djoseph-quinn - Tumblr blog

djoseph-quinn · 3 days

Text

scandals & handcuffs; burning altars

eddie munson x reader

summary: it’s summer and eddie’s bored out of his mind. and while he spits out mindless questions, clarifying gossip and racy expeditions, eddie finds himself indulging you (and your touch, scent, kisses)

word count: 5, 297

warnings: explicit ones below the cut!

a/n: i know i already posted yesterday (here), but i finished this one early and i wanted to post it. hope you all filthy whores indulge in this eddie smut. mwah mwah

MASTERLIST

explicit warnings: poorly written smut, bondage ft. handcuffs and bandana, soft!dom eddie, cumplay, unprotected sex (practice safe sex!), cumplay, praise kink, multiple orgasms, biting, tongue fucking, cum eating, oral (fem receiving), rough sex, squirting, and short aftercare <3

“Do you think I should get a buzzcut again?”

Eddie toys with the nail polish you brought, reading the labels and what-not. You’re on his bed, laying down with your elbow propping you up, desperately trying not to smudge your nails. “Dunno,” you shrug.

He’s pacing, entertaining himself by playing with the nail polish bottle, and giving his guitar a small strum when he walks by. It’s obvious Eddie’s bored, which was why he invited you in the first place. “Think I’ll still rock one?”

“I love your hair.” You do love his hair – long, tangled and curled, probably needs an entire bottle of coconut oil conditioner and a proper comb, but it fits him well. It’s what makes him Eddie. “I think you should just keep that one.”

“But,” he gently places the small bottle on the bedside table, plopping down beside, copying your position with a curious look. But he’s only gets that kind of curiosity when he’s bored out of his mind. “If I get a buzzcut, would I look like I’m sick, or, sick.”

“Sick as in cool?” he nods, stupidly cute. “I guess. But you haven’t had it in years and your face back then was like, so small and cute and chubby.”

It’s not that he’s not cute anymore, but his face has shaped into more of an adult-ish physique. Eddie doesn’t have the cherubic prepubescent look anymore. They’ve morphed into predominant cheekbones, and his face has grown a bit longer. He’s gone from cute to handsome, but with a little bit of cute when he smiles.

“What if I straightened my hair?” he pats his hair down, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Would I look like a hippie or a pervert? Or like, a wet afghan hound?”

“Where are all these questions coming from, Eds?” you laugh. Eddie smiles at you, even with his eyes. “Are you really that bored? You’ve been growing your hair for years and refused to get a haircut. Now you want a buzzcut?”

“It’s a ridiculous thought,” you say to him. Eddie stares at you for a short while, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then he covers his eyes with his hair, the smile sitting faintly on his face. “I’m just wondering.”

You pick up a thick strand of his hair and split it into three sections. Eddie lets you loosely braid his hair, removes the one on his eyes to look at you. You like his eyes – they’re dark, almost black when he’s in a dim room. But even then they hold such devilish irradiance when he’s happy, or doing something he loves, or when he’s at peace. And you can see them right now.

“Please don’t cut your hair,” you say. “I love braiding it.”

“Okayyy,” he quips. “What about a tattoo?”

You sit up, suddenly interested. “Can I design it?”

Eddie ponders for a bit. He shrugs. “Yeah sure, why not. What would you give me?”

“Hellfire Club right above your butt crack. But in cursive.”

He laughs. “Shit, that’s cool. I’ll consider it.” Eddie makes a quiet ‘mmm’ noise, looking up. His hand props his head up, too, the other tapping rhythmically on the space between the two of you.

“What?”

“What if I get a tatt right on my dick? Like on the tip. Or beneath the tip, and they’re like the Devil’s Horns?” Eddie suggests. You make a disgusted face, where he responds with two pointed fingers on either side of his head, mimicking horns while poking his tongue out to you.

You pull his fingers down, “Eddie, don’t do that.”

“Alright,” he chuckles. “Anything for you, sweet thing.”

“Gross.”

Eddie lifts his head, a smile that walks on the border between offence and humor. “Gross?” he scoffs, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “Yeah, but when Mike Lewinski calls you ‘hot stuff’ last year, it has you skipping around the halls like an idiot. But when I call you ‘sweet thing’ it’s gross.” Eddie rolls his eyes, turns his head away from you a bit. “I’m offended.”

You half-gasp. “That’s because he was a hot senior, Eds.” You push his shoulder a little. “And people kept on spreading rumors that he was going to ask me out. So forgive me for gushing about a guy who’s really hot.”

Petulancy gets the best of him. Eddie spares you a short glance, before turning his shoulder away from you.

“Eddie!” you laugh, pulling on his shoulder. “Eds, I’m sorry I called you gross,” you place your chin on his bicep, pouting down at him. “Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Stubborn, you quietly groan and poke at his side. He doesn’t flinch, as you expected, so you groan loudly and pull on his hair. “Ow!” he yelps, his hand comes up to pry your hand away from his hair. “(y/n)! dude…” he laughs at your violence. “That fucking hurt!”

“You wouldn’t look at me!”

“Alright, now I’m looking at you,” he widens his eyes, leaning closer, like he’s trying to scare you. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m looking right at you – stop leaning away!”

Eddie grabs your shoulders and holds them in place, restricting you from moving back. And you continue to laugh, perhaps out of fear, because his wide eyes are starting to scare you. He likes to indulge in scaring you sometimes, either with words or his menacing stares. “Eddie,” you laugh nervously. “Stop it or I’ll kick your face.”

“Alright,” he chuckles. Eddie moves away from you and reaches for his bedside table, pulling on the drawer and taking out a pack of cigarettes. It’s the same one from two weeks ago, the one you bought for him, and you can tell it’s from you ‘cause you can see the small ‘fuck you’ written in the bottom in your handwriting.

“You still have that?” you query. “The Eddie I know finishes a pack in two days. It’s been two weeks. Are you trying to quit?”

He places one between his lips, taking a lighter out of his pocket and lights it up. “No,” his answer is muffled, and Eddie takes a long drag before he lets it go.

“Ah, right, you were too busy doing crack with Chrissy Cunningham.”

“It wasn’t crack,” he waves his hand, cigarette almost dangerously burning your arm. “It was just marijuana. And I wasn’t with her.”

“Right,” you scoff. “And I know who the Night Stalker is.”

He places the cigarette back between his lips, but does nothing. Eddie looks at you, jejunely, lets his cigar hang loose from his parted lips. “What? Don’t believe me? You’re believing what does shitheads say about Chrissy?”

Eddie plays with his rings. His hands are extremely attractive, brutishly adorning his brash silver rings. The one on his index had four skulls on each corner of a cross, the one on the middle looks like a pig, and the other had only a single skull, though it’s larger than the others.

You like the one on his other hand. It’s small, pretty on his ring finger. The band’s black, but the crest of it was a darker shade of blue, surrounded by silver. Eddie’s let you borrow it once, sometimes you’d even take it off from him and wear it yourself.

And you do take it. You gently take his hand off the cigar and pull the ring off, placing it on your own. It’s a bit bigger, almost would slip off, but you like the way it looks on your hand (and so does Eddie.)

Then you shrug. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I know Chrissy’s not a crackhead, but I highly doubt you weren’t with her. I mean, come on, Eds. People saw you two.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a solid thirty seconds. He senses grandiosity in your speech. He can tell by the way your lips twitch into almost an unpleasant frown that there’s something you’re not telling him with your colloquial words. You reach for the impassive cigarette in his lips, place it on yours, and take a longer drag than he does before you puff it in his face.

The boy doesn’t cough. He’s used to the smell. “(y/n),” his playful ebullience is masked with allegation when he says your name. “Are you jealous?”

He drags his vowels, and you drag your eyes into a roll. “What would I be jealous about? I snort coke with you all the time…”

“Hawkins High is built with scandals,” it’s true. The school’s filled with crass students and naïve adults, and they live on gossip. Repetitive, fraudulent, juvenile gossip. Caused only to destroy someone’s life; it’s like an unspoken rule that there’s to be eloquent lies spoken every month to entertain the dull town. Every lie slips past the thin walls and into another’s mouth. And so far, you’d only believed one (maybe two) out of ten gossips that entail your best friend.

“And?”

“I know you’re not just accusing me of doing crack with Chrissy,” Eddie murmurs, finger hovering at the right side of your neck to trace its slope.

You scoff, twirling the cigar between your fingers. “And what would you be doing with her?”

It’s an ever-so-soft, shivering touch when the side of his finger traces your temple, lightly brushing the hair away. His eyes are deceiving, you don’t know if he’s looking at your lips or your eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe…sit near her. Or…hold her hand,” Eddie’s finger drags on your bare shoulder, though maintains eye contact, and leans forwards to your ear. “Whisper shit to her that makes her cross her legs, then lift her to the bench. Or bend her over there, knowing damn well she’s still dating fucking Jason Carver.”

You know he’s quoting all they said about him when they caught him with Chrissy. And the fact that you weren’t there to see what happened makes you suspicious, because they actually could be true. The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue, makes you swallow dryly.

“Maybe I might have handcuffed her, too,” he finishes, dusk eyes dragging themselves to the handcuffs hanging beside his door. Much to your dismay, Eddie removes his finger from your shoulder. “Or yeah, maybe I was just doing crack with her.”

You sigh. “Eddie…”

“Aha!” he sits up, points a finger accusingly at you. “You are jealous!”

With wide eyes, and eyebrows sunken and creased, you sit up too. You slap his hand down. “What? All I said was your name!”

“You made a sound!”

“It was a fucking sigh.”

“A sigh, a depressing sound of jealousy, they’re all the same, babe,” he teases, taking the cigarette from you. He doesn’t take a puff, though, instead he kills it and throws it in his ashtray.

What a miffing concept for you – Hawkins High’s infamous Freak, and their Queen. It’s uncanny, unbelievable. Maybe it does make you jealous because you solely wish they’d make a rumor like that with you and Eddie.

You shake your head in disbelief, looking away from him. You’re dancing dangerously on a tightrope, knowing if you fall you’d lose all the reverential avidness for the man in front of you. Tiptoeing on that rope, your hands balance teenage lunacy and sophistication. You’re scared to fall, to give in, but knowing Eddie’s down there to catch you is almost too fucking tempting.

