Summary: Eddie Munson wanted you to be his girl more than he’s ever wanted anything and when Eddie wanted something, he got it. Even if it meant fucking it out of you.
Content Warning: 18+ Smut, Penetration (P in V), Slight Spanking, Dirty Talk, Profanity/Swearing, Use of Handcuffs.
Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune
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“C’mon, baby. Say it. I know you fucking want to.”
He slams his hips into you hard and fast, his pace relentless as he was fucking you so hard and deep that you were practically drooling onto his bedsheets.
“Fucking. Say. It.” He demanded, wrapping his right hand around the chain link of the handcuffs he had around your wrists- pinning your arms behind your back. Once he grips it, he begins to yank the chain towards him- using it to pull you back onto his cock.
“Oh- oh my god!” You gasp, your mouth dry and hoarse from moaning and crying out underneath him. But he didn’t care. Eddie was going to continue using and abusing your tight, wet cunt until you finally gave him what he wanted. Until he finally had ownership of you.
“Yeah?” He coos “That feel good? Taking me nice and deep in that pussy? Of course it does, sweetheart. Don’t know why I even ask. As if you’re not too cock-drunk and fucked out to answer me anyway, right? Fucking you so stupid that you can barely even form a sentence.”
“Eddie!” You squeal as he begins to hit a new spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling into your skull.
“You come over here every other day begging to get dicked down but you don’t wanna be my girl? What’s that about, huh?” He tsks “Answer me, you fucking brat.”
“N-no!” You choke out, gasping for air as his hips clap against your ass hard enough to jolt you forward “I- oh shit!”
“You what?” He asks, yanking the cuff chain back far enough to have you arching your back, causing you to take his cock even deeper.
“Fuck!” You scream “I’m- oh fuuuuck. I’m scared, Eddie.”
“Scared of what, doll?” He asks, watching the way his cock disappeared into you over and over again. He never got sick of the sight. That’s why he needed you to say it so bad. He needed to lock you down. “Tell me what you’re scared of.”
“I-I don’t know.” You stammer, squeezing your eyes shut at the way that you could feel him in your fucking guts. The way he was fucking you was intense enough to make you cry. Almost bordering on too much.
“You scared that you’re going to realize that you need me? That you and I will be so fucking good together, baby?”
You try to focus on his words but you can’t help but realize how obscene the sounds were that your pussy was making as he fucked into you.
“Ohhh god!” You cry out.
“You feel how good that feels?” He asks “You could have this every day, baby. All you’ve gotta do is say it. Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you belong to me.”
Hearing him speak like that when he was balls deep in you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge. That delicious feeling of release. You wanted it bad. So bad.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Say it. You know you want to. You know I’d treat you good. Give it to you like this any time you wanted. Don’t you want that? Hm? My big fucking cock stretching you open and fucking you sore as much as you want? Anytime. Anywhere. Just say it, baby. Say it because I’m not gonna stop. Not until you’re mine. I’ll go all fucking night if I have to. If that’s what it takes.”
His words only serve to get you wetter. Hearing him tell you how much he wanted you was the ultimate turn on. The way he was taking you as if he already owned you. In a way, he already did. The only thing he had left to claim was your heart.
“You know I always get what I was, sweetness. I always do. And I want you. God, I want you. So, I’m gonna keep giving you this dick and making you fucking take it until you say it. Say it, baby. Fucking say it. Let me love you, baby. Let me take care of you.”
“I-It’s yours!” You choke out, whimpering into the bedsheets “My pussy’s yours.”
“No, baby.” Eddie tsks, shaking his head as he smacks your ass harshly- causing you to yell out. “That’s really nice of you, doll, but you know what I want. I don’t just want this pussy, baby. I want you. All of you. Every fucking part. I’ll cuff you to the goddamn bed for hours. Fucking days. As long as it takes until you break. You’re not leaving this bed until you’re mine. All mine.”
“No.”
The word caused his hips to still. Stopping mid-thrust as he growls. Quickly pulling out of you. You whimper at the loss as you watch Eddie reach for the key to the handcuffs, leaning back to free one of your wrists. Only one. He wasn’t finished with you.
“On your fucking back.” He orders.
You quickly obey, lying down flat as he stares down at you.
“Put your arm up.”
You follow directions, letting him cuff you to the headboard as he watches you with heat in his eyes. If that didn’t break you then he would try something else.
“Open.” He demands, using his large ring-clad hands to pry your thighs open. He grabs his dick, rubbing the tip up and down your folds before quickly plunging back inside of your heat- causing you to gasp.
“Holy shit!” You moan, suddenly wishing that your hands were freed so that you could grab onto him as he sunk himself deep into you over and over. “Eddie!”
“Fucking look at you. You don’t wanna be with me but you scream my fucking name like it’s the only thing you can remember. You act like your pussy doesn’t fucking gush around me every time I stick my dick in you. You know I’d treat you good, baby. Stop fucking hiding from me. You’re gonna be my girl. Even if I’ve gotta keep chasing you. Even if I’m gotta keep fucking you like I hate you. Especially when I know that it’s the opposite. When I love you.”
The admission caused you to moan out, your mouth falling open in shock and pleasure.
“Fuck, baby. Is that what you need to hear?” He asks “That I love you? I love you, sweetheart. I’m not gonna stop fucking you until you tell me you love me back. C’mon. Stop being fucking stubborn.”
He shifts his hips so that he was thrusting downwards into you in a way that had you breathless and gasping for air. You were so close.
“I….love…you.” He groans out between deep thrusts “C’mon baby, say it back. I know you feel it too. Fucking tell me. Tell me.”
“Eddie, I-“ You gasp out, feeling every fucking inch of him punch into you.
“C’mon sweetheart. Say it. Look at me when you fucking say it.” He demands, grabbing your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. To stare deep into those brown doe eyes of his that had you melting and gushing and….in love. Totally and completely in love.
“It’s right there, angel. You’re so close. Just tell me. Please tell me.” He pleads.
“I love you, Eddie.” You choke out “I- fuck, I love you.”
“Yeah?” He breathes, his heart practically bursting when he finally heard those words come from your mouth “Fuck, baby!” He cries out “Oh fuck!”
He felt out of control. Diving and snapping his hips into you like he was going crazy.
“Say it again, baby.” He pleads “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Eddie.”
“Fuck, sweetheart! You’re gonna make me cum!” He moans, his jaw quivering. “God, I love you, baby. I fucking love you. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” You moan “I’m all yours.”
“Fuck!” He pants “Again. Say it again.”
“I’m yours!” You scream out “Wanna be yours! I’m…gonna- fuck! Gonna c-cum, Eddie!”
“Me too, baby.” He whimpers “Me too. Wanna cum in my girl. Wanna fill you up. Let me fill you up. Please, baby.”
“Okay.” You nod “Do what you want with me. I belong to you.”
“Ohhhh fuuuuck!” Eddie gasps “Baby, I c-can’t hold on much longer. Need you to…oh, Christ!”
He reaches down between you, using the pad of his thumb to roughly grind against your clit. It was just what you needed. That’s why you were in love with him. He always knew what you needed.
“Cum for me, baby! C’mon, sweetheart! Give it to me!”
“Eddie, I’m c-cumming! I- holy fucking…oh god!”
He watches the way your body shakes beneath him, your eyes rolling back as you gasped for air. He loved seeing you come apart for him. Completely his mercy.
“Fuck yes! Atta girl! That’s my girl! Gonna give you this cum, baby. Gonna fucking cum in you. Gonna make you mine. Oh shit!”
His mouth drops open in ecstasy as he releases inside of you, filling you with enough cum to have you leaking for a week. The thought of it was enough to get him going again. His girl. Leaking his cum.
His body gives out as he flops onto the mattress beside you, trying to catch his breath. He reaches for the key to the handcuffs, gently releasing you as he scoops you into his arms and pulls you close- letting you rest your head on his chest. You were silent the whole time, in post orgasmic bliss as he lights up a cigarette- taking drags of it as he stares at the ceiling.
“I meant it, you know.” He says, his head turning towards you “I’m in love with you.”
“Really?” You laugh “I couldn’t tell.”
“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes “At least you know now.”
“I love you too, Eddie.” You reply softly “I mean it. If you want me to be yours, I’m ready.”
He stare at you for a long while before putting out his cigarette, leaning towards you as he kisses your lips tenderly. This kiss felt different than all the others. Because it was the first kiss you would share after becoming his girl.
“Sweetheart,” He says, grinning as he pulls back to look at you “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”
summary: you and your coworker, eddie, are polar opposites when it comes to aesthetic. but maybe you have more than just a love for music in common deep down...
wc: 7.7k
cw: coworkers to lovers, opposites attract, modern au, jealousy, marking/hickeys, pining eddie, p in v sex (unprotected) oral (f recieving) fingering, dirty talk, pet names (princess, sweetheart, sweet girl dirty/filthy girl), eddie talks a lot during sex, over stimulation, multiple female orgasms, D/s dynamic, dom!eddie, cream pie, after care, fluffy ending, an adorable one eyed cat named ozzy.
love notes: ahhhhhh this has been in the brainstorming stage foreverrrrrr. i hope you guys love it. i really love giving eddie a cat in modern au fics. i just think its so cute. ummmm i really enjoyed the smut in here as well, so hopefully you do too hehe
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"So, over here are the new releases," your coworker's voice sounded vastly uninterested in teaching you literally anything. "Mostly a mix of stuff. That's newly released. Hence the name."
He seemed almost bored with training you. He ran a hand through his long curly brown hair, like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Any other questions, rookie?"
You were new to Melody Records, a tiny record store tucked into a corner of downtown. You'd been looking for a job for a while, something with a little more character than flipping burgers, and you saw a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window. Sure, you didn’t look like the usual employee here, but you knew your stuff. The owner, John Melody, had hired you on the spot after you geeked out about finding an original pressing of a Joy Division bootleg.
But Eddie, your new coworker, clearly didn't see it that way.
To him, you were just the new girl. With your pink cardigan and your little bow in your hair, a stark contrast to the black band tees and ripped jeans that seemed to be the store's unofficial uniform.
"Are you always this... 'enthusiastic' when you train new employees?"
He definitely didn't expect the sarcasm that dripped over every word. His head tilted, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. A slow, easy grin spread across his face, the kind that made you wonder if it was genuine or just another part of the uniform.
"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Just trying to manage expectations. Most newbies last about a week. Usually after trying to alphabetize 'The' under 'T'. Plus... you don't really look the part, sweetheart."
You grimaced at the name. It was condescending, almost paternalistic. You hated it.
"And what 'part' is that, exactly?"
He gestured vaguely at you, at your pastel outfit and the little floral purse you had tucked behind the counter. "The Melody Records part. John's got a thing for lost causes, I guess."
You straightened up, pulling your shoulders back. The soft cashmere of your cardigan suddenly felt like armor. "Oh that is hilarious."
You let out an actual laugh at that as he stood there, eyebrow quirked and arms crossed. "Yeah? How so?"
"Eddie Munson. King of nonconforming, judging someone on their aesthetic." The words came out sharp, precise, each one a tiny pinprick. "My musical knowledge is just as deep as yours, I guarantee it. The fact that I like skirts doesn't mean I can't tell you the difference between black metal and death metal."
Eddie's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he recovered. He leaned against the counter, the worn wood creaking under his weight, and watched you, a new, more assessing light in his gaze.
"So the princess has bite," he mused, the nickname an experiment. "Alright, then. Go help him."
He nodded over to a man who had just walked in, leather vest creaking as he browsed the punk section. You recognized the patch on his back from a local band, The Flesh Riot. He looked lost.
"I could be wrong," you said, not moving an inch, "but something tells me he's looking for early UK anarcho-punk. I'd start him with a little Crass, maybe some Conflict. If he wants something more American, MDC's a safe bet."
You turned back to Eddie, raising an eyebrow in perfect, challenging symmetry to his earlier gesture. "Or I could just point him to the Taylor Swift section. Since I'm probably only qualified to sell that, right?"
A choked, surprised laugh escaped Eddie's lips. It was rough, unused, but it was real. He looked at the man, then back at you, and for the first time, the condescending amusement was gone, replaced by something grudgingly impressed.
"Let's just get you trained on the register system. It's older than dirt." Eddie sounded almost... subdued.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks of shared shifts, bickering over the correct way to file compilations, and the slow, steady erosion of Eddie's initial assumptions.
You were here together after close, doing your first Sunday night inventory together. The usual music was shut off, and instead some low folk you could both agree on played distantly on your phone.
That's when you heard the sound again. Skittering above you, like something was running across the floor upstairs.
"Oh my god, what is that sound? It's driving me insane." You groaned.
Eddie looked up from his clipboard, pausing for a moment. "There's an apartment upstairs."
"Okay. Who lives there? A bunch of rowdy gnomes?"
He shakes his head and looks back to his list, hiding a smile. "Nah, John used to back in the day before he married Marie and they had kids. Now he rents it out to some lowlife with a cat."
"There's been a random guy living above our workplace that I don't know, and you just... didn't tell me?" You stared at him, aghast. "For three weeks? You let me walk into the store alone for three weeks, knowing there's a stranger upstairs?"
You slapped him on the arm, half-joking, half-serious.
He rubbed the spot where you'd hit him, feigning injury. "Hey! What was that for?"
"For being a terrible coworker! What if he's a creep?"
"Oh he's definitely a creep. The creepiest. Hear he worships Satan and sacrifices bunnies in the upstairs bathroom." He's looking dead at you as he says this, and you don't believe it for a second.
You roll your eyes and go back to tallying the 7-inch singles, but you can't shake the image of some pale, gaunt figure performing a dark ritual in the bathroom while you were stocking shelves downstairs.
An hour or so goes by and you're finally finished. Eddie walks you to the front door but doesn't head out with you.
"Uh, is there more to do? If you're going to stay and take all the extra hours that's kind of ass, Munson. I need money too." You said, half-joking, but still confused.
He just smirked and gestured upstairs. "I'm going up."
"To the devil worshipping, bunny sacrificialist's apartment?"
"Hey, he's also a really good cat owner and guitarist. Don't put people in a box." He says with a wink.
"Wait, you live here?" The question comes out as a choked whisper, a flurry of realizations hitting you all at once.
"Surprise," he says, but there's no malice in it now, just a weird sort of gentleness you haven't heard before. "Told you. Total creep up there."
He doesn't wait for you to process, just gives you a two-fingered salute and shuts the door behind you, locking it from the inside. You watch him head upstairs.
Another month goes by and you're early for your shift. Shivering from the cold, you hold a tray with two hot coffees in one hand, unlocking the door with the other.
You and Eddie have built up a bond of sorts. You talk about music, of course, debating the merits of '80s goth versus '90s grunge until your voices are hoarse. He's learned you have a soft spot for sad, twee indie pop, and you've discovered his surprisingly encyclopedic knowledge of folk singer-songwriters.
The bickering is still there, but it's morphed. It's less barbed, more like a well-rehearsed routine. It's comfortable. Sometimes even bordering on flirting.
"It is like, freezing out there dude." You say to the store, assuming he's already downstairs. "I swear I am not built for the cold."
You set the coffee tray down, shrugging off your pink peacoat and unwrapping your scarf. "Brought you coffee. But, don’t worry, it's black. Because I know you're too good for sugar and cream like a normal person." You're talking to the empty store, the words echoing slightly in the quiet space.
A floorboard by the back creaks and you turn, expecting to see Eddie.
What does greet you is a woman, slightly disheveled in a way that screams 'I just had a very good night'. Her dark hair is a mess, and she's wearing what is unmistakably one of Eddie's sweatshirts over a tight black dress. She pauses, shoes in one hand and she looks just as surprised to see you.
"Oh!" You both say at the same time.
The awkwardness hangs in the air, thick and suffocating.
"Um... Eddie said the exit was down here but... I think I picked the wrong door."
"Yeah, the one on the left... goes out to the alley," you manage, your throat suddenly tight. "Easy mistake."
As if on cue, you hear fast footsteps coming down the stairs, and Eddie appears, pulling on a t-shirt, hair a chaotic mess. He freezes when he sees you, then sees the woman, then looks back at you.
"Shit. Hey. Morning."
"Morning," you parrot back, trying very hard to look anywhere but at them.
This is fine. This is totally fine.
Why do you care what he does? It's his home, technically. He can have whoever he wants over.
But the image of her, in his sweatshirt, flashes in your mind. A hot, acidic feeling bubbles in your stomach.
She's pretty, in a way that is very different to you. Sharp, defined angles, a confident smirk. She's one of the sleek black cats to your fluffy pink kitten.
"So, this is awkward," she says with a small, breathy laugh, breaking the tension.
"Hey, no worries sweetheart, I'll walk you out. Left door, okay?" Eddie says, all charm and confidence. The nickname, the one he'd used on you that first day, now lands differently when directed at someone else. It feels cheap. Transactional.
