#we are crossing our fingers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part II)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, drug use, grinding, brief mention of masturbation and sex. Reader is shy and full of doubt. Eddie is kind.

Word count | ~6,700

A/N | I am…very late with this. But my excuse is all of a sudden I had a social life I hadn’t planned for. That’s gone now so I should be more regular in updating from now on. It’s likely to be long, I’m at 20 chapters in the plan currently so I’m not looking to spread that out for ages. Thank you for waiting patiently.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Lying in bed last night, you felt something like the childish bliss of the night of your Birthday. Presents opened and enjoyed, full and satisfied by your favourite dinner and a cake made special by your Mom. The joy in the knowledge that, tomorrow, everything that had made you so happy would still be there.

Tomorrow, you thought. Tomorrow, Eddie will still be there.

But now you’re wondering if that’s true at all.

You were caught between feeling stupid, like you must be overreacting, getting yourself worried like you always do, and feeling, with certainty, that Eddie had realised he’d made a mistake. It was only a moment, a small thing, or it would be to anyone else, but you’ve been thinking about it all day.

You’d caught his eyes as you walked past Eddie in the hall, your hand coming up to give him a shy little wave. He did see it. His eyes were on you, but they’d only blinked. You might have said it was shock on his face, but he turned away so quickly you couldn’t get a proper read of his expression. Whatever it was, he ended up acting as if you didn’t exist.

“Once we have the posters up, we can get started on the banner,” Heather says, handing you a pile of yellow paper with her smiling picture. Running for Class President has been her main activity since the beginning of the year, and therefore your main activity, too. You look at the pile of paper in your hands. You helped design it, the pretty blue Vote for Heather! written under her picture is in your handwriting.

“Heather, does Patrick ever ignore you?”

“Since he went to college? All the time. But that’s just another guy thing. You got your blue tack?”

You nod and hold it up, accepting that she’s not in the headspace to be your resident boy expert today.

Being with Andy certainly hadn’t given you any experience of this feeling. He would disappear on you for days, weeks even. Then he’d be there, standing at your locker one morning, all apologies and hands clamouring for touches. He’d say he just got so busy the last week, he couldn’t really see you. You would tell him, smiling, that you understood, because that was the easiest way to end the discussion before he was asking to sneak away into a closet and make it up to you. On the weeks he was angry, after another failed attempt at caresses under your skirt, you only felt relief. It was a break from having to explain yourself, something you’ve never been good at, even at instances where you understand your own reasons. At the end, when Andy had laid out all the ways you had disappointed him, the tears had sprung from humiliation and hurt, but exhaustion, too.

But now, one missed moment, one turned head from Eddie. You’re terrified.

You’re still thinking about it after school, wishing you didn’t have to babysit, even if spending time as chief advisor to Princess Grace was often the great joy of your week. She’ll no doubt clock your mood the second you pick her up, and then it’ll be questions you can’t answer for the rest of the night.

If you weren’t so in your head with worry, you would have heard the engine of an approaching van, wailing electric guitar increasing in volume. It’s the sudden screeching halt of it that makes you jump, looking up to find Eddie grinning at you, arm moving in the effort to crank the window down. “You lost, Princess? Pretty sure this is not the way to your castle.”

Here he is, talking to you exactly as he was. Eddie brand kindness, complete with pet names that make your heart flutter even as it calls out, but why?

“I’m babysitting today.”

“Ah! That explains it. You want a ride?”

You curl your fingers in your sleeves, thumbs wrapped in soft cotton, wondering if he means it, deciding he surely can’t. “No, it’s okay.”

Eddie’s face displays his surprise. “Where you headed?”

“The church.”

“Well, can’t say I love it there, but for you-” Eddie jumps out of his van, hand pressed to his chest. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed. C’mon,” he says, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and taking your hand, helping you into the van. Just like yesterday, like there wasn’t a moment this morning where he pretended you didn’t exist. “So,” he says, letting out a little sigh when he’s back in the driver's seat, van speeding away from the curb fast enough that your body is pushed back into the seat. “This a preacher’s kid, or what?”

You blink at him.

