blazed perfectly, reflecting off the lake down more than a couple steps in a way that made it look a little too nice, like something out of a movie. Something tempting. Something.. peaceful.
"Wow" was all Robin was able to say, too shell shocked by the true sight in front of you. The two of you decided a little trip was the best way to get out of what once was a stuffy and overbearing Hawkins, full of creatures lurking in dark places.
When Hawkins had been shut down, both of you thought maybe it was the end of finally finding somewhere peaceful to travel across, and looking at where you stumbled was like a dream come true. What once seemed so far away like a silly dream now was reality by your girlfriend.
A couple places were marked on a map, and the two of you headed out for wherever the road would lead you.
As she stood at a makeshift railing that was built to keep whatever visitors approached somewhat safe, flipflops clacking on the dust of road and rock you were still on, hard underneath your toes. Opening the trunk, you scooped a couple of drinks into your hands, resulting in a coke, ice tea, and two matching water bottles.
Interlacing her fingers with yours, Robin led the two of you with a smile, hands swinging together as you both were delightfully excited and squirmy to get down there and take a look.
The grass was tall enough to reach you through your flipflops, subtly tickling the open skin of your feet as the two of you navigated the thick wilderness that led down to a calm area of surrender, piles of shrubs and grass leading to a carved pathway indented with others footsteps in the oncoming sand, the tiniest beach you've ever seen in the distance.
Neither of you expected it to be this pretty, grazed by the sun and reflecting beautifully off the ripple that was flowing through the iridescent body of water. The sandy patch that made it a 'beach' was scarce, moreso made up of rocks accompanied by sand, but enough to comfortably lay a towel down and act like it wasn't there.
The both of you came prepared with foldable lawn chairs, paired with a hefty umbrella that took up most of the room in your new van— Robins great idea after all.
The waves were calm, splashing across what shore they had and putting smiles on both your faces at how absolutely serene it was out here. Alone, in the comfort of what looked like a place never seen before— it was.. magical.
Not a face-eating demogorgan kind of magical. Just magical.
"You want to set up here?" Your girlfriend broke the silence, pointing to a spot where sand roamed underneath her sneakers, making for a better set up.
"Sure" you replied, following in tow as you plopped yours down right beside her. You supplied the cooler as it followed behind you, having a pull-out handlebar and it sat now in the middle right in front of the umbrella that allowed you a nice amount of shade, tilted more towards her side since you wanted a bit of sun to take in.
"could you put some sunscreen on my back, babe?" Robin asked, eyes glistening back at you.
"Sure, Hun" you replied, quick to grab it from your tote bag that was hanging off your pool chair. It had your matching towels, the water bottles, hair ties, sunscreen and one of your books in there.
You dug deep for the bottle, hand squashed into the little space left for any extra items. When you found it, you ushered Robin closer, squeezing a good amount onto your palm and rubbing the dollop into her sun-kissed skin, starting at her neck and working your way downwards.
Her arms were easy, pinching every now and then just to hear her complain and get easily worked up at your teasing. Her legs next, grabbing and hoisting them up to lather them while balancing her tallness on your chair, needing to reach all the way to her foot. Then lastly her face, gently rounding the area of her cheeks, brushing the hair out of her face to get the curve of her brows, forehead all the way til the tip of her hairline, and the tip of her nose. You kissed the tip before smothering it.
She smiled at you lazily, one that had you pinching her cheeks as she tackled you into your seat.
The silence (other than your girlfriend's conversation) was comforting as the day faded into a gentle afternoon with a calm breeze that swept perfectly across your newly claimed spot, and after laying herself on you for a good twenty minutes, Robin had decided to finally climb into the little pool of water because she claimed she was suffering some variation of heat stroke.
"Baby, come oooonn" she whined, trying to grab your wrist, relenting as she hauled all her weight wanting to get you up.
You sat in place as you listened to her pleading, unmoving, giving her a cold shoulder and hearing her huff in return. She approached the water by herself, a new pair of green bikini bottoms you decided to get for her as a gift once awhile ago and an old tank of hers on top. You couldn't help yourself to staring, freckles lining her arms, a little muscle put into her biceps since everything ended.
Blessed by the sun as she walked into the shallow end, her feet were now totally submerged as she shivered, adjusting to the chill.
"Babe!" She yelled, hands cupping her mouth as she then waved you over with a huge smirk. "Water's real niiiceee.. why don't you come join your very nice, very generous and sad girlfriend!"
You couldn't help but giggle at her expression this time around, her enthusiasm infectious.
"One more chapter of my book, okay?" You replied, holding it up as she pouted.
"Fine! One! One!" She yelled, distraught, as she wagged a finger.
She finally got in all the way, hair a little soaked at her nape. You continued on the chapter you were on, having taken up reading as a hobby after everything had ended to calm you down a bit— a way to fixate you into another world.
You heard the distant splashing of water, her legs kicking around as she swam in quick laps, enjoying the sun landing on her skin through the open patch of trees.
When she exited, limbs tired and ready to warm back up, she found herself looking straight at you, knees drawn up on the chair, flipflops discarded to the side, just sitting there.. looking pretty.
Water droplets fell from her shoulders as she shook herself off, almost like a wet dog which made you giggle at the similar comparison coming to mind when you looked up from your page.
"What's so funny?" She questioned at your teasing laugh, coming straight for you.
You didn't have time to jump off with the pose you were in, legs crossed and arms folded in relaxation just gazing at her from afar, though you did eventually want to join in.
For some reason, she hadn't really processed exactly what you were wearing. Of course she had seen it, knew you picked out something white and flowy from the suitcase in the back. But the way it hugged you so daringly? The way you flaunted it so casually? She couldn't help herself roaming your body, your curves accentuated, her fingers twitching with eagerness at the simple thought of you.
