shiggycatbooy
𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒋
" I’m the maker of my own evil.” .⁽ˢʰᵉ⁻ʰᵉʳ⁾
22y, Brazil.
573 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
Text
Okay, but having to explain “the bear vs the man trend” to the 141.
CW: Sexism, harm against women.
Johnny’s immediate reaction is the man. “The man’d be easier to kill. Dinnae ken if I could fight a bear.” He answers. “But what kind of bear is it?”
You have to explain that killing either is not an option. The prompt is would you feel safer in the woods with a man or a bear.
Gaz asks if the man is armed because that could play into a factor for him. You say both have the ability to inflict harm to you and kill you. Now you just straight up ask which one?
Simon would unfortunately understand why you chose the bear, but waits until you have to spell it out for the others.
"As a woman, the worst thing a bear could do to me was kill me." You explain. You tell them about some of the other things women felt when choosing a bear.
The bear would look at me and see a human.
The bear would kill me for survival. The man would kill me for pleasure.
I trust my dead body with a bear more than I do a man.
They say nothing as you read the reasonings out loud. They understand your reasoning and the subject changes.
It's not until it's close to ten in the evening that you see Captain who was the coincidentally missing turning the hangout with the others earlier.
"Captain," you greet. "Is everything okay?" You can't help but notice the crease between his brows. The worried look in his eyes that gives him away.
“Just, a quick question if you don't mind." He said, waiting for confirmation to continue. You nod, curious as to why he had come all the way to your barracks.
"I spoke to the lads and well-" He clears his throat. "Hypothetically, if we were in the woods,” Price began, feeling foolish for asking you, but needing to know. “You’d pick us? Knowing it was us and who wer are. Right?” His question was more than just would you choose them over the bear.
Did you trust them?
In truth, you trusted them with your life. They had your back time and time again and you just never got that vibe from them. They were never "boys being boys" in the same way you had grown up knowing men to be.
"Boys being boys" around here was when one of the shadows had made a sexist remark so Johnny sneaking into their bathrooms and giving one of their three toilets an upper decker.
Ghost had played bodyguard after that, ensuring none of them dared to fuck with you.
Kyle had went into psychological warfare by finding pictures of the women they had back home and printing out the photos and hanging them up all over the base.
And Price had some choice words with Graves ensuring that the next one of his men to step out of line would get a fucking bullet to the head.
There weren't many men in this world who ever made you feel safe not only as a fellow soldier, but as a woman.
"Yeah," you reply. "I'd choose you."
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
The way olderbf!simon and reader met is so cute even if it’s cliche, because I don’t see that man interacting with anyone unless he’s forced to lmao. If you’re up to it, could you maybe do a drabble on how the beginning/talking stage of their relationship goes? This man probs has to rehearse what he’s going to say 25 times (literally me) and still fumbles over his words but reader is still just 😍 yes this is the man I’m going to marry
they definitely needed a meet cute to me cause honestly? where are their paths ever going to cross without manual intervention? 🫶🏼
after you get that “it’s simon” text from older bf!simon it’s you that actually has to make the first move.
that’s not to say he doesn’t text you or anything, god when doesn’t he text you?
at all odd hours and just about anything-
“at the supermarket”
“what you watching? i’m watching top gear”
“what’s your favourite colour?”
“i’m at the gym”
you were a little confused at first by how abrupt and to-the-point his messages could be.
and then you remembered that this was the same guy who prefers a grunt to the common conversation, he probably thought he was doing great.
so when you were getting in your own head about why he hadn’t asked you out yet, you also remembered that this was the same guy who thought he could fuck up a cappuccino.
he was probably- scared?
whatever it was, you realised if you wanted to see him as bad as you did, you were going to have to pony up and ask yourself.
“did you want to maybe get dinner sometime?”
he called you.
no sooner had the ‘seen’ shown up, he was calling you.
“uh, hello? simon?”
“are y’forreal?”
excuse me?
if anyone else had asked you that question you probably would’ve scoffed and hung up.
he was lucky he was so hunky.
and subtly insecure.
“yes, i’d like to get dinner with you”
he paused, a quiet moment passing between the two of you with only a little shuffling in the background of his line.
and a little shouting in the distance.
was he on base?
“yes please”
you’d been a little distracted trying to pick any little bits of information you could (more than just his favourite colour, it’s green by the way) that you didn’t get his response.
instead, you hummed a little ‘huh?’
“i’d like t’get dinner with’ya, yes please”
“oh- great, i can text you some details?”
“yeah, i’d like that”
you weren’t really sure how to end the call or why he’d even called in the first place- but he wrapped it up with a few mumbles.
“jus’ wanted to hear y’say it, wanted t’make sure”
he shows up at dinner without a mask on and you’re sure you’re staring up at him like he’s made of moonlight but you can’t find it within yourself to care.
fuck he’s handsome.
and broad, the buttoned shirt he’s wearing just stretches over his arms where he’s rolled the sleeves to his elbows.
borderline pornographic.
you try to shut your own mind up, realising all the man’s done is open the restaurant door for you and you’re literally have salacious thoughts about him.
have some decorum!
he pulls out your seat for you but insists on sitting with his back to a wall and a line of sight to the door. you don’t mind, it means the light behind him virtually makes him glow.
fuck he’s handsome.
his voice is so deep you have to lean in on the table to hear him and all it means is you can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off of him.
when he locks eyes with the waiter he does a subtle little flick of his fingers and the man’s heading right for him- he really exudes an air of dominance.
if you don’t marry this man you might die.
he asks you a lot of questions and seems genuinely surprised when you ask ‘and you?’ after every one.
surprised that somebody would care.
he answers with an endearing honesty and you feel all the better for knowing he prefers tea to coffee and starts his day with a cold shower.
his hand fidgets on the table part way through dessert and you have to ask what’s wrong.
“y’got a little somethin’ there”
he gestures to the corner of his mouth. it isn’t lost on you that his fingers immediately go back to flexing around the table cloth.
your hand doesn’t even move to wipe your mouth, your eyes soften just a little as you speak instead.
“you can get it if you want?”
his heart all but stops.
big hand rising to your face, fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb wipes the smudge of cream from the corner of your mouth.
he brings his thumb to your mouth when your tongue peeks out to lick the tip of it.
simon’s knee hits the underside of the table.
and you giggle.
fuck he’s handsome.
reluctantly, he lowers his hand but leaves it on your side of the table so you can hold it. his skin feels rough but he thinks it’s never been softer than when you’re holding it.
you both opt to walk home (hand still in hand) and you’ve never felt safer. you spend the entire walk talking about nothing and everything and you could scream when you end up at your front door.
it does allow you both to linger, neither one of you wanting to call it a night quite yet.
simon seems good at lingering, at yearning, at putting off what he doesn’t and does want.
so, like you were the one to make the first move-
you’re the one to make the second.
(his tongue feels great on yours)
you go to bed alone that night and it makes the most sense but it also fucking sucks because you know-
you know what you want.
and what you want is currently walking home beneath streetlights with the biggest smile he’s had this side of enlistment.
you accept the fact you’ll need to take things slow, that he obviously needs time and a lot of reassurance and you’d hate to push him too far with your own desire and-
and your phone buzzes.
“coffee tomorrow morning?”
“yes please”
the talking stage really doesn’t last long.
not when you’re kicking your feet in bed and hugging your phone to your chest.
not when johnny texts simon asking how the date went and he’s responding ‘not bad, might be in love’
talking stage doesn’t last long but everything else does.
it’s simply a doorway into a long and happy life.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
18+|mdni
Gaz who eats pussy like a reward, who hurries home, always foregoing drinks with the task force to celebrate a personal win, because he knows you're at home for him, legs spread and gently touching yourself, only waiting to drop to his knees in front of you and drag you to his mouth.
Ghost who eats pussy to calm down, who needs something to anger him after he woke up from a nightmare, and he pushes you on your back, lips trailing down your soft skin, taking in your scent and feeling the pressure ease out of his muscles just a little. Ghost who takes his time sucking on your clit, making out with the sensitive bundle while just keeping a finger inside you to make sure your orgasm won't come until he wants it to.
Johnny who eats pussy like it's his last meal, who needs to stake his claim on you and checks his guns on his next deployment with your taste still on his tongue and the reassurance on his mind, that should he not come back, no one would ever compare to him in that particular way
Price who eats pussy like it's owed to him, who bends over backwards to not only keep you safe but to fulfill all your wishes before you could even utter them, so who were you to complain if he wanted a little treat for his troubles. If he bend you over your desk, skirt simply pushed up and panties pulled to the side, his fingers rubbing and pinching your clit with his tongue thrusting inside of your hole
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
just thinking about retired!price meeting reader in the supermarket; her trying to reach the top shelf of marmalades and him catching a vase before it shatters and causes a mess.
several outdated pick-up lines and nervous scratches and tugs on the back of his boonie hat later, and barely contained chuckles from you, he asks you on a date. and it ends up being the best you've had in ages.
idk i just feel price hasn't flirted with anyone IN AGES, so he's reaallly out of practice, but the flush you try to hide with the back of your hand proves he's moving in the right direction. soon, he'll have your knees touching your chest or smth.
author's note: hi baby @feralforfrank!! your idea is so wonderful and i'm so happy to provide it to you in writing, except it's ended up being a one shot instead of drabble, i still hope i did it good!
you didn't think that your best date and at the same time acquaintance in life would be tied to such an embarrassing, funny situation, which maybe could become your ticket to the hospital, if not the charming man you met.
the week was nearing the end, and it was that time to which the need for a trip to the grocery shop was added to fill the fridge, which stood dullly and empty at home in the kitchen, so with an almost fully filled basket of groceries, you were currently reaching for the highest shelf with sweets in the shop.
an easy task, it would seem, if you didn't have to reach on tiptoes to a small pack of marmalades, bordering with the shelf on which household goods began, and there was a small vase that hurried to fall down when you accidentally hooked it with your elbow, immediately turning to freeze in place, looking how it was falling on you.
— “bloody hell, that' was almost' a goal to the hospital, yau alright' ther', darling?„ a rumbling, smoky voice, whose owner pulled you out of your little fright, making you blink quickly, lifting your head further to focus on the tall, bulky man carefully holding the vase that almost shattered on your head in his thick hands, the look in his vivid blue eyes worried, thick brown brows furrowed.
you nod stupidly, silent like a mouse, while your hand automatically takes the package of marmalades that you grabbed and press to your chest, the gears begin to work in your head with a creak, noticing how timely and quickly the man was near you and lend a helping hand, worthy of gratitude.
— “y.. yeah, thank you, sir, you were here at the right time„ you say a little meekly, a little shyly by what happened, but you notice how your words make him smile, making his eyes to crinkle, his mutton chops stretching along the corners of his lips, chest puffing behind a halfly zipped jacket with hoarse chuckle.
— “military instincts, i suppos'„ he answers briefly, turns away to put the vase back on the shelf, wide biceps flexing before he turns back to you, the same warm smile on his lips, but this time he reaches out a wide palm in your direction and adjusts the silly beige boonie hat on his head — “glad to know yau're fin' darling, call me john„
you accept the outstretched hand and smile charmingly, radiantly, uttering your name in response fleetingly, not noticing how his thumb fleetingly strokes your fragile hand and how he looks at you with a slight tilt of his head, when you purr even more shyly — “thank you for your service, sir — john..„ fluttering your eyelashes, john's smile becoming even wider.
— “no longuh, retired, but' i'll tak' that' to heart', luv'„ he murmurs warmly, and only now all the affectionate nicknames he was calling you past minutes catch up to you, burning flush creeping up your cheeks when you just nod, gazing at the way his cerulean eyes churn with something fiery, john's neck flushing fleetingly as he notices how long he's holding your hand in his, before letting go, yet not with another word in.
— “think i can manag' to invit' yau somewher' this evening?„ he asks so simply that you feel your palms start sweating and your face burns, stomach twisting slightly, what are considered as butterflies, and what makes you bite your lip, looking at him now only from under your fluttering eyelashes before agreeing hushedly, still more than shy — “yes, yes i do„
and you do pretty much, because when you practically flutter out of the store with his phone number in yours, there's only one picture that repeats in your head, how uncertainly john scratches the back of his head and says in half fascinated, half surprised deep voice — “hop' yau will be frei, then, sei ya, darling„
you don't remember how it all ended with current events, but you remember how it all began — a meeting in a small evening pub with good alcohol and john's company, dressed almost the same as in the morning in the shop, but this time without a boonie hat and with his jacket folded next to him, every bulging muscle and a bit of a fat hugged tightly by black shirt.
you remember the way john talked, low timbre of his hoarse voice that was accompanied by small chuckles, rumbling everytime he told you some situations from life, watching how you covered your giggles behind the palm of your hand, carefully listening to each special, exciting story from his service as a captain in the task force.
you watched as he touched you fleetingly, small brushes against your knuckles with the pads of his calloused fingers, leaving a burning feeling, something coiling in your stomach — with john's touches becoming bolder, and drinks more bitter, but there's a stroking motion against your knee that soothes and also makes you fidget.
by the time he moved closer, closing the distance between the table and sharing one leather sofa with you, all the cocktails you tried were boiling in your blood, your lips tingled from close contact with john's, as he purred something in your ear, stroking your supple thigh, to which you just nodded with barely contained giggles, catching only the edge of his words — “let' me show yau a good tim', doll„
that's how you ended up stuck beneath him, the unfamiliar bed smelled hardly of musk and light echoes of tobacco, the once clean sheets clung to your soaked back, just as wet as your squelching pussy, the one that is currently being pumped full of john's fat cock, your supple legs pressed against your chest, and you don't even feel them.
the only thing you feel is his harsh thrusts, rearranging your gooey insides as he molds your gummy walls in the shape of his thick cock, his one hand alone is enough to keep your legs pressed to your chest, while the free one is busy with cupping your cheek, watching the way your eyes threaten to roll back in your empty skull.
— “fuck, such a pretty fucking girl, knew i — it when i saw yau„ john almost growls, his voice a dull ring in your ears when his wide hips snap forward rapidly, muscular thighs slapping against your rounded ass that jiggles with each time his cock plunges deeper inside your slimy cunt, leaking tip presses against your spongy spot, and you howl.
yet, not uttering a word, tongue heavy inside your gradually drying mouth, the one john licks inside his own with fervor, you barely have time to respond to his movements, your nails digging into his back, inflicting fresh scratches on top of old scars, while you moan and practically wheeze with pleasure under him, pussy pulsing with gushing slick.
your brain screams that it's too much, but your lips part with slurred pleas of — “more, s — so close, harder, hmnn, p — please„ and john hushed you, cooes something warm and soothing against your ear, beard tickling somewhere against your thudding pulse where he sucks and bites constellations of marks, and you don't even register how you snap.
don't remember in which exactly moment your pulsing cunt clenched around his weeping cock, squeezing him for every drop his fat tip splashed against your walls, painting them with thick milky cum, his body still moving to drill you further into the mattress, into the wet sheets, when all you do is tremble, cumming uncontrollably with sobs and gurgles of moans.
that's the moment when everything cuts, and the next time your eyes flutter open, despite the ache and soreness in your body, john sits on the edge of the bed with a cup of tea in his hands, carefully stretched out in your direction as you lift yourself up, letting the dim morning sun illuminate your naked body in all it's glory, a pleased murmur is what greets you — “good morning, sweitheart'„
and it's is, a best morning in your entire life.
✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.
