A few nights later the whole crew piled into Steve’s borrowed van, already two joints deep from the parking lot and halfway through a handle of cheap whiskey someone had smuggled in a water bottle.
Rocky Horror shadow cast. Gareth’s idea. He’d been talking about it for weeks — live actors in front of the screen, audience participation, the whole chaotic ritual. Eddie had perked up the second he heard “shadow cast,” eyes lighting in that way he only got for weird, theatrical shit. You’d watched the corner of his mouth twitch when he looked at you across the apartment that afternoon, a private little spark that said we’re going to have to be so careful tonight.
You were careful… enough.
The van smelled like weed and body heat and the faint tang of someone’s open beer. Robin was in the front passenger seat with her feet on the dash, already arguing with Steve about which Tim Curry scene is the most iconic. Nancy and Jonathan shared the middle row, passing a joint back and forth with the calm of people who had long since stopped pretending they were the responsible ones. Gareth and Jeff took the back, already trying to remember the Time Warp lyrics and failing spectacularly. Eddie sat next to you on the bench seat, thigh pressed warm against yours in the dark, both of you playing it so casual it almost hurt.
Every time the van hit a bump his shoulder brushed yours. Every time you shifted, the soft fabric of his black jeans whispered against your leg. He kept his hands carefully in his lap, rings catching the streetlights that slid past the windows. You could feel the tension in him — the same coiled, eager energy he’d had the night he first admitted what your voice did to him — but he kept it locked down. Good boy. You didn’t even have to say it out loud.
By the time you reached the theater the whole group was properly fucked up. Laughing too loud in the parking lot. Steve insisting he was “only a little high” while walking into a light pole. Robin cackling so hard she had to lean on Nancy. Eddie’s curls were wild from the open window, and when he caught your eye under the neon sign he gave you the tiniest, softest smile before looking away like it had never happened.
Inside, the place was already half full of people in fishnets and lab coats and red lipstick. The shadow cast was warming up in front of the screen — a tall, glittery Frank-N-Furter already strutting around in heels that could kill a man. You all claimed a row near the middle. Somehow you ended up with Eddie on your left, Steve on your right, and Robin draped halfway across Steve like a human blanket.
The lights went down. The movie started. The audience immediately lost its collective mind.
Toast flew. Water guns sprayed. Someone in the back screamed the call-outs so loudly Jeff almost fell out of his seat laughing. Eddie was grinning, loose and happy in a way that made your chest ache. Every time the cast did something ridiculous he leaned in just close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, but never close enough for anyone else to notice.
During a quieter stretch you slipped out with him for a cigarette in the alley behind the theater. The night air was cool against your flushed skin. He lit yours first, then his own, the lighter flaring between you for a second too long. His fingers brushed yours when he handed it back. Neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to. The secret sat warm and heavy between you while the distant sound of the audience singing “Sweet Transvestite” drifted through the walls.
Back inside, the rest of the movie blurred into glitter and laughter and the sticky-sweet smell of spilled soda. Frank-N-Furter’s big number had the whole theater on its feet. Eddie stood with everyone else, shouting the lyrics, but every time the lights strobed you caught him glancing at you instead of the stage. Once, when the audience screamed for the cast to “do the Time Warp again,” you leaned close enough that only he could hear and murmured, “Stay right here next to me.”
His breath hitched. Just once. Then he nodded, eyes dark, and did exactly as he was told.
No one noticed.
Then the end came.
The shadow cast was still hyped, still prowling the front of the stage as the final credits started to roll. Frank-N-Furter — tall, glittering, sharp-eyed — scanned the crowd with a wicked grin and pointed straight at Eddie.
“You. Long hair. Come up here.”
The theater erupted. Gareth and Jeff started whooping immediately. Steve yelled something about “Munson’s big moment.” Robin shoved Eddie’s shoulder, laughing. Eddie looked frozen for half a second, then the crowd noise pushed him forward. He climbed onto the stage looking equal parts thrilled and mortified, curls wild under the lights, black jeans and battle vest standing out against all the sequins.
Frank-N-Furter didn’t waste time.
They spun him around, sat him in a chair that had appeared from nowhere, and straddled his lap in one smooth, theatrical motion. The crowd lost it. The performer ground down slow and deliberate, hands on Eddie’s shoulders, hips rolling, red lips right next to his ear while the whole theater screamed and clapped along. Eddie’s face went bright red. He laughed, awkward and shy, hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. The cast member tilted his chin up with two fingers and kept dancing, clearly enjoying how flustered he looked.
You sat frozen in your seat.
The jealousy hit so hard and fast it felt like a physical thing — hot and sharp and ugly under your ribs. Your hands curled into fists against your thighs. You could feel your pulse in your throat. Every roll of those hips, every time Eddie’s embarrassed laugh carried over the music, every second he stayed up there under those lights with someone else’s body pressed against him made something dark and possessive twist tighter in your chest.
You couldn’t say a word.
Steve was howling with laughter beside you. Robin- even half awake- was laughing beside Steve. Gareth was chanting Eddie’s name. You forced a smile that felt like it might crack your face. You clapped when everyone else clapped. You even managed a short laugh when Frank-N-Furter finally climbed off him and bowed, leaving Eddie looking dazed and pink-cheeked on the stage.
But inside you were furious.
Eddie caught your eye the second he climbed back down into the seats. Whatever he saw on your face made his own smile falter. He mouthed something that might have been sorry before Gareth dragged him into a headlock and the whole group started talking over each other about how legendary that had been.
You stayed quiet the rest of the way out of the theater.
In the parking lot, under the wash of neon lights, Eddie tried to drift closer while the others argued about who was sober enough to drive. His knuckles brushed the back of your hand once, tentative. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t curl your fingers around his either. The secret sat heavier now, edged with something sharp that neither of you could name in front of anyone else.
You both climbed back into the van like the only thing that had happened was a really good movie with your friends.
The silence between you on the ride home said otherwise.
The second the apartment door shut behind you the careful mask you’d worn all night cracked.
Eddie didn’t even get his jacket all the way off before the words started spilling out, fast and panicked.
“I’m sorry— fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they were gonna drag me up there. I swear to god I would’ve said no if I’d seen it coming. I kept looking for you the whole time she was on me. I hated it. Her hands felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. I only want your hands on me, okay? Only you. Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll do anything. I’ll get on my knees right now and apologize properly if that’s what you need—”
You dropped your keys on the counter hard enough that the sound cut him off mid-sentence. Your pulse was still hammering from the theater, from the sight of someone else’s body grinding down into his lap while the whole crowd watched. The anger had blindsided you. It was bigger and uglier than you’d expected, a hot possessive burn under your ribs that hadn’t cooled the entire ride home.
Eddie saw it on your face and his voice dropped into something quieter, almost frantic.
“I belong to you,” he said, stepping closer, hands half-raised like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “Only you. I’ll sit here and let you be as pissed as you need to be. You can yell at me, you can punish me, you can tie me up and leave me hard all night if that’s what it takes. Just— please don’t shut me out. Tell me how to make it right. I’ll do whatever you say.”
You pointed at the old armchair in the corner of the living room.
“Sit the fuck down.”
The words came out low and sharp. Eddie’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes flicked to the chair, then back to your face. For a second he just stood there breathing hard, then he moved exactly like you’d told him to. He sat, hands resting on the worn arms, watching you with that wide, nervous, already-interested look.
You walked past him without another word and went to the corner where his practice amp lived. The black coiled cable was still plugged in. You yanked it free with a sharp tug and brought it back. Eddie’s gaze tracked every step. You could already see the shift in him — the way his breathing had gone shallow, the flush climbing his neck, the growing tension in his thighs.
You stepped in close and started wrapping the cord around his right wrist, then the arm of the chair. The rubbery plastic was warm from your hand. You pulled it snug.
“I didn’t know I was going to get this angry,” you told him while you worked, voice tight. “Watching her climb into your lap like that, putting her hands on what’s mine… I wanted to drag you off that stage myself. I hated every second of it.”
Eddie swallowed hard. The cable creaked as you crossed it over itself and bound his left wrist the same way. His cock was already filling fast, pressing thick and obvious against the front of his black jeans. He didn’t try to hide it. He just sat there breathing through his mouth, eyes locked on your face while you tied him down.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice rough. “I should’ve gotten down the second they put me in that chair. I should’ve said no. I belong to you. My body is yours. No one else gets to touch me like that. Next time someone tries I’ll tell them to fuck off, I swear. Just— please. Tell me what you need from me right now.”
You finished the last knot and stepped back, looking down at him. His wrists were secured tight to the arms of the chair. The front of his jeans was strained, the outline of his cock clear and hard, a faint damp spot already darkening the fabric where the head pressed against it. He shifted restlessly and the cable pulled tight with a soft creak. The movement only made the bulge more pronounced.
“Look at you,” you said quietly. “Tied up and already getting hard just from me being pissed at you. Does being in trouble turn you on this much?”
Eddie’s cheeks burned. He nodded once, sharp and helpless.
“Yes,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Fuck. Yes… it’s making me so hard it hurts. I keep thinking about what you’re going to do to me now that I’m stuck here. I’ll take whatever you give me. I’ll sit here and stay hard for as long as you want. Just use me however you need to. Please.”
He tested the bindings again, not trying to escape, just feeling how little give there was. His hips twitched. His cock strained harder against the denim, fully hard now.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the old chair every time he moved.
He looked up at you, wrists bound, cock aching, completely at your mercy, and waited for whatever came next.
You stepped in close between his bound legs and looked down at the thick, obvious line of his cock straining against his jeans. Eddie’s breath stuttered when your fingers found the button.
“Watch,” you said.
You popped the button free, then dragged the zipper down slow enough that every tooth was audible in the quiet apartment. The pressure released and his cock pushed forward against the thin fabric of his boxers, already dark with precum. You hooked your fingers into both the jeans and the waistband of his boxers and worked them down together, past his hips, down his thighs, until they bunched around his ankles and the chair legs. His cock sprang free—hot, flushed dark, already leaking a clear string of precum that stretched and then broke against his stomach.
Eddie made a broken little sound at the sudden exposure. His wrists flexed hard against the amp cord. The cable creaked.
“Look at you,” you murmured. “Tied up, pants around your ankles, cock dripping just because I’m still mad at you. You’re pathetic.”
“I know,” he whispered immediately. “I know I am. Please—please forgive me. I’m so fucking sorry. I need you so bad it hurts. I’ll do anything. You can leave me like this, you can use me, you can ignore my cock all night, I don’t care—just don’t stay mad. Please. I’ll beg as long as you want. I’m yours. Only yours.”
You didn’t answer. Instead you started walking a slow circle around the chair. Eddie’s head turned to follow you, eyes wide and glassy, cock twitching every time you passed in front of him. Another bead of precum welled at the tip and rolled down the underside of his shaft.
“Beg properly,” you said as you moved behind him.
“Please forgive me,” he said, voice already cracking. “Please. I hated every second she was on me. I kept thinking about you. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never let anyone touch me like that again. Please—please do something to me. Anything. Hurt me, use me, make me say it over and over, I don’t care. I need you. I need your hands or your mouth or just your voice telling me I still belong to you. Please.”
You completed the circle and stopped behind the chair. His curls were damp with sweat at the nape of his neck. You gathered them in one hand and pulled them gently but firmly to the side, exposing the pale column of his throat. Eddie shivered hard. His cock jerked, another thick drop of precum sliding down to his balls.
You lowered your mouth to the side of his neck and bit down—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a deep, claiming mark. He gasped, hips twitching uselessly against the air.
“Who do you belong to?” you asked against his skin.
“You,” he answered immediately, voice raw. “You. Only you. Fuck—please—”
You sucked harder, dragging your teeth, then moved an inch higher and bit again. A second mark bloomed dark under your mouth. Eddie’s breathing turned into short, desperate pants.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You—shit—you, I belong to you, I’m yours, please forgive me, please touch me or don’t touch me or just keep marking me, I don’t care, I just need you—”
You kept going. Slow, deliberate, open-mouthed kisses and hard sucks all the way up the side of his neck, leaving a messy trail of darkening bruises. Every time you asked the question he answered the same way, voice getting more wrecked, more frantic.
“You. Only you. Please. I’m so hard it hurts. I’m leaking all over myself and I can’t even touch it. Please use me. Please do anything you want to me. I’ll stay tied here as long as you say. Just—please don’t stop claiming me. I need it. I need you so fucking bad.”
His cock stood rigid between his legs, flushed almost purple at the head, a steady string of precum dripping down onto the chair cushion. The amp cord dug into his wrists every time he pulled against it. He never stopped watching you out of the corner of his eye, even while you marked him, even while he begged.
You pressed one last hard suck just below his ear, then spoke against the wet skin.
“Who do you belong to?”
Eddie’s answer came out broken and immediate.
“You. Always you. Please.”
You tossed your skirt to the side and climbed onto his lap without another word.
Eddie watched every movement, chest heaving, cock standing rigid and wet between his legs. You braced one hand on his shoulder, lined him up, and sank down in one slow, deliberate slide. The stretch forced a broken sound out of both of you. He was so hard it almost hurt, thick and throbbing, and the second you bottomed out you felt him twitch hard inside you—once, twice, desperate little pulses like he was already fighting the urge to come.
You didn’t move.
You just sat there, full of him, hands resting lightly on his chest, and looked him in the eye. Eddie’s wrists strained against the amp cord. His hips twitched once under you and then locked still. He was shaking with the effort of not thrusting up.
“Don’t you dare move,” you said quietly.
“I won’t,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I won’t, I swear—fuck, you feel so good, you’re so wet—please—”
You leaned in and kissed him. Soft at first. Then deeper. His mouth opened for you instantly. You kept the kiss slow while you finally started to move—tiny, rolling circles of your hips that dragged him against every sensitive place inside you. Eddie moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue. His cock twitched and jumped inside you with every slow grind.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds before the desperation won.
His hips snapped up hard, driving himself deeper with a choked, helpless sound. The chair creaked. The cord dug into his wrists. He thrust again, chasing the friction like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Shit—I’m sorry—” he gasped against your lips. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t— you feel too good, I need— I’m sorry—”
You didn’t want to hear it.
You kissed him harder, swallowing the rest of the apology, and coaxed his tongue out of his mouth with slow, deliberate pulls of your own. The second it was past his lips you bit down—not hard enough to draw blood, but firm enough to hold it there, trapped between your teeth. Eddie made a high, startled noise that turned into a moan. His tongue twitched against your bite. His eyes went wide and glassy.
You kept his tongue pinned between your teeth and started riding him properly.
Slow, deep rolls at first, then harder. Every time you dropped down his cock punched up into you and he made another broken sound around the bitten tongue. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t apologize. All he could do was take it—wrists bound, tongue held, hips still trying to thrust up to meet you even while he whimpered. Precum and your own wetness made every movement filthy and loud. The wet slap of your skin against his filled the quiet apartment.
Tears of pure overwhelmed need pricked at the corners of his eyes. His cock throbbed inside you like a second heartbeat. Every time you sank down he twitched hard, like he was seconds from spilling, but you never slowed.
You rode him with his tongue still caught between your teeth, tasting the soft muscle, feeling every desperate little flex of it, while he stayed exactly where you put him—tied, claimed, and completely at your mercy.
You finally released his tongue.
Eddie sucked in a ragged breath the second it was free, the tip of it red and wet from your teeth. A thin string of spit still connected your mouths for a heartbeat before it broke. He looked wrecked—eyes glassy, lips parted, chest heaving under the open fall of his hair.
You didn’t give him time to speak.
You reached down between your bodies, found your clit with two fingers, and started rubbing tight, deliberate circles while you rolled your hips again. The dual sensation made your thighs tighten around him. Eddie’s cock twitched hard inside you at the new angle, at the way your fingers brushed the base of him every time you moved.
“Fuck—please—” he choked out. “You’re gonna make me—”
You felt it immediately— the way he swelled even thicker, the frantic little pulses that meant he was right on the edge. You stopped moving completely. Just sat there, full of him, fingers still pressed to your clit but no longer stroking. Eddie’s hips jerked once, twice, chasing friction that was no longer there. A broken, frustrated sound tore out of his throat. His wrists yanked hard against the amp cord.
“Don’t you dare,” you said quietly.
He nodded fast, eyes squeezed shut, breathing through his teeth while he forced himself back from the edge. Only when the desperate twitching inside you slowed did you start moving again—slow rolls of your hips paired with steady pressure on your clit. The wet sound of it filled the room. Eddie’s head dropped back against the chair, exposing the dark marks you’d already left on his neck.
You leaned in and added more.
You sucked a fresh bruise just above his collarbone, then dragged your teeth lower. At the same time your free hand raked down his chest—nails scoring red lines over his sternum, across one nipple, down the soft trail of hair that led to where you were joined. Eddie arched into the sting with a punched-out moan. His cock jumped inside you again.
You felt him getting close a second time—hotter, harder, that warning throb—and stopped dead.
“No—no, please, I was almost—” His voice cracked. “I’ll be good, I swear, just let me feel you move, please—”
You ignored the begging and kept your hips still until the danger passed. Only then did you resume the slow, filthy grind, fingers working your clit faster now. Every time your nails scraped fresh lines into his chest another low moan would tumble from his lips. Every time you sucked another mark into his neck he whimpered your name like a prayer.
You edged him like that again and again—riding until he was shaking and leaking and right on the brink, then freezing completely while he trembled underneath you and tried not to come. Your own orgasm was building steady and mean under your fingers, but you refused to let him finish first. He stayed locked on the edge, tied down, chest striped with red nail marks, neck dark with fresh bruises, cock throbbing helplessly inside you every time you denied him.
Tears of pure frustrated need slipped from the corners of his eyes.
The coil in your stomach was getting dangerously close to snapping. One particular snap of your hips tipped you right over the edge.
Your orgasm hit like a wave that had been building all night.
It crashed through you hard and sudden—anger and jealousy and the raw thrill of having him completely under your control all colliding at once. Your head went dizzy with it. Your thighs clamped tight around his hips, fingers still rubbing frantic circles over your clit as you clenched down around his cock in hard, pulsing waves. A broken sound tore out of your throat. You kept grinding through it, using him, taking every last bit of the release you’d denied him for so long.
"I love you— fuck — Eddie— I love you."
The moment the words left your mouth he let go with a shattered, almost sobbing moan. His hips jerked up as far as the bindings would allow and he came hard—hot, thick pulses flooding you while tears slipped down his temples. The sensation was clearly too much after being edged for so long— his whole body shook, wrists straining against the amp cord, chest heaving under the red nail marks you’d left. He kept making these small, overwhelmed sounds like he couldn’t believe how intense it was, like it bordered on pain and pleasure at the same time.
“Fuck—fuck, thank you—thank you—” he choked out, voice cracking, almost crying as the last spasms wrung him dry.
You stayed right where you were, seated deep on his cock while it slowly began to soften inside you. The mix of your release and his was already leaking out around him, warm and messy between your bodies. You rested your hands on his marked-up chest, feeling his heart race under your palms, and looked down at his wrecked face—flushed, tear-streaked, lips parted, eyes glassy and completely spent.
The apartment was quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath.
You rolled your hips once, slow, just to feel him shift inside you as he softened further, then stilled again.
“Have you learned your lesson?” you asked, voice low and even.
Eddie swallowed hard. His wrists were still bound, his neck dark with the bruises you’d sucked into his skin, his chest striped with neat red lines from your nails. He looked up at you like you were the only solid thing in the world.
“Yes,” he whispered, hoarse and immediate. “Yes. I belong to you. No one else gets to touch me. I won’t ever let that happen again. I’m yours. Only yours.”
He was still breathing hard, still trembling faintly underneath you, soft and spent and completely open.
Waiting to see if the answer was enough.
Of course it was enough.
You reached for the amp cord and worked the knots loose slowly, carefully, rubbing gentle circles over the faint red marks left on his wrists once the cable fell away. Eddie’s arms dropped like they weighed a hundred pounds. He didn’t try to stand or even shift. He just stayed slumped in the chair, completely spent—pants still tangled around his ankles, chest rising and falling in deep, exhausted breaths, the bruises on his neck and the thin red lines from your nails standing out against his pale skin. His eyes were half-lidded, soft and open in a way that made your chest ache.
You grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and a clean washcloth from the bathroom, then came back to him. First you cleaned him up with slow, careful strokes—between his legs, over his stomach, the mess the two of you had made—then wiped yourself down just enough to be comfortable. Eddie watched every movement like it was something sacred. When you were done you climbed back into his lap, straddling him loosely this time, and pulled the blanket around both of you.
He made a small, grateful sound and wrapped his arms around you immediately, face burying in your neck. You slid your fingers into his damp curls and started combing through them in long, gentle strokes, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew melted him.
“You did so well,” you murmured against his temple. “Took everything I gave you. Stayed exactly where I put you. I’m proud of you.”
Eddie shivered at the praise, arms tightening.
“I hated making you feel like that,” he whispered, voice still rough. “Seeing you so quiet on the way home… knowing you were hurting because of me. I never want to be the reason you feel jealous or scared again. I’d rather sit in that chair for hours than watch that look on your face.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his hairline, then another to his cheekbone.
“I surprised myself too,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t know it would hit me that hard. Watching someone else put their hands on you like that… it felt like they were touching something that only belongs to me. I got so angry so fast. But you let me take it out on you. You trusted me with it. That means everything.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes still a little shiny.
“I trust you with all of it,” he said. “The soft stuff and the mean stuff. Especially the mean stuff. When you got posessive like that… it felt like you were carving your name into me all over again. Like you’re reminding both of us who I belong to.” His thumb stroked slow circles on your back under the blanket. “I love that. I love you. Even when you’re punishing me. Maybe especially then.”
You smiled and kissed him—slow, deep, and sweet, no edge left in it. When you pulled back you rested your forehead against his.
“I love you too,” you whispered. “My good boy. My Eddie. I’m sorry if I scared you while I was angry. I never want to actually hurt you. I just… needed to claim you again after that stage. Needed to feel like you were still mine.”
“I am still yours,” he said immediately, almost fiercely. “Every part of me. The next time someone tries to pull me into something like that I’ll shut it down so fast. I promise. You’re the only one who gets to touch me, order me around, mark me up… any of it. Okay?”
“Okay,” you answered, fingers still moving gently through his hair. “Thank you for taking the punishment so well. You were perfect.”
Eddie let out a long, shaky breath that sounded like pure relief and tucked his face back into your neck. You stayed like that for a while—curled in his lap under the blanket, your fingers never stopping their slow path through his curls, his hands warm and steady on your back. Every so often one of you would press a soft kiss to whatever skin was closest. Every so often he’d whisper another quiet I love you or I’m yours like he still needed to say it out loud.
The intensity of the night had burned down into something warm and safe. The jealousy was gone. The anger was gone. All that was left was the two of you in the old armchair, sticky and marked and completely wrapped up in each other, trading soft words and softer touches while the rest of the world stayed locked outside the apartment door.
The next night you and Eddie met everyone at the bar.
It was already loud and warm inside—sticky floors, half the jukebox broken, the usual Friday crowd. Steve had claimed a big booth in the back and was waving you over with a beer already in hand. Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Gareth, and Jeff were piled in around him. You slid in first, Eddie right after you, his thigh pressing warm against yours under the table like it always did now.
Steve looked Eddie up and down and raised an eyebrow.
“So what’d you end up doing last night after the show, man? Figured you’d at least stick around to milk the whole stage-lapdance fame for a while.”
Eddie blinked, completely blank for a second, then shrugged and reached for the beer Steve pushed toward him.
“Uhhh… I just went home?”
He said it so casually, so honestly, that it was obvious he had no worries about the dark constellation of bruises blooming up the side of his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t even glanced in a mirror before leaving the apartment. The marks were just… there. Like they had become a part of his skin.
Robin leaned forward so fast she almost knocked over her drink, eyes going wide with pure delight.
“Then who massacred your neck, dude?”
Eddie froze mid-sip. His free hand flew up to his throat, fingers brushing the tender skin, and the second he felt the raised bruises his whole face went red. He looked at you with wide, caught eyes. You couldn’t help it—you started laughing. He lasted maybe two seconds before he broke too, ducking his head with a helpless grin while the rest of the table lost it.
Under the table you reached for his hand and gave it a slow, firm squeeze. He laced his fingers through yours immediately and didn’t let go.
When the laughter died down enough for him to speak, Eddie cleared his throat, still pink, and glanced around at all of them.
“Yeah, uh… we’re together. Like, actually together. Have been for a little bit now. Since before the show, technically.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Steve threw both hands up like he’d just won something. “Fucking finally! Robin you owe me ten bucks.”
Robin pointed at the two of you with her bottle, grinning ear to ear. “Oh my god, the weird unresolved tension was physically hurting me. Congrats, you absolute idiots.”
Gareth reached across the table to clink his glass against Eddie’s. “Called it months ago, just so everyone remembers.”
Jeff nodded solemnly. “There was betting involved. I just lost five bucks."
Nancy just smiled that quiet, knowing smile of hers, and Jonathan gave you both a small, approving nod over the rim of his beer.
No big speech. No awkward interrogation. Just the whole table collectively relaxing like something that had been stuck for years had finally clicked into place. Eddie kept hold of your hand under the table the rest of the night, thumb stroking over your knuckles, the marks on his neck on full display and neither of you bothering to hide them. Every so often he’d catch you looking and give you that soft, private little smile that still made your stomach flip—only now everyone else could see it too, and none of them cared.
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summary: when you and your best friend eddie finally move in together you discover a particular kink of his that youre more than happy to explore with him
The key stuck for a second before the lock gave with a soft click. You pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment- your apartment now. It smelled like fresh paint, old wood, and the faint trace of whatever cleaner they used. Small. A little beat-up. Perfect.
Eddie Munson followed right behind you, two heavy boxes balanced in his arms like they weighed nothing. His wild curls were already sticking to his temples, damp from the July heat outside. The faded Metallica tee he’d thrown on that morning clung to his chest and the lean lines of his shoulders, dark patches of sweat spreading under his arms and down the center of his back. Those silver rings on his fingers caught the light as he set the boxes down exactly where you pointed.
“By the window?” he asked, voice a little rough from the stairs.
“Yeah. Right there. Perfect.”
He straightened up and wiped his forearm across his brow, flashing you that shy, crooked smile- the same one he’d worn since you were fourteen and he was the weird kid in the back of the classroom with the loud music and the bigger heart than anyone ever gave him credit for. You’d never cared what anyone else said about him. Not once. And somewhere along the way, the two of you had fallen into this quiet, aching thing neither of you had ever named.
You felt it every time he looked at you too long. Every time his hand brushed yours and stayed. Every late night phone call that ended with both of you pretending you didn’t want to say more.
Now you were moving in together. Best friends. Roommates. What could go wrong?
The afternoon stretched out in cardboard and sweat and the low creak of furniture being dragged across old floors. Eddie did most of the heavy lifting without complaint, muscles shifting under that thin black tee every time he hoisted another box or piece of furniture. You handled the directions- where things went, how they should be angled, what came next.
And that’s when you started to notice.
It began small.
“Eddie, grab the box labeled ‘kitchen’ and put it on the counter for me?”
He was already moving before you finished the sentence. “On it.” He set it down carefully, then looked back at you, waiting.
You tilted your head. “A little more to the left. Yeah… there. Good.”
His ears went pink. He swallowed, throat working, and shifted his weight from one combat boot to the other. One hand dropped casually in front of his jeans, adjusting. You caught the motion but didn’t think much of it. Heat. Heavy lifting. Normal.
Then came the bookshelf.
“Slide it against the far wall,” you said, stepping back to watch. “All the way. A little more. Right there- perfect.”
Eddie did exactly as you told him, long fingers gripping the sides, rings flashing as he pushed. When it was in place he stayed bent over for a second, breathing harder than the effort really called for. When he stood, his cheeks were flushed dark, and the front of his ripped black jeans… wasn’t lying flat anymore.
Your stomach flipped.
You tested it again with the couch, voice steady even as your pulse started to climb.
“Grab that end. On three- lift. Good. Now back it up slow. Stop. Angle it a little to your left. Yeah. Push it in more. Right there.”
Every word landed like a touch. Eddie followed them like gospel, grunting softly with effort, but there was something else in the sound now- something tight and needy. When the couch was finally in place he stayed bent over it longer than necessary, head down, curls hiding his face. When he straightened, the bulge in his jeans was unmistakable. Thick. Obvious. Pressing hard against the worn denim.
He turned slightly, trying to angle his body away from you, but it was too late. You’d seen.
Your own body answered before your brain could catch up- heat pooling low and heavy between your legs, nipples tightening under your thin tank top, a slick throb that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
Holy shit.
He was getting hard from this. From you telling him what to do. From following your directions like they were the only thing that mattered.
You kept going, voice a little lower now, curious. Testing.
“Bedroom next. Help me with the mattress. Center it on the frame. Make sure it’s straight.”
Eddie nodded fast- too fast- and disappeared into the small bedroom. You followed, leaning in the doorway as he wrestled the heavy mattress into place. Every adjustment you called out made his movements sharper, more focused.
“A little higher on the left. Shift it toward the headboard. There. Good.”
His breathing was ragged. When he glanced at you across the bed, his pupils were blown wide, dark eyes flicking down to your mouth and back up like he couldn’t help it. You watched the way his hands trembled just slightly when he tucked the fitted sheet at your instruction.
“Tighter on your side. Yeah. Pull it firm. Perfect.”
The word perfect made him shudder. Actually shudder. He bit his full bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark and kept his eyes on the mattress like it was the only safe thing in the room.
You stepped closer to help with the top sheet, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. The space felt smaller suddenly. Hotter. Every time your hands brushed his across the fabric, electricity snapped between you.
Eddie’s voice came out hoarse. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just like that.”
He made a small, broken sound- half groan, half something else- and quickly turned away again, but not before you caught the way his cock twitched visibly in his jeans.
The air between you was thick now. Charged. All those years of careful distance, of pretending the feelings weren’t there, and one afternoon of moving furniture had cracked it wide open. You could see it in the way he kept stealing glances at you, in the flush that had spread down his neck and under the collar of his tee, in the way he was failing to hide how turned on he was by every single direction that left your mouth.
You felt it too. The power of it. The way he responded to your voice like it was touching him. The old ache in your chest had twisted into something hotter, hungrier.
Eddie ran both hands through his curls, messing them up worse, and let out a shaky laugh that didn’t quite cover the roughness in his throat.
“So… uh. What’s next, boss?”
The word boss landed heavy between you. His eyes met yours across the half-made bed- dark, nervous, and so fucking turned on it made your knees feel weak.
You smiled slowly, heart hammering against your ribs.
This was only the first day.
And you were both already in trouble.
A couple of weeks had slipped by in that easy, familiar rhythm you and Eddie had always had- except for one very specific, very new pattern.
Every time you asked him for anything- “Eddie, can you pass me the remote?” “Hey, can you grab the mail on your way in?” “Would you mind moving that speaker?”- he did it instantly. No eye-rolls, no teasing, just that quick nod and a soft “Yeah, of course,” like your voice flipped a switch in him. And every single time, you watched the same thing happen- the tips of his ears going pink, the way he’d bite the inside of his cheek, the subtle shift of his hips like he was trying to hide exactly how much he liked being told what to do.
You hadn’t talked about it. Not yet. But it was there, humming under everything like a live wire.
Tonight the apartment was loud with laughter and the low thrum of music from Eddie’s old stereo. The whole crew had crammed in- Robin sprawled across the armchair with her legs dangling over the side, Steve and Nancy sharing the couch with Jonathan perched on the armrest next to her, Gareth and Jeff taking up the floor with a half-finished game of cards and a growing pile of bottle caps between them. Empty beer bottles and a couple of takeout containers littered the coffee table. It felt good. Lived-in. Like home.
Eddie was in the kitchen grabbing another round when you called out from your spot on the couch, voice easy and casual.
“Eddie? Can you grab me another beer while you’re in there?”
The effect was instant.
He froze for half a second, back to the group, then turned with that same eager little nod he’d been giving you for weeks now. “Yeah. Yeah, got it.”
When he came back a moment later, bottle in hand, his cheeks were flushed a warm, obvious pink that had nothing to do with the alcohol. His curls were a little messy from running his hands through them, and he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes as he handed the beer over- but the second your fingers brushed his, you felt the tiny tremor that ran through him.
Robin clocked it immediately.
She sat up straighter in the armchair, squinting at Eddie with a wicked little grin spreading across her face.
“Whoa, hold up.” She pointed the neck of her bottle at him. “Munson. Are you blushing right now?”
The room went quiet for half a beat, then erupted in laughter.
Eddie’s ears went from pink to full-on red. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying for his usual cocky smirk and missing by a mile. “What? No. It’s hot in here. You guys are like a bunch of space heaters.”
“Uh-huh.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyebrows raised in pure delight. “Sure, man. That’s why you practically sprinted to the fridge the second she asked. Real subtle.”
Gareth snorted into his drink. “Dude’s got it bad. We’ve been saying it for years.”
Jeff just shook his head, grinning. “Told you living together would break him.”
Nancy was smiling behind her hand, Jonathan chuckling quietly beside her. Robin, though- Robin was relentless, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, waving her bottle for emphasis, “I’ve known Eddie Munson since high school and I have never seen him move that fast for anyone. Not even when there’s free pizza involved. But you ask for a beer and suddenly he’s the Flash with a savior complex.”
Eddie dropped onto the arm of the couch next to you- close enough that his thigh pressed warm against your shoulder- and tried to hide behind his own bottle. “You’re all assholes,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just that flustered, fond exasperation he only ever got around this group.