“Babysitting at the church.”

“Oh. She’s at the after school club.”

“You like babysitting this one, or is she a little monster like most kids?”

“I like her.”

You see Eddie nod awkwardly in your periphery. “I’m just heading home to pick up an amp,” he tries. “I’m in a band, don’t know if you knew that. We play at the Hideout every Tuesday. You should come see us play, sometime.”

“I babysit on Tuesdays.”

“Right. Shit. Obviously. Of course you do.” He glances at you, his brown eyes searching. “Hey, are you okay? Did something happen today?”

You clench your eyes shut, rubbing the fabric of your sleeves, feeling stupid and confused and overwhelmed with the need not to cry in front of him.

“Baby?” His gaze moves to you, the road, and back again. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? I’ll try and fix whatever it is, I promise.”

His hand finds yours over your sleeve. Slowly, you free your fingers from the fabric, letting him clasp them gently. You swallow. “You didn’t-” God, it sounds so childish now. “I waved at you today, and you didn’t even- I thought-”

Eddie’s hand twitches. Obviously, he remembers the moment as well as you do. You move to let it go but his fingers tighten, linking around yours. “You thought I’d changed my mind?” You nod, sniffling. “No, sweetheart, Jesus. I was just…so fucking surprised, you know? I kinda assumed you wouldn’t want me to talk to you at school. I didn’t know what to do.”

“What?” You ask, voice watery.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not exactly well liked by the popular crowd. Being seen with me is not gonna do wonders for your reputation.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re not worried about how all your cheerleader friends will react?”

“May’s my only cheerleader friend.”

“It’s seriously not a problem,” Eddie says with conviction, as if your last sentence had only convinced him he was right. “If you wanna keep it between us, I’ll get it. Here we are.” He parks opposite the church, and you spy Grace in the distance, skipping rope behind the fence. “Look, the last thing I want is to be, y’know, something that adds to your worries. It’s…so fucking sweet that it didn’t occur to you, but you should think about it, kay?”

The shame is overwhelming. All the times you didn’t defend him, this boy who would let you hide him away if it kept you happy. All the jokes you laughed along with, at the expense of a boy who was surprised you acknowledged his existence after he treated you with gentle adoration. All the people you sit with every day, who hate a boy who already sees what worry does to you, and would hate to cause any more. He hadn’t ignored you because he doesn’t like you, he’d done it because of how much he does.

“I don’t need to think about it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Eddie, I think you’re so-” Amazing? Wonderful? Perfect? “I’ve never-” Felt this way before? Let anyone get so close so fast? Wanted someone this much?

You swallow, sigh, find an easier way to say it. “I won’t pretend I don’t like you. I can’t.”

There’s a pause while Eddie blinks slowly. Then he grins. “Well, shit.” Eddie leans in close, his hair falling over his shoulders towards you. “You actually have it bad for me, don’t you?”

You squirm, that pleasant embarrassment filling you up again, your cheeks burning with it. Eddie’s hand finds your face and you lean into it, covering his fingers with your own. His lips are smiling when they meet yours, and his grin is catching.

“Okay. It’s noted,” he says, breath warm on your face. His tongue peeks out once to lick his lips. “Always wave back. Otherwise, hell to pay.”

“Exactly.” You giggle, giving him one more quick peck before climbing out. You stand on your toes and curl your fingers over the edge of the open window. “Thank you for the ride, Eddie.”

“Absolutely any time, Princess,”

“Good luck with your gig.”

“Good luck with the munchkin.”

You bite the inside of your lip. When you don’t leave, Eddie just smiles, letting you take your time in finding the right words.

“I feel silly.”

“Yeah?”

You kick the ground, bouncing the rubber toe of your sneakers off the concrete. “Sometimes I…get in my head; convince myself that something is a disaster when it’s not.”

“Like me not waving at you?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise with the question, and he nods with understanding at the affirmative movement of your head. “Don’t worry.” He taps his temple. “That’s noted, too.”

“Okay,” you say through a sigh, giving one last little rock on your toes. “Bye, Eddie.”

