My name is Khaos | 2️⃣8️⃣ | ISFP | Aries ☀️ Scorpio 🌙 Capricorn ⬆️| Pansexual Feel free to ask me anything, I love making new friends. :) ♥ I also love to sing, write, and act.
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this is chapter 2, click here for series masterlist
description: the second eddie sees you for the first time, he's hooked. after stalking your job's instagram account, he finds your profile. cue shameless flirting in the DMs, cryptic notes, and a "hey girlie!" DM.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mixed media fic (writing, text messages, images), modern au, eddie slid in her DMs, mutual pining, y2k alt baddie reader, cigarettes as flirting, eddie's on his phone every 6 seconds, robin buckley is a menace, possible love triangle, possesive-ish!eddie, jealous!eddie, eddies down catastrophically
TW: smoking, horny eye contact
WC: 6.1k
A/N: here's the long awaited part two!!! i have started to rewatch the Scream franchise and...i have IDEASSSS BRO UGH. stay tuned ;)
reblogs are always appreciated<3 much love muah muah enjoyyyyyyy
In true Robin fashion, she sends about fifteen emojis before responding again:
You stare at the message, then sit up immediately, resting your back against the headboard.
Your stomach twists reading those messages. Which is so annoying, right? You've known Eddie for all of twenty-four hours, and suddenly you feel jealous of someone else who shows interest.
You dramatically throw your head back and open up the looming message from Chrissy. Fuck it.
Oh.
You stare at the smiley face like it personally offended you. Because, it sort of did.
You sigh and shut your phone off for a second, because what the absolute fuck is going on?
Then, another buzz snaps your attention back from whatever spiral was about to follow. It's not Robin or Chrissy this time, but Eddie.
And for some odd fucked up reason, it makes your chest sting.
Naturally, you immediately screenshot it and send it straight to Robin.
You pause and stare between the conversations: Chrissy's sweet little smiley face, Eddie being jealous in real time, and Robin just blatantly stating the unfortunate obvious.
Then, slowly, a dangerous grin spreads across your face. Because two can play this game.
You leave Chrissy on read, which in this day and age is practically a physical slap across the face. Then you respond to Eddie's blatant test to see whether you and Steve are a thing.
Then, immediately after:
The next morning, you did exactly that. Picking out what you could only describe as your "outfit of mass destruction" and posting it on your story for good measure:
The second Eddie sees you step out onto your front porch, he forgets how breathing works…like, genuinely. One hand still hangs out the driver’s-side window of the van, cigarette between his fingers, while the other tightens around the steering wheel hard enough that his rings creak faintly against the leather.
Because Jesus Christ, you knew what you were doing with that outfit. The worst part? The really worst part? Is that you notice immediately.
Your mouth twitches as you walk down the driveway slowly, sunglasses perched on your nose despite the early hour. Eddie watches the way your boots hit the pavement like he’s witnessing a religious experience. By the time you reach the passenger side, he still hasn’t said anything.
You open the door, sliding into the seat beside him casually.
“Good morning.”
Nothing.
Then finally, “…You’re evil.”
You laugh immediately, shutting the van door behind you. “That bad?”
Eddie turns toward you fully now, looking deeply offended by your entire existence. “Sweetheart, I almost hit a mailbox pulling up here.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“You can’t dress like that at seven in the morning.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
A grin spreads across your face as you reach over, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers for a drag without asking. Eddie watches you do it with an expression that’s dangerously close to lovesick.
“Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” he mutters.
You hand the cigarette back slowly. “Maybe.”
Eddie stares at you for another second before finally pulling away from the curb with a dramatic sigh. “This is gonna be the longest school day of my life.”
The ride to Hawkins High is unfairly comfortable. The radio plays low through the speakers while morning sunlight spills across the dashboard, catching on the silver rings wrapped around Eddie’s fingers as he drums them against the wheel absentmindedly.
And he keeps looking at you. At red lights, at stop signs, every five seconds, like he physically cannot help himself. Finally, you glance over. “You know, staring at the road is generally encouraged.”
“I am looking at the road.”
“You almost rear-ended that truck.”
“It was worth it.”
You snort softly, shaking your head as you crack the window slightly.
Cold morning air rushes through the van instantly, carrying the smell of smoke and leather and Eddie’s cologne with it. God, what a dangerous combination.
Eddie catches you shivering slightly and immediately reaches over without thinking, tugging the sleeve of your jacket higher over your shoulder, where it had slipped down. The gesture’s so casual it almost catches you off guard.
“You cold?”
“A little.”
He hums thoughtfully before turning the heat up another notch. “There. Princess treatment.”
“That what this is?”
“Obviously.”
You glance over at him again. “You do this with all the girls you drive to school?”
Eddie grins lazily. “Only the ones making me lose my mind before first period.”
Unfortunately for you, that line lands exactly as he intended. By the time the van pulls into the Hawkins High parking lot, your stomach’s already warm from laughing too much.
And Eddie’s completely gone for you, that part’s obvious now. He parks crooked because he’s too busy looking at you while backing in, which immediately earns him a laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. “Do you actually know how to drive?”
“Not anymore.”
Before you can answer, Eddie suddenly reaches across the center console, and your breath catches slightly. But he just tugs your sunglasses down your nose enough to properly look at your eyes.
“…Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I’m fucked.”
Then he smirks again immediately after, like he didn’t just say something devastatingly sincere. “Cigarette?”
Outside, the morning air smells again like wet pavement and gasoline. Students flood the parking lot in loud groups while Eddie leans against the side of his van beside you, lighting a cigarette between his lips first before turning toward you automatically.
He cups the lighter against the wind for you without even asking, and the flame flickers gold between you, your eyes lifting to his through the smoke. And Eddie visibly swallows.
“Oh, you’re trying to kill me today,” he murmurs.
You inhale slowly before answering. “You’re being dramatic again.”
“Hon, I haven’t even STARTED being dramatic.”
Before you can recover from the choice of nickname, voices call out across the parking lot.
“Well, well, WELL.” Robin.
You glance over just in time to see her and Steve walking toward the van together, both immediately clocking the situation in front of them. Specifically:
Eddie standing way too close to you
your cigarette between your fingers
his lighter still in his hand
and his arm casually sliding around your waist, the second Steve approaches
Subtle. Very subtle.
Steve notices instantly and starts grinning like an asshole. “Oh, he’s feeling possessive now,” Robin says delightedly.
Eddie flips her off without removing his arm from around you. “Good morning to you, too.”
Steve stops beside the van, looking slowly between the two of you. “Wow. So this is why Munson looked like he was gonna throw up during homeroom yesterday.”
“I did not—”
Robin bursts out laughing immediately.
You glance up at Eddie innocently. “Rough morning?”
“Don’t start.”
But he’s smiling when he says it, which gets even worse when you reach over and fix the collar of his jacket absentmindedly.
Because now Eddie looks like he might actually die. Robin notices, Steve notices, hell, half the parking lot probably notices.
And somewhere across the parking lot? Chrissy Cunningham absolutely notices, too.
By the time you and Eddie make it inside Hawkins High, people are staring, not subtly, either.
Which honestly makes sense considering Eddie Munson has his arm wrapped around your waist, and the two of you are very obviously existing in your own little world while weaving through the hallway crowd.
Eddie pretends not to notice the attention, mostly because if he acknowledges it, he might start acting smug about it.
“You know,” you say casually as the two of you walk down the hallway, “people are looking at us like we committed a crime.”
“We probably did.” Eddie shrugs. “Pretty sure this school hates attractive people.”
You snort softly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he says, glancing down at you with a lazy grin, “you keep hanging around me.”
Unfortunately? Also true.
His thumb keeps tracing absentminded little patterns against your side as you walk, and every single time he does it, your stomach flips in the most annoying way imaginable.
The worst part is he seems completely unaware he’s doing it…or maybe very aware, hard to tell with Eddie.
As you turn the corner toward the arts hallway, you notice people whispering almost immediately. Eddie notices that part and immediately pulls you a little closer against his side.
“You’re doing that on purpose now,” you murmur.
“Doing what?”
You look pointedly at the arm around your waist, and Eddie looks down like he somehow forgot it was there.
“Oh, this?” he asks innocently. “Thought you liked princess treatment.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again, which absolutely destroys him a little. By the time you reach your classroom door, Eddie’s already dreading leaving. Which is insane, he’s known you for like two days.
You stop outside the classroom while students file in around you loudly.
Eddie leans casually against the wall beside the door, cigarette-free for once but still smelling faintly like smoke and cold air. His curls are slightly messy from the drive over, cheeks pink from the morning chill.
Cute. Dangerously cute, at that.
“You gonna survive first period without me?” you ask lightly.
Eddie sighs dramatically. “Honestly? No.”
“You’re clingy.”
“You made me this way.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and Eddie immediately softens hearing it. God. He’s so gone.
“Alright,” you say eventually, adjusting the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I should probably go before our fans start a rumor we eloped.”
“That already happened yesterday, actually.”
You snort again, shaking your head. Then, before you can overthink it, you step a little closer. Your hand slides briefly against the front of his jacket as you lean up and press a quick kiss against his cheek.
Soft, fast, and warm enough to completely short-circuit his nervous system. Then you pull back as if nothing happened.
“I’ll see you later, Munson.”
And just like that, you disappear into the classroom, leaving Eddie standing there in the hallway. Frozen, absolutely fucking frozen. His brain completely flatlines for a solid five seconds.
A sophomore accidentally shoulder-checks him, trying to get into class. Eddie doesn’t even react, because all he can think about is that you kissed him. On the cheek. In public. Voluntarily.
“Oh my God,” he whispers to himself.
Then immediately drags both hands down his face, trying to get it together before he embarrasses himself. Too late, fucker.
Because Gareth appears at the end of the hallway at the exact wrong moment and spots Eddie standing there looking visibly shell-shocked.
“…Why do you look like you just saw God?”
Eddie turns slowly, still stunned, still pink-cheeked, and still feeling the ghost of your lipstick against his skin. “She kissed me.”
Gareth blinks once. “What?”
“She kissed me.”
“…On the mouth?”
“No.” Eddie pauses dramatically. “Worse.”
“Huh?”
Eddie points weakly toward his cheek as if it explains everything. “Here.”
Gareth stares at him for a long moment before immediately bursting into laughter so loud that people turn around. “Oh, you are DOWN BAD.”
Fifth period passes painfully slow. Mostly because Hawkins High apparently operates entirely on gossip, and everybody has already noticed you showed up with Eddie that morning.
You catch people looking at you in the halls, whispering during class. One girl literally asks if you and Eddie are dating while you’re grabbing books from your locker. Which is insane considering it’s been, like, forty-eight hours.
By the time your teacher finally lets the class out for a bathroom break halfway through the period, you’re already irritated. The fluorescent lights inside the girls' bathroom buzz overhead as you shove the door open, immediately greeted by the smell of hairspray and cheap perfume.
Two girls linger by the mirrors, gossiping quietly, but they scatter a minute later, leaving you alone at the sinks. Finally.
You lean against the counter, reapplying lip gloss absentmindedly while your mind drifts back to this morning. Eddie’s arm around your waist, the look on his face after you kissed his cheek, the way he’d stared at you like—
The bathroom door swings open again, and you glance up automatically through the mirror. And there she is.
Chrissy Cunningham.
Pretty pink sweater, perfect blonde curls, glossy lips, and a sweet smile are already in place the second your eyes meet in the reflection.
“Oh my God,” she says brightly. “Hi.”
Your stomach tightens immediately because there’s nothing technically wrong with her tone. But, still. You cap your lip gloss slowly. “Hey.”
Chrissy walks over to the sink beside yours, setting her little makeup bag down carefully. Everything about her feels soft, polished, and intentional. Very different from you, which somehow annoys you that much more.
“I feel like I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,” she says while washing her hands delicately. “Robin talks about you constantly.”
You lean lightly against the counter. “Hopefully good things.”
Chrissy laughs softly. “Mostly about how pretty you are.”
There’s a tiny pause after that, just enough to feel loaded. You glance at her through the mirror. “Mostly?”
Her smile widens slightly. “You know Robin.” Of course, even her smile is cute.
Chrissy pulls a lip gloss from her bag next, applying it carefully while looking at you through the mirror instead of directly at you. “So,” she says casually, “you and Eddie seem close already.”
There it is. You shrug one shoulder like you haven’t spent all day thinking about him. “Guess so.”
“Mhm.” The sound is light, not quite judgmental enough to call out. You hate that.
Chrissy finally turns toward you fully now, leaning against the counter beside you. “He likes you.”
Straight to the point, interesting. You raise an eyebrow slightly. “Did he tell you that?”
“No,” she says quickly, almost laughing. “Eddie’s terrible at admitting things.”
The familiarity in her voice scratches at something unpleasant in your chest. Like she knows him well, too well. You busy yourself fixing the sleeve of your jacket. “You seem pretty confident about it.”
Chrissy tilts her head slightly, studying you for a second too long. “I’ve known Eddie a long time.” And there it is again. It’s not mean or rude, but just enough emphasis to feel territorial.
You smile back anyway. “That so?”
“Mhm.” Chrissy’s tone stays airy and sweet. “People usually think he’s flirting with everyone, but he’s actually kinda picky.”
Your jaw tightens faintly because what exactly is that supposed to mean? Chrissy notices the shift immediately and smiles more sweetly.
“Oh my God,” she says suddenly. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Liar.
“You’re really pretty together, actually.”
Together. Interesting choice of words. You stare at her for a second, trying to decide if she’s intentionally messing with you or if this is just how she talks. The worst part? You genuinely can’t tell.