You took a slow sip of your beer, fighting your own smile. Under the table, your knee brushed his. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it a fraction, like he couldn’t help himself.
The teasing rolled on for another minute- Steve making whipped noises, Robin doing an exaggerated impression of Eddie’s eager nod- but it was all in good fun. The kind of ribbing that only happens when everyone already knows the truth and loves you both enough to say it out loud.
Still… there was something else in the air.
Every time you glanced at Eddie, he was already looking at you. Quick, heated little looks that he tried to play off as casual. His fingers kept drumming restlessly on his thigh, rings catching the low light. And when the laughter died down and the conversation drifted back to whatever story Gareth was telling, Eddie’s hand dropped- casual as anything- to rest on the back of the couch behind your head. Not quite touching you. But close enough that you could feel the warmth of his arm.
Robin caught that too. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, something knowing and a little softer in her expression now. She didn’t say anything else. Just raised her bottle in a tiny, private toast in your direction before turning back to the group.
The night kept going- more drinks, more stories, more laughter- but that underlying feeling never quite left. It sat low in your stomach every time Eddie shifted closer, every time he got up without you even asking to grab someone else a drink and still checked with you first, silent question in his eyes.
You need anything?
You didn’t say it out loud. But the way he kept looking at you said he already knew the answer.
And judging by the way his cheeks stayed faintly pink for the rest of the night, so did everyone else.
It was a completely normal night.
The apartment was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the TV and the little lamp in the corner you’d both forgotten to turn off. Some movie was playing- neither of you were really watching it anymore. You were curled up on one end of the couch in an oversized t-shirt and soft cotton shorts, legs tucked under a shared blanket. Eddie was on the other end, one arm slung along the back of the couch, wearing those loose gray sweatpants he always wore during lazy nights and a faded Dio tank top that had seen better days. His curls were messy from running his hands through them, and every so often his foot would nudge yours under the blanket like he couldn’t help staying connected.
It felt easy. Like it had always been meant to be this way.
You shifted, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet groan. “God, I’m thirsty. My mouth is so dry.”
Eddie didn’t even hesitate.
He was up and moving before the words had fully left your mouth, blanket sliding off his lap as he padded into the kitchen. You heard the fridge open, the clink of ice, the sound of water pouring. Thirty seconds later he was back, handing you a glass without a word- just that same quiet, eager look he’d been wearing for weeks now every time you asked for anything.
You took it, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”
He dropped back onto the couch, closer this time. The movie kept playing, forgotten.
You took a slow sip, then set the glass on the coffee table. When you looked at him again, something warm and reckless settled in your chest.
“Good boy.”
The words left your mouth soft and deliberate.
Eddie froze.
A full-body flush ripped through him so fast you could see it- starting at his ears, flooding down his neck and across his chest where the tank top didn’t cover. His lips parted on a sharp, shaky inhale. And then you saw it- the way his cock twitched hard and obvious against the thin gray fabric of his sweatpants, thickening right there in front of you, the outline growing thick and heavy in seconds.
He made a small, helpless sound and pulled the blanket to his lap like he could hide it. Too late. You’d already seen the way he was getting hard just from those two words.
His breathing had gone ragged. He wouldn’t look at you, staring hard at the TV like it could save him, but his hips shifted restlessly and that flush kept spreading, down his throat, across his collarbones. The blanket was starting to tent now, and he was so visibly turned on it made heat pool low and aching between your own legs.
You didn’t look away.
Instead you leaned in a little, voice quieter but steady.
“Eddie.”
He swallowed hard. Still wouldn’t meet your eyes.
“Does me telling you what to do turn you on?”
The silence stretched. The movie kept playing in the background but it might as well have been on another planet.
Eddie’s hands clenched in the fabric of the blanket. His chest rose and fell too fast. You could see the war happening behind his eyes- the shyness, the years of keeping this locked down, the fear of ruining everything… and the way his body was betraying him completely.
Finally, he let out a shaky breath and nodded once, small and jerky.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough and low. “It… it does.”
He still wouldn’t look at you, but the admission hung between you like a live wire. His cheeks were burning. His rings clicked together as his fingers twisted in the blanket.
You could see how much it cost him to say it out loud. How long he must’ve been carrying this.
But he said it.
The word hung in the air between you.
Eddie’s chest was still heaving, that deep flush permanently staining his skin. He looked wrecked already and you hadn't even touched him.
You didn’t let the silence stretch.
“Look at me.”
His eyes snapped up to yours instantly. Wide. Dark. Nervous and so fucking turned on you could feel your soaked pussy clinging to the fabric of your underwear.
You leaned in a little closer on the couch, voice low and steady.
“Say it again. Tell me the truth.”
Eddie swallowed hard. He shifted his hips like he was trying to get comfortable and only made it worse- his cock twitched visibly.
“I… yeah,” he rasped. “It turns me on. When you tell me what to do. It’s- fuck, it’s been like this for weeks.”
You tilted your head, studying him. The way his breath hitched every time your voice dropped.
“Since moving day?”
He nodded, quick and jerky. “Since before that, probably. But that day… when you were telling me where to put everything. How to move the couch. The bed.” His voice cracked a little. “Every time you said ‘good’ or ‘right there’ I got hard so fast I thought I was gonna lose it. I had to keep turning away so you wouldn’t see.”
A slow, pleased smile curved your mouth.
“Good boy.”
The effect was instant and devastating.
Eddie let out a broken little moan- quiet, like he couldn’t stop it- and his hips jerked. His cock twitched hard. His thighs trembled.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You can’t just- say that. It’s too much.”
You ignored the protest, eyes locked on his.
“Take the blanket off your lap.”
He hesitated for half a second- just long enough for you to see the war in his eyes- then pushed it aside with shaking hands. Now there was nothing hiding him. The thick line of his cock was on full display, straining against the soft fabric, the head pressing insistently against it. He was so hard it had to hurt.
You let your gaze drag over him slowly, then met his eyes again.
“Tell me more. How long have you wanted me to talk to you like this?”
Eddie’s hands flexed on his thighs. He looked like he wanted to hide his face but couldn’t stop staring at you.
“Since… since we were kids, I think,” he admitted, voice low and shaky. “Not like this exactly. But I always liked when you bossed me around a little. When you told me what to do. It made me feel… safe. And then it started turning me on and I didn’t know what to do with it.” He laughed once, breathless and embarrassed. “I thought I was gonna ruin everything if I ever said anything. So I just… kept it quiet. But then we moved in and you kept giving me directions and I couldn’t hide it anymore.”
You reached out slowly and rested your hand on his knee. Just that. Nothing more. He still jolted like you’d touched him somewhere much more sensitive.
“Does it make you this hard every time?” you asked, voice soft but firm. “Every time I ask you for something?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. His cock twitched again at the question. “Every single time. Even when it’s small. Like getting you water or moving something. My brain just… goes quiet and all I can think about is being good for you. Making you happy.” His cheeks burned darker. “And then I get so turned on I can’t think straight.”
You squeezed his knee gently.
“Spread your legs a little.”
He did it without hesitation this time, thighs parting on the couch. The movement made his cock shift and strain even more obviously. The wet spot was bigger now.
You let the silence sit for a moment, just watching him squirm under your gaze, breathing hard, curls falling into his eyes.
Then you asked the next question, quiet and direct.
“Do you want me to keep telling you what to do, Eddie?”
His answer came out in a rush, like he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“Yes. Fuck, yes. I want it so bad.” His voice cracked again. “I’ve been going crazy. Every time you say my name in that voice I get hard. Every time you tell me ‘good boy’ I feel like I’m gonna come in my fucking pants. I don’t even care how pathetic that sounds. I just- I like it. I like being yours like that.”
He was panting now. His hands had moved to grip the couch cushions on either side of his hips, like he was physically holding himself back from touching.
You could see how close he was already- just from talking, from obeying, from finally being honest.
The movie kept playing, forgotten.
The only thing that mattered was the way Eddie was looking at you now- desperate, flushed, hard and leaking and completely at your mercy.
And the way his voice dropped even lower when he spoke again.
“…What do you want me to do?”
You let the question hang for a moment, watching the way Eddie’s chest heaved and his cock throbbed visibly against the damp front of his sweatpants. He was already a mess- curls wild, cheeks flushed dark, lips parted around shaky breaths- and you hadn’t even touched him.
You leaned back against the arm of the couch, getting comfortable, and let your voice drop into that same calm, commanding tone that made his whole body react.
“Take your cock out.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. For a second he just stared at you, breathing hard, like he needed to make sure he’d heard you right. Then his hands moved- trembling- and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and long, already leaking steadily from the slit. It curved up toward his stomach, twitching the second the cool air hit it.
He didn’t cover himself. Just sat there, exposed, waiting for your next word like it was the only thing keeping him together.
You let your gaze drag over him slowly, then met his eyes again.
“Stroke it. Slow. And while you do, tell me what you’ve been thinking about. Every filthy thought you’ve had.”
Eddie wrapped his hand around himself with a shaky groan. The first slow stroke made his hips jerk and a thick bead of precum spill over his fingers. He started talking, voice rough and broken.
“I- fuck- I think about you telling me what to do all the time,” he admitted, eyes locked on yours like you’d ordered him to keep them there. “Every morning when you ask me to make coffee. Every time you tell me to grab something from the top shelf. I get hard in the middle of the fucking day just remembering your voice.” His hand moved in slow, desperate strokes, precum making everything slick. “I’ve jerked off in the shower thinking about you calling me good boy. About you making me kneel while you tell me exactly how you want me to touch you. About-”
He cut off with a whimper when you spoke again.
“Faster.”
He obeyed instantly, hand speeding up. His thighs were shaking now.
“Keep going,” you said. “Tell me more.”
Eddie’s head tipped back for a second before he forced himself to look at you again. His voice was wrecked.
“I think about you using me,” he confessed, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now. “Not just for sex. For everything. I want you to tell me how to make you feel good. I want to be the one who knows exactly what you need before you even ask. I’ve been going crazy wanting to take care of you like that. And the dirtier it gets the more I-” His hand stuttered on a particularly hard stroke and he moaned. “The more I like it. I want you to own me with your voice. I want you to ruin me with it.”
You watched him fall apart for a few more seconds- the way his stomach clenched, the way more precum drooled deliciously from the head of his cock, the way he was clearly fighting not to come just from talking and obeying.
Then you gave the next command.
“Stop touching yourself.”
Eddie whined- actually whined- but his hand froze immediately, gripping the base of his cock like he was physically holding himself back. His whole body was trembling.
“Please,” he breathed, voice cracking. “Please, I need- I need to make you feel good. Let me. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll use my mouth, my hands, whatever you tell me. Just- fuck, just let me take care of you. I’ve been dying to. Every night I’ve laid in my bed thinking about how good you’d sound if I was between your legs doing exactly what you told me to do.”
He was panting now, eyes glassy and desperate, cock still twitching and leaking untouched against his stomach.
“I want to be good for you,” he whispered, raw and honest. “I want to make you come so many times you forget your own name. I want you to tell me how. I want you to use me until you’re satisfied. Please. Please let me make you feel good. I’ll beg if you want me to. I’ll get on my knees right now. Just say the word.”
His voice broke on the last word. He looked completely wrecked and still waiting for your next command like it was the only thing that mattered.
The movie had long since ended. The apartment was quiet except for his ragged breathing and the low thrum of whatever was playing on the TV now.
Eddie swallowed hard, eyes never leaving yours.
You let the silence stretch, watching him tremble and leak and beg.
Then you spoke again, calm and clear.
“Get on your knees on the floor. Right in front of me.”
Eddie moved like the command was the only thing holding him together. He let go of his cock- it slapped wetly against his stomach- and slid off the couch. The rug was soft but still rough enough that you heard the quiet thud of his knees hitting it. He winced a little at the impact but didn’t complain. Now he was kneeling between your spread legs, looking up at you with those wrecked, hopeful eyes. His cock hung heavy and flushed between his thighs, still dripping onto the rug in little shiny droplets. The position made it hang lower, the head shiny and wet, a thin string of precum connecting it to the floor.
He was breathing through his mouth, lips parted, curls messy and damp.
“I’m here,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m on my knees for you. Tell me what to do. Please. I’ll be so good.”
His hands rested on his own thighs, rings glinting, fingers twitching with the effort of not reaching for you. His cock twitched every time you shifted even slightly. The smell of his arousal was stronger now, thick in the air between you.
You could feel your own body answering- the hot, slick ache between your legs, the way your shorts were sticking to you.
Eddie swallowed again, eyes flicking down to your lap and back up.
You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair once, slow and possessive, before gripping it lightly and tilting his head back so he had to look at you.
“Listen carefully,” you said, voice low and steady. “I’m going to tell you exactly how I want your mouth.”
He shivered, a soft whine escaping before he could stop it.
“Start over my shorts,” you continued. “Use your tongue flat and slow. I want to feel the heat of your mouth and the wet drag of your tongue through the fabric. Press in enough that I can feel it on my clit. Suck gently- not hard, just enough to pull the cloth against me. I want to feel how soaked the shorts are getting from your mouth and from me.”
Eddie’s breath hitched. His cock twitched hard, a fresh string of precum dripping from the tip onto the rug.
“Yes,” he whispered, already leaning in. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be good.”
He pressed his face between your thighs. The first touch of his tongue was hot and wet even through the thin cotton of your shorts. He dragged it slow and flat from bottom to top, exactly like you told him, the fabric growing darker and slicker with every pass. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue pushing the damp cloth against your clit, the way he sealed his lips and sucked gently- soft, rhythmic pulls that made the wet fabric cling and rub in the most teasing way.
A low, desperate moan vibrated against you. He was already lost in it.
You kept your hand in his hair, guiding him.
“Again. Slower. I want to feel every inch of your tongue.”
He obeyed instantly, tongue flattening and dragging with deliberate pressure. The wet sounds were filthy- the slick drag of fabric, the soft suck of his mouth, his own quiet whimpers. Your shorts were soaked now, both from his spit and the growing wetness between your legs. Every time he sucked, you felt it pull against your swollen clit.
Eddie’s hips were rocking helplessly in the air, his neglected cock bobbing and leaking. You could hear how worked up he was- the shaky exhales through his nose, the way his fingers flexed and clenched on his own thighs because you hadn’t told him he could touch you yet.
After a minute of that slow, torturous attention, he pulled back just enough to speak, voice hoarse and wrecked against your inner thigh.
“Please,” he begged, lips shiny and wet. “Please let me pull them down. Or to the side. I need- I need to taste you for real. It’s not enough. I can smell how wet you are and it’s driving me crazy. Please. I’ll still do it exactly how you say, I swear. Just let me feel your skin on my tongue. Please.”
You let him beg for another long moment, watching him tremble and leak and nuzzle desperately against the soaked fabric.
Then you gave the next command.
“Pull my shorts to the side. Now.”
His hands shook as he reached up, fingers careful as he hooked the fabric and tugged it aside, exposing you completely. The cool air hit your slick folds for only a second before his mouth was on you- hot, eager, and so fucking grateful.
A broken, overwhelmed sound tore out of him the second his tongue touched bare skin. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you properly for the first time. His moan was deep and filthy, vibrating right against you.
“Fuck- you taste so good,” he gasped against your pussy, voice thick with tears and arousal. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me- oh my god-”
You tightened your grip in his hair.
“Slow circles on my clit. Then suck. Exactly like before, but now on my skin.”
He followed every word like it was gospel. His tongue moved in slow, firm circles exactly where you wanted, then sealed his lips around your clit and sucked with that same gentle, rhythmic pressure. The wet sounds were louder now- the obscene slick of his tongue, the soft suction, his own desperate little moans. His face was already messy, chin and lips shiny with you. Every time he sucked, you felt the pull all the way through your body.
He kept thanking you between licks, voice muffled and worshipful.
“Thank you- thank you for letting me taste you- you’re so wet- so fucking sweet- please tell me if I’m doing it right- I’ll do it better- I’ll do anything-”
You could feel the orgasm building fast- the tight coil low in your belly, the way your thighs started to tremble around his head, the way his tongue and the filthy wet sounds and his desperate gratitude were pushing you right to the edge.
When it hit, it crashed hard.
Your back arched off the couch as you came, a gush of wetness flooding his mouth. You squirted against his tongue and lips, the hot rush of it making him moan so loudly it vibrated through your whole body. He didn’t pull away- if anything he pressed closer, licking and swallowing like he was starving for it, messy and grateful and overwhelmed.
“Thank you- thank you- fuck, thank you-” he kept chanting between frantic licks, voice cracking, tears slipping down his cheeks as he drank you down. “Thank you for letting me have it- for letting me taste you when you come- you’re so good to me- thank you, thank you, thank you-”
He kept licking through it, slower now, gentle and reverent, cleaning you up with soft strokes of his tongue while he murmured broken thanks against your sensitive skin. His face was completely soaked, chin dripping, curls sticking to your thighs. His cock was still untouched and leaking steadily onto the rug, twitching every time you pulsed against his mouth.
Eventually he rested his cheek against your inner thigh, breathing hard, eyes closed, lips shiny and swollen.
He looked completely wrecked.
And still he whispered, soft and hoarse against your skin,
“…Thank you. For letting me make you feel good. I’ll do it again whenever you want. Just tell me. I’m yours.”
His cock gave another helpless twitch, still hard and aching between his legs.
He didn’t ask for anything for himself.
He just stayed on his knees, waiting for your next word.
“You were such a good boy for me,” you said softly, fingers stroking through his hair. “You deserve a reward.”
Eddie’s breath caught. His cock gave a hard, visible twitch.
You stood, took his hand, and pulled him up. He followed instantly, legs a little unsteady. You guided him back onto the couch and pushed gently at his chest until he was lying back against the cushions, legs spread, cock lying heavy and wet against his stomach. The tank top was rucked up under his arms, exposing his flushed chest and the rapid rise and fall of it.
You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. You were still soaked- your own arousal and his spit making everything slick. You reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and lined him up. Then you sank down in one slow, smooth motion.
The stretch was perfect. He was so hard, so hot, and he’d been leaking for so long that he slid in easily, but the tight, wet heat of you still punched the air out of his lungs.
“Oh- fuck- oh my god-” Eddie’s head slammed back against the couch. His hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in, rings pressing into your skin. “You’re so wet- so fucking tight- I can feel everything- thank you- fuck sweetheart- ”
You started to move.
Slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down so your clit dragged against him with every pass. The wet sounds were shameless- the slick slide of you riding him, the filthy squelch every time you sank down. His cock was twitching inside you already, pulsing like it was trying to come from the first stroke.
Eddie was gone.
“You feel so good- I’m not gonna last- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry but you’re so warm and wet and I’ve been so hard for so long-” His voice was already cracking, words tumbling out between broken moans. “Thank you for using me- you’re so perfect- I love how you feel around me- I love being inside you- please don’t stop- please- I’ll be good- I’ll be your good boy-”
You picked up the pace, bouncing on him now, the couch creaking under you. Every time you dropped down he made the most desperate, overwhelmed sounds- high little whimpers and shaky gasps. His hands were shaking on your hips. Sweat was rolling down his temples and chest. His curls were a wild mess against the cushion.
“I can feel you clenching- fuck- you’re gonna make me come- I’m trying to hold it- I’m trying so hard but you feel too good-” His eyes were glassy, unfocused, locked on where you were joined. “You’re dripping down my cock- I can feel it- thank you for letting me have this- I’ll give you everything- anything you want-”
You could feel him throbbing harder, getting closer with every roll of your hips. His stomach was clenching, thighs shaking beneath you. He was babbling nonstop now, voice hoarse and breaking.
“I love you- I love being yours like this- I love when you use me- when you tell me what to do- when you ride me like I’m just here for you to feel good on- thank you- thank you for my reward- thank you for letting me come- I’m gonna- ah- I’m gonna-”
He came with a broken, sobbing moan, hips jerking up helplessly as he spilled deep inside you. Thick pulses of come flooded you, hot and endless, while he kept babbling through it, voice cracking and wet.
“Thank you- thank you- oh fuck- thank you for letting me come inside you- I’m still coming- I can’t stop- you feel too good- I love you- I love you so much-”
His whole body was shaking beneath you, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping from the corners as the orgasm ripped through him. He kept twitching and pulsing inside you long after he should have stopped, overstimulated and overwhelmed, still whispering ragged thanks against your skin.
When it finally eased, he went boneless under you, chest heaving, face flushed and tear-streaked, lips parted around shaky breaths. His cock was still half-hard inside you, sensitive and twitching with every tiny movement you made.
Eddie looked completely wrecked.
And you loved every second of it.
You leaned down, kissed the tears off his cheek, and whispered against his mouth,
“Good boy.”
He whimpered again, soft and broken, and nuzzled into your hand like he could live there forever.
You stayed on top of him for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, his cock still twitching weakly inside you as the last aftershocks rolled through him. His come was already starting to leak out around where you were joined, warm and slick, making everything messy between your thighs. Eddie’s hands were still loosely gripping your hips, but his grip had gone soft and shaky.
You leaned down and kissed his forehead, then the corner of his eye where a tear had slipped free.
“Shh… I’ve got you,” you whispered.
Carefully, you lifted off him. He made a small, broken sound at the loss, but you didn’t go far. You grabbed the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch and guided him to lie down properly, then crawled in beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you. The couch was narrow, so you ended up half on top of him anyway- your head on his chest, one leg thrown over his, your hand resting right over his racing heart.
Eddie immediately curled into you like he was afraid you’d disappear. His arms came around you, strong but trembling, and he buried his face in your hair. You could feel how hard he was still breathing, the rapid thump of his heart under your cheek, the way little aftershocks kept making his stomach jump.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held him. Your fingers stroked slowly through his damp curls, untangling them gently. You traced the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw, the sweat cooling on his neck. Every so often you pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart.
Eventually his breathing started to slow. His grip on you loosened from desperate to something softer, more trusting.
You felt him swallow before he whispered, voice hoarse and small against your hair,
“…I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen.”
The words came out shaky, like he’d been holding them in for years and they were finally too heavy to keep.
You lifted your head just enough to look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still wet, but he met your gaze without looking away.
“I used to tell myself it was just a crush,” he continued, barely above a whisper. “That it would go away. But it never did. Every time you smiled at me like I wasn’t the weird kid… every time you let me ramble about stupid shit no one else cared about… I fell a little harder. And then we moved in here and you started telling me what to do and it felt like something in my brain just… clicked. Like I’d been waiting my whole life for you to take control and I didn’t even know it.”
His voice cracked. He pressed his face into your neck for a second, breathing you in.
“I was so scared I’d ruin everything if I said anything. That you’d think I was gross or pathetic for wanting you to boss me around. For wanting to be good for you like that.” He let out a wet little laugh. “Turns out I’m both of those things and you still let me have you. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”
You tightened your arms around him, one hand sliding down to rest on the small of his back, skin warm and damp under your palm.
“You’ve always been good for me, Eddie,” you whispered back. “Even before tonight. You’ve been my best friend. My safe place. And tonight…” You kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and slow. “Tonight you were perfect. I loved every second of it.”
He made a soft, overwhelmed sound and tucked his face into your neck again. You felt him press a shaky kiss there.
“I want this,” he whispered. “All of it. The bossing me around. The making me come so hard I cry. The holding me after. I want to be yours like this. Not just tonight. I want… I want to keep being your good boy. If you’ll have me.”
You pulled back just far enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that had slipped free. His eyes were so open, so vulnerable, it made your chest ache in the best way.
“I want that too,” you told him, voice steady and sure. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Eddie. Life with you is easy. This- this is easy. The way you fall apart when I tell you what to do. The way you look at me like I hung the fucking moon when I call you good boy.” You smiled, soft and a little teasing. “I love taking care of you. I love that you trust me enough to let go like that.”
He let out a shaky breath that sounded like relief and pressed his forehead to yours.
“I trust you with everything,” he whispered. “Always have.”
You stayed like that for a long time- tangled under the blanket, skin cooling, hearts slowing down together. Every so often one of you would murmur something soft. You told him how beautiful he looked when he came, how proud you were of him for being so honest. He told you how safe he felt in your hands, how he’d never felt anything like this with anyone else, how he wanted to learn exactly what you liked so he could be even better for you.
At some point you got up just long enough to grab a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom. You cleaned him gently- between his legs, the mess on his stomach, the tear tracks on his face- while he watched you with soft, sleepy eyes. Then you cleaned yourself and climbed right back into his arms.
He pulled the blanket tighter around both of you and tucked your head under his chin.
“Can we stay like this for a while?” he asked quietly. “Just… hold each other? I don’t think I’m ready to move yet.”
You smiled against his chest.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “We can stay right here as long as you want.”
His arms tightened around you. One of his hands found yours under the blanket and laced your fingers together.
“I love you,” he said again, even softer this time, like a secret just for the two of you.
You squeezed his hand and pressed a kiss right over his heart.
Hello I was wondering if I could request Eddie Munson X female reader where he teacher her how to do cowgirl for the first time as she had always been avoiding it when he asked
Thank youuu
₊ ° ⊹ ♡ 𝐚/𝐧: i love this sm!! i added a little more to this request, i hope that’s okay <3
⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: smut, riding, cowgirl position, gentle dom eddie, kinda nervous reader, p in v, some dirty talk ig, praise and a little teasing, established relationship, foreplay (f receiving), creampie and unprotected sex (AGAIN. BE SAFE!!!)
the rain hammered against the corrugated metal roof of eddie’s trailer, a steady, insistent rhythm that seemed to mirror the quickening beat of your own heart. he was on top of you, a comfortable weight against your back, his hands tangled in your hair, pulling gently at the loose strands. his mouth was moving against yours, a slow exploration that tasted of cheap beer and the cigarettes he smoked. you responded with small, involuntary moans, a fragile sound lost amidst the drumming rain and eddie’s low hum—a mix of pleasure and a surprising tenderness. his head spun, tilting slightly as he absorbed your reactions, a genuine amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
then, abruptly, he pulled back, a slight smirk playing on his lips. just as he was about to flip you both over, giving you the chance to take control, you yelped, a sharp, involuntary sound that startled even him.
the amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a swift concern that tightened his brow. "what was that? you okay?" he asked, his voice soft, laced with genuine worry.
he brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips lingering for a moment, sending a shiver through you. you shook your head, a blush creeping up your neck, staining your skin a delicate pink.
“sorry, eds,” you mumbled, the words barely audible. “um… can we save that for another night?”
eddie froze, his body still positioned above you, and a confused frown deepened on his face. you and eddie had been intimate several times now—passionate, even messy sometimes—but this felt different. this was the first time someone had taken charge, demanded something from you, and you hadn't known how to respond. you’d always given just as much, exploring his touch, offering your warmth, but this... this felt like a leap you weren’t quite ready to make. still, he wouldn't push, a quiet understanding radiating from him. he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, a small, reassuring gesture.
“yeah, of course,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”
your heart fluttered. you always appreciated how great of a boyfriend eddie was—the way he anticipated your needs before you voiced them, the unwavering patience he possessed, the absolute refusal to pressure you into anything you weren’t truly ready for. he did everything he could to create a space where you felt safe, utterly and completely comfortable, and it was a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved so desperately until he’d offered it. he was the first boyfriend you’d ever truly done things with sexually, a fact that hung heavy in the humid air of the trailer, a potent mixture of excitement and vulnerability.
still, you couldn't shake the embarrassment, a prickly heat rising in your cheeks that threatened to spill over into a full blush. you were his girlfriend now, yet the simple act of intimacy remained a landscape of anxieties. the memory of his touch, even momentarily withdrawn, sparked a nervous tremor through you. it wasn't a rejection of him, not at all—you found his presence intoxicating, his laughter infectious —but the sheer novelty of it all, the responsibility of inhabiting such a deeply personal space with someone you cared about, left you feeling acutely aware of your own awkwardness.
you were his girlfriend, and you still got nervous around him, a disconcerting realization that settled deep within your stomach like a cold stone. the thought of disappointing him, of not meeting his expectations, fueled the self-consciousness.
a month had passed, and now you were crammed into eddie’s old van, the scent of greasy burgers from benny’s filling the air.
eddie, predictably unpredictable, brought up that fateful night, his voice cutting through the silence. "hey, you remember a month ago when you came over? it was when that huge storm came," he said, his tone casual, almost conversational.
you flipped through the memories in your mind, the events of that night playing out like a vivid movie reel. the thunder, the rain, the way your heart raced as eddie pulled you close...
realization dawned on you, and you let out a soft giggle. "oh, yeah! yeah, i remember. i ended up getting stranded there for a couple hours," you replied, the memory still tinged with excitement.
eddie chuckled, taking a large bite of his burger, the juices dripping down his chin. you couldn't help but smile at the sight, finding even his messiness endearing. you leaned over to wipe some of the grease off with your napkin. he tried to playfully bite your arm when you pulled away, making you laugh.
then, in a single sentence, he shattered the easygoing atmosphere. "yeah, i know. but uh... that night, i tried to initiate something. you looked a little nervous about it," he said, his voice low and heavy with implication.
you froze, realizing what he was getting at, the conversation from that night coming back to you in vivid detail. the way he had tried to flip you both over, giving you the chance to take control, to be on top... and how you had panicked, yelped, and ultimately brushed off the idea.
your cheeks flamed with embarrassment, a fierce heat that spread from your face to the tips of your ears. you could feel eddie’s gaze on you, his dark eyes searching your face for answers. the van suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as if the very space between you and him had been sucked out. you swallowed hard, your mouth dry, the burger forgotten in your lap. how do you explain this to him? how do you articulate the swirl of nerves and anxiety that had seized you that night, the fear of disappointing him, of not measuring up to his expectations?
you cleared your throat, the sound harsh in the sudden silence of the van. "it’s... it's not really a big deal," you mumbled, your words tumbling out in a rush, an attempt to deflect and distance yourself from the uncomfortable truth.
eddie tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made you squirm. his dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading the lie for what it was—a flimsy excuse, a feeble attempt to change the subject.
he leaned back against the worn leather seat, his burger forgotten in his hand. "hey, come on," he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. "we can talk about anything, remember? no secrets between us." he reached out, his hand hovering near yours, an unspoken invitation. "if something's bothering you, if you don't want to be intimate anymore, you can just tell me. i’m not going to push you or make you uncom—“
your heart clenched at his words, a painful twist of emotion. the thought of him believing you didn't want to be with him, that you were pulling away from him... it was unbearable.
you shook your head vigorously, your voice rising in protest. "no, no, it's not that! i do want to be intimate with you, i swear. you know that, right?" your eyes searched his face, desperate for reassurance, for confirmation that he understood the depth of your feelings for him.
eddie’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "of course i know that," he murmured, his hand finally closing the distance between you, his fingers intertwining with yours. the contact was electric, sending a jolt of warmth up your arm, chasing away the lingering chill of embarrassment. "but there's something else, isn't there? something you're not telling me."
you hesitated, your tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. the words hung on the tip of your tongue, a confession you were terrified to make but knew you needed to. "i… i’ve never..." you started, the admission trailing off into silence. eddie waited patiently, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand, a soothing motion that helped you find the courage to continue.
"i’ve never ridden anyone before," you finished in a rush, the words tumbling out like a confession. "the idea makes me a little nervous."
eddie’s eyes widened slightly, surprise etched across his handsome features. for a moment, he simply stared at you, processing your confession. then, slowly, a grin began to spread across his face, transforming his expression into one of pure adoration. "well, damn," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "here i was thinking you didn't find me attractive enough or something."
relief washed over you like a tidal wave, the tension in your shoulders melting away. eddie’s reaction, his willingness to joke about the situation rather than dwell on it, was exactly what you needed.
you laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within your chest. "shut up," you teased, playfully swatting at his arm. "like you have any reason to complain."
he caught your hand mid-swat, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. his dark eyes sparkled with mischief, a glint that sent a shiver down your spine.
"oh, i don't know about that," he purred, his voice low and husky. “ i mean, one of these days, i could definitely teach you a thing or two..."
your heart skipped a beat at his words, the promise in them igniting a fire low in your stomach. "yeah?" you breathed, the word slipping past your parted lips.
eddie nodded, his gaze locked on yours, his intent clear. "yeah," he confirmed, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the sensitive skin of your wrist. "and trust me, sweetheart, it'll be worth every second."
a week had passed since that conversation in the van, a stretch of time defined by anticipation and quiet longing. you both had been waiting for the perfect window—waiting for his uncle wayne to pull another double shift at the plant, or for your parents to be engrossed in their own lives, leaving you with precious hours of privacy.
finally, the stars aligned.
the air in eddie’s trailer was thick with the scent of cigarettes, cheap cologne, and the heavy, electric tension of desire. you were on his bed, tangled together in a heap of limbs and discarded layers. shirts had been shoved aside, jeans kicked off into a chaotic pile near the door. eddie was above you, his weight comforting rather than oppressive, his mouth claiming yours with a fervor that made your head spin. his hands roamed over your skin, mapping every curve, every sensitive spot, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
he pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his breathing ragged, before lowering himself again. this time, he didn’t aim for your lips. Instead, he trailed kisses down the column of your neck, lingering at the pulse point that hammered wildly beneath his touch. he moved lower, his lips brushing against your collarbone, then your chest, each kiss slow and deliberate, igniting nerves you hadn’t known existed. when he reached your stomach, you instinctively tried to still yourself, but a small shiver betrayed you, your hips twitching involuntarily as his tongue traced the line of your navel.
eddie paused, lifting his head to look at you. his eyes were dark, dilated with lust, but also filled with that familiar, teasing warmth. a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back down, pressing soft, wet kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
“need to make sure this pussy’s ready before it bounces on my cock, right?” he teased softly, his voice rough with want. the blunt honesty of it sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.
you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the sheets, and gave a small, hesitant nod.
his hands gripped your thighs, his thumbs digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, opening you up to him. but he didn’t stop there. he looked up at you, his gaze intense and unyielding.
