been thinking about richbuisnessman!eddie and how he would spoil you with gifts and jewels and different types of jewelry and clothes and accessories until one day he decides to get you an anklet with his initials on it and you surprise him one day buy putting on the lingerie he bought you a few weeks ago and putting the anklet on and everytime he hears it jingle while he’s thrusting into you he gets harder and rougher until youre both wore out 🤭🤭been thinking about doing a short fic on this but i would die to see your spin on it 👻👻
MY MIND IS REELING HOLY HELL. so i def took some creative liberties with this one because i wanted to stay true to eddie’s character, so in regards to him being a rich business man, i changed it just a bit 🤭 this has also been sitting in my ask box for probably near a year, but here ya go!!! changed it juuuuust slightly bc i believe that eddie munson is an absolute munch and eats pussy for his won pleasure. enjoy!
content warnings; smut (if you're under 18, do not interact!), fem terms and anatomy used, oral (f!receiving), eddie eating pussy because he loooooves it (and yes this needs it own tag), slight dom/sub dynamics, use of 'sir' as an honorific toward eddie
Eddie Munson is a modest man. With a wallet and dick that fat, you're surprised. Most men would be shouting from the rooftops of their penthouses that they're loaded, throwing hundreds at the dozen strippers they order every other friday night, just because they can.
But Eddie Munson isn't like that at all.
He doesn't live in some monstrous mansion or picturesque penthouse, he doesn't own six cars or a private jet. He isn't the kind of man to have a different girl in his bed every night, ones that really are only interested in him for his money. He's always been a gentleman and shot them down politely, but still met with a drink being thrown in his face or some uncalled for insult.
When you met him, he didn't give any indication that he had money. He wore a faded Dio shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks and a matching suit jacket. His thick fingers had scuffed silver rings, one for almost each of them. He had the most unruly curls you'd ever seen on a man. He flashed you a smile from your spot behind the bar, a toothpick hanging from the side of his mouth as he raised his glass in your direction, the men around him making comments about his boldness. From that moment forward, you were mesmerized.
The most difficult part about being romantically involved with him, was the gifts you'd receive from him. Eddie was very straight-foward with his wealth, he told you on your first date, to the exact same bar you tended. He told you he had toured with local bands from his hometown as an instrument and audio visual engineer. He made calls to different tour and musician managers to see if he would be able join their road crew. After a few years of life on the road, he managed to open up his own music shop. That's when the big bucks started flowing.
Despite knowing that he has more than enough money to spoil you with, you're still bashful and hesitant about accepting them. Hell, when he asked you to move in with him, you declined it almost immediately, not wanting to seem like you were financially leaning on him in any way. Even after you began living together, you maintained a 40-hour work week at the bar for some time.
The first gift, more like gifts, were beautiful bouquets of flowers he'd bring home to you. You'd be at home, curled up into the couch cushions with a paperback folded in your hands and in comes your darling boyfriend, ringed fingers curled around the green stems of another bouquet. Every Monday, he comes home from work with a fresh bouquet to replace your old ones. "To cure your Monday Blues, dollface," he'd say.
Then came the clothes. Every weekend he offered to take you shopping, saying something along the lines of, "Maybe we'll find something from one of those magazines you seem to actually read." Within the first month of living together, your portion of your shared closet took up the most space, at least a 3/4 ratio.
You feel beyond special, never taking his gifts for granted, especially since you're more than aware he knows he doesn't have to. He always tries to play it off, explaining how gift giving is just his love language. You might actually believe him, considering he gets his friends outrageous gifts as well, but it's different with you. There's a dark glimmer in his eyes when you tear back the paper encasing your newest present from your beloved.
Behind a deep maroon wrapping paper, lies a small white box. The name across the top of the box in golden script is of a jewelry shop you recognize. And it's not a cheap shop either. Lifting the lid off the box, your eyes flick up to meet Eddie, who's smirking, arms folded over his chest while a hand cradles his chin.
Once the gift has been revealed, a small gasp escapes from parted lips. It's a dainty anklet, sterling silver. As you lift the jewelry up by careful fingers, you notice the hanging letters. A less-than-subtle 'EM' charm hanging from it. It's also in a script font, making the 'E' look like a backwards '3'. A small gemstone sets between the initials, a beautiful cut ruby.
To say it's beautiful is an understatement. It's gorgeous, only something that Eddie Munson himself would think to be a perfect fit for his sweetheart. "Whaddya think?" He asks, though he already knows how you feel, more than confident at his gift-giving abilities.
"Eds, I love it. It's perfect, thank you," you chide, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips as another form of 'thank you.'
It isn't until Eddie decides that the two of you are going on vacation in Santorini that you ever really wear it. It's too ornate for every day wear, and a small part of you fears that it'll somehow slip or snap off and you'll have lost it.
Laid out on a reclining beach chair, you're soaking up the midday Grecian sun, shades perched atop the bridge of your nose and a mimosa in hand. The rental Eddie snagged for your two-week excursion was straight from a resort advertisement. The modern advancements made were stunning, but the architecture was true the city. You'd never imagined being sprawled out in front of a heated pool overlooking the beautiful seaside.
Aside from one of the many bikinis you packed for the trip and your sunglasses, you only had on the dainty anklet purchased by your lover. It settled against your skin and caught the sun's rays, making it shine.
"Look at you," you hear Eddie from over your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come outside, but the soft breath against the side of your neck made you jump, "spoiled rotten."
