Summary: Eddie can't take his hands off you(r butt).
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, perv eddie, implied chubby reader, reader got that jiggle, oral sex/anal sex, rimming, spit as lube, vaginal fingering with rings on, assfucking, cumshot, dirty talk, pet names (babe, baby, sweetheart, beautiful), porn without plot, established relationship, no use of y/n, not revised cus I honestly can't even with this dumbass one-shot, I just wanna post
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: writing smut makes me feel like a horny teen again and I hate it, which is why this lowkey buns (get it?) but like bear with me now
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The chaotic sprawl of Eddie's room had its own peculiar ecosystem, the kind of cluttered entropy that somehow functioned. The air carried that faint, warm amalgam of dust, musk, and something unmistakably him.
You were draped stomach-first across his bed, legs bent at the knee, ankles swaying idly in the air as you flipped through one of the less... incriminating magazines you salvaged from the corner of his room. The thin pages crinkled under your fingers, a soft sound that paired with your absentminded humming, something you didn't even realize you were doing.
It was quiet. Just you, the muted rustle of paper and a distant electric buzz of whatever amp he'd forgotten to switch off.
Peaceful, even--
Creek.
--oh. Well, that didn't last long.
The mattress dipped behind your bent knees, springs protesting with a familiar groan. You didn't bother looking back. You knew that weight, that particular brand of intrusion that always came with a little too much confidence and not nearly enough shame.
And right on cue, a broad hand settled over the back of your thigh, dragging upward in a casual, unhurried intent.
"What'cha readin', babe?" Eddie asked, voice dipped in that low tone he seemed to reserve exclusively for moments like this; when you were conveniently arranged in a way that made his brain short-circuit into something far less gentlemanly.
You shrugged, turning another page with lazy disinterest, refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. "Just some magazines I found. This one's a cooking one."
He hummed, though the sound lacked any genuine investment. His palm came down again, this time with a firmer pat, not quite rough but definitely purposeful. His eyes lingered as the contact set off a soft, enticing jiggle.
"Mm," he murmured, like he'd just discovered something profoundly interesting.
"Ooh--this one actually looks good." You lifted the magazine slightly, angling it back so he could see the glossy photo. Something baked.
There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to be suspicious.
"Looks delicious," Eddie said, tone rich with a kind of hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with food.
You accepted it at face value, lowering the page again, eyes skimming the instructions. Preheat the oven to-
Behind you, his hand had grown... exploratory. Less idle, more acquisitive. Fingers tracing the curve of your thigh, creeping higher with slow contemplation, like he was mapping territory he already knew by heart but insisted on rediscovering anyway.
You exhaled through your nose, rolling your eyes, but didn't comment. Not yet.
That is, until his hand slipped beneath the curve of your cheek, palm pressing forward. A second later, his other hand joined it, cupping the underside of your butt with a little force.
Okay. Yeah. He definitely wasn't listening.
You shifted slightly, a subtle attempt to dislodge him or at least remind him you were, in fact, trying to read. It lasted all of two seconds.
Because then something pressed into you. Not a hand, not quite.
Your entire body went stiff as realization crept in, slow and mortifying, just as you felt the unmistakable brush of his nose against your backside--followed by a long, exaggerated inhale.
"Oh my--dude--Eddie!" You twisted around, scandalized, catching him just in time to hear his pleased little groan.
"You smell s'good," he muttered into your ass, words slightly muffled, his grin evident in the way his lips curved where they were half-buried. He was absurdly earnest about it too, like, genuinely, thought this was a normal observation to share out loud.
And you felt all of it, the way his lips moved, the way he softly inhaled and sighed, the way the warmth seeped into your leggings. Your face burned instantly. "Get off my ass, Eddie."
"Why don't you just keep readin', hm?" he replied, entirely too casual for someone who had just done... whatever that was.
He finally pulled back, sitting up, dark curls falling into his face as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Like this was a perfectly standard Tuesday activity.
You narrowed your eyes, but before you could properly retaliate, his hands were back, firm on your legs as he nudged your knees apart slightly, settling in behind you.
His grin sharpened as his palms returned to their previous position, squeezing with slow, appreciative pressure, thumbs pressing in like he was testing the give of something he found particularly fascinating.
You turned back around quickly, burying your face in the magazine to hide the heat crawling up your neck. Focus. Cooking. Ingredients. Measurements. Anything but--
Smack!
The sound was sharp, cutting clean through your concentration. You jolted, the magazine crinkling in your grip as you whipped your head back again, eyes wide, face now thoroughly flushed.
"Eddie! Are you serious?!"
"Mhm." His response was maddeningly simple, completely unrepentant as he watched the aftershock with scholarly interest.
And then his hands resumed their rhythm. Cupping. Squeezing. Another smack he completely soaked up. He was chasing the movement, cataloging it, committing it to memory with an attention span he rarely afforded anything else.
A slow, deep breath of frustration escaped you as you gave in and turned away again, trying to force your mind back to the mundane world of glossy magazine pages. Maybe this is all it was; Eddie just being Eddie, a little perv who liked to mess with your butt on lazy evenings while you tried to read. That's all this could be.
With that thought, your eyes trailed back at the magazine, scanning for the paragraph you'd been halfway through.
But Eddie didn't like your attention shifting. He broke the rhythm of his casual touches and delivered a smack harder than before. You gasped feeling everything this time, flesh trembling under the impact, and you knew he saw all of it: the ripple, the flush, the way your hips clenched.
You whipped back around, heat rising in your cheeks, about to yell at your boyfriend, but before you could, his ringed hand grabbed your head, fingers curling into your hair, and turned it back around. Wha-
"Keep reading." His voice was low, a command, not a suggestion. It made you blink in disbelief, staring blankly at the wall. Was he seriously--?! You scoffed, wanting to shoot him a glare, but instead you listened (for whatever reason), looked back down at the cooking magazine and felt his hand retreat, leaving your scalp tingling.
You fumbled with the pages, adjusting the magazine in your hands as you listened to him behind you. Once you had a grasp, you flipped the page, the paper rustling softly, just as his hands found your ass again, giving it a good squeeze. Not just a pat, but a nice full grip that made the fabric of your leggings strain through his fingers.
You ignored his little hum of approval, trying to focus on the text about how this recipe was a number one choice for family dinners. But then, his hands gently rubbed up, fingers tracing the curve of your hips before they curled into the waistband of your leggings and your underwear. He gave a slow tug, pulling them down.
