scarletslxt

[scarletslxt]

Bestie. You need therapy. Not a Fae prince with midnight hair and razor sharp jawline who hates you because he thinks of you. Often. It's disgusting, and he can't stop.

[scarletslxt]

jfc this is actuallt a masterpiece. the banter between eddie and the mc is written beautifully. I LOVE IT

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie. 

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative. 

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little. 

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you. 

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?" 

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers. 

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of. 

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious. 

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years." 

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?" 

He blinks at you. "You know the scene." 

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life. 

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away." 

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you." 

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music. 

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case. 

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour. 

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–" 

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart." 

— 

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute." 

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying." 

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya. 

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience. 

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses. 

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed. 

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks. 

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks. 

She's multi-faceted. 

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to. 

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them." 

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice. 

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up. 

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now." 

"That's dramatic." 

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow. 

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice. 

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick." 

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem. 

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says. 

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke. 

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late." 

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events. 

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion." 

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed. 

"Do we know those guys?" you ask. 

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters." 

Ananya turns off the TV. 

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone. 

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part. 

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance. 

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?" 

"I don't need practice," Morgan says. 

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–" 

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks. 

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold. 

— 

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away. 

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches. 

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead." 

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth. 

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks. 

"You'll sneak out." 

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly. 

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist. 

"You know this is stupid." 

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson." 

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now. 

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say. 

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded." 

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light. 

"What are you losers doing?" 

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole." 

"You're disgusting," Eddie says. 

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy." 

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image. 

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar. 

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles. 

"I can't shower, I'm watching him." 

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot. 

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space. 

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats. 

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside. 

"Jame," he protests. 

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?" 

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move." 

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly. 

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?" 

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?" 

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears. 

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this. 

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs. 

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.  

“Whose house are we in?” you ask. 

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else. 

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back. 

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her. 

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody. 

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card. 

I need to get paid. 

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn. 

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose. 

You blow it away from her. 

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers. 

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession. 

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her. 

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly. 

You find you aren’t asking Morgan. 

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty. 

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart." 

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun. 

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from. 

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?" 

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?" 

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says. 

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?" 

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you. 

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame. 

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly. 

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot. 

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain? 

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here. 

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe. 

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in. 

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone. 

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection. 

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks 

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance. 

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at. 

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…" 

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that." 

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?" 

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?" 

"No, that one passed me by." 

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand. 

You take it. You tell him your name. 

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets. 

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks. 

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so. 

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation. 

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it. 

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here." 

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics. 

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever. 

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it. 

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room. 

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up. 

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home." 

"Why's she so upset?" you ask. 

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing. 

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably. 

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing. 

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it. 

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough. 

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go. 

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me. 

The subtext isn't important. 

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions. 

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone. 

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing. 

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target. 

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks. 

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you. 

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?" 

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day. 

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me." 

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night. 

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things. 

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short. 

"This tastes awful." 

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie. 

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable. 

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue. 

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin." 

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?" 

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist." 

"The loud one." 

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him." 

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible." 

"Can you get me something from the minibar?" 

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems. 

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse." 

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine. 

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing. 

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones. 

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles. 

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got." 

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes. 

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight. 

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume. 

A familiar scent pricks your attention. 

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown. 

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way. 

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters. 

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently. 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time. 

"Have we met before?" you ask. 

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle. 

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick. 

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?" 

"You look exactly the same," you say. 

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you. 

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment. 

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front. 

"You'll catch flies." 

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend. 

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. 

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror. 

His lightness fades. "Nice." 

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it." 

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually. 

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow. 

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh. 

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily. 

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments. 

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise. 

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet. 

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go. 

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch. 

"Can I help you?" he whispers. 

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you. 

"Fucking move," she says. 

His expression flickers. 

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy. 

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle. 

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day. 

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh. 

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs. 

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good. 

"She's hot," he furthers. 

"Jesus, Gareth." 

"What? She's fucking hot." 

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time. 

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything. 

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin. 

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot. 

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?" 

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser." 

"I was just asking." 

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about. 

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline. 

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?" 

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange. 

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given." 

"I did." 

"And only that." 

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds. 

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that." 

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise. 

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say. 

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green. 

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder. 

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him. 

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory. 

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure. 

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired. 

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers. 

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice. 

"She's a piece of work." 

You shift uneasily. 

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart." 

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?" 

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that. 

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks. 

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?" 

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog." 

"Fuck you, I do not." 

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue. 

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit." 

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve. 

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?" 

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too. 

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options." 

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk. 

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out. 

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start." 

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it. 

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift." 

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe. 

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you. 

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen." 

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast. 

"You don't know anything," you murmur. 

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else. 

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel. 

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all." 

"They're hardly desperate." 

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares." 

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now. 

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile. 

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads. 

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless. 

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?" 

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?" 

"It doesn't." 

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him. 

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone." 

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up. 

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath. 

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon." 

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column. 

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows: 

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see? 

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror. 

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off? 

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad. 

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him. 

"And Cindy." 

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously." 

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs." 

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks. 

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave." 

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks. 

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up. 

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet. 

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks. 

"Because she was jealous of my success." 

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out." 

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands. 

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy. 

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious. 

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue. 

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right? 

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and— 

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely. 

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself. 

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room. 

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it. 

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch. 

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly. 

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face. 

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted. 

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end. 

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes. 

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly. 

"Sorry." 

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?" 

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID." 

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips. 

"You're American?" the cashier asks. 

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say. 

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card. 

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie. 

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together." 

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now." 

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that. 

"I thought you didn't know who I was?" 

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said." 

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till. 

"What were you really gonna say?" 

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean." 

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown. 

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway. 

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I'm so serious," he says. 

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it. 

"You're hot when you're mad." 

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" 

"I thought that too," you say. 

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice." 

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter. 

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival." 

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor. 

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention. 

"Seriously, come on." 

"No." 

"No?" he asks. 

"No. I don't have to listen to you." 

"You're being stupid." 

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care." 

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?" 

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?" 

"Tormenting me." 

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other." 

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–" 

"You started it." 

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his. 

"Don't touch me," you say quietly. 

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea." 

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car." 

You're infuriating. 

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…" 

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd." 

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that." 

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people. 

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt. 

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his. 

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl. 

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him. 

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats. 

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has. 

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second. 

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson. 

You don't do that. 

You wave. 

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat. 

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do. 

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face. 

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left. 

A wooden board creaks. 

You look up. 

"Hey, you–" 

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat. 

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view. 

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest. 

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You want to mess with me, is that it?" 

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart. 

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson." 

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation. 

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft. 

You lift your chin. 

I dare you. 

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in. 

"Are you going to–" 

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you. 

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away. 

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much. 

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth. 

"Don't play games," he says. 

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist. 

"You like games," you argue. 

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once. 

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt.��

"Stay still." 

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own. 

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?" 

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it. 

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now." 

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan. 

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks. 

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding. 

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice." 

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again. 

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart." 

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance. 

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game. 

You'll have to be better. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

[scarletslxt]

Basically bully!Eddie took his plaything into the bathroom at a party and was giving her a front wedgie so she was involuntarily moaning and squirming trying to break free but then one of the cheerleaders at the party walks in and sees them. Eddie turns to look and smiles at her but doesn't stop giving wedgie.

"hey, go ahead and pee. We won't look"

But instead the cheerleader locks the door behind her and whispers something into Eddie's ear, making him smirk and let go of the wedgie he was giving. He undoes his belt and jeans while the cheerleader pulls down the girls panties and Eddie fucks her from behind while the cheerleader sucks on her clit so she's just a mess in Eddies arms. His bullying would get worse for her after that night, despite how much she loved cumming on his dick multiple times

-willow<3

Fuckkkkkk I bet the cheerleader would help Eddie bully her from now on too. They’d probably take turns so people don’t get suspicious about why the freak and a cheerleader are bullying someone together.

They make her meet them in private and they alternate between torturing her with wedgies and fucking the life out of her. After like their third meeting in private she finally admits how much she loves it and they tease her about it immediately, mocking her for getting off from wedgies.

[scarletslxt]

oh my god!! this series was just amazing. im so glad that eddie and the reader are finally happy together 🥹🥹

𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 10: all the love in the world. FINALE.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - the end is just the beginning.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - over 10k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - SMUT (18+ only, I warned y'all from the beginning), emotions, angst, fluff, more stepcesty stuff, brief pregnancy mention/discussion, reader's mom gets a first name sorry if that breaks the illusion for anyone

(thank you to everyone who read this series, it's been such an adventure and I'm glad I could take you with me <3)

Eddie cleared his throat as he stood in front of the crowd gathered in the backyard— small, but still a crowd.  "Well, um, hi," he waved at the seated guests, most of whom waved back.  "Bet you never thought you'd see me in a suit, right?" 

Scattered, polite laughs rippled through the group.

"Um, neither did I.  And I never thought I'd see the day that my uncle got married, either, but here we are.  Wayne's never had much luck with the ladies— I guess it's proof we're related, right?" he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck briefly.  "Anyways— I knew something was different when he came home from dinner with a 'friend' —" Eddie gestured with dramatic air quotes— "and couldn't stop smiling.  I've got some pretty great friends but, they don't make me smile like that."

He glanced at you, and you offered your best reassuring smile-and-thumbs-up combo.