“You and your fucking handcuffs…” a wry chuckle leaves you. It has Eddie leaning closer, tilting his head at you.

“‘d you like my handcuffs?” the murmur’s imbued with palpable taunting, one that pulls you from the tightrope. “They’re very fun to play with, y’know?”

Him and his fucking handcuffs. Eddie’s handcuffs. His scandals and handcuffs. Handcuffs used for sheer folly to delight his sordid disposition. Calumnious scandals that paint him notorious. Notoriously hot as he looks at you like that – a coquettish gaze, lips quirked into a sadistic smirk. Oh yeah, they’re definitely making you fall from that tightrope.

You take one last glance between his eyes, then his parted lips. “Fuck you,” you say, and then you kiss him.

It hits you like a pistolwhip that you’re kissing your best friend Eddie Munson. You’re drunk on nothing, maybe now that you’re tasting his lips – soft like his old leather jacket, but the kiss is rough like his sleeve-ripped denims. He’s very keen on kissing you back, forcing his head closer that his nose bends from your cheek.

But he pulls away, taking your hand in his. Eddie opens his eyes, panting a little, and pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You sure about this?” he murmurs against your lips, and he’s only looking at them.

“I just fucking kissed you, Eds,” you exhale. You’d already fallen on the tight rope. “Fucking want this.”

He kisses you again. It feels nefarious to do this, but you love doing heinous things with Eddie, only this one’s new. It’s what makes your relationship with him so thrilling, to unveil the disposal of repugnant ardor and indulge in this new side of moronic titillation.

Eddie slips his tongue between open-mouthed kisses, hand crawling up your arm to cradle your neck. You feel his cold rings against your skin, has you gasping at the feeling, maybe even at how hot his mouth is. He kisses you deeper, makes your mouth open wider.

Desperate hands grip his shirt, your fingers lathering all over him – his hair, his cheek, his chest over his shirt, his tattoo-obscured arms. He laughs against your mouth when he makes you whine by pressing his thumb in the middle of your throat.

“You wanna try them out? My handcuffs?” Eddie gently pulls your face away. “I know you want to. Be honest,”

“Okay,” you breathe out, pulling on his shirt. “Okay, fuck, just make it quick.”

He tuts. “So bossy,” he pecks your lips. “So cute.”

Eddie stands up from the bed, almost tripping over scattered clothing. He plucks the handcuffs from the hook, waves them around. You’ve pushed yourself up to his headboard. Eddie walks over to the edge of the bed, pulls on the bottom of his shirt and discards it on the floor.

He’s got tattoos everywhere – random tattoos with random meanings. They’re all Devils and Skulls and Bats, some with DnD references, but you think you’ve spotted your favorite:

Right on his left hip-bone were the words fuck you in your handwriting, standing out in dark black ink. It’s a strange juxtaposition to his abominable tattoos, but you love it either way. The vulgar tattoo makes you bite your lip, chuckle even. “When’d you get that?” you point at it.

“Two weeks ago.” He says, bending to crawl over you. You spread your legs apart, allowing him to slot himself between you easily. “Pretty fucking cool actually.”

“Sweet,” you purr. Eddie drags his fingers behind your earlobes, thumb grazing your cheeks. He leans down to kiss you, soft, unlike seconds ago. The kiss is sweet, like he’s trying to say something. But he doesn’t say anything, even when he pulls away to take your hands in his.

Eddie takes your left hand and raises it to the side until it reaches the headboard. He sits up, thighs on either side of yours and handcuffs your left hand to the bottom bar of the headboard. He slots two fingers on the space between the cuffs and your wrists. “Y’ alright?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he leans back. But he doesn’t go back to kissing you yet. He sits on his knees, hands on his hips. You lift your head from the pillow to look at him, waiting.

“What’s wrong?”

“I realized I only have one pair of handcuffs,” he chuckles. You click your tongue at him. “Wait, hold on.”

Eddie pulls something from behind him, showing you his black bandana. He twirls the fabric in his finger, leaning forward again to take your right hand in his to raise it above you and tie them to the headboard again. So now you’re fully restrained, hands unable to move. It makes you feel a tad bit anxious, but Eddie’s got you.

“Tell me if you wanna remove them, alright?” he leans down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips.

“Course,” you smile at him. “Wait, Eds. I’ve still got my shirt on.”

He leans back again, towering over your helpless body. “Right,” Eddie smiles at you. Both his hands reach to cup your shirt, and you gasp when you hear a loud tear and feel the cold air of his trailer graze your bare stomach.

“Eddie!”

“I’ll get you a new one,” he compromises, tearing the sleeves off so the shirt’s finally off you. “There. Now it’s gone.”

Impatient, Eddie places incremental kisses from your collarbones to the top of your breasts. He greedily sucks on your skin, makes you whimper. Eddie decides that he likes the sound you make, and he does it again. It’s ethereal, a new sound he likes other than metal. And he’s lucky enough that the clasp of your bra’s right in the center.

He unclasps them, goggles at your exposed tits like a newborn. You chuckle at his expression and kick at his shin. “Watcha staring at?”

“Tits.” He breathes out. “Pretty,” his hands knead your breasts, thumb grazing over your hardened nipples. You arch your back to him, almost digging his face on the valley of your tits. “pretty tits.”

You feel your face redden. “Flirt,” you sigh, moaning when he nips at one of them. “Fuck.” The restriction from your hands makes you groan, because you want to touch his hair, let your nails comb through his shaggy tresses. He sucks and nips at your buds, greedy, hungry, and treats the right breast with the same eagerness.

“You like that?” he mumbles against your skin. “Being helpless? All tied up while I suck on your tits? God you look so fucking hot right now.”

“Eddie,” you whine. “Do something.”

“Patience,” he says, but his hand leaves your mounds anyway, trails down and teases your stomach with light touches that it tickles. Eddie’s fingers tease your belly button, circling around it, before they decide to trace your hipbone, until they draw the top row of your jeans.

With lips still around your nipple, he unbuttons your jeans, drags the zipper down ever so slowly, like he’s got all the time in his world. And he does – maybe a lifetime full of times like these, where he’s indulging you (and your touch, scent, kisses).

But he spares your impatience. Eddie tugs your jeans down, in a motion that goes slow to fast when they reach your calves. He lets go of your breast, kissing your collarbone before he bites on your neck. He’s doing all that with his hand tugging your underwear down.

“They’re cute, baby,” he giggles in your neck. “I like them.”

You moan, followed by a shy laugh. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank for,” Eddie kisses you. “I love anything you wear. But I love it even more when you’re wearing nothing.”

“Cheeky- ah,” you moan when his finger drags between your slit, lathering up your wetness just in his middle finger. “Shit.”

“So wet, baby,” Eddie bites your bottom lip, releases it with a soft titter. “So fucking wet. God, it’s amazing how I did all of this.”

“Don’t be complacent, Eddie,” you tease him, raising your leg to wrap it around his ass. He shakes his head, presses chaste kisses on the corner of your lips.

His fingers rub your clit in slow circles. Eddie’s neophyte fingers possess abundant dexterity in certain things. You’ve always glorified his hands when he plays the guitar in quick riffs, or when he gesticulates his hands when he narrates during DnD, or anything he does with them. But now, maybe his fingers touching your pussy might be your favorite sight (and feeling) of it all.

Eddie rubs, circles, applies pressure to your clit. He has you whimpering and squirming with his miniscule touches, and he loves the feeling of seeing you like this – a mess for him. Desperate for him. You can tell he’s also tracing something; something you can’t perceive because everything feels too delicately good. But they’re eight letters. Eight letters of an unknown sentence, eight letters lost in your voluptary haze.

“More,” you demand, pushing your hips harder into his hand.

He tuts. “Where are your manners?” Eddie looks up at you. “You gotta beg for it, baby. I can’t just give you everything that you want, can’t I?”

“Eddie,” you whine.

“(y/n),” he mocks you.

“Please,” an embarrassing plead. “Please, Eddie. Just touch me.”

He’s teasing you. “I’m already touching you,”

“Fuck me,”

“With what?”

“Your – your fingers,” you exhale. “Your fingers. Fuck me with your fingers, baby, please.”

“Alright baby,” he rubs on your clit still, not obeying yet. But he eventually does, his fingertips tracing your hole before he slips one in. Eddie moans quietly at the feeling of your tender walls, tracing each crevice of you. You’re moaning again, perhaps a bit louder despite having one finger in.

Then he slips in another one, and another, easily. Because you’re all gaping for him. He fucks you with his fingers slowly, making sure you adjust. He kisses your neck for good measure, then your cheeks, then your lips. Eddie kisses your lips again and again, parting your lips open with his tongue. You sloppily kiss him back ‘cause your moaning, louder when his fingers go fast.

Your cunt makes loud wet sounds. It makes you feel embarrassed that he hears this, although he doesn’t tell you that the sounds make him harder than a fucking rock.

“Fuck, baby,” you grunt. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah, I know it does. I can tell,” his hands move over the threshold of rapidly vigorous. Eddie moves his fingers faster, thumb rubbing your clit. It overstimulates you, makes you moan until the nearby trailers hear you. “Greedy girl. So fucking spoiled, getting everything that she wants.”

He declares it’s not enough to himself. Eddie descends from your face and down to where his fingers continue to fuck you like there’s no tomorrow. You cry when he removes three of his fingers, but he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your gaping cunt, the entire thick muscle forcing itself in.

The feeling’s foreign, having to never been fucked by a tongue before. It’s not as thick as his fingers but it feels good nonetheless, because you’re still moaning for him. You’ve got your legs over his shoulders, and he’s got his thumb rubbing your clit still. The vacant hand rests on top of your pelvis, holding you down when he fucks his tongue in and out of you.

“God, fuck,” he groans against your cunt.

You tug on your hands. The handcuff hurts around your wrist the harder you tug, but the pain only adds more delectation to what you feel down there to your cunt.

