eddiethesexy - Tumblr blog

eddiethesexy · 3 months

Text

It's not a never

Pairing: Eddie x friend!fem plus size reader

A/N: Hi! So I lied. This is gonna be a three part series. I was getting a little carried away with everything I wanted to put in this fic. So that pushed it out to one more part. Tonight's part is basically filler. Just a heads up this is a slow burn. So if you don't like that kind of fic, this one is not for you. Anyways, thanks for reading. As always love ya. Byyyyeeeee

I do not give permission for my work to be posted anywhere else. Please respect all creators. Also, all pictures and songs are from a Google search and found on Spotify. A credit to original posters and artists. Thank you for your work.

Word count: 3,190

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Language, angst, pinning, slow burn, slight fluff and not proof read.

Summary: A trip to be remembered and a confession that leaves Eddie puzzled.

Part 2

Bags were packed and loaded. Snacks and drinks were bought. A Ziploc bag full with coins for tolls and a map were in Eddie's glove box. And hours of music were picked. All that was left was to wake up at the ass crack of dawn.

This senior ditch day was going to be epic. Months and months of saving and scrimping was all going to be worth it. 3 days of total and complete freedom. The road trip of a lifetime. One last hurrah. Together.

Only this was gonna be tough. Being in close quarters with you for 3 whole days. How was he gonna deal?

Lately he was doing pretty good at keeping his feelings at bay… well that wasn't true. You had left for a week after the senior outing to visit the college you got into.

He missed you more than ever. But over those few days, he reflected back on everything. Sure how he now felt about you came unexpectedly. Still, he never wanted to be with anyone more. Especially since he realized you were perfect for each other.

However if he decided to make a move, there was no certainty that you would be up for it. Also, what would it do to the friendship? You guys had been friends way too long. It would be awkward.

So he chose to push all that he felt away and enjoy this last trip with his friends.

…

It was 4 am on Friday and everyone was ready to hit the road. You had just hopped in the passenger seat with a huge thermos of coffee.

“ Sorry. Thy birth giver wanted to pray for safe travels and a safe return.”

Eddie smiled. “ Welp, hopefully one of the pagan gods heard her.”

You turned around and offered up some coffee and donuts to everyone. When you turned back, you pulled out the map.

“ Okay Eddie. Please for the love of all that is holy. Please don't kill us.”

He chuckled. “ Ye have little faith kid.”

You rolled your eyes and took a bite of a donut and pointed forward. “ Let's do this.”

Everyone whooped and hollard. “New York! Here we come!”

3 hours later

“Oh crap! Munson please!” Jeff whimpered.

Gareth backed away a little. “ Man oh man. I told you not to have that second cup of coffee.”

Eddie shook his head while you were laughing your butt off.

“ Calm down.” He said. “ The next gas station in 3 miles out.”

“ I-I don't think I- I can hold it!” Jeff stammered.

“ YOU BETTER!” Grant yelled.

You turned around. “ Guy, guys guys!” It's gonna be fine. Jeffrey. 2 ½ minutes. You can do this. Just squeeze.”

You looked back at Eddie and just grinned away. All he could think about was how nice your eyes looked.

As soon as he pulled into the parking lot, Jeff kicked open the back door and ran into the store.

Once Eddie turned off the engine everyone sat there quietly for a few seconds before laughing like crazy.

When it died down you guys got off to move your legs around.

Eddie went to fill up while the other guys went to see about some real breakfast.

He had just put in the gas nozzle and turned to find you doing toe touches.

He shouldn't have done it, but he did. He checked you out. Loving how your leggings hugged your round bottom. How beautifully wide your hips were.

When you stood back up you walked towards him.

“ Eddie? Can you pop my back?”

He nodded and took a step closer to you. “ Turn around and cross your arms around your chest.”

Once you did as you were instructed, he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around you. He then took a deep inhale in and caught a whiff of your shampoo. He instantly got goose flesh.

Stop it! He told himself.

After lifting you up for a second, he quickly put you back down. Your bottom brushed his lower half in the process.

Fuck!

His hands fell down to your hips. He mentally had to tell himself to not pull you to him.

“ W-was that okay?” He nervously asked.

You turned around and nodded. Bodies only inches apart.

“ So much better. Thank you.”

He stared at your lips as you spoke. Were they always so full? They definitely looked incredibly soft.

“ G-good.” He stuttered as he kept looking at your mouth and thinking.

“Eddie? You okay? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“ Hmm?” He met your gaze. “ Yeah. No. Yeah. You're good. I just ummm…sorry I was just trying to decide if I should take a leak.”

“ Alright dude." You held up your hand. " Too much info. Go, I'll finish pumping.”

With that said he practically ran away. Rushing into the first stall that was empty. While sighing deeply he cursed himself. He really wanted to kiss you.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a god awful stench.

“ UGH! Jeff what the hell man?! Ever heard of a courtesy flush?”

“ S-sorry man.”

…

Eddie smiled when he saw the buildings in the distance. He looked at you and your eyes were so big.

“ Guys look! We're almost there.” You said excitedly.

Gareth moved between you and him. “ Awwwww yeah baby. Just think, in a couple of weeks we're moving here.”

Eddie caught a sad look on your face. He knew how bad you wanted to go to Columbia. To be close to them while they followed their dreams to be rockstars. But things didn't work out. Instead, you were going to a college on the west coast.

It was a good school. Everyone knew that. It had a great biology and geology department. Something you were excited about. Still, you were scared because you didn't know anyone there. Everyone you knew and loved would be on the other side of the country.

That's why Eddie understood the sad face. He remembered conversations he had with you about it. He remembered wiping away your tears as you told him about your rejection from Columbia. And though he was the one to talk you into getting some California sun, he now realized he didn't want you to go either.

He tapped your knee and started writing.

‘ okay?’

You peered out the front windshield and slightly shook your head. Then you put your hand on his and squeezed it gently. Letting him know you would be fine.

He knew you would be. You were awesome and you would make friends easily. It's just now he didn't know if he would be okay without you.

…

You put your finger against your lips.“ Shhhh! Guys I know you're freaking out, but I need you to trust me.”

Everyone was following you down these concrete hallways for a good 5 minutes now. After checking into the hotel and getting food, they had all found themselves sneaking into a building.

Jeff was the first to doubt you. But as soon as a security officer came close to catching you guys, everyone tried to convince you to turn back.

Eddie looked into your eyes and nodded. “ Okay.” He whispered. “ If we go to jail, it better be worth it.”

You held out your hand for him. “ It will be. I promise.”

Your hand was everything he thought it would be. Soft, warm and fit perfectly in his. He swore he would follow you anywhere if it meant that he could hold your hand.

Once you guys were finally in the spot, you told them to stay put. When you let go of his hand, he now felt like a part of him was missing.

You were only gone for a second. But in those few moments they had all realized where they snuck into.

Eddie was speechless. There were absolutely no words that could describe how he felt.

A few spot lights turned on. Pointing directly in the middle of a huge stage.

You returned on top of it. “ So?”

“ Shit!” They all said in unison.

You gave them a huge smile. “ I know right? Obviously you guys can't perform or anything like that. But I wanted the first time you step foot in here, that it's with your biggest support. Cuz I know one day I'm going to be standing right there… screaming my head off.”

They looked at the spot where you pointed. It was right in front of the platform.

You locked eyes with him.“ So get up here and take it in.”

The guys looked at each other then ran to get up too. Once up there you asked for help getting down. You then watched them laugh and wrestle playfully.

“ Alright freaks!” You announced. “ Imagine this. Every seat is full. And the floor is packed with bodies. All waiting for you.”

They all stared at you after moving to their respective place. As if they're standing by their instruments.

“ The crowd is chanting. Corroded Coffin. Corroded Coffin….Then the lights go out. The ones that are sitting jump up and everyone screams in anticipation. But then... it goes silent…”

Eddie pictured everything. It was all him and the guys ever wanted.

“ Then they hear you.” You point at Gareth. “ Then you.” You looked at Jeff. “ Then of course you bud.” You nodded towards Grant. “ And finally the strum of a guitar along with oooooohhhhs and awwwws from you.”

Eddie finally had your eyes on him. And he knew right then and there that he was in love with you. It wasn't just a silly crush anymore. It was the real thing. The can't eat, can't sleep, the winning touchdown, the home run, the one in a lifetime love.

He loved you because you loved them. You believed in them. And the way you laid out the scene with so much conviction, it had him convinced that they were gonna make it too.

You smiled at him and continued. “ And while you blow off the roof of this place, the crowd sings and sways with you."

Later that night everyone settled into the shared room. Gareth and Jeff in one bed, Eddie and Grant on the sofa bed. And of course being the only female of the group they gave you your own bed.

Eddie has just come out of the shower to find everyone asleep. Except you. You weren't even in the room.

He looked at Grant who took up the whole bed and he sighed. Looked like he was gonna sleep on the floor.

He waited a minute to see if you would come back but after about 5 minutes, he went to look for you.

You weren't far though. He found you sitting on the steps reading something.

“ Hey kid. Whatcha doin?”

You gave him a quick little smile before looking back at your book. “ Uhhhh nothing really. Just checking out courses.”

He sat next to you and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Before he could light one you plucked it from his mouth.

“ No you promised. No smoking on this trip.”

He gave you a thin lip before taking back the smoke and returning it to the carton.

“ You really should quit. I don't want to see you end up with an oxygen tank.”

He put the pack back in his pocket. “ One day. I promise.”

You flipped a page. “ I'll keep you to that.”

You guys sat quiet. Listen to the bustle of the city. Eddie was trying to gather the courage to tell you how he felt. But he was scared. What if he took a leap of faith and it turned ugly? What if you did like him the way he liked you and things didn't work out? Or what if his confession lead to you guys not being friends anymore?

Doubt filled his thoughts. But then a bit of hope shined on him. What if it did work out? What if you guys made it past the long distance thing and were truly happy together? What if this love was meant to be?

“ Eddie?”

His inner rambling came to a halt. “ Y-yeah?”

You closed your book and started fidgeting with the corners. “ You know you're my best friend right?”

He softly cleared his throat. “ Yeah.”

“ And we always tell each other everything.”

He nodded. “ Yeah.”

You sighed a little. “ So you know that I have family out here….well my uncle actually works as a security guard at the garden. He worked tonight…he knew we were coming and he did me a solid…we wouldn't have gotten in trouble if we got caught.”

For a second there his heart sank. He thought you were gonna say that you liked him too. But then he smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“ I'm really gonna miss you.” He said softly.

You hug his waist. “ I think I'll miss you more.”

The hug lasted a minute or so, but it was the best damn hug he had ever had. And when you tried pulled away he hugged you tighter. Making you giggle.

When he finally loosen his grip, you stared deeply into his eyes. The way you sat there, it was like your eyes were trying to tell him something your mouth couldn't. It was almost as if you were asking him to kiss you.