Then Chrissy reaches for her bag again, slinging it over her shoulder before heading toward the door. But right before she leaves, she pauses and glances back at you.
“Just don’t break his heart, okay?”
Then she smiles one last time and disappears out the bathroom door before you can even respond, leaving you standing there alone under the fluorescent lights. Annoyed, confused, and suddenly very aware that this whole thing with Eddie might not be as simple as you thought.
By the end of the school day, Eddie’s practically vibrating with anticipation, which is embarrassing.
But in his defense, you’d been on his mind literally all day. Ever since this morning, honestly. Ever since you kissed his cheek and walked away, looking all smug while he internally combusted in the hallway.
So yeah, he’s waiting outside your last period class ten minutes early. Leaning against the lockers with one boot hooked against the wall, twirling his van keys around his finger while students pass by.
And the second he sees you walk out of the classroom, his face lights up automatically.
“There she is,” he says immediately. “My favorite—” Then he stops, because something’s off.
You don’t smile the same way you usually do when you see him, and don’t immediately drift toward him either. You just adjust your bag higher on your shoulder and lean beside him casually.
“…Hey,” he says, a little slower this time.
“Hey.”
Yeah. Definitely something wrong. Still, he tries anyway. “So, good news. I survived the school day.”
“Congratulations.”
“…Wow.”
You start walking down the hallway, and Eddie falls into step beside you automatically, watching you carefully now. Usually by now you’re teasing him, laughing at something, looking at him. Now? Nothing.
“You alright?” he asks after a minute.
“Mhm.”
“That sounded fake.”
You shrug.
Eddie’s brows pull together slightly. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“Sweetheart,” he says lightly, “you haven’t insulted me once in like… three minutes.”
That almost gets a smile out of you, heavy on almost. And that’s what really tips him off. Eddie reaches for your wrist gently, stopping you near the side exit doors, where the hallway’s quieter now.
“Hey,” he says, softer. “What happened?”
You look at him finally, those stupidly adorable brown eyes already searching your face like he’s trying to solve you. Which makes this even more annoying, because he looks genuinely confused.
You cross your arms lightly. “What’s going on with you and Chrissy?”
Eddie blinks once. “…What?”
“Chrissy.”
His expression somehow gets even more confused. “Chrissy Cunningham?”
“No, Chrissy fucking Teigen, Eddie.”
That finally earns a startled laugh out of him. “Okay, alright— Jesus.”
But you’re still looking at him expectantly, not joking.
Eddie’s smile fades slightly. “Wait. What about her?”
You hesitate for half a second before deciding absolutely not, you are not gonna sound jealous right now. So instead, you shrug like it’s casual.
“She talked to me today.”
Eddie nods slowly. “Okay…”
“In the bathroom.”
“…Okay?”
“And she was being weird.”
That makes him snort softly. “Chrissy’s always kinda weird.”
You narrow your eyes immediately. “You know what I mean.”
Eddie studies your face for another second before realization slowly starts creeping in. “…Wait.”
His eyebrows lift. “Oh, my God.”
You immediately hate the grin starting to form on his face. “No,” you warn.
“You’re jealous.”
“I am NOT jealous.”
“You are SO jealous.”
You scoff loudly, starting to walk again immediately, but Eddie follows beside you, grinning like an idiot now. “That’s actually adorable.”
“Eddie.”
“You thought me and Chrissy— sweetheart, no.”
The pet name lands annoyingly hard, yet you keep your expression flat anyway. “She seems to think there’s a ‘me and Chrissy.’”
That wipes the grin off his face slightly. “…What’d she say?”
You shrug again, looking ahead instead of at him. “Just weird stuff. Talking about how long she’s known you. Saying you get nervous around people you like.” You glance over finally. “Which, apparently, she knows from experience.”
Eddie groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, my God.”
“So there is something.”
“No!” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ, no.”
You raise an eyebrow. Eddie exhales hard before stepping in front of you, suddenly near the parking lot doors, forcing you to stop walking.
“Okay,” he says. “Look at me for a second.”
You do, reluctantly.
“Chrissy and I are friends.”
“Mhm.”
“That’s it.”
“She doesn’t act like that’s it.”
Eddie sighs. “Chrissy flirts with literally everyone.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you flirt with ‘literally everyone’?”
Eddie stares at you for a second, then his expression softens completely.
“No,” he says quietly. “Just you.”
And unfortunately? That does something violent to your stomach. Because he sounds sincere.
Eddie steps a little closer then, eyes searching yours carefully. “Did you seriously think I was spending all day following you around and staring at you because I’m secretly in love with Chrissy Cunningham?”
You cross your arms tighter anyway. “Maybe.”
“Sweetheart.” He laughs softly now. “I barely noticed Chrissy today.”
That shouldn’t make you as happy as it does, so you try to look away before he notices. Too late.
“Oh, there she is,” Eddie murmurs teasingly. “There’s my girl again.”
“I’m not your girl.”
His grin comes back instantly. “Sure you aren’t.”
The drive home starts soft again, which honestly feels worse after the whole Chrissy conversation. Because now every little thing Eddie does feels more intentional somehow.
The late afternoon sun spills gold through the windshield while music hums low through the van speakers, your legs stretched across the bench seat slightly as Eddie drives one-handed through Hawkins.
And his other hand? Resting warm against your thigh, like it naturally belongs there. At first, it’s casual, barely there. Then his thumb starts moving absentmindedly against your jeans whenever he talks, tracing slow little patterns that make it impossible to focus on literally anything else.
You glance down at his hand once.
“What?” he asks, mouth twitching.
“Nothing.”
“That looked like a lie.”
You turn toward the window again to hide your smile. “You’re cocky today.”
“Today?” Eddie laughs softly. “Baby, I’ve been cocky.”
The nickname hits harder now after the hallway conversation, especially because his voice sounds quieter this time, more affectionate than teasing.
The van stops at a red light, and Eddie glances over at you again, curls falling into his face slightly. “…You busy tonight?”
Your eyes flick toward him. “Depends.”
“On?”
“How good your offer is.”
Eddie grins immediately. “Jesus Christ, you make me work for it.”
“Always.”
The light turns green again, but he keeps glancing over every few seconds anyway. Then finally:
“Go out with me tonight.” You blink once.
The confidence in his tone disappears just enough at the edges for you to notice he’s actually nervous about asking.
“Like… a date?” you ask casually.
Eddie scoffs. “No, sweetheart. I just like to ask all girls to stare at me lovingly over greasy diner food.”
You laugh quietly before looking back out the windshield, mostly so he doesn’t see the smile you’re trying to hide.
“And what if I say no?”
“Then I throw myself into traffic.”
“You are so dramatic!”
“You like it.”
Unfortunately, yes. Yes, you do.
His hand squeezes your thigh once, gently. “C’mon,” he says, softer. “Lemme take you out.”
The warmth in his voice ruins you a little, so you sigh dramatically like this is a burden. “Fine.”
Eddie goes still beside you. “…Fine?”
You shrug innocently. “I guess you can take me on a date.”
His grin spreads slowly. “Holy shit.”
“Relax.”
You roll your eyes affectionately. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Have we met?”
Then suddenly, his dashboard lights up, your eyes automatically flicking downward.
Incoming call: Chrissy C
Your stomach drops immediately, and the smile falls off his face almost instantly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
But it’s already too late. Because all the warm softness from five seconds ago immediately twists into something sharp and unpleasant in your chest.
You look away toward the window, and Eddie declines the call immediately.
“She probably just needs notes or something,” he says quickly.
“Sure she does.”
“Seriously.”
Another buzz, this time a voicemail notification. You laugh once under your breath, and it’s definitely not a happy laugh.
Eddie glances over at you again. “Hey.”
“It’s fine.”
“That definitely means it’s not fine.”
You shrug one shoulder, suddenly very interested in the passing trees outside your window. “You can answer if you want.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you usually do?”
Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”
God, you hate how jealous you sound. Absolutely hate it. Especially because you barely even have a right to be jealous yet.
The van goes quieter for a second after that. Then Eddie suddenly pulls into the empty parking lot beside Lovers Lake instead of continuing toward town.
Your brows pull together. “What are you doing?”
He parks crookedly before turning toward you fully. “I’m fixing this before you spend the rest of the night pissed at me.”
You stare at him.
Eddie’s expression softens almost immediately. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, “I asked you on a date like thirty seconds ago.”
“So?”
“So why would I do that if I wanted Chrissy?”
Your jaw tightens faintly. “Maybe you want both.”
Eddie looks genuinely horrified by that. “No,” he says instantly. “Absolutely not.”
You finally look at him fully then. And unfortunately? He looks sincere again. Completely and utterly sincere.
Eddie reaches over carefully, fingers brushing your chin lightly until your eyes meet his properly.
“I like you,” he says simply. “Like… really fucking obviously.”
Your stomach flips.
“And Chrissy knows that now,” he continues. “Which is probably why she’s acting weird.”
You blink slightly. “…What?”
Eddie leans back against the seat with a sigh. “Chrissy and I have always kinda flirted, okay? But nothing has ever happened.” He looks back at you carefully. “And now suddenly I can’t shut up about you, so yeah, she’s probably irritated.”
That shouldn’t make you feel better, but it absolutely does.
You look down at your lap for a second before muttering, “Still annoying.”
Eddie laughs softly. “Yeah. It is.”
Then his fingers hook gently beneath your chin again.
“Don’t get all mad at me now,” he murmurs. “I kinda like when you’re mean, but I’d rather you just kiss me instead.”
Your stomach flips violently. God, he’s smooth. You narrow your eyes slightly anyway, mostly so he doesn’t notice how affected you are. “You think you’re very charming.”
“I know I am.” Cocky asshole.
Still, you lean forward anyway and kiss him. Not the cheek this time.
His breath catches instantly the second your lips touch his. It’s soft at first. Tentative for maybe half a second before Eddie’s hand slides firmly against your waist, pulling you closer across the bench seat like he physically cannot help himself.
And suddenly the kiss gets warmer, the kind that leaves your stomach floating somewhere near your ribs. Eddie kisses like he talks: confident at first, then devastating once he realizes you’re kissing him back just as hard.
By the time you pull away, his curls are messier than before, and he looks genuinely dazed. Like you just hit him over the head with a shovel.
“…Oh,” he says faintly.
You laugh softly despite yourself.
Eddie stares at you for another second before dragging a hand down his face dramatically. “Jesus Christ.”
“You alright there, Munson?”
“No,” he says honestly. “Not even remotely.”
That earns another laugh out of you. And God, that sound absolutely kills him. You settle back into your seat again, trying to regain some composure while Eddie continues staring at you like he’s seeing the physical embodiment of religion.
Then finally: “You should take me home.”
Eddie blinks once. “…What?”
You grin slightly. “I have this date that I need to get ready for.”
His jaw actually drops. “Oh, you are evil.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
Still muttering dramatically under his breath, Eddie starts the van again and pulls back onto the road. But now his hand definitely doesn't leave your thigh the entire drive home.
The second you get into your bedroom, you kick your shoes off, grab the phone beside your vanity mirror, and click on FaceTime.
Robin answers first, immediately.
And immediately screams. “OH, MY GOD.”
You wince, holding the phone farther away. “Jesus Christ.”
“No, absolutely not.” Robin’s face fills the screen while she points accusingly. “You kissed him.”
Your eyebrows lift. “How do you know that already?”
“Because Eddie just called Gareth and apparently sounded like he got drafted into war.”
You burst out laughing before another face suddenly appears beside Robin’s. Vicky.
“Oh, this is serious,” Vicky says immediately. “She called for backup.”
“You’re both dramatic.”
“Says the girl currently glowing,” Robin shoots back.
You roll your eyes, already digging through your closet. “I need outfit help.”
Both girls gasp loudly at the same time. Vicky clutches her chest theatrically. “She’s in deep.”
“I’m literally going to a diner.”
“With Eddie,” Robin emphasizes.
“…Unfortunately.”
Robin narrows her eyes. “You like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Liar,” both girls say instantly.
You ignore them, holding up two different tops toward the camera instead. “Okay. Focus. Which one says ‘I’m casually hot and definitely not trying too hard’?”
Robin immediately points. “Black.”
Vicky points the other direction. “Absolutely not. Red.”
“Thank you,” you tell Vicky.
“BOOOO,” Robin yells. “You can’t trust her; she supports chaos.”
“Exactly,” Vicky says proudly.
You laugh under your breath, tossing clothes onto your bed while the two of them continue arguing loudly through the phone.
Your bedroom smells faintly like vanilla candles and hairspray now, golden evening light spilling through the curtains while you drag eyeliner carefully across your lash line.
“So wait,” Vicky says from the phone screen, “start over. Exactly what did Chrissy say?”
You lean back slightly, screwing the cap back onto your eyeliner. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t technically mean.”
Robin groans immediately. “Those are the WORST girls.”
“I’m serious!” you insist. “She was all sweet and smiley the entire time.”
“Which somehow makes it more threatening,” Vicky says wisely.
“THANK you.”
Robin points aggressively through the screen. “See, I told you. Chrissy weaponizes kindness.”
You snort softly, reaching for your mascara. “That sounds insane.”
“Because it IS insane,” Robin says. “But she does it anyway.”
You shake your head, thinking back to the bathroom again.
Chrissy’s perfect curls, the sweet smile, the way she kept saying Eddie’s name as if it belonged to her. Your stomach twists again, annoyingly.
“She kept bringing up how long she’s known him,” you mutter while fixing your mascara carefully. “Like every sentence was secretly a threat.”
