#but this is genuinely about eddie and his thoughts

[harmonic-intervention]

You're killing me with chemistry - Chapter 1

Buck knows he's bi. He knows what he wants. And what he wants, right now, is Tommy. Maybe his hand in marriage, because he's getting desperate. Because, despite all of his attempts, and all of the positive responses from Tommy, for some reason, Tommy just ... doesn't act on anything.

Tommy knows Evan is straight. He asked both Howie and Hen about it, and he trusts their word on it. It doesn't stop Evan from pulling him in, and making him fall head over heels for him anyway. Tommy knows better than to fall for a straight guy, he does, but ... he can't change it.

Everything would be easier if they just talked to each other, but where's the fun in that?

A little story based off on this post by @disaster-j and I hope I did your idea justice.

This story will have three chapters, the rest of which will be coming out in the following days. Rating and tags will change as we go.

Word count: 13,556 - canon divergence, bi disaster!buck & oblivious!tommy, sexual tension

Excerpt:

Buck was in hell.

You’d think that finding out he was bisexual would make things- easier? Clearer? The world was his oyster or whatever.

Okay, fine, the clarity of finally realizing what he was feeling for men was nice, freeing. Looking back on things, so many of them suddenly made sense – namely following Connor to LA from Peru. And a couple of other things. It brought him perspective.

He’d tried for a couple of relationships with men, but they fizzled out like his thing with Natalia had just before. Finding the right partner who matched him wasn’t easier with men, it seemed.

Whoever said that as a bisexual man, he’d have twice as many options – Eddie – was a liar and also naïve. It only got worse.

Until the night Bobby and Athena decided to re-enact Titanic in the most dramatic way possible. Buck did feel kind of bad about connecting so much joy with that night, but hey, nobody could blame him!

Not when Chimney introduced him to the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life.

Buck saw him, and he thought that he couldn’t be real. Men like Tommy Kinard didn’t exist. He was tall, broad, had a kind smile and pretty eyes, looked like the textbook definition of handsome, had large and strong hands – Buck almost lost his breath when he shook his hand – he was a firefighter and a pilot, and he was also batshit insane, it seemed. At least enough to fly them into a hurricane.

Buck heard his voice, and he knew immediately that he needed to hear him say his name. He felt like his insides melted when Tommy said, “Nice to meet you, Evan,” with a soft smile, his words so genuine that Buck felt something rearrange inside of him.

What the hell was Buck supposed to do? Not fall ass over teakettle for the guy? Okay, they barely talked that night, and the words they exchanged were tense. But Buck got to watch Tommy work, got to watch him confidently stride across the hangar and bullshit his way into getting them off the ground, got to watch him guide them through a storm with steady hands.

And then he got to watch him and hear him make fake mouth static at the fire chief, and Buck was gone. Men like Tommy weren’t real, but here he was, right in front of Buck.

[continue on ao3]

[mmso-notlikethat]

Buck stood in the middle of Bobby and Athena’s new living room, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. The room was warm, almost too warm, crowded with the people he loved most—Maddie resting her hand on her growing belly, Chimney chasing Jee as she squealed with glee, Hen and Karen trading stories with Bobby and Michael. Even May and Harry, were perched by the tree, teasing Denny and Mara over the presents they’d opened early. It was perfect—he was happy.

He’d spent the morning on the phone with Eddie and Chris, smiling as Chris gushed about the new videogame Eddie had surprised him with. “It’s perfect,” Buck had said, meaning it. He wanted to believe it. Eddie and Chris were having their own quiet Christmas this year, just the two of them with their family—and Buck, with all his love for the Diaz boys, thought they deserved it.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

He tried, he really did. Tried to focus on the cookies Athena had baked (because yes, Bobby let her take over his kitchen), tried to laugh at Chimney’s ridiculous dad jokes, tried not to think about Tommy’s laugh—soft and genuine, usually accompanied by that deep scrunchy lines.

Tried not to think how was Tommy gonna spend his Christmas.

Tried not to imagine what their Christmas could’ve been.