You froze, muscles locking as you felt your bottom exposed to the cool air of the room and his warm breath that ghosted over your skin. You looked over your shoulder, voice fluctuating. "Eddi--"
"Shh." He hushed you firmly before lifting your hips with ease, continuing to peel your leggings and underwear down until they slid completely off. Your heartbeat thrummed wildly as you heard the soft thump of your leggings hitting the floor, leaving your lower half completely bare, exposed to him and the room. "God..." He mumbled pleased, his warm hands cupping your bare ass like one would with porcelain, palms sliding over the flushed skin, tracing every curve and dip. You tensed, breath catching in your throat.
Was he seriously doing this? Your fingers clutched the magazine pages tightly, eyes wide as you felt the bed oscillating with him. He moved to lay behind you, half on the bed and half off. Once you felt him do another firm squeeze and press his soft lips to your cheek, you knew he was seriously doing this. His soft brown hair fell onto your skin, tickling it as he moved to give the other side the same tender kiss, his mouth lingering a second too long.
Nerves started to get to you as you let your head drop, your skin prickling with a warmth that spread. A slow fog of lust started to cloud your thoughts, your senses. Now, a dull, throbbing ache settled low in your belly.
You felt his soft breath and the shift of his hair as he moved back, just enough to get a good look at your bottom. Then his hands gripped your cheeks, spreading them apart with a gentle but firm pressure, exposing you further before he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging smack. You flinched, a small pant leaving your lips, body shuddering under the impact.
His muttered words were barely audible, but they cut through the haze of sensation you were drowning in. "You're getting wet down here."
Your chest seized in a sharp spike of embarrassment, a rush of heat flooding your face. But the shame vanished almost instantly, washed away as he spread your cheeks wider and leaned down.
The warmth of his breath hit your skin before his tongue pressed flat against your slick pussy, a slow meaningful stroke from bottom to top.
You gasped softly, a shudder wracking your spine as he licked a wet path upward, not stopping until his tongue reached your puckered star. You tensed again, a small moan escaping you as the sensation bordered on too much, too intimate. He laughed softly, the airiness of his chuckle hitting against your now saliva-slick parts.
"You taste s' sweet," he murmured, the words thick and appreciative. They made you melt, body softening into the mattress as you lowered your face into the covers, burying your embarrassment in the soft fabric. You shifted the magazine to cover the back of your head, a thin shield against the intensity of his gaze.
Eddie gave a sonorous but satisfied hum, the sound dripping with pleasure, before he fixed his ringed hands over your cheeks again, adjusting his grip to spread you wider, giving himself a better view, better access.
Then, just as before, he leaned down, his long hair brushing against your sensitive skin. Only this time, his plush lips met your hole with a soft kiss--a gesture so intimate it made you bite your lip hard, stifling a whimper. He came back up with an obscene, wet smack of his lips against your skin before diving down again for a few more kisses, each one lingering, each one making your arousal spike fiercely.
And it checked out: your folds slickened further, your clit beginning to throb with a persistent, needy pulse that matched your heartbeat. You felt yourself clench when he suddenly swirled his tongue around your rim, teasing the entrance with wet dizzying circles that made you release a loud, unfiltered moan.
You felt his lips curl up against your skin, a smirk you couldn't see but could feel, and his hands gently squeezed the softness of your ass before he lifted his head. You felt a pang of disappointment at the loss, a quiet whine building in your throat until you felt a sudden, shocking wet warmth splat directly on your hole, accompanied by a soft, "pwhut!" sound from him.
Did he just--?!
"Did you just spit on me?!" you scoffed, indignation flaring as you removed the magazine from your head, turning just enough to glance back at him. You saw him already looking at you with a wide, boyish grin, those doe eyes glittering with mischief and unadulterated fervor.
"Gotta lube you up, babe," he shrugged, the explanation casual, almost lazy, before his gaze dropped and he dipped down again. You immediately looked back in front of you, surrendering to what was coming as his tongue was back on you, swirling around once more before he slowly, steadily pushed it into you.
You groaned at the stretch, your toes curling from the slimy, wet feeling of his tongue entering you. If the throbbing wasn't bad before, it was undeniably overwhelming now, a relentless pulse between your legs that echoed the invasion.
"Ow... fuck," you breathed, the words strained. You altered your composure to your hands, finally letting go of the magazine so your hands could grip onto the blankets instead.
In response, his thumbs gently rubbed over your cheeks, a coaxing, soothing motion, before he moved his long tongue deeper, pushing further into you. He groaned just as you whined--the uncomfortable stretch transforming into something more pleasurable. A fullness that began to spark heat through your veins.
You blinked, feeling a little dazed, lost in the sensation, as one of his hands removed itself from your bottom. Your lips parted to ask what he was doing, but before you could speak, you felt the tips of his index and middle finger press against your weeping cunt. You gasped sharply as he sank his thick fingers easily inside, your walls fluttering around him instantly, producing a loud, wet, squelching sound.
"Eddie!" you hissed, your lips parting wide. A mix of shock and pleasure washed over you as he did one final push with both his tongue and his ringed fingers, burying them deep. He barely gave you a second to recover, to process, before he started to move--thrusting his fingers and his tongue in a relentless, synchronized rhythm. The dual sensations, the penetration from two points, made loud, wet squelches fill the air, though the sound was barely audible over your own ragged gasps and moans. The bed creaked softly under his movements, the whole room feeling charged, thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
You squirmed softly, a subtle undulation of your hips as you pressed deeper into the mattress, seeking relief. He kept swirling his tongue inside you, that slick, relentless motion stretching you more, exploring you with a filthy curiosity that made your breath catch. And what didn't help--every few thrusts, Eddie gave his fingers a little curl that sought out that tender, hidden spot inside you. You clenched around them instantly, a reflexive, desperate tightening. Your lower belly grew tight with aching pressure.
A string of high-pitched curses spilled from your lips, a breathless litany of "fuck" and "Eddie" and "god," cursing him, cursing his skilled hands, cursing the way he knew your body better than you did. It felt so good, an overwhelming tide of sensation that was pulling you toward a peak you could barely resist. Your body trembled, your limbs shaking, the pleasure building to a point where you knew you were teetering on the edge.
"I'm not--fuck--! I'm not gonna last!" you whimpered, your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as he started to curl his fingers more consistently, each thrust now accompanied by that wicked, upward twist. And then he hit it. That perfect spot, one that made you jolt, a sharp, electric spark shooting up your spine. Your body arched.
The sensation in your belly was too much, a building tsunami of pleasure, as was everything below: the fullness, the wetness, the relentless rhythm. You found yourself gasping out his name, "Eddie--Eddie--" before the climax crashed over you. You squeezed around his fingers and came all over them, a hot, gushing release that soaked his hand and dripped onto the sheets below. That harsh wave of ecstasy left you shuddering and moaning into the mattress.