The girl and Eddie disappear through the back door, her giving you an awkward wave. The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with unspoken things. You busy yourself with getting the register ready, the movements stiff and robotic. The back door opens and the shuts a few minutes later. You don't look up.
"Listen," Eddie's voice is low, careful. "About that."
"Don't," you cut him off, your own voice surprisingly steady. "You don't owe me an explanation. It's your... apartment. Your life."
"Yeah, sure," he starts heading toward you and pulling his hair into a low ponytail. His neck had faint marks you pretended not to notice. "But it's also our workplace. And that was... not my most professional moment. I'm sorry."
You risk a glance at him. He looks genuine, which only makes it worse. You force a smile that feels brittle on your face.
"You're fine. I brought coffee." You point at the tray, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
He looks at the two cups, then at you. He picks up the one you designated as his, his name on it in your bubbly handwriting with a little heart, and takes a long sip. A small, genuine smile touches his lips.
"Thanks, princess," he says, the nickname falling between you, heavy with new, complicated layers. "This might just save my life."
"Speaking of... professional…" You finish counting the money. "I think you should probably stop calling me that."
He pauses mid-sip, raising an eyebrow. "Princess?"
"Yes. We're coworkers. Equals. It feels... demeaning. Now."
"Now?" A smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. You want to wipe it off with your own hands.
"Yes. Now," you snap, your carefully constructed composure cracking. "Maybe when I started I was your 'rookie', but I've earned my spot here. I'm not your princess."
For a long moment, he just looks at you.
Something flashes on his face that looks a lot like hurt, which is ridiculous. He nods, slowly.
"Okay. Fair enough."
"Good."
"Good."
The morning proceeds in a tense, quiet efficiency. The usual banter is gone, replaced by the sterile sound of tape guns sealing boxes and the rustle of plastic sleeves. You're pointedly not looking at him, and he's pointedly not talking to you.
"I don't, like, have women over every night or something." He says at one point, when there's a lull in customers.
You pause. "I really didn't ask."
"I know, I know. I just... wanted to clarify that I'm not some... man-whore." He looks so awkward saying the words it almost makes you smile.
Almost.
"Your neck says otherwise, Eddie." You retort, the words laced with a venom you didn't know you possessed. The instant it leaves your mouth, you regret it. It's none of your business.
"Jesus," he breathes out, running a hand over the faint purple marks. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It was... a one-time thing. She liked my band's set. We had a few drinks. It wasn't anything."
He looks so genuinely distressed, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, that your anger dissolves into a confusing, hollow ache.
"You really don't need to explain," you say, your tone softer now. "Who you bring home is your business. It was just... awkward."
"Yeah, no shit," he agrees, a little of his usual swagger returning. "I'll try not to bring anyone home who doesn't know their left and right from now on. Scout's honor." He holds up three fingers, a mock-promise.
You don't laugh. You just nod and go back to your work, the silence stretching on.
Eddie is fucked.
It's been only a week since the awkward encounter with his one night stand.
One week since you'd asked him to stop calling you princess. One week of being acutely aware of your presence, the scent of your fruity perfume, the gentle click of your heeled boots on the wooden floorboards, the way you'd hum along to whatever was playing on the store's speakers, a soft, off-key counter-melody that he found himself straining to hear over the actual music.
He is, as they say, completely and utterly fucked.
Because you weren't talking to him. Not full silent treatment, but not the easy bickering he'd come to rely on. The silence was a new form of torture.
It all came to a head when he'd been helping a customer find an obscure post-punk record, and when he'd turned to ask you a question about the stockroom inventory, he'd found you with your phone in your hand, a brilliant, genuine smile lighting up your face as you texted someone back.
The hot, possessive surge of jealousy was so potent it almost knocked him backward. He'd wanted to smash the phone.
It hit him like a ton of bricks that maybe he wanted you to be his. His princess. An honorific you’ve recently denied him from using.
"You're being really brooding right now."
Gareth's voice, muffled by his mouthful of fries, pulled Eddie from his thoughts.
"Yeah, man. You're doing more staring at that beer than actually drinking it." Jeff raised an eyebrow.
It was Friday night at the Hideout and Corroded Coffin had just played a gig for a crowd of at least ten drunks.
"I'm not brooding," Eddie grumbled, taking a large swallow of his beer.
He was thinking about the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. He was thinking about how he'd accidentally overheard you on the phone with your mom, your voice soft and sweet as you reassured her you were eating enough.
That. That right there was the problem.
"You're thinking about the new girl, aren't you?" Gareth grinned, a knowing look on his face.
"Her name is not 'the new girl'," Eddie snapped, a little too quickly. "And no, I'm not."
"Liar," Jeff chimed in. "You only get this constipated look when you're thinking about a girl."
Eddie's mind flashed back to that morning. The look on your face. The venom in your tone when you'd said, ‘Your neck says otherwise, Eddie.’ He hadn't been able to get it out of his head.
"She's not even your type, man," Gareth continued, oblivious to the inner turmoil he was stoking. "Isn't she like, all... pink and fluffy?"
"And she asked him to stop calling her 'princess'," Jeff added with a smirk. "That's gotta hurt the ego."
"It does," Eddie mumbled into his beer. "It really, really does."
He just shook his head and signaled the bartender for another round.
"She caught one of my... groupie conquests, trying to escape through the store," Eddie admitted, finally giving in.
Jeff and Gareth's laughter was loud and obnoxious.
"You're an idiot, Munson," Jeff said, clapping him on the back. "An absolute idiot."
"Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know," Eddie grumbled.
"So what's the plan?" Gareth asked, suddenly serious. "Are you going to, you know, talk to her? Like a normal human being?"
"And say what? 'Hey, sorry you saw me with another woman, but I'm actually hopelessly in love with the way you organize the vinyl'?" Eddie scoffed. "Yeah, that'll go over well."
"Just... talk to her, man," Jeff urged. "You guys have a lot in common, despite the... aesthetic differences. You're both nerds about music. Start there."
That night, lying in bed, the sounds of the sleeping city filtering through his window, Eddie couldn't stop thinking about you.
The way you hairbow bounces a little when you danced behind the counter to some obscure power pop song he'd put on.
The way your face lit up when a customer would ask you for a recommendation you were passionate about.
Your perfect pink pout when he annoyed you.
Yeah. He was so fucked.
The next day you walked into the store and the air immediately felt different. Eddie was already behind the counter, furiously scribbling something in a notebook.
It was starting to snow, the weather app on your phone saying it was going to be a bad one, so you were grateful for the warmth of the store. You hung your coat and went to the counter.
"Morning."
He looked up, and for a second, you saw panic flash across his face before he slammed the notebook shut.
"Hey pri-" Eddie caught himself, jaw tightening. "Hey. Morning." The correction landed awkwardly between you, a placeholder for something more familiar.
You simply nod, and the silence stretches, filling the space with a thousand unsaid things.
"I'm surprised we're open. I doubt we're going to get a lot of customers in this blizzard." You said, trying to make small talk, anything to fill the void.
"You could have called out. I could handle it on my own. Not like I have a far commute. Just up the stairs." The tone was casual, but the offer was clear. A peace offering.
"No. I like the snow." You said, looking out the big front window. And it was true. You did. The way it muffled the world, turned everything into a soft, hazy dream. "Makes the whole city quiet."
Eddie watched you for a long moment.
Your nose was a little red from the cold, and you'd tucked your hair behind your ears. You looked so... soft. A stark contrast to the jagged, noisy feeling inside him.
You were right. There was barely any foot traffic all day.
By the time the storm got pretty bad, John called, saying you two could close up early and get home safe. The problem was your car was buried, and Eddie knew even if you tried you wouldn't get far in it.
"You can, uh, wait it out at my place if you want," Eddie said, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly. "It's better than freezing in your car."
"My knight in shining armor." You deadpanned. "It's fine. I can walk."
"You live across town. You'll be a human popsicle by the time you get to the main road." He said, locking the front door and flipping the open sign to closed. "C’mon. I'll make us some hot cocoa. With tiny marshmallows and everything. And you can meet Ozzy."
The promise of cocoa, with tiny marshmallows, was apparently your undoing. You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a slow, reluctant bob of your head.
"Ozzy?" You asked, a small smile finally breaking through your defenses.
"My cat. The real ruler of the apartment, Prince of Darkness himself."
You followed him up the narrow, creaking staircase, your heart thumping a strange, uneven rhythm against your ribs.
The idea of being in his space, the space he shared with other women, sent a confusing mix of anticipation and dread through you.
His apartment was exactly what you expected, and nothing like it. It was chaotic, but a lived-in, comfortable chaos.
Guitars hung on the walls, surrounded by posters of bands you both loved and loathed.
A vintage leather couch was covered in mismatched pillows and a black fuzzy blanket.
It was a studio, so the bed was just there, half made and partially hidden behind a privacy screen.
It was messy, but clean. And it smelled like him— incense, old wood, and something warm, like sandalwood and clean laundry.
Then, a sleek black cat with one enormous green eye padded out from behind the couch, the other eye a milky, cloudy white.
It made him look perpetually unimpressed with the world.
"And this is Ozzy," Eddie said, scooping the cat up with practiced ease. Ozzy tolerated the affection, purring a deep, rumbling engine against Eddie's chest. "Don't mind him. He's judging us all."
You reached out a hesitant hand, letting Ozzy sniff your knuckles.
"He's blind in that eye," Eddie said softly. "Found him in a dumpster behind the store. Someone, uh, wasn't very nice to him."
Your heart did a painful little lurch.
You looked from the scarred, one-eyed cat to the man holding him. The 'devil-worshipping' freak of Hawkins who rescued hurt animals. The contradictions piled up, making your head spin.
"He's beautiful." You say it softly, unsure which of the boys you were actually talking about.
Eddie's gaze caught yours, and for a moment, the air crackled. The unspoken things between you felt heavier than the storm raging outside.
"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat, carefully placing Ozzy back on the floor. "Cocoa. Right."
He busied himself in the small kitchenette, pulling out two mismatched mugs and a carton of milk.
You sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, hands clasped in your lap, feeling like an intruder in a life you were suddenly desperate to know.
A few minutes later, he came back with two steaming mugs, topped with a generous handful of tiny marshmallows, exactly as promised.
"Careful, it's hot." He set yours down on the cluttered coffee table.
You took a cautious sip. The chocolate was rich and dark, and the tiny marshmallows melted into a sweet, sugary foam on your tongue.
"Thank you." You murmur, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic.
"It's no problem." He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, a careful distance between you. "So, uh, this is the place. Palace of sin, as John calls it."
You cough a little as he says that, almost choking on your marshmallow.
"He's joking, mostly." He adds quickly, misinterpreting your reaction. "He knows I'm not really sacrificing bunnies."
"I don't think that's why he calls it the palace of sin." You say quietly into your mug, and then you look at him. You look him directly in the eye, and it's the first real, sustained eye contact you've had since the morning with the girl in the sweatshirt.
"You really think I'm some kind of slut, don't you?"
The question hangs in the air, raw and unfiltered. It's not an accusation, not really. It's a genuine inquiry, and the vulnerability in it catches you completely off guard.
"No... I just..."
You what? Why did you care so much what he did or who he did it with? Why did you feel a heat pooling lower when his shirt would ride up or when he would stick his tongue out just slightly while concentrating?
You try to search for the words, to articulate the tangled mess of your feelings.
"I'm not judging you. I don't care who you sleep with. It's..." You trailed off, gesturing vaguely between you, the storm, the empty apartment. "I don't know what it is."
"Then what was that comment about my neck? That sounded a lot like judging." He's not angry, just… confused. A deep furrow of confusion between his brows.
"Because I was jealous, Eddie!" The confession bursts out of you, loud and uncontrolled. "I saw her. In your sweatshirt. And I hated it. Because she was... she looked like she made sense next to you. And I don't. And that makes me feel insane!"
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the howl of the wind outside and the frantic thumping of your own heart.
Eddie's big brown eyes seemed even bigger now, wide and a little glazed. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
"You... what?" He finally manages to say.
"I was jealous!" You repeat, the admission now free, terrifying and liberating all at once.
"You were... jealous. Of... her." He's processing it, the words slowly arranging themselves into a coherent thought in his head. A slow smile spreads across his face, but it's not his usual smirk. It's something softer, a little dazed.
"Can we not? Look, I know I'm not your usual type. I'm not some cool, effortless rocker chick in black jeans and a band tee. I'm wearing a sweater with little embroidered daisies on it, for fuck’s sake. I just... I didn't expect it to bother me so much. Seeing you with... someone more your type." You finally look at him, and the vulnerability in your expression is raw, an open wound.
Eddie leans forward, closing the distance between you on the couch.
"You're an idiot," he says, and there's no venom in it. It's a mirror of what you'd said to him what felt like a lifetime ago, but this time it's gentle, almost fond. "A complete, beautiful, floral clad idiot."
You blink. "Beautiful?"
"Yes, beautiful," he says, his gaze unwavering. "And you think she's my type? Did you not hear a single word I said? She was a one-time thing. A... mistake. I was trying to get over this... girl I work with."
He takes your cocoa mug from your trembling hands and sets it on the table. Then he takes one of your hands, his calloused guitarist's fingers wrapping gently around yours.
"You're like, my dream girl. All pretty and soft but with this fire inside you. You know more about music than half the dicks who come in here trying to flex on me. You laugh at my stupid jokes. And for whatever reason, you seem to tolerate my general presence." He takes a shaky breath. "Honestly, I can't imagine why you'd ever give me a second look, but I am so glad you do."
The tears you were fighting back finally escape, tracing hot paths down your cold cheeks.
"I thought you were making fun of me," you whisper. "When you call me princess."
"I am, but it's affectionate! I think you're a princess, but like, a warrior princess. The kind who would totally behead her enemies but then cry at a sad movie." He's so close now you can feel the warmth radiating from him. "I like your little cardigans. And the bows in your hair. I like them so much."
You can't take it anymore. The tension, the longing, the weeks of misunderstanding, it all snaps.
You close the final inch of space between you, pressing your lips to his.
It's not a gentle kiss. It's messy and desperate, a collision of months of unspoken feelings. He tastes like cheap cigarettes and expensive cocoa, a combination that is somehow fitting. His hands come up to cup your face, thumbs stroking away your tears as the kiss deepens, becoming softer, more exploratory.
"Don't cry, princess," he murmurs against your lips, the nickname a caress now, a secret shared only between you two.
You shift, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him, the worn leather against your knees and the seam of his jeans rough against the soft fabric of your tights.
He lets out a surprised laugh, hands moving to the soft curve of your hips. "Well, shit," he breathes, looking up at you with wide, adoring eyes. "Okay."
His hands grip your hips, and you can feel the hard press of him through his jeans.
"You're so pretty," he says, the words a low rasp against your skin. You lean down to kiss him again, a slow, deliberate press of your lips. This time, it's less desperate, more sure. His hands slide from your hips, up your back, tracing the line of your spine through the delicate embroidery on your cardigan. He's touching you like you're something precious, something he's afraid of breaking.
"I want this," you whisper, the confession a puff of air against his jaw. "I want you."
"You have me," he answers, his hands stilling on your back. "Eager girl."
With newfound confidence, your lips find the sensitive skin just below his ear, and you're rewarded with a sharp inhale.
"Let's," you start, a little breathless, "move this to somewhere not the couch."
"Right. The bed. Yes."
The journey is clumsy, a mess of tangled limbs and quiet laughter. He backs you towards the bed, and the backs of your knees hit the mattress, sending you falling back with a soft bounce.
He looms over you, blocking out the dim light of the single lamp in the corner, a shadow made of ink and want. He hooks a finger into your sweater, tugging it up and over your head.
You had layers on, a tank over your bra, a skirt, tights, leg warmers. You blush a little at how many items of clothing he'd have to work through.
"Aren't you a present," he mutters, his eyes raking over you. "Gonna let me unwrap you, sweet girl?"
All you can do is nod, a frantic little bob of your head.
His knuckles brush against your skin as he unbuttons your skirt, slowly pulling it down your legs. His eyes follow the path of the fabric, a dark, hungry look in them. He tosses it aside, leaving you in your tights and tank top.
"These have to go." He says, hooking a finger in the waistband of your tights. "I'll be good and not ruin them. This time."
He's careful as he peels them down, the fabric whispering against your skin. The cool air of the apartment hits your bare legs, and you shiver.
"Shhh, I've got you," he murmurs, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your knee, then another a little higher, on your inner thigh. "Gonna keep you warm."
His hands trail up your legs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your hips. The touch is feather-light, maddeningly teasing, and you can't help but arch into it, a silent plea for more.
"Let's see if we're on the same page." he whispers, as if he can read your mind. His fingers continue their slow, deliberate journey upward, and you feel a breath catch in your throat as he traces the edge of your underwear. He hooks a finger under the damp fabric, and your whole body tenses in anticipation. "Oh, yeah. We are definitely on the same page."
