I took a favourite song and ran with it. I see this as an extension of the couple from -Knockin’ on heavens door- sooo enjoy this silly little bubble of toothpaste kisses (and theres a lot) and all 🧡
Word count: 3k
You’re not really sure when this thing between you both officially started. What you do know is that Eddie has proved to be one competitive little shit. No matter how sleep drenched his bones are, clutching the cold sink for leverage on 5 a.m- Wednesday starts, or how dehydrated he is from late night shots and a night of seeing what it takes to make the sheets untuck from the mattress, he will always be the last one to spit.
So now a mundane task, a basic human necessity, has you on high alert twice a day.
It’s Sunday. There is no particular rush to move, but the flecks of gold seeping through the shutters are a clear hint that the sun is lower in the sky and the traditional morning hours have long passed. Eddie and you have managed to fester in the sheets a little too long for your liking. No matter how good bed head Eddie is, everything eventually gets a little too warm and a little too sticky, and the reality of being sloths catches up with you.
Judging by the way he is chewing on the end of a pencil and frowning at his latest campaign, you assume you can escape to the bathroom without much fuss. Following that brilliant plan, you begin to shuffle toward the bottom of the mattress to slip off. It seems far better than the usual routine of climbing over the curly wilder-bed-beast.
What you do not notice is that as soon as you start the little wriggle downward, Eddie abandons his notepad, sneaks a leg out from under his blanket, and is completely ready to run.
“Where are you going, darlin’?” he grins, making you freeze at the foot of the bed.
Too late.
You bolt with a fit of giggles, trying not to trip over the maze of clothing you both created last night.
There is a childish pitter patter thundering through the narrow trailer corridor. The pair of you are racing toward the bathroom, hoping you do not trip over your cat in the process. Bertie has decided that the old bathmat is his chosen nest, making him the regular audience for your ritual.
“Ed’s, come on, I thought you were busy?”
“I am never too busy to miss my daily succession.” He sticks out his tongue as he hands you your toothbrush, the stripey paste dolloped on in true haphazard Munson style.
“All right. Back to back, please, my lady.”
You follow his ridiculous command, spinning around until you are facing away from each other. Eddie glances in the mirror and catches you doing the exact same thing. It earns you a tap to the hip and a muffled, toothbrush filled “cheat,” which makes you whip your head back with a foamy giggle gargle.
Then the competition begins.
And God, it should not be this intimate.
You brush. He brushes. You match his rhythm, his stubborn pace, the quiet huff of his breath, the tap of his foot on the tile. Every small sound he makes seems charged, like it is meant to rile you up. At one point you are fairly certain he is head-banging just to show off
Two minutes have definitely passed, and you are starting to feel extremely unsexy as a glob of toothpaste foam creeps from the corner of your mouth. Your wrist aches from the stubborn pace you are maintaining, competitive adrenaline buzzing through you. Eddie shows no signs of slowing. You can hear him keeping a steady brushing rhythm, foot tapping, head bobbing, acting like he is performing a full concert. It is infuriating.
You really need to spit.
You reach a dangerous point. Foam fills your mouth too much and your throat starts to tighten. Your body is begging you to cough or breathe or do anything at all.
And that is exactly what happens.
You choke. It hits suddenly, your body taking over completely.
You cough violently, toothpaste and water splattering across the floor and narrowly missing Bertie’s tail. You are gagging and spluttering and completely losing the battle.
Eddie reacts fast. He spits, tosses his brush, and moves toward you in one quick, focused motion.
He cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking the line of your jaw. His other hand rubs your back with firm, steady pressure. His eyes are wide and dark, all adrenaline and worry.
“Breathe, sweetheart. In. Out. That’s it. I’ve got you.”
Your coughing eases. Your throat feels raw and your eyes sting. Eddie guides you onto the closed toilet seat, stepping between your knees as if shielding you from the entire world.
He pushes your hair off your face and studies you like you are the most important thing he has ever held. Toothpaste still clings to your lips, and he wipes it gently with his thumb.
“Oh baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping to that low tone that always curls down your spine. He places his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, and you bite down lightly on instinct, grounding yourself on him, tasting a faint mint on his skin.
His breath stutters. Just a little. But enough to make pride spark in your chest.
“I think we might be incredibly stupid,” he says in a softer voice, the room suddenly quiet and ridiculously intimate.
You pout, embarrassed beyond belief. “You still won.” Your voice is shredded and hoarse.
“And you almost died,” he replies, the teasing smile returning slowly. He leans in, nose brushing yours, his fingers curling under your jaw in a way that makes your pulse jump.
His mouth finds yours in a warm, mint flavored kiss. It is soft at first, then deeper when he feels you melt into it. You taste like toothpaste and adrenaline and the kind of affection only two idiots could build out of a bathroom competition.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“Next time,” he whispers, “I’m brushing your teeth for you.”
