🕯️ Most call me: Sunny (my original account was sunnylands-world)
🕯️ Pronouns: She/her
🕯️ Age: 20 years old
🕯️ Time Zone: Pacific Standard Time
Welcome to my corner of the library. I’m a collector of stories, whispers between pages, and moments best read after midnight. I write when the mood strikes, when inspiration taps the glass, or when a character refuses to leave me alone. This space is curated with care, intention, and a love for storytelling—both soft and dark.
About the Writings Shelved Here
🕯️ My works may include one-shots, series, drabbles, headcanons, imagines, and experimental pieces.
🕯️ Fandoms you may encounter include: stranger things, marvel, the last of us, celebrities/influencers, Harry Potter, etc
🕯️ Specific characters include: Draco Malfoy, Vinnie Hacker, Jim Hopper, Billy Butcher, Chris Evans and possibly Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan, Eddie Munson, Aidan Gallagher, Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland’s Peter Parker, Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove, Harry Styles, Joel Miller, Pedro Pascal, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Jack Harlow, Severus Snape, and more…
🕯️ Tone ranges from tender and romantic to dark, morally complex, and explicit. I tend to be a little poetic as well, and may put some poetry in between. I also may write fics inspired by songs.
Some shelves are warmly lit. Others are hidden behind wards. Please read summaries and tags carefully before proceeding.
Restricted Section Notice (Please Read)
🕯️ This library will contain 18+ content.
🕯️ Some works may contain explicit content, including but not limited to: sexual content, possible traumatic topics, violence, manipulation, mental illnesses, etc.
🕯️ I do my best to tag thoroughly and responsibly. You are responsible for what you choose to read. If something is tagged and you proceed anyway, you do so knowingly. If tags are missing feel free to politely let me know.
🕯️Draco Malfoy Masterlist (The Slytherin Shelf)
Eddie Munson’s Masterlist (The metalhead’s Shelf)
Conduct Within the Library
🕯️ Hate speech, racism, transphobia, homophobia, misogyny, or bigotry of any kind will not be tolerated.
🕯️ This is a safe space, not a free-for-all. Respect is expected at all times.
🕯️ While thirsting is welcome (this is fandom, after all), harassment, entitlement, or boundary-pushing is not.
Be kind. Don’t hex the librarian.
On Asks, Owls, and Messages
🕯️ I try to respond to asks and messages when I can, but real life exists beyond the castle walls. Patience is appreciated.
🕯️ My inbox is open for:
Thoughtful asks
Fic and writing questions
Positive thirst
Kind personal shares (within reason)
Fanart, gifs, and edits (they make my day ✨)
🕯️or if you just need a friend but kindly include trigger warnings in messages if you need someone to talk to and I will try to respond as soon as possible.
🕯️ If another blog has blocked you, please do not ask me to intervene. Boundaries are wards, and I respect them—mine and others’.
🕯️ Advice given here is offered gently, not as law. I may not always have the answer you’re looking for but I’ll try my best.
On Requests and Recommendations
🕯️ I am not a fic finder. While I love discussing stories, I’m often behind on reading. Dedicated fic-finder blogs are better equipped for that task.
🕯️ I’m happy to talk about characters, dynamics, and ideas—but this is not a gossip scroll.
🕯️my request are open for suggestions and Ideas but the point of the account is for fun and enjoyment so I will read the request but I won’t make myself write anything that doesn’t excitement me. With that being said, let my inbox be your owl bringing me a letter!
The Card Catalogue (Tags)
🕯️ midnightinkclaw answers — responses to asks
🕯️ midnightinkclaw musings — personal rambles and updates
older!neighbor!eddie finding out somehow about his (reader) neighbors age kink through a mutual friend and teasing her w it when she goes over to talk to him abt smth 😳🫣
The Life And Times Of a Teenage Rock God
Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x Reader
WC: 12.2k
Summary: Eddie is fine on his own, he doesn’t need, nor does he want, a wife. He loves his solitary lifestyle, it suits him just fine. That is until he meets his new neighbor…
A/N: I need to stop creating overarching storylines and just write the requests as is lmao. Me making Eddie an anti-wife guy for irony is what pushed this to 12.2k words. It took me a minute to get inspiration for the request, but here we are. I did change it just a bit to something that made more sense for me. If my Eddie x Popular!Reader fic is late, it’s because of this. Pls forgive any mistakes, I'm washing my hands of this brain worm. Also, idk what timeframe we’re in here, Eddie grew up like he did in the show, but I didn’t write it like it was 2009 because the 2010’s era makes me cringe. Anywhores, thanks for the request! My inbox is open, but I can't promise anything.
Tags: it’s a lot- here we go, SMUT, 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex, cum eating, PiV sex, pussy eating, cum play, breeding kink, age kink, age gap (E is 43 R is 27), pregnancy kink, thoughts of pregnancy sex, use of the word ‘whorish’, kind of dumbification, humiliation kink kinda, slight degradation, overuse of the word hole, hole as a nickname, pubes, breast play, nipple stimulation, sir kink, dom/sub dynamics, thoughts of blowjobs, egregious flirtation, dirty talk, begging, innocence kink, jokes during sex, messy making out, slight body insecurity (R), jealousy, yearning, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, eddie’s jumping the gun wanting you pregnant and married to him after first meeting, Robin and Vickie are wives (don’t talk to me about the US gay marriage timeline- they’re wives), Steve has an OC wife named Jess, possessive!Eddie, mentions of fighting a guy, Eddie is so cutesy old fashioned, I can’t think of anything else- if I missed anything pls lmk
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Eddie didn’t feel very old, he’d rather argue he’s pretty spry for 43-years-old. He ate decent enough, long gone were the days of living off of Funyons and Mountain Dew. He kept fairly fit, he didn’t hit the gym, but he did a lot of manual labor at the shop as Head Mechanic.
Of course he felt his age a bit when the kids—who were no longer kids—came back into town with their wives. Lucas and Max, the girl he used to refer to as the scary redhead who he now knows is a scary redhead, Mike and El, and Dustin and Susie. Hell, even Harrington’s group of rugrats age him a bit. It’s like every time one of Steve's kids hits 3-years-old he decides it’s time for another one. Poor Jess.
He thinks his life of solitude has kept him young—no screaming kids giving him grey hairs, no nagging wife causing him frown lines. Life is good.
Robin doesn’t believe that for a second, though. She’s been trying to get Eddie back out there for five years now, completely ignoring his pleas for her to stop setting him up on dates with the girls she knows. He always has weird experiences with her friends, unsure how she even finds such eccentric women.
Every summer since the guys moved into the same neighborhood twelve years ago, Steve throws a block party open to all neighbors. It’s a huge barbecue-pool-party type of thing, complete with Steve’s array of stupid aprons.
This year he’s wearing the one Eddie got him as a gift for his birthday. It’s black with a spatula and a two-pronged fork crossed in an ‘X’ formation with the words, 'My meat isn’t gonna rub itself.’ Eddie thought it was hilarious. Robin, on the other hand, shook her head muttering, ‘dinguses,’ under her breath.
Every time they get together, Robin tries to show Eddie how nice it is to have a wife, often using Vickie as an example. It makes him roll his eyes—she’s so transparent, can’t hide her endgame if her life depended on it.
Vickie hands Robin a plate of food she gathered for her from the buffet style table, the chatty woman too engrossed in a conversation with Eddie about the difference between Metal and Rock.
“No, you misunderstand me! My point is rock is like an umbrella,” she makes a broad gesture above her head, “and metal—oh, thanks, hun!” She tips her head back to smile at Vickie’s figure behind her shoulder, taking the plate from her hands.
Eddie can’t help but smile at their easy affection. He remembers hearing from Steve how horribly nervous Robin was about even talking to Vickie. Now they’ve been together for twenty-two years. Even that makes his cold, dead heart thaw a little. That is until Robin gives him a pointed look.
“Seeee? A wife is a plus! You don’t have to get your own food!” She says it like she’s trying to sell him the newest upgrade to his cellphone. It makes him shake his head, an amused expression settling onto his pale face.
“Uh,” Vickie cuts in, a finger in the air as if making a point, “yes, you do have to get your own food. I’m only doing this because of that thing you did earlier.” Her voice lowers like it’s a secret Eddie shouldn’t hear.
“Ah,” Robin nods, catching on to Vickie’s insinuation. “Yes, that thing that I did to you earlier with my thing on your thing.”
Eddie snorts, Robin has not changed in all his years of knowing her—never really a smooth criminal.
“You guys do know I know how the birds and the bees work—or,” he pauses, stuttering a bit before continuing, “I guess…the bees and the bees in this case.” His brow is scrunched, lip curled, cringing at his awkward save.
“You know I’d like to think that you do, Eddie. I really would, but I don’t see a ring on your finger.” Robin shakes her head, reprimanding him.
Eddie guffaws, “What are you, Saint Robin? I need to marry first before I can have sex?”
“Well—,”
“And by the way, I have had sex before,” he implores.
“Sure you have, champ,” she pats his knee condescendingly, shooting him a placating look.
“Whatever, I don’t need to take this from you,” he mutters indignantly, getting up to check on Steve at the grill.
“Hey, buddy!” Steve drawls, flipping a burger before looking up at his best friend.
Eddie grumbles a greeting, turning to face the party, his back to the grill, a cold beer in his hands.
Eager to fill the silence, Steve picks the first subject that that comes to mind.
“I hate these singles, you know—,” he shakes his head, looking down at his messy grill station. He prepares to expand on his complaint, but Eddie beats him to it, a complaint of his own already on top of mind.
“Oh, please! Like you couples are a joy to be around! It’s always, ‘I gotta ask my wife,’ ‘Sorry, I can’t come out tonight, I’m too busy looking for my balls,’” he mocks. “News flash! They’re rolling around in her purse!”
Steve opens his mouth to ask Eddie what the hell he’s so bent out of shape for, but he can’t get a word in. The man’s too busy going off on one of his grand speeches—just like old times.
“I don’t need anybody, okay? I’m perfectly fine on my own! In fact, I’m more than fine. I'm happy! I’m glad I don’t have anybody waiting for me to get home! I’m fucking ecstatic that I get to eat alone! Nobody takes my food, I probably save thousands of dollars buying everything for one! Not everybody wants to be married and pop out a whole baseball team like you and your wife, Steve!”
Eddie’s meltdown draws the attention of a few surrounding partygoers, earning him some judgemental stares and curled lips.
Steve looks at him like he’s grown two heads, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape as he lets Eddie’s words become stale in the hot summer air. Just really letting him stew in it before he decides to speak again.
“Okay…project much?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “I was talking about the burgers. Robin bought me individually wrapped burgers, in single packaging. It’s been a bitch to unwrap all 30 of ‘em.” His explanation is saturated in a level of sass he hasn’t released in years.
Eddie deflates at the sight of the scraps of white paper and cellophane littering the ground on the other side of the grill, feeling incredibly stupid right about now.
“Oh…yeah. I knew that…” He shoves his free hand into his pocket trying to fight through the embarrassment, “I love Jess, by the way. She’s great; gorgeous family you have there,” he rushes out, nodding his head with a forced grin that resembles bared teeth more than genuine happiness.
Steve tilts his head incredulously, just in utter disbelief that Eddie would even think that’s a sufficient save. “Shut up.”
“Shutting up.” Eddie frantically nods, pressing his mouth shut, resigning himself to standing in the awkward tension he created.
Thankfully, he’s ‘saved by the Robin’ as she comes rushing over with Vickie hot on her trail.
“Steve, you have a new neighbor! She just pulled in with her U-Haul, it looks like she’s unpacking everything herself.”
She stops to catch her breath, all the information spilling out in one excited spiel. In a flash, she turns her bright eyes to Eddie, his eyebrows raising at being singled out. “And she’s a total hottie! Maybe a little young, but you could be a manther!”
He recoils in disgust at the name, here we go again, he thinks. Matchmaker Robin to the rescue.
Steve looks at Robin like she’s grown two heads or asked him to go halfsies on a timeshare. “Robin!” he bites out, the clipped tone attempting to yank her proverbial leash like she’s a much too excited dog.
He can’t believe she just said that in front of her wife. If he said that in front of Jess, the balls that Eddie claims are in her purse would soon be at the bottom of Lovers Lake, right next to his weighted body.
Vickie quickly cuts in, coming to her wife’s defense. “Oh, no, it’s fine! She is a total hottie,” she nods understandingly.
“Robin, I am begging you to stop setting me up with the women you know.” Eddie holds his hands up, pressing them together, pleading with her. “Also, no offense, but you’ve lost all credibility in determining hotness. The last girl you set me up with looked like Uncle Wayne in a wig and a tube top,” he deadpans.
“Um,” Vickie jerks her head back like she’s been slapped, a frown etched into her freckled face, “full offense taken, by the way.”
Before Eddie can tell her he didn’t mean to call her hotness as Robin’s wife into question, Robin is pulling him and Steve across the yard to the neighboring house. The one that’s been up for sale for six months.
Steve’s still clutching his spatula as he’s pulled away, shouting over his shoulder, “Honey, man the station! Don’t let my burgers burn!” He tosses the spatula to a very pregnant Jess who scrambles to catch it.
Eddie’s attempting to go deadweight, leaning back against Robin’s strong pull, but the woman must be on steroids because she’s trucking Steve and him along just fine.
She pulls them from the backyard to the side of your driveway with frightening ease. When they arrive, your back is turned to them. You’re wearing high-waisted jean shorts and a pink tank top—an earnest attempt to stay cool in the hot Indiana sun.