You caught your breath, panting softly, whining as he gently, slowly popped his fingers out of you, the withdrawal spiking a tender sensation throughout your body. You tensed up more when he retracted his tongue from your ass, that slick, invasive sensation leaving you feeling empty, overwhelmed and sensitive.
You didn't need to look back to know what he did next. You heard the soft, wet sound of his fingers entering his mouth, the quiet suction as he sucked them clean of your juices. He groaned, a deep, self-satisfied sound that vibrated in the quiet room, and made your body prickle warmly. Shame and pride mixed in a confusing, heated flush.
"Mhm. Fuck, makin' me all hard, baby," he muttered, his voice brimming with lust. You gave a soft hum in response to his words, a dopey, post-orgasm smile spreading across your face as you floated back from your high, blissful and dazed.
Eddie quickly sat up, joining you fully on the bed behind you, settling on his knees. You heard the familiar, metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, then the rasp of his pants zipper being pulled down, before a hand came down beside your head, palm flat on the mattress.
"Did so good f'me sweetheart. Just relax now, I've got you," he murmured, leaning over you, his body shadowing yours. One hand pushed boxers down, the thick, flushed length springing free before he grabbed it and pressed down, sliding it between your cheeks. The hot firm flesh nestled comfortably against your wet skin. You sighed quietly, a contented sound, and looked over at his hand before gently reaching for it, your fingers brushing his. Eddie brought his other hand down, moving them so they were over yours, then curling his fingers around your hand. His fingers were still wet, slick with your release and his saliva.
He started to thrust, his hips snapping rhythmically, the tip of his cock disappearing between your bottom before peaking out from your wet crack with each movement, a lewd, tantalizing glimpse before it was buried again.
"You're s'pretty back here," Eddie gasped, his voice trembling with desire. He snapped his hips a little harder, just to see you jiggle some more, to watch the ripple of your flesh under his thrusts. The sight, the sound, the feel--it was all a perverse, perfect symphony of his need.
You could only moan back, the sensations pulling you deeper into a hazy, blissful fog. Everything about him consumed you; the warmth of his hands curled tightly around yours, the pretty, ragged gasps and groans that escaped his lips, the steady, rhythmic thrusting of his cock between your bottom. It was all so hot, so overwhelming, so perfectly filthy.
"Fuck, baby," he breathed out, gripping your hands a little harder, fingers tightening around yours. A silent signal that he was getting close. You giggled quietly, a soft, breathless sound, your mouth curling upwards in a smile that was both amused and deeply content.
It was only a couple more thrusts, a few final, desperate snaps of his hips, before he abruptly let go of your hand and slipped his length out from between your cheeks. With a few rough, hurried pumps of his fist, he aimed himself down and came all over your ass, the sticky warmth spurting onto your skin in thick, hot stripes. You felt each splash, a startling, intimate heat, and a small moan left you as you looked over your shoulder to see your skin painted white, glistening under the dim light.
Eddie took a moment, breathing heavily, before leaning down to kiss you, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that left no room for protest. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, making you taste yourself. A mix of salt and sweat and sex.
It bothered you that his tongue was just somewhere else... but you shrugged it off reluctantly the thought flickering and fading. You kissed him back, your hands grabbing his shirt to bring him closer, to pull him into the heat of your body. He was a perv, yeah, (a dirty, unashamed, relentless perv) but he was your perv, and right now, that felt like everything you needed.
Finally, you pulled away, a string of saliva leaving your lips, connecting you both for a second before it broke. "We needa get cleaned up," you mumbled with a small, tired smile.
Eddie returned it, his grin lazy and satisfied, before quickly getting up. "Wait," he muttered, suddenly looking around the room, his dick still hanging out, soft now but glistening. He then grabbed and pulled out his chunky Polaroid camera from a pile of clutter on his dresser, grinning happily as he turned and pointed it at you, the lens focusing on your naked body.
"Smile, beautiful," he urged, his voice playful.
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the little cheeky smile that spread across your face as you looked at the camera, your expression both exhausted and euphoric. The flash went off, blinding white for a second, and you giggled as he quickly took the photo out and shook it, the image slowly developing in his hands.
"K' now we're good," Eddie declared, placing the camera and the fresh photo on his nightstand before helping you off his bed, his hands gentle on your plush hips. "So... shower?" he questioned with raised brows, a hopeful, mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Only if you help me wash all this off," you replied, your voice soft but teasing.
"Fuck yes!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm bright and genuine as he rushed you toward the bathroom for the inevitable phase two of his plan.
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nvm im a chud and don't wanna actually write my planned one-shots...
Thank you, Tumblr, for posting ts when I wasn't ready 😑
👑👑Twin Bitches who have their feet on my NECK (if yall would’ve not listened to fucking Macrinus & just been like damn maybe we should let Lucilla & Acasius restore Rome maybe YOU TWO WOULD STILL BE ALIVE. I love you stupid lambs forever)
💰The rich bitch who fucks up his own life (Arthur ya could’ve had it all you dumb shit did it hurt when you finally figured it out & Amelia told you to get fucked so you {speculatively} jumped off the damn roof?)
🥺 The saddest bitch who needs to get on some meds (and finally does at the end of his season, he’s seen some shit I’m not gonna be mean to Billy he’s been through enough in his life. Poor fucking kid.)
🦇🎸 The head bitch in charge Eddie is the OG (Steve told you not be the fuckin hero YOU EVEN SAID IT & yet ya went & had to try to be a goddamn hero now look at you, DEAD in the upside down. Good going.)
🍝The bro-est bitch (Tom is just such an idiot bro don’t come at me I love him ya deserved better than Ruth & I hope you got it)
🇷🇺The judgiest bitch (the sassiest judgiest bitch this side of Saint Petersburg insane mommy issues but you know she was a dick to him anyway… also an idiot)
🇫🇷The frenchest bitch (will forever be affectionately referred to as “this bitch” when tagged I also can NEVER spell his dumb fucking name.
🤫The saddest, scaredest, wettest bitch (Eric is baby boy & I refuse to be mean about him)
🐀The grossest bitch (LISTEN he ate cremated remains, spit candy & licked a burn wound y’all amongst other things, he’s gross)
🔥The hottest bitch (pun intended oh Johnny Johnny Johnny, can’t wait to see what you’re going to be like you better flame on you dumb flammable bitch
I don’t know why I needed to add commentary to this but it’s just what I do 😵💫😂🫠🥴
Summary: After a few too many drinks, secrets start to mean less and your skin starts to hum Eddie’s name, whether you feel it or not. He answers the call.