With a low groan, he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed, pulling you flush against the edge. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core, and the heat of his breath through the thin cotton is enough to make you gasp.
"Eddie..."
"Wet little thing already," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against you. "All for me? Just from a few kisses and some sweet talk?"
You can only manage a weak, desperate nod in response.
"Gonna treat you so good, princess." The nickname is a worshipful murmur now. "Gonna make you forget all about being jealous."
He finally slides your underwear down your legs, the cool air a shocking but welcome sensation against your slick heat. His hands gently spread your thighs, and you feel utterly exposed, completely vulnerable under the intensity of his gaze.
"Fuck," he breathes, the word a reverent whisper. "Look at you."
He leans in, and the first touch of his tongue is a revelation. It's slow, deliberate, a thorough exploration that has you writhing on the bed. He's not in a hurry. He's savoring every second, every sigh and whimper that escapes your lips.
"Mmm... this is my favorite flavor," he hums against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your entire body. "Wet, sweet, and all mine."
He focuses on your clit, drawing lazy circles with the flat of his tongue before switching to quick, precise flicks. Your hands find their way into his hair, the strands tangled between your fingers as you guide him, your hips bucking against his face in a desperate, needy rhythm.
"That's my girl," he praises, pulling back for a second to look at you. "So needy for me. Look at you, trying to fuck my face."
He's smiling, a smug, entirely too pleased smile, and you want to be annoyed, but all you can feel is a white-hot pleasure coiling tight in your belly.
"More, please, Eddie," you beg, your voice breathy and high.
"Anything for you, princess," he whispers, diving back in with renewed fervor.
He slides a long finger inside you, then another, the stretch perfect as he curls them just right, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. His tongue is relentless at your clit. His eyes are on you, so dark with lust they're almost black.
He looks like the most handsome devil and you understand why this is a den of sin as your back arches off the bed, a silent scream caught in your throat. The orgasm crashes through you, a wave of blinding pleasure that leaves you shaking and breathless.
He doesn't stop, working you through it until you're whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
"Please," you gasp, pushing weakly at his head. "Too much."
"Too much?" He grins, pressing a final, soft kiss to your oversensitive clit before crawling up your body to loom over you. "We're just starting."
His lips crash against yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue. The intimate flavor makes your head spin. You kiss him back with a desperate hunger, your hands roaming over the familiar planes of his back, feeling the muscles tense and shift under your touch.
He lifts his shirt off and then reaches for the hem of your tank top. You raise your arms, letting him pull it over your head, revealing the simple, lacy pink bra you wore.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you. "Hiding these from me, were you?"
He reaches behind you to unclasp your bra with a practiced flick of his wrist, tossing it aside. His hands are on you then, cupping the weight of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your already hardened nipples.
"God, I'm gonna worship these." He says, before leaning down to take one into his mouth.
He sucks and licks and nips, each tug sending a jolt straight to your core. Your back arches, pressing yourself closer, seeking more friction, more of him.
"Sensitive little thing," he murmurs against your skin before switching to the other, giving it the same, thorough attention. "Could probably make you come just from this, couldn't I?"
The thought alone is enough to make you moan.
"Yeah.. I bet I could. Maybe next time." He pulls away, a string of spit connecting his lips to your nipple. "Right now, I need to be inside you."
He stands up, making quick work of his own belt and jeans, shoving them down his legs along with his boxers. He kicks them away, and your breath catches in your throat.
It's the prettiest cock, dark curls at the base, flushed and already beading with precum at the tip. You watch, transfixed, as he gives himself a few slow, deliberate strokes.
"Yeah?" His smirk is sinful. "You like it? Like knowing you did this to me?"
"Come here," you demand, your voice thick with want.
He moves over you again, settling between your thighs. He takes himself in hand, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.
"I'm on the pill," you breathe out, a desperate last-ditch effort at coherent thought.
"Thank fuck," he groans, and then he's pushing inside you.
The stretch is a steady burn as he fills you inch by inch.
"Oh, fuck," he chokes out, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Feel so... you feel so good."
You wrap your legs around his waist, your heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.
"Dirty girl," he chuckles, the sound of a low rumble in your ear. "Want it deep, huh?"
His hips begin to move, a slow, rocking rhythm that has you seeing stars.
"Does the pretty, soft princess like to be fucked deep and hard?" The question is a taunt, a dare, and you answer with a sharp buck of your hips, taking him even deeper. "Yeah she fucking does."
He rears up, grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head with one of his, lacing your fingers together. The other hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he picks up the pace.
"Perfect for me, aren't you?" He breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "Soft and sweet on the outside, but underneath, you're a dirty little thing. My dirty little thing."
"Just for you..." It comes out a whiny moan as he starts to pound into you, the headboard of his bed starting to tap against the wall.
"My good girl." He claims. The rhythm is punishing, a driving beat that pushes you toward the edge again. "Letting a monster like me defile your pretty little body."
The coil in your belly is winding up again, tighter and hotter than before.
"I'm close," you gasp, your nails digging into the back of his hand. "I'm so close."
"Mm yeah, baby. Can feel it. But you're gonna give me a few aren't you?" He coos. His pace changes to deep, grinding thrusts, the coarse hair at the base of his cock grinding deliciously against your clit. "Gonna soak my dick again and again before I'm done with you."
You whine his name as your orgasm washes over you, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him tight, and he groans, a long, deep sound of satisfaction.
"Oh yeah... I'm going to make you do that again," he pants. "Look at you, can't even stop shaking."
Before you've even come down, he's flipping you over. He pulls your hips up, guiding you to your hands and knees.
"This okay?" He whispers in your ear, checking in even now, the consideration a stark contrast to the raw, primal fucking.
You nod, pushing back against him, a wordless plea for more. He eases back in, the new angle hitting even deeper.
"Jesus... look at that," he breathes, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you wide so he can watch himself disappear inside you.
He starts moving again, a faster, harder rhythm that has the headboard slamming against the wall all over again.
"Wish you could see the way this pretty pussy swallows me," he growls, punctuating his words with sharp, deep thrusts. "So greedy for me. Taking my cock so well."
His words are filthy, a string of praise and degradation that makes your head spin.
"I'm gonna have you on every surface in this apartment. The couch. The kitchen counter. Up against the window where anyone could see."
The image flashes in your mind, and a fresh wave of arousal gushes around him. "Oh you filthy fucking thing. You'd like that wouldn't you? Want someone to see what we do? See how good you take me?"
You're reduced to a series of desperate sobs and whimpers, your brain too foggy with pleasure to form a coherent response. "S'good... f-feels so..."
"Yeah, I know, princess," he pants, one of his hands snaking around to find your clit. "Got you stupid on my cock, don't I? Just a pretty, brainless mess for me."
He circles your clit with a rough thumb, and that's all it takes. The next orgasm rips through you, violent and overwhelming.
He leans over, kissing your shoulder as your body trembles. "There we go... I want one more."
"Eddie..." you protest, the word a weak puff of air. "Can't..."
"You can," he insists, his voice low and demanding. "You will."
And he proves it.
He pulls out, turning you onto your back once more. The sheets beneath you are damp, a testament to your pleasure. He looks at you with such awe, a reverence that makes your heart ache.
"My messy girl," he murmurs, spreading your legs wide. "Fucking perfect."
He slides back in, the sensation of him filling you again almost too much, and yet exactly what you crave.
Your thighs are pressed against your chest, a position that has him impossibly deep. He moves slowly this time, deep, grinding thrusts that stoke the fire in your belly all over again.
"Yeah... gonna give it to you nice and slow," he breathes, his forehead pressed against yours. "Make you feel it."
"Feel you everywhere," you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Everywhere..."
"You're so beautiful like this," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "All fucked out and begging. Never seen anything prettier."
The praise is your undoing. You can feel another orgasm building, a slow, deep wave that promises to be the most intense of all.
He keeps kissing you as your thighs begin to shake. It's a slow, deep, bone melting thing. You're not even making loud noises anymore, just a constant mewl into his mouth.
Then you feel him start to lose rhythm, you pussy clenching him like you never want to let him go.
"M'close... fuck... princess, you're gonna make me... make me cum... " He grunts, burying his face in your neck, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a long, shuddering groan.
His release is warm and there's so much of it that it leaks out around him, but he doesn't pull out right away.
He stays there, a heavy, comforting weight on top of you, as you both catch your breath.
"Please don't pull out," you beg, clinging to him. "Not yet."
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound in your ear. He rolls over, taking you with him, so you're sprawled across his chest, still connected.
"I'd never pull out if I didn't have to eventually," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. He was still buried deep, softening slowly inside you. "We can stay like this as long as you want."
He shifts slightly, and you can feel a little more of him slip out. You try to clench around him to keep him in place, a futile, desperate gesture.
"Sweetheart... easy," he soothes. "We've got all night. And tomorrow. And every day after that, if you'll have me."
He pulls a blanket over your tangled, sweat-slick bodies, cocooning you in warmth.
"Like... dating?" you ask, your voice muffled against his chest.
He laughs. "No, like I'm planning on keeping you as my sex prisoner in my den of sin." He says sarcastically, then his tone gets serious. "Yes, like dating. Fucking obviously. I've been pining over you for months. You think I'm just gonna let you walk away after I finally got you into my bed?"
The idea of him pining, of Eddie Munson being just as wrecked by this quiet, aching tension as you were, makes your heart swell.
"I'd like that," you whisper. "The dating thing. Not the sex prisoner thing."
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Good to know. Glad we got that cleared up. But I mean... if we're talking roleplay..."
You swat at his chest, but it's a weak, lazy motion. You feel him soften completely, finally slipping out of you. You whimper at the loss, a sudden, hollow ache.
He kisses your forehead, murmuring against your skin. "Let's get you cleaned up, princess."
He's gentle, so surprisingly gentle. He disappears into the small bathroom and returns with a warm, wet washcloth. You expected him to just toss it to you, but instead, he kneels on the bed beside you and carefully, meticulously wipes you clean.
"Really did a number on you, huh?" A soft, proud smile on his face as he looks at the mess between your thighs. "All full and swollen. Perfect."
You hide your face in your hands, a fresh wave of heat flooding your cheeks.
"No, no. Don't hide from me." He gently pulls your hands away, leaning down to kiss you, a slow, deep, claiming kiss. "Come on... shower and pee time. Maybe round two if we're lucky."
He pulls you to your feet, and your legs tremble, almost giving out from under you.
"Woah there." He catches you, scooping you up into his arms with a grunt. "I've got you. And the princess gets carried to her throne, apparently."
You can't help but laugh as he carries you into the tiny bathroom.
After you've both showered, the hot water a welcome ease to your sore muscles, he leads you back to the bed, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers before handing you a t-shirt of his, an old Metallica one that's been washed so many times it's soft and worn.
You pull it on, getting into bed next to him. Ozzy jumps up to join you, curling into a ball against your stomach with a deep, rumbling purr.
"See? He approves," Eddie murmurs, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. "And Ozzy is a very good judge of character."
You snuggle into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart.
The storm has passed, and outside, the world is quiet, blanketed in a fresh layer of snow.
Inside, you're warm and safe in your own private palace of sin, the world outside melting away until there's only the two of you, and the comforting weight of a one-eyed cat, and the promise of every tomorrow.
kaz being unable to fathom fathers disliking their children is so funny to me. this man has literally ended people’s lives, but his father was good, jesper’s father is good, inej’s father is good, and even pekka rollins is a good father, so surely wylan was being dramatic? kaz was so sure fathers had to love their kids that he bet on it (and lost! because jan van eck truly did despise wylan, and kaz was blown away)
Summary: A new apartment with enormous windows puts you directly in the line of sight of your dangerously observant neighbour, and what begins as innocent glances quickly becomes a deliberate, silent game of watching and being watched. As the tension escalates into obsession, the barrier between you finally disappears, forcing you both to confront the reality of the desire you’ve been performing for each other all along.
Warnings: 18+ content, minors do not interact, smut, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mutual escalation, manipulative behaviour, male and female masturbation, p in v sex (protected and unprotected), creampie, both reader and Eddie have sex with other people, oral sex (m and f receiving), reader is an absolute throat goat. Eddie is late 30s, reader is early 20s.
6,211 words
a/n: I ain't gonna lie, this was absolutely inspired by I Get Off by Halestorm.
Hauling the last of the boxes up the narrow stairs leaves your arms aching, lungs burning as another mental curse is thrown at the building’s complete lack of an elevator. The irritation fades the moment the living room comes into view, replaced by the same quiet awe that made this place impossible to resist in the first place.
A massive window dominates the far wall, its thick frame carving the glass into neat, symmetrical panes. It stretches from the ceiling down to just below your knees, flooding the empty apartment with soft, natural light. The centre pane is cracked open just enough to let fresh air slip inside, stirring the stagnant stillness left behind by months of vacancy. The openness of it makes the space feel exposed in a way you hadn’t fully considered before, like nothing is separating you from the outside world at all.
Unpacking becomes a welcome distraction, attention turning first to the curtains buried somewhere in one of the boxes. They surface quickly enough - thin netting, sheer enough to let the light through while still offering some illusion of privacy.
Dragging the end table beneath the window, you climb carefully onto its surface, arms lifting to hook the fabric onto the rail left behind by the previous tenant. Once finished, instead of climbing down, you linger there for a moment, perched above the quiet apartment, curiosity pulling your gaze outward.
An identical building stands opposite yours, no more than ten feet separating the two.
And leaning out of one of its windows is, to put it bluntly, the hottest man you have ever seen.
He rests against the frame with lazy confidence, one leg propped on the sill. A cigarette burns between his fingers, the tip glowing amber as he takes a slow drag. Your eyes follow the movement without permission - from the long fingers holding it, to the tattooed arms revealed by a sleeveless black shirt, ink winding over muscle in dark, deliberate lines.
His hair falls in messy curls, like he’s only just rolled out of bed, framing a face that feels unfair to look at for too long. Full lips. Stubble shadowing his jaw. Effortless in a way that makes your chest feel strangely tight.
A soft sigh escapes before you can stop it.
Mortification washes over you.
Cheeks flushing, you scramble down from the table, heart suddenly pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
Ridiculous. He couldn’t have heard that.
Still… Just one more peek couldn’t hurt.
Carefully, cautiously, you lift your gaze back toward the window. He’s looking directly at you. And waving.
The smirk on his face is unmistakable - it’s slow, knowing, dangerous in a way that makes heat crawl up your neck and settle deep in your chest. There’s no hesitation in him. No awkwardness. No pretence.
He knows you were watching. And worse still…
He doesn’t seem to mind.
Swallowing hard, you force your hand to lift in a polite wave in return, hoping the distance hides how warm your face has become. Mercifully, he stubs out his cigarette and heads back into his own apartment, breaking the gaze first, releasing you. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes your lips and you step over to the small kitchen, out of view of the giant window.
The taps protest from lack of use, a metallic whine punctuating the silence in the apartment before the water finally gives in. You splash some onto your face, desperate for anything that might cool the heat crawling across your skin.
The plan had been to face your sofa to the window, but you didn’t quite trust yourself with that set up, so you settle for the sofa facing the wall next to the window. That’s not to say your eye doesn’t occasionally drift to the apartment opposite when you’re watching tv. Just glancing, checking out your surroundings, you tell yourself, repeating in your head like a mantra.
You quickly learn that your neighbour rarely closes the curtains. This has culminated in a lot of waving when your eyes meet. It’s becoming a problem, he’s going to think you’re some kind of peeping tom if you keep this up. Except… it’s not all one sided. In fact you’ve caught him looking more times than you can count and he doesn’t react with the same embarrassment you do when he’s caught.
If anything, knowing you’re looking seems to give him a kick.
The first time it happens you could pass it off as an accident.
It’s late on Sunday night, and you’re draining the last of your wine before heading to bed, when your eyes drift toward the window. The sight causes you to inhale your wine. You make it to the kitchen before the burn of wine in your nose and throat renders you coughing and spluttering.
Meanwhile your neighbour across the street is still damp from his shower, towel slung so low around his hips that a thatch of dark hair is visible just above the edge. Once you catch your breath and your eyes stop streaming, you walk back over, telling yourself it’s only to turn the TV off. I don’t need to see if he’s still there. You try to convince yourself, you really do.
He’s still there.
A pattern emerges, Saturday nights become a game of seeing how long you can take it before you’re looking over. It’s sick, you’re sick, he’s probably also sick. But you’re hooked, and it’s not like you haven’t been reciprocating. The summer heat provides the perfect excuse to wear less and less around your apartment.
This Saturday, you’re sprawled out on your sofa, the picture of casual lounging. Pretending to watch the TV, you glance at the clock above it. Thirty minutes. Long enough. And you tilt your head slightly, yep. There he is, towel on. At this point you’ve got to commend his meticulous hygiene. God knows how you could do that and not come off a massive pervert.