You can't help but snicker at his comment. He had made you this way with his expensive gifts, how could he judge? You decide to lean into this role of the 'spoiled rotten brat' he so lovingly teased you with, "What could you possibly want that's more important than me enjoying the sun?"
He knows better than to take the comment seriously, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he stands up from his crouched position, stepping to stand in front of the sun, "Wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?"
You see him now, in all his glory. Long curls pulled back into a bun, strands creeping out from either movement or humidity, you aren't sure. A pair of black swim trunks hang off his hips and a Metallica muscle tank has been pulled over his tattooed torso, the ink etched into his arms still exposed. Good enough to eat.
Pushing your shades up on top of your head, you roll eyes at him once they're visible, "Ugh, you're blocking the sun, Eddie."
The metalhead raises his hands in defeat, a small smile on his features as he steps to the side, allowing the sun to once again be soaked up into your pores, "Alright, alright. No need to get feisty. Come inside for a while, I made lunch."
Even though you felt assured you'd won whatever playful battle was at hand, you weren't sure you were ready to drop the facade. Though, you were getting hungry, and if Eddie cooked? Your mouth watered at the thought.
"Fine. But because I'm hungry, not because you asked." You taunt as you swing your legs off the chair's recline, sliding your feet into your sandals.
Following him inside, he opens the sliding glass door for you, like the perfect gentleman he's always been, before following you through the threshold, sliding it shut behind him.
As the two of you enter the kitchen, your eyes land on the empty stove and countertops, eyebrows knit together in confusion, "Eddie, you said you-"
You're cut off by Eddie's fingers digging into your hip, backing you up against the marble counter top. Lifting your gaze up to his, the breath is nearly sucked out of you at his imposing stance in front of you, "I might've told a white lie," he mumbles, eyes glued to where his hand meets your flesh. His fingers slide underneath the thin band to your bottoms before allowing it to snap against your skin, "but then again, your attitude needs an adjustment."
Even with his tone bordering on mean, he leans in and catches your lips in a passionate kiss, taking his time. He can taste the freshly squeezed orange juice on your tongue. A firm, tattooed hand stays at your hip, holding you in place as your arms slink around his neck. With both his kiss and touch still relatively gentle, the thoughts that you're able to process are that he'll remain stern with you, but not unreasonable.
The brunette brings his kiss to your neck, down to your collarbone, traveling lower and lower until he reaches your navel. Glossy brown orbs lock onto yours as he slides the bottoms of your swimsuit down your legs.
"Don't cum until I say so," he states, his tone brokering no room for argument, "Got it?"
You nod, hands already white-knuckling against the edge of the counter, "yes..."
"Yes what?" he questions as he brings your ankles out of the fabric, eye catching that gorgeous anklet.
"Yes sir," you breathe, head lulling back, shoulders slumping already at the thought of his face buried between your thighs.
He carefully brings your thigh over his shoulder, one hand gripping the flesh there while the other has a determined hold on your opposite hip. Before another word can be passed between the two of you, his face is pressed to your core, tongue flattening out to lick a slow stripe between your folds. Although he's taking his time, listening intently to every sound you make, no matter how quiet, he's relentless. Tongue dipping into your weeping hole, his nose catching on your clit every so often. He's tuned in with your body, it's subtle movements, the noises you make and what the different sounds mean. You couldn't derail his focus if you tried.
Your fingers weave through his umber tresses even with it being tied back with an elastic, "Oh fuck..."
He devours you, laps at the liquid arousal trickling out, the noises caused by his actions utterly obscene. Wet, slurping and sucking noises mixed with your combined moans were a perfect melody to him. Something he'd listen to every day in his headphones, on repeat, without pausing. He shifts his eyes up, his gaze burning the image of your shallow breath matched with the swift rise and fall of your chest to memory.
The grip you have on his hair only spurs him on, especially when you tighten it. Calloused hands drag down your thighs, keeping them settled at both sides of his head like a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. He feels the soft bite of cold metal against his back, then remembers the anklet. Popping off of your dripping cunt, his chin glistening in your arousal, he brings his your thigh off of his shoulder and brings his hand down to your ankle, fingers delicately tracing over the thin metal chain.
You offer a soft whimper at the loss of contact, half-lidded eyes locked onto his figure, "Wha.. Why'd you stop?"
Cocking his head to the side, he taps the pad of his index finger against the jewelry dangling off your ankle, "Just... admiring the leash you so willingly wear." He coos, the words filled with lust.
He dives back in, bringing both thighs onto his shoulders, face snugly between them. He doesn't relent until you're arching your back, shuddering with every flick of his tongue. Even then, he's still not satisfied, and neither of you. You're on the cusp of your orgasm, trying to let Eddie know, but he just gives three gentle taps to your hip and a disapproving grunt. His words ring in your ears, Don't cum until I say so ... Got it?
Just as you're sure you can't hold out on him any longer, he mumbles 'you can cum, sweetheart,' against your mound, then goes right back to his assault on your clit. You spasm, thighs clenched around his head to the point you're sure he can't breathe, orgasm tearing through your body like a ripcord. He slowly brings the aggressive flicks of his tongue to a stop once you're whimpering, out of breath, sensitivity having taken a strong hold on you.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staying knelt between your legs as you catch your breath and return from the astral plane and back into your body. Though, he can't help but sneak glances at the silver anklet, and the 'EM" charm hanging off of it.
thank you for reading xx.