He was gonna go for it. He was gonna take that leap. However the second he leaned in you yawned. Pulling completely away from him so you wouldn't do it in his face.

“ Wow I'm beat. We should get some sleep. Big day in Time's Square tomorrow."

He frowned at the fleeding moment that seemed to be fate.

“ Yeah you're probably right.” He conceded to it. “ You think you could lend me a pillow and that blanket you brought?”

You looked at him and raised a brow. Silently asking why?

“ Gonna crash on the floor. Grant's a bed hog.”

You laughed lightly and yawned again. “ No. You can sleep with me.”

His breath hitched in his throat while asking a shaky. “ W-what?”

You grinned and stood up, holding out your hand. “ Like when we were kids. If you're worried that I'll get handsy then we can make a pillow barrier.”

He chuckled. “ Maybe I like handsy.”

He regretted it as soon as it came out.

The silence that followed his comment nearly made him shit a brick. You stood there with an almost visible question mark above your head.

Shit! He thought. Shouldn't have said that.

You then shook your head and laughed. “ Stop being weird and take my hand.”

He practically wiped his brow and said whew before grabbing your hand. Allowing you to lead him back.

He laid there for a while thinking about all that happened. He couldn't believe he was gonna kiss you before telling you how he felt. That wasn't the guy he was. He always made sure he got consent. And with you it would be no different. All he had to do was get some real alone time with you so he can finally say something.

When we get home. He said to himself.

He heard you sigh and felt you move a bit. Then he felt your arm sliding across his stomach. Without thinking he lifted his arm and gently pulled you closer. Slipping his arm under your head.

Both of you sank further into the bed. He smiled and his last thought before falling asleep was how much he loved you.

…

The next day and a half was the best in his life. Exploring the city, eating the best pizza and getting some information about playing at clubs when they moved there. It was fantastic.

Now it was time to head home and finish up the school year.

The drive seemed longer this time. More quiet. And he knew why. In exactly 2 weeks things were going to be different. Everyone was going to graduate and their adult lives were going to start. For a long time he couldn't wait to get the hell out of Hawkins. So did his friends. But now that it was happening, it was so hard to see the next chapter. Well with this little monster of love inside him.

When it was time to switch off. Jeff and Grant traded places with you and him.

You guys crawled in the back with the sleeping Gareth and tried to catch some z's.

You leaned your head on his shoulder and started to hum a familiar tune. He put his hand on your knee and started tapping to the beat. He caught a small smile from you.

“ Hey Jeff? Could you drop me off first when we get into town?” you asked.

“No problem.”

You went back to humming and Eddie was trying to figure out what exactly he was gonna say. Before he knew it he was sound asleep with you.

Until he heard the vans break squeak to a stop.

He opened his eyes and saw they were in front of your house. You had just opened the door and hopped out.

Though he wanted this to be a private moment, it was now or never.

He sat up and followed you. “ I need a minute man.” He said to Jeff. “ Hold up kid. I'll help you.”

You tried to refuse his help in carrying your duffle bag, but he could see you were too tired to try.

You stoped on at your doorstep and reached for your bag. “ Thanks Eddie.”

He handed you the bag and took a deep breath. Just as you turned to open the door he said your name.

“ Yeah?”

His eyes fell to the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. “ Uhhhh nevermind. I'll tell you later.”

You cleared your throat gently and took a step towards him. “ I hate when you do that.”

His gaze shot up to yours. “ D-do what?”

You put your free hand on your hip. “ When you look like you have something important to say then just brush it off…Just tell me because I'm gonna be up all night wondering what you wanted to say.”

He looked away and stood quiet for a few seconds. “ I-I’ve been acting different lately.”

“ I know.”

He met your eyes again. “ Yeah?”

You didn't say anything, but he knew that you did.

“ So I-” he cut off. Suddenly his nerves were getting the best of him. “ I don't- ummm shit…I- well the reason…damn it! I cant- I don't know-”

You grabbed his hand and lightly squeezed it. Letting him know that it was okay. To calm down and take a breath.

He took a deep inhale and slowly let it out. “ I think possibly, maybe I’ve fallen for you.”

Your expression after that gave him a sinking feeling. You didn't feel the same.

Your frown said it all.

“ I'm sorry. I-I just needed to say something.”

You nodded but surprisingly you didn't let go of his hand. You were actually staring at his hand in yours.

“Eddie…I want to talk more about this. But I can't even think straight and my knees are about to give in.”

That wasn't what he was hoping for.

“Right! Umm yeah. Sorry, just forget I said anything.” He said trying to walk away.

But you held his hand firmly. Preventing him from taking a step further. “ No. Don't do that.”

He looked back at you and you had your eyes closed.

“ Eddie, this is important. If it wasn't then you wouldn't have said anything at all…This deserves a real conversation that I can't give you right now. So please don't leave thinking that I don't feel the same way."

He was in disbelief. Did he hear that right?

You gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go and going inside.

He stood there staring at the door. Did he dream that? You like him too?

Gareth rolled down the window. “ Munson, let's go. I wanna go home!”

He sighed and smiled to himself. " Y-yeah. Okay."

…

@salenorona23 @browneyes528 @ohmeg @eddiesguitarskills

#read later

51 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 3 months

Text

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

54K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 8 months

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: When you confide in your boyfriend about your difficulty getting wet, his reaction is not what you'd expected.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), reader takes antidepressants

A/N: To all the afab folks who, for whatever reasons, can't get wet--this is for you.

Collaboration with the queen of fluffy smut, @corroded-hellfire 😘

“Feel good, baby?” Eddie growls in your ear, his fingers digging into the skin above the waistband of your panties. His other hand cups your breast, still concealed by your bra, though you venture it won’t be long before it’s uncovered.

You continue grinding on his bare thigh, his boxers pushed up high. The outline of his cock shows through the cotton, and you can’t help but grab it. He inhales sharply at the sudden contact, making you giggle.

“Love seeing you all turned on, Eds,” you murmur, sucking a bruise into his neck that has his eyes rolling back in his head. He moves his hand from your waist to your clit, pressing slow circles to the sensitive bud over the lace. A moan slips past your lips, quickly turning into a whimper of his name. “F-Fuck, Eddie. Right there.”

Despite your words and the drag of your cunt on his leg, Eddie can’t help but question whether or not you’re faking it. “How ya feelin’ baby?” he whispers, tiptoeing around the more direct question in a means of cushioning his ego.

“So good.”

Okay. Good. You feel so good. Everything’s…good. Right?

Eddie pulls back, ducking behind his hair and missing your confused expression. “We can stop if you’re not into it,” he mutters. He’s not angry at you; he’s angry at himself, because he’s clearly doing something wrong if you’re not…

“Wh-Why wouldn’t I be into it?” Your eyebrows pinch together. You’d been together a few months and hadn’t slept together yet, but you’d thought tonight could be the night.

“Because you’re not really…” Eddie struggles to find the right words. “Like, you sound into it, but I don’t feel you getting turned on.”

Embarrassment heats up your body. You slide off of him and onto his carpeted floor, repositioning yourself so you’re facing away from him. You can still see him out of your peripheral vision, but you hope he doesn’t notice the tears welling in your eyes. “M sorry, baby.” Your voice is small, and despite your best efforts, it catches in your throat when you speak.

He rests his hand on your upper arm, gently caressing it with his thumb. “Hey, hey,” he says softly, trying to hide his disappointment at the unreciprocated longing. “We gave it a shot. You can’t help if this doesn’t get you going.” He gives a little shimmy, shoulders swaying back and forth clumsily.

You turn back around towards him, “You think…no, Eds. You’re so sexy, even when you do your weird little dances.”

“I’ll have you know,” Eddie starts, giving you a playful look, “that my weird little dances have gotten me not one, but…yeah, okay, just the one hot girl’s phone number.”

“And it was mine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He reaches for your hand and holds it tentatively. “But if I’m making you feel good, how come you don’t get…y’know…?”

Instinct has you wanting to turn away from him in shame, but his grip on your hand is enough to keep you where you are. It’s hard to meet his eyes, but once you do and that big doe stare tugs at your heart, you let out a sigh.

“You’re making me feel amazing, Eddie. It’s just…I don’t really get…I mean, I can’t get too…” The right words don’t seem to find you and frustration balls up inside of you. You slap your free hand over your eyes, partially out of frustration, but also to hide the tears that are beginning to well up.

“Hey…” Eddie lightly chides as he rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. “You can talk to me. You know that.”

The hand falls from your face and you take a deep breath. Words jumble through your brain, trying to figure out how to come from another direction. “Y-You know how I have depression and anxiety.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” you say, swallowing before continuing, “the meds they give me for them…they, uh…well, they kind of keep me from being able to get…”

“Wet?” Eddie offers.

You nod, a few tears breaking free despite your attempts to keep them in.

“I can…a little…just not a whole lot. I’m sorry.”

Eddie frowns and shakes his head. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because,” you say, huffing a humorless laugh, “you’re so cute and sweet and I’m worried that when we actually have sex, it won’t feel good for you.”

He pauses for a moment, tongue poking out from his lips in the way that makes you melt as he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube. He holds the small pink tube up between the two of you.

“Think this’ll work?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. The bottle is the last thing you expected Eddie to pull out of that unorganized mess he calls a nightstand.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

“Well, uh,” Eddie starts, cheeks tingeing pink. You notice he continues to look at the lube instead of you. “I use it every night when I think of you.”

The words take you by surprise, even though he’s your boyfriend. It’s not like you hadn’t gotten off thinking about him long before the two of you even started dating.

“You…you think of me?”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie shrugs with a grin. “My girl is ridiculously beautiful, you think I’m not going to get off thinking about her every night before I go to bed? And most mornings before school?” He ducks his head and his bashfulness makes him look especially boyish. “Plus, there was all that time before we started dating when we were just friends…”

“So that’s why it’s more than half empty,” you say, a small smile breaking through on your lips.

“I prefer to think of it as half full.” Eddie’s roguish smile has you breaking out into a full blown grin. You let out a chuckle as you pluck the bottle from your boyfriend’s fingers.

“I didn’t peg you for a strawberry kind of guy, Munson.”

Eddie looks down with a shy expression on his face. Every time you make him flustered you take it as a personal victory.

“It’s, uh, it’s ‘cause it smells like your chapstick.” He leans up and presses a kiss to your nose. When he sees the effect that has on you, mischievousness creeps back onto his face. “What do you say…wanna give it a try?”

You exhale, still frustrated. The anxiety at the back of your brain is still saying that Eddie is just being nice about this. That he really thinks it’s weird and doesn’t want to have sex with you now.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? With being with someone who needs to use lube?” you double check.

Eddie looks at you with an incredulous expression. “Baby, I’d use WD40 if it meant being inside you.”