“Later, sweetheart.” He watches you approach the church gates, stopping to talk to an older woman standing by the door. Further in, a girl in a sky blue dress entirely abandons a skipping rope in favour of running towards you, crashing into you with as much force as a girl her size can muster, legs swinging happily when she finds herself held up in your arms.

The next day, as you sort through your locker, you hear him across the hallway. “Hey, Princess!” Turning, you find Eddie with his dimples on full display. He waggles his fingers at you while you tense in joyful embarrassment, smiling at the playful glare he puts on until you wave back.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

“You look nice,” your Mom says, face appearing behind you in your mirror. You smile, feeling content with the glittery shadow that covers your eyelids, the shiny pinkness of your glossed lips. “What’s the occasion?”

“Going on a date.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she says, playing with your hair a little until you tilt your head away, whining in protest. “Does he have a name?”

“Eddie.”

“Is Eddie gonna come in for a while before you go?”

“Mom.”

“I’m only asking. I didn’t meet Andy the whole time and then all of a sudden I hear he’s a disgusting little- well,” she clears her throat. “He was disgusting.”

“Eddie’s not like Andy,”

She hums, unconvinced, still doubtful of your ability to pick the right boys since Andy left you sobbing on the doorstep after your final trip to his house.

The doorbell rings, and you blink, glancing at the clock on your desk in a panic. “Oh, he’s early is he?”

“Mom-”

But she’s gone, flying out of the room like a shot and you groan, searching quickly for your shoes. You hear the door open downstairs as you’re tugging them on, hear your mother’s surprised greeting, the low hum of Eddie’s voice in return. Too late now. You glance in the mirror, smooth your dress down and sigh.

You hear your Mom’s laughter as you walk down the stairs. She turns at the sound of you approaching, grasping a bunch of daisies. “Look what Eddie brought you, honey!” Eddie stands in the open doorway, missing his patched vest over the zipped up leather jacket. His rings, too, are curiously gone. He’s wearing cologne that, from a distance, masks any hint of his habits.

Eddie’s gaze on you is entirely too intense for standing in the hallway with your mother, but she’s distracted enough by the flowers. When she goes in search of a vase, you grab his hand, enjoying how soft his face gets every time you touch him first. You swing your hands and look up from under your eyelashes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dimples again, eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Now, I want her home by midnight,” your Mom says, placing the daisies on a table in the hall. “Don’t think I won’t be up waiting for her.”

“Of course, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.” He only moves when you tug his hand, pulling him towards his van. “Very nice meeting you!”

“You, too, Eddie!”

Eddie pulls away from your house with a care you’re sure he hasn’t shown to driving since his test. His expression is all self satisfaction while he unzips his jacket, revealing the W.A.S.P. t-shirt, printed with the full band and a stretched out skeleton, and speeds up the second you turn the corner of your street.

Eddie is in his full metal regalia by the time you reach the diner. His hair, even, has regained its frizziness from the demonstration of his ability to headbang while driving. He looks just as you like him when he goes through his gentleman routine, holding the door of the restaurant open and allowing you to choose your side of the booth first.

You are unused to the comfort you feel in the silence while you read the menu, normally on edge when other people are quiet, wondering if they’re waiting for you to be the one to say something. In the limited time you’ve spoken to Eddie, it feels like he’s already learned exactly how to talk to you, what to expect. If he’s silent, it’s because he’s happy to be.

When you’ve decided, you play with the corner of the menu, watching him shyly. His plush lips, set in a content smile. His long, dark eyelashes on display from his tilted head. His big hands stretched on the table, thumbs tapping a rhythm. The back of his hands, lithe and pale, flex with the movement. His rings are back, of course, displaying the length of his fingers that such chunky jewellery barely covers them to the first bend.

That one there, the middle finger of his right hand, has been inside of you already. You felt the width and length of it stretch and play with you. Your toes curl, and when you glance up, Eddie’s watching you intently, expression playful. Your face heats, and you pull your own hands from the table to play with your fingers under it.

“I’m thinkin’ a burger.”

“Me, too.”

“What you getting to drink?”

“Just water.”

“What? Sweet girl doesn’t want a milkshake or nothing? You don’t like ‘em?”