You’re reaching for a box you creatively labeled ‘clothes’ when you hear a woman’s voice behind you, causing you to turn around.
“Hi, I’m Robin! Welcome to the neighborhood, I don’t live here! Here, have two men!” It all comes out in a jumble as she pushes Eddie and Steve forward towards you. “They can help you move whatever you need!”
As quick as she arrived, she hurried away. You didn’t even get to introduce yourself to her. She just spoke quickly at you, then shoved two random men towards you. You watch her retreat back to the block party, amused confusion riddling your face.
In her absence, you turn to look at the men in front of you, hesitating on what to say—you’ve never had this happen before. Usually, men aren’t brought to you on a silver platter, despite your many wishes during ovulation week.
You open your mouth to say something when the man in the apron gets there quicker. “Sorry about her.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely gesturing to where Robin disappeared to. “She can be really direct. I’m Steve! Nice to meet you.” He shakes your hand as you tell him your name. Both of you silently wait, eyeing his friend. It’s Eddie’s cue to introduce himself, but he’s too busy staring at you.
His jaw dropped the moment you turned around, thoroughly convinced he’s never seen a woman so beautiful in his entire life. The way your clothes fit you so nicely—your shorts might as well be painted on you. He’s immediately thinking lewd thoughts at the sight of the unyielding jean hem squeezing the fat of your thighs.
He’s pretty sure he could paint your every feature from memory with how deeply his roving eyes are consuming your image. Don’t even get him started on the way your tank top accentuates your breasts. He feels like a teenager all over again, trying to think of math equations so he doesn’t pop an ill-timed boner.
Then all of a sudden you’re looking at him. Everything is in slow motion: you’re coming closer; he’s breathing in deeply through his nose to desperately catch your scent; your gorgeous lips are moving and he’s imagining them moving up and down on his cock. But his reverie is broken when he feels a sharp pain in his ribs, sending him forward in a jolt, a sputtering cough tumbling out of his mouth.
Feeling like he just woke up from a dream, he quickly realizes Steve knuckle-punched him right in the ribs. Straightening up, he glares at his abuser before turning to you again. Your ethereal face looks across between concerned and amused at the actions his so-called ‘friend’ committed. He’s needs to have a talk with Steve about not hitting him like a 12-year-old in front of hot women—especially the hottest woman.
“What?” Eddie mutters the question, having missed what you said before when he was too busy thinking about your lips on his—stop. Cringing, he considers how he probably sounds like such a doofus. ‘What?’ smooth, Munson, he thinks.
But you don’t laugh in his face, call him an idiot, and go back to your work like you probably should. No, instead, you just grin at his clearly dumbstruck face.
“I said, ‘And you are?’” You bat your lashes at him, tilting your chin down, never taking your eyes off of his.
“Eddie…Munson,” he cringes at the way his name felt foreign on his own tongue just now. What the hell are you doing to him? You’re like some kind of siren and he’s a sailor being lured, except you’re not singing. Actually, you’re not even trying to lure him and he’s already showing up with goggles, flippers, and a snorkel, diving into the waves in your eyes, all on his own free will. If you are a siren, he’s planning to be your easiest catch yet.
Steve’s watching his friend absolutely flounder in this interaction, shaking his head. ‘I’m happy alone,’ he mocks Eddie’s earlier words.
“Well, Eddie Munson,” you look him up and down like he’s a five course meal and you’re prêt-à-manger, “you look pretty strong, care to help a poor girl out?”.
“Yeah, I’m really strong,” he nods, unblinking eyes on yours, despite his awkward phrasing. That wasn’t what you asked, but his mind is running about as fast as Dial-up Internet. He sounds like one of Steve’s boys whenever the man asks if anybody can help him pick up the lawn chairs. The irony of a clearly younger woman making him feel like a horny, stuttering teenager again is not lost on him.
Your smirk only widens. Steve’s looking between you and Eddie in the silence of your nonresponse, suddenly feeling very out of place—the tension thick like molasses. He clears his throat, drawing your eyes to him.
“I’m here, too, by the way.” He raises his hand like it’s roll call back in high school.
You huff out an amused breath, “Come on, I could use both of you,” nodding your head back to the truck. You push a large box out of the way, clearing a path for them to pick up your dresser from inside the truck.
Eddie follows you, a little too close to your distracted body, his mind whirring at your comments about using him.
When you turn back to ask them to get the dresser, you jump at Eddie’s proximity to you. You didn’t realize he was following so closely, practically on your heels.
“Oh! Jesus!” You backup a little from his body, a hand clutching your heart as you laugh at the scare.
Steve is quick to pull Eddie away from you by the back of his faded band tee, already apologizing for his friend’s creepy behavior. “Sorry, he failed out of obedience school,” he quips nervously.
Eddie’s too busy staring at you to hit Steve for his comment.
“That’s alright,” you size the metalhead up, a flirtatious glint in your eye. “He seems like he’d be better at giving orders anyway.”
Eddie’s fighting tooth and nail to withhold a groan at your words. The way you’re looking at him could send him into cardiac arrest. Every flirtation is accompanied with hungry eyes and an innocent smile, he feels like he could make a religion out of it. He’d develop a full on multi-level marketing scheme to recruit followers in your name, indoctrinating as many apostles as he could. He’d create the rules to your religion himself—rule number one would be: only he gets to fuck you.
Steve blanches at your brazen comment, both thankful you’re not looking at him like that and traumatized he’s being forced to watch a woman flirt with Eddie while he fumbles the interaction astronomically.
You move on like you didn’t just say the nastiest thing Eddie’s heard in a while. “I could use help with the dresser. I was supposed to have a friend come help me, but he actually called to flake out right before you guys came over here.” You chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed for over-explaining yourself to these attractive strangers.
Eddie bristles at the mention of a male friend. He finds himself wondering if you have a boyfriend—which makes him feel even more weird. Regardless, he tries to convince himself you probably don’t, and if you do, he’d like to have a talk with the douche who left you to do all the grunt work.
Grunt work.
Now he’s thinking about the grunt work he’d like to do with you. Mentally slapping himself, he refocuses his mind. You asked for his help, so he’s damn well going to give it to you.
“No problem, we can do it right, Steve?” He looks to Steve who’s hesitating. If he knew he was going to help somebody move, he would’ve stretched, or just offered to pay for movers so he doesn’t have to do any work. But that’s not doable, so he begrudgingly nods.
They work together to pull the dresser to the edge of the truck, carrying it into your new house at your direction, both releasing relieved grunts when they set the heavy structure down.
“Thank you so much, guys, really! Is there any way I could repay you?” Your brows are furrowed, a hopeful, wide eyed gaze bouncing between the two huffing men.
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve waves his hand at you, heading to leave your mostly empty bedroom.
“No bed?” Eddie noticed the dresser was the only large thing in the U-Haul—no bed already in the bedroom either. He was hoping you’d need a little more help than one thing. He just gained the ability to talk to you, he doesn’t want to leave now.
You’re caught off guard by his question, but you answer nonetheless. “Oh! Um, no, it's being delivered tomorrow, along with my couch and some other things,” you nod.
Confusion takes over his face at your explanation. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?”
You have no couch and no bed—he doesn’t see any comfortable place for you to rest. You can’t possibly sleep on the floor, that’d be ridiculous.
You smile at his scrunched up face, appreciating the cute wrinkle in his brow, and the concerned brown doe eyes. “That friend I mentioned earlier has an extra bedroom.”
“The flaky friend?” He knows that’s who you mean, but he feels the need to point out that the guy couldn’t show up to help his ‘friend’ with her stuff. And now he’s going to sleep with near you? Eddie feels like fighting this guy and he doesn’t even know him. He realizes his feelings are a bit dramatic, but you look like that!
Your smile widens at his comment, not taking any offense by it, but Steve cuts in before you can respond. “Okay, Eddie, you got your answer. Come on, she probably wants to unpack now,” he gives you a tight lipped smile.
“Well, we can’t just do one thing.” Eddie turns around, heading back out to the moving truck full of boxes. “Come on, Steve! You could use the workout, Mr. Dad Bod.” He pats Steve’s beer gut, causing Steve to smack his hand away.
You rush to follow their quick retreat. “No, you guys don’t have to help! I know you’ve got a party going on,” you gesture to Steve’s backyard, the chattering and the music still going strong. You can hear screaming kids and the splashing of pool water. It sounds like a great time, you’d feel horrible if they wasted such a beautiful day on helping a stranger move in.
Steve’s quick to tilt his head at Eddie who’s currently stacking two boxes on top of each other to carry into your house. “Well, she does have a point—”
“Nonsense, Steve,” Eddie glares at him before nodding over his shoulder to the boxes waiting to be brought in. “Now, come on. Many hands make light work.” He’s already carrying the stacked boxes through your front door.
Steve just nods, resigning himself to helping.
You glance at him with uncertainty in your eyes. “Are you sure? You really don’t have to—”
He opens his mouth to speak, picking up a box, but before he gets a word out, Eddie’s jogging back out, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course, he is! Plus, this’ll be good because once we get your stuff inside, you can come over to the party and have a drink!”
His easy grin is intoxicating as he looks at you, shiny brown eyes alight with excitement, effectively relieving you of any doubt.
“Sure, I’d love to,” you nod, smiling to yourself as you pick up a box.
Before you can turn around to take it inside, Eddie pulls it out of your hands. You frown, about to ask him what he’s doing when he reprimands you.
“Nope! Ladies aren’t for working, they’re for directing men and lookin’ cute,” he grins, leaning into you for emphasis. Turning around, he shoves the stolen box onto the one Steve’s already holding.
You scoff at his arbitrary ruling, “But I—”
He shakes his head, cutting you off, “No ‘but’s. Now show me where you want these?”
Sighing, you feel an amused smile work its way onto your face at his insistence on helping you.
Eddie was right, many hands do make light work. The men are done in no time, all the boxes brought into your house and placed in their necessary rooms, ready to be unpacked at your convenience. You’re directing Steve where to put the last box when Eddie comes up behind you, holding your vintage Coca-Cola sign.
“You like a lot of old stuff,” he points out, looking between you and the sign. He nearly squealed earlier when he saw your massive framed Metallica tour poster. It was for the Damaged Justice tour back in ‘88—the one he actually went to.
You smile at his comment, appreciating the way his t-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, showing off his muscle definition. You can see the many tattoos littering his pale skin, all inky black and in perfect contrast. He must lotion himself religiously because they all look great for his age, assuming he got them when he was younger, of course.
Midway through helping you move, he had put his hair up in a low bun, his poofy curls resting in a knot at the knape of his neck. A few pieces seemed to have fallen free at all the bend and lifting, framing his face so beautifully it makes your mouth water. You hope to god he had a hair tie because of how often he puts his hair up, not because he’s got a woman at home.
Only one way to find out.
“Well, what can I say? I like my stuff like I like my men,” you smile sweetly at him, taking the Coke sign from his hands and meeting his eyes, “old.”
You turn around to put the sign back where he found it, knowing his eyes are on you—the feeling making you grin. No man has ever made you feel so powerful. You’re about to turn into a dictator if he doesn’t put you in your place, and god, do you want him to.
Eddie feels like he could run a marathon from the vigor that your comment has instilled in him; he feels twenty-two again. Unsure how this night will go, he’s praying to his god—that is now you—that he can go home with you.
Steve overhears your flirtatious comment, sees the felonious hunger in Eddie’s eyes, and suddenly finds himself searching for the nearest exit. He’s had it with the eye fucking happening between you two.
“What’s that?” He perks his head up like he’s hearing something, his voice draws both your and Eddie’s attention. “Yeah, I’ll be right there, honey!” He calls out to his wife as if she were in the other room, not in the backyard next door.
You laugh, meeting the amused eyes of Eddie before looking back at Steve.
Of course, Eddie can’t help but fuck with his friend for his poor excuse of an exit plan. “I didn’t hear anything… Did you?”
You bite your lip, attempting to temper the smile threatening to take over your face at Eddie’s offer to team up against Steve. Not wanting to poke fun at Steve quite yet, you shrug impassively.
Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s doing and he could damn-near punch him for it. “Yeah, well, you’re not in tune with the vibrational frequencies of a very pregnant wife,” he bites.
He goes to leave but not before stopping at your front door, turning to face you again. “It was nice to meet you. Feel free to come over and join the party if you’d like,” he smiles.
“Thanks, Steve! And thank you for all your help!”
He simply nods and then he’s out the door, effectively leaving you all alone with Eddie for the very first time.
Eddie’s watching the door Steve just left out of as you turn a flirty smile towards him. “Is your wife calling you too?” you ask after a beat of silence, a teasing lilt to your voice.
Eddie’s eyes meet yours, a small smile on his lips before he shrugs. “Don’t have one.”
It’s a simple answer, but you can never be sure what you’re walking into, so you ask what feels like the most logical next question. “Widowed?”
“Single,” he quickly clears up, his eyes monitoring your every move with rapt attention, trying to gauge your reaction to the new information. Just like the siren you are, you give nothing away, remaining mysterious and alluring.
Your eyes narrow at him, tilting your head, “Looking?”
“I wasn’t.”
The conversation is like a tennis match—both of you keeping up with unbridled enthusiasm, no clear winner in sight.
You distinctly note the past tense he used to answer your last question. You wonder what he means by that. He wasn’t looking for a relationship? Is he now?