A snort of laughter escapes you and you lightly slap his chest.

“Eddie, I’m serious!”

“I am, too! Shit, I’ll go grab some Crisco from the cabinet right now—”

“Eddie!” You sigh. “I know you’re going to wanna have, like, spontaneous sex. That might not be something I can do if we don’t have lube.”

Eddie shrugs without missing a beat. “I’ll carry it around with me. Like pocket lube or something.”

“Pocket lube?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “We can keep this one here, and I’ll buy another one for the van. How does that sound?”

The offer has your heart melting and you lean into his body. “Sounds like you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” he smirks, tugging gently at the waistband of your panties. “May I lube up the fair maiden?”

“As long as you promise never to say that again,” you say, already climbing onto his bed.

“Noted,” he agrees with a laugh before turning his attention to the panties that block his view of your beautiful pussy. He drags the lacy fabric down your legs and tosses it aside as you unclasp your bra. A goofy grin spreads across his face as he takes one breast in each hand. “Sorry,” he says, though his tone has no ounce of apology, “but you can’t just show off your tits and expect me to focus on anything else.”

You roll your eyes and giggle, a fluttering feeling in your stomach that goes beyond the moment’s lust. The way he can make you laugh in your most vulnerable moments is special, and you want to capture this joy and keep it forever.

“Lay back and open these pretty legs for me, Sweetheart.” Eddie squeezes out some lube onto the tips of his forefinger and middle finger, gently pumping them in and out of you, going a bit deeper each time “‘S good?”

“Mhm. So, so fucking good, fuck.” Your walls clench around his fingers in a silent plea for him to be buried deep inside you.

“Tell me if you need more, okay baby doll?”

You nod, really only able to fixate on the way his fingers feel inside you. The addition of the lubricant removes any unwanted friction, and you moan louder than you intend to.

“Your noises…holy fuckin’ shit.” Eddie muses, palming himself over his boxers.

You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “‘M sorry.”

He pauses his movements, drawing a whimper from your lips. “Don’t ever apologize for making such beautiful sounds. It’s crazy hot, baby.”

“Really?”

He uses his free hand to grab your wrist, bringing your palm to his tented boxers. The fabric strains against his raging erection.

“Really.”

With that, you let yourself fully indulge in the feeling of his fingers. You barely recognize the noises you’re making; you’ve never felt this good in your whole life.

The way Eddie’s tongue pokes from his mouth gives you another idea, and you press your thighs together to stop his ministrations.

He looks up at you, brows knitted together in confusion. “What is it, baby? More?” He starts to reach for the bottle until he sees you shake your head.

“Do you, uh, w-wanna taste the lube?” It’s as straightforward as you can manage, still overwhelmed by the pleasure washing over your body.

Eddie’s cock twitches, his face contorted in amused disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me if I want to eat you out?” he asks. “Was it not obvious that that would be a yes?”

He throws your legs over his shoulders so quickly that it has you laughing in surprise, but that laughter stops as soon as his mouth is on you. His tongue immediately finds your clit, flicking over it until your toes curl. He wraps his lips around it and sucks gently until he has you on the brink of orgasm. His fingers return to your needy hole, filling you expertly until you cum with a wanton moan.

“So fucking good f’me,” Eddie says, still between your legs. His mouth and chin are covered in a slick sheen. “You wanna taste now, baby? Wanna know just how delicious you are?”

You open your mouth and eagerly accept his fingers. They taste of your arousal and a hint of strawberry; it does bear a striking similarity to your Chapstick. Once Eddie lets his fingers drop from your mouth, you’re whining and writhing below him.

“Need you, Eds.” It sounds more like a whimper than a plea. But your beautiful boyfriend isn’t about to deny you a thing—let alone something that he also wants very badly.

“Fuck, need you too, baby doll.” He launches his boxers across the room and smears some lube on his cock, bucking his hips slightly into his closed palm. He doesn’t break eye contact as he enters you, searching for any inkling of discomfort. The stretch is delicious, and you arch your back once he bottoms out.

“Look at you, taking all of me. My good girl,” Eddie growls, watching his cock disappear into your cunt. “Holy shit; I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this perfect pussy from me.”

You shiver at the praise, blinking away the prickling tears on your lash line.

Eddie gradually picks up the pace, snapping his hips into you. His pubic hair grazes yours and he lets out a groan of his own.

“Could stay like this forever,” he mumbles in your ear, forearms braced on either side of your head.

So could you. Except…

“Eds?”

“Hmm?”

You swallow your timidness. I can trust him. “I think, um…could you use some more lube?” You’re embarrassed and annoyed at yourself for having to interrupt the moment, but Eddie’s unfazed.

“Sure. Can I just put it inside you? Cuz, uh, if I put it on my dick, I’m gonna bust in my hand.” He gives a small laugh, though you both know he’s not joking.

Eddie gingerly fingers you, all-too aware of how oversensitive and overstimulated your pussy is. At some point, he’ll have fun teasing you with his touch, but tonight is about your comfort.

He slides his cock back inside you. “Better?”

“Much,” you manage, re-acclimating your body to him being inside you. “Thank you, baby.”

“‘Course. Let me know if you need more again, ‘kay?”

You nod, relishing in the way he fills you. His cock presses against your walls; you can feel every last inch of him.

Eddie doesn’t stop showering you with praise as he pistons his hips. “Love when my girl tells me what she needs,” he says with a small smirk. “I’d do fuckin’ anything for you, sweet thing.” A few strands of hair cover his eye, and you swipe it away. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” You manage a smile of your own before he catches you off guard, positioning you so he can rub your clit while fucking you. Your jaw drops in surprise; it’s exactly the reaction he wanted. “Just like that, Eds. Holy shit, right there!”

“That’s what you like? Hmm? Like when I’m deep inside your perfect pussy, making you feel good?” The hand not making small figure-eights on your swollen bud grabs your ass, squeezing it possessively. “Like when I claim you? Let me show you who you belong to.”

The combination of Eddie deep within you and being claimed by him pushes you over the edge. The coil snaps and you choke out a sob of relief as pleasure invades your body. You finish on his cock, chanting his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, c-can’t hold out anym-more,” he grunts, and with a cry of your name, he fills you with his own release. He stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath; when he finally pulls out, you can feel his cum dripping down your bare thigh. He hurries to grab the faded blue towel hanging from the back of his door, wiping you off before plopping next to you. He draws tiny circles on your forearm while pressing kisses to your shoulder.

“Was that good? It didn’t hurt or anything, right? Because I kinda lost my mind at the end—”

You silence him with a kiss that only ends because you both start smiling. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had. No one’s ever made me cum before,” you admit.

Eddie scoots back slightly. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. You’re the first. So, um, thank you?”

He puffs out his chest, slick with perspiration. “No need to thank us, baby. We’d do anything for you.”

“‘We?’” You cock your eyebrow.

“Yeah, me and the lube,” he states plainly, as if this is an obvious fact. “We make a pretty good team, dontcha think?”

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.”

“I dunno, I thought my ‘pocket lube’ idea was pretty damn brilliant.”

4K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 8 months

Note

bestie you called, i’ve been thinking heavily abt virgin eddie who licks into you for the first time and makes you cum so hard u have to push him away bc he’s greedy and sloppy with it and you might pass away if he keeps devouring you like you’re his last meal on earth and you swear he’s lying that he’s a virgin, but the second you sink down on him, god, he’s practically a puddle and ur not even bouncing on him for more than 5 minutes before he’s shuddering and panting into your neck all “wanna spend forever tucked inside you, feels so fucking good. so warm. so wet, jesus, i’m gonna fuckin cum.”

k bye😭

Rachael. RACHAEL.

Everything

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Eddie Munson is 100%, unbeknownst to him, a Big Dicked Virgin™️

After he licks you like his life depended on it, you pull down his boxers only to reveal the most mouth watering cock you’ve ever seen. They aren’t supposed to be picturesque but Eddie’s? You want it inside you in any capacity immediately. But judging by the way he looks like he’s gonna combust from the sight of it in your hands alone (not to mention the feeling of you touching him) you don’t waste time in straddling him and sinking down onto his length.

Its an understatement to say he’s huge. It’s a stretch in the most delicious way and your eyes almost cross from the feeling of him hitting every single neglected part inside you. If he were a more experienced partner you would have begged for time to adjust. Would have needed the grace to compose yourself.

But the man beneath you is so absolutely far gone from the second you slide him inside you that you realize it’s all up to you. This sight of him absolutely fucked gets you wetter than you’d ever imagined, thankfully, so you rock yourself back and forth a bit till you work yourself up to bouncing up and down.

His fingers dig into your thighs, the meat of your hips, and his eyes are watery and wide.

“F-fuck it’s too good. You feel so fucking—oh god I can’t. I can’t take it. But don’t stop. Please-mhm.” A torrent of whimpers and groans bless your ears and you ride him in earnest, knowing you won’t have a lot of time to appreciate this quivering mess of a man before he blows.

You lean back and brace yourself with your hands on his knees and he watches your breasts bounce with each movement.

“So beautiful. Shit. I’m gonna…oh fuck. Can’t last—god what are you doing to me. Don’t stop,” he says again. Begging with his words and his eyes. His wounded puppy eyes that make you laugh because you would never dream of stopping.

“I won’t stop, Eds,” you promise. It’s a reassuring sweet sound, but you’re the devil incarnate to him with the way your hips roll and your tits entice. You smile. “Feels good?”

“F-feels like I want to buy you a ring and a house and a f-fucking dog,” he moans. It makes a zing rush through your heart but you surprises it and laugh.

“Yeah? My pussy’s that good, Munson?” you tease. He’s swearing under his breath as you ride him harder. “Gonna get me the white picket fence?”

“Fuck, yes. Yesyesyesyes,” he mutters like a prayer. “Gonna…oh god…”

“Gonna cum for me, too? That’s so generous of you, Eddie,” you continue to tease. His eyes roll into the back of his head as you lean forward to kiss his jaw. “Give it to me, Eddie. Give me everything.”

He cums inside you moments later. No longer a virgin, but newly a full devotee intent on worshipping at the altar of your body. You’d give him shit for the dramatics of it all, but he’s busy kissing his way back down your body so you really can’t complain.