“No, I do.”

“Yeah?” He smiles conspiratorially. “What’s your favourite?”

“Strawberry.”

“They got that right there!” Eddie says, pointing to the page in front of you.

“Sometimes they just make it with syrup.”

“Ahh, and you don’t like that.” He nods in understanding, smiling when the waitress approaches. “Hi there, we are gonna have two burgers,” he glances at you to get a confirming nod. “A Dr Pepper, and hey, do you guys make your strawberry milkshakes with syrup?”

You watch his polite smile, heart a little sore.

The waitress, name tag reading Dawn, is chipper, shaking her head. “No, we make ‘em with fresh strawberries and ice cream!”

“Great! In that case, we’d like a strawberry milkshake, too. Thank you so much.”

When she’s taken your menus, you find Eddie’s pretty eyes. “Thank you.”

He waves his hand like it doesn’t mean anything. “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. I got you.”

You think he really does.

Eddie is good at talking. You like listening to him chat easily about his club and his band while you sip your milkshake. He clearly likes Dustin, one of the younger ones, who he talks about with the frustrated fondness of an older brother. He’s proud of the club, how it's grown, but says with charming humility that he’s aware it lacks feminine presence. Not his plan, he assures, though he’s not entirely sure how to fix it now.

Eddie is good at telling stories. You’re listening intently through each bite of your meal while he describes with impressive memory his first time DMing, overconfident and underprepared, something he’s clearly learned a lesson from.

Eddie is also good at prompting you, giving you space to speak as much or as little as you want.

“I don’t know if you remember, but uh, I played a middle school talent show with the band.”

“I remember,”

“You do?”

You nod, playing with your straw and smiling. “Thought you were brave.”

“Oh, Jesus, that fucking hurts.” You giggle as he clasps his heart only to return to full health a second later to eat seven fries together in a pile. “That bad, huh?”

“I meant that you were doing something different.”

“Different is one word for it. Kinder than most people, though, so I appreciate that.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Letting people judge something you care about?”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s metal to just do it anyway. Especially here, where they’re bound to hate it, no matter how good we get. What’s the alternative? Playing in a garage for the rest of my life, hoping we’re good enough but not taking the risk that we might not be? Nope. Nah, man. Not me.” He shakes his head in earnest, bringing his hand up to point at himself. “I know I might not ever be successful, or even make enough from music to live, but I am for sure gonna fucking try.” He eats a couple more fries, has another thought while chewing and continues with them shoved to the side of his mouth. “Same reason I haven’t dropped out, y’know?” Eddie swallows, looking intense and sure of himself. “Nobody is ever gonna be able to say I gave up, that I didn’t try.”

You are wide eyed in admiration of him.

“Besides,” he grins, leaning into you. “I am really fucking good.”

As if heated, Eddie shakes his hair out a little, and removes his jacket, sighing. His bare arms are pale and inked. A flock of bats by his elbow, a demonic puppeteer on the inside of his forearm. When he brings his right arm across his torso to stretch, you spy a third and blink in recognition.

“You like my tats?” He asks, mischief in his tone.

“Is that a wyvern?”

He blinks, surprise evident. “Uh, yeah- yes. It is. How did you know that?”

You chew a fry. “Two legs.”

“Oh, yeah of course, how stupid of me. I forgot everybody knows that,” he laughs, shaking his head a little incredulously.

You hum. “They pop up in old Celtic stories and poems.” You tap your feet a little, gearing yourself up, that feeling of knowing you have something to say and wondering if you really want to say it. “The word has a cool origin, too.”

Eddie gestures for you to elaborate, then rests his head on his open hand.

“Well, it’s- some people think it comes from, um, wivre, which is Old French for snake, essentially. And then other people think it’s Old English. Cause that language has, um, wiver, which is snake, and guivre, which means a javelin? So, a javelin snake, like a flying snake. A wyvern.” You sip your milkshake almost violently to shut yourself up, still tapping your feet under the table while Eddie stares at you. You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not useful information. I just like stuff like that. I don’t know.”