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, PiV unprotected semi-public sex, secret friends with benefits, cream pie, cum eating, little bit of oral (fem rec), dirty talk, drunk!Eddie POV, jealousy, possessiveness, panty stealing, begging, testosterone-off, small physical altercation (not R), desperation station, PDA, switch!Eddie, mild public embarrassment, dubcon (alcohol consumption; one-sided drunk sex), established relationship, Eddie is down horrendously, drunk!horny!Eddie abuses endearments, R wears a skirt (for easy access)
Song Rec: Drunk in Love by Beyoncé
A/N: Happy (almost) Valentine’s Day <3 Also, SURFBOAR— SURFBOAR—
Masterlist
Submission Guidelines
Eddie feels good.
Actually, he feels better than good—
He feels amazing.
The alcohol in his bloodstream is rushing, warming him from the inside out, leaving him flushed in the face.
The smoky bar is playing old Judas Priest tracks.
He’s drunk enough to not care how badly he’s losing the bet—the one he made thinking Steve would easily beat Robin at a billiards game. How was he supposed to know she was some kind of a whiz at Pool?
He’s got his girl to his right and the two bickering boneheads in front of him.
A couple of beers, some smooth vodka, great music, and friendly competition.
What’s not to love?
Although, you do keep inching away from him every time he gets close. He’s not loving that new development.
Somewhere in the back of his mind—before the three pints and the two shots—he recalls your hushed voice in his ear, outside the bar. It was low and sultry. Scratchy and strained, but not like how it gets after a long day of talking. No—
It was the type of strain that happens when you’ve spent too many hours screaming his name. When too many breaths have torn from your chest, ragged and pressed out by the strength of his hips.
That type of strain is his favorite…. But you had said something then—
You leaned close. The music from the bar was leaking out into the muggy, open air of the parking lot. There was noise from the road nearby. Fast cars, rubber peeling off of wet asphalt—
Wet asphalt emanating heat and earthy scents—
And there was you. He could smell you, too. His favorite scent. The perfume you always leave traces of, like love notes he finds well after you’re gone. Proof of your existence in his bed, near his clothes, on him.
You leaned close. Yes, because of the noise—the music, the cars.
And your mouth brushed the shell of his ear and he shuddered. You laughed. Sweet and teasing. You laughed.
He shuddered again, or maybe he was just vibrating with excitement—he could never tell around you. Then he felt what you were saying before you even said it. Your kiss-bitten lips curved so delicately around every syllable.
You called his name.
His favorite shape your mouth makes…
Well, that, and the stretch of—
No. No, you said something. His name. That’s what you said.
That and something else.
What was it?
He closes his eyes, trying to relive the moment— Your mouth against his ear, your hot breath on his skin, his name on your lips…
Fuck, he can’t remember. And damn it, you won’t let him touch you.
You just took yet another shuffle-step to the right. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into you until you did that
Come to think of it, what you said before probably had to do with why you’re not letting him touch you now.
Usually you love it. You welcome his zealous exploration. He knows that, you tell him through the prettiest sighs—
And what you said—well, it felt important at the time. You dropped his hand to say it, so it must’ve been.
But as the golden glow of the hanging light fixture shines down on you, your hair glinting with every movement, his patchy memory no longer seems all that significant.
The sound of dense resin knocking together draws his attention to the table, the green surface missing one less solid colored ball.
“Yes!” Robin calls out, pumping her fist victoriously.
“Shit!” Steve curses at the same time, stamping the butt of his wooden cue on the floor.
“Oof, rough go, Steve.” You smirk, pretty as a picture.
Eddie wishes you’d look at him like that.
Subtly, he brushes his arm against yours—the one that’s holding your beer. His eyes practically roll at the heat rippling across your soft skin.
But you move away at the first contact. That’s really starting to get on his nerves. Because what, is he radioactive or something? What’s so bad about him wanting to hold you?
You lean forward. “Maybe if you—”
“No speak from the opposition!” Steve shouts stiltedly, sending an accusatory finger your way. His eyes flit from you to the table as he strategizes his next shot. “I will not let your womanly wiles corrupt me—”
“Mm, I would,” Eddie purrs lowly, floating into your orbit. His leisurely efforts are abruptly halted, though, when you jab a knuckle into his side.
Steve paces, wearing a chasm into the chipped, creaky floorboards of the old dive bar. “If you had bet on me like you should’ve, then maybe I’d hear you out. But since you’ve left me scorned, I’d like to keep my dignity intact, thank you.”
“For now,” Robin simpers, sending you a side-long glance. “Or wait, do we think he had any to begin with?”
“Mmm, jury’s still out—” you shrug, lips curled like you’re trying not to laugh at the frazzled man’s brewing tantrum.
Eddie giggles, “Dignity…Steve.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, like he’s dragging each syllable out a second too long.
Steve grumbles—something about trading. Or maybe ‘trait-or’? Eddie doesn’t know, he’s too busy weathering the turn of the earth now that you’re looking at him again. It’s been forever since he’s held your attention, and he was nearly at the point of begging.
It’s not just your eyes on him, though. You’re smiling, too. It’s that knowing smirk he loves. The kind that makes his knees weak and his pants feel tight.
But then your lips twitch, smile faltering as you peer down at his finger hooked in the waistline of your skirt. And suddenly, you turn to him, shifting your hip out of reach. He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue when you force a half-drank bottle of beer into his outstretched hand with a terse, “Hold this.”
Straightening up, he gathers himself, prepared to shoulder any task for you—no matter how trivial. His responding, “Okay, baby,” is drowned out by Steve’s loud cheer after finally pocketing a ball.
You turn back to Robin and Steve, leaving Eddie chasing after your gaze. “I’ll get the next round.” And just like that, you’re gone.
He jogs after you, the floor feeling uneven as he stumbles through groups of people. You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for the drinks when he arrives, looming over you with heaving breaths.
“Oh, baby, y’look so pretty tonight,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing his lips up your neck.
You whip around, hand shoving against his chest until he stumbles back a few paces. His eyes widen, stinging from the pain of rejection, and he feels minuscule under your cold glare.
When you swallow, glancing somewhere behind him, he has to stop himself from moving into your eyeline. Because damn it, if you’d just look at him longer than a second—
“You need to stop,” you hiss.
His head jerks back, the burn of nausea twisting low in his gut. “Wha—”
“You said you’d be good, Eddie.”
He is being good! He’s being so good! All he’s done tonight is stare at you and touch you—you love when he does that!
He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he gets the chance to start.