"He told me a couple days later that he'd met this woman,” Eddie continued, glancing down at the cards again.  “Apparently he helped her find something at the hardware store.  I was so happy for him that I resisted the urge to make an insensitive joke about if he was going to 'nail' her."

You snorted out an embarrassed laugh, and you caught your mom’s expression: clearly a little shocked, but thankfully, amused.

"And, uh, I met her a couple weeks later, and she said she liked my hair,” Eddie recalled.  “So I knew she was cool.  But most of all, I knew she was right for my uncle.  He's a pretty stoic guy— and I don't think I've ever seen him laugh in my entire life the way he can laugh in one night with Donna.  They're so right for each other it's nuts.  It hasn't been an easy road to today for either of them.  I think some people think you can only love one person in your life, but they're wrong: you can have an amazing life, and an amazing family, and an amazing daughter with someone…"

Your heart was in your throat already.

"...and you can still find happiness with someone else down the line.  And I can’t think of anyone more deserving of that than you, Donna."

Shit.  You were worried about crying during your own speech.  You hadn’t even considered that you might cry over Eddie’s.

"Donna, you're too nice for your own good.  You took me in just because you love my uncle so much— and that says everything about the kind of person you are.  You've given me a roof over my head, you've given me way more credit than I deserve, and you've given me a really cool sister.  She's actually cooler than me, which is annoying."

You laughed a little, but bit your lip when a sob almost came out.

"Wayne— I won't say too much because I'm not about to cry in front of all these people.  I think everything I really need to say, you already know.  But in case you don't… you're more of a dad to me than my father’s even been.  I’d be in the clink or in a ditch somewhere if you hadn’t been there to straighten me out.  I know I didn’t always make it easy on you… actually, I almost never made it easy on you.  You taught me almost everything I know, except the guitar— and I’m gonna need you to teach me how to find such an amazing lady, and how to make it last.  Deal?”

Wayne nodded at him, and the guests clapped politely as Eddie left his place standing in front of them to give his uncle a hug and his new aunt-slash-mother-figure a kiss on the cheek.  On shaky legs, you stood up and hoped you could find some way to follow that.

Your heart raced as you found yourself facing all those guests; last time you’d been standing in front of them all, you’d been behind your mother at the altar, so they were all looking at her.  Now you were alone and had all their attention to yourself; Eddie took his seat and shot you a thumbs up before you started.

You glanced down at your notes, holding onto them for dear life.  Thank everyone for coming & joke about beer, the first line of the first index card read.

“Well,” you began, feeling your heart rate pick up, “I’d like to begin by thanking you all for coming.  It means so much to us that you’re here, and I know you all wouldn’t miss an opportunity for free beer.”

It was a safe joke, and it got a safe laugh, and you looked at the next line for guidance: When Mom first met Wayne…

“When Mom first met Wayne,” you repeated, “she… actually didn’t tell me.”

That seemed to surprise a few people.

“I guess she was afraid that I wouldn’t approve, either of him or of her dating again at all.  Sadly, her fears weren’t… totally misplaced,” you admitted, cringing slightly.  “But only because, when it comes to any man who wants to be in my mom’s life, I have incredibly high standards.  And anyone who knew my father knows why.”

You flipped to the next card.  DAD it said at the top, with more notes of the points you wanted to cover beneath.  You froze, wondering if you had the strength to go on with what you’d written.

“Um… after my dad passed away…” you started, voice getting a bit weaker— they were all staring at you, that was something you hadn’t properly appreciated when you were preparing this speech, that they’d all be staring like this.  “It was hard, obviously.  It’s not easy for anyone to lose a partner, or a parent.  I know it was harder on my mom than she let on— she was trying to be strong for me.  And I was just trying to pretend like everything was fine.  But it wasn’t, and we were both hurting a lot.  Our family was… broken, it was missing something.  And, of course, no one could fill the space my dad left behind— but I didn’t know someone could make my mom that happy again.”

Shakily, you put the card at the back of the stack and stared at the next heading: WAYNE.  Hard working, compassionate and passionate, nicer than he looks.

“Wayne, though, is truly a special man.  He’s hard-working, compassionate and passionate, and I’ve learned that he’s not as intimidating as he looks,” you smiled.  “I wouldn’t have blamed him at all for basically ignoring me completely— he knows I’m not a kid anymore, and he knows he doesn’t exactly need my approval to be with my mom.  But, he also knows how important we are to each other, and he’s been nothing but supportive of me.  Congrats, Mom, you might’ve gotten one of the last good ones.”

Again, polite laughter for an easy joke— if perhaps a bit more feminist than your average piece of wedding-speech-humor— but when you glanced up, you caught a smirk on Eddie’s face.

You looked down at your cards again, turning to the next one.  EDDIE it said at the top… but the rest was blank.  Fuck, you’d been putting off this part to the very last second— and the last second passed about ten minutes ago.  You let out a nervous “um” as you stalled, trying to imagine what the fuck you could possibly say about Eddie.  “A-and, well,” you choked, “what could I say about Eddie… that hasn't already been said over police radios all across the county."

They laughed, but you only cared if Eddie laughed at that one, so you'd know if you'd gone too far.  You heard his laugh first and loudest, and you smiled to yourself.

"But, in all seriousness: Eddie, you're…" you trailed off again.  You looked at him, which was a huge mistake; the way he was looking at you was just overwhelming.  You glanced down at your cards again quickly.  "You're definitely one of a kind," you decided, "and I'm… really, really lucky to have you in my life."

The crowd was filled with awwws, but you refused to look up from that blank index card.  It was your only protection now— you felt terribly vulnerable in front of everyone, admitting things you hadn't even admitted to yourself.  You took a deep, but shaky, breath in and out.

"They say you can't choose your family," you continued.  "And even in this case, when we're not actually related, it's true.  But— but I'd choose you anyways."

For a second, you almost thought Eddie was tearing up, but he was looking down and it was dark out already, so you couldn’t quite tell.  You flipped to your last index card.  Close out.  

“It’s so special to be with you all here tonight,” you nodded, “celebrating Mom and Wayne— the hottest couple in Hawkins.  Cheers!”

Glasses raised and clinked, and you gave your mom and your new stepfather a hug on your way back to your own seat.

As the night progressed, dinner turned to dancing and slightly heavier drinking— although it turns out older crowds don’t go quite as bananas for free alcohol as high school and college students do, shockingly.

“Can I get you a drink?” Eddie asked you after finding you keeping mostly to yourself in the corner.

“I’m, uh, not much of a drinker,” you informed him.

“Will you come dance with me?” he asked next.

“I’m not much of a dancer, either,” you laughed.

“Neither am I,” he assured with a laugh, extending a hand out to you.  “Just come with me.”

You gave him a look.  “What’s with the insistence?”

“I want you to have fun, is that so terrible?” he pressed.

“Since when is dancing with you ‘fun’?” you noticed.

He gave you a wide grin as one song faded out, and the next one began: Into The Groove by Madonna, the one Eddie had heard you singing along to loudly in your room however long ago.  “I know you dance to this one,” he smirked.

Groaning in defeat, but smiling a bit as the guilty pleasure song played, you took his hand and let him drag you to the middle of the yard.  Of course, for a song like this, dancing together is more just dancing near each other, but he was right— it was fun.

“I’m tired of dancing here all by myself, tonight I wanna dance with someone else!” the lyrics announced as you and Eddie bounced around uncoordinatedly; maybe you looked sort of stupid, but hey, you already had the uncomfortable fluff of a Pepto Bismol pink dress on so it wasn’t like you were ever at risk of looking elegant or anything…

Thankfully the weather was nice and the dark evening was getting even cooler, so working up some heat dancing this way actually served as a protection from the chilly breeze— Eddie had a flush on his face by the time the song was almost over, a rosy tint over his nose and cheeks and the slightest shine on his forehead from the exertion.

In a few minutes, the music changed, from fast and upbeat to something slow and gentle— you recognized it as soon as that familiar voice began to croon: “I can hear so much in your sighs, and I can see so much in your eyes…”

You smiled a little, remembering singing along to The Beach Boys when Eddie was practicing his guitar.  You thought instantly that this song would sound so much better if he were singing it instead, even if you loved the original.

Some people left the dance floor, some couples got up to dance, but everyone had stopped the energetic dancing and had begun to move much more slowly, holding each other… it was all very romantic, except that you were just standing there staring at Eddie as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“There are words we both could say…”

He cleared his throat, and when he opened his mouth, you were so afraid he was about to make an excuse to leave.  I’m gonna get a beer, you want one? or I should check in on the happy couple or something— and, hoping to stop him, you suddenly put your hands on his shoulders.

Looking at you again, he blinked those brown eyes quickly but stepped closer to you anyways.  Your hands were still on his shoulders, but you never actually found the strength to push him away, so he put his hands on your waist and suddenly you were slow dancing.  “But don’t talk, put your head on my shoulder…”

Your breathing was shaky and you hoped he wouldn’t notice; his thumb moved slightly where it held your waist through your dress, and you felt every touch amplified by your anxiety-awakened skin.

“Come close, close your eyes and be still,” the gentle singing played from the speakers, “take my hand and let me hear your heartbeat.”

Hesitating at first, you leaned your head forward and let it rest on his chest; he tilted his head down to look at you, but you didn’t look back at him, you just couldn’t take that right now.  You really could hear his heartbeat, even without pressing your ear right up to him, even through the white button-up dress shirt; it was strong and fast, and your eyes fell shut.

“Being here with you feels so right, we could live forever tonight,” the song continued, “let's not think about tomorrow and don't talk, put your head on my shoulder—”

Swaying together, you felt Eddie hold you a little tighter, but he could never hold you tight enough.  He could never hold you long enough.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, and you blinked your eyes quickly so you could lean back and look up at him.

“For what?” you wondered.