“Things don’t have to be useful, if you like them.” Eddie leans forward. “Thank you for sharing something you care about, baby. Very metal.”

You twirl your straw in your milkshake, grinning at the table. “So, they’re used in your campaigns sometimes?”

“Of course,” he grins, starting to tell you about their powers, the way they can be used by somebody like him, a Dungeon Master, to add stakes to the worlds he creates. It’s like he knows, after your question, that you need him to be the one to talk for a while.

Eddie pays the bill while you’re in the bathroom, your resulting glare only making him more pleased with himself. “I’ll-” you start, stop, grab his hand and gain some confidence. “I’ll pay next time.”

“Next time,” Eddie agrees, squeezes your hand tight.

You glance at the time on his watch when you’re buckled up in his van. “Where we going, Eddie?”

“Well, that’s up to you. If you want we could go to my place? If I’m honest, usually around this time on a Friday I’m, well...high? Was wondering if you still wanted me to teach you how to smoke.”

You get a little fuzzy at the suggestion, remembering Eddie’s quip about what he might do when you were high. Just a joke, you knew that, but the thought of him touching you when you’re a little out of it is worryingly appealing.

“Okay.”

“You sure? Cause we can just watch a movie or something. Or if you’re tired I can take you home.”

“‘M not tired.”

Eddie’s pleased look is heat inducing in the evening light.

He warns you on the way, suddenly, that he lives in a trailer. Not ashamed, or defensive, just a mention. When you get there, he swings his feet on the way over to the door, holding it wide open and gesturing for you to enter in front of him. It’s nicely cool, a screened window open to let a gentle breeze drift through the air. You note a couch, chairs, a TV to your right, a little kitchen to the left that looks like it hasn’t experienced the presence of a woman in years.

“Eddie, do you live alone?”

“Nah, I live with my Uncle, but he works nights, so…we got this whole place to ourselves.” He grabs your hand, pulls you walking backwards down the hallway. “Bathroom,” he says, pointing to the first door you walk by. “Closet.” He taps the one opposite. You reach the end of the hall. “My room.”

If you had to guess what Eddie’s room would be like, this would be it. Posters and drawings line the walls, an electric guitar hanging by a mirror on the far wall. There’s tapes littered all over the place, a pile of records by a player. You smile at the clear attempt to condense the mess of clothes in one corner, a high pile lined with t-shirts to try and cover whatever else might be in there.

While Eddie opens a window, you sit up on his bed, leaning down to remove your shoes so you can tuck your feet up and cross your legs comfortably. Eddie turns and stares at you, giving a long blink. He watches you even as he crosses the room to start a cassette up, intense electric guitar and heavy drums filling the room until he turns it down for your more sensitive ears. Eddie takes one big step towards you, presses his fingers to your shoulder briefly. When he visibly pinches himself and flinches, you grab his hand, eyebrows creased in disapproval.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Just really, really had to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

Eddie lies himself easily back on his bed, legs stretched out, toes wiggling in his white tube socks. Like this, spread out and comfy in his t-shirt and jeans, Eddie looks so boyish and handsome it makes you want to crawl into his lap and stay there forever. You think about it while he grinds weed fished out of a plastic bag, wondering how seriously he meant the promise of no funny business. He pats the space next to him without looking up from his work. “C’mere.”

You settle back into his spare pillow, keeping your legs tucked in, your knee just resting on his thigh. Eddie’s pink tongue peeks out, wet and wide, to get the paper ready, then it stays there, held between his teeth while he concentrates on rolling it up properly. “Okay,” he says, expression serious on you as he turns the joint in the flame of his lighter. “Want you to take a couple deep breaths through your mouth for me, yeah? In and out.” He watches you do what he says. “What you wanna do is, sorta, get it in your mouth first, then you breathe from there, like so.” You watch him, the sudden intensity of the cherry when he wraps his pink lips around it, then the slow movement of his chest. He blows the smoke away from you before holding the joint out for you to take. He senses some hesitancy and shakes his thigh under your knee. “You don’t have to, baby. No pressure from me.”

“I’m gonna cough.”