***

Tommy’s shift at harbor was busier than usual—calls coming in, the team on high alert with the unpredictable holiday rush. He welcomed it, let himself get caught up in the rhythm of the work. The guys he worked with didn’t let Christmas pass without something small: someone brought cake, another guy strung lights up around the break room. Tommy joined in, a cup of coffee in hand as they told dumb stories and swapped jokes.

“You got plans after this, Kinard?” one of the guys teased as Tommy shoved another bite of cake into his mouth.

“Nah,” Tommy replied easily, flashing a smile. “Got all the plans I need right here.”

It wasn’t a lie. The work had been enough—it usually was.

But when his shift ended, and he stepped into his dark, quiet house, that familiar emptiness crept in, no matter how much he told himself to ignore it. His fridge hummed as he opened it, eyes landing on the six-pack of beer sitting untouched on the shelf.

For a long moment, Tommy stared at it, the cold air brushing against his face.

Get it together, Tommy. Always the same.

He slammed the fridge door closed, the sound echoing through the silence of the house. His chest felt tight, too tight, so he turned on his heel, headed for the garage.

The dim light buzzed to life as he wrapped his hands—old tape, frayed at the edges. He didn’t even bother turning on the music. His knuckles hit the bag with force, and the ache in his muscles welcomed him like an old friend. He pushed harder, faster, each strike punctuated by the words he refused to say out loud.

“Why—” hit.

“—are you—” hit.

“—so weak, Tommy?” hit. hit.

By the time he stopped, his breath was ragged, sweat dripping from his brow. He leaned his forehead against the bag, shutting his eyes.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s nothing new. You’re fine, Tommy.

But as he stood there, the silence pressing in around him, he wondered—for the first time in a long time—what it might feel like to finally stop doing this alone.

To have someone waiting for him when he walked through the door.

To have Evan waiting for him.

Tommy swallowed hard, shoved the thought back, and stepped away from the bag.

It didn’t matter. This was just another Christmas.

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[wannabanauthor]

Warning: BuckTommy Angst Thoughts

Don't think about how devastated Buck is that he found someone who liked him for him, who actively listened to all his rambles, who flirted shamelessly with him, who went above and beyond to romance the hell out of him, who treated him like the grown ass man he is, who understood his friendship/family with Eddie and Chris, who matched his sex drive and dorkiness, who genuinely cared for him and made sure he knew it...all to just lose him in an instant.

He wanted to progress things, and did it in the worst way, and it cost him everything. He's lonely, desperately wanting to contact Tommy, and baking every time he thinks about Tommy.

Not only did he lose his boyfriend, he lost a great friend, someone he wanted to be with for the rest of his life in any way possible (Oliver even said he wanted Tommy to be around Buck even if they broke up).

All of this, and he still wants Tommy. He wants to talk to him, call him, text him, anything just to get his attention again. Tommy made him feel complete, and now Buck's lost without him.

Buck's glow is gone, now he's just left with the emptiness and despair that Tommy left in his wake.

[hippolotamus]

tagged by the lovely and talented @daffi-990 (new chapter!) @mountedeverest @wikiangela (be sure to check out their things) and various other people through the week. Brain did not wish to write this week, but I put together some unexpected words on a thing that's been bothering me in S7 😅 anyway, have some of Eddie's complicated mental gymnastics. (and I did another lil thing earlier but didn't tag everyone because i know not everyone likes BuckTommy but if it interests you...)