Eddie, on the other hand, is wondering how you’d look in a wedding dress, all pretty and innocent in white. He damns Robin for putting those types of thoughts in his head, always talking about how he should have a wife by now. He feels smug at the thought of showing you off to her, his pretty little wife.
But then reality crashes back through and he’s thinking about that theoretical boyfriend that might not be so theoretical. Sure, you’ve been flirting with him pretty much this whole time, but he doesn’t know what the new generation gets up to. Maybe you and your boyfriend get off on cuckolding—he doesn’t know.
Only one way to find out.
“How ‘bout you?” His eyes narrow, copying yours as he nods at you.
“Oh, I just got here. I don’t think anybody’s calling my name,” you smirk, eyes teasing.
Do you want them to, he thinks.
His smirk matches yours as he tilts his head, noting how you dodged the question. He knows you understand what he was asking. You’re purposely being difficult, and he’s addicted to it. He wants to figure you out—wants you to make him work for it. You’ve already got a head start, and so far, he’s eating it up.
No modern porn or nudie magazines have ever thrilled him like you are in this moment—and he’s only known you for an hour and a half. Your voice is like an aphrodisiac in and of itself.
“You know what I was asking you,” he mutters.
You shiver at the way his voice seems to have dropped an octave.
“I’m browsing,” you flash a flirty smile at him, an innocent shrug lifting your bare shoulders.
-
Eddie walks with you over to the party, making the rounds and introducing you to all the neighbors, enjoying watching you socialize. Hanging around you during every idle chat, he picks up something new about you each time. Things like interests, hobbies, personal history, family life—all very important details that he’s storing in a mental file under your name. But most of all, he’s learning he wants you.
You’re so sweet and funny that your natural charm draws a crowd, leaving you constantly surrounded by at least five people at a time. Eddie stands close to you, listening to the stories you’re telling, your proximity like a drug, leaving him feeling woozy. He feels like you’re his—like he brought his new toy to school and all his friends are jealous.
He’s only had two beers, and he feels drunk on the way you crack a joke, get the crowd laughing, then turn to him to see if he, too, is laughing. He’s got a permanent smile etched into his face at the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you reach to hold his arm as you giggle. He almost flatlines when he sees you with the kids.
One of the Harrington kids—little Charlotte—comes running to hide behind your legs. She’s clearly avoiding her older brother in a game of tag that has migrated a little too close to the adults. Eddie already knows what’s happening—he’s seen it many times before.
The boys play rough with each other, Charlotte asks to join just because she wants to be included, they chase her down until she’s ‘it,’ and then they spend the rest of the time easily dodging her until she ends up crying to Steve or her mom.
Before Eddie has a chance to reprimand Cameron for nearly crashing into you as he tags Charlotte behind your legs, you’re already leaning down to the pouting girl, palm up, a devious smile on your pretty face. You let her tag you so you’re ‘it,’ and the minute her little palm slaps yours, you spin toward Cameron, who’s watching incredulously—because adults aren’t supposed to play.
You raise your brows at him, a shit-eating grin on your face as you shake your head. “You better run, kid.”
In a flash, the boy takes off and you’re flying after him. Eddie hears Charlotte’s giggles as Cameron screeches, “THAT’S NOT FAIR!”
He watches as you chase the boys around the yard—absolutely terrorizing them. In no time, you successfully tag Cameron, who groans dramatically. A shrieking laugh tumbles past your lips as you dart away from him, easily dodging his outstretched hand as you race around the playset. The other boys start yielding to you, calling for you to run with them. They’re probably feeling the coolness radiating from your every pore, he thinks.
A wide grin plastered over his face, Eddie wonders if it’s possible to love someone only hours after meeting them. His pondering is interrupted when Robin, Steve, and Jess sidle up beside him. They all watch as you side-shuffle, mirroring Cameron’s frustrated movements as he tries to tag you, the playset safely dividing you.
“I told you she’s hot.” Robin smugly punches Eddie’s shoulder, making him glare at her. But he can’t hold the glare for long; his eyes quickly return to you, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I like her, she’s funny,” Steve nods approvingly.
“I agree. Also, she helped avoid a meltdown. That’s wife material right there,” Jess adds, nodding toward the way you scoop up Charlotte and run away from Cameron with her in your arms, both of you giggling and shrieking.
Eddie had never once wanted kids. He always thought they were far too much work with not enough reward, fearing the inevitable screw-up that would lead to years of therapy in their adulthood. He was fond of the Harrington clan, but he was always glad to return to his clean, quiet home. But watching you with the kids—the way you engaged Charlotte, the way you navigated a surely ground-shaking tantrum with ease—left him in awe.
He always thought kids would be hard—and he knows they are, judging by the gray hairs on Steve’s head—but he can’t help thinking you’d make it look easy. Just like you made talking easy, joking easy, flirting easy, even moving heavy stuff easy—you made everything feel fun. He stands there watching you, imagining how you’d treat your own kids—the ones he hopes to help create.
Glancing beside him, he notes the way Jess is rubbing her pregnant belly over the sundress she’s wearing. He turns back to you, picturing how you’d look pregnant. How beautiful you’d look in a sundress—and maybe, just maybe, he could convince you to wear nothing underneath. His mind whirs as he imagines how distracting your growing breasts would be—not to mention your adorable bump. The thought makes him gulp—he’s starting to think he’s already in too deep. Maybe just a little.
-
As the sun sets, the pool water cools, prompting the kids to climb out, sleepy from the chlorine. The zombie-like children make the parents call it a night, thinning out the party crowd. Jess starts the nighttime routine for the Harrington clan—baths, showers, teeth brushing, storytime, and eventually, bedtime.
Steve grills a hotdog for you, since you missed the food earlier while you were moving in. Robin and Vickie are starting a fire in the pit Steve built, bickering over whether a log cabin style or a teepee style would be more efficient—and Eddie can hear every word.
He stands with you by the ice chest, dutifully playing the role of your shadow like he’s been doing all day. As he opens the cooler to grab another drink, he pauses, his hand hovering over the cans. Then he turns to you. “Can I get you a beer?”
You shake your head, a polite smile on your face. “No, thank you. Just water for me, please.”
He nods, grabbing a beer for himself and a bottle of water for you. Straightening up, he starts to hand over your drink—but a sudden, terrifying thought halts him. Just as he’s about to place the chilled bottle into your outstretched hand, he freezes, pulling it back. “You are old enough to drink, right?”
He looks like he’s holding your water hostage until you answer his question, the apparent fear on his face making you laugh. Flattered, you nod. “Yes, I’m old enough to drink. I’m just not a beer girl.”
A relieved breath escapes his lips at the confirmation. “Oh, thank god.”
You take the water he grants you, narrowing your eyes playfully at him as you watch him pop the cap off the bottle using the edge of the ice chest. “How old are you?”
Chuckling at your question, his eyes shine with mirth as they meet your playfully suspicious ones. “Older than that Metallica poster you have,” he quips, “I was at that tour.”
You smile at the mention of your poster—it’s one of your favorite vintage finds.
“Forty-three,” he concedes. “How old are you?” He tilts his chin down as he asks, eyes glued to your face.
The heat of his gaze makes you feel lightheaded. You decide to blame it on the summer sun, but your plan is foiled when you remember it’s nighttime.
Trying to regain some control, you ease the tension with a joke. “Well, a lady never tells, but I’ll give you a hint.”
He raises his brows expectantly, a pleasant smile on his face as he waits for the hint.
“It rhymes with twenty-seven.”
Eddie snorts at your setup and how plainly you answered it. He finds himself tilting his head, admiring you fondly. He’s addicted to everything about you—your humor, your flirting, the light touches you occasionally leave on his arms, the teasing glint in your eyes that never seems to fade.
No woman he met on the shitty dates Robin sent him on could ever compare to you. He’s never met anyone who could go toe-to-toe with him when it came to jokes and bits. It feels like he’s known you his whole life—and yet, he still finds himself wishing he’d met you sooner.
His thoughts are interrupted as Steve calls you over. He follows you as you grab a paper plate and accept the food from Steve.
“Thank you so much, Steve. I really appreciate you firing up the grill just for me.”
“It’s no problem, I’m glad you came to the party. You’re a really great addition to the group,” he smiles.
His comment makes your heart soar. The feeling of being accepted so quickly warms your soul. “It’s a great group,” you compliment.
His smile broadens, feeling proud of the circle of friends he’s kept over the years. All of a sudden he hears Robin’s loud, “Damn it!”
“Excuse me, I’m gonna go help the cavewomen create fire,” he quips, leaving you to head to the folding table where the condiments sit—right next to Eddie.
Eddie was one hundred percent eavesdropping on your conversation with Steve—and he’s glad he was, because it only makes him more certain that he was meant to meet you. That you were meant to be his.
You set your plate down on the table as you reach for the ketchup, glancing at Eddie as he watches your hands work. “I like the whole retired rocker look you got going on, by the way,” you say, vaguely gesturing to his whole body.
Eddie snorts at that. “Rocker? Yes. Retired? No.”
“Oh, so you have an active income then, huh?” You look at him, playfully interested like you’re sizing up a possible sugar daddy.
Your teasing makes him laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, Head Mechanic at the garage off Piedmont. What about you?”
You smile, looking down as you close the cap to the ketchup. “Well, if you must know, my dowry is three goats and five sheep. Is that enough for you?”
Eddie feels like he smoked your teasing smirk and got high. He shakes his head fondly at your ability to make a joke out of anything. You’ve made him laugh more times today than he’s laughed in months.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m lookin’ for, actually.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“You know, I used to have a poster of Kirk Hammett on my wall in high school,” you muse, the memory of the faded poster making you smile. “I used to worship him. I thought he was the hottest guy I had ever seen… Now I’m not so sure.”
Eddie feels warmth flood his veins, all blood rushing south at the thought of you worshipping him instead.
He shakes his head in awe. “I wish you were around when I was in high school. Hawkins women weren’t exactly down with this look,” he looks down at his ripped black jeans, studded belt, and black band tee.
You lift the hot dog to your mouth, not biting into it just yet. “Oh, I’ll be all over you,” you say quietly, voice sultry as you maintain eye contact, finally opening your mouth and taking a big bite.
Your words, the tone you used, the eye contact, and the way you fit the phallic object into your mouth makes him huff out a sexually frustrated breath. He knows just what he’d prefer you have in your mouth right about now. You’ve been teasing him off and on all day and he’s pretty sure it’s driving him clinically insane. Though, in retrospect, his sanity walked out the door the second he laid his eyes on you.
You’re chewing your food with a closed mouth smile, admiring the internal struggle clearly displayed on his pale face.
The chipmunk cheeks you’re sporting aren’t helping Eddie’s attempt at regaining his sanity—if anything, they’ve got his mind spiraling, imagining how you’d look with his balls in your mouth.
He huffs out a breath, clinging to any shred of decency he can find. “D-Don’t you mean you ‘would have been?’”
You swallow, tongue running over your teeth, and a salacious look in your eyes as you plaster an innocent smile onto your face. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You feign confusion, as if you’re not hunting him—using your best ammunition to take him down.
Eddie gulps, his eyes never straying from yours, caught in a trance. “I live around here,” he says. “Just three doors down that way,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder pointing in the opposite direction of your new house.
You know exactly what he’s looking for.
Game, set, match. You win.
You smile, missing the sound of his voice when you push his buttons. “I also happen to live around here,” you coyly add, batting your lashes at him.
He sucks his teeth, eyes daring you to prolong this. “I have a bed.”
You nod your head at his rebuttal—plain and true. “Touché.”
In a matter of moments, he’s taking your plate from your hands, setting it down on the table, grabbing your now-free hand, and pulling you out of the backyard. Shouting a quick goodbye, he drags you past Steve, Robin, Vickie, and an exhausted Jess, who’s just now rejoining the group.
“Bye, guys! Thanks for everything, it’s been fun, we gotta do this again, okay, see you later!” It all comes out in one single breath, leaving the group shocked and confused.
You look back as Eddie pulls you away with such force you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Thank you, guys!” You shout, waving at them with an apologetic look on your face.
“Use protection!” Steve yells before dissolving into a fit of laughter as Jess hits his shoulder.
The last thing they see is Eddie’s middle finger as the two of you disappear around the corner of the other neighbor’s house.
“And he said I wasn’t a credible source on who’s hot.” Robin shakes her head, feeling incredibly smug.
-
Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand even when he’s fishing into his pocket for his house key. He feels around for the right key on the split rings, pulling the set out once he finds it. Shoving the brass into the door, he moves to the side to let you in first.
Eager from the day-long wait, you can feel how wet your panties are already. The caveman-esque way he pulled you all the way home solidified your burning desire. You giggle at the silly bow he does, emphasizing the open door for you to walk through.
“How very honorable of you,” you tease.
He shuffles in after you, flicking on the foyer lights, quickly shutting the door and locking it. He’s not planning on leaving the house for the rest of the night and he’s hoping you won’t either.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna last,” he mutters darkly, pulling your arm and spinning you so your back is against the closed door. His hands hold both sides of your head as he pants out, “I’m planning to do some very dishonorable things to you.”
He smashes his lips against yours, a surprised moan escaping you at his desperation. Your open mouth gives him ample opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue inside causing a needy whimper to tear from your throat. Your knees buckle when his hands slide down the sides of your neck. Before you can drop, he quickly slots his knee between your legs, his body pressing you into the door even more.
Breaking away, he huffs out desperate breaths. Your head feels hazy, eyes glazed over. You feel like you got high from just one kiss—and what a kiss it was.