“I’m close, Eddie,” you gasp, tears brimming your eyes from the gratification. “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He pulls his tongue out, only to be replaced by three of his fingers again. You practically scream, thrashing around with your back arched, head deep on the pillow with a slacked jaw and shut eyes.

Eddie moves his fingers faster, and faster, until your legs shake. “Cum for me, baby. I got you. I fucking got you.”

He doesn’t stop until he starts to feel the warm substance on the tip of his fingers, and when your legs stop quaking and dig your feet on his back, sweeter liquid pours out with a loud cry.

You taste sweet. A sanctuary with walls flooded with nectar, and he’s a sinner thirsty for wine as he’s spent his entire life in Hell with a parched throat. Your salubrious liquids remedies his throat; it spurts out with ire, staining even his face and coats his voracious lips.

Eddie’s zenith doesn’t prevent him from stopping, only when he sees you calm down. Your body slackens on his mattress, and only then he sees the stains you caused on his bed.

“Holy fucking shit,” you laugh. Eddie smiles at you, sucking his hands clean like the greedy bitch he is before he places them on either side of your head. He brings himself down to kiss you, and you can’t taste yourself on his tongue. “I’ve never done that before,”

He pulls away a little. “Well then, I’m honored.”

But he’s not done. Eddie removes the belt from his denims, pulls them off quicker than he removed yours. When he pulls his boxers down, the sight of his cock has your lips water. He’s well shaven, pink and swollen on the tip, two indignant veins around the shaft. You quietly moan when he pumps himself, precum leaking from his slit.

A hand props himself up while the other lines his cock right in front of your swell pussy. He gives your clit light slaps, laughs when you grunt and whimper. “You ready? Or you’re tired?”

You shake your head. “Fuck me or I’ll rip my hands off these things and use you as a toy.”

Eddie gasps at your vulgarity. “Demanding!”

But he does command to your demand. Eddie pushes himself in, until he can’t move anymore. You feel so full, the feeling of his cock buried inside you is preposterously rapturous.

“So tight, baby,” he pants, hand cupping your ass to lift your leg around his torso. “Feel so amazing, (y/n). Feel so fucking amazing I wanna stay here forever.”

Your nail scratches on his bandana. “You could,” you look at him. “Only my legs would go numb. So I totally don’t recommend that.”

“I’ll carry you everywhere.” He bargains. “Then you wouldn’t have to walk. I’ll do everything for you.”

“Anything for a lifetime of cockwarming, huh?” you giggle.

“Totally,”

“Well you can have that after you fuck me. So please,” your head lifts to bite his bottom lip, pulling it out with a quiet pop. Eddie grunts. “fuck me, freak.”

Eddie only kisses you as he begins to thrust. He pulls his cock out completely before pushing in. His opted movement draws out a long moan out of you. You look up at him to see his eyes closed tightly, jaw relaxed into quiet moans. It’s like dream to see him like this, only it is happening and you’ve never been happier.

A cock that has you voracious for him, it feels like Eddie’s fucking you in a burning altar – fire increased by each thrust he makes. Eddie wraps your legs around his torso, balls slapping at your ass. It’s a plethora of obscene sounds that gets you wetter than you ever could. And although you wanted it, it frustrates you that you can’t pull on Eddie’s hair.

But you love the feeling of submitting yourself to him, anyway. So who are you to complain for wanting something you’ve craved for a long time?

“Eds,” you moan into his mouth. “Feel so fucking amazing.”

“I know, baby,” he chuckles, rubbing his nose against yours.

He’s rocking harder into you, each thrust stupendous as it tethers you together. Eddie fucks his cock harder into you, doing it like it’s his swan song. But it’s not, he’s gonna keep doing this forever. Even when you burn together in Hell, he’s going to keep fucking his cock in your until you turn into ashes.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, fingers clawing on your restraints. And you moan, tumultuously. Eddie’s red cheeks and hair stuck to his forehead due to sweat deserves to be in a painting placed as the main attraction at a museum. He craves for your touch, too, so whilst pounding into you, Eddie pulls out the key from his drawer and unlocks the cuffs from your wrist before untying the bandana from the other.

Immediately your hands dig themselves into his hair, scratching every part of his back. You claw at him, seeing the red tendrils form on his biceps, and on his back when Eddie digs his head on the crook of your neck.

But the sovereignty of your hands don’t last long. Eddie grabs them and pins them to the mattress, sucking on your neck. “Harder,” you grunt when hits that spot in you. “Harder, Eddie.”

“I’m already giving you everything I got, babe,” he chuckles. “This is hard as I can go. Unless you want me to take you in the ass-”

“That’s for next time,” you stop him. Eddie ignores the fact that you said there’d be next time, like you plan on doing this immorality with him for as long as you both wanted.

Your feet digs themselves on his ass, urging him on. “I’m close,” he tells you, and his thrusts go sloppy. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you, like he’s going to burst.

“So am I,” he forces your hands deeper into the mattress. “Where are you gonna cum?”

“I gotta pull out,” he exhales.

“Okay,” you nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, Eddie, I’m gonna cum.”

“I’ll hold it in,” he lets go of your hands so he could rub your clit. You feel it teetering on the edge, and his incessant rubbing cuts the knot and you’re cumming again.

Eddie pulls out, just enough time for him to give himself a few more strokes before he’s shooting his warm seed on your stomach. He paints your skin in alabaster stripes, his hand covered with your slick and cum as he strokes himself still.

The culmination is rhapsodic; a cognizance that you just fucked your best friend, or rather he fucked you. The altar stops burning, your legs fall down on the mattress, and Eddie runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Fuck,” he gasps. His back slackens from exhaustion. Eddie places his hands on your thighs and leans down to kiss you again.

The innocence in the kiss is strong, as if he hadn’t just fucked your legs out of its mobility. You wrap your arm around his back, where he breaks away from you to kiss your biceps, back to your neck, then to your lips.

“That was cool,”

“That’s it?” he looks at you. “Only cool?”

“I’m too fucked out to explain how amazing your dick was,” you chuckle, tracing his cupid’s bow. “But it’s so cool. So, so cool. You made me squirt, so take that as a sign that it’s more than cool.”

“Alright,” he pecks you again. “Just give me a moment, ‘kay? I’ll clean you up.”

Eddie stands up, cock softening as he disappears in the bathroom right outside his bedroom. He comes back with a wet towel in his hand, kneeling in front of you to wipe the mess he made.

“You stained my bed, babe,” he kisses your knee when he wipes the outside of your swollen cunt. You flinch when he accidentally presses hard on you. “Sorry.”

“‘s alright.” You smile at him.

Eddie can’t help but smile even as he wipes his mess on your stomach. And he can’t stop wanting to kiss you – which is what he does. He gives you a tender kiss. Two. Three, until he lets his tongue prod your mouth for a few seconds before pulling back.

You cup his face in your hands, tracing the creases on his face when he smiles. “You know, if you get to fuck me this good whenever I’m jealous, I’d be jealous all the time.”

“Aha!” he beams, like a triumphant child. “I knew it! You were jealous.”

You pull on his hair, glaring at him. “Freak.”

“Freak in the fucking sheets, yeah.”

“Gross.”

banner by @/lauras-collection

3K notes · View notes

djoseph-quinn · 18 days

Text

Maybe - Eddie Munson

Summary: When the hot older man in the neighborhood becomes a regular at your coffee shop, you can't help but let your shameless flirting take over. And maybe, just maybe, the fantasies are reciprocated. CW: 12k words, 18+ !!! modern!Eddie, older!Eddie, d/s dynamics, daddy!kink, slight ddlg themes, soooo many fucking pentanes I'm sorry, choking, slapping, oral (f receiving), sex, lots of flirting

AN : Wow , it's been so long since I have actually sat down and written a full fic and holy fuck did I miss it. I hope you guys enjoy my entirely self indulgent older Eddie fic. As always, I love you so so so much and if you enjoy it please share and leave feedback <3 - Vi

“There’s no way you’re old enough to know or like the Grateful Dead,” The deep voice shakes you from your scrolling.

To be fair, a customer hasn’t come in in almost 45 minutes, leaving you with no more counters to rescrub, and cups to restock. So, yes, you’ve been scrolling.

“I know you’re not about to quiz me,” you joke back to the man in front of you. He must be at least in his mid 30s, his long curly hair accompanied by tattoos all across his arms. You’ve never seen him in the small coffee shop before, which is weird considering you know just about everyone in this town, but you can already tell he’s a joker.

What you don’t expect is the way his smirk makes your cheeks get hot.

“Alright alright, no quizzes…today,” he smiles, glancing over the menu. You pretend to make yourself busy pulling a shot of espresso, trying not to look at the way he bites his lip while he’s focusing.

His eyes look up to meet yours, knowingly. “I’ll just have an iced Americano.”

You nod. “Small or large?”

“Large.”

You chuckle. “What?” He asks, a playful glint in his eyes. You try to bite your tongue, you really really do, you shouldn’t be flirting with this man.

But you’re a barista, and honestly, it’s part of the job. “Nothin,” you say, eyebrows raised as you pull up his total on the small screen in front of him.

He taps his card to the screen without even looking. His eye contact with you only falters as he scans over your body. “No no, let me in on the little joke,” he taunts.

You move over to the espresso machine, and there’s no way he’s not looking at your ass. You’re so lucky there’s no one else here.

“It’s just that,” you start, holding back your own laugh. “Of course you get an iced americano. You’re not at the old dad level of drip coffee, or hot americano, yet.” His eyebrows raise at that.

You focus on pulling your espresso shots. “An iced americano just makes sense,” you shrug.

He leans on the end of the counter. “You think you got me all figured out?”

“I didn’t say that,” you challenge, a little nervous you might have upset him. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried to charm a customer and they didn’t bite. You grab the large cup and scoop ice into it, your back toward him as you try to think of ways to mend the situation.

He claps his hands together, making you jump slightly as you pour water over the ice. “Okay, 20something barista with tattoos, what’s my star sign?”

You scoff. “Really?” You ask, staring him down, holding your ground as you realize he enjoys your banter.

“Watch the-” He interrupts. You poured water all over the floor. Super smooth.