As much as Eddie gave Buck hell about Natalia, about dating someone from a call, he easily categorizes Marisol separately. Because Eddie is good at that, at making different mental compartments for sorting the things he needs to. Things like work (people they saved, people they lost), Christopher (school, growing up, friend circles), his time in the army, family (his sisters, abuela, Pepa, his parents, safe topics of conversation). Even one for himself (father, son, brother, husband, widower, firefighter). Needless to say, it’s an extensive list. A well practiced method that allows him to say ‘Marisol from the hardware store’, not ‘Marisol from the 911 call’, without feeling guilty or like he’s lying.  Other than the convenience of a half truth, he was genuinely pleased to run into her there. She’s pleasant, helpful. There’s something kind of adorable about her overalls and the way her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. Something that makes her a little less intimidating and a lot easier to talk to. Like he doesn’t have to perform or put on an act. He can just be a guy trying to figure out the right adhesive for his son’s school project.  It’s a nice role to slip into. Easy. Simple. Easier still to justify having Chris there when he calls Marisol to ask her out.  That all comes screeching to a halt when he picks her up for their date. They're only supposed to be going for a casual dinner and movie. He chose a black button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and one of his nicer pairs of dark jeans. What he considers a respectable yet casual look. Marisol opens the door to greet him and something in his brain goes offline. Not for any of the typical reasons people usually get thrown off. But when has his brain ever acted the way it’s supposed to? It’s not- she’s not unattractive or off putting. Necessarily. But she’s… girly, soft, feminine. Her hair falls around her shoulders, slightly curled at the ends, and she’s applied enough makeup to be noticeable but not too much. She’s wearing a short-sleeved olive green dress that falls to mid-thigh and strappy heels.  Several of the neatly arranged boxes in Eddie’s head, with their partitions and labels, tumble together, spilling and jumbling their contents with another unmarked box full of thoughts he’d like to pretend he doesn’t know exists.

@actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @tizniz

@fortheloveofbuddie @weewootruck @saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6

@ramonaflow @taketheplanspinitsideways @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley

@stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @mrs-f-darcy @diazsdimples @drowsy-quill

@your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy

@rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @queenmabcreates @inell @jesuisici33

@bucksbiawakening @shortsighted-owl @queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights

@elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05

@lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus

@thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @wildlife4life and anyone else who wants to 😘

[stagefoureddiediaz]

The Helena diaz of it all has me fascinated. I’ve said for a long while that Eddie’s real issues are his mommy issues and this episode just cemented for me that we’re gonna explore that and deal with it.

Because it’s Helena who forced Eddie to grow up to fast - because her husband wasn’t around much - so she pushed Eddie into de facto parent and husband role ls - selfishly filling her needs and ignoring the damage it was doing to her son (it is a form of abuse in my book).

Eddie then had the audacity to fall in love with and marry Shannon and get her pregnant. It’s why Helena was always so off with Shannon - she was punishing her. She is also punishing Eddie for all of this and his refusal to return to El Paso only cemented further her bitterness and resentment.

Now she does have Ramon back she doesn’t need Eddie any longer to fill that role so she is still punishing him and part of that is tied into her glee over now getting to parent Christopher - something she has always been intent on doing the doppelgänger just gave her the opportunity- as well as allowing her to further punish her son and his love of Shannon.

Her barbed comments about building a pool were all about showing what she can provide Christopher - how she is parenting him better than Eddie - it’s part of her mind games - making Eddie feel like more of a failure as a parent to his son.

The reality of course is that the reverse is true - Helena’s parenting is all superficial, flash and showy - it isn’t the hard day to day parenting when things get tough and you have to be the bad guy. While Eddie has made mistakes, there is nothing superficial, flash, or showy about his parenting. It’s why bucks comments about Eddie being a great dad are so important.

Eddie feel like a failure right now and that he is entirely to blame for everything. But in reality, while he does bear a bit of the responsibility, the truth of the matter is that he needs to learn and deal with the fact that all of it actually stems from Helena and her abuse of her young son - Shannon never stood a chance just like Eddie never has.

[collectivecloseness]

(Nsfw) ok but do u have a hc at all on who’s better at going down on a lady, Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson?

Okay but I absolutely do for sure and I have thought this for the longest time.

(Cw: 18+)

Steve I think didn’t even know that was a thing at first, back in his king Steve days. He was all about missionary, or blowjobs, or other more common stuff he’d hear about, not that he was a selfish lover or anything. Sure he’d touch girls down there, of course he would, but the clit? Who knows where that is, he’d trust they’ll say/moan something if he finds it. Not to say he doesn’t learn though.

Absolutely not. As Steve becomes a better person, but also gains more experience, he hears about this for the first time and he wants the girls he’s with to feel happy and enjoy it and make sure they cum as well (not faking it which he’s trying to distinguish for sure now) but at least feeling safe and enjoying it. It is important to him that his partners are enjoying everything just as much as he is, even very early on before he’d learned more. As long as they’re happy, satisfied, and safe, Steve can end it happy as well.