“You said you’d behave! So you better start now, or we’ll have to leave,” you grit out, stepping back from him once more.
Following your movement, his overheating body crowds you against the bar. “No, please, don’t make us leave, baby,” he hurries, grabbing at your hips. “‘M havin’ so much fun, don’t wanna go—”
Your shoulders drop, you lean into him, and he almost closes his eyes, certain your lips will find his.
“Okay, then be-have,” you admonish, then turn to collect the drinks left behind by the busy bartender.
Eddie decides he’d much rather have gotten a kiss than a warning.
Sliding out of his embrace, you march back to your party, a grumbled, “Just friends, Eddie. You promised they wouldn’t know—” fading the further you flee.
And he feels like he just stepped into the Twilight Zone because what the hell? Why would he say that? That doesn’t sound like him at all—
“Thank God, gimme that,” Steve swipes a bottle from your arms, chugging it. He jabs a finger in Robin’s direction. “This woman wants me dead.”
She snorts, then looks at you with an unimpressed glint in her eyes.
“Missed another shot?” you ask, brow quirked.
“Multiple,” Robin confirms.
“It is just not your night, is it, Steve?”
Before the beleaguered man can answer, Robin cuts in, elbowing him. “It’s never his night. That’s basically his whole thing. He’s, like, the personification of a Monday.”
Steve snaps, “Okay, that’s enough outta you. Just take the damn shot.”
A loud clack, then a muffled thump into leather, and Robin laughs manically.
Eddie watches you lean over the table, passing the girl her drink. Inch by inch, your skirt rises the more you reach, and his head drops to the side, weighed down by curiosity.
He thinks of the black panties you shimmied on before coming here. He watched you then, just like he watches you now. Watched the way you wiggled the flimsy fabric over your ass, how the material covered your freshly fucked cunt so delicately.
The same black fabric peeks out from beneath the hem of your skirt, only now, there’s a wet splotch between your folds, and he knows exactly what soaked through.
You straighten up—too soon for his liking—but Eddie’s still staring. Still leering at that cursed skirt. It’s never done him any good—always hiding you away. Then again, maybe it’s done him a world of good. It’s been the catalyst to many a sweaty tryst, that’s for sure. But right now, it’s useless fabric obstructing his favorite view.
In the back of his mind, he vaguely registers the bickering going on around him, the music blaring. But his focus is divided between the sight of your upper thighs and the stirring in his pants.
He reaches down to adjust himself, then quickly remembers the beer in his hand. The condensation beading down the glass has seeped into his skin, pruning his fingers. He doesn’t remember why he’s even holding the thing to begin with.
Setting the bottle on a nearby table, he shuffles closer to you. You’re talking to Steve, and he’s not quite sure what you’re saying, but he hears you choke on your words the moment he presses against you. There’s a hiss of breath that sounds like his name, but his mind goes blank as tingling pleasure prickles up his spine, almost a relief of pressure. Or the temptation of relief.
The feeling is small, but it’s intoxicating. Even more than the alcohol in his bloodstream. Because now he’s drunk on you. On what could be if he just bent you over and—
You cough, clearing your throat as you take a step forward—right up to the Pool table. Eddie grunts, grabbing your hips and dragging you back against him, this time with a stronger, steadying grip.
“No, that doesn’t count as a mulligan— Hey! Ed, what the hell are you doing?”
Steve’s question falls on deaf ears, and your elbow digging into his ribs does nothing to deter his mission. Because the heat is building. In his flushed cheeks, in his muscles. Even lower. Incendiary friction sparks something dizzying and all-consuming.
“Dude, at least let her breathe. No need to hover—”
He’s laughing, but Eddie doesn’t think it’s funny. Not when you slip from his hold, yet again, now an arms-length away. Too far.
Your palms are planted on the glossy, oak edge of the table as you huff out something that sounds like it would’ve been a chuckle if it hadn’t collapsed halfway up your throat. “Think he just gets weirdly clingy when he’s drunk. Don’t know why I’m the victim, though—”
There’s a sharpness to your tone. It’s dulled by his inebriated ears. Undeterred, he closes in on you. “You’re so pretty, baby.”
The words slip out easily. Your shocked reaction only makes Steve laugh harder.
“Jesus Christ, you’re really three sheets to the wind, dude—”
Eddie ignores him, but then watches as he turns to you.
“Does he think you’re someone else?”
The question makes Eddie’s chest rumble. As if you could be anyone else. As if he could want anyone else this badly—
Wrapping his arms around your rigid frame, he can feel your ribs expand on the breath you draw in. Before a response tumbles past your lips, he squeezes you. Quick and firm. It’s the only warning he can manage without ripping fabric or leaving teeth marks on your delicate skin.
Because he knows what you’d say. He’s starting to catch onto the lies. And he’s not in the mood to play pretend anymore.
“How many has he had?”
Robin’s voice sounds distant as Eddie finds himself beside you again—not far, this time, but shucked off all the same—monitored under your eagle eyed gaze. When she calls your name, stealing your attention for…something about going home or taking a home, he can’t find it in him to care. Not about Robin’s itch for theft or Steve’s quiet, regarding stare.
He can smell your perfume. It calls to him, whispers of heat and closeness. Of the subtle change in the chemical makeup when you begin to warm beneath him, when his sweat mixes with yours. The evil scent pulls him in until his nose is running along your neck. You don’t jump nearly as much as you have been. He’s breaking you down. All he has to do is persist.
You reach across your body, finding his chest and he almost giggles at the half-hearted shove you give. Like it’s just for show. Like you don’t really want him gone. Then your fingers curl around the flimsy material of his shirt and he’s certain you don’t want him gone. How could you push him away if you’ve got a hold on him?
With a groan, he presses his straining length against the underside of your other wrist, your palm still planted firmly on the edge of the table. It’s a slow, focused grind; his knees nearly buckle. Pushing harder as his own hands slide down your arm, he keeps you in place.
“Fuck, Eddie, st—”
“Holy shit, he’s like a cat in heat,” Steve mutters, cutting you off in what Eddie deems a particularly grating tone. It does nothing to aid the coiling need he’s trying to sate.
Tension bleeds from your muscles in a slow-burning drip as your form sways just the slightest bit in his direction. He can feel you fighting the urge to melt into him. He’s waiting. Patiently. As patiently as he can without compromising his own desires.
Then, your chin tips and you whisper a lackluster, “Eds, seriously, not here—” over your shoulder.
“Okay, what the fuck, man.”
A large hand lands on his bicep, pulling him away from you. His heartrate spikes.
A calamitous anger rages inside, catching like a wildfire through his veins. It feels like integrity but tastes like possession.