700 notes
·
View notes
Text
arthur morgan, the man that treats you like the finest jewel, being as gentle to you as no one has ever seen him, and when other people around you tell that the only soul he treated well is his horse, you better believe, but then, there's you.
a pretty and sweetest doll, he calls you when boys do make him babble about who you are, and that's what he calls you right in your face, out of fascination, out of the way how much he hooked on you, while his bluish green eyes trace the way your eyelashes flutter shyly.
it's the way arthur handles you, with a heavy arm around your waist, or on the small of your back, pressing you against his side with your arm wrapped softly around his bicep, his head tipping to look you in the eyes, matching your pace as he grumbles softly — “keep close, alright, darlin'?„
it's also how he let's himself carry you, over the muddy area of the road, taking care of your dress for you so you wouldn't stain it, or hoisting you up on his horse, warm and thick palms settling on the curve of your waist, stroking up and down briefly.
but arthur much more caring when you two alone, when he allows himself to pay for a night in parlour house, renting a room only to have you close, to feel your supple and naked flesh pressed against his, legs tangled together, his calloused fingers tracing a path from your shoulder to your spine.
he's loving, in the way he holds you against him with his chapped lips pressed against your temple, grown stubble teasing your skin as his free hand guides his fat cock against your glossy slit, rubbing his length before prodding at your gaping and hot cunt, leaving careful kisses on your face, praising alongside your breathy moans — “that's it, so precious and soft, sweetheart, just a tad more„
✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴.
305 notes
·
View notes
Text
inexperienced pretty boy simon??
simon’s head rolls slowly, skull hitting the back of the couch as he exhales a soft whimper. his adam’s apple bobs in his throat with the way you work your kisses down his neck, tongue sliding over the skin before you suck his flesh between your plushed lips.
“oh fuck,” is all simon can even fathom at the moment. n there’s a fog that settles over his brain, something that mushes his thoughts, his conscious into a melting mess.
his skin runs electric with the sweet purr of your giggle, fingers running down his chest till the tips land along the line of his belt. that gets simon going, not to mention the way your hips roll n press down onto him subconsciously.
“b-baby,” he huffs in a desperate attempt to catch your attention. he needs you to stop, n not cuz he’s not liking it or sum, nah he’s boutta fuckin’ bust.
“mmm?” you draw out, tongue dragging up the space of his arched neck. the hairs rise, standing tall on simon’s arms as you suck a bruise into that sweet spot just below simon’s ear.
n that’s what finishes him tf off.
will i ever write dom!simon? idk y’all.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
drunk!simon who kisses against the healthy skin of your cheeks, forehead, lips, jaw anywhere he can press his lips against. n he’ll go n go till he himself is gasping n giggling, your own mouth tugging into his favorite kind of smiles.
drunk!simon who rambles all about you wether it be to you or bragging to his mates, he couldn’t keep your sweet name off his mouth. things like “yeah, ya already know she keeps me fed, feedz me like a big boy.” he laughs orrrr “know yur jealous you ain’t gotta pretty lady like mine.” anyway he can show you off, in any manner.
drunk!simon who shows off the pics he snaps of you, considering you convinced him to retire the flip phone. fingers dancing across the screen to show your face buried in a book, the way your silky robe hugs against your soft curves when cookin’ him up breakfast. n when he scrolls a lil too far, hitting pictures that were meant for his eyes only, his mates whistle and howl out laughter, sum in awe.
drunk!simon who can’t keep away from you, puffing words against your ear, fingers curling up around your breasts that sit trapped up in your bra. “please, baby, need you.”
drunk!simon who’s love truly glows through the hard shell he always puts on. who can’t keep the truth off his lips, who is absolutely head over heels in love with you.
drunk!simon who can’t keep his dick down n just wants to fuck you full of love.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
king!simon…?
simon’s back pressed against the back of his throne, the air cold n thick with all his court cleared out. all besides you.
“take it, baby, c’mon,” he groaned, voice rattling off the surrounding walls as he dug his nails into the flesh that bounced off his brushy thighs.
your throat collapsed in desperate pretty moans, fingers curling into the soft blonde hair lining the nape of his neck. your hips worked up a strong quick pace in a madness to make this man cum, to watch him fall apart beneath you.
it was a rare event to get the satisfaction of simon absolutely belittling you, fucking you till you rang out dry, till you were nothing put a pile of flesh n bone. he liked when you worked hard, liked watching your face contort, the way your stamina broke and you begin to pick up a lazy rhythm.
not tonight though, no. you were desperate to break this man, to see that hard, guided shell crack in the dirtiest way possible.
“shut up,” you snapped, giving a harsh tug of his hair till his teeth were bared and neck was straining. his eyes stared into yours, hand slapping against your ass in a striking, stinging hit.
“watch your fuckin’ mouth, love.” he snapped, feeling the stutter of your hips, the shake of your thighs.
n without a single thought your palm slaps against his cheek in an angry hit, fingers leaving white fading prints against his clean-shaven cheek. “watch yours, simon.”
his gasp rang out low, throat curling in till it was laced in an angry growl. yet, when your fingers settle against the column of his throat and you work your hips harder, his mind short circuits… his cock throbs.
“wasn’t too hard now was it?” you laugh in his face, watching his lips part and eyes go all wide. “and it’s ma’am to you.”
oop. laughing at myself tbh 😂
6K notes
·
View notes
Note
Reader auction offs her virginity because she has to pay off her student loans. Lonely Price see her on the web and decides that he doesn’t just want her virginity but all of her so he asks her to be his sugar baby. He doesn’t need her for sex but needs her for the company
yummy yummy
c/w: sugardaddy!price, talks of virginity, mutual masturbation, nude photos, nsfw content
he thinks you’re just the sweetest and he just can’t let one of these creepy old men take your virginity <3 save it for someone special. doesn’t necessarily have to be him, he’d be happy if you just sat in his lap and played with his hair
just wants a pretty thing to get him a scotch and light his cigar for him. sat comfortably in his lap at his monthly poker game with some of his old comrades. a cocky smirk on his face when they all ogle at you for the whole night <3
he’s so mean about taking your virginity, even when you beg and basically throw yourself at him he still says no. says you’re too lovely to be ruined by a bitter, old man like him :(
instead he gets you to lay in the middle of his plush bed, watching you plunge your fingers in and out of your cunt whilst he sits in the corner of the room with a cigar in one hand and his cock in the other
instructs you on how to play with yourself with the deep, baritone voice of his. tells you what a good girl you are, how sweet and kind you are to spend your time with a bad man like him :(
gives you his bank card with no shame. the type of sugar daddy who has a scheduled delivery of bouquets every week with a lovely note. always enjoys the way you thank him, sending over a picture and a note to open it when he’s alone
the camera aimed between your legs, your fingers holding one of the flowers and a clear view of your damp panties in the background :( enough to make him excuse himself to the bathroom to rub one out
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
I would like to ask permission to beg for more bodyguard!price. I’ve only ever seen Ghost and Christ almighty that post you made makes me only want age difference bodyguard!price forever
thinking about famous!reader who grew up in the spotlight so they’re just not very well-adjusted to johns kind nature
c/w: reader is a little unhinged and insecure, reader has mommy and daddy issues, is touch-starved and just wants to be loved, crying, slight nsfw, implied age gap, suggestive content, as always mdni
you really are kind soul, you’re just in the wrong line of business for someone with such genuine intent. you just want to make music, make people happy, sing your heart out and perform but life has a funny way of working out for people
this was never supposed to be your whole life, at most you wanted a little band that met up every thursday and shared new lyrics or riffs. however, with a winning combination of talent and an overbearing mother, you became a big name
you got swept up in tours, launch parties, award ceremonies and red carpets before you knew it. left you no time for a real life. all your relationships were manufactured up in press meetings about how to boost your reputation or sloppy hook-ups in the bathroom at whatever club you snuck off too in whatever country you’re touring in
john felt bad for you, he really did. that’s why he indulged your behaviour. you’ve never had a real positive influence in your short little life :( how else are you supposed to react when this man comes along? calling you sweet names, keeps a protective hand on you at all times, dedicates his entire life to keep you safe
if he wants to act like a husband then you’ll just have to treat him like one. that’s why you’ve taken to bringing him a glass of ridiculously overpriced scotch in your dressing room after each concert, placing yourself in his lap right afterwards with no shame whatsoever. he knows he should push you off, it’s the right thing to do
“did you like my performance tonight?” you ask, staring straight at him with an expectant smile. you give him exactly two seconds to answer before you hat your eyelids nervously, “what’s wrong with your drink? you’ve barely touched it.”
he didn’t have the heart to tell you that the expensive bottle you bought was being wasted each time you fill the tumbler with crushed ice before pouring the liquor in, completely diluting the flavours and aromas. so he just gives you smile, hand coming up to pinch your cheek in a way that makes your thighs clench before he raises his glass and takes a few generous sips of the scotch to make you happy
“you were amazing, love…” he grunts out, adjusting his hips with you sit on his lap. you pout at his response, wiggling your hips to get more comfortable and he curses his body when he feels his cock chub up against his thigh
“that’s all? I made the hair stylist try something different. didn’t you like it? didn’t you think I looked pretty on stage tonight? if i’ve upset you, you can just tell me you don’t need to act like this…” you ramble off, tears welling up in your lashline with a speed that can only make john sigh
his spare hand comes to rub up and down your back, pressing kisses behind your ear whilst he shushes you quietly. “don’t get so worked up. no need for one of your strops tonight.”
you shoot him a mean glare, one that might terrify literally anyone but him. he knows you’re all bark and no bite. you just need a firm hand to keep you nice and sweet. he’s not against offering that to you, as long as you don’t get the wrong idea :(
he’s definitely not encouraging it, he tells himself when he puts his drink down and manhandles you closer to him. letting you curl up against his chest and sniffle against the material of his dress shirt. he nuzzles his cheek on the top of your head before placing a kiss there
he knows you’re not trying to be a brat, you just want his validation. you want him to tell you how good you are and how you can be better. he can smell your insecurities no matter how much you try and bury them deep inside
he’ll shut this down soon, tell you not to let this become more than a silly crush. but not tonight, he reminds himself. tonight, he’ll do what you pay him to do which is to protect you from anything and anyone. if in his arms is where you feel safe, who is he to deny that?
789 notes
·
View notes
Text
The More You Give ❦ Series Masterlist (In Progress)
Pairing | Eddie Munson x coming of age!reader
18+ only. Minors and blank blogs do not interact.
Non-Exhaustive Series Warnings | Loss of virginity, oral (f & m receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie with moments of switchery, discussions of anxiety, negative sexual experiences, bullying (why do girls hurt each other?).
Taglist
Updates are inconsistent but they are coming
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
596 notes
·
View notes
Text
The More You Give ❧ (Part VIII)
Pairing | Eddie x shy!reader
Warnings | 18+ only. Do not interact if you are underage. Roleplay (PrincessxWannabe Usurper lmao), sexual fantasies (including rockstarxgroupie), Eddie says some weird possessive stuff but reader likes it, oral (M receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie, sexual guilt as per, there’s aftercare.
Word Count | 10,400
A/N | Nobody ask me about the timeline of this story, either in the fic or how long it takes me to write it.
Taglist
Previous Chapter
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
The air is stuffy, despite the growing chill outside. The last days of Summer are at least a week gone now, and with Autumn comes heated stores. An ABBA song is playing on the main floor, filtering through enough for you to make out the tune. It’s the sort of thing your Mom plays in the car all the time, your mind following the words even though you can’t quite hear them over the buzzing ceiling lights.
I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers-
The curtains pull back, the sound of metal over metal dragging you to full attention. May’s eyes are bright with excitement as she twirls, showing off how the strapless black dress fits around her waist and flares out at her hips.
“It’s perfect, right?” She says, smoothing it down only to twirl and puff the skirt up again. “Ooh, let me see with the jacket.”
You search through the bag at your feet for the cropped jacket she’d found earlier, then watch as she pulls it over her shoulders. She fluffs her hair and poses in the mirror at the end of the changing room hallway. “I mean it actually is perfect, right?”
“For sure, you can totally see who you are already.”
“Right? And then I can just backcomb my hair a little. My Mom’s gonna lend me her scarf. God knows what earrings I’ll wear, but I can work it out. Definitely can’t get anything new after this,” she finishes, turning her head and pulling at the tag on her back to double check the price. She pulls a face before tucking it away gingerly.
“That bad?”
“That bad. Even with 30% off.” May smooths her hands over the skirt again, turning once more to the mirror. Her smile lights up her pretty face. “But totally worth it.”
Once the dress is folded and wrapped in tissue paper by the woman at the counter, paid for with what seems like every spare penny in May’s purse, attention moves to your costume. “Okay, Fairy God Mother,” May says, linking her arm with yours. “Game plan. Where do we need to go?”
“I think just the costume store. I have a blue dress I can use. But I’d like some wings and a wand. Maybe a tiara, if I can afford it.”
“Ugh, you’re gonna look so cute. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Tommy’s party?”
“The whole reason I’m dressing up is for Grace,” you reason, spotting the orange banner reading City of Fright, which appears in the same spot every year mid-September and vanishes November first.
Gone are ABBA’s lilting tones, replaced with stock Halloween music, the occasional creepy laugh and thunder clap. The entire front of the store is complete costumes, wrapped up in plastic and hanging on metal rods, but once you reach the shelves at the back, you are surrounded by an array of vampire teeth, witches hats and face paints.
“Eddie’s renting Theatre of Blood,” you tell her, not waiting for a reaction before launching into a prepared defence. “It sounds really good. It’s about an actor who takes revenge on his critics by murdering them like Shakespearian deaths - drowning in Malmsey wine, that kind of thing. He picked it cause, you know, he thought I’d like it.”
“Okay, but she’ll be in bed by what? Eight?” May asks, wandering around the table of paraphernalia as you start thumbing through fairy wings piled next to fake blood bags, searching for the right blue. “You could come after.”
There’s a moment of silence, then she sighs softly. “Okay, I will say it’s kind of cute that he picked that. In a weird, not really that cute cause it’s a horror movie about gruesome murders, sort of way.”
You stifle a grin, chancing a look at her over the table. “That sounded…almost like a compliment?”
“Almost,” she agrees, walking back round to your side. Then, before you can answer, she has seized a shiny silver plastic tiara and is reaching out to place it gently on your hair. “There. Fit for a Princess.”
You shake your head, laughing. “What about a Fairy Godmother?”
May hums, grabbing a set of the net and wire wings and pulling them over her arms. “I’m the fairy now!” She declares, raising her chin and going up on tiptoes to whirl around the racks, wings shaking behind her. “Here to make all your Halloween costume dreams come true!”
Your heart warms, a giggle escaping as she peers curiously at the rubber masks and cat ears in character, mumbling about the strange habits of humans.
“Oh please, fairy godmother! I need a wand if I’m going to look anything like the real thing!”
“A wand, of course!” She cries dramatically. “No true fairy would be seen dead without their wand.” You watch her scurry on tip toe around until she comes to a display of wands of various colours, topped by stars and hearts, sequined tassels and glittery handles. She wiggles her fingers above them, picks out one with a simple silver star and travels back to you gracefully. You take it from her with a flourish. “There, and now your wings.” She helps you into your own pair, then turns and throws a graceful hand into the air. “Now, we fly!”
You flit about after her, laughing at her with every pause she takes to frown disapprovingly at fake scars and rubber spiders. She stops in front of a Tinkerbell costume, pointing with a surprised smile at the model on the package. “Hey, I know her!”
