Tbh, I believe canonically in DE every character (except maybe Sophia) is a SwitchVers... however if I had to actually give some headcanons to my face characters it would be:
Volt - SwitchVers with SubBottom leaning (With Eddie it depends on the mood, but he mostly Domtops)
Eddie - SwitchVers with SubBottom leaning
Cam - SubBottom. From time to time may DomBottom. But he's not exactly a fan of topping, unless he's being dominated.
Dorian - SubBottom. He's constantly expected to top and Dom, so when he's able to let go he prefers to feel pampered.
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100% in the Buddie Team Switch tent over here btw bc these bastards are honestly just far too complex to ever be anything else imo.
like Buck with his praise kink all somebody please tell me i did good as i wasn't told this growing up by the people who were supposed to say it to me and it changed my brain chemistry by denying me of positive affirmations and molded me into a pliable thing that cannot help but take any shape others want me to so i just need need need you to please tell me that i did good and that i am good and help me to believe that i'm as good as you're telling me i am by holding me down and forcing me to take all of you into all of me until i'm fucking convulsing with just how good it feels and how good i am at it, and bc i now know for sure how much you love it too as you're saying it out loud to me, over and over and over again...
and Eddie, with absolutely everything in his life (outside of work) feeling so very out of his control and needing to gain some of it back by crushing Buck with his body weight and telling Buck exactly what it is he should be doing and precisely how to do it and have Buck whining and keening with how desperate he is to comply bc Buck has complete trust in Eddie, in Eddie's ability to make the right decision for whatever it is Buck needs—for what they both need—and having that allows Eddie to have the courage in his convictions that he often struggles to have outside of the(ir) bedroom when it comes to his emotions and that just feels so good to Eddie, to be doing it right, to be the one making Buck feel good, soso good, and to actually be taking (for once in his life) what it is that he wants and allowing himself to have the things he desires, to have Buck, all for himself, because that is what feels good to him...
but then there are those other times in Eddie's life that he has had to and still has to be a sure and steady hand, a reliable go-to, be totally unshakeable and unbreakable and in charge of making decisions that affect countless people's lives—victims of war, those he tries his best to serve and save on calls, colleagues, friends, the people he cares for and those he loves the most in his life—and it's. well. it's A Lot. so much actually, that Eddie sometimes needs to turn it off and just let it all go and allow somebody else take over and tell him what to do and when to do it bc he just needs to not think about it anymore, to not think at all, needs to just be a vessel for somebody else's decisions and desires and put his trust wholly in somebody else, in Buck, bc he doesn't always trust himself but Buck knows Eddie so well and so completely and understands what Eddie needs to get out of his own head and just have somebody tell him (outside of his job) that he did good for once, that he can get matters of the heart right instead of always wrong wrong wrong and have Buck tell him that yes, of course he's good for something, good for this, good for splaying himself wide open and taking everything he is given by Buck...
and then there's the whole Buck (outside of work) having zero fucking clue of what he's doing and even tho he is trying his very best all of the time he's getting it wrong A Lot of the time, bc his best isn't always good enough so he has to try harder, but then he's trying too hard, too much, which means he still isn't getting it right. and so to be able to be the one in charge of things and have his will and instruction be absolutely the right thing? the very thing that Eddie needs? that's such a heady experience, such a rush, and when he makes Eddie beg and cry with it and Eddie loves loves loves Buck for it—loves Buck for telling him how it should be and for Buck insisting on what he's giving being what Eddie deserves—that is Buck living and thriving and loving loving loving Eddie right back, with all the plundering depth that he has in him and can give and is...
and that, all of that, is just. how it is. every facet of it; every logistic; every angle; every way and any way you look at it; every (s)which way.
You're lonely while baby-sitting your brothers' kids and call your best friend for some backup... of course, things go a little sideways when the kids go to sleep.
AKA I'm now on an Eddie kick and no one can stop me; some needy, cunt drunk, gentle switch Eddie for you guys.
If there's one thing you know about Eddie Munson, it's that he's great with kids. Calling him in to make baby sitting duties easier wasn't quite what you had in mind this Saturday, but any time with him is time well spent. He comes into the house like a hurricane and within five minutes he's embroiled in some complex game which seems to revolve around him chasing Piper and David while they compete to see who can scream the loudest.