Shrug it off.

You inhale and purse your lips, your tongue poking your cheek as you know he’s got you flustered. You pour the shots in the cup, plop a lid on and hand it to him over the counter, leaning over slightly as you do. He doesn’t back away, and the close proximity makes your heart pound. “Hmmm,” you hum, using your observation skills as an excuse to check him out.

He doesn’t waiver at all, just swirls the cup in front of him as he waits.

“Aquarius or Scorpio,” you decide. It’s a little bit of a shot in the dark but -

He laughs. “I knew you’d believe in the star shit.”

You mouth drops and you put your hands on your hips, in disbelief at his little game. “Tell me I’m wrong!” You prompt him, but he shakes his head and sips his drink.

“Tell me you’re not an aquarius or scorpio,” you ask again.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“So I’m right,” you laugh, wiping down the counter and walking to grab more rags from under the counter. You hear him shuffling on the other side of the counter as you come up and start to clean the spill you made moments before.

“It’s good coffee,” he smiles, then turns to walk toward the door.

You can’t help the smile that adorns your face as well. “What’s your name?” You call out before he leaves.

“Eddie,” he does a small bow.

You roll your eyes. “See ya tomorrow Eddie,” you smile.

He leaves with a nod of his head.

And that is how you met Eddie Munson.

Over the next few weeks, the flirting was shameless. It started only when you two just so happened to be alone, him finding his way into the shop every morning you happened to work, before anyone else came in for the later shifts. It always started the same, a small, knowing smile gracing both of your faces as you gave him a simple, “Hi Eddie,” to start his day.

“Hi dollface,” he’d sometimes respond. Other times it was, “Hey honey,” or maybe even a “Mornin’ sweetheart.” He might have even called you sweet cheeks once, but the days start to blur.

As the time goes, you learn more about him, what he does for work, that he has a real piece of work for an ex-wife who he has to try and appease constantly to see his son, that he works in music production and teaches private lessons, as well as being a pretty big nerd with his favorite movies and tv shows. He asks about you, and what your life is like, but you only give him small details, knowing that you fall hard and this was simply a 10-15 minute work transaction to look forward to most days.

You kept up your customer service appeal, while also flirting with him, trying to make it so he would absolutely never know if you had a bad day. But sometimes it’s not that easy.

“Mornin’ sweetheart, how are you?” The brown eyed man asks, his voice taking the air away from you.

You had been hoping he wouldn’t come in today.

“I’m alright Eddie. Want your usual?” You ask, avoiding eye contact as you start on his drink.

“Yeah,” he responds, but he’s hesitant. He waits for your witty banter, a sly comment, or even a smile in his direction but it doesn’t come.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer. “Did I do something? I can absolutely fuck off if you want me to,” he chuckles.

You immediately feel bad. You don’t want him to think he’s doing anything wrong. “No no no,” you say, trying to smile. “It’s just a weird day.”

“It’s already weird?” He chuckles. “It’s a Tuesday at 7AM.”

You sigh. “It’s my birthday.”

For one of the first times since he started coming into your store, Eddie is quiet.

You slide his drink across the counter. “See? I didn’t want to make it awkward. Birthdays are just weird,” you laugh.

His eyes are distant until they look up at your own. “Happy birthday,” Eddie says, a small smile on his pink lips.

“Thanks,” you reply softly.

“You deserve a good one. Go celebrate yourself,” he says. You nod slowly, knowing this is the talk you always get on your birthday. You never know how to celebrate, and quite honestly don’t want to anyway. It’s been a weird day for you since you were a kid and it’s only gotten slightly more socially acceptable to disregard it as a whole as you’ve gotten older.

You both just stand there, the air different than before, and you regret having said anything at all.

Thankfully, another customer walks in, making you go to the register and put on a smile.

“See you tomorrow,” Eddie says, and you just reply with a wave of your hand as he walks out the door.

You’re not sure why it happened, and honestly don’t even really want to admit it, but you felt like after that day you had to try and keep your conversations with Eddie to be even more casual. No more flirting.

“Hey baby bear,” Eddie waltzes in, grin wide as he sees you behind the counter as per usual.

You try to hide your smile, trying to focus. “Baby bear?” You ask. You hate how much it makes your stomach twist with excitement.

“Yeah,” he smiles back at you, leaning on the counter. You swear it always feels like you two are the only people in the goddamn world. Not like anyone could walk in at any moment.

“You’re like a cute little bear,” he says, and it looks as if he didn’t mean to, almost like he surprised himself by saying his thoughts out loud.

You focus your attention on the espresso machine. You swear suddenly you’ve never made a coffee for this man in your entire life, your hands fumbling awkwardly with the ice cup.

From the corner of your eye you can see how he is tapping his fingers on the counter, looking around the shop as if he’s never seen the wallpaper before. Is he embarrassed?

“What are you up to today?” You ask, trying to ease some of the tension.

Eddie whips around to look at you, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise that you are still talking to him. “Taking my boy out to the park for some kids concert thing they have going on,” he says casually. He tries to play it off like it’s something he does all the time, but you know when he spends time with his son, especially doing something he loves like listening to music, it means a lot to him. And, honestly, it makes your heart swell to see him be a good father.

“That’s adorable,” you smile.

Eddie smiles but looks away from you again.

Sometimes you wish you could just go across the counter and hug him. He seems so safe, so open and funny and flirty and sweet.

And then you remind yourself you barely even fucking know him and he’s simply a flirty customer at your coffee shop.

“What about you bear? Doing anything once you're off work?”

You add cinnamon to the top of his iced americano, a habit he’s now picked up since you started doing it for him. He loves that you do it now without him even asking.

“Mmmm,” you hum, wiping down the counter as you hand him his drink. You try to avoid eye contact and make busy, attempting to stick to your plan of giving distance with him.

“I think just being boring and getting groceries, cleaning, making some dinner,” you admit.

Eddie sips his drink and leans forward on the counter, watching you pretend to be busy working. “I don’t understand,” he mutters.

Your eyebrows quirk up as you lean over to restock milk. He takes a peak at your ass and has to refrain from readjusting himself right there in front of you. Something about you turns him into an insatiable teenager again.

“I just don’t understand how a sweet thing like you doesn’t have plans on a Friday night,” he says, his eyes lifting from the ground to meet your own when you face him.

You bite your lip and chuckle, trying not to roll your eyes. “I like my own company,” you shrug. And it’s true. Going out has never been your MO, and you haven’t been asked out on a proper date in God knows how long. You make an effort to see your friends, but sometimes the best nights are the ones where you’re chilling by yourself.

“Smart girl,” he says, nodding as he backs away from the counter slowly.

“Have fun at the park Eddie,” you say, trying to ignore the ache in your heart that so badly wants him to stay and entertain you.

Eddie chuckles, revealing that smirk that could make anyone a little nervous. He’s so goddamn handsome.

“Have fun…with yourself,” he says, his voice a little lower than usual. You feel your breath hitch slightly, caught off guard by the not-so-subtle innuendo.

You try to say something quick in response, but he winks at you and walks out the door before you can.

So much for casual.

As night comes and you have mindless reality television playing while you indulge in some pasta, you find yourself scrolling instagram. Your coffee shop is only a popular spot because of its social media presence and aesthetic, which makes people who would never drive through the small town find a reason to stop and take pictures. You’re looking through the new followers and seeing how the stats are doing when a familiar name pops up as someone who liked a recent picture of latte art : @ munsonnmusic

You stare at it for a minute, the temptation oh so real as your thumb hovers over the screen.

You have to.

You click on his handle and scroll through his profile, which is exactly as you’d think a 30-something would be on instagram. Low quality pictures of guitars and studios, a few promoting his business, one or two of his son and funny things he probably saw on the street, with even less pictures of himself. The one that he does have, though, is from his birthday a few months ago when he turned 37, which also makes him a fucking Scorpio.

You laugh to yourself. What an idiot.

What you didn’t realize, was when you laughed at his audacity, you liked his picture.

And what you never would’ve known, is that he got the notification on his phone and his heart immediately skipped, because he recognized your name not only because it’s you but because he has already stalked your page countless times. You don’t post like some mid-20’s kids, in fact you post much less, but there are one or two really good pictures that show off your curves that he may or may not have taken advantage of in his own alone time.

But you liked his picture, on a Friday night at 11PM just after you gave him the knowledge that morning that you would be alone tonight.

He followed you immediately.

You hadn’t noticed since you were already dozing off on the couch and had to be up at 5:30AM yet again to open the shop in the morning.

You thought you were dreaming when you saw it in your rush to get ready. Eyes blurry and head fuzzy from sleep, the new follower on your instagram didn’t seem to make any sense. Eddie? No.

You fully ignored it and rushed your way to getting ready, hair in some braids and a tank top with jeans to adorn your languid body. Caffeine was a desperate need.

It wasn’t until about 10 minutes before the shop opened that you felt the buzz on your phone. You figured it must be your boss asking you to check something, but it wasn’t. It was an instagram notification. From munsonnmusic .

Your eyes squinted at your screen, staring at the DM in shock. All it read was a little coffee cup and a question mark.

“☕?”

You don’t respond. Instead you make yourself an iced americano and re-wipe the already clean counter.

He walked through the door 15 minutes later.

He enters with a smirk on his face, a knowing smirk that has you biting the inside of your cheek. The tension in the air was thick. He had your instagram, and you had his. Suddenly this customer-barista interaction felt a lot bigger than the small coffee shop.

“Good morning sweet thing,” he says, his brown eyes seem slightly darker this morning.

You inhale slowly. This felt like a game of chess.

“Good morning Eddie,” you reply, slightly too formal. You don’t begin making his drink like you usually do, instead you stand perfectly still behind the register, your arms crossed over your chest.

You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your chest, no doubt seeing the way your tits look pressed up as you cross your arms over them. You feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“How was your night in?” He asks, but with a hint of suggestiveness. Like he knows your secret - a secret you don’t know.

You can’t get a read on him. The typically quick banter is replaced with this tension that you could feel weighing on your chest, and between your legs. “It was…” you start, averting your eye contact.

“Chill,” you decide.