You snort a laugh and it sets her off, all attempts to stifle your laughter only making it worse. Your giggles are only beginning to settle when you feel the sudden awareness of being watched tickle the back of your neck.
“Uh, hi girls.”
Your heart drops. Caroline stands, a hand over her mouth, barely covering the smirk. “You look like you’re having…fun.”
Suddenly, the clear elastic of the wings is too tight around your shoulders. You can feel the crooked angle of the tiara atop your head, close to slipping off entirely. The wand in your hand isn’t silver now, just chipped paint on plastic.
Next to you, May is wrenching off her wings, laughing airily. “Just messing around,” she assures, folding them up and holding them with a tight fist at her hip. “You costume shopping?”
Caroline looks around at where you are. “I mean, obviously. Not for me, though, for Ethan,” she sighs. “You know boys, no interest in shopping.” She sets her stare on you, eyes scanning from the crooked tiara downwards. “Are you girls dressing up together?”
Your throat feels blocked, leaving you just to shake your head. May answers for you both. “No, no. Like I said, we’re just messing around. So we should probably put this stuff back.” She slides her wings into the space between some hanging masks before elbowing you into action. You’ve abandoned the tiara and wand and are in the process of sliding off the wings when she adds, coolly, “I’m actually going as Madonna.”
Caroline’s smirk falls, replaced at terrifying speed with a deep frown. “What? You can’t, I’m doing Madonna. I’ve got a veil and everything. Ethan’s going to be Sean Penn.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going as her in Desperately Seeking Susan, so it’ll be, like, totally different.”
“But I don’t think there should be two Madonna’s,” Caroline continues, almost sounding sympathetic. She crosses her arms, shrugging. “You’ll just have to go as somebody else.”
“Oh,” May says, shoulders falling. “Um, right. I get what you mean.”
You’re not in the habit of arguing with Caroline. It’s been easier, historically, not to contradict her or answer back. But you can feel May deflating beside you, and it tumbles out. “But you won’t look similar or anything, they’re completely different costumes.”
“They’re not though.” She answers with finality. “They’re both Madonna, and the last thing we want is comparisons, right? People talking about who wears it better all night?”
May nods. “You’re right. Totally. I’ll think of something else. No worries.”
“But May, your dress! You can’t return it now, it was on sale!”
“It’s fine,” May snaps before smiling close mouthed at Caroline. “I can find something else to wear, no issue.”
“You could be fairies together!” Caroline says. “I bet the guys at Tommy’s party would love that.”
“No, no, like I said, we were just messing around,” May says. “Not really my thing. And anyway, she’s not coming on Friday.”
“Oh no!” Caroline pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. “But I haven’t seen you outside of school in ages!”
“I’m babysitting,” you explain, clutching your removed wings in your fists.
“Oh sure you are, not spending the night with your boyfriend. We hardly see you anymore, I feel like there must be so much detail we’ve all been missing out on. You’ll have to come on the next girls trip, right May? So we can hear all about you and…Eddie.”
Your heart pounds as May nods. “Yeah,” she answers. “Eddie can’t have all your time.”
“Perfect. Well, let me know what you end up doing, May! See you later, girls!”
She flounces away, and May hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe she saw me doing that.”
“It’s okay-”
“It’s not!” She says, throwing her hands up. Her eyes shine with frustrated tears. “It’s not okay! Not for me, anyway. It’s different for you, people already think you’re weird.”
You blink at your friend. Then you look down at the speckled linoleum floor, watch the spots fuzz and blend into each other as the lump in your throat builds. Before five seconds have passed, her arms appear at your sides, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”
But you know that she did. You know that’s exactly what she thinks.
For the moment you have to think about what you say now, you imagine calling her out on this. Pushing her away and telling her that she doesn’t have to spend any more time with you, given you embarrass her so much. You’d buy your fairy wings and your crown, walk out with your head held high.
Maybe she’d call after you, apologise again, say that losing you isn’t worth impressing Caroline or sitting at the cheerleader table.
But maybe any pain she’d feel at the prospect of your friendship ending would only bring out her anger. Maybe she’d swear to never speak to you again.
If you were somebody else, someone who didn’t love May, maybe you’d take that risk. But you are you, and you’ve loved May since you were five. To you, the only thing worse than feeling hurt yourself is the thought of hurting her back.
So you shake your head at her shoulder, blink away tears and squeeze her tight in your arms. “It’s okay,” you whisper.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” you nod, pulling away from her collar that smells the way being seven smelled. You release her, and in turn her arms fall from you. “I get it, you’re just stressed.”
“I know! I don’t know what I’m going to do about my costume!”
Your heart pangs. You swallow the lump in your throat that’s trying to rise back up. “Well, at least the dress is black,” you say, sniffing quick and quiet. You drag your hands over your eyes, clearing away the wetness clinging to your bottom lashes. Stop it, you think. Stop crying. “Let’s return the jacket, yeah? Then you’ll have money for a witch hat or something.”
May nods slowly as she thinks it through. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, that works.” She gives you a relieved smile. “God, what would I do without you? Let’s go.”
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
“Well, I didn’t think I wanted glasses because Katie has glasses,” Grace explains, holding her plastic pumpkin, now close to overflowing with candy, in both hands at her stomach. She looks at you with a look too knowing for a seven year old, then continues. “Katie is a tattle tale.”
“I see,” you nod.
“But I want ones like Jessica’s!” She cries, arms extending with the weight of her treasure trove before she pulls it back up. “They go dark in the sun!”
“It’s not the same,” she whines. “And then when we went to the optom- uhm.”
“But you already have sunglasses,” you reason, picturing the little red plastic pair you’ve had to run back for when out on walks many times. Grace hefts the pumpkin again and you give in, lifting the bag from her grasp and burying your wand in with the candy. You soften when she grabs your hand with a deep sigh.
“The optometrist?”
“Yeah, when we went to see him, he said my eyes were perfect!”
“Well, that’s good.”
“No!” She yells, dramatically, pulling on your arm with her whole weight until you have to heave yourself back up. You stifle a giggle at her distraught expression. “Because now I’ll never get glasses, and everybody has them.”
“Well, first of all, I’m sure not everybody has them,” you say, smiling down at her grumpy face. “And secondly, you shouldn’t just want something like glasses because other people have them, even if it was everybody else. You can’t just live your life just trying to be like everyone around you.”
“I know,” she mumbles. Then, catching your raised eyebrow, “I know!”
You round the corner to her street, and by the time you’re approaching her house, she’s moved comfortably on to the next topic of her candy eating schedule for the next three days. “Because Jessica saves all her Skittles for last,” Grace explains, her position now firmly against being anything like Jessica. “Which is stupid, because you should have the best candy first.”
“Mm? Why’s that?”
Grace looks at you with a frown. “Because the best comes first,” she tells you, with the tone of somebody kindly trying to hold in their frustration with an imbecile.
“Of course, silly of me to ask. Hi, Mrs. Miller!”
Grace’s Mom was clearly waiting for you near the front door, already out and standing on the front steps as you walk up the front path. Grace holds her hands out to take her bucket back, launching forward when she’s got ahold of it. “Mom! Look at all my candy!”
“Whoa! There’s no way you’ll be able to eat all that!” Her Mom says, eyes comically wide. “Think you need someone to help you out, hm?”
Grace shrieks indignantly, running under her Mom’s arm inside and clambering up the stairs out of sight without a bye nor leave for you.
“Everything went okay?” Her Mom asks, smiling when you give her your usual answer, all fine. “Will you be okay getting home? I can get her back down if you need a ride.”
“Oh, um,” you check either side of the street, feeling suddenly warmed inside at the sight of Eddie’s van parked at the end of the road. Now that you’re concentrating on it, you’re sure you can hear the music blasting behind glass. “No, it’s okay. That’s my boyfriend.”
“Ah, Eddie.” She smiles, then smacks her teeth as she, too, registers his music. “Maybe tell him to keep it down next time? I don’t mind but I already get monthly phone calls from Mrs O’Hara about the sound of the lawnmower.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that,”
“Okay,” she says, calling after you as you start up a fast pace towards Eddie. “You have a good night!”
You pull your cardigan sleeves down over your hands to fight the chill as you move, smiling when you can properly make out Eddie sitting in the front seat. He had a special D&D night planned when he dropped you off at Grace’s earlier. While your costume sat folded in your bag all day, he’d gone to school dressed all in black, even his white Reeboks swapped out for a pair of knockoff doc martens he’d launched himself towards when he caught sight of them at the thrift store. They’d fit him just fine with three pairs of socks.
This morning, sitting in his van, he’d barely managed to control his excited twitches while you lined his eyes with a cheap black pencil from the drugstore. Your work is a little smudged now, but on him, it looks even better than before. Which makes sense, you think. Eddie doesn’t suit neat lines.
“Hi Princess!” He calls, turning the music down enough that his excitement is just audible through the glass as you approach.
“Not a Princess,” you remind him as you climb in, turning your back to shake your shoulders and display the blue net wings. “A Fairy God Mother.” You settle back into the seat, shivering away the chill that had gooseflesh rising over your body. Eddie rubs your arm over your cardigan, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand. As much as you want to warm your cold fingers, it’s mainly just to touch him. “How was the game?”
His grin turns sharp as he leans back in his chair, chin tilted up. “So fucking good. I have them right where I want them. I thought for a second Lucas had me worked out. He hesitated when they were getting to the caves, but then he just went along with it. I can’t wait till next week.” He lets go of your hand long enough to start up the van before returning his open palm to the space between you for you to take hold of him again. “How is Princess Grace?”
“Increasingly despotic. She executed like five of her toys before we went out trick or treating.”
“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “What for?”
“Well, her not-so-wise Fairy God Mother,” you start, gesturing to yourself. “Made the mistake of telling her about royal food tasters? Now there’s a poisoning attempt every few days.”
“Very active imagination, this girl. Violent, but active.”
“Mm, I think most girls play that way. When I was little- Well, me and May, we’d act like witches sometimes? And make potions out of mud and sticks and stuff. And talk about who we would curse.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And which poor soul had earned this spite, pray tell?”
“Did you ever have Mr Gilmour?”
“Oh, Gilmour, yeah, I fuckin' hated that guy!” Eddie yells. His eyebrows furrow. “I threw up during gym in seventh grade and the sadistic prick made me finish running a mile.”
“Yeah, I forgot about that till now.” His brows stay taught for a second longer, then he shakes his head a little, tapping his fingers along your knuckles. “Too bad I didn’t have you around then, coulda cursed him for me a little earlier.”
“Oh, Eddie, that’s horrible.”
“I would have,” you promise. “But you were telling me about the game. Did you get Dustin with the, um, venom troll?”
“Not yet. We didn’t get as far as I’d have wanted before they had to go. I mean, what fourteen year old has a curfew? I didn’t, and I turned out alright. But I’ll get him next week. I can’t wait to see his face - that little punk thinks he’s so smart, but he is pre-dictable.”
Eddie continues describing the campaign, the traps he’s set for them that he’s sure they’ll run into, the whole drive to his place, excited and animated as he usually is on the rare occasion you get to see him after Hellfire, wound up from the events of the day. He only slows down when you’re settled on his couch. Sneakers left at the door, wings, tiara, and wand abandoned on the kitchen table, wrapped up in his arms as the opening titles of Theatre of Blood play.
Eddie’s so warm, and unusually still when you sit with him like this. Being cuddled up to him puts you in mind of your aunt’s black cat. She spends the first couple hours of every visit pretending that she isn’t interested in being anywhere near you. Then, after letting her sniff your hand, rubbing gently between her ears, she darts up on your lap, her soft heat spreading through you.
Eddie might not admit it, at least not verbally, but he likes being petted the same way. You’ve seen his eyes flutter when you play with his hair, heard the gentle sighs he lets out when you touch his cheek. Now, leaning into his chest, rubbing lazily at his torso, you can feel the way his body relaxes into the couch under your touch. It makes you smile at the TV even as Vincent Price swears revenge on all his critics.
You turn your head just a little, trying to be subtle as much as possible so you can look at him properly. Eddie’s eyes, which in sunlight can be bright as copper, are dark and focused in the electric light of the TV. The light freckles that dotted the tops of his cheeks and nose during Summer have faded from the cloudy days and early sunsets, leaving only his soft pale skin. His lips, as always, are soft looking and pink, still shiny from the last time his tongue peeked out, set in a near constant subtle pout.
You sigh gently, and in turn breathe in the remnants of smoke and laundry detergent from his shirt, the fading spice of his drugstore aftershave.
“You know I picked this movie out special,” he says, only his eyes moving to fix you with a mockingly suspicious expression. “Vincent’s a master.”
You’re surprised to find you’re not ashamed at having been caught. “M’just looking at you.”
“Therein lies the problem, sweet thing. One minute you’re just looking. Next thing I know my head’s trapped between your thighs.” This time he leans in properly. “Wicked temptress.” He whispers it, his breath warming your face.
You think he’ll kiss you then, but instead he relaxes back into the couch with a sigh. “M’just lucky you weren’t dressed up all day.” His hand tugs at the hem of your skirt, then spreads out just above your knee. “I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else. It’s a miracle I even got the movie playing instead of trying to touch you.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” you answer, trying not to sound too eager.
“I bet,” he says, eyes shining. Then his face turns serious, palm coming to his heart. “But Eddie the Chivalrous would never touch a Princess without properly wooing her first.” His eyes scan over your face quickly. “I guess that means we need to finish the movie.”
He’s teasing you. He wants to push, see how much he can get you to say, if you’ll ask him outright to just touch you the way you want. Warring feelings compete to decide what you do next. Maybe months ago, when you first started dating Eddie, you would have pressed your thighs together and settled in to finish the film. A part of you still calls for that, screams that whatever you say won’t be right.
You stare at Eddie now. His eyes still lined dark, the smirk he’s trying to hide. Your toes curl just looking at him, and the thought escapes naturally. “You don’t look like Eddie the Chivalrous, right now.”
Eddie blinks slowly. His head tilts. “No? Who do I look like, then?”
Now, something like shame creeps back in, and you wish you’d just settled down to watch the movie.
You haven’t ever put a name to it before. In your fantasies, the ones that appear unprompted when you’re alone in your bed and you haven’t been able to touch him in a couple days, Eddie’s always Eddie, but sometimes just a little different.
Maybe Eddie the Chivalrous is the right name for how you first thought about him like that, calling you Princess as usual but meaning it. You thought about him as your knight and guard, sworn to protect you, breaking all the rules by laying you down and treating you gently, better than any lord or Prince you could be promised to.
Then you’d think about his laugh, the one that comes out when you moan a little loud, or lose your patience and try to direct his hands or his tongue to where you need him. The mocking gasp and teasing tone that often comes along with it, you want it bad, huh, Princess? You think about an Eddie who’s like that all the time, teasingly mean with you, dark and dangerous to everyone else, finding you alone in your soft bed, holding your hands above your head and- and-
People already think you’re weird.
You give in to the sudden hot shame, pressing your face to Eddie’s chest lest he read your expression so perfectly that he works it all out. You whisper into his shirt, more to yourself than him. “I’m so weird.”
“Well, s’a good thing you’re with me then, mm?” He says, big hand moving to stroke the back of your neck. “Cause if you got a fantasy, like, something you think about when I’m not around. You know I won’t judge you for it, right?”
“I know.” It comes out muffled against his shirt but it’s certain. It’s instinctual, now. You’re as sure that you don’t need to worry about Eddie judging you as you are that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. More and more, you find yourself talking to him the way you talk to yourself in your head. Easy and free, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this is different. “It’s just- It’s like-” You sigh, searching for the words that won’t come.
