Heeeey I have a request for Eddie Munson. The idea is basically his reaction when he finds out his gf is waaay more kinky than him. Like she's into daddy kink, bondage, breeding kink, fucking in public spaces, rough sex,etc. Like, he thought he was kinky but not like her, and even when she's like that she's very submissive and sweet in a normal day. So once he finds out he's teasing her and trying to do everything she likes because he's also into it
YES. MMFHJF
Warnings- all kinks listed on this request are applied!
Eddie Munson prided himself on being the freak in and out of the bedroom. He was wild, messy, and always ready to push things a little further than the “vanilla” guys you could’ve been with. He loved dirty talk, wasn’t shy about hair pulling, and even owned a pair of handcuffs he thought made him the king of kink.
Then he found out his girlfriend was way filthier than him.
It started small—your breathless little please, Daddy slipped during sex one night. Eddie nearly came on the spot, thinking you didn’t even know what you'd said. But when he teased you about it later, you turned pink and admitted you liked it. That cracked the door open. The more he prodded, the more he uncovered. You liked bondage, being held down, being completely at his mercy. You liked the thrill of possibly being caught in public places. You liked it rough—bruises blooming under his fingers, her body bent and begging. You even whispered one night that you loved the thought of him filling you up and keeping you there—breeding you.
For once, Eddie was stunned silent. He thought he was the kinky one, but you were miles ahead of him, hiding it under your sweet, everyday softness.
After the shock wore off, he leaned into it with a devilish grin. If his girl had a laundry list of kinks, then he was damn well going to make each one reality.
It turned into a game for him: casually whispering “Daddy” when you least expected it just to see you shiver, tying your wrists with his bandana to test how much you’d squirm, murmuring promises in public that made your thighs press together. He teased, he pushed, and he reveled in the fact that every time you confessed something darker, he found himself turned on by it too.
The best part? No matter how filthy you got in the bedroom—no matter how rough, shameless, or submissive you became—outside of it you were still his sweet girl, clinging to his arm, kissing his cheek, looking like you’d never even think a dirty thought. That contrast drove him insane.
Eddie had thought he was the one corrupting you. Turns out, you’d been corrupting him all along.
💌 Author’s Note:
Another deliciously spicy request from @meankenna, thank you again, babe! 💕 I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into this one. You’ve got me hooked on this Bold Reader/Needy Eddie dynamic, and I had so much fun writing Eddie in this light. Hope you all enjoy the heat as much as I enjoyed creating it.
~Pinkie 🍒
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🗣️🍆 Summary:
Friends shouldn’t cross this line, but when a sharp tongue and a bolder move collide, the tension between you and Eddie finally snaps. What starts with a challenge quickly turns into something neither of you can walk away from.
Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘
“On Your Knees”
The hum of Eddie’s old box fan filled the small living room, rattling a little every time it shifted direction. A record spun on his turntable, something heavy and a little scratchy that he insisted “sounded better on vinyl,” though you weren’t convinced. The two of you had been camped out on his beat-up couch for hours, surrounded by empty soda cans and the remains of a half-collapsed bag of pretzels.
Eddie had his legs stretched out, socked feet propped up on the chipped coffee table, while you’d claimed the other corner of the couch, knees bent, one foot nudging at the cushion between you. He was twirling a guitar pick between his fingers like it was second nature, flicking it from knuckle to knuckle in a way that was equal parts impressive and infuriating.
“You’re not even watching the movie,” you pointed out, nodding toward the TV where some late-night rerun was playing.
“Sweetheart, I don’t need to watch Road House to know what happens,” he replied with a lazy grin. “Swayze punches someone, looks hot doing it, repeat. It’s basically a documentary about me.”
You snorted, reaching across to snag the pretzel bag before it slid entirely off the couch. “Right, because you’re the king of cool and mystery. You can barely keep your van running without a prayer circle.”
Eddie clutched at his chest in mock agony. “Low blow. She’s temperamental, okay? Just like me. It’s called character.”
“Character, sure,” you said, tossing a pretzel at him. He caught it in his mouth without missing a beat, then bowed dramatically from his seat like he’d just pulled off a Vegas act.
It was easy like this, the kind of rhythm you’d fallen into a hundred times before. Eddie’s trailer, the smell of his incense still lingering from earlier, laughter bouncing off the wood-paneled walls. Just another night, nothing out of the ordinary… except for the way the air seemed to hum a little heavier than usual, like the static right before a storm.
Eddie leaned forward, snatching the remote out of your hand before you could change the channel.
“Uh-uh,” he said, wagging a finger. “You don’t get to insult my taste in cinema and then steal the power of choice.”
You reached for it, but he held the remote high, grinning like he’d just won a championship. “You’re seriously telling me Road House is peak cinema?”
“It’s a masterpiece,” he declared, eyes wide with mock sincerity. “Patrick Swayze is philosophy incarnate. Pain don’t hurt, sweetheart. That’s Shakespeare-level.”
You rolled your eyes, stretching across the couch to grab the remote. “You’re so ridiculous.”
“And you’re jealous,” he shot back, tucking the remote under his arm like it was a football. “Admit it. You wish you had my refined taste.”
“Refined?” you scoffed. “You eat cereal out of a mixing bowl because you don’t want to do dishes.”
“That’s not lack of refinement,” Eddie argued, pointing the guitar pick at you like it was proof. “That’s efficiency. That’s genius.”
“Genius would be owning more than two spoons,” you said, leaning back with a smirk.
Eddie gasped like you’d slandered him on live TV. “I have three spoons, thank you very much. One just happens to live in the sink. Permanently.”
Your laughter spilled over before you could stop it, and Eddie’s grin cracked wider, smug and triumphant. He thrived on getting a rise out of you, always had, and you weren’t sure when it had started to feel less like teasing and more like a challenge.
The couch suddenly felt smaller, your knees brushing his as you both settled back into your corners. The banter lingered between you like smoke, warm and charged, daring one of you to push it just a little further.
Eddie's grin softened into something more knowing as he watched you, the flicker of the TV screen casting shadows across his face. He let the remote drop onto the couch between you, abandoning the pretense of the argument entirely.
"Alright, fine," he conceded, stretching his arms behind his head, the fabric of his t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. "You win. Road House is cinematic garbage, and I have a dishware problem."
His tone was light, but there was something underneath it, something slow and deliberate, like the way he'd drag his fingers over guitar strings before settling into a riff.
"But," he continued, leaning forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees, "you still haven't answered the real question."
You arched a brow. "Which is?"
Eddie's grin returned, but it was different now, less teasing, more testing. "Why you're still here, sweetheart. If I'm so ridiculous, if my taste in movies is trash, if my van's a death trap and my spoons are a lost cause..." He tilted his head, dark eyes locked onto yours. "What's keeping you on this couch with me?"
The air between you thickened, the hum of the fan suddenly louder, the space between your knees and his suddenly smaller.
He didn't move, didn't reach for you, just waited, watching, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, the words sticking stubbornly in your throat. The easy answer, because we’re friends, because it’s what we do, sat heavy on your tongue, but it felt too thin, too flimsy against the weight of his gaze.
Your eyes darted to the pretzel bag, the remote, the crooked posters on his walls, anywhere but him. “Well,” you said finally, a touch too breezy, “somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t choke to death on your own ego.”
Eddie’s grin flickered, sharp at the edges. He leaned back into the couch cushions, eyes narrowing just enough to let you know he caught the dodge. “Cute,” he muttered, spinning the guitar pick across his knuckles again.
You grinned, emboldened by the tiny crack in his armor. “What? You mean you don’t like having a personal audience every time you butcher a solo?”
That got him, his head snapped toward you, curls falling across his face, brows raised high. “Butcher?” he echoed, scandalized.
You laughed, shrugging as if it were obvious. “That last run at practice? You sounded like a lawnmower eating gravel.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, dragging a hand over his face, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who can’t even play a chord.”
“And you’ve got a lot of ego for someone who can’t take a joke,” you fired back, grinning as you shifted against the couch arm.
That wiped the half-smile off his face. He let out a short huff of laughter, but it was tight, his jaw working as he looked at you. “You think you’re so funny, huh?” he said, voice low and lazy, but edged enough to cut. Then, like he couldn’t stop himself, the words spilled out, half a taunt, half a challenge. “Whatever, sweetheart, suck my dick if you’ve got so much to say.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The fan hummed. The TV flickered. Eddie’s own grin faltered as he realized exactly what had just left his mouth.
He expected you to laugh, to roll your eyes, to throw the nearest cushion at his head.
You didn’t.
Instead, you shifted slightly, letting your knees drop to the floor between his legs. The couch suddenly felt taller, the air around you heavier. You tilted your head up just enough to meet his eyes, steady and unflinching, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.
Eddie blinked. Once. Twice. His guitar pick fell forgotten onto the floor. “Wait…what-”
Your hands went to his belt, fingers brushing the fabric with deliberate calm. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t flinch. You simply worked the button and the zipper with ease, tugging just enough to show you knew exactly what you were doing.
Eddie’s eyes went wide, the usual confident smirk gone, replaced with that raw, stunned “holy shit” expression. His hands hovered midair, unsure if he should stop you or… something else entirely.
“Uh…” His voice cracked in that way that made your chest tighten, a mix of disbelief and warning. “You… what are you doing?”
You let your gaze linger on him, steady, teasing only just enough to make him squirm. No words. No apology. No hesitation.
He swallowed hard, his usual bravado flickering like a broken neon sign. One hand twitched toward you, the other gripping the couch edge, and for a second, he looked like a kid caught in a dare he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
The room was silent, except for the hum of the fan, the faint crackle of the record, and the unspoken charge that had just shifted between you.
Eddie had expected to provoke you. To tease. To argue. But this? This was…something else entirely.
Something dangerous. Something thrilling. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to resist.
Eddie's breath stuttered as your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, his hips jerking slightly at the first brush of your touch. His hands finally found purchase, one gripping the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, the other clenching the couch cushion so hard the fabric strained under his grip.
You eased him free, slow, deliberate, his cock heavy and flushed in your hand. The sharp inhale he dragged through his teeth told you more than words ever could, his eyes darting down to watch the way your fingers wrapped around him.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice hoarse, the bravado knocked clean out of him. His thighs tensed under your palms, a muscle in his jaw jumping as you stroked him once, twice into hardness, teasing, letting him feel the weight of your intention.
The air seemed to thicken between you, his breath loud in the quiet room. His gaze flicked from your hand to your eyes and back again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to see or if it might actually kill him.
"Fuck-" he hissed, voice rough, his head falling back against the couch as you took him into your mouth.
The record skipped. The fan rattled. Eddie's breath came in short, sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling like he'd just sprinted across the trailer park.
"Sweetheart-" His voice was a broken thing, caught between a warning and a plea. His fingers tightened in your hair.
He was hot against your tongue, thick and heavy, the taste of salt and leather and Eddie flooding your senses. His hips twitched, his thighs trembling under your palms as you worked him slow, deliberate, savoring the way his breath stuttered every time you dragged your lips just a little lower.
"You… fuck… you're really-" He choked on the words, his free hand fumbling for your shoulder, squeezing like he needed to ground himself. "You're really doing this."
It wasn't a question. It was awe.
The Eddie Munson who never shut up, who had a comeback for everything, who could talk his way out of a police interrogation, he was speechless.
And when you hummed around him, when you glanced up through your lashes to watch his face twist in pleasure.
Eddie broke.
His grip on your hair tightened, his hips lifting off the couch in a shallow thrust, his voice a ragged moan as he muttered your name like a prayer.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" he mumbled as he came undone in your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips slick, chin damp, his thighs trembling beneath your touch. He was still panting, chest heaving, curls sticking to his damp forehead.
“This…” You swallowed, your voice low, edged with satisfaction. “This what you asked for, isn’t it?”
Eddie let out a short, disbelieving laugh, his head tipping back for a moment before he dragged his gaze down to you. His pupils were blown wide, but that familiar spark of cockiness clawed its way back into his grin.
“Yeah?” he rasped, hand tightening in your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him. His smile sharpened, teeth flashing. “Atta girl… knew you’d listen eventually.”
Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you at the low drag of his voice.
He tugged your hair lightly, adjusting your angle, testing how far you’d let him push. “Eyes on me,” he ordered, voice steadier now, his confidence crawling back over him like armor. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t get shy now. You were real bold a second ago.”
You locked eyes with him, and his smile grew, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone in mock-affection before he shifted his grip.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone a wicked blend of praise and command. “Now… slow it down. Nice and easy. Wanna feel every second of it.”
You obeyed, dragging your mouth along him with torturous patience, and Eddie hissed through his teeth, his thighs twitching as he fought to hold still.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his free hand sliding down to brace against the couch, knuckles white. “Fuck, just like that… perfect little mouth, huh? Always running it, finally figured out a better use.”
The grin stayed, but his voice was already starting to fray at the edges, his bravado balancing on the razor’s edge of something more desperate.
His fingers flexed in your hair, guiding your pace with a rough sort of reverence. Every slow drag of your lips pulled another broken sound from him, his breath coming in ragged bursts between gritted teeth.
"Christ-" His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching against your tongue as he fought to keep himself still. "Fuck, sweetheart, you-" The words dissolved into a groan as you hollowed your cheeks, his grip tightening almost painfully.
The record ended, leaving nothing but the hum of the fan and Eddie's ragged breathing filling the trailer. His usual swagger had crumbled entirely now, replaced by something raw and unfiltered, his lips parted, his brow furrowed, his entire body strung tight like a wire about to snap.
He tugged your hair, forcing you to pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his voice rough when he spoke.
"Look at you," he murmured, thumb dragging over your bottom lip, smearing the wetness there. "Fuckin' perfect like this. Shoulda shut you up like this ages ago."
The words were teasing, but his voice shook with the effort, his control slipping with every second. His hips rolled up into your touch, chasing the heat of your mouth, his breath hitching when you took him deeper.
You pulled off of him, "Eddie-" you started, but he cut you off with a sharp tug of your hair, his grin returning.
"Ah-ah," he chided, voice rough. "Didn't say you could talk, did I?"
His free hand slid down to grip your chin, tilting your head back just enough to hold your gaze. There was something dangerously close to awe in his expression, like he couldn't quite believe you were real, that this was happening.
"Just like that," he breathed, his thumb pressing against your lip. "Take it. All of it."
You did, and when you swallowed him down, when you let him fuck up into your mouth with shallow, desperate thrusts, Eddie shuddered.
The sound that tore out of his throat wasn’t the smooth, cocky drawl he’d been clinging to, it was ragged, guttural, the kind of noise that gave away just how close he was to unraveling. His fingers tightened almost painfully in your hair, like he was holding on for dear life.
“Fuck, sweetheart-” His voice broke, the syllables cracking sharp in the air. He tried to clear his throat, tried to drag himself back to the teasing lilt he’d had a moment ago, but the way your mouth worked over him made it impossible. His next words came out slurred, half-moan, half-command. “S-slow down… nah, faster, I… shit-”
His head thunked back against the couch, curls sticking to his damp skin. His chest heaved, every shallow breath whistling through his teeth as if the air itself burned him.
“Goddamn it, you’re-” He cut himself off with a strangled groan, eyes screwing shut as his hips rolled, chasing the slick heat of your mouth. His grip in your hair wasn’t controlled anymore, it was desperate, his knuckles white as he fought not to completely lose it.
You hummed around him, dragging your nails lightly along his thighs, and Eddie’s whole body jerked like you’d shocked him. His laugh came out broken, gasping, like he couldn’t believe what you were doing to him.
“Shit… fuckin’ you’re too good at this,” he panted, his bravado slipping with every word. “Thought I was in charge here… hah, f-fuck-”
His thighs trembled under your hands, his hips twitching despite himself, and the sharp little grin that had curled his lips earlier was gone, replaced by parted lips and bitten-back moans.
“Sweetheart, I-” His voice cracked again, a groan ripping through his chest. “You’re gonna… feels so good.”
The words left him in a broken groan, his head tipping back, throat working around the sounds he couldn’t bite down anymore. His grip on your hair softened for just a moment before clenching again, desperate, almost helpless.
“Oh fuck, baby-” The praise spilled out of him unfiltered, tumbling fast and uneven. “You’re perfect, fuck, that mouth… Jesus Christ, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
His hips stuttered, chasing every drag of your lips, every flick of your tongue, his thighs trembling so hard you thought they might give out beneath your hands. The swagger, the cocky grin, the sharp-edged teasing, all of it had bled away, leaving him raw, needy, undone.
“Please,” he gasped, the word catching like it hurt to say, “please, sweetheart, I… fuck, I need it, I need you.”
Your lips curled into a sly smile around him, and you shifted your pace deliberately, easing up just enough to make him whine, then sinking down deeper until his hands spasmed in your hair, a strangled moan ripping from his chest.
“Like that?” you murmured against him, voice low and mocking, before swallowing him down again. His answering cry was so sharp, so desperate, it lit a spark of wicked satisfaction in your chest.
“Y-yeah, fuck, like that, oh my God-” His voice cracked, high and needy, every syllable dragged out of him like a confession. “Baby, I’ll… shit, I’ll do anything, just don’t stop, don’t-”
You pulled back slightly, lips slick, chin wet, meeting his wild eyes with a grin. “Thought you were in charge here, Munson.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing holding him together. “S-so did I,” he panted, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide. “You… fuck… you’ve got me, baby. You’ve got me.”
Eddie Munson, all ego and sharp teeth, was now a desperate, pleading mess under your control, every ounce of swagger replaced by whiny, praise-drunk surrender.
His breath hitched violently as you pulled away, his hips jerking forward instinctively to chase the warmth of your mouth. A strangled whine escaped his throat, raw and unfiltered, his fingers tightening in your hair like he was afraid you'd stop completely.
"Sweetheart-" His voice was raw, trembling, his usual confidence shattered into something breathless and pleading. His thighs quivered under your touch, his cock twitching against your lips, already slick with spit and his own desperation.
"You-" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, his free hand fisting in the couch cushion like he needed to anchor himself. "You're killing me here, baby."
His laugh was shaky, uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the brown, his lips parted around ragged breaths.
"Thought you were just gonna-" He cut himself off with a groan as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock, his hips bucking helplessly. "Fuck. Thought you were just gonna tease me, but-" His voice cracked. "But you're really gonna make me beg, huh?"
His grin was weak now, barely clinging to his usual bravado, his fingers flexing in your hair like he couldn't decide whether to push you down or pull you off.
"Please," he gasped, the word slipping out before he could stop it, his cheeks flushing darker. "Please, baby, c'mon… fuck, just let me-"
His breath stuttered as you took him deep again, his back arching off the couch, his entire body tensing.
"Oh my God-" His voice pitched higher, his fingers tightening in your hair, his thighs shaking under your palms. "Sweetheart, I'm… fuck, so close, I-"
His warning dissolved into a broken moan, his hips jerking shallowly as he spilled down your throat with a choked-off cry. His grip on you was almost painful, his whole body trembling as he rode out the aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
For a long moment, he just sat there, dazed, his chest heaving, his fingers slowly loosening in your hair. His lips were parted, his eyelashes fluttering like he was caught between reality and whatever bliss you’d just dragged him through.
When his gaze finally focused on you, it was hazy, reverent. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice roughened. His hand slipped from your hair to your cheek, thumb brushing clumsily at the wetness smeared there.
Then, with a groan, he tugged you up into his lap. His arms wrapped tight around you, his chest still shuddering against your back, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. He buried his face against your neck, pressing a line of shaky kisses there, soft, grateful, almost disbelieving.
“You can’t just-” he started, then cut himself off with a breathless laugh. His lips grazed your jaw, his nose brushing your cheek. “Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t just do that and expect me to-” Another laugh, softer this time, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard from him. “Expect me to keep it together.”
You shifted in his lap, your hand flattening over his damp chest, and he caught it, holding it against him like an anchor. His eyes met yours, wide and open, the cocky mask stripped away completely.
“I didn’t think you wanted me,” he admitted, voice low, hoarse. His thumb rubbed circles over your knuckles as if he needed the motion to steady himself. “Not like that. I’ve been-” He swallowed hard, the words rough in his throat. “I’ve been wanting you forever, but I thought if I pushed it, I’d lose you.”
Your heart clenched, heat rushing through you at the honesty in his tone. You’d seen Eddie Munson loud, brash, defiant, but this? This bare, trembling softness was something else entirely.
He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering, his breath shaky against your skin. “You’re not just my best friend, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re… fuck, you’re everything.”
His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him, his heartbeat thundering against your chest. His lips found yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle, it was desperate, hungry, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into it.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, intense, his fingers tracing your jaw.
"Tell me you want this," he murmured, voice low. "Tell me you want me."
There was no teasing left in his tone, no grin, just raw, aching need. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, his nostrils flaring when you nipped at it lightly.
"Because if you don't stop this now, sweetheart," he warned, his voice dropping to a low register, "I'm not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever."
His hand slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip possessively, his gaze burning into yours.
"So tell me," he breathed. "Tell me I'm yours."
“You’re mine,” you say, breathless, the words raw and simple. “I want you. I’ve wanted you. Always.”
He stares at you for a moment, like he’s cataloguing the shape of your face, the way the light hits your cheek, the tremor in your voice. Then something in him that’s been holding tight for years, pride, fear, the whole ridiculous Eddie performance just melts. He laughs, small and unbelieving, and it’s the most beautiful sound.
“You-” He swallows. His thumb traces the line of your mouth, like he can’t get enough of the proof of you there. “You say that, and I feel like an idiot for not noticing.”
“Good,” you murmur, smiling into his hand. “Because you are.”
He huffs, then kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s trying to taste the curve of your lips. When he pulls back he’s grinning in that crooked, overwhelmed way you love. “Alright, fine. You can have me,” he says, mock-surrender loud enough to make you roll your eyes. “But only if you promise to help me find the other missing spoons. It’s a whole crisis.”
You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you easy and bright. “I’ll help you find the spoons. But you still have to fix the van.”
“Hey,” he protests, one brow lifting, already slipping back into his usual theatrical sarcasm. “The van has character. It’s not a-” He stops himself, shrugs, and his expression goes soft again. “Whatever. I’ll fix it. For you.”
You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, his pulse steady and warm beneath your cheek. He hums, stupidly content, and then mumbles, “I’m not losing you, okay? I’m not doing that.”
“You could never,” you answer. “You’re stuck with me.”
He goes still for a second, like the reality of that settles in deeper than the bravado ever did. Then he squeezes you, firm and possessive and gentle all at once. “Good,” he says. “’Cause I’m not sharing you with anyone. Not my band, not my van, not even my stupid cereal mixing-bowl.”
You poke his side and he jerks, laughing, then feigns indignation. “Hey, mixing bowls are efficient.”
“Efficiently gross,” you shoot back, grinning.
He kisses you again, shorter, playful. “Whatever. You keep me on my toes, sweetheart. Keeps life interesting.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Keeps me… whole.”
You drift into a comfortable quiet, limbs tangled, the trailer around you a small, lived-in world where everything feels right. Eddie’s breathing evens next to your ear; his hand idly fingers your hair, grounding you both. Outside, some distant car hums by, a dog barks, life doing its thing, and inside the trailer it’s just you, sweaty, sticky, hair now messy from his fondling, and him, all rough edges and soft underneath.
“Sleep?” he asks eventually, voice small and oddly shy.
“Yeah,” you answer. “But promise me something?”
“Name it.”
“Tomorrow, you let me beat you at that stupid video game. Then I’ll help you find your spoons.”
He pretends to groan. “Rigged, I tell ya. Rigged.”
“Not if you actually practice your solo instead of talking about how legendary you are.”
He pretends to be hurt. “Ouch. That one stings.”
You laugh, and he laughs with you, the sound easy and true. He tucks you closer, kisses the crown of your head, and murmurs, “Okay, alright. Tomorrow. But the spoons are nonnegotiable.”
“Deal,” you whisper, and let the night carry you both away, warm, safe, and impossibly, wonderfully together. Finally.
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Oh— oh I'm thinking about Eddie who smokes a cig in the middle of fucking you
Cw: nsfw 18+, petnames, Eddie being sexy and cocky, creampieeee, cunnilingus, tiny itty bit of anal play, smoking
He smells like vanilla on nights like this — the scent of pine and the wood seeping into his clothes and soft against his skin from sitting outside in the forest air too long.
He's still dressed — silver chain clinking as he thrusts into you at the foot of his bed. Auburn bangs stick to his forehead, and his brows furrow a bit when you squeeze around him. His rings bite into the plush of your thighs where he holds you open, pushing your legs back into your chest.
You're a mess under him; your eyes are watery, and mascara's smeared around your lashes. It's hard to breathe in the heady pleasure, the stretch of his cock pumping against your soft walls so deliciously that your head falls back onto the pillow Eddie'd put there for you to rest on.
Eddie's hand slips down to hold your ankle, pulling your leg up a bit to press a kiss to the sole of your foot. He presses another to your anklebone, the pad of his thumb soothing the warm skin there when he pulls back to watch you. his plush bottom lip pulled between his teeth and his dark eyes heavy with lust.
"Open your eyes."
you struggle with the command for a moment, forcing your heavy eyes open, a few stray tears trickle down your flushed cheeks. Eddie wipes the smudged mascara from under your bottom lashes.
"You're bein so good, y'know that?"
You inhale a shaky breath, nodding dizzily.
Eddie props your ankle up onto his shoulder and slips his hand down to where his cock pumps into your heat; his silver bracelet slips down to rest against your heat. The cool metal makes your thighs tremble.
Your eyes flutter a bit when the calloused pad of his thumb meets your rimmed hole. You immediately grasp his wrist to steady yourself and he chuckles at you.
"That feel good?"
"Mhm," you let your eyes fall shut, wet lashes tickling your cheeks.
Eddie hums, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, thumb still gently circling your rimmed hole.
The soft motions are over as soon as they begin when you feel Eddie reach for something in his jeans pocket.
Your mind still foggy, and eyes closed, relishing in the soft pull and pump of his cock stretching you open. A moan swells on your tongue when the girth of him pulses against your walls.
The soft clink of a lighter makes your eyes pop open.
It's hard not to cum on the spot just at the way he looks right now. Eddie looks fucking empyreal — frizzy dark hair framing his soft cheeks like a halo and the flame illuminating his plush lips where his cig sits.
His brows furrow as he lights the foot of it. A large ringed hand holds you open at your knee, thumb stroking your skin softly. Still leisurely pumping into your heat.
Tendrils of smoke swirl in the amber warmth of Eddie's room. The sight is absolutely delicious — Eddie tilts his head back to blow a billow of smoke from his lips, thick dark hair cascading down his shoulders to pair prettily against his decorated vest.
a small whine rolls up your throat and passes your swollen lips before you're able to catch yourself in your need.
Eddie lolls his head a bit to the side to meet you with dark lidded eyes. He holds the cig off to the side so that the smoke doesn't drift your way.
"Eds," you mewl, breath hitching.
He looks rather tepid at your messy state; a small smirk forms at the corner of his lip when your lips part and your eyes flutter shut again at a particularly deep thrust.
"Yeah? Right there, huh?"
You can hardly breathe, digging your nails into the plush underside of your thighs to spread yourself wider for him. You nod, whimpering brokenly.
"Tell me, baby."
Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.
"Yes, right there, Eds." You slip a hand down to circle your swollen clit, "Oh my god," you sob.
"Atta girl," Eddie muses. The smirk in his voice makes you clench around him.
You watch him, slack-jawed as he places the cig back in his mouth and uses both hands to press into the soft backs of your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest, opening you up for him.
Dark bangs fall over his brows a bit when he drops his head downward to watch the way his cock splits you open. He groans around the cigarette, dragging his cock out to where the red flushed head spreads your folds before pushing all the way to the hilt.
His rings are cold against your thighs, and the rough denim of his jeans rubs juuusst right against the fat of your ass, where you rest on the edge of his bed.
You already know you're not gonna last when he drops his hand from your thigh to take another drag, still watching his cock slip in and out of your heat.
"M'sorry, Eddie," voice quiet and subdued.
Eddie hums, taking hold of your thigh, cig resting between his lips again.
"What for, baby?" He asks around the cig, not even bothering to meet your eyes.
"M'gonna cum," You whimper tearfully, "Can't hold it."
Eddie shakes his head and moves his hand from your thigh to circle his thumb against your clit, leaning back a bit to add to the stretch of his cock pressing into your soft walls.
"Don't worry about it." his hand that still rests on your thigh moves to hold your ankle, pushing your knee deeper into your chest, "Y'r body's gonna operate on its own schedule, sweetheart."
The reassurance in his voice makes the wound coil snap, and you're immediately moaning and tightening around him as you cum. Walls flexing and contracting around his thick girth, you drop your chin to your chest and tense.
Eddie snorts down at you around the cig, shaking his head to move his hair out of his eyes, his snicker breaks off into a low groan when your pussy tightens around him again, "Christ, y'weren't kiddin'."
You're a fucked-out mess in his sheets, hair sticking to your temples, and face hot. You bring your hands up to your tits, squeezing and pushing the soft of them absentmindedly, soothing yourself as Eddie strokes you through the waves of pleasure.
"Oh—" Eddie happens to look up at you from under his bangs, rhythm faltering, "Yeah, play with y'r pretty titties fr'me."
His balls press up against your soaked folds, and you sigh happily, dragging your finger down between the clammy valley of your breasts.
"Y'gonna cum, Eds? Want you t'cum in me," You say softly.
Eddie chuckles at you, shaking his head dubiously.
"Yeah, M'gettin' there. Just gimmie a moment."
When he cums, it's a warm heat that sends shivers up your spine and makes your toes curl. Eddie only waits a second before pulling all the way out of you with a groan, watching the way his cum trickles down your swollen folds.
He kneels down and presses his mouth to the lips of your cunt, lapping at your shared taste and soothing your sensitivity all in the same. He holds the cig off to the side and uses his free hand to pull the lips of your pussy apart. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen," He presses a kiss to your clit on his way up.
You flush, averting your eyes when he stands up and shoves his length back into his jeans, silver chain clinking softly.
He's been watching you the whole time. He takes a drag of his cigarette and makes his way over to the nightstand next to where you're still lying on his bed.
Eddie runs his hand over your hair.
"Does gettin' your pussy called pretty make y'shy?" He coos teasingly, leaning down to press a kiss to your warm cheek.
He smells like vanilla and cigs. A warmth settles into your tummy. He smells like home.
You giggle and shy away, stuffing your face into his pillow. He entertains it for a bit, poking and prodding parts of your body until he decodes it's enough.
" 'Kay, get up n'go pee so I can make us dinner," he gestures towards the door of his room.
With shaky legs, you scramble off the bed, but not before Eddie catches you by the arm and pulls you into his chest, pressing a wet kiss to your lips.
"I love you Eddie," you whisper against his lips.
''Love y'too, sweetheart."
You pull back with a squeal, and Eddie grins down at you before nodding towards his bedroom door again and landing a smack to your asscheek.
"You're just a tight piece of ass, ain'tcha?" Eddie hums and you shriek before running out towards the bathroom.
The first time it happened, you wrote it off as a fluke. A moment of high passion, a little burst of unexpected roughness from the man who was usually all dramatic flourishes and surprisingly gentle hands.
You’d been pressed against the side of his van after a Hellfire session, his mouth hot on yours, the chill of the October air a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His hands were tangled in your hair, and just as a soft sigh escaped your lips, you felt it—a sharp, sudden, perfect pressure on your bottom lip. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you gasp and see a tiny burst of stars behind your eyelids. He’d soothed it instantly with his tongue, murmuring a muffled "Sorry, sweetheart," against your mouth before diving back in.
You didn't think much of it. It was hot, actually.
The second time was less explainable. You were curled up on the lumpy couch in his trailer, watching a cheesy horror movie. You were leaning against his chest, his arms around you, his chin hooked over your shoulder. You made a dumb joke about the killer’s obvious hiding spot, and Eddie let out a low chuckle. Then, he nuzzled his face into the soft space where your neck met your shoulder and bit down.
It wasn't a love bite, a hickey. It was a deliberate, playful clamp of his teeth on your flesh. You yelped, more in surprise than pain, and squirmed. He released you immediately, planting a soft kiss on the same spot.
"Couldn't help it," he mumbled, his voice a low rumble against your skin. "You're just..."
You laughed it off, a faint blush creeping up your neck. It was... weirdly endearing.
But then it kept happening. And you started to notice the pattern.
It was a compulsion. A little jolt of possession that seemed to overtake him at random, unpredictable moments.
He’d bite the meaty part of your thigh while you were stretched out on his bed reading, making you jump and drop your book. He’d catch the shell of your ear from behind while you were cooking him on his shitty stove. He’d grab your hand during a D&D campaign, bring your knuckles to his mouth for what you thought was a kiss, and gently sink his teeth into the side of your finger, his eyes never leaving yours as Mike droned on about a troll's fortitude save.
It was never hard enough to truly hurt. It was a punctuation mark. An Eddie Munson signature.
It started to get under your skin. Not in the way he probably intended. The randomness of it felt less like an affectionate quirk and more like an interruption. A jolt that kept you perpetually on edge, waiting for the next surprise nip.
You were studying at his kitchen table, highlighting a passage in your textbook, your brow furrowed in concentration. His fingers trailed idly up your spine, a pleasant distraction. Then, his hand stilled on the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing your hairline. You relaxed into the touch, until his fingers tightened just slightly and he leaned in, his teeth grazing the tendon there.
You flinched, your highlighter screeching across the page in a jagged yellow line.
"Eddie!" you snapped, frustration boiling over. "God, would you stop?"
He pulled back as if burned, his eyes wide with genuine shock. "Whoa. Hey. Sorry, I just—"
"You just what?" you interrupted, slamming the book shut. "You can't just… bite me whenever you feel like it! I'm trying to focus. It's not cute anymore, it's annoying!"