“Being nice to me,” he replied.  “Just for tonight— you can be mean again tomorrow.”

You laughed a little, looking down at where his shiny black shoes stepped in time with your pink kitten heels.  But then you felt his hand on your waist squeeze gently again and you sighed.  Silence returned, but it wasn’t awkward, just… quiet.  Except for, you know, the music, which went on as you danced together.

“Don’t talk, put your head on my shoulder…”

When the song ended all too soon, you stepped back slightly and looked up at Eddie, wondering if he could see everything in your eyes— it felt like he could, it looked like he could with the way he was looking back at you.

There was only a second of silence before the next song came on, and the melody played on plunky synths gave it away instantly as Take My Breath Away by Berlin.  You exhaled a quick laugh and Eddie took his hands off your back.  “I hate this song,” you announced.

“Me too,” he agreed, “so cheesy.”

You nodded and crossed one arm over your chest to hold the other nervously, starting to awkwardly glance around the reception.

“Wanna get out of here?” he offered, and you looked up at him.

“Eddie, we can’t leave,” you said when you realized what he was suggesting.  

“Yeah we can,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, “just for a few minutes— they won’t even notice.”

You hesitated before nodding; “Y-yeah, sure…”

He grabbed your wrist and guided you across the yard to the fence, specifically the darkest corner of the fence where he took a cursory glance to make sure no one was looking before lacing his fingers together and holding them down for you.  “Here,” he offered, tilting his head towards the fence.  

You started to lift your foot before you put it on the ground again.  “Wait.  You’re not gonna look up my skirt, are you?”

He sighed.  “Do you really think so little of me, sweetheart?”

Sufficiently guilted, you stepped on his hands and let him give you a lift up so you could grab the top of the fence, just barely getting the leverage you needed to pull one leg over.

“Ooh, cute lace,” he praised lasciviously.

“God damn it,” you hissed, flinging yourself over and managing to land upright on both feet on the other side— it was easier to get down this way because a hill was just starting and the ground was a bit higher.  Eddie hauled himself up a moment later, jumping down onto the other side and dusting himself off afterwards.

You walked up the hill together as he promised to take you to some place he knew about— you just hoped it wasn’t too far, because these silken flats weren’t exactly built for distance.

It wasn’t far at all, actually; it was just past the treeline, over the highest point of the hill, and when Eddie guided you out to where he’d stopped, you gasped at the view.  From here, you could see nearly all of Hawkins— twinkling lights in rows and columns, cars driving down streets, the old church, the town hall—

“Oh my god,” you breathed.  “From here, it almost doesn’t look like the shittiest little town ever.”

He laughed.  “I know, right?”

“When did you find this place?” you asked.

He sat down on the grass and patted beside him for you to sit, too.  “Well,” he began as you tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the dress, “it must’ve been about a week after I moved in.  I went on a walk and sorta just stumbled on it.”

You laughed and sighed simultaneously, shaking your head.  “I’ve lived here for years, and never knew I was one hill away from the best view of the town; you’re here a week and you find this.”

“I think your problem is you have all these amazing things right in front of you,” he decided, “but you don’t know how to look for them.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?” you pressed.

He shrugged.  “It’s just something I noticed.”

A long lull fell in the conversation while the two of you looked out over the lights of Hawkins.  The music from the reception seemed to follow the wind, and with a gust of breeze, you heard guitars and melodic singing: Josie’s on a vacation far away, come around and talk it over…

You laughed, just to yourself, but then started to laugh harder until you were holding your stomach and falling back into the grass.

“What?” Eddie laughed with you.  “What’s so funny?”

You tried to tell him, but you were laughing too hard to make sense.

“Come on,” he whined, and you composed yourself enough to string a sentence together.

“I hated you,” you laughed, “god, I hated you in high school!  You were so… loud!  And you didn’t care what anyone thought of you— and back then, I thought that was a bad thing, I thought it was impossible.  And now— now that nothing can ever happen with us, of course that’s when I start falling for you.”

You didn’t even care that you’d said it, you didn’t even care that he was looking at you that way or that it felt like getting stabbed in the chest.  Your laughter stopped, and you bit your lip to keep it from turning into tears.

“And I just think that’s funny,” you concluded.

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking down at the ground, “yeah, it is funny.”

You were looking out at the horizon, the lights all over Hawkins going out as stores closed and families went to bed and your sleepy little town really slept, when Eddie scooted a little closer to you.

“One question,” he requested.  “Uh… remind me why nothing can ever happen with us?”

“‘Cause my mom, and your uncle,” you sighed.  Your eyes glanced down at your legs, seeing his stretched out beside them, one ringed hand resting on his bent knee as the other kept him propped up in the grass.  “They’re married, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “they really love each other, huh?”

You nodded.

“Wayne told me when he was gonna propose to your mom,” Eddie said suddenly.  “I asked him what he was gonna say, and he said, ‘I’m just gonna tell her the truth.’”

You smiled.  “That’s why they work.  The truth is exactly what she needs.”

“What do you need?”

You looked down at the grass.  “I… I don’t know.”

"Maybe," he whispered, "I could finally tell you the truth, too."

You gave him an expectant stare, and he coughed a bit, but continued.

“Okay, well, the truth is,” Eddie began, “I like who I am when I’m with you.  I know you don’t, really, but… I do.  And when I’m not with you, I’m usually thinking about you.  ‘Usually’ as in, ‘always’.”

As he looked at you, searching your expression for some reaction, he leaned in a little closer.

“And I had a bit of a thing for you in high school— I mean, as much as I could, without ever talking to you,” he added.  “Except that one time.”

You remembered it well, normally, but suddenly you forgot everything you ever knew as he moved even closer, his face right in front of yours, his eyes giving you a look that made you shiver.

“And I love you,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek, “I love you,” he kissed the other, “I love you.”

He kissed just beside your nose, and you whimpered: “Eddie—”

He held your face in both his hands, pulling back to look at you closely.  “No, don’t break my heart just yet.  Let me tell you one more time.  I love you.”

You took a shaky breath.  “I thought you hated me,” you whispered.

He looked hurt, and as a tear fell from your eye, he wiped it away with his thumb.  “No, no baby— how could you think that?”

“Because…” you trailed off.  “Because the way I love you makes me hate myself.”

With him giving you that devastated look, you figured you had to continue before you made it too much worse.

“You’re everything I wish I could be,” you explained, “you’re crazy and you’re confident and you’re free.  You don’t care what people think.  And I’m—”

“Uptight, self-conscious, and perfectionistic?” he finished, and you frowned.

“Hey…” you mumbled defensively, looking down, but he lifted your face again.

“Those are all the things I love about you,” he explained.  “I love everything about you.  I knew how you felt about me back then— it didn’t stop me from having a massive crush on you.”

“First it’s a ‘bit of a thing’, now it’s a ‘massive crush’?” you noticed with a raised eyebrow, and he laughed as his cheeks tinted.

“Can’t get anything past you, huh?” he sighed.  “Yeah, I was really into you.  I told myself that you were really this creative, passionate, wild-and-crazy sort of girl beneath the goody-two-shoes shell— that you were just waiting for someone to break you out of that prison you built for yourself.  And I imagined that it was me, that one day you’d ask me for something and we would start talking and you would end up begging me to take you away from it all.  To steal you from that asshole Gary and sweep you off your feet— and we would get in the van and leave it all behind.  Fuck Hawkins, fuck high school, fuck everybody.”

You sniffled, clutching at his tuxedo jacket’s lapel.  “Eddie…” you whispered, not sure how to say anything more than that.

“We’d find shitty jobs and a shitty apartment somewhere in the middle of a town that actually matters,” he continued, “and we’d sleep on the floor the first night because there wasn’t time to pick out a bed.  I could play guitar on a street corner and buy you flowers with whatever coins people toss in the case, and you could take enough pictures to cover the walls so we don’t need wallpaper.  And we’d find a stray cat in the rain and bring it inside and name it something metal like Sabbath or Zeppelin.  And it would all be so stupid, so massively irresponsible, but it would be our stupid irresponsible little life together.  And it would be fucking beautiful.”

Biting your lip, you still couldn’t stop yourself from crying as tears fell down your heated cheeks.  “Eddie, that’s what I wanted,” you sighed.  “I didn’t know it then, but that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then let’s do it,” he whispered, and it was you that closed the gap— it was you that kissed him, finally, holding on tighter to his jacket as you inhaled sharply and pressed your lips onto his.

They really were soft, just like you thought they’d be; but he tasted different than you expected, maybe because he hadn’t smoked recently.  But he tasted like the way the air smells after it rains, and beer, and the leftover sweetness of wedding cake frosting.  You breathed against his skin and tasted it more as he deepened the kiss, letting yourself really melt into it, letting him hold you tighter and move his lips with yours however he wanted.

His hand gently reached up to hold the back of your head; the other stroked your cheek one more time before drifting down to your waist.

It was surreal— it was hyperreal— it was Eddie, you were kissing Eddie.  Eddie Munson, the freak, the loser, the delinquent; Eddie Munson, your technical-relative; Eddie Munson, that guy who wouldn’t sit still for the damn yearbook photo.

Somehow, thinking about it like that just made you smile a bit and kiss him harder.

What was originally gentle and comforting and sweet started to shift after a few moments, as he opened his mouth wider and gripped your waist harder and let you feel some of that hunger— god, you knew the feeling too well, and you scooted forward in the grass to press yourself to him a bit.  He hummed, low and soft, and you whimpered in return as your noises were nearly lost in the kiss.

You held on tighter to his lapel, then reached up to squeeze his shoulders, and he groaned— fuck, it was the sexiest thing you’d heard since… no, actually, it was just the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

Gasping against his lips, you pushed him down roughly by those shoulders, pinning him to the grass as you swung your leg and straddled his lap.  “Fuck,” he muttered, pulling you down to kiss him again.