“i need a verbal response, sweetheart,” he murmured teasingly, the vibration of his voice humming against your most sensitive skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight up your spine. the sound brought a soft, involuntary whimper from your throat, your hips twitching in anticipation despite your nerves.
“m-mhm. you’re right,” you said shakily, the words barely forming before they were swallowed by the heavy, charged air of the room.
eddie’s smile widened, a genuine, heartwarming expression that softened the hunger in his eyes. “atta girl.”
he didn’t wait for further permission; he knew he had it. With deliberate slowness, he lowered himself between your legs, his hands resting gently on your hips to steady you, not to restrain, but to anchor.
this time, there was no teasing remark, no playful provocation. there was only focused, reverent attention.
when his tongue finally made contact, it was a slow, sweeping stroke that drew a sharp gasp from your lips. your back arched instinctively off the mattress, your fingers tangling in the sheets as the sensation overwhelmed your senses. eddie worked with a patience that bordered on artistic, exploring you with a curiosity that told you he was memorizing every reaction, every shiver, every way your body responded to him.
“look at you,” he whispered against you, his breath hot and wet, before taking you deeper. “so responsive. so perfect for me.”
the praise washed over you like warm water, easing the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach since you’d first confessed your inexperience. he wasn’t rushing. he wasn’t judging. every time you tensed up out of habit or fear, he would pause, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours.
“you’re doing so good,” he’d murmur, brushing his thumb over your hip or stroking your thigh. “just breathe for me. i’ve got you.”
his technique was masterful—a rhythmic, deliberate dance of suction, flicking tongues, and warm, wet pressure that seemed to know the precise geography of your desire. he moved from broad, sweeping strokes that teased the edges of your pleasure to small, pinpoint bursts of intensity directly where you needed it most.
"god, you feel so wet already," he’d sigh against you, the sound vibrating through your core, before shifting his focus, drawing out a deep, satisfying pull that made you gasp his name.
when you started to lose yourself in the sensation, starting to ride the edge of overwhelming feeling, you instinctively reached up, your fingers finding purchase in the thick, soft hair at the nape of his neck. you began to buck your hips upward, a sudden surge of instinct demanding more, faster. but eddie held you firmly in place, his hands anchoring your thighs to the mattress.
“easy,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, yet saturated with affection. “you have plenty of time for that later, trust me. right now, you just lie there and let me make you feel good, yeah?”
his words were a command, but they were delivered with such tenderness that you obeyed instantly. you forced yourself to relax, to stop fighting the inevitable and instead surrender to it. eddie sensed the shift. he increased his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you in time with the frantic licks of his tongue. he sucked on your clit with a suction that made your vision blur, alternating between slow, languid strokes and rapid, teasing flicks that built a pressure coiling tight at the base of your spine. each kiss, each suckle, brought out an involuntary moan or whimper from your parted lips. he praised every quiver, every catch of breath, every subtle shift in your muscles.
"see? you like that pace," he'd breathe, a triumphant note in his tone. "you’re being so good for me, sweet girl. so patient.”
your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you as the world narrowed down to the slick heat of his mouth and the rough texture of his jeans against your thighs. a low, guttural groan vibrated directly into your core, a sound of pure pleasure that seemed to fuel eddie’s rhythm even more. he didn’t pull away; instead, he leaned into your touch, his tongue flattening out to lap at your swollen clit with relentless, teasing precision.
“i’m gonna—” you whimpered, your voice breaking into a ragged gasp. your back arched off the mattress, your toes curling so hard they ached. the coil inside you was tight, dangerously close to snapping. “eddie, i’m gonna come…”
he hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your entire body, but he didn’t stop. if anything, his movements became more deliberate, more focused on drawing out every last drop of sensation from you. he knew exactly what to do, his instincts sharp and attuned to your reactions. he sucked gently, then flicked rapidly, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick, teasing touches that kept you on the edge without letting you fall too soon.
“yeah?” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “come for me, sweetheart. let it go.”
the command broke the dam. you cried out, your hips bucking despite his earlier warning, but this time he held you firm, his hands like vices on your waist, keeping you grounded while he worked you through the climax. kt started as a deep thrum in your stomach, spreading outward in waves of intense, blinding pleasure. your inner muscles clamped down around nothing, pulsing rhythmically as the orgasm crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.
as the waves began to subside, eddie slowed his pace. he didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he continued to kiss and lick the sensitive, oversensitive flesh, drawing out the aftershocks, ensuring you rode the high of your release for as long as possible. his tongue traced soft, soothing patterns, calming your racing heart and easing the tension from your limbs. you laid there, panting, your hand still tangled loosely in his hair, your body feeling light and electrically charged.
eddie’s grin widened as he slipped his mouth away, the cool night air brushing the heat he’d just left behind. he lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, dark and glinting with satisfaction.
“there we go,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, “look at you, all trembling and beautiful.”
he reached up, his fingers finding the curve of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek. “you did good, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “now sit up for me.”
your limbs felt heavy, but the promise in his tone pulled you forward. you swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, the thin sheets rustling as you shifted. eddie helped you adjust, his hands steadying your hips, his breath warm against your ear.
“we’re gonna take this slow,” he said, his tone both instruction and reassurance. “i want you to feel every inch of me inside you, not just the rush.”
he shifted his weight, his own body aligning with yours. the bed creaked under the new angle, the sound a soft, intimate percussion. he leaned back, his back against the headboard, giving you space to settle onto him. the mattress dipped as you lowered yourself, his length pressing against your core. yiu could feel the faint tremor of anticipation in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as you found your balance.
“okay?” he asked, his eyes never leaving yours, the question hanging like a promise.
you nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and thrill. “okay,” you echoed, your voice steadier than you felt.
he placed his hands on your hips, his palms warm and firm. “you’re in control now,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “ride me the way you want.
you blinked once, twice, before the meaning of his words sank in. control. you were in control now. the realization settled into your bones, filling you with a sense of power and trepidation in equal measure.
his hands remained steady on your hips as you rocked forward experimentally, your body moving on instinct alone. the sensation was unlike anything you'd experienced before—full, overwhelming, the stretch delicious in its intensity. eddie inhaled sharply as you found your rhythm, his grip tightening fractionally on your hips.
“like this," he encouraged hoarsely, his voice strained with concentration as his hands on your hips guided you. "nice and slow."
you nodded mutely, your focus narrowing down to the slide of skin against skin, the drag of muscle against nerve ending. up and down, your hips rolled almost imperceptibly, but the effect was immediate. eddie’s breath grew ragged, his hips canting involuntarily to meet your movement.
“that’s it," he gasped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fought the urge to buck into your embrace. "fuck, you feel so good."
pride blossomed in your chest at his reaction, a fierce joy suffusing your limbs. you leaned forward, changing the angle subtly. eddie’s head fell back against the pillow, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed a strangled groan.
"yeah," he breathed, his eyelids fluttering closed as sensation threatened to overwhelm him. "just like that. you like taking this cock, huh?”
your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark, hooded gaze. the filthy praise sent a shiver through you, your walls clamping down around him reflexively. you let out a soft whimper, the sound catching in your throat as pleasure spiraled through your core.
"mmm, yeah," he groaned, his fingers flexing into your skin. "do that again. squeeze me like that."
you bit your lip, rocking your hips in a circular motion, grinding down against him. the friction sent sparks shooting through your veins, making your head fall back. "eddie!" you gasped, the name torn from your lips.
"that’s it, baby," he panted, his voice dropping to a husky rumble. “ride this cock like you mean it. it’s all yours.”
encourage by his words, you picked up the pace, your movements becoming less tentative and more confident. your hands braced against his chest, using the leverage to lift yourself higher before sinking back down in a deliberate, punishing rhythm.
"fuckkk," he grunted, his hips surging up to meet yours. "your pussy feels so good—god, i can feel you clenching…”
your breath came in short, desperate pants, your chest heaving with exertion. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small trailer, mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your bodies joining. eddie’s hands moved from your hips to your thighs, pushing them apart to expose you more fully to his gaze.
“there," he rasped, his eyes glued to where you took him. "show me how much you love this. show me how badly you need it."
your cheeks burned, but the command sparked something primal in you. you arched your back, rolling your hips in a way that had him cursing under his breath. "i… i need..." you stammered, unable to finish the thought.
"i know," eddie breathed, his thumb finding your clit and circling it lazily. "i know what you need, sweetheart. and you're gonna get it."
the combination of his cock filling you, his thumb working your clit, and his dirty, praising words proved too much.
your movements began to falter, your thighs trembling with exhaustion as you ground down against him. small, desperate whimpers escaped your lips, the sounds mingling with eddie’s ragged breaths.
a knowing smirk tugged at his mouth. "aw, you tired, sweetheart?" his voice was rough, teasing. "tired from riding this big cock?"
you nodded helplessly, your eyes glazed with pleasure and fatigue. "mhm…"
"let me help you, yeah?" he shifted his grip, his large hands moving from your hips to your waist. before you could process the change, he began lifting and bouncing you down onto his length with practiced ease, establishing a rhythm that had both of you groaning.
“oh god!" you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders for support. the sudden increase in speed and force sent shockwaves through your exhausted body, reigniting every nerve ending.
"atta girl," eddie grunted, his hips driving upward to meet your descent. "take every inch of me. you were doing so good, baby. listening to me so well. don’t stop now."
his words fueled what little energy you had left. you matched his movements, pushing down as hard as he lifted you up, the wet slap of flesh echoing through the room. your breasts bounced with each impact, and eddie’s gaze tracked the movement hungrily.
“so fucking pretty," he breathed, one hand sliding up to palm your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. "feels so good inside you."
you were close, so close you could feel the pressure building deep in your core. eddie must have sensed it too. "that’s it," he urged, his voice dropping to a desperate rasp. "come for me again. milk my cock, sweetheart. i’m right there with you."
your nails dug into his shoulders, your entire body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. you heard eddie’s sharp groan as he followed you over the edge, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled into you.
his hips jerked forward one last time, pressing hard against you as thick, hot spurts filled you, each pulse a warm, liquid rush that spread through your core and made your walls flutter around him. you could feel the rhythmic throbbing of his release, the way his cock twitched and softened inside you, sending a lingering heat that mingled with the aftershocks of your own climax. a soft, satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he stilled, his forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling in the aftermath.
his breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours, and for a moment the only sound in the room was the ragged inhale and exhale of two bodies slowly coming down from the high. eddie’s hands, still gripping your waist, eased their hold, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over your skin as he tried to ground himself. he lifted his head just enough to brush his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss—tender, reverent, a silent thank you for the trust you’d given him.
you smiled into the kiss, your lips still tingling from the intensity, and returned it with equal softness, feeling his breath mingle with yours.
when you finally parted, eddie’s dark eyes searched yours, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "how was it?" he asked, his voice rough but warm.
a genuine smile spread across your face, your cheeks flushed and your hair disheveled. "i’d definitely do it again," you answered honestly, punctuating the statement with a soft laugh. "thanks to you being a good teacher."
he chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead. "anytime, sweetheart. anytime."
Description: No one knows what's truly going on between you and Eddie Munson.
Pairing: Rockstar! Eddie Munson x Popstar Princess reader
Author's Note: Might do a part 2 because I love them 💋
The world has no idea about what you and Eddie Munson have going on.
It would be a total surprise if anyone found out.
You're both on two completely different sides of the music world.
You're all glitz and glamour, and he's wild and brazen.
No one expects that you two even cross paths.
"You coming over tonight?" Eddie asks through the phone.
"Yeah. I'll just put a bag over my head for discreetness." You tease, continuing to do your pedicure as you hold the phone to your ear.
"Your body would give the hint everyone's looking for."
"Oh, and what's that?"
"Eddie Munson has bagged a hot woman."
"What if we're 'just friends'?" You joke.
"No chance. The neighbors will have a first count of exactly why we're not 'just friends'."
"You're a total perv."
"You love it. See you later, princess."
You're dressed like a sleuth over your actual outfit when you unlock his door and enter. The moment you're inside, you drop your things and rip off the ridiculous clothes.
"Eddie?" You huff from the weight of throwing everything down. "I would've liked a kiss at the door." You tease.
He's coming down the stairs, shirtless with a cig in his mouth. The stray curls of his low ponytail sway lightly with each step he takes.
"Alright, I'm coming." He chuckles.
The more you admire him, the more you understand why you've written a handful of sexy songs about him.
"You look nice." He grins before placing his cig between his lips to pick up your things. "Come upstairs, you don't have to be shy."
"I'm not shy-"
"Mhm." He teases.
He snuffs out the cig once he puts your belongings on the bed.
"Now…come here."
He lifts you up with a slight grunt right before kissing you. The faint scent of the cig lingers with the mixture of his natural scent.
The scent that feels like home.
He pulls away with a playful smack sound from his lips leaving yours.
"I've missed you like hell."
"I've missed you, too. I've been so…"
"Busy?"
"Mhm. All the album promotions have been tiring me out to hell."
"Sounds like you need some TLC from the Munson meister." He grins.
"Never call yourself that ever again."
"I thought you loved me." He pouts.
"Don't start." You chuckle. "Let me down so I can unpack."
"Yes ma'am. I love when you get all assertive on me." He puts you down, and gives you a butt smack.
DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT — cnc, primal play, uhm... some dub-con if you squint, bondage, the mask stays on, degradation, hair pulling, outdoor sex, blood!! reader is a little dumb and got injured, overstimulation, creampie, dex is taking his job way too seriously
1.3k words...
chased and fucked
you kept on running and running. giggling to yourself as you looked behind you. seeing him just walk after you. you hated that. oh my gosh, he wasn’t even trying. like he already knew how this would end.
so you turned a sharp corner. sprinting faster. putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. your breaths came out in quick bursts. your lungs burned. you ran and ran that you didn’t notice the silence behind you.
you looked over your shoulder. nothing. maybe he took the wrong turn or he lost you? your heartbeat disagreed.
is this how his fucking victims feel?
you swallowed hard before slipping into another narrow alley. trying to catch your breath. then your foot landed on an old can. it rolled loudly across the pavement.
you stumbled. your knees slammed against the concrete and pain bloomed instantly. blood trickled down your skin. “...ow…”
as you looked up, there he was. already standing at the end of the alley. watching. he started walking again. not hurried. not excited. fuck, you don’t understand. every step echoed. you instinctively crawled backwards. which got you more confused because that is literally your boyfriend. why would you be scared?
“dex…” another step. “wait... wait…” closer. “i can’t... my... my knees…” closer. “can we…” he stopped right in front of you. then lowered himself onto one knee. one arm rested lazily over his thigh. his head tilted. like you had just asked the dumbest question imaginable.
those eyes. god.
even if he was wearing his mask, his eyes were so expressive that it made you wonder so many emotions in there. confusion. curiosity. amusement. excitement. excitement?
you couldn’t breathe. you reached for his sleeve. your fingers lightly tapped against his arm. “...please?”
he simply looked at your hand. and back at you.
his hand went to the wound on your knee. tracing the blood. “hurts, baby? want me to stop?”
you were confused by his tone. unsure whether or not he was serious or mocking you. either way, you nodded so stupidly.
“that sucks.” he simply responded. you could see him smiling through that mask from how his eyes lifted up. before you could even respond, his hands went under your skirt and ripped your panties off. well… you did purposely wear a skirt for better access but you did not expect him to just straight up rip your panties off in an alley.
you gasped as you immediately closed your legs. he slapped your thighs and kicked your legs apart. you whimpered in pain. you struggled and tried to push him but he easily caught your wrists together as he took his belt off.
“dex- wait-” you struggled again. groaning as you felt your knees aching and still bleeding.
he couldn’t care less. you hated how that made you wetter. this wasn’t your boyfriend who’s about to fuck you. this was bullseye.
he wrapped his belt around your wrists tightly. he fisted your hair then leaned into your ear. “need you to be quiet for me, pretty girl. can you do that?” his voice was a lot deeper and lower. the way it was slightly muffled by his mask did not help the achy feeling in your cunt. tears well up your eyes at how hard he was tugging. “answer me.” he growled in your ear as he tugged your hair harder. actually making your head yank back a little.
you quickly nodded. “yes… yes, dex.”
he simply nodded back before he unzipped his pants. then pulled his boxer down until his cock sprang out. you’ve never seen him harder before. it made you stare for a moment that you forgot that he was about to put that thing inside you. your eyes just widened and you shook your head as he slowly pushed the head inside.
your aching knee shook. which he noticed and put it on his broad shoulder while leaving the other on the ground.
he pushed further and further until he was filling you completely. more tears fell out because he was really stretching you out. his cock felt different or maybe that’s just because of how he is treating you. then he started thrusting inside. not gentle, not passionate. obviously not.
he was fucking you. absolutely fucking you.
he started at a rough, aggressive pace. the sound of your skins slapping together was so loud that it made you scared that people who are sleeping at this time would wake up to the sound and see what’s happening. which… made you clench tighter around him.
“you like this, huh? you wanna be a dirty whore and get fucked outside? is that it?” he pounded you faster and harder. his cock kept on reaching the deepest spot inside you. your tied hands held onto his arm as he was still fisting your hair. trying to pull away but wouldn’t work. you were too weak.
he turned his head to the side, seeing the blood all over your knees that was slowly dripping down your thigh as he kept it raised on his shoulder. he kissed it through his mask. the blood smudging over the fabric. probably the most romantic thing he’d done to you for the past couple of minutes.
you watched as he kissed down. your face was wet with tears. he stopped holding your hair. and delivered a sharp slap to your face before fucking you harder. your legs instinctively close together… which… was no use to him.
everything was so humiliating. you’re getting fucked in a dark alley and you’re literally bleeding and your cunt is getting stretched and-
“dex- i’m- i’m gonna-!” you panicked and whined. he grabbed your face with his free hand. squeezing your cheeks together. he leaned down further until you could feel his fast breathing against your neck.
“oh i know, sweet girl. i know. come on. be a nasty slut and come all over my cock.” his thrust was getting sloppier. he kissed your tears through his mask. your own blood that stuck to his mask smudged a little on your cheeks.
before you could moan again, you felt yourself cumming all over his cock. shaking and sobbing from the feeling. your legs wrapped around his waist.
he keeps pounding you through your orgasm as he chases his own. you whined and cried from overstimulation. trying to push him but he pinned you on the dirty ground.
he let out a heavy whimper as he came inside you. burying his face on your neck. he pounded slowly as he buried his cum inside you. “oh fuck…” he groaned.
you both panted for a while. then he moved. pulling his cock out and tucking it back inside his pants as he watches you. still sobbing and shaking.
he gently helped you sit up. the moment you were steady, you let yourself melt against his chest with a tired sigh. without a word, he reached for the belt still secured around your wrists. his fingers worked carefully, making sure not to rub against the reddened skin as he loosened it. once it slipped free, he set it aside. his hand came up beneath your chin, lifting your head just enough to look at you. you were smiling.
he let out a long, quiet sigh. “this is the only time,” he murmured. “you hear me?” his thumb brushed lightly over the scrape on your knee before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i’m serious.”
you only smiled wider, eyes soft and entirely unconvinced. knowing that this surely won’t be the last time because all you need to do next time is to bat your lashes at him. it’s that easy.
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contents: anxiety, curse words, friends to lovers. lovesick!eddie, inexperienced!reader, self-consciousness, first kiss, sharing clothes. eddie’s jacket is oversized on reader. can be read as x reader, but a bit oc too? …carnival date.
word count: ~1.5k
eddie munson is in love.
and he’s so sure he’s being obvious about it, but she’s oblivious.
she is entirely inexperienced in anything romantic or sexual; no first kiss, never even got close to it. extremely anxious, but so extremely kind.
some may say she is a bit out of sorts, garrett says she resembles luna lovegood. she doesn’t argue with people, always tears up if confronted about anything, doesn’t have beef with anyone and is a lot more rational than emotional even though she tears up so easily.
eddie admires how she doesn’t hold grudges or care what people think of her… or what others say about her association to eddie himself.
the thing is, she has been introverted her whole life, a very timid person, and so doesn’t understand that eddie munson likes her. maybe because she needs to be told how people feel about her very explicitly otherwise her mind will convince her that they hate her. anxiety is like that. and she’s the kind of person that has a hard time realizing that people can perceive their existence and have feelings for them, no matter what type of feelings, so even though eddie is not at all shy about flirting with her and giving her all of the attention in the world in his over-the-top, overdramatic way, he also knows that if anything other than the friendship he’s thankfully managed to build with her is going to happen, romantic-wise, that she has to be the one to initiate it— but she’s fucking oblivious.
on the other hand though, she doesn’t even bother hiding her infatuation with eddie — it’s a lot more than infatuation by now, if she’s honest.
she’s always looking at him with stars in her eyes and laughs at his jokes and smiles that big, square, goofy smile whenever they lock eyes. the constant praises she sends his way make him flustered in a way eddie isn’t used to.
“you deserve to know how great you are, eddie!” she reminds him, and immediately goes into detailed talks about lord of the rings.
they like many of the same bands or she simply lets him play his favorites for her, followed by accompanying him to hellfire meetings that she loves to spectate on.
her teddy even made her a special edition pink hellfire shirt. ‘cause he’s a simp.
one day, as she’s out with chrissy and heather outside a diner, talking and laughing and catching up, eddie is also close by somewhere with friends. his van is parked nearby.
one day, eddie drives her to a diner to meet up with chrissy and heather while eddie himself meets up with his band at music store next door; his van parked nearby.
it starts getting chilly, and eddie’s girl starts shivering, so she quickly excused herself away from the girls, “gimme a second!” and reaches through the open window of eddie’s van, making a mental note to grill him about it later — “‘cause it isn’t safe, eds!” — to grab his leather jacket thinking of how he has told her over and over that she can borrow it, that “what’s mine is yours, sweets. i don’t mind sharing if it’s with you”, so she figures it’s okay, right? and goes back to the girls who are fucking smirking like they see something she doesn’t.
it’s about fifteen minutes later, and eddie is walking towards the trio, simply because he misses his girl and wants a hug, when he sees it.
she’s wearing his jacket. his jacket.
in typical eddie fashion, he makes a scene— gasping dramatically, he clutches at his chest over his heart and falls to his knees, because fuck what anyone around thinks. his precious girl is wearing his fucking jacket! and she looks like a fucking angel.
“teddy, what are you doin’?”
“do you know how heavenly you look in my jacket? i just had to get on my knees to worship you.”
the boy shuffles closer to his sweet girl on his knees still while he talks and she’s flustered, okay? she’s shy and her face is on fire and she’s covering her cheeks and giggling.
and because it’s eddie, her eddie, she’s not running away to have a panic attack. ‘cause it’s eddie and he’s being sweet, so she can’t focus on anyone else long enough to feel crippling panic or embarrassment. doesn’t even care that chrissy is cooing and heather is smirking.
“that jacket is yours now, you own it. you pretty much own me by now.” eddie says, on his knees, in front of her
“it’s okay that i took it, right?” she makes sure even after his display of joy, ‘cause anxiety isn’t rational “you said i—”
her eddie knows her, though. he stands up, gets real fucking close to her, so close they’re almost touching, with this look of absolute adoration and “i’d give ya everything i have if i could, pretty.”
fast forward a few days later. chrissy kept yapping on and on to the oblivious girl about how “in love” eddie is, but it’s as though her brain won’t let her even entertain the idea.
that is until she’s having a semi-regular quote unquote friend-date with eddie, something they’ve done quite a few times before, and this time they go to the fair. they’re doing everything couples might do, eddie is very aware of this, and he’s over the moon to just be enjoying quality time with his pretty girl until she spots a photobooth, “oh, eds! we have to!” and eddie’s desperately counting coins to pay. the pictures go a little something like this:
after coming up blank with pose ideas, they just look at each other and laugh, but at the sound of his free and bright laugh, she just stares at her boy like he’s a dream come true— the first picture is taken, looking at eddie like he hung the moon while he’s mid-laugh.
eddie notices her staring and goes from loud laughs to breathless ones, a smile on his lips, and whispers a soft “what?”— second picture is taken as the girl quickly presses her lips to his, her very first kiss, and it’s caught on camera.
the third picture depicts eddie’s sweet girl nervously rambling “i was going to ask for permission first, i promise!” while eddie has a glassy, dreamy look on his face, slack jawed, looking at her lips.
and at the fourth snap? eddie presses forward to shut her up with another impossibly soft and tender kiss, both of their eyes are closed and his hand is holding her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
after they part from the second kiss, eddie acknowledges that it was her first kiss, a shy “was that okay?” to which his sweetheart just smiles really big and nods excitedly over and over with a breathless giggle. that was the perfect first and second kiss and she couldn’t ask for more.
they hold hands the rest of the night.
♡
── harmo’s footnotes:
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summary: You're wearing a new pair of shorts and Eddie just can't seem to get his hands off you.
word count: 662
cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, oral (f receiving)
Eddie knows that he's done for as soon as you walk out of the bathroom. You're all getting ready to go to the pool with Vicky, Robin, and Scarlet and he doesn't even hear you ask where the sunscreen is because he's so focused on your shorts. You're packing the pool bag as he gets a better look, shamelessly staring. He knows that they're new. They have to be because he definitely would have remembered them.
He's too busy admiring the way that they hug your ass to hear you speaking to him, calling his name over and over. His eyes are laser focused on it, the way the shorts look like they're made for you. God, he really is a lucky man, isn't he?
"Honey?" You ask and Eddie snaps out of it, shaking his head as he looks you in the eyes.
"Hm?" He's been caught but you don't say anything about it, just giving him a pointed look as you hold your hand out.
"Sunscreen?"
"Right." He reaches for the bottle that's sitting on the bed and passes it to you. When you turn, bending over the bed to put the sunscreen in the bag, Eddie can't help but get a handful. He stands behind you, hands cupping each cheek as he gives it a squeeze. When you let out a squeal, he chuckles as he sticks his hands into your back pockets and spins you around.
"Edward Alan Munson!" He should be afraid of the glare you're shooting at him, but today, he's not. Because today, he's un-phased, wanting to see what you've got going on underneath even though he's very well aware.
"C'mon, sweetheart. You know you can't wear those and expect me to not cop a feel. I'm only human."
"You are shameless."
"And you love it." He leans in for a kiss and you can't help but melt into it, wrapping your arms around his neck. You know that neither of you have time for this since you're already supposed to be leaving, but what's ten more minutes?
One of his hands presses against your back while the other fiddles with button of your shorts. He's able to get them unbuttoned and he's mentally cheering himself on because after all these years, he's still got it. He slowly unzips it, smiling against your lips as you whine because of how long he's taking.
"Gotta be patient, sweetheart," he sing-songs. "Can't rush a good thing like this. I want you to enjoy it."
"You've got five minutes."
"Fine."
"But tonight, you can take however long you want." He grins at the promise before his lips find yours again, more hungry this time. He's so needy for you right now even though it's the worst timing, but did you really think this wouldn't happen when you put those shorts on today?
"You know exactly how to drive me crazy, don't you?"
"Yes!" The last word comes out in a breathy moan as his fingers sink inside, your hands grabbing hold of his shoulders as you push yourself against him. "Fuck, Eddie, more."
He gets deeper, curling his fingers so they hit the right spot and you're already so close, screaming out his name as he sinks to his knees as your bikini bottoms come down, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. You're having trouble standing when his lips wrap around your clit, your fingers threading into his hair.
"I don't know what you're doing, but if you could stop and get in the car, that'd be great!" You hear Gigi's voice on the other side of the door and you both freeze, bodies running cold. For a second, you both forgot where you were and what you were doing beforehand. Eddie pulls away from you and helps you get dressed. And In record speed, you both throw your belongings into your bag and head out into the hall, both giggling, suddenly feeling like teenagers again.
You can find the rest of the "I think I Like This Little Life" universe here!
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summary: You go to a bar after being stood up and really hit it off with the cute bartender.
word count: 2.1k+
It's a really slow night at the bar for Eddie, which really shouldn't be surprising for a Thursday. There's the usual suspects that are here pretty much every day and that damn flickering bulb that he's been meaning to change. A popular rock song plays softly over the speakers as Eddie wipes down the bar, seeing that the time displayed on the clock behind him means that it's almost time to close.
He's whistling along to the song as he continues to wipe everything down, knowing that he definitely needs to mop when he hears a pair of shoes sticking to the floor. And when he looks up, his whistling comes to a stop as he takes you in.
He doesn't know what you're doing here and why you're wearing a dress, but he's not gonna question it. You look out of place amongst the brick wall and heavy metal band posters and he wonders if you had a prior commitment. And just when he thinks you're going to realize that you're in the wrong place, you make your way over to the bar, sitting on one of the stools.
You set your clutch on the bar as you peruse the menu, clearly unsure of what you're going to order. Eddie's trying to keep up with his closing tasks, but he can't keep his eyes off you, trying to psych himself up to take your order. You seem to be eyeing him too and he wonders if the flirty looks are all in his head or if you really mean them. He's still not quite used to the female attention he's gotten since he's left Hawkins and has a hard time deciphering what's flirting and what's being friendly.
"What can I get for you?" He asks as he makes his way over, throwing the towel he's holding onto his shoulder. He's cute with his unruly, curly hair and his smile that you just know makes everyone swoon. In the dim lighting you can barely make out his brown eyes, imagining that they've gotten him out a lot of trouble.
"I was thinking about a glass of wine, but I think I'm gonna go with the-" you cut yourself off, looking down at the menu in front of you. "The Bahama Mama." You're pointing to the radioactive blue colored drink on the menu and Eddie can't help but laugh at that. In the almost year that this place has been open, only a handful of people have ordered the Bahama Mama. They all like the cheap beer or hard liquor.
"Something funny?"
"No, no," he shakes his head. "Coming right up." You watch him mix your drink, wondering what you'd be doing right now if tonight had gone according to plan, but you think you prefer being here with with cute bartender. Even though this is a side of town you don't usually end up on, you don't feel like your in danger here. In fact, this place feels cozy, much like being wrapped up in a warm blanket.
The music playing over the speakers isn't typically something you'd listen to, but you don't mind it. All of the other metal music you've heard has been very harsh on your ears, but this-this is nice. You just know that the bartender controls the music by the way he's singing along as he mixes your drink.
He's not the kind of guy you'd normally be into, but there's something about him that's reeled you in. It's the mysterious air about him that's intrigued you. You can't read his mind and you like that. Too many men have been far too forward with you and if this guy's interested, you have no idea.
"Here you are, one Bahama Mama." He sets the drink in front of you and it's just as blue as the picture, like someone has poured Windex into the glass. He watches you take a sip, smiling when he sees you nod in approval. It's strong but you prefer it. It's been a long night and you deserve a fucking drink.
"Thank you," you pause, waiting to him to give his name.
"Eddie." The name fits him, you think, then immediately wonder if it's short for something or just Eddie. Part of you wants to call him "Edward" just to see his reaction
You give him your name in return and you love the way it sounds when he says it. It sounds so pretty coming from his lips. You have to keep yourself from imagining how it would sound during climax, trying to keep your mind from straying into dirty thoughts territory.
You make small talk as he continues to clean and you sip on your drink. A few of the regulars are still in their usual spots as others have left. It's getting closer and closer to closing time and Eddie really doesn't want to say goodbye to you. You're the most interesting part of his night.
"So, who is this?" You ask, pointing upwards to signify that you're asking about the music. His eyes bug out at the question so you're assuming that you asked the wrong one.
"You're joking," he sputters out a laugh as his hands slam down onto the bar, looking you directly in the eyes. "You've never heard of Black Sabbath?" You shake your head in response. "Ozzy Osbourne?"
"Well, I've heard of them, just never listened to them. At least, not on my own time." He's so used people hating on him for the music he listens to but he appreciates how polite you're being.
"Voluntarily? I can't believe what I'm hearing. You have to be pulling my leg now." He knows you're not and wonders who turned you off of metal. An ex most likely.
"Sorry, metal just hasn't been my thing, but I'd definitely listen to more of this." He can't seem to keep the smile off of his face for the first time tonight. He's not used to talking to customers like this but you're just so easy to have a conversation with. The playful side of him just comes out so easily and he can actually see himself talking to you more after tonight."
"Tell you what, after I close up, we can go upstairs and listening to their greatest hits." You don't usually go home with people you've just met, but you promised yourself you'd get out of your comfort zone. And even though you've just met Eddie, you feel like you can trust him. You fully believe that you're just going to listen to music and that this isn't some ploy to take something from you.
"I'd actually really like that," you nod. It's already 11:30 according to the clock on the wall behind Eddie so you don't have much longer until the bar closes up. You talk about everything and nothing as you help him finish cleaning despite him telling you not to. You don't seem to understand the concept of sitting there and looking pretty which is a damn shame because you're so good at it.
He reluctantly agreed to let you mop the floor, unable to deny that pretty smile you flashed him when you offered. He's pretty sure he'd let you do anything just by seeing the way your lips curl up, showing off your nice teeth. God, he's so easy. You came in here in that fucking dress and charmed him despite your dislike of metal, (he's really going to have to change that) he really wants to get to know you better.
Once the bar is all cleaned up, Eddie takes you by the hand like the gentleman he is and leads you down the hall where the restrooms are located to the door at the very end that's locked. Eddie unlocks it to reveals a staircase that you assume leads up to his apartment. The stairs are very narrow so Eddie makes you go first, so he can catch you if you fall. He truly has no idea how you're wearing those heels, deciding that you have to be a warrior of some type to do it.