The words hung in the air, sharp and cruel. You saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes before he shuttered it behind a mask of defensive nonchalance. He leaned back in his chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum.
"Annoying," he repeated flatly. "Right. Sorry, my affections are such an inconvenience to your academic career."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," you shot back, though a pang of guilt was already pricking at you. "It's just… constant. I feel like a chew toy."
A dark, humorless smile touched his lips. "A chew toy. Nice." He stood up abruptly, his chair tipping backward. "Don't worry, princess. I'll keep my freakish impulses to myself."
He grabbed his vest from the hook by the door and left, the trailer door slamming shut behind him with a finality that made you wince.
The silence he left behind was heavy and suffocating. The fight felt stupid, petty, but the frustration had been real. You put your head in your hands, trying to quell the angry tremor in your own. Why did it bother you so much? It was just a stupid little bite.
But it wasn't. You knew that. It was his thing. His weird, primal, entirely Eddie way of saying he was there, that he was present with you.
20 minutes passed. The guilt curdled in your stomach. You picked up your textbook but the words blurred together. All you could see was the wounded look in his eyes before he hid it.
You found him outside, sitting on the hood of his van, staring out at the ground. He didn't look up as you approached, just took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the twilight.
You leaned against the van next to him, the cold metal seeping through your shirt. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't mean it like that."
He exhaled a stream of smoke. "You did."
"Okay, I did," you admitted, hugging yourself. "But it's not because it's… freakish. It's because I don't get it. It just feels random. It startles me."
He was quiet for a long time, finishing his cigarette and grinding the butt under his boot. "I am sorry.. just…It's not random," he finally said, his voice low and rough. He wouldn't look at you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's when I can't believe you're real. Or when you say something so smart it makes my head spin. Or when you look at me like I'm not… well, like I'm not me. The town freak." He shrugged, a defensive, jerky movement. "It's like a… a system overload. A kiss isn't enough. I gotta… I dunno. Anchor myself. Make sure you're solid."
Your heart clenched. You’d reduced his vulnerable, heartfelt language to an annoyance.
You moved to stand in front of him, between his knees where they dangled off the hood. You placed your hands on his thighs. "Show me," you whispered.
He finally looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"Show me. Right now. Bite me."
A slow understanding dawned in his dark eyes. He searched your face for any hint of mockery, finding only sincerity. He brought his hands up to cradle your hips, his thumbs hooking into your belt loops. He pulled you closer, his gaze intense.
"Your wrist," he murmured, his voice husky.
You offered it to him without hesitation. He didn't lunge or grab. He was painstakingly slow, deliberate. He turned your arm over, exposing the delicate skin. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you felt it thrum wildly under his lips. Then, with an almost reverent slowness, he closed his teeth over the flesh. It was a steady, firm pressure that made you suck in a sharp breath—not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation. He held it for a three-count, his eyes locked on yours, before releasing you and soothing the spot with his tongue.
A full-body shudder ran through you. It wasn't an interruption. It was a full-stop. A concentrated dose of Eddie.
"Eddie" you breathed out, the word barely a whisper.
A real smile, small and relieved, touched his lips. "See?"
You nodded, your throat tight. You finally understood the grammar of it. You climbed onto the hood of the van with him, settling into the space between his arms. "Okay," you said, leaning your head back against his shoulder, offering him your neck. "Okay. New rule. No biting during midterms."
You felt the rumble of his laughter against your back. He pressed a kiss to your offered skin, then, right over your jugular, gave you the gentlest, most perfect bite.
eddie munson x reader
word count | 2.1k
warnings | 18+ mdni, female reader, reader with long hair, teasing, choking, bondage (i think part of this counts as that?) fingering, oral (reader receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, doggystyle, hair pulling
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
Tonight was your first anniversary with Eddie. He booked you a reservation at Enzo's, a fancy Italian restaurant in Hawkins. He saved up money for months to be able to afford it, knowing he wanted to treat you tonight.
You decided to wear your nicest dress - black, spaghetti strap, low-cut, hip-hugging, and halfway down your thighs. You wore your strapless bra to accentuate your breasts for him, and you went with a simple pair of black high heels.
You moved in with him about a month prior, finally getting privacy from your parents. It was nice, getting nights together alone while his uncle was at work.
When you walked into the living room, adjusting your hair, he gulped hard. And when you saw his face, you knew he was going to struggle to contain himself in public.
"What?" you asked, already knowing the answer.
"New dress?"
You shook your head. "Not really. You like?"
He took a deep breath. "Mhm."
You smirked, walking over and kissing him, sliding your hands down to his ass.
"Calm yourself. We have all night when we get back," you whispered suggestively. "Let's go eat."
He couldn't help but stare at your ass as you walked in front of him, but he forced himself to look away before he popped a boner.
He spent the whole ride with his hand tightly clamped around your thigh, fingertips pressed into your skin. It was, admittedly, too high up your leg to be nonchalant about it.
You spent the dinner laughing and joking around. You purposely sat with your elbows propped on the table with your forearms crossed, doing nothing but pressing your breasts together. You picked up on his eyes being glued to your face, as if he had to force himself to ignore exactly what you didn't want him to.
Dessert came about an hour after you arrived. It was a fairly large slice of tiramisu, and with chocolate syrup, the staff wrote 'HAPPY ANNIVERSARY' around the rim of the plate with hearts around it.
"You went all out," you said with an affectionate pout. "You really didn't have to. You know I don't expect grand gestures."
"It's our one year, baby. I figured you'd be fine with an exception."
You propped your chin in your palm and smiled at him with so much love it could've made his heart explode.
"I love you," you said quietly, just barely audible.
"I love you, too."
You weren't even up all of the stairs leading into his trailer before he had you pushed up against the front door, one hand snaking to the back of your neck to hold your body against his.
"Eddie," you said into his mouth and he pulled back.
"Hm?"
"Inside."
"Of you?" he teased, hand beginning to slide down to your hip.
"Of the house." You couldn't help but laugh at his joke. "Perv."
He unlocked the door faster than you probably could have, grabbing you again before you could enter. He walked you backwards until you hit the counter, the door closing on its own behind him.
His hands cupped both sides of your face so he could control your body. Your hands slid up his sides and pulled his shoulders closer to you.
His right hand landed on your lower back and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carried you into his bedroom and dropped you onto the mattress, your head at the foot of the bed and your body diagonal across the surface.
He used his thighs to spread yours, your dress riding up to your waist.
"Looked so hot tonight," he mumbled into your neck. "Teasing me all night." You moaned as he ground into you. He pulled the dress straps down your arms and the garment off your body, leaving you in just your bra and underwear.
When he began taking off your underwear, you reached up and grabbed his loosened tie, yanking him back down to kiss him. After another moment of kissing him, you pushed him back an inch.
"Your turn."
"Mm. I don't think you get to call the shots right now with how you teased me." You whined, but he just smirked. "No, I think I'm gonna decide, tonight, baby." Your jaw dropped a bit before he sat up on his knees. "Take that off," he commanded, looking at your bra. He simultaneously slid your panties down your legs, which left you completely nude. "Put your hands above your head."
You did, and he wrapped his long fingers around both of your wrists and held them in place. His other hand cupped your left breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.
"So demanding," you whispered, arching your back into him.
"Don't pretend you don't love it."
"Hate it. Do it more." This made him snicker, sliding his fingers down to your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.
"You're already soaked. So greedy."
He slipped two fingers into you, another moan slipping past your lips.
"Only for you."
"Mm, I know that's right. All for me."
"All for you."
He didn't give you a warmup, he didn't let you adjust. His hand immediately jerked up and down inside of you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit as he did. Feeling his fingers hit your g-spot, then the lower floor of your vagina, while stimulating your clit at the same time was intense, and you lifted your hips off the bed as he did.
"Fuck," you whimpered, throwing your head back.
"Sound so pretty," he said. "Look so pretty taking my fingers, too."
Dirty talk like this was not something he normally did during sex. He only busted it out when he was being rough with you because he knew it lit a spark in you he didn't get to see very often.
"Feels so good," you whined.
"Yeah? You like when I make you feel good?"
"Mhm. Love it so fucking much, Eddie. God."
Your instinct was to grab him, to grip his face with your hands. But he wouldn't let them budge, insisting on holding them where they were. And he could feel you trying desperately to bring them down, squeezing them tightly.
Being unable to move your hands was overstimulating and it made you cum much faster than normal. Your entire lower body was off the bed and your head was turned into your upper arm, violent moans tearing out of you.
He finger-fucked you through it, his eyes locking into your face as you came hard.
Once you came down, he slid down your body and kissed every square inch of skin he could. He kept his hand around your wrists, keeping them crossed and together on your belly.
With no warning, his lips wrapped around your still throbbing clit, and if his free hand wasn't hooked around your thigh to hold you where he wanted you, you would've jumped backward.
The need to grab him was so unbelievably strong, but he was stronger. Your nails dug into his your palms to relieve some of the urge.
And when you came again, this time it was even more intense from your first orgasm. If his neighbors gave a shit, you'd be worried they'd call the cops about screaming. He made this one last as long as he could, stopping when you started physically tapping the part of his forearm you could reach with your fingertips.
"Fuck, Eddie."
"You taste so good," he said, pressing kisses to where you were most sensitive. "I could do that all night if you let me."
"You have."
"I know. And I loved it."
He let go of your wrists, leaving a white spot where his fingers had been holding them tightly. You once again grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back up to you, shoving your tongue into his mouth and tasting your own juices.
"Take your clothes off," you commanded, turning the tables a bit for a moment. He stood up at the side of the bed and stripped, taking his time while you watched. His skin was so smooth, sprinkled with tattoos.
You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched, spreading your thighs to try to distract him. It worked for a moment, but you clamped them shut when his hands stopped moving.
"Go on."
"You're good at this," he said, continuing to undo his pants.
When he dropped his pants and boxers to the floor, you bit your lip at the sight. He wrapped his hand around his length and stroked a few times, making your mouth water.
You sat up and crawled over, settling on your knees in front of him. You replaced his hand with yours, slowly stroking. You took him in his mouth and he reached down to tangle his fingers in your hair, guiding your head along. He hit the back of your throat with every bob, and about thirty seconds after you started, you grabbed him by the hips and took his entire length in your mouth, your nose pressing into his stomach.
He moaned much louder than he meant to at this, pulling your mouth off of him.
"You keep doing that I won't last long enough to do anything else, baby," he said, wiping the tears that ran down your face from gagging. They were dark from your mascara and smudged around your eyes.
He leaned down to kiss you once before turning you around, pushing your upper body down to the mattress. His hands gripped your ass cheeks tightly before one of them raised and came down hard against the skin, making you gasp. He knelt down on the edge of the bed so his hips were level with yours.
"Still fucking dripping," he whispered, running his fingers from your clit to your hole, sliding his pointer finger back into you. "Even your thighs are wet."
"Can't help it."
With zero warning, you felt his dick stretch you out from behind, and he had to hold your hips in place so he could bottom out. He lifted his right foot onto the bed so he was kneeling on one knee to give himself better control.
He started at a bruising pace, skin slapping against skin and making your ass jiggle at the contact. Your left arm stuck out in front of you while your right arm reached back so you could grab his hand on your hip.
He could get so deep into you from this angle, could hit places you didn't even know existed. And his speed was almost too much for you.
"F-F-Fuck, Eddie, you're so fucking deep." He smiled and his hand alternated between slapping your ass and kneading it, every single time making you gasp.
More tears dripped onto the bed from pleasure, cries ripping from your throat.
It only took another minute for him to feel himself getting close to his own orgasm, he wrapped your hair around his hand and pulled you up. He kept your back arched, but put your head on his shoulder and moved his hand to wrap around your throat.
He didn't squeeze, just using it to keep you where he wanted you.
And with his other hand, he reached down to finger you. The way your body was contorted combined with the leftover sensitivity made you gasp comically, and his mouth latched onto your jaw.
You gripped his forearms and dug your nails in, and the sounds erupting from you were nothing but an ego boost. Neither of you could tell since he was slamming into you, but your hips were grinding and humping.
"I'm gonna cum, baby," he said into your ear. "Not until you do, though. Need to feel you squeeze me."
His palm was drenched in your spit and both of your bodies were sprinkled with sweat droplets.
You were swearing, crying out. But your voice was muffled by his palm clamped down around your mouth like it was screwed on.
And when your body went limp, he let himself cum too. He fucked you through both of your orgasms and he almost deafened you.
When he finally let go of you, you flopped down onto the mattress before he got a chance to pull out of you. It left you feeling empty, and you rolled onto your back.
"Jesus fuck," you whispered through heavy breaths.
"You okay?" His hands slid up and down your thighs.
"Oh yeah. I'm good."
He kissed you a few more times before standing and walking to the bathroom to clean himself up.
You decided to sit on the couch and watch whatever movie was playing on cable, him holding you tight against his body as you shared a glass of water.
the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.
summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.
pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.
wc: 13.3k+
happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.
If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.
And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.
The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.
He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.
Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.
And then, there was Eddie.
Eddie fuckin’ Munson.
“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”
Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”
“Cut the pet names, Munson.”
You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.
Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.
Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.
And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.
You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.
“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”
You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.
“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”
You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.
It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.
That’s just how the friendship worked.
The friendship.
Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”
“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”
“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”
He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.
You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”
“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”
“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.
You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.
“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”
And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.
There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.
His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.
Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”
Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.
Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”
Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.
It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.
—
Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.
You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.
Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.
Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.
“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”
“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.
“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”
“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”
“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”
You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.
“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.
When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.
The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.
He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.
And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?
Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.
“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.
You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.
You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.
Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”
“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.
The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.
“You think I’m pretty?”
It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.
You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.
“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”
“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”
You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”
He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?
And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.
His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”
“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.
You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.
“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”
He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.
In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.
He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.
It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.
“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”
“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.
“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.
You should probably behave yourself.
“No.”
But this is more fun.
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”
“No,” you confirm a second time.
And you’re done with this game of back and forth.
The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”
Damn right, you know about the hat rule.
You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”
“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
Perfect.
You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.
“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”
And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.
You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.
Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.
You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.
When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.
Good.
—
The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.
Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.
You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.
Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.
Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.
Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.
“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”
“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”
Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?
He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.
“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”
Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.
Where the fuck is Eddie?
“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.
Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”
Fuck.
As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.
“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”
“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”
“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”
“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.
You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.
“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”
The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.
You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.
“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.
He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.
“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”
Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.
“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”
You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.
He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”
The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”
You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.
You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.
“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”
“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”
Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.
“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”
He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”
Over my dead body.
You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.
You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”
As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.
From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.
“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”
Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?
You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.
Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”
Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.
“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”
“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”
“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.
You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”
It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.
“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.
A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.
—
You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.
You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.
A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.
You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.
That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.
You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.
You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.
When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.
“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”
“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”
“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”
You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.
Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.
“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”
Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.
“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”
With that, you make your grand escape.
Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-
“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”
You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.
“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”
“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”
You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”
“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”
“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”
“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”
“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”
Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”
“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.
And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”
You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.
Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.
“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”
At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.
The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.
He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.
And fuck, you really want this.
“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”
He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”
“Yep.”
Another ding, another buzz of your phone.
Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.
“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.
You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”
“And you remember the hat rule?”
Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”
“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”
His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.
You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.
“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.
In that case, that’s my pussy now.
You hope he ruins you.
In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.
Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.
Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.
Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.
Eddie simply fucking your brains out.
Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.
The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.
It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.
Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.
You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.
He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.
You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.
“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”
He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.
His thigh.
Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.
You’re looking straight ahead.
There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.
You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.
“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.
His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.
“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.
And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.
By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.
You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.
And then he flips the script.
You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.
Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.
Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.
“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”
As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.
You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Still playing games I see.”
In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.
When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?
You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.
He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.
“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.
“Never.”
You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.
But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.
You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.
The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”
You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.
“I-”
“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.
“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.
A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.
You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.
He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.
“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.
“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”
You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.
Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.
You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.
You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.
“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.
“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”
That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.
It sends your clit throbbing.
You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”
He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.
No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.
You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.
One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.
Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.
Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”
A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.
Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.
“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”
Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.
His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”
Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?
Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.
And - oh.
Oh.
That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.
You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.
He wants this. You want him.
“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.
His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.
“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”
Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.
You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.
“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.
“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”
A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.
But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.
Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.
He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.
“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.
You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.
You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.
His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.
“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”
He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.
The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.
“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”
His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.
“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”
When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.
“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”
“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”
Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.
“What?”
Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.
He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?
Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”
“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”
Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.
“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”
“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”
“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”
He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”
“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”
His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.
That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.
He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.
“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”
You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.
Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.
“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”
“Whatever you say, cowboy.”
You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.
He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.
You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.
You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.
“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.
“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”
“Take off the vest, Eddie.”
Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.
“And the boxers.”
You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.
The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.
He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.
Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.
“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”
He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.
He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.
Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.
Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.
You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.
The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.
“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”
“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.
You don’t answer him as you both moan out.
You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.
It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.
“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”
Nice. And. Slow.
Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.
“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”
His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.
“Do it like this, sweetheart.”
He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.
Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.
The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.
This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.
At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.
You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.
Just like a cowboy.
“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.
“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”
You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .
A hand on your throat.
He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.
“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.
You nod.
“Tell me with your words,” he commands.
“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”
When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.
“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”
“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”
When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.
It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.
Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.
You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.
Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.
It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.
“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, Eddie.”
Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.
Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.
Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.
Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.
“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”
You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”
His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.
Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.
“You didn’t cum.”
“What?”
“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”
You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.
“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”
“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”
And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.
“Get on all fours for me, baby.”
Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.
When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.
You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.
A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.
You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-
“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”
“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.
He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”
You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.
“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.
Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.
“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.
He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.
“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”
And let him hear you, you do.
Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”
Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”
You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.
More, more, more.
There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.
Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.
You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.
Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.
You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.
You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.
He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.
The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.
You cum hard for him.
You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.
He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.
Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.
“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”
One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.
“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”
“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”
You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.
“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”
Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”
“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.
The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.
All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.
He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”
“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.
“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”
“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”
You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.
Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.
Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.
“The fucking window is open, Eddie,” you whisper urgently, cutting off your own previously loud moan.
Eddie’s got you on your back, legs up and over his shoulders as he thrusts into you. The hand supporting himself has one of your flailing arms trapped against the couch cushion while his other hand has found its way between your bodies, playing mercilessly with your clit.
“Yeah? So?” he grunts.
“So - fuck me!” you gasp when he reverses the swirl of his finger just as he ads a teasing swirl to the motion of his hips.
“That’s what I’m doing, princess,” Eddie responds roguishly. He leans down to give you the most lascivious open mouthed kiss. His entire body weight rests on your arm in the process, making it start to go numb, but you don’t care. You surrender to the kiss, happy to receive his plundering tongue. When he pulls away you whine.
“Turn around.”
It’s gruff. A command. You scramble to your shaky knees and before you can even finish a full rotation you feel Eddie grabbing your hips and pressing his thick cock back inside you. Deep.
“Ohhhhh.”
“Yeah? That feel good, baby?”
You melt, like you always do when he calls you baby, dropping to your forearms.
“Yes, it feels so fucking—.”
You bite your own lip when you hear voices through the open window. People passing by, thus far oblivious to the debauchery occurring on your couch.
Slap.
“Eddie!” you gasp as the feeling of the spank radiates on your ass, although your back arches and you press back into him like you always do.
“That’s right. Let them know who’s fucking you so good.”
“Mmmm,” you whimper quietly, shifting around to try and entice him to spank you again.
Suddenly his whole body is over yours, his mouth by your ear.
“I know what you want, baby. You’re a bad girl who wants to be spanked real good. But you’re not gonna get it if you don’t let me hear you.”
“Eddie…” you whisper. He reaches back and taps your ass, but so lightly you squirm at the lack of pressure.
“Louder.”
“Eddie.” You say it more forcefully this time, so he taps you again. This time with a liiiiittle more force but definitely not enough.
“You can do better for me, baby. Do it.”
This whole time he’s had you pressed down into the couch, cock buried deep inside you. You can feel it pulse greedily with enjoyment over your squirms and whimpers. It’s all too stimulating. Too hot. Too delicious.
You need more.
“Eddie! Fuck me! Please!”
SLAP.
The spank that lands on your ass is resounding, and definitely recognizable when paired with your breathy cries. You hear laughter outside the open window but you’re beyond caring at this point, because Eddie’s found a rhythm.
“Oh my fucking god,” you moan out. Eddie groans.
“That’s it. There’s my girl.”
He props himself up with one hand planted next to your face and the other finding your clit again. The pressure inside you intensifies immediately. Your eyes shoot open wide.
“Oh fuck. I’m…I’m gonna…”
“What’s that? You’re gonna cum already?” The glee in his voice in palpable. His finger swirls faster and faster and he grunts when he feels how close you are. “I can feel you getting tighter. You wanna cum for me, baby?”
“I wanna cum for you, Eddie. Wanna - fuck! Sooodeep. Wanna cum for you so bad.” You babble, dropping face down, ass up, hardly able to receive the pleasure he’s thrusting into you.
“Holy shit,” Eddie groans. He pulls his hand away from your clit long enough to spank you again, just to hear you squeal and feel you spasm around him. “Feel me getting harder? You’re gonna make me cum too.”
“Please!” you whine, practically incoherent.
“You want that? Want me to cum deep inside you, baby?” You can hear how gone he is in the amount of gravel in his voice. You’ve never been happier to be on the pill as you nod fervently against the sheets.
“Wanna feel you, Eds. Wanna cum with you.”
You’re right on the edge. And so, it turns out, is he.
Eddie lets out a shuddering gasp as he pumps into you, hot sticky cum flowing just as you spasm around him in a mind numbing orgasm.
Every muscle in your body seizes up as the pleasure ripples through you. Then everything relaxes. You fall limp and boneless, pressed deeper into the cushions by Eddie’s similarly limp body.
An aftershock reverberates through you and Eddie chuckles in your ear.
“I love these little shakes afterwards that you can’t help.”
“I can’t help it,” you insist, doing your best to turn in his arms to face him. “You fucked me good.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, dominance fading into sweet bashfulness in the afterglow of your shared pleasure. You love the duality. You love him.
“Yeah.”
You crane your neck to kiss him. His hand cups the side of your jaw almost reverently.
And then—
“Close the fucking window next time, freaks!” Steve Harrington calls out loud and clear, Robin laughing hysterically in the background.
~*~
Thank you for reading! I think this is the first thing I’ve written in over six months?? Wild.
Thinking about sitting on soft!dom eddie’s lap and just being fawned over… i could cry.
EDIT: i ended up writing a whole thing, and im tired bc i wrote this before bed and now im too tired to finish it all in one go but i couldn’t save it as a draft bc it was originally just this ^^^ so i will come back to it in the morning so hopefully nobody sees this until it’s done but if you do, come back in a few hours and it’ll be finished (most likely) ok byeeee
Like just imagine you’re his gf and you go over to his house one weekend, after not seeing each other the whole week. You talked about work on the drive over, catching him up on the latest developments in the story about your coworker’s landlord drama. But once you get to his bedroom, he’s sitting in his computer chair, already opening a jar of weed, picking out a couple nugs to grind up.
“You want some?” You nod. You walk over to him, looming over his seated frame. You’re silent, watching intently as he sprinkles the weed into the bowl of his bong.
He stands up, handing you the bong as he passes you to open his bedroom window. He fishes the bic lighter out of his jean pocket, holding it out to you.
You spark up, taking a long drag before leaning closer to the window as you exhale the smoke. You take a couple smaller hits before passing the bong to him, and your fingers just barely graze as he fastens his grip around the neck of the apparatus.
You’re already starting to feel the effects of the high—the way you’re slightly overthinking every movement and action you make. You’re so caught up in your head that you don’t even notice he’s back in his chair, grabbing a few more nugs out of the jar.
“C’mere” he says, and you slowly make your way over to him, once again lingering somewhat awkwardly as you stand over him, wanting to be close. He notices and opens his legs for you to stand between. He holds a nug up to you, wordlessly asking for your approval of its quality. You give a curt nod, unable to stop the upturning quirk that creeps onto the corners of your lips.
You can’t help yourself from hugging him, leaving a kiss on his neck where your head happened to land in the embrace.
You tell him you missed him before leaving more kisses on his neck, ones that leave you feeling a bit hot under the collar, the deepening of your high getting to your favorite stage: unexpected pangs of horniness that you try to stave off for fear of seeming desperate or unable to handle your weed, but a bit too out of it for proper impulse control.
He knew exactly what was happening. He’d smoked with you enough times to recognize the patterns in your behavior, not to mention one of the first times you’d smoked together since being in a relationship, he’d asked how you were feeling and received a play-by-play of your thoughts, which happened to be rather… un-innocent. You were too high to filter those thoughts out, but there was no need to. You were so comfortable with each other, it was no different than when you hung out as best friends—you still were best friends. But now you could kiss and cuddle and have sex without it causing blurred lines.
Could you blame him for having a bit of fun with you when you were like this? He liked seeing you squirm, liked giving you the illusion that you were keeping it together, that you were holding your composure well enough for your desire to go unnoticed by him. But he saw through it all. He could practically hear your thoughts with the way you stared at his thighs in those jeans, the ones he purposely picked out for today. He loved trying to make you crack, letting you stress about it while he was giving you exactly what he knew you wanted the entire time.
That’s why he’d got out the rolling tray, plucking the rolling paper and filter tip booklets from his desk.
“Would you mind rolling that for me?” He’d ask, giving you the booklet of filter paper.
“Sure, I can do that” you reply as you take the book from between his fingers, carefully ripping along the perforated edge.
You folded the paper in the zig-zagged way he’d shown you before rolling the small cardstock-adjacent sheet into a filter to put at the end of the rolling paper he’d taken out of the booklet.
“You’ve really gotten the hang of that, this looks great”
“Well I had a good teacher” you say earnestly, but the suggestiveness is present enough to get the ball rolling if he happens to catch onto your—hopefully—subtly semi-seductive demeanor.
He places the tip on the end of the rolling paper before pinching the ground-up flower and splaying it evenly into its vessel. He takes his time rolling it up, slipping the unrolled edge along his tongue—not too slow, he knows the act itself is enough to ignite something in you—then uses a little tool to pack the flower down tightly enough that it’ll smoke evenly, before twisting and pushing the empty side of the paper inward to create a defined end. He’s been doing this for years, and his effort shows—it’s a beautiful joint.
“That’s a good lookin’ joint”
“Ain’t it? Almost sad to be smokin’ it, s’almost too pretty” he chuckles softly. He appreciates your admiration for his actions, even ones as pointless as rolling a joint.
“I really missed you” you repeat the sentiment, hoping it’s enough to convey that you need him, like really need him.
Of course it’s enough, and he’ll give you a bit of leeway here. He invites you into his lap and once you’re there, he wraps an arm under your knees to hold your legs as his cradles you.
“I really missed you, sweetheart. Been waitin’ all week to see your face. On the phone doesn’t cut it for me”
“Does that mean you didn’t like the pictures I sent you on snapchat?”
“I think you know how much I liked those pictures”
“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it”
“You’re just an evil witch sent to sed–” “Nooo!” “–uce and torture me,” “Eddieeee” “–aren’t you”
You both love these moments, the moments when you’re both just able to be two people in love, no responsibilities, no obligations, no real-world bullshit. It’s just you, a plant you lit on fire, and love.
He can tell the “sexy part” of your high—as you once called it—is fading when you finally make your way downstairs. He can see the inner turmoil in how you fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie he gives you so you’re not too cold when you’re standing out on the porch to smoke.
It’s even clearer to him when you hesitate while slipping on a pair of crocs that you really aren’t sure are even Eddie’s, since you’ve seen one of his housemates wear them a couple times. And now you were wondering if he’d been wearing socks those couple times. You supposed it didn’t matter, you were wearing socks, that’s what mattered. No cases of foot fungus today.
You step outside, making sure to shut the door behind you. It’s a bit chilly out, the end of summer always came with a brush of cool air in the late hours of the night. It was early September, still summer in every sense, other than the fact that everyone else likes to pretend that it’s already autumn, even though that doesn’t start for another few weeks. Why was everyone in such a rush to get to the next checkpoint? You were just starting to settle into the season, and now it was changing.
That was always how it seemed to go. Not that you weren’t excited for fall, you loved the leaves and how enthusiastic everyone gets about Halloween, especially Eddie. He didn’t outwardly make a huge deal, but he would pick out a different horror movie for the two of you to watch each weekend, along with fun snacks. Not to mention the fact he’d always drag you out to the grocery store the day after Halloween, still hungover from Steve’s party, makeup still staining your faces—even after all the makeup wipes and facial cleanser—just so you could snag as much discounted candy as you could carry in your reusable shopping bags.
He’s already burning off the tapered end of the joint, holding it by the little twisted part to reveal the flower perfectly lined up and ready to burn.
You watched intently as he held the roll between his lips, jutting out the bottom one to tilt it upwards so he could light it with ease. Seeing the wisps of smoke trail out from his mouth was a turn on. As bad of a habit as it may be, smoking was sexy, there was no denying it.
After taking a few more puffs, Eddie hands the joint to you, and you’re glad to have something to sate your oral fixation. You look up at the stars as you take a drag, thankful that it’s a clear night.
“I love weed” you state, holding the still-lit vice out to him. He plucks it carefully from your fingers, taking short but deep puffs.
“Me fucking too, man” is your boyfriend’s reply as he returns the half-smoked stick to your possession.
The two of you point out some potential constellations and chat about plans for next weekend as you take your time finishing the rest of the joint. It’s as relaxing as always, much needed respite after a back-breaking workweek. You loved not having to worry about anything serious when you were with Eddie, even more so when you got high together. But that relief was slowly morphing into your preferred kind of overthinking once more, ignited by the way Eddie’s fingers nimbly played with his lighter.
You swallowed thickly, a combination of your dry mouth and your flustered state.
“You good?”
“Yeah, just high”
“Fair enough”
Eddie raised his arms up to stretch, his shirt lifting to expose the band of his boxers and his happy trail. He did it on purpose, of course, but you were none the wiser.
Fuck. How could someone be so effortlessly hot?
You stared at the sky silently as you continued passing the joint back and forth until it was gone. You were gone too.
He loves seeing you like this, knowing it’s taking 50% of your brain power to function like a human being while the other 50% tries to jump his bones.
Gif from Pinterest, dividers by @saradika-graphics
Perv!Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader
Summary: In an effort to hang out and maybe make some prank phone calls, Eddie shows up at your place late at night. But his intention of climbing in through your window is halted by the shocking sight of you, vulnerable and partaking in some intimate self-care.
Word Count: 3.2K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, phone sex kinda, perv!eddie, panty stealing, mention of sex and cream pies, voice kink kinda, R is described to have an ass that has a little motion to it
Song Rec: Touch Myself cover by Genitorturers
A/N: Guys, I hope I didn’t peak with Ringing Pavlov’s Bell lmao. Also, vote on this poll pls!! Also also, as you can see, I'm trying to level up my fics. Based on this ask.
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Eddie climbs up the side of your house one-handed, taking extra care to make sure he has a good grasp on the vine-covered trellis before moving any higher. It takes a lot of work, and he’s slower than usual, but he needs to show you his surprise.
Cursing his leather jacket’s lack of deep pockets, he maintains a white-knuckled grip on the device. But it’s all worth it when he thinks about how you’re going to fucking flip when you see it.
Earlier today, Wayne greeted him when he got home from the garage. Not unusual, but what was unusual was the box on the table in front of him. As Eddie got closer, he noticed a large, brick-like item in his uncle’s hand.
“Holy shit, is that—”
“Yeah,” Wayne croaked, cutting him off gruffly. “‘Least it would be if I could figure out how t’work the damn thing.”
Eddie’s eyes were wide, his mind racing with a million thoughts as he watched the man glance from the cellphone to the manual nearby.
“How the fuck did—”
“Ed!”
Heeding the sharp warning, he rephrased.
“Sorry. How the shit did you get that? Aren’t they like four thousand bucks?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from the older man.
Wayne rolled his eyes at his nephew’s correction, but passed the phone into his waiting hand nonetheless. “Won it in a raffle at work. City-Suits won’t give the line a raise, but apparently, they’ll blow thousands of dollars on useless shit,” he muttered angrily.
An evil grin curled at Eddie’s lips as he eyed the expensive prize. “Oh, I don’t think it’s totally useless…”
As Eddie pulls himself up onto the roof, just outside your bedroom window, he giddily thinks of all the prank calls you and he are going to make. No one in the town is safe tonight.
But his fist freezes in mid-air, just a few inches short of the glass. His whole body goes rigid, and his heartrate spikes so high, he’s surprised he’s not keeling over from cardiac arrest. Then, he remembers himself.
“Shit!” he hisses, ducking beneath the sill. When he doesn’t hear a scream or a string of shocked expletives, he rises slowly to take a peek.
There, in the dimly lit room, you lay on your bed in what has got to be the most compromising position he’s ever seen you in. And he was there at the pool a few summers ago, when you did a massive cannonball into the water, sending your top flying off on impact. That was the last time you ever wore a bikini—he’s been cursing the day ever since. Due to one stupid knot, the rest of his summers were frighteningly dull.
But this moment might top that—
Because only five feet and one glass window away, you’re half-naked from the waist down and writhing with your hand shoved into your thin, purple underwear.
Eddie’s breathing turns shallow, and his jaw feels incapable of shutting as he ogles you stupidly. Practically frozen in place, he observes the way you squirm on untucked sheets, the way sweat beads at your hairline—small droplets glinting in the low lamplight.
And just like that, his cock twitches to life, hardening faster than he’s ever felt it; leaking and throbbing furiously beneath the restrictive denim. But despite the discomfort, his trance remains unshaken.
Your bare legs tremble with every bulging movement of your hand beneath your panties, and he licks his lips, imagining the cause. The way your fingers are probably catching your clit at the exact right angle, sending shockwaves through your limbs.