She always had a thing for being skin-to-skin, gripping you, holding you, kissing you. Since everything had gone to shit in their world, she had learned to treasure it with physical touch being a constant.
Robin was a real life love machine if they adored your love handles and kissed your stretch marks. And of course had to include a feature to fill every silent moment with conversation, especially when she was nervous or worked up. She couldn't forget that part. But you loved it. Very much.
The sundress didn't leave much to the imagination, your boobs pouring out nicely at the top while a necklace travels down through the middle of your collarbones all the way to where they come together and create a devilish crevice, and she almost allows drool to fall from her lips at the amount of saliva she's producing at the sight. Unconsciously, it tips the bucket of her sanity because she's reaching out and laying a soft kiss to the top of your chest.
"Rob?" You ask, caught off guard to her sudden clinginess. Hand reaching for anything she can have, she's grabby. She lets you sit in silence, continuing her ministrations, the only sounds being made are her grunts as she continues, a little harsher, wilder even. That's how you know she's up to something. She's never quiet.
"Baby—" you try, but nothing distracts her from her spot in between your legs. Luckily her towel is there to aid some comfort for her knees, not having to climb you like a tree this time around you get ahold of you.
Her hands reach the delicate edge of your dress, and instead of flipping it over, just plants herself under it, leaving you blindsided to what she was going to do to you— and oh, you couldn't lie and say the anticipation didn't have you reeling.
You looked out onto the stillness of the water, then left, right, like someone would magically appear and ruin the moment. Robin, knowing how your mind works, pinched your thigh without a moment's retrieve.
"youch— hey!" But before you could protest, she was rubbing you teasingly through the fabric, a smile on her lips you couldn't see. Your head tipped back immediately, "Robin, please"
She listens, now ripping them off you with haste and unintentionally over a log somewhere in the distance you're sure to stumble across when you're in the right mind and not in this pent up, eager, craze you have going on for the way you've got your girlfriend in between your legs.
You attempt to squeeze them together, but they don't budge with her strong hold on them, kissing up your thighs. She sucks at one point, making them snap shut as she shushes your desperate whines. The bruise there is tender, confidently rubbing your skin to make the pain fade just a little, because she won't admit that she wants you to feel her imprint on you when she's done.
Having enough of your grumbling, she's finally lapping up whatever has leaked out of you, trailing her tongue all the way up to your clit before giving it a harsh suck. Skin glistening with sweat now, both collectively from you and her, the heat shining harshly onto the two of you. You did nothing but grasp onto the chair for help as she licked slow stripes up your slicked folds to start, tasting you.
Your eyes are tightly squeezed shut, and luckily she can't tell or else you know you'd definitely be forced to watch her right now. She's eager to have the attention on her when she's pleasuring you, yet it feels different this time as she takes no extra care to remove the dress off of your figure.
No, she's too busy exploring you, teasing up and down in kitten licks before she does one solid stripe up your cunt. Your honey sweet voice called out to her in a whine, tempting, but she wasn't going to take the bribe that was you distracting her from your cute pussy. She was busy— so much so, and impatient.
Your legs attempted to clamp shut at her sudden intrusion, but she kept you eagerly open as she slid a finger into your wet heat, slick entrance as she eased in and you tightened around her in a gasp. You could hardly form a sentence as she lodged herself deep as she could go, her one lengthy finger just able to reach your gummy spot.
One hand was kept present on your thigh, squeezing, kneading it, lingering. Her tongue was absent until she bit a love mark into your skin, close to where you needed her but not close enough. Her finger still dragging, she never curled, only let you feel the sensation of her filling you.
So another bite appeared. Another, and another. Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, hands coming to grip what was now her wild ball of hair still somehow in a bun though it was messy, strands wild.
You urged her toward your clit, and you could feel her smile ghosting it. She blew on the sensitive nub, making your back arch into her and took the opportunity to envelop you then. She let her tongue devour you, feeling your juices now pool from her fingers onto your chair as she finally gave you the attention you've been craving.
She put another finger in while you were distracted, now curling them, hearing you pant her name with fast muttered curses.
"Rob, oh fuck, Robin!" She scooped the soft plush of your ass into her huge palms, keeping you in place for you to stop shaking and instead let her lock in on your clit.
Moaning into you, she listens to your pleas like they're a song, and she was definitely addicted. Paired with your tangy, honeyed taste? It was everything she needed. The way you were subdued by her, in your sweat and glory and letting her take what she needed?
Her tongue flattened then curled, repeated, then finally sucked on your clit. Again. And again. And again. Her slurping noises are obscene,
Bunching up your dress with her free hand, she hadn't noticed she was white knuckled as she put all her effort into pleasing you, hearing you scream her name out as you were about to cum.
"Fuck— Rob, I'm about to cum— shit!" Legs trembling harshly, wetting her delightfully with your juices as it dripped down her chin, rightfully soaked.
She let you ride it out on her mouth, only stopping when the aftershocks faded and you relaxed into the chair, head slung back and mouth open in ecstasy.
"You taste really good"
You laughed, practically a huff because of how worn out you were. "Well thank you. I'd hope so, after you just ate me out like your fucking five course meal"
She climbed you, and pulled you in for a kiss as her eyes were dark and playful, tasting yourself on her lips and having it smeared on your face as she sucked your tongue in haste, too lustful to notice the mess. You pulled back, once again breathless as you admired her, also just as wrecked as you.
"Are you always going to do that when we go on vacations?" You wondered out loud.
"We have to mark every place we've been somehow, right?"