But then, his hands trace along the edge of the towel, rings catching the light in his apartment. You watch as his thumb dips below the fold of fabric, lifting it.
The towel drops to the floor.
Surprise jolts through you, your body turning fully toward the window before you can stop yourself. The movement gives you away.
He’s hard. There’s no mistaking it.
He winks at you and scoops the towel back up, pretending this was all just an accident. Your heart stutters in your chest. Heat floods your skin, spreading from your face down your throat and into your chest. Your legs tremble beneath you, and your mouth has gone unbearably dry.
As he retreats, you stand, throwing on a few more layers before heading out.
It’s not hard to find some guy willing to go home with you. In fact you’ve managed it before you’ve even left the first bar. His kisses are clumsy as you lead up the narrow stairs to your apartment, once more cursing the lack of elevator. The apartment is cold, you’d left the window open, you make no move to close it. You’re sure you’ll warm up quickly.
The door is scarcely closed before you’re guiding him toward the sofa. He lands with a soft oof, unable to take his eyes off of you as you pull your top over your head. He matches you, piece by piece until you’re stripped down to your underwear. You drop to your knees, gathering your hair in a loose ponytail, palming him through his underwear.
You’re impatient, and he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he helps you to remove his underwear, groaning as you wrap your hand around his cock, hips juddering as you stroke him. His head is tilted back and his eyes are squeezed shut as your thumb plays with his sensitive tip. You take the opportunity, turning your head defiantly toward the window.
He’s sitting on his sofa, lit by blue light from his TV but you can tell he’s not watching it. His mouth sits in a hard line, one eyebrow raised. Satisfaction thrums through you. You turn your attention back to the man before you, licking a slow stripe up his cock and teasing the tip with your tongue. His breaths come hot and hard as you take his cock into your mouth, working him over until he’s trembling like a leaf.
You don’t look over at the window as you unroll a condom over your… date? Conquest? You don’t look over as you sink down onto his lap. A pang of disappointment sits in your gut as you take him easily. You rest your hands on his shoulders and lift your hips, his own hands resting on your hips and gripping you tightly.
“That good, baby?” He pants beneath you. You roll your eyes over his shoulder but you stroke his ego a little, moaning loudly, “Oh fuck, yes.” He murmurs, taking over the rhythm you set, clearly convinced he’s doing a great job pleasing you, now focused entirely on his own end goal. You spur him on, and while you’d never admit to this, you’re pretty convincing when you fake orgasms. As you moan his name, followed by cries of “yes, god, yes,” you hazard a glance toward the window. Your companion too far gone to notice your split attention.
Eddie feels like a pervert watching this, even if he knows you want him to watch... But when your moans punctuate the still night air, he has to bite his fist. His other hand palming himself over his jeans, he stops as another moan reaches his ears. Then he tilts his head, focusing on listening to you.
Faker.
He watches as you slip off your date’s lap. The awkward exchange makes it clear he isn’t staying the night as you both get dressed again. He waits until you glance over, then waves, giving you a thumbs-up. He laughs as you huff and close the curtains.
Still hard, he heads to bed, discarding his jeans before dragging a hand down his face, sleep already feeling impossible.
He doesn’t even know your name and yet you’re the only image he can conjure up as he spits in his hand and strokes his length, your face burned into his brain. When he shuts his eyes, you’re back on your knees, only this time it’s him you’re kneeling in front of. His breath hitches as your hand closes around him, your gaze never leaving his as your tongue drags slowly over his tip, deliberate, knowing.
“Fuck,” he hisses into the empty room, his hand tightening as the image sharpens. He feels you take him deeper, his head falling back as he imagines the strain in your throat, the wet warmth of your mouth, the way your eyes glisten as you look up at him. His fingers tangle in your hair, in his mind, holding you there, unable to look away. His other hand twists in the sheets beneath him, gripping so tightly the fabric pulls taut between his fingers. He releases it only to drag his hand lower, grabbing his balls, holding them tightly as he fucks into your throat, watching as tears spill over your lashes.
He grunts as he releases into your mouth, removing his saliva coated cock from your lips, watching as a line of saliva and cum connects the tip of his cock to your swollen lips. He wipes away your tears with his thumb before pressing it gently to your bottom lip. You open for him without hesitation, and let him see his cum coating your mouth. You close your mouth and swallow, a mischievous grin crossing your features as he exhales shakily.
Eddie grabs his discarded underwear from the floor, wiping up the mess that coats his chest and stomach, throwing it absently into the laundry basket, mind still fixated on you. Sleep finds him eventually, but even there, you follow.
The bed springs creak as you throw yourself back onto your mattress. The guy could have at least tried to get you off, you stare up at your ceiling. Jaw tight as you replay your evening with growing irritation. Your hand slips under your pillow, fingers searching for the cool plastic of your vibrator.
You don’t switch it on yet.
Instead, your hand drifts lower, rubbing slowly over your attention-starved clit. A soft sigh escapes you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as your eyes fall closed. Your body moves without permission, hips rocking gently into your touch, your free hand sliding up to tease your nipple. Your fingers slip lower, teasing yourself, your mind already drifting where it shouldn’t.
To him.
The sofa creaks as you push him back onto it, the two of you tearing at each other’s clothes in a desperate rush until you’re both bare beneath wandering hands. He pulls you into his lap, his grip firm, deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You bring the vibrator between your folds, switching it on to its lowest setting, the soft buzz sending a shiver through you as he drags the tip of his cock slowly over your clit.
You try to push forward, chasing friction, chasing fullness, but he stops you, holding you there, forcing you to wait. Your breath catches. He keeps you suspended on the edge, your arousal slick between you, your body aching with the need to be filled.
Your hand tightens around the toy as you finally let it slip inside you, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the sensation blooms through you. In your mind, he finally relents, letting you sink down onto him, stretching you slowly, deliberately.
You turn the settings higher, your legs trembling as the intensity builds.
“Fuck!” you cry out to no one in particular as he lifts his hips to meet yours, deeper than anything you’ve ever taken. Even the slightest retreat feels unbearable, your body chasing him desperately, unable to tolerate the distance. You press the vibrator harder, your other hand slipping between your legs, circling your clit as the tension spirals tighter and tighter.
Tears spill down your cheeks as you climax, your whole body trembling in the aftermath.
The curtains remain shut the next day, your cheeks feeling hot at the thought of seeing him again, and you surprise yourself with your restraint. The following day, however, you all but rip them off their pole, caught in some kind of perverse withdrawal. You notice that the apartment opposite has changed slightly; a table is now next to the window.
Before you can spiral into the absurd thought that he somehow moved out overnight, you see him cross his living room, heading to his usual smoking spot. He smiles when he sees you, offering a friendly wave which feels ridiculous in spite of two nights ago. You wave back, thankful for the excuse of heading to work before either of you starts acting up.
By the time you’re home the apartment opposite is dark, you’d never known him to go to bed before you, so you assume he’s out. Your own apartment is stuffy from you not switching the heat off before you left for work, you’ll pay for that with your next bill. You crack the window and watch as the apartment opposite lights up.
He enters first, holding the door open like a perfect gentleman. Heart racing, you duck behind your curtain as he closes the door behind a woman, his eyes flicking toward your window, predatory and knowing. He pulls her close, hands settling on her waist as they move together across the room, lips never quite parting. They stop at the table. His mouth moves against hers, a question you can’t hear, and she nods eagerly in response. He undresses her slowly, deliberately, his focus seemingly fixed on her, until her hands move to his shirt. That’s when his eyes lift.
And find you.
Your breath stutters. Every instinct tells you to look away, to disappear behind the safety of the curtain, but your body betrays you. You stay exactly where you are.
Watching as she undresses him, running her hands over the dark ink that adorns his body.
He doesn’t look away from you.
Not once.
He lifts her easily, like she weighs nothing, and sets her on the table with her back to the window, to you, positioning himself where he can see you clearly.
Where you can see him.
You watch as he pushes her back on the table, head dipping between her thighs. Her back arches in response, fingers tightening on the edge of the table, and something ugly twists low in your stomach. He straightens, breath steady, and looks at you again, running his tongue slowly over his lips.
Then he winks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He uses his teeth to rip open a foil packet, and turns his attention back to her as he slides the condom down his impressive length, a hand rubbing at her thigh. Holding eye contact with her as he sheathes himself inside her, adjusting himself, but his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like he’s measuring the effect.
He wants you to watch, just as you’d wanted him to watch.
You settle onto the arm of your sofa, unable to stop yourself, your hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.
He notices immediately.
His pace stutters, just for a second, before picking up again, harder now, more deliberate. You slide your fingers into yourself, your breath catching as you match his rhythm, your jealousy dissolving into something hotter, something heavier. You watch him lose control, his composure cracking in small, visible fractures.
He reaches between them, bringing her closer to her peak, but his eyes never leave you.
Not really.
He gives you a pointed stare as she writhes beneath him.
His pace becomes impossible to follow with your fingers alone, so you grind against your thumb instead, chasing the same desperate edge. Your body tightens, tension snapping all at once. Your eyes squeeze shut as you break, the world tilting around you, tears spilling freely down your cheeks.
You force yourself back, eyes opening again.
He’s right there.
Watching you.
You bring your fingers to your mouth, holding his gaze, tasting yourself, and something in him shatters. You watch as he drives himself deeper, coming completely undone.
Over the following week you notice the curtains get closed more often.
You’re paranoid you took it too far.
Between work schedules, it's already the weekend before you see him again. Not in his apartment, but at a bar you frequent. Tired of being driven crazy by your own spirals of paranoia and inability to not glance over at the window, so you head out, planning on grabbing drinks with friends. As you enter the bar, you hear the deep thrum of live music from the stage.
You locate your friends and settle in the booth with them, glancing up at the stage and freezing when you see him, your pulse quickens, imperceptible to anyone but yourself. His eyes are shut as he sings, curls damp with sweat that catches in the low stage lights. His shirt clings to him, outlining the familiar shape of him in a way that feels far too intimate for something so public. His hands move over the guitar with practiced ease, long fingers precise and confident.
The chatter of your friends fades into a dull hum around you. His eyes open mid-song, scanning the room without urgency, until they find you.
You notice the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Recognition.
Your breath catches.
The noise of the room disappears completely as the final notes fade. The set ends, and he pulls the guitar from over his shoulder, hopping down from the small stage. The silence continues as he stalks over to you, pressing his palms to the table as he leans over it, filling the space but not touching you.
“Evening ladies, did we enjoy the set?” His voice is warm, easy. Polite.
His eyes leave yours long enough to acknowledge your friends, offering them a charming smile as they answer eagerly.
He’s so close you can smell him now. Smoke. Sweat. Something warm beneath it. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s placing you. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you manage. “I live in the apartment opposite yours.”
“That’s right,” he says easily, like the answer had just come to him. “Big windows, huh?” His mouth curves into a small, knowing smile. “I’m Eddie.”
You offer your name in a painfully croaking voice. Eddie nods and makes polite conversation before excusing himself, heading back to his band. He takes a slow pull from his beer, and when his eyes lift again, they find you immediately. He doesn’t look away.
Not even when you notice.
Heat prickles across your skin, sharp and unbearable. You shift in your seat, trying to steady yourself, trying to listen to whatever your friends are saying, but your attention betrays you. Your eyes keep drifting back to him. And every time they do, he’s already looking. Eventually, the pressure becomes too much.
You excuse yourself with some vague mention of fresh air and push your way out of the stifling bar. The cold hits you immediately. You breathe it in deeply, greedily, like you’ve been underwater too long. The alley beside the bar is empty, quiet, the muffled pulse of music vibrating faintly through the brick behind you.
You lean back against the wall, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Try to slow your heart. Try to cool the heat pooling low in your stomach. Try not to think about him. Try not to think about the way he looked at you.
Footsteps sound behind you. Unhurried. Certain. They stop just close enough to make your pulse stumble.
“Well hey there, neighbour.” The teasing lilt in his voice sends heat rushing straight back into your face. “You gone all shy on me suddenly?”
You turn your head. Eddie leans against the opposite wall, giving you space, but not much. Close enough that you could cross it in seconds. Close enough that the distance feels deliberate. He watches you openly now. No glass between you. Just him.
The air is tense, the silence stretching tight between you.
You drag your eyes up from the ground to meet his. Something shifts in his expression. His arms unfold slowly, his shoulders rising with a quiet breath like he’s coming to a decision. He exhales sharply.
“Fuck it.” The words barely leave him before he closes the distance.
His hand finds your chin, warm and steady, tilting your face up to his. His mouth meets yours, firm and certain, like he’s been waiting too long for this.
There’s no hesitation.
No testing the waters.
His thumb brushes along your jaw as his lips move against yours, deepening the kiss, his body pressing you back against the rough brick. The cold of the wall seeps through your clothes, but he’s warm everywhere else, overwhelming, grounding. Your hands move without thinking, tangling in his hair, holding him there like he might disappear if you let go. Your heart is racing, pounding so hard it feels like it might give you away completely. Like he doesn’t already know.
His hands roam your body unabashedly, learning the shape of you through fabric and heat. You press into his touch without hesitation, chasing more of him, needing more. He pulls back enough just to breathe but his lips never leave your skin. They drag across your cheek, smearing lipstick as he finds your neck, pressing slow kisses there before nipping at your earlobe.
“Question,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely audible.
You’re not sure you could form a coherent thought if your life depended on it. “Hmm?”
“Your date.” His mouth returns to your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “What was his name?”
You laugh softly, the sound breaking into a gasp as his teeth press harder. “I don’t remember,” you admit.
Eddie huffs a quiet laugh against your skin. “That’s fair,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t remember someone who couldn’t make me cum.”
The words hit deeper than they should. “How do you know I didn’t-” The protest dissolves into a breathy sound as his hands find your chest, fingers closing over you through your shirt.
He exhales, almost amused. “You’re not exactly quiet,” he says. “And c’mon… anyone paying attention could tell.” His hand slips beneath your shirt, cold fingers meeting overheated skin. You jolt against him.
His other hand moves lower, deliberate, unhurried. He unbuttons your jeans with practiced ease, his forehead resting against yours, eyes locked onto you as he tests the boundary.
“Eddie, we can't do that here.” you whisper.
His fingers press lightly over you through damp fabric, and his mouth curves faintly.
“I know, I know, you’re a good girl really,” he murmurs. “Just warming you up.”
He withdraws slowly, like he’s proving he can. He fixes your jeans with careful hands, then takes your hand in his, fingers lacing through yours naturally, like they’ve always belonged there.
“C’mon,” he says quietly. He leads you away from the alley without hesitation.
“Wait,” you manage. “Won’t your friends mind?” He glances at you sideways, amused.
“Won’t yours?” You hesitate.
“If we’re both gone,” he continues easily, “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”
“I really fucking hate the lack of elevators,” Eddie huffs behind you as you fumble with your keys.
The door clicks open, and before you can even step forward properly, he’s there, crowding you inside. He pushes the door shut and presses you back against it, his body warm and solid against yours.
His lips hover just over yours as his hand reaches past your shoulder, turning the lock with a soft click. You shiver. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. You fight the urge to close the distance yourself, to grab him and pull him down to you, to stop the waiting.
He notices. Of course, he notices. A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Aren’t you patient?” he murmurs. “And here I thought you’d be a feral alley cat once I got you alone.” He lets you have him then. His mouth finds yours, and you lean into him immediately, hunger overriding restraint as you kiss him back, deeper, harder.
He steps away from the door, taking you with him, never breaking the kiss as he guides you backward through the apartment. Past the living room. Past the window. Into your bedroom. You press your hands into his chest and shove him back onto your unmade bed. He lands with a soft bounce, surprise flashing briefly across his face.
He rests himself on his elbow, watching you with interest, you step forward, between his knees. Your hands skim over the rough denim of his jeans, fingers brushing the worn edges of his belt before you begin to unbuckle it. The sound of the metal sliding free feels louder than it should. He lifts his hips without being asked, letting you pull the denim down his legs.
He doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. Your heart pounds as you look at him like this, exposed, real, entirely yours to touch. You swallow, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his underwear, easing them down after his jeans.
The shift in him is immediate. His breath catches. His fingers tighten slightly in the sheets beside him. You hold his gaze as your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, breaking the barrier between you piece by piece. You let it fall somewhere behind you, forgotten.
His eyes track every movement. You step out of your jeans next, pushing them down your legs, leaving them pooled on the floor. Your underwear follows, discarded just as carelessly. You’re bare before him now.
His breath shudders. He sits up slightly, dragging his shirt over his head in one rough motion, like the fabric itself has become an obstacle, something standing between him and the full view of you. It lands somewhere beside him, unnoticed.
You sink down to your knees, taking his cock in your hand and gently stroking down, he hisses under your touch, ringed fingers clutching tighter at the sheets, as precum beads at his slit, your mouth waters, keen to know his taste. You lean forward, your tongue dragging over his soft balls first, then along his shaft before you pull him into your mouth, tongue lapping at him, tasting him.