“Damn right. Looking kinda dumb the first time you smoke is a right of passage. But it’s only myself here to see it, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You do cough, a symptom of breathing in too fast in your nervousness. Eddie pats your back softly, taking a couple pulls from the joint while you try to clear your throat from the burning sensation, looking up to keep your watering eyes at bay.

“That’s it, let it out. You gotta let it sit for a while. There’s no rush. Open your mouth even, get some air mixed in.” You follow that advice clumsily, but it’s easier, and followed after some time by the strange gentle wave that makes you want to settle back into his pillows and bury your face in them. Eddie watches some of the tenseness fall from your shoulders. “That’s it, huh? One more, baby, then you’re good.”

“Okay, Eddie,” you murmur, taking another drag before handing it back to him. He leans over your body to dispense some of the ashes in the tray on the table next to you. Your eyes stick to the porcelain column of his neck, stretched out and tense from leaning, relaxing as he sits back, settling the ashtray on the middle of the bed. You sigh, giving in to the need to relax entirely, slumping down until you’re only tilted at the shoulders. “I like your room.”

“Yeah? It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Did you do the drawings?”

“I did.”

“You’re so talented, Eddie.” You hum, turning on your side to look up at him properly. You reach out to grab the hand on the opposite side of you, the left one, covered in rings. You run your finger along them. A cross, a pig, a skull.

“You like ‘em?”

You smile a little, thinking yourself very clever when you reply. “I like you.”

“Me? You’re serious, baby?”

“You knew already.”

“Yeah, but it’s still hard to believe.” The weed is nice, makes you feel at ease, drifting instead of fighting to stay afloat. But you aren’t confident enough to list out all the reasons it should be very easy for Eddie to believe he is liked. Instead you keep playing with his rings, linking your fingers through his. “I like you, too, you know.”

Your sigh is deep and long. “That is hard to believe. I haven’t done anything at all to make you like me.”

There’s a pause, then Eddie’s detangling his fingers from yours gently, spliff hanging from his lips while he searches his bookcase. His fingers waggle, hand darting from shelf to shelf then a soft. “Ah, there you are.” You sit up when Eddie climbs back onto his bed, presenting you with his found book.

Sonnets to Orpheus. Beat up and a different addition to your own copy, but overall the same book. “I’ve sat through so many of those presentations, you know? You blew them all out the water.”

You tighten your fingers around the cover, shaking your head. Even like this, you couldn’t believe that for a second. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Baby, I went out and bought the book. Read every poem in there, too. Thought I could,” he huffs a laugh and sits back, taking a long drag before he continues. “Thought I could, you know, impress you, maybe, one day. Which I’ve ruined now by admitting it, but it’s the truth.”

His tone, self consciousness mixed with sincerity as he tells you tried to understand something you love, did so entirely to impress you, fills you with fondness for him. The high is gently fading, but the confidence it brought is replaced by the growing feeling of safety that Eddie seems to radiate.

You rest the book on his bedside table, toes curling in your socks while you give in to what you’ve wanted since Eddie splayed himself out on the bed. You climb into his lap, calves pressed to the mattress either side of his thighs, feeling immediately right. That you are where you belong. His expression is all wide eyed surprise, especially when you take the joint from him and put it out in the ashtray, getting one final hit from what he breathes out across your face. You breathe it in, the bitter smell of it overtaken by Eddie’s aftershave, cheap but pleasant, sticking to the skin of his neck.

Safe, you think, leaning forward to kiss Eddie’s throat. You feel him swallow under your lips. Hands resting on his shoulders, you press kisses under his chin, the end of his cheek. His eyes are closed, letting your lips search the skin of his face until you reach his pink lips, giving the bottom one a quick taste with the tip of your tongue before you kiss him properly. Eddie’s hands come to your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your dress when your tongue finds his, fingers digging in a little at the soft, excited moan you let escape.

“I promised no funny business,” he says when you pull away to cast heavy breaths.

“Just kisses.”