Whipping around, he smacks the arm away, blindly knocking the culprit back.
“Dude! Actually get the fuck off her—”
“Steve, it’s fine!”
Your sharp tone slices through the fog in his mind; it settles the devastation inside, canning it for another time. He stares at your back as you move between him and a very angry-looking Steve. Chest all puffed out, the ex-jock is the picture of chivalrous defense, and he can’t help but grin.
If the good knight only knew the things you’ve let Eddie do to you…
“Yeah, Steve,” he drawls, his heavy-lidded gaze sliding from the incensed man to you, the one-woman garrison emboldened by altruism and bolstered by sweetness. He inches closer; a shadow encroaching on the light, a predator going in for the kill. “She said it’s fine.”
His palms hover over your skin, consuming and reveling in the heat. Up your arms, around your shoulders, and back, he maps out your body, admiring the winding curves he’s traversed many times before. The simmering rage of the man in front of you only encourages his quiet appreciation.
Slowly, delicately, he leaves a chaste kiss where your neck meets your shoulder.
You tremble, blinking like you mean to steel yourself.
And his grin widens. “See? She likes it—”
Steve snaps into action, but Robin is quicker, throwing her arm out in front of him. At the same time, you grab Eddie’s wrist, yanking him after you.
“That’s it, I’m taking you home.”
He lets you drag him away, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. Steve tries to ask if you’re sure and you only let out a clipped, “See you guys later,” in response.
Eddie can’t help but congratulate himself on yet another successful victory. You’re his. You’re choosing him, again. A room full of people and you’re taking him home.
He somehow feels both stone-cold sober and wasted beyond belief, all from your fingers digging into his pulse. And the alcohol. There’s that, too.
Weaving through meandering patrons, the exit sign comes into view. You’re talking, but he can’t hear you. The words float ahead, jostled and spliced by the whining guitar riff peeling from the surrounding speakers. He hears the anger, though. It doesn’t bother him.
Once the door closes behind him, the stuffy bar now in his rearview and the night air filling his lungs, he drops his weight back, no longer moving so willingly.
You grunt, but otherwise seem unfazed. Only tightening your grip and continuing your lecture—
“—at fault. I mean, seriously, we fucking agreed! It was mutual! We said we didn’t want the dynamic to change, then you down a few too many, and now all of a sudden, you’re measuring dicks with Steve. I mean, you might as well’ve just pissed on me—it was too fucking obv—”
Pebbles kick up beneath his skidding shoes as he finds his balance.
“Oh, sure, make this harder than it has to be. You’re great at that—”
The last word catches in your throat as he pulls you the opposite way, back to the bar. You stumble, trying your best to resist, but he’s moving you easily.
“Eddie, what the fuck did I say? If you can’t behave, we’re leaving. We’re not going back— Agh—”
Pressed against the brick wall of the building, hidden in the alley beside it, your complaints fall to unintelligible nonsense as Eddie attacks your neck, lips ravaging any sliver of skin he can find. His body envelops yours, keeping you still with a force he can’t find it in him to tame, especially for the sake of propriety. Not now. Not after waiting so dreadfully long.
“E-Eddie, slow d-down, Jesus—”
“Can’t,” he grunts, finding his way to your mouth, mumbling like a wanton man. “I need you, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad—” His hips jut forward, searching for reprieve from the miserable strain of his jeans.
When your back arches, he sinks his talons in, blunt nails biting and fingers digging as he clings onto you. Because in this moment, you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth; he feels it racing beneath his feet. Your eyes on his, the taste of your lips—it slows everything down.
“Shit, you’re so pretty. So, so pretty—”
Every word is mindless, slurred, but true. Inhibition has long-since died a silent, restful death inside him, buried somewhere low, near the hearth that never stops burning for you.
His hands grope and grab at anything they can reach—your ass, your thighs, your arms, your breasts. Anything. All of it keeps him here for one second more. Grounded in your softness. Steady on your terrain.
“Eds, we—we have to go,” you gasp, pliant beneath his roving touch. He closes the gap, tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, searing kiss that makes his mind whir and his ears fill with a fizzing sound.
“Nuh-unh, wanna stay,” he pants, nipping at your pulse point, feeling your blood rush. “Wanna stay with you.”
His hands slip beneath your skirt as you hold onto his shoulders. You give a weak push when his fingers pull at the gusset of your panties, but it’s not nearly enough to deter him.
“We can’t st—ay, fuck— You’re drunk, Eddie. I don’t even know how you’re hard right now.”
He hums, straightening to his full height and pressing you harder against the wall. His breath comes fast; he can’t seem to catch it as he watches you.
How is it not obvious?
“‘S you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your temple. “‘S all you. Makin’ me burn…. Makin’ me want you so damn bad it hurts.”
You swallow, lashes fluttering as you lean into his gentle touch. “I’m sorry I hurt you…but we can’t do this. Not he—”
“You don’t want me?” His voice is brittle. Breaking.
A night full of small rejections comes to a head as the weight of your words—sincerity and conviction threaded through every syllable—crashes into him, a frenzied tidal wave leaving wreckage in its wake.
He only manages to retreat half a step before you’re pulling him back, arms wrapping around his neck.
“I do want you,” you rush, pressing imploring kisses onto his rosy cheeks, tiny promises sealed with sticky lipgloss. “I always want you.”
His vision blurs as he peers down, frizzy curls hanging low in his eyeline. Confusion is a bitter thing as he finds the hem of your skirt. There’s mercy in the feeling of the grooved stitch beneath the rough pads of his fingers.
“Even now?” he asks, low and timid for the first time tonight.
Your arms release him, trailing down the sinewy plane of his chest. You lift his shirt only an inch—just enough for your nails to find his flushed skin, enough to feel him twitch as you explore so freely.
“Always.”
He pauses, searching for something in your gaze. Or, maybe something in the silence. And it’s the silence that answers.
With a hurried breath, he tears at your panties. It’s a quick, controlled rip, and he stuffs the fabric into his back pocket.
You gasp, but he drops before you get the chance to scold him. His jeans do little to mitigate the sting of gravel as his knees hit the ground. He hikes your thigh over his shoulder, disappearing under your skirt.
“Ed— Oh, God!”
His face drags through your folds, nose catching on your clit as his tongue sinks into you, plunging as deep as it’ll go. But the thundering ecstasy of finally tasting you—and himself—is cut short when you tug at his hair with a force far too sharp to be pleasurable. He groans, missing your heat as you haul him up to his feet.