Eddie chuckles. “Chill,” he repeats.

You nod, not sure where else to go with this. “Chill,” you say again. “Want your usual?”

He quirks his head, his eyes narrowing some as you pull the iced cup from behind you. He scoffs.

“What?” you ask, so unsure of where he is at the moment.

“Alright bear, we can pretend you didn’t stalk my instagram and like one of my pictures last night. That’s fine,” he shrugs.

Your heart stops and you swear your face turns bright red. There’s no fucking way.

Unless…God you were an idiot. Of course that’s how he found you. Why would he go out of his way to find your instagram??

“That was an accident,” you say, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment, and horribly failing.

He laughs, “Honey, it’s okay. I found it kind of adorable. I guess that’s how kids flirt nowadays.”

You throw ice into the cup and stare at him with an open mouth.

“I wasn’t - that wasn’t me flirting with you,” you stutter. You’re absolutely losing this battle.

He nods slowly, his smile growing on his face. He loves seeing you flustered. “Right, right,” he says. “And I don’t flirt with you every morning,” he shrugs sarcastically.

God, your head feels fucking dizzy. So he’s admitting that he knows what he does to you every morning? You never thought he would actually intend anything behind the banter, thinking he looked at you like a kid, not someone he would actually…see in some capacity outside of work.

You’re stuck in place as he wanders to the far side of the counter, waiting expectantly for his drink.

“You know I wasn’t fully sure after your birthday, felt like things changed. But now I’m not so sure,” he says, leaning on his elbows on the counter, looking at you.

So he had caught on to your shift, and he didn’t like it. You never would have thought that he actually cared about your little interactions every day. You need to get a grip.

He’s probably just messing with you, embarrassing you for accidentally liking a picture from months ago like a loser. “So you’re going to act like you don’t flirt with every barista you talk to?” You quip, both trying to gain some ground in the conversation, but also trying to see what exactly he is getting at.

He rolls his eyes as you pull the espresso shots for his drink. “Only the pretty and witty ones with tattoos,” he smiles. Your cheeks redden immediately.

You pour water into his cup and float the shot on top before swirling it slowly as you walk toward him.

“Are we going to act like you don’t flirt with every customer like this?” he retorts with a dimpled grin. Your hand stops swirling the drink as you decide your next move. You look up at him with long lashes and big eyes, and instead of handing him his drink you hold it hostage on your side of the counter.

“Only the handsome witty dads with tattoos,” you smirk, feeling bold.

His smile mirrors yours as you hand him his drink and brush hands. You swear you feel an electric shock run through your body as his ringed fingers touch yours. Your bold exterior melts immediately as you sharply inhale at the touch.

He can’t believe the effect he has on you, knowing that you do that and more to him.

“Thank you for the coffee baby,” he says softly, his voice dropping in a way you haven’t heard from him before.

Your heart pounds, and your thighs clench together.

“Always,” you smile softly.

He smiles back at you, and if you didn’t know any better, his eyes flick down to your lips, making you bite them out of habit. He inhales deeply before taking the coffee and walking out of the shop.

You swear you could faint right then and there.

What the hell just happened?

With what all started as a harmless flirtationship with your regular customer has possibly turned into something…dangerous. This man was at least ten years older than you and had a child and an ex-wife - and was extremely sexy, a musician, and hell he knew how to talk his way around.

Maybe to him this was just entertainment. He could just flirt with the little barista and go about his life, getting a small thrill out of flustering you. You tried to be colder, not give him the time of day, but you fucked up going on his instagram.

The problem is that Eddie was your perfect type of poison. Older, attractive, confident, tattoos, witty, and gives you attention…nevermind the small stories you two have shared shows you have more in common than you may have thought. And it makes for you wanting him in between your legs. Desperately.

And you’re terrible at hiding it.

The entire rest of the shift you were distracted, your mind going places about Eddie that you had tried to avoid before, but found impossible now.

By the time you were off, you barely even remembered most of the day, it felt like it passed by in a haze.

You checked your phone and found notifications from Eddie liking a handful of your pictures. Specifically ones that had your full body in them.

And a DM waiting for you:

E: “Just had to tell you how pretty you looked today.”

You waited to respond, trying to clear your head from everything that is him, try to think a little clearer and come up with your own intentions before moving forward. Regardless of what he wants, you have to try and be honest about what you want.

After a shower, some food, and a nap, you respond.

Careful, if you keep saying things like that I might actually start to like you.

You bite the skin around your fingernails as you await a response, a bad habit you’ve had since childhood. It says he hasn’t been active, so you put your phone down and try to indulge yourself into a book as you relax on the couch.

No more than ten minutes pass before your phone buzzes.

You’re ashamed at how fast you pick it up to check.

E: Aw, and here I was thinking you already did, baby bear.

You smile to yourself as your thumbs hover over the screen, unsure what to send next. It’s hard when you can picture Eddie at home, maybe just in some sweats, maybe he’s in bed or on his own couch, looking at pictures of you, thinking about you…

Your hand starts to drift between your legs.

God just thinking about him makes you wet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself mister.

You stare at the screen, letting your slightly lust drunk brain take the wheel as you slowly circle your finger over the small bump of your clit in your panties. You feel your stomach turn when you see the little bubble indicating he’s typing.

E: You make it so hard.

Your brain immediately thinks of other things.

E: I like when you call me that.

You literally groan out loud. This is dangerous, so dangerous. You know how you get when you connect with someone, and you’re so so scared Eddie just might want to fuck. Which, honestly, would probably be incredible, but there’s no way you wouldn’t want him to baby you after.

Sometimes you hate how vulnerable sex can be for you. You have a hard time just hooking up, especially if you get into that subby space you often fall into with the right person. And there’s no doubt in your mind that, if he acts anything like he already does, Eddie would do that to you.

But you’re already clouded with lust and figure it can’t hurt to fuck around a little.

What’s hard, mister? You taunt. You know exactly what you’re insinuating.

E: Now you’re the one who needs to be careful baby

You smirk to yourself as you continue to slowly rub circles between your legs. You can’t help but wonder if he’s touching himself too .You have no idea how far to take this.

You bite your lip as you remove the hand in your pants. Is that what you want? Me to be careful?

You wait anxiously. If he asked you to come over right now you would have a really fucking hard time saying no. And you hate it.

The typing bubble pops up and disappears again.

Then pops back up.

E: I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

You already begin typing out a response, but he’s faster.

E: But what I really want is for you to be with me right now.

Your mouth drops open and your heart beats faster.

Is it bad I want that too? You ask genuinely. As much as you wish you could be upfront and take the lead with it all, you can’t. You’re way too nervous to look like an idiot kid flirting with a grown man. Maybe this is just some little fantasy for him, and not something he would actually act on.

E: No sweetheart, not at all. It’s great. But I should turn this stupid phone off before I say something really bad. I’ll see you in the morning?

Your heart drops. Of course he wasn’t going to invite you over tonight like some college hookup. You don’t even know what you were thinking. And now you have to see him at work in the morning and, what, act like everything is cool? Fuck.

You just send back the coffee emoji and put your phone down.

Needless to say your dreams are filled with images of Eddie’s mouth and hands all over your body.

You were anxious. You were waiting for him to walk through the door all morning, but as the time passed, you lost hope. Maybe he regretted messaging you. Maybe he was embarrassed or ashamed. Maybe he just couldn’t face you.

It’s 10AM, and he’s usually in by 7.

You sigh and turn around to cut up some lemons and wash mint. Maybe you just need to call an old hookup, get it out of your system so you can stop thinking about Eddie.

Then the door opens, and he walks through, a little flustered compared to his usually calm demeanor.

You can’t help the small smile that takes over your face seeing him come in. But you don’t want to give it up too easily.

“You’re in late today,” you mention, keeping your attention on cutting the lemons in front of you.

He chuckles, amused that you pay attention to the small details, like what time he usually comes in to see you - buy coffee. “Sorry bear, had to drop the boy off at baseball practice this morning,” he smiles.

You nod, unsure of what to say next, unsure of how to continue after last night. You feel extremely vulnerable, and it sucks because you know you could just tell him not to bother you again, to not message you, but it’s the exact opposite of what you want.

“You’re quiet again,” he notices.

You inhale a shaky breath at him calling you out. Of course he notices you- “Fuck -f fuck,” you mutter, having cut your hand slightly from the lemons.

Eddie immediately is concerned. “What? What are you okay?” He asks, leaning over the counter, trying to get a view of where you are gripping your hand and running it under the sink.

“I’m fine, it’s fine, just slipped the knife,” you say, inhaling through your teeth as the water stings your hand.

You wrap a towel around it quickly before facing Eddie. His face is full of concern, his brown eyes like a puppy’s. “It’s really okay Eddie,” you assure him, trying to ease his worried features.

“Let me see,” he says with a nod of his head.

You shake your head no. “I said it’s fine - do you want your -”

“I said, let me see,” he interrupts, his tone more commanding. You still at his voice, immediately making you weak as he shows how much he cares. You slowly unwrap your hand and extend it to show him.

He holds your wrist lightly as he looks at the small cut. You have to refrain from wiggling under his hold, the way he is so tender with you makes you want to cry right then and there.

It really is nothing, just a small cut that felt a lot worse because of the lemon stinging it in the process.

“You should leave it wrapped so you don’t get espresso dust in it,” he says, but it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command. You nod in response, pulling your hand back toward you.

His eyes meet yours and it feels as though the air stills between you. His eyebrows are still slightly knitted together from concern, his biceps look huge as he crosses his arms across his chest to take you in.

“You okay?” He asks seriously.

You nod, but quickly look down at the register to punch in his order. “Hey,” he calls your attention.

“You sure?” he asks again. You sigh and your shoulders drop from the tension you were holding in them.

“Yeah, yeah Eddie I’m fine,” you smile softly at him. But the knit between his brows doesn’t rest at your response.

His hand comes to rub his chin. “Not just from the lemons. Are you okay after last night?”

You wish you could throw yourself out a fucking window. Why is he so goddamn receptive? It’s almost worse that he notices and cares so much. It would almost be easier if he could just use you and then never talk to you again. Instead he has to have a fucking heart.