The neighbours will be pissed, but at least you finally have time to make the mac and cheese they've been begging for all afternoon. As you drop a handful of sharp cheddar into the pot, Eddie skids into the kitchen, red-faced and panting,
"We need juice," he says, and you laugh,
"Fridge, Eds, they're not allowed coke or cream soda before dinner, give them orange juice or water... or milk. Whatever they want," you say, "and there's beer for you, too."
"Well alright," he says with a grin, but you feel him turn as he passes you and when you look over your shoulder he's standing by the refrigerator with a strange smile on his face,
"What?" You frown,
"Nothin' Princess," he says, but there's a flush on his cheeks still, "don't see you wearing a dress that often is all. Looks good, it new?" His eyes flick down and you feel a flash of heat go through you. You turn to the steaming pot and start to stir again - damn him, why is he so... delicious?
"No, well, kinda," you say, "I bought it a while ago but it's the first time I've worn it. It was so hot out today." It's true, and a total lie; you were wearing an older, less flattering dress before you called him. You changed into this, not sure why you were doing it, after Piper spilt paint on you.
It's so not you; light and fluffy and skimming the middle of your thighs. Buttery yellow with spaghetti straps. You're starting to realize you wore it for him, and that's a mortifying thought you can't settle with. He's not interested Y/N, if he was, he would have said something by now. Get a grip, girl.
A cold, condensation-beaded bottle of beer thumps onto the counter beside you and his broad hand rests next to it. You can feel the heat of his body behind you, hear him take a swig, smell the sharp aftershave and chemical soap and cheap shampoo he uses,
"Seems a little... fancy for babysitting," he says, voice low and heavy,
"I was... wearing an older one," you say, "Piper spilt paint on me."
"Shame," he says, "but this is a nice dress. You should wear it more."
"I might," you say and your voice is a low, shivering whisper. Piper runs into the room,
"Come play Eddie," she stamps her tiny feet,
"On my way," he says and hands her a cup, "here's your juice." For a second you'd love to throttle her. Jealous of a six-year-old, fuck I'm pathetic.
"Mac and cheese in ten," you call after them and he turns to look at you, his eyes dropping to your chest for a second, then he blushes and nods,
"Ten minutes, yes ma'am," he repeats with a mock salute and disappears. The screaming starts again; all you can do is pray you don't hear a crash any time soon.
They eat like they've never been fed before; all elbows and lowered heads, and Eddie widens his eyes at you, smirking before he takes a bite and theatrically rolls his eyes,
"You're right David," he says, "Auntie Y/N makes the best mac and cheese. What's in this?"
"Oh, you know," you say, "cheese, milk, butter," you shoot the kids a glance and mouth, "mustard." He raises his brows,
"Really?"
"Mmmhm," you say and he winks, reaching over to ruffle David's hair. The gesture almost makes you melt. Is it bad, you find yourself wondering, to picture him as a father? It seems weird; neither of you is twenty yet, and he's still trying to get out of high school... but he would be a great dad. You can feel it. Hell, you can see it.
And that makes you... well, feel things.
They protest being sent to bed and wheedle an extra long bath to compensate for going to bed at the same time they do every night. You can't say no, though; they're too cute, and when you come back out into the living room he's lounging on the sofa watching TV,
"All sleeping?" He asks with a smile,
"I think so," you sigh and flop down next to him, smoothing your dress self-consciously, "thank you, Eds, they were too much for me today."
"Hey it's all good," he says, "they're good kids. "
"They are," you sigh and press your head to his shoulder, felling him stiffen a little, "tell me you brought weed?"
"Of course," he snorts, "outside?"
"Yeah."
It's not hot anymore; it's not even warm. The cold night air kisses your bare legs and makes you shiver as you take a drag, and he drapes his heavy jacket over your shoulders,
"Thanks," it's hard to think of anything else to say; the smell of him on the fabric is dizzying,
"You're welcome, Princess," he sighs and leans back against the wall. "So I take it they're staying here tonight?"
"Yeah, Mom and Stan are in Portland for their honeymoon, Jade and Chris have gone down to Ohio for a wedding. They're here till Monday." You shudder. "It's gonna be a long weekend."