But Steve’s knowledge comes in at a pretty normal time for a guy in Hawkins in the 80’s, and he’s definitely a lot a lot more willing to try it. Firstly asking a girl he trusts how to do it, then he found a book he could get without anyone recognising him, to read and keep hidden deep under his bed. As well as as time goes on, checking out some more tapes from the back adults only section of Family Video, so he can check what it’s ‘supposed’ to be like from other angles, not just when he’s looking up buried between thighs.

So at first, probably until he gets a long term partner who will work him though it, rather than a quick hookup, which they at least leave highly satisfied from and will tell other girls considering a date with the previous king of Hawkins High that it’s definitely worth a shot, at first Steve’s techniques are more just that; techniques. Things he’s read about and heard, like tongue here there diagonal short then fast, or the alphabet method, or following step by step something from his book that could be misconstrued as a ddr pattern or something.

Mostly Steve’s very focused on doing it right, and that is for the pleasure of his partners. But he does have to be taught by a girl he trusts where the clit exactly is at first, or more so, how to know if he’s touching it correctly. Shocked that it ranges from about 60-80% of sex without using the clitoris doesn’t end in orgasm for girls (although in Steve’s defence, that stat is much much lower with him, again, an unselfish lover even in the beginning, and also, he’s still Steve Harrington). He’s still a bit flustered trying to figure things out without being gentlemanly vague, but Steve really does care about your experience a lot.

And if you’re his partner, damn. Steve becomes such a good boy trying to ask you every single time he’s down there if what he’s doing is right, if you’re still okay, if he should change up, if he’s hurting you, if you finished, if you can handle round four - because holy shit girls can handle a lot more than even big boy Steve Harrington thought. He’s genuinely very considerate and sweet, caring a lot about your experience, and he will shut up and just get on with it and try and listen to your body, because he doesn’t want to stop if you’re feeling good; you go through some ideas with him, like thigh tapping signals.

But Steve will totter to you and ask you with his hand out if you two can go practice again, pretty please?

Steve may not have been the best student in high school, but he definitely wants to do some research in this field, and he is more than happy to perform some experiments. It’s called growing <3. He won’t ask you too much, and he won’t bother you with it, but he will come ask you in very sweet ways, like laying his head on your lap, or getting on his knees, or sucking into your neck just the same way he does your cunt. Or if you two are beginning to have sex, he’ll ask if you’d like him to do that first. And then he might want to do it afterwards as well. Especially if you would like to go for another round (Steve is not a one and done guy). Again, he’s learning all about the female body and experience so much :)

Steve is also... big. So it definitely does help, if he’s getting on his knees or tummy before you two make love <3. Although to be honest, not that you need it much anyway considering Steve gets you wet so easily. You remember Steve playing with your hair and whispering sweet nothings to you, before making out for a while, when you two decided to go to the bedroom. And when Steve undressed you, like a gentleman, and went to add more foreplay, and saw how soaked you were, he actually fucking laughed, like an adorable loving dork, and said out loud “Wow.” To be honest, it only helped you want him more.

Then again Steve eating you out after he’s cum in you slightly works against his breeding kink, although it’s not too much of an issue because Steve still throughly enjoys it. He also likes being able to be a little messy and dirty and free with you, and he also likes cleaning you up and helping you out once again, it works in so many ways to be honest. Not to mention the obvious, Steve likes going down on you, he wants to do it again, and also doing so after you two had made love was kinda hot. One time he had tears in his sweet brown eyes while licking out his cum, which took a minute to get to because Steve had fucked it deep in you, but when you promised he could fill you up again after he finished cleaning you up here, because he’d been so lovely today, you swear you saw his heart burst, just from the sparkles in his caramel eyes.

You’re definitely expanding Steve to lots of new intimate and interesting things to do with sex. Not that he was boring beforehand, but he didn’t want to risk going with something he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t good at, and he didn’t really get into another relationship until you, or really trust the other enough to be vulnerable and think within himself about his own explorations. He didn’t really think or get to physically explore about himself too much until you really. And you definitely helped him feel more open to do some introspection on himself, even at some surface level stuff to do with vulnerabilities and sex/love making things.