It was shameless now, all lips and tongue and teeth— when he gently bit on your lower lip you thought you might really go actually crazy— as your hands gripped at his shirt to feel his chest while his touch ran down your back, up your legs, basically anywhere he could reach.

Just when you thought this was it, you were really going to get it over with right here and now after all these years, he broke away.  “Baby, wait,” he choked out, shrinking back, and you froze as you pulled away by sitting up slightly.

“What?” you asked, terrified you were about to get your heart kicked back into its cage when you freed it for the first time in years.

“Th-this is a rental,” he blurted out, motioning slightly at the tux he had on.

After a moment’s pause, you started to laugh.  And he laughed, too.  You relaxed slightly and sat back on his thighs; he sat up and pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head while it was nearby.  The laughter died down, and the moment passed, and you let each other out of the embrace.  

“We should probably get back now,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement.

He took your hand and you ran together through the grass, back towards the sound of the backyard reception, back to the real world.

The whole crowd of guests stood out front and waved as Wayne and your mom drove away — for all the effort you put into getting a nice vintage Cadillac for the send-off, it looked pretty tacky with the streamers and cans tied to it, clanking as it drove down the cul-de-sac.

When they were out of sight, you and Eddie took one more deep breath before turning to the guests behind you.  “Thank you all so much for coming!” you announced.  

And that was basically what you did for the next fifteen minutes: shake a bunch of hands, wave goodbye, thank everyone for their attendance and gifts.  When they left, the rest of your work was only beginning, and it was nearly midnight!  Eddie offered to wash dishes and take out the trash while you took down decorations and paid the guys coming to take back the rented stereo equipment.

Thankfully, with the two of you, it went pretty quickly.  There was more to do, but it could wait until the morning; it’s not like having tables and chairs set up in your backyard overnight is a crime or something.

When you were done with your tasks, you leaned up against the entryway to the kitchen, finding Eddie drying the last plate.  He looked over his shoulder at you for a second, smiling, before drying his hands and setting it all down to face you:  his jacket was long gone and his bowtie hung untied loosely around an unbuttoned collar that exposed a hint of clavicle and chest hair.  

“So, house to ourselves,” he noticed, glancing around.  “We throwin’ a rager or what?”

You smiled softly, glancing down.  

He approached you slowly and carefully, reaching up to hold your shoulders when he was close enough.  Even now you felt a little shaky, a little nervous to be this close to him even when you’d already kissed, but his gentle smile soothed you; so you did it, you stood up a bit taller and kissed him.

It wasn’t as sudden as the last one, so it wasn’t as rushed, and yet there was a creeping sense of urgency to it because you both realized it could go somewhere— maybe it didn’t have to, but with an empty house and no time limit or deadline coming up, anything could happen tonight.

As you clutched his shirt and pulled him closer with an inhale through your nose, feeling his hands take your waist and press you to him, you realized that you wanted it to go somewhere.  Not just anywhere— you knew exactly where you wanted this to go.

“Bed,” you blurted out, pulling back to look up at him.  “We— we should go to bed.”

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding a little breathless, “top or bottom?”

You laughed as he started guiding you with him already.  “Mine, for sure,” you decided.

“Aw,” he pouted as you walked through the bedroom door, “I’ve been thinking about getting you in my bed for ages— not gonna let me have my fantasy, huh?”

As you fell back onto your bottom bunk, pulling him down with you, he got the angle wrong and smacked his forehead on the wood between the mattresses; you laughed, covering your mouth when you felt guilty for it, and he scrunched up his nose as he held his head for a second.  “That was my fantasy,” you joked, and he laughed in return as he ducked a little too dramatically now to join you in the bed.

The lower bunk could feel a bit like a cave sometimes, in a cozy sort of way— but with Eddie on top of you, it was like it was all closing in on you as his weight dipped you both deeper into the mattress than ever.  That probably sounds horribly claustrophobic, but it was actually nice.  You felt safe and shockingly not-vulnerable considering the circumstances, even as he started to unzip the back of your dress while he kissed you again.

For your part, you were absolutely flying through his shirt’s buttons, sighing when it was opened and you could run your hands over his warm skin beneath.  His tattoos looked better than ever peeking out from under a tuxedo shirt, though you only got a brief glimpse of him before his lips on your neck all but forced your head to tilt back.

“Sensitive,” he noticed with a whisper, but just one word said like that made you mewl and work harder to get his shirt off.  But before you could get it all the way over his shoulders, he managed to get your dress down enough to expose your chest— and he hungrily sucked on your breasts as soon as he could.

“Oh god,” you whined, hips rocking up into nothing.  

“Here too,” he laughed as he kissed from one to the other, looking up at you for a second.  “Are you always this… responsive?”

You almost laughed imagining that Eddie really thought Gary had ever gotten this kind of reaction out of you.  You bit your lip and shook your head, and a little snarl curled his lips as he growled at you.  

“Just for me, then?” he assumed, and you nodded.  “That’s so sexy— you’re so sexy…”

“You too,” you admitted as he suckled at your chest again.  “I-I thought about this.”

“Yeah?” he breathed.  “I thought about this, too— a lot.”

You smiled proudly, before he broke away and sat up slightly to tug your dress off down your legs.  He purred again as he admired you laying there beneath him, naked spare for your panties, but he surprised you by coming back down to kiss your stomach— not exactly where you expected him to start, but okay— and beginning to move lower and lower…

Oh, fuck.  He looked up at you as he kept making his way down, fingers tucking into your panties so he could slide them down your thighs.  

Even obviously knowing what was coming, you gasped loudly when his lips latched onto your pussy.  “F-fuck!” you choked as his tongue lapped at you eagerly, suction tugging on your clit until your insides throbbed helplessly.

He held onto your legs and pushed his face harder against you, sliding his tongue deeper inside you, shutting his eyes tight while he seemed to feed on your need until you had to grab on to the support beams on either side of your head.  You felt him smile down there— cocky little shit— and go even harder.

The pleasure was heavy on your gut, like a weight keeping you pinned down, even though you longed so much to rock up into it for more.  “I— oh my god…”

He moaned against you, the most perfect sound muffled by your body, his fingers digging a little harder into your soft skin.  He was ruthless, and when you were nearly screaming, he just took it as a sign to go harder on you— he chased your pleasure fast enough that he had it captured in just a few minutes.

“I— I’m— oh god, Eddie,” you whined.  “I’m… I’m so close…”

He nodded and hummed against you but refused to slow down for even a second, just shutting his eyes tighter as he focused all his strength into keeping your hips still so he had total control over the way his mouth took you apart piece by piece.

One of your hands shot down and took a tight hold on his hair, but his groan of pain actually sounded rather pleased.  “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged, “oh my god—”

Your neck craned back and your spine arched so hard you lifted off the bed for a second, and he just opened his mouth wide and left his tongue stuck out so you could ride it shamelessly, the fireworks going off behind your eyelids as your orgasm shook your body.

You said his name a few more times, not really meaning to but needing to, and his heavy breaths fanned over your flushed skin.  

Only when you shakily sank back down into the bed, loosening your grip on his mane, did he break away and sit up to look down at you with a swallow and satisfied sigh.

“What’d you do that for?” you panted, unable to fight your own smile at the sight of his: wide and sparkling with slick that dripped down to his chin.

“‘Cause somebody oughta,” he explained, finally taking his shirt off all the way since you never actually got around to it.

“But I didn’t mean to come so fast…”

“It’s better this way— I already know I won’t be able to last long with you,” he admitted, leaning forward and capturing you in a messy kiss that tasted like— well, I bet you can guess what it tasted like.  Wedding cake, of course!

His breathing was heavy, too, as he tried to divide his mental energy between kissing you and unbuttoning his tuxedo pants; once that was done he pushed them down his thighs just enough that he could guide your hand to his aching cock, and you let out a long whimper of a breath as you wrapped your fingers around it.  God, it was literally hot, he must be burning up, and the drip of arousal running down made everything all smooth as you ran your fingers over the delicate skin.

“Put it in for me,” he instructed you under his breath, so as he lowered his hips down, you lifted your own a bit and guided him to your opening.  He gasped before he was even inside, just feeling your heat on the very tip of his cock; and as he delicately slid in, you groaned and dropped your head back.

A deep satisfaction filled you— literally— when his hips were flush with yours, full to the brim and gasping as he laid down on top of you.  

“So perfect,” he breathed as he brushed loose hair away from your face.  “I love you so much.”

You really didn’t wanna cry right now, it would be stupid, right?  It would be too weird.  You reached up and grabbed onto the back of his neck to make him kiss you again.  “I love you too,” you replied only when you were ready to say it without your voice breaking.

He started to move, careful and slow, and for some reason you just needed to say it again, mumbled into the kiss.

“I love you,” you repeated, reaching up to hold onto his back.  He nodded against you with a sigh of his own.

“I know,” he promised, “I know…”

And even if he knew, it just felt good to finally say it, and not even feel bad about it— not a drop of guilt or regret or self-consciousness.  That could wait for the morning.

Holding each other tightly, you found a steady pace— and then it was Eddie’s turn to hold onto one of the beams by your head as he buried his face in your neck.  “God,” he grunted, “so fuckin’ wet— you’re dripping for me, sweetheart…”

Whimpering, you let your nails dig into his back and your legs wrap around his hips.