Robin nods instantly. “Yeah, that’s territorial behavior.”
“She literally told me not to break his heart.”
Both girls go silent. Then: “Oh, that’s psycho,” Robin says immediately.
“RIGHT?” you exclaim.
Vicky leans closer to the camera. “No, because that’s actually so manipulative.”
“And Eddie acts like nothing’s going on!”
Robin scoffs. “Because Eddie’s dumb.”
“Hey,” you say automatically.
Robin freezes. Slowly grins.
“…Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You defended him.”
You immediately point your mascara wand threateningly at the screen. “Do not start.”
Vicky’s already giggling. “No, Robin’s right. You defended him instinctively.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did,” Robin says. “Also the fact you’re doing a full post-crisis debrief while getting ready for a date with him is making me insane.”
You look back at your reflection quickly, pretending to focus on blending your makeup instead of how warm your face suddenly feels.
“It’s not a crisis.”
“You got jealous.”
“I got suspicious.”
“Jealous,” both girls say together.
You groan loudly, throwing your beauty blender onto the vanity dramatically. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
Robin actually clutches her chest. “OH this is huge.”
“She kissed him today too,” Vicky says casually.
Robin whips toward the camera so fast she nearly falls off-screen. “WAIT. ON THE MOUTH?”
You immediately laugh. “Jesus Christ, Vicky.”
“What?” she says innocently. “That’s relevant information.”
Robin looks deeply betrayed. “And you DIDN’T LEAD WITH THAT?”
“It was one kiss.”
“One kiss?” Robin repeats hysterically. “You’ve known this man for like three days!”
“Sometimes when it’s right, it’s right,” Vicky says sagely.
“You are not helping.”
Robin’s eyes narrow suddenly. “Wait.”
You immediately recognize that tone. “What?”
“She saw you kiss him this morning.”
You blink once. “Who?”
“Chrissy.” Oh...OH. Your stomach drops slightly as realization settles in.
Because Chrissy absolutely had been standing near the front office when you kissed Eddie’s cheek goodbye.
Robin watches your expression change and immediately points again. “THAT’S why she cornered you in the bathroom.”
Vicky gasps dramatically. “This is becoming a soap opera.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re starting to think they might be right.
Robin leans closer to the screen again. “Okay but important question.”
“What?”
“Are we trying to make her jealous tonight?”
You blink. “…What?”
“She started psychological warfare first,” Robin says matter-of-factly. “We retaliate.”
Vicky nods solemnly beside her. “Correct.”
“You two are terrible influences.”
“And yet,” Robin says smugly, “you called us.”
Your mascara’s barely dry by the time your phone buzzes beside you. Robin’s still mid-rant about “counteracting blonde warfare” when you glance down at the screen, and immediately smile.
“Oh my God,” she says flatly. “That’s him.”
You try, failing miserably, to hide the grin tugging at your mouth as you unlock the phone.
Vicky makes a wounded noise. “That’s disgusting actually.”
“You want him soooo bad,” Robin says, pointing at the screen while you laugh quietly under your breath.
“I hate both of you.”
“Mhm,” Robin says knowingly. “Go see your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You kissed him twice in one day.”
Your face heats immediately. “Goodbye.”
Robin cackles as you end the FaceTime before either of them can say anything worse.
Outside, the evening air’s cooler now, soft summer dusk settling over the neighborhood while headlights glow warmly at the end of your driveway. Eddie’s van.
And there he is, leaning against the driver’s side door with a cigarette between his lips, leather jacket thrown over a black band tee, curls messy like he’s been dragging his hands through them impatiently.
Then he looks up and stops breathing again, visibly.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters to himself.
You shut the front door behind you slowly, pretending not to notice the way his eyes drag over you immediately. From your boots, to your outfit, to your lips, the exact lips he kissed earlier.
His cigarette hangs forgotten between his fingers now as you walk closer.
“Well?” you ask innocently. “You surviving?”
Eddie laughs once under his breath, sounding slightly tortured. “No, sweetheart. Not even a little.”
You stop in front of him, tilting your head slightly. “You’re staring again.”
“Can you blame me?”
The low warmth in his voice hits straight to your stomach. Eddie reaches out before he can stop himself, fingertips hooking lightly through one of your belt loops just to tug you a tiny bit closer.
“You look…” He exhales sharply through his nose. “Jesus Christ.”
You grin. “That good?”
“That dangerous,” he corrects.
His hand lingers at your waist for another second before he leans down slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me you didn’t dress like this just to ruin my life.”
You look up at him through your lashes innocently. “Maybe a little.”
Eddie actually groans. “Oh, you think you’re funny.”
“I think you like it.”
His eyes flick down to your mouth instantly. For a second, it genuinely looks like he’s debating kissing you right there in the driveway. Instead, Eddie pulls back just enough to open the passenger door for you dramatically.
“C’mon,” he says, still grinning slightly. “Before I start acting less like a gentleman, and more like a dog in heat.”
A couple of hours later, Eddie decides he’s officially obsessed with hearing you talk. That’s the conclusion he comes to while sitting across from you in the diner booth, elbow hooked over the table while he watches you animatedly complain about your old school.
Apparently, according to you, everyone there was “painfully boring”, the art department sucked, and your ex-boyfriend once tried to tell you The Smiths were “too depressing.”
Which made Eddie nearly choke on his fries. “He said what?” Eddie laughs, genuinely horrified.
You steal one of his onion rings casually. “Exactly what you just heard.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No,” Eddie grins. “I’m judging him.”
The diner’s mostly empty this late, neon lights glowing pinkish-red against the windows while old rock music hums softly from somewhere near the kitchen. And honestly? It’s easy with him. Way too damn easy.
Conversation never really stops. One topic bleeds into another naturally: music, old school, embarrassing childhood stories, favorite movies, tattoos Eddie wants but definitely can’t afford.
At one point, you laugh so hard that soda nearly comes out of your nose. Eddie looks devastatingly pleased with himself afterward.
“Yeah,” he says smugly. “That one got you.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Sure, I am.”
By the time you leave the diner, the air outside’s colder, nighttime settling fully over Hawkins while the parking lot glows under flickering street lamps.
Now you’re sitting together on the curb beside Eddie’s van, sharing a cigarette. Well, mostly sharing because Eddie keeps stealing it back every few seconds.
“You know,” you say, exhaling smoke toward the sky, “you’re kinda clingy for someone trying to act mysterious.”
Eddie scoffs beside you. “I gave up the mysterious thing once you started looking at me like that.”
You glance over. “Like what?”
“Like you wanna kiss me again.”
Your stomach flips immediately. Cocky asshole.
You bump your shoulder lightly against his. “Maybe I do.”
Eddie goes suspiciously quiet after that, which is strange. Normally, he’d have something smooth ready instantly. Instead, when you look over, he’s just staring at you again.
The streetlight catches against the silver rings on his fingers, curls falling messily into his face, while smoke curls lazily around both of you.
And your makeup’s slightly smudged now. Lips shiny from your milkshake earlier, laugh lingering faintly in your expression. Eddie’s completely gone for you. You notice him reaching for something a second too late.
“Wait—”
Flash.
Your eyes widen immediately as Eddie lowers his phone, grinning like a little shit.
“Eddie!”
“What?” he laughs. “You looked pretty.”
Your face heats instantly. “Delete it.”
“Can’t. Technology. You know what they say about the internet and all.”
You groan loudly while Eddie keeps laughing beside you, already typing away.
“No, seriously,” you say. “That probably looks terrible.”
“Sweetheart.” Eddie looks at you like you’ve said something genuinely stupid. “You could probably survive a natural disaster and still look hot.”
You raise your eyebrows as he’s smirking at his phone, looking oh-so-pleased with himself when he drops it by his side.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” he replies, but that smirk tells you everything you need to know. You snatch his phone, and it’s already opened on Instagram. Your stomach actually flips because Eddie posted the picture.
You look soft, like someone he adores and enjoys taking candid pictures of.
And over the top of the story, Eddie typed:
Your face heats violently.
“Oh my God.”
Eddie looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Too much?”
“You’re insane.”
“And yet,” he says, leaning closer beside you with a grin, “you’re smiling.”
“You are never beating the obsessed allegations,” you mutter softly.
Eddie grins against the cigarette between his lips. “I don’t particularly want to.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling too hard for the insult to land properly.
“See?” he says quietly. “There it is again.”
“What?”
“That smile.”
God. You look over at him finally, and suddenly, he’s closer than before.
Close enough to smell smoke and leather and diner coffee still lingering on him, close enough to see the tiny freckle beneath his eye, close enough that his gaze flicks down toward your mouth for maybe half a second too long. Then back up again.
Your breath catches slightly.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs softly, “and I’m gonna do something irresponsible.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Like what?”
That cocky little grin returns immediately, then disappears again just as fast when you lean closer first this time, and kiss him.
The cigarette gets abandoned somewhere beside him instantly as Eddie’s hand slides against your jaw, pulling you closer with a quiet noise low in his throat like he’s wanted to do this all night.
The kiss turns warm embarrassingly fast. Slow at first, then smiling, then downright hungry. By the time you pull away, Eddie looks genuinely wrecked again. Lips pink, hair even messier somehow, eyes heavy-lidded while he stares at you like he’s trying to recover from psychic damage.
“…You are so bad for me,” he says softly.
You laugh quietly before settling against his shoulder, still warm from the kiss.
Eddie immediately wraps an arm around you automatically, pulling you closer against his side while the two of you sit there beneath the buzzing parking lot lights.
His phone still rests in your hand while the story continues collecting reactions every few seconds.
rockin.robin replied to your story: OH HES GONEEEEE
hair-ington replied to your story: Munson’s cooked.
You snort softly against Eddie’s shoulder while scrolling.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” You grin. “Your friends are making fun of you.”
“They’re jealous.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
The sincerity in his voice almost catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Eddie’s phone buzzes beside him.
He glances down absentmindedly, still holding you close with one arm while unlocking the screen, and immediately goes still. You feel it happen, that tiny shift in his body. Your eyes flick downward automatically.
chrissy.cunningham replied to your story.
And before either of you can say anything, another notification appears.
chrissy.cunningham: is that her jacket or yours?
WELLLLLLL SHIT.
hope you all enjoyed!!! missed writing SO MUCH AH xoxoxo
requests are coming out soon! i have two more to finish and then i'll start replying/doing more etc.
We human beings have discovered patterns of light and/or sound that kill some people and we should probably not have hissy fits about your right to fire a weapon at my mom. Like if you could put some text onscreen explaining the upcoming seizure-inducing patterns so that people can scroll away. That’s super fucking easy. i AM sorry that something as mindless as a tiktok edit could kill someone but hey, so could driving to work every morning, we all treat THAT accordingly (long, pointed stare. because yes we had better be treating that accordingly too)
The casual abundance of Thing That Kills People doesn’t mean you shouldn’t avoid killing people
summary: Eddie Munson is your good friend and study buddy for sociology. when he mistakes the novel you're reading for your sociology textbook, you get a more...hands on approach to learning about power dynamics.
wc: 7.2k
order up: college!au, friends to lovers, d/s dynamics, jealousy, confessions
tw: explicit smut, p in v unprotected, d/s dynamics, use of petnames [princess, sweetheart, baby, honey, guys a whole mess of honorifics], spanking, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, ropeplay mention
a/n: hi hi hi, i have so many eddie requests in my inbox and while he isn't my brainrot rn, i really hope you guys enjoy this one because i loved writing it.
masterlist
Your dorm room felt smaller during midterms.
Books everywhere. Highlighters bleeding through thin pages. Half-drunk cans of cola sweating onto your desk because you kept forgetting they existed.
Eddie Munson was sprawled across the floor on his stomach, boots kicked off, rings tapping idly against his soda can as he flipped through his notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said for the third time, pushing his hair out of his face. “The professor literally said the theme was power dynamics. That’s, like, my whole brand.”
You shot him a look from your desk chair. “It's not a campaign metaphor, Munson.”
“Everything is a campaign metaphor,” he countered.
There was a comfortable rhythm to this.
You quizzing him. Him derailing you.
It was easy, being like this. Friends who studied together. Friends who argued about symbolism. Friends who definitely did not think too hard about the way the other stuck his tongue out a little when he concentrated.
Eddie groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back. “I need a different book. The one with the red tabs. It’s on your bed, I think.”
Your stomach dropped.
Because yes, there was a book with red tabs on your bed.
But it was not the sociology textbook.
It was tucked half beneath your comforter, face-down, like it had tried to hide itself at the last second. Black cover. Embossed lettering. A very intentional ropework design worked into cover in a way that was… not subtle.
You opened your mouth.
“Wait—”
Too late.
Eddie was already on his feet, crossing the room in three lazy steps, reaching down to grab the book from your bed before you could physically launch yourself at him to stop it. His fingers curled around the spine, and he lifted it casually, flipping it over—
—and froze.
"This is... not your sociology textbook." He says, eyes wide as he flips through the pages.
Your blood ran cold. It was a specific, visceral feeling, like an ice cube sliding down your spine.
Everything faded to a dull roar in your ears. The only thing that existed was Eddie, standing there, holding the single most damning object you owned.
He didn’t flip through it with shock or disgust. There was no theatrical recoil. Instead, his thumb brushed against the pages with a strange, focused curiosity. His eyes, wide and dark, weren't judging; they were reading. Absorbing.
He finally looked up, but not at you. His gaze landed on the open textbook on your desk, red tabs that marked actual academics and not fantasies.
A slow, disarming smile started at the corner of his mouth, one that you’d seen a hundred times after a good roll of the D20.