3K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 8 months

Note

Eddie is truly convinced he can do those like.. run up the wall and do a backflip kinda guys and so when he does try it and he doesn’t do it and he’s like “WAIT WAIT NO I CAN I K N O W I CAN LEMME DO IT AGAIN” and he just ends up hurting himself

Oh my god yes!! He absolutely has all of the confidence… and very little of the skill involved for a lot of things like that

26 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 9 months

Note

Eddie is not a gentle person

but did you know eddie likes cheese and flowers. his bookmark has garfield. he likes to have flowers put in his hair by you. his favorite snacks are mac & cheese with chicken nuggets. but! they have to be dino nuggets. he mismatches his socks with one covered in dragons & the other being a plain black one with a hole in it. he would rather freeze if it means you can wear his jacket. he gets so giddy when you bake for him. keeps every trinket you got him in his van that his dashboard is covered!!! you like fleetwood mac? he’s singing little lies with you. collecting sea shells with you. will probably grab them with his toes and try to show you but fail and flip over. will gladly go trick o treating with you. doesn’t get bothered if you watch gilmore girls for the billionth time. (me. i watch it all the time. just like i am right now :p). has a big tub of food for the stray cats and a raccoon family he feeds every night. they come at 6:00 waiting for him. kisses you all over your face just to hear you giggle. throws himself on you and wishes he was closer to you. he blows raspberries into your neck and bites your shoulder. comes from behind you and throws you over his shoulder. head bangs so hard his hair gets tangled with his headphones. thinks peanut butter and pickles are amazing. (don’t fight me on this. try before you deny hehe). refuses to kill spiders. will make silly faces to babies in the checkout line. goes crazy for the movie practical magic. he was crushed to learn the house isn’t real. loves when you put blush and lipgloss on him when you’re bored. and of course he’ll blush when you call him pretty. let’s you put beads in his hair when you braid it. will watch you sleep with love in his eyes because you’re pretty as the moon. (his words not mine).

moral of the story: i can mold him to be the most gentle giant there is. you can mold him into whoever you want him to be.

he’s fictional. eddie munson is fictional.

toodles. 🌷✨

#Eddie Munson is baby

936 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

rosie said season 13 spencer is so green and i was like... what colour is each spencer era and this i what I have concluded.

Season 1 Spencer is so baby blue

Season 2 Spencer is grey he is devoid of colour, he is struggling.

Season 3 Spencer is a royal and deep purple, he's working on himself. he's emotional, arrogant, irrational, overly vigilant.

Season 4 Spencer is a blushing pink. he loves his mom, he loves his work family, he becomes a god father. he's comforting, passionate, playful, all around wonderful in season 4

Season 5 Spencer is Golden. he's confident, he's generous and uplifting i mean, he spends time teaching chess in the park and compliments all the good work Sarah Hillridge did to find her son

Season 6 boyband Spencer is bubble gum pink!

Season 7 Spencer is snarky, he's a dark gloomy black. honestly he's in his reputation era post Emily's death and revival.

Season 8 Spencer is blood red/maroon cause rip maeve...

Season 9 Spencer is periwinkle light purple trying to cope with yet another curve ball thrown his way.

Season 10 Spencer is teal cause he's calm and cool and just doing his own thing this season.

Season 11 Spencer is orange cause he's impatient and wants things to stay good when he knows his life is about to fall apart.

Season 12 Spencer is a very innocent white.

Season 13 Spencer is Green for growth, safety, and prosperity

Season 14 Spencer is a dark blue, he's a lot more confident than he was when he started out.

Season 15 Spencer is a comforting, reliable brown full of wisdom and support for those around him. everyone loves him... i mean he has 3 love interests this season.

#dr reid #mgg is so fucking hot I can't breath about it

142 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

Eddie breathes into your mouth while he slowly fucks you, both all sweaty and skin sticking together

#this is the standard #when is it jerusha's turn

471 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

Life imitates art.

2K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader

✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶

NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au

[wc: 8.8k]

↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness

The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of sound scape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.

Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Show time.

Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.

Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.

The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.

Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.

The true night began.

A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.

The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.

Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.

Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.

An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.

Eddie kicked the can away.

He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.

Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.

You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.

It was a lot to deal with.

Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.

So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—

You flinched.

A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.

Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.

You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.

More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.

Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.

You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.

Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.

He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.

Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.

Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.

That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.

The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.

You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”

It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.

“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”

Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.

“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”

The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.

You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”

And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.

But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.

You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.

Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.

Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.

There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.

The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.

You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.

He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”

A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

“What’d you order?”

Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.

Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.

“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.

“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”

Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.

Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.

A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.

A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.

Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.

Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.

Drip, drip, drop.

Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.

You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.

You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.

Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.

Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.

Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.

His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.

Toofulltoofulltoofull.

The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.

But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.

Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.

Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.

Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.

The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.

Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.

You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.

You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”

“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.

Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.

Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?

Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.

Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”

Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.

“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.

He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.

Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”

The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.

Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”

You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”

“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”

A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.

You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.