The closer he gets, the more the window fogs from the warmth of his breath. Any urgency to hide is zapped from him the moment your mouth opens. He strains to hear the sighs you let out—the moans. But the glass is too thick. Or you’re too quiet. Either way, he feels like he’s going insane, not being able to listen to the noises you make.
Blunt nails dig into his jean-clad thighs as he refrains from losing himself. This all feels so wrong, but he doesn't know what to do. He can’t knock on the window now, he can’t embarrass you like that. Because he knows you. He knows you’d be humiliated. He knows you probably wouldn’t talk to him for a month out of sheer mortification. And he can’t go a month without you.
But he also doesn’t think he has enough willpower to drag himself away from this damn window. To work his way down that damn trellis. And act like he didn’t see a damn thing when you come into the garage tomorrow, excited to greet him like you always are. You, perfectly innocent and none the wiser. Him, wrecked and changed forever.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when he sees your back arch into the mattress, hips lifting in a messy, gyrating rhythm, like you’re meeting imaginary thrusts. Like you’re desperate for more. When your lips curve around a familiar shape, a singular word he recognizes but can’t, for the life of him, make out, he loses the fight.
About to yank the window up, he freezes, then decides to set the heavy cellphone down on the roof.
After all, Wayne will have his ass if he breaks the device. He can just imagine it slipping from his grip as he struggles to climb through your window. It’d go tumbling down the shingles, bouncing off the gutters, and plummeting to the ground below. He’s heard that these things are supposed to be sturdy, but he doesn’t know how sturdy.
As he looks around for a safe spot to hide the phone, a thought occurs to him. And surprisingly, it’s not motivated by the throbbing ache in his pants. Well, not fully.
Instead of charging in, guns blazing and risking a years-long friendship, he figures he should call first. It’s only polite.
Pulse thrumming in his throat, he dials your number—the one he knows by heart. Shrill ringing pierces the air—even permeating the thick glass—spooking you. He watches as you wrench your hand from beneath your panties and glance at the bedside table, to the source of the interruption. He ducks low again, making sure he’s not in your peripheral view.
With the cellphone waiting in his hands, he studies you, sees the cogs turning in your brain as you hastily consider your options—the same ones he ran through seconds earlier:
You need to pick up the phone, because, despite your vulnerable, frazzled state, it’s late, and you can’t have your parents waking up to the ringing of every landline in the house.
It’s the perfect catch-22.
And people say he’s stupid.
You fail senior year three times and it’s a thing. You pass it once and everyone forgets. Whatever—
When you pick up the handset, Eddie grins. Gotcha.
He watches you inhale deeply, attempting to calm yourself. Then you press the phone to your ear and he does the same, mirroring your movements.
A soft sigh floats through the receiver, and the sound burrows deep into his mind, sending fractured signals down his body that leave his cock flexing. And he almost cheers at the frailness of the breath—the way he gets to watch its birth from your lust-bitten lips, the way he reaps the benefits so intimately.
Your voice is strained and scratchy from all the open-mouthed gasps, but sweet all the same. “H-Hello?”
Eddie grinds his teeth, biting back the eagerness creeping up his throat. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mutters, tone low and husky.
He nearly cracks a tooth when your thighs clench. Waves of filthy thoughts race through his mind, but he has to play it cool. He has to act normal. He has to act like he’s not right outside your window, painfully hard from watching you finger-fuck yourself.
“Eddie?” you half-whisper, brows pinching tight in confusion. “What’re you calling this late for?”
A shiver wracks through his body at the sound of his name on your lips so soon after your wandering hands went exploring. Shifting his focus from your face, he slides his gaze down your figure, zeroing in on your glistening fingers.
Suddenly, he feels parched.
With a gulp, he ignores your question, opting instead to spend his energy fighting the wolfish grin from seeping into his voice, and instead, replacing it with remorseful innocence. “Sorry, did I wake you? Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep…”
It takes everything in him not to laugh when a look of panic sparks at your features.
“N-No! No, um, I was just—” You lift your head up, looking around the room until your gaze fixes on something just out of his view. “Painting my nails,” you hurry, but it comes out more like a question than a statement. “So, what did you—”
“What color?” Eddie rasps curiously, biting his lip.
Your face drops, and your stuttering breaths get louder as they crackle through the receiver. “Sorry?”
As if it has a mind of its own, his free hand hovers over the bulge in his pants, giving an experimental squeeze. He inhales sharply, quietly. His eyes close in ecstasy, but only for a split-second, before opening once more. Because he needs to see you.
“What color are you painting your nails?” he purrs, tone dripping in a smoky desire. Though to you, it probably just sounds like dreary sleep, stuck in his throat.
Sliding along the length of his shaft, he palms himself with precise pressure as he watches you shudder.
Your fingers toy with the waistband of your pretty panties, all frilly lace and deep violet.
“Purple,” you sigh with a slow blink, letting your hand slip beneath the thin fabric.
“Hm. Cute.” His hips twitch, jerking from the pleasure coiling tight in his gut. He watches as your knuckles stretch the material of your underwear once more, moving up and down a few times before starting a repetitive, concentric motion.
The sight of you actively touching yourself to his voice has a steady stream of precum pumping out of his tip, thoroughly soaking a splotch into his boxers. Soon, he’s sure his jeans will bleed a darker shade of black. All for you. He’ll become a sticky mess, all for you.
It doesn’t help that he finds himself ruminating on how wet you must’ve gotten your fingers just now, dipping them low into your entrance and spreading the arousal up to your clit.
Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him.
A tiny voice in his mind bellows, belligerent and questioning how he’s going to come back from this. How he’s going to look you in the eye tomorrow, now knowing what you sound like when you fall victim to your basest desires.
But then a pitchy hum dances through the line, and he can no longer hear the voice. He watches your legs spasm as you squirm helplessly, like your hands are not enough.
God, Eddie wishes he could help you. He nearly draws blood, biting his lip, wishing on every star in the sky that he could open this damn window. That he could enter your room and you’d only cry out for him, begging him to touch you. That you wouldn’t yell, wouldn’t scream for him to leave.
He wishes you’d moan his name right to his face. Wishes you’d peel your panties off and open your legs like a wordless invitation. You’d send that famous pout of yours his way, the one you do so well, the one that drives him crazy. The one he can’t resist.
He’d give you exactly what you need. He’d fill you up and devour every last mewling whimper right from your parted lips. And once you let him in, he wouldn’t abandon your warm cunt for all the money in the world. At least not until he got to leave your velvety walls dripping in his cum. Leave you with a piece of him. A promise of more. A pledge of devotion.
Eddie’s shoulders hunch, matching your convulsing movements as you struggle to remain quiet.
“‘S it light purple or dark purple?” he questions gruffly, eager to hear your voice—to hear the strain.
You throw your head back against the soft pillow behind you, your face crumbling in pleasure, like the right amount of lightning has struck the sensitive little bundle of nerves between your quivering thighs. “D-Dark.”
He bites back a groan, surprised his laser-focused stare hasn’t burned a hole through the glass yet.
“Like violet?” he huffs out, his gaze refusing to leave your delicate panties, or the actions happening underneath.
“Mhm,” you mewl, trapping your lower lip between your teeth.
His jaw drops in awe as the spasms seem harder to control, and the silence more difficult to hold onto, with lewd moans fighting their way up your throat, crawling agonizingly slowly from deep inside you.
“Y’alright, sweets? Y’sound a little breathless,” he utters, steady and calculating—a stark contrast to the harsh, hurried grip he has on his cock.
You nod your head fervently before remembering the phone pressed to your blazing cheek. Humming a few seconds too long, you’re unable to stop the vibrato from guiding your voice into the pits of desperation.
“Y-Yeah, ‘m fine. Just— I’m, mm-painting my toes.” Your tone jumps an octave on the last word, matching the full-body jerk that leaves you quaking. “Can’t fuckin’ breathe with my knee in my chest,” you pant, forced anger saturating every last syllable as your back arches.
He chuckles, amused by all your fabrications. For someone who’s squirming in bed like they’re running from their own fingers, you lie surprisingly well.
It takes everything in him not to let the moan breach his lips when he watches your hand rip from your panties, reach for the decorative throw pillow beside you, and shove it between your thighs, aiding your grinding hips.
Quickly losing rhythm, he clings to the last shred of sanity he can find, hoping to stave off the fiery heat just a bit longer. He’s not done with you yet.
But apparently you’re done with him, because your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your body convulses rapidly before stopping suddenly, every part of you stiffening like a marble statue depicting the bowing ascent into pleasure-filled ecstasy.
Though you’re still, it looks like calamity is bubbling just beneath the surface. One, two, three more weak ruts of your hips against the pillow seems to officially send you hurling over the edge, dragging Eddie along with you.
Warmth blooms low in his gut and spreads across the front of his pants as his cock throbs angrily, shooting ropes of cum that are immediately stifled by the limitations of the tight fabric. His body jerks, matching your movements. Like you, his pleasure boils over, freeing him of any inhibitions. A groan tears from his chest, but you don’t hear it. Your cries drown out his noises.
“S-Shit, unh, Eddie!”
He shudders at the way his name rides on the back of your moans, but you quickly cover for yourself.
“Sorry—fuck, I,” your hurried, huffing breaths interrupt your words, “I spilled the polish. I’m— I gotta go, Eds.”
Inhaling sharply, Eddie allows himself just a bit more teasing. “Can’t wait to see your pretty nails tomorrow, sweetheart.”
Your responding whimper is cut short when you quickly hang up the phone and flop back onto your bed, pillow still hugged tightly between your trembling thighs. For a while, you just lay there with your arm draped over your face.
Outside the window, Eddie watches your rapidly moving chest eventually even out into soft, controlled breaths. He’s about to leave—the cooling mess in his pants starting to give him the bad shivers—but right as he begins inching backward, you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed.
His eyes go wide when he sees the dark patch on your panties. As you stand and make your way to the middle of the room, his eyes then practically pop out of his head when you shimmy the underwear down your legs, carelessly tossing it in the direction of your laundry basket.
He gulps at the sight of your bare ass, vibrations rippling through flesh as you walk toward your bedroom door. But before you exit the room, you swipe a pair of panties from the top drawer of your dresser.
Once you disappear into the dark hallway, leaving your door closed—presumably to stop any light from filtering through—Eddie snaps into action, yanking the window upward and throwing himself through.
Tumbling to the floor with a quiet thud, his head pops up, looking over the edge of the bed, across the way at the still-shut door. With the cellphone safe in hand, he scrambles up to his feet, trying desperately to ignore the scent of you in the air. It’s partly your perfume lingering on every item in the room, partly the sweet smell of your arousal permeating the stillness of the night.
Glancing down at the wet spot on the throw pillow, he bounces slightly, frowning in agony—it’s taking incredible restraint not to steal the stupid thing. Because fuck, he could do so much with that. He could rest his head on it, sleep peacefully to the scent of you. He could bury his face in the stain while he ruts his hips into his lumpy mattress. Hell, he could even grind his bare cock on the pillow itself.
But it’s too big of an item to steal. You’d notice. Especially because you were just using it, and for all he knows, this is a regular occurrence. This might be your special humping pillow. He doesn’t judge—he’s got his special jack-off hoodie. Actually, it’s your hoodie that you ‘lost’ a few months ago. It just barely smells like you anymore, but it still does the trick.
Sighing, Eddie shakes his head, deciding to stick to his original plan. He hurries over toward the basket in your closet but stops short just before he arrives. There, on the ground, is the pair of panties you were wearing only moments ago. He plucks the still-warm material off the ground, holding it up to the light.
Your juices have thoroughly soaked the fabric, and he looks inside at the gusset, nearly moaning at the glimmer of slick shining up at him.
“Fuck yeah,” he mutters, pumping his fist. However, right as he moves to greedily sift through more of your dirty laundry, he hears the flush of a toilet from down the hall, then the click of a door.
His adrenaline spikes, and he speeds back across the room, cursing himself for not just blindly grabbing whatever he could get his hands on from the full basket. Slipping out the window with ease, Eddie shoves the waistband of your panties into his mouth to free one of his hands, allowing him to softly, but swiftly, shut it behind him.
He makes quick work of descending the trellis before ever witnessing you re-enter the room. As he jogs down the street to his van, he grins victoriously.
He may not have been able to hang out with you tonight, but he definitely got something far better. A win is a win.
A/N: Pls lmk if you liked this fic!!!! Y’all’s reactions let me know what I should do more of. Also, I’m like a dog and if you guys give me snausages (compliments), I’ll do tricks (post fics) for you.
warnings: 18+, minors dni !!! : smut with a mini plot, established relationship, terrible communication skills, adult language, use of pet names, slight exhibitionism at times, mentions of possessiveness / jealousy, unprotected p in v, oral (m & f receiving), edging, fingering, mentions of multiple orgasms, kinda rough sex but also not that rough, mentions of bodily fluids — this is wildly unedited, also pls let me know of anything i forgot to mention!
a/n: i wrote this in one sitting, so there's probs a lot of mistakes which, for the sake of a good time, i ask you to ignore. inspired by the new sabrina carpenter song of the same name. also, images used in header don't depict readers physical attributes. these are also not described in the story.
Okay, perhaps your therapist is right.
Maybe the answer to your relationship problems isn’t jumping each other’s bones the second an argument starts to slip away. Maybe it’s not hitting the pause button on a fight, only to apologise under the sheets instead of using words, like functioning adults should.
The two of you clearly have an aversion to healthy communication, but can either of you really be blamed if the sex is so fucking good?
At this stage, the arguing is almost like foreplay, which, okay, you can also agree is sick and twisted.
What follows after a blow up over dirty dishes, unpaid bills, pet peeves, or regular ol’ jealousy, turns into an absolutely mind blowing fuckfest. By the time you’re done, covered in sweat (and other bodily fluids), you simply forgive each other because the reason why an argument started in the first place is long forgotten.
Sure, it’s far from ideal. There are certainly better coping mechanisms than pulling orgasms from one another. However, in the grand scheme of things, if you go to bed happy, then what is there to complain about?
(Lots, actually. But you’ve got dick blindness and your boyfriend is drunk on your pussy, so things will remain how they are. At least for now.)
Eddie Munson is like no other man you’ve ever been with.
He’s got a bucket full of good qualities about him. Kindhearted, intelligent, hilarious. He knows how to cook, he drives you everywhere you need to go, he reads the silly little romance novels you like just so you’ve got someone to talk about them with. He listens to the music you like, always waits to watch the next episode of any shows you’re watching together, and you never have to ask him to take out the trash. In the lottery of boyfriends, you have absolutely hit the jackpot.
It all sounds perfect, doesn’t it? Since Eddie is so fucking good at being your man, how come the two of you fight in the first place? Well, your therapist says the underlying issue is lack of communication, and you want to agree with her. You always tell her you aim to put in more effort on how you outline your needs, or handle delicate situations, and overall, do better with conflict resolution. You always lie to her, actually, because the reason you and Eddie fight is much simpler than some psychoanalysing bullshit.
Sometimes, he’s just a fucking dweeb.
And don’t worry, he’d honestly say the same about you.
Hence all the sex.
After fighting about him running late (for the millionth time), and causing a ripple effect in your plans, Eddie pins you against the wall and slides his fingers into your underwear. He rubs harsh circles into your clit, collecting wetness that he licks off with glee. Moments later, your legs are around his waist, his tongue is dancing with yours, and his cock is buried deep inside you. You arrive at dinner with friends following a thirty minute delay.
When you yell at him from the shower, because he’s used up all of your shampoo again, he joins you under the stream without hesitation. Lips locked, hands busying themselves with your tits. He twists your nipples, pulls them in every which way, before his mouth travels downwards, nipping at your throat. You’re giddy when he motorboats you, tugging at his brown locks, and Eddie grins into your damp chest. By the time he’s done with you, the water is running cold.
He comes home late from the bar? The scolding barely falls from your mouth and he’s got you laying on the couch, face between your legs. He’s lapping at your slick folds like a starved man. Sucking your sweet juices until you’re panting his name, begging for more — naturally, Eddie is happy to oblige.
An argument ensues because a wrong turn is taken on a road trip, partially because you misread the map, and partially because Eddie thinks he knows better anyway. He pulls over, agitated. His cock is down your throat faster than either of you can say sorry for your part in this particular mess. Ring-clad fingers hold onto your nape, as you bob your head, swallowing him whole. And when he sings your praises, spurting hot cum into your mouth, you wonder why you ever thought this relationship is cursed.
Eddie fucks you doggy, on top of your shared bed, after a particularly long fight over money. He slaps your ass, repeatedly calling you his good girl, and when he throws a hundred dollar bill at your naked body (for the bill he forgot to pay, again), you sit on his face and make him spell out how sorry he is with his tongue.
He does you against the wall of The Hideout bathroom, after a guy tries to hit on you. Then again in the dark alleyway, after that same guy asks for your number — even though you clearly shot him down, twice. That night, Eddie’s moves are possessive. He marks your skin in hickeys that don’t fade for weeks.
When a shop assistant is a little too smiley for your liking, you blow your boyfriend in one of the changing rooms. On the other side of the curtain, she tries to make you two stop, saying something about calling security, but Eddie tells her to, “get lost,” before grabbing your head and fucking your mouth silly.
Every time the fuse blows, you think it’s over, there’s no going back. Yet, you’re always wrong. Apologies flow between orgasms and you tell one another how fucking lucky you both are. For all his faults — for all your faults — mean nothing when you can bounce on his cock, making you both feel ten times better than minutes before.
When you whine his name upon entering the kitchen, as your boyfriend is splayed on the couch in the other room, watching television without a care in the world, you should have known how the rest of your night will end.
“You said you’d tackle those dishes,” you say, peeking your head out to look at him, brows raised in a challenge.
“Yeah, later.” Eddie answers simply. He glances at you briefly, then immediately returns his attention to the flashing screen.
“It is later,” you point out, approaching him now. “Can you do them, please? The sink is practically overflowing.”
“Practically, or is it actually overflowing? Those are two different things, sweets.” And because he thinks he’s absolutely hilarious, he flashes you a devilish kind of grin.
The nerve on this fucking guy, you think and step in front of the colourful box, covering his view. Eddie rolls his eyes, groaning at your immaturity, as he throws his head back against the cushions and blinks at the ceiling.
“I’m tired of having to ask you to do shit,” you say, tone increasingly agitated. “Pick up your socks. Wash the mug you used. Flush the fucking toilet.”
He looks at you once more.
“And I’m tired of you always being on my case about something. I said I’ll do the damn dishes, Jesus.” He exhales, a long, unnerved breath and moves to stand. “Anything else on the list, princess?”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “No need to be a prick about it.”
“No need to be a bitch about it.”
“Nothing will get done otherwise,” you bite back. “I don’t want to nag you about being a functional adult in our shared space, but sometimes, you give me no choice!”
Eddie waves a dismissing hand, hoping to pin this shit right here, and walks towards the kitchen. When he reappears seconds later, there’s a beer in his hand — dishes clearly untouched, unless he’s some sort of wizard — and your fuse is seriously about to pop. However, instead of throwing further jabs, you walk past him, and make a point to shove into his shoulder with force.
“Is it really so hard to pick up a sponge?”
He curses under his breath at the question, and you can’t see how his eyes close for a brief moment of composure. Then he follows you, like a dog to a heel. Although, he’s still wildly unhelpful.
Leaning against the counter, with the bottle of beer at his lips, he’s watching you rummage through the cupboards more violently than necessary, your aura seething with anger. You do your best to maneuver around him, silence treatment in full force, but the longer he stares at you in this indignant silence, the more you know he wants to, well, fuck.
Proof is in the pudding when he reaches for you, oh so delicately. He’s murmuring, “I love you, I’m sorry,” while one hand holds you by the chin, making you hold his darkening gaze.
As you’ve told your therapist many times before, this is how it always ends.
Eddie’s mouth slants over yours, hungry to pull the first moan from deep within your throat — which he does, with quite the ease. There’s urgency in his movements and a thirst he’s desperately trying to quench as his lips work yours until they’re blooming with blood.
Then you’re being spun, and spun again. Suddenly, your stomach is pressing against the countertop and your boyfriend is behind you, hiking your shorts out of the way. Realising you’ve forgone underwear, he hisses into your neck, then nips at your flesh with his teeth.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Eddie whispers again, only this time, his tone is teasing. “I’ll do the damn dishes. I’ll wipe those babies clean. They’re gonna shine for you.”
Pelvis hovering near your ass, you can feel Eddie tug at his jeans, boxers, until his erect member brushes against your skin. Aligning himself, tip to increasingly wet folds, he places a hand on your back, and without a word of warning, he slides into you.
“Eddie…”
His name escapes your mouth on contact, the beginning of a prayer. And although he loves to hear it, loves to see you fall apart in front of him while the five letters vibrate through wherever the two of you are jacking like rabbits, this time, he’s shushing you.
He’s asking you to be quiet, bite your tongue raw, as his dick slides out of you, then back in. Sloppy, slick with your juices. He repeats the action, and again. Each impact is rougher, yet somehow more intimate, and gradually a rhythm is banked, heat igniting your entire being.
Eddie’s fingers trail up your back, reaching your shoulder. He squeezes, pulling you upright, then scratches along your soft skin until he’s got you by the neck. And you mewl — rather pathetically, to be honest — only to be shushed once more, but the noise rings in his ears, fuelling his raging desire.
Wet sounds spill out of the kitchen, filling the rest of your shared apartment, as Eddie increases the speed of his thrusts until he is ramming his hard cock into your flush cunt, merciless. There’s no time left for pleasantries, or further apologies. Drunk on his cock and the praises that spill from his filthy mouth, you forgive him for the stupid dishes.
“You’re taking me so well, sweets.” He leans into your ear. “Such a needy girl. You’re made for me, baby. Fuck. This pussy of yours is made for me and I’ll take such good care of it, baby, I promise.”
“Eddie…”
“Let go for me, baby.”
You’re done for. You know it, he knows it. There’s mere seconds before you’re exploding in ecstasy, all over his thick cock. And when your eyes roll to the back of your head, as he digs into your neck, Eddie smirks because you’re about to lose your mind completely.
“I fucking hate you,” you murmur without meaning.
He squeezes your neck tighter, his cock pulsating deep inside of you, drawing out your orgasm until your body buckles beneath his weight.
“I fucking love you.” He mumbles into the crook of your neck, before hastily pushing your chest flat against the surface of the counter, as he chases his own release.
Sure, you almost broke up again. Big deal. You almost did last night, and you might break up tomorrow, but knowing the two of you, there won’t be any follow through.
as always, thank you for reading! & pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3
SUMMARY: Your boyfriend takes your virginity and all your bad thoughts with it, too.
WARNINGS: mdni smut 18+. virgin!reader. virgin!eddie. unprotected sex. mentions of blood. eddie licking blood. reader is insecure. brief mention of reader catastrophizing. implied subspace/reader doesn't know she's in subspace.
WC: 3.5K
A/N: part of the grind you down universe.
“We’re going to get you. We’re going to get you. Not another peep. Time to go to sleep.”
Linda’s voice echoed through the trailer, the TV light flickering over your and Eddie’s faces.
His arm was wrapped around you, tucking you into his side. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him mouth along the lines like he knew them by heart. He did. You were acutely aware of every single meeting point between your bodies, the constant presence grounding you, keeping you away from straying too far in your mind.
Like a dog on a leash, you thought. And he was your owner. Pulling you away from the deep forest and the rough terrain, guiding you to where you needed to be.
“The guys loved the ticket you made,” Eddie’s voice pulled you out of your analogies.
“You showed them?” you asked, craning your neck to look up at his face. His handsome features, with those big eyes and perfect teeth—
“‘Course I did. Gotta show off what my girl made for me,” he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, before he refocused on the movie.
My girl. He never asked you to be his girl, but you didn’t think he needed to, anyway. He made his intentions clear. You were his. His girl. He even showed you off to his friends when you weren’t there.
But that tiny voice inside your head screamed differently. Maybe he’s stringing you along, maybe they laughed at your gift.
It was a hard habit to kick, assuming the worst at all times. It serves its purpose as a highly messed up, but highly functional soothing ritual. If your mind goes through all of the horrible things that could happen, nothing could shock you. Or disappoint you too much. And you knew you never got what you wanted so if you just assumed the worst, if you wished it your way, ran through every combination of possible humiliation, then it was bound not to happen. After all, all your bad moments came when you were not expecting them.
And a big part of you felt guilty, because of all the people in the world, Eddie was the only one who didn’t deserve to be assumed about in that way. He was never anything but sweet and gentle.
God, your thoughts yelled at you. Maybe there was something inherently evil about you. There had to be in order to project these things to the only person who was kind to you.
“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice pulled you out once more, “You’re in your head again.”
Not a question. A statement. Because he knew all your tells. Of course he did. He learned them by heart in such a short period of time that it made you swoon. Yet, it also added onto the guilt bubbling up inside you.
“Oh? Um, ‘s nothin’, really,” you said, not meeting his eyes.
His finger hooked on your chin, pulling your head up, gently coaxing you to look at him.
“Don’t give me that, c’mon.”
“I don’t want to burden you, Ed,” you sighed, leaning into his palm which was now on your cheek.
“Burden me? What do you take me for, sweets? I’m your boyfriend, am I not? ‘s what boyfriends are supposed to do, or so I heard.”
Boyfriend. Your boyfriend. Yours. Yours. Yours.
You knew you had to tell him. It’s only fair if you do. Even if the selfish part of you wanted to keep all your problems locked inside your head, where they’re safe, you knew that’s not how relationships worked.
You knew he would worry anyway. He always does. So you could stand being uncomfortable for a few seconds if it meant at least telling him what he’s worrying about, to stop him from wondering and theorizing.
“It’s stupid,” you muttered, “I know it is. Just me… Being all conspiratorial, I guess.”
“About what?”
“You never really asked me to be your girlfriend. Not that you had to, I know—” he cut off your attempt to hurriedly explain yourself.
“Shit, sorry, sweetheart. This is new to me, y’know? ‘M not exactly familiar with all the do’s and the don’t’s,” he said, other hand coming up to your face as well, rubbing your cheeks gently, making you relax.
“No, no, I know. Just bad thoughts, I guess. I know you didn’t mean anything bad.”
“In my head, you’ve been my girl since our first date,” he said softly, voice almost a coo, “Can I ask you now, but we both pretend I asked you then?”
You let out a soft snort, looking at him adoringly.
“Sure,” you said, “But I don’t think people usually get into relationships on the first date.”
“It’ll make our anniversary come sooner,” he grinned, “And we’re not most people, are we? Most people don’t sleep over on the first date either.”
Jesus Christ, he was unreal. Just a touch and a few sweet words and he unraveled the complicated web of thoughts in your head.
“I s’pose you’re right,” you smiled softly.
“So, will you? Be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” you said, your voice unable to be anything other than a gentle whisper.
You were so gone for him.
He smiled, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on the apple of your cheek, followed by two more.
“And you gotta tell me, okay? When something’s botherin’ you, no matter what it is. Deal?”
“Deal,” you said, tilting your head up to peck his lips.
He hummed against your mouth, peppering you with kisses, showing no sign of letting go.
“You’re.. missin’ the… movie,” you mumbled between pecks.
“Don’t care,” came his response, slotting his mouth against yours properly.
Your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he tried to pull you closer awkwardly, due to the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder, bodies turned uncomfortably.”
“Shit, c’mere,” he said, hauling you onto his lap, “Comfy?” he asked, hands smoothing over your thighs as he looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah,” you responded breathlessly, heat building up in your stomach embarrassingly fast, just from the tone of his words.
He didn’t respond, just slotted his mouth against yours once more.
You brushed his hair back as he licked at your bottom lip, guiding you to open up for him. He tasted like Marlboro’s and your Dr. Pepper that he snuck a few sips of. Not that you minded. God, you’d give him anything he wanted.
You licked his tongue messily while his hands smoothed up your thighs until he settled them on your hips, squeezing the supple flesh in appreciation.
Christ, how was he so good at this? You thought as you moved on his lap to get closer to him, leaving you to slot right against his hardening cock, making him groan.
Both his sounds, and the feeling of him everywhere sent a ripple of arousal through you, your thighs clenching around his.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, the sound muffled by your lips, “This okay?” he asked, hands moving to your ass, grinding you against him.
“Mhm,” you whined out, the friction making you preen.
He panted, pulling away from your lips and trailing kisses down your neck, licking at your pulse point. His hands left your ass, sneaking under your shirt and up to your bra, squeezing your tits through it.
“Mm, don’t stop, baby,” he moaned out when your hips stalled as he stopped guiding you.
You obeyed, rolling yourself against him. The way your clit caught against the seam of your jeans made you moan weakly, the sound going straight to his cock, feeling him twitch under his clothes.
He clumsily nipped at your neck, shoving his hands inside your bra to pull at your nipples. Your high-pitched moan encouraged him to detach his lips from you, to look at your face.
“Shit, sweets, you’re so pretty,” he moaned, “Can I take this off, baby? Please?” he asked, pushing at your bra cups with his knuckles.
“Yeah, yeah,” you breathed out, heart beating wildly.
This was actually happening, your brain screamed at you as he pulled your shirt off, your hips still grinding against his.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned as he took a moment to just look at you, before his hands slid to your back, trying and failing to unclasp your bra.
You see the embarrassed blush on his cheeks and it makes your heart melt a little. You would probably coo at him on instinct, if it wasn’t for the pleasure rolling off of you in waves.
“Here,” you said, reaching back to do it yourself.
The sheepish expression was wiped off his face the second he saw your tits, mouth immediately latching onto your nipple with a drawn out moan, while his hand made sure that the other one wasn’t left out.
Your back arched into his touch with a sharp gasp falling from your lips.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you whined, rubbing yourself against him faster, pussy clenching around nothing as you felt his cock twitch and jump in his jeans.
He let out a whimper from the back of his throat, coating you in his saliva before he pulled away briefly.
“Sweetheart— God, fuck— You wanna get under me?” he panted out and all you could do was nod, words leaving you completely.
He laid you out on the couch, hiking your leg up on the backrest before settling over you, his forearms caging your head in as he leaned down to kiss you.
“So pretty,” he mumbled, desperately humping against you.
You whined against his lips, hips moving to meet his rhythm, hands pulling at his shirt needily.
You wanted it off.
He took the memo, reluctantly moving away, just enough to make quick work on his shirt, before slotting over you again, this time holding himself up with one arm, as the other danced over the button of your jeans.
“This okay? We don’t hav’ta do anything, baby”
“I want to,” you said, your own hands dancing over his pale chest.
“Lift your hips a little,” he ordered softly while unbuttoning your pants.
You obeyed, planting your weight on the leg that was resting on the backrest and using it to lift up.
He shimmied your jeans and panties down below your ass, letting out a soft curse under his breath before pushing your hips back down carefully. His hand brought your leg down, setting your feet in his lap so he could rid you off your clothes completely.
“Christ, sweetheart,” he marveled when your clothes were discarded, spreading your legs once more to stare at the wetness that caught on the soft thatch of hair.
Your whole body burned in arousal and nervousness alike as you watched him watch you.
“Gonna have to tell me what feels good, sweets,” he murmured, running two fingers along your folds, making you shiver.
“That?” he asked, “Show me where, baby. Wanna make you feel good,” his voice cracked with need.
Your hand shakily led his to your clit, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure, the bud twitching against his fingertips.
“Like this?” he asked, pressing his fingers a little too harshly while he made circles on your nub.
A wince leaves your lips, reaching out to stop his hand.
“Little easier…” You said softly as you guided his hand to make gentle figure-eight’s on your clit, before he had time to feel bad for hurting you.
“Sorry, baby,” he punctuated his words with a gentle kiss to your cheek, doing his best to follow.
“‘s okay, feels so good, Eddie,” your voice a needy whine.
“What about here?” he asked, finger circling over your entrance which was steadily clenching and unclenching, pushing out the wetness that dribbled down, “Inside? You touch yourself there?”
The question makes your cheeks burn, as you shake your head no.
“We don’t have to if you’re not ready, sweetheart.”
“I do. I really want to, Ed, but um… Maybe we need a towel, y’know, for the blood,” you babbled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be grossed out.
But this was Eddie. You should’ve known and you shouldn’t have let out a surprised yelp when he lifted your hips up and put his own shirt under them, mumbling something about not being crazy to leave even for a second.
“Are you sure?” you asked, a little embarrassed by the prospect of getting blood over him and his shirt.
“Relax, baby,” he cooed, slowly pushing his finger in, eyes trained on you, following every reaction.
Your breath stuttered, eyes screwing closed. It felt foreign, but not unwelcomed.
“Okay?” Eddie checked in, his finger slowly moving in and out.
“Yeah… Yeah, keep going,” you moaned out as his thumb came up to rub your clit like you showed him to, coaxing you to open more.
Another moan slips past your lips, reaching blindly for his cock. Once you did, you flattened your palm against him and rubbed, hoping that it was the right thing to do.
“Oh– Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t do that,” he hissed, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling your hand away.
You opened your eyes, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Bad?” you managed to ask through a half-sigh, his finger still steadily pumping in and out of you.
“No, sweets. Real fuckin’ good, would’ve made me jizz my pants.”
The words make you clench around his fingers, a drawn-out mewl falling from your lips as your back arched.
“Can I put another one in, pretty girl?”
“Mhm, yeah, yeah.”
Eddie leaned down to kiss you sloppily as he pushed another finger in, interchanging the angles inside your gummy walls.
“Oh my God,” you moaned against his lips when he hit one particular spot that made you see stars.
“Right there?”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing his tongue past your lips, his fingers speeding up.
Your hips bucked desperately against his hand, the only thought on your fuzzy mind was Eddie.
How good he was making you feel, how you wanted more. How you wanted him to fuck you.
“Eddie, please,” you beg desperately.
“What, sweets? What d’ you need?” he asked, not stopping his ministrations.
“Need more— Fuck… Want you, please.”