“Y’know,” he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that felt like it vibrated right through the floorboards. “This… is a much more practical application of power dynamics than our textbooks.”
Your throat was dry.
"Thats not funny, Eddie." You turn, face red. "Give it back."
He tilted his head, studying your blush as intently as he'd studied the book. He didn't move to give it back.
"I promise you, my porn stash is way more embarrassing than this." He waved the book around a little. "At least yours has literary merit."
"It's not porn!" you shot back, your voice a little too loud in the small space. "It's research!"
The excuse sounded flimsy even to your own ears.
Eddie's smile widened. "Research," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "For what? Your dissertation on rope burns?"
He was teasing you, but it wasn't cruel. It was… interested. He wasn't making fun of you. He was engaging. He held the book out, not quite close enough for you to snatch back.
"This shit isn't even accurate," he said, tapping a page. "This is all showmanship. They forgot the most important part."
You blinked, confusion warring with humiliation. "What part?"
"The conversation." His eyes met yours, and for a second, the teasing faded. There was something serious there. Something intense but inherently safe.
"Well, the conversation isn't the sexy part." You mutter.
"Oh so you're admitting it's porn now?" He smirks and you narrow your eyes. "And also... the conversation is definitely the sexy part," he added, stepping closer. "It's the whole point."
You held your ground, even though every instinct screamed at you to snatch the book, throw him out, and crawl into a hole for the rest of eternity. Instead, you lifted your chin. "You think so?"
"I'm well versed, yeah."
He finally lowered the book, setting it down on your desk, on top of your sociology textbook. The juxtaposition was dizzying. Academia and anarchy. Theory and practice.
He took another step into your personal space. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the joint he smoked outside.
"I'm going to guess you haven't put this into practice yet," he said softly.
You couldn't answer. The lie was stuck in your throat. Because he was right. The book, the fantasies—they'd always been in your head. A private world.
A world he had just stumbled into.
"So tell me," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, looking you directly in the eye. "Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?"
He waited.
And the silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
His question hung in the air between you, shimmering and dangerous.
Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?
It was a test. A doorway. A chance to step out of the theory and into the practice.
"I mean, I don't exactly have a partner to, you know..." Your hands flew up in a vague, helpless gesture. "It's not like I can just walk into a bar and ask 'Hey, any of you guys into safe, effective, and nonjudgmental bondage?'"
The joke landed weakly, but Eddie didn't laugh. He just watched you, like a predator assessing prey. He leaned against your desk, crossing his arms, the casual posture doing nothing to hide the focus in his gaze. He picked up the book again, not to mock you this time, but to flip to a specific, dog-eared page.
"Okay," he said, tapping the pages of a sex scene you had clearly marked with interest. "This, for example. The rope work is all wrong for this position. It would cut off circulation after five minutes."
You blinked. "You... you know about ropes?"
He shrugged. "I have hobbies. Guitar isn't my only practical area of expertise." He met your eyes again.
"I guess that makes sense for your whole... look." You gesture vaguely at him.
That one does make him laugh a little. "Yeah sure the whole aesthetic probably doesn't hurt." He smirks at you, eyes scanning over you again. "But the look is just a bonus. Not a guarantee. I know people who are vanilla as hell who dress like me. And I know people who would put this whole book to shame who wear polo shirts."
You think about that for a second, mulling it over as he speaks again.
"Do you like my 'look' or something? You getting off on the thought of me being the one tying you up?" He teases you, but it's not a joke, not really. It's a question.
The question hung there, an invitation wrapped in a dare. Your cheeks burned, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
"Okay, light teasing was fine but don't purposely be an ass about this." You warn him, the bite in your words making him raise an eyebrow. "And... yeah. The thought occurred once or twice. I'm not blind." The admission felt like ripping off a band-aid—painful, but necessary.
Something shifted in Eddie's expression. His smirk was softer, like he didn't expect you to admit it. He let it hang in the air for a beat, savoring the victory.
"Once or twice, huh?" he mused. "That's... nice."
He set the book down again, this time closing it. The conversation was moving on, past the fantasy and into reality.
He sits on your bed, not like he usually does where he's just sprawled out with no care in the world. This was different. He sat close to the edge, leaving a space between you, but the air crackled with new possibilities. He rested his hands on his knees, a position that was open, non-threatening, but still completely in control.
"I've thought about it like, way more than once or twice honestly. I've thought about what it would be like with you. So, like, if you want to try some things, or even just talk about them, I'm more than willing to be your partner in crime."
You couldn't speak, but he continued.
"Unless, you know, you'd rather ask that guy from your history class. What's his name? Mark? The one who looks like he was grown in a lab to sell minivans."
"Mark is just my project partner." You roll your eyes. "He's literally been here once to study."
"You laugh at his jokes a lot in the dining hall." He shoots back. "I've seen it."
You had no comeback for that. Because he'd noticed. And you had laughed. But Mark's jokes were safe. They were about midterms and dining hall food. Eddie's jokes were about things that made your stomach flip.
"Okay, that doesn't mean I want to jump his bones. And even if I did, which I don't, how is that even rele--"
It hits you then
"You're jealous." You say it out loud, a statement, not a question.
Eddie didn't flinch. He didn't deny it.
He just shrugged again, that infuriatingly casual gesture that meant everything and nothing.
"I'm territorial about things that interest me," he said simply.
You were no longer just a study partner.
"Look. We've been friends for a while. You know me. You know I'm not a creep. We can just… talk. No touching, no ropes, nothin'. Just words. We lay it all out. Boundaries. What you're curious about. What's an absolute hard 'no'." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering again. "Safe words. Pet names. the whole deal."
He was laying out a curriculum. A syllabus for your most private, secret class. And the professor was the guy who made fun of your D&D character for being too lawful good.
"This is insane," you whispered, the words feeling like bubbles in your chest.
"Is it?" He stood up and walked to your door, closing it and twisting the lock.
"Eddie... what if I say yes?"
He paused, his back to you for a second, before turning around. He leaned against the door, hands in his pockets.
"Then the real research begins." He gave you a small, genuine smile. "But only if you say the word."
The choice was yours.
"Okay." The word was barely a whisper.
He pushed off the door and walked back toward you, gesturing at your bed. "Okay. Rule one. Sit."
You carefully moved from your desk chair and sat on the bed, your back ramrod straight, perched on the very edge of the comforter like it might give way beneath you.
He sat down, leaving a careful foot of space between you. The mattress dipped with his weight, pulling you closer.
"You're tense as all hell, princess. Relax." The pet name was new. It wasn't teasing. It was... grounding.
You tried to unclench your shoulders.
"Let's start easy. Your safe word. It needs to be something you'll remember even if your brain is all fuzzy. Not something you'd normally say during sex. 'No' and 'stop' can be part of the scene. Your safe word is what makes the scene stop. No questions asked."
"Scene? That's so formal. So..."
"It's practical," he corrected gently. "It keeps things from getting messy. So. What'll it be?"
You thought for a moment, your mind racing. "Dragonfruit." It was stupid, random. No one would ever shout it accidentally.
A slow grin spread across Eddie's face. "Dragonfruit. I love it. Okay. That's ours. If you say it, we stop. Everything."
He shifted a little closer, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"Is there anything you like to be called? Or don't like?" He says, more seriously now. "Some people like being called a slut or a whore. Some people like 'good girl'. Some people hate it. There is no right answer, it's all about you."
The directness of the question made your breath catch. "Good girl," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with heat. "I don't think I'm ready for degradation yet..."
Part of you was worried saying that like you'd dissapoint him or something. but he just nodded, like you'd given him a perfectly reasonable answer.
"Alright. 'Good girl' it is. We can save the other stuff for an advanced class." The wink he threw you was both a joke and a promise.
"What about you?" you found yourself asking.
He seemed surprised by the question for a second. "Oh, well, I guess I'm pretty fine with most things. I mean, you could probably call me an asshole and I'd still like it cause it was your voice."
He said it so casually, as if he were discussing his favorite brand of guitar strings, and not the thought of you moaning for him.
"I liked when you called me princess..." You admit. "You could call me that."
"Princess," he repeated, the word soft on his tongue. "I can do that."
He was so close now. You could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
"Okay, new question..." Those big eyes drag down your figure. "Can you come sit on my lap? I want you closer."
He wasn't just asking a question about a hypothetical scenario anymore. This was real. This was happening.
Your body obeyed before your brain could catch up. You slid across the small space between you, the comforter a whisper under your knees, and settled yourself onto his lap.
His big hands went to your waist automatically, steadying you. He was warm, solid. You could feel the worn denim of his jeans against the thin material of your leggings.
"Alright. First lesson." His breath was warm against your ear, making you shiver. "Power isn't about force. It's about control. My control, your surrender."
You nod, mentally taking notes and he smiles before leaning into to whisper in your ear.
"You can always say no." He says gently. "Right now, to me. You can say 'no, Eddie, I don't want to sit on your lap' and I'll let you go, no questions asked. This is still a conversation."
"I know." You say, a little breathless.
"But you aren't going to say that, are you? No... you want this."
"I do."
"Good girl." The words were a low rumble you felt straight between your legs. "I'm going to put my hands on your thighs now. Just to hold you. Alright?"
You could only manage a small nod.
You could feel the weight of his rings through your leggings.
"Looking so pretty, all for me." He whispers and you lean into him, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You trusted him. You'd known him for years. He was safe.
This was what he meant, about the conversation. Every touch was a question. Every reaction, an answer.
"Are you going to be good for me?" He asks.
"Y-yeah," you manage. "I'll be good."
His grip on your thighs tightened just a fraction.
"I know you will." He nosed at your neck. "Now, hands behind your back. Let me hold them."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You swallowed, your throat tight, and slowly, deliberately, you moved your arms behind you, lacing your fingers together at the small of your back. The position pushed your chest out, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, incredibly exposed.
He made a soft, satisfied sound.
"Always like it when you wear a low cut top like this." He admits. His hands slid from your thighs to your back, covering your clasped hands with one of his own. The gesture was light, not restrictive, but it felt impossibly final.
His other hand came up to trace the neckline of your shirt, a single finger grazing your collarbone, then dipping lower, following the curve of your breast. He didn't grab, didn't grope. He just… explored. Mapping the territory.
"Your heart's beating so fast," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I can feel it."
You couldn't answer. All your focus was on the path of his finger as it drifted to the peak of your breast, circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.
"Responsive little thing, aren't you sweetheart?" He teases.
He circles it a few times, making you squirm on his lap and you can already feel the hard length of him through your layers of clothes. The evidence of his own desire.
His other hand still holds your wrists.
"You like your nipples played with? I know you're sensitive." He asks and you nod again. "Let's see more of these pretty tits."
He doesn't ask to take your shirt off. He just does.
He expertly pulls the shirt over your head in one fluid motion, momentarily freeing your hands before he catches them again, this time pressing them more firmly into the small of your back. He then goes for the clasp of your bra and he undoes that too, pulling it down your arms until you're topless for him.
"Look at that." He whispers and it's the most turned on you've ever heard him.
He runs his thumb over the pebbled flesh of your nipple, and your breath hitches. The calloused pad of his thumb created a delicious friction, a direct line of heat pooling in your core.
"I'm going to pinch," he warned, his voice a dark promise. "Just a little. To see how you like it."
You tensed in anticipation.
He didn't make you wait long. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying a slow, deliberate pressure. A sharp, surprising jolt of pleasure-pain shot through you, pulling a soft gasp from your lips.
"Good," he rasped. "You like that."
It wasn't a question. He read your body as easily as he read the tabbed pages of your sociology textbook.
He keeps pinching and playing as he trails soft kisses from your collarbones and lower, purposefully avoiding where you want his mouth. He was kissing all around your breasts, teasing you with featherlight touches until you're squirming and whining.
"Shh, be patient." He whispers against the skin of your breast. "I'll get there."
He does it again to the other breast. The pinch, the pleasure, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He was testing you, seeing what made you gasp, what made you squirm. And you were arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.
He finally lowered his head, taking one peaked nipple into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, before grazing it lightly with his teeth.
The whimper that left you was undignified. Needy.
He pulled back, releasing you with a soft 'pop'. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with an emotion you'd never seen directed at you before. Possessiveness. Pride. Awe.
"Look what you do to me," he murmured, one of his hands releasing yours to guide your own down, pressing it flat against the hard bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.
"You're going to have to take care of that later, aren't you?" He says, pushing your hips down a little, making you grind against him.
The friction was obscene, a delicious drag through the layers of clothing that sent sparks skittering up your spine. You did it again, a little more boldly, rocking yourself against the rigid length of him. A groan rumbled in his chest, a purely male, primal sound of appreciation.
"Not yet," he said, his grip on your waist tightening, stopping your movements. "That's a reward. And you haven't earned it yet."
He shifted you slightly, adjusting your position so you could feel him more acutely, a perfect, infuriating pressure against your clothed core. His free hand drifted down to the waistband of your leggings. His fingers toyed with the elastic, a casual touch that made your entire body clench with anticipation.
"You're soaked through already, aren't you, princess?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. All this fuss just from me playing with your pretty tits."
"Is that weird?" You ask, a little nervous now.
"Not at all. It's perfect." He says gently. "It means your body is honest. It tells the truth. And right now, your body is telling me how much you want this."
His fingers dipped below the waistband, not touching you where you craved it most, but just resting against the soft skin there.
"We could stop right now," he offered, his tone maddeningly level. "We can stop anytime you want. We can just put your shirt back on, order a pizza, and fail our sociology midterm together. All you have to do is say one word. Do you remember our word?"