He hums, still rubbing your neck. “Maybe I could- I mean, do you…wanna hear one ‘a mine?” You emerge from your hiding place, leaning back into his hand to gauge how serious he is. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the sides at having coaxed you into looking at him again. “Yeah?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes. Eddie searches his side for the remote first, pausing Vincent in the middle of another monologue. “Okay. Well, yeah, sometimes I think about- Wait no, gotta set the scene. I’ve just played maybe the best show of my life. Nothing too big,” he continues, giving you a serious look. “I’m not a sell out. We’re talking the smaller arenas, you know? Anyway, after, when I get backstage, feeling like hot shit, there’s this girl. Prettiest I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing the band’s shirt.”
“And she’s a little shy. Can barely look me in the eye-” He catches you just as your gaze moves to his collar, pulling you back to staring, helpless, into his dark eyes. Eddie takes your hand from where it was playing with the hem of his shirt, weaving your fingers together. “She’s kinda fidgety, too.”
You swallow. “Me?”
“You, sweet thing. S’always you.” You bite the gum behind your bottom lip, holding back from grinning too much. You squirm a little under his gaze, waiting for him to speak again. “And you tell me you’ve been waiting for me,” Eddie says, voice smooth and quiet. “You tell me you’re my biggest fan. And you can’t quite say everything you wanna say, but it doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got you worked out. So I get real close,” he says, his face disappearing as his mouth moves towards your ear, “and I ask if you want me to touch you?”
“And I do,” you continue for him, shivering again at the little groan Eddie lets escape from his throat.
“Mm hm, real bad.” His eyes reappear, scanning over each part of your face. “So bad you wanna earn it. Wanna show me I was right to pick you and not some other girl. You get on your knees for me.” Eddie licks his lips quick. “And I know you’re kinda inexperienced, but it’s good, the best I’ve ever had. You know why?” You shake your head, gaze darting between his eyes and his mouth. You watch his lips move around his words. “Cause you’re so fucking grateful for it.”
“Mm. And when I decide you’ve earned it, I lay you back on a couch somewhere. A green room or a tour bus or something. And I show you you were right to wait for me.” You shiver. It’s a delicious thrill to picture Eddie that way, completely new to you, a total stranger, yet so sure of what he can take. “And after that?” He says, giving the back of your neck a squeeze. “I keep you.”
“Eddie.” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, wishing he would touch you there now, or even put you on your knees the way he wants so you could show him you’re as grateful for him here and now as you are in his fantasy.
The fantasy fades when Eddie kisses you. With the press of his lips, the taste of Dr Pepper on his tongue, he’s your Eddie again, familiar and perfect. You’re still floating back to Earth when he pulls away. “Your turn.”
You flinch, crashing to the ground instead. “What?”
“You like Latin, right? It’s quid pro quo, sweetheart. I show you mine, you show me yours. Tit for tat. That was the deal.”
“It was implied.” Eddie answers breezily. Then, with his thumb rubbing gently at the back of your hand. “C’mon. Try? You liked mine, right?” You give a barely noticeable nod, but Eddie catches it. “Yeah. And I bet I’ll like yours.”
“There was no deal!”
“I can’t- I don’t have it all, like, thought out the way you do.”
“Well, I’m a storyteller by trade,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. “All my sex fantasies have lore. And we can build on yours, if it needs it.Alright. I’m not Eddie the Chivalrous right now. Who am I?” He tilts his chin to where you have started playing with his rings, twisting each round his fingers in turn. “Apart from Eddie the Stress Toy.”
“It’s not- You’re just-” You swallow, rubbing your thumb over the metal skull sitting where a wedding ring would go. “You’re just somebody…somebody I shouldn’t want.”
“Intriguing. And you are?” Your face flames. You mumble it, barely opening your lips, and Eddie squints. “Mm?”
You sigh. “Princess.”
“Always,” Eddie replies, ducking his head to make sure you see his face, reassuringly still smiling. “Okay. I can work with this. Maybe I'm…Eddie the Banished. I tried to take power for myself by force but I failed.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the thin skin at your wrist. “And I’ve returned, because I realised I don’t need to win a battle. I just have to…take the Princess?”
You clench around nothing. “Yeah.”
“Fuck, yeah. C’mon, sweet thing.”
Your gaze follows him as he stands. “You want- Right now?”
“Why not? We’re all dressed up. The time is now.” Eddie pauses his excitement when he registers the fact you’re still sitting. “If…if you want.”
“I do,” you breathe. “But I can’t, y’know, talk like you.” You just know Eddie already has some dialogue thought up, things he can say as the character he’s just come up with that will make you dizzy. “I’ll get stuck.”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Eddie says, squatting down in front of you, hands spread out on your knees. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Besides, the Princess would be kinda nervous anyway, right? If you’re not supposed to want me. The outlaw, the traitor. You’ve been told about all the terrible things I’ve done, what I tried to do for power. Now you feel guilty about what you really want from me. And I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been on the run, living rough- You know, this is good stuff,” he says, interrupting himself and looking round. “You got a pen? I should maybe write some of this down- No. After, sorry.” He gives you a sheepish grin, then leans in close. “Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll forget this, anyway.”
He stands then, hand extended to you with wiggling fingers for you to take and let him guide you through to his room. Eddie hums when his door is closed, shutting out the world beyond the frame. “Shoulda done this at yours,” he says, sitting you down on the mattress. “In your pretty Princess bed.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, meaning it entirely. All that matters is it’s him. He’s the only person you could do something like this with.
“Okay, I need a little more. You shouldn’t want me, I’m…morally grey, let’s say. Chaotic neutral. Am I mean?”
“Kinda,” you answer. “You’re…selfish?”
“Selfish,” he repeats.
“Just like, y’know. It’s like-” Eddie’s hands spread at the sides of your thighs, teasing the skin at the hem of your skirt. You want them everywhere. “You know I want you. That I’ll…do things for you. And you take advantage. ”
There’s a pause. “I think I’m following. Things somebody like you shouldn’t do?” You nod quickly, cheeks burning as you watch him work it out. “You wanna get your mouth on me, Princess?”
You fight the instinct to hide, the urge to look away, the voice telling you to deny everything, take it back. Instead, you start playing with the hem of his shirt again, soft cotton between your fingers.
“Mm hm.”
“Shit. Okay. Anything-” His voice cracks a touch, and he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Anything else?”
“It’s not like- Even though you’re mean, you still- With me, you feel-” Now you do have to look away, staring at where your fingers are fiddling with the black fabric. He can read you too well, and you don’t want him to see exactly what you want from him. “You-”
You love me.
“I feel…how I feel about you?” He suggests.
You bite the gum behind your lip to stop yourself asking exactly what that means. “Yeah.”
“Okay, good. Hard to pretend anything else.” Eddie leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, long enough that your whole body relaxes into it, your mind settling on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. When he pulls away, it’s easy to answer his question. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Eddie stands to full height, his shoulders back. He tilts his head, expression shifting. From your Eddie, with chestnut eyes and his perfect, dimpled smile, to a smirking man with a dark gaze excited to ruin you.
“I’ve been looking for you, Princess,” he says, voice smooth and confident. A thrilled shiver runs up your spine. “Knew I’d find you eventually, but I could only hope I’d find you like this. All alone.” He takes a step towards you. “Unprotected-”
“Eddie,” you whisper.
Softness peaks through with raised eyebrows. “Good?” You nod quickly, and it disappears again as he slinks closer towards you. “I missed you, while I was away,” he tells you, soft and teasing. “Did you miss me?”
“I-” You swallow. You’re used to repeating back what Eddie says to you, in times like this, letting him guide you through everything he wants to hear from you. But you don’t want to just watch him do this for you. “No.”
Eddie blinks, surprised, then he puts on a mockingly hurt face, hand over his heart. “No? You wound me, Princess.” That same hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb strokes gently under your eye and you can’t help but lean into him. “Or you would, if I believed you.” He tilts your head up to see him properly, standing over you. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me, before I left?”
Your fingers twitch to reach out and brush at the ends of his hair as it falls towards you, but you keep them at your sides on the bed, curling into the sheets. “You didn’t leave, you-”
“Left, banished, driven out; it all comes to the same end, mm?” His eyes scan your face, down your dress and back up. “That’s you and me, Princess. Here, alone together. You gonna pretend you never wanted that?”
His thumb, callused and warm, keeps rubbing over your cheek. “I can’t want it”
“No, you can,” he presses. Eddie, your Eddie, would sit with you now, squat in front of you to talk to you at the same level. Now, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to remind you that he could stop you looking away if you tried. “Cause I’ve had time to think about it.”
“While you were hiding in the woods?”
“While I was regrouping,” he corrects. “I realised something. I went about it all wrong.” he tells you. “It was foolish of me to try and use force to get what I want. Not when you were right here. Waiting for me.”
His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, then presses inside to the tip of your tongue.
“If I make you mine, everything else follows. That’s right, isn’t it?” He nods slowly until you copy him. “The throne, power, vengeance on everyone who tried to hold me back. And you, in my bed every night. All day if I wanted.” He pulls at your lip again as he steals his thumb back, leaning in until his breath is warm against your cheeks. “That sounds nice. Doesn't it, Princess?” You glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss you now, to take it from you. Eddie shakes his head, drawing your gaze back to his. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanted me to touch you, just like this, and more, didn’t you? Wanted me to show you how to make me happy?”
You can feel your heartbeat heavy in your chest, your breath coming quicker. Only Eddie could do this, have you convinced of a story which before tonight only existed half formed in the fantasies of your bedroom. You can feel the internal conflict as if it really is your duty to say no, and your heart’s only desire to give your next answer.
“Yes, Eddie.”
He gives you a kiss that’s half teeth, dragging at your bottom lip. Even this is different. You’re used to the gentle start, feeling him smile on your mouth. He breathes deep through his nose, pulls from you so suddenly that you make to follow him until he presses a hand to your shoulder.
“And I will. Get on the floor.” Eddie steps back, and it doesn’t even occur to argue with him now. You slide off the mattress easily, knees falling to the carpet without looking away from him. There’s a pause. He speaks quietly, as if he doesn’t want an invisible audience to hear. “You comfy? You want the pillow?”
“No,” you answer, heart aching. “I’m okay.”
“Okay.”
You watch the way he steels his face again, looking at you on your knees in front of him like that’s where you’re meant to be. His hands work at his belt, a soft hiss escaping when he presses his palm down the front of his pants. His head tilts back, displaying his thick neck, the rising pinkness across his pale throat, and he breathes a laugh. “Now, Princess- Wait!” You jump at the suddenness of Eddie pulling his hand from his pants only to clasp them at his waist as he half-jogs towards the door. “Just a second. Don’t move!”
Eddie disappears through the door, mumbling to himself. His words are faint but it’s clear enough that he is looking for something. You close your eyes, focusing on his voice, however fuzzy. You never thought you could have something like this. Someone like Eddie. Someone safe. So safe that you can abandon yourself to fulfilling a silly fantasy thought up under the covers of your bed.
Something catches your hair and you open your eyes to find him standing over you again. The tip of his tongue curls over his top lip as he places the plastic silver tiara just so on your head. When it’s as he wants it, his teeth show with his smile. “Perfect,” he says, pressing two fingers to your chin and turning your head each way. “My Princess, mm? I’m going to show you what it is to be mine.”
Eddie reaches into his pants to pull himself free. His hand drags over the shaft, quick and dirty, just for a moment’s relief if the clench of his jaw the second he stops is any indicator.
You think you know what to do now, tipping your chin, opening your mouth, ready to take him. Only he angles his head away from your tongue. You peer up at him in confusion, watch the way his excitement plays out on his face. “C’mere, Princess.”
Cupping your cheek with his spare hand, he guides you to the base of his cock, where he is softest. Your lips graze the fuzzy skin of his balls and Eddie makes a noise that has you squirming for the lightest touch between your legs. You kiss delicately, blinking up at him, watching his thumb rub over the head of his cock, catching wetness to ease the slow movement of his hand. He taps his fingers on your cheek gently. “Open up. Want your tongue.”
Your toes curl. You want to taste him here, aching at the smell of him; like his neck at the end of the day in Summer, his sweat and musk, fading body wash. You want to make Eddie feel good so badly, you think you might do whatever he asks as long as he looks at you the way he is now.
You reach for him, palm settling on his knee where denim meets exposed skin. Opening your mouth, you lick quickly at the seam of his balls, taste salt on soft skin. He groans, fingers flexing around your jaw. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yes,” Eddie bites out when you lick broad and wet up to the base of his cock, thinking of his wide tongue drawing upwards from your pussy to your clit. “Fuck, yes.”
He draws you back, smiling down at you. It makes your face burn, but you struggle between looking him in the eyes and staring at his cock. His balls are pink and wet from your attention, his hand moves steadily over his length, drawing folds of skin over his thick head and back.
“Want you to suck on them a little,” he tells you. The pause he leaves gives a moment for you to squeeze at his knee, as if presenting your open mouth wouldn’t be enough to show your agreement. He drags the weight of his balls over your chin to your wet tongue, listing off curses when your lips close just enough to suck gently. Eddie’s hand moves faster over his length, the curve of his fingers brushing your forehead with each tug.
Eddie’s groans are all that matter now. His sack is heavy, falling past your lips the wider you open your mouth. “So fuckin’ full cause of you,” Eddie bites. You hum, closing your eyes, his hips stutter. First towards the warmth of your mouth and then away entirely, replacing his sack with the head of his cock tapping against your tongue.
Eddie gasps when you lap at his leaking tip. “Can I-” He pauses, rephrases, puts on the right tone. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, Princess.”
He watches you carefully, gives you time to tell him no. You squeeze his knee once more, gaze moving from his dark eyes to his cock. You press a quick kiss to the swollen head, a darker pink than the rest of him where it peeks through folds of skin, then let him press your head back against the mattress.
Eddie’s cock glides smoothly over your tongue to the top of your throat. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “M’starting to think this is what you wanted the whole time.” He eases further, just past the entrance of your throat. It’s easier, like this. You are more open to him with your head tilted back this way. He holds himself in the warmth of your mouth, watching you blinking back tears to try and keep him clear in your gaze. Finally your throat protests, and Eddie draws back till you can suck at his head, the exposed length of his cock shining with your spit. You gaze at him, wanting him to be proud of you for taking him deeper than you have before. He makes a soft encouraging noise, but Eddie like this won’t give you the validation you want so easily. “Teased me for so long. I think I deserve to take what I want, now.”
Eddie thrusts slowly at first, easing you in despite his words. The hand that was on your cheek now stroking at your heated forehead.
You like it like this.
You liked having him in your mouth the first time, and every time after that. Like watching him shake, hearing him groan and whine, and knowing that you’re the one making him like that. You like focusing on him; lick here, nip there, let him feel you moan around him. Now, you don’t even have to think about how best to please him. You can focus on your breathing, taking air in through your nose when he pulls back enough. And on Eddie and how he looks as he takes his pleasure from you.
Eddie’s so beautiful. His dark hair frizzes around his face, eyes crinkling at the sides when he closes them and groans into the air. His neck is pink, a pretty blush crawling up to his cheeks as his thrusts speed up. “We’re gonna do this all the time, Princess, you hear me?” He grits, fingers curling into the sheets at the side of your head. You moan in answer, pleased when it makes his cock twitch in your mouth, his tip dipping deep enough past the entrance of your throat that you can’t blink away the wetness that springs to your eyes. “You’re gonna be in my bed all the time, maybe I’ll tie you up, mm?” He presses deep again, then holds steady. When the tears collected at the corners of your eyes start to fall, he wipes them away before they can reach the apples of your cheeks. “Keep you here, just for me. Don’t need to see or talk to anyone else ever again.”