“Fuck,” he moaned, kissing your neck hungrily.  The stretch inside you was pleasurable enough, but then with his lips and tongue and teeth on your pulse, a tingling feeling danced up your back and you nearly sobbed from how good it felt.  And then he let go of the beam to toy with your hard nipple, and you thought you might lose your cool again right away.  “Fuck!” he said again, louder, as he picked up his pace.  “Y-you squeezed me so tight, baby, did you feel that?  Oh my god…”

You hadn’t felt it, until he made you do it again, and you noticed that time with a wavering cry of his name.

“Promise me something,” he panted as he lifted his head to look down at our face.  “Never stop saying my name like that.”

He kissed you before you could properly agree to it, slipping his hands under your back the next time it arched so he could hug you tightly as he thrusted much, much faster.

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” he whimpered, “I’m sorry— I really wanted to last longer, but god, you’re so— you— fuck!”

“S’okay,” you insisted, “just come— oh my god, Eddie, I want you to come—”

“Baby, baby,” he whined pleadingly as his head fell onto your shoulder, “don’t say that, I don’t want it to end so soon…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you promised, “just come, please, inside me—”

“Christ,” he blurted out, taking a tight hold of your hips and tossing his head back as his movements became a blur against your numbing, sticky walls.  “I— fuck, you’re sure I don’t have to pull out?”

You nodded as you gripped his arms.  “I’m sure, please please Eddie—!”

He gasped loudly and gave you an extra sudden, sharp thrust— and you started to feel it, his cock flexing in you, his heat flooding you, both of you panting as you started to still.

A long sigh accompanied his collapsing onto you, catching his breath between kisses all along your neck and face.

“I really, really tried not to come that fast,” he laughed breathlessly, and you just hugged onto his torso tighter.

“So did I,” you promised.  “I-it’s fine, really… I’m definitely satisfied, I mean, fuck— that was… fuck.”

“Yeah…” he agreed.

And you both fell asleep in seconds.  Because it was nearly two in the morning and you’d been working on the wedding shit all day and it was actually kind of a miracle you stayed awake long enough to do that in the first place!

You woke up hours later, the only light in the room just slivers of moonlight leaking through the window; he was behind you, holding you close, breathing on the back of your neck.  You held on tighter to the arm in front of your chest, leaning your head back into his chest, not expecting him to stir and sleepily plant a kiss on your head.

“Are you awake?” you whispered so softly there was any noise, but he nodded.

“Barely,” he admitted.  “You’re so warm…”

He hugged you tighter, then kissed you again— then lifted his head to kiss under your ear, by your jaw, just over your pulse…

You didn’t even mean to grind your ass into him, it was just that what he was doing made your back arch.  “Sweetheart,” he breathed, and that made you even hotter.  “I need you again.”

It was so easy to slide right in, your body still leaking his come from before, but even without that he could get you wet in seconds; you moaned lowly and tried to arch your back deeper to angle his cock just how you thought you wanted— but he grunted and pulled your back into his chest, wanting to feel as much of you as he could.  It made the angle of his thrusts a bit less natural and yet it forced him to rub right against your spot, and you shut your sleepy eyes tighter at the feeling.  “Fuck— like that, Eddie, just like that…”

He nodded in agreement and turned his gentle pecks on your shoulder into a full-on assault of tongue on anything he could reach, getting more desperate for you by the second.

That one lasted much longer— maybe hours, you were totally unable to keep track of time, but at some point he rolled you onto your stomach and rutted on top of you slowly.  He never had to pick up his pace to send you right into your first orgasm… or the second.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, “I’ll come again, oh fuck—”

“Good,” he praised roughly right into your ear, voice gravelly from sleep, “good— keep coming.  Don’t ever stop coming for me, baby, I love feeling it… I love hearing you, sound so fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart.”

You whined and bit your lip, reaching up to grab a handful of your pillow— but his hand reached over yours and interlaced his thick fingers with your shaking ones, soothing kisses trailing the side of your face as you sobbed softly.  He kept praising you and you, following instructions, kept coming until it wasn’t really a matter of counting them anymore— it was just this never-ending feeling that swallowed you whole, which would be scary if you were alone.  But he was right there with you, promising he’d never let you again.

It ended as gradually and softly as it started, and he hugged you into him for you to fall asleep again much more easily than you’d think after a wake-up like that.  When you awoke for good, the sun was high in the sky.  You couldn’t see the clock, because you were too busy looking up at his sleeping face, but you guessed it was at least nine or ten.  It was the latest you’d slept in years.

You didn’t want to wake him up, but staring at him and playing with his hair didn’t satisfy you forever, so you started to plant tiny kisses on his chest, and that stirred him from sleep with a happy groan.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you weren’t ready to see his eyes again, in the light of the day, knowing how easily you’d given in to him after trying to resist for so many reasons for so long.  You weren’t ready to wonder if this was just getting out some pent-up energy before parting for as long as you needed to be regular step-siblings. 

You just shut your eyes and laid your head on his bicep as he sat up on his side to look at you.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, and you snorted.  

“I mean, I slept great,” you smiled, “when I was sleeping.”

“Me too,” he agreed as he kissed your cheek.  “Open your eyes, baby, I wanna see you.”

“Mmm…” you groaned in protest, burying your face in the pillow when he tried to hold it. 

“C’mon,” he whined, “I miss you.”

“I’m right here!” you promised, but you gave in and let him turn your face towards him as your eyes blinked open.  You were right— you weren’t ready.  The way he was looking at you was impossible to ever move on from, and you’d never be able to do it if he asked you to.

“So, are we—?” he started.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, reaching up to lay a hand on his chest.  “Don’t ask me what we are, okay?  ‘Cause I don’t even know.”

“I… was just gonna ask if we were gonna go out for breakfast or cook ourselves,” he explained, and you felt a heat on your face in embarrassment.  “I kinda worked up an appetite there, believe it or not.”

“Oh,” you sighed, “um, I can cook something.”

You made a move to get up and he pulled you back down.  “N-no, wait,” he frowned.

“I thought you were hungry,” you noticed.

“Yeah… but I don’t want you to go,” he sighed, keeping you close.  There was a brief pause as you laughed softly, his arm wrapping around you.  “And also I wanna talk about that thing you don’t wanna talk about.”

“Ugh, Eddie,” you groaned, “can’t it wait a little longer?”

“Sure, but can I at least ask you to be my girlfriend first?” he requested.

“You know I can’t,” you sighed, “I’m already your stepsister.”

“See, here’s the thing— I was thinking about that earlier,” he explained, “and what I realized is that… I don’t actually… care, so—”

“What if I care?” you wondered.

“You can’t exactly make that argument when you’re naked in bed with me,” he noticed.

“Well, maybe it was—”

“Don’t tell me it was a mistake,” he interrupted firmly.  “You’re not much of a liar— I was there, sweetheart, we both know that was the farthest thing from a mistake.  All the time we spent not doing that was the mistake!”

You smiled, because you couldn’t deny that.  Misguided?  Sure.  Poorly timed?  Definitely.  But nothing truly wrong could feel that right.

“We don’t have to call it, you know, that,” he offered, “boyfriend and girlfriend— if you don’t want to.  As long as we’re together, it’ll be fine.”

“But people can’t know we’re together,” you insisted, “least of all Mom and Wayne.”

He nodded.  “Okay.”

“What are we gonna do when they get back?” you wondered.

“Guess I’m gonna have to go—” he reached up and knocked his fist on the slats above you— “back upstairs.”

“I’ll miss you,” you whined, cuddling harder into him.

“Okay, I’ll come down after they go to sleep,” he decided, hugging you tighter as well.

You spent the rest of your week alone together for the honeymoon very… similarly to a honeymoon, actually.  Damn near every room in the house was defiled and you were so exhausted you ended up calling in sick to work most days.  It was well worth it, obviously; Eddie had so much energy and lost time to make up for, meanwhile you were just happy to let him shower you in affection and bring you in an hour more pleasure than you’d had in the rest of your life combined.

“God, I can’t, I really really can’t,” he insisted as your lips latched onto his neck and your hips grinded in his lap. 

“You said that last time,” you remembered.

“I know, but now I mean it!” he sighed, dropping his head onto the back of the couch.  “What are you doin’ to me, woman?  Trying to kill me?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, licking his neck and purring as you felt the muscles in it shift under your tongue.  “Isn’t this how you always wanted to die?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but I can’t croak so soon— you’d miss me too much.”

For all his insistence that he couldn’t go again, that ten times in four days was too much, he was guiding your movements in his lap hardly ten minutes later, watching with heavy eyes as you sank down onto his cock over and over.

“Fuck, so pretty,” he breathed, biting his lip while he drank in the sight.  Thick hands ran up your thighs as you bounced on him, slipping around to grab palmfuls of your ass while you rode, and you moaned happily.

It’s easy to guess that you got a bit spoiled by that week.  Eddie had you addicted to him in moments and kept you around his finger (sometimes literally) so easily.  As such, it made you dread even more each day that you got closer and closer to the return of the newlyweds.  You couldn’t even imagine going back to normal after this— and what even was ‘normal’ before?  You never really had one.

Even if it was just a matter of keeping it a secret, you knew it wouldn’t be easy.  Maybe if it had been easier, the plan would’ve lasted a bit longer.

They returned from their trip on a Wednesday afternoon, and you all sat at the table together to talk about how much fun they had and all the fishing and hiking and relaxing they did.  It was good to see them again, but even just sitting across the table from Eddie felt odd.  Even just being apart that night while you and your mom went out for dinner alone felt odd.  Even just sleeping in separate bunks, after you chickened out on sharing from the fear that someone would burst in and see your cuddling, felt odd.

Eddie got up first, but he went to the bathroom to shower and shave before you got up so you couldn’t even try to sneak in a quick good morning kiss.  Instead, you started preparing breakfast in the kitchen, taking a break to brush your teeth when the bathroom was free and he was watching TV.  Other than offering to make him a piece of toast, you didn’t say much, mainly because you were still kind of waking up.