You get to the top with no issue and he unlocks the door, opening it for you and letting you in. He's trying to remember if he left it a complete mess before he left but he can't be sure. When he peeks inside, he doesn't see anything wrong until he fully gets through the door and sees the singular bowl in his sink from breakfast. How embarrassing.
You take in the place before you as Eddie turns on the overhead light, the kitchen coming into view as you step inside. It's a small studio apartment, but he's done what he can with the space. You move out of the small kitchen and head into the living/bedroom, his unmade bed taking up most of it. There's a small TV on top of a short bookcase across from the bed. Next to the bookcase is a large stack of books that clearly wouldn't fit and you admire that he likes a read since you know a lot of men don't. And if they do, they're those bullshit shelf help books.
You make yourself at home by sitting on his bed, moving to take off your shoes as he does something in the kitchen. Just when you wonder what he's doing, he comes into the room with two glasses of water.
"Just wanted to make sure you were hydrated after that drink," he says as he passes you one of the glasses which you take gratefully.
"Thank you." You take a few sips then set it on the bed side table to your left before collapsing onto the bed. It's been a long night and the comfort and sheets are so soft that you could just-
"Nice place you've got here," you compliment before you can fully fall asleep. You turn to your right to see Eddie putting on a record and adjusting the volume on the record player that you haven't noticed until now.
"Thanks. The commute to work is really long, though," he jokes and you can't help but laugh. He's got a Black Sabbath album playing just like he promised and when he's got the volume to where he wants it, he makes his way over to the bed and sits next to you but keeps his space.
He wants you to feel comfortable here and really doesn't want to ruin whatever is going between the two of you by not reading the room. You surprise him by scooting closer until your thighs are touching.
"This is a nice dress." He's starting to sweat at his embarrassing attempt at flirting but you seem to be into it with the way that you lean into him, a smirk playing on your pretty lips. He admires the way it flows out, stopping at your thighs, the shade of red popping against your skin.
"Thanks. I actually wore it on a date."
"Did it not go well?"
"Nope. He stood me up." You don't know why you expected anything else since was like pulling teeth to get him to pick a restaurant. It was clear from the beginning that he didn't want to go out with you in the first place so you don't know why you even went through it. Maybe it's just because you're tired of being alone.
"What a dick." Eddie already has a hard time getting dates in the past so he can't imagine just not showing up. He'd consider himself the luckiest guy in the world to be with you. In fact he already does because you'd rather be in his apartment right now than anywhere else.
"Yeah, he was, but all worked out because I'm here with you." Eddie cheeks heat at your words and they're practically on fire when your hand lands on his thigh. It's an innocent touch in this context but it's still burning through his jeans. You lean closer and he closes his eyes in anticipation, only opening them when you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around your waist awkwardly as you scoot even closer.
You've been quiet for a while and when he turns his head, he sees that you've fallen asleep. He can't help but let out a laugh before slowly moving to lay you down on the bed, draping the comforter over you. You look so pretty like this and he turns off the record player and puts the record back in its sleeve to prevent dust from collecting on it.
And as he places a pillow on top of the rug that's going to be his bed for the night, he wonders what you'll think when you wake up. Like when you realize that this was all a mistake like they all do, will you be mean about it, or will you be the sweetheart he knows you are? He guesses that only time will tell.
If you’d like to be added to this taglist or any of my others, feel free to fill out the form pinned on my blog! (for 21+ only and teens/ageless blogs will be blocked!!)
Hiiii! 💕 I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Feelgood by Mötley Crüe, but with Eddie. I feel like the vibe fits him so well, and I’d absolutely love to see your take on it if up to. No pressure at all:))
Thank you for requesting, doll<3. Here you go ❤️🔥💋
Dr. Feelgood
Description: Eddie's a drug you can't get off of.
(Toxic! Eddie x Toxic reader)
You missed the way he swept you off your feet when you first met, how you were practically lost puppies for each other.
You don't understand how a boy who was once so sweet utters such bitter words.
You're not exactly innocent yourself, either. You've had your fair share of poison against him.
You and Eddie just argued again, and you're livid.
You practically demanded your girls to take you to some random party.
Eddie hasn't heard from you for hours, and has to result to asking one of your mutuals where the hell you are.
When he arrives to the party, some guy is all over you. In reality, he's just talking to you and standing close. But for Eddie, that's too close for comfort.
"What are you doing here?" His voice cuts sharply through the conversation.
"Eddie? What the hell are you doing here?"
"…He your boyfriend?" The guy asks.
"Yes, I am."
The guy is intimidated by Eddie's death glare, so he squeezes past you both.
"Who told you I was here?"
"Don't worry about it. Let's go, now."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"It wasn't a question."
You get a whiff of his cologne when he steps closer to you just an inch enough to where you're intimidated by the intensity of his stance.
You brush past him, clearly pissed off.
The moment you get in the van, you slam the door behind you.
Eddie gets in shortly after, and exhales deeply.
"Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
"Didn't know you were worried about me all of a sudden."
"Don't start this shit."
"You can't stand when someone else sees me, do you? Even though you're blind when it comes to me."
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Fuck you." You mutter.
"What?"
"Fuck you."
"You know what? That's fucking enough."
And God, the things he's doing to you makes the van hot and dewy, and your handprints are streaked along the misty windows.
As dirty as it is, it's part of why you always come back. The way he fucks is enough to keep anyone around, and you'll be damned to lose him to anyone else.
"It's 'fuck me', right?"
You can't answer because you're getting fucked out, and he knows that shit. He smirks.
"That's what I fucking thought."
"E-Eddie-"
"Shut the fuck up and open your fucking mouth."
You do as he says, and he spits in it before fucking you rougher.
꒰ wc ꒱ 15k words
꒰ summary꒱ after stalking you for years, dex is completely unprepared for the dizzying reality of finally being invited into your life—your apartment, your bed, your soft thighs opening for him so sweetly that he can barely tell where fantasy ends and addiction begins.
.ᐟ contents |
18+ (MDNI), stalking, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f&m!receiving), pervert!dex, canon!dex, fbi!dex, horny!reader, oblivious!reader, stealing, panty sniffing, panic attacks, mental breakdown, suicidal dex, mentally unstable dex, canon compliant, somnophilia, dub-con, inexperienced!dex, mentioned murder, humping, groping, spit swapping, finger sucking, creep!dex, breeding kink, fluff, dark romance, manipulation, gaslighting, all in dex's pov
.ᐟ lizzy’s note |
this fic has been plaguing my life for the last three months and now im finally free. genuinely just wanted to write smut, then forced myself to create plot leading up to it. trying out a new layout, pls don't burn me at the stake.
at this rate stay tuned for my next dex fic in 2027 <3
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
divider by @uzmacchiato
Dex loved sushi night Fridays.
You two had settled into the routine months ago without either of you ever really acknowledging it. Fridays after work. The same tiny sushi place tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop, the sign flickering like it was running on borrowed time.
Inside was all warm amber lighting and fogged windows, the air thick with rice vinegar and the low hiss of the grill.
The hostess smiled the second you walked in now, already reaching for a menu you never looked at, because you already knew what you wanted, and Dex already knew you’d order it before you did.
You referred to it as your “cheat day,” something Dex privately thought was bullshit. You were always working on cutting back on takeout or “trying to be healthier,” only to cave every Friday night without fail.
But the word cheat implied you were doing something wrong. Indulging something shameful. And he hated the idea of you apologising for your own appetite.
He’d watched the pattern long enough to know it by heart; Sushi Fridays. Thai food on bad days (red curry, extra spicy, no matter how much it made you sweat). Wings—any kind really— when you were too tired to cook… or on your period.
And coffee, too much coffee, all throughout the week, the same two-pump vanilla order from the cart on 47th.
Dex didn’t think you needed to worry about your weight. The thought irritated him every time it surfaced, a low-grade static at the back of his skull. You were beautiful exactly as you were.
If he had things his way, you’d indulge every craving that crossed your mind. Midnight milkshakes. Extra dessert. Those strawberry candies you liked from the bodega near your apartment.
He’d drive across the city at two in the morning if you suddenly decided you wanted dumplings or lemon cake or greasy diner fries.
The restaurant lights caught against your jewelry when you moved, tiny gold hoops glinting near your jaw. Warm light softened everything about you.
Your skin took on a honeyed tone, the shadows beneath your cheekbones gentle rather than sharp. It made you glow in a way Dex had never been able to properly explain to himself.
Like candlelight catching honey, or the last sun ray through a window at dusk.
He watched you pick up another fried roll with your chopsticks, your nose wrinkling slightly when it nearly slipped apart before you got it into your mouth.
That made him chuckle. A sound that died in the hollow of his chest, swallowed by the space between his ribs.
God.
He needed this.
Needed the quiet rhythm of it after the last week spent buried in FBI work. The lies. The noise. Too many voices in his ear, too many meetings, too much time spent orbiting Wilson Fisk and his suffocating shadow.
His apartment never helped either. Too quiet and too still. Silence had a way of making his thoughts louder, the walls pressing in until he had to pace just to feel like he still had room to breathe.
But here, things felt… normal.
Outside, rain poured weakly past the windshield of Dex’s car.
The wipers had been off for a while now, leaving the glass streaked with dried residue. The heater hummed low near his knees, filling the car with dry warmth and the heavy, layered smell of fried tempura, soy sauce, and burnt coffee that had long gone cold in the cupholder.
Across the street, through the fogged window of the sushi place, you laughed suddenly at something on your phone, leaning forward across the table.
Dex smiled before he could stop himself.
He adjusted the takeout container balanced carefully in his lap before it tipped against the console. The plastic lid was beaded with condensation, the heat of the food fogging it from inside.
Soy sauce packets crowded the cupholder beside the coffee and crinkled napkins were shoved messily near the parking brake.
One dumpling had leaked grease through the paper container onto his slacks minutes ago, a dark stain spreading across the fabric near his knee, but he barely cared.
He hadn’t even registered the warmth of it until it had already cooled.
Dex stuffed another piece of sushi into his mouth absently, chewing without tasting, his eyes never leaving you.
The rice was a little dry. The ginger had that sharp, stinging bite that made the back of his throat tighten.
He’d picked up the order right before you came in, timed it so the food would still be warm when he settled into the driver’s seat.
His monocular rested against his thigh for barely a second before he lifted it again automatically. He settled it back against his socket without thinking, the world snapping into that familiar, compressed clarity.
His pulse eased the moment your face sharpened back into focus.
There she is.
Chin propped lazily into your palm now, reading something intently on your phone. A server passed behind you carrying a tray and even distracted, you looked up at him automatically. Sweet and polite.
Warm in that effortless way that still twisted something painfully tight inside Dex’s chest after all these years.
You gave pieces of yourself away carelessly without even realising it. A smile here. A laugh there. A small wave to a regular who held the door for you.
You never hoarded your warmth. It just spilled out of you, abundant and unguarded, and Dex collected every stray drop like a man dying of thirst.
His thumb moved slowly against the steering wheel, tracing the seam where the leather had begun to crack near the top.
This was exactly what he needed after the week he’d had.
Just you and him.
The thought surfaced without permission, settling somewhere deep behind his sternum. He let it sit there as his hand drifted toward the glove compartment without looking away from you once.
The latch gave with a quiet click, and his fingers found the familiar bundle by touch alone, soft cotton folded neatly in the dark, tucked beside his registration and a crumpled gas receipt.
He drew it carefully into his lap, keeping his eyes fixed on your silhouette through the monocular.
The pale fabric bunched lightly in his fist. The lace trim was cool against his palm, delicate, a detail he’d traced with his fingertips so many times that he could map it blind.
Almost absentmindedly, like a man reaching for a cigarette or rubbing a familiar scar, he brought the stolen panties toward his face and inhaled slowly.
The smell hit him in stages. First the faint, clean scent of your vanilla lotion, the one you applied after every shower. Then the warmer note of your shea body oil, the one you massaged into your elbows and knees before bed.
Beneath that, something warmer and distinctly you, something saline and soft that settled low in his stomach hard enough to make his slacks tighten slightly. A familiar, hungry ache that bloomed behind his fly at just your scent.
He held the breath for a long moment, letting it steep in his lungs, before exhaling through his nose.
A small souvenir he’d rewarded himself four months ago, after letting himself into your new loft late one night to make sure everything was secure.
You’d forgotten to latch one of the windows facing the fire escape. Careless sweet thing. The lock had been loose, the frame warped slightly from humidity, and when he’d tested it with his fingertips, it had swung open without resistance.
Dex had fixed it for you before leaving. Tightened the screws on the latch, oiled the track, made sure it would hold.
He’d found the panties in your laundry basket on the way out. A pale blue cotton pair, with a small tear near the waistband that you’d never bothered to mend. He’d slipped them into his jacket pocket before he could think better of it.
Across the street, you laughed again, shoulders shaking lightly this time, your head tipping back just enough to expose the column of your throat.
He exhaled softly through his nose, smiling along with you like he really was sitting across the table
Just you and him.
That was all he needed.
He didn’t know what to think when he saw the newspaper.
For one suspended second, there was nothing. Not anger. Not fear. Not even confusion. Just a sharp, empty stillness, like a pin had dropped somewhere inside his head and every part of him had gone quiet trying to hear where it landed.
Dex had been sitting there for hours, spine rigid, eyes fixed on the bank of screens showing Fisk’s penthouse from every angle. The man himself was visible in one frame, seated at his dining table. Calm and unbothered like always.
Then the paper landed in front of him.
FBI INVESTIGATES ONE OF THEIR OWN.
Agent Kane shifted beside him. “I’m sorry, Dex. This isn’t right,” she said quietly.
He heard her voice, but it came from somewhere far away, as if she were speaking through water. The words landed and dissolved.
Dex stared at the headline until the letters stopped being letters and became just shapes—black ink pressed into pulp, arranged by somebody who didn’t know him, didn’t care about him, didn’t understand anything about what he’d done or why.
The static began to rise. It always started like this, a low hum at the base of his skull, building as the world pressed in.
Around him, the room kept moving. Agents passed behind his chair, their footsteps a rhythmic interruption. Phones rang in overlapping cadences. Somebody laughed too loudly near the elevators, the sound slicing through the air before smearing into everything else, sharp and meaningless.
He could feel them looking at him.
Not directly, none of them were stupid enough to stare. But he felt the glances anyway. The way people looked at car wrecks when they slowed down just enough to see blood but not enough to admit they wanted to.
His jaw tightened. The muscle in his temple pulsed once, twice.
He was being used as a scapegoat.
By the time Winn and Hattley called him into the office, the static had thickened. It filled the room around their fake sympathetic voices.
“We’re going to find out who leaked this,” Hattley said, leaning forward with that practiced look of concern people used when they wanted to seem human.
Dex looked at her mouth while she spoke.
Not her eyes. Her mouth.
The words were too clean. Too prepared. Every syllable landed exactly where she wanted it to, like she’d rehearsed this conversation. There was no surprise in her tone, no real outrage. Just a performance of solidarity.
She was lying.
They all were.
The thing inside him stirred, restless and cold. He pressed it down. But it was harder now, when the structure he’d trusted was cracking around him, when the rules he’d followed were being used to crush him.
It had been the Bureau.
They were throwing him under the bus because someone had to bleed publicly, and it was easier if it was him. Easier because he had no wife waiting at home. No kids. No loud, charming friends in the office to make a scene on his behalf.
Easier because he was useful until he wasn’t, precise until precision made them uncomfortable, disciplined until discipline stopped protecting him from becoming disposable.
After everything, they were disposing of him.
If he followed the rules, he could be normal. He could be safe. Everyone else could be safe.
But the rules had just thrown him away.
“Think of it as a paid vacation,” Hattley said, offering a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
The static in his skull sharpened.
Dex looked down at his badge before he realised he’d already taken it off.
He didn’t remember doing it. His fingers had moved on their own, undoing the clip, sliding the leather folder from his belt.
Now it sat in his palm like something foreign, the gold shield winking at him tauntingly.
His hand didn’t feel like his own when he set it on the desk. The leather made a soft, final sound against the wood. Then the gun. The weight of it leaving him felt wrong in a way that made his stomach tighten sharply.
Badge. Gun. Credentials.
Structure.
Mercer’s voice rose in his head before he could stop it.
Get a job with structure, Dex. Rigid structure. Stay disciplined. Stay useful. Routine is important for you.
Routine. Rules. The job gave him rules. Rules told him what to do. Rules made the edges of the world sharp enough to hold onto. Without them, everything blurred.
Everything bled into everything else. The thing inside him pushed against its cage like an animal scenting an open door.
And now they were taking it away from him like it was nothing.
By the time he reached the hall, the migraine had settled behind his right eye, hot and pulsing. It pressed against his optic nerve, sending thin spokes of light across his vision.
Nausea turned slowly in his stomach, a greasy, rolling sensation that made his throat tighten.
He was aware of his body in pieces. His pulse hammering in his wrists, too fast. Sweat cooling under his collar, the fabric damp and clammy against his neck. The empty space at his hip where his gun should have been.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
By the time he stepped back out into the hall, the Bureau felt wrong around him. Hostile in a way it hadn’t ten minutes ago.
But the air had changed. It pressed against him differently now, thick and heavy, as if the building itself had decided he didn’t belong here anymore.
He walked past an agent he’d worked with for two years. The man met his eyes, then looked away.
Dex’s fingers twitched at his sides.
None of it belonged to him anymore.
Or he didn’t belong to it.
The job was gone. The badge was gone. The rules were gone. And without them, he felt himself starting to come apart at the seams, the threads that held him together snapping one by one.
His breathing thinned. Too shallow. Too fast. The edges of his vision began to grey, just slightly, like someone was turning down the lights from far away.
He needed out.
He needed air.
No.
Not air.
You.
He needed to see you. Now.
The thought cut through the static like a blade. A fixed point in the chaos.
Dex looked down at his watch.
6:17 p.m.
Thursday.
You did your grocery shopping on Thursdays after work because you hated weekend crowds. End of the week, but not the weekend. Practical. Smart.
Sometimes you bought tulips even though you worked at a florist and could probably get better ones for free.
He had never understood that.
He loved that he didn’t understand that.
The Bureau, Hattley, Winn, Fisk, the paper, the headline, the badge sitting on that desk like a dead thing. None of it mattered. Not right now.
Not when his mind was splitting open and the only thought holding him together was the image of you standing under grocery-store fluorescents.
He turned before he’d fully decided to move.
His feet carried him toward the elevator. Each step felt like pushing through water. The walls of the hallway seemed to close in, then expand, breathing with him.
By the time he reached the elevator and pressed the button, his jaw ached from clenching. His hands were steady, but only because he had trained them to be.
Inside, everything was coming apart in small, quiet pieces. Like a dam with a thousand tiny cracks, water seeping through each one, the whole structure holding only by habit and memory.
That was fine.
He didn’t need the badge.
He didn’t need their rules.
He had you.
The drive from the bureau to the grocery store did nothing to settle the storm clawing through Dex’s chest.
His palms were slick against his slacks. He’d just walked in. Empty-handed. Bereft of purpose beyond the single, desperate need screaming through every nerve ending in his body.
Find her. Find her. Find her.
The automatic doors hissed shut behind him, sealing him inside a world of too-bright lights and Muzak and the sharp chemical sweetness of floor cleaner.
His tie felt like it had shrunk two sizes since he’d left the Bureau, the knot pressing against his throat like a noose. He tugged at it once, twice, but it only made it tighter.
The migraine was still there, settled between his eyes like a hot coal. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a steady, throbbing pressure that made the aisles seem to swim when he moved his head too fast.
And Mercer’s voice.
She was there, in the back of his skull, the way she always was when things got bad. But today she wasn’t the steady, grounding presence he remembered.
Her voice flickered and warped, sliding between registers like a broken radio.
Stay calm, Dex. Breathe. You’re okay.
Then, lower, twisted. Freak. Look at you. They threw you away because they saw it. They knew what you were.
His fingers twitched at his sides.
You were supposed to be better than this. All that discipline. And you can’t even—
“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, but the words came out wrong, too loud, and a woman passing with a toddler shot him a strange look.
He didn’t care.
He checked the endcaps, the seasonal displays, the little stand with flowers near the entrance because you liked stopping there.
You weren’t there.
His breathing got thinner, shallower, each inhale less satisfying than the last. A tightness gathered behind his eyes, hot and humiliating, frustration swelling so quickly it scared him.
Not here. Not here. Not—
He crossed the store, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor. He passed a man in a dark coat who frowned at him. He ignored him. He rounded the corner into the makeup aisle and his chest seized.
Empty.
The shelves stretched out before him, neat rows of bottles and tubes and compacts reflecting the harsh light. A woman stood at the far end, examining a lipstick, but she had different hair. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
The frustration crested, crested, broke.
Tears pricked at his eyes, and he blinked furiously against them. His throat closed. His hands shook.
This was stupid.
This was—
Where the hell are you?
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. The pressure helped, briefly, grounding him in pain instead of panic. He counted to ten. Then to twenty.
He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, the way Mercer had taught him when he was thirteen and didn’t know how to exist without breaking things.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. You’re in control, Dex. You’re always in control.
But the voice was quiet now, drowned out by the static.
He dropped his hands and looked up.
There.
The fruit and vegetable aisle. Eight feet away. Your back.
And everything stopped.
The world snapped into focus like a lens being adjusted. The lights dimmed to something bearable. The buzzing of the fluorescents faded to a dull hum.
A shock ran through his system, ice-cold and bracing, like being splashed with water in the middle of a fever dream.
His throat worked. He swallowed once, twice.
He dragged his eyes up, angry at himself and not angry at all. Angry that he couldn’t just walk up to you, couldn’t just be normal, couldn’t just—
His hands were still shaking.
His chest was still tight.
His breathing was still too shallow, too fast, each inhale catching on something sharp lodged in his lungs.
He was still falling apart, and you were right there, six feet away, squeezing pears and humming to music he couldn’t hear, and he couldn’t calm down.
The realisation hit him like a fist to his throat.
If he couldn’t pull himself together now, if he couldn’t drag his shattered pieces back into something resembling a whole person, he was going to have a full mental breakdown with you a few steps away from him.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t.
He stood at the end of the aisle, frozen, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, his heart hammering against his ribs, his eyes fixed on the curve of your spine and the gentle sway of your hips as you moved down the display.
And for a long, terrible moment, he didn’t know what to do.
The word nectarines repeated in his skull like a lifeline.
He didn’t know why that particular fruit had caught his attention—maybe because they were closest, maybe because they were red and blushing and reminded him of the colour your lips had been at the diner.
It didn’t matter. He grabbed one, then another, turning them over in his trembling hands pretending to inspect them.
Three steps away. You were three steps away.
Dex’s shoe scuffed against the linoleum as he adjusted his stance, positioning himself so he could see you in his peripheral vision without turning his head.
Look at something else. Let your eyes find the target naturally. But his eyes weren’t listening.
They kept sliding back to you, hungry and helpless, drinking in the curve of your hip where your sweatpants rode low.
He could smell you.
Estée Lauder. Beautiful Magnolia.
He knew the scent because he’d bought a bottle once, from a department store in Midtown, just to understand what it was that clung to your clothes and lingered in the air long after you’d passed.
He’d sprayed it on his pillow that night and buried his face in the fabric, breathing you in until the noise in his head quieted to a hum.
He inhaled now, deep and long, hoping it would do the same.
It didn’t.
His hands were still shaking. He could see the tremors as he turned a nectarine over, the fruit wobbling in his grip like he’d never held anything in his life.
Just breathe, Dex, Mercer whispered, but her voice was thin, frayed, like a recording stretched to breaking.
We don’t know how this got out, Hattley’s voice cut in, smooth and false, dripping with pity. We’re going to find out who leaked this.
His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
He wanted to hit something. Wanted to drive his fist into the display of nectarines, into the wall, into his own skull if it would make them stop.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
He tried to focus on you. On the sound of your breathing. On the fact that this was the closest he’d been to you in years.
But nothing helped.
The voices swelled. The migraine throbbed. His hands shook. His chest constricted. And he was drowning, drowning, drowning in the fluorescent light of a grocery store—
“Excuse me.”
The world snapped into silence.
Dex’s head shot up so fast his neck cracked. His eyes found yours, and everything in him locked up like a circuit breaker tripping. You were looking at him.
He stared.
He blinked.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The silence stretched, and your smile tightened at the edges, just slightly. You cleared your throat, shifting your weight, the picture of casual confidence.
“I don’t know if this is gonna sound a bit creepy,” you said, and your voice was smooth, rolling, the same voice he’d heard a thousand times in his memory, “but do I know you?”
His heart stopped.
Then restarted at double speed.
Say something. Say something normal. Say something human.
“I—” He cleared his throat. The sound was raw, scraping. He forced a smile onto his face, “I don’t think so.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “No, I do.”
There was no room for argument in your voice. No uncertainty.
He tilted his head, mirroring you. Let his eyes narrow slightly, as if he were searching his memory.
As if he didn’t have every moment he’d ever seen you catalogued and cross-referenced in his mind.
As if he wasn’t memorising the way the light caught in your hair, the faint sheen of gloss on your lips, the tiny beauty mark just above your collarbone.
You snapped your fingers, before pointing to yourself. “I used to work at this diner a few years ago. I don’t know if you know it—Bel Air Diner, maybe?”
He let the pause hang. Let his brow furrow. Let himself pretend, when all he wanted to do was reach out and touch you to make sure you were real.
“Bushwick?” he said finally, his voice steadier than he felt.
Your eyes lit up, and the sensation of seeing that, of being the cause of that light, was like injecting ecstasy straight into his veins.
“Yeah!” You nodded, your smile widening into something that crinkled the corners of your eyes. “The one on the corner of 9th Ave. That’s the one.”
Dex’s breath caught. He swallowed, trying to find his footing, trying to remember how to be a regular person, having a conversation with a woman who had no idea that she was the only thing that had kept him from falling apart for years.
“Yeah,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. “Yeah, I remember.”
“But you don’t remember me?”
Dex blinked at you, the words landing like a slap he didn’t see coming.
For a long, terrible second, his brain seized, caught between the instinct to apologise and the dawning realisation that you were teasing him.
You were teasing him.
The corners of your mouth curved, and there it was, a glint in your eye, a playful tilt to your chin that he’d never seen before.
Not in all the hours he’d spent watching you. You were straightforward. Bold.
In his head, you were soft. Sweet. A little shy, maybe, the way you’d duck your head when a customer thanked you, the way you’d bite your lip when you were concentrating on an arrangement.
He’d built a version of you that was gentle and malleable, a fantasy that existed to be consumed, not to talk back.
“I’m kidding,” you said, after his silence stretched a beat too long. Like you could see him drowning and had thrown him a line.
He hated himself.
The feeling was familiar, worn smooth by years of repetition, but this was a fresh, raw kind of hatred that made his palms itch.
The Dex in his mind, the one he’d imagined a thousand times, would have had a smooth response ready. Would have leaned against the display, flashed a grin, said something that made you laugh.
That Dex was charming. That Dex was normal.
But that Dex wasn’t real. And the real Dex was standing here, sweat beading at his temples, hands shaking.
He scrambled, forcing a smile onto his face that he hoped read as charming rather than manic.
“No, no.” His voice came out too quick, too eager. He reined it in, softened his tone. “I do remember you now. I’m just surprised you remember me.”
You tilted your head smiling, and the movement pushed the apples of your cheeks up. God, you were beautiful.
“Can never forget a handsome face,” you said.
Handsome. She said handsome. She’s flirting with you. That’s what this is. Say something back. This is how it works. So do it.
But his brain was a white-noise void, every thought scattering like roaches in harsh light.
His smile felt brittle on his face, but he held it there, hoping you couldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking.
“Thank you,” he managed, and the words came out rough, almost shy.
He shifted the nectarine to his other hand, wiping his palm against his slacks in a motion he hoped looked casual. Then extended his hand.
“Dex.”
You smiled and told him your name. Like he didn’t already know it. Like he hadn’t whispered it into the dark of his apartment with his fist wrapped around his cock, gasping it into his pillow like a prayer.
Your hand slid into his.
The contact was electric. Your skin was warm, soft, impossibly real against his calloused palm.
He had to stop himself from closing his eyes, from letting the sensation wash over him and drown him.
Every nerve in his body screamed at him to pull you closer, to bring your hand to his mouth and press his lips to your knuckles, to your wrist, to the delicate skin where your pulse beat just beneath the surface.
Instead, he shook your hand once, twice, like a normal person, and let go before he did something he couldn’t take back.
“So, Dex,” you said, drawing his name out just slightly, testing it, like you were deciding whether you liked the way it felt on your tongue.
You had no idea he’d been waiting to hear you say it for years.
“What brings you to the supermarket at—” you glanced at your phone, then back at him, a small smile playing at your lips, “—seven pm on a Thursday.”
Simple question. Normal question. The kind of question one person asked another when they wanted to keep a conversation alive, when they wanted to prolong it.
And you hadn’t even seemed to notice that he had no shopping cart. No basket.
Just himself, standing here in the produce aisle like a man who’d wandered in off the street with no purpose other than to stare at fruit he had no intention of buying.
There was no way he could tell you the truth. That just hours ago he’d been framed by the FBI, scapegoated for an ambush he’d had no part in, cast out of the only identity he’d ever known.
That he’d spent the last hour spiraling in his car, hallucinating voices, pressing a gun to his own jaw before forcing it back into the glove compartment.
That he’d driven here not for groceries, but because your Thursday evening routine was the only fixed point left in his collapsing world.
He couldn’t say any of that.
So he said the first plausible thing that surfaced from the scrambled mess of his brain.
“End of the week,” he heard himself say instead. The words came out rough, but he pushed through. “But way less crowded on weekends.”
You raised your brows, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “So I guess I’m not original at all, huh?”
You were making a joke, and he’d walked right into it and now he was supposed to respond. Laugh. A laugh would be normal. People laughed at jokes. That was the expected behavior. He should laugh.
He made a sound that was supposed to be a chuckle but came out more like a choked exhale, his lips stretching into a smile that felt too wide, too stiff.
“Great minds think alike, I guess.” He tried for laid-back, tried to make his shoulders relax, but they stayed hunched, like he was bracing for impact.
You tilted your head, just slightly, and hummed in agreement.
And then there was a pause.
A little one, at first. The kind of pause that happens naturally in conversation, where one person waits for the other to speak next.
But it stretched. It grew. It filled the space between you like something physical, and Dex felt it pressing against his chest, tightening around his throat.
Say something. She’s waiting. She gave you an opening and now you’re letting it die.
But his mind was a blank wall.
He cleared his throat, the sound rough and too loud in the quiet aisle. “So, uh—” He glanced down at the nectarine in his hand, then back up at you. “You come here often?”
The words landed and he wanted to die. You come here often? That was the line he’d pulled from his brain.
The most generic, cliché, forgettable question in the history of human interaction. The kind of thing a mannequin would say if it were programmed to simulate human speech.
He braced for the look. The one that would say really? delivered with a curl of the lip, a shift of weight away from him. He’d seen that look on women’s faces before, when a man tried too hard or said the wrong thing.
So when you let out a laugh, genuine and surprised, it hit him like a punch to the chest.
You were laughing. At him, maybe, but not at him. With him. Like you found him funny, endearing even. Like his awkwardness wasn’t a turn-off but a joke you were both in on.
Dex felt his face go warm. He rubbed his brow, a nervous tick he couldn’t control, the heel of his hand pressing against his forehead as if he could massage away the embarrassment.
“Yeah, I heard it when I said it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sorry…”
He risked a glance at you through his fingers, and you were looking at him with an expression he didn’t recognise.
You looked like you were trying not to smile and failing, the corners of your mouth twitching upward.
His heart was hammering so hard he felt it in his throat, in his temples, in the tips of his fingers.
“I’ll give you a pass for now,” you said, a smile breaking through fully now.
Dex’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Nothing came out.
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking. “Thanks,” he said again , the word barely above a whisper. “I—I’ll try to do better next time.”
You raised your brows again, but your smile didn’t shift. In fact, it seemed to deepen, the corners of your mouth curling with delight. “Next time?”
The question hung in the air, but to Dex it felt like a tightrope. One wrong step and he’d plummet.
He hoped to God you couldn’t see the sheen of sweat beading on his forehead, the way his pulse was visibly jumping in his throat.
Adapt. You have to adapt. She’s smooth, she’s quick, she’s going to eat you alive if you don’t keep up.
He forced his mouth into something resembling a smile, though it felt more like a grimace on the way up. “You’re the one who said for now.”
And that’s how Dex ended up with your number.
Thirty minutes earlier, Dex had been sitting in his car, the engine off. His spare gun had been in his lap, cold and heavy.
He’d pressed the muzzle against the soft skin under his chin, felt the metal dig in, tasted the copper of a future he’d almost chosen.
His career. His structure. His livelihood. His reputation. All of it gone, stripped away in a single afternoon by people who’d used him and discarded him like a broken tool.
One pull. That’s all it would have taken.
Now, driving home, the streets of New York blurring past his windshield in streaks of neon and headlights, Dex felt something he couldn’t name.
It wasn’t relief, exactly—the weight of what he’d almost done was still there.
But it was layered over with something else, something bright and unfamiliar, like sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm.
He kept glancing at his phone. It sat in the cupholder, screen dark, but he could feel it like a beacon. Your number.
Your number, given willingly, freely, without coercion or manipulation.
The thought made his chest ache, a dull, insistent pressure behind his ribs. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, and let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob.
It was a high he’d never experienced before. And he was terrified of coming down.
He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, cut the engine, and sat there for a long moment, staring at his phone. The screen was dark, but he could still see your face, the memory of your smile burned into his eyelids.
And then his phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a number he didn’t recognise, but the area code was familiar. New York. Manhattan.