“Eddie! We can’t do that here,” you bite out, glancing behind him. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
The worry in your brow catches on something inside him, and if he had the right words, he’d make it go away. But there are no right words, only burrowing panic and gnawing desire so deep, it’s almost torture.
“Please, baby, I’ll be good,” he pants, pawing restlessly at your body. “I swear to God, I’ll be good. Just— Just let me— Ah, Jesus!” His forehead falls to your shoulder and he hangs onto you, a firm grip on your ass as he pulls you into him. The movement is meant to alleviate, to save his sanity, but all it does is remind him of your denial, of the space he can’t close, and the release he can’t reach.
Your fingers begin to soothe his scalp. He matches his breathing to yours; in and out, in and out, in and out.
Curious and tender, you mutter, “It’s really that bad?”
He shakes his head, lifting it to meet your concerned gaze.
You don’t understand. You can’t possibly know what it feels like. This dull ache. Persistent, like a gnat in his ear, it’s been with him all night, made worse by you. Your perfume, your soft touch, the glimmer in your eyes. The distance, the act, the canyon between words and truth.
It’s all a great pain. An infection that’s been festering for hours. You have the medicine and you won’t give it to him.
His voice cracks, “So bad. I’m achin’ for you, can’t you feel it?” His hips jerk forward as he waits for your response, but the silence is too loud. He can’t stand it.
“You’re just so pretty…” Dazed, his eyes rove over your wrinkled top, fabric askew and showing more skin than you started the night showing. “‘N so soft.” Ducking closer, he rumbles out a drawling, “Mm, you smell so good.”
Again, you look behind him, somewhere just over his right shoulder and he sways, chasing your gaze.
“And you can’t wait ten minutes to get to your apartment?” you ask, eyes narrowed.
He sags against you, a whine crawling up from deep within his throat. “No…. No more. I’ve been waiting all night. I can’t— I—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I hear you. Just— Hey, Eds, look at me—”
Your palms cradle his head and he can smell the lavender hand soap he put in his apartment just for you.
“Be quick,” you whisper, tipping your chin to hold his attention.
He perks up, swallowing harshly as he stares at you, trying to decode the two simple words. But you might as well have spoken another language because his mind is running circles around the meaning, never through.
“Hey—” Your eyes dart downward, stall there, then you close the distance.
It’s messy and wet and he can still taste you on his tongue—smell you smeared on his skin—but you don’t seem to mind as you deepen the kiss, your mouth parting around a moan. It’s over too soon, though.
A delicate string of spit connects him to you as you pull back. “Take what you need, ba—”
He’s moving before you even finish the endearment, hands racing across your body, tugging at fabric, kneading skin—anything he can touch. His jacket is around your shoulders in no time, protecting you from the rough brick. The cuffs on his belt clang as he unfastens the homemade contraption, the button of his jeans next.
“Oh, thank you, baby,” he breathes into your mouth, using his full weight to trap you against the wall. “Thank you, thank you—shit! You’re so good to me,” he whimpers, bucking his hips as he frees his length, wrapping a hand around the base until it throbs beneath his unyielding grip. “So fuckin’ good to me. Wanna be good to you, too.”
He fumbles a bit, struggling to move while still trying to maintain every point of contact he can. Once he manages to pick up your thigh, hitching it onto his hip, he guides the blunt tip of his cock through your slick folds. A soft mewl escapes you and the sound only makes him twitch, a stream of sticky precum dribbling from his slit.
“Wanna be inside you. God, I always wanna be inside you—”
Your voice cuts him off, strained with a familiar need as your forehead falls to his. “Please, Eddie— Please just fuck me already, I can’t—”
His body responds before his mind even registers the plea, jerking forward until he’s buried deep inside you. A resounding groan echoes through the empty alleyway, drowning out your shrill cry. Though, you have enough sense to slam a hand over your open mouth, muffling the lewd noise
He, however, is too drunk to care. Drunk on the alcohol humming in his bloodstream. Drunk on the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight, he could count your heart rate just from the pulse of your pussy alone.
“Ohh, my—fuck! Jesus, fuck—you’re tryin’ to kill me, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he babbles incessantly, squirming from the pressure.
Your hand drops to his shoulder, holding onto him so tightly, your fingers pinch. “E—ddie, shh—ah!”
Torturously slow, he pulls out. Your cunt clings to him, contracting—almost a proper plea to stay—and yet, you seem to revel in the drag of his length. He knows you feel it. The thrum of his veins, the curve that stretches you, the thick ridge that catches on your entrance.
With just the tip inside, he shudders, his head hanging as he stares downward. The bright neon sign on the corner of the building beams, making his cock shine with your arousal.
He pauses.
Then, his hips snap forward, marking the start of a suffocating rhythm as he forces the breath from your body with every thrust. He moves wildly, a frenzied pace with one intention, and one intention only.
“Oh, God, oh, shit, baby! You feel s’good.… Takin’ such good care o’ me—thank you! Thank you— S’sweet to me—” he pants, slipping a large, heavy hand behind your neck until your gaze drops, joining him as he watches himself disappear inside of you. “Ah, look at that— Mmm, so pretty when you’re full o’ me.”
The wiry hair at the base of his shaft begins to stick to his skin, weighed down by the mess he’s making out of you. Glimmering slick forming a milky ring, droplets splashing from the strength of his thrusts. A giddy chuckle rumbles through his chest, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he admires just how wet you are. How wet he makes you.
The sound of his leather jacket scratching against the brick fills his ears as he falls against you, muscles straining. Your eyelids droop low, but your gaze hasn’t moved from where he’s fucking into you. His mouth finds yours, lips gliding as he hungrily swallows your every moan.
Sweat beads at his hairline, and his nails sink into your thigh, drawing you impossibly closer. Because he needs more. He needs all of you. Your walls are pried apart by his thick length and it’s still not enough.
He lets go of your neck, pushing two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.”
His breath turns ragged and you finally look at him, your eyes dark and glossy as your lips reach his knuckles, your cheeks hollowing out in that way that always makes his knees buckle. His hips jerk, rhythm shifting at the memory.
He can feel the flames spreading, overtaking the hearth, but he’s not ready yet. He’s not done with you.
His fingers fall from between your lips as he reaches below, pressing tight circles into your clit. You choke on your breath and the sharp sound makes him grin.
“Yeah, there you go, sweetheart. Fuck—you’re so tight! Squeezin’ the life outta me— God, I know you wan’ it—cum for me. Soak my fucking cock,” he grits out, watching your eyes roll with rapt attention. “Mark me, baby, drown me—”
“F-Fu— Eddie!”
Your back arches and you go rigid; he knows you’re on the very edge. He knows you. He knows the exact high your voice reaches before you come undone, and even though you’re trying not to, he knows you’re losing yourself.