“Do you want this as much as I do?”
The question is breathy and low. He’s nuzzling his nose with yours, teasing you with an almost-kiss as he waits for your response.
The pull to his lips is so bewitching you can’t speak, only nod as your head bobs closer to sealing the kiss. Something stops you from completing it, like you’re waiting for him to do it. You’re waiting for his direction, his ‘okay.’
“Use your words,” he chastises you.
You whimper, shrinking at his intensity. Subconsciously, you lower your hip, attempting to relieve some tension against his leg.
When he feels what you’re doing, he straightens up, pulling his leg away despite your desperate whimper trying to call the sensation back. “Tell me, do you want me as much as I want you?”
“Yes! God, yes! Please,” you whine, needing him to touch you all over. You need his thigh back.
“Yeah, you wanted me right from the start, didn’t you, honey?” He tilts his head, hungry eyes roving over your pleading face. You practically preen at the delicate touch he dances across your cheek. Reaching to affectionately smooth the strands by your hairline, he waits for you to muster up the power to respond.
“Mhm.” Your eyes roll back as his rough hand travels from your hair to your jaw, holding you firm, pulling your attention back to him.
“Flirted with me so openly, didn’t you, dirty girl?”
A grin stretches across his face at the sudden embarrassment you show, mortified at being called out for your actions. You look so cute, squirming, trying to avoid his eyes, despite his strong grip on your jaw leaving you very little room to look elsewhere.
“I just wanted you…” you mutter, eyes not meeting his condescending gaze.
He’s pouting at you, mocking your embarrassment.
“Well, you got me, sweetheart. What did you wanna do with me?”
He leans in to nose his face against yours, hypnotically drawing your lips in again, but never granting you a kiss. No, kisses are for good girls who answer questions.
You shrug, any confidence you had from your earlier flirting is nonexistent—the power he holds over you is too great. He’s all-consuming. He’s everything you see, everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you hear, everything you taste.
“Can I tell you what I wanna do with you?”
Eagerly nodding, you’re thankful he let you off the hook with the question.
“I wanna marry you.”
His face is all you can see, not a doubt in his eyes, despite what he just said—no freudian slip to be found.
Your stomach drops, brows raising in shock. His words wake you right up out of your love drunk haze.
He should bottle that sentiment and sell it to single women. It would beat out the entire market for smelling salts.
Your eyes are wide, jaw dropped—you can’t believe what he just said. You just met him today and he’s apparently already sold on you. You have to admit, it is flattering to have a man want to marry you right after meeting you. Can’t say that’s ever happened to you before.
Shock aside, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same. Throughout the day, you had suffered daydreams of yearly summer barbecues, a king sized bed for two, cooking meals together, group dates with Steve, Jess, Robin, and Vickie. Afflicted with thoughts of pretty rings and curly haired, brown eyed children. But you shoved them down deep into a locked box, chaining the lid shut just in case.
Now, here Eddie is, pinning you against the front door of his house, kissing you breathless—picking the lock to the box filled with illicit fantasies
He reads the shock on your face, not swayed by the reaction in the slightest—he knows you’re meant to be his. He knows you won’t get married today, and maybe not tomorrow—but it will happen. There’s no way it won’t. He’s certain.
He doesn’t need your words, doesn’t want to hear what you stumble to say in response to his profession—so he doesn’t give you time to. No amount of obfuscation from you will convince him you’re not his.
“But in terms of right this moment,” he elaborates, “I’m gonna fuck you.”
Suffering from emotional whiplash, his words go straight to your pussy as you clench around nothing. You have no words, your jaw has not picked back up since he said he wants to marry you.
“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He tilts his chin down, eyes trapping you in an obscene staring contest.
You nod, letting out a breathy, “Please.” The need for him is starting to drive you insane.
“Good,” is all he says before he picks you up bridal style and carries you up the stairs, grinning at you. You squeal in uneasy surprise at his actions, arms settling around his neck, holding on for dear life.
“I can walk, you know!”
You’re terrified he’s going to drop you, but you did see him do a bunch of manual labor today and you can’t lie, he is strong.
“Ladies shouldn’t have to walk,” he admonishes—the same tone as when he scolded you for trying to move your own boxes earlier. You shake your head at his endearingly incessant need to do things for you. “And hopefully you won’t be able to when I’m done with you.”
Scoffing at his dirty comment, you playfully hit his shoulder. “You know, for how much you talk about what ladies should and shouldn’t do, you certainly don’t talk to one properly.”
He grins as he sets you down onto his soft duvet, caging you in with his thick, tattooed forearms, leaning over you with leering eyes. “I can talk to you properly,” he admits, “or I can fuck you properly.”
Your breath stutters, eyes darting from his deadly gaze to his soft lips before ending back at his eyes.
He shrugs, lightheartedly, saying, “Your choice.”
Nodding with a bite to your lip, you breathily mutter “I’ll take option number two.”
With a smug grin, he leans down to give you a chaste kiss. “Thought so.”
He goes to pull away from the kiss, but you pull him back, languid tongue dancing across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. Your fingers inch into the mussed locks of hair as you messily make out. The bed dips as he kneels between your legs. Blindly reaching behind his head, you untangle the hair tie from his crazed curls, giving the roots a tug, earning you a lewd groan.
He breaks away to pull your tank top over your head. With a newfound fervor to see you naked, his own shirt follows suit. You sit up a little to help him peel the fabric off, opting to take your bra off while you’re up. He turns slightly to throw both tops to the corner of the room near the laundry basket. When he turns back around, his jaw drops at the sight of your bare breasts. You make him feel like a teeanger all over again, because he’s close to busting in his jeans at the alluring sight.
“Fuckkkk,” he groans, large hands groping your chest. “You have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, baby. Been lookin’ at them all day.”
You moan at the rabid touch of his needy hands, the fire in your veins making you so sensitive to his every squeeze and grope. He pushes your breasts together, leaning down to attach his greedy mouth to one of your perked nipples. His lithe tongue circles the sensitive nub before giving it a light bite.
A borderline pornographic moan tears right from your throat. Mouthing at one nipple before moving onto the other one, his thumb toys with the wet peak.
When he nips at the second one, you instinctively tug his hair, eliciting a muffled groan, his mouth full of your tit.
You can feel how hard he is, his hips grinding into your thigh for relief. The imprint of his cock is making you impatient; you just want to feel him inside you now, want to feel every ridge and vein of. You moan at the nonstop attention to your peaked nipples. The overwhelming thought of how it’ll feel when his tip pierces your entrance and the relief that will wash over you leads you to pull his head off your chest.
When his eyes meet yours, you melt at the fucked out look on his face. It almost looks like he was getting off just from sucking on your tits. You admire the string of saliva connecting his wet lips to your chest. The sight of his slobber on your breasts, the blooming of accidental hickies on the sensitive skin makes you whine.
“Eddie, please. I need you.”
He nods, immediately working down your body, kissing and licking every square inch of skin.
His hands are shaky with need as he unbuttons your shorts, working them down your legs. He moves to kiss your thighs, assessing exactly where he’s going to leave bite marks when you put your hands on his shoulders, effectively halting his movements. He looks up at you, concerned he did something wrong already.
Your brow furrows; you know what he wants, but you don’t think this is the right time. “Eddie, I’ve been in the hot sun all day…”
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He’s trying to read your face because he doesn’t understand why you’re bringing that up. So was he. He was with you—all day. Are you just saying true facts about your day? He doesn’t think now is the time to do that, but if that’s what you want to do he’ll oblige. Weird foreplay, but to each their own, he thinks.
“I cheated at cornhole,” he admits earnestly.
You frown at him—what the fuck is he talking about? He looks so genuine, it makes huff out a confused laugh. “What?”
Okay, now he’s very confused. His arms are still resting on your doughy thighs, elbows just outside both of your legs, leaning his full weight onto the bed. “What what?”
You shake your head at him, an amused look overtaking your face. “I just mean I got kinda sweaty playing tag with the kids…” You look at him, hoping he gets it, but when you see zero recognition in his eyes, you continue. “I don’t think now is the time for you to—” You can’t bring yourself to say it, embarrassment warming your face.
Thankfully, Eddie finally catches on. He’s relieved you’re not actually into the weird foreplay of revealing truths because he doesn’t want to tell you about the boner he got from watching you eat a hotdog. That would be mortifying.
“Oh! No,” he waves a dismissive hand, “honey, that's what I like to call seasoning.” He grins salaciously, leaning towards you.
His wandering fingers inch under the elastic at the top of your hips, preparing to pull your panties down, but you stop him again.
“But I’m not—”
A huffing breath leaves your lips. You’re frustrated. Not at his actions, no, but at the feeling of having to preface this in the case that he pulls your panties down and hates what he sees—or god forbid, tastes. “I’m not…trimmed…or anything.”
He looks at you like you just told him the most ridiculously stupid thing ever. He shakes his head, a frown clear and present in his eyes and on his face.
“Baby, I was around in the 70s,” he implores. “I might not have been sexually active then, but I was still stealing my uncle’s nudie magazines. I’ve seen a few things—explored a few jungles in my time.” A dirty smile creeps up his lips.
You roll your eyes at his crass terminology, feeling a pinch to your heart at the thought of him with other women.
“I earned my forestry badge, okay? So let me in there!” His eyes are shining with amusement, enjoying the cringe his words bring you. You’ll get used to how nasty he can be. It’s only down from here—he was on his best behavior today. He resumes his efforts to remove the last barrier between him and your needy core, but you try to speak up again.
“Eddie—”
“If you try to make up another excuse to keep me from this pretty little pussy, I will gag you with your own panties.”
His stern voice cuts you off, eyes dangerous as he reprimands you. You immediately close your mouth, wide-eyed, giving him your full attention now.
“I don’t know what boys you’ve been fucking, but only a real man deserves such a perfect cunt, and I’m Him. You understand me?”
His confidence makes even more arousal flood your already damp panties. You’re about ready to let him do anything he wants to your body.
You nod quickly, granting him access. Your breath hitched as he yanks your underwear off before stuffing them into his back pocket. He rubs his face against your thighs and you shiver at the scratchy stubble. Your pussy’s pumping out slick like it knows Eddie’s huge, sure to give you all the natural lube it can for when he fucks you.
He nuzzles into the wiry curls on your mound, your breath catches when you feel a suck of air, realizing he just took a deep whiff. You’re too turned on at this point to be embarrassed, your arousal is dripping from your needy hole, you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t touch you in the next five seconds. When he noses the hair guarding your slit, a lock of long, brown, curls fall in front of him.
He lets go of your thighs to reach for your hands, pulling them into his hair, making you hold the curls into a makeshift ponytail that will double as a rein. If you had known he’d be going down on you you wouldn’t have taken his bun out, but it’s too late now, you have no idea where the hair tie is.
When your hands are securely in his hair he takes one arm and wraps it around your thigh from underneath, guiding your leg over his shoulder and holding it hostage. He takes the other hand and rests his arm lightly on your pelvis to part your pussy lips from above, he leans in to give a long lick with a flat tongue, just getting a taste for you. He moans at the flavor, you have no idea just how much he doesn’t care that you were out in the sun sweating all day. He feels like he could cum just from the tangy taste dancing on his tongue.
You moan at the feel of the wet muscle, it feels like you can finally breathe when he explores your folds. You’ve wanted him all day, burned for him for hours on end, and just like a cool drink of water- he’s quenching your thirst.
He gives quick flutter licks to your hole, just teasing you to get a reaction. It doesn’t disappoint, you’re whining, hips gyrating with need. He alternates between light pressured licks to your clit and plunging his tongue as deep as he can into your tight hole. He’s got you breathing heavy in no time, his fingers squeeze the fat of your thighs as he grinds his pulsing cock into the bed. You let out a pathetic mewl when he speeds up his actions, licking you like you’re ice cream, your hips occasionally jump when his nose catches your clit.
You can feel your hole clenching around nothing, needing just a little more to get you there, the dull ache building in your stomach. “M-More, please, I need more,” you cry out.
He’s more than happy to oblige, the hand that had been spreading your lips moves under his body, you feel a thick finger breach your entrance and it makes your hips jump and stomach clench. The sound of your moans and his dexterous fingers plunging into your drenched cunt fill the room. It makes him groan, the vibrations from it causing you to whimper.
“Oh p-please, oh god, I’m so close, please Eddie,” you whine, bucking your hips against his face.
He thrusts his finger in and out before adding another to stretch your tightening hole, you moan at the fit. He nods his head up and down on your pussy, licking messily, then he’s vigorously shaking his head side to side in your folds, slurping your juices up.
The lewd sound pushes you right to the precipice of your orgasm, “Eddieee!” The squeal you let out has him chuckling, you can’t help but interpret it as condescending and that only makes you clench tightly around his fingers, inching you even closer to your peak.
At the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers he moves his tongue to make quick, tight circles around your clit causing you to tumble over the edge practically screaming. Seeing stars and desperate for nonstop pressure to work you through your climax, you shove his face against your pussy. You’re pressing hard, in need of all encompassing pleasure, in need of his cock inside your pulsing hole.
You’re basically grinding your cunt on his face and it has his hips jerking into the bed, wishing he was inside you already. The feel of your velvety walls squeezing his fingers in pulsing intervals has him moaning at the thought of you doing that around his cock. He can’t wait anymore, he pulls his fingers out once you come down from your high, shoving them into his mouth and relishing in the taste of your cum.