"Dragonfruit," you whispered, testing it on your tongue. It felt foreign, distant. Not what you wanted at all.
"Now, tell me what you do want."
You took a shaky breath. "I want you to touch me."
"Touch you where? You have to use your words."
Every nerve ending was on fire. "My... I want you to touch me between my legs."
"Good girl."
He finally moved, his hand sliding further down, past the damp cotton of your underwear, through your slick folds. He didn't rush, exploring you with a surgeon's precision.
"This pussy is so fucking wet for me, princess." He breathes out in awe.
He found your clit with an unnerving ease, a single finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You jolted, a sharp inhale of pleasure.
"Right there?" he asked, feigning innocence.
You could only nod, your head falling back against his shoulder as he continued his slow, torturous circles. He was drawing it out, making you feel every spark, every tremor. You were wound so tight, a trembling knot of need.
Your hips began to move of their own accord, chasing the friction, the building pressure. But he stopped you again, holding you still with a firm grip.
"Uh-uh. My pace," he chided softly. "You don't get to finish until I say you can."
A whimper escaped your lips, a sound of pure frustration.
"Patience," he murmured, kissing your temple.
You notice now, that he hasn't kissed your lips, but you don't make a comment on it, too busy feeling everything else to care.
He was a master of this, a conductor of your pleasure. He varied the pressure, the speed, watching your every reaction, learning what made you gasp, what made you whine. He slipped a finger inside you, then a second, curling them upward to stroke that spot that made your vision blur.
"You think I should let you come soon?" he asked, his voice a dark, intimate rumble. "You've been so good for me. Sitting still. Taking what I give you."
"Please," you begged, the word ripped from you. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?"
"Please let me finish."
He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "Since you asked so nicely."
He increased the pressure on your clit, the circles becoming faster, more demanding. His fingers inside you stroked with renewed purpose. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap.
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. Soak my fucking hand." he commanded.
You were cumming by the time he said 'let go', your body convulsing in a blinding wave of pleasure. You cried out, your back arching, your hands still trapped behind you, leaving you nothing to hold onto but him. He held you through it, his movements slowing, gentling, as you shuddered and trembled.
When you were riding out the after shocks he released your hands, letting you decide where to put them. You immediately brought them around to his shoulders, clinging to him. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, catching your breath.
His hands came up to your back, stroking you slowly, grounding you. He whispered sweet nothings against your hair, words of praise and affection.
"I know that wasn't as extreme as what your little book had, but trust needs to be built up slowly for things like that." He says softly, kissing your shoulder. "We'll get there.
You could feel the rapid, steady beat of his heart against your cheek. You could still feel the hard press of his arousal against you, a silent testament to his own restraint.
"Eddie..." you whispered, your voice hoarse. "You didn't..."
He shushed you, a finger gently tilting your chin up. "Hey. it's okay. Tonight was about you. About learning you."
You looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen from where he'd been kissing your skin, and his eyes were dark and soft and full of an emotion that made your chest ache.
Without thinking, you leaned in and finally, finally kissed him.
He didn't move at first and you pulled back quickly, suddenly feeling stupid.
Was kissing not okay in this arrangement?
Did he only want the physical part?
Did he even like you like that?
Before you could speak, he did it first.
"Hey you, don't look like that. It's not what you think." He says gently.
"I- I just thought..."
"I know what you thought. And it's okay. I wanted to kiss you. More than anything."
"So why didn't you?" You ask, not in an accusatory tone, but a genuinely curious one.
"Because if I kissed you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it if this was just a one-time thing. Or if this was just about sex. I wouldn't have been able to control myself, and we might not be here right now."
This confession was so raw, so vulnerable. It was more intimate than anything you'd done.
"So... what is this then?" You ask, your heart pounding.
"It's whatever you want it to be." He says honestly. "But I want it to be something. Something real."
You lean in again, slowly, giving him the chance to pull away.
He didn't.
He met you halfway, his lips finally claiming yours. It wasn't a kiss of frenzy or desperation. His hands cupped your face, holding you tenderly, as if you were something precious. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of you, of the cola he'd been drinking hours ago. He kissed you slowly, deeply, a conversation without words.
When you finally parted, you were both breathless.
"Do you still want me to do something about..." You trail off, letting your eyes flick down to the very prominent problem in his pants.
He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Princess, you have no idea how much I want that. But I also want to do this right. So... right now, nothing too demanding, just let me fuck your brains out?"
You laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made your whole body feel lighter.
"You're an idiot."
"You know what?" He says with a teasing smile, before flipping you so he was hovering over you on the bed. "I like it better when you're on your back, anyway."
He made quick work of your leggings and underwear, tossing them aside. He stood up to strip off his own clothes, and you watched him, your gaze hungry. You'd seen him shirtless before, at the lake, at a party, but this was different.
The chain around his neck rested in the dip of his collarbone. His chest was lean, a smattering of dark hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. He was all sharp angles and wiry strength. And as he pulled down his boxers, your breath hitched.
"You want this huh? This is what you were grinding against earlier?" He smirks. He was long and thick, flushed with arousal, curving up towards his stomach.
He climbed back onto the bed, settling himself between your legs.
"Take what you want," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Your hand trembled as you reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm as you guided him to your entrance, and he pushed forward, just the head breaching you.
A shared gasp. You were so wet, so ready for him, but the stretch was still intense, a delicious burn.
"Oh, good girl, you listen so fucking well," he praised, before sliding the rest of the way home with one slow, deep thrust.
He filled you completely, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Fuck," he breathed, burying his face in your neck. "You feel better than I ever imagined."
He started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls was a fresh wave of pleasure. This was different from the sharp, focused intensity from before. This was a deep, all-consuming fire.
"Look at me," he demanded, pulling back just enough to see your face. "Hold on to the headboard."
You obeyed, your hands finding the cool metal bars of your headboard, as he began to move again. This new angle let him hit that spot inside you with every thrust, making your toes curl. He wasn't just fucking you anymore. He was claiming you. Marking you from the inside out.
"Who's making you feel this good?" he grunted, his hips snapping a little faster.
"You are," you moaned, your knuckles white where you gripped the headboard.
"Whose cock makes you feel this good?" He asks, a dark look in his eyes.
"Yours," you gasped, the words torn from you. "Only yours, Eddie."
"Fuck yes, it does." He says, a smirk on his face. "Not some loser from the dining hall." He speeds up a little, getting cocky. "Not your project partner. You wanna know who knows exactly what to do with you? Me." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust and you can't help but arch your back.
"You're mine now, sweetheart. This pussy is mine to use." His voice is a rough possessive rasp as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear. "Gimme a color, princess. Are we green?"
You were so far gone, but you knew what he was asking. "Green," you moaned. "So green, Eddie."
He smiled, a triumphant, feral grin. "Good girl. You want me to keep talking like this, honey? You want me to tell you how I'm going to fuck you every day after our study sessions from now on? How I'm going to bend you over that desk until you're screaming my name?"
"Yes," you whined, a desperate, needy sound. "Please."
"Then I guess I'll have to do it." His hips began to piston faster, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. "Would you like that, sweetheart? To be my good little girl? To cum whenever I say?"
"I would," you cried out. "God, I would."
He brought a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again. He didn't circle it this time. He pressed down, hard, in direct counterpoint to his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he commanded. "All over my cock."
Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and overwhelming. You screamed his name, a raw, ragged sound, as you convulsed around him, your body spasming with the force of your release.
"Mmm, gonna wake up the whole dorm." He praised. "Such a good fucking girl." He kept thrusting through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.
He pulled out and kissed you softly, the kiss slow and deep as you shook under him. You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and insistent.
"You still haven't..." You begin, trailing off again as you try and catch your breath.
"I haven't bent you over the desk yet." He grins, before he pulls you up from your comfortable spot on your back.
His hands were on you instantly, guiding you to your feet and then turning you, walking you the few steps to your desk. He swept his arm across it, the textbook with the red tabs, a stack of flashcards—all of it clattering to the floor in a mess of academic debris.
His lips are kissing by your ear as he speaks, caging you in from behind. "You need me to get a condom?" He asks, and you are a little surprised by the question.
"I'm on the pill." You say quickly, and he makes a happy humming sound, kissing the back of your neck.
"Perfect." He whispers, before he's pressing your chest flat against the desk. The cool wood was a shock against your heated skin.
"Think you can handle a little more for me, baby?" He asked, his hands stroking over your ass.
You nod, your face turned to the side, your cheek pressed against the smooth wood.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you breathe out. "I can handle more."
He doesn't enter you right away. Instead, he kneels, spreading your cheeks, and you feel the hot, wet shock of his tongue against your pussy. He licks a long, slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, groaning at the taste.
"Fuck, you're delicious," he murmurs, before diving back in.
He was relentless, eating you out with a single-minded focus that left you trembling. He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and pointed, targeted flicks against your clit.
His hands grip at the fat of your ass as he eats you out like a man starved, and you can't help but push your hips back against him. He eats it until your legs are shaking and you're whining for him to stop. When he does, he stands up, his chest heaving.
He pauses and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You glance behind you to see him taking the rings off his right hand, leaning over your back to put them on the desk as he places small kisses on your back.
"What are you..."
Your whisper turns into a whine when a callous palm hits your ass cheek. Not hard, but enough that you gasp at the suddenness.
He shushes you gently, rubbing the reddening mark. "Just a little color for my pretty girl." He murmurs. "You like that? Just a little sting?"
You nod, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and confusion.
"Words, baby." He reminds you.
"Y-yes. I like it."
He spanks you again, this one harder, and you feel the jolt of it deep in your core. He alternates between spanking you and rubbing the tender skin, until you're a quivering, whimpering mess.
Another smack and you don't even register when he lines himself up with your entrance, and glides in, slick and easy, bottoming out with a deep groan. The angle was different, deeper, and it made you feel utterly possessed.
He set a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breaths. One of his hands grabs your face as he leans over to kiss you.
"Taste how fucking sweet you are?" He whispers against your lips. You're nodding dumbly as he continues to fuck you, tongue licking into your mouth.
His other hand slides around your body, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. It was too much, too intense, and you tried to squirm away.
"Uh-uh. You take it," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
"Take everything I give you, princess." He was praising you, his words stoking the fire in your belly. You were already so sensitive from your previous orgasms, every drag of his cock against your walls a fresh wave of pleasure.
"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.
More? Faster? For it to never end?
"I know, I know." He cooed at you. "Good girls like you need to be fucked until they can't think straight."
You clenched around him, and he grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second.
"Yeah, you like me saying that, don't you? You like being my good girl." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust that makes you see stars.
Your clit was throbbing under his thumb, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. Your body was a live wire, humming with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Gonna cum," you sobbed, the words barely intelligible. "Eddie, I'm gonna cum."
He pressed you down more against the desk, his hips snapping faster, harder. He leans over your back so you can feel the sweat from his chest on your skin as he speaks right into your ear.
"Come on," he urged, his voice rough with strain. "Cum for me. One. More. Fucking. Time."
You whined out, needier than ever, as your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down on him. Your legs gave out, and you would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't been holding you up, pinning you to the desk.
He gathered your hair in one of his hands, pulling your head back slightly, the angle new and dizzying as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. This let him see your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. He looked wild, untamed, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"That's it, baby. Milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl." He moans as he starts to lose the steady rhythm. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.
"Gonna fill you up," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "Mark this pretty little pussy as mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, and you felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you. He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, both of you breathing heavily, trying to come back to earth.
His hand in your hair changed from a grip to soothing stokes
His fingers danced up your body from their ruthless attack of your clit, to splay across your stomach. You feel him press gently. He was still inside of you. Softening, but still present.
"You okay?" he murmured against your spine, the words muffled by his soft kisses to your skin.
You managed a weak nod, not trusting your voice.
He laughed softly, the vibration traveling through you. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He slowly pulled out, and the emptiness you felt was acute. You could feel his release begin to trickle down your thigh, a sticky, intimate reminder of what you'd just done.
He helped you to the bed, tugging you back into his arms. You both were sweaty, sticky, and your room was a mess. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You curled into his side, your head on his chest. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart was a comforting anchor in the haze of satiation.
His hands never stopped caressing through your hair.
He was quiet for a long time, just stroking your hair and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.
"So," he said, his voice quiet. "Is the reality better than the book?"
You thought about it for a second. The book was theory. This was practice. This was real.
"I thought you said you weren't done with me?" You manage, weakly.
He just pulls his head back enough to get a proper look at your face, the most genuine smile accentuated by his dimples.
"Yeah, the aftercare. The cuddles. The praise. That's all part of it." He said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Being the one who has to clean up our mess."
He sits up, leaning over the side of the bed to grab the t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He carefully, almost reverently, began to clean you up. The cotton was soft against your sensitive skin.
"You're so good at that," You say softly, referring to the entire night, but more specifically the way he was taking care of you.
"Yeah? Well I'm a man of many talents." He teases, but the way he's looking at you is soft.
He's gentle, methodical, as he wipes away the evidence of your night together. Once he's satisfied, he tosses the shirt aside and pulls the comforter over both of you, cocooning you in the warmth of the small bed.
You're quiet for a long time again. Just listening to each other breathe.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hm?"
"About the kiss earlier..." he started, his voice a little hesitant. "When I said I didn't know if I could handle it if this was just a one-time thing... I meant it."
He shifts a little, so he's looking you in the eye. "This was never gonna be just a one-time thing for me. You have to know that. I've been wanting this for so long."
You are looking up at him in the dim light of your desk lamp. He's looking at you with a unguarded expression that you'd never seen from him before.