No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.

~~~

When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.

A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.

Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.

Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.

Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.

Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?

Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.

He got up, and left.

Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.

Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.

Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.

Your pen was mighty interrupted.

It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.

A pang of humility gentled his nature.

The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.

It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.

Eddie made it exactly how you liked.

Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.

The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.

Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.

The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”

You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”

“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.

You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.

Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.

Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.

He snorted.

Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”

No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.

He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.

While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.

You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.

“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”

“No.”

His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.

The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.

A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.

The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”

You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.

“I earned this,” you said about the drink.

“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.

In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.

You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”

His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.

Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.

Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.

The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.

Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”

The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.

Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.

His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.

When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.

The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.

Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.

The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.

Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.

Boys will be boys behavior.

“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.

You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.

At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.

He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

Not an apology.

“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.

Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.

Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”

Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.

“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”

“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.

You closed your curtain, too.

The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.

You could do many therapeutic things.

Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.

#read

2K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Note

todays thots-

having a mini makeout session with eddie in the car before dinner with your parents to help calm his nerves but it just makes him hard so you wait for it to go down but it doesn’t and you just have to suck him off before you go inside 🙄

ugh don't you just hate it when you have to suck him off 🙄 such a boring, annoying thing to do 🙄 having to go down on him while he's a moaning, whimpering mess above you with his hands grabbing your hair, making you lightly gag on his cock 🙄 having him call a good girl and telling you "you're taking me so well princess fuck yeah yeah rub your face on my balls a little.. yeah baby" 🙄 having him cum down your throat so much that it begins spilling out of your mouth so he pulls you up and smashes his lips against yours, letting his cum spill in his mouth 🙄 ugh don't you just hate it 🙄

855 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Note

Eddie and miss mouse doing missionary with his hands beside her head and she grabs his wrists moving her head side to side moaning and him begging her to look at him in the eye 👁️

ugh, yes. 18+ sweet, romantic smut [wc: 1.4k]

humming praise along your jaw, he asks from his husky throat not yet warmed from dawn, “please, baby,” and you nod, “—don't wantcha missin' your god.”

oh, how you explore him without sight, skimming your fingers over the smooth length of his back, planes of muscle filling your palms with steady breaths. from the sway which dips with each long draw of his hips. up bumps of spine, curve of ribcage. contrasts of solid strength feeding into the hidden lurch beneath his skin, subtle contours shifting and flowing in sync with his lazy thrusts. shoulders. working man shoulders, broadened by time and labor, flexing under your loose grip. hard shapes for your hands to find; groove of his delt, swell of his bicep. strong arms beginning to shake.

you lower your sightless study to his forearms. fingertips grazing through prairie grass hair leading you over the ridge of an at-home tattoo and through the field of faint scars. upon his knuckles, you widen your reach to encompass them all, falling short. falling weak. falling, falling.

stability was found in his mighty palm to your cheek. stifling hot, big, and rough with character. everything familiar you sought in a home, cherishing the doorway between forefinger and thumb, trailing open kisses to the bed of his palm—three pecks for good luck, and one to grow on—then feasting on the meat above his wrist, and bathing your warm tongue over the rest.

"makin' you feel good?" eddie checks to inflate his ego, brimming with amusement. "or's here better?" his abs brace, his knees move in, and your body clings to a shiver. "mm, right there, huh?" his tender tease flows into the kindest sigh.

he peels his stomach off yours, chilling your combined sweat and tightening your nipples with the rush of air. sharp teeth flirt on the pulse beneath your ear as he adjusts, uncoordinated, rocking an arm under your shoulder and tugging the fitted sheet loose on the mattress; his other hand slips up to cradle your head, protecting you from the old oak headboard while your pillow lifts your hips.

the position loads his weight where he pins you best—embraced in his arms, wholly respected. your leglock around his ass restricts him down to a fraction of his long draw from before. he understands. the ache he stirred with his practiced fingers crooked between your thighs reached a yearn for something bigger, and when he sank into you, half an hour ago, you expressed your satisfaction in a whisper-thin gasp. "that's it," he kissed. to be stretched by his head notched at your opening, easing in, splitting you, fulfilling you, reaching a depth which was made for him. "that's fuckin' it," he moans in the present when you clench firmer around him.

the pretty noises you made then, when he could last, earned his pride. now, they spur his pace.

you dig your heels into his backside and cradle him close, tilting your hips; wet friction grinding bliss against your core. the warmth of his body smothers you, and the wiry hair above his solid base follows the same quick roll, lapping at you like his tongue. you seek foundation beyond the darkness of your eyelids, turning your mouth to the hand on your shoulder, sucking a kiss on the peak of knuckles. his polished skill between your legs spark deep, fluttering moans. the angle was a work of trial and error over the years, but eddie was ever diligent to learn—eager, you'd say—to delay his release, and build yours.

consuming throbs of hot pleasure pulse within you. each stroke is better than the last. the pillow, the angle, the extra twitch of his cock when you squeeze around him just right. you were—"eddie, i'm—"

"look at me, baby," he asks, and you switch to pursuing his other hand, slotting your small fingers through the gaps where he worsened your bedhead. "open your eyes. wanna look at you," he laughs, mashing his nose along the blooming fever on your cheek, draping his curls over you both. it takes all your strength to answer him in an inarticulate whine, nestling into his palm until he understands the message and caresses his thumb over your temple. "please," he begs. you try. yet, he demands, stern voice pooling molten lust where he delivers relentless smacks of skin, "look at me when i'm your god."

your eyes fly open.

sleepy blue on the cusp of yawning orange presses through the thin curtains. light floods his smugness in swings between his long hair, stupid shadowed grin glinting in the daybreak. his curls tickle in sweeps across your cheeks, and at once, your weak limbs are threaded in the space where your chests press, and you're bringing him down for a rough kiss, teeth to lips, dirty like the sounds drowning out the birdsong.

muffled moans grow loud as he pulls away, just enough to adore you in the cage of his arms, watching you battle the haze while his eyes shine from vanity. his muscles burn from fatigue, and his smile interrupts his panting, cutting each labored breath with a stutter, but he keeps going, chasing the reason your expression pinches.

it comes on so strong, so fast, you clamp down on him hard, and though he expects it, eddie's whine is punched from his lungs, surprising you both. the pretty sound lends you strength, and he nearly collapses from every wet ridge massaging him as he grinds slow and steady in your heat, driven deeper by your assertive legs forcing him to bite his tongue as you rode out your high. he's dying. "baby," he pleas, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, sweat mixing on his damp bangs, soft body squirming under his, "y'look so fuckin' hot. can i?" poor boy asking to finish.

you soothe him in circles scratched on his scalp while he stills from motion, sighs jumping in time with the aftershocks pulsing on his length. the feeling of weightlessness was taking over. showing mercy, you release him, and he rises. careful as he can be in this state. fast, fast, fast, hiking you higher on the pillow and keeping you in place with one hand on your hip and the other cupped under your thigh, dimpling shadows in the sunrise. strong torso between your legs, top of his stomach flexing on every slap, sending ripples over your skin. light penetrates the center of the curtains to paint his beauty. flushed red, head dropped forward, messy hair kissing his shoulders, long lashes marrying, succumbing to whatever his body decides. watching himself slide into you, mouth hanging open at the sight of your pussy gripping him as he rocks back, upper lip lifting at the sheen of cream coating the base of his slick cock, eyebrows scrunching from the honor.

he picks up the urgency in which he's fucking you, each moan cracking higher.

"look at me," you break his concentration, voice not as powerful as his. he obeys, and the connection races an extra heartbeat in your chest, throat gone tight from the sense of accomplishment.

nothing compares to the flattery of his lidded gaze fighting to stay open as his warning comes late, already spilling into you.

wicked heat spreads in waves, burning your cheeks, pumping your reward in arrhythmic pulses. his tip is oversensitive and red when he pulls out, covered in a beautiful shine. he gives you the pillow, and adjusts himself so his length follows your stomach; though he takes a sharp inhale at the sensation; and lays on top of you, stretching his legs between yours. the magnitude of his understated working-man muscles go lax. amalgamating scents of sex encompass the tangle. birdsong rings through the blood rush. you hum, he hums.

"love starting our days like this."

"mhmm."

you revisit discovering him without sight. his weight limits your movement as he catches his breath from his efforts, but you encircle his middle. trace the tacky skin along his spine, roll your head to feel his curly hair sticking to the dew on your neck, rub your foot along his hairy calf. you lean up to press your lips to the salty crest of his shoulder, and end the motion when thick honey drips to the bedsheets. his spent self softens on your belly. you almost drift into a dream. "you're so corny with the 'god' line," you complain in a whisper, only a tad annoyed, and he sweetens you with his full lips smacking a noisy kiss to your cheek.

"yeah, but it worked," he replies, voice retaining its rasp from sleep, yet sporting a teasing rise, "and you still love me."

"and i still love you," you yield, rolling your closed eyes.

"do you?"

"i do."

"good," he huffs, "didn't wanna lose my grocery shopping partner."

you roll your closed eyes harder.

#this is the standard #spicy recs

1K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby

gigalo!Eddie x virgin!older!fem!Reader

18+Only, mature themes, intimacy smut, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), paid sex, pet names, insecurities, reader is wearing a skirt, f & m orgasm. WC: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is a 29 year old virgin introvert in need of a confidence boost. Eddie is hired to make our first time a good one. Eddie catches some feelings that he wasn't expecting. Tummy rolls are briefly mentioned, but not in a disparaging way.

A/N: I had this idea last night about him needing the intimacy as much as reader. And then my head started running with all of his possible other clients and the debauchery they could get into together, but this one is just sweet.

pls no minors beyond this point

Today is your 29th birthday, and your friends pooled their money together to get you the one thing you desperately wanted: to not be a virgin anymore.

You hadn’t been holding onto your virginity for any particular reason, but there had been several factors at play. First of all, you didn’t like to leave the house much, aside from going to work and the rare meetup with friends, and so the chance of bumping into a promising sexual partner in your hallway was remote. Secondly, you considered yourself to be fairly plain; you weren't one of the babes that men drooled over or tripped over themselves in the street for. The crushes you’d had thus far were never reciprocated. No one had openly pinned over you or held a boombox over their head outside your window, and on the occasion that someone did show interest, they often did not earn your affections.

Your friends decided, and you agreed, that your first time should be with a professional, a guy who could give you the best first time that money could buy.

Enter, Eddie Munson.

Covered in tattoos, he played in a band, and had a reputation around town for being a favorite sexual companion for bored housewives and curious young women alike. He was notorious for being particular about the clients he took on, though, and he didn’t just advertise in the paper—you had to be referred by a friend.

That friend came in the form Robin Buckley, one of the baristas your friend Nellie worked with at the coffee shop.