You’re too busy catching your breath, never having experienced such an all-consuming orgasm like that before. You feel like you’re floating when you feel him hover over you again, his hungry eyes looking borderline felonious the way they rove over your face. You look down between your bodies, noticing he’s fully naked now, hard, leaking cock hanging just above where you need him most.
You nearly gulp at the sight of him, he felt big when you felt him against your leg earlier, but this is a lot. He’s the biggest you’ve ever taken and you’re not sure if you can take him. The way his length bobs when he shuffles forward feels like a threat, you must look concerned because he leans down to give you a chaste kiss.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll make it fit,” he smoothes the hair by your temple, the soft actions and his dirty words make you preen, a whimper leaving your mouth.
“Do you want me to put on a condom?” He didn’t do it on the off chance that you’d let him inside you raw, the thoughts of you pregnant whispering in his mind. He’s being driven insane by visions of his cum leaking out of your stretched out hole, the sight of you carrying his child, the way he’d take you from the back as your big bump rests on the bed beneath your arched body.
Your eyes are wide, suddenly feeling like a virgin at the prospect of fitting all of him inside you. You’re certainly not, but he makes you feel so small, so taken care of, you feel like you need him bare inside you. You need to know what it feels like, you’ll worry about the consequences later. Famous last words.
You shake your head, pouting lips parted as you huff, all desperate and needy, your chest moves up and down, coaxing a nip from him. You mewl at the quick attention to your breasts.
He looks up at your face from your chest, “No?”
He got it the first time when you shook your head, but he’s having so much fun treating you like you’re glass. It's like you're his sweet, innocent baby—his cute little neighbor needing him to talk her through it. You shake your head again, confirming your previous sentiment.
“You want me to cum inside you, honey?” He coos, he can’t help the way he talks down to you, you make it so easy with your wet, pleading eyes. His question seems to work on you because you whimper, enthusiastically nodding your head, hands needy as you try to pull his body toward your open legs. He lets you pull him closer, but that’s about as much as he lets you do.
“Wanna feel you- please,” you whine at his resistance to get any closer, your nails dig into his sides as you try to pull him exactly where you need him most.
He chuckles at your pleading, his amusement quickly halts, though, when you reach between your bodies, hand encircling his rock hard cock, guiding it to your hole. He’s quick to grab your hands and pin them above your head, a stern reprimand leaving his lips, “Be good.”
You whimper again, rolling your hips against nothing, searching for release.
“I choose when I fuck you, got it?”
You nod your head vigorously, eager to please him after getting in trouble.
“That goes for after this, too, you understand?” He looks into your eyes expectantly, expression firm, his lips remain in a thin line.
“Yes, sir! Please- I’ll be good!” You beg, signing on to be his whenever he needs a release. You’ll be a ready, open hole, with pleasure. The ‘sir’ just slipped out, but you’re glad it did because he seemed to like it.
“You gonna let me fuck you raw,” your quick nod answering his question, “You want me to breed your tight little pussy, baby?” You let out an uncontrollable moan, you’d be embarrassed at how whorish you sound if you had any shame left.
“Please breed me, I want your cum, sir- please!” You cry out, rolling your hips again, seeking out his waiting cock.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, you’re pleading is breaking him down. He reaches for his cock, leaving both your wrists to remain pinned by his one hand. He guides the ruddy tip to your soaked, pulsing hole, rubbing up and down your slit, gathering all your wetness onto his cock. The movement earns him another moan that would put pornstars to shame, you’re thankful for the small relief it brings the coiling need in your stomach, but you crave more.
“You gonna let me put a baby in you, honey?”
Forget the fact that you just met him today, you’d sign onto anything he suggested as long as you get to do this with him again, as long as you get to hold him at the end of the day. It doesn’t hurt that these sweet nothings, well- dirty nothings, are feeding every fantasy you had today. Especially the one you had at the sight of him holding the littlest Harrington, the way his tattooed arms held the baby girl. His thick forearm a seat for the little bundle of joy, his large hands softly patting her back as he bounced and rocked her on his chest.
“Yes, please put a baby in me, Eddie! I need you- I just- please, god, please!” You’re bordering on incoherent at this point, it makes him smile, taking mercy on your fried brain.
He pushes the fat head of his cock past your entrance, the stretch is so tight you can feel where your walls cling to him once the mushroom tip pops inside you. You cry out at the feeling, desperately refraining from rolling your hips onto him, you don’t want him to take away what little he’s given you.
“Alright, honey,” he breathes out, trying to pace himself and not blow his huge load inside of you at just the tip, “I’ll give you a baby, but only because you begged for it.”
The moment the last word leaves his mouth he thrusts all the way into you, knocking the air out of your chest, your loudest moan yet rings out around the room. He groans at the way your gummy walls nearly choke his thick cock, his head falls beside yours as he breathes through the all-consuming feeling. The hand that isn’t holding your wrists trails up the side of your body, groping your tit as he tries to calm down.
When he’s certain he won’t cum too soon, he starts a bruising pace, muttering out curses at the way your moans sync with the pulsing of your pussy. “Fuck, honey, this the tightest cunt I’ve ever felt.”
You moan at his words, taking it as a compliment, mind reeling at the feel of every ridge, every bump, every throbbing vein of his massive cock. You’re letting out uncontrollable, ‘unh unh unh unh’s at the deep, penetrating thrusts he gives you, lips permanently parted at his intrusion.
The constant panting and moaning in his ear is pushing him nearly over the edge, he ravenously attacks your neck, tongue gliding over it, biting and kissing the sensitive skin. He knows he’s too close to stop now so he continues his punishing pace, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit.
He circles your clit only once before you’re thrown off the edge of your second orgasm, your mouth is uncontrollable, you’re spewing the nastiest shit he’s ever heard and it gets him there.
“Fuck,” your voice is a high pitched whine, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meee!”
“Please, god, OH!”
“Cum inside me, breed me, please, sir, please- fuck your fucking cum inside me unhhh!”
He groans, hips faltering as he jerks forward repeatedly. His stomach is clenching as he spills rope after thick rope of his milky white, hot cum into you.
You’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath as he settles on top of you, shivering from the power of his orgasm. He’s never cum that hard before, he feels like his spirit has separated from his body, only vaguely aware of his throbbing cock still inside you. His hand loosens, letting your wrists go, your arms move to wrap him into a warm embrace. You pet his sweaty hair, your other hand lightly scratching his damp back.
When his spirit floats back down into his body he feels like he’s in heaven, the way you hold him like he’s so delicate, it’s such a contrast to the roles you both fell into earlier. His cock is softening and he can feel it slipping out of your used hole, it makes him gently pull away, allowing his cock to fall out of you fully. You watch him as he looks down at your messy pussy, he smiles at the way your hole clenches, the muscles still working through the power of your orgasm. The intermittent constriction of your walls pushes his cum out of you, he watches as it creeps down to your ass.
You gasp as you feel him collect his own spend, pushing it back into your quivering hole. When he removes his fingers, they’re covered in a mix between his cum and your juices, you grab his wrist and pull his fingers into your mouth. Moaning at the taste of the spunky combination, you stare him down with the heat of a thousand burning suns in your sultry eyes.
His mouth falls open as he watches you, his soft cock jumps at the view, in a flash he’s reaching under your ass, propping you up against his thighs. He’s got your hips angled up to the ceiling, you laugh at the sharp movement, loving how he manhandles you.
“What-”
“I wasn’t kidding before, I’m making this shit stick.” You realize he’s angled you so his cum won’t leave your pussy, it’ll just pool in your hole. He’s hoping to go one for one, but he has no problems trying again. You’re going to have his baby, he’s going to make sure of it. He meant it before, but after seeing you lick the mix of juices off his fingers he’s thinking about where the nearest ring shop is.
You laugh at the serious look in his eyes, biting your lip as you flirt, “Which one is it? What’s first, a baby or marriage?” You smile at his inability to figure out what he should do first, his words and thoughts contradicting himself throughout the night.
“Both,” he grins, leaning down to kiss you like it’s the last time. You know it isn’t
A/N: the way they didn’t use protection after Steve told them to, smh. Also, yes, she has his baby, yes, they get married, yes, he’s insatiable, yes, Steve and Robin make fun of him endlessly, yes, he gets called a cradlerobber and other things by them.
Like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed. Comments, especially, encourage me to get nastier wit it.
Rock star eddie, you're his drummer. One of his songs requires moans in the background. He wants it live. Wear special panties during show, boom live moans or if that's too much maybe just has you in the sound booth since he doesn't want some random chick's moans, the grand finale is the sound of you coming during the climax of the song 👀
Glitter Girl
Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: Corroded Coffin’s new song is missing a little oomf. Eddie knows exactly what it needs…
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: SMUT 18+ mdni!!! unprotected sex, PiV sex, masturbation (fem), voyeurism, ass slapping, cum eating, oral sex kinda (fem rec), cum swapping lol, kinda dirty talk, edging, talk of fingering, audio recording sex, some feelings
Song Rec: Glitter Girl by Dixie Dragster (Eddie's song in the fic)
A/N: I was editing this and I was like ugh this is ass, but then I got to the smut and I was like okay this is good actually lmao. This is my attempt at not answering a request with an overarching storyline like I did here, but this still ended up being about 4.6k Thank you for the request it was very slutty, perfect for rockstar!eddie.
Masterlist
Submission Guidelines
My asks are open, come talk to me about Eddie!!!
You came into the studio looking for Eddie, finding him next to the band’s producer, Jared, at the soundboard.
Gareth had left a message on your machine saying Eddie needed some more backing vocals for the new song. The song was a little different from what the band had done before—more eccentric, more glam-rock—but Eddie said it would be a blast to perform live so you didn’t mind, always up for making the shows more electric.
Eddie told you he wrote the song in two hours after the insane New Year’s Eve bash the band threw at a club. You remember bits and pieces of the party—glitter falling at midnight, spitting a shot of vodka into Eddie’s mouth, making Gareth give you a lap dance, watching Jeff motorboat a bottle girl. Definitely one for the books.
But as daybreak neared and guests began drunkenly shuffling home, the night became a little clearer in your memory—leaving you and Eddie covered in glitter and confetti, giggling about how he’d be finding that shit in his hair forever. Three days later, he played the song for you and the rest of the band.
You laid down the drums for the song last Friday and your vocals the following Monday. Eddie had told the band it was a wrap, but it seems he’s changed his mind—deciding something was missing, rendering the song incomplete in his eyes.
Music is the only thing he’s ever been picky about, the one area where his usual chaos shifts into precision. It’s like he develops a Type-A personality just for that.
When he hears the door open, Eddie looks up to see you walking in, tattered jean shorts and an old band tee hanging loose on your body. He waves you into the room, ushering you over to the soundboard with him and Jared.
“Hey! Glad you got my message, sorry about the game of telephone. Apparently there’s no landline in this fucking place.” He exclaims, throwing a pointed look at Jared—like the poor guy owns the building and has a say in its architectural decisions.
You huff at his attitude, tilting your head, giving him a reprimanding, deadpan stare. Eddie loves to give the guy a hard time, much to your chagrin. It’s only because Jared’s genuinely the nicest person all of you know, especially in the LA music scene.
“No problem, although I am confused because I thought we finished everything.”
You watch as Jared starts fiddling with some buttons, getting the sound booth ready.
“Yeah, okay. See, I thought it was good–great even!” He obfuscates, “But then I had this idea…and now I wanna see how it’ll sound, and you’re the only girl…”
Your brows furrow as a confused smile overtakes your face. It sounded like he said a whole lot of nothing just now, and what does being the only girl in the band have to do with anything?
“What are you talking about?”
“Okay, force my hand,” he groans dramatically. “I think some moans would sound really fucking cool on the R–O–C–K part.”
He says it so fast, you have to take a moment to replay what you heard in your head to understand. Nervous for what you’ll say, he’s shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and eyeing you intently. You hesitate, gauging whether he’s serious or not, but he doesn’t back track.
“Alright, I mean–,” you gesture to him, deferring, “you’re the musical genius.”
It’ll be a little weird moaning in a sound booth by yourself, having poor, innocent Jared monitoring the levels and Eddie coaching you, but if it’ll make the song even cooler—you’re in.
Eddie appears shocked at your deference, he really thought he’d have to run down the list he made of why it would be sick as fuck. He’s suddenly feeling very thankful to not only have a talented female drummer, but one who appreciates his artistry as much as you.
“Really?”
Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah, if you think it’ll sound cool. I trust you.” The last part is so simple but it makes him grin, excited that you’re down for this.
“Yes! Thank you!” Rushing to hug you, he lifts you off your feet in a bone crushing embrace.
When he sets you back down, you’re laughing at the child-like giddiness written all over his face. Jared lets you know the booth is ready for you, heading in there you stand behind the microphone, placing the headphones over your ears so you can hear the backing track and cues.
Jared counts you in over the master microphone, hearing the metronome. you nod your head to the beat, keeping time. When the part approaches, you stand up straight, breathily moaning the letters, spelling out ‘ROCK.’
Once you’ve done it, Jared cuts the music, turning on the soundboard mic for Eddie to give notes. You watch through the glass window as he leans down, sounding less than satisfied. “Okay…that was good, um–let’s take it from the top, okay? Gimme a little more oomf.”
Nodding your head—only slightly understanding what he means—you begin keeping time with the metronome again. You do it about three more times for him before Eddie starts running his hands through the roots of his hair, clearly frustrated at your inability to portray the tone he’s looking for.