Eddie’s chest is flushed and he’s breathing hard as he watches you take his length into your throat, thumb brushing away the tears beneath your eye in a gesture so gentle it almost undoes you. You pull back and alternate between sucking softly, letting your tongue trace around him, and taking him so deep that your nose is scratched by the thatch of hair above his cock.
“Doin’ so good for me.” He whispers, hands gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, tugging lightly at your roots to release his cock from your throat, only to use the hair clasped in his hands to ease you back down. Willing your throat to relax, you let him fuck into your mouth, feeling your arousal running down your thighs as he groans above you.
“Such a good girl,” he pants, pulling you off him, your mouth releasing him with a soft sound. His hands find your arms immediately, guiding you upward.
“And as much as I’d love to fuck this pretty face all night…” He kisses you before he finishes the thought, deep and consuming, and tasting himself on your tongue. The intimacy of it makes your stomach tighten. You shift forward instinctively, leaning into him, but his hands slide to the backs of your thighs instead, gripping firmly as he lifts you. The sudden movement makes you tense, your body anticipating what comes next.
A faint smile flickers across his mouth. But instead of pulling you down onto him, he turns you, guiding you onto your back with deliberate care. The mattress dips beneath your shoulders as he follows, settling himself between your legs.
He pauses there. Watching you again. Close enough now that you can feel his breath against your skin. His hair brushes against your thighs as he leans in, lips barely skimming along the sensitive skin there. He lingers, letting anticipation stretch tight between you, before exhaling softly. You flinch and a small whine escapes your lips, a not-so-silent plea. His fingers follow, parting you slowly, reverently, the smirk on his face diabolical.
“All this for me?” He asks, lazily dragging a finger through the evidence of your arousal, using it to rub over your clit with slick precision. You open your mouth, but whatever you meant to say disappears the moment his hand rises, his fingers pressing lightly against your lips. “Suck.” It's not a request, and you obey without hesitation. You can taste yourself on his fingers, your tongue hungrily lapping over his fingers until he pulls them out, a string of saliva trailing, falling over your breasts and stomach.
“Messy girl.” He chides, “Still, you must really taste good if you’re that keen.” He dips his head between your thighs, dragging his tongue from your soaked center to your clit, eyes fixated on you. He laps up your arousal like a man starved, arms locking your thighs on either side of his head, your back arches against him as he pushes his tongue deeper inside you, hands tangling in his hair. He flicks his tongue over your clit, watching as your body shivers, pausing briefly before wrapping his soft lips around your clit and sucking. The sudden pressure makes your breath catch, your composure fracturing completely.
“Jesus fucking chr-” You curse, your sentence interupted by Eddie’s fingers breaching you, your body so eager that it offers no resistance. The sensation doubling, your body reacting instantly, helplessly. Your hips move against him without permission, chasing what he’s building inside you.
Eddie twists his wrist and presses the pads of his fingers onto your g-spot, rocking them backwards and forwards, the sensation ending any hope of rational thought from you. You rock your hips against his face, chasing your high and he is only too happy to get you there, applying heavier pressure to your g-spot, tongue washing over your clit as his pillowy lips surround it.
He doesn’t rush. He controls the pace, the pressure, every subtle shift designed to pull you higher, closer, until your thoughts dissolve completely. You can’t hold his gaze anymore. Your head falls back, vision blurring, the world narrowing to sensation alone.
“C’mon pretty girl, let me feel you coming apart.” Eddie urges, voice muffled by your skin, but you still hear him loud and clear. The words send something sharp and electric through you.
Your body answers before your mind can catch up.
Your grip tightens, your back arching again as everything inside you snaps, pleasure cresting and breaking all at once. Your breath leaves you in broken fragments, your legs trembling around him as he holds you through it, steady, unrelenting until the last wave fades.
The mattress dips lower between your legs as Eddie hovers above you, your breath catching as you feel the tip of his cock brushing your thigh. He looks down briefly to line himself up with you and sinks into you, his gaze snapping back up to your face to measure your reaction. His jaw tightens, watching your face, searching for any sign of discomfort.
But there isn’t any.
Only the slow unraveling of you beneath him. He pauses halfway, giving you time, his hand settling on your hip, grounding you. You exhale softly, your body relaxing around him, welcoming him deeper. That’s all the permission he needs. He sinks the rest of the way in. You all but purr in satisfaction at the way the stretch burns.
“Size queen.” He laughs, feeling the way your walls hug him tightly. He draws back slowly, watching the way your expression shifts, the way your body responds to the absence before he moves forward again. He settles back on his knees, watching himself disappear inside you with every slow thrust.
Your legs wrap around him, drawing him closer as the steady rhythm begins to undo you completely, each thrust dragging precisely over your g-spot, pulling you to the brink of madness. He touches your chin, turning your face toward him. His lip catches between his teeth, restraint hanging by a thread. His hair sticks out at wild angles, a few grey strands catching in the low light. Dark ink that tracks over his arms, and is beginning to spread over his chest. You run your hand over his arms, feeling the way the muscle beneath flexes under your touch.
“You’re so fucking hot.” You whisper, half mesmerised.
“Flattery will get you everywhere sweet thing.” He responds, hooking his hands behind your knees, pushing them up, spreading you wider. He tears his eyes from yours to once more look at that spot where you join, his tongue tracing over his lips, collecting a wad of saliva before letting it fall onto your clit, the sudden wetness making you flinch. One of his hands leaves the punishing grip on your thigh to come down and trace patterns over your clit.
It's dizzying, and unfair. Made even worse when Eddie grips your chin,
“No going away this time, you’re going to look at me when I make you cum.” You nod dumbly, not entirely confident in your ability to comply. Eddie doubles down, picking up pace, slamming into you with filthy grunts.
Never once breaking eye contact, watching as your mouth forms an ‘O’ as you cry out for more. What was earlier a wave is now a hurricane of force, adrenaline and pleasure shooting through your veins, making your brain short circuit, and the whole time, Eddie is holding onto your chin, staring into your eyes and driving his cock deeper into you. You feel your walls tightening around him and feel his rhythm slip, chasing his own high, determined to have your pussy milk the cum from him.
He releases with a loud groan, pushing himself as deep as he can as his control finally breaks, shooting hot ropes of cum inside you. His head drops forward, sweat falling onto your skin as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
“Now who’s looking away?” you tease through ragged breaths. Eddie laughs, lifting his head up to look at you once more, watching the wince on your face as he pulls out and his cum leaks out of you.
He flops down beside you, stroking the hair out of your face in yet another devastatingly intimate gesture. “Eddie?”
do you have any eddie thoughts or headcanons that aren’t enough for a full fic but you’re just like…. Yeah… because I have so many
For instance: he would have a finger in your mouth kink
Is a cigarettes after sex guy
uh just wants to be taken care of!!!
Thank you for asking, I definitely do!! I had a bunch in my drafts, just hoping I could find the inspiration to fully expand them one day, but this is a great opportunity to let them go like dust in the wind🙂↕️ These are gonna be all over the place, we've got some best friend!Eddie, dad!Eddie, boyfriend!Eddie, husband!Eddie.
Eddie is the type to flirt with you like he's still trying to bag you even though you're already married. That's all. He's a wife guy because I said so.
When you and Eddie get married, and the whole kiss-the-bride moment happens, you lean in for a nice, sweet kiss. But he has other plans. The second you start pulling away, he chases after you, a hand behind your head as he drags you into him. Your body practically bows as he presses forward, his other hand finding the small of your back. He's just trapping you in a sloppy kiss as everyone cheers🙂↔️
I think a lot about Eddie dating a loud girl and they're just having a loud-girl-off constantly lol
Taking a shower at best friend!Eddie's house and him timidly asking to brush your hair. He just wants to know what it feels like because he's certain yours is much softer than his. You sit cross-legged in front of the floor-length mirror while he sits on the bed behind you, dragging the brush ever so gently through your hair. The calm is a difficult thing to swallow. You’re his first and only girl friend, and he’s never felt this before. He figures out, that night, that he needs to find more excuses to touch you. To be that close.
Trying to drop hints about marriage is pointless around Eddie. If you say, "God, I wish I had more rings. Or maybe just, like, one really pretty one," he innocently offers you a choice of his personal favorites. He's belligerently oblivious, but also, you don't know that he's already got the diamond ring and it's been buried in his sock drawer for weeks while he plans the proposal.
Eddie is also the type to be oblivious to flirting. He thinks girls are just being nice to him when in actuality they're trying to get into his pants. It drives you crazy. It gets to a point where you've trained him to just mention you all the time to shut that shit down fast.
Mechanic!Eddie rarely lets you drive, but the one time he does, you end up having to parallel park. You don't even complain, he just reaches over and helps you from the passenger seat. Checking the side mirrors, he turns the wheel leisurely, easily squeezing into the spot. It's genuinely the hottest thing he's ever done and that's saying something.
Eddie (the walking hormone) is the type to brush past you in the kitchen, sliding his pelvis along your ass—when there's ample room, mind you. Talking about, “Sorry," and "'Scuse me," as if he's not doing it on purpose, just so you know he's hard and ready if you so choose to have a little fun.
Eddie races to the door before you, every time, always wanting to open it and usher you in. If you get there before him, he slows his motions, yelling distortedly, "Nooooooo," as he dramatically reaches for you.
If you ask him to cut your pancakes for you, he’ll do it in a heartbeat, but he’s doing it his way. He’ll tear them apart, shredding the fluffy material with ease. You just stare, jaw dropped as he roars, flexing like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. When you have kids, you teach them how to use utensils through Eddie. “See, even daddy struggles, but look! He’s doing it!" And he always grumbles, sluggishly sawing away. "This would’ve been done fifteen seconds ago if your mommy would let me be a man.” “How is tearing your food like a three-year-old being a man?" That's when he leans over to your son, mumbling, "Good lesson to learn, bud. Every one's a critic."
When you’re pregnant, he stretches the headphones of his Walkman around your belly, insisting the baby be acquainted with his taste in music. He claims it’ll make car rides easier. That the screaming guitar solos will only aid the comfort of the little one, not disturb it. But also because he’s “not gonna stop being metal as fuck just because he’s a dad.”
That boy is corrupt...could you teach him to love me, maybe?
Summary: In winter 2007, heartbreak and harsh weather led you to a dive bar in Hawkins, Indiana. You'd planned to wait out the storm with a drink or two, but the older, tattooed owner finds his own way to mend your broken heart.
WC: 2.7k
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, age gap (Eddie is 41 and Reader is 22), unwanted male attention (not from Eddie), Billy Hargrove is my go-to antagonist, drinking (no intoxication), corruption kink, some choking, Eddie Munson has a big dick, takes place in 2007.
Divider credit to @saradika-graphics
Rain poured down in buckets as lightning cracked along the ink-colored sky. Your wipers flew across the windshield with such a voracity that you thought they’d snap clean off.
It felt like you’d been driving forever, crawling along backroads and highways alike. Traffic came to a halt once the storm clouds rolled in; since then, you’d been searching for shortcuts to Indianapolis.
The moment you’d passed a sign welcoming you to Hawkins, the rain went from a steady thrum to torrential. And after just a few minutes of trying to battle the weather, you conceded and pulled into the first parking lot you saw.
You weighed your options. You could sit in your car and try to ignore how the tiny sedan shook with each thunderclap, or you could make a run towards the bar, its neon sign screaming OP N. The “E” had almost burnt out, flickering briefly before going dark again.
Your clothes became stuck to your skin just in the few seconds it took you to dash inside. The grating squeak of the front door thwarted your attempt to sneak in inconspicuously.
It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, paltry even by dive bar standards. A small crowd of men gathered by the pool table, idly rubbing chalk on their cues and grunting about work. Something about them gave you the creeps, and you averted your eyes as quickly as you could.
“Hey!”
One of the men called out to the bartender. Like you, she seemed to be trying her best to ignore them, but she looked up with a blank expression.
The man smirked back at her. “‘Nother round. And maybe smile if you want a good tip.”
The bartender rolled her eyes. “You haven’t tipped a day in your goddamn life, Hargrove.”
“Oh, he’ll give you a tip,” chortled another of the men.
A poor excuse for air conditioning managed to bite at your skin; instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. Unfortunately, this caught their de facto leader’s attention.
The guy that the bartender called ‘Hargrove’ sauntered over. A cigarette dangled from his lips. “Well, well,” he drawled. “Who do we have here? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“Just passing through,” you mumbled, praying that the stranger would take the hint and leave you alone.
To your chagrin, his smirk only widened. “A tourist, huh? Well, allow me to show you around.”
“No, thanks.”
A shudder shook you to your core as he pressed his palm to the small of your back. It drifted lower, grazing your ass, before traveling back up again.
“C’mon. Wouldn’t want a pretty little thing you getting lost—”
A door slammed suddenly somewhere off to the left of the bar. You jumped, your heart leaping into your throat.
A man stalked out from a darkened hallway. One tattooed hand clamped down on Hargrove’s shoulder, yanking him from where he stood leering.
“Get the fuck out,” the man growled.
Hargrove scoffed. “C’mon, Munson; I was just talking to her—”
“Conversation’s over,” Munson snapped. He clenched his fists, the veins in his forearms prominent and angry against his inked skin. “Go home to your wife.”
Hargrove opened his mouth to protest, but a single steely-eyed glare from the other man—Munson—quickly shut him up. He dug into his pants pocket and produced a gold wedding band, irritatedly sliding it onto his finger as he slunk out of the bar. His cronies trailed behind him.
“Eddie Munson. Fuckin’ freak,” one of them grumbled before slamming the door behind him.
“You alright?”
You nodded, not able to make eye contact with the handsome man who had come out of the shadows.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
You shook your head no, and Eddie’s shoulders instantly sagged with relief.
“Good.” His hands flexed as he glanced at the front door. “He’s a piss-poor excuse for a man. Acting all tough; meanwhile, he’s forty years old with a thirteen-year-old’s mustache.”
Laughter broke through your wall of nerves. “You think he uses Rogaine on his upper lip?”
Eddie snorted. “If he does, he should get a refund, because that shit ain’t working.” He tapped the counter and held up two fingers to the bartender, who filled up two glasses with whatever lukewarm beer was on tap.
“Is he always such a skeez?”
“Oh, yeah.” Eddie confirmed. He kept his gaze trained on you even as he drank. “Knew him back in high school. He was always running around with the rest of the assholes on the basketball team, trying to see who could get the most pu—girls.” Color stained his cheeks.
You bit back a grin. “I’m guessing you weren’t on the basketball team?”
Eddie looked offended that you’d even suggested such a thing. “Absolutely not. I ran the D&D club. They wanted nothing to do with my ‘satanic ways.’” He waggled his ringed fingers.
You lifted your brows. “D&D? Isn’t that, like, kinda nerdy?”
He clutched at his heart and stumbled off of the barstool dramatically. “Sweetheart, you wound me. I wasn’t deemed Hawkins’ Number One Devil Worshiper just to be labeled a nerd.”
You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you Sweetheart.
Eddie shook his head as he took a seat once again. “Hargrove and those guys could do whatever they wanted, but I was ‘corrupting the youth’ by playing a fantasy game.”
“I’d rather be corrupted by you than spend a second with Hargrove.”
Eddie choked on his beer. “Christ,” he muttered. “Can’t just say shit like that. I don’t even know your fuckin’ name.”
You told him, and he stuck out his hand for you to shake. His palm was callused but inviting, and you let your fingers linger for a beat longer than necessary.
“Anything else, Eddie? Otherwise I’m gonna head home,” the bartender called out, already slinging her purse over her shoulder.
“Nah, just drive safe. Don’t forget to take your tips.” He gestured to the jar on the counter, half-full with dollar bills.
“I have to get back on the road, too,” you blurted out.
Eddie squinted, peering out the rain-streaked window. “It’s coming down in buckets. Are you going far?”
You took a swig of the beer and licked away the foam left on your lips before answering. “Just Indianapolis.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, not tonight you aren’t.”
“I need to—”
“There’s a Motel 6 nearby. Cheap but clean, and there’s always a vacancy.” Eddie chuckled. “Small town, y’know?”
But you weren’t listening. You had to get to Indianapolis tonight. Your cell phone was burning a hole in your pocket, the text message sent to you by your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) permanently seared into your brain.
this isnt wrkng. the dstnce is 2 hrd. sry.
You’d called three times; each time, the call was forwarded to voicemail.
No answers; just the end of a year-long relationship and the empty promises he swore he’d keep.
That only left one option: driving up to IU Indianapolis and knocking on the door to his dorm room.
“I said, I need to go.”
Eddie could practically read the story from the forlorn look on your face. “Heartbreak, huh?” He sighed when you nodded. “Listen, I don’t know what happened, but whoever this person is, they’re not worth you risking your life out there.”