While you were finishing breakfast preparations you heard Eddie come into the kitchen and step up behind you, but you didn’t say anything, and neither did he for a second— not until he was standing just a bit too close.

“This is way too hard,” he whispered.

“Hm?” you wondered, shivering when his lips gently brushed against your neck in the next moment.  “E-Eddie, we can’t—”

“I know,” he agreed under his breath, “that’s what’s so hard.  Not being able to touch you, or kiss you, or…”

You were trying to resist, really, but his fingers were just barely tickling your sides through your shirt while his tongue teased your ear and it made your knees a little weak.  Okay, a lot weak; you just had to let him spin you around so he could kiss you on the mouth, hard and needy.  

You were so caught up by it that you didn’t hear the sound of movement on the other side of the wall.  You just reached up to wrap your arms together on top of his shoulders and let him deepen it, tilting your head a bit as you fought back a moan.  

He started to guide you back, and you barely questioned it, and the two of you all but fell into the dining room, nearly colliding the table; and it was a good thing you didn’t, since that would’ve put Wayne’s coffee at risk of falling off the table— he, by the way, was sitting at the table next to your mom, something neither of you had taken the time to notice, until the man gruffly cleared his throat to get your attention.

You pulled away from each other with a gasp; Eddie coughed lightly while you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, wide-eyed as you took in the way the two of them were staring at you from their seats at the table.

“Good morning,” Wayne finally offered, and Eddie nodded with a nervous laugh as you tried to decide where to start.

“S-sorry,” you decided to say first, “we were— it’s not— he was just—”

He was just what, helping me decide if I should get a new flavor of toothpaste?  He was just saying ‘good morning’ the European way?  He was just helping me butter my toast?  Oh god, that sounds even worse…

“Oh, you don’t need to act so shy about it,” your mom promised with a tilt of her head, which made you switch from shock to bewilderment.  “I actually always thought it was strange you never kissed in front of us before now!”

Eddie raised one of his eyebrows as he looked at her in confusion.  “Um… well, we never kissed at all before— before, you know, a couple days ago…”

“Wait, really?” she laughed.  “That’s a little odd— being involved all this time and waiting so long to kiss?”

You blinked, choking as you tried to reply to that.  “We— we weren’t involved!  Until now!”

Wayne tried to cover his smile with his hand, but it couldn’t hide his laugh.  Your mom looked at him and then back at you.  “What?!” she yelped.  “Wayne and I— we were so sure you two were—!”

“No!” you blurted out.  “We weren’t… why would you think that?”

“Because it was obvious,” Wayne explained flatly.  “We’re old, not stupid.”

“You were so clearly interested in each other!” she went on.  “We figured you’d started dating and just didn’t tell us because— well, you didn’t need to!  You really weren’t?”

“Of course not!” you insisted.  “Mom, we’re— you know… related!  Kind of.  That doesn’t bother you?”

“It didn’t seem to bother either of you,” she noticed.  “But, you’re both adults, you can do what you like.  You were classmates long before Wayne and I ever met.  People marry their high school sweethearts all the time.”

“O-okay, to be clear,” you stammered, “we went to high school together— but we were not sweethearts.”

Eddie gave you a look, crossing his arms as if he was amused by all this, and you shook your head.

“But— okay, well, thank you, I guess, for your… blessing,” you decided.  “And we’ll… try not to kiss in the kitchen too often.”

That night, after saying goodnight to Mom and Wayne, Eddie followed you into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.  He sat next to you on your bed, even though you kind of expected him to climb up to his own— but you didn’t have any complaints when he pulled you into a kiss that built quickly in intensity.

You brushed your fingers through his hair (as best you could with how tangled it was) and hummed as he gently held your waist, but when you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself if it went on much longer, you had to cut it short.

“Wait,” you gasped, pushing him back gently until he stopped and looked at you with big, wide eyes.  “We can’t…”

“Why not?” he wondered.

“Because…” you trailed off, finishing your sentence by pointing in the other direction.

“Because…” he repeated, squinting his eyes as he looked where you were pointing.  “Because, the wall?  Aw, babe, I know I get a little carried away but I don’t think the walls are gonna collapse.”

“No, the other side of the wall,” you sighed.

“The bathroom?”

“The other side of that.”

“...the water heater?”

“Eddie!” you whined.  “The other side of that!” 

“The master bedroom, final answer,” he nodded.  “What— Mr. and Mrs. Munson?  What about ‘em?”

“Um, their… presence?” you clarified, not sure what he wasn’t getting.

“If they know we’re together then we don’t have to hide it,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean I wanna fuck with them in the house,” you returned with a frown.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” he smirked, “you know— if the bunk bed’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’ or something like that.”

“That’s… not a saying.”

“Okay, but, close enough,” he pouted.

“Still not having sex with you while our parents are home,” you insisted.  He didn’t seem too disappointed, though— actually, a mischievous smile grew on his face as he looked at you.

“I noticed something,” he informed you.  You raised your eyebrows and waited.  “Your mom said people marry their high school sweethearts all the time.  You said we weren’t sweethearts.”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“But you didn’t tell her we weren’t getting married.”

Your eyes went wide and you bit your lip; he looked way too fucking proud of himself as he leaned in closer and poked you teasingly in the stomach with his fingers.  You tried to lean away or cover yourself with crossed arms but it wasn’t working, and neither were your attempts to stifle your laughter.

“You’re soooo into me,” he noticed in a playfully mocking voice.  “You wanna get maaarriiieeeddd—”

“N-no, I don’t,” you denied with an eye roll, “I— I just didn’t notice she said that.”

“You wanna have my baaaabbiiieeesss,” he continued anyways, and you nearly choked on your own throat.

“E-Ed, we’re too young for any of that right now,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he nodded, pausing for a second.  “How about now?”

You snorted, shaking your head at your own amusement with such a stupid joke.  “No, I mean, like, the future.”

“Future,” he affirmed, “as in, tomorrow?”

“No!” you groaned.  “Like, someday!”

“Sunday?”

You whined and dropped your head on Eddie’s shoulder in defeat, making him laugh and reach up to rub your back.  “You’re horrible,” you mumbled.

“Mhm,” he agreed as he softly kissed the top of your head.  “Just promise me something?”

You lifted your head to rest your chin on his shoulder so he could see your face; he reached up and held it gently, caressing the height of your cheek with his thumb.

“You tell me when it’s ‘someday’, okay?” he asked softly.  “I don’t care if it’s ten days from now or ten years.  You just say the word, and we’ll do all that boring grown up stuff we’re not old enough for yet.  Deal?”

You smiled and nodded.  “Okay.”

He hummed and kissed the tip of your nose before gently capturing your lips again, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “Oh,” he said suddenly as he pulled back, “by the way— you can keep my ring you took.”

“I… thought you forgot about that,” you admitted sheepishly, and he grinned, shaking his head.

“Of course not,” he cooed, “but it’s better that you have it, since you wanna be the next Mrs. Munson so bad.”

“I don’t—!” you began to disagree, but he cut you off with another kiss.

Someday came January 19th, 1988.  It was a quiet day, but otherwise typical for life in your little rental place up in North Hawkins by the lake, which was usually filled with Eddie's raucous practicing on the Warlock alongside the hand-me-down furniture and framed (award-winning) photos on the wall.

Nothing specific made you realize it— he was just laying back on the couch and fiddling around on his acoustic (specifically his new acoustic you'd gotten him for his most recent birthday) while you arranged and rearranged the magazine spread due in a few days— but you just… knew that it was time.

“Wanna get married?” you blurted out, and he looked at you with a tinge of shock on his face before he smiled.

“You know I do,” he grinned.  “Hop in the van, we’ll go to the courthouse—”

You interrupted him with a laugh as he was sitting up and setting his guitar aside.  “I figured we would just start, like, planning it…”

He groaned disappointedly as he flopped back onto the couch.  “You make me wait this long and then you say we have to wait more?”

“You don’t want a wedding?!” you scoffed.

“I do, but I’d rather get married now and just do the wedding whenever we have the time,” he explained.  “Doesn’t it sound fun?”

You smirked.  “Well, I figured once we were married you’d want kids right away.  And I’m not interested in a maternity-bridal gown.”

“Y’sure?  I think you’d be real cute like that,” he cooed.

"I think you should keep dreamin', pretty boy," you winked in return.  

He hopped up off the couch and crossed the room to kiss you suddenly— holding your face in his hands, keeping you close, saying so much with no words at all.  You fell into it so quickly that you were the one leaning forward for more when he pulled back.  He smirked at you proudly; "So, courthouse?"

You sighed.  "How come you always get your way with me?  Why is that?"

"'Cause you're just so wildly, stupidly, counter-intuitively in love with me," he answered confidently.

"Oh, right," you smiled.  "I almost forgot."

Eddie cleared his throat as he stood before all your family and friends— the Hellfire club, your coworkers and colleagues, your mom and stepdad, and even Eddie's father who had been granted furlough so he could attend. A small gathering, but still a crowd.  You could tell he was nervous; you were, too, of course, and you looked down at your white dress and your hands holding his to try to remind yourself that this was real.

"Well, um, hi," he addressed them before he began the vows he'd written and rehearsed a thousand times for today.  "Bet you never thought you'd see me in a suit, right?" 

THE END

[scarletslxt]

how do i make this my reality.?

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

summary: when you and chrissy save a pirate from drowning, you get him to show you what humans do for fun. [pirate!eddie x mermaid!reader x mermaid!chrissy]

cw: slight manipulation from u n chrissy, reader is mentioned to have long hair so she can cover her chest, smut || 18+ only [ft. threesome, oral sex (m receiver), handjob, cum play, monster fucking (technically?? u n chrissy are the monsters lol), beach sex, reader n chrissy are very innocent but somehow two whores?? who knew u could be both]

a/n: this was super fun to write ngl. please lmk what u think!!