“He’ll treat her right,” Robin assured her, jotting the number down. “Now, I’ve never needed his services, personally, but I’ve never met an unsatisfied customer. He makes women feel…desired. As they should.”

So, there you were, two glasses of wine later, perched at the edge of the sofa in the lobby of the hotel where you’d been told to meet him. Your friends knew exactly where you were, and there had been paperwork to fill out and sign—you didn’t know gigalos needed official signatures, but all the same, it stripped it down to a business transaction which is basically what it was. There were a few boxes to check off regarding things that turned you on and, conversely, triggers that he should avoid saying or doing during your time together. Did you have a praise kink or a daddy kink? Did you enjoy the use of pet names within intimacy, or was that something he should avoid? Hair pulling, choking, spitting, ass play, all of it was available for a check mark and you felt like you had the potential to compile one seriously huge fuckfest ice cream Sunday.

He knew you were a virgin, and that you might not even know if you’d like some of the things offered, and he promised to take that into consideration to enhance your experience on the whole.

Once he had accepted you as a client, he gave Nellie a safety list of things that would make your experience more enjoyable, and one of them had been not to drink too much, because he didn’t want you to engage in any activity you might regret. Another one was to dress comfortably; there was no need to try and impress him—he was the one who needed to impress you.

And impress you, he did.

He showed up earlier than expected, beard stubble grown in and a little scruffy (because you said you liked it that way), long hair tied back, button down black shirt cuffed at the elbows exposing his tattoos, and black jeans. He also had a bouquet of yellow daffodils clutched in his fist, wrapped in cellophane.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and they lit up; a smile breaking the sigh that hitched in his chest. He put the palm of his free hand over his heart as he walked toward you.

“Damn, baby, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he was beaming genuinely, as if he really meant it. “Even better in person.” Your friends had shown him a photo of you so that he would know what you looked like, but you had no idea which photo it was.

You didn't feel like you looked good, though, so you lowered your eyes as you got to your feet on wobbly legs, feeling frumpy and bloated, taking in the sharp reminder that he was being paid to lie to you. You were so nervous, your palms were sweating, and the wine was churning sour in your stomach from the swarm of butterflies in there.

“Hey,” he got close enough to crook his finger under your chin and tilt your head up; his golden flecked, rye bread eyes were serious. “You know how beautiful you are, right?”

All you could do was nod under the kind assessment of his stare, and it made a smile stretch across his lips. “That’s my girl,” he said, introducing himself properly, handing you the daffodils.

He knew that daffodils were your favorite flower, because of the paperwork you filled out, but you never expected to receive any, since they weren’t even in season. There must’ve been a flower shop somewhere that had them, and Eddie had found it. He hitched his arm out for you to take.

There were two other people in the elevator, and he pulled you back flush against him, possessively holding you by your hips.

Eddie had a key to the room, and once he pushed the door open, you could tell he’d already been there. The lights were all off, but for a lamp on the opposite side of the bed near the window, and two candles lit on the desk near the TV. What you assumed was his leather jacket was the only thing hanging in the closet. You even spotted Magnum condoms and a fresh bottle of lube on the nightstand.

“How’s the lighting, sweetheart? You want me to turn that lamp off?”

You specified that you wanted the room to be dark, maybe just enough light to see what each other was doing, but you didn’t want him to see you in full brightness. This whole time, you’d been too nervous to say more than one or two words.

“Because, if I’m being honest,” he slid his hand up the side of your neck, palm warm against your skin. “I really want to see you.”

“It’s fine,” you choked out, unable to hold eye contact with him for too long. God, you bet he was already regretting taking you on as a client. What a waste of a boring evening for him; but, at least he was getting paid.

Yet, not even a flicker of his enthusiasm for you left his eyes. He took the daffodils from you and put them on the dresser at the foot of the bed.

When he turned back around, he cupped both hands around the sides of your throat, thumbs at your jawline. “You can trust me baby. If things start moving too fast, you let me know okay?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

You bit your lip and then, “a couple times. I had a boyfriend once, but it was long distance and it—”

But then Eddie’s lips silenced you. He kissed your top lip and then your bottom before parting them with his tongue.

You closed your eyes, letting him move your head from side to side, and you couldn’t help the moan that squeaked out of your throat as arousal built between your legs. He smiled against your mouth, nuzzling your nose. “You’re a good kisser, baby.”

Deciding you liked it when he lied, you allowed yourself to become an active participant and slid your hands up his ribs, clutching him, pulling him closer. He kissed you softly a few more times, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, and your hand found the courage to travel down yonder and see what was below his belt.

What you found made your eyes fly open: not only was it huge, but it was hard.

Eddie chuckled. “See what you do to me?”

The one thing you had done several times was given a few blow jobs here and there, and so you were working his belt open and dropping to your knees at the same time when he stopped you, catching your arm to pull you back up.

“Tonight is all about you, sweetheart. I’ll get mine soon enough,” he assured, urging you back to drop down to take a seat on the bed. You stared up at him while he straddled your legs and unbuttoned his shirt. Once the defined muscles of his chest and scattered tattoos were exposed, he helped you take your shirt off, pulling it over your head, and then he knelt before you.

You braced your hands behind you as he pushed your skirt up your thighs, maintaining eye contact. He caught a glimpse of the lacy underwear you had on and he lifted an approving eyebrow.

You swallowed hard, and then he was sliding the underwear down your legs and off, kissing your knees as he went. He came closer, arms nudging your legs wider, taking a glimpse at the glistening gift you had for him underneath.

Eddie bit his bottom lip, making a hungry groan. “You gonna let me taste this beautiful pussy, baby?”

“Please,” your hips twitched forward a bit, begging. Normally, you were too shy to let others go down on you, but you were determined to get all you could out of this night, knowing it was a rare opportunity.

He brushed his lips along your thigh as his hands worked your skirt up higher. You shivered when you felt the warm breath on your swollen lower lips, and then he was watching you as his tongue flicked out in a few kitten licks. After a taste, enjoying the way you writhed, he buried his mouth, moaning, fingers clutching your thighs.

“Grab my hair, baby,” he said. “Tell me how much you like it.”

So, you did just that. His ponytail tie was off, so his hair was around his shoulders, and you slid your fingers in to hold on as he took you in his mouth and rolled your bundle of nerves around with astonishing accuracy.

It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself beginning to unravel, “just…like that,” you told him. “I think you might make me…”

And then Eddie sucked your nub in and flicked it faster and you were cumming, leg jerking, head falling back, forehead clenched.

He wanted you to kiss him right then and there so that you could taste your release on his mouth, and you obliged, holding his face as you did so, melting into the moment.

For the next minute, you helped each other undress, and it was all happening so organically—it felt so real—that you could almost imagine he was actually your boyfriend, or someone who at the very least, wanted to be.

Both naked now, he held you close as you stood next to the bed, tracing a finger down the side of your face. “Are you ready, baby?”

Truly, you’d been ready your whole adult life, and you were glad you had waited for Eddie, even if this was a paid arrangement and you’d probably never see him again.

His lips tended to your neck and your breasts while he worked the condom on, making the educated decision that you were so soaking wet, he wouldn’t need any extra lubrication.

It was the intimacy that you’d specified wanting to feel; like he was no stranger to you and this moment was something special between two people who felt deeply about each other. So, he came down close and gave you exactly that, putting his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna go slow at first, okay?” He breathed. “You tell me if it’s too much?”

“I will, baby.”

He smiled at the way you returned the use of the pet name, feeling your body open up beneath him as anxiety and doubt morphed into trust.

“Shit,” Eddie broke character for a second as the tip sank in, caught off guard at how tight you were, and he had to pull out again for a second to catch his bearings.

It was the closeness that he loved, too; he craved it. He’d never had a client who wanted it this way, and it was the main reason he’d taken you on. It wasn’t the virgin aspect—surprisingly enough, he’d been a first time experience for a good handful of his customers. It was the opportunity to pretend he was someone’s boyfriend for the night—a role he hadn’t played in real life for far too long. The chance to pretend that you both cared deeply for each other and no one else in the world existed.

He sank in this time a little further than the tip, and you cursed, but then nodded for him to keep going. “All of it, baby,” you urged, leaning into your role.

Your core was rippling around his length, aching for more.

He went half in and dipped it back and forth a few times, pausing to watch your face.

“I’m worried that I–” he started, but then he realized he was breaking character again, and the vulnerability made him stiffen.

“What are you worried about?” You whimpered as he stretched you out a bit more. Your legs were wide, bottoms of your feet planted on the bed.

He thrust in balls deep with a shudder, both of you gasping. “I’m worried I might like this too much.”

Inside, there were party streamers exploding in your soul at the mutual yearning that ebbed between you. As you gave yourself over to him, there was a feeling that he was also giving himself over to you, and it felt so real, that you rode the wave with every fiber of your being, wrapping your legs around him, kissing him deep.

The kissing and the endearing moans were about to make him cum, so he sat back, shaking his head, and hooked your knees over his elbows.

He took you in from under hooded eyes as he made long, slow thrusts inside. “You’re so fucking hot, baby."

You were so deep in it, you actually believed him this time.

“Harder, baby,” you coaxed.

That elicited a coy smile and an eyebrow wiggle from him. “Oh I’ll gladly pound the fuck out of this sweet pussy,” he breathed, and then he was fucking you so hard your tits bounced, as did your belly rolls, and you could tell he was getting off at the sight. His thumb found your nub and worked there, making you expose your throat with a whine, enjoying the wet slap of your arousal as your bodies met.

The connection and intensity between the two of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was manufactured or real, but regardless, you could feel another velvet bomb inside of you about to explode.

His eyebrows were pinched when you found his eyes. “I’m close, I’m close, I think I’m…”

The closest you’d ever been to knowing the sweet pull of a mounting orgasm was from those moments alone with your vibrator, and having your hole satiated by Eddie thick cock enhanced it in a way you could’ve only imagined.

“Fuck, me too,” he grabbed your thighs with both hands and buried himself over and over.

It never happened this way. In fact, there had been several times when he had never cum at all: he was always very content to make it about the other person. He fully intended to wait for your second orgasm before he even tried to relieve himself, but this time it felt too good; he wanted it too fucking bad.

Your head snapped to the side as you came, babbling his name, walls clenching around his cock in a way that sent his hips jerking, pounding against you, pretending his seed was filling you up instead of a condom.

Eddie bit his lip as you both chased the high, and then his sweaty forehead was on yours again, long hair grazing your cheeks. He needed to kiss you when he was done, and that was how you liked it, too.

Your friends had only been able to pay for two hours worth of Eddie’s time, but you ended up staying for much longer than that, at his urging. You called to give them this update, and the confusion in Nellie’s voice was priceless.

When you were both getting dressed, Eddie started buttoning his shirt while you sat down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, so, if you ever want to do this again,” he swallowed, thinking of his words while you waited, head turned to look at him. He couldn’t meet your eyes, he just kept fumbling at a button. “You wouldn’t have to be a client. I mean, I wouldn’t charge you.”

3K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

Wear Your Shirt

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem Plus Size! Reader

Request: Could I request an Eddie x Fem!Plus Size!Reader where she wishes she could do the cute girlfriend thing where she wears Eddie’s shirts. But they are two different sizes so Eddie’s shirts don’t really fit and it bums her out. So Eddie, the next time he goes to a concert buys a shirt in her size and he sleeps in it a couple times, washes it with his detergent, and maybe sprays it with his cologne and gives it to her so that it smells like him and it feels more like he is giving her a shirt of his.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, Eddie being a sweet boyfriend

AN: this was an anonymous request! As a plus size woman I absolutely loved this idea! Wearing your partner’s shirts/clothes has always been something I thought would be very comforting, but being bigger puts a damper on that thought sometimes. I thought this idea was something Eddie would for sure do because he wants his partner to be happy and wants them to be able to do cute couple things like swapping clothes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Keep reading

527 notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Photo

This guy [Wayne Munson] is someone who cares about his nephew, that’s it. He’s concerned about his nephew, you know, his nephew’s been wrongly accused of something and there’s no proof about it, I just know my nephew. And I know he didn’t do it. Whether or not he was a trailer park guy, who might’ve been an angry, bitter, guy… which I think there is a little bit of angry bitter in Wayne, but still, you know, the concern about his nephew overrides any of that stuff.

#uncle Wayne is my hero

2K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

The first time they kiss, Eddie is technically dead. Or, does CPR even count? Steve’s tempted to say no, because that’s not how kissing works. (He would know the best out of any of them, right?) The cracking of ribs under his hands and the taste of blood in his mouth, how desperately he’s blowing air into too-heavy lungs and listening to one of his best friends cry so hard he’s dry heaving.