He stared at it for three rings. Four. Five.
His thumb hovered over the decline button, but something made him pause. Something cold and familiar, settling in his gut like a stone.
He answered, “Hello.”
“When I was a boy…”
His skin wasn’t buzzing.
It was flaying itself from the bone, a high-frequency current ripping through every nerve ending until he couldn’t tell where the violence ended and his own body began.
The climb back through his window was a smear of pure sensation, the groan of the frame digging into his bruised ribs, the distant wail of a siren that might have been real or might have just been the echo of the screams still ricocheting inside his skull.
He tumbled into the living room, the red suit clinging to him like a second skin of sin and sweat, and the silence of his apartment hit him like a physical blow.
He spared a blank look at the microwave. 2:37 AM.
The high was curdling. The exquisite, crystalline purpose Fisk had injected into his veins was souring into a dense, suffocating fog.
The voices in his head were warping and overlapping, layered with the fresh screams of the people he’d just killed.
They weren’t separate voices anymore. They were a single, roaring static that made his skull feel too small for his brain.
He fumbled at the gloves, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, tearing at the constricting seams.
The helmet followed. The seal broke with a soft hiss of trapped breath, and the cool night air of the apartment hit the raw cuts on his cheekbone and split lip like a strip of litmus paper.
He wasn’t in control. He was a passenger, a ghost haunting a machine made of meat and bone.
The machine moved on autopilot, carrying him across the sticky floor through the debris of his life, toward his closet. His safe.
His fingers knew the combination better than his conscious mind. Beep. Beep. Beep. The door swung open.
Mercer’s tapes.
He reached for them, his fingers brushing the familiar edges, and he could already hear her voice in his memory. She would fix this.
She would rebuild the walls, draw the clean lines of the diagram, soothe the static into structured silence.
He paused.
The tapes felt dead in his hand. Cold. Alien. The thing inside him, that had killed tonight with a terrifyingly genuine grin splitting his face under the mask, revolted.
Structure was a cage. Control was a lie he told himself so he didn’t have to look at the abyss. Mercer’s voice was the voice of a woman who had never existed, a blueprint for a life he had never actually lived.
He didn’t want to be fixed tonight.
He wanted to be real.
He set the tapes down. The plastic clattered against the wood shelf, and the sound was a door slamming shut on his old self.
His body, no longer his to command, drifted to the phone on the nightstand. The screen was a blinding star in the gloom of his apartment.
Before he could rationalise the catastrophic stupidity of it, his thumb pressed the call button.
The phone pressed against his ear. The flat, electric hum of the dial tone filled his head.
First ring. A knife.
Second ring. His breathing turned ragged, harsh stabs of air in and out. He couldn’t control it.
His hand shook, the tremors traveling up his arm to his chest, making his heart rattle against his ribs.
Third ring. Where the fuck were you? The thought was a claw in his chest, desperate and raw, scratched out from the bottom of his fractured soul.
Fourth ring. Despair hit him like a bullet. The rejection he deserved. The silence he was born for.
His thumb was already moving to sever the connection, to retreat into the familiar dark, to let Mercer be the only voice he ever heard again.
The click.
A breath on the other end. The soft rustle of sheets. The sound of someone shifting out of sleep, pulling themselves back to consciousness for him.
A voice, sleepy and warm, cutting through the static in his soul.
“Hello?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His throat had sealed itself shut, his tongue a dead weight.
The buzzing in his head didn’t stop, it changed, shifting from static into a high, thin whine of pure panic.
What the fuck was he doing?
He should hang up. He should hang up right now, pretend this never happened, crawl back to the tapes and let Mercer stitch him back together.
But he didn’t move.
“…hello?”
Your voice again. Groggy, yes, but there was an edge now. Caution. Awareness creeping in.
He could picture you propping yourself up on an elbow, squinting at the phone, trying to place the unknown number glowing in the dark.
He cleared his throat.
“Hi. It’s Dex.”
Silence. Long enough that he felt his stomach drop through the floor.
“From the grocery store,” he added, stupidly. “Earlier today.”
More silence. He counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. His heart was a jackhammer against his ribs, and he was suddenly, acutely aware of how insane this looked.
He had your number for less than twelve hours. He had called you at 2:37 AM. There was no version of this that didn’t make him seem unhinged.
Then your voice came through, softer now, a hint of recognition bleeding through the drowsiness.
“Oh. Guy from the fruit aisle.”
The words were flat, stripped of the teasing lilt from earlier. He winced. He was an idiot.
But he couldn’t hang up either.
“Yeah,” he said, and his voice cracked on the single syllable. He cleared his throat again, harder this time. “Sorry. I know it’s late. I—”
He stopped. Ran a hand through his damp, tangled hair. The words weren’t coming. They never came when he needed them. “I couldn’t sleep.”
A beat. Then, “You call everyone you meet at the grocery store when you can’t sleep?”
There it was. The faintest edge of something, not quite playfulness, but not hostility either. A testing of the waters. He latched onto it like a drowning man grabbing a rope.
“No,” he said, and the honesty slipped out before he could stop it. “Just you apparently.”
The silence that followed was different. Softer. He could hear the rustle of fabric on your end, like you were shifting, settling deeper into the conversation.
“You’re weird, you know that?” you said, but your voice had lost its wariness. There was a thread of amusement in it now.
“I know,” he said. He didn’t even try to deny it.
He could have left it there. Could have apologised again, said goodnight, let you go back to sleep.
But the buzzing in his head was quieter now, drowned out by the sound of your breathing on the other end of the line.
“I was wondering,” he started, and his mouth went dry again. He pushed through it. “If you’re free tomorrow. Or, I guess, today now. For dinner.”
The words came out rushed, jumbled together like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he didn’t get them all out at once.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the rejection.
Another long pause. Then, a soft, breathy sound that might have been a laugh.
“You’re asking me out at three in the morning?”
“Depends on if you say yes,” he said, and the words surprised him. They were smoother than he’d intended, a sliver of confidence he didn’t know he possessed.
Your laugh came through fully this time, quiet and warm, and something in his chest cracked open.
“That’s a good line,” you said. “You rehearse that?”
“No,” he admitted. “I’m kind of making this up as I go.”
“Pretty good for improv.”
He felt the corner of his mouth twitch, almost a smile. “Does that mean you’ll say yes?”
A beat. Then, “Depends on what you’re offering.”
He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His fingers tightened on the phone, grounding himself in the plastic and the warmth of your voice.
“Anything you want,” he said. And he meant it.
Dex prided himself on focus.
It was the cleanest thing he had, the discipline that held the loose pieces of him together. But here, across the table from you, that focus was a dead wire. Useless.
Ten minutes in and he still couldn’t land anywhere. His eyes kept skirting, from the deep crimson painted across your mouth to the sharp neckline of that tight black dress, down to where the fabric pulled across your chest.
He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, forced himself to your eyes instead. The dark liner made them bottomless, pulling at him with every slow blink.
His body was wired tight, locked up like he was bracing for impact. Every breath measured. Every movement too careful.
Terrified of the wrong word, the wrong look, shattering whatever luck had gotten you here.
You took a sip of your wine, watching him over the rim. Then you tilted your head, a smile catching at the corner of your mouth.
“Relax. You’re sitting like I’m gonna jump over this table and bite you.”
The image slid under his skin before he could stop it.
I’d let you, he thought. Anywhere you wanted.
He locked that down, managed a rough chuckle. “Still can’t wrap my head around why you said yes.”
You shrugged, setting the glass down. “Got nothing better to do. Thought I might as well get a free meal with a hot guy.”
Hot. You called him hot.
Then your eyes narrowed. “Unless you’re one of those guys who believe in fifty-fifty for the first date.”
The question caught him off guard. For a second, he just stared at you, his brain struggling to catch up. Then he let out a choked laugh, shaking his head quickly.
“No. No, god, no. I promise.”
“Good.”
Your voice softened into something warm, teasing. You leaned back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass, and the candlelight caught the curve of your smile.
The waiter appeared and Dex grabbed the menu like a lifeline, staring at the words without reading them.
He nodded when you ordered, asked for the same thing. When the waiter left, you leaned forward, elbows on the table.
The neckline of your dress dipped just slightly, and he caught the black lace underneath.
Fuck. Were you doing this on purpose?
“So, Dex from the fruit aisle.” Your voice had dropped, stripped of the teasing edge from earlier. Something warmer now. “Tell me something about yourself.”
His stomach dropped. Just a flash. He pushed it down.
“I’m an FBI agent,” he said. Safe. Simple enough. “Or—was. It’s complicated.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Complicated how?”
“The kind that makes for a bad first date story.” He tried to smile. It came out crooked.
You laughed, and the sound loosened something tight in his chest. “Fair enough. I’ll take a rain check.”
He nodded, scrambling for footing. “What do you do?”
You rolled your eyes and he felt a flicker of panic before you huffed, amused. “Just a florist. Completely boring compared to chasing bad guys, I’m sure.”
There’s nothing boring about you. The thought hit him hard and fast, and he heard himself say it out loud before his brain could catch up. “There’s nothing boring about you.”
You let out a small laugh. “So you do know how to sweet talk a girl.”
He couldn’t hide the blush that crawled up his neck to his ears, burning against the collar of his shirt. “I’m just saying it how I see it.”
“Maybe,” you hummed, “but then again you don’t know anything about me.”
Never had he heard a more untrue statement in his life.
He knew your schedule. Your favourite coffee order. Your comfort shows you loved to binge. Which soap you preferred. Your go to nail colour. How you liked cats and dogs equally.
But he couldn’t say that. So he just looked at you across the table, watched the candlelight catch your eyes.
The food arrived. Steam rose from the plates between them, the scent of ginger and soy cutting through the moment. The waiter said something he didn’t catch.
“Well,” Dex murmured, “I’m hoping to learn if you’ll let me.”
Being here with you was something he had never experienced before.
The night before was a smear of violence but it all felt muted now, distant, like a transmission he couldn’t tune into anymore.
Not with you across the table, your voice cutting through the static in his head.
You kept the conversation easy. When he fumbled an answer or went quiet because his brain short-circuited trying to keep up with you, you didn’t pull back. You just smiled, shifted, let him find his footing again.
Once or twice he found himself wondering why you were even giving him a chance. You could have anyone. Smarter, smoother, someone without the weight he carried.
It made no sense that you’d picked him. Not that he’d let anyone else close enough to try, but the thought still lingered.
Still, there was a weight pressing down on him the whole time. A clock ticking. He felt it sharpest as the check arrived. Signing it, his stomach twisted into a knot so tight it made him nauseous.
The thought of leaving, of stepping into the cold air alone and watching you walk away, hollowed him out.
He could already feel the emptiness waiting. Maybe he’d just follow you home. Watch you through your window. It would be enough to comfort him.
“How are you getting home?” The words came out before he could stop them.
“Walked here,” you said, pulling out your lipstick. “Guess I’ll do the same.”
He watched your mouth as you reapplied it, the careful, practiced stroke of colour. He couldn’t look away.
“Let me drive you.”
You paused, the compact half-closed. Your eyes lifted to his, and he could see you weighing it, the stranger across from you, the risk of letting him know where you lived. The silence stretched. He felt the whole night teetering.
Fuck. He’d done too much. He ruined it. He’d pushed too hard, too fast, and now—
“Okay.”
It hit him somewhere between the Williamsburg Bridge and the mouth of your street, a strange hollow equation he couldn’t solve.
Away from you, the restlessness ate at him, he couldn’t settle, couldn’t quiet the noise inside his head.
But here, with you in the passenger seat, so close he could feel the warmth coming off your skin through the space between them, he wasn’t any better. His body was locked tight, every muscle braced for a mistake he hadn’t made yet.
He couldn’t stop glancing at you while he drove.
His hands were rigid on the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the passing streetlight. You leaned back in the seat, your head tilted, completely relaxed, watching the city slide past the window.
No tension in your shoulders. No flicker of anxiety. Just calm. It made him feel transparent, like you could see every loose wire and frayed thread in his head.
By the time he pulled up outside your building, his heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat, a quick, raw pulse that wouldn’t steady.
How had this happened so fast? He’d spent years wanting you, fantasising about you from a distance, and now that you were here, the wanting had twisted into a kind of fear.
The fear of doing something wrong. Of saying the wrong thing. Of breaking whatever fragile spell had let him into your space tonight.
You turned toward him. Your expression was different now. At dinner, your eyes had been sharp, playful, like a vixen toying with her prey.
But here, in the dim lamplight bleeding through the windshield, your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, and your gaze was wider, softer, something he didn’t have a name for.
“I had a good night,” you murmured.
Dex opened his mouth. His tongue felt thick, useless. “Me too.” It came out pitiful, barely a whisper.
You kept looking at him, waiting. Your lashes lowered, then lifted, like an invitation he couldn’t decode.
He stared back, frozen. Should he get out? Open your door? Walk you inside? He had no script for this, no smooth line rehearsed. His eyes drifted from yours to your parted lips. Red. Soft.
He was still scrambling through the noise in his head for the right move when your hand moved. It slid up the back of his head, fingers threading gently into his hair.
Before he could react, before his brain could catch up, you were pulling him forward.
Your lips met his.
For a long, heavy beat, Dex didn’t move.
His body locked up completely as the reality of your mouth sank in. You were kissing him. The thought cracked through the static in his brain like lightning. You. Kissing him.
Then instinct took over before he could wreck it. His lips started moving, awkward and unpracticed, trailing behind the rhythm you set.
A shaky breath left him, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he relaxed into the warmth of your mouth, the simple unimaginable fact of it.
Until he felt the wet tip of your tongue brush his bottom lip.
He tensed immediately. His eyes cracked open, found yours closed, your face slack and completely lost in it. He parted his lips. Let you in.
The second your tongues met, a raw sound caught in his throat. His cock hardened painfully behind his zipper, a rush of blood that made everything else go distant.
The taste of you flooded his senses, faintly sweet, the slick slide of your tongue against his. His brain went quiet for the first time all night.
Then something inside him snapped.
The careful, terrified version of himself fell away. He had to touch you. Now.
He pulled his hand off the wheel, lifted it. Fingers spread, hesitated. Your hair? Your waist? Your cheek? He had no idea what he was doing. Every option felt wrong, but doing nothing was unthinkable.
His palm landed on your throat before he could decide.
His fingers curved around the column of your neck, thumb settling against the flutter of your pulse. You moaned into his mouth, pleased and approving, and the sound shot straight through his chest. You liked it.
He pushed harder against your mouth, greedier. The hand on your throat tightened fractionally, pulling you closer across the console.
He didn’t care about breathing anymore.
The taste of you flooded every nerve in his body like a drug he’d been starving for his whole life. He’d rather suffocate against your mouth than take another clean breath of empty air.
Your hands found his jaw, and for a split second his brain screamed that you were pushing him away. Too rough. Too fast. He ruined it.
His grip started to loosen, a fresh wave of shame crawling up his throat—
But your fingers dug into his skin and pulled him closer.
The sound that left him was raw, almost animal. Relief and hunger tangled together as you yanked him deeper into the kiss.
Little noises escaped your mouth, muffled against his tongue, and he tried to memorise each one even as he lost himself in the wet slide of your lips.
His hand slid from your throat to your jaw, fingers curling around the bone, tilting your head back as he pushed further into your mouth.
His tongue swept against yours, messy and desperate. He didn’t know what he was doing, he just knew he needed more. He wanted to crawl inside your skin.
Then your palms pressed flat against his chest.
Push.
The separation hit him like cold water. He broke away gasping, and his mouth chased yours before he could stop himself. But you didn’t pull further back.
You caught his lips in soft, quick pecks, barely there, just enough to soothe the ache you’d left behind.
Your mouth brushed against his when you spoke, voice low and rough.
“Do you wanna come up?”
Fuck.
The words hit him square in the chest, then dropped lower, settling hot and heavy in his gut. He was already nodding before his brain caught up, pupils blown wide, lips wet and swollen.
“Yeah,” he breathed against your mouth, “Yeah. Fuck—yes.”
Dex’s pulse slammed against his ribs the second the lock clicked behind him.
Standing in your apartment. He forced his eyes to wander like he was stepping in here for the first time, even as his brain catalogued every detail against the map he’d already burned into his memory.
“Nice place.” The words scraped out of him, rough and distracted.
He tilted his head at the bookshelf, the framed photograph he knew was your mother, the throw blanket draped over the armchair that he’d watched you buy from a street vendor three months ago.
Every careful glance was a lie, but he wore it like a second skin.
“Thanks.” Your voice came from right behind him.
Then your hands were on him again, sliding over his shoulders, turning him around. He went without resistance, boneless under your touch. You pulled him down and met his lips halfway.
Your tongue pushed past his lips and he opened for you like a starving thing.
Your fingers twisted into his hair, yanking his head forward just enough to deepen the angle, and he let you. He’d let you do anything.
You bit his bottom lip, sucked it into your mouth, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily.
His hands began to move. Everywhere. Your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hips.
He grabbed desperate handfuls of your ass, pulling you flush against him, and the heat of your body through that thin dress made his head spin.
You were soft in ways he’d only ever imagined, and his imagination had been thorough, but nothing prepared him for the reality of you pressed against his aching body. He wanted to touch every part of you at once, to map you entirely.
You broke the kiss first, panting, lips slick and swollen. Your forehead rested against his, your breath hot and uneven on his mouth. “I don’t do this often,” you murmured, the confession raw and almost shy.
“I know,” he breathed without thinking.
The second the words left him, he felt you stiffen. You pulled back, confusion knitting your brows. “What do you mean, you know?”
Dex’s stomach dropped into freefall.
His eyes snapped open, panic flooding his veins.
Fuck. Fuck.
He scrambled for a lifeline, his mouth opening and closing before the lie managed to crawl out. “I mean I—I know what you mean. Me too. I don’t—I don’t do this often either.”
You held his gaze for a long moment. The sharpness in your eyes softened, and you snorted, a puff of warm breath against his lips. “You’re so weird.”
Relief flooded him so fast it made him dizzy. Before he could dwell on it, you were kissing him again, swallowing whatever fragile composure he had left.
Your hands guided him backwards. He followed blindly, drunk on your mouth, stumbling until the back of his knees hit something soft. You shoved him. Hard.
He landed on the couch with a grunt, bouncing once before settling, looking up at you with wide, dazed eyes.
Before he could ask, you leaned down, bracing your hands on his knees, and kissed him again. Slow and deep, a thorough occupation of his mouth that erased every thought trying to surface.
He melted into it, his hands finding your thighs, stroking the warm skin exposed by the hem of your dress.
You broke the kiss gently, pulling back just enough that he could see you.
You were on her knees. Between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, your lipstick smudged, your hair loose around your face.
The sight of you there stole the air from his lungs.
“What—what are you doing?” Dex heard himself ask, his voice thin and wrecked, stripped of every layer he hid behind.
You smiled as your hands slid up his thighs, fingers pressing into the muscle.
“Having my dessert.”
Dex’s brain went completely blank when your fingers found his belt buckle. The soft click-clack of it coming undone rang through the room like a gunshot in his ears.
He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, to do something other than lie there like a trembling mess offering himself up to you, but all that came out was a strained, cracked confession,
“Are you sure—you-you don’t have to—”
His hips lifted off the couch cushions anyway.
A complete betrayal of every word coming out of his mouth. His body didn’t give a single fuck what his brain was trying to negotiate.
It wanted you. It had always wanted you.
You didn’t hesitate. You dragged his slacks and boxers down his thighs in one smooth motion, baring him completely to the warm air of your apartment.
He shivered, his cock springing free to slap against his stomach with a wet, heavy sound.
He was already painfully hard, leaking against his navel, the swollen head flushed dark and slick, and the sight of you looking at it made his stomach clench so hard he thought he might be sick.
Your hand wrapped around him like it belonged there. A firm grip that made him grunt, his hips bucking up into your fist before he could stop himself.
The heat of your palm was everything. He watched, completely mesmerised, as your thumb swept across the sensitive head, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there, using it to slick your stroke.
You looked up at him through your lashes, your mouth hovering inches from his tip.
Your breath was hot and uneven against his sensitive skin, and there was a tremor in your voice when you spoke that made his heart stutter in his chest.
“You don’t want me to suck your cock?”
Jesus Christ.
The visual was so fucking obscene, you, on your knees, looking up at him with those wide, innocent doe eyes while your hand worked his shaft and your lips hovered so close he could feel the ghost of them.
He had to lean his head back against the couch cushion and squeeze his eyes shut. He was going to cum just from looking at you.
A soft, dark laugh came from between his legs. “That wasn’t a no.”
Before he could answer, something wet touched him.
His eyes snapped open. He looked down just in time to see your tongue trace a slow path along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.
An embarrassing, needy whimper crawled out of his throat before he could strangle it. His hips twitched, desperate to push into the warmth of your mouth, but he held himself still by sheer, crumbling willpower.
You didn’t stop. You laid a soft, lingering kiss right on the crown, your lips parting just enough to ghost over the sensitive slit before pulling away.
When you looked up at him, your eyes were dark and hooded, your lips slick and parted.
“Keep your eyes on me, Dex.”
He nodded. A dumb, jerky motion. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t trust anything. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You didn’t even have his cock in your mouth yet and he swore he could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, coiling tighter with every second you held his gaze.
His hands fisted in the couch cushions, knuckles white. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a desperate gasp.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, watching in rapt focus as you parted your lips and took the swollen crown of his cock into your mouth.
Your eyes stayed locked on his. You held his gaze as you sank deeper, inch by agonising inch.
The wet heat of your tongue curled around his shaft, the velvet pressure of your cheeks hollowing as you pulled him further into the slick, perfect heaven of your throat.
Every inch you swallowed made his hips twitch involuntarily against the cushions. Every flutter of your lashes made his stomach clench tighter. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t.
Oh, fuck. Your mouth was so warm. So impossibly wet.
The slick slide of your tongue curling around his shaft, the flutter of your throat when the tip pressed against the back of your mouth, he didn’t think anything in this world could feel better than having his cock in your mouth.
He was certain of it. This was the single best moment of his entire miserable life. He was ready to die right here and call it a life well-lived.
You pulled back slowly, dragging your tongue along the thick, throbbing vein on the underside of his cock before taking him deep again with a low moan.
A broken whimper crawled out of his throat before he could clamp down on it. “Fuck—fuck, I can’t—” His voice was wrecked, barely more than a ragged whisper. “You gotta stop—or I’m gonna—”
You just hummed casually against his slick, swollen tip, your breath hot and uneven against his sensitive skin.
“No, no, wait—please, I want it to last,” he heard himself begging, the words tumbling out in a desperate, breathless rush. “I’m not gonna make it—I swear to God—”
You didn’t stop. You just held his gaze with those innocent, wicked eyes and took him deeper.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was so fucking pathetic. Lasting like some inexperienced teenager, his first time all over again.
He tried to think of anything else; baseball statistics, the cold metal of his gun, the layout of the presidential hotel, but it was no fucking use at all.
Every nerve in his body was tuned to the wet slide of your mouth, the curl of your tongue, the soft, muffled gag when he hit the back of your throat.
He squeezed his eyes shut, could feel the frustrated tears prickling hot behind his lids. He couldn’t look at you anymore.
He had to stop himself, had to make this last, but his body was betraying him completely, trembling, arching, pushing deeper into your heat.
You took him back into your mouth in a single, fluid motion. Hollowed your cheeks. Pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his shaft.
And when you swallowed around the head of his cock, pulling him deeper into the wet velvet of your throat, he shattered completely.
“Oh fuck—I’m coming—”
His hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into your throat, feeling you gag around him, feeling your throat constrict and pulse as you swallowed, milking the orgasm out of him.
His release slammed into him like a freight train.
Hot, thick ropes of his come spilled into your mouth, and you swallowed around him, milking every drop, refusing to let him go even as he convulsed through the aftershocks.
His back arched off the cushions. His hands fisted so hard in the fabric he thought he might tear it. His vision whited out completely.
When his hips finally stopped stuttering, when his body went limp and trembling beneath you, you released him with a soft, wet kiss to his oversensitive tip.
The tenderness of it made his chest ache.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he felt himself mumbling, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “That was so fast—I couldn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
His hand came up to cover his face, shame and self-disgust crashing over him in waves.
But you wouldn’t let him hide. You caught his wrist, gently pulling his hand away, and crawled up his body.
Your lips were slick and swollen, your chin wet with him. You cut off his rambling apologies with a kiss, and his own taste flooded his senses. He groaned into your mouth, as your tongue played with his.
You broke the kiss just barely, your lips brushing against his as you murmured, “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He blinked up at you, dazed and trembling. “Yeah?”
You hummed against his lips, a slow, satisfied sound. “And I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”
The words hit him like a spark in a gas tank. The shame, the self-hate burned away in an instant, replaced by an animal surge of hunger.
He looked at you, still dazed, a slow, disbelieving smile pulling at his lips.
He still hadn’t ruined anything yet. He still hadn’t lost you.
His hands found your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. Before you could react, he was moving, wrapping his arms around you and hauling you up with him.
You let out a surprised squeal, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
He captured your mouth in a bruising kiss as he stood, walking blindly toward the hallway where he knew your bedroom was.
Dex lay perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement might shatter the fragile, impossible peace of the moment.
You were curled against him, your back pressed to his chest, your breathing slow and deep, the sound of someone completely and utterly spent.
He had never felt anything like this. Not once in thirty-two years. This is what it feels like. This quiet. This rightness. This terrifying, exhilarating certainty that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Happiness.
His mind drifted back over the hours, replaying the sharp, vivid highlights like a film he couldn’t look away from.
He had learned so much about you tonight. How your breath hitched when he scraped his teeth along your pulse point. How your fingers twisted in the sheets when he found the perfect angle.
You loved being on your hands and knees for him. The first time, he’d followed your lead, sinking into you from behind, gripping your hips so hard he knew there would be bruises.
He pounded into you, watching your body rock forward with every thrust as you cried into your pillows, muffling your pleasure.
But something in him had itched. He hated it like this.
He couldn’t see your face. Couldn’t watch the expressions that flickered across your features when he hit that spot. Couldn’t feel your heartbeat against his chest or taste your moans with his own mouth.
It felt too much like taking, and not nearly enough like having you.
After you came the first time, your body shuddering and clenching around him, he pulled out before you could catch your breath and flipped you onto your back.
He needed to see you. Needed to watch the way your mouth fell open, the way your pupils blew wide when he settled between your thighs.
He buried his face between your legs and drank you in with a need that bordered on worship.
He lapped at your slick, swollen folds until your second orgasm crested, your hands fisting in his hair, your hips grinding against his mouth as you gasped his name into the dark.
By the time your third orgasm rolled through you, he had your legs wrapped high around his waist, his body pressed flush against yours.
He was buried so deep inside you that the world outside the space between your bodies ceased to exist. His nose touched yours. His forehead rested against yours.
He captured your gaze and held it hostage.
“Look at me,” he breathed, the command barely a whisper. “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”
He wanted you to see everything he had felt since the first moment he saw you in that diner. The obsession. The desperation. The hunger that had consumed him for years.
He wanted you to feel it in the way he moved inside you, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of himself directly into your bloodstream.
He knew you probably didn’t understand the full scope of it.
But lying here, in the aftermath, he let himself pretend. He pretended you had been waiting for him all this time. That your body recognised him. That this was always meant to happen.
When he finally let go, he held himself perfectly still, pumping his release deep inside you with a low groan.
He pressed so close that he could feel your heartbeat through his chest, grinding against you as if he could transfer his devotion through sheer physical proximity.
His nose stayed pressed to yours, his lips hovering just over your mouth, sharing the same warm, humid breath.
He whispered things against your lips. Broken things. Beautiful things.
Confessions that would never make sense in the harsh light of day, but here, in the dark, felt like the only truth that mattered.
“Been waiting so long. So long. I fucking worship you. You’re mine. I’m yours. Don’t ever leave me.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He didn’t care. He let himself be cracked open, let you see the raw, jagged edges of him that he had spent a lifetime hiding.
You didn’t answer. You probably didn’t even hear him. Your eyes had fluttered shut, your body going lax and heavy against him.
Lost to sleep. Lost to him.
He smiled against your hair, a real smile that softened all the hard lines of his face. He didn’t need you to answer. Not tonight.
Just having you here, warm and trusting and full of him, was already more than he ever dared to hope for.
The air in the room had cooled, but wrapped around you, he was warm for the first time in as long as he could remember.
Only twenty-four hours ago, he had been suffocating. Bound by rules and routines and the desperate need to keep himself contained.
But Fisk had shattered the cage he kept himself in. He had shown Dex a version of himself that was raw, hungry, and unapologetic. And instead of retreating from the wreckage, Dex had stepped into it.
He had let go of the ropes and the rules and the white-knuckled grip on control. He had chosen himself for the first time in his miserable, constrained life.
And by choosing himself, he had found the path that curved inevitably, beautifully, right back to you.
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. His hand splayed across your stomach, feeling the warmth of you.
I did this, he thought, pride blooming in his chest. I chose this. I chose me. And it led me to you.
Dex buried his face in the curve of your neck, his nose pressing deep into the warm, sleep-soft skin just behind your ear.
He inhaled slowly, letting your scent flood his lungs. You smelled like home—the faint coconut trace of your shampoo, the salt of dried sweat from the hours you had spent tangled together, and something deeper, muskier, that was entirely, irrefutably you.
God. This was unbelievable.
And that was where his next problem laid.
He spared a glance down, past the rumpled sheet that clung to his hips, and saw the unmistakable tent of fabric where his cock had hardened again.
He let out a quiet, shaky breath, his eyes tracing the outline of his own need with a mixture of frustration and irritation.
He couldn’t fucking help it.
He felt like a kid in a candy store. The kid being him, a thirty-two-year-old man who had never known what it felt like to want something and actually get it. And the candy store was you. Access to your body.
The knowledge that he could touch you, taste you, sink into you whenever he wanted, and you would let him. You would want him to.
He had known it would be addictive. He just hadn’t realised how quickly the addiction would take hold, how it would wrap around his nervous system and tighten until he couldn’t think of anything else.
His body moved before his mind could catch up.
Spooned against you, chest to your back, he felt his hips roll forward in a slow, instinctive grind.
The thick length of him slid into the warm cradle between your thighs, pressing against the soft, slick heat of you through the sheet. A low sound caught in his throat, a choked half-groan that he swallowed against your skin.
Fuck. He should let you rest.
He had been so rough with you tonight. Your body had given him everything.You deserved sleep. You deserved peace.
But his cock didn’t give a shit about what you deserved.
Before he could stop himself, his hips rolled forward again, and this time the tip of him nudged past the edge of the sheet, finding the bare, wet seam of your cunt.
He gasped against your shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut. The slide of you against him was obscenely slick, unbearably warm, a friction so perfect it made his toes curl against the mattress.
Shit. You were still leaking him from earlier.
The evidence of what he had done to you was still there, pooled between your thighs, making you slick and ready for him all over again.
He pressed a quick, guilty kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering just long enough to form a silent apology. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just... I need you. I can’t stop needing you.
His hand moved, sliding over the curve of your stomach, tracing the soft dip of your waist before cupping your breast.
The weight of it filled his palm perfectly, the flesh so soft and warm, molding against his fingers like it was made for him. He squeezed gently, then let his thumb drag across your nipple, feeling the peak tighten and pebble under his touch.
A small shift rippled through your body. A subtle arch of your spine. A soft, breathy sound that caught in your throat.
He froze.
Every muscle in his body locked tight. His breath stopped. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he was sure it would wake you on its own. He waited, suspended in the pure terror of being caught.
She’s going to wake up. She’s going to see what I’m doing. She’s going to realise what a fucking creep I am—that I can’t keep my hands off her even when she’s asleep, that I’ve been watching her for years, that I am completely, irreparably obsessed with her.
The seconds stretched like hours.
But you didn’t wake. Your breathing deepened again, settling back into that slow, even rhythm. Your body relaxed against his, soft and trusting and completely oblivious to the war raging inside his chest.
He should have stopped. He should have been grateful for the reprieve, thanked whatever cruel god had given him this moment, and let you sleep.
Instead, he kept moving.
His hips resumed their slow, steady rhythm, grinding against your soaked cunt, the head of his cock sliding through the mess of his own release and your combined arousal.
The sensation was maddening; a wet, slippery tease that promised heaven without delivering it.
His hand stayed on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, feeling the way your body responded even in sleep.
He pressed his lips to the back of your neck, a long, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and skin. His breath came hot and uneven against your nape.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your skin, barely a whisper. “But I can’t... I can’t stop touching you. Every second I’m not inside you feels like I’m wasting time I don’t have.”
His hips rolled again, slower this time, deeper, the blunt tip of him catching at your entrance before sliding away, teasing both of you.
A shudder ran through his entire body.
“Please. Just a little more.”
The words slipped from Dex’s lips against the warm skin of your neck, a prayer offered to himself more than you, a plea for permission he was already taking.
He buried his face deeper into the crook of your shoulder, breathing you in until his lungs ached, and let his hips move.
There was nothing graceful about it. He rutted against you like a man possessed, the thick length of him sliding through the slick heat pooled between your thighs.
The sensation erased every rational thought. There was only you. The need to be inside you again. To own you. To fill you so completely that you couldn’t forget him, couldn’t leave him.
His breath came heavier against your nape, as his hand slid from your breast down to your stomach. He pressed his palm flat against the soft curve of your belly and pulled you tighter against him.
The arch of your back pressed your ass directly against his cock, and a fractured groan escaped him.
That’s when he felt it. A shift in your body. Your muscles tensed, your breathing changed, the subtle alertness of waking. Your voice cut through the dark, rough with sleep.
“Dex...?”