You try to laugh it off. “Nothing even happened last night,” you fake smile, then punch in his order and begin to move to the espresso machine.

He scoffs as he pays, then throws a 10 dollar bill in the tip jar. You try not to roll your eyes.

“Really?” He smirks, back to being playful. “Guess I need to not hold back so much.”

You smile and shake your head, still too shaken to make eye contact with him despite feeling his eyes absolutely trained on you.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Mmmm,” he tuts in response. “Then look at me,” he challenges. You shake your head no as you finish making his drink. You know you’re a goner once you get sucked in by those big brown eyes.

“Baby,” he warns. The word makes your breath shake. “Look at me,” he repeats.

You finally do let your eyes meet his as you hand him his drink, and you immediately feel weak. You can’t hide the effect he has on you, and it’s not fair. You wish you were better at this, wish you weren’t so goddamn transparent and easy to read. This is why you don’t let people in easily.

“Aw, there she is,” he taunts. You lean on the counter between you two on your elbows, your head dropping to your hands as you groan.

He chuckles at your dramatics. He can’t let it show, but you have the exact same effect on him. He could drop to his knees for you at any moment. He loves your wit, your banter, your eyes, and the way you look at him like he knows all the secrets in the world.

His hand moves hesitantly, checking behind him to make sure no one else is walking in or by the store, as he places a finger under your chin to bring your gaze back up to him. “Don’t hide baby,” he smiles at you.

You pout. You are absolute putty in his hands. “I’m trying to be good Eddie,” you whine. You’ve been hurt so many times before, you told yourself you wouldn’t get caught like this again.

“And you are,” he assures you. “I’m the mean man who has a hard time resisting you,” he admits.

He releases his hand from under your chin and backs up from you with a chuckle. One of his hands goes behind his head as the other points at you leaning over the counter like a pouting kid. “Should I find a different coffee shop baby? I don’t want to make your life hard,” he asks genuinely.

“No, please no,” you say immediately, standing up tall. You come back to yourself as best as you can. You don’t want him to leave, you don’t want to lose him, even if it’s just losing the daily interactions. You don’t care if it can’t be more.

He exhales with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing back and forth as he tries to regain control of himself.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiles with tight lips. You go to say something, anything to make him stay. But you know you can’t, you shouldn’t, so you just smile back.

He grabs his drink, but before he leaves he shoots you a dimpled grin. “Keep your hand wrapped up please,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Yes sir,” you mock reply with a salute.

But it makes him groan. “Can’t say that shit to me sweetheart!” he calls as he leaves, the door closing all too slowly behind him as you watch him walk off.

God, you’re in trouble.

You manage to make it through the night without messaging Eddie. It took everything in you, but you did it. And when he messages you in the morning with a “ ☕?” , you just reply with a thumbs down. You have the next two days off and maybe, just maybe, you can shake Eddie from your system.

You called your friend, Joanna, to come over for a movie night. You welcome the distraction, listening to her rant about her boyfriend problems and how much she hates grad school. The night starts out easy, very chill, until she gets a text from said boyfriend.

“Why the fuck is he out right now?” She yells over the television, standing up from the couch as she shoves her phone in your face.

It’s a picture of her stupid boyfriend out at a bar, posted on one of her other friend’s instagram stories.

“He said he was just ‘hanging out’ with the boys. He didn’t say he was going to a fucking bar,” she vents. She starts pacing the small living room. You stare at her from under your blanket on the couch.

“Maybe he’s hanging with the boys at the bar?” You say, trying to ease her anger. She may be overreacting, but her boyfriend hasn’t been known to be the most reliable and loyal type.

“Get up, we’re going,” she says, grabbing your hand. She starts to drag you toward your bedroom as you protest.

“What? No no no Jo please I just want to stay in,” you whine.

“This is an emergency!” She cries at you, going through your closet and changing her baggy shirt for one of your tanktops. “If you’re really my friend you’ll come with me to confront him!”

You roll your eyes. “I am your friend, even if your boyfriend totally fucking sucks,” you say, grabbing the small cropped shirt from her hands and throwing it on your bed.

“Sweats off, jeans on, tiny shirt on,” she says, throwing more clothes at you. She starts snapping. “Let’s go, no time to waste!”

You groan as she stomps out of the room to the bathroom and applies some lipstick. You change into the high waisted jeans and top and shake your hair out of its clip. You don’t bother with any other makeup. You grab your keys as she grabs hers and try to drone console her as she starts word vomiting about him possibly hooking up with some girl at a “sleazy bar”.

Jo drove, much to your dismay, but she said she needed to so she could focus, plus she knew exactly which bar he was at.

It took no more than 15 minutes to get to the bar, red and blue lights flickering with a few men smoking cigarettes outside the front door. They whistle at you two, but Jo is on a mission as she marches past them, dragging you behind.

You enter the bar and scan the floor with her. But just as she sees her boyfriend, you see someone else - Eddie.

He’s at a pool table with two other men who seem to be playing against Jo’s boyfriend and his friends. And he looks so fucking good.

He has a ciggie hanging out of his mouth and is wearing dark maroon dickies instead of his usual black jeans. A fitted black shirt adorns his top, accentuating his build and his tattoos in the dim light. He has a necklace with a guitar pick, and his usual set of rings on. His hair is loose and messy, his cheeks slightly red from the flush of the bar.

You’re stopped in your tracks as Joanna marches toward her boyfriend. She is on such a rampage she doesn’t realize you’re barely following behind her as she confronts her boyfriend.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She yells. You stay behind her slightly, trying to escape embarrassment as her boyfriend and friends all look at her like she’s crazy. She pulls his hand and stomps toward the front door, passing by you in the process. “We’ll be back,” she says, and leaves you standing in disbelief.

That’s when Eddie sees you.

His face goes from twisted confusion at the interaction, to a dark smirk as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

You don’t move. You meet his gaze and immediately look away, trying to see if you can find a bathroom to hide in until Jo is done with her screaming match. But your view is blocked by the man in black now standing in front of you.

Without the separation of the counter like at the shop, you realize how much taller and bigger he is than you, and it’s even more intimidating. He keeps some distance, but not much.

The bar is loud, but you swear it seemed to close in to silence as he stood in front of you and checked you out. He wasn’t hiding it at all.

“That your friend?” He smirks, nodding toward the front door Joanna just walked out.

You nod slowly. “Gotta love her,” you say. Eddie chuckles.

“You want a drink? They might be a minute,” he suggests. Before you can answer he has his hand on the small of your back, lighting you on fire from his touch, and guides you to the bar.

He orders for you, as you look at him in silence. You can feel the little devil in you coming out as he smirks your way. You let yourself check him out again as he does the same to you, both of you sipping slowly on your drinks as you let the silence fill the air between you.

“Never thought I’d be lucky enough to see you past 10am,” he says.

You laugh. “I could say the same to you mister,” you smile.

His knee knocks into yours, and suddenly it’s significantly harder to breathe. His presence truly lights you up in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s electrifying and terrifying.

His eyes move from your own to the way your lips wrap around the straw of your drink. He adjusts how he sits, leaning slightly closer to you, making heat rush to your core as his hands frame you between the bar and the chair. You look up at him with doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“Tell me what you want baby,” he says as if he’s asking you a deep dark secret.

You swallow thickly and hesitate on your words. He can sense your nerves, and it turns him on even more seeing how nervous you get when it actually comes down to it. The flirty, charming and funny girl is suddenly all small and nervous when the big bad wolf gets too close.

His smirk grows. His ringed fingers come down to where your knees are touching, tapping softly against the surface of your jeans. “Maybe you just want to keep this at the shop, and that’s okay,” he assures you.

Your heart is beating so hard you swear he could probably hear it. His hand dances up a little higher, just slightly above your knee. You stare at the way his fingers trace along your leg, caught in a trance.

“Maybe,” his gravelly voice makes your eyes meet his own again. “Maybe you want to be a little tease and never hear from me again,” he shrugs.

You shake your head softly, making his smile grow even larger. His hand moves up more, giving you goosebumps under your clothes. Your thighs squeeze together and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. The glint in his eyes is dark.

“Maybe you want me to pull you into the bathroom, rip off these tight little jeans, and fuck you against the wall,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear over the music and chatter of the bar.

You’re about to protest, to tell him that’s not what you want at all, but he already knows and stops you before you start.

“Or maybe you want me to take you home and fuck you properly, like a good girl should be, like you know I can, like you’ve thought about before,” he smirks.

Your small whimper confirms it all for him, but he still has to say - “Or maybe you just want me to fuck off, what do I know?” he grins, leaning back away from you and removing his hand from your leg.

You’re speechless, your mind rattling with desire and nerves. You want it so badly. You want him so badly.

“What about Jo?” You ask, your voice smaller than usual.

He shrugs. “I think she and her shithead boyfriend will be entertained all night.”

You look down at your hands, then place them on his knees, tapping just like he did to you, but in a more tentative motion. You want your nerves to go away, but it’s all so much.

“You,” you start, swallowing to ease your suddenly dry throat. “Um, Sometimes I get kind of, um,” you stutter, not sure how to explain that you fall into subspace, and it makes for one night stands extremely difficult for you. You don’t know how to check to see if he is able to hold that space for you, despite having the gut feeling that he can, and will.

He looks at you patiently, kindly, watching as you struggle to get the words out. He doesn’t know the full story, but he can tell you’ve been hurt before. As much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he also knows you both connect in a deep way that he doesn’t even understand yet. In all honesty, he would’ve already fucked you to just get it out of the way, but he knows it’ll be more than that. You walking into the bar is kismet, he was ready to play a long game.

His hand comes to the side of your face, drawing your attention back to his eyes. “You get kind of small baby?” He asks, no judgment in his voice.

Your eyes start to feel watery as you nod in response. “I already know sweetheart,” he smiles at you.

“You do?” you whisper, your voice not having the strength to ask.

His smile grows, and that alone eases so much of your anxiety. “I could tell since the first time we touched, and by how you talk to me, how nervous you suddenly get, how your voice sometimes changes,” he explains.