But he doesn’t stop, not until there’s a pulse, however weak.

Eddie dies twice on the way to the hospital. They tell Steve later that he died again when he was on the operating table and nearly didn’t get him back.

Steve runs himself ragged over the next month, between volunteering at the community center, donating blood and making sandwiches, helping to clear the streets of debris, patrolling for Upside Down shenanigans and playing chauffeur for his gang of kids who aren’t acting so much like kids these days. He visits Max and Eddie as often as he can. Max still hasn’t woken up and nobody’s sure when that might be, but he gets to have his first conversation with Eddie about a month later.

Keep reading

#Steddie #this is so cute

1K notes · View notes

eddiethesexy · 10 months

Text

Same Old Song and Dance (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Eddie’s teased and taunted you for the last decade of your life but you’re not innocent. It’s always been a game, a dance if you will.

Tropes: bully!eddie (kind of), enemies to lovers (kind of). Warnings: 18+! mature language, hair pulling, ‘bullying’, pet names (princess, sweetheart), fingering, smut. Author’s note: There’s definitely a possibility for a part 2, possibly 3, but idk yet, we’ll see. wc: 5.4k

part 2 here

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Eddie yanked a little too hard this time, he knew it as soon as he did it and your hand drew to the back of your neck, cradling it in your hold. He just couldn’t resist. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail with all those perfectly spun curls and it was hypnotizing, practical calling to him, just asking for him to pull it.

He waited for the back fire, for you to spin in your chair and yell at him but it didn’t come this time. This time you just let your hand rub at your neck before raising your other hand to get the teachers attention.

“Can I go to the bathroom, please?” You ask politely, hand still rubbing over the sore muscle.

With approval, you scooted back your chair and quietly left the class.

Waiting around the corner of the hall it’s not long before you hear the scuff of running shoes on the linoleum floor. You knew he’d come after you.

When you watch him pass the corner, heading straight in the hall towards the girls bathroom, you quickly catch up behind him, taking a handful of his hair in your fist and yanking him back.

He falls into you with a pained moan before catching himself, his own hand rubbing at his scalp.

“What the fuck was that for?” He groans, standing straight, looming over you.

“Doesn’t feel so good does it?” You scold, trying your best to keep your edge while Eddie stares you down. His lips curl into a smile, eyes lighting up.

“Princess, I’ll let you pull my hair any day. I just wasn’t expecting it is all.” He says, taking a step closer to you.

You turn on the heels of your feet heading back to the class but a hand around your wrist stops you.

“Princess, let me talk to you for a minute.” He says, a smile evident in his voice.

“No, I already wasted enough time coming out here.” You huff.

“C’mon, just one minute.” He says, pulling you towards him.

You pause, contemplating your decision and Eddie takes that as a yes before you can say anything.

Your shoes drag along the floor, trying to slow Eddie down from his fast pace as he pulls you down the hall right into the girls bathroom.

“What, Eddie?” You spit, finally pulling your wrist free from him after he checks that all the stalls are empty. You cross your arms over your chest so he knows you’re serious.

“Aw princess, lighten up, would ya?” He says, hand reaching over your shoulder for your ponytail again. You turn your head away to stop him from grabbing it but he steps forward, invading your space, taking a strand of hair in his fingers and twirling it.

“What. Do. You. Want.” You bitterly spit, foot nearly stomping on the floor in the process.

Eddie’s eyes flicker over your face, smirk playing on his lips, clearly enjoying your annoyance. It’s always the same old song and dance with him. He pisses you off, and then revels in your anger. He practically lives for it.

“Jus’ wanted to apologize.” He says, words sweet coming from his lips… too sweet. You furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s playing at.

“Apologize?” You question.

“Yes, ma’am. Pulled too hard this time, didn’t I?” He says softly, eyes flitting to where he twirls your hair before his fingers dance towards the back of your neck, warmth of his palm pressing into the sore muscle.

“Yeah.” You agree, your mouth going dry as your heart rate picks up.

“I’ll remember for next time, sweetheart. Won’t pull that hard again unless you ask me to.” He says, fingers pressing into your neck in a gentle massage.

You can’t lie, his touch feels nice on the strained muscle. It’s taking everything in you to not melt into the way his fingers rub over the affected area.

“Want me to come over later? I can rub your neck just like this, make you feel real good.” He says, voice going low as he spins you to face away from him, both his hands going to your neck. His touch stays gentle, hands rubbing from the base of your neck to your shoulders.

When you feel him step closer to you, his chest against your back, that's when your personal red flag alarm goes off, sending you in motion.

“Quit it!” You shrill, spinning to look at Eddie.

“What’s wrong? Thought you were enjoying it? You were practically moaning.” He teases smugly. “Oh Eddie. Come over and massage my neck for me. Oh, it feels so good.” He moans, pitching his voice up.

“I’m going back to class.” You say turning and swinging the door open. Eddie pulls the door open above your head, following you out.

“What a coincidence, I am too. Let’s walk together.” Eddie says, trying to grab at your hand but you swat him away, making him laugh.

When you get back to class, your stomach sinks as you notice everyone has changed places, sitting in groups of two, all scribbling away at worksheets.

Mrs. Ward snaps her fingers, motioning for you to take your seat, Eddie still trailing behind you.

“Since you two were off galavanting the school halls, you missed your opportunity to pick your partners for this assignment like everyone else. You’ll be working together.” Mrs. Ward says, dropping two worksheets onto your desk, motioning for you to pass one back to Eddie.

You stare at the two blank worksheets. Mrs. Ward began the class by talking about a big project that would be replacing the midterm but you didn’t know that you’d be starting it today.

“Oh, princess. I believe one of those is for me.” Eddie sings from behind you.

You grab your ponytail knowing that’s exactly what he’d go for when you don’t turn around and you meet him there just in time to be able to grab his hand in yours, spinning yourself to look at him.

“My neck is still sore from the last time, can you give it a fucking rest?” You seethe through your teeth, keeping your voice low.

“Princess, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just asked.” Eddie says, making you look down to where your fingers are wrapped over the back of his hand.

“I don’t want to hold your hand.” You spit harshly, twisting his arm so he nearly falls out of his chair. He lets out a small yelp, twisting to the side before you let go. He looks around the room noticing how the incident has gathered a few looks but he takes it in stride, scooching his chair back into his desk, rolling his shoulder a few times to get the sting out.

“Jesus Christ, princess. Just hand over the worksheet before you get me all riled up.” Eddie smirks after he rights himself in his chair, rolling the shoulder of the arm you twisted.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“So it looks like I will be coming over later.” Eddie says startlingly as he comes up behind you, speaking far too closely into your ear.

“Nope. We can go to the library.” You retort, grabbing the books you need for your final period out of your locker.

“The library? Full of commoners? No way, I say we go back to your place, I can rub your neck for you a little, and you can start to do the project.” He says, fingertips walking over the slope of your neck until you swat him away, once again.

“Pass.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal to me, you should take it.”

“You’re helping with the project. I’m not gonna let you skip out on it.” You spin, shooting Eddie a glare so he knows you’re serious.

“Oh yeah?” He says, eyebrows raising. You shrug your shoulders, losing your edge as his gaze dwindles into something you're not sure of.

“What are you gonna do? Gonna punish me if I don’t behave.” He says, stepping closer to you, dipping his face to yours.

His body looms over yours, cornering you in your locker. You’re left dumbfounded, not by his words, but by the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark yet inviting, drinking you in entirely. His lips curl into a smile and your eyes unwillingly flicker to them.

“Stop, Eddie.” You push him back by the chest, embarrassment spreading over you because you know he caught your glance at his lips by the way his eyes light up.

“Fine. Fine. My princess wants to go to the library, we’ll go to the library. I’m just saying, we could get a lot more done if we were all alone.” He says, voice going low and suggestive.

“I’m not yours.” You argue, slamming your locker.

“Of course that’s the part that ticks you off.” Eddie laughs.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your last class of the day was uneventful but the flickering light in the back of the room left you with a headache and the desire to get home and lay down for the rest of the evening. Fuck the project with Eddie. You have a month to do it anyways you don’t really need to get started yet.

“Ready to go?” Eddie says as he leans against the locker next to yours.

“No. I’m canceling, sorry.” You say flatly.

“Canceling?” He furrows his brows.

“Yup.” You say, popping the ‘p’.

“Why?” He asks, eyes flickering over you like he’s looking for your reason.

“None of your business.” You retort.

“It is my business.” He quips back.

“Not really.” You say closing your locker and swinging your bag over your shoulder. You start walking away but just as you predicted, Eddie won’t let it go and he follows you.

“Princess, I agreed we could go to the library, let’s just go.” He says, as he does his best to keep up with you as you swerve your way through the students.

“Yeah, but not today.” You groan, hands going to push open the door but Eddie beats you to it, pushing it open from over your head.

The bright light beaming from the sun makes you wince, shielding your eyes with your hands. It amplifies the pounding of your head and you pause, waiting for your eyes to adjust but it never comes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, stepping in front of you, blocking the sun but it’s totally coincidental, he’s just trying to get in your face again.

“Nothing.” You shrug, pushing past Eddie to walk to the school gates, hands still shielding your eyes from the sun.

“Yeah, something's wrong.” He says, pulling you back by your backpack, moving to stand in front of you again. You lower your hands, the sun not beaming into your eyes as harshly anymore as he stands in front of you.

“My head hurts, Eddie. I want to go home, can you please just let me go home.” You plead.

“Let me drive you.” He says without batting an eye.

“No.” You say stubbornly.

“You walk right? Just let me drive you. I won’t try anything, I swear.” Eddie says softly.

You pause contemplating your answer and that’s, once again, enough for Eddie to take it as a yes, pulling you by the wrist to the parking lot.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“My head hurts Eddie, I’m still capable of buckling myself in, thank you very much.” You say, taking the belt from his hands and pressing it into the buckle yourself.

“Just giving you the 5 star treatment, making sure you’ll come back.” He smirks, closing your door for you. He rounds the van, pulling open his own door and hopping in.

The drive goes by quickly with you giving quiet directions. At every corner, Eddie already has the blinker on before you can even tell him to turn. When you point out your house, he hums like he already knows.

Before you hop out, the words ‘thank you’ sit on your tongue but they don’t come. You know he would twist it into something else. You give him an inch, he takes a mile.

“Bye, Eddie.” You say, propping the door open after unbuckling yourself. He doesn’t say anything back.

When you shut the van door, you hear an identical slam from the other side of the vehicle.

“You can’t come in.” You huff, now knowing taking the ride was just a trick of his.

“Let me walk my girl to her door, yeah?” Eddie says, strolling around the front of the van, stopping at your side.

You roll your eyes and head to the front door, pulling out your keys.

As soon as you push the door open, Eddie’s quick to slip in before you can even get a foot in the house.

“Hey!” You protest but it’s too late he’s already toeing his shoes off. “You said you wouldn’t try anything.” You say, words coming out weak and you feel your head pound.

“I’m not trying anything. Just making sure you’re okay.” Eddie says matter of factly, his hand wrapping around your wrist, tugging you into the house. He pulls at your bag, making it fall from your shoulders and you glare at him, waiting for whatever he’s planning to happen.

“Eddie, you have to go. My dad will be pissed if he has to park on the street when he gets home.” You say, trying your best to make it convincing.

“Sweetheart, that’s like a 6 car driveway he won’t have to park on the street.” Eddie laughs. “Where do you keep your advil, I’ll get you some.” He says, eyes connecting with yours and they almost look warm. It surprises you. His eyes are typically filled with amusement, taunting you, teasing you. Warmth is new and it makes your belly flutter with nerves.

“Kitchen.” You say, narrowing your eyes, pushing past whatever you think you see in his. You should know better, he’s probably just working his way up to some big joke.

He trudges through your house and you have no choice but to follow behind him, he’s not getting free reign of your living space.

“It’s a nice house, princess. Daddy must work long hours, huh?” Eddie says with a teasing lilt.

“Just when I thought you were being nice.” You mumble to yourself. He’s not wrong though, your dad does stay late at work most days.

“This is me being nice, can’t you tell?” Eddie laughs. “Just take a seat, princess. Let me be real nice to you, let me make you feel better.” He says, voice holding the same reoccurring suggestiveness. You grimace as you watch him open cabinets. He grabs a glass as he comes across them and you take a tentative seat at the kitchen bar, watching him as he finally finds the advil.

“If you didn’t say weird stuff like that, I would think you were being nice.” You state flatly.

“S’only weird if you make it weird.” He retorts, filling the glass with water.

“No. I think it’s objectively weird and sexual. I might have actually thought you were being sweet if you didn’t ruin it by talking.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well it’s a good thing you don’t think that because I’m not sweet.” Eddie laughs, setting down your water in front of you and slamming the bottle of advil a little too hard, making you wince.

“The way you slammed that, I think you're purposefully trying to not be sweet.” You say, tugging on his exposed nerve. He just gave you an edge to grab at and he doesn’t even realize it.

“I think you don’t know what you're talking about so shut up and take the advil.” He says, sounding annoyed, jaw clenching. You smile, realizing you’re getting to him. After years of him tunneling his way under your skin, this is how you return the favor. This is your golden ticket.