He froze for the span of a heartbeat. Then his hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head back just enough for him to press a kiss to your cheek.
His hips never stopped their relentless grind, his cock catching at your entrance before sliding away again.
“Shhh,” he breathed against your ear. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’ve got you. Just let me stay right here.”
He needed you to stay in that space between dreaming and waking, where you were pliant and accepting and he could pretend his need wasn’t completely out of control.
But you turned your head toward him, your lips parting.
“Dex—”
He couldn’t let you finish. He kissed you, his tongue sliding into your mouth before you could form the rest of the sentence.
And you let him. No, you kissed him back. Your mouth softened under his, your body melting into his, your tongue meeting his with a lazy, sultry rhythm that told him everything he needed to know.
He felt your hand slide down between your bodies, your fingers searching blindly until they found him.
You traced the slick head of his cock, your touch featherlight, and a shudder ripped through him so violently he had to brace himself against the mattress.
“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath ragged. “You want this too.”
You didn’t answer with words. You nudged the tip of him against your opening, a silent direction that drove the last shred of his restraint into the dust.
He answered with a small grunt as he pushed inside.
The heat of you swallowed him whole, and he dropped his forehead to yours, breathing you in. A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips, and your fingers curled against his back.
“Dex,” you murmured again, but this time it wasn’t a question. It was a sigh of surrender. A welcome.
He pressed another kiss to your mouth, before he began to move.
He tried to start slow. He tried to savour the sensation of sinking back into your slick heat. The attempt lasted only a handful of careful thrusts before the hunger surged through him.
His strokes turned hard and punishing. The rhythm of his hips fell into a desperate tempo that rocked the mattress beneath you, the steady thump-thump-thump of the headboard keeping time with the wild beating of his heart.
His hand slid up from your hip, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach, your ribs, before curling around your throat.
You looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, your pupils blown wide, your lips parted around soft, broken ah-ah-ah sounds that spilled from your throat with every deep thrust.
He leaned down, his mouth hovering over yours, and deliberately let a thick string of saliva fall into your open lips. He wanted more of himself inside you.
More of his taste, his mark, his presence seeping into every crevice of your body.
A low, guttural groan rumbled up from his chest as he watched you swallow it without hesitation, without question. Your throat worked under his palm, accepting him, taking him in, and the sight nearly sent him over the edge.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips, his balls slapping wetly against your ass as he drove into you harder. “You liked that, didn’t you? Touching you while you were asleep. Groping you. Fucking you like I own you.”
Despite the dazed pleasure softening your features, despite the way he was fucking the very thoughts out of your head, you still had the audacity to smile.
That slow, lazy, knowing curl of your lips that had haunted him since the first time he saw it. You hummed a soft, satisfied, “Uh huh.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, a fractured sound against your cheek.
He hooked your thigh higher over his arm, opening you wider, sinking deeper into your perfect, willing heat.
Your voice came out in fractured moans, but there was a teasing edge to it. “’S fucking hot. Knew you were a freak the second I saw you.”
Dex couldn’t help it. A laugh cracked out of him, low and disbelieving, pressed against the warmth of your cheek.
Here he was, balls deep in the object of a years-long obsession, and you were calling him a freak like it was the highest compliment.
The laugh faded into a shuddering exhale as he shifted his angle, driving into you with hard, deep thrusts that pushed the air from your lungs and left you gasping beneath him.
He wanted to leave a permanent mark on your soul. He wanted your cunt to remember the exact shape of him, the exact weight of him.
He wanted the memory of this night imprinted so deeply into your body that you would feel the ghost of him every time you closed your thighs.
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, breath ragged and hot.
“I’m gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”
Your response came as fractured, desperate moans, words swallowed by the rhythm of his hips driving into you.
Without breaking pace, his hand moved. Two fingers pressed against your lips. You opened without hesitation, taking them into your mouth just as you took every part of him.
He pushed them deep, curling them against your tongue in perfect time with his thrusts, a double rhythm that had you moaning around his knuckles.
The sight of you like this; mouth full of him, cunt full of him, eyes glassy and fixed on his face, pushed him to the edge. He could feel the tension coiling tight in his gut, the familiar ache building at the base of his spine.
He was seconds away from coming. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He needed you there first.
With a wet gasp from you, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva breaking between his skin and your lips. His hand dropped without hesitation, finding your clit.
He rubbed fast, precise circles against the swollen bud, his own rhythm faltering as he poured every ounce of focus into your pleasure.
His eyes locked onto your face. He watched every micro-expression. The furrow of your brows, the way your lips parted on sharp, punched-out breaths, the flutter of your lashes as pleasure overtook you.
You looked up at him, dazed and pleading, and he nodded like a man possessed, a dumb, frantic motion that matched the speed of his fingers.
“C’mon,” he breathed, the words cracking. “Let go f’me. Let go, baby.”
And you did.
The orgasm hit you like a wave, your back arching, your mouth opening in a loud moan. Dex felt it, the way your cunt clenched around him, choked him, milked him.
The sensation ripped a loud, guttural groan from his chest, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. He closed his eyes, the world going white, and let himself go.
Deep, pulsing spurts of cum filled you, and he thrust into you with every wave, pushing himself as deep as he could go, holding himself there, making sure every drop stayed inside you.
When it was over, the room was filled with nothing but harsh, shared breaths.
He collapsed against you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. He made no move to pull out. No move to let you go. He stayed buried inside you, as close as flesh could get.
“Jesus Christ,” you murmured in a daze, the words barely a whisper.
The silence that followed was a dangerous thing. It let the thoughts back in. The insecurity. The horrible, gnawing fear that he had done too much.
He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, hiding, breathing you in until his lungs ached. His voice was rough, muffled against your skin.
“Too much?”
A beat. Then your hand, slow and heavy with exhaustion, slid into his hair. You laughed, soft and drowsy.
“No.” A pause. “By all means... keep me in your basement if you want.”
Dex’s eyes snapped open.
The joke hung in the air, clearly just a sleepy, affectionate jab. But he didn’t hear the joke.
He heard the offer.
Having you to himself. Forever. In a place where no one else could touch you, see you, take you. A place where you were his, every single moment of every single day.
And if you wanted it... if you offered it up with that same trust you gave him your body, your mouth, your cunt...
Then why the fuck wouldn’t he do it?
He lifted his head slowly, looking down at your face. You were half-asleep, lips curved in a soft sex-dazed smile. You had no idea what you had just given him.
His voice dropped, quiet and raw. Completely serious.
“Yeah?”
Your lashes fluttered. You hummed, already drifting back into sleep, but the sound was an affirmation. A yes.
His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His thumb traced your cheekbone, and when he spoke, the words were a vow pressed against your lips.
“Then I’m never letting you go.”
a/n | dex feeling absolutely blessed and a surreality of being seen and chosen by you, meanwhile reader is just a youngho and overly horny
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summary: You go to a bar after being stood up and really hit it off with the cute bartender.
word count: 2.1k+
It's a really slow night at the bar for Eddie, which really shouldn't be surprising for a Thursday. There's the usual suspects that are here pretty much every day and that damn flickering bulb that he's been meaning to change. A popular rock song plays softly over the speakers as Eddie wipes down the bar, seeing that the time displayed on the clock behind him means that it's almost time to close.
He's whistling along to the song as he continues to wipe everything down, knowing that he definitely needs to mop when he hears a pair of shoes sticking to the floor. And when he looks up, his whistling comes to a stop as he takes you in.
He doesn't know what you're doing here and why you're wearing a dress, but he's not gonna question it. You look out of place amongst the brick wall and heavy metal band posters and he wonders if you had a prior commitment. And just when he thinks you're going to realize that you're in the wrong place, you make your way over to the bar, sitting on one of the stools.
You set your clutch on the bar as you peruse the menu, clearly unsure of what you're going to order. Eddie's trying to keep up with his closing tasks, but he can't keep his eyes off you, trying to psych himself up to take your order. You seem to be eyeing him too and he wonders if the flirty looks are all in his head or if you really mean them. He's still not quite used to the female attention he's gotten since he's left Hawkins and has a hard time deciphering what's flirting and what's being friendly.
"What can I get for you?" He asks as he makes his way over, throwing the towel he's holding onto his shoulder. He's cute with his unruly, curly hair and his smile that you just know makes everyone swoon. In the dim lighting you can barely make out his brown eyes, imagining that they've gotten him out a lot of trouble.
"I was thinking about a glass of wine, but I think I'm gonna go with the-" you cut yourself off, looking down at the menu in front of you. "The Bahama Mama." You're pointing to the radioactive blue colored drink on the menu and Eddie can't help but laugh at that. In the almost year that this place has been open, only a handful of people have ordered the Bahama Mama. They all like the cheap beer or hard liquor.
"Something funny?"
"No, no," he shakes his head. "Coming right up." You watch him mix your drink, wondering what you'd be doing right now if tonight had gone according to plan, but you think you prefer being here with with cute bartender. Even though this is a side of town you don't usually end up on, you don't feel like your in danger here. In fact, this place feels cozy, much like being wrapped up in a warm blanket.
The music playing over the speakers isn't typically something you'd listen to, but you don't mind it. All of the other metal music you've heard has been very harsh on your ears, but this-this is nice. You just know that the bartender controls the music by the way he's singing along as he mixes your drink.
He's not the kind of guy you'd normally be into, but there's something about him that's reeled you in. It's the mysterious air about him that's intrigued you. You can't read his mind and you like that. Too many men have been far too forward with you and if this guy's interested, you have no idea.
"Here you are, one Bahama Mama." He sets the drink in front of you and it's just as blue as the picture, like someone has poured Windex into the glass. He watches you take a sip, smiling when he sees you nod in approval. It's strong but you prefer it. It's been a long night and you deserve a fucking drink.
"Thank you," you pause, waiting to him to give his name.
"Eddie." The name fits him, you think, then immediately wonder if it's short for something or just Eddie. Part of you wants to call him "Edward" just to see his reaction
You give him your name in return and you love the way it sounds when he says it. It sounds so pretty coming from his lips. You have to keep yourself from imagining how it would sound during climax, trying to keep your mind from straying into dirty thoughts territory.
You make small talk as he continues to clean and you sip on your drink. A few of the regulars are still in their usual spots as others have left. It's getting closer and closer to closing time and Eddie really doesn't want to say goodbye to you. You're the most interesting part of his night.
"So, who is this?" You ask, pointing upwards to signify that you're asking about the music. His eyes bug out at the question so you're assuming that you asked the wrong one.
"You're joking," he sputters out a laugh as his hands slam down onto the bar, looking you directly in the eyes. "You've never heard of Black Sabbath?" You shake your head in response. "Ozzy Osbourne?"
"Well, I've heard of them, just never listened to them. At least, not on my own time." He's so used people hating on him for the music he listens to but he appreciates how polite you're being.
"Voluntarily? I can't believe what I'm hearing. You have to be pulling my leg now." He knows you're not and wonders who turned you off of metal. An ex most likely.
"Sorry, metal just hasn't been my thing, but I'd definitely listen to more of this." He can't seem to keep the smile off of his face for the first time tonight. He's not used to talking to customers like this but you're just so easy to have a conversation with. The playful side of him just comes out so easily and he can actually see himself talking to you more after tonight."
"Tell you what, after I close up, we can go upstairs and listening to their greatest hits." You don't usually go home with people you've just met, but you promised yourself you'd get out of your comfort zone. And even though you've just met Eddie, you feel like you can trust him. You fully believe that you're just going to listen to music and that this isn't some ploy to take something from you.
"I'd actually really like that," you nod. It's already 11:30 according to the clock on the wall behind Eddie so you don't have much longer until the bar closes up. You talk about everything and nothing as you help him finish cleaning despite him telling you not to. You don't seem to understand the concept of sitting there and looking pretty which is a damn shame because you're so good at it.
He reluctantly agreed to let you mop the floor, unable to deny that pretty smile you flashed him when you offered. He's pretty sure he'd let you do anything just by seeing the way your lips curl up, showing off your nice teeth. God, he's so easy. You came in here in that fucking dress and charmed him despite your dislike of metal, (he's really going to have to change that) he really wants to get to know you better.
Once the bar is all cleaned up, Eddie takes you by the hand like the gentleman he is and leads you down the hall where the restrooms are located to the door at the very end that's locked. Eddie unlocks it to reveals a staircase that you assume leads up to his apartment. The stairs are very narrow so Eddie makes you go first, so he can catch you if you fall. He truly has no idea how you're wearing those heels, deciding that you have to be a warrior of some type to do it.
You get to the top with no issue and he unlocks the door, opening it for you and letting you in. He's trying to remember if he left it a complete mess before he left but he can't be sure. When he peeks inside, he doesn't see anything wrong until he fully gets through the door and sees the singular bowl in his sink from breakfast. How embarrassing.
You take in the place before you as Eddie turns on the overhead light, the kitchen coming into view as you step inside. It's a small studio apartment, but he's done what he can with the space. You move out of the small kitchen and head into the living/bedroom, his unmade bed taking up most of it. There's a small TV on top of a short bookcase across from the bed. Next to the bookcase is a large stack of books that clearly wouldn't fit and you admire that he likes a read since you know a lot of men don't. And if they do, they're those bullshit shelf help books.
You make yourself at home by sitting on his bed, moving to take off your shoes as he does something in the kitchen. Just when you wonder what he's doing, he comes into the room with two glasses of water.
"Just wanted to make sure you were hydrated after that drink," he says as he passes you one of the glasses which you take gratefully.
"Thank you." You take a few sips then set it on the bed side table to your left before collapsing onto the bed. It's been a long night and the comfort and sheets are so soft that you could just-
"Nice place you've got here," you compliment before you can fully fall asleep. You turn to your right to see Eddie putting on a record and adjusting the volume on the record player that you haven't noticed until now.
"Thanks. The commute to work is really long, though," he jokes and you can't help but laugh. He's got a Black Sabbath album playing just like he promised and when he's got the volume to where he wants it, he makes his way over to the bed and sits next to you but keeps his space.
He wants you to feel comfortable here and really doesn't want to ruin whatever is going between the two of you by not reading the room. You surprise him by scooting closer until your thighs are touching.
"This is a nice dress." He's starting to sweat at his embarrassing attempt at flirting but you seem to be into it with the way that you lean into him, a smirk playing on your pretty lips. He admires the way it flows out, stopping at your thighs, the shade of red popping against your skin.
"Thanks. I actually wore it on a date."
"Did it not go well?"
"Nope. He stood me up." You don't know why you expected anything else since was like pulling teeth to get him to pick a restaurant. It was clear from the beginning that he didn't want to go out with you in the first place so you don't know why you even went through it. Maybe it's just because you're tired of being alone.
"What a dick." Eddie already has a hard time getting dates in the past so he can't imagine just not showing up. He'd consider himself the luckiest guy in the world to be with you. In fact he already does because you'd rather be in his apartment right now than anywhere else.
"Yeah, he was, but all worked out because I'm here with you." Eddie cheeks heat at your words and they're practically on fire when your hand lands on his thigh. It's an innocent touch in this context but it's still burning through his jeans. You lean closer and he closes his eyes in anticipation, only opening them when you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around your waist awkwardly as you scoot even closer.
You've been quiet for a while and when he turns his head, he sees that you've fallen asleep. He can't help but let out a laugh before slowly moving to lay you down on the bed, draping the comforter over you. You look so pretty like this and he turns off the record player and puts the record back in its sleeve to prevent dust from collecting on it.
And as he places a pillow on top of the rug that's going to be his bed for the night, he wonders what you'll think when you wake up. Like when you realize that this was all a mistake like they all do, will you be mean about it, or will you be the sweetheart he knows you are? He guesses that only time will tell.
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Written for the third of the @steddiemicrofic 3rd year anniversary celebration prompts, micro | WC: 555 | Rating: E | CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI insecure!Eddie, body worship, mention of scars, oral sex, orgasm delay/denial, cum eating | Tags: Post-S4, semi-established relationship
Steddie masterlist | General masterlist
Eddie feels like he's under a microscope. It's a sunny afternoon, and he's never been examined in such detail before. Ordinarily he'd be uncomfortable, squirming under such close scrutiny. What if they dislike his body? What if the more they see the less they want? What if they somehow uncover his true self? What if they run…?
But today, Steve's inspecting every curve of muscle, every crease, every inch of skin, every freckle, inked line and perceived imperfection. And all Eddie can do is lie there and take it.
They've hooked up a few times, albeit hurriedly. Eddie’s van, the break room in Family Video, midnight at Skull Rock. Always mostly clothed, or somewhere dark enough where Eddie doesn't care. So it's a new feeling, being this naked, this… open with someone.
He allows Steve's eyes and fingers and mouth to travel wherever they please, over sharp bones and spindly limbs, second-rate and half-decent tattoos, all his scars, his very being. Lets him lick and stroke and suck and sigh, focusing only on the experience and sensations, ignoring the niggling apprehensions about what Steve might be thinking or feeling and trying to believe the muffled murmurs that sound like he can't bear to leave Eddie’s skin,
“My god, Eddie. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
Steve's mouth skims over the uneven, pink flesh of Eddie’s chest. Humming, he sucks the peaked flesh of his remaining nipple past his lips. Eddie whines, gasps, hands grasping his own hair, trying to ground himself while Steve’s attention moves down his stomach and happy trail and he mumbles,
“And you taste… mmm… so fucking good.”
Soft skin slips around his cockhead, and Eddie hisses as Steve slurps his smeared precum like its manna itself before wet heat suctions around him. Eddie jerks and bucks, Steve's broad palms holding his hips static as he swallows him down.
Eddie writhes and moans, finally yielding to the restraint, and suddenly he's succumbing to the bliss of Steve's mouth embarrassingly quickly. He grunts unintelligible warnings as his balls tighten and abs tense, and his hot spend pulses forcefully into Steve's receptive throat.
Breathing heavily, he lifts his head to watch Steve sit back on his heels, groaning as he swallows Eddie's seed. He's accustomed to them having quick hookups, and anticipates Steve'll leave now, but Steve's heavy, lidded eyes lock to Eddie's. He dips to lick a wide stripe along his softening length, suckling gently at the head to garner every drop of release, Eddie’s cock twitching valiantly even as he shudders with overstimulation.
Hands squeeze his hips affectionately before sliding up his sides, and Steve continues watching, assessing, examining until their lips connect. Eddie tastes his tongue, himself mingled with Steve's unique flavour, and now Steve's exploring every crevice of his mouth, tongue mapping the roof and dragging around his teeth. Eddie registers Steve's hard member rutting against his damaged thigh as his mouth moves to Eddie’s jaw, hairline, earlobe, his large hands still exploring every location he can reach.
And unexpectedly, Eddie realises this isn't an examination. It's a proclamation. Of adoration. Of addiction. Of love.
And if Steve ever decides to crack him open and examine his soul and psyche with similar microscopic scrutiny? After today, Eddie thinks that prospect might not be quite so frightening after all.
you're constantly testing him, fliting around the apartment doing chores in panties that leave very little to the imagination, and a thin white top that outlines the sensitive buds of your nipples. he just can't help but chub up in his sweats, palming himself and getting all embarrassed when you smile at him sweetly over your shoulder.
he literally whines when you bend over to pick up a sock under the couch, a damp spot from your slick seeping through your lace panties. "baby..." a deep red flush makes its way up his neck, tinting all the way up to the tips of his ears.
"what's wrong, dex?" you furrow your eyebrows softly in faux concern, walking over to him and rubbing his bicep gently, putting on that innocent act that he stupidly believes. he really thinks he's the pervert here, you've got him wrapped around your finger.
a bit later, he's taking an important work phone call, nodding along to the men on the other line. you come right along and flop down on the couch next to him, swinging your bare legs so they're resting in his lap. he gives you a small smile, his face a tinge of pink. big warm hands come up to rub at the fat of your calves tenderly.
what he doesn't expect is you hooking your fingers in the hem of your crop top and pulling it up just enough so that your tits are spilling out, on full display right in front of his face. his breath hitches, blushing like a fool and his hands gripping his phone so hard you're surprised it hasn't broken. he stutters over his words, tripping over each syllable and trying to ignore the way he's literally throbbing in his boxers. he's so hard, he feels like he could cum from a gust of wind! unfortunately, that's the type effect you have on him. poor baby has to go through the phone call eyes locked on your tits and his mind hazy.
it's not until he has to hop on a zoom call that he finally breaks. hes sitting at the kitchen table listening to others speak about something that sounds important, but you just can't help yourself.
you slide under the table and smile up at him through his legs, rubbing his thighs up and down. he had just gotten his dick to go down from earlier, and now you're getting it up all over again! his eyes flick between you and the screen, clearly not sure where to place his attention.
you go to palm at his clothed cock, stroking the already leaking shatt through his sweats and enjoying the way he tries to weakly push your hand away, no matter how bad he wants it. he's just looking down at you and shaking his head, squirming and trying to take hold of your wrist, whispering little sorry's.
he can't take it anymore when your fingers find the waistband of both his pants and boxers, tugging at it like you're going to suck him off right there. he quickly turns his camera off and his mute, dragging you out trom under the table, making you yelp in suprise. he's just apologizing the whole time, he gets you on the bed and starts rutting into you desperately, pathetic little whimpers falling from his lips.
he truly thinks you could do no wrong, like he's the one who's being a creep. it's fun to test him because no matter how far you go, he'll still think you're just his angel.
📞·˚ ༘ ┊͙ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve never had a problem commanding male attention. you used it to your advantage, and eddie munson always had the best seat in the house. but when a glam metal band rolls into the rotting quiet of hawkins, you’re drawn to the lead singer, and eddie realizes he’s done watching from the sidelines. how much longer will it take before his jealousy eats him alive?
𝓞𝓡 , eddie fucks you in the bathroom of the hideout out of jealousy and pent-up love.
⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: myspace/2000s era, inspired by jennifer’s body, not proof read + kinda rushed, lime green jello, kind of sexualized reader, eddie’s a reassuring sweetheart, kind of yearning tbh, smut, dirty talk, meanish eddie???, lots of teasing, fingering, p in v, orgasm denial???, creampie (DON’T DO THIS), semi-public sex ig, porn with some plot, blah blah blah!!!
“come on! pretty please? you never go!”
“because it’s stupid. hell no, i’m not going.”
but all it took was a pout of your lips before eddie sighed and gave in.
“fine. alright, i’m going.”
you squealed and bounced up and down, eddie’s eyes flickering down to your chest through your low-cut long sleeve. you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, his hands immediately going to your waist to steady you through your excitement.
“thank you! don’t forget to get a ticket.” you said with a wide smile, effortlessly charming. you were already leaving, but that didn’t stop his gaze from following your figure and the sway of your hips.
he shook his head and turned his attention back to his locker, putting his wired earplugs into his ear. he raised the volume of his ipod, slipknot violently playing at loud volume.
you cornered him at his locker when you begged him to come to the pep rally. you were cheering—one of the cheerleaders had come down with mono, and they needed a last-minute replacement: someone who could do the routines and dance well enough to get the crowd going. you fit the bill, even if it was just one performance before the original girl came back.
still, you were excited. eddie never got to see you dance, unless it was in his trailer when you danced to some pop punk group he only tolerated when you were around.
in the gym, the energy was loud and disruptive. loud music was playing—some song you liked, but eddie didn’t. “im not gonna teach him how to dance with you” by black kids. after your routine, your eyes scanned the bleachers for eddie, until you eventually found him sitting with steve and a couple of his other friends.
you smiled excitedly, waving a pompom at him. he waved back with a softer smile, mouthing, “this song sucks.”
you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of ever since i was a little girl.
you flashed a charming smile at the crowd, waving your pom-pom—completely oblivious to how spellbound eddie was as you soaked up the attention.
1! i’m biting my tongue!
you never once noticed how eddie would freeze mid-motion, utterly lost in you.
2! he’s kissing on you!
“you’re totally in love with her.”
3! oh why can’t you see?
steve’s comment made eddie whip his head around quickly, his curls flying. “what? she’s my best friend.”
steve mocked him with the wave he did earlier, making eddie roll his eyes and turn back to look at her.
the pep rally crowd was still buzzing when you slipped away to find eddie, the tinny screech of some metal band leaking from his earbuds. you ignored the stares that followed you, your fingers tracing the heart-shaped pendant he'd given you for your birthday last summer. but when your eyes caught a few of the guys watching, you let your gaze linger—just long enough to flash something flirtatious.
“hey, vamp.”
“what’s up, slayer?” he shot back, meeting your eyes with a playful grin.
“you and me are going out tonight.” you said teasingly as you leaned against the locker beside him, leaving no room for questions.
“yeah? why tonight?”
“because twisted vixen is playing at the hideout,” you replied. “they’re this new glam metal band from the city. i saw their myspace page, and the lead singer is extra salty.”
you moved closer to his locker to fix your hair in the small mirror he hung up inside. “plus, there’ll be some salty chicks out there for you too.”
he stared at you, not convinced. he wasn’t interested in anybody else. and he didn’t want to spend his friday night watching some poser slip his tongue down your throat.
you met his gaze after realizing how quiet he was. you pouted slightly, leaning back against the locker again. “come on, eddie.”
“i promised my uncle i’d watch a movie with him tonight. he’s not getting any younger, y’know—“ total lie.
you rolled your eyes with a soft groan, clearly not caring in the slightest. “boo, cross out eddie.” you said as you x’d him out with your finger.
you squinted at him, watching his reaction as if challenging him to say no. he sighed with a small smile, knowing he couldn’t refuse.
“what time is the show?”
you smiled victoriously. “pick me up at 8:30. i’ll send you their myspace page when i get home.”
he hummed in response, clearly not thrilled.
your eyes dragged over him slow, from the fall of his long hair past his shoulders to the scuffed toes of his boots. his leather jacket, his hellfire shirt soft and faded, his baggy jeans that slung low. and every inch of him—the skull belt, the spike bracelets, the worn-in smirk—made you want to look longer. you found him attractive. you’d never said it, but you'd never been subtle about it either.
and he noticed. it got him off more than he wanted to admit, knowing that you found him more attractive than most men that hit on you.
“wear something hot, okay?”
“okay.”
and with that, he watched you go. he swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your flirtatious gaze made him feel. why did you have to tease him like that?
when he got home, he greeted wayne before heading off to his room. he immediately got on his computer, opening myspace so he could see what you sent him. and there it was. the page of the glam metal band you wanted to see that night. the leader singer was definitely attractive. he thought the guy on the drums might’ve been more your type, but girls like you don’t go out with drummers.
a notification popped up.
vicious_vamp: r u jerking off to it? <3
he rolled his eyes, clicking it before his fingers moved to type on the keyboard.
x_gargoylegrim_x: i’m good. js disappointed ur wasting ur time on that
vicious_vamp: omfg wtv h8r!!! >:( what r u gonna wear?
x_gargoylegrim_x: idk… maybe my dio shirt
vicious_vamp: ew no!!! that’s so 80s
x_gargoylegrim_x: :(
x_gargoylegrim_x: it’s literally a glam metal show tho :( ppl might look 80s
vicious_vamp: still??? ur not bagging anything with that.
vicious_vamp: wear the black tank or smth. it looks hxc!!!
x_gargoylegrim_x: u js like it cuz it shows off my arms
vicious_vamp: yup!!! <3 gtg xoxo
he chuckled as he watched you go offline. he got up from his desk and went over to the closet, picking out the blank tank you wanted him to wear. you were right—it did make his arms look good, thanks to the late hours at the mechanic shop.
when he picked you up, you were wearing a strapless mini dress in a bold leopard print. over the dress, you layered an oversized black leather aviator jacket, heavily lined and trimmed with a thick, plush beige faux fur along the collar, lapels, and cuffs.
around your neck, you wore a layered combination of a thick black leather choker adorned with silver metal studs and the longer, delicate silver chain heart pendant. your legs were styled with a black leather thigh garter featuring metal o-rings and buckles, worn over sheer, distressed black thigh-high stockings that had horizontal rips and a faded, textured pattern.
he let out a low whistle as you got in the passenger seat.
“all that for the singer?”
“it won’t be on too long, don’t worry.” you added cheekily.
that made his heart clench, but he ignored it. he pulled out your driveway and started heading towards the dive bar.
the hideout was a remote bar, located between an abandoned steelworks and a fallow cornfield. surprisingly, the inconvenient location became an advantage. it attracted a handful of regular alcoholics (such as drunk sam who frequently hit on you despite your age) and it became profitable to high schoolers engaging in lurking activities.
beverly, a five-foot tall woman with maroon-dyed hair, owned the bar. her “fifty-cent beer nights” were always a hit at attracting new customers. but she didn’t really pay attention to who the alcohol got served to, meaning you and eddie—along with other juniors and seniors that frequented the place—got to drink without getting in trouble.
when you and eddie entered the bar, the bouncer wrote x’s on your hands in black sharpie. you scanned the place, noticing it was more packed than usual. definitely louder too.
there had been a lot of fights inside the bar, so a lot of the windows were bricked up. it was also pretty dark, but the neon lighting helped. the wooden stage they had was also in poor condition. you had seen eddie perform there with his band, corroded coffin, on tuesdays. he tripped on stage once, and you never let it go.
“maybe andy will trip too.” you teased, making eddie groan.
“it was a one time thing. and andy? seriously? you’re on first name basis with this guy now?”
“i did a little digging,” you admitted with a shrug. “found no girlfriend, too. it’s always been a dream of mine to date a rockstar.” you added playfully, shooting him a wink.
it felt like an arrow to the heart. “wow, okay. you’re looking at one right now and yet you’re wasting your time on this asshole.” he murmured.
“they’re bigger.”
the double meaning wasn’t lost on him. “i doubt that.”
you hummed, your eyes briefly raking over him again before you looked at the stage. he noticed, looking at your face a little longer before following your gaze. the band was setting up, and he saw the guy you were looking for.
andy. he almost scoffed. his voluminously long, blonde hair was spiked up and he was wearing large, dark sunglasses even though it was dark inside. there was no reason to look “cool” if there was a risk of tripping on stage. he was wearing a sleeveless black leather top and a heavily studded leather belt, along with multiple silver studded bracelets and wristbands. his left arm was also extensively covered with large, detailed, colorful tattoo sleeves.
eddie was jealous. extremely jealous. he knew the guy was attractive, and he knew you could have anybody that you wanted. plus, it was a fucking glam metal band. of course some band members are gonna look to sleep around.
“i think they need a groupie.”
he sighed, already feeling overwhelmed. “sweetheart—“
“come on! come with me. it’s just a guy, eds.”
“i’m a guy.”
you rolled your eyes. “i know, but you and i both know that guys are very easy to manipulate. morsels. girls have all the power, y’know.”
before he could say anything, you proved your point by cupping your boobs through your dress.
“these are like smartbombs. you point them in the right direction and shit gets real!”
you walked away and headed for the stage, his jaw dropping momentarily before he followed after you.
he could already see the bassist’s eyes on you, his eyes widening slightly. he mentally cursed at himself for coming. he was just going to torture himself.
you got their attention pretty quickly when you introduced yourself. “hi.”
the lead singer looked up from his amp, setting his guitar down. he gave you a charming smile—one that made eddie’s blood boil, because he knew it was fake.
“hey. i’m andy. these are the guys. daniel, beck, and karl. we’re—“
“twisted vixen,” you finished for him with a smile. andy looked back at the guys in slight surprise that you recognized them. his ego looked like it inflated a little. “yeah, i’ve heard about you guys. you play your instruments really… super good.” you said, looking up at him with that practiced doe-eyed expression eddie had seen you use countless of times.
and andy was falling for it. “thank you. we are professionals.” he said proudly, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. you caught that and you couldn’t help but bite your lip.
meanwhile, eddie felt like he wanted to vomit.
“yeah, we just wanted to meet you. i’m eddie munson. my girlfriend here is a big fan.”
you looked back at him with a glare. andy raised an eyebrow.
“girlfriend?”
“he meant girl that’s a friend,” you murmured, turning back to him. “we’re platonic with a capital p, trust me.”
eddie nodded, his jaw tight as he stuck his hands in his pockets. andy looked relieved, and that made him want to punch him.
desperate to lighten the mood up again, you spoke. “can i, um… can i buy you a drink?” you asked coyly, batting your lashes.
andy smirked. “sure, what are we having?”
“um, they have coors, pabst blue ribbon, bud light, jack and coke, off-brand pop, and some vodka. i wouldn’t recommend the pbr, though.” you admitted with a chuckle.
“thanks for the tip, doll. i’ll have what you usually get.” he said, his voice dripping with smooth charm.
“i’m boring,” you said sheepishly. “i get a jack and coke.”
andy remained unfazed. “a jack and coke then.”
you smiled, nodding. “i’ll be right back.”
andy went back to his bandmates as you turned to leave. eddie got in your way before you could head to the open bar.
“woah, hey. how are you gonna get alcohol?” he asked, a little concerned.
“get real. you know bev doesn’t give a shit on who’s buying.”
“i’m well aware. but i’ve never seen you buy.”
your eyes weren’t even on him when he called out your lie. they were just at the open bar, looking at the bartender with the glint in your eye that sparkled when you were already planning something. “uh… i don’t know, i’ll just play hello titty with the bartender.”
you moved passed him. eddie sighed, wanting to kick himself. you were clearly focused on getting with andy, and eddie knew he had no chance of talking you out of it. to busy himself, he went over to the pinball machine.
while he was there, he ended up hearing some of the band’s conversations.
“not a lot of lookers out there, honestly.”
“yeah, there is. that girl in the faux coat was the hottest one though.”
eddie’s jaw tightened.
“relax. that one is andy’s girl. you know how he gets when you try sharing.”