"You really have? I thought... I thought this was just... you know, because of the book."
He let out a small, breathy laugh. "Sweetheart, the book was just a convenient excuse. A cosmic sign from the universe to finally do something about the massive, soul-crushing crush I've had on you since we were assigned as lab partners in freshman chemistry."
His signature smirk reappeared then.
"The fact that you're also into the same filthy shit I am? That's just a very, very lucky bonus."
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated happiness.
"So, what now?" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.
"Now I get to enjoy this body being all soft in my arms." He says, kissing your forehead. "Now I get to wake up next to you and make you breakfast. Now I get to walk you to our sociology class and sit next to you knowing exactly what you sound like when you orgasm."
He pulls you closer. "And now I get to tell you that I want to be your boyfriend. If you'll have me."
You tilt your head up to look at him, a slow, genuine smile spreading across your face.
"I'll have you," you said simply.
"Oh, no enthusiasm for the man who made you cum three times in an hour?" He teases gently. You just lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet.
"I think you fucked all the enthusiasm out of me." You mumble against his lips.
He chuckles, satisfied and proud.
"It's a skill." He smirks. "But don't worry. I'm a great teacher. We'll build up your stamina." He winks, and you feel a fresh wave of heat wash over you.
He pulls you to his chest, safe and warm. You could get used to this.
"Next time," he whispers against your hair. "Next time I'll bring my ropes."
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I'll hold you to that."
He held you tighter, a silent promise. The night wasn't over. Your time exploring each other, it seemed, had really just begun.
summary: Eddie Munson is your good friend and study buddy for sociology. when he mistakes the novel you're reading for your sociology textbook, you get a more...hands on approach to learning about power dynamics.
wc: 7.2k
order up: college!au, friends to lovers, d/s dynamics, jealousy, confessions
tw: explicit smut, p in v unprotected, d/s dynamics, use of petnames [princess, sweetheart, baby, honey, guys a whole mess of honorifics], spanking, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, ropeplay mention
a/n: hi hi hi, i have so many eddie requests in my inbox and while he isn't my brainrot rn, i really hope you guys enjoy this one because i loved writing it.
masterlist
Your dorm room felt smaller during midterms.
Books everywhere. Highlighters bleeding through thin pages. Half-drunk cans of cola sweating onto your desk because you kept forgetting they existed.
Eddie Munson was sprawled across the floor on his stomach, boots kicked off, rings tapping idly against his soda can as he flipped through his notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said for the third time, pushing his hair out of his face. “The professor literally said the theme was power dynamics. That’s, like, my whole brand.”
You shot him a look from your desk chair. “It's not a campaign metaphor, Munson.”
“Everything is a campaign metaphor,” he countered.
There was a comfortable rhythm to this.
You quizzing him. Him derailing you.
It was easy, being like this. Friends who studied together. Friends who argued about symbolism. Friends who definitely did not think too hard about the way the other stuck his tongue out a little when he concentrated.
Eddie groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back. “I need a different book. The one with the red tabs. It’s on your bed, I think.”
Your stomach dropped.
Because yes, there was a book with red tabs on your bed.
But it was not the sociology textbook.
It was tucked half beneath your comforter, face-down, like it had tried to hide itself at the last second. Black cover. Embossed lettering. A very intentional ropework design worked into cover in a way that was… not subtle.
You opened your mouth.
“Wait—”
Too late.
Eddie was already on his feet, crossing the room in three lazy steps, reaching down to grab the book from your bed before you could physically launch yourself at him to stop it. His fingers curled around the spine, and he lifted it casually, flipping it over—
—and froze.
"This is... not your sociology textbook." He says, eyes wide as he flips through the pages.
Your blood ran cold. It was a specific, visceral feeling, like an ice cube sliding down your spine.
Everything faded to a dull roar in your ears. The only thing that existed was Eddie, standing there, holding the single most damning object you owned.
He didn’t flip through it with shock or disgust. There was no theatrical recoil. Instead, his thumb brushed against the pages with a strange, focused curiosity. His eyes, wide and dark, weren't judging; they were reading. Absorbing.
He finally looked up, but not at you. His gaze landed on the open textbook on your desk, red tabs that marked actual academics and not fantasies.
A slow, disarming smile started at the corner of his mouth, one that you’d seen a hundred times after a good roll of the D20.
“Y’know,” he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that felt like it vibrated right through the floorboards. “This… is a much more practical application of power dynamics than our textbooks.”
Your throat was dry.
"Thats not funny, Eddie." You turn, face red. "Give it back."
He tilted his head, studying your blush as intently as he'd studied the book. He didn't move to give it back.
"I promise you, my porn stash is way more embarrassing than this." He waved the book around a little. "At least yours has literary merit."
"It's not porn!" you shot back, your voice a little too loud in the small space. "It's research!"
The excuse sounded flimsy even to your own ears.
Eddie's smile widened. "Research," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "For what? Your dissertation on rope burns?"
He was teasing you, but it wasn't cruel. It was… interested. He wasn't making fun of you. He was engaging. He held the book out, not quite close enough for you to snatch back.
"This shit isn't even accurate," he said, tapping a page. "This is all showmanship. They forgot the most important part."
You blinked, confusion warring with humiliation. "What part?"
"The conversation." His eyes met yours, and for a second, the teasing faded. There was something serious there. Something intense but inherently safe.
"Well, the conversation isn't the sexy part." You mutter.
"Oh so you're admitting it's porn now?" He smirks and you narrow your eyes. "And also... the conversation is definitely the sexy part," he added, stepping closer. "It's the whole point."
You held your ground, even though every instinct screamed at you to snatch the book, throw him out, and crawl into a hole for the rest of eternity. Instead, you lifted your chin. "You think so?"
"I'm well versed, yeah."
He finally lowered the book, setting it down on your desk, on top of your sociology textbook. The juxtaposition was dizzying. Academia and anarchy. Theory and practice.
He took another step into your personal space. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the joint he smoked outside.
"I'm going to guess you haven't put this into practice yet," he said softly.
You couldn't answer. The lie was stuck in your throat. Because he was right. The book, the fantasies—they'd always been in your head. A private world.
A world he had just stumbled into.
"So tell me," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, looking you directly in the eye. "Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?"
He waited.
And the silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
His question hung in the air between you, shimmering and dangerous.
Is it something you only like in fiction or would you like to learn it for real?
It was a test. A doorway. A chance to step out of the theory and into the practice.
"I mean, I don't exactly have a partner to, you know..." Your hands flew up in a vague, helpless gesture. "It's not like I can just walk into a bar and ask 'Hey, any of you guys into safe, effective, and nonjudgmental bondage?'"
The joke landed weakly, but Eddie didn't laugh. He just watched you, like a predator assessing prey. He leaned against your desk, crossing his arms, the casual posture doing nothing to hide the focus in his gaze. He picked up the book again, not to mock you this time, but to flip to a specific, dog-eared page.
"Okay," he said, tapping the pages of a sex scene you had clearly marked with interest. "This, for example. The rope work is all wrong for this position. It would cut off circulation after five minutes."
You blinked. "You... you know about ropes?"
He shrugged. "I have hobbies. Guitar isn't my only practical area of expertise." He met your eyes again.
"I guess that makes sense for your whole... look." You gesture vaguely at him.
That one does make him laugh a little. "Yeah sure the whole aesthetic probably doesn't hurt." He smirks at you, eyes scanning over you again. "But the look is just a bonus. Not a guarantee. I know people who are vanilla as hell who dress like me. And I know people who would put this whole book to shame who wear polo shirts."
You think about that for a second, mulling it over as he speaks again.
"Do you like my 'look' or something? You getting off on the thought of me being the one tying you up?" He teases you, but it's not a joke, not really. It's a question.
The question hung there, an invitation wrapped in a dare. Your cheeks burned, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
"Okay, light teasing was fine but don't purposely be an ass about this." You warn him, the bite in your words making him raise an eyebrow. "And... yeah. The thought occurred once or twice. I'm not blind." The admission felt like ripping off a band-aid—painful, but necessary.
Something shifted in Eddie's expression. His smirk was softer, like he didn't expect you to admit it. He let it hang in the air for a beat, savoring the victory.
"Once or twice, huh?" he mused. "That's... nice."
He set the book down again, this time closing it. The conversation was moving on, past the fantasy and into reality.
He sits on your bed, not like he usually does where he's just sprawled out with no care in the world. This was different. He sat close to the edge, leaving a space between you, but the air crackled with new possibilities. He rested his hands on his knees, a position that was open, non-threatening, but still completely in control.
"I've thought about it like, way more than once or twice honestly. I've thought about what it would be like with you. So, like, if you want to try some things, or even just talk about them, I'm more than willing to be your partner in crime."
You couldn't speak, but he continued.
"Unless, you know, you'd rather ask that guy from your history class. What's his name? Mark? The one who looks like he was grown in a lab to sell minivans."
"Mark is just my project partner." You roll your eyes. "He's literally been here once to study."
"You laugh at his jokes a lot in the dining hall." He shoots back. "I've seen it."
You had no comeback for that. Because he'd noticed. And you had laughed. But Mark's jokes were safe. They were about midterms and dining hall food. Eddie's jokes were about things that made your stomach flip.
"Okay, that doesn't mean I want to jump his bones. And even if I did, which I don't, how is that even rele--"
It hits you then
"You're jealous." You say it out loud, a statement, not a question.
Eddie didn't flinch. He didn't deny it.
He just shrugged again, that infuriatingly casual gesture that meant everything and nothing.
"I'm territorial about things that interest me," he said simply.
You were no longer just a study partner.
"Look. We've been friends for a while. You know me. You know I'm not a creep. We can just… talk. No touching, no ropes, nothin'. Just words. We lay it all out. Boundaries. What you're curious about. What's an absolute hard 'no'." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering again. "Safe words. Pet names. the whole deal."
He was laying out a curriculum. A syllabus for your most private, secret class. And the professor was the guy who made fun of your D&D character for being too lawful good.
"This is insane," you whispered, the words feeling like bubbles in your chest.
"Is it?" He stood up and walked to your door, closing it and twisting the lock.
"Eddie... what if I say yes?"
He paused, his back to you for a second, before turning around. He leaned against the door, hands in his pockets.
"Then the real research begins." He gave you a small, genuine smile. "But only if you say the word."
The choice was yours.
"Okay." The word was barely a whisper.
He pushed off the door and walked back toward you, gesturing at your bed. "Okay. Rule one. Sit."
You carefully moved from your desk chair and sat on the bed, your back ramrod straight, perched on the very edge of the comforter like it might give way beneath you.
He sat down, leaving a careful foot of space between you. The mattress dipped with his weight, pulling you closer.
"You're tense as all hell, princess. Relax." The pet name was new. It wasn't teasing. It was... grounding.
You tried to unclench your shoulders.
"Let's start easy. Your safe word. It needs to be something you'll remember even if your brain is all fuzzy. Not something you'd normally say during sex. 'No' and 'stop' can be part of the scene. Your safe word is what makes the scene stop. No questions asked."
"Scene? That's so formal. So..."
"It's practical," he corrected gently. "It keeps things from getting messy. So. What'll it be?"
You thought for a moment, your mind racing. "Dragonfruit." It was stupid, random. No one would ever shout it accidentally.
A slow grin spread across Eddie's face. "Dragonfruit. I love it. Okay. That's ours. If you say it, we stop. Everything."
He shifted a little closer, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"Is there anything you like to be called? Or don't like?" He says, more seriously now. "Some people like being called a slut or a whore. Some people like 'good girl'. Some people hate it. There is no right answer, it's all about you."
The directness of the question made your breath catch. "Good girl," you admitted, your cheeks flushing with heat. "I don't think I'm ready for degradation yet..."
Part of you was worried saying that like you'd dissapoint him or something. but he just nodded, like you'd given him a perfectly reasonable answer.
"Alright. 'Good girl' it is. We can save the other stuff for an advanced class." The wink he threw you was both a joke and a promise.
"What about you?" you found yourself asking.
He seemed surprised by the question for a second. "Oh, well, I guess I'm pretty fine with most things. I mean, you could probably call me an asshole and I'd still like it cause it was your voice."
He said it so casually, as if he were discussing his favorite brand of guitar strings, and not the thought of you moaning for him.
"I liked when you called me princess..." You admit. "You could call me that."
"Princess," he repeated, the word soft on his tongue. "I can do that."
He was so close now. You could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
"Okay, new question..." Those big eyes drag down your figure. "Can you come sit on my lap? I want you closer."
He wasn't just asking a question about a hypothetical scenario anymore. This was real. This was happening.
Your body obeyed before your brain could catch up. You slid across the small space between you, the comforter a whisper under your knees, and settled yourself onto his lap.
His big hands went to your waist automatically, steadying you. He was warm, solid. You could feel the worn denim of his jeans against the thin material of your leggings.
"Alright. First lesson." His breath was warm against your ear, making you shiver. "Power isn't about force. It's about control. My control, your surrender."
You nod, mentally taking notes and he smiles before leaning into to whisper in your ear.
"You can always say no." He says gently. "Right now, to me. You can say 'no, Eddie, I don't want to sit on your lap' and I'll let you go, no questions asked. This is still a conversation."
"I know." You say, a little breathless.
"But you aren't going to say that, are you? No... you want this."
"I do."
"Good girl." The words were a low rumble you felt straight between your legs. "I'm going to put my hands on your thighs now. Just to hold you. Alright?"
You could only manage a small nod.
You could feel the weight of his rings through your leggings.