If your head weren’t fuzzy, you’d start questioning why that makes you ache. Eddie withdraws his cock from the top of your throat and you only take a second to gasp in the air you need before following him, reaching up to touch the inches of his cock your mouth still can’t quite cover. Eddie laughs through a moan at the feeling of you jerking his cock into your mouth, licking wet at the end of him. “You want that, huh? Hey-” He drags you away from his cock, leaving you with wet, pleading eyes looking up at him. “You want that?” Your mouth opens, then closes. Your hips roll, seeking friction you can’t get while kneeling like this. Eddie’s eyes flick down, lips turning up at the sight. “Get on the bed for me, mm?”
Eddie reaches a hand out to help you sit up on his mattress. Then he pulls his shirt off over the back of his head, exposing all the soft pale skin and dark ink of his torso. You pull your dress up too, knocking your tiara in the process. When the dress is off entirely, Eddie’s there in an instant to fix it for you, his fingers caressing your cheek when he’s done. “Hey, uh. Am I doing alright? Is this the sort of thing you imagined?”
“This is better,” you tell him earnestly, loving how pleased he looks. You’re learning that this, the pleasure gained from praise, is something you and Eddie share. You love it when Eddie calls you good, or smart, or sweet. When he tells you that you’re good at something he’s teaching you. In turn, Eddie likes it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, that he’s doing everything right, that he’s looking after you exactly how you want it.
He kisses you, and it’s softer this time until he bites gently at your bottom lip as he’s pulling away. “C’mon and lie down, Princess,” he says, guiding you to lay down. You press your legs together, knees bent and feet flat to the mattress as Eddie climbs up after you. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, making you giggle softly as he passes ticklish spots. It relaxes you enough to let him guide your legs open and back, allowing him closer. Eddie tilts his head, thumbing the little blue bow at the waistband of your panties. “You really want me to tie you up?”
Without thinking, you glance quickly at the handcuffs hanging from his door. You feel the beat of your heart against your chest, wondering if you’re ready for that, knowing really that you’re not. Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze back to him. He kisses your knee. “Not tonight, Princess.” He leans in, whispers. “And only ever if you really want, okay?”
“I know, Eddie,” you answer. And you do. You know that as much as Eddie is teaching you, seemingly leading you along to each new experience, in truth he’s making sure you set the pace.
“Take this off for me,” he says, pulling at the strap of your bra. You reach underneath your back to unhook it, shimmying it off your arms and letting it drop to his floor. Once you’re settled, he takes both your hands in his, pulling them up over your head. You can’t help but giggle, feeling both nervous and giddy. “Hold onto the headboard?” You follow the instruction, wrapping your fingers around one of the wooden slats. Stretched like this, chest presented to him, you feel open and exposed, your nipples tightening from the cold air and from Eddie’s attention. “Don’t let go, mm?”
He leans down, kissing from the base of your neck down the skin between your breasts, his hair dragging behind him, tickling the sensitive skin. He leaves a wet mark on the curve of your left breast, the sting of his teeth quickly soothed by his tongue. When he takes the tight bud of your nipple between his lips, your whole body tenses. It’s a test of your submission, if you can last with only your memory of what it feels like to tangle your fingers in his hair. If you can bear not to tug at it when he flicks his tongue like that.
Your hands tighten around the wood, hips tilting to find his cock where he tucked it back in his boxers, still hard and throbbing between your legs. The friction, however light, against where you have been waiting for him all evening, is too good to give up, and you keep searching for his hardness to rub against.
Eddie releases your breasts with a grin. “You want it bad, huh, Princess?”
You whine, melting when he presses his hips forward to give you more delicious friction along your pussy. He huffs a laugh, sitting up and quickly reaching out for the pack of Trojans on his bedside. You watch him kneel between your legs, the way he fists his cock while he tears at the foil square with his teeth, his desperation to roll the condom over his length. Eddie shuffles forward on his knees and presses his wide hands to the back of your thighs. He gently guides your legs back, hitching your hips up for better access to your pussy, wet and swollen under his gaze.
“Wanted this for so long, Princess,” he says. “You’ve been waiting too, hmm?”
“Yes, Eddie. Been waiting so long.” You nearly cry from relief when his cock latches at your entrance, then from despair when he stills instead of filling you. The headboard creaks from your squirming. “Please,” you whisper, sounding pathetic in a way that would embarrass you if you weren’t aching from the emptiness.
Eddie stretches you perfectly as he presses inside your slick cunt. The tease of pain feels good now that your body recognises what it means, where Eddie filling you up leads. “Good?” He asks, once he’s deep enough inside that the curls of hair above his cock are teasing your clit.
You mean to answer properly, but the intention is overtaken by the need for him to move. Waiting for him, your fingers tighten around the wood so much you swear there will be marks from your nails. “Eddie.” It comes out whinier than you intended, but he certainly doesn’t mind.
“Eddie,” he mimics breathily, his teeth showing as the heat of pleasant humiliation crawls up your spine. He doesn’t keep you waiting any longer, snapping his hips to draw back and press deep again through your clenching cunt.
You’ve been under him every time, but like this you feel helpless. Hands voluntarily useless, body tilted up and legs opened by his hands, your body presented to him and positioned perfectly for him to set the pace. It feels right for this - you know now what the romance novels you hide under your bed mean when the heroine is taken.
Your toes curl when Eddie’s hips roll just right, the heavy head of his cock hitting the end of you. When he reaches between you to press a thumb to your clit and rub in tight circles, your body tilts, hips trying to chase the pleasure, only for Eddie to press you back down to where he wants you.
“I like it,” you answer. “I like it, Eddie.”
“You like it, like this, hm?” Eddie asks. You blink at him slowly, wondering if it’s your boyfriend or Eddie the Banished asking. “Tell me.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, hair shaking. “Knew you would. Pretty Princess just needed to be fucked right, mm?” You shudder, tightening around his cock enough that he gasps, “fuckfuckfuck. S’good. It’s so good, honey.”
You breathe a laugh. “Princess, to you.”
“My apologies,” he says, snapping his hips to land heavy against the spot at the back of your pussy. You gasp, legs kicking out against his grip involuntarily only for him to tighten his grip and push them back to where he wants them. You can hear how wet you are, the sound of him moving inside you as loud as the bed springs, as loud as your moans. “Mine now, aren’t you, Princess?”
You nod easily. “Yes.”
“Gonna give me everything I want from now on, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes-”
“Made it so easy for me. Should have just done this in the beginning, just taken you for myself.”
“Yes. Yes, Eddie.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as his hips speed up. “Fuck, I can’t- Can’t get enough of that.” When he looks back to you, the detached, mocking look is gone. He’s all intensity and warmth, your Eddie again. Your whole body tightens. “Tells me everything I need to know when you say my name like that.” He gives you a mean thrust, tongue peeking out as he watches where you’re connected, the slick coating his cock, before his gaze returns to your pleasured, sweaty face. “You’re so fucking good, you know that? So fucking good, the way you talk to me. Telling me what you want. Not gonna hide anything like that from me again, are you?”
“Nuh,” you manage, legs twitching. “Eddie.”
”Again,” he gasps. “Please. My sweet girl-”
“Eddie. Eddie-”
Maybe you keep chanting his name, maybe you cry it out, maybe you stop altogether to scream out instead. You don’t know. You just know he’s all you’re thinking of as the pleasure crests, spreading out from the back of your cunt through your body until it’s intense enough you think you might cry. Then it fades to the gentle delight of Eddie still moving inside you, the warmth and weight of his cock when he buries himself deep. You hear him groan, feel the potential for bruises blooming where his fingers dig into your thighs. Then it’s his weight easing down on top of you, the ache in your shoulders and your legs as you let them relax before wrapping yourself around him.
You finally get your hands in his hair. The roots are damp from sweat, his curls tangled in knots. Eddie’s face is pressed so fully to the space between your breasts that you’re not convinced he can be breathing. He mumbles something that’s lost to your ears, then tilts his head up till you can see his face, and his goofy smile. Your heart aches even as you giggle. Then he’s crawling up your body to kiss you, his mouth warm and tasting like the sweat from his upper lip.
“I’m gonna pull out now but I want it known that it’ll take amazing strength of will on my part.”
He does so, disappearing from the bed for less than five seconds to throw out the condom before flopping next to you again and opening his arms to let you clamber into his hold again, you try to fight the rising worries by pressing your face into his neck. He hisses at the scrape of the plastic tiara under his chin, taking it off himself before returning to stroke at your temple with his fingers. “How do you feel, sweet girl?”
It takes you a minute to answer, sorting through all the complicated feelings that emerged the second Eddie wasn’t inside you anymore. “Good,” you murmur. Then, “weird.”
You hate how fast it all happens so soon after something so special. You feel overwhelmed and tired, like you want to scrub yourself raw under hot water, like you want to curl up in Eddie’s arms and smell like him forever. You feel like you don’t want to ever be touched again, but the thought that Eddie won’t makes your heart sore. You wish you were normal. You wish you didn’t have weird fantasies. You wish you didn’t feel guilty about what you want.
Eddie holds you tight against him, and you let yourself feel the comfort of that. Eddie doesn’t think you’re weird, or gross, or immoral. Eddie won’t ever leave you alone to cry and scratch at your crawling skin.
He presses his lips to your forehead, mumbles against your skin. “Gonna let me look after you?”
He keeps you with him while he runs a bath. You’re wrapped in a towel while he runs around naked, giving you mock coquettish looks over his shoulder every now and then until he gets a giggle from you. As steam starts to rise from the tub, he searches through the cabinet under the sink before emerging with a bottle filled with suspiciously bright orange liquid. “We don’t have bubble bath but, uh, this is six-in-one.”
You try sitting in the water together, wrapped up in him, but the pins and needles come too fast, eight limbs not quite fitting as they should. You end up facing him, legs tucked up to your chest, watching the water drip from dark ends of his hair.
“Not as romantic as I’d hoped,” he says.
“It’s okay. I like looking at you.”
His dimples show. Sweetest boy on Earth. He splashes at you a little, waiting for you to smile before talking. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” you answer honestly. Somewhere between giggling at Eddie rushing to his bedroom to fetch towels for you both, a hair tie for you, with his hands covering the crack of his ass while leaving his dick uncovered and him quietly insisting on taking the side of the tub with the tap at his back, the grey cloud hanging over you faded. “Cause of you,” you say, splashing him back.
Eddie smiles, resting his face against his knee. “Is there anything I can do, you know, to make it better, like, before it happens?” He reaches for your hand in the water. “Cause it hasn’t, in a while. I know that this was, like, different, but if I did something-”
“No,” you interrupt. “It wasn’t you.” Eddie lets that sit for a while, waiting for you to continue. “When it’s just me and you, it’s like-” You swallow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being really, actually myself for the first time in my whole life.” Eddie’s eyes are so soft, looking at you now. “And I know that you won’t ever judge me for…my fantasies, or whatever. But then it’s like, it’s almost like- Like without even wanting to, I imagine what other people would say, if they knew the stuff I told you. If they saw how I am, when it’s just us. And then I just feel like, even though they’re not there, it’s ruined it.”
Eddie squeezes your hand, sighs with his whole body. “That sounds exhausting.”
Tears prick in your eyes even as you laugh without real mirth. “It is.”
“Well, you know this stuff really is always going to be just me and you. Right?”
“I know, Eddie.”
“I wish I could fix it for you, sweet thing.”
You close your eyes tight, trying to force back the tears. You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking, me too. Instead, you sigh, remind yourself that however hard it is now, you’re sure it used to be worse. Before you had Eddie and his humour, his touch, his kindness. “You make it better, Eddie. I promise.”
He’s perfectly gentle with you the rest of the evening, curling back up with you on the couch when you’re dry to restart Theatre of Blood. You let yourself sink into his chest, playing with his rings. You are just about engrossed in the story again, watching with sick fascination as the first critic is stabbed like Julius Caesar. Then, a thought suddenly occurs.
“Did…did you say the soap was six-in-one?”
“Sure did,” Eddie answers. “Face, body, hair, laundry, pets and dishes.”
“That’s why it smells like the terrier next door.”
Eddie hums, lifts your hand to his face and sniffs. “You mean that’s why we smell like the terrier next door.”
196 notes
·
View notes
Text
The More You Give ❧ (Part VII)
Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader
Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, P in V sex, soft dom!Eddie. Discussion of uncomfortable sexual experiences. Inordinate amount of praise kink, good girl's, and vulnerability on both sides.
Word count | ~10,000
Taglist
Previous Chapter
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
Most days, walking into the cafeteria comes with a cool sense of dread. A heaviness in your chest, mind working overtime to prepare yourself for an hour not quite talking with your not quite friends. You’re never sure what you prefer; the white hot shame that comes with laughter at your expense, or the simmering ache from being ignored entirely.
But there’s a levity to your mood today. You’re proud, or maybe more accurately relieved, at the circled red letter on the top right of your Chemistry test.
You spot May at the usual table as you file in, catching her excited wave over the head of some of the cheer girls. The others offer a cursory glance before returning to their conversation, but May’s expression is expectant. “So? How’d you do?”
You grin. “A minus.”
“I knew it!” She squeals, removing her bag from the chair next to her to make space for you. “You always make a big deal out of tests, and then breeze through!”
She’s half right.
Something about the weight of potential failure, some unknown consequence to doing poorly, always has you worrying about tests days prior, heart pounding in the moments before you flip the paper. Then you second guess yourself all the way through, scribbling over wrong answers before writing the same thing down again.
But you certainly don’t breeze through. The weight of this test on your mind had you bursting into tears in Eddie’s van last week. What was supposed to be a movie theatre date turned into an impromptu study session at the library. Eddie sat opposite you while you read over your notes, writing up his campaign ideas and flicking through a book he’d found in the fantasy section before working begrudgingly on an essay about JFK he was supposed to have handed in the week before. He switched to the seat next to you when you failed to hide a sniffle, let you tuck yourself under his arm and press your face to his shoulder.
“C’mon,” he said eventually, coaxing you out from the damp spot on the collar of his shirt. “Talk me through what you don’t get, okay? I bet the answer’s up here.” He pressed a finger to your forehead, narrowing his eyes like he could pinpoint the spot in your brain the information was hiding. “We just gotta knock it loose somehow.”
He must, truly, have been bored to death as you went through the problem, starting over again and again each time you explained yourself into a corner. But he listened anyway, prompted you to keep going until you came to an answer that satisfied you, a conclusion that made sense, and then he listened to the next problem.
You apologised at the end of the night. For all the hysterics, for dragging him along to a joyless evening. He’d swiped the thought away with a casual wave of his hand. “You couldn’t be my smart girl if you didn’t have to study sometimes.”
Just thinking about it now, your eyes flicker from May’s hand on the back of the empty chair beside her to the place Eddie sits, far on the other side of the room.
It’s an invisible line you haven’t crossed, spending any time with him at lunch. Eddie would never let you question whether he wanted you to sit with him, never let you worry about seeming clingy. He’d made it clear you were always welcome. What stopped you was that tug at your heart, that feeling that you’d be taking another step away, putting more distance between you and your friends. Or May, at least. You can’t remember the last time Heather sat with you more than once a week.