Eddie watches your lips after that kiss, eyes hooded and dark, jaw flexing like he is fighting the urge to kiss you again immediately. Then something in him shifts, a warm protective spark, and he slides his arms beneath your thighs.
You gasp as he lifts you, clinging to him automatically, and he holds you against his chest as if the two of you were meant to fit exactly this way.
“Bed,” he says, voice low and certain.
Your hands slip around his shoulders, fingers curling into the curls at the back of his neck. His skin feels warm from the chase and from worry and from wanting. He walks you down the short hallway with a slow confidence, every step sending heat through your stomach because you know that careful pace all too well.
He lowers you into the messy bed nest with a gentleness that contradicts the look in his eyes. Then he crawls over you, caging you in with his arms, the sunlight falling in thin golden stripes across his face and turning his eyes molten.
He does not kiss you right away.
He looks at you.
Thumb on your cheek.
Breathing you in like he needs the moment.
Then he moves.
His mouth finds your jaw, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose and your forehead. Toothpaste kisses linger everywhere, warm and mint scented, pressed in frantic patterns like he is trying to make up for the scare you gave him. You laugh softly, curling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer until his lips finally return to yours.
This kiss is different. It is messy and hungry and heated, a slow unraveling of breath and need. You feel him sigh into your mouth, a low sound that shivers through you, and your hands slip deeper into his curls.
His fingers slide beneath your shirt, settling at your waist. His palms warm your skin in slow strokes, steady and sure, exploring just enough to make your heartbeat flutter without pushing anything further. He kisses you harder, then slower, then deeper, each shift sending sparks across your skin.
You and Eddie move together in the sheets, the mattress dipping and rising under your bodies. Every kiss grows heavier. Every breath intertwines. Every brush of his lips pulls another sound from your throat.
He finally pulls back for air, lips pink and a little damp, forehead resting gently against yours.
“See,” he murmurs against your mouth, “this is much better than choking to death over brushing your teeth.”
You tug him back down using his hair -which you know drives him wild- kissing him again, and Eddie melts into you completely, letting out a soft sound that settles deep in your chest.
Eddie settles above you, curls brushing your forehead, lips still warm from all the mint flavored kissing. His thumb strokes your cheek again, but this time the touch lingers, tracing your skin in a way that feels both sweet and full of promise.
You kiss him lightly, a soft press of lips, then pull back with a tiny smile.
He follows you for another kiss, then another, each shorter than the last, almost like he is trying to catch your mouth before you can escape.
You laugh, breath warm against his chin.
“Are you trying to steal all my kisses at once, Munson”
“Not all of them.” He grins as he leans closer. “Just the ones that make your toes curl.”
Your heart jumps.
He knows exactly what he is doing.
You poke his side, and he squirms dramatically, letting out a gasp that is far too exaggerated to be real.
“Eddie, you are impossible.”
“And you love me,” he replies without hesitation, then nips your lower lip in a way that definitely counts as cheating.
Your fingers slide up his shoulders, brushing the warm line of his neck.
“I might love you. I might also be planning my escape from this web-bed.”
He pulls back with a mock gasp, hand pressed to his chest.
“After I carried you like a hero from the bathroom battlefield”
His voice is playful and full of pride.
“All right then. You need to earn your freedom.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“And how exactly am I supposed to do that”
Eddie kisses the corner of your mouth and whispers,
“You can start by kissing me again.”
You do.
Soft at first.
Then deeper when his fingers slide into your hair.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to brush his nose along your jaw and murmur,
“You taste like toothpaste and trouble.”
You giggle, but it dissolves into a quiet breath when he kisses just below your ear, slow and deliberate, a touch that tells you he is teasing you on purpose.
“Eddie,” you whisper, your hands curling into his shirt.
“Yes, sweetheart”
“You are doing that thing.”
“What thing”
His voice is innocent.
But he is very much not innocent.
“The thing where you pretend you are not trying to start something.”
He laughs softly against your skin, warm breath making your stomach flip.
“I am always trying to start something when I have you in my bed.”
He lifts his head, eyes soft and full of affection, fingertips brushing your waist in a way that makes you shiver.
“But only if you want it,” he adds, voice gentle, full of quiet love.
You look at him, at the boy who chased you down the hallway, who rubbed your back when you choked, who is now kissing every inch of you like you are a diamond.
You pull him down for a slow kiss that leaves no room for doubt.
His lips curl into a smile against yours, and his forehead rests on yours as he whispers,
“Good. Then let me take my time.”
He kisses you again, slower and sweeter this time, hands exploring in lazy, affectionate patterns, bodies shifting closer as the sunlight softens around you both. Then begins his trail downwards, a steady path over your chest and down the softness of your tummy,leaving little wet splodges and tiny knips of lust. There is a small star button in the centre of your underwear band that even earns a little peck.