"You want me to head off and let you sleep?" He takes the joint from you and draws in smoke,
"No!" You say it a little too loudly maybe because he narrows one eye and smirks at you, "no, Eds, please I haven't talked to anyone over the age of six since Friday morning." He snorts and nods,
"Ok, well, I have time," he holds out his hand, letting you take the joint carefully, "I can come back over tomorrow and help if you want?" You nod,
"That would be great, as long as you don't mind?"
"Sounds like a good day to me," he says, "we can hop in the van and go out to the lake if you want?" And just like that it feels a little too intimate. Like they're your kids. Like they're his. You shake your head and then shrug,
"Uh, maybe, let's see how the weather is, radio says it might rain." The sudden cold in the night backs that up; it's like you can feel the thunderclouds rolling in as he takes the mostly gone joint from you from you and stares up at the sky,
"Halfsies?" He nods to it and you smile,
"Sure," you say, but he doesn't move,
"You look really good in that dress," he says suddenly, and there's no hint of teasing in his eyes now.
"Thank you," hot, blushing, unable to raise your voice, you almost whisper those words, feeling tiny and strangely exposed in his oversized jacket,
“I mean it,” he shifts so he’s facing you, “shame you don’t wear it more often.” Then he narrows his eyes and raises his hand to his face, hesitating as your eyes fix on his thick fingers and the chunky rings that they always hold, “sure you only wore it because of a wardrobe malfunction?” He asks suddenly, and though his voice is steady there’s a hint of anxiety on his face, take the plunge. This is it.
“No,” you say, “I wore it because I wanted you to see it.” He nods and looks down, then draws the last of the smoke into his lungs, before reaching out to pull you forward. Inches from your face, he blows the smoke gently into your mouth, and the rush you get breathing it in has little to do with the weed.
He takes a low, slow breath when you break apart, rubbing his nose against yours before he grins and whispers,
His hand slips under the heavy jacket, slides across the fine material of your dress, and pulls you against him just before your lips touch. Just like that, he’s not your best friend anymore... or at least he’s not just your best friend.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so fuckin’ long,”
“Why’d you wait till now?” You whisper back,
“I would have waited longer...” he said, “but I nearly had a nosebleed when I saw that dress.” You snigger and shake your head, try to step back, but he drags you forward again and buries his face in your neck, “I swear to God, Y/N, you better wear this again... not... for other guys though.”
“No?” You ask, and there’s a giddy smile spreading across your face,
“Absolutely not,” he almost growls,
“So when can I who should I wear it for then?” You ask though you know what he’s going to say,
“Me,” he murmurs, and drags your hips closer, stealing any reply you might have had when he presses himself against you and it becomes clear just how interested he is. Maybe it's the giddy exhilaration, maybe it’s the weed... or maybe it's just him, but you know you’re about to make a bad decision when you take his hand and drag him inside, pulling him to your brothers' bedroom, hushing him as you close the door.
All that bravado, all that presence melts away when you push him back onto the bed; he just stares up at you with those big doe eyes and lets you climb onto his lap. He’s so passive, so still that you feel a moment of panic,
“You... do you want to...?” You ask, blood chilling until he nods eagerly and he tugs your hips,
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie mutters, but he still doesn’t take over. Not like the other guys, well the other guy, you dated; he pushed and tugged and manhandled you... and it was fine. But the way Eddie lies back and stares at you as if waiting to be told what to do... it makes you feel itchy and needy and hot.
“Take your shirt off?” You ask tentatively and he almost tangles himself up in the material in his eagerness to comply, leaving you giggling, God he’s so perfect, as you trace the lines of his tattoos with shaking fingers, “you’re so beautiful,” you whisper and he blushes.
“That’s my line, Princess,” he mutters, pushing his hands up your thighs, all the way under your dress to toy with the lace of your panties. There’s something new about him, something vulnerable and tender and so achingly soft that it almost makes you want to cry... but there’s something else under that feeling. You want to sink your teeth into him, just devour him. He strokes your legs, shifts his hips, but doesn’t try for anything else, even when you kiss him. Even when the kiss goes on and on and on until your head is light and he’s whimpering and gasping,
“Shh,” you murmur and cover his mouth; his eyes flutter shut and suddenly you get it. “You gonna be a good boy for me Eds, hm?” He nods. “You gonna be quiet while I ride you.” He whimpers into your hand but nods nonetheless, so you lean down and take your hand away. “If you make a sound,” you whisper, watching emotions flit across those big, dark eyes, “I’ll stop, and you’ll have to wait until next weekend to get what you want, ok?”