Eddie fixes you with a look of disappointment that stokes the heat between your legs. “I think you’re looking for a little more than kisses though, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Your hips twitch, and the resulting laugh is harsh enough to send excited shivers down your spine. “Mm-hm, that’s what I thought. C’mon then, take what you want.” You blink, lips falling to a gentle pout that makes Eddie shake his head, hair moving about his face. “Don’t know what you want, do you, baby?” He pouts right back at you when you shake your own head. “No, course not.”

The hands on your hips press you down, spreading your legs wider on top of him until the warm place between your thighs is in direct contact with the denim of his jeans. You gasp, whimper a little at the stiffness there. “Been like this since I saw you sat on my bed, baby, looking all pretty and at home. Wanted to get you like this the second we walked in but, y’know, I was trying to be chivalrous.” His hands help you move in a slow roll over him, the cotton of your panties rubbing your weeping entrance, catching on your clit just a little at the end. “But what am I supposed to do when you sit yourself all wide eyed and willing in my lap, mm? I am but a man.”

You bear down a little, knees bouncing on his mattress to press the bulge at his crotch deeper, wanting him between your lips, wanting him inside. You whine low in your throat. “Eddie.”

“Know you haven’t ever had anything inside, but need you to tell me, sweetheart. You ever rubbed this little cunt on someone?”

“No, no. Nobody but you, Eddie. Just-” You gasp, finding the right tilt of your hips to drag the wet, sticky fabric of your panties across your aching clit. You focus on that angle, bouncing and rolling your hips against Eddie’s hard cock through his jeans.

“Just what?” You hum in question, mind already losing the thread of the conversation. Eddie digs his fingers into your ass, making you whimper. “What have you rubbed this pretty cunt on, baby?”

“Mm. Use my pillow sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes clench shut, jaw set in a way that would make you worried he was angry if you weren’t focused on how to rub your pulsing clit just right. Your panties are stuck fast between your lips now, exposing some of the wet skin to the air, to the roughness of Eddie’s dark jeans. “What do you think about?”

“Mm?”

“C’mon now. When you’re riding your pillow. What’s goes on in your busy head?”

“Oh,” your body clenches, thinking about the last time, just this week. Not as good as this, not nearly, but better than any time before because you knew what Eddie’s hands felt like, had kissed his lips and heard him speak to you, heard him call you good and pretty and sweet.

“Gotta know for my sanity. C’mon, please, tell me.”

“You,” you whimper, clit twitching happily at the sound of his groan above you. You press your face to his neck, hidden by his hair, deep in the smell of him that makes your head light. It takes you a second of gathering your thoughts, your bravery, but you continue. “You, mmh, saying I’m good.”

Eddie presses one of his hands to your cheek, bringing you up to face him. He tilts his head to you, eye contact intense and overwhelming, your chest tightening. “Talking to me like this? You’re so fucking good. I know it’s hard for you, baby, and you’re doing so well.” He nods as the tears build in your eyes. You are half wanting to look away, but the feeling there in his brown eyes is something you can’t get enough of. You want to see it all the time, the tenderness there, the pride. “Sweet girl, making us both feel so fucking good.”

You like that, smiling with pride. “Feels nice?”

Eddie laughs, finally letting you look away when he presses a long kiss to your forehead, hand moving to massage the back of your neck while his chin rests on top of your head. “So nice. S’fucking warm, bouncing all pretty on my lap. Your pussy’s gonna leave my jeans all wet, isn’t that right, baby?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer, mouth occupied by soft moans and little, begging whimpers. His hand is large and warm at the back of your neck, massaging points of pressure that make you feel like a kitten in his grasp, mewling for the comfort of his touch. Your hole clenches, missing him, gushing wet at the thought he might play inside again soon. You want him so much, the thought is distant but sure. If Eddie asked, he could lay you back and fuck you on his bed right now.

More than the perfect drag of your sodden panties over your clit, more than the hard press of Eddie’s thickness through fabric against your hole, the thought of Eddie above you, hair wild and falling around you, stretching you out on his cock and groaning, pushes you over.

“That’s it. Fuck,” Eddie laughs at the sudden change in rhythm, the desperate circling press of the top of your cunt against him, the sound of you bouncing on your knees against his mattress. His hand keeps rubbing your neck softly, keeping your mouth at the base of his throat while you clench up and cum against him, pussy leaking enough slick it’s starting to seep through the fabric, leaving even the check cotton of his underwear a little damp with you.