“pfft, right. she’s only gonna be his girl for one night. you know he can’t get over his old lady, darla.”
eddie’s hand paused on the machine. andy had a wife.
“divorced. it was some thing that happened after they graduated highschool. now he’s 24 and lookin’ to score!”
“kinda sick though. the girl looked young.”
“well, you know he likes virgins.”
eddie heard enough. he felt sick to his stomach.
he left the machine and walked up to the stage again.
“hey. where the hell is andy?”
the band looked taken aback by eddie’s hostility.
the bassist, daniel, spoke up. “he went out back to smoke in his van before he performed. why—“
“okay,” eddie cut him off sharply. “so then give him a message for me when he gets back. that’s my best friend you guys were talking about, and it doesn’t matter whether she’s a virgin or not. she’s not gonna sleep with a creep like him regardless. got it?”
they all nodded immediately and eddie walked away, determined to find you.
he met you halfway when you were coming back from the open bar, holding a tray of two jack and coke drinks.
you lit up when you saw him. “hey! i ran into drunk sam back there. started hitting on me again. but he ended up buying me the drinks so i guess—“
“those guys are rank, sweetheart. just forget about it.” he informed with a sigh, clearly annoyed.
your brows furrowed in confusion. “what? i think the lead singer totally wants me.”
“only because he thinks you were a virgin. i heard them talking.”
now you were offended. “what?! i’m not even a backdoor virgin.”
he didn’t know whether to groan or laugh.
“and by the way, that hurts! i couldn’t even go see your band play here the next day. i had to stay home and sit on a bag of frozen peas.” you mumbled sadly.
“oh my god,” he exhaled, his patience wearing thin. still, he chuckled at how blunt you were with him. you were always pretty comfortable sharing your sex life or bad date experiences with him. “i definitely remember.”
you huffed. “well, what am i supposed to do with these now?” you looked down at the tray.
eddie shrugged. “more for me and you, i guess.”
still, your eyes trailed over to the stage when andy came back. the other members were talking to him, glancing their way at the table you and eddie were at. andy met your eyes, and you waved. he waved back, but it was almost hesitant.
“well, maybe it’s fine. he’s not gonna know the difference, right?”
eddie stared at you. “sweetheart—“
“don’t lecture me, eds.”
“i’m not lecturing you. i’m just saying he has a wife.”
now your eyes snapped back to him. “what?!”
“well, sort of. he’s divorced.”
you groaned softly. “oh my god, you’re terrible at telling me things. why don’t you just start off with that?”
“because it’s common sense to not sleep with a 24 year old. and now i just told you he has an ex-wife,” eddie snapped. “you’re better than that, honey. you just demean yourself to that level ‘cause you’ve become rather comfortable with it.”
you paused, knowing he was right. it didn’t soften the harsh impact of his words, though.
his eyes softened as he read your hurt expression.
“look, i’m sorry—“
“no, it’s fine.“ you murmured, setting the drinks down on the table beside you. “watch the drinks. i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
his mouth opened to speak but you were already gone.
he sighed, deciding to grab one of the drinks and take a sip as he waited for you. the band was gonna start soon. he didn’t care if they were bad or good. he just wanted to take you home and make sure you were away from those misogynistic pricks. they had no right to be in the metal scene when they were targeting young girls like that, no matter how common it was.
you came back after a couple of minutes, your makeup touched up a little more than before. eddie got off the table he was leaning on.
“hey, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to be hard on you,” he said immediately, his tone gentle and sincere.
you looked a little surprised but you shook your head. “it’s fine, eds, really—“
“no, i’m gonna settle this right now, okay? i didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. that’s the last thing i want to do. i just… don’t like seeing you object yourself like that,” he admitted. “you’re so much more than your body, sweetheart.”
you paused, genuinely moved by his words. nobody had ever said anything like that to you before, especially in such a sincere way like eddie just did.
“thanks, eddie. that really meant a lot.” you admitted.
he smiled, but before he could speak, andy came up to your table.
“hey, i was wondering where my drink was.” his tone was provocative, deliberately alluring.
“oh, here.” you said with a smile, handing him the drink eddie didn’t touch.
andy took a long sip, his eyes locked on yours in almost a predatory manner. when he was done, he sighed. “i needed that.”
eddie watched the interaction between you two, focusing on your face. you were clearly hooked again, completely forgetting everything he told you.
“we’re gonna start in a bit. it’s mostly covers, but we were planning on sharing a few originals afterwards.”
“that’s amazing.” you said almost dreamily.
“uh huh. you can come to the front, if you want. invite your friend too.” andy met eddie’s eyes with a smirk. eddie glared at him.
“yeah! for sure!” you jumped at the opportunity. andy got ahold of your hand, leading you to the front. you looked back at eddie and mouthed, “sorry!”
he rolled his eyes. he was so done, but he needed to stay in order to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. he followed you both with his drink still in hand until andy reached the front. he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it before he got on stage, making you giggle softly. it pissed eddie off.
eddie stood next to you as the band started playing—loud and energetic. they were getting the crowd going with their cover of “girls, girls, girls” by mötley crüe. you bobbed your head to the beat, occasionally glancing at eddie to playfully mouth the lyrics. he cracked a slight smile, finding the sight endearing.
since i was born, they couldn’t hold me down.
when that song finished, they began playing “youth gone wild” by skid row. you held his hand tightly. you knew that was one of eddie’s favorites. you squealed softly, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
another misfit kid, another burned out town.
you winked at him as you mouthed the words to eddie.
“this song reminds me of you, y’know!” you said loudly over the music.
“really?!” he shot back.
you nodded. “you just kinda have that charisma to you!” you explained. “it’s hot! i’m surprised you haven’t used it on anybody yet!”
you turned your attention back on the band but eddie’s eyes stayed on you. he swallowed, your words affecting him more than he wanted to admit.
“i guess i’m too busy using all of it on you.”
you heard him as your eyes met his for a brief moment.
“yeah?”
“mhm.”
the energy between you two shifted into something tense. it made you feel a little uneasy, but in a thrilling way. even the room seemed to dim around the edges. you could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes didn't leave yours. for a moment, everything else fell away. there was only the two of you, and the sharp, electric thread that now ran between your bodies—crackling with everything unsaid.
but the moment was cut short when andy spoke into the microphone.
“this one goes out to a very special lady that distracted me tonight. she’s in the crowd right now, actually.”
andy met your gaze, shooting you a wink.
a couple of whistles erupted from the crowd.
“this is cherry pie by warrant.”
you looked starstruck as the opening riff ripped through the speakers. eddie had enough. he dropped your hand like it burned him and disappeared into the crowd. you watched him go, confused, then glanced back at the stage. the band was still playing, but there was obviously something wrong. you turned and followed him to the bathroom.
there, you saw him leaning against the wall as he lit up a cigarette.
“eds? are you okay—“
“don’t give me that shit,” he muttered through the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes not even looking your way. “not tonight.”
you blinked. “excuse me?”
"we do the same thing every time.” he let the smoke drift from his lips, slow and deliberate—his eyes meeting yours. the cigarette dangled between his fingers as he pointed it at you. "you flirt with me. then you disappear with some asshole for a couple hours. then you come back and tell me all about it, like i’m supposed to enjoy the show."
the words hit you somewhere unexpected. you’d never seen him like this—that sharp edge in his voice, the way his jaw tightened around the words. he wasn't teasing. he wasn't deflecting with a joke like he always did.
the realization settled over you slowly, like heat creeping up your neck.
"are you jealous?"
he went still. so still that the only movement was the smoke still escaping his lips. the silence stretched long enough that you thought he'd laugh it off, make some crack, change the subject. that’s what eddie always did.
but he didn't.
"yeah." he nodded, once, almost like the admission cost him something. "i am."
your breath caught.
you’d always figured eddie found you attractive—every guy did, and you'd learned to read that look early. but this wasn't that. this was something raw and unguarded, the kind of honesty that only came out when someone was tired of pretending. every late-night phone call, every time he'd drove you home, every joke that landed a little too soft—it all reframed itself in your mind, each memory clicking into a new shape.
you stepped closer. the space between you collapsed until you could feel the heat coming off his skin, smell the mingled traces of smoke and leather. your hands came up to fix the collar of his jacket, straightening the lapels just to have something to do with them.
“why didn't you tell me?" your voice came out softer than you intended. silkier.
you saw the way his throat moved when he swallowedz
"dunno. i didn't think you were interested." his eyes dropped to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, before snapping back up.
you let out a quiet hum, low in your throat. "well." you tilted your head, letting him see the way your gaze traced the shape of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw. "you were wrong."
his breath hitched. you felt it—the way his chest stopped mid-rise, the way his fingers twitched like he was restraining himself from reaching for you.
“yeah?" the word came out rough, barely above a whisper.
"yeah." you let your fingers trail down from his collar, grazing the edge of his collarbone before resting flat against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm—fast, uneven, nothing like the cocky confidence he wore like armor. "you ever think that maybe i tell you about those guys because i’m trying to make you jealous?"
his eyes widened. just slightly. just enough.
"that’s a dangerous game to play, sweetheart." but the old playfulness was gone from his voice. what replaced it was something tender and uncertain, like he was holding the words carefully, afraid they'd break.
"is there a risk that comes with it?”
for a long moment, neither of you moved. the bathroom was silent except for the muffled music coming from outside. the smoke from his forgotten cigarette dissolved into nothing between you.
then, eddie put his cigarette out on the sink beside him before turning his attention back to you. the tension was intensifying with each passing moment the two of you didn’t speak.
then he broke.
his mouth crashed into yours—not gentle, not tentative, but deep and claiming, like he'd been holding this back for so long the dam had finally shattered. there was hunger in the way his lips moved against yours, a desperation that made your knees go weak. you gasped against his mouth and your hands flew up, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer like you couldn't get enough.
he walked you backward, step by stumbling step, until your spine hit the edge of a stall door. his hand found the lock, twisted it, and then you were inside, the door swinging shut behind you. he pressed you against the wall—harder than expected—and a sharp moan slipped out as the cold metal dug into your back.
"shit—sorry," he breathed against your lips, his hand sliding to the small of your back to cushion you. "got carried away."
“‘s okay,” you panted. “i’ve had rougher.”
he groaned against your mouth in between kisses. “that’s not what i want to hear right now.”
“yeah? you scared you’ll disappoint?”
you were just egging him on at this point, trying to see how far you could push him. It was your favorite game with eddie—toeing the line, watching that flash of something dark flicker behind his eyes before he laughed it off and changed the subject. uou'd been doing it for years, ever since you realized how easy it was to get under his skin.
but tonight, he didn't laugh it off.
his hand slid from your back to your hip, fingers curling into the fabric hard enough to pull a sharp inhale from your lungs. he pulled back just far enough to look at you—really look at you—and the heat in his gaze made your stomach flip.
"disappoint you?" his voice dropped, low and rough, scraping against something raw in your chest. he tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his lips, but there was nothing playful in his eyes. "sweetheart, i’ve listened to you complain about guys who couldn't find a clit with a map and a flashlight. you think i haven't been taking notes?"
your breath caught. "eddie—"
“i’ve sat through," he continued, leaning in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "every single story. the way you like it their hands roam, the way you like kissing during it. especially tonight with that asshole you were drooling over tonight, andy." he said the name like it tasted bitter. "you think i don't know exactly what you like by now?"
then his mouth was on yours again, but slower this time, deliberate. his hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist. you gasped into his mouth as he pressed closer, and he used the opening to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours with a confidence that made your head spin.
he pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours. "when i’m done with you," he murmured, voice rough as gravel, "you're gonna forget andy’s name entirely. you’re gonna forget every single one of them." his hand squeezed your thigh, firm and possessive. "and when you walk out of this bathroom, everyone's gonna know exactly who put that look on your face."
you arched into him, fingers twisting in his hair as his hand slid from your thigh, tracing the edge of your dress. his palm flattened against your hip, then drifted lower, fingers splaying over the fabric, pressing into the warmth between your legs.
he groaned against your throat. "jesus christ."
you knew exactly what he'd found. or rather, what he hadn't found.
"you’re not wearing any underwear?" his voice was strained, like he was holding onto the last thread of his composure by the tips of his fingers. he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and wild. "you came to a show, dressed like this, and you didn't even bother with panties?"
you bit your lip, trying to look innocent. "it’s more comfortable."
"comfortable." he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "you’re trying to kill me."
"am i succeeding?"
instead of answering, he pressed his palm harder against you, a firm, deliberate pressure through the thin fabric of your dress. your breath hitched, hips bucking instinctively into his hand.
"yeah," he murmured, "you're succeeding."
his fingers curled, finding the hem of your dress, and he dragged it up, inch by agonizing inch, until the fabric bunched around your waist. the cold air hit your bare skin, and you shivered, but the heat of his gaze was enough to set you on fire. he looked at you—spread open for him, nothing between you and his touch—and his jaw went slack.
"holy shit," he breathed. "you really meant it."
“did you think I was lying?"
"i didn't know what to think." his thumb traced a slow, featherlight line up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you ached for him. "i’ve been trying not to imagine this for years. failing, obviously. but still trying."
you bucked your hips instinctively, chasing his touch, and he clicked his tongue.
"uh-uh. patience."
"eddie, i swear to god—"
"swear all you want." he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I’ve waited a long time for this. i’m gonna take my time."
you let out a frustrated sound, grabbing his wrist and trying to guide him, but he was stronger than you, holding steady, that infuriating smirk back on his lips.
"please touch me," you finally gritted out.
"where?"
"eddie."
"say it," he said, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "i want to hear you say it."
you swallowed, your pride warring with the ache that was building low in your stomach. but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made it easy to let go.
"i want you to touch my pussy," you whispered, continuing. "right there. please."
he didn't make you wait any longer.
his fingers slid through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, a low groan escaping his lips at the feel of you. "fuckkk," he breathed. "you’re so wet. is this all for me?"
you could only nod, your head falling back against the wall as his middle finger found your entrance, circling once before pressing inside. the stretch was perfect—just enough to make you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"yeah?" his voice was rough, strained. "that good?"
"d-don’t stop."
he didn't. he pushed deeper, curling his finger just right, and your vision went white at the edges. he added a second finger, stretching you slowly, giving you time to adjust, and the sound you made was embarrassingly desperate.
"look at you," he murmured, watching your face, your parted lips, the way your eyes fluttered shut. "taking my fingers so well. and i haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
his thumb found your clit, pressing in tight circles, and you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. he matched your rhythm, fingers pumping in and out, thumb working you relentlessly, and the pleasure built like a wave, coiling tight in your stomach.
"that’s it," he said, voice low and filthy. "i can feel you clenching around me. you close?"
"yes—eddie, i’m—"
"look at me."
you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. his pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and wet. he looked wrecked, and he'd barely even touched himself.
"i want to see your face when you come," he demanded. “i want to feel you pussy clench around my fingers before it takes my cock.”
that was all it took.
your orgasm crashed through you, a sharp, electric wave that made your whole body tremble. you cried out—his name, a broken sound—and he kept working you through it, fingers slowing, thumb gentling, until you were left gasping and boneless against the wall.
he pulled his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips, and his eyes never left yours as he licked them clean.
"shit," he said, voice rough and satisfied. "you taste even better than i imagined."
your body was still trembling slightly. before you could speak, he pulled his hand back entirely and brought it down against your cunt in a light, sharp smack.
you jolted, a broken whimper spilling from your lips at the sudden sting, the overwhelming sensitivity radiating outward from where he'd struck.
"fuck—eddie—"
he soothed the spot with his palm, pressing firm and warm, before pulling back to look at you. his eyes were dark, but there was something soft flickering underneath, breaking through the teasing haze.
“hey," he said, his voice dropping, losing some of that rough edge. his free hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek, gentle and grounding. "this doesn't change the fact that i still care about you, alright? if it ever gets too much, or if you want to stop, tell me. i’m not just some random guy that gets lucky with you."
the sincerity in his voice hit you square in the chest. you reached up, covering his hand with yours, and nodded.
“i know," you said quietly. "i trust you."
he smiled—that real smile, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes—and pressed his forehead to yours. "okay. good."
then he kissed you, soft and deep, before pulling back with a familiar glint of mischief.
"now, where was i?”
his hands found your hips, gripping tight as he guided you to turn around. your palms hit the stall wall, cold metal biting into your skin, and you heard the jingle of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper. the sound of denim and boxers pooling at his ankles.
you looked over your shoulder, and there he was—flushed, half-undone, looking at you like you were something precious and filthy all at once.
"you ready, sweetheart?"
"you asking or bragging?"
he laughed, and it was warm and real and full of affection, even as he stepped closer, even as the head of his cock pressed against you, teasing, threatening.
"both," he muttered against your ear, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head, the other gripping your hip. "
and then he pushed in, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch, and your eyes rolled back as a deep, broken moan tore from your throat. he buried his face in your hair, groaning low and long, his grip on your hip tightening almost painfully.
“fuckkk," he breathed, voice wrecked. "you feel—fuck."
he stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your ear. then he started to move—slow at first, deep and grinding, finding a rhythm that made your knees weak.
but it didn't stay slow for long.
soon the stall was filled with the sound of skin against skin, heavy breathing, broken moans, and eddie’s voice—teasing, praising, whispering promises against your skin that made your heart clench even as your body burned.
“oh fuck—god, you feel so fucking good, baby. i’m—i’m gonna make you feel so good, i promise. i fucking promise you.”
with each deepening thrust, a small, helpless whimper escaped your throat. your eyes squeezed shut against the dizzying pleasure, your brows furrowed in concentration, and your lips parted like a gasp for air. you fought to keep the noise contained in the cramped bathroom stall, but eddie’s relentless rhythm made it impossible.
“eddie, please don't stop— oh my god—"
he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear, letting out a ragged sound that was half-groan, half-promise. "never, baby. I’ve got you."
his hand gripped your hips, anchoring you while his body hammered into yours. the soundscape of the stall was intoxicating: the rhythmic, wet slap as he filled you completely, punctuated by his own strained groans and your unrestrained cries. every slick, glorious squelch echoed off the tiles, cementing the fact that the small space was now entirely occupied by the heat and friction between you two.
as eddie continued to pound into you from behind, his grip on your hips tightened possessively. between labored breaths, he growled against your ear, "still thinking about andy, huh?" his voice was rough with jealousy and arousal. "with my cock buried deep inside you? can he make you feel this good?"
you whimpered, unable to form coherent words. your fingers clawed at the bathroom stall wall, leaving marks in the cheap paint.
eddie sensed your inability to speak and smirked wickedly. "that’s what I thought." he shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made your entire body jerk. "but you know who's really making you feel good right now, don't you?"
when you still couldn't answer through your gasps and moans, he pulled back slightly, then brought his palm down sharply on your ass. the sharp sting made you cry out, your inner walls clenching around him reflexively.
"who, baby?" he demanded, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "say my name."
"e-eddie!" you finally managed, your voice breaking.
"that's right," he groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he felt himself getting close. "fuck, you look so good like this... all mine."
your whole body was trembling now, coiled tight with the promise of release. "please, eddie," you begged, your voice thin and desperate. "i’m so close, inneed to—"
"no," he said firmly, slowing his pace just enough to pull you back from the edge. his hands moved from your hips to spread your cheeks wider, giving himself deeper access. "not yet, sweetheart. not until you're begging for it."
"i am begging!" you cried out, pushing back against him desperately. "please, i’ll do anything—"
"you will, won't you?" eddie chuckled darkly, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with maddeningly light touches. "such a good girl when you want something. but i want to hear how much you need this. how much you need me."
he established a new rhythm—slow, deliberate strokes that dragged his length through your soaked folds without giving you the friction you craved. each movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, but never quite enough to tip you over.
"eddie, please, i can't take it anymore!" you sobbed, your legs shaking violently.
"oh, but you can," he murmured, leaning over your back to whisper directly in your ear. "you’re going to take everything i give you, aren't you? every inch, every drop..."
his free hand slid beneath you, pressing firmly against your lower belly. "i can feel you clenching around me already. so fucking needy. you want to come on my cock, baby?"
"y-yeah!" the word almost became a chant as he resumed a faster pace, though still not fast enough to push you over that final precipice.
"that’s it, beg for it. tell me exactly what you want." his voice was thick with arousal as he watched his cock disappear into you again and again.
"i want you to fuck me harder! i want to come! please, eds, let me come!" your nails scraped against the bathroom tile.
eddie’s restraint finally snapped at your desperate pleas. "fuck yes, here it comes—" he drove into you with renewed force, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "come for me, beautiful. come on my cock.”
the permission, combined with the increased intensity, sent you spiraling. your orgasm ripped through you with such force that your vision went white.
he followed right after, holding you tight, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck as he murmured something so soft you almost missed it.
he kissed your shoulder before he carefully withdrew from you, both of you wincing at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity. he reached down to steady you as your legs threatened to buckle, his expression softening with concern.
“hey," he whispered, his voice rough but soft, stripped of the earlier dominance. "you okay?"
you tried to speak, to form a coherent sentence, but your throat was too dry, your body too spent. all you could manage was a weak nod, your eyes still squeezed shut as you fought to regain control of your breathing. a faint, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched your futile attempt to answer. he didn't press you; instead, he reached for the roll of toilet paper hanging on the dispenser. with careful, almost tender movements, he tore off several squares and began to clean you up. his touch was gentle, contrasting sharply with the fierce pounding from moments before, wiping away the mess they’d made in the confined space.
as he finished, tossing the used paper into the bin, the silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken things. the noise of the band outside had faded into a distant hum, replaced by the dripping of a faucet somewhere down the hall. eddie stepped back slightly, leaning against the wall as he looked at you.
"so..." eddie started, “that was... yeah." he laughed softly, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. "are you sure you’re alright? like, really alright?"
you managed a breathy laugh, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "yeah, i’m—" you paused, searching for words. "that was intense."
"i told you," he replied, breathless and warm. "i would make you forget every single one of them."
you let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stand up straighter, though your knees still knocked together. you looked up at him, a playful glint returning to your eyes, masked by exhaustion. "well," you drawled, trying to summon some of your usual bravado. "it definitely worked. you fucked me so good, eddie... i almost said it."
he froze. the playful atmosphere shattered instantly. his eyes widened slightly, darkening with a sudden intensity that pinned you in place. "said what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
he didn't wait for you to answer. he knew exactly what you meant.
his expression shifted from shocked to vulnerable in an instant. his defenses—the bravado, the confidence, the protective shell he'd built around himself since you'd known him—all of it cracked. raw emotion flickered across his face: hope, fear, longing.
"don’t say it unless you mean it," he warned softly, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. "because if you say it, i need you to actually mean it."
the air in the tiny stall grew heavy with unspoken feelings. outside, the music pulsed, reality continued—but in this moment, it was just the two of you suspended in time.
you swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the gravity of the moment. your usual confidence faltered as you stared up at him, seeing the raw emotion written across his features—the fear, the hope, the longing you’d somehow missed or deliberately ignored for so long.
"i almost said..." you started, hesitating. "i almost said i love you."
the confession hung between them like a prayer. eddie’s expression transformed completely—his jaw dropped slightly, color flooding into his cheeks. for a moment, he was speechless, simply staring at you as if you’d said something profound and impossible.
then, slowly, a brilliant smile broke across his face. it was different from any smile you’d seen from him before—not the cocky grin from earlier, but something pure and genuine that made her heart skip several beats.
"you do?" he breathed, his voice hoarse with emotion. "really?"
unable to speak past the sudden lump in you throat, you nodded. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as realization crashed over you—this wasn't just sex in a bathroom. this was eddie. your best friend. the boy who'd always been there, who'd known you better than anyone, who'd seen every version of yourself and still wanted you.
“jesus, you have no idea," eddie said softly as he pressed his forehead against yours. "i’ve been in love with you since... god, i don't even remember when anymore. maybe forever. i just thought—" he cut himself off, laughing shakily as nerves got the best of him.
"i thought tonight would just be... i don't know. one night. something to finally tell you how i feel, even if you didn't feel the same."
"you idiot," you whispered with a soft chuckle, wrapping you arms around his neck. "of course i feel the same. of course i do. i just... i didn't want to ruin what we have. i guess i just didn't want to lose you."
"hey," eddie murmured, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. his thumbs traced gentle circles on your shoulders, keeping you close. "you’re not going to lose me. ever. no matter what happens, okay? you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not."
you let out a watery laugh at that, pressing your face into his chest. he smelled like sweat and cologne, and it made your heart ache in the best possible way.
"i like it," you mumbled against his shirt. "being stuck with you."
he held you tighter, his chin resting atop your head as they stood there in the dingy bathroom, wrapped around each other in a cocoon of newfound vulnerability and relief. outside, the music continued its relentless thrum, but it felt distant now, unimportant.
after several minutes of silence, filled only by their steady breathing and the occasional drip from a leaky faucet, you pulled back slightly. your fingers played idly with the fabric of his blank tank as you asked, "so... what now?"
eddie’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he looked down at you. "well," he said, his voice taking on that familiar teasing tone even as emotion still roughened the edges. "i was thinking we could establish some ground rules for this relationship. first: no more flirting with lead singers of shitty glam metal bands." his tone was playful, but there was an underlying seriousness to it—the kind that came from someone who'd genuinely been hurt.
you giggled softly, the sound muffled against him. "deal. i’m now well aware of how jealous you get."
“oh, i was definitely jealous," he admitted, his voice dropping to a more serious pitch. "but that's not the point. the point is..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "the point is that you're mine now. not just for tonight, but... i hope, for real. and I'm yours. so if you ever start talking to some guy at a bar or something, i’m going to lose my mind."
“deal,” you said with another giggle. “i promise i won't be seeking out other guys. i’ve got everything i need right here."
you sealed your promise by giving him a gentle kiss on the lips, to which he returned gratefully. he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his smile soft and adoring.
“good. now come on, let’s get out of here.”
the two of you slipped out of the bathroom together, fingers still intertwined, the door swinging shut behind you. a quiet, breathless laugh escaped your lips as you hurried across the sticky floor of the bar, weaving between tables and the few scattered patrons who hadn't yet migrated to the stage. eddie matched your pace, his grip warm and steady, his eyes bright with that particular kind of reckless joy he only ever seemed to get when he was high or simply just being in your presence.
the plan was simple—head back to his trailer, collapse onto that worn-out couch that smelled faintly of cigarettes and stale air, and throw on some movie neither of you would make it through before falling asleep tangled together. your parents wouldn't mind. they never did when it was eddie. they’d long since stopped asking questions, trusting you despite the way he looked—the leather jacket, the rings, the hair.
or maybe they trusted him, too. hard not to, once you got to know him.
on stage, the band was grinding through a couple of their originals, and they were fine, technically, but they lacked the swagger of the covers they'd opened with. the rhythm was a little off, the vocals straining where they should have soared. andy, standing at the mic with his guitar slung low, caught movement near the exit. his eyes found you first, then eddie, and his brow furrowed in puzzled confusion—a silent where the hell are you going? across the hazy, beer-stained room.
eddie paused at the door, the cold night air already creeping in through the crack. he looked back over his shoulder, caught andy’s gaze, and flashed him a grin that was all mischief and no apology. then he raised his free hand, middle finger extended as if to say: you know exactly where i’m going, asshole.
the door swung shut behind you, cutting off the sound of the band and the bar's low hum, and suddenly it was just the two of you under the parking lot's flickering light, your breath fogging in the cool air, his hand still wrapped around yours, the night stretching wide and open ahead.
you climbed into the van and turned up the radio the moment one of your favorite pop-punk songs came on. eddie groaned from the driver's seat, but you knew he secretly liked it. as metal as he was, he had a few guilty pleasures—pop punk was definitely one of them. he glanced over to you as the song hit the best part.
it was his favorite part, because it reminded him of you.
stop there and let me correct it
i wanna live a life from a new perspective
you come along because i love your face
and i’ll admire your expensive taste
you felt his eyes on you before you saw them. when you turned, your smile hit him square in the chest—soft, knowing, the kind that made his ribs feel too tight for everything inside them.
he still couldn't quite believe you were real, that this was real. that after so many years of wanting, of watching, of loving you from the careful distance of best friend, you were finally his.
and he was yours. completely. irrevocably. in a way he'd never been anyone's before.
onerandomperson asked:
You know what I'm here for 🥰
Of course, I know it's Corroded Coffin Fest so if you do end up doing this ask, do it whenever you have time! I don't mind waiting. <3
So basically I'm really asking for either Gareth or Eddie.
Perhaps the reader has been going through a really tough time with self love, and then (G/E) shows the reader just how much they think she's pretty and love the way she looks. Fluff with Smut obv. 😊
CW: Body dysmorphia, negative self-talk, insecurity regarding physical characteristics - especially reader's weight (though no specific body shape or weight is mentioned), angst with a (very) happy ending, oral (f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of children (2, to be exact), pet names and good communication (eventually 🤭), not heavily proofread so just ignore mistakes cause I'm too tired to fix 'em
Pairings: older!eddie munson x older!fem!reader, husband!eddie x wife!reader, dad!eddie x mom!reader, eddie x insecure!fem!reader
WC: 5.8K
Summary: Your 20th high school reunion invitation goes ignored, until it doesn't - and your rockstar husband doesn't understand why... and then when he does? He's there to pick up the pieces.
A/N: basically listened to sleep token's jaws the entire time i wrote this. this one's a little raw and angsty, but i set out to make it relatable, no matter who you are and where you are in life. granted, this particular x reader is married with kids, but the intent is to be able to see her in all of us...
and to have eddie's message resonate.
i love you. you're so, so beautiful, just as you are.
“Holy fucking shit.”
The porch swing wobbles out of rhythm, its gentle back and forth sway interrupted by how you bolt upright, gaping at the familiar white and blue banner on your phone. A notification for an app you forgot that you even had bears the name you haven’t thought of in years, one that sponsors a trickle of dread to drip in frigid drops down your spine.
Just like she used to, twenty years ago.
Against your better judgment, you swipe across the screen, and you can’t help the massive eyeroll that accompanies the groan as you read.
Hey chick!Oh my gosh, how are you? It’s been so long, I haven't heard much from you! So, as you know, it’s our 20th high school reunion this year (I mean, how are we that old?!), and a bunch of us were talking over girl’s night the other night. We think it would be really amazing if Corroded Coffin would come play for our afterparty following the football game! Wouldn’t that be great?? I know their music isn’t everyone’s favorite, so if you could have him tone down the screaming parts or even play some covers of some of the more popular songs we listened to in high school, that would probably work better with our vibe. Reunion is in October, more info to come.
We’d love to see that rockstar hubby of yours! ;) Just let me know the deets, k?
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter, swiping a hand down your face like it’ll wipe the scowl that settled there.
You knew this was coming. You’ve been busy, sure – between work and kids and touring and fuck, just life in general – but not nearly busy enough to make you forget what loomed on the horizon this year.
Your 20th high school reunion.
Somehow, you were able to sneak under the radar with the first one at five years. Or was it ten? Doesn’t matter – you didn’t go, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t be caught dead in the company of those stuck-up assholes ever again if you could help it. Those four years were tortuous enough, did enough damage to your self-worth and self-confidence that it took years to overcome. No need to ever revisit the people who made it that way, and so you were more than content to skip this one, too.
Until they had to go and bring Eddie into it.
Maybe it’s wrong, but you swipe left and delete the message. You’re not going, so there’s no reason to even bring this up to him. He’d support you, anyway – if you didn’t wanna go, you wouldn’t go. Simple as that.
A small smile plays on your lips as you tuck your phone back in your Corroded Coffin sweatshirt. Leave that bitch on read, just as she deserves.
Two months later
“You’ll never guess who I talked to today.”
You feign contemplation at the counter, pausing your chopping of a bright summer squash fresh picked from your garden. “Hmm. Dave Mustane?”
Eddie’s shoulders pitch forward as he snorts, muttering a vehement shit as more paprika than intended covers the chicken thighs. “No,” he muses as he attempts to remove the excess with his hands, “not Dave. He’s still pissed that I wore the Ask Me About My Boyfriend" shirt in Atlanta two years ago.”
That has you barking a laugh. “The one with James Hetfield’s face on it?”
Eddie grins. “That’s the one.”
“Well, I for one am not pissed about that,” you jest with a playful elbow to his side. “Who’d you talk to?”
“That chick – uhh, I think she was the president from your high school class. She messaged the band’s page on Instagram.”
The knife slips, nearly slicing a gash in your middle finger. “What?”
“Yeah,” Eddie confirms with all the nonchalance in the world. He maneuvers behind you, purposefully grazing your backside with his front as he ambles to the sink. “She wants the band to play at your reunion this year. I feel bad, Sweetheart. I forgot all about it.”
Heart thudding in your ears, you fight to keep your voice even… though you’re sure you know what he’s going to say before you’ve even asked it. “What did you tell her?”
Switching the water off with the back of his hand, he snatches the towel from your shoulder and wrings it through his fingers. “Told her yes.” Eddie must register the way your eyes bug out of your head, and he’s quick to assure you, “but we’re only gonna play for like, an hour tops, I swear. I wanna be mingling with you, anyway.”
“You said yes?”
There’s an edge to your tone that makes your husband freeze. “I did,” he answers warily. “Did you not want me to?”
A curious blend of shame and ire lick like flames at your skin, heating it from the inside out. A million and one thoughts race through your mind, none of which you can grab onto long enough to form a coherent thought. Turning away, all you can muster is a shrug.
Not the best way to deal with the situation, but confrontation tends to steal the words right from your mouth. The harder you try to eloquently convey your point, the more jumbled you actually become.
Sometimes, it’s easier to just stay silent.