“Y-yeah,” he whispers back and you can feel him shaking under you, big bad Eddie, shaking like a puppy... why does this feel so right?
“You sure you want this?” The question is genuine, but he gives you a look of such stupified contempt that you have to stifle a giggle.
“Then shut up and stop squirming,” you murmur, running your tongue across the shell of his ear, “keep your hands to yourself, and do as you’re told, ok?”
“No,” he draws it out rolling his eyes, “I’m terrified, all five-foot jack shit of you is so much that I couldn’t leave if I wanted to - ofcourseifuckingwantthis.” He whispers the last part so urgently that it almost sounds like a shout.
“You’re a little freak,” he whispers, but he’s grinning,
“You know where the door is Munson.”
“Wild horses couldn’t get me out of here,” he lies back and lets his arms fall back beside his head, “not a peep.”
“We’ll see.”
The heavy belt buckle takes a little more work than you had thought, but his jeans slide down easily once it's undone. He’s hard, almost painfully so, and there’s a wet patch on the front of his boxers; you raise your eyebrows at him, and he flushes, looking away. There’s a shiver of apprehension; he’s big, maybe not huge, but bigger than your one and only boyfriend... and when you pull down his boxers his cock twitches. His eyes are closed, breaths coming in slow, measured waves until you run your tongue across the velvety skin at his hip.
The little hitch is like music; you chase it, nipping and sucking the skin on his belly and hips until he’s twitching and letting out soft, desperate huffs. When you run your tongue along his length he makes a stifled, strangled grunting sound, but stays still, just like he promised.
His cock twitches in your hand as you line him up with your entrance, and when you sink onto him, taking every inch so slowly that it makes you dizzy, his eyes roll back and his mouth moves.
“Please, please, please,” he’s whispering over and over again like a prayer, but when you shush him he clamps his mouth shut,
“Good boy,” you murmur and run your hand down his chest to the start of the fine, dark hair between his legs, feeling him twitch in you when you utter those two simple words. “Look how good you look in me,” you whisper, not quite believing that the filth is coming from your mouth; when his eyes open they’re hazy; he’s wrecked, holding on by a thread, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you almost destroys him; Eddie jams one knuckle into his mouth and bites, a strange, growling sound exiting his throat. Still, he does exactly what you told him, and the feeling of power mixed with the desperate need that’s been building in your belly becomes so heady you think you might break too.
And that’s how it goes; slow, almost silent, both of you trying to make no sound until you’re shaking and you slump over him. It’s only then that he takes over, rolling the two of you, pulling you down onto the floor on the side of the bed farthest from the door, tugging the neck of your dress down as he murmurs nonsense words and phrases that jumble together in the hot, slick spaces between you,
“so fucking wet for me - should’ve done this months ago- fuck, that’s my girl, -”
Eddie goes on and on and on until you can barely think, and then it’s his turn to cover your mouth, growling in your ear as he rolls into your, slow and hard, the sheer weight and bulk of him making your hips ache and your body shake while he worms one hand between you to toy with your aching clit. When you cum it rolls over you like a thunderstorm, muted by the way you focus on keeping silent, wrapping your legs tight around him, so tight that he has to force them open to pull away before he fills you. Then it’s just the silence of the house, the muted sound of the TV still playing in the living room, dogs barking in the distance.
“Fuck me,” he pants, half whispering, “where the fuck did that come from, Princess?”
“I dunno,” the words are dreamy and soft; he kisses your forehead and helps you up, putting you back together before you step out into the hallway, quietly makes his way to the living room before you peek into Piper and David’s room on the other side of the bathroom. They’re sleeping peacefully.
Everything is exactly as it should be... except he has to go. That’s the part that sticks in your throat, even though he peppers you with kisses and soft words and promises; it feels wrong for him to go, now.