Steve does however figure this out very early days, probably with Nancy because he did love her, but it’s not something he really let himself indulge in or mind wonder about, until you. And that’s the fact he loves sucking on some boobies <3. Actually makes him feel incredibly calm and happy and like he can just shut down from being big protector Harrington, and just be Stevie in love and being taken care of, by taking care of.

Absolutely loves just settling his head down and softly holding you and mouthing around your boobs with the comfort of knowing that’s all he’s got to do right now, and it’s making you happy too. So to realise he can suck on something else of yours? That tastes of you even more, and makes you extremely happy too? Steve can bob those lovely cheeks around three different things and not accidentally overstimulate you, and really let his mind soften into loving and affectionate time with you, his love <333

Steve is a good guy and he is learning a lot. Happily doing so, he wants to be a good enough person for you, but also, hell yeah Steve Harrington is loving this too! Why don’t all guys like eating out their girlfriends?

Eddie is bouncing off all four walls if he doesn’t eat pussy soon.

Actually one of the first things he wants to do sexually. Yeah the first time he has sex he’s trying not to cream his pants but he’s also so desperate to please. But also to taste... to experience all that loveliness. The first time he does it it’s not only to please, but to try and prove he’s good, he likes them, to try and make himself good enough so they don’t leave, but he very quickly realises they all will. Well until you that is. Although Eddie Munson does go through a little bit of a slutty era before that - I mean, he was doomed by having that slutty, slutty waist.

After the first girl or two it’s mostly about pleasing his lovely lady acquaintances. But also a little bit of pride knowing their jock boy toys will never be as good as him, and those girls will know it, and never be able to feel the same with them after. He hopes it frees his good old friends, get them some real partners. And yeah, to give them one hell of a lifetime ride.

The all encompassing warmth and smell and taste and sounds and feel of you is something Eddie craves constantly. It’s like his safe place. That and it really helps with his oral fixation. And the man is obsessed. He will not be leaving you for hours. He’s biting all up your arm, big chomps over and over, beforehand, licking at you randomly, pretending he’s so sweet to kiss your cheek but actually poking it with the tip of his tongue. These aren’t even always precursors to Eddie’s meal of the day, he is just like that.

He wants to bury himself there and breathe you only. Why should Eddie care about o2 or whatever that bitches name is, they didn’t help him pass chemistry. The only chemistry Eddie cares about is between you and him... You push his face away in retaliation at that awful flirting. But Eddie is pouncing right back, laugh roaring, and biting down over your pelvis, which gets you to push him away again, this time with a laughing shriek. He’s just eager, he won’t bite where it hurts, but like, if you’re gonna be running your hands through his hair as you’re calling his name, he’s going to surprise lick your fingers occasionally. Or bite. Maybe suck on something a little. Your thighs and boobs are constantly getting apology smooches for Eddie being very bad and biting down on them.

He wants to live smothered in your love for him, the physical show all around him that you love him right now and are not leaving and he’s making you feel good in this moment, but also it’s you, encompassing him. Everything about you is safety and security and love for him. It’s another reason Eddie will absolutely bury his face in your boobies too </3

And when you finally let him indulge his oral fixation down there, three hours later - with breaks and water and checking in on you in between - his arms are wrapped around your thighs and he’s scooching forwards as you pull your legs, and therefore him, up the bed, with the biggest and ‘wettest’ pout on his face, begging you he just needs to be in there for a little more time. Please say you can go another round? He’s desperate. He’ll do anything baby, he just wants to worship you some more.

Eddie sometimes headbutts face first into your boobs and swears he will starve without tasting your pretty pussy. You’re more worried he’s going to fucking drown.

Eddie will happily get smothered to death though if it means drinking everything up. One of the only times you saw Eddie frown in bed (or anywhere you two were fucking) was when you were sitting on his face, and kept pulling back because you were worried you would hurt him. Eddie was stubbornly telling you that he could take it, you were fine, and you were wrong; and you swear he was going to use your body as an unwilling weapon to kill himself, because he was pulling you back down on his face so determinedly, you weren’t sure you could move from his grip pulling you down if you even wanted - you definitely did not want. Not when it was Eddie fucking Munson whose face you were riding.