“Isn’t he kinda… cute?” Chrissy asks you, eyes glued to the man laying on the shore between your bodies.

You look down at him, taking in his soft cheeks and his nicely shaped nose. You trace the bridge of it with a finger, leaving his skin dewy with droplets of sea water, and drift your gaze down to his plush lips. Under the slight bluish tint they have from being underwater for too long, you can still make out their natural pink colour.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if they’d feel as soft as Chrissy’s lips do on yours.

“Yeah," you hum, now tracing his cupid’s bow. “He’s pretty.”

She twirls one strand of his hair around her finger. “And his hair! It’s almost as long as Jane’s now that she’s back.”

The mention of Jane brings back the memory of the captain that kept her for years for his twisted experiments on your people and reminds you what exactly lays between you and Chrissy. You recoil your hand back and grab her wrist. “He’s a human, Chrissy. We shouldn’t have helped him.”

Her delicate features contort into a confused frown. “But he was drowning. He would’ve died if we hadn’t pulled him out!”

Maybe he should’ve, is what you’re about to say when the man starts coughing. The coughs wreck his body and water spills from his lips, his eyes slowly fluttering open but narrowing quickly from the glare of the sun. He tries to get up, using his elbows as leverage, but another cough throws him back down.

“Take it easy,” Chrissy tells him, shielding him from the sun with her body. His eyes widen at the sight of her, grow even wider when he realises she isn’t alone and sees you next to her. “You had a nasty fall.”

“Wha– What’s going on?” His voice is hoarse from the abuse his vocal chords suffered and the lack of proper air in his lungs. “Who are you?”

“I’m Chrissy, and this is–”

“Chrissy! Don’t tell him our names!” You scold.

She rolls her eyes at your overprotectiveness. “He’s not going to do anything. He can barely stand.”

You scowl at her. “You can be so careless. It’s a wonder you still have your tail on.”

“Tail?” The man's baffled voice breaks up your argument. He glances to the side and sees both of your tails wagging in the air– Chrissy’s baby blue scales and your purple ones shimmering under the golden light. “Woah! What the fuck?!”

“See? He hasn’t got a clue what we are. He’s not going to kidnap us or whatever dark fantasy you’ve created in your mind– anyway!” She changes the subject before you can tell her that you don’t have fantasies about a human male kidnapping you. She turns to him and smiles sweetly. “What’s your name?”

The long haired man looks between the two of you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Ed– Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie,” she tastes the name on her tongue. “That’s pretty. What happened to you? You’re pretty far from home.”

“I, uh, my ship got wrecked.” He gulps when you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. Your mother had warned you of human men and the lies they would tell you to get you to trust them and this one sounded very familiar. “There was a storm and– and a wave flipped us over. My friends– shit,” he wipes his face with his hands, clearly distressed. Your heart softens ever so slightly. “I have to find them.”

He tries to get up again but you place a hand on his chest and he freezes. He stares at you, brown eyes pulling you in like a current. “I’m sorry about your friends but you shouldn’t go anywhere yet. You’re still hurt,” you point to his arm where a deep gash seeps blood down to his forearm.

“Fuck,” he swears. He looks down at himself and rips a piece of the cloth he’s wearing over his torso with a low grunt that makes your scales tingle. He wraps it around the wound, hissing when it presses against the gash and baring his teeth. He struggles to tie a knot, yet you and Chrissy are mesmerized as you watch him work.

“What’s that?” You ask him once he’s done.

“What’s– Oh, this? It’s a dressing. To keep the wound from infecting.”

“No, I mean the… things you put on your body.” He points to his chest to make sure you’re asking what he thinks you’re asking. “Yeah, those. They don’t seem very comfortable.”

“You don’t know what these are?” He looks at your bodies and realises that neither you or Chrissy is wearing anything to cover your chests, only your long hair keeping some of your modesty. Blood rushes to his cheeks and you giggle at how pink he suddenly is.

He seems to be speaking to himself when he mumbles, “Oh, wow. No, no, of course you don’t know. You’re mermaids. Very pretty and n-naked mermaids.” He clears his throat and blinks awkwardly, looking away to pretend he wasn’t ogling at you. “They– They’re clothes. This is, um, a shirt. And these are pants,” he explains, pointing to his chest and legs.

“And that thing under your pants?” You point to his groin where a bulge strains against the thin black fabric. “Is that where you keep your shells?”

Eddie gets even redder. “That’s, um…” He seems at a loss of words, mouth opening and closing without making any sound.

“Oh, we love collecting shells! Can we see?” Chrissy eagerly leans forward and unties the knot that keeps his pants tied together, lowering them quickly without waiting for Eddie’s answer. Instead of the clatter of shells you were expecting, something long and thick hits Eddie’s stomach. “Oh, that’s… not a shell.”

“What even is it?” You tilt your head to the side and reach your hand towards it. You’re about to touch it when Eddie’s fingers wrap around your wrist tightly, stopping your movements.

He almost cowers from the deadly glare you’re giving him for touching you so roughly. “Sorry, sorry.” He takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “That’s, uh, that’s my cock.”

“Cock?” Eddie closes his eyes when he hears Chrissy’s sweet voice say such a filthy word. His cock twitches. “Oh my Poseidon, it moved,” she whispers to you in awe.

“What is it for?” You ask him.

“For fucking.” That one answer came out naturally for him but when he sees your confused stares he scrambles his brain for a word you would understand. “Uh… mating. For mating and… playing.”

“How do you play with it? It seems rather… stiff.”

Eddie plays with a strand of his hair, trying to cover some of his burning face with it. “You touch it. With your hand. Or you– you put it inside a woman. Or man.”

You stare at his cock– long and thick and as pink as his lips, with a tip that’s a slightly darker hue than the rest of it. There’s a thick tuft of curls at the base and two round sacks hanging heavy from it. You can’t help but want to squeeze them.

You lick your lips and look back at Chrissy who’s doing the same as you. Ogling. Her eyes are dark with need, the same look she gets when you two are left alone for more than a couple of minutes– especially on a full moon.

Before you can pay attention to the warning voice of your mother that echoes in your ears, you ask, “Can we play with it?”

Eddie swallows harshly. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” Chrissy asks, pouting her lips, her voice taking in the sultry tone the elder mermaids spend years teaching you. Her tail flicks yours and you copy her, rounding out your narrowed eyes and looking at him pleadingly. “We don’t know if we’ll ever see a human again. We just want to know what it feels like.”

Eddie seems to debate with himself for a few seconds, only the sounds of the crashing waves breaking the silence. Your voices and your eyes have him in a trance and, completely ignoring all the warnings he heard about mermaids, he nods, wet hair swinging with the sharp movements. “Yeah, okay. Knock yourselves out.”

You and Chrissy giggle happily and wrap a hand each around him, tails wiggling in excitement. You twist them around, getting a feel of the velvety skin and the ridges of the veins that lead towards the head, watching amazed as Eddie’s cock grows more stiff, becoming heavy in your palms.

“What’s happening? Why is it getting so hard?”

Eddie takes a deep breath to ground himself, nostrils flaring. “Cause I’m turned on.”

“Turned on?”

“You’re making me feel really good,” he rephrases through clenched teeth. Your hands are incredibly smooth as you hold him, probably from the slick film coating them to protect them from the abrasion of the salt in the water. He exhales a shaky gasp of pleasure when you slowly glide them up and down, his stomach flexing. 

You bite your lip and look up at him. “And how do we make you feel more good?”

“He’s been looking at your tits a lot,” Chrissy pipes up before Eddie can answer. There’s mischief in her blue eyes as she pulls your hair away from your chest, revealing your breasts completely. Eddie’s mouth falls wide open. “Do they ‘turn you on’, Eddie? Go ahead, touch them,” she encourages him.

You sigh when his hand cups your breast and kneads the fat gently, thumb flicking your hard nipple. Eddie watches your expressions carefully. When you arch forward into his touch and tighten your hand around, making him groan, he twists your nipple, earning himself a sweet moan from you. 

“Aren’t they soft? They also feel really good in my mouth, Eddie.” Chrissy smirks, moving her own strawberry blonde hair out of the way so Eddie can touch hers as well.

“Holy shit.” His mind conjures up a filthy image– the two of you under the water, hands slowly down your bodies and mouths kissing every inch of skin they could, eyes rolling back once you sucked on the others breasts. His hips buck up. “You two– you play together?”

“Mhm. All the time.”

“Oh my God.” His grip on your tits tightens. He keeps tilting his hips up, moaning softly as he fucks your hands. Something that has a pearly sheen starts to leak out of his slit and drip down his shaft, making your fingers sticky. “Yeah, lick it up, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groans when Chrissy asks if she can taste them.

She slides her tongue over your knuckles and catches the first drops that fell, eyes widening at the salty flavour. She hums appreciatively and leans down for more. “That’s nice. D’you want a taste?” She asks you.

You nod enthusiastically and her fingers gently grab your chin, tilting your head towards her so she can dribble the white substance into your mouth. “S’good,” you breathe out. 

Eddie slams a hand on the sand, eyes hazy with lust as he watches the two of you share his precum and enjoy it. None of the women back home had ever done something like that, not even some of the whores his friends brought back to the ship on the odd nights they stayed in a popular town’s port. 

You keep stroking his cock as you kiss, focusing more on the upper part of his shaft since your hand is on top of Chrissy’s. You gently squeeze the head and more precum oozes out. You flick your tongue over his slit and give it back to Chrissy, pecking her lips sweetly when she swallows it down. 