"Looking so pretty, all for me." He whispers and you lean into him, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You trusted him. You'd known him for years. He was safe.
This was what he meant, about the conversation. Every touch was a question. Every reaction, an answer.
"Are you going to be good for me?" He asks.
"Y-yeah," you manage. "I'll be good."
His grip on your thighs tightened just a fraction.
"I know you will." He nosed at your neck. "Now, hands behind your back. Let me hold them."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You swallowed, your throat tight, and slowly, deliberately, you moved your arms behind you, lacing your fingers together at the small of your back. The position pushed your chest out, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, incredibly exposed.
He made a soft, satisfied sound.
"Always like it when you wear a low cut top like this." He admits. His hands slid from your thighs to your back, covering your clasped hands with one of his own. The gesture was light, not restrictive, but it felt impossibly final.
His other hand came up to trace the neckline of your shirt, a single finger grazing your collarbone, then dipping lower, following the curve of your breast. He didn't grab, didn't grope. He just… explored. Mapping the territory.
"Your heart's beating so fast," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I can feel it."
You couldn't answer. All your focus was on the path of his finger as it drifted to the peak of your breast, circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.
"Responsive little thing, aren't you sweetheart?" He teases.
He circles it a few times, making you squirm on his lap and you can already feel the hard length of him through your layers of clothes. The evidence of his own desire.
His other hand still holds your wrists.
"You like your nipples played with? I know you're sensitive." He asks and you nod again. "Let's see more of these pretty tits."
He doesn't ask to take your shirt off. He just does.
He expertly pulls the shirt over your head in one fluid motion, momentarily freeing your hands before he catches them again, this time pressing them more firmly into the small of your back. He then goes for the clasp of your bra and he undoes that too, pulling it down your arms until you're topless for him.
"Look at that." He whispers and it's the most turned on you've ever heard him.
He runs his thumb over the pebbled flesh of your nipple, and your breath hitches. The calloused pad of his thumb created a delicious friction, a direct line of heat pooling in your core.
"I'm going to pinch," he warned, his voice a dark promise. "Just a little. To see how you like it."
You tensed in anticipation.
He didn't make you wait long. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying a slow, deliberate pressure. A sharp, surprising jolt of pleasure-pain shot through you, pulling a soft gasp from your lips.
"Good," he rasped. "You like that."
It wasn't a question. He read your body as easily as he read the tabbed pages of your sociology textbook.
He keeps pinching and playing as he trails soft kisses from your collarbones and lower, purposefully avoiding where you want his mouth. He was kissing all around your breasts, teasing you with featherlight touches until you're squirming and whining.
"Shh, be patient." He whispers against the skin of your breast. "I'll get there."
He does it again to the other breast. The pinch, the pleasure, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He was testing you, seeing what made you gasp, what made you squirm. And you were arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.
He finally lowered his head, taking one peaked nipple into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, before grazing it lightly with his teeth.
The whimper that left you was undignified. Needy.
He pulled back, releasing you with a soft 'pop'. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with an emotion you'd never seen directed at you before. Possessiveness. Pride. Awe.
"Look what you do to me," he murmured, one of his hands releasing yours to guide your own down, pressing it flat against the hard bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.
"You're going to have to take care of that later, aren't you?" He says, pushing your hips down a little, making you grind against him.
The friction was obscene, a delicious drag through the layers of clothing that sent sparks skittering up your spine. You did it again, a little more boldly, rocking yourself against the rigid length of him. A groan rumbled in his chest, a purely male, primal sound of appreciation.
"Not yet," he said, his grip on your waist tightening, stopping your movements. "That's a reward. And you haven't earned it yet."
He shifted you slightly, adjusting your position so you could feel him more acutely, a perfect, infuriating pressure against your clothed core. His free hand drifted down to the waistband of your leggings. His fingers toyed with the elastic, a casual touch that made your entire body clench with anticipation.
"You're soaked through already, aren't you, princess?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. All this fuss just from me playing with your pretty tits."
"Is that weird?" You ask, a little nervous now.
"Not at all. It's perfect." He says gently. "It means your body is honest. It tells the truth. And right now, your body is telling me how much you want this."
His fingers dipped below the waistband, not touching you where you craved it most, but just resting against the soft skin there.
"We could stop right now," he offered, his tone maddeningly level. "We can stop anytime you want. We can just put your shirt back on, order a pizza, and fail our sociology midterm together. All you have to do is say one word. Do you remember our word?"
"Dragonfruit," you whispered, testing it on your tongue. It felt foreign, distant. Not what you wanted at all.
"Now, tell me what you do want."
You took a shaky breath. "I want you to touch me."
"Touch you where? You have to use your words."
Every nerve ending was on fire. "My... I want you to touch me between my legs."
"Good girl."
He finally moved, his hand sliding further down, past the damp cotton of your underwear, through your slick folds. He didn't rush, exploring you with a surgeon's precision.
"This pussy is so fucking wet for me, princess." He breathes out in awe.
He found your clit with an unnerving ease, a single finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You jolted, a sharp inhale of pleasure.
"Right there?" he asked, feigning innocence.
You could only nod, your head falling back against his shoulder as he continued his slow, torturous circles. He was drawing it out, making you feel every spark, every tremor. You were wound so tight, a trembling knot of need.
Your hips began to move of their own accord, chasing the friction, the building pressure. But he stopped you again, holding you still with a firm grip.
"Uh-uh. My pace," he chided softly. "You don't get to finish until I say you can."
A whimper escaped your lips, a sound of pure frustration.
"Patience," he murmured, kissing your temple.
You notice now, that he hasn't kissed your lips, but you don't make a comment on it, too busy feeling everything else to care.
He was a master of this, a conductor of your pleasure. He varied the pressure, the speed, watching your every reaction, learning what made you gasp, what made you whine. He slipped a finger inside you, then a second, curling them upward to stroke that spot that made your vision blur.
"You think I should let you come soon?" he asked, his voice a dark, intimate rumble. "You've been so good for me. Sitting still. Taking what I give you."
"Please," you begged, the word ripped from you. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?"
"Please let me finish."
He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "Since you asked so nicely."
He increased the pressure on your clit, the circles becoming faster, more demanding. His fingers inside you stroked with renewed purpose. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap.
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. Soak my fucking hand." he commanded.
You were cumming by the time he said 'let go', your body convulsing in a blinding wave of pleasure. You cried out, your back arching, your hands still trapped behind you, leaving you nothing to hold onto but him. He held you through it, his movements slowing, gentling, as you shuddered and trembled.
When you were riding out the after shocks he released your hands, letting you decide where to put them. You immediately brought them around to his shoulders, clinging to him. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, catching your breath.
His hands came up to your back, stroking you slowly, grounding you. He whispered sweet nothings against your hair, words of praise and affection.
"I know that wasn't as extreme as what your little book had, but trust needs to be built up slowly for things like that." He says softly, kissing your shoulder. "We'll get there.
You could feel the rapid, steady beat of his heart against your cheek. You could still feel the hard press of his arousal against you, a silent testament to his own restraint.
"Eddie..." you whispered, your voice hoarse. "You didn't..."
He shushed you, a finger gently tilting your chin up. "Hey. it's okay. Tonight was about you. About learning you."
You looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen from where he'd been kissing your skin, and his eyes were dark and soft and full of an emotion that made your chest ache.
Without thinking, you leaned in and finally, finally kissed him.
He didn't move at first and you pulled back quickly, suddenly feeling stupid.
Was kissing not okay in this arrangement?
Did he only want the physical part?
Did he even like you like that?
Before you could speak, he did it first.
"Hey you, don't look like that. It's not what you think." He says gently.
"I- I just thought..."
"I know what you thought. And it's okay. I wanted to kiss you. More than anything."
"So why didn't you?" You ask, not in an accusatory tone, but a genuinely curious one.
"Because if I kissed you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it if this was just a one-time thing. Or if this was just about sex. I wouldn't have been able to control myself, and we might not be here right now."
This confession was so raw, so vulnerable. It was more intimate than anything you'd done.
"So... what is this then?" You ask, your heart pounding.
"It's whatever you want it to be." He says honestly. "But I want it to be something. Something real."
You lean in again, slowly, giving him the chance to pull away.
He didn't.
He met you halfway, his lips finally claiming yours. It wasn't a kiss of frenzy or desperation. His hands cupped your face, holding you tenderly, as if you were something precious. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of you, of the cola he'd been drinking hours ago. He kissed you slowly, deeply, a conversation without words.
When you finally parted, you were both breathless.
"Do you still want me to do something about..." You trail off, letting your eyes flick down to the very prominent problem in his pants.
He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Princess, you have no idea how much I want that. But I also want to do this right. So... right now, nothing too demanding, just let me fuck your brains out?"
You laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made your whole body feel lighter.
"You're an idiot."
"You know what?" He says with a teasing smile, before flipping you so he was hovering over you on the bed. "I like it better when you're on your back, anyway."
He made quick work of your leggings and underwear, tossing them aside. He stood up to strip off his own clothes, and you watched him, your gaze hungry. You'd seen him shirtless before, at the lake, at a party, but this was different.
The chain around his neck rested in the dip of his collarbone. His chest was lean, a smattering of dark hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. He was all sharp angles and wiry strength. And as he pulled down his boxers, your breath hitched.
"You want this huh? This is what you were grinding against earlier?" He smirks. He was long and thick, flushed with arousal, curving up towards his stomach.
He climbed back onto the bed, settling himself between your legs.
"Take what you want," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Your hand trembled as you reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm as you guided him to your entrance, and he pushed forward, just the head breaching you.
A shared gasp. You were so wet, so ready for him, but the stretch was still intense, a delicious burn.
"Oh, good girl, you listen so fucking well," he praised, before sliding the rest of the way home with one slow, deep thrust.
He filled you completely, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Fuck," he breathed, burying his face in your neck. "You feel better than I ever imagined."
He started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls was a fresh wave of pleasure. This was different from the sharp, focused intensity from before. This was a deep, all-consuming fire.
"Look at me," he demanded, pulling back just enough to see your face. "Hold on to the headboard."
You obeyed, your hands finding the cool metal bars of your headboard, as he began to move again. This new angle let him hit that spot inside you with every thrust, making your toes curl. He wasn't just fucking you anymore. He was claiming you. Marking you from the inside out.
"Who's making you feel this good?" he grunted, his hips snapping a little faster.
"You are," you moaned, your knuckles white where you gripped the headboard.
"Whose cock makes you feel this good?" He asks, a dark look in his eyes.
"Yours," you gasped, the words torn from you. "Only yours, Eddie."
"Fuck yes, it does." He says, a smirk on his face. "Not some loser from the dining hall." He speeds up a little, getting cocky. "Not your project partner. You wanna know who knows exactly what to do with you? Me." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust and you can't help but arch your back.
"You're mine now, sweetheart. This pussy is mine to use." His voice is a rough possessive rasp as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear. "Gimme a color, princess. Are we green?"
You were so far gone, but you knew what he was asking. "Green," you moaned. "So green, Eddie."
He smiled, a triumphant, feral grin. "Good girl. You want me to keep talking like this, honey? You want me to tell you how I'm going to fuck you every day after our study sessions from now on? How I'm going to bend you over that desk until you're screaming my name?"
"Yes," you whined, a desperate, needy sound. "Please."
"Then I guess I'll have to do it." His hips began to piston faster, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat. "Would you like that, sweetheart? To be my good little girl? To cum whenever I say?"
"I would," you cried out. "God, I would."
He brought a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again. He didn't circle it this time. He pressed down, hard, in direct counterpoint to his thrusts.
"Cum for me," he commanded. "All over my cock."
Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and overwhelming. You screamed his name, a raw, ragged sound, as you convulsed around him, your body spasming with the force of your release.
"Mmm, gonna wake up the whole dorm." He praised. "Such a good fucking girl." He kept thrusting through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.
He pulled out and kissed you softly, the kiss slow and deep as you shook under him. You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and insistent.
"You still haven't..." You begin, trailing off again as you try and catch your breath.
"I haven't bent you over the desk yet." He grins, before he pulls you up from your comfortable spot on your back.
His hands were on you instantly, guiding you to your feet and then turning you, walking you the few steps to your desk. He swept his arm across it, the textbook with the red tabs, a stack of flashcards—all of it clattering to the floor in a mess of academic debris.
His lips are kissing by your ear as he speaks, caging you in from behind. "You need me to get a condom?" He asks, and you are a little surprised by the question.
"I'm on the pill." You say quickly, and he makes a happy humming sound, kissing the back of your neck.
"Perfect." He whispers, before he's pressing your chest flat against the desk. The cool wood was a shock against your heated skin.
"Think you can handle a little more for me, baby?" He asked, his hands stroking over your ass.
You nod, your face turned to the side, your cheek pressed against the smooth wood.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you breathe out. "I can handle more."
He doesn't enter you right away. Instead, he kneels, spreading your cheeks, and you feel the hot, wet shock of his tongue against your pussy. He licks a long, slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, groaning at the taste.
"Fuck, you're delicious," he murmurs, before diving back in.
He was relentless, eating you out with a single-minded focus that left you trembling. He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and pointed, targeted flicks against your clit.
His hands grip at the fat of your ass as he eats you out like a man starved, and you can't help but push your hips back against him. He eats it until your legs are shaking and you're whining for him to stop. When he does, he stands up, his chest heaving.
He pauses and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You glance behind you to see him taking the rings off his right hand, leaning over your back to put them on the desk as he places small kisses on your back.
"What are you..."