Whiskey-brown doe eyes widen, really playing up that deer-in-the-headlights look he’s got plastered to his handsome face. “Wh - wait – baby, I figured we were going.” He guides your shoulders back to face him just as tears well up along your lashline. Eddie loses his breath. “Shit, baby – what’s wrong?”
Blinking rapidly, you clear your throat and try to articulate something. Anything that would have him understand the turmoil that rages in your belly at the mere thought of being in the same vicinity as your former classmates.
It doesn’t come, and so you turn away, chopping at the squash with a little more gusto. “Nothing. It’s fine.” You huff a sigh that does nothing to clear the tacky grime of dread that cakes to your ribs. You jerk your head over your shoulder. “Just get those on the grill – kids’ll be home soon and I’m sure they’ll be hungry.”
After thirteen years of marriage – Eddie knows when he’s being dismissed. “Okay… we’ll talk about this later?”
Another half-hearted shrug is all he gets, and he slips out the kitchen door, wisely leaving it alone.
Tiny rivulets run wild from the tips of your hair, winding down, down, down your naked body. Blazing a trail over new curves and dimples, over different bumps and scars. All earned. You watch them cascade over your skin with a frown, eyeing those imperfections with disdain.
With shame.
With embarrassment… for even feeling this way at all.
Reasoning with yourself is futile, not when your mind is so far lost in the depths of self-deprecating despair. You should know that it’s okay that bodies change – that life happens in between graduating high school and stupid class reunions, but it’s not. You don’t. There’s no acceptance for the way you’ve filled out over the years, though that sweet little voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’ve had children – two of them, in fact. You have a full-time job. You co-run a heavy metal band with Gareth’s wife and contrary to what you initially thought, it’s a hell of a lot more time consuming than expected.
And you’re pretty sure she picks up most of your slack.
That kindness wraps you in her arms, tells you it’s okay that you don’t make time for the gym, that you don’t eat as well as you used to, that you can’t zip up last summer’s shorts. It’s meant to be a comfort, but all you feel is the weight of that embrace, heavy with guilt and disappointment.
How could you let yourself go like this?
More importantly, how in the fuck would you be able to face all of those people?
Christ. You thought they made your life miserable then, it would be nothing compared to the judgment you’d get if you showed up on Eddie’s arm.
Too fat.
Too ugly.
Too pathetic.
How in the hell he is married to her?
Wrapping the towel over your torso, you tear your scrutinizing stare away from saggy skin and square your shoulders, preparing yourself for the fifth-degree from your husband. He watched you all night, you felt the sharpness from those chocolate depths pierce the mask of indifference at dinner. He saw through every fake smile, every overenthusiastic question directed at your kids. You know he’s going to be all over this, trying to get to the bottom of your sudden sullen change in demeanor.
More than likely, he thinks you’re mad because he didn’t discuss the decision with you – and in a way, you are.
But it’s more than that.
He knows you hated high school, or at least, he should. You told him so dozens of times. It’s what helped bond you initially, his incorrect assumption that you were the prettiest, most popular lady of the realm not only made you cackle, but it offered a surprising connection with the gorgeous metalhead you met through mutual friends.
But that was then.
And now, he proves you right. He’s waiting for you at the edge of the bed, body angled toward the ensuite bathroom like he was waiting for the exact moment you decided to emerge.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you,” he starts, his dark-honey timbre warm with sincerity. He chuffs a flat half-laugh. “Really thought we talked about it. Like we were gonna go. I didn’t think anything of that girl’s offer and I just said yes without running it by you.”
Your brows furrow as you rummage through your underwear drawer. “We never talked about going, Ed.”
“No, I know.” He rubs a hand over his stubble. “Do you wanna talk about it now?”
You grit your teeth against the frustration racing through your veins. “You’re not really giving me much of a choice.”
He recoils at your vitriol. “Uh, yes I am. I’m asking you if you wanna talk about why you didn’t say a word about how your reunion committee reached out to you months ago about us playing. She said her message went unanswered, actually, and –”
“Oh,” you whip around, plain cotton panties fisted in your hand, “so it’s my fault that I’m mad you accepted an invitation for my class reunion?”
If what you just said was a little too harsh, Eddie barrels on as if it wasn’t. “No! I just want you to know where I’m coming from!”
“Well, how about I tell you where I’m coming from,” you seethe, surprised and a little shocked your words are flowing effortlessly. “High school was hell. I was bullied relentlessly for reasons I have yet to understand. I wasn’t mean to anyone. I was kind and caring and sweet and involved in like, everything. Like I thought you were supposed to be.”
Eddie’s gaze doesn’t falter as you barrel on. “I was no one’s best friend, no one’s first phone call, no one’s person. In fact, I never got the calls, never was included. And when I tried harder? Figured it was my fault that I was being left out and took it upon myself to make more of an effort?” A harsh sneer curls your upper lip. “I ended up making it worse.
“So, forgive me, dear husband, for not wanting to give them more ammunition because I know as soon as we walk in there together, the whispering will start. They’ll all look at you – this tall, dark-eyed, sex-on-a-stick rockstar with his frumpy, fat-ass wife and they’ll wonder what in the fuck you’re still doing with me.”
Eddie’s jaw swings open, and it isn’t until you’ve taken a breath that you’ve realized what you’ve just said. Mortification sears through your veins, accelerating your heart to thud a regretful rhythm in your chest.
“Baby…”
For once, you’ve rendered him speechless. He stares at you slack-jawed while you brush away the tears that slip down your cheeks.
“I don’t want them to judge me,” your honesty tumbles over your trembling lips. “And I know they would. And maybe they should.” You heave a self-deprecating sigh. “I’m a fucking mess compared to what I was then. I’ve changed so much, gained so much weight it’s disgusting –”
“Stop.”
The force behind how he says that one singular word steals the rest of yours straight off your tongue. Your husband stands, rounding your king size bed to crowd into your space. The height difference feels vast with how his espresso depths glower with a sultry blend of ire and hunger.
You squeak as your backside hits your dresser, and Eddie takes this opportunity to press you firmly against the antique wood. “My wife,” he says lowly, “is not disgus –” he shakes his head, eyes pinched tight like it pains him to even say the word. “Christ, you are not disgusting. Do you hear me?”
Oh, how you want to. That sandpaper rasp in his tone is convincing, but not enough to undo years of truly believing the opposite. In lieu of an answer, you worry your lower lip between your teeth, and Eddie’s features soften.
“Sweetheart, I –” he runs his hands over your bare shoulders, the warmth in his palms send goosebumps over your flesh. “You are so hard on yourself and it breaks my fucking heart.” Another wave of fresh tears spill over your lids, and he’s quick to lean down to kiss them away. His tone oozes with sincerity. “You’re not frumpy, or fat, or anything else that might be rattling around in your brain right now.” Your gaze drifts to the floor and he’s quick to tilt your chin up, back to his face. “You’re my wife, you’re breathtaking and beautiful and I love you, baby. I love you.”
You huff a watery laugh. “You’re supposed to love me, though. You’re my husband.”
The muscles in his jaw work as he heaves a heavy sigh. “All right,” he barks, winding those lithe arms made strong by years of lugging equipment around your body to haul you onto the bed, “get up here.”
A grunt of protest tumbles out of your mouth, pitching higher as you lose your grip on your towel. “Eddie –”
“Nah, don’t you Eddie me,” he jests in faux condescension, dark honey eyes roving over your naked frame. He shoves himself against your plethora of pillows at the head of the bed. “I’m gonna need you to come up here and sit.”
You’ll admit, the way he commands you to straddle his hips is nearly enough to ignite that pilot light of desire into a true flame. It’ll be a tough go, stoking that baby ember into a rip-roaring fire – you aren’t as young as you once were and you can’t just flip a switch and go from sullen to sopping we –
“Not there.” The way Eddie practically growls your name snaps you out of your spiral. “I want you to sit on my face.”
Well, now the flame’s in danger of being completely snuffed out. “Babe,” your shoulders slump in defeat, “I can’t. We – we haven’t done that since before the kids, and –”
“All the more reason for us to do it now,” he argues smoothly.
Is he trying to rub salt in the wound? “I – no, I can’t.”
Digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, he tries to tug your body north. “Oh, you most certainly can.”
“No,” you plant your ass firmly on a very surprisingly mature erection, lids flaring in alarm as you feel it nestle between your cheeks, “I’m too heavy now, Ed. I’m not gonna suffocate my husband before he has a chance to woo all those bitches from my class.”
He narrows his eyes. “How about I decide what I can and can’t handle? Because you and this fucking beautiful body? Oh, I can handle her.” Eddie leans up on his elbows, bringing his face inches from yours. “What I can’t handle is all this shit-talkin’ you’re spouting about my wife. Baby, listen to me.”
Ever so gently, Eddie circles his arms around your torso and guides your frame to mold into his. Shivering as wandering hands roam, he ensures he has your attention while his palms map every inch of your exposed skin.
“You are too hard on yourself. None of what you’re saying is true. You are seeing things about yourself that flat-out just don’t exist.” You open your mouth to protest when he presses a finger over your lips. “Ah, ah – I’m not done. I know you feel as if your body’s changed, and I can agree with you there, it has. It changed in the most beautiful way because honey, you gave me our kids.” His tone drops to a roughened husk, thick with emotion. “Your body now is more beautiful and powerful to me than it ever was. Every time I look at you I’m reminded what a fucking miracle you are, carrying and delivering those two babies safe and sound. And to top it off? You’re a phenomenal mother, you’re an amazing asset to your office, you’re an unbelievably kind and supportive friend. Plus, you keep me and the guys in line and that definitely counts for something.”
A tearstained laugh bursts right out of your chest. “I guess it does.”
“Sweetheart, you do all of that in this body.” He grips the ample flesh at your hips to drive home his point. “Be kind to her, please. She does so fucking much and Christ, I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Not one fucking thing.”
Your chin drops to your chest to hide the grateful sob that wracks your shoulders. “I know you’re right. I do. It’s just hard.”
Eddie chuckles, a devilish vibration that’s all too familiar. “Damn right, it’s hard. I don’t think you realize how much I love how you look. Fuck,” his hands being their journey again, tracing every curve and dimple and roll they can reach, “the way you can fill out a pair of jeans, especially when you tuck those t–shirts in? How your clothes hugs your waist and your thighs and your belly –”
You snort in surprise, not daring to believe him. “My belly?”
Eddie groans, lifting his hips off the mattress to rut along the swell of your behind. “Fuck yes, your belly. I love that lower part that I know you think shouldn’t be there, but when you wear things that don’t hide it…” He can’t help himself; strong hands push you to sit upright so he can drag his fingers along that softness around your middle, “I just – god, woman… you have the sexiest fuckin’ curves…”
You hear every bit of the genuine adoration and the wanton lust practically drips from his tongue, and suddenly, you’re not so against maneuvering where he wants you. Especially when your brain aggressively reminds you what that tongue is capable of doing.
“You really want to?” you whisper softly, still fighting the heavy uncertainty fluttering in your chest. “You want me – uh, up here?”
Your husband grins so wide it pops the dimples in his cheeks. “Do I want you to sit on my face and devour that pretty pussy?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you can’t help but giggle. “Hell yes I do. C’mon, wife,” he guides your knees to either side of his head, “lemme worship this body.”
Despite all his assurances, nerves still thrum like a livewire under your skin, especially as he guides your core over his mouth. Slowly and oh so carefully, you let him guide you down, your head dropping back against your shoulders as his mouth makes contact with your folds. A gasp is wrenched from your throat as Eddie licks a wide stripe from entrance to clit, swirling once before giving your waist a forceful jerk.
“‘S okay, sweetheart. Sit down and get comfortable.”
“Okay,” you breathe, screwing your eyes shut and lowering yourself the rest of the way.
You’re immediately treated to a wanton rumble of pleasure drawn from the deepest parts of your husband. His sounds are muffled, lost into the most intimate parts of you.
He wastes no time before he’s thrusting his tongue through your heat, licking and sucking with the lewdest of smacking sounds, making good on his promise to devour you whole.
“Oh, shit,” you cry out, slapping one hand against the headboard and the other over your mouth to silence the whine sponsored by a very deft flick of Eddie’s tongue. “Oh fuck yeah, Ed, that’s… that’s so good…”
An appreciative grunt is all you get before he turns up the intensity, alternating from languid strokes that breach your entrance and subtle flicks and gentle sucks of pursed lips where you need him most. The sensations are dizzying, gripping and clawing at your insides as your muscles wind tighter in preparation for your release. You’re lost to it, every sinful swipe and nip and suckle sponsors the way your hips start moving of their own accord, back and forth over his mouth that expertly works you over as only one who’s known you for over a decade and a half can.
One well-placed thrust of his tongue into your cunt has you gasping his name. “God yeah –”
He does it again, tilting his chin as much as he can to delve deeper inside you, twisting and dragging the thick muscle against your walls with enviable dexterity. Your hand winds through his curls, aiding the undulation of your hips over his face. A gentle drag of your pussy over his mouth, and then a little more finally gets you that friction you crave against your clit. The bulb of Eddie’s nose bumps that sensitive nub once, twice before you’re being guided by his hands to properly rock on his face.
His steady palms keep you anchored, guiding you back into place when your thighs clench and threaten to lift you from your seated position. Defying all logic, your man wiggles a hand beneath your core, and the delicious intrusion of his longest finger replaces his tongue just as he sneaks north to seal his lips over sensitive tissue and suck.
The duality of sensations has you seeing stars. “Ahh, ahh – Ed, ohmygod, p-please, yes – yes –”
You think you feel him smile against your skin, twisting his finger deep in your pussy to stimulate that spot only he can reach. Your back arches, and he knows he’s got you as soon as his tongue flutters on the underside of your clit.
The pressure builds rapidly, stuttering your hips to a halt as your core winds tight. Higher and higher you climb, practically sobbing as he keeps up his expert ministrations. A crook of his finger here, the repetitive flick of his tongue there, and as soon as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, you skyrocket near completion.
“Ed, ba-baby, yes, just like that, just – yes, yes!”
Your knuckles turn white as you grip the headboard, thighs clenching as your orgasm wrings the muscles low in your belly tight before abruptly releasing its hold. You come with a shout of his name, writhing through the waves of pleasure that slam again and again through your low belly. Eddie doesn’t let up, not for a second, plunging that finger deep in your cunt as it pulses and clenches around him like a lifeline. The heat from your climax never recedes, not when Eddie’s still got such a tight seal on your clit, and before you can suck in a breath and tell him to stop, he winds you up again, the sheer force of the promise of another orgasm steals the air from your lungs.
All you can do is hold on tight – your white-knuckling a beautiful contrast to your hunter green headboard and his midnight curls. Eddie gives his head a filthy shake, maximizing the suction and zinging pleasure to your breaking point. The coil winds swiftly, detonating as soon as your husband hums out an elongated groan. The vibrations shove you over the edge with a bawling cry of his name. It occurs to you that you should be quieter, but all control has been lost.
Eddie pops off your overstimulated bundle of nerves, his mouth replaces his finger as he laps up your release that leaks from your pussy in a slow, pulsing gush. You’re a panting mess, fingers still entwined in his strands as he savors every last drop.
“Fuck,” you wheeze, lifting yourself from your husband’s face. “Oh, my god.”
Eddie peels his eyelids open, the black of his pupils completely engulfing the brown of his irises. “Yeah? That good?”
You collapse in a heap on top of him, clinging to his shoulders like you might wobble right off the bed. “I haven’t come like that in a long time.”
Eddie snickers. “I know. Two in a row.” His tone drops to a suggestive rasp. “We used to do that all the time, remember?”
Like you could forget. Summoning the strength, you slam your mouth against his, pushing your tongue past his lips to savor your combined flavors on his tongue. He rolls you onto your back, careful not to break the kiss as he works himself out of his sweats.
“Y’got one more in you, pretty girl?” he asks, lips and chin still smeared with your arousal. You nod furiously as he lines his tip with your center that still weeps for more. “Fuck,” he groans, “y’so wet, baby.”
“Uh yeah,” you muse suggestively, pressing a trail of heady kisses along the column of his throat, “your fault, really.”
He smothers a whine behind lips pressed tight. “Normally I wouldn’t complain, but shit, y’feel so good.” Eddie pitches his hips forward with otherworldly control, sheathing the full length of his cock agonizingly slow until he’s seated fully inside. You both lose your breath at the feeling – the satisfying stretch around his girth and your sultry heat that envelops his cock. “Probably won’t last long.”
Your legs clamp over his slender waist, pinning his body against yours. “I don’t care, it’s okay,” you soothe, meeting his first thrust with a gentle press of your pelvis, “just want you to move baby, please.”
Eddie wraps his arms around your body, cinching you so tightly together it’s impossible to know where one of you ends and the other begins. You move with him in perfect sync this way, his breathy groans and your hitching sighs the only soundtrack to your passionate lovemaking. At the apex of every thrust, he rolls his hips and grinds over your pubic bone, coaxing your clit out of oversensitivity and into the realm of pleasure. Eddie captures your lips, swallowing every moan and whimper, melding your lips together as he keeps his languid pace steady.
A slow burn. A careful coiling of sensations, deep and heated and patient. Then there’s a moment amongst those peppered throughout where Eddie’s lips release, nose bumping against yours as he holds your stare, and you see it.
Every last ounce of his love.
It’s so intense you almost look away, you almost can’t handle the raw emotion that emanates from those endless brown eyes.
But you don’t.
You let yourself fall, drowning in adoration freely given by your husband, and all at once, you’re thrust to the precipice of your release. Eddie recognizes it, switching from the sweet pull and drag of his cock through your core to more shallow, forceful thrusts – the ones that drive his thick cockhead against that sweet spot situated along your front wall. It’s the recipe for your unraveling, and he knows it well – the final push to completion comes immediately after his hand snakes between your sweaty bodies, gently circling his thumb over the hood of your clit.
Your jaw drops in ecstasy, your orgasm rushing up to overwhelm your senses. It’s different, originating from a place deep and low in your pelvis, a gentle but steep crescendo that culminates with rhythmic spasms of your cunt around his cock.
Eddie holds off the instinct as long as he can, and when he’s sure he’s milked every ounce of pleasure out of you, he drives his cock back into your heat, hard and fast thrusts that has him reaching to the deepest parts of you.
He comes with your name on his lips, shuddering through his climax while your arms keep him close. Basking in the afterglow, he smothers you in kisses before breaking the spell.
“I didn’t know you in high school,” he pants, lips searing the slope of your neck as he presses kiss after kiss over your dewy skin. “But the woman I met back when? Sweetheart, that’s still you.”
Your stomach swoops, and the tears come unbidden. “No it’s not,” you argue thickly. “I’m not the same person.” Refusing to pick at an old wound, you open a new one. “I’m not nearly as diligent as I was, making sure I was eating right and working out and just fucking –” your breath hitches as it tangles on a sob, “– taking care of myself. I’ve let that all go. I’m tired and stressed and unmotivated and I’ve changed.” You hiccup an inhale as you bare your soul. “Sometimes I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror anymore.”
A mess of curls lifts from where he’s buried in your neck, face crumpling at your admission. “Sweet girl, is that really what you think?”
The tremble in your chin is too much to answer; all you can muster is a dip of your chin.
“Okay,” he nods more to himself than to you, “okay. If you want to work out? That’s fine. That’s great, actually. I know you love it and,” a corner of his mouth ticks up in a grin, “I know it helps with stress, especially with work.”
You match his grin with a demure one of your own. “It does.”
“But I don’t want you to do it to lose weight, okay? I don’t. Work out because it makes you happy. If it makes you feel well.” He whips off the shirt he’s still wearing, bunching the fabric with one hand between his shoulder blades to drag it over his head. Rising to his knees, the shift regrettably has him slipping out of you, making you whine at the loss. Eddie grapples at the soft slope of skin that now adorns his lower belly, a miniscule fullness that wasn’t there two years ago. “I could use it too, honestly. We could eat better with you, baby. We know our kids need to eat better than chicken nuggets and mac and cheese every goddamn night.”
You’re outright grinning, now. “I can’t argue with that.”
“I eat like shit while I’m on the road, and I don’t lug around equipment as much as I used to, because we have all those roadies to do it for us. I feel bad sometimes about having this extra pooch here, too.”
Your brow tents in bewilderment above your nose, your gaze searching for this nonexistent fullness he speaks of. “What? What are you talking about?”
“This,” he answers, squeezing his low belly and wiggling the subtle pudge that’s only there if he practically folds himself in half.
It almost makes you want to roll your eyes. “Eddie, there’s nothing there.” He cocks a dubious brow, and this time, you do treat him to an eyeroll. “It’s hardly noticeable. You still look exactly the same.”
“I disagree. I’m a little softer, a little fuller than I used to be.”
You squirm beneath him, eager to have him close. You miss his warmth. “Are you, though?”
The thought of it is ridiculous – this man hasn’t changed a bit in the fifteen years you’ve spent together.
Has he?
“Of course I am.” Eddie takes your hand to run along the alleged swell of skin, and you rake your nails through the thick thatch of hair beneath his navel. “Right here. There’s a little more of me to love, right here.” He drops his tone as he whispers in your ear. “My pant size has changed too, you know.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I didn’t notice,” your admission is powder soft. “Seriously, I didn’t. I mean – so what if you went up a pant size? You’re fine as hell, Eds. It’s kinda unfair how gracefully you’re aging.”
And leaving me to wither in the dust, an unkind voice from the recesses of your mind reminds you.
That voice, it seems, will always be there in some way, a brand on your brain. But tonight, it’s a little easier to tame, to shove it down, to ignore it and focus on what you have right in front of you.
And so you do. “If anything, it makes me love you more, this part of you. I didn’t notice, didn’t give it a second thought because…” a small smile plays on your lips, “I’m the one who gets to see you. And touch you.” Your hands rake over his chest, eliciting an approving rumble from the back of Eddie’s throat. Your lids slip to half mast as you feel his cock fill out against your thigh. “And kiss you.” Wrapping your hands behind his neck, you guide him back to lie flush with your body, humming contentedly when he presses his lips to yours. “I’m the one that gets to grow old with you.”
Eddie sighs, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He rises on his forearm, hovering a fractional distance as a grin stretches his lips wide, as if you’ve unlocked the very secret he keeps held close to his heart.
“Then you know exactly what I mean.”
Your breath catches. “Oh.”
And suddenly, you do know, better than you ever have before. It has your heart skittering an erratic rhythm, pulsing love and desire for this heaven-sent man through your veins. Running your tongue along your lower lip, you allow yourself this tiny concession with an even tinier nod of your head.
Eddie’s features darken, his smile turns wicked when his impressive length hardens once again. Two thick, dark eyebrows rise in subtle query, relaxing as your permission comes with how coyly your teeth sink into your bottom lip. He paws at your leg, hiking your knee near your chest to slide home in one swift stroke.
“Ohh,” you gasp, barely given a moment to adjust before his hips set a deliciously brutal pace.
“Damn right, oh.” His tone rolls hot with love-drenched lust, elevated by the sole fact that you’re his devastatingly beautiful wife. His to have and to hold and remind you how much he loves you – and loves to fuck you silly into your mattress, again and again.
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You and Eddie enter the apartment where you’ll be staying for the next week for Christmas. This year, you’ve decided to have some time to yourselves since he’s been on tour and you’ve been working a lot because of the holidays.
You look around as you roll your suitcase further into the apartment and can’t help but gasp at how large and prettily decorated it is. There’s a giant Christmas tree in the living room against the giant window that looks out over the city. The tree with all the pretty lights outside behind it makes for such a picturesque view.
Eddie stands behind you, resting his hands on your waist as his chin sits atop your shoulder, a contented sigh passing through his lips as he does so. He’s missed you so much and being here with you for some much needed alone time is all he’s been thinking about for weeks.
Honestly, all he’s been thinking about is fucking you ok every single surface in the apartment and he intends to do so since you have all well. He hadn’t realized how much he needed your touch until he hugged you at the airport. Having you in his arms, holding your closing, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, he was rock hard right then and there. It took everything in him to not take you to the nearest restroom and have his way with you.
But now he can so he takes the opportunity when he sees your exposed neck. He presses his lips to it gently at first, but when he hears you hum, he goes full force, sucking on the skin, his fingers curling into your waist as your shirt bunches up, exposing some skin where eddie is quick to find purchase as you tilt your head to the side to give him more room to work.
“Eddie,” you moan. “Almost forgot how good you are with your mouth.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” he mumbles against your skin before turning you around to face him, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss. His hands move up your shirt while yours fist his as his tongue explores your mouth, both of your moaning as you do so.
You’re making up for lost time as you take off each other’s clothes, the garments flying across the room as you’re both so desperate to see each other naked. It’s been months and having only the company of your hands while you video chat isn’t exactly ideal even though it often does the trick.
“Fuck, you’re even more beautiful than I remember, Eddie breaths, taking in your naked body as his pulls you to him. You can feel his rock hard cock against you as he kisses you again, making you feel dizzy.
“Need you inside me,” you tell him as you grab his waist, pushing his cock against you even more. Eddie presses his lips to yours as he backs you up to the window and pounds into you as he grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, thrusting in and out of you as you buck your hips against his.
The window is nothing but cold against your back, but you actually think it feels kind of nice since you’ve gotten so hot with Eddie’s body against yours. His fingers are digging into your waist and even though it hurts like hell, you don’t dare stop him. It feels too good.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “Just like that. See? After a few months, we’ve still got it. God, you feel so good. Kept it loose for me, huh? So I was able to slide right in? How thoughtful of you.”
“You’ve helped me get off every single night we’ve been apart. You should have known it’d be like this.” He rams into you so hard that you hit the window again, your head also hitting the window. But you couldn’t care less. All you want is for him to do this until you feel like absolute jelly in his arms.
“I should have,” he rasps. “Always such a good girl for me, hm?”
“Always,” you reply as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, your cunt clenching around his cock as he holds it there, all of him inside you as he’s finally gotten the last bit in.
“God, wanna fill you up so good, baby. Wanna make you a mother.” This doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You and Eddie have spoken multiple times about how you want to have children and you can’t think of a better time to actually have your first.
“Then make me a mother,” you tell him and he goes even harder, his thrusts more frequent and hard, eliciting moan after moan from you.
“So fucking pretty,” Eddie says as his lips find yours, pushing you even more against the glass as he turns his head to the side. You orgasm into his mouth as his tongue finds its way into your own mouth, swirling around yours and his hands find their way to your ass, digging into the skin and you really hope he leaves marks. “You’re gonna be so hot with your stomach getting bigger. God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it sweetheart.”
He pulls you away from the window and brings you over to the couch where he lies, you collapsing on top of him with a gasp. You’re flat on top of him and his hands find their way to your ass, digging his nails into your cheeks as his lips find yours again before giving it a hard slap.
You gasp into his mouth and he can’t help but grin as he does it again, harder this time before massaging it to soothe the pain. You want him to do more, but know that he never wants to actually hurt you so you straddle his waist and begin to ride him as a thank him for fucking your brains out only moments earlier.
“Gonna make such a good mom, swear to god,” he breathes. “I’m gonna be a good dad, right?”
“Of course you are, Ed,” you tell him as your hips roll against his. “You’re gonna be a great dad. Amazing, even.”
“Always say everything I want to hear, don’t you sweetheart?” He winks as hips buck against yours and his fingers dig further into your ass cheeks with so much force that you swear you’re going to bleed. But that’s the least of your worries. Eddie already looks fucked out and you smile to yourself with pride at your boyfriend who’s eyes are definitely rolling into the back of his head and you’ve barely even done anything.
You hold onto his shoulders as you pick up the pace, waiting to get to what you were doing before, wanting to make him feel as good as he made you feel. He continues to buck his hips against yours and maybe it’s because you haven’t done this in weeks or maybe it’s all the traveling you’ve done all day, but you feel like the both of you don’t have the energy or stamina that you used to.
“Fuck fuck fuck, baby,” he moans as he reaches his orgasm and bucks his hip against yours one last time before his back hits the couch. You lie on top of him, the two of you out of breath and he doesn’t bother pulling out as he wants to be as close to you as possible.
He flips you over and pulls out, lowering himself down to your stomach, peppering it with kisses, telling you how much he loves you and that even though he just came inside of you, that he doesn’t care if you wind up pregnant or not. He’s still going to love you for the rest of his life. And you feel the exact same way about him.
idk if he's included but i'm going to shoot my shot anyways. what's something ex-husband!eddie does for ex-wife!reader, that others would think nothing of, that turns her on & has her second guessing the divorce solely bc of how hot he is? if that makes any sense at all lolll
shoot it bc i love him lmao. he's so hot. and there's honestly nothing hotter than him just being a dad sorry!!!! he's hot at it!!!!!
contains: a little smut but nothing graphic. they're fighting ofc lol.
"Luce, where's your tap shoes?" You frown, looking around the three year old's messy room, cluttered with toys and clothes that you hadn't got a chance to clean, or supervise her cleaning.
"I dunno," Lucy hummed, dragging her stuffed elephant along her sheets towards the other stuffed animals. "I thinks Daddy has them."
"You left them at dad's?" You swallow back a huff of irritation, eyes pinching closed.
You and Eddie weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. After a few weeks of bliss, of you nearly caving and letting him move back in, agreeing to work it out in therapy and give it another shot, he'd done what he always had- pissed you off. A bickering that turned into a fight, that led you both back to your separate spaces. Over what? You weren't exactly sure you even remembered.
It had been four days exactly that you had managed to avoid Eddie. Not speaking at the exchanging of the kids, you'd flat out ignored his greeting to you, and now, because of a stupid pair of tap shoes, you'd have to give in and speak to him.
"Hello?" He picked up on the third ring.
"Hey, it's me." You quipped, lips rolling around your snippy tone. "Lucy said she left her tap shoes at your house."
"Yeah, she did." Eddie's tone was just as biting, matching your lack of amusement.
You huffed. "Well, she needs them. She has dance in thirty minutes."
"So come get them?" Eddie scoffed.
"Nice. Sure, Ed, I'll just go out of my way to come get them because you couldn't remember to pack them. Way to go." You snapped sarcastically, venom dripping in your tone. You hoped he could feel your glare.
"Oh? This is my- of course, it's my fuckin' fault."
"It is your fuck-" You turned, looking to make sure Lucy was still in front of the television eating her snack. "It is your fuckin' fault, you ass. You want to act like you're dad of the year, and you don't even know her dance schedule?"
"I'm not doin' this with you, alright? I'm gonna hang up if you're just going to be a bitch." Eddie snapped. You could picture him, that tone too familiar. His jaw clenched tight, nostrils flaring the way they did when he was pissed. Maybe his fists clenched, forearm veins popping out.
"Just- Can you just bring them to the dance studio by four please?" You rolled your eyes. "I'm already running late. I have to get gas and get Lucy dressed."
"Fine." Eddie snapped. You didn't get a chance to reply, the other line ending with a harsh click.
Twenty-six minutes later, you were pulling into the dance studio. Between a three year old who refused to get dressed, waiting for pumps, and the unusual traffic in Hawkins, your nerves were shot and you were cutting it close. You were glad Jude was at a sleepover at the Harrington's for the night.
Eddie was there when you pulled in, standing outside his car, smoking a cigarette. You grit your teeth at the sight of him, lips wrapped around the stick, blowing smoke. You hated how your stomach flipped with excitement.
"Do you have them?" You stepped out of the car, moving to the backseat, barely glancing over at him.
"Hello to you too, Sunshine." Eddie huffed sarcastically, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.
You rolled your eyes, trying to soften your face when you opened the back car door to get Lucy out. "Daddy brought your shoes, so let's put them on so you'll be ready to go." You cooed gently, unstrapping her out, hoisting her on your hip.
"Eddie, can you hurry-" You stopped when he emerged, little tiny tap shoes hooked on his pinky, Lucy's pink dance bag slung over his shoulder.
"I got it, Mama." Eddie's tone was light but more of a snarl. You didn't respond, eyes rolling down his frame instead.
Your tongue rolled over your bottom lip, watching him put her little shoes on, fastening the tiny buckles. You lingered behind them when he walked her in, her little hand in his, the pink bag slung over his shoulder. You hated how weak in the knees it made you, seeing him be a dad- be a good dad. And dammit, he might have been a shit husband at times, but he was a good dad.
"Thank you." Your arms stayed folded over your chest but your tone was lighter when he came back out from dropping Lucy off. "That really saved me a lot of time."
"Don't mention it." Eddie's tone was still tight, nerves rattled with built up tension from the past days.
He started towards his car, you followed close behind him. "What are you doing now?"
Eddie turned at your tone, carefully. "What?"
You huffed, eyes rolling big and dramatic. "What are you doing now?" You repeated.
"Nothing." Eddie was cautious, unsure- even if he was sure, he was always a little unsure with you these days.
"Well, I mean, do you want to wait with me? Then maybe we can go get dinner. Me, you, and Luce? It's just us girls tonight." Your eyes rolled over his frame, his tight band tee.
Eddie squinted lightly. "Yeah? Sure. That'd be nice."
"Good." You hummed, opening the back seat. "Could you help me out? I can't get this back seat to lay down again. I think it might be stuck." It was not nearly as smooth as you wanted it to be, you never really were, but Eddie didn't mind. He swallowed back his smirk, scanning the parking lot. Good thing he'd picked the back spot, away from everyone.
He had you pinned against the seats, rutting into you mercilessly while you clawed at him, hands tangling in his hair pulling him closer and close. It was quick then, fulfilling but quick. You both had a giddy glow when you picked up Lucy, hoping the other parents wouldn't notice your tousled hair.
Later that night, after the dinner invitation had turned into an invite over, Eddie got to have you the way he wanted. Face buried between your thighs, his way of apologizing, while you shoved your face into a pillow- his pillow, trying to muffle your moans.