Your cheeks heat up. Are you really that obvious?

“Is that bad?” You ask, desperately wanting his reassurance and praise.

He shakes his head immediately. “No, baby. Not at all. I’ll take care of you, promise,” he assures you.

You find yourself slowly leaning in toward him, wanting so badly to connect your lips to his. But he diverts, using his hand on your cheek to tilt your head down and kiss your forehead instead. You close your eyes and sigh, kicking your feet slightly in the chair.

“Not yet,” he whispers in your ear. He stands up, taking your hand in his. He throws some cash on the bar and pulls you to stand up. “Let’s go,” he smiles down at you, then wraps his arm around your waist and guides you out of the bar.

Your mind is already feeling a little fuzzy being so close to him. You feel like you’re floating, like this is all just some insane dream you’re in, not like it’s actually happening.

The brisk air outside brings you back a little, and you search for Jo’s car in the parking lot, suddenly remembering why you were here in the first place. “Wait,” you say, stopping to look for her. “I don’t see Jo’s car,” you mutter.

Eddie shrugs, “Told you.”

You sigh and pull out your phone, seeing three missed calls from her and a bunch of texts about “leaving to work things out,” “whoever you were talking to was hot” “sent you money on venmo for an uber” and “call me when you get home”. You roll your eyes.

“C’mon,” Eddie encourages you, seeing your exasperation with the friend, and remembering why you say you might like to spend time by yourself in the first place.

He guides you to a black truck and opens the door for you while guiding you in by your hips. You swear every touch flusters you more and more. You never want his hands off of you.

The drive to Eddie’s feels quick. His hand doesn’t leave your thigh, and your gaze continually drifts from his profile to the road. He drives safer than you’d expect, and doesn’t waste time on small talk.

His grip on the steering wheel is tight, and the one on your leg isn’t any more gentle. He breaks the silence that had started once you two got in the truck.

“If you want to stop at any time, even right now, just say ‘red’, okay?” he says. The confirmation that this is really happening has you nearly shaking in the seat.

“O-okay,” you stutter. Get a grip, you think to yourself.

Eddie squeezes your thigh. “You’re so fuckin’ cute when you’re nervous,” he chuckles.

You look out the window next to you, avoiding the heat you feel from him. “I’m not nervous,” you mutter - a bold faced lie.

“Okay sweetheart,” he says condescendingly, patting your thigh before moving his hand just slightly farther up your leg. You gulp, and resist moving your own hand to his, trying to keep your composure.

He moves it up just a little bit farther as he pulls up to a red light. His full attention turns to you as you stare at the dark, empty street. You breathe heavily and he raises an eyebrow at your lack of resistance.

“Oh, gonna act tough now?” he challenges. You turn to face him and shake your head no, putting your hand on top of his and squeezing it.

“That’s right, because you don’t need to be all tough around me, right baby?” he coos. The way he talks to you goes straight to your core, making your brain fuzzy. It’s too easy for him.

You see the light turn green and point to it. “Lights green,” you say, trying to get his attention off of you so you can try to regain focus.

“Answer me,” he replies. “Tell me you know you can let go and let me take care of you,” he urges you, not moving an inch despite the green light in front of the car.

“I- I know,” you respond, but it’s not good enough.

“C’mon baby you know better. What do you know?”

You shut your eyes and try again, trying to let the words you say be true, and it pulls at your heart. “I k-know you’ll take care of me,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he smiles, then goes past the green light.

It’s only a few more blocks before he’s pulling into a driveway of a one-story home. It’s modest, but still nice, and private with some land. You can’t tell much in the dark, but it looks like he has a lot of space to himself.

Eddie unbuckles your seatbelt for you and jumps out of the driver's seat, coming to open your door before you can even try.

He holds his hand out for you and walks you to the door, hand in hand. When inside you’re slightly surprised by how put together the whole place is. Sure, there are a few jackets here and there, some toys for his kid, and maybe a cup or two, but other than that it’s nice. There are posters and tour photos everywhere, as well as a nice record player and really nice looking stereo. There’s a tv that looks like it hasn’t been touched in a while and, from what you can see, the kitchen looks retro and cool as well.

Eddie lets you observe, watching you get comfortable as he throws his keys on the counter.

“This is nice,” you smile.

He shrugs. “It’s alright,” he replies, then turns toward you. He looks down at you in a way that makes your heart thump out of your chest, and the heat between your legs only increases.

He brings his hand to your face, letting his thumb trace over your lips. “So pretty,” he mutters, and it makes you scrunch up your face, trying to turn away from the compliment. But his hold on your face grows firm instantly.

“Uh uh,” he tuts. “When I compliment you, don’t run, you say ‘ thank you ‘, understand?” He instructs you, his tone serious but calm. You haven’t given up control like this in a long while, and as hard as it feels to let go, you try to allow yourself to listen to his instructions. This is what you’ve been wanting.

You nod and he smiles softly at you.

“Let’s try again,” he says. “Because I really do think you’re so beautiful, have ever since I first saw you.”

It takes everything in you not to squirm and run under his gaze. But you lock yourself into place, let yourself give in to his hold. “Thank you,” you say, thinking you were strong, though it comes out barely above a whisper.

“Open,” he instructs, and you do so immediately, opening your mouth as he pushes his thumb past your lips. You wrap your lips around the digit and your eyes flutter closed, moaning as you feel yourself slip deeper and deeper.

He gives your cheek a light tap, making your eyes open as you continue to lick around his thumb. “Eyes on me sweetheart,” he mutters, his own eyes getting that dark intensity as he watches you.

“Slaps okay baby?” He asks.

You nod again, mumbling a “mmhmmm” around his thumb. He holds your face and raises his eyebrows, silently asking you to answer again.

You do so as best as you can with his thumb still in your mouth, “Yes sir.”

He smirks, and gives your cheek a slightly harder slap, one that stings a little, and it makes you smile wide. You keep his thumb between your teeth as you smile and look up at him, the adrenaline running all through your senses.

“Thank you,” you say shyly.

He leans down to kiss your now red cheek, and it makes you stiffen slightly, feeling his lips so close to your own. He hovers over your cheek, giving small wet kisses in a path from your cheek to the corner of your mouth.

He stalls there for a moment, neither of you moving, just breathing each other in as he removes his thumb from your mouth.

Your eyelids are heavy, both seeing him and sensing him at the same time.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. Your stomach twists at the idea, your core pounding in anticipation between your legs. He didn’t have to ask at this point, but the fact that he did made you feel incredibly safe.

“Please,” you reply, though before the word is fully out of your mouth his lips are on yours.

It’s a passionate kiss, his soft full lips connecting with your own, first just as two lips meeting, then as two melting together. He leads easily, his hands gripping your face as yours find his arms. It’s intense but not too rough as he backs you up against the wall, locking you in place with his lips and his body pressing up against you.

The gasp that leaves your throat is one of pleasure, and it makes Eddie groan lowly in response. He breaks the kiss to slot his leg between yours, giving you the slightest bit of friction to your core as his forehead rests on your own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so fucking long,” he admits.

You give his lips a quick peck in response. “I’ve thought about it lots,” you reply, and he quickly reconnects his lips with your own.

This time, though, his leg is pushing up into your center and you start grinding against it. Your kisses become more broken as the friction starts to heat you up, your breathing becoming ragged.

Then his ringed hand comes to your throat. He chuckles at your whine, at your involuntary grinding on his leg. “Aw baby, so needy,” he says, taunting eyes starting into your own.

You struggle to breathe, getting slightly lightheaded from the choking and pleasure mixed into one.

His demeanor grows more and more dominant as he watches you fall apart beneath him. You want to reach out and touch him more than anything, but your fumbling hands can barely reach the clasp on his pants before his hands stop you.

Both hands immediately grab your own and pin them above your head to the wall, causing you to gasp. You resist slightly, and it makes him add even more pressure to your wrists.

He’s looking down at you with dark eyes, his leg still pressed against your core, now almost too intensely as he holds you in place.

“Did I say you could touch?” He asks.

His voice both scares you and ignites you. You’re putty in his hands.

“No d-” you stop yourself, not sure if that’s an honorific he wants to use, though you so desperately want to say it. Immediately one of his hands lands a sharp crack across your face, causing you to yelp, leaving your cheek stinging.

Your mouth hangs open as you look up at him with slightly wet eyes. His jaw is clenched.

“Don’t hold back,” he says. “Say it.”

You hesitate, knowing that calling him the ‘d’ word will absolutely drop you into the most vulnerable space.

But you want it so, so badly.

His free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together. “It’s either that, or ‘Sir’,” he tells you, giving you the option.

You whine and whimper, but he doesn’t let up, only presses your wrists together harder.

You muster all the courage you have, knowing it’s the entire reason you’ve wanted him in the first place. You’ve been wanting this feeling again for so long.

“Daddy,” you breathe.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his hips into yours, and you can feel just how fucking hard he is through his pants. His hands release you only to find their way to your ass, squeezing hard as he motions for you to jump.

You do slightly and he catches you, holding you on his hips as he connects his lips again with yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck. You feel like you’re floating, the heat between you two palpable.

He breaks the kiss to walk toward what you can only assume to be the bedroom. As he does, you rest your head on his shoulder, giving little kisses to his neck as he squeezes your ass.

He drops you on the bed, making you giggle as you land on your back.

“Stay here,” he says to you in the dark. You do as you’re told as he walks away, apparently moving to flicker on a small bedside light, just bright enough to create a light warm hue in the room.

As he walks back over to you, he takes his shirt off and your heart immediately beats harder. Your eyes widen as you take in his tattooed frame. His light skin is littered with ink, as well as toned with some muscles that make you clench around nothing. You stare up at him as he goes to remove his rings on his nightstand.

“No no,” you stop him. “Leave them on,” you request. He raises an eyebrow at your tone.

You recover quickly. “Please - please leave them on,” you correct yourself.

He smiles at you, and obliges, putting his rings back on his fingers and coming back to crawl over you on the bed.

“So sweet, but so naughty,” he says, placing kisses on the side of your neck. His hands roam your sides as your body contorts to his own, trying to feel all of him on top of you. He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts up as you raise your arms, revealing the little white bralette you had thrown on in your hasty leave of home.