“Eddie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do differently.” You don’t mean to be so difficult, honestly not comprehending what’s off about your performance. And he’s not being very helpful with his notes, you’re pretty sure you’re all out of ‘oomf.’ You’re certain the last two renditions are as oomf-y as he’s going to get from you.
He shakes his head, curling his lips into his mouth, “No, it’s–uh, hold on.”
The sound from outside the booth cuts out, you watch as Eddie leans down to Jared telling him something. The guy looks at him, appearing to ask him something before Eddie nods his head, then the guy stands up and leaves. You frown at the sudden exit, Eddie sits down into the command chair, clicking the microphone back on and leaning in.
“Okay, so I asked Jared to take five. We’re gonna try this again, but—hear me out—do you think you could–,” he hesitates, working through how to make his request. “How about this, what if you—okay, this is gonna sound insane–”
Losing your patience, you speak up, “Eddie, just spit it out!”
“What about if you touched yourself? While you–you know, did the vocals…,” his words come out stilted, eyes squinting like he’s expecting you to blow up at him for his outrageous request.
Instead, you just laugh. He’s got to be joking, that’d be insane! Your eyes widen when he doesn’t laugh with you—just curling his lips inward again.
“Eddie, you can’t be serious…,” you shake your head incredulously. “Just get a porn star, or something, if you want real moans.”
He clearly rejects that sentiment, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him like he’s presenting at a business meeting, “No, I don’t want just any girl on this track! Plus, there’s like legal shit I don’t even wanna touch with a ten foot pole.”
Scoffing, your jaw agape, “What, and I’m easier?”
Frantically shaking his head, placating hands held out in front of him, “No! Of course not!” His voice lowers to a nervous mutter, but it still comes through loud and clear in your headphones, “I just think the muse should be on the track, that’s all.”
Your brows draw together, jerking your head back in confusion. “You wrote this song–about me?” He’s never written a song about anybody other than random hookups. Most of his songwriting is inspired by life stuff anyway. Not even his best friends got songs written for them, but he wrote this for you—about you?
When you think about the lyrics, your face heats up—to be seen in that way, to be romanticized like that…You had no idea he felt…things…for you. But now the way he stuck to your side at the party makes sense.
Usually, he’s all over the groupies and the women throwing themselves at him, he’s a gluttonous guy—he likes to have them all. But that party was notably different, he even took you to breakfast after the wild night, making you laugh as he shook more glitter from his hair into the pancakes he ordered.
Eddie shrugs, very clearly trying to seem passive, “Well, yeah, you’re my glitter girl.” He voices the nickname like it’s obvious, like it’s an endearment—he did put ‘my’ in front of it.
Huffing out a fond laugh, smile growing on your soft lips, you nod, “Fine. But you can’t watch, okay, perv?”
You tease him, but the thought of him watching is far too overwhelming for you. You just found out he feels a certain way for you. Unsure if it’s just fondness, care, like—love, even? No, that’d be preposterous. He’s your friend! Lead singer of one of the top bands right now, and you’re his drummer! You’re just like one of the guys—at least that’s what Gareth always says.
Now you’re not sure what you are—to him, at least. But you know you couldn’t handle him watching you do something so intimate.
He nods his head vigorously, “Yeah, of course! How about this, I’ll turn around and you–do your thing.”
Nodding at his earnest face, you move to unbutton your shorts. Shaking your head in disbelief that this is happening, you watch as he turns around.
“Although, to be clear—I do still need to listen to make sure I–,” he pauses, unable to choose better wording, “like–what I hear, I guess. Sorry.”
You huff, rolling your eyes at his poor choice of wording. “Yes, Eddie, I know. Don’t look!”
Raising his hands in surrender as his back is turned, “Let me know when you want me to start the track.” He wants to give you enough time to work yourself up—for lack of better words.
Taking a deep breath, shaking the nerves out of your body, you reach into your panties. It isn’t the best angle with you standing so you quickly turn around, pulling the stool up to the mic, adjusting the equipment to your new height as you sit on the edge of the wooden seat. Propping your foot on the rung of the stool, you spread your thighs, reaching back into your panties to gather the wetness at your hole.
Thankfully, Eddie is hot enough to get you going any time you see him—his long, dark curly hair, obsidian eyes, the contrast of black tattoos on pale white skin. Today, he’s wearing an old Dio band tee he cut into a muscle shirt and a pair of ripped black jeans.
Every time he leaned over the soundboard—reaching to fiddle with some controls—the gaping armholes of his shirt gave you a perfect view of his biceps, his body. It had you pressing your thighs together. Yeah, you’re good to go just looking at him.
Spreading the wetness across your folds as much as you can in the confines of your shorts, you bring your soaked fingers to your clit, catching the little nub just right, making your breath hitch. When your breath turns shallow and you’re biting your lip to withhold moans, you look up to see a hunched over Eddie through the glass. He looks like he’s straining, turned around with clenched fists, gnawing on the white knuckles.
“I’m ready.” He jumps into action at your breathy comment, reaching behind him for the button, starting the metronome track.
His strained posture doesn’t unfurl, in fact it looks like he gets even more stiff as you do the part. Circling your clit for maximum pleasure, you moan out the letters, stopping completely with shallow breaths as you wait for his notes.
Leaving your shorts unbuttoned, you remove your fingers, resting your arm on your thighs as Eddie turns around with a hand over his eyes.
“I’m decent,” you breathe, letting him know he doesn’t have to feel around the soundboard blindly to shut the track off.
Letting his hand fall, blown eyes take you in as he clears his throat, pressing the ‘on’ button for the microphone. “T–That was–good, uh, yeah, good,” clearing his throat again. “I think–okay you’re gonna hate me for this—and I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose—but when I was blind, I accidentally pressed the wrong button, so I recorded none of that.”
He bares his teeth in nervous expectation for your anger, but you just let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes. Par for the course with Eddie.
“Okay, fine. Just–start recording, then close your eyes this time, okay?”
“Yes. Yeah, I’ll do that, I’m sorry!”
Since you’re already worked up, you tell him to go ahead and start the track right off the bat. Precisely following your directions, he starts the track, quickly hits record, and swivels his chair to face the couch against the wall.
You do exactly the same thing as last time—running your index and middle finger through your folds before bringing it to your throbbing clit. You’re working yourself close to the edge, but never surpassing it as you moan the lines.
The notes you receive from him make you want to strangle him, he looks awfully jumpy, continuously letting his hand fall into his lap below the soundboard where you can’t see it. “That was good,” he says lightly, like it’s a consolation compliment.
The frustration of touching yourself with no orgasm at the end is getting to you, you grit out an annoyed, “Eddie!”
“I’m sorry! There’s something off about it! You know? Like it’s too–I don’t know…,” he stops to think as you huff your chest, imagining exactly how you’d run out of this booth and strangle the singer. “It’s missing that oomf,” he repeats, as if that perfectly describes why your performance is not hitting.
Oh, you’re going to kill him. You’re going to skin the fucker alive. “You said that already!”
“Wait! I think I know what it is,” your eyes widen as he pauses, raising your eyebrows expectantly.
“Please, feel free to share with the class,” you bite, thoroughly annoyed at this point.
“How exactly are you touching yourself?” He asks the question so casually like he’s asking you which football team you’re supporting in this year’s Super Bowl, like he’s an engineer trying to figure out the faulty cog in the machine.
You throw your head back, eyes on a god you know isn’t watching, praying for enough strength to spare your bandmate from your fiery fury. You laugh—sharp, incredulous. “Oh, we’re doing this?” Resigning yourself to the present situation, you answer without shame—your frustration is far too overpowering. “Okay, I’m rubbing my clit.”
He shakes his head, unruly curls shimmying with the gesture, “No, see I want like–a thrusting oomf, you know?” He’s wagging his finger like he just cracked the case, grinning, “See, I knew something was missing!”
“Okay, well, I’m not gonna finger myself for you, Eddie.” You’ve given him enough, plus you know from experience—your own fingers are not going to give him the ‘oomf’ he’s looking for.
Eddie pouts at your rejection, jaw on the floor like an indignant child being told ‘no.’
“Why not?” He’s practically whining and you tilt your head at him in disbelief that this is the ‘man’ so many women drop their panties for.
“Because! Why don’t you do it,” you argue.
His pout is gone as he shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head, “Okay.”
“Wha–,” you’re thrown off by his response, but you watch him hit record and you hear the metronome start in your ears as he joins you in the booth, unbuttoning his jeans.
“I didn’t mean–what the hell are you doing?” You look at him like he’s lost his mind—because, honestly, he has. What exactly is he doing here? Freeing one ear from the headphones, you wait for his—sure to be interesting—explanation.
“You want me to do it,” it’s half–question, half him telling you what he got from that exchange.
Shaking your head, lips parted in awe at his absurdity, “No! I mean like–you do the moans yourself if you’re gonna be so picky about it!”
Disappointment clear on his face, he leaves his jeans unbuttoned, “Well, nobody wants that!”
Laughing at his absurd comment—you, you want that—you shake your head, “I don’t think me fingering myself is really gonna sound good–”
“I beg to differ,” he snorts, eyes shooting to your wet fingers.
Giving him a reprimanding look, you add, “You know what I mean.”
“Okay, but what if…I did help you,” he implores, it’s like he’s bargaining for your pussy.
“Eddie, you can’t be serious,” smiling at him, waiting for him to crack, but all you see is wide, earnest eyes. “You really want this?”
You’re mainly asking about how badly he wants the song to reflect his vision, but you realize the question takes on a whole new meaning with what’s on the table.
Nodding his head frantically, “Yes, it means a lot to me!”
Sighing at his genuine desire to make the song he wants, you let out a subtle nod. “Fine,” you pause as he pumps his fist in victory, “But don’t be weird about it.” He immediately collects himself, bringing his energy from ‘kid who just won a sweepstakes to Disney’ to ‘solemn mourner.’ It makes you crack a smile.
You can hear the metronome of the song repeating in your ear, you watch his quickly widening eyes as you shimmy your shorts down. A raised eyebrow alerts him he should be doing the same, you put the second pair of headphones onto his hair, flattening a line into his poofy hair. He starts removing his black jeans as you turn and adjust the microphone even lower, nearly at the level of the wooden stool.
When you turn back around, you see his hard cock, standing at attention, his shirt still on—same as you, not bothering to remove the article of clothing because that’d require removing the headphones, which was too much work at the moment. His eyes are lust blown as he looks down at your half-naked body, shallow breaths moving his chest.
“Cute,” you quip at his stiff cock, admiring the jump you get for the compliment. He’s not the first naked man you’ve seen and knowing him—his ego is already enormous. He doesn’t need to get another worshipping compliment on how pretty and big his dick is, he has the groupies for that. You always try to keep him in check, this’ll be no different.
Clearly, you had him remove his pants for more than just fingering, but he wants to make sure. “So you don’t want me to finger you?”
Snorting, you shake your head, “No, if you want this to sound good, it’s gotta be the real deal.” You’ve built up enough frustration that you’re giving him creative directions now, if he’s intertwining music and pleasure—he knows music, and you know your own pleasure. “And you get one take, got it, rockstar?”
Eddie sucks in a breath at the title, nodding his head, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. And it’s recording?”
Another nod.
You smirk at his uncharacteristic silence, turning around to rest your elbows on the seat of the stool, making sure the mic stand is right in front of your face.
“Fuck,” he mutters, the view of you bent over, chest down, ass up—presenting your pretty pussy to him—has his dick jumping, twitching with need. He moves forward, caressing the junction of your hip, squeezing the fat of your ass.
You can’t help but hum at the feel of cold metal rings on his large hands, you’re so worked up you’re practically dripping for him.
He gathers himself enough to remind you the metronome is repeating, meaning you need to pay attention for the cue to the letters.
“Just fuck me already,” you’re almost whine, rolling your hips to jut your pussy out more.
“Holy shit,” he groans, grasping his cock and rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He nearly curses at the way your lips almost suck him into your greedy hole, the way you’re pulsing, trying to lure him into your warm, wet heat.
He teases just a little more, gathering as much of your wetness onto his cock as he can. When you whine, wiggling your hips back, trying to catch the head and slide him in—he decides to put you out of your misery.
With a strong grip on your hips, Eddie thrusts in harshly, fully sinking his cock into your tight cunt. The sudden intrusion has a cross between a moan and squeal erupting from your throat, you thought he’d go slow—boy, were you wrong. He has to take a minute to steady his breathing, wishing away the impending orgasm. His body is curling over you, chest moving with stuttering breaths.
You’re so aware of his pelvis and thighs against your ass, how snug his cock is in your hole. Relishing the feeling of him balls deep inside you, you feel so full. He’s so thick, it’s driving you up the wall. Your pussy is gripping him like any moment he’ll pull out and leave you gaping.
“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Holy shit–best fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.” He’s babbling, gone completely out of his mind at the way your walls squeeze his poor cock in a vice grip. You mewl and whine at the compliment, so turned on from all the edging, you just want him to start moving already.
“Move–please, move! Fuck, Eddie,” you draw out his name, sounding pitiful and fucked out already.
He starts thrusting at a bruising pace, you feel every ridge and vein, you’re not even trying to temper your moans. Barely hearing yourself over the metronome anyway, you let him know just how good you feel.
Eddie reaches up, shoving one earphone off so he can hear your noises. All the moaning, mewling, and whining only spur him on. He’s breaking a sweat railing into your cunt, relishing the sound of skin slapping.