And you promised, sincerely, that you would try a bit harder with the cheer girls. Apart from that one tipsy conversation with Tracy at a party, you’re not sure you’ve quite fulfilled that.
But you want so badly to tell him. Shamefully, it was your first thought when you turned your paper over today. Along with the usual relief came excitement, knowing Eddie would be pleased for you and make it clear, call you his smart girl till your face burns hot.
“I’m just-” You start, tucking your bag up on your shoulder, glancing back to May. “I’m just gonna show Eddie quickly.”
There’s a pause. Her pleased expression, the gentle curve of her wax pink lips, doesn’t falter. Instead, it seems to calcify on her face. “Oh. You’re gonna sit over there?”
“Just for a while,” you reason. “Just to show him my grade. Okay?”
She makes a high mm hmm noise, half agreeing, half unsure, but you decide to take it at face value, making a beeline for Eddie’s table.
As usual, he sits at the head, the frizz of his hair lit up in the natural light from the window behind him. His expression is a touch bored, eyes blinking slowly, chin resting on his palm as a boy at the other end of the table - young, with tight brown curls tucked under a yellow cap - talks a mile a minute. You catch the words radio and roof as you approach, but your own mind goes blank when you reach them.
You’d feel only excitement, if it was just Eddie who noticed your presence. For his part, his whole posture changes; from slumped over the table to sitting straight up, his pouty lips turning to an excited smile in your direction as his hand drops away from his chin. But on top of that, six additional faces turn to watch you walk up the side of the table. Maybe you could handle three, used to some attention from Jeff, Gareth and Matthew at this point, comfortable in their acceptance of your silly little fidgets and occasional long silences.
But the other three, all freshmen, staring at you like you grew another head on the way over, have you shuffling in place, playing with the strap of your bag. You vaguely know Mike from watching him run out the door on the occasions you’ve babysat Holly, though his hair is a good couple inches longer than the last time you spent an evening at the Wheeler’s. The others, Lucas and Dustin, you know both from Eddie’s descriptions and his complaints.
“Hi,” you say, voice quieter than you’d like as you wave at the group.
“To what do we owe this pleasure, Princess?”
Your mouth opens, and your throat closes. Your face feels suddenly warm under the eyes of his whole table. In an instant, you regret coming over here. What must you look like? What will they think of you, when they realise you came over here to brag about a simple test result?
Eddie hums a questioning sound, bringing your focus back to him. He’s looking at you the way he does when you both know you’re going to have to be the one to speak first. There’s anticipation there, but the little curve of his lips is all kind patience.
You swallow, glance down the table again. You make eye contact with Lucas, give him an awkward smile at his friendly wave. Even at that, you know the words won’t come. Sighing quietly, you unzip your bag and search through your books for the test, drawing out the paper and fiddling with the corner for a second. How do you tell him, all of them, that you really aren’t bragging? That more than anything you just want to thank him?
Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the paper. When he holds his hand out, and you find yourself passing it to him instinctively, toes curling in your shoes.
“An A!?” He screeches immediately, thoroughly dispelling any hope you might have had that he’d keep it to himself. Though your face burns, you fight the urge to glance around and offer an apologetic smile to his group, to the people that turned at the sound of his yell, because this is Eddie. Any embarrassment you might feel pales in comparison to hearing the pride in his voice, to see it on his face. What do judgmental looks and cruel whispers from strangers mean to you when they’re caused by Eddie, so excited and pleased for you that he’ll yell it publicly?
You tuck the top of your foot to the back of your ankle, playing with your skirt, correcting him shyly. “An A minus.”
Eddie scoffs. “An A’s and A, sweetheart. I’d know, I’ve missed enough of them.”
Knowing now that at least Eddie himself has taken it the right way, you let yourself indulge. “I was two marks off a real A.”
Eddie’s hand slams down on the table with a bang, making you and everyone in the surrounding area jump as he rises, kicking his chair back with a screech. You watch, left in some strange place between proud and mortified as he practically floats over to the neighbouring table, flicking the paper at a group of juniors dressed exclusively in neon.
“You see that? My girlfriend got a fucking A in Mr Brown’s AP Chemistry class!” He moves the paper around, displaying it for each of them. “That shit’s like fucking gold dust- hey!” He turns to shake it at a passing boy with a calculator in his breast pocket. “You’re in that class, right? How’d you do in this test, huh?”
“If you must know, Munson, I got an A plus.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Okay, man. Shit. Kinda showing off a little-” He turns to you, eyes wide and head tilted as if to say get a load of this guy, but you’re shaking your head, desperately biting back a smile.
“Eddie!”
“Ah, she calls to me.” He drifts over to you then, frizzed hair flying out behind him. You giggle a little wildly behind your hands, still shaking your head at him though any disapproval is for show at this point. Everyone who turned to watch Eddie crow seems to have returned to their conversations, this side of the room apparently well used to his outbursts. He stops close enough that he’s all you can see; his dimpled smile, eyes shining at you while he hands you your test back.
“Take my seat, Princess.” He gestures with a wide arm, directing you to the chair he rose from. You make a quick glance over at the cheer table, find Caroline just sitting down now with her tray, and feel an unusual sense of relief. It feels like freedom, to be on this side of the room, and not directly under her gaze.
By the time you’re settled in his seat, Eddie has retrieved a spare chair, carrying it above his head and dropping it down next to you with another outrageous bash. He collapses into it, his arm finding the back of your chair as he leans in to Jeff, sitting on your left. “You’re in that class, too, right man?”
“You know, we’ve been friends three years now, Eddie, and you’ve never once taken an interest in my grades,” Jeff answers, shutting down Eddie’s inquiry before he can really ask. He turns to you. “Bet it was question 18 that got you, huh?”
“Mm, no, that was okay.” You answer. “Eddie and I went over retention factors so much at the library last week. I understand it way better now.”
Six pairs of eyes blink at you, and the relief you were experiencing is fading fast. Instead, you get the recognizable sense that you said something wrong. Your foot starts tapping at pace, fingers finding the edge of the table and running over the edge.
“You were at the library?” Gareth asks Eddie, aghast tone mocking but serious in its surprise.
“I’ve been to the library before,” Eddie bites. “M’there all the time.”
“We’re not talking about monopolising the fantasy section, here,” Matthew says. “You were studying, Eds.”
“I told you,” Eddie replies, widening his legs until you feel the denim of his jeans rough against your bobbing calf. “I’m working hard this year. Trying to get out of this shithole.” He presses his leg more firmly to yours, and you realise it’s a deliberate touch, a silent reminder that he’s there, that he’s not going to leave you alone with whatever’s got you fidgeting.
“You said that last year,” Jeff says.
“And the year before that,” chimes Gareth through a bite of his sandwich.
“Yeah, well, I meant it this time,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a deep sigh. “Jesus, Henderson, you look like you’re gonna explode. Go on. So you’ve built your stereo on the roof.”
“Not a stereo, Eddie- a radio!” Dustin cries through a mouthful of cafeteria lasagne.
Eddie’s face darkens. “Do I look like I give a- Christ.” He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head with genuine frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, man. Please, please, just finish your story so we can all move on with our lives.”
Undeterred by Eddie’s rough tone, Dustin launches right back into what he’d been speaking about as you approached. Mainly focused on how he convinced his Mom to let him up on the roof in the first place.
You sigh in quiet relief as the attention of the table moves swiftly away from you, leg slowing until it stops shaking altogether. Eddie’s knee bumps yours, and you feel the warmth of him as he leans in to speak softly, just to you.
“My smart girl,” he says, drawing pleased shivers up your spine. “You deserve it, yeah? You worked real hard.”
“I wanted,” you start, grabbing at his sleeve, thumbing the chain that holds the leather together. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me. I know it was kinda boring.”
“Nah, glad I could help.” Eddie’s expression turns a touch sheepish. “I, uh, actually got a C on that History essay? Mrs Kelly said I would have got a B, if I’d handed it in on time, so…”
Your eyes widen, barely able to process the sight of him now. Eddie Munson, who just yelled across the room about your academic achievements, now looking anywhere but at you, scratching his face and shrugging like his own barely matter. You find his hand, squeeze it tight until he shows you his eyes.
“Eddie, that’s brilliant!” You say. He puffs out air like it means nothing to him, shakes his head. “When-”
“You aren’t even listening, Eddie!” Dustin calls from the end of the table. Eddie rolls his eyes, but then he gestures ;azily for Dustin to continue, now with the gift of his attention. It’s enough for anyone to believe he finds the boy annoying at best, but you know from how Eddie talks about them that Dustin’s kind of his favourite. There’s a clear fondness in Eddie’s tone when he rants about Dustin trying to contribute ideas to his campaigns, the begrudging respect he has for how unapologetically himself the boy is. The touch of jealousy that creeps in when he talks about Dustin’s friendship with Steve Harrington, of all people. Badass, my ass, he mumbles each time.
You listen in comfortable silence to the conversation as it continues, occasionally contributing a little yes or no when Jeff asks you leading questions, your fondness for him ever increasing. Only when you watch Eddie retrieve a bag of pretzels from his backpack do you remember your own lunch, too taken in by the awe in Matthew’s voice recounting the first time he heard a Judas Priest song, apparently life changing.
You frown at the realisation that the half empty bag is all Eddie brought for himself, immediately offering your open tupperware and holding it steady under his shaking head until he acquiesces to tearing one half of your sandwich in two, chewing on the quarter in between his contributions to the conversation.
Your ears prick when you move on to tearing the segments from your satsuma, handing a half to Eddie without a word. Amongst the chatter, Mike laughs about Dustin’s current failing grade in Latin, an unusual outcome for him. Dustin sighs like an old man.
“I ask you, how many tenses does one language need?” He groans. “I thought there’d be something we could use for a campaign, The Exorcist style, you know? Instead I’m trying to remember the difference between types of declensions. Or I will, when I fully grasp what declensions are.”
The conversation about Judas Priest you’d found yourself somewhat involved in fades with how much you’re focused on Dustin’s defeated tone. One part of you is screaming that you could help him, that he seems really worried about it and he’s a smart boy so it probably wouldn’t be much work to get him on the right track. Then another part, the one that screeches and wails its distress until your head hurts, asks, what if he says no? What if he laughs? What if they all do?
You open your mouth, wondering if you should just say it across the table. Just offer; just do it. Of course he won’t say no. And if he does, he’s Eddie’s friend so it will be gentle. Still embarrassing though. Your mouth closes again, teeth digging grooves into the gum behind your lips. Just help him. You pull your sleeves down over your hands, playing with the soft ends. You clear your throat, take a breath-
“I’m good at Latin,” you say, immediately cringing at how that sounds. But you’re pleased when Jeff goes on chatting about the album he just bought, letting you contribute to the other conversation across the table freely. Dustin blinks at you owlishly. “I mean, I can help. Tutor you, or something? If you want.”
“Seriously!?” Dustin asks, flashing you a braced grin when you nod. “That would be amazing! Thanks!”
You smile, just sighing out your relief when you feel another nudge at your knee. Eddie’s watching you, eyebrows raised. You shrug shyly, grasping the sleeve of his jacket again to fiddle with the chains. He pulls free, but only to take hold of your hand instead.
You’re basking in the feeling of knowing Eddie’s proud of you, your own pride in yourself, and you know you couldn’t force yourself back across the room today if you tried.
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
You realised, walking alone to class, that you hadn’t spoken that much during lunch the entire time you’d been at highschool. Giggling at Lucas’ jokes, asking about their DnD characters, getting increasingly comfortable talking about metal with a group of people who are genuinely excited to hear about your introduction to the genre. By the end it felt almost natural; simple and fun to talk to an entire table of people.
But you’re feeling some of the effects of it now, even quieter than usual in Eddie’s van as Gareth considers whether to paint or sharpie the Corroded Coffin logo Eddie designed onto the front of his bass drum.
From the soft hum you’d given in greeting as you climbed into the van after school, Eddie had offered you his palm, open and relaxed. Now, your forefinger traces the long groove from his wrist to the base of his thumb that forms his life line. You love Eddie’s hands, love how they feel in yours, and on every other part of you they’ve touched.
You swallow, face suddenly hot. It’s been easier, nicer, every time Eddie’s touched you. So much so that you now understand why it’s all some people think about, all that drives them. The way Eddie feels inside you, all the words that spill from his mouth as he moves; how much he wants you, how good you make him feel. You find your mind circling back to it at the strangest times. In class, making dinner, driving home with Eddie’s friends-
You jump a little at the chorus of bye’s from the back, the sound of the doors being thrown open. Eddie’s already watching you curiously when you look back to him, unable to hold eye contact, half convinced he’ll be able to read your thoughts with one good look at you. “You okay, sweet thing?”
“M’just tired.”
“Right,” Eddie says, nodding thoughtfully. “The guys- they can be a little intense.”
Mirth spreads through you at the thought of Eddie ‘jumps on cafeteria tables’ Munson describing anyone as intense. “I like them.”
“You say that now. A week tutoring Dustin and you’ll be changing your name and moving to Idaho. I’ll never see you again, and it’ll be all that little punk’s fault.”
“He’s your favourite.”
Eddie’s tone goes from playful to offended in a second, as to close a screech as his deep voice can get. “He is not- I don’t even have- Even if I did have a favourite, which I don’t, Dustin Henderson would not even come close-” He pauses at the sound of your laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Mmh. I get it. Tired, but not too tired to rile me up.”
You chew the inside of your lip, fighting a smile. Running a finger along his palm again, you reply, “it’s not particularly difficult.” You expect another dramatic yell of offence, or maybe a laugh. Instead, you get something pleased from his expression, dimples on his cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing. I just like it when you tease me.” His fingers close around yours, weaving together. “S’like you’re more comfortable around me, I guess.”
You’re sure he’s right. Every day it’s a little easier. Every time you see him, your mind gets in the way less and less, slowly coming to accept that he’s not waiting for you to say the wrong thing, that he won’t abandon you when you inevitably do.
“You make me feel comfortable, Eddie.”
“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your quick nod. “Does that mean you’re coming back to mine?”
“Actually,” you start, truly needing that comfort now. You know the implications of what you’re going to ask, sure that if somebody other than Eddie heard you, they’d come to conclusions about the kind of girl you are.
The more time you spend with Eddie the less you’re sure that it matters if they would be right or wrong.
You press your knees together, tap your fingers in a wave along Eddie’s knuckles. “Well, my parents aren’t home...”
There’s a second of silence, long enough to have you squirming, finding his dark eyes and then looking away again in a loop.
Eddie leans into you, chin tilted to capture your gaze and keep you there. “You mean to say that the Princess’ tower is unguarded this night?”
Your stomach squeezes at the sound of his voice, serious and soft, like a real adventurer on the verge of committing himself to a great quest. You love this about Eddie, how easily he can slip into characters like this. It’s something he learned from DnD, or maybe Eddie’s so good at the game because he has this ability to play at being somebody different without hesitation, without a hint of the worry you’d feel if you tried it, convinced you’d do it all wrong, sure you’d sound stupid.
“No dragons for me to slay?” He asks, closing one eye like he’s trying to work out if you’re tricking him. Your head shakes, and Eddie turns your hand in his to bring it to his mouth. He kisses your knuckles, a soft warm press. “S'that what you want?”
“Yes, Eddie.”
“Okay,” he says, lips meeting your hand once again. “To the castle, it is.”