“Give it to me,” he drawls, practically purring at you. “Give in, baby. Please, I know you need it—”
“Shh, shh, we have to—b—e quiet! You have t—o keep it d— Oh, God!”
Your cunt clenches around him, tighter than he can handle after suffering from your denial for so long. You're moving against him now, convulsing and chasing after the pleasure like an ebbing wave. His body starts to curl inward, but he tries his best to keep a good enough pace. Your moans ring in his ear as he drives into you, shivering at the obscenely wet sounds.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! F-Feels so— God, ‘m g-gonna fill you up, baby. Hm? You wan’ it? Wanna feel full o’ me? Wanna hold it for me? You’re always so good at it—”
His breathless words seem to have no effect on you as you settle limply, held up by his frame and the wall at your back. You give no indication that you heard him, there’s only the flutter of your lashes and the lull of your head against the brick. His palm presses against your neck, just enough to keep you still, to hold your far-out gaze.
“You listenin’? Hm?” he pants, landing a firm kiss on your slackened mouth. “Y’gonna empty my balls for me, baby? Know you love to feel me drippin’ outta you.”
Your cunt responds with a weak pulse. He chuckles, only to be cut off by his own sputtering groan as a particularly deep stroke shoots right through him. You whimper, and he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from buckling to the ground as your arms struggle to wrap around him.
“E-Eddie…”
Static buzzes in his mind as you mewl, soft gasps hiccuping in time with his pounding thrusts. His hand drops low, splaying just beneath your navel. Then, he presses, relishing the catch in your breath.
“Ah, there I am,” he mutters, going dizzy at the feeling of his cock-head nudging his palm. “Here, right? Y’gonna keep me here, baby?”
You nod, letting out a frail, broken sound that tells him all he needs to hear. You want it. Need it, even.
His eyes roll, balls pulling taut as his rhythm falters. “Oh, f-fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re made f’me—you are,” he grunts, nosing against your neck. “Fit together so nicely. Hmm, made f’me, made to be full o’ me—”
Your face crumbles as you clench around him once more, another orgasm rolling in, quiet as a tide, and this time it’s softer. He can still feel you shake, but there’s a dragging sense of freedom. Of letting go.
And you drag him with you. Under the tide. Under the surface where everything sounds fuzzy and he feels weightless.
“Jesus—fuck! Ah, shit!”
He gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself inside your heat as he spills into you. Waves of pleasure crash through him, so overwhelming, his hips stall. He shivers, almost violently, and his words tumble out, barely loud enough to be a whisper. “God, baby, thank you. T-Thank you. Shit—you’re so good to me.”
He stays like that—arms wrapped around you, your fingers in his hair—for a while. It’s only when you shift, repositioning yourself against the wall, that he picks his head up. Indulging himself in your gentle kiss. His languid lips speak a sweetness far greater than his words could manage at the moment.
“I feel better now,” he mumbles, letting himself explore along your jaw, lazy and sated, but needing to taste you all the same.
“Yeah, I bet,” you snort, tucking his hair behind his ear, then twisting a damp curl around your finger.
With much reluctance, he finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the loss. He fixes himself quietly, buttoning his pants again and hiding his smile as he notices you squirm. You adjust his jacket over your shoulders and smooth your skirt. His eyes follow the movement and all he can think about is how much he wishes he could just sit on the ground beneath you and watch himself leak out of your pretty pussy.
But then you clear your throat, motioning to the end of the alley and he offers his arm. You smirk, shaking your head as you accept his offer. As he passes under the neon sign that says, “Bar,” he stares at the entrance to the building.
“Mm, I wan’ a beer,” he hums wistfully, starting to veer off course.
“Unh-unh!” Both of your hands circle his bicep, yanking him back. “No, we’re leaving. I’m taking you home.”
“But—”
“No ‘but’s.” You continue to drag him further away from the bar, heading toward his van. “You’re going home, then you’re going to sleep. And tomorrow, you’re gonna call up Steve and apologize for trying to fight him.”
Eddie’s face twists up, a sharp scoff falling from his lips. “‘M not apologizing. He was trying to touch you—”
“No,” you utter pointedly, digging into his back pocket—ignoring his quiet, “Hey, buy me dinner first”—and pulling out his keys. “He was not, that was you. He was trying to stop you because he thought you were being a perv.”
“I was being a perv,” he grins, watching you unlock the van. You shove him into the passenger side and he gracefully complies, settling in a haphazard huff. His eyes follow you through the windshield as you speedwalk around to the driver side door, which he reaches across the console to open for you.
“An unwelcome perv,” you amend, climbing into the seat. You check the mirrors first, then turn the key in the ignition. Eddie sighs contentedly as the van rumbles to life, the tape he mixed for you already filtering through the stereo.
He leans close, looming over you. With exaggerated slowness—a test, a toeing of boundaries—he drags two fingers up your thigh, beneath your skirt, until he feels the sticky combination of his cum and your slick smeared against your skin. “Knew you liked it,” he purrs lowly, sucking the digits clean.
Your breath comes quicker and shakier as you give him a sidelong glance. “You’re disgusting.”
His grin stretches into something wolfish, something predatory and ostensibly clear-headed, despite the glossy look in his eyes and the sway in his body. Quickly, he makes another swipe between your legs, this time relishing the hitch in your throat as he grazes your warm, puffy folds. He shrugs, admiring the milky gleam on his fingers before taking them into his mouth once more. “Chef’s gotta taste his own food.”
With that, your trembling hand lands on the gear shift and the van jolts into reverse.
A/ N: Guys, is this anything? Let me know🧎♂️It’s been in the drafts since October🥀
Also, it's the one year anniversary of me writing fics :) One year ago (almost to the day), I posted this rambling drabble. Since then, my work has improved so much, and I’ve gotten to talk to so many of you about your Eddie thoughts which is all I ever wanted from this.
Thank you for reading my silly, not-so-little ramblings. Thank you for making this an enjoyable space to create in. Thank you for always showing up to my ‘Is anyone interested in…’ posts with 110% enthusiasm. And thank you for talking to me about my writing.
I think that’s what I appreciate the most—how much I get to connect with y’all over what I’ve worked so hard on. I love reading your reactions to my fics, I cherish them so deeply. I’m also glad you feel comfortable with me and enjoy my writing enough to want to hear my thoughts on your Eddie ideas. I love this space and I’m glad you guys are always down for a little chitty-chat.
Thank you for sticking around and taking an interest in my work and especially me as a person <3 Love you guys <3
dededos
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
stormborns
titsay
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