“But I love him.” Your voice was pathetically quiet, and you took another gulp of beer to quell the embarrassment building inside of you. “And I thought he loved me, too.”
Eddie was silent for a long moment. “I’m not the most romantic guy out there,” he began, shooting the bartender a pointed look when she laughed, “but anyone who makes you question their love for you probably isn’t your ‘soulmate,’ or whatever.”
You sighed and bit on your thumbnail before relenting. “My best friend said the same thing.”
“Well, there ya go.” He gave you an easy grin. “Now it’s two against one.”
Leaning your forearm on the counter, you let your head hang in defeat. “She’s not always so brilliant,” you mumbled. “Her next suggestion was for me to get over him by getting under someone else.”
“Also not a bad idea.” He slid closer to you, warmth radiating off of his body. The tantalizing scents of nicotine and cologne only made him harder to resist. “Got anyone in mind?”
His lips were right there. Teasing you. Begging you to lean forward and kiss them.
Instead, you nodded slowly, never taking your eyes off of his mouth.
Eddie’s thumb brushed over your cheek. “Does he own a shitty bar in the middle of nowhere and think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen?”
Another nod, this one cut off by his lips pressing against yours. He tasted of beer and cigarettes, and you moaned into his mouth the moment your tongue felt his.
Your fingers tangled in Eddie’s frizzy curls, nails meeting scalp as he ducked his head into the crook of your neck. Pain mixed with pleasure as his tongue laved over where the coarse hairs of his beard scratched your skin.
Denim met denim as he tugged you onto his lap; or maybe you’d moved. It was difficult to keep track of your own body when you were hyperfocused on his. It took all of your willpower not to bend down and bury your face against the slight softness of his tummy; still, you couldn’t help but find the hem of his t-shirt and start pulling it upwards.
“Whoa.” Eddie nearly toppled backwards off of the stool. The heat of humiliation washed over you, and you immediately had an apology perched on your tongue. He noticed your embarrassment, quickly correcting himself. “No, Sweetheart, ‘s okay. I like where this is going. Just, uh…” he pointed at the window, “don’t want anyone getting a free show, y’know?”
He glanced around the empty bar as though assessing for the best place to fuck you before finally deciding on his office. Papers littered his desk, but he shoved them aside, littering the floor with various bills and contracts. He kicked a swivel chair out of the way, its upholstery worn down to the springs. It collided into the wall with a soft thud.
“C’mere,” he ordered, hooking a finger into one of your belt loops and kissing your jawline. “‘S not exactly the penthouse at the Ritz-Carlton but, uh, it’ll do.”
You giggled despite your nerves, letting your hands rest on the meat of his biceps.
Eddie shook his head. “You’re fucking laughing,” he growled, sucking a harsh bruise into your neck. “I’m bricked up in my own goddamn office and you’re fucking laughing.” When he pulled back, a wolfish smile stretched across his face.
“What?”
“Just figured out the perfect way to shut you up.” With that, Eddie spun you around so you faced the now-bare desk. Your palms splayed out in front of you, bracing your trembling body.
Sex for you wasn’t always making love, but it had never been like this. There was usually a bed involved, maybe a couch, and had always been preceded by a date or two.
Never this. Never with a stranger in the backroom of a dive bar.
Eddie grabbed your neck, applying the smallest amount of pressure that still managed to shoot fireworks through your bloodstream. Not even his metal rings against your throat could cool you down.
“I’m going to make you feel so good that you can’t remember your own name, let alone his.” Eddie’s breath tickled the shell of your ear. There was no hiding the disgust in his voice when he mentioned your ex.
There were only the sounds of belt buckles clanking open and zippers being undone, followed by the rush of cold air as Eddie bent you over and yanked down your jeans and panties. His middle finger snuck between your legs and easily found your clit.
“There we go.” He let out an amused huff when your ass instinctively grazed his boxer-clad cock. “Wait, Sweetheart. Gotta make sure you’re good first.”
You whimpered impatiently, desperate for him to be inside you.
“I know, honey,” he cooed. His finger drifted to where you were currently clenching around nothing and finally filled you. “Is that what you needed?”
“Mhm. S-So…so good.”
Words evaded you as Eddie plunged his thick finger in and out. He started at a torturously slow pace, curling his finger just so to reach your sweet spot. His other hand rested on the small of your back.
“Want…want…”
“I know,” he repeated, tone just as soothing. “Can you turn around, Sweetheart?”
You needed a second to gather your thoughts, to get your body to cooperate with your brain. But no amount of time would have prepared you for what you saw.
Eddie was big. Not impossibly so; not like pornstar penises that could have doubled as impalement tools. But Eddie was certainly well-endowed. The tip of his cock, red and leaking pre-cum, laid flush against the weathered cotton of his t-shirt.
There was no hiding his smug grin, though it admittedly took you a minute to stop gawking at his length and look at his face.
“Yeah. That’s why I need to make sure you’re good first.” He stroked himself gratuitously, groaning as his thumb rubbed over the sensitive tip. “Fuck, bend over for me again.”
‘Obedient’ wasn’t a sufficient description. You followed Eddie’s orders like your life depended on it.
He kept his left hand wrapped around his cock while he fingered you with the other. His pace was quicker this time; he was no longer able to pretend that he wasn’t on the precipice of falling apart.
The feeling of him entering you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. He gripped your hips fervently, swearing under his breath as he gradually pushed himself inside.
“Mmm, fuck,” he muttered. “You’re so tight. Feels–do you feel good?”
You nodded, but that didn’t satisfy Eddie. He clasped your neck once more, squeezing tightly enough for you to feel it but not enough to cause any real pain, as the rest of his body stilled.
“Words, Sweetheart. Yes or no.”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He chuckled, his body humming against yours. “Not ‘God,’ baby girl. Jus’ me.” He inhaled sharply when you laughed with him. “Shit, you get tighter when you laugh.”
You saw stars as he thrusted inside you, following a relentless rhythm.
“Never felt like th-this before,” you stammered, gripping the desk as best as you could with sweat-slicked hands.
“Yeah?” Eddie squeezed your throat. “Never been fucked this good before?”
You shook your head pathetically.
His thrusts got harder, more frenzied. “And you’ll never be fucked this good again.” The hand around your neck traveled down to your clit, smearing it with your own arousal while he frantically rubbed it.
You ground your ass into his snapping hips, chasing a high that he was more than eager to provide.
“Y’got…perfect pussy,” Eddie slurred. “Pretty girl…perfect pussy…gonna ruin me.” He grunted in a combination of frustration and desire. “S’posed to be ruining you, Sweetheart.”
“Ruin me.” You arched your back to take him deeper. “Please. Please, I’m so close–”
He flicked his middle finger over your clit as he slammed into you again. You let out a moan, not caring that Eddie hadn’t locked the front door. Anyone could walk in and hear you, but your sole focus was coming all over Eddie’s cock.
“Oh, Eddie!”
Eddie spilled into you as you cried out his name, riding out his orgasm with a few final, sloppy thrusts. His labored breaths were in time with yours, your bodies once again in sync.
Eddie pulled out with a groan, wiping the tip of his cock on a random napkin before pulling up his pants.
“Tell me,” he finally managed, “that you’re not going back to that shitty ex of yours.”
You were quiet for a beat too long. Eddie reached into his back pocket, producing a business card. The edges were soft and worn, the white background tinged with gray, but the text was still legible.
EDDIE MUNSON
OWNER/MANAGER
317-555-8604
“Call me when he breaks your heart again. I’ll take care of you.”
as a part 2 to the eddie biting fic - reader starts to bite back, at his biceps and hands bc she loves them. thank youuu
I have looked up and down for what the biting fic was, but I still donno. But you know what, I fuck with this because sometimes you just gotta ‘nom’.
word count: 0.6k
Eddie talks, a lot. And it’s really not that bad of a quality. It’s why he’s the dungeon master and the lead singer of a band. But right now, it’s late.
The dinner you just ate with some of Eddie’s friends and their partners, just politely kicked you out with how late it was. Workers let you use the bathroom one last time before walking out into the humid air.
Usually, even in hot weather like this, Eddie would wear a jacket. You’ve been urging him to take it off more because you don’t want him to get heat stroke, but also because every inch of Eddie’s skin is a delight to see.
Like right now— a black tank top on, and you can see all of his tattoos on his arm with a little bit of his stomach pudge peaking out over his belt.
You’re aching for comfort with how late and dark it is, how tired you are. Your hand slides into Eddie’s hand first, and you casually ask.
“Ready to go?”
Eddie nods, but he’s watching Jeff as he tells a story. “Yeah. Right after this, babe.”
Well right after this apparently meant another twenty minutes. You don’t know how much longer you can fake smile and laugh at every story.
Aimlessly walking around the parking lot and waiting to leave, you come up behind Eddie. Your chin is on his shoulder as you listen, but it gets boring quick and your teeth grow achy. It’s weird how you just wanna chow down on his skin.
Just a little, it doesn’t have to hurt and it can be small so no one notices. You act as if you’re pressing a kiss to his shoulder instead, nose nudging at his skin. Quick and easy both rows of teeth grab at his skin quickly before letting go. Eddie doesn’t flinch, so you assume it’s okay to do it again.
A little harder this time, you sink your teeth in. The flesh of his shoulder between your teeth dulls that ache with every little chomp up and down that you do.
This time, you watch as Eddie turns his head with an amused smile to you. You pull off and there’s this small mark with saliva around it. It won’t bruise, but it’s a little red.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m ready to go.”
You whine softly. You’re hopping your tired gaze persuades Eddie enough to start walking toward his van. Instead, he just shakes his head toward you.
“So your solution was to bite me?”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“Then yes.”
Your mouth— already open— starts to slowly descend for his bicep. Another bite in threat of not leaving. Slight curve of his bicep making you want to feel his skin on your tongue. Hands wanting to claw at his stomach.
Eddie laughs, and shakes his head. His hand finally digs into his pocket for his keys, and he does a little wave for attentions sake as he announces.
“Hey, heading out for tonight. Gotta get this one home.”
He points to you like you’re some dog, and he’s your chew toy. A choir of “bye” and “drive safe” are heard before you’re walking away to the van.
“Maybe I should bite you more often if it means getting out of there faster.”
“Yeah? Means I get to bite you in return.”
Eddie playfully goes for your neck, that one spot that’s most ticklish, and you squeal right in the parking lot as his teeth graze your skin.
“Get off of me, you vampire!”
“Vampire? I’ll have you know I’m wearing silver.”
“Good. Cuz I had garlic with my food n’I don’t want you to die.”
“Mmm…garlic? Lemme bite at your lip just to make sure.”
i know we've all discussed the rings and weddings of each eddie, but what about the proposals?? would give my heart and soul to see how mafia!eddie proposes to kitten
i genuinely would have to really think about this. maybe making a little blurb dedicated to all of them??
because i know rockstar!eddie’s, and i think there’s a work with older!eddie’s?? I’ll have to check the crypt lol.
but mafia!eddie’s I think i’m thinking like him too much, because nothing seems elaborate enough- and that’s exactly what he would think too.
like why am i getting the vibes that he’d try too hard and then it would kinda go up in flames?? like tries to go too over the top and keeps crashing out because things go wrong.
then max or gareth or wayne are like “hey chill out. she’s gonna say yes no matter what so make it personal not a show.” clocks him truly, and he’s pissed about it but he knows it’s right.
i could see him sending you away for a spa day with nancy, just to get spoiled (which is not unusual so you’re not very suspicious) while he sets up at the house. a bunch of flowers, your favorite meal cooked, one thousand candles everywhere because he is that type, and of course the boys are included.
maybe gets them little bow ties so they’re “dressed up” for the occasion. you always say that, and he always rolls his eyes but it’s so endearing- and they needed to be dressed up. it’s a very important occasion.
just a very romantic and elaborate still, but not fireworks and grand symphony with a thousand plus people- just you two and the dogs at home, pouring his heart out in the candlelight.
i feel something like that?? like that’s just his vibe to me.
Summary: One thing you knew for certain is that you hated Eddie Munson.
Warnings: MeanDom!Eddie, Sub!Reader, toxic relationship, masochism, choking/breath play, praise kink, sir kink, downright filth(reader is called slut, sweetheart and brat and the word “fucking or fucked” is in this fic way too many times)
Note: HAPPY KINKTOBER HOTTEES!! I hope you’re horny and hard because this fic is hot hot hot! It took me way too long to upload this but the mere fact that I am still posting on schedule with only sleep for four hours last night AND having an opening shift this morning for work, I commend myself for that. I haven’t written smut in a long time and I’ve never written something this filthy on my blog and I’m so excited! Hope you guys enjoy
Also I have no clue which “cum” and “come” is the right word to put while writing so it’s a mix a both in this fic. I’m pretty sure it’s based on preference but ya know the jit *shrugs*
kinktober 2025
One thing you knew for certain is that you hated Eddie Munson.
You hated his hair, his clothes, the fucking tattoos on his skin. And most of all, you hated the way he was staring at you from across the room.
You were at some shitty party your friends convinced you to come to. Finally complying after the tenth whiney request of your presence from your friends. Some good that did, because not even 30 minutes into the party, the whole lot of you dispersed away from each other with different plans in mind. Your friends wanted to get laid and you needed a fucking drink.
So here you were, standing in the kitchen with a red solo cup filled with the sickly sweet piked punch some guy had called ‘The Good Stuff’. It was red and warm and had a lot of booze in it that you were already feeling a little loose and buzzed.
After downing at least one cup full, you decided to do a walk around the party. The place smelled like weed, sweat and the faintest hint of whatever the hell was in your solo cup. All the lights were off besides the colorful string lights and lava lamps that littered the place. You tried to see if you noticed anybody that was worth hanging out with or talking to and made sure to do a once over on your friends, making sure they were alright.
The living room that was turned into a makeshift dance floor was filled with people dancing, taking and making out. You grimaced when you had been bumped into a couple swapping spit, who weren’t even fazed by your accidental shove as they fell onto the couch next to you.
You had finally made your way into a corner of the living room, free from horny couples grinding against each other and guys trying to get you to dance with them. You were content with just gulping down your booze and people watching—that was until your eyes landed on the dark haired boy you had spent weeks avoiding.
Eddie Munson.
And he had been evidently already staring right at you.
You felt your heart skip a beat and your stomach flutter all at the same time when you locked eyes with him. He was doing the same thing you were, standing in a corner of the room all by his lonesome, probably waiting for someone eager for a quick high. You knew Eddie too well, knowing that parties like these were his best way for easy cash, you hated that you remembered that.
You can feel his eyes rake down your body as you do the same to him. He’s wearing a dark color tee that looks black with the red and blue lights over the room. His arms covered in his usual leather jacket as well as his standard black ripped jeans with a chain attached to his side. You fucking love that chain, you remember him fucking you with that chain wrapped around your neck and your wrists on multiple occasions.
Despite your hatred, Eddie Munson is fucking hot and it doesn’t help with how confident he is about it.
Eddie Munson is so sure of himself in who he is and what he wants—albeit, he’s a piece of shit but he knows that he’s be a piece of shit. He knows that he’s an asshole, and that unfortunately is what makes him hotter.
When you finally get down to his black lace up boots you quickly bring your eyes back to a smirking Eddie. He knows you were checking him out and you know he fucking enjoyed it. Your assumption is answered when he raises his eyebrows up at you and his smirk grows into a sly smile. You know that look, you’ve given into that look, you’ve even given him a look similar to that look. You feel a rush of heat down your body and you try your best to put it on the red juice that you can still taste on your lips but you knew better.
“Fuck.” You mutter to yourself as you start to take a step towards him. But, as if some angel up in heaven was trying to stop you, a group of guys come up to Eddie with money in their hands and excitement in their eyes in need of drugs.
Thank God. You thought to yourself as you took a sip of your solo cup, but when your lips get nothing but a single drop, you turn and head back into the kitchen for another fill of The Good Stuff.
The kitchen was empty thankfully, you weren’t in the mood for being in the middle of awkward small talk with people you really never spoke to in between classes. Using the ladle, you pour a decent amount of punch in your cup to forget how Eddie’s stare alone made you want to go back to him. With a scoff and a shake of your head, you down a gulp. You couldn’t believe you almost gave into him.
From just a look, a fucking look.
Fuck, your feet hurt from these boots. You don’t know how Heather convinced you into wearing them. And okay sure, they made your legs look hot, but after a while your feet felt like it was on fire. You could go back into the living room and try to find a couch to sit on, hoping the stupid couple you pushed had found a room for their drunken rendezvous, but you didn’t trust yourself enough to sit there and watch Eddie without doing something you’ll great later. The more space between you two, the better. With that decision made, you jump up onto the kitchen counter and start taking off a boot.
A deep sigh of relief leaves your lips when your foot is free, head leaning back against the wooden kitchen cabinet, the cool metal of the door handle hits the nape of your neck–-a bright contrast from the heat radiating off you from how warm the place is. Some many people all crushed together at the bottom floor of two story home doesn’t help the AC get any colder.