You breathe deep, Eddie’s neck perfect to press your face into and whine when you start your hips up again. You avoid your sensitive clit, but allow Eddie to guide your hips over him, firmly rubbing his aching cock. “That’s it, make me feel so good, baby- yeah-” You feel the moment he cums, a violent twitch against your cunt, his hands suddenly halting your movement altogether while he groans, low and desperate into the air. “Fuuuuck,” he breathes, then laughs, lips finding your forehead again. “Jesus Christ, you are a fucking temptress.” You look up at him, blinking in confusion. “Just made me break a solemn vow. I’m pretty sure this counts as funny business.” He sighs, head falling back on his neck. “Certainly wasn’t very chivalrous of me.”

“I needed you.”

His head comes back up with a grin on it. “Thanks for the loophole. Couldn’t just ignore a Princess in need. If anything, this should earn me the title.”

You rest your head on his chest, hearing the beat of his heart as it slows steadily. Eddie strokes your hair from your temple, hand hiding you from the world while you recover. You tilt your head, a silent petition that Eddie reads and grants within a second, lips finding yours in multiple kisses of decreasing length until he’s pecking your mouth, then your cheek, eyelids, forehead, back down to your nose, your chin. You giggle when he starts all over your neck, never stopping in one place until he finds a soft little spot at your collar bone which he pulls between his lips harshly.

Your hand tangles in his soft hair, keeping him there through the wide lick of his tongue against that spot, soothing the ache. There will be a mark there already no doubt, Eddie’s first claim on you. Ask me, a desperate, weak part of you thinks. I’ll let you do anything.

Instead, he holds you in his arms, lying back on his bed and letting you curl up at his side, staring at the serene expression on his face. When he opens one pretty eye to find you gazing at him, you aren’t even embarrassed.

Eddie lets you use the bathroom first when he starts shifting uncomfortably, needing to deal with the cooling cum in his boxers. The thought makes you a little giddy while you clean yourself up, that you made him feel good this time instead of getting trapped in your head. He runs in there when you’re done, holding a spare pair of underwear and jeans, but not before giving you another press of his lips to your forehead.

He finds you on his bed when he returns, swinging your legs a little and happy to see him back. Eddie stands over you for a minute, stroking your hair and watching for any signs of what happened the last time he touched you. All he finds is a sated, happy girl, so he clears his throat, suddenly turning to the piles of cassettes and picking one off the top. “I, uh, made something for you.”

He hands you the cassette, the white J-card reading METAL FOR BABIES written in scratchy black biro. Under that, a list of tracks and artists.

“Classic stuff on there. You might not like it. I mean, I have no idea what you’re into but I thought it would be kinda cool, you know? It’s nothing too heavy, so you might like it. And it’ll get you used to it, you know? Since you’ll be hearing a lot of it, probably, from now on.”

Your heart cries, yes please.

Eddie gets you home by half eleven, even after toning down his usual speeding violations to spend a little more time able to look at you, clutching your new tape, sitting comfy in his van, kicking your legs happily. With the warning that your Mom would no doubt make good on her promise to stay up, Eddie has lent you a black oversized hoodie, already big on him so it sits on you comfy, the arms long enough to cover your fingers, the neckline high enough to cover the mark he’d left on your collar.

He walks you up to your door, hands in his pockets, legs back to swinging. “I wanna see you again like immediately,” he admits, leaning right into your space the way he’s prone to doing. His face is close to yours, watching your agreeing nod. “You wanna do something tomorrow? We could go to the lake, maybe?”

Another nod. “I can make lunch.”

“I’ll bring beer.”

You give him a kiss, hand flat on his chest. “See you tomorrow?”

Eddie sighs dramatically. “Until then, sweet lady.”

You watch him drive away from your kitchen window, hands covering your warm cheeks. Your wet eyes close tight. Your heart sings.

Next Chapter

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #we cross our fingers this shows up in the tags this time #tmyg

775 notes · View notes