“My neck still hurts.” You state, seeing if he’ll take the bait.

“So?” He replies bluntly, leaning back against the counter, eyes burning into you as he continues clenching his jaw. Pursing your lips, you switch your tactic seeing as he didn’t take the bait.

Pulling off your sweater, leaving you in your tank top, you sigh dramatically. You can practically feel his eyes exploring your freshly exposed skin and you try to hold back your smile.

“So that was all talk earlier? Should have known.” You say making eye contact with him, his eyes quickly shooting to yours from wherever they were roaming your body.

“Hm?” He asks, looking mildly confused but trying to hold onto some indifference.

“In the bathroom? When you apologized for pulling my hair too hard and hurting my neck?” You say, eyebrows raised waiting for him to clue in.

He smirks when he realizes what you’re getting at, his bad attitude lost in the wind.

“You want me to rub your neck for you? That it, sweetheart?” He coos, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer to you.

You don’t reply, you just close your eyes, making a sad attempt at rubbing your own neck. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips when you feel his hands take over, pushing your own hands away.

“Take your advil, princess. I’ll have you feeling better in no time.” He chides. You scoff, because of course he has to add some stupid comment. You take the advil, washing it back with the water, as Eddie’s fingertips press into your tender muscles, thumbs trailing up and down the length of your neck.

“This chair’s uncomfy, Eddie. Can we move to the couch?” You say, spinning on the stool to look at him, fluttering your eyelashes. He looks stunned at first, hands still hovering in the air where they were on your neck. He nods slowly, swallowing thickly.

You jump off the seat, taking his wrist in your hand, leading him down the hall.

“How do you want me, Eddie?” You say innocently, standing in front of the couch waiting for instructions. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink and your excitement increases tenfold.

“M-maybe we can just sit?” He stutters, eyes avoiding yours. You revel in seeing him scattered like this.

“Oh, I thought for sure you’d want me laying down, but we can sit.” You say, taking a seat perching on the edge of the couch. You look up at Eddie through your lashes and he finally gets the hint to take a seat behind you.

His hands slowly take purchase on the back of your neck again, thumbs rubbing small circles on your skin.

“Feels really good, Eddie.” You say breathily, purposefully pitching your voice up.

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice almost shaking.

The jangle of the chains on his jacket draws your attention as they ring in your ear with each movement, and that’s your next route of attack.

“Your jacket keeps scratching me though.” You huff, exhaling deeply.

“Oh, sorry. Want me to take it off.” He apologizes, his movements halting. His voice comes out small and genuine, not at all like the boy that's teased and taunted you for the past decade of your life.

“Yes, please.” You say in a sugary sweet voice.

He pulls away enough to remove his jacket, and you turn to take it from him, tossing it to the other side of the couch, letting your hand rest on his thigh.

“Can I sit there?” You ask, pointing to the spot between his legs. Eddie swallows harshly and you swear you’ve never seen him so affected by anything you’ve ever done, even when you yell at him and he gets all smirky.

“S’all yours.” He replies, clearing his throat, evidently trying to collect himself.

With your hand on his thigh, you pull his leg so there’s more of a gap for you to sit in, and you lift your bum enough to scoot over, his knees bracketed your hips now.

“There, that’s better.” You sigh.

Eddie’s hands continue to massage you, fingers working further and further away from your neck, moving down your shoulders as he exploringly lets his fingers slip under the straps of your bra and tank top. You can tell he’s pushing it now, you gave him an inch, he’s taking a mile. He just needed a minute to gather himself.

“You know you could just admit it?” You say, interrupting the silence of the room.

“Admit… what?” He laughs, his words rolling off his tongue in a manner that makes you sound stupid.

“Instead of pulling my hair, stealing my things, sneaking up on me just to scare me, all that other stuff you do, it would just be so much easier.” You say, not backing down.

“What would?” He asks again, voice the tiniest bit quieter.

“If you admitted it.” You say flatly.

“I’m.. I’m not following sweetheart.” He laughs again.

“It’s really quite juvenile, Eddie. All those playground antics, it’s not fooling anyone.” You say, shifting backwards, closer to Eddie to up the ante.

“I’m not trying to fool anyone, princess.” He says, getting defensive. You have him right where you want him.

“But I think you are, Eddie. I think you’re dying to be sweet to me. You want to so badly, I mean, look at you right now. Letting me sit between your legs so you can massage my neck, driving me home, making sure I’m feeling better.” You taunt.

“I’m not sweet. I told you already, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, fingertips digging harshly into your shoulders.

“What’s so wrong with being sweet, Eddie? What if I like it? Then what?” You say. His fingertips dig harshly into your skin, making you yelp and he eases instantly, fingers gently passing over the area as if to say sorry.

You think he’s about to pull away. You pushed him too far and his mile’s over, but you’re sorely mistaken. His fingertips leave your skin only to be replaced by scattered kisses on the crescent moon indents he left on your skin.

“You tell me, sweetheart. You like it when I’m mean to you, don’t you?” He says lowly, breath tickling you as he presses another kiss to your shoulder.

His hands move to your waist, fingertips grazing you gently like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, they find purchase on your hips, pulling your back, flush to his chest.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you looking at my lips earlier. So why don’t you admit whatever it is you want to say? Then we can move past this little charade of yours.”

“Charade of mine?” You laugh, but it comes out broken, distracted by the kisses he continues to lay on your skin.

“That’s what I said, princess.” Eddie says cooly.

“Eddie, you pulled my hair.” You huff, trying to regain an edge to your words.

“You pulled my hair too, princess.” He says gently, mouth pressing up the side of your neck to your ear.

“You tease me.” You add.

“And you yell at me.” He retaliates. “Princess, you sat in front of me. You could have sat anywhere in the class, but you picked the seat in front of mine. You like this little game.” He whispers, breath fanning over the shell of your ear giving you shivers down your spine.

“Eddie.” You whisper back. You meant to add more to your point but every thought is pulled from you as he kisses a spot behind your ear, making a whine pull in your throat.

“If I told you how much I wanted you, what would you say?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the same spot, making you hum.

“I wouldn’t say anything and you’d take that as a yes just like you always do.”

“I’d need a real answer from you princess, wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want, promise. If you told me to stop, I would.” He speaks with a tender and genuine voice, whispering his words into your skin, giving you more shivers up your spine.

“What if I didn't want you to stop?” You whisper, fully absorbed by his presence now.

“Then I wouldn’t.” He punctuates his words with another kiss to your neck.

“Sounds like you’re sweet on me.” You say, reverting back to your old banter when you find yourself at a loss for words.

“Kind of does, doesn’t it?” He laughs.

“Might even like me?” You say, even though you know the answer already. You both know the answer already.

“Better watch yourself, princess.” He teases, not even a hint of malice behind his words.

You slump into Eddie, your back molding perfect to his chest. His hands glide from your hips over your lower belly, fingertips dancing just above the button of your jeans.

“Do you want me to stop, princess?” He asks, chest vibrating with his words.

You swallow harshly, trying to find your words but you can’t do it, you just shake your head.

“Gotta use your words, princess. I know you got ‘em in that smart mouth of yours.” He teases.

“Don’t stop, Eddie.” You say so breathily you almost don’t recognize your own voice.

“Gonna let me touch you?” He says, fingers finding the button of your jeans finally, making your stomach flutter in anticipation.

“Yeah, touch me.” You parrot back.

He undoes the button in one hand, zipper lowered with the other. He slips his fingers under the waistband of your panties gliding down on your skin until his hand rests over your mound. He places a chaste kiss to the side of your head before dipping his fingers into you, fingertips swirling in your wetness.

“Look at you princess, all hot and wet for me.” He groans.

“Don’t do that.” You say, feeling embarrassed. He stills his movements, pulling from you slightly.

“Don’t do what?” He asks, voice becoming serious.

“Don’t make fun of me.” You reply quietly.

“I’m not, princess.” He says sounding hurts. “I think it’s hot. I like how wet you are, wouldn’t make fun of you for it.” He says genuinely but you still feel a flash of embarrassment.

“Sounds like you are.” You reply quietly.

“Would you make fun of me for how hard I am right now?” He says, pushing his hips forward enough for you to feel him against your lower back.

“Maybe.” You tease, smiling to yourself.

“Cruel, cruel girl.” He teases right back making you laugh. “Do you want to stop or keep going?” He offers.

“Keep going.” You say confidently, feeling better knowing you have a similar effect on him.

His fingers slide between your folds again, fingertips passing over your clit, making your hips jolt as he returns to your wetness, gathering it before moving back to your bundle of nerves.

With three fingers he begins rubbing slow, pleasure filled, circles against you making you sigh. His movements increase gradually until he has you moaning, hips bucking as you seek out more.

Just like he can read your mind, he lets his fingers draw down, sinking two of them into you, the palm of his hand pressing onto your clit.

His fingers stretch you, making you whine in the added friction that you needed. He pushes them in further, deeper than your own fingers can go, and he curves them, reaching a spot you’ve never even grazed before, a spot that has you canting your hips, pushing your back further against his chest as you arch.

“Right there, princess? Is that the spot?” He coos and you nod your head dumbly, eyes squeezing shut as you let his voice hum in your ears.

“Mhhm, right there Eddie.” You gasp as his fingers wiggle, drawing back and pushing in right against it.

He continues his daft movements, making you squirm against him until his other hand sprawls against your lower belly, holding you still against him.

“Eddie.” You moan, feeling lost in the pleasure.

“Yeah, princess? Want me to keep doing that? You gonna cum like this?” He whispers lowly in your ear. His voice gives you butterflies, making your stomach twist and turn fiery hot as it adds to the pool of heat in your core.

“Ke-keep going. G-gonna cum.” You cry as his palm grinds against your clit with each drag of his fingers against that spongy spot inside you. You grip harshly on his thighs, trying to steady yourself as you feel bubbling heat quickly rising inside of you.

“Want you to cum for me. Need to see it, princess.” He groans, face pressing into the side of your head, hand pushing against your lower belly, adding to the impossibly tight tension growing there.

With a final high pitched whine, you melt, all of the tension exploding before evaporating into a wash of pleasure. It’s red hot, yet light as a feather as it comes over you, making you feel like you’re floating and the only thing holding you down is Eddie’s arms wrapped around you.

You feel his breathing against your cheek and the rise and fall of his chest against your back. You hold onto the steadiness of it, matching each breath to your own as you gracefully fall from your high. You whimper, feeling his movements continue against you and he slows before coming to a halt.

When you catch your breath, you shift against him and he draws his slicked fingers from you, resting his wrist against his thigh, careful not to make any more of a mess of you than he already has.

With a deep exhale, you really let your body relax into Eddie’s. Your tired eyes flutter shut as you turn your head to rest against his chest with a content sigh.

“That good, sweetheart?” He whispers, and you should have known he’d be back to teasing you.

“Why do you always have to ruin things by talking?” You huff, eyes still shut, not bothering to move your tired body.

“Fine, I won’t talk.” He says and you can tell by his voice he’s smirking. It only takes a second before you feel his lips kissing your face, placing chaste kisses wherever he can reach from the way he’s dipping his head to yours.

“See, that’s sweet.” You reply with a teasing lilt, but he stays silent, remaining true to his words of not talking.

You shift in his lap, turning to face him. You try to move to the floor, to sink to your knees between his legs but his hold doesn’t let you.

“You don’t want me to?” You ask quietly. He shrugs, tugging you back to his chest but you resist, keeping your eyes on him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, clueing in that he’s still not talking.

He shrugs again.

“Eddie. Speak.” You say harshly and he laughs, breaking his short lived silence.

“Princess, it’s way too easy getting to you.” He amusedly huffs, shaking his head.

“Do you want me to suck your dick or not?” You ask with a scowl, not appreciating the way he’s purposefully pressing your buttons.

“I do, but not right now.” He says, a smirk plastered on his face like he’s up to something.

His hand rubs against your back, soothing you in a way that you didn’t know he could.

“Well, what do you want to do right now?” You ask shyly.

“I’m gonna go home.” He says tilting his head to you, still smiling. You frown, narrowing your eyes on him. You didn't expect for him to say that.

“You’re going home?” You ask, never feeling more confused by Eddie in your life.

“Yup. You know, the place I live?” He says, teasing you now.

“To do what?” You ask, frown etching deeper on your features.

“Honestly? Probably rub one out while I think about all the pretty noises you just made for me.” He says matter of factly and now you’re really confused.

“Why don’t you want me to suck your dick then?” You say, heat rising to your face as you think about Eddie touching himself to the thought of you.

“Can't give you everything you want at once, that’s how princesses get spoiled.” He teases with a smirk. “Besides, gotta give you a reason to come back.” He says, inching his face closer to yours, his eyes focusing where his fingers have risen to play with the strap of your tank top.

“And what if I don’t?” You reply, inching your own face closer to his.

“You will.” He says confidently. You purse your lips in a smile because you know he’s right. You know you’ll come back to him. You both know it, the same way you both know he’ll come back to you.

It’s always the same old song and dance with Eddie, and what fun is it to dance by yourself?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#this is yummy #enemies to lovers #this is the standard

2K notes · View notes