“You sure, sweetheart? We don’t have to,” he said for the umpteenth time. It would’ve made your heart melt in any other situation, but now you just needed him. Desperately.
“Please, Eddie, just— Need you so bad.”
“Fuck, baby… I don’t have a condom. Wasn’t really planning on… Well, this.”
You whined, a pout forming on your lips.
“‘S fine, right?” you panted desperately, trying to latch onto any excuse. “You can jus’ pull out, right?”
“You sure, baby?”
“Mhm, please, just do somethin’”
“Okay, okay, I got you,” he said, pulling his fingers out of you gently.
You grimaced when you saw the red streaks adorning them, an embarrassed blush spreading on your cheeks.
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
He scoffed and your eyes widened when he licked his fingers clean, humming at the taste of blood.
Yet still, you couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth at the sight, as you laser-focused on him. Gaze bouncing from his face, to his tattoos and finally, to him pulling down his pants and boxers.
Your mouth watered at the vision before you. Eddie, giving his long, veiny cock a few pumps with his ring adorned hand, bottom lip between his teeth, his tip red and angry.
“Okay, okay,” he breathed, caging you in with his forearm as he leaned back down, his other hand leading his cock to your leaky entrance.
“We can stop at any time, ‘mkay? And you tell me ‘f it hurts. I’ll be gentle.”
“O-okay,” you said, feeling a little jittery now, despite still wanting it. Wanting him.
You let out something between a yelp and a squeal when you feel his fat tip pushing past your walls, the feeling more intense than when his fingers fucked you.
A lot more. You felt so full already and he hadn’t even started.
He stilled, rubbing your scalp soothingly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just… Need a second. ‘S so much.”
“Okay, baby. However long you need.”
First breath in. Hold. First breath out. Second breath in. Hold. Second breath out. Third breath in. Hold. Third breath out. Fourth breath in. Hold. Fourth breath out. Fifth breath in. Hold. Fifth breath out.
“Okay, you can move,” you said softly, gently pulling his face closer to yours.
You gasped sharply when he filled you completely, stretching your walls. You felt a slight pinch, but the dominant feeling was the one of being full. Of your head being empty and only feeling him, his cock.
Eddie let out a long moan, head falling down to your shoulder as he tried to stop himself from cumming already.
“Shit— Fuck— God, sweets— Need a minute”
The sound of his broken voice, utterly wrecked, made you clench impossibly around his girth, the feeling making his whole body tense.
“Mm— Gotta, gotta stop doin’ that, sweets, gonna make me cum,” he panted into your shoulder.
Not that you’d mind. You were already embarrassingly close too from this whole ordeal. His hands, his words, him filling you so nicely, making you cock-drunk.
“Mmm, me too, need— Jus’ a little bit more, Ed, please, ‘m almost there,” you babbled mindlessly, your pussy contracting rhythmically, like the thrum of a heartbeat.
“Yeah? Yeah? God, you’re so tight. So wet an’ warm— Fuck,” he moaned, beginning to move his hips sloppily, fingers coming down to rub your clit.
“Ohmygod!” you squealed, hips bucking up, “‘m so full, Ed, feels so good.”
“You feel so good too. Fuck, baby, so-so good. M’ sweet girl. Thought about this so much,” he admitted, driving his cock into you harder, his balls slapping against your ass.
“Me too,” you whined out, eyes scrunched closed as your pussy made lewd, wet sounds which echoed throughout the living room.
Eddie groaned at that, his stomach tensing as he rubbed your clit faster.
“Fuck— Fuck, baby. Y-you touch yourself and think of me?”
“Mhm, mhm,” you nodded desperately, hands sliding down his back as you felt the familiar tightness in your core.
“Oh shit, sweets, fuckfuckfuck.”
You were both gone, letting out moans and whines, babbled words and incoherent sentences as you just felt each other.
You felt the orgasm creep up on you, your whole body tensing, before the coil snapped, making your whole body shake.
Eddie whimpered in your neck at the sensation, his body trembling.
“Fuck, sweetheart— Fuck, can you— Mmm— ‘m gonna cum, baby, gotta-gotta pull out, are you all done?” he babbled as he fucked you through your orgasm.
“Yeah, yeah, Ed.”
He hissed as he pulled out of you, jerking his tip in quick, harsh motions.
You just stare, wide-eyed, wanting to remember every moment of it as he drew his head back with a loud curse before spurting on your stomach.
He crashed against you, both of you panting together.
After a minute or two, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and wordlessly got up. You would’ve asked if you trusted your voice, if your throat wasn’t dry.
He came back in record speed, carrying a damp towel, a glass of water and two pairs of boxers. Placing the water on the table, he knelt down and cleaned your stomach up, using the other end of the towel to clean your sensitive folds, making you hiss.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving to put his boxers on you.
“What’re you doin’?” you asked tiredly when you saw him put the second pair on you as well.
“Well, don’t exactly have pads ‘round here. This’ll be enough ‘f you keep bleeding, right?”
Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, the respect and care that etched into his every gesture.
“Yeah, yeah, think so,” you said. Not like you knew a lot about bleeding after your first time having sex.
“C’mon, butt up,” he ordered and you obeyed, like always.
You’d do anything he asked. Like a dog on a leash. Safe, cared for, guided.
After he situated you, Eddie dressed himself and plopped down on the couch, bringing you to his lap and handing you the glass of water.
You gulped half of it down, the cool liquid feeling heavenly on your parched mouth, and handed the other half to him.
“Thank you sweetheart,” he smiled.
You settled yourself against him while he rubbed your back.
“That was nice,” you whispered, eyes closed.
“Yeah? It was nice for me too, baby. Thank you for trusting me with that.”
“Thank you for trusting me with that too.”
“‘M just a guy, darlin’,” he drawled, planting a kiss to your hairline, “But… ‘t was easy to trust you. You didn’t make me feel weird ‘bout not knowing what the hell I was doin’.”
“Mm, felt like you did, though,” you said, making him chuckle.
“You’re good for my ego, baby.”
You hummed in response, nuzzling into him.
It was almost strange, how good you felt. As if your brain was fuzzy static, not a single thought except Eddie.
Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.
As if a world outside of him didn’t exist, as if he’s the one singular being left.
Like he hung the moon and the stars, all for you.
And you’d do it for him too, if he asked. You’d do anything.
⟢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Johnny Storm x Reader
✦︎ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰: Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) Spoilers, established relationship, AFAB, no use of Y/N, smut, fluff and smut, plot what plot/porn without plot, yearning/desperation, reunion sex, dry humping, clothed sex but it's sort of short, kissing, hickies, nipple play, cunnilingus, oral sex (F receiving), Piv, creampie, raw, slight size kink, fantasies, post-coital cuddling, Johnny missed you BAD, not beta read
✦︎ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k+
✦︎ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Johnny came back and wants to show you how much you mean to him, even among the chaos of hero work.
⟢ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Sorry for not posting, I’ve been busy! Part 2 of Burning Love, but can be read as a standalone. The reunion was a bit confusing to write, so I hope you enjoy this until I finish these two other requests I have :)) Thank you for the support!
Before Johnny had left for his space mission, you both spent every waking hour together—walking around Central Park, visiting your favorite ice cream shop, and being in each other's arms.
It had been a few days since his departure, and you were counting every second until his return.
The Fantastic Four’s journey was being monitored on every national station across the globe. You couldn't miss his face even if you tried—advertisements and their posters are everywhere, including cereal boxes.
Every reminder of him felt like a tug—part comfort, part ache—pulling you back to the last time you kissed him goodbye.
The days blurred into one another, each one feeling longer than the last. Evenings were the hardest—your apartment simply too silent, the blankets simply too chilly without him taking half off.
Now and then, you would catch yourself looking at the door, half expecting to see him standing there with that haughty smile and an armload of takeout.
Every night, before you went to bed, you’d press your hand to the space beside you and hope—hope that he would be safe, he would return in one piece, and when you would finally see him, you could hold on to him forever.
And then, one ordinary afternoon, hope turned into reality.
Their return was the most anticipated thing on television that week—news anchors cutting into programs, reporters stationed outside the Baxter Building, and their space shuttle, entire crowds waiting for a glimpse of them.
You watched from your couch, heart in your throat, as the aircraft touched down.
The shuttle’s descent was tense and deliberate, kicking up dust and heat that affected the view of the camera. You leaned forward, hands gripping the remote, eyes fixed on every movement.
Your chest getting tighter, minute after minute, as questions whirl in your mind.
Is Johnny alright? Is everyone alright?
Then, each in turn, they showed up on the screens.
Reed stepped out first, tall and steady, followed closely by his wife, Sue, as she cradled her new baby close to her chest. Then out came Ben with that familiar stoic look.
And then Johnny.
Even through the screen, even in the extreme angle of the camera, his presence hit you like a spark.
Johnny looked tired but radiant—flashing that signature grin for the cameras, waving like the spotlight was second nature.
But the appearance was cut short.
They weren't given a moment to breathe as they were ushered through a hallway before the screen switched to a conference hall, where Reed took the podium. The reporters were bombarding him with millions of questions.
“Is Earth finally safe?”
“What did Galactus want?”
His voice was steady as he recounted mission details for the press, the flashes from dozens of cameras seen on the wall behind them.
Sue stood just off to the side, cradling her bundled-up baby in her arms, her smile glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the cameras. Ben loomed nearby, his massive arms crossed, his jaw set tighter than usual.
A whir of tension simmered just beneath the surface—terms of mission plans and “unexpected variables” danced in the air, but you couldn’t quite grasp hold of them. Your mind was set on something else altogether.
You barely noticed the rest of the conference—only the flicker of him at the edge of the frame, his eyes sweeping the crowd like he was searching for you, too.
When the feed cut to commercial, you stayed staring at the screen, your heart pounding as if you’d just run a mile.
Hours had gone by since it had aired. The city had darkened, neon lights bathing your walls. News stations continued to play the same video repeatedly, analyzing every minute of the press conference.
Speculation ran rampant on the internet—outraged headlines, hysterical guessing, demands that the Fantastic Four resign if they couldn't step up.
You attempted to concentrate on other things, but after glancing at your phone, your chest constricted. There were no messages. No call. Only silence.
Then, as the clock neared midnight, your phone buzzed.
➤ ‘Where are you?’
It was so simple, yet it made your heart leap. You didn't waste time; you quickly replied with a simple, ‘Home.’
Another buzz.
➤ ‘Stay there. I’m coming.’
Johnny wasn't the type to fib—when he says something, he means it. And if he said he was coming, nothing on Earth could keep him from getting to you.
You remembered the night you’d been bedridden with an awful flu. You had been sniffing and coughing from the moment you woke up to the wee hours of the night.
Johnny had been supposed to attend a press conference about the city’s latest disaster, but the moment he heard you were sick, he showed up anyway.
You remember he had a bag full of soups of all kinds—rambling about not knowing which one you wanted and then how the ladies at the store just gave them to him anyway.
And he had stayed, hovering in the kitchen while the broth simmered, sneaking you sips, fussing over you like he’d never done anything else in his life but make sure you were okay.
And it wouldn't be different this time.
He didn't leave you waiting, as you saw a glimpse of orange illumination outside your window. It brightened—closer—until, in a whirl of heat and wind, he was there.
Johnny landed on your fire escape, flames vanishing in an instant before he pushed the window open.
He looked exhausted—hair mussed from the wind, dark circles under his eyes—but the moment he saw you, his whole face softened.
“Couldn’t wait till morning,” he said, breathless, stepping inside.
You barely had time to respond before he closed the distance, pulling you into him like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
Johnny scooped you up in his arms. Holding your waist as he lifted you off the ground effortlessly and spun you around.
You laughed, breathless, clinging to him as he twirled you around, the world spinning in the warmth of his arms. He gently set you back down, your feet touching the familiar carpet, but he didn't separate.
“I can't believe you're here,” you breathed, feeling the tight knot in your chest loosen just a little.
He pressed a soft, open-mouth kiss to your neck, as if proving he was here, then let his forehead rest against yours, “I wanted to come sooner, I swear, baby. Reed wanted us to discuss all these things, and I—”
You shut him up with a desperate kiss, letting your hands become tangled in his hair and pulling him close, silently telling him none of that mattered right then.
“I was so afraid,” you breathed between kisses, nudging your cheek into his. “I couldn’t concentrate on a thing. I just—I kept thinking of you.”
“I know,” he whispered, voice husky and low. His fingers outlined the curve of your back as he drew you in closer. “I missed you. I missed this… missed you so much.”
You tilted your head, giving him a deeper kiss. He groaned so loudly, almost animalistically.
His hands traced up your sides, pulling you flush against him, and you responded instinctively, pressing into him, letting the weeks of absence, longing, and worry pour into the heat of that soft, desperate touch.
Johnny’s lips moved over yours with a hunger from the past two weeks of sleepless nights in space, every moment of imagining you while he was gone.
His hands roamed possessively, memorizing your curves as if to prove you were here, really his.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he groaned, voice thick with need. “Two weeks… I’ve thought about this, about you. Every second.”
And without missing a beat, his hands slid under your thighs and lifted you. Your ankles interlocked around the small of his back as he carried you over to your bedroom.
Your sleep shorts riding up as he adjusted his grip, smirking as he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed. “So beautiful,” He hummed into your hair.
While he was maneuvering his way around your apartment, you kept up your work. Using your leverage to keep you high up to kiss along his jaw down to his neck.
Your lips ghosted along the curve before you latched on and sucked, leaving behind a blooming mark of red and purple.
“Impatient, baby?” was all you heard before you fell onto your bedsheets.
Johnny hovered over you, lips brushing along your jaw and down your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing the warmth of him against you.
Half-kneeling on the bed, he shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, letting it fall somewhere to the side, his eyes dark and hungry.
He slotted himself in between your legs as he pressed you further into your bed. Johnny’s chest pressed against yours, heat radiating from every inch of him.
His lips returned to your neck, sucking and nipping with an urgency that made your knees tremble.
You tugged at his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him fully, to erase the ache of weeks apart. “Johnny…” you gasped, voice thick with need.
God, he missed hearing that.
“Yeah, baby?” He said, almost smugly, with his lip caught between his teeth.
He knew what he was doing to you. He just wants to see you squirm longer.
He groaned and pressed himself even closer between your legs, one hand bracing on the bed beside your head while the other trailed down your side, fingers teasing along your hips.
You gasped at the feeling of him, hard and warm, against your core.
He leaned down just enough to brush his nose against yours, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sound so needy… I like that,” he teased.
He ground down once again, keeping his eyes on your reaction as if he was almost committing your face to memory. Your mouth hung open as you felt him brush against that bundle of nerves, setting your skin aflame.
“Been two whole weeks,” he continued, voice low but playful, “and you’ve been keeping all this to yourself? You could’ve saved me some trouble if you’d just said so sooner.”
You huffed, frustrated, “You were in space, Johnny.”
His grin widened as he pressed a soft, tantalizing kiss just below your jaw. “Like that would've stopped me, sweetheart.”
You shivered, frustration and longing coiling tighter in your chest.
“Mm… I could get used to this,” he whispered, letting his hands roam again, holding your ass as he pressed you closer to him and reveling in your reactions.
You moaned softly, tugging him closer. “Johnny… stop teasing.”
He chuckled against your skin, giddy and desperate all at once. “Sorry, baby. Come on, where do you want me? I’m all yours.”
Before you could even answer, he continued to grind into your clothed core. “Johnny!” you yelped as your hand found the corner edge of your pillow and gripped.
“I need an answer, doll-face,” he hummed easily, as if this was doing nothing to him at all.
You tried to think. Really. But how could you focus when his hand was gripping your ass and the other was snaking up your shirt?
“Fuck…I—I don’t know,” you whined, almost overwhelmed with everything and nothing at all.
He chuckled teasingly, letting his hand free from your bodice and raking along your ribs. “You want me here?” His lips near your ear before trailing down to your collarbone.
He pressed kisses there before going over the cloth of your camisole, letting his mouth glide over the swell of your breast. He let out a surprised hum, “No bra?” looking up at you as if to confirm.
You cracked a small smirk and nodded, watching him. Like a boy on Christmas morning. He breathed out a little laugh before latching onto your nipple.
His hand cupped and kneaded gently; the friction of your nipples rubbing against the camisole made your back arch into him.
You shivered at the sensation, your hands clutching his shoulders as his lips traced teasing, deliberate patterns.
“Need more, sweetheart?” he hummed, pleased with your reaction.
You wordlessly nodded, your mind too full of things to make up an answer. But you didn’t need to—his hand was already moving, sliding your camisole off before getting right back down to business.
The warmth of his mouth on your skin was a stark contrast to the coldness of your room. He didn't stop giving your breasts attention as he continued to grind into you.
His lips switch sides, teasing and alternating, driving you wild with need. Your hands roamed down his back, feeling every inch of him tense and alive beneath your touch.
Johnny groaned against your skin, voice low and ragged. “God… you feel incredible,” he murmured, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue traced delicate, heated circles.
You arched into him, letting out a soft, breathless moan. “Johnny… please…”
His hands took over the work on your chest as his lips explored further down—kissing your sternum, then your stomach, and then just below your navel.
Then his fingers brush along your hips and tease the waistband of your sleep shorts.
He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he whispered, though the heat in his gaze suggested he barely cared.
Then he tugged your shorts and panties down with the rise of your hip—kissing the skin as he went. The wet heat of his mouth made you squirm, your thighs drawing together instinctively.
Your hands tangled in his hair, urging him on. “Don’t stop,” you breathed.
He groaned softly as he kissed you one final time before pulling the last of the fabric away and tossing it blindly.
Something clattered against the floor lamp, but the thought barely registered when you felt the soft press of his lips against your inner thigh.
Then another one, closer this time.
When you tried to close your legs, you met resistance; Johnny’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his breath warm against you, voice thick with both amusement and hunger. “Not after I’ve waited this long for you.”
Then, without warning, his mouth finally closed over you.
First, it started with an open-mouthed kiss, and then a twist of his tongue had your legs locking. His tongue twists and turns around your folds before swirling on your clit.
Tracing slow, unhurried circles along the sensitive bundle of nerves. He hums low in his throat, the vibration sending a shiver through you.
“God, you taste—” he broke off with a quiet groan, diving back in before you could respond, your hips jerking against his hold.
You tried to shift, to get more, to feel him exactly where you needed him, but he only chuckled low against you. “Easy, baby. Let me take my time.”
He could feel you twitch and pulse with every lap at your clit. Then, without much permission, his tongue dips lower, circling your entrance before he presses in.
His grip on your thighs stayed firm, thumbs stroking idly over your skin as if to soothe you, but there was nothing gentle in the way his mouth claimed you.
The sensation is so unexpected and overwhelming that a strangled moan escapes your lips. He moves slowly at first, teasing, his tongue thrusting shallowly as if testing how much you can take.
“Johnny!” Your voice breaks, your nails digging into his hair, pulling him closer. You can feel the imprint of his smirk and the rumbling of his chuckling echo through you, and it pushes you closer.
He alternates between sliding his tongue in deep and pulling back to circle your clit. When you thought you couldn't take more, he switches the angle, hitting you deeper, relentlessly.
He pulled back slightly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on your mound before using his thumb to rub slow, tight circles along the bundle of nerves.
“Gotta prepare you f’me, babe,” he says ever so gently between the kisses.
One of his hands slides down from your thigh, his fingertips grazing your slick heat. He pulls back just enough to watch your reaction as his fingers trace teasingly over you.
He smirks faintly, just for a second, before sinking one long finger inside you. His fingers were thick, and the stretch of his two digits was delicious.
He starts moving it with steady, deliberate strokes, curling just slightly as if searching for the exact spot that will make you break.
“Taking them so well, baby,” he praised you with a soft kiss in between your thighs.
His mouth returns to your clit, tongue working in tandem with the rhythm of his finger, and the combination is enough to make your eyes roll back.
The coil in your belly tightened fast, faster than you expected after two weeks apart, every flick and suck feeding the ache in your core.
Johnny felt it—he always did. His hands slid up, one pressing lightly over your lower belly, holding you steady as his pace quickened.
“Johnny—” you gasped, half a plea, half a warning.
“I know, sweetheart. Give it to me,” he murmured against you, voice so hot and low it made your toes curl.
Each thrust of his fingers hits that perfect spot inside you, sending shocks of pleasure racing through your body.
When you finally spilled over, his grip tightened, keeping you open for him, his tongue coaxing every last shiver from your body until you were limp against the sheets.
Only then did he pull back, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with something more than lust—something like victory.
“Missed this,” he said, a little breathless, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip as if he could still taste you. “Missed you.”
Before you could recover, he was crawling up your body, his mouth finding yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as his hands roamed—hungrier now, more desperate.
You could feel his weight between your legs. You could still feel the damp heat where his mouth had been, the ache screaming for him to fill it.
“Johnny—” you tried, but it came out more like a gasp.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “I’ve been thinking about this every damn night.”
He fumbled with his own belt like it was personally offending him for being in the way, muttering a soft, “Too long… way too long…” as he kicked free of his jeans.
The second he freed himself, he was guiding the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance just enough to make you twitch.
He starts rubbing his dick through your folds, coating it with your wetness. He eyes your entrance as each thrust makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing—your slick making its way onto the sheets.
The whine in your throat makes him focus again.
“Tell me how you want me, baby,” he said, voice rough but steady, almost as if he was giving you the choice—when you both knew he was already halfway there.
“Inside,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. “I’m on the pill, Johnny, please—”
And just like that, he pushed in—slow enough to feel every inch, but with a pressure that left no doubt he’d been holding back for far too long.
The stretch was dizzying after days without him, the fullness making your breath hitch.
“Fuck,” he groaned against your collarbone, his hips stuttering as if he had to fight the urge to just drive into you hard and fast. “You feel so good… so tight.”
He fights the urge to close his eyes, wanting to commit every facial expression of yours to memory. Your mouth hung open as he pressed in deeper, surprised he wasn't already in fully.
Johnny was of average lengthwise, but his girth was more than you'd remember. And with him being gone for a few days didn’t help.
It felt like he was splitting you in half in the best way possible.
When he bottoms out, he’s holding himself on his knees above you, staring down at how you’re flush against him. He looked like he needed to be pinched to be reminded that this isn’t a dream.
He holds your hip off the bed slightly, your legs falling to the side of his waist. The first true thrust makes your head spin. Johnny pulls out at a gentle pace until the head remains before pushing right back in.
The pace gradually builds up as the burn from the stretching turns into delicious pleasure. His abs flex with every thrust he makes, holding up your body as your legs bounce on his sides.
You grab what you can of his body—holding your palm over his torso, along his bicep if you can reach, or settling for holding the knuckles at your waist. Every thrust fans the flames building in your stomach, feeling the sensitivity from your previous orgasm.
The wet sounds coming from your room are just shy of a porno. The bed creaked with the pace, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with your gasps and his ragged breathing.
“This—” thrust. “—is—” thrust. “—all I thought about.”
He hoisted your legs over one side of his shoulders and wrapped his arms around your knees to hold them there. Angling himself so every thrust slammed right into that same spot again and again, each one stealing the air from your lungs.
“Every damn hour of the day,” he groaned, leaning forward just enough to drag his lips over your calf, “every sound you make—baby, I’ve replayed it all in my head.”
His voice was low, almost fevered, the words spilling out between ragged breaths.
“I’ve thought about the way you look right before you come… how you grip me so tight I can’t even think.” His thrusts deepened with each confession, eyes locked on yours like he needed you to feel the truth of every word.
“I’ve thought about you underneath me, over me, even on your knees—” he bit down on a groan as you clenched around him, “—God, I’d wake up hard just picturing your mouth on me.”
You whimpered at the vividness in his tone, and he smirked breathlessly, the edge of desperation in it. “Two weeks, baby. Two weeks of nothing but my hand and your name in my mouth… and now I finally get to have you for real.”
He pressed in deeper, voice rough. He could feel every clench you make as he continues, “I thought about you waking me up in the middle of the night… climbing on top of me, taking what you want. Thought about pulling you into the shower and pinning you to the wall until the water went cold.”
Every word was another spark against your skin, another reason your breath was catching.
He leaned forward, and his hand slid up your side, gripping your breast before his mouth claimed it again, tongue flicking over your nipple just to hear you gasp.
“I’d think about holding you here, not letting you go until I’ve wrung every sound out of you.”
You whimpered, your nails dragging down his back. “Johnny—”
“That’s it,” he panted, lifting his head to kiss you hungrily, swallowing your cry as he pushed into that exact spot again and again. “Say it like you mean it, baby. Let me hear it.”
Your back arched, and he caught you there, his arms caging you in.
“I wanted to fuck you right there in the cockpit,” he thrusts, his voice low and feverish. “Just bend you over the console and take you while the stars passed by—make you scream so loud the others heard.”
The image had you spiraling, your grip on him tightening. “Johnny—please—”
“Yeah? You’re close?” His pace quickened, every movement sharper, more precise. “Come for me. Right here, right now. I want to feel it.”
Your release slammed into you hard, your body clenching around him as you cried out.
His name left your lips like a prayer, and that was all it took—Johnny groaned, dropping his forehead to yours as he followed you over the edge, his hips slowing but not stopping, like he couldn’t bear to pull away.
Johnny was still catching his breath, his head resting against your shoulder, his skin warm and damp against yours. He shifted slightly, glancing toward the bathroom near your bedroom.
“Let me clean you up, sweetheart,” he murmured, starting to push himself up.
You tightened your arms around his neck, holding him there. “No. Stay.”
He blinked, surprised, looking down at you.
“I don’t care if we’re a mess,” you whispered, nuzzling into his chest. “I just want you right here. I’ve missed this more than anything.”
Something in his expression softened, the post-release haze mixing with a sudden tenderness. “Yeah?” he asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just… stay.”
He gave a small, crooked smile before he settled back over you, his weight comforting and solid. His arm slid under you, pulling you against him until your legs tangled, your bodies pressed close.
“You know,” he murmured, voice still a little hoarse, “You didn’t tell me how you managed while I was gone.”
You smiled into his chest. “Shut up, Johnny.”
He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to admit it; all that moaning back there was proof enough.”
“Johnny!” you laughed, batting at his arm. “Stop exaggerating.”
“Am I exaggerating?” he teased, tugging you closer. “Nights were way too quiet without you squirming in my arms.”
You sighed contentedly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “Well… I’m glad you’re here. Don’t leave me for a while, okay?”
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Nope. I’m staying. All of me. You’ve got me, baby.”
And just like that, the world outside the bedroom faded away, leaving only warmth, soft laughter, and the steady rhythm of hearts pressed together.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
((Thank you for reading! If you liked, please reblog!! That's the only way Tumblr fics gain attention. Thank you! :))
Summary: You’ve grown weary of your virtue, and, unfortunately for Eddie, you’ve hatched a plan to lose it to a stranger tonight. But why are you telling him this if not to extend an open invitation to foil your plans?
Word Count: 15.9k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst, fluff, PiV unprotected sex, condom removal during sex, loss of virginity, virginity talk and shame around still having it, lots of yearning, teasing, cream pie, fingering, oral sex (fem rec), nicknames (sweetheart, sweets, pretty girl, etc.), dirty talk, arguing, best friends to lovers, jealousy, possessiveness, mention of vomit (not R or E), bad first time (not R), mention of a hypothetical junk-punch, one instance of R described to have breasts with a little weight to them, if I missed anything lmk!
Song Rec: Pavlov’s Bell by Aimee Mann
A/N: I herald his beginning. I herald your end. I herald…experienced!eddie. It’s been a while since I’ve posted a oneshot, and I tried something new with how I wrote this, so pls lemme know how you guys feel about it <33333 Born from this ask!
Masterlist
“So, what do you think?” you eagerly ask.
Eddie’s sitting across from you in the small metal chair, his fingers threaded as they rest on the laminated wooden table in his trailer. His expression is still—frozen. He’s not too sure what to make of your plan.
Honestly, he’s waiting for you to laugh and tell him it was just a joke. A very unfunny, crass joke.
But you don’t, and after what feels like an eternity, he manages a response.
“That is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard, sweetheart, and I listen to every single one of Gareth’s ‘million-dollar-cashgrabs.’”
He shakes his head with careful subtlty—like any sudden movement will scare you into actually committing to this plan.
Disbelief clouds his features, heavy and foreboding like the sky before a summer squall—
The nerve. The gumption. The audacity so potent on such an unassuming young woman.
You want to lose your virginity to a stranger and you’re, what, warning him first?
It’s like you want him to disrupt your plans.
He watches you roll your eyes, all pursed lips and impudence.
“Oh, seriously?” you sass. “Calm down. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Eddie practically chokes on his scoff, and the strangled sound ripples over your body, drawing out the look he knows well. Annoyance—it forces you to sit up straight.
You squirm in your seat for a moment, like a million tiny ants are marching up your spine, dancing over the tension in your shoulders. And he knows…the argument is imminent, but not before he speaks his piece—
“Not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, stubbing your toe is not that big of a deal. Forgetting to check the mail is not that big of a deal,” his voice raises as he gestures wildly, feeling like a Bible Belt preacher wailing about temptation of the flesh. “Losing your virginity? To a stranger? That’s a pretty big-fuckin’-deal!”
Again, you roll your eyes—blatantly disregarding the way his head cocks and his own eyes narrow in warning. He hates when you do that. When you brush him off so easily, like he’s dust on your pristine shoulder—
A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you avert your gaze, suddenly finding the speckled laminate far more interesting.
Like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise, Eddie’s head cocks back the other way, trying to figure out what exactly he said that has you laughing. Usually he loves the sound, but he doesn’t like the tone of this one. There’s something deeply derisive buried beneath the nonchalant surface.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the joke there, sweets. Care to clue me in?” he rasps, goading you.
A jeering smirk pulls at your lips, like you’re finding his simmering temper and deepening voice increasingly amusing.
After another soft huff—a sound that could almost be mistaken for a scoff—you level him with a penetrating look, your smirk slowly splitting into an incredulous grin.
“Sorry,” you start, but a chuckle bubbles up your throat, catching on the clearly insincere apology. “Sorry, I just find this whole thing very funny.”
Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you shrug dismissively—no longer backing down, no longer avoiding his darkening gaze. He lets your words sit in the air, hoping their stuffy bitterness will suffocate you into surrender, but instead, they seem to brandish your skin like armor.
And just like that, out comes your most dangerous weapon: your self-satisfaction.
From all his years with you, he knows, when your complacency reaches an all-time high, there’s almost no way to change your mind. You’ve already doubled down once, and you’re about to batten down the hatches. Because more than anything, he knows you hate being wrong and hate it even more when you’re told you’re wrong.
And through festering nerves and itchy discomfort, Eddie realizes he just shot your idea down and danced on its grave.
Of course, he wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if it weren’t such a sensitive topic. But you don’t know that. All you’ve heard so far is you’re wrong, and I know more than you.
It’s moments like these where Eddie curses his motormouth—his almost comical inability to shut up, or, god forbid, consider what he means before he opens his trap. And until he finally learns his lesson, he figures he’s doomed to live with his foot in his mouth for all eternity.
With you shifting in your seat, and time ticking against him, he knows this bomb is going to need an extra delicate defusal. But he’s not certain he can remain level-headed about this subject matter.
Not when it’s you.
Not when damned images of a faceless man caressing you plays in technicolor through his mind. Because sometime ago, somewhere along the night drives and the lazy days, his wires got crossed. And now those wires are sparking, threatening to burn him through and through.
Maybe you’re not the bomb, after all.
“Oh, you find it funny, do you?” he questions, nodding his head.
“Well, yeah. You’re sitting here trying to tell me that, what, losing your virginity is supposed to be special?” you mockingly ask, your features alight with mirth. It’s like you’re a bloodhound catching a scent—the scent of sweet, sweet hypocrisy.
Eddie opens his mouth to answer your rhetorical question, because…yes.
For you?
Yes, it should be special—
“You know what? I want you to go look in a mirror and say what you just said to me, and see if you don’t laugh too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he argues, jerking his head back. Your words might as well have physically manifested themselves into a slap because that’s how they feel, acidic and seeping into his skin with a sting.
“Please! You remember telling me about your first time? You came to school the next day bragging to me and the Hellfire guys about hooking up with some older chick in the bathroom at the Hideout! Remember that? You wore it like a badge of honor!”
He had taken you in as a freshman, just like he did every lost soul. Battling off the stifling monotony of high school together, it was no surprise you developed a crush on him. He was—is—so sweet. So funny. So unlike anyone you had ever met.
He would play the fool just to make you laugh, but he’d defend your honor in an instant. Your very own protection against the venomous cheerleaders and mouth-breathing jocks.
When he would get himself going about something or other, marching along the tops of the lunch tables, it was like staring straight into the sun. You bloomed under his gleaming rays, flowering and reaching toward his warmth with every wild grin, every silly headshake, every teasing joke.
He was addicting, and you would come bounding into lunch every day itching for a fix.
Then you were a sophomore and Eddie was a senior—for the first time.
One day, he came in with a new story to tell, and no amount of sunshine could restore your wilting leaves, your shriveling flowers. No amount of water could satisfy the buds that never got to grow and now never would—
Every prideful sentence—every dirty detail boasting the changed man he had become—acted like a rain of pesticide on your delicate ecosystem.
It was a level of desecration you couldn’t undo if you wanted to.
And you weren’t sure you were even strong enough to try.
Because it became clear that day, he wasn’t yours. He wouldn’t be yours.
You couldn’t see him the same after that. The chemicals contaminated the image, degrading and defacing the likeness.
He wasn’t the man you used to dream about every night.
He didn’t look like he once had—so soft, so sweet. A man able to rot your teeth right out of your skull if you allowed him the honor.
A man so saccharine and delicate, like candy floss.
But maybe it was the image of him that was delicate—not truly him.
After all, your tears melted the wisps pretty easily.
All that was left was piles of sugar—too wet for consumption, and not in the right form—and a crash unrivaled by any confectionery you’d ever had.