Another excellent point in his favour, Eddie is wild. Very passionate. Extremely intuitive and very well versed/knowledgable. So he’s a god at eating out.

Changes up nearly every single time because he knows how to go with the flow and read you so well. It’s not just experience or anything Eddie is very well tuned to what you like and don’t, and he can pick up on you easily. Eating out just comes so so naturally to him it’s insane. And the fact he just goes ballistic down on you, absolutely feral for you, makes things even more sensational. He’ll eat you out in every which way possible. Staring up at you with those big fucking dark brown eyes. Those pretty thick lips glistening and swollen.

And when looking into his deep doe eyes is what makes you finally cum over his tongue, Eddie is chuckling breathily in that sweet voice into your cunt, and you’re cumming harder. The noises he makes too, little hums he doesn’t even know he’s sounding, he’s just enjoying himself that much, the sloppy eager sounds as he laps and sucks and kisses and eats at you, and then the fucking moans and swears and whines and groans and whimpers, and all the sweet suave words he tells you each time. When they’re sounded while his mouth is around you, the vibrations make you go crazy, something Eddie absolutely knows.

One time he winked to you after his laugh into your crotch made your eyes roll into your skull, and when he sweetly batted his eyelashes into your sensitive nipped thighs, just to make you feel even more, he really got his hair knotted into, and tugged further into your ‘embrace’.

Eddie will use any part of his face, ride his nose, or he’ll nuzzle it, tickling your thighs or belly with his eyelashes, scraping his teeth down them, using his lips to kiss and suck and mouth and vibrate on you, not to mention whatever ungodly power was given to Eddie’s tongue. Holy fuck Eddie’s tongue must have been blessed or something. His whole face is rubbing against you, he’s utilising it all, and Eddie wants his face covered in your cum, to the point it’s streaming down his neck and dripping onto his chest tattoo <3

And he’ll leave sessions having not had you take care of him once, all he wanted to do was go down on you. Get that taste, and make you feel so good. It makes him feel good too, even if not in that way, it just really does. Sometimes eating you out for a while is really all Eddie wants. Either for as long as he can get, or even a quick session before one of you has to go. He once joked that even with his life, it was the only addiction he has. Although you swear you watch him go through withdrawal. You’d say kinda regularly actually, but you two are going at it enough it doesn’t get to be too much of a problem <3.

It surprised you a little when you first dated him, that sometimes Eddie would ask you if you two could do that, and then that’s all that’d happen, unless you initiated further. When Eddie said that that shouldn’t be surprising, goddamn he did make you fall for him even more. You tell him he has a blessed tongue in many ways, although Eddie is very aware of that.

Sometimes sure he’ll rub one or multiple out under you, or buck against his mattress as he does so. One time even using your leg, because you were stood at the bathroom sink and he just had to have a taste of you before he could sleep. Trust me, eating you out is well more than enough to get Eddie Munson off. Sometimes all Eddie is focused on is pussy and he’s absolutely enjoying himself extremely, being touched himself or not. After all, he is getting to do one of his favourite all time things with you.

[lifeandtimesoftrying]

Eddie McKenna and the connection between his kindness and his willingness to be wrong

(hi again! It’s Eddie day for TOTA takeover. There will be some spoilers for the show, hence the cut)

I think that one of the most remarkable things about Eddie is that he’s so *willing* to admit when he’s wrong, and this is directly influenced by his kindness. We see this in the very first episode—his first reaction to meeting Campbell is to assume that he’s one of the staff, because he has preconceived notions about what the patients should be like. But once he knows he’s wrong? He’s fine with it, and throughout the series we see him repeatedly advocate for Campbell.

(spoilers start here!)

Eddie repeatedly insists that he and Campbell are a team, and when Radio Scotland want to take Campbell but not Eddie, Eddie… agrees. And furthermore, he *tells* Campbell to take the job.