You hear the song start over again, knowing the cue is coming up, you try to draw your brain back from your needy pussy long enough to moan the letters. Apparently, you didn’t sound desperate enough because Eddie slaps your ass, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your throat.
“Again,” he grits, reaching around to messily rub your clit through your shared juices.
The song is short so when it loops back around, you’re at the very precipice of an orgasm.
“Please–Eddie, please let me cum! Oh god, I need it, please!”
He groans when your walls suffocate his cock, needy and pulsing, on the very edge of the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had.
“Be good, and I’ll let you,” he grunts, slapping your ass to cue you in. When you open your mouth to moan out the letters he starts vigorously yanking your body back onto his dick, meeting his already jarring thrusts. Ever the musician, he times each shove of his hips with the ticking metronome.
His hard cock knocks the air out of you as you moan every letter, sounding fucked out and desperate by the time you spell ‘ROCK’ fully.
Once you know you’ve done your part, you wail out in pleasure, “Oh god!”
Slapping your ass particularly hard, he urges you to cum, “Cum for me, baby. Lemme feel that fucking pussy choke my cock, give it to me, honey.”
The slap sent you over the edge and his words had you floating among the stars. You’re crying out in pleasure, absolutely beside yourself. Barely aware of the loss of rhythm, he shutters and jerks, drawing your attention with an urgent, “Where do you want me, baby?”
Feeling full and needy, you whine, “Inside! Please, Eddie, gimme your cum–I wan’ it so fuckin’ bad!”
He stutters out a string of curses, pumping rope after rope of warm cum into your greedy cunt. Slowing to a stop, he hunches over you. You can feel his hot breath against your shoulder blades, the softs wisps of his hair tickling your back.
Resting your chest on the stool, you let your mind come back down to earth. He moves to pull out but you reach behind to grab his hips, holding him to you.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out in disbelief, thanking whatever is out there that he got to experience what he’s dreamed about for so long. Not to mention, the way you don’t want his cock to leave your pulsing pussy. He shudders as your walls twitch with aftershocks.
Eventually, he has to pull out, his soft cock no longer able to stay in. His heart rams against his ribcage at the soft whine you let out as he pulls out, he’d keep you stuffed forever if he could.
You don’t move, even though you’re free to. Staying bent over the stool, your pussy still captivating him as he looks down to see his load slowly inching out of your hole. Admiring the way the cum moves like molasses in the hot summer, he thinks about how many songs he could write just about the view of your gaping hole—still spread open from his girthy cock.
Since you don’t seem to be moving anytime soon—just resting on the stool, relishing his attention—he kneels down, spreading your ass cheeks. Leaning in to lick up the cum dribbling out of your hole, he makes sure to thrust his languid tongue in, scooping out the delicious, tangy combination of juices. A loud moan escapes your scratchy throat, not expecting such raunchy affection after everything that just transpired.
Once he gathers the juices, letting them pool on his tongue, he stands up. Reaching around your neck to pull you up, your back to his front, feeling his now half-hard cock against your ass, he spreads his hand on your jaw, effectively pushing your head to the side. He wraps his free hand around your pelvis as he thrusts his tongues into your open, panting mouth. You moan at the feeling of him swapping spit and the mix of cum into your waiting mouth. Messily kissing you, his tongue dominates your mouth, not letting your head go as he grinds against your ass.
When he pulls away leaving you breathless, you eagerly lick your lips, swallowing all the swapped spit and cum, humming at the taste. He lets you turn around in his hold—facing him, moving both hands to rest on your cheeks, leaning in for another firm kiss. Your eyes are lust blown, he’s panting, bobbing his head closer for another kiss. The kiss you’re wanting doesn’t come, though. Instead, he plants a sweet, chaste, smooch to the corner of your mouth.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
You huff out a laugh, eyes squinting with giddy humor at the backwards order of events. “Yeah.”
He grins at your hazy eyes, kissing you again.
Pulling away, your eyebrows knit with concern, “I think we just accidentally made an audio sex tape.”
“A sex mixtape,” he quips, unworried.
“Poor Jared, he’s gonna have to isolate my vocals over all the ass clapping,” you giggle.
“Eh, that perv will love it.”
A/N: Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed it! Especially comments because they let me know I’m doing things right!!! Because right now I’m going a little coocoo crazy, judging my writing probably too harshly. Idk, y’all tell me what you think
Summary: The day couldn’t get any worse—your car broke down and you’re stressing that your going to be late for work and know nothing about how to fix your car. Luckily, Eddie can fix both problems…
Word Count: 1'397
Warnings: one-shot, cursing, fingering, mechanic Eddie AU, p in v, teasing, Eddie’s kinda of a man whore, let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: I see what you guys are supporting so i will give you more-thank you for being here. 🖤 Yes I know it’s basically another smut but I’m ovulating, okay. 🤣 Divider/banner by me and moodboard by me.
Reblogging, comments, and kind thoughts are always appreciated but never required. Find my main masterlist
Find my main masterlist HERE
“Damn it!” you cursed, popping the hood of your car.
You didn’t know why you checked. It wasn’t like you knew anything about cars. That was exactly how you’d ended up in this situation. You’d bought the car off a friend, desperate to finally have your own wheels, and you hadn’t bothered learning much about it because you were so damn eager to have something—anything—other than the bus. You’d just forked over the cash. Everything had seemed great… until recently.
You’d thought something was off when it started running funny up the hill, like it was shutting down or something. You’d assumed it was a small issue—low gas, maybe. But when the car just turned off completely and your tank wasn’t empty, you knew it had officially gone to shit. Now you were going to be late for work and probably stuck pushing your car up the road.
You exhaled, putting your weight against the car, and you’d never felt so stuck as you looked around—like you’d been stranded in the desert with a bottle of water, only the bottle was empty.
What the fuck were you supposed to do now?
You pulled out your phone and tried calling a few mechanic shops, but they all gave you the runaround, telling you that you needed an appointment and to call tomorrow when they were booking slots.
Holding the air in your lungs, you opened Facebook Marketplace—desperate enough to trust someone who didn’t even work for a professional company. That was when you saw something that made you chuckle. You already felt lighter.
“Dick and Fix,” the listing read.
Your finger tapped the screen almost by accident as it opened, and you held your breath. You held it longer, like you were about to dive into the ocean—and you might as well have been when you saw the man who ran the site.
The big brown eyes. That smile.
You wondered if you’d clicked the wrong thing, because he looked like he belonged on a website you only opened alone in your bedroom at night—but you didn’t want to click out. Not yet. Not when his eyes looked like they were pleading and his smile was practically asking you to commit sins.
“Are you having car trouble? Feeling like you’re about to curse out everyone in earshot?” the page read. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson, and I can solve both your problems with my business, Dick and Fix. I’ll relieve your stress and fix your car for so much less… so what are you waiting for?
Call the number and let me make you cum so you can get back on the run…”
You burst out laughing. There was no way this was real—right?
The reviews answered that question.
And you couldn’t pretend you weren’t intrigued. You also couldn’t deny that you wouldn’t mind letting this man make you feel better in… other ways.
You called, lecturing yourself into a dare you’d never normally take. When he answered, it was like warm honey poured from his lips.
“This is Eddie Munson. What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
Were you this turned on before?
“My car just turned off on a hill,” you blurted out, and you heard him chuckle. It felt like cotton filled the back of your throat—not enough to ease what was coming, though.
You had no idea how this worked.
“Mmm. Tell me where you are, and I’ll take care of you,” he said finally.
Relief washed over you as you gave him the address as best you could, considering you were in the middle of nowhere.
You bounced your leg and wiped your damp hands on your jeans when he finally showed up. He looked completely at ease, and the flutter between your legs mirrored his relaxed confidence.
His soft pink lips started moving, and suddenly yours felt dry. You ran your tongue over them slowly before speaking.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, why don’t you open up the car and show me inside it?” he repeated, straightening up as the rest of him emerged from his truck. He finished with a smirk.
He studied you—slow and deliberate—and you felt like you were standing naked.
“Unless you want to show me inside you first, sweetheart…”
You were ashamed at how quickly you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without whimpering instead.
He had you in the backseat so fast it left you breathless, like you’d gotten whiplash.
He was already on top of you—so sure of himself, hands moving like he already knew your body. His curls tickled your cheek and neck as he kissed your skin slowly, your breath catching at the warm feather-light sensation sparking deep in your nerves. His hips rocked lazily, unhurried, leaving behind warm breaths as he pulled back and grabbed the hem of your shirt.
“Why don’t you take this off for me so I can really take care of you?” he said, not really asking.
You were impatient, tugging it off yourself and fumbling to unhook your bra. Your body ached—so untouched. Like you slipped from his grasp, a whimper escaped you, your back arching before he latched onto your nipple. He kneaded your other breast like fragile dough, thumb flicking over the neglected peak not currently being sucked like his lifeline.
Your fingers tangled in his curls, your moans shallow and whiny. It felt like sinking into a hot bath—the heat biting just right.
He switched between your hardened peaks, swirling his tongue before cooling them, then let one hand slide down your stomach and into your jeans. His fingers found your clit, already exposed between swollen folds. He circled gently, adding pressure.
You gasped and arched more if possible.
He picked up the pace, watching you closely. He liked seeing you wither beneath his touch. This was how you paid.
His eyes were hooded—you were the mouse to his tiger. When his fingers were slick and your face twisted with need, he pushed them knuckle-deep.
Pounce.
“That’s a good girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, and your walls fluttered like he’d made your pussy blush.
The car felt like it was closing in, the air thick enough to coat your skin. You clawed at the seats in desperation, searching for something—anything—to anchor you through your peak. But he pulled his fingers out, tending to himself with your slick before his pretty cock nestled between your thighs like it was searching for home.
His hands shook slightly as he pressed into your tight heat. With a breath, he was finally inside you, your wetness giving him perfect slip. You cried out as he bottomed out, holding you steady as you took every inch.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, chasing the burn as he filled you completely. You pulled him closer, the car rocking with each thrust, wet skin slapping against skin as his hips collided with your ass. Something fell to the floor in sync with the motion.
Your heart hitched. Your mind went blissfully blank. You clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensation of being stretched so full you didn’t think there was room for anything else.
Your thighs trembled, every ounce of restraint burning like a roller coaster inching toward the drop. He moaned into your neck, cupping your breast and flicking your sensitive nipple, his cock barely pulling out—unwilling to lose your warmth.
He pulled back just enough to claim your lips, kissing you sloppy and deep—tongue, teeth, everything. You tasted him. He tasted you. Together, you pushed toward the edge.
He muffled your cry as your orgasm tore through you, gripping your thigh and keeping your hand locked in his as you rode it out. You tensed, releasing all over him, the high buzzing through you until you sagged back down, suddenly craving your bed and your blankets.
He pulled out quickly, pumping himself over your chest, marking you with warm spurts of release and a string of curses.
Moments later, you were still sprawled in the backseat, dazed and floating, when you heard the hood of your car open. He hummed along to some old Metallica song before sliding into the front seat and starting the engine.
You hummed to yourself—pleased, surprised.
You knew you’d missed work, but you didn’t care in the slightest.
You’d had an orgasm, and your car was running.
Dick and Fix.
It works.
This is not an advertisement.
Thank you for reading the first fanfic on my page! Feel free to comment your thoughts! Like, reblog, and share with others! 💕🤭
EDDIE MUNSON SMUT IMAGINE!: he’s gotta make up for his daughter’s behavior
Word count: 327
Warnings?: older Eddie, he has a daughter of course, DadEddie! AU, oral (fem receiving), kinda sub Eddie…
Find my main masterlist HERE
Just imagine older Eddie, in his early forties—still with his long, untamed hair, slightly graying and pulled back into a ponytail—with a daughter who bullies you. So, to make up for his bratty adult daughter’s behavior, he takes you outside, tugs your jeans and panties down, and eats you out as an apology…
He lays you down in that van he still has from his twenties, spreading your thighs—his big brown eyes looking genuinely sorry for what she’s done, but also so lustful that his pupils are blown wide. He says, “Let me make up for it. Let me show you I’m a good Daddy,” before he’s buried between your legs.
He eats you out like he hasn’t eaten in months, moaning into your pussy and quenching his thirst with your juices as he licks at your clit—sucking at it and muttering apologies in between. He grips your thighs because you can’t stop squirming as he laps at your folds. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging strands loose from that ponytail, and he doesn’t even care that it hurts a little—he takes it as encouragement that you want more and lets his tongue thrust right inside you.
His pretty eyes close, brows upturned, and you know he’s in pure heaven as his tongue moves in and out, pushing against that spot that makes you feral. He’s dry-humping the van, and when you feel yourself getting close—when you feel like you’re going to cum—he begs you for it.
“Please, please cum for me…” he murmurs, his eyes locking with yours.
Your thighs start shaking, and you feel that wave hit so hard you almost try to escape it—but he holds you there, flicking his tongue inside you just to tease you a little more. Then you’re done for, crying out in pleasure so loud that people pause as they walk by.
But, you know—just a dirty thought from my AU idea for Eddie as your bully’s dad…
If you like this you can leave suggestions for more of this AU in my bio 🤭🕯️🖤
Reblog, comment, and like, please! It encourages me to post more 🥹💗
Welcome to the Eddie Munson section of the library. These shelves are dedicated to loud music, gentle hands, found family, and love that feels a little reckless and a lot real. Some stories are warm, messy, and full of laughter. Others hum with longing, fear, and devotion earned the hard way. Read the tags carefully—and don’t be afraid to stay a while.