White, hot anger seeps from every pore in Eddie’s skin, replaced by the shocking chill of a memory he’s tried very hard to forget.
He feels like throwing up—
This. This, right here, is why he’s vehemently opposing your plan. This feeling constricting his chest, like not enough fresh air in the world could inflate his lungs—
He thought the experience was cool at first. He thought he was being totally “metal.”
But he was just being used.
The woman never asked his name, and when he tried to talk to her, she crudely told him to focus less on talking and more on fucking. It was a mortifying experience. He almost wasn’t able to finish from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but eighteen year old hormones were a thing to behold.
And despite what he would have everyone around him believe, he still cared way too much about what people thought of him. So he strutted into lunch the next day, hopping up on his soapbox to spread the good word of his monumental conquest. High from the excitement of the boys, he embellished most of the story.
And now, here you are, sitting in front of him, smug as can be, thinking you’re proving your point with his own hypocrisy.
But he’s not a hypocrite.
He’s just a liar.
He has lied to you about a lot of things and, funnily enough, all those things seem to be crawling out of their grassy graves, hungry to take a chunk out of him.
Because as much as you may think you’ve cornered him with a “gotcha” moment, your reminder of his past transgressions only makes him all the more passionate about how you should spend your first time.
He can’t let you feel how he felt.
Not you.
You deserve better than empty touches and unfeeling words.
“You wore it like a badge of honor!”
Your voice echoing in his mind has a sentiment never meant to be revealed tumbling past his lips with frightening ease—
“Yeah, and I lied!”
Slowly, your self-satisfied smile falls off your face. Confusion overtakes your confidence.
Capitalizing on your stunned silence, Eddie continues—
“That first time was fucking awful! I felt like shit. I only acted like it was good because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…. Because I was stupid and young.” He utters the words with disdain, mortification and frustration mixing low in his gut until he feels more flammable than ever.
“It wasn’t good,” he repeats, a frown etched tightly into his features. “It just made me feel…empty.”
Your silence weighs heavy on his shoulders; selfishly, he steals a glance at you, at the crease in your brows and the way you seem to be reflecting. He can almost see you reliving that day in your head, searching for any twitch of an eye, any too-quick-to-fall smiles.
But he’s a good liar. Always has been. Even when it comes to you.
The idle hum of electricity coursing into the yellow bulb above him acts as the soundtrack to your response.
“Well, I don’t plan on doing it in the Hideout bathroom, so I think we’re good there,” you shrug.
Eddie purses his lips; he knows it’s deliberate. What you’re doing, it’s purposeful, and you’re doing it to piss him off. Because you’re pissed off.
Your eyes narrow at his, challenging him in the silence of the trailer.
A huff of air escapes through flared nostrils—he’s refraining.
But you’re killing him.
Sometimes you can be so difficult, but he wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t addicted to the agony of trying to figure you out.
That’s half the fun of every conversation he’s had with you.
You push his buttons more than any woman he’s ever met, but you’ve twisted him up so bad, the only time he feels normal is when you’re looking at him. Doesn’t matter if it’s with anger or fondness or humor.
You’re a paradox he can’t sort out because you’ve made him like this—wires crossed and incendiary feelings—but you also have a way of fixing him. Though, it’s usually just to mangle him all over again.
And he’d like to be your only victim. He’d like to burn in only your pyre, if given the chance.
If given the chance.
If given the chance, he’d like to put a stop to this. And with the quasi-warning you’ve granted him, he feels this is as good a time as any to poke as many holes in your plan as he can—
“What’s the rush? Why now?”
He can see in your eyes, you’re taken aback by his question as your challenging gaze turns suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘Why now?’ Because I want to, that’s why.”
Your argument is slipping; petulance curls off you in plumes as thick as smoke. And the scent is sweet to him.
Eddie settles back in his chair, sliding his hips down—looking the epitome of leisure and apathy, he hopes. Though, unable to fully transform while walking the repressive tightrope, his left hand fiddles with the rings on his right—a nervous tick he hopes you’re too annoyed to notice.
“Well, yeah, but why not yesterday? Why not a month from now?” He shrugs, feeling flinty resentment sharpen his edges as he continues the onslaught of questions, now bordering on antagonistic. “Why not prom night a few years ago? Isn’t that where all the girls go to lose it? You went, you had a date. You could’ve.”
Your eye twitches.
“Because I didn’t want to, jackass. I’m ready now. I want to now…”
Instead of responding, Eddie just raises his brows, feeling unimpressed. Your words sit in the air, floating in between you both as they grow stale.
The soft whistle of the A/C unit and the ticking of the old clock on the wall make him feel like he’s trapped in this liminal space where conversations never truly end because nobody’s point ever actually gets made. Like he’s just meant to sit here, staring at you, both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing comes. Because that’s not how the game is played.
Unfettered, Eddie continues to look at you, as though you’re something to be watched—consumed. A separate entity he can’t touch, but he can play the part of an onlooker, waiting for disaster to hit.
You squirm and shuffle in your seat. He observes. Waits. Gives you the space to tell on yourself because he knows you’re not strong enough to resist it.
Your eyes sporadically flit from his to random places in the trailer as you avoid his patient gaze.
After a few seconds, it appears the opened cereal box and empty beer cans across the room become a bore to you.
Slowly, your far-out gaze drops down the kitchen counter, landing on the floor, sliding to the side, and back up the table until it rests on his joined hands, fingers threaded, rings bulky and glinting in the dull glow of the humming bulb.
He sees the exact moment you buckle under his unyielding attention—the moment you give up. Your shoulders deflate the smallest amount, free of tension and low from submission. Your chest collapses under the expression of a deep, silent sigh.
“I’m tired of being a virgin,” you mutter, shame darkening every syllable. “I just want it over with, I don’t care anymore.”
Eddie purses his lips again, nodding, because he understands the feeling. He remembers the pressure. “And you don’t wanna wait to lose it to someone you love?”
You don’t respond. Don’t look at him. All you do is laugh. Just a quiet, humorless chuckle. A few notes of melody that tell him you’ve got a well of emotions, thoughts, and opinions on the subject that you’ll have to spare him for time’s sake.
But Eddie’s not in the business of letting you off easy. As much as you can be difficult sometimes, he can be far worse.
He can talk, and talk, and talk for hours. Stall forever if he needs to.
Suddenly, he sits up, hunching his shoulders forward, determined. “I think you should wait…. For someone you love,” he implores.
You roll your eyes again, as though he’s spinning you an opulent fantasy and swearing it’s true.
He crosses his arms, mirroring your own movement—
“Thank you for your input, I’ll take it into consideration.” You shoot him an insincere smile before looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, as if thinking, only to return your gaze to him seconds later. “Okay. I’ve considered it. And I’m choosing to ignore it.”
Eddie bristles, sucking in a quick breath to bolster his impending rebuttal, but you don’t even let him—
“I don’t know if you've noticed, Eddie, but there’s a distinct lack of guys lining down the block, waiting to woo me. And that’s fine, it’s whatever,” you shrug, shaking your head like you couldn’t be less bothered. “I can’t make someone love me. But this, I can control…”
You snort, mordacious words spewing from your perfect lips. “One thing I know about men is they may not be quick to love, but they’re certainly easy to seduce.”
Eddie shifts angrily in his seat. Not quick to love?
As if that could be true. Who in their right mind—
Part of him wants to yell at any guy who’s ever rejected you, but the other part—the dark, untamable ego—wants to jump up in celebration, in smug satisfaction that he’s not having to duel for your devotion.
But he doesn’t do either because love is awful.
It’s like staring into a mirror and all his worst flaws are staring back.
Right now, his selfishness is glaring at him, and yet, he can’t seem to care. That’s the worst part.
He should be good. He should be better for you. Should want to be better for you. It’s what you deserve. But you’ve done something irreversible to him.
And love is fickle.
Because, unfortunately, he can relate to you on one thing—the woes of not being able to make someone love you.
The pain of wanting it and not getting it.
If he could….
If he could get it…
If he could make someone love him—if it were possible—he wouldn’t be stuck here listening to you plot how you’re going to lose your virginity to some guy. Instead, he’d be half-way to the bedroom by now, your hand in his, and a million sweet kisses waiting for you.
But love is fickle.
“Okay, fine. Yeah, guys are easy, but you can’t lose it to a stranger. That’s probably the worst way to go about it,” he complains, regarding you with almost-pleading eyes.
You pause for a moment, your eyes narrow at the earnest display of caution on his face. But then you must remember this is the face of a liar, because—
“I mean…people hook up with people all the time. Some even after they’ve just met at a bar,” you pointedly argue, pinning Eddie to the spot with a time-hardened gaze.
His lip curls as he regrets ever opening his mouth that day in ‘84.
If he had known it would give you the perfect shield, allowing every argument he lobs at you to bounce off and hit him square in the chest, he would have never said a word. In fact, he has half a mind to create time travel just to go back and kick eighteen year old Eddie’s ass—
“And besides, I’m not doing it with a stranger. I was thinking of asking Jimmy Royston,” you shrug, focusing on the chipped nail polish you can’t seem to stop picking at. “I sat next to him in Chemistry, like, all of junior year.”
For the first time in what feels like forever—well, at least since you told him your plans for later—Eddie laughs. A boisterous, belly laugh that echoes around the trailer, the sound bouncing off the smoke-stained wallpaper and hitting every surface in sight.
Too busy wiping tears from his eyes, Eddie misses the way your face sours, your lips curling into a dangerous sneer.
He starts a few sentences that immediately devolve into gibberish and giggles when he pictures you and Jimmy Royston so much as speaking. God, his stomach hurts— He always did sat you were the funnier one out of you and him.
A terse ahem draws his attention back, and he tries to stop his body from shaking with heaving laughter.
“Oh, sorry. Phew! I needed that, I needed that.” He wipes some escaped tears off his cheeks. “Ohh, thank you, sweetheart, that was very funny. Thank you,” he says with a breathless grin, smoothing his shirt and rubbing his sore abdomen.
Staring at him with a heavy brow, your expression remains still—
When your facade doesn’t crack—when you don’t smirk and revel in how hard you made him break, like you usually do—Eddie’s smile drops off his face, replaced by unabashed incredulity.
You’re serious. You truly mean to tell him…Jimmy Royston is your man of choice? The guy who vomited all over himself in ninth grade when he had to dissect a frog in biology is the one you want to lose your virginity to? Jimmy ‘Puke-y’ Royston?
What’s more, your choice is based on a year of being lab partners? Really? Eddie has known you since freshman year—known of you since elementary school—and you’re choosing an acquaintance over him?
Not even an acquaintance—an obligatory desk-mate. How romantic. Touching, really—
He can’t help but imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Jimmy, remember me from Chem? Stoichiometry, am I right? That shit sucked. Anyway, do you wanna fuck me?”
All of a sudden, he starts considering whether he could win in a fight against the short, slim guy.
Who knows? It may come to that if he fucks this up and fails to convince you never to leave his trailer—especially not for Jimmy Royston.
“Sorry, you wanna have your first time with your eleventh grade chem partner? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Eddie wails, a crazed, bemused look in his eyes as he leans forward over the table that separates you two.
You groan loudly, rolling your eyes so hard your head lolls back. “Oh, what now? You don’t want it to be a stranger, I said it’s not gonna be. Now you don’t want it to be someone I know? Seriously, Eddie, you’re grasping at straws here.”
“Someone you know? Jimmy is someone you know?” he scoffs, his brows lift so high they disappear into the messy curls of his bangs.
When you don’t say anything else, only pursing your lips and avoiding his fiery gaze, he nods fervently, his frizzy locks swaying softly with the movement.
“Yeah, well, of course. You guys go way back,” he mocks. “You know what, while you’re at it, why don’t you call up Chris Trilcek? You were paired up for that final presentation in world history freshman year. Bet he’d be a hoot-and-a-half in the sack, and I’m sure he’s free!”
“Oh, do you think I should?” you ask, staring off to the side of his frazzled face like you’re actually considering his teasing suggestion. “I mean it’d be nice to have options in case Jimmy isn’t up for it…”
Before Eddie has a chance to figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse again, you’re up, leaving him to stare at the empty space across the table as you rifle through the junk-drawer in his kitchen.
Inside the deep drawer, stray batteries and an impressive rubber band ball roll about as you dig through a shocking amount of take-out menus. Once you find what you’re looking for, you make your way back to Eddie, plopping onto your chair, letting the item drop from your hands and onto the table with a loud thump.
Quickly, you split the phone book open, flipping through the flimsy pages to get to the ‘R’ section.
“What the f—”
Eddie shakes his head wildly, slamming his hand down on the binding of the book before he drags it to him and away from you—away from your deft, searching fingers.
“Hey!”
You reach across the table to pull the White Pages back, but before you can get your hands on it, he shoves the book off the surface like an attention-seeking cat. It goes flying, falling to the floor of the trailer with a loud, hollow thud.
“Hey! I need that, asshole!” you yell, vexation turning your tone shrill.
You stare into his eyes for a moment, annoyance cooking your insides like a stew as you’re met with utter indifference and what looks to be a hint of smugness. You’re going to kill him.
Stuck in another stand-off, neither of you move until you make the mistake of glancing at the ground, noting the landing spot of the heavy book, splayed out—frail pages folding under the weight of itself in haphazard creases. Eddie follows your gaze and that’s all it took to give away your next move.
In a flash, you turn, bending down, and reaching to the floor. Eddie matches your hasty movements as you both tumble out of your seats, trying to beat the other to the book. The very tips of your fingers brush the laminated cover when he lurches forward, pushing the book out of your grasp once more.
“Ugh!” you shriek as you scramble toward it, at an advantage because, though he got it away from you in that split-second, he still pushed it to your side of the room—further away from him. You feel a brush of wind against your bare skin as he swipes at your ankle, trying to catch the limb to drag you back to him, but you’re too quick. You get a hold of the book and stand up, rushing over to the yellow landline by the door.
“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering after you. The noises of you vigorously flipping through the pages and the click of the phone coming off the hook only seem to add to his panicked fervor.
Eddie comes to an abrupt stop behind you, his body nudging you closer to the wall with his nearly-uncontrolled speed. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his chest warms your back as he breathes heavy.
Right as you’re about to start typing in the number you found for the Roystons, the phone lodged between your ear and shoulder disappears—yanked free, and slammed back onto the hook by a large, ringed hand.
Another annoyed groan tears from your throat as you feel his body loom ever-closer behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you turn away from his right hand—the one that guards the phone—to protect your precious White Pages. But it doesn’t work—
His left hand—the one you hadn’t noticed was resting on your hip—ambushes you from the other side.
Quickly, Eddie firmly presses the pads of his spread fingers onto the thin page you were reading from, and balls his hand into a tight fist, effectively ripping the delicate paper from the book, trapping it beneath his iron grip. In a fit of rage, you whirl around, leveling him with a sharp glare.
He backs away from you, fist still closed around the paper, shielding it from your inevitable reach. Slamming the book onto the side table beneath the phone, you march toward him.
“Eddie, what the fuck?” you yell, matching his retreating steps with your confident stride. When he runs out of space, you corner him against the far wall and the couch, zeroing in on his fist.
Eddie lifts his hand high above his head, fully aware of how silly this game of life-or-death keep-away is. But he’ll be damned if you get that fucking phone number.
As you reach for the crumpled paper, he uses his body to block you—leaning back when you lean forward, stretching and giving you more of his body to reach over. You grunt and mutter obscenities at him, balancing on your tip-toes, but nothing helps. You can’t reach it. He’s never been more overjoyed at his lanky stature than in this moment—
Giggles freely escape his grinning mouth while he watches laser-sharp focus and irritation mar your face as you shove him, trying to get him to break and finally give you the page. He’d never admit it to you because you’d probably junk-punch him—especially right now—but he’s loving the way you’re all over him.
Your touch is everywhere as you reach and pry for the bane of his existence. Not to mention you smell amazing. He has to stop himself from curling into your roving hands, but he must remain sturdy. For both of your sakes.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re tall enough to ride this ride,” he goads, utterly drunk on you.
You let out the loudest groan he’s ever heard from you, leading him to snicker some more. But he soon regrets his overconfident teasing when you give up on aiming directly for his hand and instead start pawing at his arm.
A sharp chop to the inside of his elbow sends shockwaves of dull pain through his nervous system as you use your full body weight to pull down on his raised arm, now partially crumpled from your assault to his joint.
In a moment of desperation—your body hanging from his flexing bicep, slowly but surely bringing it to your level—Eddie shoves the ball of paper into his mouth and releases the tension in his arm, dropping it to his side. The sudden slack causes you to nearly fall over, but before you do, he wraps his arms around your waist, catching you.
Your irate features melt into a look of disgust as you squirm out of his arms.
“Ew! Egh! That’s so gross, Eddie!”
“Mmm, phone book,” he taunts through a mouthful of White Pages.
“You know, that was your phone book, right? You just lost yourself a whole two pages of R’s,” you say, raising a brow.
“Don’t care.”
His petulance is muffled by the crumpled paper in his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe at the taste. Paper. It just tastes like paper. But old.
Suddenly, he sidesteps your body and crosses the room, heading back to the kitchen to throw the page away. He can feel the thin material softening from his saliva and it’s making him want to scrub his mouth out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you watching him as he spits the wet slop into the garbage, sees the way you carefully step toward the phone again.
“Ugh, you’re a child.”
He pauses from scrubbing a towel over his tongue—attempting to clean any remaining pieces of paper from his mouth. “And you’re a brat.”
You huff at his declaration. “Am not!”
“Are too!” he rebuts, dropping the towel and coming out from around the counter.
“I’m just trying to tell you you’re gonna regret it! I’m on board with the ‘virginity is a concept’ train—hell, I’m the conductor! My point is, sure, it’s a concept, but it’s a concept with feelings attached to it. And feelings get all confusing and…feelings-y,” he rushes out, frustrated at how he can never find the right words when you’re around. “You might not believe it now, but if you go through with this, you’re gonna feel pretty shitty afterwards.”
He ends his spiel by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, staring at you. He’s said his piece.
You watch him for a moment, then—
“Great. Thank you for the wisdom, Gandalf. But how ‘bout you go share that with someone who cares? I’ve got a ‘T’ name to call.”
You turn around, pick up the phonebook once more, and flip through a few chunks of pages to get to the right section.
Eddie lets out a loud, defeated sigh as he lets his arms drop to his sides. “You’re really not gonna give this up?”
Scoffing, you shoot him a glare from across the room before looking back down at the list of names. “Exactly which part of ‘I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight’ did you not understand?”
He sucks his teeth as he watches your finger find Chris’s last name, your hand already reaching for the phone.
Fuck it—
“Fine. If you really wanna lose it to someone, and you don’t care who, then lose it to me,” he shrugs, crossing his arms again.
He glances away from your now-still figure, your shoulders so high, they’re nearly up to your ears.
Forcing a level of indifference he’s never quite been capable of—especially not when it comes to you—he stares downward, as if the well-worn carpet beneath his feet could ever be more interesting than the woman whose second home is his subconscious.
You’re pretty sure you can hear the fibers unfurling beneath his shifting feet. Or maybe it’s your feet. Maybe it’s your heartbeat in your ears, not his. Everything is a little confusing and you can’t seem to look away from the wall. It feels like a safe place to rest your unseeing eyes.
Your arm aches and you retract it from where you were reaching for the phone—you hadn’t made it, you were half-way there when he said it.
Carefully, you turn your head to him, trying to figure out if this is some shitty joke he’s spouting just to piss you off or if he has well and truly lost it. But his face is devoid of any humor and he looks as sane as he ever did—which was never a lot, but no different to now.
More than anything, he looks almost vulnerable as he avoids your shocked gaze.
“What? Eddie—” you start, already exasperated because you’ve decided that, even though he appears to be completely serious, he must be joking, “if this is another way for you to try and–”
“It’s not.” He shrugs his shoulders again, finally meeting your eyes while shoving his hands into the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You win. I capitulate to her majesty.”
You raise a brow at the medieval lilt and his waving bow to you, but before you get to reprimand him for the joke, he continues—
“If you’re gonna go have sex with someone you feel nothing for, then why not feel nothing for me?”
You almost want to laugh at his “foolproof” logic, but the familiar pain in your chest is accompanied by something else. Something almost warm. Like rays of sun fighting through cumulonimbus clouds.
Damp dirt, new leaves, and fertilizer.
He’s offering something you only ever dreamed of like it never crossed your mind.
Like it would mean nothing.
An agreement. A one-time deal. No strings attached; an easy fix to your problem.
But what if you want strings?
Does he want strings?
Strings do get messy when left untied. All the criss-cross feelings and knotted touches.
But it’s him—
“Eds—”
Like he’s been burned by your solemn tone, Eddie cuts you off in a hurry. “At least it’d be with someone you know. Like really know…. Someone who cares about you—about your experience.”
The fragility in his eyes makes you want to console him. To tell him you believe every word. That you’re sure he would be good to you.
Because he looks like him—
The soft, sweet man you saw all those years ago. The one you prayed to at night like a deity, asking for a few more seconds of his hand on your lower back, or more moments of just you and him. More laughter, more affection, more time. More, more, more.
All the little things that molded you into a reverent devotee in the first place.
Asking for every small thing to bolster your faith.
And now, he’s finally offering something much larger.
Reaching for you with a divine gift.
How could you possibly say no?
Criss-cross feelings, you remind yourself.
Strings to tie your heart down, could be useful—
Fuck it.
Slowly, you set the phone book down and make your way over to his spot against the kitchen counter. Stopping right in front of him, you look up with hesitant curiosity.
You’ve never really been this close to him. Not with this much on the table.
Mindlessly—shamelessly—you glance at his lips before succumbing to the cloudy glint in his eyes, the darkness that falls like a veil over his once-lively irises.
There’s something there, you find.
Something else that swirls deep in the molten shade of brown.
Something you want to know more about.
Your hands hang uselessly below you, resting against your body as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The pointed tip of your tongue glides along the soft skin of your lips, leaving your mouth parted—like a siren call to his.
You couldn’t be any closer to him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you feel the soft puffs of air from his wanton mouth. But you won’t move anymore.
You leave yourself for him. He can have you if he wants.
A sacrifice.
Eddie’s eyes rove over your face, looking down at the way you’re almost reaching for him, but it’s as if you won’t allow the touch. Won’t allow the crossing of some imaginary barrier you’ve built.
Steadily, he lifts his hands—crosses the line—trailing his fingers up your neck like a ghost of a touch, until he settles his gentle grip on either side of your head. Stealing a moment from Time itself—just a second, a blip, like he’s plucking a ripe berry to savor in the thousand milliseconds he’s stolen—he smooths his thumbs over your temples, granting himself the selfish gift of feeling you.
His eyes consume all, admiring the dainty flutter of your mascara-blackened lashes, the softness of your skin—he marvels at the feeling.
Simmering from the heat of your body, he tries to memorize all your prettiest features, seen through an advantage he’s never had before. To be this close. To never be again.
He’s going to make it worth his while. He has to.
A lowly victim to your gravitational pull, he finds himself leaning toward you, like light toward a collapsing star. And there’s no escaping you, not when you so easily warp the fabric of his being with frightening ease.
Loud in his straining ears, he hears the slight hitch in your breath when he nearly brushes his lips with yours, but he loses himself before he can truly feel you. Instead, he plants a cowardly, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.
Simply not enough, but more than he could have ever dreamed of getting. Another bittersweet paradox.
“D’you want this?”
He’s so quiet, but he can feel the way you shudder against him. The way you feel him, his words mumbled devoutly into your skin.
“I wanna lose my virginity,” you whisper confidently, like it’s the only thing you're absolutely certain of.
Eddie tries to fight the way his face falls, but he can’t seem to manage it when your words serve as a reminder of how little this all matters to you. Or, at least, how little you care who you lose it to.
But, ever-observant, you notice, and he catches the worry as soon as it draws your brows together.
“T-To you…” you amend. “Can I?”
The frail uncertainty in your voice feeds the fire deep in Eddie’s gut, like bone-dry wood being thrown into the hearth on a years-long winter night.
The flames, once dim and hopeless, time-weathered and starving, roar back to life.
Subtly, he nods, relishing the way you relax. Bound to your request, he allows his palms to glide down your form, taking his time to explore the new terrain until he grabs ahold of your soft hands.
Side stepping your body, he gently pulls you to his room. His backwards strides are confident—a sign of comfortability in the home he’d call yours, just the same as he’d call it his. After all, these walls have seen nearly every iteration of his care for you. From acquaintances to friends to—
Neither of you speak as he guides you around his frame—you, now in front of him, and him, leaning his weight against the bedroom door until it clicks shut.
Wayne is on a fishing trip for the weekend with some buddies from the plant, but he’s not particularly known for remembering to pack everything, and Eddie is keen on protecting your modesty and ensuring your comfort. Like you deserve. Like he knows he can—better than anyone.
He drops one hand from yours only to lock the door. Once he’s certain there will be no interruptions, he walks you back toward the bed until you’re standing right in front of it.
Dropping your other hand, he reaches up and gently smooths the hair near your temple again, addicted to the way your eyes flutter. His hands slide down your figure until he’s toying with the hem of your t-shirt—his t-shirt, the one you stole in tenth grade and never gave back.
His selfishness befriends the possessive fiend he fights back daily, because you’re moving through the world marked by him. And in this moment, Eddie wonders if you really could have let another man touch you in the shirt that whispers his name against your soft skin.
Heat thrums just below your surface, boiling and bubbling, nearly spilling over when you feel him tugging at your shirt, silently asking for permission. His hands wait patiently.
You don’t respond. Don’t know how to speak. Nerves rattle against your ribcage. Or maybe it’s your heart testing its prison, looking for a way out as it pounds and pounds and pounds—
“Can I take this off?”
His low mutter—almost a monosyllabic slur of sound—registers a second later in your hazy brain. You nod, forcing your lungs to expand, but nearly choke at the faint scent of his cologne.
It’s familiar. Piercing, clean, and rich—
You remember the day he got it. When he dragged you to the mall, forcing you to smell every option. He bought the one you liked the most. Even when he wasn’t too sure about it. You remember warning him about the price tag, about how he should pick one he really likes if he’s going to splurge on it. But he wouldn’t hear it—
“Words.”
A confused hum creeps up your throat as you greedily bask in his scent, feeling the world move in slow motion around you. His unending touch carves canyon-like ripples into the tissue of your mind.
When you manage to focus on his eyes, there’s a level of fondness in them that has you grabbing onto his wrist for support.
“Wanna hear your words, sweetheart. Y’gotta tell me what you want.”
Understanding washes over you like cool hose water on a hot summer day. Quickly, you open your mouth to ask him—no, beg him—to undress you, but before a single word can crawl out from between your parted lips, you feel his warm fingers dancing along the delicate skin of your waist, leaving a wave of goosebumps in their wake.
Your breath catches, and you shudder because he’s both hot and cold—
His attention warms you; his touch leaves you shivering from a chill that is so frigid it begins to manipulate your frayed nerves, tricking you into feeling the burn as if it were born from the bluest flame and not the calloused hands of your best friend—
“I— I, um…”
You shake your head as you try to remember what you were about to say before the words ran away from you and into his arms, stealing whatever desperate sentiment you meant to express. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to figure it out, to fill in the blanks—like a cipher missing its key.
His thumbs are drawing little shapes into the soft skin beneath your shirt, aiding and abetting the thieving words. The unfamiliar affection makes your abdomen twitch and your core pulse with need.
Before you get the chance to draw up some semblance of sanity, Eddie leans into you, effectively shrinking your entire world to just him. He’s everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you see, everything you touch, everything you…want to taste.
You so desperately want to know what flavor his kisses are—
Bitter smoke from the habit he can never quite kick? Malt sweetness from the beer he loves to drink? Cool mint from the gum he always carries around?
Would you grow ravenous at the first hint of Marlboro Reds? Would you crumble under the eager pressure of his lager-soaked tongue? Would your mouth water at the lingering scent of menthol on his breath?
You’re trapped in his thrall the second he closes in on your space. His head tips to the side, running his lips along your warm cheeks, your jaw. You shiver at the soft brush of his mouth—an action you’re painfully aware is not meant to be shared among friends. No, this kind of touch is reserved for lovers only—
“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to touch you? Want me to hold you?” he murmurs, heavy gaze locked on the way your lips part, and you quietly pant. Your head bobs toward his mouth, body leaning into his arms, drawn to the heat of him.
You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel his nose nuzzling your hair. Then, as if fighting for control, his hands flex, only to grab onto your hips and drag you tight against him, like he lost the battle. Or maybe he surrendered. The way he hangs over you, almost relieved at the closeness leads you to believe it’s the latter.
Emboldened by his body against yours—all growing hardness and twitching muscles—your hands paw at his abdomen, his waist, kneading and pulling him impossibly closer.
“What do you want, baby?”
You bite back a whimper at the new endearment.
Because that’s reserved for lovers too—
“I want…W-Wan’ you. I wanna be…be with you,” you mumble breathlessly, mindlessly.
In a huff of impatience, he pulls your top over your head. You hear the way he swallows back a groan and you wish he wouldn’t have.
With expert dexterity, he removes your bra, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. You practically bloom under his attention—his wide, hungry eyes, his almost pained rasp of humming appreciation.
His hands slide up the sides of your body, featherlight fingers following the length of your ribs, brushing inward as he traces the skin just below the curve of your breasts.
Your wandering hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt before slipping under the material, flexing and groping at his toned abdomen. You pull at his narrow waist, a wordless plea for him to touch you more.
But he seems uninterested in your needy silence and you remember his instructions—
“Eddie, please. Please, touch me. I need you…. Wanna feel you.”
“Whatever you want,” he agrees, nodding.
Electricity prickles and dances across your skin like invisible lightning as he finally slides his hands over your sensitive breasts. Gently kneading the weight, he smooths his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. You gasp at the sensation, the way it directly triggers the heat twisting and turning low in your core with a quickness you’re not accustomed to.
Leaning down, Eddie attacks your jaw and neck with greedy, open-mouthed kisses. His nose nudges you zealously, like he’s devouring your delicate flesh and still aching for more, so you tilt your head away, eager to provide.
You tug his shirt up his body, but quickly realize you’ll need him to break away from your neck to get the material over his head. You lightly push on his abdomen, and he begrudgingly stops his assault, understanding what you’re looking for.
With a level of speed you’ve never once seen him use, he peels his shirt off, balls it up, and blindly tosses it somewhere in the corner of the room.
Unabashedly, you ogle his body in a way you’ve never allowed yourself before. Your heavy-lidded gaze is first drawn to the pick hanging just below his collarbones, sitting perfectly against his pale skin. Then, your eyes drop, admiring the tattoos that litter the expanse of his chest.
You’ve only ever seen them a few times—mostly at the Hawkins pool on hot summer days, and once when you walked in on him changing. You remember how you couldn’t get the image out of your mind. The contrast, the searing visage of inky-black against milky-white, pressed into skin like a pretty decoration meant to be admired.
And like a set path guided by nothing but desire, your eyes track down, down, down his body—all heat and hardness. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of the tuft of coarse hair trailing from his navel to whatever lies beyond the waistband of his jeans.
Whatever lies—
But you already have an idea; you feel him pulsing against your stomach, you felt him twitch when you whimpered moments ago.
All heat and hardness.
Drawing you from your trance, Eddie’s deft fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts, making quick work of the fastenings and dragging the material down your legs. He drops to his knees, peering up at you with something in his eyes so…raw that it has you grabbing onto him, your balance escaping you.
With your hands on his strong shoulders, you watch with rapt attention as he removes your shoes and socks, then he gently cups one ankle, lifting it and helping you out of the leg of your shorts before doing the same to the other. His touch is so soft—so gentle—you think you might cry.
Barely anything has happened yet and he’s taking such good care of you. You shudder to think how this would have gone had you called up Jimmy or Chris.
Nobody could compare to Eddie.
Feeling weightless, heavy, high, and stone-cold sober all at once, you meet his eyes.
“You look…” he pauses, swallowing harshly, “you’re so beautiful.”
Your ears ring at the hidden sentiment between those three words. A million extra meanings you can’t catch, but you heard them like a whisper in the wind—real and slipping through your fingers the moment his hungry lips grace your skin once more.
Large hands squeeze the backs of your thighs, and you feel the tickling brush of his frizzy curls against your bare legs.
Wet, searing kisses travel upward, his hands slide in tandem with the needy affection. He holds you with a type of reverence you couldn’t have foreseen—as if you could have ever foreseen this. He moves along your body like you’re allowing him, not like he’s the one doing you a favor.
You sigh when you feel the heat of his breath over the place you need him most. He’s stopped at the apex of your thighs, panting like a desperate man, blocked by a flimsy slip of fabric that you’re certain he could shred to pieces with the way his eyes have darkened.
“C-Can I?” His strained voice breaks through the music in the room, disrupting the melody of syncopating gasps and pants.
It feels like the world is moving as you stay perfectly still, staring down at him, his arms wrapped around your legs, fingers greedily curling in the waistband of your panties. You find yourself thankful for his steady, obedient grip.
Underneath his wanton gaze, you feel the weight of roles reversed. It’s like it’s his first time, the way he’s looking up at you like your permission will fix him. Your touch will mend something broken.
With wide eyes and parted lips, you nod. “Y-Yes. Please, Eddie.”
A sound torn from deep within his chest rumbles out, reverberating around the room, bouncing off of every wall and hitting you like a spell. Low, where his breaths warm you, a fiery enchantment unfurls in volant tendrils like ink in water.
Suddenly, Eddie drags the thin material down from around your hips, another appreciative groan rips from his throat as he watches the gusset of your panties fall last, stuck to your wet folds. A delicate string of arousal clings to the fabric, unable to part from it.
You watch his efforts slow, his lids grow heavy like he can’t control the need. Then, he presses his face between your thighs, the very faint graze of his tongue leaves you trembling.