Your whisper turns into a whine when a callous palm hits your ass cheek. Not hard, but enough that you gasp at the suddenness.
He shushes you gently, rubbing the reddening mark. "Just a little color for my pretty girl." He murmurs. "You like that? Just a little sting?"
You nod, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and confusion.
"Words, baby." He reminds you.
"Y-yes. I like it."
He spanks you again, this one harder, and you feel the jolt of it deep in your core. He alternates between spanking you and rubbing the tender skin, until you're a quivering, whimpering mess.
Another smack and you don't even register when he lines himself up with your entrance, and glides in, slick and easy, bottoming out with a deep groan. The angle was different, deeper, and it made you feel utterly possessed.
He set a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breaths. One of his hands grabs your face as he leans over to kiss you.
"Taste how fucking sweet you are?" He whispers against your lips. You're nodding dumbly as he continues to fuck you, tongue licking into your mouth.
His other hand slides around your body, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. It was too much, too intense, and you tried to squirm away.
"Uh-uh. You take it," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
"Take everything I give you, princess." He was praising you, his words stoking the fire in your belly. You were already so sensitive from your previous orgasms, every drag of his cock against your walls a fresh wave of pleasure.
"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.
More? Faster? For it to never end?
"I know, I know." He cooed at you. "Good girls like you need to be fucked until they can't think straight."
You clenched around him, and he grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second.
"Yeah, you like me saying that, don't you? You like being my good girl." He punctuates his words with a hard thrust that makes you see stars.
Your clit was throbbing under his thumb, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. Your body was a live wire, humming with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Gonna cum," you sobbed, the words barely intelligible. "Eddie, I'm gonna cum."
He pressed you down more against the desk, his hips snapping faster, harder. He leans over your back so you can feel the sweat from his chest on your skin as he speaks right into your ear.
"Come on," he urged, his voice rough with strain. "Cum for me. One. More. Fucking. Time."
You whined out, needier than ever, as your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down on him. Your legs gave out, and you would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn't been holding you up, pinning you to the desk.
He gathered your hair in one of his hands, pulling your head back slightly, the angle new and dizzying as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. This let him see your face as he uses you for his own pleasure. He looked wild, untamed, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"That's it, baby. Milk my cock. Such a good fucking girl." He moans as he starts to lose the steady rhythm. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.
"Gonna fill you up," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "Mark this pretty little pussy as mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, and you felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you. He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against your back, both of you breathing heavily, trying to come back to earth.
His hand in your hair changed from a grip to soothing stokes
His fingers danced up your body from their ruthless attack of your clit, to splay across your stomach. You feel him press gently. He was still inside of you. Softening, but still present.
"You okay?" he murmured against your spine, the words muffled by his soft kisses to your skin.
You managed a weak nod, not trusting your voice.
He laughed softly, the vibration traveling through you. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He slowly pulled out, and the emptiness you felt was acute. You could feel his release begin to trickle down your thigh, a sticky, intimate reminder of what you'd just done.
He helped you to the bed, tugging you back into his arms. You both were sweaty, sticky, and your room was a mess. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You curled into his side, your head on his chest. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart was a comforting anchor in the haze of satiation.
His hands never stopped caressing through your hair.
He was quiet for a long time, just stroking your hair and pressing soft kisses to your forehead.
"So," he said, his voice quiet. "Is the reality better than the book?"
You thought about it for a second. The book was theory. This was practice. This was real.
"I thought you said you weren't done with me?" You manage, weakly.
He just pulls his head back enough to get a proper look at your face, the most genuine smile accentuated by his dimples.
"Yeah, the aftercare. The cuddles. The praise. That's all part of it." He said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Being the one who has to clean up our mess."
He sits up, leaning over the side of the bed to grab the t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He carefully, almost reverently, began to clean you up. The cotton was soft against your sensitive skin.
"You're so good at that," You say softly, referring to the entire night, but more specifically the way he was taking care of you.
"Yeah? Well I'm a man of many talents." He teases, but the way he's looking at you is soft.
He's gentle, methodical, as he wipes away the evidence of your night together. Once he's satisfied, he tosses the shirt aside and pulls the comforter over both of you, cocooning you in the warmth of the small bed.
You're quiet for a long time again. Just listening to each other breathe.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hm?"
"About the kiss earlier..." he started, his voice a little hesitant. "When I said I didn't know if I could handle it if this was just a one-time thing... I meant it."
He shifts a little, so he's looking you in the eye. "This was never gonna be just a one-time thing for me. You have to know that. I've been wanting this for so long."
You are looking up at him in the dim light of your desk lamp. He's looking at you with a unguarded expression that you'd never seen from him before.
"You really have? I thought... I thought this was just... you know, because of the book."
He let out a small, breathy laugh. "Sweetheart, the book was just a convenient excuse. A cosmic sign from the universe to finally do something about the massive, soul-crushing crush I've had on you since we were assigned as lab partners in freshman chemistry."
His signature smirk reappeared then.
"The fact that you're also into the same filthy shit I am? That's just a very, very lucky bonus."
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated happiness.
"So, what now?" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.
"Now I get to enjoy this body being all soft in my arms." He says, kissing your forehead. "Now I get to wake up next to you and make you breakfast. Now I get to walk you to our sociology class and sit next to you knowing exactly what you sound like when you orgasm."
He pulls you closer. "And now I get to tell you that I want to be your boyfriend. If you'll have me."
You tilt your head up to look at him, a slow, genuine smile spreading across your face.
"I'll have you," you said simply.
"Oh, no enthusiasm for the man who made you cum three times in an hour?" He teases gently. You just lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet.
"I think you fucked all the enthusiasm out of me." You mumble against his lips.
He chuckles, satisfied and proud.
"It's a skill." He smirks. "But don't worry. I'm a great teacher. We'll build up your stamina." He winks, and you feel a fresh wave of heat wash over you.
He pulls you to his chest, safe and warm. You could get used to this.
"Next time," he whispers against your hair. "Next time I'll bring my ropes."
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I'll hold you to that."
He held you tighter, a silent promise. The night wasn't over. Your time exploring each other, it seemed, had really just begun.
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I got another spam comment today on AO3, and I want to share it as a PSA. But before I do, I want you to understand that you SHOULD NOT DO what this comment is asking. Ok? Ok.
See that bit at the bottom? Don't do that. Insert ParamedicGuy.gif going "Don't."
Other malicious spam comments I've gotten seemed designed to make an author question their writing, or outright encourage them to delete their stories from AO3. This one is different, in that it tries to get you to destroy the work on your own computer.
If you ran that command, it basically locates your Documents folder, then deletes everything in it, including all subfolders. It also does it without any prompt, so you have no chance to second guess your actions.
This is just fucking trolling.
Coincidentally, we just did training on a cyberattack similar to this, called a ClickFix attack. You can read about how that works here.
As a general rule, if ANYONE or ANY WEBSITE tells you unsolicited* to do anything in Powershell, CMD RUN, command prompt, shell command, or something similar, DON'T.
*There are legit reasons for running commands in PowerShell or the command prompt, but in those cases you are likely seeking out a solution to a problem you are already experiencing. Don't just run random commands on your computer as recommended by some unlogged-in guest on a fan fiction site.
Always think and consider before taking action, and get a second opinion from a trusted source. When I got this comment I was pretty sure what the command would do, and it took me about three seconds of googling to confirm it.
as an IT guy I can confirm that this command WILL delete all your shit. DO NOT DO IT.
Here's a bit of a further breakdown for the ones curious about what the hell this command does.
What you're basically telling your PC if you ran this is "go into this folder (Documents) and then Recursively (for all sub-folders) Remove (delete) all files therein Forcefully (without any user input and also if a file was locked)."
The little "Exclude *.archiveofourown" they tack in there is just honestly absolutely diabolical if you don't know what you're looking at.
As an inexperienced user, you'll think "oh of course, exclude ao3, that's what I want!"
*.archiveofourown is a file ending, including any file title.
There are not archiveofourown files.
This is telling your PC to ignore files that don't exist.
Honestly, the gall of these trolls is astounding.
DO NOT DO THIS.
And as a further alarm bell, even if a well-meaning anon came to your comments to warn you:
why has ao3 not put out this warning officially?
this command is for Windows users. WHAT ABOUT ALL THE PEOPLE WHO USE MAC OR LINUX?
Hope my humble knowledge was informative to someone. Stay safe, everyone.
read this and remember it. read this and remember that she is going to use the profits of her fucking ego-stroking reboot to decimate trans rights. read this and remember that every time you pay into her IP, you are emboldening her to hurt us more.
our lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
trans lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
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you can click once every 24 hrs to benefit UN aid organizations in Palestine. Arab.org keeps track of these benefits and publishes transparency reports every quarter at their website here. the above link goes directly to benefit Palestine, but you can also click more benefit programs from their frontpage at Arab.org.
a lot of us on tumblr are desperate to help Gaza but have absolutely nothing to offer except our attention and our worry. we don't have money to send, we don't have the ear of the public, we don't have any influence at all. this site appears to be (i say "appears to be" because ive been on the internet and just generally alive too long to ever think anything is a sure bet) a way to summon a small amount of money out of thin air and send it where it needs to go, with zero effort besides moving your mouse or your finger. i think we can all handle that much, no matter how helpless we are otherwise.
i don't like or trust NGOs as a rule, however, UNRWA, the organization aided by clicking the green link above, is despised by Israel and has been defunded by Trump twice, which in my opinion is one of the strongest indicators it is probably actually performing some useful function in Gaza.
consider setting Arab.org as your homepage in your desktop and mobile browsers to help you remember to click, and consider setting up scheduled reblogs or making your own posts with reminders.
her name is Zoë Bread and she doesn’t show her face, and she’s a British artist whose videos are basically her fucking with people in harmless ways - like, asking retail workers if they want an “official” picture of King Charles that is in fact a cartoon and filming their bewilderment (the person is never in the video; she films the floor and her shoes while she’s doing this). she also calls up companies who have stuff like “call us to talk about [X]!” written on their products to see if they’ll really talk to her about [X] and if the person at the call centre doesn’t know (“full unedited silence” is a feature in most of her videos), she will dig and dig until she finds someone who can. or, until she gets bored, which. fair. can’t fault that.
I’m currently trying to get a member of the british peerage to give me £50 because we’re distant cousins. I appreciate her.
she travels around for these videos and one day she went to Manchester and parked on a road called Collier Street.
Collier Street has (or had, at the time) another car park at the end of it - the SIP car park. SIP is a private company that runs these. the signage on Collier Street indicated that the payment machine there was where you’re supposed to pay, so Zoë and a fuckload of other people assumed that that was where you got the tickets. Zoë put it on her car and went about fucking with whoever she decided to confuse today
she gets back to her car, has a parking ticket, and is confused
again - she paid for a ticket. she wasn’t trying to get out of paying.
because she’d bought a ticket from the machine that the SIP car park instead of the council run machine that is actually on a different road, she’d been ticketed. and, rightly so, she contests it and the person at the council says that the rules are the rules and there’s clear signage
Zoë: the signage is misleading
council: we don’t believe it is
Zoë: well, I was misled
council: we believe the signage is adequate
Zoë, being Zoë, doesn’t agree with this. she pulls up literal years’ worth of data on the history of that sign, the parking on the road, and the number of people who got ticketed. very early on, she says she’s not actually bothered about her own ticket, but she’s upset that people are being caught out and sees that it’s a money-making scheme for the council. she speaks to parking wardens, who mostly seem to agree that the signage is misleading. she has data. she calls them back. same response.
Zoë, being an artist, makes her own sign. which she puts up below the official one. and then she waits to see how long it is before it’s taken down.
[note: there was a side quest sometime during this - it went on for months - where she put cones in the parking spaces. the council moved them onto the pavement/sidewalk. this made it inaccessible for wheelchair users, people with prams, other people who can’t just move around them, which is illegal. so she called the council repeatedly to complain about the cones and monitored them until they were moved. this took ages - we are talking weeks.]
Zoë’s sign gets taken down.
the signpost it was attached to, with the misleading sign, becomes a point of pilgrimage for British people who appreciate a good bit of humour with the intent of bullying the local government. it is COVERED in stickers.
her sign is taken down. the sign is not changed. more people get tickets.
[there was a second side quest, where Zoë discovers that the SIP car park - the private one - doesn’t have planning permission. she doesn’t let this slide.]
not happy with this, Zoë calls in to the local radio station. which has a Q&A with Andy Burnham. the Mayor of Manchester. she calls in and asks him about this. Andy Burnham says he’s taking her concern into consideration and will look into it, and get back to her if she calls in next week.
she’s not put through next week.
she contacts his office.
no response.
she calls in again and brings it up.
[all this is happening while she’s repeatedly ringing the council to ask them about it]
she has gone from “harmless tiktok prankster” to “calling out government incompetence”. with a MASSIVE platform.
eventually, after her being interviewed by the BBC, Manchester City Council puts up a sign saying where the actual car park for Collier Street is (there is a running bit where a council worker misheard her and thought she said “Collyhurst Street”, which to my knowledge does not exist. Zoë now exclusively refers to it as that, including in her radio appearance and on her phone calls)
she isn’t done. she now has a petition to force the government to change vague signage. the government said no, all their signage is adequate. she’s now fighting with them. in one of her most recent videos, she was on the phone with the House of Commons enquiry department trying to figure out how to contest it. she’s brilliant.
anyway, this is why the art of Fucking About must never be lost. big up Zoë
I highly suggest that if you’re dealing with them people who got a penis between their legs, they gotta either pay for the coochie or they gotta worship the ground you walk on.
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