Eddie is as quick as usual to drive you home, each turn forcing you to lean to the door or to the centre console. But any urgency seems to vanish the second he’s pulled up by your house. In the van, you wait as he makes sure he has his wallet and his keys, sets the sun visor back into position. When you've jumped out, you watch him check that he's locked each door of the van with more care than you've ever seen from him, like he's particularly worried about a carjacker on your suburban street in broad daylight.
Inside, Eddie is careful about unlacing his shoes and placing them at the door next to yours, toed off your heels carelessly. Then, at the top of the stairs, when you think you finally have him at a regular pace towards your room, you are jolted back by his sudden stop on the landing, leaving your hands connected at the end of stretched arms.
“‘M looking for anything I can use as a weapon, you know?” He says, peering into a vase of fake orchids, examining a glass seahorse statue, scrunching his nose when he gets hit with the scent from a bowl of potpourri. “This all feels a little too easy, and you’ve gotta expect the unexpected in situations like these.”
“Eddie?"
You’re so endeared to him, watching him examine the objects your Mom set out playing up to this story he’s created. But the way he’s stalling, almost hesitant, has you sure you missed a clear sign along the way. “Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you, like, not want to come here?”
His head shoots up then, round eyes blinking. “Of course, I did. I do.” Eddie laughs airily, tucking some of his hair behind his ear as he approaches. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m not crazy.”
You still feel like you’re missing something, wondering if you should offer him another way out. Eddie makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting you to guide him forward. Walking slow to give him time to change his mind, you make your way to your door, decidedly not looking back at him when you enter.
Eddie is unusually quiet, then, following you in but stopping once again when he takes the first step onto your cream carpet. You only glance back at him when you’ve dropped his hand and started playing with your sleeves, comforted by the fact he just seems to be taking everything in. He stands out, all ragged denim and black leather in the pastel softness of your bedroom, and yet he fits so well in a room full of things you love.
He shifts his weight back and forth on the soft carpet, subtly sniffs the air that must smell of you and the apple blossom diffuser on your side table. His eyes drift as he takes in each focal point; the desk laden with textbooks and paper, your windowsill, lined with a couple snow globes, a ceramic cat you’d painted as a child, a framed photo of you and your friends Heather gave you for your 16th. He scans quickly over the cork boards to the corner of the room, smile lines appearing at the sight of your long favourite stuffed animal, a soft grey elephant you’d carefully positioned on a pink cord beanbag, looking ready to start reading judging by the pile of books to her right.
His gaze eventually circles back to you, waiting nervously for his reaction. Eddie shifts back and forth on his feet. “You know, I, uh, gotta admit, I imagined some stained glass.” He gestures lazily to the window, then to your bed, the wooden frame and the blue floral bedspread. “And I was sure you’d have one of those beds with all the fabric, you know what I’m talking about?” He raises both hands to motion the shape of a canopy bed, fingers wiggling.
“Disappointed?” You say, only half joking.
Eddie finally takes a step further in, turning to the shelves of books by your bed. “Me? Nah I was worried about getting tangled up in it, to be honest.” He flashes you a quick grin before scanning over the spines. Eventually, he points to one. “Iron Maiden, yeah?”
You check the book he’s pointing to, The Complete Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and nod, always pleased by the reminder that Eddie listens, really listens, when you speak. That he remembers so many innocuous things you share with him, things you’d never expect him to remember.
You badly want to reach out for him then, fingers itching to hold his hand, play with his sleeves. You almost do, raising your arm a touch, but a wave of concern hits you, still trying to work out if you’ve done something, said something wrong to make him act like he’d rather not be here.
Eddie catches your stunted movement, eyes blinking at your fidgeting hands before shifting to your face. You’re sure then that your anxiety is clear in your expression, that he sees how eagerly you’re waiting for him to give you an explanation for his hesitancy in the hallway.
Eddie frowns, looking at the books again. He clears his throat. "I've never been in a girls' room before," he tells you. From his voice, it sounds like a confession.
“Oh.” Your brows furrow, trying to work out how that matters. “I mean, they’re not all like this.”
"No, I mean, it’s just that it’s like, a first. For me.” When that doesn’t quite cover your confusion, he continues. “Nobody ever wanted, y'know, me in their room. Or whatever."
Your heart pangs with sudden understanding, the memory of Eddie lying across from you on a blanket, the warm sun on your skin. Am I being too intense? That's what Eddie had asked you, that day at the lake. People say I can be too much too soon.
“And it’s already different, with you. Better. I mean, shit, a million times better,” he says, eyes wide. “But I still just didn’t expect you to, just, ask me, like- Like, you just want me here. Cause it’s never been that simple. Shit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”
“No. No, Eddie,”
“I didn’t wanna make you worried or anything. It’s the complete last thing I’d ever want. I guess I was kinda just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He laughs again, but it’s hollow, and cuts off too suddenly to be real.
You give in entirely, practically launching at him to wrap your arms around his torso and pull him into a tight, desperate hug. You wish, not for the first time, that you were more like him, better at getting your thoughts into words and saying them.Then you could soothe him like he deserves. Then you could tell him the truth.
Eddie’s face presses to your hair, arms tight around your shoulders.
“Eddie,” you murmur into his shoulder, squeezing him again before you build the courage to look him in the eyes. “You’re so-” Your throat tightens, forcing you to whisper. “You’re so good.” It seems lacklustre, probably a million better words to describe all that Eddie is, but it feels right; it’s what you think, that Eddie is, deep at his core, so good that it hurts. “You’re too good, too good for anyone that made you think-” Your voice cracks, and Eddie blinks shining eyes at you when you reach up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he assures, pressing his face to your palm. “I’m okay. Really.”
You press your lips to his, hoping he understands this at least. You feel his smile, and believe that he does. He hums as you shift your kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks. You peck the end of his nose, watch it scrunch sweetly. You’re warmed by the sight of his reddening face, the sound of his laugh. “You know how to make a guy feel appreciated, sweetheart.”
Your hands seem incapable of moving from him, only moving from his cheek to his shoulders, wrists tickled by the fluffy ends of his curls. “I want you here,” you say, a little strained. “I promise.”
“I know. I know you do.”
“I would have invited you earlier,” you continue. “It’s just…”
Eddie’s eyes flash. His hands, big and warm, rub up and down your back, pulling you closer to him until you’re flush against his chest. “It’s just, we couldn’t have done what you want to do,” he finishes. “Not with your parents downstairs. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Your stomach twists with that exciting shame, face hot. You don’t have anywhere to hide, caught by Eddie’s gaze. You still can’t look into his eyes for too long, lest your heart beat out your chest, so you find yourself staring at his lips, pillowy and pink. “Not just that.”
“Okay,” he answers, hand drifting down to skim the end of your skirt. You press closer to him when his fingers tease the soft skin of your thighs, and he breathes a laugh. “But, mainly that, huh?”
Your fingers curl into his shoulders, embarrassed and excited in equal measure that he’s naming your intentions so clearly. You bounce a little on your toes, still gazing at Eddie’s lips, the dents of his laugh lines and his dimples.
Callused fingers reaching under your skirt, his thumb grazing the cotton of your panties, pulling at the elastic. You think you’re being subtle, the way you open your legs a little to make space for him, but know immediately that you failed when Eddie laughs, eyes crinkled at the sides. He breathes a sigh, watching you lose the last pretence that you aren’t a little desperate for him to touch you how he wants. “My good girl.”
Oh, but that makes you ache for him. Your head drops to his neck, hiding your face in his skin. You breathe him in, smoke and Eddie, swallowing a whimper.
“You like that, don't you? Like being a good girl.”
You nod on impulse, willing to agree to just about anything when his fingers drag over your mound, press to the split of your pussy through your panties, the material just grazing your clit. But something about what he's said isn't quite right, and you start shaking your head instead.
Eddie's mouth finds your ear, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin at the top of your neck. "No? Not a good girl?"
You shake your head again, because that's not right either. You tilt your face to catch his gaze, ink dark eyes already waiting for you. "I like-" You sigh when his fingers catch at the fabric that sits at the top of your sex again, giving a single teasing circle that helps you relax enough to tell him the truth of it. “It’s for you, Eddie.”
"Ah," Eddie breathes, finally, finally dipping his fingers past the elastic of your panties. He hums his approval when he finds your clit, swollen and waiting for him. He gives you one tap just to see you pout, then he’s rubbing tight circles that have you trying to press even closer to him, nails digging into his shoulders. “My good girl, mm?"
"Yeah," you nod desperately, proud to see how pleased he looks with you. "Yes, Eddie."
"That's right." He continues, watching your face as your lips open to moan softly, eyelids flickering. His fingers dip quickly to your entrance, dragging slick up to ease the way for his fingers on your button. “Just for me. Cause I'm the one who gets to touch you," he says. "Only I get to hear you like this, yeah? Hear you begging me with that pretty voice?"
"Only you. Please, Eddie."
“S’cause you know I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you, sweet thing? You and this pretty pussy?”
Eddie's fingers keep rubbing at your clit, pulling sensations from your body that only he ever has. Staring at him, hearing his rough voice even as he looks at you like you’re precious, you feel it again, as you have with increasing frequency. How badly you want him like this and every other way. It almost overwhelms you, makes you want to hide away again in his shoulder. But Eddie is owed the sight of the pleasure he brings you, deserves to see it play out on your face, hear every whimper clearly. Eddie coos softly at the sight of you, his free hand coming to support the back of your neck, nodding you through each shaking breath. “That’s it. That’s it. You gonna cum?”
A tremble moves through your body, hips rolling against his hand as you groan into the air. The high builds to a long, half painful peak, your hands grasping at Eddie’s t-shirt, his hair, first for something to hold on to, then because the resulting groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. It crosses over into too much suddenly, twitching away from his hand between your legs even as you give in and throw your face to his neck, kissing your gratitude all over the pale column of his throat. You find his pulse, feel its steady beat under your lips, and bite. It’s little more than a scrape of your teeth, but Eddie shudders in your arms, tilting his head back to let you soothe the bruised skin with your tongue, then kisses.
You sigh deep, relaxing your death grip on his body while Eddie kisses at your sweaty temple. You peek at him then, find the warm brown of his irises swallowed up by darkness, his tongue licking quick over his bitten dark lips. He pulls his hand from your panties, showing you the remnants of your slick on his fingers before licking at his ring finger. “Always taste so good, baby. Wanna try?”
“Uh huh,” you say, head fuzzy with pleasure. Your mouth drops open for him, letting him press his middle finger to your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking gently. You don’t think it tastes of much at all, but Eddie seems suddenly desperate to get at what he’s given you. He drags his finger from your mouth and captures your lips before you’ve even registered the loss, his tongue licking at yours like he can steal the taste of you back. “That what you were thinking of when you invited me up here, mm?” He says when he breaks away, lips still grazing yours as he speaks. “Or do you want more?”
You do want more. You want Eddie. Want him filling you with the length you can feel, hardening against your thigh. You want to make him feel good, want to hear him groan when he cums. “More, Eddie,” you whisper without shame. “Please.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in for another desperate kiss, taking advantage of your pliant state to open your mouth to him. “Fuck. I wanna bend you over so bad,” he admits, watching your face for your reaction. “You want that? Want me to fuck you like that in your pretty princess bed?”
Your toes curl, clit throbbing at the playful tone of Eddie’s voice, teasing and rough. “Mm. Okay.”
Eddie tilts his head, meeting your eyes, checking in. “Okay?”
You try to picture it, imagine how Eddie will feel fucking you that way. In truth, you’re stuck on how vulnerable you’ll be; exposed, not able to see him or cling to him the way you like. But it’s Eddie, you assure yourself. You take a breath. “I want that, Eddie.”
The kiss that follows is sweet. It’s a comforting reminder that no matter how much Eddie teases you, how rough he gets, he's still the boy who calls you princess, holds your hand in the car, promises to take care of you.
He helps you remove your shirt from your heated skin, pulls his own over his head the second you start tugging at the hem. Once you have access to his skin, you can't stop touching him, palms flat to his chest, kissing his neck while he pulls your panties down over your hips.
“C’mon, sweet thing,” he murmurs, turning you to face your bed. He kisses your shoulder, his body warm at your back. "Climb up for me, mm?"
You want to do what he says. You want him to touch you like this. But you still feel a prickle of nerves as you crawl up to your pillow, body exposed and missing Eddie’s skin already.
“So pretty,” Eddie says above you, behind you, as you rest your chin on your curled arms on top of the mattress. You hear the clink of his belt, toes curling at the sound. Then you feel him through his boxers, hard and hot as he rolls his hips against your ass. You hear him whisper, shit, say something about protection. It's followed by a far off, satisfied a-ha at locating a condom in his discarded jacket, but it’s fuzzy beneath the sudden rushing in your ears.
You feel him again, grinding against you, and you're not sure where all the excitement went. You’re staring at the blue cornflowers on your pillowcase while he continues behind you, remembering the last time you were positioned like this, tense and vulnerable. You try to breathe slow. When that doesn’t work, you try to let the heavy throb between your legs remind you how badly you want this.
It doesn't work, and you focus instead on feeling of just having to lie like this, get through it for him, just stare at the flowers and don't cry and he’ll be finished soon-
The pressure behind you disappears, the mattress shifts under you. Eddie bounces when he flops down beside you, face level with yours and hidden behind his flying hair. He makes soft puh noises like he’s trying to spit it out, blowing it away from his face. You blink, the white noise in your ears fading when you touch him, tucking his hair back behind his ear to find his grateful smile.
“Thanks, baby,” he says. He reaches for your hip, rubbing soft as he presses your arched body down until you're lying, flat to the bed. Then, all heartbreaking gentleness; “where’d you go?”
You stumble, embarrassed. “I, I didn’t-”
“Stopped making those pretty noises for me," he reasons. “Isn't any fun without 'em." Your bottom lip shakes, and you feel like an idiot.
Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Not Andy, not some boy here for himself, only to take and never give.
"Hey," he says, shuffling in until he can bump your nose with his. "We don’t have to do it like this if you don’t want. You know that, right? Don't have to do anything you don't want.”
“It’s not that, I-” You sigh, watch Eddie’s shining eyes, round and soft, waiting for you. “I needed to know it was you. I’m sorry.”
Recognition registers in his face. He frowns, cupping your face in his palm. “No apologies. Not about what you need, okay?”
“Okay, Eddie.”
“Wanna cuddle?”
You do. Desperately. You reach out for him easily, shuffling until you're surrounded by him, clinging to his torso, cheek to his chest.
"Ah," Eddie breathes, wiggling like he can get his skin any closer to yours. "That's the good stuff."
You hadn’t realised how fast, how hard your heart was beating until you’re settled in Eddie’s arms and it starts to slow. There's a minute’s comfortable silence, letting his presence ease you back to comfort. Then he hums, strokes at the hair on your temple. "You gotta tell me when something's not right, ‘kay?" he says seriously. "I like to think I can read you pretty well, but I could've missed it."
"I'm sorry," you say, then, remembering you just agreed not to do that, "sorry."
Eddie breathes a laugh through his nose, leaves a wet kiss on your forehead. "My shy girl, mm?"
"Sometimes it's just…hard to say what I'm feeling. I didn't want you to stop.” You hum. “I don't think I did."
Eddie considers that, still stroking at your hair. "Do you, uh, know what a safe word is?” You shake your head, and he continues. “S’kinda like a code. Something you can just say if you wanna press pause, you know? Means that instead of getting in that head of yours, trying to work out what you want, you can just say a word and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”
You consider it, imagining the scene if you'd been able to just say one thing and slow down. Easier not to have to think through what you need before you tell him, just say one word and let Eddie help you get there, coax from your head what you haven't worked out yourself. "That sounds good, Eddie."