With one targeted swipe, Eddie’s tongue snaps the silky string, catching what he can with overwhelming zeal.
“Want more,” he mumbles into your heat. “Sweets…”
“Yes,” you interrupt, already drowning in desperation. “Need you—”
He growls and pulls your panties the rest of the way down your legs before his large hand lifts one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder, allowing him easier access to your soaked core. He hums brokenly—a lewd sound of appreciation.
The second he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, your gasps devolve into messy moans, but the sound only seems to encourage him more. With foreign ferocity, he devours you.
“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, hips twitching against his face, hands threading through his fluffy hair for balance.
Vibrations from his responding groan move through you, tearing you apart until you’re nothing but wanton shreds. Your knees almost buckle beneath you, but he presses into you. Harder. More persistent. The force sends you falling backward onto the bed, your hands hurry to break your soft descent.
Your hips hang off the edge of the mattress—one foot still planted on the ground, the other dangling over Eddie’s right shoulder. His hands grope and knead the fat of your thighs as his tongue eagerly laps up your arousal like a man starved. Your arms give out from under you, sending your back barreling down to the untucked sheets on his mattress.
You’re panting and burning up; the heat of his breath meets the warmth of your folds, creating a smoldering furnace where his mouth dances over you. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one you think no other man could ever replicate.
Your hips react ardently to every twist and flick of his tongue, the talented muscle toying with you until you’re shaking and whining and bucking against his mouth for more.
The moment you feel the tip of his tongue draw tight circles around your swollen clit, your head flies back in ecstasy. Your hands wander the space around you for something to grab, first, trailing over your breasts with a teasing squeeze before reaching for the sheets beside you. But it’s not enough. The material is so thin, you can’t get the grip you need.
Like he can sense the desperate energy rolling off of you in tidal waves—like he knows the feeling—Eddie grabs your hands, momentarily sacrificing his fragile skin to your clawing, pressing, sinking, crushing—
Your thoughts are plucked from somewhere high in the ether and placed back into your head the moment you feel his dragging touch, then, softness. Peering down the winding, curving terrain of your body, you meet his dark eyes, see the way he’s moved your restless hands into his hair.
The whine falling past your lips is drowned out by his aching growl deep within your wet folds. He tightens his grip around your hands before letting go, encouraging you to hold onto him—to use him.
And you do.
You tug him closer, grinding your core against his mouth until you arch at the dull pressure of his tongue breaching your entrance, pressing into you powerfully, exploring untouched territory you wish could be marred by his ministrations. Like a token to memorialize this moment in time. Something that says you’re his—
Quickly, your hips start to lose their rhythm against his face, recklessly twitching and squirming with every break he takes from fucking you to flicking your clit with searing precision.
“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna— Please, Eds, I—”
Not even bothering to pull away, he moans his pleas right into your pussy. “Give it to me, baby. Mmmph, give it to me, sweets. Taste so fuckin’ good—”
The tone he’s using, the way he pauses after every other word to slurp and lap at your quivering folds, almost makes it feel like he’s not even talking to you. Or maybe not just you. But it’s like he’s speaking directly to your weeping cunt, pleading for more—more arousal to devour, more fluttering pulses to tickle his tongue.
Your brows contort in pleasure as tears prick at your waterline—almost there, almost there.
Suddenly, you miss the pressure of his mouth for a split-second while you hear a sucking sound, then your chest wracks with desperate sobs as you feel him slip a single finger inside you.
“Oh, god! Oh, fuck!”
His other hand holds your hips down, blunt nails sinking deeper into the surface of your skin as electricity speeds along a high-strung coil—crackling and tight—just below his large palm. But the coil soon snaps when he starts to drag his long, thick finger against your velvety walls, thrusting in and out—gentle yet firm in his actions.
“Eddie, Eddie, oh, fuck!”
Unmade and raw, all you can do is babble incoherent whines and pleas as he teases you even past your orgasm, his tongue working your clit until it throbs to the beat of your racing heart.
When your legs start shaking from overstimulation, you finally gather enough strength to push on his head—appealing for mercy.
Like he’s not ready to part from you just yet, Eddie doesn’t yield to your push, though he does begrudgingly grant you reprieve. But he stays between your legs, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s not just breathing deeply to catch his breath. The way he inches infinitesimally closer, the way he won’t let your thighs close—it’s like he’s reveling in your heady scent—
“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Squeezin’ my finger so hard. God, this was just one, baby,” he boasts, utter glee defiling his already dirty words.
You whimper. One finger, and you felt so full.
In response, he garnishes your twitching pelvis with wet, sloppy kisses, like he’s searing a promise into your skin—
His hands do their best to hold your hips down, allowing him to take a tour of the tops of your thighs, the divot where your folds meet your legs, your mound—soaked and slobbered on by his overzealous mouth.
Peering down your body, open-mouthed and desperate, you nearly mewl at the way his eyes are glazed over. He looks drunk on the taste of you. Completely and utterly wasted. What’s more, his face is covered in you.
All the way up to his nose, his skin shimmers in the light, glistening with your juices. But he doesn’t seem ashamed of the indecent display. Instead, he seems proud. Proud to wear you on him—like a badge of honor.
“Eddie, please. I want more,” you whine, breathless from the come-down.
“Pretty girl,” he purrs, nuzzling your thigh, “so desperate. Am I turning you to the dark side already?”
You shudder at his smug grin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about his overly-inflated ego. Your mind is mush, and all you can think is his name prefaced by the dangerous word “my.”
“Please,” you mewl.
His grin widens, and you note the hunger no longer hidden in the dark brown of his irises. Because he’s not aiming for decency anymore. Not in the way he’s eyeing you like you’re a meal and he’s famished, and not in the way his words are rife with untapped desire.
“Alright, pretty.” He pats your thigh before backing away from you. “Up on the bed.”
It’s a soft order. A gentle command as he grabs your forearms and helps you scoot your hips all the way onto the mattress before letting go, allowing you to shuffle to the top of the bed.
Once your head hits the pillow, he watches you settle into place, shoving the untucked sheets out from beneath you and off to the side. Without taking his eyes off of your movements, he works to remove his jeans, shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers.
Now that your moans have ceased, the room is so quiet, he can hear your sharp intake of breath when his hard cock bobs free from its constraints. He bites his lip at the subtle shock shifting across your face. It’s flattering, but more than anything, he’s leaking at the thought of fitting inside you.
“That’s— You’re—”
Every one of your sentences seems to die on the first word, and he watches your thighs clench as your focus stays on his thick length.
Heat warms Eddie’s cheeks as he tries to stop the smile from overtaking his face. He shouldn’t be like this—he should be calm, cool, and collected, but clearly exceeding your expectations has him feeling a myriad of things. Giddy, confident, smug…eager.
Mindlessly, he wipes a hand down the lower half of his face, gathering your slick arousal on his palm, then collects the precum pouring from his ruddy tip, and spreads the combination of juices over the expanse of his thick cock. He grants himself a firm, teasing squeeze as he steps toward you, but quickly detours to the bedside table to rifle through the top drawer.
“I’ll make sure it feels good, don’t worry. You’re gonna help me with that,” he says lowly, then stills his searching hands as he looks to you for a nod of agreement. When you give it to him, he smiles fondly. “Good girl.”
A quiet huff of amusement escapes him when he hears your strained whimper—the way you so obviously try to keep yourself quiet, but can’t help it.
He’s starting to catch onto what you like. How you like to be spoken to. And your responses are addicting. The clench of your thighs, the pulse of your walls. The need that crawls up your throat like it’s fighting its way out of you.
He desperately wants to know what else his words can elicit. Or maybe even try something more than his words—
His body warms as he wonders what you’ll sound like when you’re wrapped around him. His mind conjures its best guess at the noises you’ll make when his thrusts knock the air out of you, like sweet rasping melodies meant to torture him.
He wants to know just how shrill your cries will get when you’re nearly there, searching for just a little bit more.
But most of all he wants to hear the sweet words that will slip past your loose lips, your mind too cockdrunk to stop the affection you’ll share. The secrets you’ll spill. God, he’s aching to hear you.
If he could, he’d lock you in his room and run experiments on you for a week straight—just to find out what makes you tick. He’d take you apart piece-by-pretty-piece, just to put you back together again. He’d hold you tight and play with you passionately, like you were his favorite toy.
His.
Drawn from his thoughts by your shifting body, his attention diverts to the box of condoms he manages to find deep in his bedside drawer. He tears at the paperboard and pulls one out, showing you the foil packet before ripping it open—
“Safe sex,” he declares, sliding the oily-feeling latex out of the wrapper.
His wry smile widens to a goofy grin when you giggle at his words, easing the tension.
“Stupid,” you mutter, knocking your shin against the side of his thigh as he hovers near the head of the bed, putting the condom on.
Once he’s done, he crumples the wrapper in his hand, glancing over at you before throwing it on the cluttered surface of the nightstand. “You sure you wanna do this?”
You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yes, Eddie. You already ate me out.”
That leaves him frowning—
“Sweetheart, just because we did that doesn’t mean you have to continue. We can be done. Nothing more needs to happen if you don’t want it to.”
You remain silent, only staring up at him with so much…something…in your gaze, it makes him want to fold in on himself like the discarded foil. And he thought the ease with which you crossed his wires was bad—
“I know,” you mutter softly. “But I want to. With you. Will you…. Will you take care of me?”
Eddie’s breath hitches, and there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes—one he knows all too well.
You sound so small, so nervous. As if he could ever deny you something that was meant to be yours. His care. His devotion.
“‘Course I will.”
He nods one too many times, entranced by the way you seem so delicate under his watchful eyes.
Delicate because you’re asking him to take care. In the way he’ll touch you. The way he’ll guide you. The way he’ll—
Slowly, he steps closer. You scoot to the side, making room for him to knee his way onto the bed.
His hands brush your ankles, featherlight affection smoothing up your legs, stopping at your knees. With the utmost reverence, he gently parts them, settling between your thighs.
“You look so pretty like this. I mean…you look— Well, you look…pretty all the time,” he nervously amends, eyes flitting over your face, but never any lower.
He wants you to know he means you. You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not because you have a gorgeous body, but because you are gorgeous.
You shift beneath him, avoiding his gaze and, instead, focusing on pulling him to you. Softly. Needily.
He follows your guidance, leaning over you until his hands land beside your head. And just like before, he’s memorizing the moment. Every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every quiet breath from your pleasure-bitten lips.
Below, you glance to the side, find his wrists, and wrap your hands around each one, as if grounding yourself in his touch. Only then—when his pulse beats wildly against your fingers—do you meet his eyes.
Wandering palms—soft and unfamiliar in their affection—travel the length of his arms, pausing over black ink, then continuing up until they reach his biceps. He shivers as you hum, squeezing the corded muscles that lay twitching restlessly beneath heated flesh.
“You’re pretty, too,” you murmur, sliding your palms back down and rubbing at his wrists.
Eddie chuckles, then swallows. “No, I’m not.”
The subtle twitch of your brows, the split-second peek at the budding frown that says you disagree has him beating you to your rebuttal—
“Not like you.”
His heart leaps in his chest as your hands suddenly drag his face to yours, like you’re about to kiss him with overwhelming need. But you don’t complete the motion.
And neither does he.
Because he’s not sure he can come back from all of this if he kisses you.
If you allow him to have you in that way—
He’s not sure he’s strong enough. Not enough to feel you like that, to close his eyes and claim your lips like they belong to him, and then go about his life like he never felt it. The beat of your heart against his, pounding in nerves and want. The truthful desire dancing from your mouth to his.
He couldn’t go back to living a lie. To live like he doesn’t think about you every single day. Like he doesn’t wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with him. Like he doesn’t do the most mundane shit and spends the whole time thinking about how much better it would be to do it with you.
So he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not when you’re not his to keep.
Instead, he leaves a delicate, chaste brush of an almost-kiss to the corner of your mouth. Again.
Another cop-out from a coward.
You struggle to contain your disappointment, resigning yourself to the fantasy in your head. The imagined taste of his tongue tangling with yours. And with wanton hands, you reach for his hips, subtly pulling him closer.
“Need you,” you mutter, hearing the hitch of his breath as you whisper the plea against his mouth.
“Fuck— Okay.”
You watch as he reaches for his length. Taking a strong grip, he guides the thick tip along your slick folds, gathering your wetness.
The raw combination of moan and a sigh leaves your lips—an accidental slip portraying just how much you’re aching for him.
“It’s gonna feel a little weird, like…pressure. Okay? But you gotta let me know if it hurts, sweets, you hear me?”
Your fluttering eyes, panting mouth, and rolling hips aren’t enough of a response, apparently, because his voice grows firm.
“Hey, pretty girl, you with me?”
“Mhm,” you whine, nodding your head.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, smoothing a thumb down your temple before tapping three times.
“Um, you— you said, um, if it hurts, I'll tell you.”
“Good girl.”
His muttered praise leaves you mewling, inching your hips closer to him, looking for more—yearning for it.
Your mind devolves into pure static as he presses his thick tip into you slowly. Through bleary eyes, you see his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, like he’s fighting to maintain his composure. For a moment, you wonder what it must look like from his point of view—the way your folds open up to him, welcoming the intrusion, ready to wrap around him in a vice grip.
“Oh, god. Mmm.”
Your features crumble at the sensation of dull pressure—exactly what he warned you about. It doesn’t hurt, it just leaves you wanting more, like you’ll find reprieve once he’s fully inside you.
“How you doin’, baby? Need a break?” he rasps, kneading your thigh gently.
“Need more.”
“Fuck, y’want more? Wanna feel more o’ me?”
You whimper and nod, your heart racing as his slurred words drag you down into the flaming pit of desire.
Your mouth parts in a silent gasp when you feel him press deeper inside of you, his stiff length sliding past your walls. Your ribs contract and expand in raucous breaths the moment you see just how much of him is left. He’s just barely got the tip in—
As your gaze creeps up his body, you realize Eddie hasn’t looked down once, not to where you’re connected. You wonder if it’s self-preservation or if maybe it’s part of his care for you. The way he watches your face intently, like he’s monitoring every slight change in expression leads you to believe it’s the latter. Probably both, really.
But you’re thankful he’s looking, because he immediately notices when the pinch in your brows shifts from pleasure to a wince of discomfort.
His hand is on your face in a second, smoothing the crease between your brows and petting your hair soothingly.
“Baby, you okay? Is it too much? You feelin’ pain?”
You shake your head stubbornly, sucking in a deep breath, leaving your mouth open and panting as your gaze stays glued to the sight of him inside of you. You notice it’s not just the tip, he also gets impossibly thicker through the middle of his length, and you’re sure that’s what you’re feeling now—
“Hey, look at me.” His thumb catches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me out. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Something flashes in the molten color of his irises and he leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. You practically preen as he grants you a sweet kiss, and part of you—the rotted, selfish part—wonders if feigning pain would allow you to finally taste him properly, all smoky mint and dancing tongues—
“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he implores.
“‘S just a pinch, ‘s just— It’s fine,” you placate, rubbing your hands gingerly down his sides.
“Alright, we’re gonna wait here, and you tell me when I can move, or if you wanna stop. But in the meantime, try to relax all your muscles. Sometimes we get all tense, even when we don’t mean to.”
You nod hesitantly, taking a few more deep breaths, making a conscious effort to drop your shoulders and let your muscles rest. After a full minute of breathing, resting, and leaning into his soft palm on your warm cheek, you nod again.
“Okay, you…you can move now.”
But he doesn’t. Not yet. As if trying to discern the truth, Eddie just studies you for a moment. Then he moves, inching further into you.
When your jaw goes slack at the feeling of fullness, you hear a rumble of sound, like a groan that’s been cut off too early, and you have half a mind to ask him if he needs a break. But before you get the chance, your words catch in your throat as he rests lower on you.
“Pretty girl,” he coos, his hot breath tickling your ear, leaving your cunt pulsing with need.
Then a hiss—the kind that sounds like it’s bordering on pain, but is only one degree away from pleasure—escapes his lips, and you realize just how tightly you were squeezing him.
Then, suddenly, he bottoms out, the firm, jolting movement forcing all air from your lungs.
“Oh, good girl,” he huffs out, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. How’s it feel, sweets? Think you like it? Wan’ more?”
Struggling to turn pitiful mewls into actual words, you nod your head fervently, reaching down to press your palms against his hips. “Mmm, wan’ more. Please, Eddie.”
For the first time, he glances down, and you hear him choke at the sight. Electricity prickles across your delicate skin, and the sting of your teeth sinking into your lip does nothing to disrupt your giddy hum as you try to push him away.
In the dark shade of his eyes, you can tell he recognizes your movement as a very desperate, unsuccessful attempt at getting him to pull out—to chamber a thrust. And he seems utterly amused—
“Oh, baby, did you want something? You wanna do the work? Help me out like a good girl?”
Something deeply raw and needy peels from your throat in response, and you silently rejoice when he pulls back, aiding your efforts. Unfortunately, it’s only a couple inches because—to your burgeoning frustration—he’s following your guidance, and your arms don’t reach nearly as far as you need.
But you’ll take anything right now; desperation is cooking your nerves and boiling your insides.
So you sink your nails into his hips and pull him back to you with a sudden yank.
Your mouth drops open at his shallow thrust, unintelligible noises of debauched need tumble past your parted lips.
Clawing at his soft skin, you struggle to set up another thrust. “Please, please— I need more.”
“More? But you’re doin’ so well all by yourself,” he condescends, eyes twinkling with hunger as he lets you push and pull him. “Look at you go, pretty girl. Makin’ yourself feel so good. What an independent little woman.”
His teasing shakes you to your core because it’s so him. It’s your best friend, just in a new scenario with unfettered access to your body and pleasure. God, you’ve allowed him too much power—
“Eddie! Please! I’m— I need it. I need you…”
Amusement washes from his face and you pout as he pauses, as if admiring a view. Then he ducks down.
“Whatever the princess wishes,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing against the heated skin of your cheek, syrupy sweet affection dripping from every word. Gently, he pulls out, nearly all the way.
The mewl that was halfway out of your mouth catches like a lock clicking into place. A loud, desperate cry comes out in its stead—a reckless, candid response to the deep gut-punching thrusts barreling into you. They’re not hard, not rough, but firm. Controlled. Resolute.
Like he wants you to feel it. Feel him.
You chase your breath in his rutting hips, surrendering to the affection he’s searing into you with every pass of his stiff length against your pulsing walls.
Red streaks paint his milky-white skin, blooming beneath your hurried hands like a casualty of your desire. Curses, groans, and harsh gasps fall from his slackened jaw. Heat bubbles deep in your core, rivaling the warmth of the salacious words he whispers into your flesh.
“Shit, you feel so good, sweets— Oh, god, wan’ you to be— Fuck!”
Tears flood your waterline as you stare at the ceiling, features permanently fixed in shattered pleasure. Your mind struggles to hold onto the hitch in his breath, the unfinished sentence you’re dying to hear. But the sensations are overwhelming. Every nerve in your body is sparking—all livewires itching to explode.
All you can say is his name, all you can feel is him, and yet, it’s still not enough—
“Eddie, n-need m-more, ple—aseee!”
“Ah, fuck, baby, I know. I got you—”
Eddie glides his tongue over the pad of his thumb before reaching between your legs and circling your swollen clit.
And suddenly, it’s like lightning has struck the furnace deep in your core, shooting high voltage shocks up your body until you grow so hot you’re almost cold. A sensation of fullness takes over, like you’re mere seconds from bursting.
Delirious with passion, your hand flies down to stop his movements—to stop what you know is coming.
“H-Hold on, I— Eddie, I need to— I wanna feel you! Please, please, let me—”
Your needy sobs have him slowing down until he stills inside of you, chest heaving and damp with sweat.
“What— You can feel me. Aren’t you feelin’ me, sweets?” He reaches his hand up to the space just below your navel, pressing in only slightly.
You whine from the pressure, and your cunt flutters around him in rhythmic pulses like it’s trying to entice him back into movement.
And, God, you can feel him—
He’s burrowed his way deep inside you, but it’s still not enough—
“No— Yes, I— Oh, god, I c-can feel you. I just—” Your words melt into a whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of warm wetness slides down your cheek.
You’re vaguely aware of a dip in the bed on either side of your head, and as you blink away the blur, you realize Eddie has dropped to his elbows over you, caging you in.
His lips trace the track of the tear in reverse, starting first beneath your jaw, then up the expanse of your face. But his mouth doesn’t open—it’s not a trail of kisses. Just a soothing glide of soft pink, collecting salt water.
“What do you wanna feel?” he asks patiently, like he’s ready to bring your deepest desires to fruition.
When you don’t respond, he brushes his lips against the thin skin of your eyelids in short, delicate kisses.
“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just tell me what you want—”
The raw truth of his statement rings in your ears along with a prayer in the shape of your name—reverent, impassioned, desperate. The tone has you questioning when the god became the devotee.
Your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him.
“Wanna feel you. All of you. I don’t want— I don’t want anything in between,” you whisper, your gaze flitting between his earnest attention and his glistening lips, wet with your tears.
Eddie’s mouth parts slightly, a look of quiet shock mixing with curious disbelief as he tilts his head, like he’s observing you for any lapse in conviction. But there’s none to be found. You’re certain you want this. So he gives a single nod, yielding to you.
Before he can even shift his weight, you’re already pushing at his hips again. He lets you move him until he slips out, then your eager hands reach for his hard cock, sheathed in thin latex.
The calm Eddie found since ceasing his thrusts starts to dissipate as he watches your movements with rapt attention.
Acutely aware of the expansion of his ribs on every breath in, the scent of sex and your perfume permeating his olfactory receptors has any semblance of control quickly leaving his body.
The sensation is like a loss of inhibitions. Like he’s gorged himself on you and now he’s utterly wasted. And he knows from personal experience, he doesn’t make the best decisions when inebriated—
The reminder that he’s here for you—that he’s supposed to be the one guiding you—is hard to hold onto when you’re expertly drawing him back into you, teasing yourself with the thick, ruddy tip of his cock, painting your folds with dribbling precum.
He shudders at your wrecked moan, your eyes smoked out with hunger and desire and nothing else as you leer at his flexing length.
“F-Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure about this?”
You only hum in response, deep in focus.
“Unh, unh, look at me.”
Eddie’s thumb catches just beneath your chin, drawing your attention to his hardened features. The moment your far-out gaze focuses on him, he struggles to ignore the way your pupils have almost eclipsed any trace of color in the iris.
But then your attention falters, your eyes slowly glide down to his mouth, your lips parting like a call to him—
He adjusts his grip, his thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks.
“No, up here, pretty girl.”
Tipping your chin up, he manually fixes your gaze to his.
“Are you sure you want this?”
As if words are too difficult to drum up, you whimper imploringly.
And all it takes is one warning tilt to his head and you’re righting yourself. Forcing the words to come—
“Yes! God, please. I need you…”
Satisfied, Eddie nods, taking a moment to revel in just how gone you are for him.
“Okay.”
Another pitiful whimper escapes your closed mouth as you push harder into his grip—wanting, asking.
Knowing exactly what you’re missing—a quick learner in the language of your desperation—a smirk curls at his lips. “Good girl—”
Then he sinks into you in one quick, deep thrust that carves a half-scream, half-gasp from your chest.
His shoulders drop at the feeling of your wet heat, your greedy walls, hugging every square inch of his cock, gripping onto him like a lifeline.
“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit, y’gotta stop squeezin’ me like that. You’re not gonna give me enough time to pull out,” he mutters, dragging his hips back and slamming into you, starting a brutal pace.
Tears flood your waterline once more as you cry out for him, your hands touching, groping, and grabbing every bit of muscle you can get ahold of.
Your knees drop open as your hands blindly reach for his hips, pulling him in for impossibly deeper strokes.
“I’m— E-Eddie, I—”
“I know, baby. I know,” he chants, holding on desperately to the last shred of his sanity.
Ducking lower onto you, he shifts his weight to reach between your thighs and circle your clit. With an open-mouthed pant, he watches as your eyes roll back, your loud moans drowning out the vulgar sound of skin slapping.
His gaze flits across your face, memorizing your pleasure-shocked features like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see this particular crease in your brows, this heavy-lidded trance. Panic fills his bloodstream as he realizes it might very well be the last time—
And if it’s the last time, maybe he’s allowed to be selfish. One time. Just this once—
“Fuck it,” he breathes out, dipping down until his mouth capture yours, swallowing every last moan.
Your palms fly to the sides of his head, dragging him further onto you until the range of motion in his hand severely shrinks under his own rutting hips. You lick into his mouth like you’re trying to taste yourself. Overwhelmed with desire, he begins to lav his tongue into you the same way he devoured your cunt earlier.
Your responding mewls leave him trembling, and he worries over the tightening in his abdomen, the coiling heat deep in his gut. He starts to pull away, but he feels pressure at his hips. You’ve wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, leaving him no way of escaping your hold. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him—
“Baby, we can’t— I gotta— I need’ta pull out,” he slurs against your mouth.
“Please don’t,” you whine, spit-slick lips haphazardly forming around the pitiful plea.
Eddie feels his chest crack open with raw, tortuous longing. Hips faltering to a grinding rhythm, he lets his shoulders sag under the pressure of wanting—the weight of possession. All it would take to claim you, all it would take… is just to let go. To make you his.
He’s not strong enough—
“Please don’t,” you repeat, gliding your hands down his damp skin until you still at his lower back. With a foggy mind driven by the most basic desire to claim—or rather, be claimed—you muster all your strength and press your palms hard into his spine, dragging him to you.
Following a groan that sounds suspiciously like a surrendering cry, Eddie pulls his hips back just enough to shallowly thrust into you. They’re firm, breathtaking strokes that feel like he’s trying to permanently burrow beneath your flesh, and his mouth glides over yours in a messy, blind display of drunken need. It’s a thorough loss of all space and you revel in it.
Eddie’s thumb starts circling your clit with renewed vigor, sending spasms shooting down your legs so strong that your ankles unhook. Like two magnets repelling each other, they go flying to the bed, twitching and convulsing.
Deep in your core, you feel a magmatic pressure that just builds, and builds, and builds, until something snaps—
Arching into him, you cry out as your body goes weightless, and your mind floats into the ether once more.
His groans, his grunts, the smacking of skin on skin—every sound echoes as you move further away from your mind. Vaguely, you’re aware of his faltering thrusts, his hungry lips devouring. Your mouth might be moving in tandem with his, or maybe you’re babbling incoherently, it’s unclear—all your senses are fried.
All you’re certain of is the sinking of your body. Deeper than the mattress, deeper than the floor. Down, down, down—you’re dragged into the pit of sated desire while your soul soars high above you.
“Ah, s-shit, baby— I—”
By the time you find your way out of the depths—crawling back to him—you register the tail end of shivers wracking his entire being. His arms haven’t loosened around you and his softening cock is still twitching and flexing inside of you, goaded by every pulsing constriction of your warm walls.
Nosing into your cheek, Eddie pulls back for a second, just to get a look at you—to memorize.
What he sees is exactly what he expected—
Something he could never forget.
Something he could never be normal about.
In your eyes, in soft pants, in the flutter of lashes over mascara smudged skin—he sees you.
Just you.
A glutton for punishment, he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you before dipping down for more. One more.
Like he’ll never live long enough to see you walk out of his room—his sweat staining your skin, his spend safe inside you—he kisses you, slow and rottingly sweet. Swallowing every sigh, stealing every breath—he prays to you with selfishness in his heart.
“I felt something,” you mumble against his mouth, pressing your hands to his shoulders.
Ignoring the ache in his chest—the kind that blooms when space starts to grow between his body and yours, like a weed whose roots never truly die—he forces a laugh that crumbles to dust in his throat.
“Well, yeah…. God, I hope so,” he huffs, all strained amusement and bitter jokes.
A small smile pulls at your lips. “No, I mean.… I mean— You said, um, earlier, you said…”
While you struggle to find the words, his touch seems to act as a hindrance to your search. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter as he smooths his thumb over your sweat-soaked hairline.
“You said if I was gonna sleep with— If I was gonna f-feel nothing with a stranger, then I should…feel nothing with you.”
Realization dawns on him, almost at the same time he decides this conversation shouldn’t take place with him inside of you—
“Maybe we should—”
“No!” You stop his movements, pressing your fingers into his hips before he can slip away. “Please, don’t! Don’t— Don’t go.”
Eddie watches your features soften from panic into an amalgamation of nerves and reserved urgency. The mess of emotions darkening your once-twinkling eyes are enough to stop his movements, but he still wishes every square inch of him could liquify and seep through the floor of the trailer until he reaches the earth. Maybe then he could be free of your dominance over his heart—
“Okay. Okay.” He nods, placating.
Shifting above you, his attention oscillates between your wide-eyed stare and the space on your neck he kissed like he owned it. Then, as if he suddenly forgot how to behave like a human, he sucks his teeth and fumbles to respond—
“What, uh, what did you feel?”
Your nails sink into him with a pinch, but by the way you seem lost in your own head, he doesn’t think you’re aware. Then—
“W-What— Um, did you…feel…anything?”
He stares for a moment, considering your evasion of the question, but then he looks to your neck once more.
A million thoughts zoom through his mind like advertisements on big city buses. He can’t discern all of them, but one has YOU written in what he’s certain is your handwriting. Another says everything in posh, looping cursive. A third one is void of any advertisements, and unfortunately, that’s the one that stops for him—
“I don’t think it matters,” he mutters, avoiding your frown. “It’s— I’m not the one who lost their virginity.”
You cock your head to the side, the kind of movement he knows means you’re not letting him slip by. “Yes, it does.”
Your tone bites at him, scrambling the illusion until he’s a clear picture of vulnerability, bare under your hardened gaze.
“I just mean, it matters more how you felt. If you— If I made you comfortable. Doesn’t matter how I felt,” he tries, wondering how likely it is that he could be struck by lightning indoors, on a sunny day—
Because you’re looking at him like he’s eighteen again. Like he’s stupid and boyish and easily breakable. But there’s something else in your eyes—
Something that makes him feel almost mendable.
“No, but it does matter how you felt. How you feel. It matters. I care how you feel. I wanna hear what you think,” you implore, holding onto his wrists beside your head. You press the pads of your fingers into his pulse and he worries you’ll feel it before he says it—
“But did you—”
“Yes, I felt good. Yes, you did a good job taking care of me. Yes, I felt safe. Now how did you feel?”
“I feel like— I don’t want you…to…” He closes his eyes, hanging his head. “I feel like I wish you were mine,” he says, letting a humorless chuckle float out of his mouth and electrocute the air with tension. “And I feel like calling up Jimmy and Chris just to curse them out for being the ones you thought of first.”
In the loll of his admission, something shifts in your features, and every molecule of air leaves his chest like you just rolled a grenade at his feet, unpinned and already three seconds deep into the fuse delay.
As if you have nothing better to say, you pluck the lowest hanging fruit—
“Well, technically you suggested Chris,” you half shrug.
Charged silence fills the room like rushing water until he blinks at you.
“Okay.” He begins to back away, ignoring your grasping hands.
Your face falls. “No, I’m sorry! I— That was a joke! ‘M sorry, it was stupid—”
“Okay,” he repeats flatly, peeling your fingers from his bicep. He pulls out of you smoothly, pretending not to hear the low whine deep in your throat—
“Eddie, no! Don’t— I love you!” you utter quickly, as if the words will act as a balm upon his burning skin—the skin that broils under your touch. And for a moment, he almost accepts it. He’s so selfish with you—
But when your eyes grow wide, like you hadn’t meant to let something so damning slip past your lips, he realizes the truth—
He was right.
He doesn’t leave you to explain yourself—doesn’t wait for you to quantify the secret.
“It’s okay,” he answers your worried gaze. “I told you, sex has weird feelings attached to it. Things get said in the heat of the moment, it’s all good.”
Hopefully, if he repeats the sentiment enough, he’ll start to believe it too.
But instead of appreciation, he sees indignation warp your face.
“I’m sorry, where have you been? The heat of the moment was five minutes ago,” you huff, eyeing him like you can’t even begin to comprehend his level of delusion. “True, I didn’t mean to say it just then. But I felt it. I have felt it. For…” you laugh, a humorless sound that grates Eddie’s heart, “years.”
And suddenly, he feels like he got his wish—
Every muscle in his body has turned to mush, every nerve is frayed, every wire is uncrossed—
“I’ve—” you pause, then scoff. “Like, Jesus Christ, Eddie! Do you know how long—”
He melts into you, his lips on yours, his hands on your face, holding you right where he needs you most—
Swallowing your surprised moan, he takes your needy grip in stride—every bite of painted nails against pale burning flesh, every tug and drag, seeking a closeness he craves to sate.
“I don’t care,” he slurs against your mouth, too intoxicated to hear how much time he’s missed out on. Then he pulls back a fraction of an inch, instead deciding he wants to know every single detail—even the painful bits—
Even if just to hear you talk—
“Well, I do care,” he amends. “I just—”
You peer up at him through heavy lids and a teasing grin, and he feels too far from you.
“Not right now,” he drawls, unable to think past ‘I love you, too.’
A/N: Please say nice things about this, it took so fucking long lmao.
Summary: Childhood friends turned rebellious teens, you and Eddie Munson have always been thick as thieves — sneaking out, breaking into abandoned diners, and laughing at the world that doesn’t get them. Her parents disapprove, the school calls him a freak, but none of it matters when they’re together.
Tags: NSFW, smut (18+), fluff, friends to lovers, childhood friends, coming of age, mutual pining, rebellious teenagers, "us against the world", parents disapproval, impulsive getaways, eddie munson is a sweetheart, p-in-v, confessionnal sex. No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.
A/N: Save to say most of my fic inspiration for Eddie are from songs. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 9.4k (oh wow)
masterlist
1979
You were going to snap.