FEEL FREE TO REQUEST AND I WILL READ YOUR SUGGESTIONS!
The library index is here
You will find all your Eddie literature here on the Metalhead’s Shelf…
Emoji Tag Key:
🔥 Smut: Explicit sexual content. High heat, spice-forward fics
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Mafia themes, Possessive behavior, Power imbalance, Emotional tension, Mentions of violence, Reader agency challenged. (Please read at your own discretion)
Summary: You were never meant to be part of his world. Not when your father’s debt was paid in blood, bargains, and desperation. Not when Draco Malfoy decided—without hesitation—that you belonged to him.
You run when you’re given the chance. He lets you.
And somehow, in the quiet after the chase, you learn that danger doesn’t always feel cold—and safety doesn’t always mean freedom.
AN: Hi lovelies 🤍
This fic started as a one-shot but may grow into a series. This is a Mafia AU Draco with possessive tendencies, morally gray choices, and a reader who gives Draco a run for his money… Moodboard/Header created by me. Divider by me. Find my main masterlist HERE
If you enjoyed, please consider liking, reblogging, or leaving a comment—it truly means the world 🖤
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
You were running. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Your father had traded you for a debt he owed to a man you didn’t even know. All you knew was that he was a Malfoy—and everyone in England knew they were dangerous and feared.
You felt for your father, but you also weren’t going to pretend he hadn’t practically made you collateral on a table—because that was exactly what he’d done. He’d gotten himself into trouble with them, involving money he’d essentially stolen. They’d planned to kill him, but he’d quickly offered you up in exchange, showing your picture while pleading for his life. And surprisingly, Draco Malfoy had decided he wanted you.
When you got the news, it happened faster than you could process. One moment, you were living a normal life. The next, your father had lured you into a trap with a simple, “I just wanna see my little girl.” And just like that, you were thrust into an arranged marriage to one of the most feared men in England—before you could even hug your dad, who only apologized profusely as they took you away.
You met your husband-to-be at your new home, and he seemed like he didn’t need any time at all to decide whether you were “the one.”
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
Draco was in awe the moment he saw you.
You seemed so… normal.
Something he hadn’t had at any point in his life—raised into violence, handed a gun before he ever held a toy, taught where to shoot before he could ride a bicycle. For a moment, he forgot he’d been robbed at all. He cleared the firearm, the bullets hitting the floor beside your father’s trembling body.
“She’ll do,” he stated.
Your father’s shoulders dropped as he finally released the breath he’d been holding. He texted you, and a few hours later, Draco was seeing you in person.
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
You looked unfazed. Unimpressed, even. Your expression was neutral—jaw slightly clenched, kissable lips pressed into a thin line. It was refreshing. He’d never felt more human than when your eyes were on him.
Women begged for him simply because of who he was. Children were held tighter when he passed. Men shrank into meek puppies.
Not you.
He wanted to keep you all for himself, like a rare and precious diamond. He knew you were his perfect fit—the woman he was meant to marry.
So he did just that.
In that exact moment, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly you were at the courthouse, signing papers. You weren’t going to accept it without a fight. You didn’t care who he was.
The moment he stepped away, you bolted.
You didn’t have any of your belongings, but that could wait. You had to try while you still had the chance. Your feet felt like stone, but you kept running. You knew he’d send someone after you the moment he came out of the restroom.
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
Draco had expected you to run—and he was willing to chase.
He asked around, learned every turn you took, and didn’t take long to find you. He said nothing. He usually didn’t. And strangely… he wasn’t upset.
He draped his coat over your shoulders. Your fingers curled into the well-qualified fabric, and you inhaled his cologne—warm and familiar, like hugging your grandmother for the first time in years—before exhaling in quiet acceptance.
“Come,” he said.
You got in the car.
You knew you were his, and there was no point in fighting it—not when you felt so warm on the drive home to a life that would change forever. You were no longer a woman who could run the way you tried to.
You were hers now.
Mrs. Malfoy—the wife of the most powerful mafia leader in England.
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
Thank you for reading. See you for the next one!!!
Prompt: January 9: “You don’t see stars here, they’re just city lights” for the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge
Summary: You were never meant to like Draco Malfoy. Not when he was cruel. Not when he barged into your space. Not when he read your poems on the wall. Not when he lingered where he wasn’t wanted. But somewhere between stolen moments, quiet routines, and things left unsaid, he became something else entirely— someone familiar, someone constant… someone tiny you kept close.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED OR PUBLISHED TO ANY THIRD PARTY SITE OR APP. IF ANYONE SEES MY WORK ANYWHERE BUT HERE UNDER MY SAME USERNAME, IT HAS BEEN REPOSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION
READ THE WARNINGS. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.
A/N: This is the first one-shot on my account—thank you for being here 🖤 This piece explores quiet intimacy, routines, and the strange comfort found in unexpected places. Divider/banner by me and moodboard by me. Reblogging, comments, and kind thoughts are always appreciated but never required. Find my main masterlist HERE
Thank you so much for reading. All mistakes are mine. 🫶
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
You knew he was coming—he had started barging into your bedroom without permission as soon as he figured out how to get past the entrance to your common room.
You didn’t like Draco growing up. He was cruel, arrogant, and liked to bother people just for the sake of it.
He’d insult Muggle-borns, brag about his wealth to those who couldn’t afford what his family could, and, of course, he just couldn’t resist trying to cause you trouble.
Draco had never explicitly stated why he didn’t like you. He just liked the way you got annoyed with him and the tension it caused between the two of you.
So when he burst into your room without knocking, you simply sighed and turned the page in your book. He walked in touching your things like he was browsing through a shop.
He scoffed as he looked at your book collection, his lips twisting in disappointment and annoyance.
“You should lock your door,” he announced, finally looking at you, his fingers kissing the edges of your books.
You smiled.
“Oh? But then how would you get in?” you asked sarcastically.
Your eyes softened, looking concerned, before you rolled them. He shook his head, his lips turning up.
“You don’t see stars here—they’re just city lights… fallen sparks, blurry when you’re speeding in Muggle cars.”
He was reading the poetry you had pinned to your walls. He made a sound of approval, his eyes lingering a little longer than usual.
You noticed. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” he played dumb, flashing you a grin. He knew you hated when he read your poetry. It was intimate. Private.
“Stop coming in here like you own the place and going through my things,” you said. Your jaw clenched—you were giving in, arguing back.
“Do you have something to hide?” he asked, stepping closer, like he wanted to box you in and pull the truth from you.
Your throat bobbed as you sat up in your bed.
“No,” you said—but your voice cracked, making the blond smirk.
He pulled back.
“Okay.”
Your chest deflated, and you glanced behind him. He noticed, but he wasn’t going to go look. Not yet, anyway. You were always smart enough to put it away.
He left your room, your eyes following him to the door. The slam was your sign to relax.
See, you didn’t like him growing up—and he didn’t like you. But you had grown up now. Matured. You hated that he barged in, but you couldn’t deny how much you waited for him to do it. He judged you because you were different, but he liked learning about you.
You knew what everyone said about Draco Malfoy and the path he was headed down, but you weren’t shallow enough to ignore the fact that there was more to him. His family issues somehow brought you closer, even if you never acknowledged that was why you’d both started making a routine out of bothering each other—more him than you. But you entertained it. You always did.
Since he’d started barging into your room over the years, he’d genuinely begun to read your poems and look at your art.
It wasn’t just about bothering you anymore. When he left, he’d memorize a line or two to get him through the day. And you… well, you got yourself a token to keep him close.
Literally.
It was what you’d been worried he’d find just minutes ago.
Your Draco plushie.
Since you knew he was going to barge in, you hid it during the day—but it was always beside you when you slept.
He made you feel safe. Draco just didn’t know that yet.
Tonight was no different. You took the plushie out and placed it next to you in bed, the warmth of the covers teasing you with comfort as you snuggled in until your eyes grew heavy.
When the sun came up, Draco had already decided he was bored and wanted to annoy his favorite girl. So, like usual, he invited himself into your room. He knew you’d be up—you showered around this time every other day.
He turned the knob and stepped inside quietly. The pounding water against the tiles drowned out any sound he made. He wanted to catch you off guard.
Again, not a new thing.
But he came to a halt when he saw what was on your bed.
His teeth slowly revealed themselves in a proud, amused grin as he stepped closer. His cheeks were baby pink, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to tease you slip through his fingers.
You’d left the plushie out in your rush to shower.
Draco scooped up the miniature version of himself. It was tiny, dressed in uniform, with his signature smug smile. Warmth spread through his chest, betraying him, and he felt like he should scold himself for it.
You made this.
You hid it from him—but slept beside it.
He meant something to you.
The door opened, and you jumped when you saw him standing there.
“Jesus, Draco.”
Your hand flew to your chest, but it didn’t stop your heart from dropping when you saw him holding your comfort plushie.
“Handsome little fella, isn’t he?” he said, turning with a smirk.
Your lips parted, but he raised a hand.
“I knew you fancied me, but this is so much better…” he teased, stepping closer.
“So much better that you want me around,” he added, his voice warmer now—soothing—like he was easing you into sleep. His thumb brushed across your brow until the tension smoothed, though his expression stayed smug.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just safer when you’re annoying me,” you said, bite in your tone, even as your eyes searched his—trying to see what was going on in his head.
“I only do it because I don’t like you,” he murmured, head tilting slightly as his fingers trailed down your cheek to cup your face.
The space between you vanished. You could feel his warmth on your lips.
“Good thing I feel the same way about you,” you breathed.
Then he kissed you, and it felt like pressing your lips to plush pillows—soft, cushioned, something you melted into without resistance.
You didn’t like Draco Malfoy growing up.
But that plushie proved that you did.
🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️
Thank you for reading the first fanfic on my page! Feel free to comment your thoughts! Like, reblog, and share with others! 🥹💕
CURRENTLY NOT WRITING FOR THIS CHARACTER DUE TO A LACK OF SUPPORT IN THE FANDOM, BUT IF YOU WANNA REQUEST FOR HIM I’LL CONSIDER IT. THANK YOU 💗
Welcome to the Draco Malfoy section of the library. These shelves are dedicated to sharp tongues, slow-burning tension, devotion earned, and love that is anything but simple. Some stories are candlelit and tender. Others are tucked deep into the Restricted Section. Please read tags carefully before proceeding.
The library index is here.
You will find all Draco literature here on the Slytherin shelf…
Emoji Tag Key:
🔥 Smut: Explicit sexual content. High heat, spice-forward fics
🪄 AU: Alternate Universes / Alternate Timelines. Best friend AU, roommate AU, modern AU, non-canon settings, and things like that.
🖤 Dark Content: Dark themes, morally complex material. Manipulation, obsession, violence, heavy or triggering topics
⭐️ Favorites: Your personal favorites / must-reads.
📖 One-Shots
Standalone works — complete stories meant to be read in one sitting. No sequel required.
Length: Anywhere from 500 words to 10k+ words.
Little Cutie 💗
Summary: You were never meant to like Draco Malfoy. Not when he was cruel. Not when he barged into your space. Not when he read your poems on the wall. Not when he lingered where he wasn’t wanted. But somewhere between stolen moments, quiet routines, and things left unsaid, he became something else entirely— someone familiar, someone constant… someone tiny you kept close.
Her 💗🪄🖤
Summary: You were never meant to be part of his world. Not when your father’s debt was paid in blood, bargains, and desperation. Not when Draco Malfoy decided—without hesitation—that you belonged to him.
You run when you’re given the chance. He let’s you.
And somehow, in the quiet after the chase, you learn that danger doesn’t always feel cold—and safety doesn’t always mean freedom.
📚 Series
Multi-part stories that unfold over time. Will have sequels.
May have 2–4 parts or 5–10 parts, possibly more…
Length for each part: ~800–2,500 words
🪶 Drabbles
Short-form writing — moments or emotions captured quickly. A snapshot, not a full story.
Length: Usually 100–500 words
—
🦉 100 - Word Drabbles
Length: Exactly 100 words.
🧠 Headcanons
Thoughts, habits, and little truths about Draco Malfoy that just feel right.
Length:
• Bullet points
• Short paragraphs
• Sometimes mini-scenes
🪞 Imagines
Reader-insert scenarios meant to place you directly into the story.
Length: Short to medium (a few paragraphs to a couple thousand words)
🕰️ Alternate Universes (AUs)
Different worlds. Same Draco.
🕯️Roommate AU — Draco is your roommate (tropes may vary)
🕯️Stepdad AU — Draco is your stepdad who is with your mother, but you are aged up and meet him when you visit her (dynamic tropes or power dynamics may vary)
🕯️ Professor AU — You are a college student, and Draco is your professor (I’m thinking something in history, but it could change; dynamic tropes or power dynamics may vary)
🕯️Artist AU — Draco is a painter / enjoys sketching (dynamic tropes may vary)
🕯️Bad Boy Biker AU — Draco is a biker bad boy (dynamic tropes or power dynamics may vary)
🕯️Alpha AU — Draco is an alpha wolf (dynamic tropes or power dynamics may vary)
🕯️ Mafia AU — Draco is a mafia boss (dynamic tropes, power dynamics, or commitment-based themes may vary)
🕯️Vampire AU — Draco, or possibly the reader, is a vampire (dynamic tropes or power dynamics may vary)
More AU ideas will arrive on the shelf soon…
🔥 After Dark
Explicit or darker works. Just the dark stuff. Restricted Section rules apply.