You also see this worldview with his treatment of Francine. Within the show, she’s the most unstable character, but Eddie actively tries to learn about all aspects of her, and doesn’t dismiss her out of hand. And with Fergus, Eddie continuously insists that he’s qualified, which provides a stark juxtaposition with employers’ and psychiatrists’ treatment of Fergus. And this isn’t because that Eddie went into the job already being accepting—as noted earlier, he *did* have preconceived stereotypes. But he was willing to actually get to know the patients and adjust his assumptions.

He’s also a generally selfless character. He pays Harriet’s lunch (she was the little old lady), and gives his grandmother 3,000 pounds so she can go to Lithuania, even though he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He goes against his job as a double-glazing salesman and tells the single mother that her windows are fine, just loose, and if she has putty he can fix them for her.

Furthermore, he’s incredibly honest. This is demonstrated with the window example, but it also heavily influences his relationships with the patients, particularly Campbell. Eddie repeatedly tells Campbell to not get his hopes up, and while this creates conflict between them, Eddie’s stance is sympathetic—he isn’t saying it to discourage Campbell, he’s saying what he has experienced and has full reason to believe is true so that Campbell isn’t misled and later disappointed. Eddie is also unusually self-aware. He readily acknowledges that he hates his day job, and in episode 6 when Campbell confronts him, he doesn’t go back on that, but instead makes it clear that what he wants is financial security and respect “for this first time in [his] life.” There’s also the line where in response to Campbell saying “Eddie, you don’t see that job’s killing you!”* Eddie replies, “No, Campbell, my dreams. My dreams are killing me.” And in some ways it’s *true*. Eddie’s job is soul-sucking because of the kind of person that Eddie *is*, and Eddie realizes this, even if he doesn’t give himself credit for it.

(*note: this line might also be “Eddie, don’t you see that job’s killing you!” I believe it’s the former but there are no subtitles to check against.)

The combination of Eddie’s willingness to be wrong, selflessness, and honesty is also what makes the line “he’s funnier than me” (referring to Campbell) so impactful, because it very clearly showcases all three of those characteristics. That statement encapsulates a core part of Eddie’s character, and we as the audience know that, which is why it hits. It’s not false modesty, or a cop out, or something that’s going to be undermined—it’s part of the reason that we want Eddie’s to succeed, and seeing it used in a place where Eddie is going to be punished for it *hurts*.

Finally, I think that this triad is what makes Eddie’s arc of recognizing his alcoholism compelling. This is really the one thing that he doesn’t honestly acknowledge about himself for most of the show, which indicates that it’s far more difficult for him to be wrong about than anything else that we’ve seen. There’s also a double standard between him and the other characters; he is routinely kind to those around him, but isn’t nearly as kind to himself. He views himself as a failure and lets others take his agency away from him, and the first time we really see this stop (or at least pause) is after he and Francine go to Lithuania night. While this could be interpreted as ~romantic love makes everything fine~, considering the sheer amount of respect the writers have for the characters and that the message is clearly not that, I think that that scene shows that Eddie needed someone to be kind to him and appreciate him in order to realize that he *can* and *should* be treated with kindness and respect, which includes him treating himself that way.

[dazzle02]

Ya know, I'd be genuinely interested in what the reaction would've been if Buck had got with another male character on the show other than Eddie. Like, one that the fans already loved. Someone like Ravi or Albert. A character who people already love and were wanting more of, but ISN'T Eddie. And like, have pretty much the same exact story of Buck not really understanding why he wants this persons attention, maiming Eddie and all that. All the "controversial" moments still happen. But here, Buck is the older one. In fact, with Albert they've got about the same age gap as Buck and Tommy, only Buck is the older one. Albert was 20 when he first appeared in the show in S3 and Buck would've been 28/29ish. So it would've been a similar age difference. But we would never have them calling Buck a predator or anything. Because they're very aware that they're all adults. But it does make me wonder what the reaction would've been.

Having Buck realise he's bisexual and start dating a guy, and it's not Eddie, but it IS a character they claim to love. And there's no sign of it not lasting. No actual sign of Bvdd!e happening. All signs point towards this relationship lasting a while.