The plastic spork bounced off your tray and skidded across the table. You didn’t even need to look to know who threw it—same kid who’d been messing with you all week. Earlier, it was a balled-up napkin. Yesterday, it was a grape. Today, it was everything short of a full-on food fight.
You kept your head down, picking at the sad excuse for macaroni on your tray, hoping he’d get bored. He didn’t.
“Hey,” the boy behind you whispered, yanking a lock of your hair just hard enough to make your eyes sting. “You put glue in it or something? Why’s it so crunchy?”
Your jaw clenched. You bit your cheek to keep from turning around and launching your milk carton at his face. The din of the lunchroom made it easy for teachers to ignore—unless someone got loud.
Which someone did.
“Cease your torment, cretin! Or I shall summon the Lord of the Underworld himself!”
Your head whipped up. The boy behind you froze.
Standing at the end of your lunch table was a skinny kid with a buzz cut, a tattered Black Sabbath patch safety-pinned to his denim vest, and a tray of untouched lunch balanced on one hand like a waiter. His other hand pointed accusingly, finger straight and eyes wide like a televangelist on TV.
“What the hell, Munson?” the boy behind you asked.
The new kid didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped to one knee in the middle of the cafeteria floor and raised both hands to the ceiling.
“Dominos. Ravioli. Infernum-malarkey!” he bellowed, deepening his voice into a theatrical growl. “Oh great horned one, curse this mortal with itchy skin and uncontrollable gas!”
Laughter burst out from nearby tables.
You blinked.
Then—you laughed too.
It started as a confused giggle and turned into a real, actual laugh. Loud enough to startle the kid behind you into silence. He slunk away without a word, disappearing into the crowd.
When you turned back around, the buzz cut boy had taken a dramatic bow.
“Eddie Munson,” he announced. “At your service.”
You stared at him for a beat, then smiled, “You’re weird.”
He beamed like you’d just handed him a trophy.
“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
And just like that, the empty seat across from you wasn’t empty anymore.
1984
The hallway erupted like someone had hit “play” on a fast-forward button—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices rising as students flooded toward freedom. But right in the middle of the chaos, you took your time.
Your locker was stuck again. You wiggled the handle with practiced irritation, muttering a quiet curse under your breath.
And then—
Slam!
A hand hit the locker next to yours with dramatic flair.
“Need a spell, m’lady?”
You didn’t even have to look. The smug tone, the scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke—it was unmistakable.
“You’re gonna bruise the metal if you keep doing that,” you said, lips tugging into a smile despite yourself.
Eddie Munson leaned against the lockers like he owned the hallway, grinning at you through his mess of curls. His denim vest was half-unbuttoned over his Hellfire Club tee, and he had a binder stuffed with loose papers under one arm. Somehow, he made chaos look cool.
“Maybe it’ll bruise back,” he quipped, giving your locker a gentle kick. It creaked open instantly. “See? You just have to speak its language.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping back so you could grab your books, “you keep me around. Which says so much more about you than it does about me.”
You bumped his shoulder as you closed your locker, and he didn’t move an inch.
“Plans tonight?” he asked, falling into step beside you like he always did.
“Not unless you’re planning something.”
He grinned wider. “I may or may not have found a way into the old diner by the train tracks.”
You arched a brow. “Eddie.”
“It’s abandoned! Kinda. Mostly. Anyway, I hear the power still works.”
You stopped walking and turned to him, arms crossed. “If we get caught again—”
“We won’t.” He leaned in with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “We’re ghosts, remember? Shadows. Teenage legends.”
You stared at him for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re full of shit.”
“And yet,” he echoed with a smirk, “you keep me around.”
You rolled your eyes again, but there was no hiding the fondness in it. You always rolled your eyes around Eddie. And he always stayed close anyway.
Like he had since the cafeteria, five years ago.
Later that night, the lock was rusted, the side door warped just enough to slip a crowbar through. Eddie grunted as he wedged it in, muscles tense, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. With one good shove and a metallic clank, the door creaked open.
“After you, partner in crime,” he whispered, bowing with a flourish.
You stepped inside, the soles of your sneakers crunching on old tile dust. The air smelled like mildew and grease that had long since congealed into memory.
A few rays of moonlight filtered through cracked windows, casting long, silvery shadows across the booths and checkered floor. The whole place looked like someone had locked up in ’64 and never came back. A half-burned “Daily Special” board still hung above the counter. A stack of chipped coffee cups waited behind the bar like someone might show up to pour a round.
“Holy shit,” you breathed. “This is so cool.”
“Told you.” Eddie’s voice was soft, reverent even. “Place is like a time capsule. All it needs is a jukebox and someone to roll by on skates.”
You wandered past the booths, running your fingers over the cracked vinyl cushions. The red had faded to dull maroon. He followed a few steps behind, glancing around with wide eyes like a kid in a haunted house—excited, cautious, thrilled.
“Bet there’s still silverware somewhere,” he said, hopping over the counter with a thud. He pulled open a drawer, rattling around. “Bingo.”
He held up a rusted spoon like it was buried treasure.
You chuckled, ducking behind the counter with him. “I’m stealing a salt shaker. This is too good not to commemorate.”
“Here,” he said, digging deeper into the drawer. “Comet-brand bottle opener. Still shiny.”
You pocketed it with a grin. “We should open a museum.”
Eddie stood up on the counter, arms spread wide. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Hall of Bad Decisions. Featuring cigarette burns, petty theft, and a distinct lack of adult supervision.”
You laughed louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls.
The truth was, no matter how dusty or broken the place, it always felt electric with Eddie around. Every forgotten building was a playground. Every half-dumb idea felt like genius. With him, even rusted cutlery felt like gold.
You leaned against the counter, smiling up at him.
“This place is gonna be ours for a while, huh?”
He looked down at you and nodded, his grin softening.
“Yeah,” he said. “Until the next one.”
Eddie’s van purred softly in the driveway, headlights off. The glow from the porch light was enough to see the curve of his grin as he leaned across the driver’s seat to look at you.
“You sure you don’t want me to summon Satan again?” he teased, voice low. “Might scare your mom into going easy on you.”
You laughed quietly, hand already on the door handle. “Pretty sure she’s more terrifying than Satan.”
He tilted his head, mock serious. “Valid.”
A beat of silence passed. You looked at him. He looked at you.
“Thanks for tonight,” you said. “That diner was… weirdly magical.”
He smirked. “Like I said—teenage legends.”
You leaned over and bumped his shoulder gently. “Call me when you get home.”
Eddie saluted you, then added, “I’ll keep an eye out for demon cops. You never know.”
You rolled your eyes, but it made you smile as you slipped out of the van and jogged up the front steps. You gave him one last wave before unlocking the door and slipping inside.
The smile dropped as soon as the door clicked shut.
The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen. Your mom was sitting at the table, elbows resting on a half-folded newspaper, her fingers pressed against her temple. She didn’t even look up when she spoke.
“You know what time it is?”
Her voice wasn’t angry—just tired. Drained in that way that made your chest twist a little.
“Yeah,” you said softly, stepping out of your shoes. “I lost track.”
Your mom finally looked up. Her eyes flicked to your jacket, your tangled hair, the faint whiff of dust and old grease you carried back from the diner.
“You were with him again.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
She sighed and sat back in her chair, eyes heavy. “You can’t keep doing this, sweetheart.”
You stayed by the doorway, hands in your pockets, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you mumbled.
“Not yet,” she said. “But trouble follows that boy like a shadow.”
You didn’t say it aloud, but you thought it anyway.
Good. So do I.
Without another word, you walked down the hall and shut your bedroom door behind you.
The only light in your room came from the moon outside your window. You crossed the floor, dropped your jacket on the bed, and fished into your pocket.
The bottle opener from the diner caught the moonlight just right as you turned it over in your hand.
You smiled again—just a little this time.
The smell of questionable pizza and overcooked green beans lingered thick in the air, but it didn’t matter. You were already weaving through the tables with your tray in hand, heading toward your table—the one where noise, weirdness, and near-constant laughter were part of the deal.
“Okay, but we cannot open with ‘War Pigs’ again,” Gareth was saying, waving half a sandwich like it was a conductor’s baton. “We’re becoming predictable.”
Jeff leaned across the table, chewing thoughtfully. “People like predictable. It’s crowd control.”
Doug piped up with a mouthful of tater tots. “Predictable gets you heckled.”
“And heckled means notoriety,” Eddie added from the center of the chaos, his boots kicked up on an empty chair, half a Twinkie in hand. “Notoriety builds legacy.”
You dropped your tray across from him and plopped into your seat, arching an eyebrow. “You guys planning a set list or starting a revolution?”
Eddie pointed the Twinkie at you like a preacher. “Both, sweetheart. Both.”
“You’re late,” Doug said, nudging his tray your way. “We almost gave your seat to a freshman.”
“You touch my seat, I take your soul,” you deadpanned, snatching a tater tot off his tray.
He shrugged. “Fair.”
“Anyway,” Eddie said, pulling a notebook from beneath his jacket like it was classified intel, “we’re down to two opening tracks—‘The Trooper’ or ‘Symptom of the Universe.’”
You bit into your apple. “You’re seriously debating this like it’s the damn Super Bowl.”
“Because it is,” Gareth said, dead serious. “Thursday night. The Hideout. Four people in the audience max. Maybe five if Jeff’s mom shows up.”
Jeff raised his soda can. “She always does.”
“I’m just saying,” you said, setting your apple down, “no one in that bar cares what song you start with. They just want something loud, something angry, and maybe to get a free beer if they flirt with the bartender.”
Eddie beamed at you. “And that’s why you’re an honorary member of this band of degenerates.”
“Honorary?” Doug asked. “She literally helped us roll for loot two weeks ago.”
“I fell asleep halfway through,” you reminded him.
“And still somehow survived the ogre ambush,” Gareth muttered.
“Yeah, ‘cause Eddie kept rerolling behind the screen.”
Eddie gasped, hand on his chest. “Are you accusing your fearless Dungeon Master of cheating?”
You grinned. “Not accusing. Just observing.”
He tossed a crust of bread at you. You ducked. The others laughed.
The table was loud, obnoxious, and borderline unbearable to anyone sitting within a ten-foot radius. But to you? It was home. You didn’t care about the campaign schedule or the band drama half as much as they did, but it didn’t matter. You were part of it anyway.
Here, no one tried to change you. Or warn you away from being yourself. Or away from Eddie.
Which, judging by the way he was still looking at you over the rim of his soda can—with that crooked smile that always spelled trouble—you’d have to deal with later.
But for now, you kicked your feet up beside his, stole another tot from Doug’s tray, and settled into the noise.
Later that day, you were walking toward Eddie’s locker, planning to meet up before heading to the parking lot. But you knew something was wrong before you even saw it.
The crowd gave it away.
A couple of underclassmen lingered nearby, whispering and pretending not to look. A few seniors passed, snickering behind their hands. That knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every step.
And then you saw it.
FREAK
Spray-painted in jagged red letters across Eddie’s locker door. The paint still dripped, fresh and bold and proud.
Eddie was already there, standing in front of it like it wasn’t even his. He had one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the strap of his bag, eyes scanning the word like it was graffiti on a bathroom wall and not a personal attack.
You approached slowly. “Jesus…”
He looked over at you, then back at the locker. “Creative, huh?”
“Are you okay?”
He snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
But you didn’t buy it. Not from the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. Not from the way he wouldn’t touch the door.
“It’s bullshit,” you said, voice low, sharp. “We should tell—”
“Don’t,” he cut in gently. “It’s not worth it.”
“Eddie—”
“It’s just a word.” He finally reached forward and popped the locker open like the paint wasn’t even there. “I’ve been called worse. Hell, I am worse. Freak’s kind of a promotion.”
You stared at him. He looked tired. Not angry. Not even hurt. Just used to it—like he’d seen this coming the day he first wore a Dio shirt to school and never looked back.
He pulled out a book, slammed the locker shut, and slung his arm around your shoulder like nothing happened.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do something illegal.”
You tried to smile. Tried to match his energy.
But you kept glancing back at that word. And the way he didn’t even flinch.
You weren’t even in a bad mood until you heard the voice.
“…yeah, I did it. Told you I would,” some guy was bragging just outside the door. “Spray-painted it right on his locker. FREAK—like billboard size.”
A snort of laughter followed. “No way.”
“Swear to God. My cousin had that red paint in his garage. Took like three seconds. Guy’s a loser anyway—no one’s gonna do shit.”
Your jaw clenched. You peeked out through the cracked door just enough to see who was talking.
Ryan Garrison.
Smug. Stupid. Already walking away with two other guys, all of them laughing like they’d just pulled off a harmless prank and not openly vandalized someone else’s property.
Your hands curled into fists inside your sleeves.
You didn’t say anything then. Not yet.
But you had a name now.
And something about the way Eddie had looked at his locker yesterday—like it was a fact of life, not something he deserved to fight back against—stuck to your ribs like ash.
This wasn’t going to slide.
Not this time.
Behind the bleachers, Eddie was sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up, lazily plucking at the strings of his guitar. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily into the air. He didn’t look up when you approached—he never had to.
You dropped beside him, legs stretched out, pulling your sleeves over your hands.
“I know who did it.”
He paused, just long enough to let the words settle. “Did what?”
You gave him a look.
He sighed through his nose, set the guitar down gently beside him. “Doesn’t matter. I already told you—”
“It was Ryan Garrison.”
Now he looked at you.
You could see it then—how his jaw tensed for just a second. Not surprised. Just… disappointed in the predictability of it all.
“He was bragging about it in the hallway,” you went on. “Didn’t even bother to whisper. Just loud and proud with his dumbass buddies like it was a joke.”
Eddie leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky. “God, I’d love to be that stupid. You think life’s easier when you’re that full of yourself?”
“Probably,” you muttered, then nudged his knee with yours. “But also… I have an idea.”
Eddie turned to you slowly, brow arched, curiosity piqued. “Oh no.”
You grinned. “Oh yes.”
“What level of felony are we talking here?”
“No felonies,” you said sweetly. “Just… maybe some light vandalism. Minor property damage, at worst.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I say we skip last period,” you continued, “grab a carton of eggs from the corner store, and redecorate Ryan Garrison’s shiny little Camaro.”
Eddie blinked. “You want to egg his car?”
“Don’t you?”
There was a long pause. Then:
“I do love performance art.”
You bumped shoulders. “Thought so.”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to be the voice of reason, but couldn’t quite resist. “You’re gonna get detention.”
“You’ll be right there with me.”
“Oh, I’m definitely not letting you do it alone,” he said. “If you go down, I’m going down with you.”
“Us against the world,” you said, holding out a pinky.
Eddie linked his pinky with yours. “Always.”
The lot was mostly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the faded lines and scattered cigarette butts. Ryan Garrison’s Camaro—sleek, waxed, obnoxiously red—sat like a trophy near the back row.
You crouched behind a scraggly bush with Eddie, both of you gripping your smuggled plastic bag of ammo: a dozen slightly-warm eggs from the corner store fridge. You could barely contain your grin as you peered around the shrub like war criminals on a covert op.
Eddie whispered, “Okay, listen. We do this fast, like guerrilla warfare. You take the driver’s side, I’ll take the back. We launch, we leg it. Got it?”
“Got it,” you said, cracking your knuckles dramatically.
“One… two… go!”
You darted out from cover, pulling an egg from the carton mid-run. The first one hit the windshield with a glorious splat. The second one smacked the driver’s side door, dripping yolk down the shiny paint.
Eddie whooped from the rear bumper. “Eat poultry, you shiny bastard!”
He chucked two in rapid fire—one hitting the trunk, the other bouncing off the rearview mirror with a satisfying crack.
“Oh my God,” you gasped, breathless with laughter. “We’re going to hell.”
“We were already going to hell!” he shouted gleefully, winding up and letting one rip straight at the hood.
Then, “HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!”
You didn’t even turn around to confirm. You knew that voice.
“Run!” you yelled, grabbing Eddie by the sleeve.
You both took off, legs pumping, laughter bubbling out of your chests as Ryan’s furious footsteps pounded behind you.
Eddie tossed the empty bag over his shoulder as you rounded the edge of the lot, diving into the passenger seat of his van while he jumped behind the wheel.
He jammed the key into the ignition. “Come on, come on, come on—YES!”
The engine roared to life just as Ryan came into view, red-faced and livid, streaks of yolk still dripping down his car in the distance.
Eddie peeled out of the lot with a screech of tires, flipping him the bird out the open window. You slammed the door shut just in time and nearly doubled over with laughter.
“Holy shit!” you gasped, clutching your stomach. “We’re actually gonna die!”
Eddie was howling, one hand pounding the steering wheel. “Did you see his face?! He looked like his soul left his body!”
You were breathless, wild with adrenaline and glee, wind whipping through the open window as the town blurred past you.
“That felt so good.”
Eddie glanced at you as the wind whipped through the cracked windows, hair tousled, eyes gleaming.
And in that moment—in Eddie’s van, hair messy, heart racing—you felt more alive than you had in weeks.
Just two teenage dirtbags with egg-stained hands and nowhere else to be.
The van was parked at the edge of the woods, a spot you both stumbled on years ago—your unofficial hideout from everything. The trees opened into a clearing that caught the last light just right, turning everything gold and soft and quiet.
You and Eddie were lying side by side on the grass, backs pressed into the earth, heads tilted to the sky where the clouds burned orange and pink.
The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving a slow, syrupy warmth in your chest. One of your shoes was off. Eddie’s jacket was draped over both of you like a shared blanket.
He was playing with a blade of grass between his fingers, eyes half-lidded. “Do you think the eggs did any actual damage? Like, cosmetic damage. Paint-eating level.”
“I hope so,” you said softly.
He chuckled. “You’re terrifying.”
You turned your head toward him. “You’re just now realizing that?”
He gave you a lazy grin, and the world shifted just a little.
It was quiet for a moment. Not awkward. Not tense. Just quiet.
Then Eddie spoke again, voice lower. “You ever think about how long we’ve been doing this?”
You blinked. “Breaking and entering? Vandalism? Petty crimes in general?”
He snorted. “No—well, yes—but I meant… this. You and me.”
You swallowed, heart thudding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
He plucked another blade of grass. “It’s weird, right? Everyone else seems to… grow out of their people. Switch friends like seasons. But you stuck.”
You smiled, looking up at the sky again. “Maybe I just like weirdos.”
“Lucky for me,” he muttered.
You didn’t say anything for a moment. You were too busy trying to memorize this version of Eddie: eyes soft, voice gentle, golden light kissing his cheekbones.
You could feel it again—that fluttery thing in your chest that always showed up when he got quiet like this. You’d buried it for years under jokes and reckless nights and pretending you were just partners in crime.
But it never really left.
And now, lying beside him like this, it itched behind your ribs.
You turned your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You know… if you ever decide to grow out of me, I’m locking you in that abandoned diner.”
He tilted his head toward you, smirking. “You’d have to catch me first.”
“Oh, I’d catch you.”
He chuckled, and the sound felt like home. Then, more seriously, “Not gonna happen. You’re stuck with me.”
Your chest ached in that soft, good way.
“Good,” you said, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t really want anyone else.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was full of something unspoken.
And you let it hang there, golden and quiet, in the space between your shoulders and his.
You should’ve known something was off the second you walked through the door.
Your mom was in the kitchen, humming. Humming. She hadn’t done that since... since she took your journal and called it "worrisome." And your dad was pretending to read the paper, though he hadn’t turned a page in five minutes.
Your stomach dropped.
“Sweetheart,” your mom called, too brightly. “We’re having dinner with the Darrows tonight. Come change, would you? Put on something… nicer.”
You blinked at her, halfway out of your shoes. “The Darrows?”
She smiled, the kind that never reached her eyes. “You remember their son, Nathan? He goes to the youth group at Trinity.”
There it was.
“You invited someone from church?” you asked flatly, incredulous. “Why?”
Your dad folded the paper like he’d been waiting to jump in. “He’s a good kid. Polite. Plays varsity basketball.”
“He wore loafers to gym class,” you muttered, arms crossing tightly. “He said Dungeons & Dragons was ‘satanic.’”
Your mom’s smile faltered just slightly. “Maybe it’s time you spent time with people who could be a good influence on you.”
You stared at her, chest slowly filling with heat. “This is about Eddie.”
“No,” your dad said—too quickly. “This is about your future.”
You laughed. A cold, stunned little sound. “You think I’m gonna marry Nathan Darrow?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You’re trying to fix me,” you snapped. “Like I’m broken. Like Eddie broke me.”
“He’s not—” Your mom stepped forward, her voice soft but sharp, “—the kind of person you should be around.”
That did it.
You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. You just turned around, walked calmly to your room, grabbed your bag, and climbed out the window like you had a hundred times before.
You didn’t knock.
You didn’t have to.
Eddie opened the door the second you reached the top step, like he already knew it was you.
He took one look at your face and stepped aside, wordless.
You dropped your bag on the floor with a dull thud, toeing off your shoes.
Then you just stood there, in the soft yellow light of his living room, swallowing back the lump in your throat.
Eddie watched you quietly. “They tried again, huh?”
You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “Tried to sell me off to a Bible boy.”
He didn’t laugh. He just opened his arms.
You stepped into them without hesitation.
He held you tightly, chin resting on the crown of your head.
The trailer was quiet now. Wayne was working the night shift, and the TV buzzed low in the background, playing some late-night rerun no one was really watching.
You were both at the tiny kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal between you, cold by now. Eddie was lazily flipping through a tattered Hit Parader magazine while you stared at your hands, still a little wrung out from earlier.
Then, suddenly:
“Let’s get outta here.”
You blinked. “What?”
Eddie looked up, grinning like a spark had just caught in his brain. “Like—out. Just for a night. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?”
He shrugged, leaned back in his chair. “Chicago. Why not? It’s what, three, four hours from here?”
You stared at him.
He was serious. And maybe a little sleep-deprived. But also serious.
“You want to drive to Chicago tonight?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“Eddie, we don’t have money.”
“I have ten bucks and half a tank of gas.”
“I have eight,” you said slowly. “And a granola bar.”
“See? That’s a feast,” he said, mock offended. “We’ll live like kings.”
You snorted. “What would we even do there?”
He shrugged again, that boyish, chaotic light in his eyes. “Get lost. Walk around the city. Maybe sneak into a punk show. Or sit on a rooftop and scream at the skyline. Doesn’t matter.”
And the thing was… it didn’t.
Because he was looking at you like you were the point of it all. Not Chicago. Not the getaway. Just the idea of being free with you.
You looked at him for a long moment, then said softly, “Okay.”
His smile grew, slow and wide. “Yeah?”
“Let’s be stupid.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
You threw your bag into the back. He brought a couple of tapes, a hoodie, a few crumpled bills, and his lucky lighter. You didn’t even ask why.
As the van pulled out of the trailer park, the town faded behind you like static. Streetlights blurring. The stars overhead flickering faintly, and the open road stretching out in front of you like a promise.
“Freedom tastes like exhaust fumes and bad decisions,” Eddie declared, one hand out the window like he could catch the wind.
You laughed, head resting on the seat. “We’re gonna regret this.”
“Maybe,” he said, glancing at you with a crooked smile. “But not tonight.”
And for once, it felt like you could breathe.
Like running wasn’t running away—it was just running toward something.
Something that looked a lot like him.
They didn’t even check IDs.
Maybe it was the smeared eyeliner and scuffed boots. Maybe it was Eddie’s jacket with all the safety pins or the way you both walked in like you belonged.
Either way, you were in—bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the ceiling dripping with condensation, someone screaming into a mic like the world was ending and it needed to be loud.
You and Eddie lost yourselves in it. No one from Hawkins here. No judgmental stares. Just noise and lights and sweat and freedom.
He grabbed your hand during a guitar solo and spun you in the crowd, his hair sticking to his forehead, laughing like he was seventeen and unstoppable. You grinned wide, your voice raw from yelling, from singing along even when you didn’t know the words.
Later, after the band finished their set and you’d slipped out a side door that led into an alleyway full of graffiti and old posters peeling off the bricks, Eddie fished out a joint from his pocket like it was treasure.
“You carried that through state lines?” you asked, eyes wide.
He just smirked. “You’re welcome.”
You both leaned against the alley wall, the buzz of leftover adrenaline in your chest, sharing slow, quiet puffs between bursts of laughter.
The world softened.
The city was asleep, or pretending to be. Traffic lights blinked for no one. Steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk. You and Eddie walked side by side, dazed and giddy, your fingertips tangled together without thinking about it too hard.
You were both too high to be cold, too happy to care.
You kicked a stray can down the street. He tried to hop on a newspaper box and nearly fell off. Everything was hilarious.
And then, in a lull between laughs, he said, “Y’know, this feels like a movie.”
You glanced at him, lips parted in a smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Like… the part right before the world gets all complicated again.”
You were quiet for a moment. The good kind of quiet.
Your hand tightened around his.
“I don’t care if it gets complicated,” you said softly, watching your steps on the sidewalk. “As long as you’re in it.”
He looked over at you—really looked—and for once, didn’t deflect with a joke.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. No dramatic tone, no grand promise. Just fact.
You nodded, a little dizzy. From the weed. From the night. From the boy beside you who made this whole goddamn city feel like home.
“I’m glad I have you,” you murmured, barely audible.
He squeezed your hand.
“Right back at you, trouble.”
The world was pale and still when you woke up.
Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing gently rocking you awake. One of his arms was curled around you, his other hand half-asleep against your hip. The old blanket he kept in the back was tangled around your legs, and the van windows were fogged from the inside.
You didn’t move. Neither did he.
There were no words.
Just the soft hum of morning settling in, the birds starting their songs, the ache in your limbs from a night lived hard and full.
Eventually, Eddie blinked awake, eyes squinting at the light filtering through the windshield. His gaze flicked down at you. He didn’t look surprised. Just… calm.
You gave him a sleepy smile.
He smiled back.
Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.
Eddie parked a few houses down from yours like usual. The sun had fully risen now, casting golden light over the familiar neighborhood. Lawn sprinklers clicked on. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Everything felt painfully normal.
You sat in the passenger seat for a moment, your bag in your lap, neither of you ready to break the spell completely.
“Well,” you sighed, hand on the door handle. “Back to pretending.”
Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “We’ll make it out again. Next time—maybe even with money.”
You smiled, heart pinched in the best way.
You opened the door, swung one leg out—then paused.
Leaning back in, you reached across the console and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thanks for running away with me,” you whispered.
His eyes widened just a little—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. He just smiled, slow and warm.
“Anytime, trouble.”
And with that, you slipped out of the van, hugging your bag close, and vanished up the side of your house just before the neighborhood fully woke up.
Eddie watched the spot you disappeared into for a few seconds longer, his fingers brushing the spot on his cheek where your lips had been.
School was out, and the Hellfire boys were all grouped near the back of the lot like always. Gareth leaned against Jeff’s car, drumsticks tapping lightly against his thigh. Doug was halfway through a story about a kid who fell asleep in math and drooled on his own worksheet. You were only half-listening, the zipper of your backpack clenched between your fingers.
Eddie was off to the side, scrawling something into his well-worn campaign binder, crouched on the curb. The sun caught in his hair. His chain hung loose. He looked ridiculous and perfect.
You smiled without meaning to.
“Alright, nerds, same time Thursday?” Eddie called out, shutting the binder with a dramatic snap.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jeff grinned, already sliding into the front seat.
The group started peeling away, shouting jokes and farewells, backpacks slung over shoulders.
You waved at Doug and Jeff as they piled into the car. “Later, losers.”
“Bye, honorary loser,” Doug called.
You turned back just in time to catch Eddie’s eyes. He grinned, and you shot him a mock salute.
“Drive safe, Munson.”
“I always do,” he lied, winking as he slid into the van.
You didn’t look away immediately.
And he didn’t either.
Then, with a little wave, he backed out and rolled off toward the main road.
You were still watching the van disappear when Gareth stepped up beside you, arms crossed.
“So,” he said casually. “When are you gonna tell him?”
You blinked. “Tell who what?”
He gave you a knowing side-eye. “C’mon.”
You tried to laugh it off. “You’re imagining things.”
“Sure,” he said, drawing the word out. “Totally. You just happened to stare at him like he personally invented sunlight.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”
Gareth just smirked. “I’m just saying. The rest of us already know. It’s just you and Eddie who haven’t figured it out yet.”
You turned away before he could see the color rising to your cheeks.
“See you Thursday, Gareth.”
“You owe me five bucks when you finally kiss,” he called after you.
You flipped him off over your shoulder—but you were smiling.
His room was a mess of posters, records, and the distinct scent of weed curling through the air. The window was cracked just enough to let the smoke drift lazily outside, and the two of you were stretched out on the floor, backs propped against the edge of his bed.
Eddie held the joint between his fingers, gesturing with it as he recounted the latest Hellfire session like he was reading from a holy text.
“And then—this is the best part—Doug’s bard tries to seduce the necromancer’s skeleton minion, like full-on charisma roll, flowers, everything—”
You choked on a laugh, nearly dropping the soda can in your hand. “What did you do?”
“I made him roll with disadvantage for being a creep,” Eddie said proudly, eyes alight with glee. “And the skeleton punched him in the face.”
You snorted, nudging your socked foot against his leg. “God, you’re so mean to them.”
“I’m fair,” he corrected, passing you the joint with a grin. “It’s not my fault their stupidity knows no bounds.”
You took a hit and leaned your head back against the mattress, exhaling toward the ceiling, warm and light and a little dizzy in the best way.
Eddie kept talking, something about a cursed dagger and Jeff accidentally summoning a demonic goat, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Not fully.
You were watching him.
The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he moved his hands too much when he got excited. The little scratch in his voice when he’d smoked just enough.
Something in your face must’ve changed—softened, maybe—because he stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head at you.
“…Am I that interesting,” he asked, smirking slightly, “for you to stare at me like that?”
You blinked, startled.
Heat crept up your neck.
“Maybe,” you said, too slow, too honest.
He blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second—then he looked away with a quiet chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with the silence that followed.
You passed the joint back to him, your fingers brushing his. Neither of you commented on how long that touch lingered.
He cleared his throat, eyes flicking toward the window.
“You’re weird,” he said finally, voice a little softer now.
“You’re weirder,” you murmured back, your cheek tilted toward your shoulder as you watched him.
Then, after a beat, you blinked and looked away.
“…Sorry,” you said softly, the word slipping out like it was pulled from somewhere deeper than you expected. “For staring.”
Eddie didn’t answer right away.
You figured maybe he was trying to think of something funny to deflect with, like he always did. But then you heard the creak of the mattress as he shifted closer, and when you glanced back at him, he was already looking at you again.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. No smirk. No teasing.
You opened your mouth, but no words came.
Eddie leaned in just slightly, one elbow resting on the floor, hand curling near your knee but not touching.
“I like it,” he added, voice low.
Your breath caught.
“Like what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
“The way you look at me,” he said. “Like I’m… something.”
You blinked. The joint burned slowly between his fingers. You didn’t even notice the smoke anymore.
“You are,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You’ve always been something.”
Eddie let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh, like he didn’t know what to do with the truth of that. “You’re really gonna kill me, aren’t you.”
You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”
He looked at you, his eyes tracing yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when you were this close. When the light was soft and low and you weren’t looking away.
“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you for, like, ever, and if you keep looking at me like that…”
You didn’t give him a chance to finish.
You leaned forward, slow but sure, giving him time to stop it—he didn’t.
Your lips brushed his in the softest, smallest movement, and then again, fuller this time, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt to hold onto.
Eddie let the joint fall into the ashtray. He kissed you back with both hands cradling your face, warm and a little clumsy like every nerve in him was firing at once. His thumb brushed your cheekbone as he pulled you closer, tasting like weed and soda and every shared laugh you’d ever had.
It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate.
It just was.
Something about kissing Eddie felt inevitable now — like you’d already been halfway doing it for years in every shared secret, every getaway, every “you okay?” and “come with me.”
The weed buzzed warm through your limbs, making everything feel hazy at the edges. Soft. Slower.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed against your lips, eyes flickering over your face like he wasn’t sure you were real. “You’re really doing this to me, huh?”
You smiled, fingertips tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Just shut up and keep kissing me, Munson.”
That got a breathless laugh from him, the kind that disappeared into your mouth as you pulled him into another kiss. Deeper this time. Messier. Less careful. His hands slid up under your hoodie, thumbs tracing the skin of your waist like he couldn’t believe you were letting him.
You rocked into him just slightly — enough to make his breath catch, enough to let him feel you weren’t playing around.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then under your ear. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
“You’ve been ruining me since seventh grade,” you whispered back, tilting your head to let him in.
You felt him smile against your neck, his hands tightening on your hips like he couldn’t help himself.
“Take me to your bed.”
Eddie’s eyes widened — pupils already blown out from the joint you shared earlier, but now they were all you could see. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.
You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”
For a second, he didn’t move — just looked at you like he was trying to etch this moment into his soul. Then, carefully, he lifted you off his lap and helped you to your feet, tugging you gently by the hand toward the bed.
Once you were sitting at the edge, Eddie stepped between your knees, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Still with me?”
You answered by kissing him again, pulling him down with you until your back hit the mattress and he was leaning over you. You could feel him — his cock, hard and pressing into you through layers of clothes — and your cunt clenched in response.
Hands fumbled with zippers and fabric, laughter slipping between kisses as you both struggled with nerves and anticipation. You helped him pull off your hoodie and toss it somewhere on the floor, followed by your shorts. His shirt went next, then your bra, then your underwear — and suddenly you were bare beneath him, flushed and glowing.
Eddie’s eyes roamed every inch of you like he’d never seen anything so sacred.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Like… shit, I don’t even have words for you.”
Your face flushed deeper. “Then maybe just kiss me.”
And he did — from your lips to your neck, down your collarbone, teeth grazing gently as his hands explored you. When his fingers found your folds, he paused at how soaked you were.