He immediately goes to your chest, pushing your tits together and kissing them, sucking on the skin hard enough to make you whine.

“Oh fuck fuck,” you gasp, feeling him leave a hickey on your breast. You want to run your hands through his hair, your fingers are practically twitching, but you know better. He licks the sore spot as he undoes the heart clasp at the front of the bralette, exposing your chest fully to him.

“God baby you’re so fucking perfect,” he praises you, groping your tits in his big hands. The sensation of him massaging your tits alone has you arching your back to be closer to him, nevermind being able to feel the bulge of his dick on your waist as he straddles you.

“Thanky ou Daddy,” you whine out, trying to adhere to the small rule he gave you earlier.

At your response he comes back to meet his lips with yours, one of his hands getting lost in your hair, gripping it just a little harshly. “Such a good girl,” he says, and you whine.

He releases you and starts kissing down your neck, exposed chest, tummy, and to the top of your jeans. He unbuttons them agonizingly slowly. You watch with glossy eyes as his strong hands undo your jeans and roll them down your legs, wasting no time and taking your panties with them, leaving you bare in front of him.

He looks at you hungrily, his hands gripping your fleshy thighs and spreading them apart. It all feels so intense, feeling so bare in front of him, but all you want is for him to touch you.

You whine as he stares at you, wiggling at the lack of touch.

“I know baby, I know,” he says softly, his left hand slowly tracing down your thigh and dancing dangerously close to your dripping core.

“I just have to admire your pretty little pussy, so wet for me already,” he says. You turn your head in embarrassment, your eyes immediately rolling back as his finger dances over your clit.

You’ve been dreaming about this for weeks now, wanting Eddie’s touch to consume you and fuck, he knows what he’s doing. Despite his demeanor, he’s so gentle, so delicate, touching you as if you could break underneath him as he circles your clit.

He studies you, watches your breathing and how it changes, seeing which spot and tempo seems to work best. You can’t help the little whimpers that escape your lips as he rubs your wet pussy with perfection.

“Fe-feels so good Daddy,” you moan, your hips starting to grind against his patient hand.

“Doing so well for me baby,” he admires you. “Gonna let me taste you sweetheart? Gonna let Daddy taste this pretty cunt?”

You groan at his foul words, the questions themself nearly pushing you to an early edge. “Yes please, please please,” you beg, though it’s unnecessary as Eddie attaches his mouth to your clit, his finger moving toward your entrance.

He moans the second he tastes you, and you do the same, immediately feeling a rush of pleasure consume you.

To no surprise, He moves his tongue expertly. He starts with slow, deliberate circles, applying just enough pressure to ignite all the senses and nerves around your cunt. You swear you don’t even know how to pleasure yourself this well, and it’s a feeling you never want to stop.

“Oh my - fuck yes,” you moan, and he hums in response. He’s just as elated to have you like this for him, coming undone in his bed, naked and vulnerable and oh so sweet.

He picks up his pace and starts to press his finger into your core, curling it just right to rub that spot inside of you as he licks and sucks your clit.

Your legs start to shake. “D-daddy yes yes please,” you whine, not even sure what you’re asking for. Your body feels ignited and absolutely euphoric as he continues relentlessly, moaning into your cunt at the sound of you coming undone.

“I feel, it feels,” you stutter, trying to verbalize the ball of heat building in your lower belly, feeling the nerves of your spine begin to light up.

He only comes off of you briefly to say, “Ask me.” You know even through your hazy brain what he means.

It’s almost too late. “Pl-please please Daddy can I c-cum,” you gasp.

“Cum baby,” he grunts into your cunt, making the ball of heat explode. Your vision goes white as your back arches and toes curl, your legs squeezing around his head as he refuses to let up, making sure your orgasm lasts. You swear you’ve never felt anything like it, and can barely comprehend how long your high lasts, until you feel Eddie crawling up your shaky body.

He brings his wet lips to yours making you taste yourself as your tongues collide. His hands don’t waste time undoing his pants and pulling down his boxers, letting his dick spring free and hit his stomach.

“Wanna taste you,” you whimper, opening your lidded eyes to see him already starting to grind against you, his dick thick and long.

“Fuck baby, I just need to be inside you,” he grunts.

You can’t help the blissed out smile that takes over your face, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do.

“You taste me next time, okay sweetheart?” He reassures you. Next time? Next time. All you can think about is that he wants you again, already.

The thought consumes you as you feel his pink tip push against your entrance. Despite being extremely lubricated from him pleasuring you, you know it’s going to stretch you.

He starts slow, and you can tell he’s holding back just for you. You gasp as he breeches your entrance, stretching you out.

“Shh. shh baby I know,” he coos, bringing his finger to your mouth for you to suck on while he invades you.

Your legs shake slightly as he continues forward, each inch lighting you up inside.

You whine and whimper around him as he mutters, “Fuck, such a tight little cunt, so fucking perfect for me - just for me isn’t it?”

You nod and whine as he bottoms out inside of you, nearly collapsing on top of you as you both groan at the feeling. You feel incredibly full, so warm with his body on top of yours, so safe being surrounded by him.

He starts slowly moving his hips, and the sounds you make are music to his ears.

“Feels sso so good,” you moan, and he brings a hand to your throat, squeezing as he leans up and begins to pound relentlessly into you.

“That’s right, take it baby,” he grunts, his hand squeezing your throat as your cunt squeezes around him.

He takes your spread legs and puts them on his shoulders, leaning over you slightly to give him deeper access. You moan loudly, whining at how deep he goes inside of you, you can feel him in your fucking stomach.

But the way he changes his thrusts to rub inside that spot inside of you makes your vision see stars, and he can tell.

“Oh that’s the spot huh baby? Holy fucking - fuck,” he can barely keep it together himself as he watches your tits bounce, your face contort with pleasure.

This orgasm is coming on faster, your hands moving to grip his arms, nails digging into him as you can barely take the pleasure.

“FUck fuck,” you groan, head thrown back.

“Yeah give it to me, cum on my fucking cock,” he grunts, giving your face a slap and holding you down by your throat as he hits that spot inside of you without mercy.

You cum with what feels like a wave of pleasure that takes over your whole body. You feel it everywhere, and Eddie can’t hold himself together at the sight.

“Oh you’re so fucking - look at you -” He stutters, almost stopping his thrusts to prevent himself from cumming, but your eyes shoot open.

You look up at him with wet eyes and swollen lips. “Please, please Daddy please cum in me” you beg, watching as he tries not to fall apart above you.

But that does it for him, he can’t control it. “Fuck baby, go-gonna fucking cum in you, fill you up,” he grunts, his thrusts stuttering as he falls apart.

You watch in awe as his eyes close and his flushed face contorts with pleasure, feeling his warm seed coat your insides.

He falls on top of you, riding out his own high as your legs fall open, allowing him to press his chest against your own. His forehead meets yours as he brings his lips to meet your own swollen ones in a breathy kiss.

Your eyes open wide as you separate, looking at him like he put the stars in the fucking sky, and you know you’re in trouble with how much you liked that - like him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as he kisses your forehead.

“No, thank you sweetheart,” he replies, bringing his nose to brush against your own.

You stay close like that for a while, just breathing and taking each other in. You didn’t want him to pull out, didn’t want to lose the feeling of him inside of you. But after a little while he did, falling to your side and bringing you to cuddle on his chest.

His hand comes to rub your head, brushing your hair and kissing your cheeks and forehead with a hum. You let yourself enjoy his sweaty scent, the hormone filled room making it feel like you were lost in a cloud.

“You okay?” He mumbles, using his hand to turn your head up to face him.

You nod. But you get worried immediately at overstaying. You don’t want to impose.

“I should - uh I should pee,” you say, moving to get up.

He nods, worried that you’re regretting everything that just happened. He holds his hand out to help you stand up on shaky legs, and much to your surprise, he walks with you to the bathroom, his arms on your waist.

“I can walk,” you giggle, his hands guiding you to the toilet.

“Mmm,” he hums, “I’m really not so sure about that baby bear.”

You giggle as you sit on the toilet, and he stands at the door, but faces the other way. You go pee and wash your hands with Eddie standing guard. The second you stand in front of him he sweeps under your legs and carries you bridal style back to the bedroom, making you a giggly little mess in his arms.

He sets you gently on the bed, and sits next to the bedside, rubbing your legs as he looks at you softly.

“Do you want to take a bath or just shower in the morning?” He asks. Your heart jumps to your throat - he wants you to stay.

“You- uh, you don’t have to it’s okay,” you stumble over your words, not wanting to impose.

“I want to,” he interrupts you, immediately silencing your thoughts. “Get comfy, let me go get some water and snacks. Text your friend that you’re home safe,” he says with a wink.

You smile at his words, feeling warm and taken care of as you cuddle up under his covers. You reach for your phone on the floor next to your discarded floors and text Jo that you’re safe.

The exhaustion of the night starts to wash over you, your eyes starting to feel heavy as your head rests easily in Eddie’s bed.

He comes back into the room wearing a pair of gray sweats hanging lowly on his hips, carrying two water bottles, a banana, and some popcorn. He smiles at the sight of you in his bed, warm and small and safe.

He sets the snacks on the nightstand and kisses your forehead, making your eyes flutter open.

“So cute,” he smiles. “Want a shirt, baby?”

You nod and he grabs one of his big band tees as you sit up. “Arms up,” he instructs, and you do as you’re told, letting him pull the shirt over your naked frame. When your face pops out of the top, he holds your cheeks lightly, bringing your lips to his for a kiss.

He pulls away slowly, and it scares you how full your heart feels.

“Are you gonna let me be here for you sweetheart?” He asks, moving his hands to hold your own.

You smile shyly. “I think I'd like that,” you reply.

“Not just tonight,” he corrects himself.

Your eyes start to water. He’s just too sweet, too perfect, it doesn’t feel real.

“You mean it?” you ask/

“As long as you let me be here for you, I will,” he confirms.

And you smile because maybe, just maybe, this is right.

3K notes · View notes