He pauses there for a moment, lips resting lightly against that tiny star as if it were something precious. His breath warms your skin, and when he looks up at you, there’s a softness in his eyes that steals a little more air from your lungs.
“Cute,” he murmurs, almost to himself. You can feel the smile in his voice.
His fingers trace the edge of your waistband, not pushing or pulling-just memorising it, letting the closeness speak for itself. Then he dips his head again, laying another slow kiss just beside the last one. Each touch feels unhurried, deliberate, as though he’s savoring the shape of you, the heat radiating through your skin, the way your breath catches when he lingers.
He trails upward again, mouth brushing over your stomach with featherlight affection, a silent promise in every press of his lips. His hands settle at your hips, thumbs sweeping small, steady circles that seem to sync with the rhythm of your heartbeat.
When he finally rests his cheek against you, there’s a quiet exhale-content, warm, and full of wanting that doesn’t need to speak loudly to be understood.
“Tell me if you want more,” he whispers, voice low, husky and raw.
All it takes is a swift, desperate nod from you, and he’s tugging down your underwear and flinging them to one of the many piles on the bedroom floor.
He's finding your inner thigh, gliding his tongue up in slow little swirls. Then he stops. He’s just at that place he knows gets you all jittery and needy.
Timing it just right, open-mouth kisses are placed right at the centre, a gentle sucking following it, and your hips twitch to his command, eager to let him continue. He hears a small, squeezed yelp and knows he’s got you dipping into that gooey headspace. He breaks his tongue away, leaving the pad of his thumb in its place as his splayed fingertips rest on the base of your tummy, applying light pressure below your belly button.
With his other hand, he dips further into your core, the sweet wetness latching to his fingers, tempting him further so he can reach that sweet spot. The small stretch has you twisting, opening your eyes to see Eddie’s mischievous ones staring right back, silent words being passed between heavy breaths and Eddie's fingers increasing their pace.
He manages to start tapping the thumb that was applying light pressure to your most sensitive spot, the rough, guitar-calloused pad, creating the right amount of friction.
He works in a practised rhythm that makes having a musician boyfriend one of the biggest perks, because shit that boy knows how to work his hands.
The way you start to pant and fidget, applying pressure onto Eddie, relying on him to get you to that final high that is so, so close, just leaves Eddie in complete awe. The curling of your toes and fingers, the added push he adds to your lower stomach and the soft, encouraging whispers of praise that are tumbling from his lips are all mixing up into one big fruit salad of pleasure. It's almost too much; it feels overwhelming, with your ears ringing and your chest panting. But he's there. Guiding you through and adding the right amount of rough and soft, light and dark.
Eddie senses you teetering on the edge, your body trembling beneath his touch. He slows his movements, just enough to keep you begging, his gaze never leaving your face. "That’s it, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence and want. "Let go for me."
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, desperate for something to anchor you as waves of pleasure crest inside you. Eddie keeps his rhythm steady, grounding you with the steady pressure of his hand, coaxing every last drop of sensation from your shaking form. The room feels hazy, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the strength of his arms, and the safety you find in his devotion.
As you come down, breathless and loose-limbed, Eddie presses a gentle kiss to your hip again, grinning up at you, his eyes alight with pride and adoration. “You’re incredible,” he says softly, tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. “Could watch you fall apart for me all night.”
As your breath evens out and the aftershocks ripple through you, you catch Eddie's gaze; it's smug and satisfied. But you’re not about to let him keep the upper hand. With a grin, you leap onto him, pushing his shoulders back and pinning him beneath you before he can react. Your laughter bubbles out, bright and unrestrained, as you straddle his hips. “Your turn, Munson,” you tease, delighting in the way his eyes widen, surprised and thrilled all at once.
"What-?" he starts, but you cut him off with a soft, giggly kiss, your hands already roaming over his chest and feeling him harden beneath you. Eddie’s cheeks flush, his cocky composure dissolving as you take charge, your own confidence fueled by the high he just gave you.
He laughs, a little breathless, his hands coming up to hold your waist, letting you lead. "Didn’t know you were planning a sneak attack," he manages, grinning up at you.
“Gotta keep you on your toes,” you whisper, before leaning in to show him.
So with toothpaste kisses and lines, I’ll be yours and you’ll be…mine
Thank you for reading <3 likes, comments & reblogs are always appreciated
Some people who may enjoy- @bangaveragewhitewine @bettyfrommars @oneforthemunny @enam3l @kookygranger @eddiesxangel @insertcoolnameherethanks @writinginthetwilight @daisy-munson @ali-r3n @strangereads @mrsjellymunson @hellfirenacht @munsonsuccubus
me when i begged my traumatized gf to cut into me and now her night terrors are getting worse but it's fine because you aren't helping by telling her it's completely fine and now you're both spiraling but you refuse to ever talk about it because if you hurt her feelings you're going to become the monster they portrayed you to be or smth like that.