"Yeah?" He asks, eyebrows raising. “Okay. We can keep it simple for now. If we wanna stop completely, for any reason, we say red, yeah? If we need to slow down, talk a little about what we need, we say yellow. And green for keep going. How’s that sound?"
"Good," you say, feeling grateful that you’re learning all these things with Eddie. "It sounds good, but I- I am sorry that I'm, y'know. Difficult, sometimes."
Eddie blinks, eyebrows pulling together. "Difficult? My sweet girl? Nah. Besides," he leans in, closing one eye. "I like looking after you."
You sigh happily when he kisses you, gentle and seeking nothing more than sweet presses. But you're still wet and wanting, hand rubbing across the softness of Eddie's tummy until your fingers draw across the sparse hair at the top of his pants. Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat that has you pressing your thighs together.
"You wanna turn over, mm? Open those pretty legs for me?”
Yes. You love having Eddie on top of you and inside you. Better every time, as your body gets used to him, as Eddie learns how to draw pleasure from you, as you learn what makes Eddie gasp, makes his hips move desperately like you're the only thing he needs.
But you pause. Now, comfortable in the knowledge that you know how to slow down, stop when you need to, you let yourself imagine Eddie behind you. His hips hitting the back of your thighs, his big hands holding your waist, arching your body just right to slide inside. Letting yourself be vulnerable with Eddie, the feeling of offering yourself up to him, the reward of his touch.
“I want to try, I just, I need-” You don’t know, exactly. You feel another wave of irritation at yourself, wishing you could be a little more simple. That you didn't need to cling to him that first time, that now you need him to work out this hurdle.
Eddie hums, and the mattress shifts again as he sits up behind you. “Lift these hips for me again, sweet thing?” He asks, helping you shift your knees forward, tilting your body up for him. You hear the crinkle of him tearing open a condom, his soft sigh as he rolls it down over his cock. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, hands smoothing your skirt up, exposing your hot flesh to the air. You shiver up your spine, but when Eddie grinds against you, what follows is his torso stretched along your back until you can feel him pressing wet kisses to your shoulder. The tension falls away, replaced by the tickle of Eddie’s hair at your neck, his sweet sting of his teeth nipping your shoulder, the sound of his pleased hums.
A final touch, his left hand grabs yours on the mattress, linking your fingers up and resting them in your eyeline. You know Eddie’s hands better than you know your own. Thick fingers adorned with a pig, a cross, a skull; all pale skin but for the subtle pink at his knuckles and around his nails. The veins that run from the end of his fingers to his wrist, the dip at the end of his thumb.
“Better?” Eddie asks. You hum happily. You’re so blissfully wrapped up in him like this, surrounded and safe. Eddie’s right hand teases your clit again, presses gently at your entrance and finds you still went and wanting, bearing down at the first dip of his digits inside you. “Fuck, don’t worry, sweet thing. Gonna give you what you need, mm?”
“Eddie,” you say, his name a gentle plea.
“I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in his. He reaches between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance, the head of his cock tapping torturously at your clit. You have half a mind to kick your legs out in impatience now, settle on whining at the back of your throat. Eddie breathes a laugh into your shoulder, but it shifts immediately to a groan as he presses inside.
You’re still not entirely used to the feeling of him slowly filling you, the edge of pain still leading you to bear down on him, body stuck between desperations; to force him out or or pull him deeper. But then there’s the perfect ache of feeling full, the warmth and heaviness of him inside.
Eddie’s hips roll, the wet sound of him pulling from you making your toes curl. He starts up a steady pace, easing your body into letting him slide deeper into your cunt with each thrust. His fingers return to the top of your sex, rubbing at your sensitive button. With every slow thrust, each stroke of your twitching clit, it feels like your body is opening up to him, easing the way for him to press deeper, push inside a little rougher. Your body flinches, tightens and loosens up all over when the end of his cock finds the back of your pussy, sending waves of pleasure up your spine.
“Feel good?” He says, amusement in his tone. You moan freely, happy to be teased by him as long as he keeps touching you. “Tell me.”
“Feels good,” you parrot, staring at Eddie’s hand in yours, the slow movement of rose tone up his wrist, along to his knuckles as he heats up. You shiver to let in his warmth, his breath on your shoulder, his chest at your back. His cock, hot and thick, fucking you open.
“My good girl,” he murmurs, groaning at the way your cunt clamps down, gushing wet around his thick cock in thanks for his praise. “Christ. I shoulda known that was your favourite,” he breathes, his right hand pressing at your mound to angle your hips just so, helping his cock find the spot at the end of you that makes your thighs shake with every heavy push. “S’mine too.”
His lips travel up the side of your neck to the top of your cheek, eyes finding yours when you turn to him. Eddie gives you a gentle pout at the sight of your mouth open to take gasping, whimpering breaths, your eyes fluttering when he starts to bully your clit in line with the increasingly harsh movements inside you. “You were fucking made for me,” he tells you. “You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?”
You cry out, arms giving way underneath you when your body twitches all over, squeezing tight around Eddie’s invading cock. Your head drops into the mattress next to your joined hands, but you nod desperately, wanting him to see that you know perfectly well. That nobody could make you feel as good as Eddie does.
Eddie keeps your body angled how he wants, adjusting your hips to pull your back into an arch. “All mine, aren’t you? Mine to look after, mine to touch. Mine to fuck-” He gives you a harsh thrust that makes your thighs twitch, legs close to giving out if he wasn’t holding you up with his arm under your stomach. “I wanna feel you cum, yeah? Think you can?”
You’re still nodding, hand gripping his tight, fingers curled through his.
“For me? Just for me?”
Always. Only for Eddie. You can’t say it, mind too far away to form the thought properly, but the feeling of him saying it like that, claiming your pleasure for himself as he drags it out of you with his cock, heavy and hot, and his hand playing with your clit, drives you over the edge. You mewl into the mattress, cunt clenching tight around his throbbing cock as your pleasure peaks.
Eddie makes a soft whimpering sound as you cum, following you down to bury his face in your shoulder. His hips move faster as he starts chasing his pleasure instead of focusing on yours, hand that was teasing your clit now stroking at your hip to soothe your sensitive, twitchy body.
Hearing him now, gasping breaths, whimpers in your ear, you sink happily into this feeling. Almost as good as reaching your own peak, the knowledge that you’re making Eddie feel good. That this boy who treats you so well, dedicates himself to helping you find your pleasure, loses himself a little at the clench of your cunt around him.
You drag your clasped hands to your mouth, kissing at the pink skin of his knuckles. How could anybody not want this with him? How could anybody have given him up? You feel a sudden, desperate possession of him, the need to claim him like he claimed you.
“Mine,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the back of his hand in an array of gentle kisses. Your other hand reaches back to tangle in his hair, scratch at the back of his head as he whimpers. You crane your neck, searching for his eyes. They’re dark, shining as they take you in. His cock twitches inside you, and you squeeze his hand again. “Mine?”
His bottom lip shakes. “Yeah. M'yours. Yours, fuck-” He captures your lips but the kiss ends quick when he groans, hips stuttering in your warmth then sinking deep. You keep scratching at his neck as his body shakes through his orgasm, and still after when his weight drops on you and you fall flat to the bed together. You lie there for minutes, catching your breath, luxuriating in the feeling of being held by Eddie, pussy still clenching weakly around him.
Eddie hums, pulling from you slowly with another wet sound that makes you bury your face in your pillow. He rubs at your hip gently, squeezes your hand a final time before untangling from you to deal with the condom. You make a mental note to do something with that before tomorrow morning, but Eddie has your mind going wonderfully blank again when he bounces back beside you and pulls you in. You’re both a little sweaty, cheek a touch too hot against his chest, but you have no interest in cooling down if it means you have to stop touching him.
“Good?” He asks, fingers rubbing at your temple. You hum a long content sound in answer, not ready to form any coherent thought yet, and feel Eddie’s chest shake with laughter under your cheek. “Good.”
You lay like that, clammy and pleasured, convinced nothing could drag you from this bed. Until you feel a quick pang in your stomach, and the quiet reverie is interrupted by a deep rumble. There’s a moment of silence, then Eddie snorts underneath you. You’d be embarrassed if his laugh didn’t make you want to follow his happiness, smiling shyly when he rubs gently at your tummy. “Hungry work, huh?” He asks, giggling. “Never fear, sweet thing. I can fix that.” He pauses then, licks his lips quickly. “Hey, you got a box of mac and cheese sitting around here, somewhere?”
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
You flinch, watching with increasing horror as Eddie’s attempts to chop the onion you’d handed him. Fingers splayed and terrifyingly close the blade, you’re stuck between gently taking the knife from him and asking point blank how he’s managed to keep all ten fingers intact this long.
“Do you want me to finish that?” You ask, frowning when he shakes his head, still fully concentrated on each dangerous movement, his tongue just poking out of his lips in a physical demonstration of his focus.
If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be appreciating how soft and comfy Eddie looks right now. Black Sabbath t-shirt tucked into his jeans, socked feet ready to slide along your kitchen floor. His dark curls pulled back from his face and braided by your own hands, tied at the end with your favourite lilac scrunchie that you kind of hope he’ll keep.
But you can’t think about it, because you’re terrified Eddie’s going to ruin his musical career here in your kitchen, making pasta.
“No, need, sweet thing,” he assures. “This is a patented Munson technique for chopping onions.”
You could curse yourself for not having any boxed mac and cheese, for suggesting you cook something from scratch together in the first place. You’re used to cooking, with your Mom and Dad, with your friends, and eventually for yourself. But you get the sense that Eddie does a lot of microwaving, looking after himself the same way he has since he was a kid, at dinner time when Wayne is working nights.
“Eddie, can I?” You gently take the knife from him, turning the half of the onion left and chopping it with your thumb tucked in.
He tilts his chin. “Lacks the adrenaline rush that comes with the Munson method,” he says when you’re done, watching you tip the contents of the chopping board into the heated pan on the stove. Then, a little sheepishly, “I, uh, I don’t cook much. If that wasn’t obvious.”
“You don’t like it, or?”
“I like this,” he answers. “And I make breakfast sometimes with Wayne. But not dinner, so much. He’s usually at the plant that time of day, so nobody ever taught me, I guess.” He pauses. “That’s not true. My mom and I used to cook, I think. Sometimes.”
You wait for a couple of seconds, watching the onions and garlic soften. “When you were a kid?”
“Yeah, we’d make stuff like this. Or, she would. I think I’d just watch mostly. Stir stuff, lick the spoon.”
“Best part,” you say, smiling. Then, watching him carefully. “Your Mom, she…?”
“She died,” he finishes with a shrug. He taps at the counter with his knuckles. “Then I lived with my old man, and he was not one for cooking lessons,” he laughs derisively. “Then one day the bastard dropped me off at Wayne’s. Best thing he ever did for me. Not that he cared either way, he was just sick of having me around.” Eddie finally looks at you then, and catches something in your expression that makes him wince, the laughter that follows clearly forced. “Christ, sorry. I’m really dumping on you today.”
“Don’t apologise, Eddie.”
“Nah, I shouldn’t have-” He shakes his head, tapping the counter again before resting his palms at the edge. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Eddie, of course it matters,” you say, turning off the stove to approach him, standing separated from his body by his arm reaching to the counter, keeping you from wrapping around him the way you want to. “Of course it matters.”
Eddie shrugs again, and it’s another one of those moments where you wish you were more like him. Eddie always knows what to say, senses where you’re hurt and how to soothe it, knows when to talk and when to just hold you.
But now that it’s your turn, you’re left feeling useless, stuck just wanting to cry at the thought that anyone has ever hurt him, made him feel like he has something to apologise for just for being around.
“I think you’re so wonderful, Eddie,” you say. “I want you around all the time.”
There’s a second of something. He turns to meet your gaze, searching your face with a frown. Then he gives you a small, barely there smile. The arm between you raises to let you close, wrap him up in a tight hug. You feel his body lose tension as he sighs, your hand stroking his back the way you know he likes. “I want you around all the time, too, sweet thing,” he says softly. “I really do.”
Next Chapter
423 notes
·
View notes
Text
The More You Give ❧ (Part VI)
Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader
Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, discussions of anxiety, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, protected P in V sex.
Word Count | ~16,400
A/N | Oh you won’t be able to move for all the fluff. Cheeky shout-out to @heydreamchild for this post which made me lose my mind in the tags and think about Eddie’s relationship with Wayne’s mug collection.
Taglist (please don’t ask to be tagged if you won’t interact with the fic)
Previous Chapter
❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦
You screw your eyes shut instead of watching the ping pong ball continue its high arch over the remaining cups on the other side of the table. You hear it hit the floor, the barely suppressed scoff across from you at another missed shot.
Your cheeks are burning, have been since you started this game. You open an eye to find May smiling at you encouragingly as she lines herself up for her turn. She’s more practised than you. Invited to more of these parties, asked to play more of these games. The ball flies from her hand and lands with a gentle splash in one of the three remaining cups in front of you, her expression now tinged with satisfaction. You can’t blame her, you’d look the same if you were good at any of this. You fish the ball out and sip the lukewarm beer for a second before forcing the rest of it down just to get this turn over with.
“Sorry,” you murmur, handing the ball to your partner and stepping aside to let him take his turn. Safely at the corner of the table, you glance quickly at the clock on the other side of the room. It reads 11:03pm, and you wonder if you could negotiate heading home by eleven thirty.
Not likely.
Continuar lendo
515 notes
·
View notes
Text
DEV PATEL as THE KID
Monkey Man (2024) dir. Dev Patel
13K notes
·
View notes
Text
Can't stop thinking about Captain John Price, your good friend's boyfriend, listening to you talk about how you are considering getting a guard dog, and he whole-heartedly agrees with you. John likes you, you're a fantastic friend to his dove and you're sweet, and sweet girls do need protection. So he nods along and tells you he'll look into getting you one, a big one to protect you.
Two weeks later, you're invited to your friend's house, her telling you days before that John might have gotten you a dog, so to prepare! She wasn't sure, he just hinted at it on the phone.
Tell me why, after knocking at your bestie's door, she opens kinda pale and awkward, maybe even a little bit annoyed, inviting you in. Instead of a proper, legit, literal dog, John introduces you to Simon Riley, who stands there awkwardly but tall and intimidating while your friend apologizes, calling her boyfriend an idiot. But John isn't an idiot. For a while now, he thought you'd be perfect for his Lt., this just a funny way to introduce you both. And the only thing that took Simon to agree (after a sharp yet bored no when firstly asked) was to send him a picture of you at a bar, smiling.
Extra:
"So... you come with a leash?" You joke with the tall man, whose eyes wrinkle in amusement. He has been more on the silent side although very atentive, his intense brown eyes on you all evening. Now that you were both alone at the balcony, abandoned by the two love-birds, you tried to ease the tension.
"I don't do leashes but I can pull a spiky collar." He smiles as you giggle. Hell, he felt relief that you did. Even happiness...
"Yeah, it would fit you."
"Yeah?" His voice was low and buttery. "What about a tag with your name on it?" He leans down a little, just enough in your personal bubble, and your stomach flipped. You felt your cheeks warm.
"Can it be heart shaped?" You stare prettily at him and all he can do is to snort to ease the tension.
"However you want it." His reply was quick, eager.
"Deal. But first take me on a proper date."
"Perfect." He smirks.
11K notes
·
View notes