“You’re really like this for me?” he murmured, running soft, slow circles that made your thighs twitch. “Goddamn…”
Your back arched, head falling back with a gasp. “Eddie…”
He took his time, working you open with gentle touches, one finger inside you, then two, curling and coaxing until you were clinging to his arm.
Only when you were writhing, panting, nearly coming undone from just his fingers, did he reach for a condom from the drawer.
You watched as he pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock — flushed, thick, and hard. You swallowed at the sight, nerves and need colliding in your gut.
Eddie noticed. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning over you again. “We go slow, alright? You say the word, and I’ll stop.”
You nodded, hands trembling slightly as he rolled on the condom and settled between your legs, guiding himself to your entrance.
The stretch was slow — deeper than anything you’d felt, and you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. Eddie stilled, brushing your hair from your face.
“You okay?”
You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah… just full.”
He kissed your temple. “I got you, sweetheart.”
When he started moving, it was careful — slow thrusts, each one deeper than the last, his hands bracing on either side of your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.
Every drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt made heat bloom low in your belly. His name left your lips like a chant, and in return he whispered yours with quiet reverence.
“Feels so good… you’re so perfect,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as his thrusts got a little faster, a little harder. “I’ve wanted this—God, I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Your fingers clawed into his back as the tension built in your core — a tight, spiraling burn. And when his hand slid down to circle your clit just right, it tipped you over.
You came with a cry, clenching around him, and that was all it took.
Eddie moaned your name as he buried himself deep one last time, spilling into the condom with a quiet, shuddering gasp. His body collapsed over yours, forehead pressed to your shoulder as your breaths mingled in the thick silence.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment.
Just breathing.
Just there.
Eventually, Eddie rolled to the side and pulled you with him, your limbs tangling as you lay together in the warmth of it all.
You stared at each other in the dim light, faces flushed, lips swollen. Then, shyly, you leaned in and kissed him — soft and slow.
“Still high?” he murmured.
You smiled. “Maybe. But also just… happy.”
He brushed his thumb over your cheek and grinned. “Me too.”
Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as your fingers absentmindedly traced circles on his skin. The room had gone quiet except for the hum of the amp in the corner and the soft rustling of sheets every time either of you shifted.
His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
“You good?” he asked eventually, voice a little raspy from smoke and breathless moans.
You nodded against his skin. “Yeah. Really good.”
A beat.
Then his voice dropped quieter, more uncertain. “So… that wasn’t just a high thing, right?”
You tilted your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, softer than you'd ever seen them. There was no teasing in his face, no cocky smirk. Just Eddie — wide-eyed, open, vulnerable.
You shook your head. “No. It wasn’t.”
A long breath left him, like he’d been holding it since the second your lips first touched. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve had feelings for you since, like… forever. And if I just ruined everything by being a horny idiot, I’d probably walk into traffic.”
You laughed quietly, scooting up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t ruin anything. I like you too. You know I do.”
He let that sink in, blinking up at the ceiling for a second. Then he turned back to you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “So what does that mean for us?”
You hesitated — not out of doubt, but the weight of saying it out loud.
Then you smiled, heart full. “I think it means you’re my boyfriend now.”
He blinked, a beat of silence… then lit up like someone plugged him straight into the power grid.
“Yeah?” he grinned. “Like officially? I get to tell people you’re mine and everything?”
You smirked, tucking your face into his neck. “Only if I get to tell people you’re mine too.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’ve always had me.”
There wasn’t a formal declaration, no big gesture. Just the two of you tangled up in each other, whispering and laughing and exchanging quiet kisses until you both dozed off.
And when Eddie drifted to sleep with his arms still around you, he had the softest, dumbest smile on his face — like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
The cafeteria buzzed with noise, same as any other day — clattering trays, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, the occasional yell from the jocks’ table. But none of that mattered as you made your way toward your usual spot.
You slid onto the chair beside Eddie with a lazy grin, and without saying a word, you reached into your pocket and handed Gareth a crumpled five-dollar bill.
He blinked, then slowly smirked as he took it. “Knew it. Knew it.”
Eddie glanced between the two of you, confused. “Wait, what the hell is this?”
“She owed me five bucks,” Gareth said casually, tucking the bill into his jacket. “Told her the day you two finally kissed, she’d owe me.”
Eddie’s brows shot up. “There was a bet?”
You shrugged innocently, picking at your lunch. “It wasn’t a bet. It was a prediction.”
Gareth snorted. “Same difference.”
Doug leaned forward, frowning. “Wait, kissed?”
Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Are you two—?”
Gareth grinned smugly. “Oh yeah. They’re a thing now.”
Doug blinked. “Since when?!”
You leaned back with a smile. “Since Friday.”
Then, just to twist the knife, you added casually, “Might’ve been more than just a kiss.”
There was a beat of silence before all three of them — Gareth included — let out overlapping groans of “Ew!” and “Dude!” and “We did not need to know that!”
Eddie was laughing, head thrown back, clearly loving every second of it. “God, I love this table.”
Doug covered his ears. “There are things you keep to yourself, man!”
“I did!” you said through laughter. “I was just being honest!”
Jeff shook his head. “There’s honest, and then there’s traumatizing your friends at lunch.”
Eddie leaned in, dropping his arm behind you on the chair. “They’ll live. Let them suffer.”
You grinned and rested your head against his shoulder for a second, completely unbothered by the dramatic reactions surrounding you.
Gareth muttered, “If you guys start making out at the table, I swear I’m transferring schools.”
You winked at him. “Noted.”
In the weeks since that night, everything had shifted — but in the best way. You and Eddie were still you — still sneaking off, still laughing until your stomachs hurt, still thick as thieves — but now there were kisses between conversations and fingers laced under the lunch table. He left scribbled notes in your locker. You stole his flannels. Everyone in school knew, and honestly, neither of you cared.
Being with Eddie was easy, loud, chaotic, and soft in all the right places.
But even with how bold you both were, one line remained uncrossed: your parents.
Until one afternoon, completely unannounced, Eddie Munson showed up at your front door.
You were in your room when the knock came. Then the second knock. Then your mom calling your name, a note of confusion in her voice.
When you came down and rounded the corner into the living room, you nearly choked on your own breath.
Eddie was standing in front of your parents, hands folded politely in front of him, hair surprisingly tamed, black jeans swapped for clean, hole-free ones, and his usual graphic tee replaced with a collared shirt. A button-up, no less.
He looked like someone had dressed him for a church bake sale.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Sir," he said, with the most forced, dramatic smile you'd ever seen. “I hope I’m not intruding. I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”
Your mom was too stunned to speak. Your dad just blinked.
You, on the other hand, stood frozen behind them, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You could practically see the effort Eddie was putting into this performance — the polite tone, the slightly bowed head, the complete absence of any skull rings or visible chains.
He even brought a Tupperware of cookies. Store-bought. But he tried.
Your mom finally said, “Well… that’s very thoughtful of you.”
“Oh, I do my best,” Eddie replied with a small chuckle, glancing briefly at you behind their backs — and the look he gave you was pure mischief.
You were going to lose it.
Your dad finally broke the silence with a gruff, “Well, we weren’t expecting visitors.”
Eddie nodded solemnly. “Understandable, sir. I wouldn’t want to barge in, but I figured—” he held up the Tupperware like it was an offering to a god, “—it’d be rude not to say hello properly. Y’know, now that I’m… dating your daughter.”
Your mom gave you a sharp look. You stared back, eyes wide like I didn’t know he was coming either! And then you looked at Eddie, who just stood there, proudly holding his plastic box of cookies like it was a peace treaty.
“Anyway,” he continued, his voice syrupy sweet, “I just wanted to assure you both that I have the utmost respect for your daughter. She’s brilliant. And funny. And kind. Also, she's terrifying when she’s mad, so I know better than to screw it up.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow. Your mom tried to hide a smirk.
You were going to explode.
“I cleaned out my van this morning,” Eddie added helpfully. “Even vacuumed.”
Your mom blinked. “…Oh?”
“Just thought it might help my case,” he grinned.
And somehow, some way, it did.
Your parents weren’t charmed exactly — not yet — but Eddie’s sincerity was hard to deny. He wasn’t pretending to be someone else. He was just turning the volume down. Being presentable. Being brave.
After a few more awkward exchanges and a polite invitation to sit (which he accepted with way too much formality), you ended up next to him on the couch while your parents asked him safe, small-talk questions.
He answered everything — enthusiastically, but just shy of theatrical — and even managed to win a chuckle out of your dad with a well-timed joke about shop class.
When your mom stood to go grab drinks, Eddie leaned toward you slightly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “I feel like I’m in an episode of Leave It to Beaver.”
You snorted.
“Don’t laugh, you’ll blow my cover.”
You stifled your smile behind your hand.
And when your mom returned with a tray of iced tea and Eddie accepted his glass with a “thank you kindly, ma’am,” you realized just how far he was willing to go — not to change who he was, but to show the people you lived with that he cared. That he wasn’t just your bad influence. That he was something steadier, something that could be good for you.
He caught your gaze while sipping politely from his glass, and his pinky stuck out just a little — just for you. Just to make you laugh.
God, you were in trouble.
You walked him out with the front door clicking shut behind you, silence stretching over the porch like a blanket. The evening air was warm, a slow breeze rustling the trees above as you both stepped down the driveway toward his van.
Eddie was quiet for once, hands in his pockets, still wearing that ridiculous button-up. His curls had started to frizz a little from the heat, and the edges of his nerves were just starting to show again.
You didn’t say anything until you reached the passenger side.
“That was stupid,” you said, arms crossed, but your mouth was tugging into a smile.
Eddie turned to you, playing innocent. “Define stupid.”
“Showing up like that. The shirt, the cookies, the ‘yes ma’am, no sir’ routine—”
“Hey, that was sincere performance art,” he shot back with mock pride. “Do you know how hard it was not to swear for twenty minutes straight?”
You laughed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his cleaned-up façade. “It was so stupid.”
He gave you a crooked grin. “But did it work?”
You looked up at him, letting your eyes soften just enough to let the truth slip through. “Yeah.”
Eddie exhaled, just a little. “Good.”
You leaned in, pressing a hand to his chest, fingers curling against the collar of his shirt. “You didn’t have to prove anything to them.”
“I know,” he said softly, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “Wasn’t for them.”
Your heart fluttered.
You let that hang between you for a second before pulling back, smirking. “Still stupid.”
“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you like stupid.”
You nodded. “I like you.”
He kissed you gently — not rushed, not greedy, just warm and sure and a little amused. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Same.”
Then he opened the driver’s door with a dramatic bow. “Until our next ridiculous adventure, m’lady.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed him lightly toward the seat. “Go before my dad changes his mind.”
He blew you a kiss and climbed in. As the van rumbled to life and pulled away, you stood there barefoot on the driveway, grinning like an idiot.
Yeah, you liked stupid.
Especially when stupid came with a heart like his.
Things didn’t change overnight.
Your parents didn’t suddenly love Eddie — they weren’t inviting him over for Sunday dinners or quoting Iron Maiden lyrics at the table — but they were trying. The edge in their voice softened when they said his name. The disapproving glances turned into skeptical ones. Your mom even smiled at him once, unprompted.
That was a big day.
Eddie kept being Eddie. He didn’t start tucking in his shirts or going to church — he just showed up with a little more patience and a lot less noise when it came to your parents. He didn’t mock the rules anymore (at least not out loud), and you made sure not to push every boundary just to prove a point.
You were figuring it out. Together.
And as for the two of you?
It was good. Stupidly good.
The dynamic hadn’t shifted much — you were still sneaking off in his van, still laughing until they wheezed, still lying side by side under open skies talking about nothing and everything — but the label gave it something extra. Something real.
Calling each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” didn’t change who you were. It just put a word to what you'd already been feeling for a long time. Like a puzzle that had been finished for months but was missing that one last piece.
Now, it was all there. In place. Whole.
Sometimes, you’d look over at him while he ranted about guitar solos or rolled a joint with theatrical flair and think — God, how did I ever live without this?
And sometimes, he’d catch you staring and smirk. “You’re doing it again,” he’d tease.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
You'd smile, lean in, and say, “That’s because you are.”
And Eddie — blushing, grinning, stupid, hopeless Eddie — would mumble something like “Damn right,” and kiss you like he meant it.
Because he did.
And you never stopped letting him know you meant it, too.
summary: when you play games with your best friend, you win even when you lose.
wc: ~3k
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mixed POV, mutual pining, consensual voyeurism, fimasturbation, mutual masturbation, oral f!receiving, so much dirty talk, v. fingering, brief piv sex, mention of prior weed smoking, reader is still a little high so slight dubcon, big dick eddie strikes again, eddie and reader are in their 20s, friends to lovers
Your best friend Eddie was competitive by nature, and liked playing games he knew he could win.
He was always coming up with little challenges, like betting he could race you to his van or beat your high score in pinball at Palace Arcade. Back in high school, he even used to wager that he’d get a better grade on your tests in O’Donnell’s English class — something that rarely worked out in his favor, but you get the drift.
Over time the games had become a normal part of your relationship, so when you were relaxing by the Harrington’s pool after a swim one summer afternoon, you thought nothing of it when he bet that he could get upstairs and changed faster than you.
He’d been stealing glances at you all afternoon, lounging by the pool in your sinful little swimsuit. You were recently single, having just broken up with the boyfriend you’d been dating since back in high school.
Eddie had been so sick and tired of being forced to watch Brad paw all over you like you were his property. The guy was a dick, and you were so sweet and trusting that you’d put up with his bullshit for far too long.
With his sleek car and flashy clothes, Brad might have thought he was god’s gift to the women of Hawkins, but in Eddie’s opinion, he didn’t deserve a perfect angel like you.
When you’d finally come to your senses and ended the relationship, Eddie had been on top of the world. You see, he’d been patient for years, biding his time until he had a chance to get his hands on you.
He cherished your friendship, don’t get it wrong, but he was tired holding himself back from what he wanted. Playing the role of your doting best friend was getting old.
Even though you didn’t know it, you were the woman of Eddie Munson’s dreams — his fantasy girl and dearest friend rolled up into one delicious package.
And he wanted a taste.
“I bet I can race you.”
As soon as Eddie had uttered the words you’d giggled and bolted up out of your lounger, rushing inside through the Harrington’s sliding kitchen door and practically skidding on the shiny, polished wood floors.
Eddie was close on your heels and then whoops, he slid right into you, pinning you up against the wall. Everyone else was still outside frolicking in the water, so you were alone in the deserted house.
Eddie’s body was lithe but strong, with a scattering of tattoos that accentuated his smooth, pale skin. With his torso pressed flush against yours, you could feel the bulge in his shorts against the bare skin revealed by your tiny bikini.
You had been so pent up since you’d broken up with Brad that you were admittedly a bit hornier than usual, and the weed you’d smoked earlier that afternoon wasn’t helping matters at all. Even though your high had mostly worn off, a bit of that warm, fuzzy feeling still lingered, and had left you craving the comfort of someone’s touch.
Eddie was hot, you weren’t oblivious to his charms, but he was your friend which meant he was off limits.
Still, as he pushed up against you, the weight of his form against yours felt undeniably good and you found yourself grabbing onto the waistband of his swim trunks where they sat low on his slender hips. Innocently, of course, just to keep your balance.
You looked up at him through your eyelashes, fluttering them in a teasingly playful way that always made him get a little pink in the cheeks.
“Hmm, that’s not fair Eddie. You can’t keep me trapped here just so you can win.” You furrowed your brow at him in jest, but kept your hands on his waistband and even wiggled your scantily clad body against his a little, causing him to groan under his breath.
You swore you could feel him getting harder in his shorts; his face was flushed and his breath became ragged, eyes heavy-lidded in that sexy way that always made your stomach flutter.
He licked his lips and tilted his head back, looking down at you over the tip of his nose. “Yeah? Then let me go.”
“You promise you won’t run ahead?” you asked, your sweet voice lilting a path straight to his cock.
“I don’t know,” he debated with a crooked grin. “That depends. Are we still playing?”
You nodded and narrowed your eyes. “Maybe I should hold onto you, so you don’t try to cheat?”
“Nah, you can trust me.” He winked. “But what do I get if I win?”
You paused to think for a moment, releasing the grip of one hand to reach up and toy with the gold chain that hung around his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed thickly.
“How about, if I win you have to do something for me. And if you win, I have to do something for you?” you finally proposed.
“What’s that include?” he asked, a throaty mumble, hips still pressed close enough that you could feel the heft of his cock. “Anything I want?”
When you nodded, he let out a wild laugh and tore off in an unexpected dash towards the staircase, and you squealed in protest, following close behind until you bumped into him just outside the guest bedroom door.
Eddie liked to win, but he’d slowed down enough to let you catch up with him. He might have been competitive but he wasn’t a fool
You grabbed onto his waistband again, squishing your breasts into his chest, your firm nipples brushing against his bare skin and making him shiver.
“You said you wouldn’t cheat. I think that means I win,” you insisted, face hovering just inches from his.
“Uh huh,” he breathed against your lips as he clumsily fiddled with the doorknob behind you, finally getting it open, then walking you backwards into the room. “Actually, I think it was a tie.”
As you moved together toward the bed, his eyes never left yours. He wanted you so badly and you could feel it.
“Okay, fine. You first,” you said softly, stepping back slightly but still leaving your hands at his waist. “What do you want, Eddie?”
He let out a low chuckle that was almost a growl, his mind greedy with so many possibilities. To finally have you there, holding onto him, looking at him the way you were, it was almost too good to be true.
Still, he wasn’t sure how far he should go. You were his friend and he didn’t want to push things too fast and scare you away. Then he got an idea.
”Well, we probably shouldn’t touch each other, right?” he asked, large eyes searching yours. “Being friends and all.”
You nodded, wide eyes earnest. “No, we definitely shouldn’t. It would be wrong.”
He leaned in closer, lips ghosting over yours, wanting so badly to kiss you, but not quite brave enough to be the one to do it first.
“But, that doesn’t mean you can’t touch yourself.”
When he stepped back to look at you, he found you flustered.
“I-I don’t do that.” You could feel your face growing hot, your eyes pleading innocence as they stared back into his.
“C’mon, you don’t really expect me to believe that? Everyone does it.” He smirked, eyes twinkling. “That was the deal. You have to do something for me…or are you too scared?”
You couldn’t help but bristle at his assumption. You weren’t afraid of anything, especially not a silly dare from your best friend.
“No, of course I’m not scared.”
His smile was infuriatingly smug. “Okay then, go ahead. Get on the bed.”
You nodded, still holding his eyes in challenge. The way he was looking at you felt electric, and you suddenly wanted to prove him wrong. Give him the best show of his life.
You climbed onto the bed, lying down on your back, head and shoulders propped up against the plush Harrington guest room pillows as he turned to shut the door. Everyone else was thankfully still outside.
When he returned to stand next to the bed, you looked up and raised your eyebrows.
“You’re not going to just stand there, are you?” you asked, feeling a bit vulnerable but also turned on at the prospect of him watching. The way he was looking down at you, all dark wolfish eyes, was making your pussy throb.
But you wanted him closer.
“I can lie down if it makes you more comfortable.” When you nodded, he crawled onto the bed next to you and sprawled on his side, eyes heavy as they raked down your body, delectable in the warm light coming through the bedroom window.
“Just pretend I’m not here,” he whispered. “Show me what you’d do.”
You nestled into the pillows a little further and closed your eyes, trying to imagine he wasn’t there and that you were alone in your bedroom with nothing but your fantasies.
You let your hand trace down your stomach until you reached your bikini bottoms, then you lightly ran a finger over the seam of your pussy through the material. “Is this what you wanted, Eddie?”
“Mmhmm,” he hummed affirmatively and you heard him let out a shaky breath.
Wanting to tease him further, you slipped your hand under the band of your bottoms and felt, with a touch of surprise, how wet you already were.
You brushed over your clit slowly with your slick fingertips and then let out an involuntary sigh.
The mattress dipped as Eddie moved a bit closer. You opened your eyes and turned your head in his direction. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, just getting a little more comfortable. Keep going, okay?”
You had closed your eyes and resumed your gentle touches when you felt him tug on the string of your bottoms to loosen them.
“This okay?” he asked, his warm breath fanning over the side of your face. His mouth was closer than you had realized and you swallowed hard as you kept moving your hand.
“Y-yes,” you sighed. When the strip of material fell away, he let out a groan.
“Shit.”
When you opened your eyes, you saw him staring down at your fingers, mesmerized as they drew slow, rhythmic circles over your clit.
You were pretty sure no one had ever looked at you with that same kind of smoldering heat. It was intoxicating — seeing the desire in his eyes.
When he finally tilted his head to look up at your face, it was like his brown eyes were melting into yours.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he ordered, voice soft but commanding as he looked back down at your hand. “Yeah, just like that. Nice and slow. Fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect.”
He ran his hand down the fuzzy trail of hair on his stomach and over the strained front of his swim trunks, drawing your attention to their very visible bulge.
You licked your lips.
“D-do I get what I want now?” you asked, almost breathless as you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily to let out a soft whimper.
“Yeah, of course.” His voice was a hoarse whisper as he cupped his palm over the front of his shorts. “Tell me what you want me to do. Fuckin’ anything.”
Eddie would have done whatever you asked in that moment. All he knew was that he needed to feel you — to touch you and taste you. More than anything else in his life. More than he needed the air that filled his lungs.
“I-I want to watch you touch yourself too.” You gave him a naughty smile. “Want to see you, Eddie.”
It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to hear, but he pushed down his trunks with a sigh of relief, cock springing up and growing almost impossibly stiff as soon as he grasped it in his hand.
“You see what you do to me?” he murmured, giving himself a few slow strokes. “How hard I am for you?”
“Uh huh.” Your wide eyes were locked on where he was gripping himself above a tuft of soft, dark curls. He was deliciously thick and long, bigger than you’d imagined even in your wildest dreams — and you’d admittedly had a few of those over the years.
He squeezed himself and let out a throaty growl. “Bet you feel so fucking good. You nice and wet for me?”
You felt a flutter of excitement low in your belly at his words. Feeling brave, you used your fingers in a v-shape to spread yourself slightly so he could see the way you glistened for him.
“Mmm…you make me so wet, Eddie.”
He groaned at the sight, slowing down his strokes momentarily so he didn’t bust right then and there. “Fuck. Bet you’re real tight too. Why don’t you use one of those pretty fingers and show me.“
You did as he asked, slowly inserting a finger inside and gasping as you curled it upward.
He let out a low whimper and you could feel the vibration of the bed as he increased the pace of his hand.
“Pretend it’s mine. Tell me how tight you’re squeezing me.”
“Mmm, yeah, Eddie—so tight.”
He inhaled sharply. “Doing so fuckin’ good. Think you can take another one for me?”
You nodded against the pillow, then added a second finger and curled it forward just like the first, arching your back slightly off the bed. “Wish they were yours, Eddie. Y-yours are so much thicker. I think about them all the time.”
Your words were almost too much and he knew couldn’t last much longer. He needed more and he wasn’t above begging.
“Can I — fuck — can I eat that pretty pussy?” he choked out, not even trying to mask his desperation. “Please.”
“Hmm, I dunno,” you teased, relishing in his torment. “Friends don’t do that sort of thing, do they?”
When he let out a pathetic sound, his big brown eyes so wide and pleading, you decided to take pity on him. He was your best friend, after all.
You pulled your hand away from yourself and brought your slick, coated fingers up to his mouth. “Well, maybe just a taste.”
He parted his lips, greedily sucking your fingers between them, circling his warm tongue around your silky digits as he licked them clean.
“Do I taste good, Eddie?” you asked as you watched his pretty eyes roll into the back of his skull.
He released your fingers with a pop and let out a hum of satisfaction, hand still moving between his legs, heavy balls bouncing with each smooth flick of his wrist. “Like fuckin’ heaven. Please—wanna make you cum on my tongue.”
When you nodded, he let go of himself and eagerly moved to lie on his stomach between your parted thighs, his mouth hovering over your center, breath hot and eyes still locked on yours.
He wrapped his arms around your thighs, biceps flexing and fingers digging into your flesh as he spread you open, then let his tongue dip between your folds. He licked a few stripes up and down, moaning as your sweet arousal coated his tongue.
You ran your hands through his hair, soft curls cascading through your fingers as he hummed against you and ground his hips into the mattress.
Lost for a moment, he finally pulled back, eyes flicking up to yours as he used his fingers of one hand to spread your puffy lips, revealing your clit; the slippery, shiny jewel just begging to be licked. He attached his plush lips around the swollen bud and suckled it gently, fingers digging in firmer to hold you down as you tried to buck your hips up off the bed.
“Oh—oh my god,” you breathed as the suction of his warm mouth brought you hurtling to the edge.
He gave a harsh suck, strong enough to make a slick sound then gently shook his head, the pleasurable vibration causing you to throw yourself back against the pillows with a helpless moan. You grabbed onto his hair even harder, pulling it slightly and causing him to whine against you.
“K-keep doing that, please,” you begged and he humbly complied, continuing his assault on your clit while inserting two fingers inside you and curling them as you lifted your hips to meet his mouth in ecstasy.
You were lost, all inhibition gone, your body no more than a pulsing core of need. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and all you wanted was more. More of his mouth and his tongue and his fingers and the way they were making you feel.
“Eddie—“ you released a broken moan of his name as your climax started to build to an almost unbearable peak. But he didn’t stop. He just kept going, his rhythm never faltering as continued to work you to your high.
All you could hear was the wet suction of his mouth and his occasional groan over your breathy sighs.
When you looked down and saw him tilt his head to the side, looking up at you as his tongue flicked over your clit before reattaching his lips, your last remaining tether finally snapped. You felt the pleasure wash over you in wave after wave, filling you all the way down to the tips of your toes. You closed your eyes and cried out his name. Not caring if anyone overheard you.
When you gently nudged at his head, he pulled back breathless, lips shiny and swollen, pink and almost impossibly full. He kissed your inner thigh tenderly, his faint stubble causing you to giggle from how it tickled the sensitive skin.
Then he rolled onto his side, shuffling so that he was lying next to you on the bed.
He was still hard and you could feel his erection pressing firm and hot into your side. You suddenly wanted to have him closer, inside you, more than anything you’d ever wanted before.
“I bet you can’t make me cum again,” you whispered, lips curling into a grin as you let a hand trail down his heaving chest. “Bet you can’t fuck me until I’m screaming your name.”
His eyebrows perked up as he watched you untie the top of your bikini and throw it to the floor. If Eddie was one thing, he was competitive by nature.
Wearing a cocky smirk, he crawled over top of you, hovering on one arm as he lined his leaking cock up with your entrance. Then he let out a deep sigh of relief as he finally let himself sink deep inside what he’d wanted for so, so long.
You see, Eddie liked playing games with you that he knew he could win.
Thank you for reading! ☀️
Eddie tag list: @mrsjellymunson @madelynraemunson @hippiegoth97 @princesssunderworld @kellsck @theold-ultraviolence @hiimjulie
kissing lesson (perv!eddie x inexperienced!reader)
summary: you tell eddie you’ve never made out with anyone before so he offers to teach you.
cw: f!reader , a little dumbification , heavy petting
an: as requested by a lovely nonnie , inspired by this hc list! banner pics just for funsies, no descriptive language used for reader!
you’re sitting at the table in eddie’s kitchen, spinning the stem of a cherry between your fingers. there’s an empty soda can between you and a half eaten bag of chips by him, and neither of you are doing a damn thing except talking shit and wasting time.
“what’s the worst kiss you’ve ever had?” you ask, tossing the cherry stem toward the trash and missing completely.
eddie smirks, leaning back in his chair like he’s just been waiting for that question. “oh, easy. mall parking lot. ninth grade. swear the girl tried to lick inside my nose.”
you laugh. “what the hell—was she confused?”
“maybe just ambitious,” he says, shrugging. “what about you?”
you hesitate. twist a ring on your finger. “i… don’t really have one.”
“what, never had a bad kiss?”
“not really. i haven’t had enough to compare.”
that makes his eyebrows lift. “how many have you had?”
you give him a pointed look. “none of your business.”
“oh, so like… one?”
“maybe.”
he leans forward on his elbows, voice dropping. “maybe?”
you sigh, cheeks warming. “fine. i’ve kissed people. just—not like… like that.”
“like what?”
you glance away. “slow. messy. with tongue. whatever.”
he blinks. pauses. and then he’s laughing, loud and delighted.
you cross your arms, suddenly flushed. “shut up.”
“wait, seriously?” he says, grinning. “you’ve never made out with anyone?”
you shake your head quickly. “i mean, not properly.”
he whistles low. “christ. you’re tellin’ me no one’s ever sucked on your tongue a little? licked into your mouth, nice and slow?”
your face burns. you look at him, eyes wide. “should they have?”
eddie’s already shifting in his seat, spreading his thighs wider under the table. “jesus, sweetheart.”
you roll your eyes. “stop acting like it’s a crime.”
he grins, all teeth. “it kinda is, actually. that’s like… a public service someone’s failed to provide.”
you scoff, leaning back in your chair. “so dramatic.”
he hums, low and thoughtful. “that’s tragic.”
“you’re being dramatic.”
he licks his lips. leans in. “i could show you.”
your eyes snap to his.
he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. like he hasn’t already seen every thought behind your eyes. “just a lesson. nothing crazy. i’m very professional.”
you laugh nervously. “professional?”
“mm hmm. top marks in tongue sucking 101. hands on instruction. or, uh—mouths on.”
you shove his shoulder but don’t lean away. “you’re such a perv.”
“and you’re curious.”
his voice dips. eyes flick to your mouth. “just one kiss, sweetheart. we’ll go slow.”
you try to laugh it off, but your voice comes out softer. “you’re so full of shit.”
he shrugs. “maybe. but you’re the one sittin’ here thinkin’ about it.”
you hesitate. your thighs press together.
you open your mouth to argue—don’t get the chance.
“c’mere,” he says, already pushing back his chair. “lesson one: come sit on my lap.”
“…okay,” you whisper.
and that’s when he pulls you into his lap—and the lesson starts.
you step between his knees and he guides you down with big, warm hands, settling you on his lap like you belong there. he smells like leather and weed and old laundry detergent. his rings are cold where they brush your thighs.
you sit still, a little stiff. your heart’s beating way too loud.
he doesn’t kiss you yet.
instead, he tips your chin up with two fingers and leans in close—close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your lips, the brush of his nose against yours. his voice is barely above a whisper.
“just relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “i’ll go slow.”
your mouth parts slightly. he smiles.
“don’t think,” he tells you. “just follow me. easy.”
then he kisses you.
and it is easy—because he makes it that way. slow and soft at first, just lips. he pulls back slightly, then nudges in again, coaxing your mouth to open a little more with the barest brush of his tongue. his hand moves up, cradling your jaw, holding you steady as he kisses you again, this time deeper.
your lashes flutter.
his tongue licks into your mouth—gentle, steady, warm. you copy the motion without thinking, and he hums like you’ve done something right.
“good,” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “just like that. don’t rush.”
your hands grip his shoulders, clinging for balance as he kisses you again—longer this time. messier. your lips part wider, your tongue starts to move, and something clicks in the way he groans into it, like he feels it too.
“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, tongue dragging wet and heavy over yours again. “you’re such a fast learner.”
before you realize, you get lost in it— his lips are sticky with your gloss. spit’s smeared at the corners of his mouth, and more drips when he pulls back just a little, panting. your tongue chases his. chases the mess. he chuckles, cupping your cheek in one hand and wiping your lip with his thumb, then sucking it into his mouth.
“fuck, you taste good,” he says, voice all warm and gravel soft. “what is that? cherry?”
your breath stutters. “guess.”
his hand slips under your skirt, big and warm on your bare thigh. his other hand slides around the back of your neck, tugging you close again, his nose bumping yours.
“focus, sweetheart.” his voice drops an octave. “i’m tryin’ to teach you.”
you blink, dazed. your thighs clench over his. he’s already hard underneath you, has been since the second time you sucked his tongue into your mouth, slow and messy and eager. you’re still not sure if you’re doing it right, but eddie keeps groaning and twitching under you, so. probably.
“open up,” he whispers.
you do.
his tongue pushes into your mouth again, slow and thick. not kissing, not anymore—just licking, deep and lazy, like he’s savoring you. you whimper, hips twitching forward without meaning to. he’s palming himself now, slow under the table where you can’t see. you can feel the movement, the tension in his arms. feel his cock pressing up under your soaked panties through both layers of denim. he huffs a laugh, pulling back just enough to speak.
“jesus,” he breathes, lips brushing yours. “you gonna kiss every guy like this now?”
you shake your head fast, eyes wide. “n-no—just you.”
he groans. his grip on your thigh tightens, jaw flexing.
“yeah, baby. fuckin’ right just me.”
his tongue’s back in your mouth before you can say anything else. sloppier now. your chin’s wet. his spit’s in your mouth and yours is on his. he keeps it going—licking, sucking, breathing you in. you think you could come from this alone, from the heat of him under you, from the way he keeps muttering—
“god, that’s it. sweet fucking girl.”
“so eager, bet you’d let me fuck your throat just to practice.”
“you feelin’ dumb yet, baby? you look it.”
your lashes flutter, and he smiles against your mouth.
“there she is,” he purrs. “knew you’d get stupid on my tongue.”
you try to kiss him again but miss, mouth sliding over his cheek instead, and he lets out the filthiest laugh—then grabs your face with both hands and kisses you. rough. filthy. his tongue everywhere. all spit and noise and heat.
you’re squirming now. moaning into it. trying not to grind down but failing. he groans again, hand flying to your ass and grabbing, dragging you hard over his cock like he needs the friction or he’ll die.
you barely manage a word. “eddie—”
“shhh,” he says, licking at your lips again. “lesson’s not over yet, baby.”
he cups your chin. tilts your head. keeps kissing you like it’s his fucking job. you never want it to end.
you think you’ll beg if he stops. you think he’d make you.
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