You enjoy the small slice of silence, eyes closed as you wiggle your sock covered foot. Ready to take off the other one, you put the shoeless foot to hang off the kitchen counter and bring your boot covered foot on top of the counter. When you open your eyes though, your hand freezes at the start of pulling down the zipper, because Eddie Munson just walked into the kitchen and there’s nowhere else for you to run to without getting into his personal space.
He has his hands in his pockets as he walks slowly toward you. Like the evil serpant, the devil on your shoulder, the Grim fucking Reaper—he smirks, stopping a few feet away from you. Standing not too close but not too far away from so you can hear his voice over the loud music outside the kitchen.
“Didn’t know you were gonna come.”
You shrug your shoulders, “Took a lot of persuading.”
He hums in understanding, a sly smile growing on his lips as he looks down at you. “I’m surprised–it’s not really your scene.” Not anymore.
You don’t respond back and he knows why. You can see it in his eyes that he’s debating about something before he looks back to the entrance of the kitchen. The doorway is the only option to come in or out and it looks like a portal to another world–the darkness of the hallway, the thump thump thump of the speakers, the strobe lights flickering into the fluorescent kitchen.
“I saw you walking towards me earlier, before I had to do some business. What was that about?” He questions slyly with his eyebrows raised, as if he doesn’t already know what it was about.
“Heather needed some weed,” you lie, “She’s too busy sucking face somewhere so I thought I’d do her a favor and get it just in case she forgot.”
Eddie’s quiet for a bit, searching your eyes for the truth, because he knows that what you said was a lie. He was always so good at reading you, knew you like the back of his ring covered hand. Eddie takes a step closer to you, his black jeans brushing the side of your legs, you can smell him with how close he is. He smells just like you remember— irish spring and weed with a hint of motor grease.
“We both know Heather wouldn't want me talking to you right now.”
You go silent as he watches you. He’s right, you know he’s right, but you have yet to make a move of hopping off the counter and leaving his presence. Eddie Munson is intoxicating, he’s like the drugs he sells and your the addict that just can’t stop taking them, but you won’t admit that to him—not yet at least.
“I’m a big girl.” It comes out sounding a little stupid and a bit cringey but it’s all you can say to him because you are. You’re an adult who can make her own decisions. But is Eddie a good decision?
Absolutely not.
“You know,” Eddie dips his head and leans into your personal space. You can feel the heat radiating off of him and it makes you feel like your on fire the second you feel his hands on top of your thighs. “If you wanted more–wanted me, you could’ve just asked.”
—
The trip upstairs is a blur. You feel dizzy with the scent of Eddie and the heat of his hands. He kisses you like you’ll push him away at any given second and you both know that you probably fucking should.
Fumbling for the door handle, his mouth never breaks from yours as you slam the door shut. Your bodies slam against the bedroom door, the pain that erupts from the back of your head burns sickly sweet. A moan leaves your lips as Eddie’s hand tighten on your hip and cheek.
“That fucking hurt.” You gasp out between kisses.
“You fucking like it.”
And you do, oh god you do. You like the harsh sting that floods your body then fizzles out all warm and sweet. Eddie moves his lips from yours and trails the sloppily down your cheek to the spot on your neck he found the first night he fucked you. The grip in your hair is tight as he bites and tongues at your jugular, wincing at the pain his teeth brings you grip his leather jacket hard, fingernails tugging down on the fabric as a physical plea for Eddie to take it off.
You feel his teeth latch off of you as he pulls away, yanking the leather like it burns him as he watches you with hooded eyes. His lips grow into that stupid cheshire grin you hate as you hands fumble for the spiked belt he wore, eager and needy for him. “Knew you were gonna come crawling back to me. Can’t get enough, you never could.”
“Fuck you.” you whisper out against his lips, his words anger you, but not enough for you to stop pulling at the metal in front of his jeans. “Asshole.”
Eddie hums at the word, his hand gliding back to your neck, squeezing just enough for your eyes to roll back and your hands to falter. You blink back to see him still smiling at you, his eyebrows raised as if he’s asking you to say something else.
“Of course you still got a mouth on you. I bet all the other guys you fucked couldn’t handle it, hm? You’re too much of a fucking brat for anyone else to satisfy.”The minute the grip of his fingers loosen against the side of your throat, the anger that burns through you makes you push Eddie away and slap him right across the face.
There’s a thick pause, a quietness that grows scary and hot as you watch his adam’s apple shift as he swallows. Eddie slowly turns his head back to look at you– the weight of your palm had it turned the other way– breath heavy in anticipation, your lips grow into your own sly smirk as you lean back against the door.
“Oops,” you shrug, eyes glistening with want.
Eddie scoffs out a humourless laugh, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He nods his head once, twice–looking up to the ceiling briefly before flicking them back at you.
The look in his eyes is all sinful and mean and the giggle that leaves your throat doesn’t surprise you as he manhandles you to the bed. Your body bounces against the mattress, back laying on the cool sheets of whoever’s fucking room this was. It does nothing to cool your hot skin, your hands spread out about your head, boot covered feet dangling off the bed as you watch Eddie walk over to you. Soon enough you feel the dip of the bed as he crawls over to you, hovering over your frame. The heat of his skin, his breath, his hands do nothing but fuel the fire that grows deep in your belly.
You squirm in anticipation, lifting your head up to try and kiss him, but his hand caress the side of your neck for the second time that night, pushing you back down into the mattress. This time, he squeezes harder than before, and the tightness against your throat fills you with pleasure as your vision blurs, slowly blinking to capture his face.
“Did I tell you move?” Eddie questions, his voice darker than before more hearty and thick filled with desire and anger. You tried to shake your head but his grip tightens. The pressure that engulfs you makes you smile.
“Use your fucking words.” He demands.
“No.” The word comes out tightly, like a whisper under the full moon as you feel the blood rush to your head.
A sharp and sweet pain erupts on your cheek, your head to turned to the side at the weight of it. Blood rushes to your the skin where Eddie’s slapped you. The pain tingling like pins and needles but sends a rush of excitement and pleasure through your entire body.
“Try again.” You love how deeper his voice gets when he’s like this. It’s something about the tone in his voice, the way he carries himself and that stern demanding look in his eye that makes you want to do anything Eddie says.
The second he releases his grip off you throat, the words leave you like a prayer, “Yes sir.”
With Eddie’s eyes never leaving yours, he pushes himself off the bed. His black ripped jeans are barely touching the sheets, and you could touch him with the toe of your boot if you wanted but you stay still on the bed as Eddie looks at you with hooded eyes. He doesn’t say anything to you at first, and it’s as if he’s frozen in time just for you to admire, to gawk at, to squeeze your thighs together in eager anticipation, waiting for his next move. The moon cascades on him through the cracked blinds, he looks sinfully ethereal. His tattoos darkend and his hair low, giving his face almost a shadow look, decked in silver that glistens under the moon light.
“Turn around and get on your knees.”
You both know that’s not a request and yet you still hesitate. There’s a gnawing need to be a little mischievous, a little stubborn, a little bratty. You can’t help it. So you don’t move, instead, you hands start to slowly glide up your body, your shirt lifting in the process. The red lacy bra that you put on just for the hell of it looks maroon in the darkness of the moonlight, yet you can still see Eddie’s eyes darken as he watches you cup your tits all nice and pretty for him.
You almost make him change his mind about what he’s about to do to you–almost.
Eddie turns you around without much effort, a gasp turned moaned leaves your lips as he molds your body into the position he wants. Your knees and elbows against the mattress, your head pressed down, cheek smushed into the bedding. You can still feel his warm hand against the dip of your back. “Fuckin’ look at you sweetheart, a sight for sore eyes.” He groans out, you hum at the praise. You feel both of his hands now, sliding down your back past the slither of skin exposed from your position to the black skirt you were wearing for the party. You back arches as he grips your ass, Eddie moans at the sight of it. “Thats it baby, arch that back. Wanna see how pretty you look before I fuck you.”
You whine at his words, hips wiggling to press against him. Your ass erupts into a stinging pain when Eddie releases a harsh palm to it. You shriek at the smack and let out a pleasure filled cry.
“Please,” you beg, you feel a dip into the mattress and you’re greeted with the sight of Eddies face in front of you. “I didn’t tell you to fucking move sweetheart.” His words so condescendingly sweet, your lips pout as your eyes begin to water. Eddie mimics the movement of your mouth, humming mockingly at the sound of your coos. “Does my little brat wanna get fucked? Is that it?”
“Yes sir,” you whimper out, Eddie’s palm slides from your back to your cheek, wiping the tear that managed to fall. You can taste the saltiness of it, as Eddie’s thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. Eager and pent up, you stick your tongue out in a physical request, eyes never leave his as you plead silently. “Oh, you’re so eager for it, huh?” His thumb barely brushes against your bottom lip, no where near your tongue where you want. Your eyes well up with more tears as you mewl.
“You disobeyed me, I told you not to move and you did.” He tells you softly, brushing your cheek with the upmost tender you ever received from someone who has you pinned down to the mattress. “Then, I told you to turn around for me and you didn’t sweetheart. How can you learn your lesson if I don’t punish you?”
You press your face into the mattress, you’re so fucking horny and ready for him that it’s painful. You don’t even need to look down at yourself or for Eddie to tell you if you’re soaking the matching red panties you wore because you can feel it dripping down your thighs.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper out.
“What?” Eddie pulls at your hair tightly, turning your face back toward his so you can look at him properly. “My girl can’t be shy now, what did you say?”
“I’m sorry sir.”
Eddie hums, releasing the grip he had on your hair, brushing it away from your face as he caresses your cheek. He looks at you with such adoration and something else you do not want to think about in this fucking moment. All you want to think about right now, is how hard he’s about to fuck you.
“You remember our word sweetheart?” Eddie asks you, eyebrows raised as he waits for you to say it back to him. The safeword leaves your lips and he hums with praise, his thumb slipping past them just enough for you to almost wrap your mouth around and suck before pulling away.
You stay still in the position he put you in, you can hear the sound of his belt clinking open, and the metal sound of his zipper. You feel his hands on your ass again, pushing up your skirt to rip your underwear to the side, you gasp at the tightness of the fabric as Eddie shushes you. He plays with you for a moment, his thumb grazing from your hole to your aching clit which makes you jolt. The movement earns a slap on your right cheek from Eddie.
You jolt again at the feeling of his spit against you as it drips down to your entrance. Eddie smears it with his hand and lets out a groan at the sight of you. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking soaked. I don’t even need the spit.” He plays with your clit only for a few seconds humming out a laugh at your moans and the feeling of you pressing into his hand–desperately wanting more.
And finally when you writhing with need and about to burst, dripping between the gaps of Eddie’s fingers onto the sheets, you feel the length of hims against your entrance sliding in with one easy push from how wet you are. You both moan at the feeling, your body sagging with relief, cheek pressing itself farther into the mattress and head limp. He presses a hand to you back grasping at the back of your shirt, tightening his hand into a fist around the fabric. He kisses the dip in your back right before he starts to pound into you.
Its harsh and it’s fast and it’s everything you fucking needed.You don’t care about how loud you are and neither does Eddie. In fact, he slows down his pace and slaps your ass hard if you try to muffle them. Tears are sliding down your face from how good he fucks you, you’re pretty sure your makeup’s smudged and ruined but that does give you enough reason fro him to stop.
You can never get over how hot this is, how hot Eddie is when you have sex. How filthy and overall fucking insatiable you both are. The way neither of you have taken any item of clothing off, aside from Eddie’s jacket. Just pulling and prodding away fabric to get to the end goal of fucking eachother silly. How Eddie can get words and actions out of you with his merely his voice and a stern hand. How in this moment,your brain turns to mush and everything outside of this room means nothing to you.
Eddie’s grip on your shirt is so tight that it slightly chokes you at the collar, you clench around him at the added pleasure. “Yeah? You like that baby?” you can hear the smugness in his voice but there is nothing left in you to be the little stubborn brat you can’t help to be. Your mind is numb with nothing but the thought of Eddie and how could he feels. You mumble out incoherent words, eyes rolling back to your skull and lips foaming with spit, clenching down again at the sound of his voice.
“Oh fuck- yeah you do, my baby loves getting fucked like the dirty slut she is. No one else can fuck her like I can, isn’t that right?” You mewl at his words, pushing your hips deeper into his thrusts, the orgasm thats been growing faster with each push of Eddie’s hips slowly dies out like a candle when he stops moving. You turn your head to look at him, eyes pleading for Eddie to keep going.
“I asked you a question.”
When he doesn’t hear anything back, Eddie slaps your ass twice on both sides, causing you to cry louder in pain and pleasure, this hit stinging more than the rest, heightened by how close you just were to cumming. “I still don’t hear an answer. C’mon sweetheart, use that pretty mouth, I know she’s good for more than just gettin me off. I’m not gonna keep going unless I hear you.”
“Yes sir!” you wail out, eyes flooded with so many tears from your ruined orgasm that Eddie’s blurry in your vision.
“Yes what?” You let out another whine, you both know that you don’t remember what Eddie asked you. “Please.”you plead.
“What are you begging me for sweetheart? It’s not that hard. You couldn’t have forgotten so quickly, I just said it to you. Are you too fucked out to pay attention? Too cock drunk to listen to what I have to say?”
This time, Eddie groans out at how hard you tighten against him, you feel his warm hands splay out against your lower back and slowly rubbing down against your ass soothingly. “I know, I know baby. I’ll keep going if you just tell me, I promise.”
Grabbing onto the pillow for support–because you know you’ll need it—smushing your face down and looking away from Eddies heavy gaze you gather enough courage and whisper out, “I forgot.”
Silence aside from the sound of your heavy pants engulfs the room. You can hear the faint sound of music still playing from the party downstairs, can almost feel the thump thump thump of the speakers against your cheek. You take a peek at Eddie from your hooded eyes, tears dried from how you shyly shoved your face into the pillow. His lips are straight, eyes calm yet scary. His hair is wilder than usual, bangs slightly sticking to his forehead from sweat and exertion. He still looks fucking delectible.
You wait with bated breath on what Eddie’s about to do. Theres a plethora of things that he can decide and you have no clue which one it could be. He could either stop fucking you all together, shoving himself back into his pants and turn away until your begging on your knees for him. He could flip you back to the end of the bed, your head dangling on the edge as he fucks your throat as punishment. He could even just finger fuck you until you cum, as you continuously apologize and beg for him to fuck you proper. The possibilities are endless and each and every one makes you wetter than before.
You want to cum so bad.
You jump in surprise when Eddie makes his decision, jolting you out of your curious daydream of punishment. He’s lifting you up from the back of your shoulders until your back is pressed against his chest. The grip on your arm is tight and burns with a harsh vigor that you let out a breath as Eddie releases. His hands find their resting place wrapped around your tummy and the other sliding up to make a firm resting place on against your neck.
He’s presses down on the sides of your neck and a moan leaves your lips at the sudden change of air in your lungs. Eyes heavy and blood rushing to your ears, you lean you the back of your head to fit into the crook of Eddies neck. Eddie rubs his lips against the side of your face, kissing your cheeks before running his lip against your ear. “Maybe I need to be a little closer to you for you to hear me, huh sweetheart?”
And this time you nod your head rapidly, feeling his breath against your face, his teeth biting on your earlobe, pulling at it until you shriek and respond with words. “Yes sir!”
He moves his hand from your stomach, finding himself back at your entrance and you do everything in your power to not move a muscle. Waiting for him to decide when it’s time to fuck you again, no matter how much your drowning with desire to the point you’ll pass out if you don’t come soon.
He finally pushes his cock inside you, setting the pace back into the fast and deep thrusts from before. You moan out a uh uh uh with each time his hips meet your ass, his hand on your throat still firm but not tight enough that you can’t speak.
“Say, ‘thank you sir’.” Eddie demands of you, his lips still hot on your ear his hand back around your lower tummy and pressing down, adding more emphasis to the budding pleasure thats growing back rapidly with each thrust.
“Th-thank you s-sir.” you reply back, the words hitched out of your throat as you clench against him, moan floods you ear as you feel him fucking into you with a harder vigor. You’re not gonna last long and if Eddie keeps talking, you’re not gonna last period.
“There’s my good girl, took her a while but now she’s listening,huh?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Thaat’s it- I’m so proud of you,” His praise go right down to your core and you cry out as you feel his hand on your lower abdomen slide down until they rest right against your aching clit.
“Eddie ple-” Whatever other words you were going to say become mumbles as you feel the hand that was on your clit just seconds ago, shoved into your mouth. Three fingers prodding at your tongue and your try your best to suck around them as Eddie’s thrusts slowly start to turn sloppy.
He pulls them out and presses his newly wet fingers against your clit, rubbing expertly in the small circular motions that always send you there. “I think I punished my girl enough, maybe she deserves to cum.”