Would they start hating on this character they've always loved beforehand? Because we all know that the main reason so many of them hate Tommy is because they see him as a threat to their ship.

But like, imagine Buck and Albert for some reason started dating (which I could never actually see but I do know some people have shipped this...) and BUCK said the things that made people decide they wanted Tommy to be killed. They'd have a completely different reaction.

This is just something I was thinking about last night while I was trying to go to sleep... 🤣

[delta-piscium]

strongly believe Eddie and El would just get each other, sure they’re opposites on the surface but they have a lot of similarities with being misunderstood and viewed as monsters etc, also their autistic swag would bring them together

[dreamofbecoming]

hhhhh is it bad that i’m coming up with post-canon stranger things aus when i haven’t even seen the canon

[cabeswaterdrowned]

as well as being ableist, hating on Billy by making addiction jokes or for how his addiction effects him is just deeply sad and jobless behavior because like of everything you could criticize that man for that’s the basis of insults… like what a self drag honestly. Not just exposing prejudices but exposing yourself for being uncreative, lazy, and having bad priorities.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sweet Like Chocolate (Venom Drabble)

Eddie/Venom x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Venom's enjoys it when you're his host.

CW: fluff, making fun of Eddie

Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

WE ARE NOT A BABY.

You tut and continue about making Venom’s tater tots. It hadn’t really been a genuine thought. It’s just that when you and Eddie trade Venom between you like parents trading a toddler for alone time, it kind of felt that way at times. Not that you were complaining, of course. Any time with Venom piggybacking in your head was time well spent in your own personal opinion. 

It was just a shame that you weren’t a better match. Then he could come around with you more often. But no, that was Eddie’s responsibility, it would seem. 

“I know, V- you know how human brains work. Thoughts just pop in unannounced.” 

I WILL ALLOW IT.

 

You chuckle and pour yourself a glass of wine. A tendril of Venom’s form spreads from your back to put the wine bottle away for you, and you thank him kindly. Checking the timer on the tots, you frown. They were going to be at least another fifteen minutes. 

“What do you want to do tonight, V?” You ask, plopping down on the lounge chair and taking a sip. 

WE WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. 

You smile softly, and Venom chuckles in your brain in response. That took some getting used to, actually, hearing someone laugh in your mind. But like all things, you acclimated. 

“We’re doing that, buddy,” you reply. 

YOU ARE FAR NICER THAN EDDIE. EDDIE IS MEAN. 

You take another swig of your wine and flick the TV on quietly, flipping through to get to Venom’s favourite channel. 

“How do you mean? Eddie’s a sweetie deep down,” you respond, finally finding the channel and putting the subtitles on for yourself. Eddie was always a sweetie. It was just that he was a bit gruff. Venom grunts. 

EDDIE’S AN ASSHOLE. 

You hear the bathroom door creak open and turn around, seeing Venom’s tendril rooting around in there for something. You don’t question it further than that, knowing that whatever he’s looking for will be found. 

You’re proven correct when the tendril returns with your hairbrush. You dutifully fluff your hair out from the neck of your cardigan for Venom, who hums appreciatively and begins to brush at your hair. 

It’s something he likes to do for you. You’re not sure whether it’s because he enjoys the sensation himself, or whether it’s something he does for you. It could be both, all things considered. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the motions for a few minutes. 

“He can be an ass,” you finally acquiesce. “But he means well.” 

Venom’s head materialises from over your shoulder and faces you. His tendril pauses its ministrations in your hair for a moment, and he appears thoughtful. 

“I suppose,” Venom replies. “We prefer you. Prettier host.” 

You flush pink and brush a hand over Venom’s cheek. Or what would be his cheek, you supposed? 

“You’re a sweet thing, V.” 

Venom nods, ripples of his skin flowing over his form. 

“Like chocolate, yes?” 

You laugh and make to get up when the timer for the tater tots goes off. 

“Like chocolate.”

[iamonlyhereforthefreefood]

I was noticing that most of my celebrity crushes in the past have been on actors/actresses rather than musicians. And I was like hmmm Eddie Vedder might be my first musician celebrity crush... and then I remembered my Hanson phase...

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[dreamsteddie]

There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

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Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.