“Yes! Yes! Please Edd-sir please!” you beg.
“Please what?” His rubs at your clit faster, his thrusts stuttering but the pressure never changing.
“Please I deserve to cum.” You clunch on his cock at your own words that leave your mouth. Your orgasm is so close you can literally taste it. You feel so hot and sweaty and sticky but so fucking good at the same time that you never want this to end.
“If you deserve to cum then you gotta ask me baby.” Eddie pants out, you can tell from his hitched voice that he’s close, that this is making him just as hot and bothered as you, if not more.
“C’mon baby, keep using that pretty mouth, I wanna hear you.”
Your orgasm is right there, a few more thrusts and a couple more flicks against your clit and you’ll be reeling in pleasure, but you do your best to hold on because Eddie hasn’t allowed it yet.
“Oh fuck! I’m so close- Pl-Please Eddie, can I cum?” You whine out.
“Please can I come sir.’”
“Ple-Please please can I cum sir? Pleasepleasepleaseplease-” you babble out the word as you get closer and closer to bursting. And when Eddie finally tells you that you can, you can hardly hear how loud you are with how much your ears are ringing. It feels like a weight is lifted off your
shoulders, and a million of nerves are exploding in your body and spasming as you hunch over.
Eddie hasn’t stopped fucking you as you come, fingers still rubbing at their pace as he coos out praises, “Thaat’s it, there we go sweetheart, keep cummin. Uh huh, that’s it. Don’t stop baby I got you.”
It doesn’t take long until Eddie comes, his hips stuttering into a full stop as he pulses inside you, you moan at the feeling of his cum shooting in your walls. Both of you are panting heavy, the air knocked out of both of your lungs after that. Eddie slowly pulls out, you wince at the overstimulation of it all as he carefully places you back on the mattress. Cheeks smushed back into the pillow, Eddie turns and flops next to you, groaning at the feeling of the bed and the exertion of sex.
The two of you lay for a bit in the silence, the party still going on beneath you. You can hear someone laughing with the sound of your ears still ringing. You close your eyes and take a deep breath as realization kicks in that you just let Eddie Munson fuck you when you swore on your life and to Heather that you wouldn’t ever again.
Well, some rules are meant to be broken and what Heather doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
i know the dan and phil reveal inevitably is a Tumblr Event TM and that means that the stuff that gets talked about is ironically very surface level and focused on how the Phandom (TM) feels but can we talk about the WRITING of that video??? the ART of it?????
the intro, for starters: it's INTENTIONAL. the bedsheets are ON PURPOSE. the shirts that match the bedsheets. the premise: how they were reduced to the Iconic Matching Bedsheets because that was how the fans Branded them. the intimacy of the bed setting. different but belonging together, the perfect speculated Are They Dating.
confirming it 7 seconds in to finally take control of the narrative.
then, the title card: gloved hands ripping apart the bedsheets and setting them on fire. anonymous people on the internet ruining something so incredibly private, ripping it apart and setting the dregs on fire. THAT'S the theme of the video: why they kept it a secret.. and why they're sharing it now. taking control of the narrative, shedding a light on the damage that was done.
when there are clips of old videos that were since privated i don't think it's accidental that they're taken from torrent sites with the logo intact and not the official upload. BECAUSE THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT. it feels invasive. IT WAS INVASIVE.
it's ART. it's INTENTIONAL. yeah they're dating but they're WRITERS. this isn't just a dating announcement, it's an introspective art film. a video essay. a think piece. so many layers to this video that i think many people are missing or ignoring.
then the REBRAND. it's such a powerful conclusion to a video all about strangers controlling the narrative of one's life and career, and finally freeing oneself from that chokehold. setting boundaries. deciding for yourself what, and how, you do from now on. a metamorphosis, maybe. finally taking back the control that was ripped from them for all those years.
Summary: You and Eddie hold hands all the time. It's his love language, it's his safe place — he does it everywhere, even when he's asleep.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader
Warning: Just fluff, small allusion to smut
Word count: 1k
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Eddie loves holding your hands whenever he can. It’s either while you’re walking around, or at the mall, or when you’re hanging out with your friends. Even in his bedroom, at his trailer.
His thumb will brush over your knuckles once, twice, and then curl in like he wants to lock the moment. He kisses them with more than just affection, it’s the way he shows his love for you.
You’ve always had a weakness for Eddie’s hands. Big, warm, rough from guitar strings and work that doesn’t ask for something softer — and yet, with you, they’re always careful. When they’re on you, it’s impossible to think about anything else.
Just a squeeze of his other hand around yours has you shaking, gasping, clenching around his fingers.
All things considered, it’s never always like that. It’s more romantic, more domestic.
He holds your hand all while he rolls a joint. It’s not the easiest task and it takes him several minutes more than it usually would. As you watch him working on It, you crease your brows.
His fingers are laced with yours, and you can’t help but think it’s funny and adorable. You never complain, your skin ends up smelling like him afterwards – making it hard to wash off then.
You keep looking at him struggling, and an idea crosses your mind.
“Eds, baby” You say and he hums in response, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration “You need your other hand.”
He clicks his tongue In denial and you giggle. And then, a second later, you place your hand just above his groin; it catches him off guard and he nearly yelps.
“Is that better?” You ask, moving his non-occupied hand up to finish the joint.
Eddie all but smiles. Because your hand on his cock is not even close to being better. Not when he’s kind of a horny mess.
“Obviously not” His tone gets aggravated, almost strangled “Sweetie, you know what your hand does to me.”
You shrug, lips tugging in a tight smile. You want to laugh, but he’s going to feel miserable.
“You were going to spend hours with only one hand, baby. Just finish this and then I can solve your issue later.”
He sighs, but completes his task in less than a minute.
And when he sits on the bed and leans against the headboard with you beside him, his hand finds yours again. Fingertips either stroking your skin or drawing circles absentmindedly as he gets high with you.
It's no different when he's fucking you. He intertwines your fingers and brings your hand above your head as he pounds into you. His thumb presses the back of your hand, sweaty skin holding you tightly.
When you both come together, he just lets go to clean you up. Goes back to bed and lies next to you, your face on his chest, hand in hand again. Fingertips dancing against your skin.
When you show up at the Hideout with your friends, he immediately glues to you when his set is over. Ring-clad fingers tangled around yours. Sweaty skin – like always. He talks to his friends as he holds you. He squeezes your hand deliberately without even noticing.
But you notice it, every single time.
Steve thinks it’s too clingy albeit cute. Robin thinks it’s adorable and smiles at you when she sees the way he does it with so much tenderness.
It's just the most affectionate love language someone could have.
When he slides an arm around your waist, he looks for your hand. He searches for you when he leans his head against your stomach every time you lay down on top of the trailer to look at the stars.
Eddie loves how you keep spinning his rings around his fingers, at how your skin feels against his skin.
When you’re in his bed, wearing just an underwear and his tee, one leg thrown over the other as you sing to whatever is on the radio – your fingers curl around his the moment he plants his hand over your face.
While you’re dancing; whether at a party or at the bar. Your hands always find each other, always meeting halfway. The heat of his skin irradiating to your skin immediately, soft and warm.
There’s a reminder of the Upside Down on his skin. A healed, scarred slit across his palm. When you’re holding his hand, your fingers trace the line, soft caressing and gentle strokes over the spot.
Eddie feels safe. It’s almost like your touch makes him feel better, more alive; it’s comforting.
He always brings your hand up to his mouth, his lips placing soft kisses on the back of it, a hint of your perfume lingering there.
He sleeps and wakes up with his hand on yours. Fingers barely moving from cramping.
You used to think it was just habit – that restless, fidgety part of him needing something to do. But the way he exhales when he laces your fingers together tells a different story.
When you’re not together, it’s as though something is missing. The warmth of your hand, the feeling of your touch, the solace of your fingertips over his scars.
“I swear I’m gonna chop her fucking hand off and weld it to your hand” Steve mumbles to his friend, but Eddie just flips him off.
They always have a guys night out. With Argyle and Jonathan on their tails as well. Eddie swears he’s not addicted, but the boys insist he’s on the verge of insanity.
“Just because you’re jealous, Harrington, doesn’t mean you need to be an asshole” He teases, watching as his friends laugh at the topic of the conversation.
And it’s nearly the only thing they talk about. The rounds of beer grow each time, and the lack of your touch almost starts to disappear.
Argyle holds his hand symbolically, claiming it might replace the feeling. But his hand is bigger, rougher – and he squeezes too tight. There’s no tenderness, it’s not even soft.
Eddie feels proud for his body warmth. Whenever you’re cold, he uses the leverage to warm your hands. You’re always too cold, hands and feet almost a block of ice. And when you’re not wearing gloves, he comes to the rescue.
You watch movies either lying on the couch or sitting side by side. His arm around your shoulders; which is the second thing he loves doing the most. It keeps you close to him, it keeps you safe.
But he always finds a way to weave your fingers together. To stroke your skin. His rough and calloused fingertips tracing light paths over your hand.
He stopped biting his nails because of you, because he found in your touch something to soothe his anxiety.
Expo: Luca comes home a little drunk one night craving your touch.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The night was quiet. A subtle breeze was flowing through the bedside window, caressing your face softly as you lay on the bed. Your eyes were shut, but your mind hadn't drifted to sleep yet. You flipped onto your back, a little restless, when suddenly there was a disturbance at the bedroom door. A clawing sound — like someone was scratching against its wooden frame. The handle turned carelessly, and Luca stumbled in, his once-pressed dress shirt now wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, his maroon tie hanging loosely from a lopsided collar.
You groaned and kicked the duvet off yourself, glaring at your fiancé with contempt. This wasn’t the first time Luca had come back home drunk. It wasn’t in his nature to drink heavily, in fact, it was a habit of his father’s that he hated and tried his best to avoid. But when one runs a liquor business, there’s no escaping the occasional nightcap or two, and in this case, maybe ten. And you hate it.
"You're drunk again," you said, almost angrily. Luca raised an eyebrow, nearly tripping over his own foot as he sat down on the couch beside the bed. He looked straight at you with clouded eyes, lips pulled into a taut line like he was holding back a retort.
“You know I hate it when you do this.” You couldn’t conceal your disappointment. For a second, a look of regret flashed across Luca’s face, but it was quickly replaced by that oh-so-familiar emotionless expression. He sighed and pulled off his tie lazily and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a metal tin of cigars and placing one in his mouth. You snapped.
“Don’t you fucking smoke that in here,” you growled, jumping up from the bed. You were wearing a simple silk sleep robe with a lacy front; A birthday present from Luca just two months ago. Luca’s breath hitched slightly.
“This isn’t your house, you don’t have any authority over me,” he drawled out. He tried to keep his composure, but there was no mistaking the way his eyes danced across your scantily draped figure.
“I am your wife,” you asserted, “I have every right to decide what goes on under my roof. My name is on the deed of this house as much as yours is.” You took a step closer to where he sat, inhaling the scent of whiskey and tobacco on his body. His legs were spread apart, a hand on his thigh, the other still holding onto the cigar. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find him ravishingly attractive in the dimly lit night. Something about the way the moonlight hit his face, accentuating his cheekbones, highlighting his dark green eyes.
As if a switch suddenly turned in the atmosphere, Luca dropped his cigar and reached out, placing a hand on your bare thigh. You sucked in a breath, not daring to move a muscle as his thumb began to caress your skin. Slowly, Luca lowered himself off the sofa and onto the floor on his knees. Both his hands moulded around your thighs. He pressed a warm kiss on the inside of your right leg, coaxing a small but unmistakable whimper from your lips.
“Luca…” you whispered, digging your hands into his messy hair. He planted a trail of kisses up your thighs, his hands slithering beneath your silk nightgown and cupping your bare ass.
“My wife… my wife…” he whispered, more to himself than to you. He tilted his neck and made eye contact with you. From where he knelt, he was basically eye to eye with your belly button. He pulled you closer until his chest was pressed up against your legs. His fingers snaked their way from behind into your wet folds. You moaned as he began to massage your vulva with one hand, the other kneading your asscheek. Instinctively, you bucked your hips towards his face, desperate for some friction.
Luca hummed and lowered himself to the ground further. He lifted his head and traced his tongue across your slit. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders for support. It took him no time to find your clit, and he began sucking, occasionally grazing his teeth across it just so he could feel the way you shuddered and moaned. He pushed his middle finger into you, pumping back and forth as his mouth continued to lap up your juices.
“Ohh god… God Luca, yes… Ohhhh…” Your moans were like a sweet symphony to his ears. He hummed, pleased with your reaction, sending a deep vibration up your body. Your slick dribbled down his chin as he continued to curl his fingers deep into you, pushing upwards just a little more every time. His tongue danced eagerly on your clit, occasionally running up and down your folds to get a better taste of your juices. Your legs began to shake, your head thrown back, mouth agape as you shuddered and whined at his touch. “Nggghhh… Luca please. Please. Oh my god…”
Luca strained his eyes upwards to watch your face contort in pure ecstasy. But just as your legs were about to give out, a tell-tale sign that you were close to climaxing, Luca abruptly pulled away and got back up on his feet. You cried out, pained from the sudden absence of stimulation. You almost collapsed to the floor, had Luca not picked you up effortlessly and thrown you onto the bed.
“My wife,” he said lowly, undoing his belt and stripping down to the nude. “You have no idea what it does to me when you call yourself that. Mine. Mine only.”
You were sprawled out on your back, still writhing and craving his touch as you lost your high. Luca slowly crawled on top of you, his penis erect and pulsing. It was wet with precum as he stroked himself once or twice, letting out a soft groan.
“Look at you, so pretty and wet for me.” He bent down, pressing his lips to yours. Then to your cheek, your neck, your collarbones, all while his hand continued to pump his length. “Such a good little girl who doesn’t wear her panties to bed because she knows I’ll take care of her later, no?”
You exhaled, closing your eyes as you felt him fondle your breasts, squeezing and pinching at your nipples. You bit your lower lip. “I need you.”
“Hmmm… what’s that?” He pressed his tip against your entrance, sliding it up and down and up and down. Just the tip. His dick was so hard it hurt, but watching you arch your back and gasp as he pressed his tip against your clit, rubbing it in circles... god it was heavenly.
“I need you Luca, please. Please.” You were desperate. Tears were starting to form in the corners of your eyes as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Your legs wrapped around his lower back instinctively, and you tried to thrust upwards. Luca only smirked and kissed you again.
“You don’t know what it does to me, amore mio. When you take that tone with me. When you bark at me like that. It’s like you know. You know I’d do anything for you. I’m your fucking dog, aren’t I?” Luca pushed his tip into your pussy, teasing you. You bucked your hips upwards, only to have him pull out again.
“Answer me,” he growls. You nodded like your life depended on it.
“Use your words, principessa.”
“Yes Luca. I know. You’re mine. You’re my dog. You’d do anything for me, I know this.” You were breathless just saying that. Your core ached like it had never before. You dug your fingers through his tussled auburn curls, pulling them tight as you brought his face to yours. “Now be a good dog and fuck me properly.”
Luca never needed more assurance than that. He wasted no time and immediately slammed into you, giving you no time to adjust to his size. You cried out, hugging onto his neck as he thrust in and out of you. Every move was accompanied by a low, guttural growl. Beads of sweat trickled down his chest as he held your hips up for a better angle, pounding into you over and over again.
“Luca! Ohhh that feels so good baby…” You whined, eyes shut tight as your pussy gripped his cock. Every time he pressed into you, every time you were stretched out, your back arched a little more and your breath got shallower. The high you lost just minutes ago was slowly building back.
“Feel good? More? You can take more. Amore mio, I know you can take it,” Luca slurred, his Italian accent heavier than ever. He splayed his palm on your lower abdomen and used his thumb to circle around your clit.
You jolted in response. “Ohh! Yes! That's it…” Your brain was going foggy with pleasure as you felt your core tighten. Luca’s whispered words of encouragement into your ears, pushing you more and more to the edge.
He bent down low now, elbows by the side of your head, and kissed your lips hungrily. “You near? You can come. Just tell me, principessa. I’m gonna finish inside you. Is that what you want? Tell me.”
The contact of Luca’s body heat pressed up against your naked body was enough to send you over. You could only manage a yelp as you nodded your head violently. Toes curled, head thrown back, you moaned and came undone as Luca slammed into you one last time. Watching as you rode out your high, clinging onto his back and moaning his name, Luca hissed and came deep inside you. His thick, hot seed filling you to the brim.
Luca pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. You both lay there for a long time. Breaths heaving and sweat dripping. Neither of you had the energy to say a word, but a silent understanding befell you two as Luca leaned over to kiss your temple. He shifted his body so he could pull you into an embrace, and just as he was about to say something, he heard your gentle snores and steadied breathing. Smiling to himself, Luca closed his eyes and thanked his lucky stars.