Eddie groans when you do it again. “Like that. Just like that. You’re doing so good. G-Give it a little kiss– oh fuck.” 

His eyes roll back when you kiss his tip, soft lips peppering little kisses all around it. Chrissy copies you, letting go of him so she has more flesh to kiss and slobber all over. Your eyes meet as you lick him, your happiness clear in your gazes.

She takes your hand and guides you down to the two soft sacks that caught your eye before, adding the smallest pressure to the back of your hand so you cup his balls and squeeze them with care.

Eddie moans loudly and throws his head back on the sand. “Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re– Jesus H Christ.” He gasps in surprise when Chrissy wraps her warm mouth around his dick and you kitten lick his fuzzy balls. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me.”

He lets go of your chest and the sand so he can add pressure to the back of both of your heads, keeping you stuck to his groin. Carefully, he thrusts his hips up, slowly fucking Chrissy’s untrained throat and making her gag. 

The lewd sounds make you squirm in place, the musky scent of Eddie’s hairs that tickle your nose doing little to calm you down. You’re desperate for some relief but it’s not a full moon yet– you have no legs to spread for him. So you whine needily around his balls, eyebrows scrunching up in desperation. 

Eddie shushes you, scratching your scalp with the tips of his fingers to help you calm down. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he coos. “J-Just a little more and you’ll make me cum so fucking hard. Gonna fill your girlfriend’s throat and make her share it with you, since you liked my cum so much. You want that?”

You look at Chrissy and see the tears springing in her lower waterline from the abuse her throat is suffering, some of them already falling down her rosy cheeks. With your thumb, you brush them away and offer her a reassuring smile, one that she struggles to reciprocate with Eddie stretching her lips wide but you’re able to tell she’s enjoying herself nevertheless. 

You hum in agreement and lave your tongue over his balls, feeling them twitch in your mouth. His moans grow louder and louder, thighs trembling and hips thrusting wildly. “Shit, I’m gonna– Oh, fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming,” he grunts and pushes Chrissy down completely until her nose is flush with his base.

True to his word, he slowly peels you off him and, with a hold on the back of your necks, guides your mouths together. Chrissy is smiling as she merges your lips in a heady kiss, your tongue sliding around hers so you can scoop up any leftovers that she didn’t swallow for herself, spit dribbling down the corners of your mouths and to your chests.

When his grip on your necks slackens, Chrissy tiredly rests her head on your shoulder. You blink slowly and pet the top of her hair, kissing her temple.

“You’ll come back for us, right?” she asks Eddie with a hoarse voice.

Eddie licks his lips and looks down at the pair of you, memorising the image of two beautiful mermaids looking at him with needy and wanting eyes. What kind of pirate would he be if he didn’t collect his treasure?

He brushes your cheekbones with his thumb, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

[scarletslxt]

scissoring with chrissy while eddie watches <3

he’s tugging on his leaking cock while you and chrissy’s clits are kissing all wet and glistening from the mixed arousal and he’s trying not to cum so embarrassingly early

hes so :(( desperate. almost as desperate as you and chrissy are, rubbing your little pudgy clits together. can't stop telling you how fucking pretty his two girls are. you're so good, rubbing your hungry cunts together for him. he makes sure to aim his cock right at the center of where you're both touching and humping, letting his cum seep over both your clits.

[scarletslxt]

OH MY GOD YES. you never miss holy mother of god😭😭 this is the sweetest thing ever. i absolutely loved the ending and youre such an amazing writer 🤍🤍

𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 • eddie munson x reader

sequel to 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗲 and 𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 • another album, another tour, this time with a stop in Indianapolis featuring a local opener that proves to be more familiar than you expected.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 • 5.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 • smut (18+ only), semi-public sex, extreme fluff, jealous reader, cocky eddie, hatefucking (at first), emotions!!

Objectively, Eddie was never the best you ever had. Considering your long and storied history included a lot of very talented people— sometimes multiple at a time— it was hard to compete.  He didn't make you come the hardest, or the fastest, or the most.

But for some reason, he was always your favorite. 

Even if he wasn't a sex god, he managed to keep up with you and he was just the right balance of everything: sweet but not too grovelling; good-looking but not too self-obsessed; young but not too naive.

Truth be told, every time you thought about it, you wondered if you should've taken him on tour with you.  You imagined a life where you had this little boytoy to keep you company, where he held you close at night in that big empty bed while the bus was on its way to the next stop; where you finished your sets and walked just off stage to find him waiting, and he'd give you a big kiss and tell you how amazing you were.

But it was just a fantasy, something to get you through especially lonely nights.  You’d been thinking about him leading up to your tour stop in Indiana, wondering if you should find some way to reach out— all you had was an old phone number, and that was nearly a year ago now that you found out he graduated and moved away.  After considering looking him up a few times (and realizing you didn’t actually know if Eddie was short for Edward or Edmond or Edgar or… not short for anything), you decided it was best left alone.  After all, your presence in Indiana was pretty heavily anticipated, it’s not like he couldn’t figure it out if he wanted to find some way to see you.  

Danny nodded at you from behind the drums as you walked onstage for soundcheck.

“Okay, we’re just gonna tune and run the first song on the setlist,” the sound technician announced over the speakers as you put in your earpiece.

“Great,” you answered into the microphone, slinging your guitar on over your shoulder and starting to pick at it to get it perfectly in tune— yes, most big stars have the venue techs or their roadies tune instruments for them, but you preferred doing it yourself.  It was like… well, it was sort of like foreplay.  You preferred warming up your guitar yourself.

“Hey, you heard of this band that’s opening for us?” Jerome, your second guitarist, asked you as an assistant adjusted his mic stand.  “I was talking to the venue manager— he said a ton of people are here to see them.  They’re local legends or something.”

“I didn’t even read who’s opening for us,” you admitted.  “I haven’t slept since Louisville.”

“They’re called Corroded Coffin,” he said.  “Real grungy stuff.”

“Well, it’s a decent name,” you offered.  “I’ll have to watch their set and see if they’re any good.”

When soundcheck ended, you retired to the green room for a drink and a rest, the closest thing you had to a pre-show ritual.  This venue was nice enough that you had a TV by the vanity, meaning you totally zoned out and lost track of time watching National Geographic; you didn’t even realize the show had started until you heard loud, echoing guitars from outside.  

Turning the volume down, you listened to the muffled sound for a couple minutes, nodding to yourself.  Hey, they’re not bad.

Deciding to venture out and get a proper listen, you navigated the crowded backstage— roadies, assistants, and for some reason a crowd of kids in matching t-shirts?— so you could peer in from-offstage to see the band.  The first thing you saw was the pit; it was full of girls.  Screaming, desperate girls.  Shit, who is this guy?  You figured you weren’t likely to get the same reception from that section of the crowd, unless there was a bisexual convention in town.

Leaning further in, you finally saw the back of the guitarist’s head.  Any other context, and that mess of long, curly brown hair would give it away— but this was the metal scene, after all, and most of the guys looked like that.

He took a step back, disappointing the girls who had been climbing over each other to try to touch his ankle, and shook his head to get his hair out of his face.  That was when you got a proper glimpse of him for the first time, and your breath caught.

No, it’s not… 

He was too far away for you to be sure, and if you leaned forward any more, you’d be visible to the crowd which was not worth the trouble.  Spinning around, you saw the group of kids behind you, and narrowed your eyes at their shirts.  “Hey,” you yelled over the music to get the attention of one of them, “what do those shirts mean?”

“They’re for our D&D club!” he answered emphatically.  “That’s our Dungeon Master!”

As he pointed to the frontman again, you spun around.  Fuck.

“EDDIE, WE LOVE YOUUU!!!” a girl with braces screamed from the front row, literally sobbing, and you wondered how you could physically fit in your body every emotion you were feeling in this one moment.

Euphoria, confusion, devastation, excitement, anxiety— he was here, he was opening for you, he really made it.  But was he too good for you now?  He was the next big thing— you could already tell, hearing him play, that he was the real deal— and you were… well, you were the last big thing.  He was Van Halen, you were Black Sabbath; he was video, you were the radio star.  He was the nineties, coming around the corner faster than you were ready for— wasn’t it 1979, like, an hour ago?

It didn’t hurt from a stardom standpoint— the record sales didn’t bother you, even when there were less of them.  You didn’t need to be famous, half the time you didn’t even like it, you just loved the music whether it was yours or someone else’s.

But it hurt seeing Eddie, because it made you realize how long it had really been.  It hurt wondering if tonight was the beginning of the end— but you had hope that you wouldn’t be facing the end alone.

As he focused on playing a complex solo, his tongue curled up over his lip.  Be careful, Ed, I dunno if these girls can handle that…

Looking out over his crowd again, your gut burned as you saw the girls fawning over him, even if you couldn’t blame them.

You watched the rest of his set from the best seat in the house, which was actually standing up just behind the curtain, until you heard Eddie speak into the microphone: “You guys have been great!  We would stay forever if we could, but this is our last song…”

Heart pumping, you stumbled back and out of the way, retreating to your green room— you weren’t ready for him to walk by, you weren’t ready for him to ignore you, or kiss you, or slap you, or whatever he was going to do.

He was probably over it; he probably didn’t even care, so casually flaunting his one-that-got-away-ness in front of you.  You slammed your door shut behind you, pouring yourself a quick drink and tossing it back in a second.  It dulled your nerves but only worsened the sickness gathering in your stomach.  This was everything you’d been waiting for since 1985, but it was so terrifying now that it was here.  Everything could go wrong.

But of course he still wanted you, right?  He had to, he was one of your biggest fans just a few years ago.  But wow, time can change so much— and you had no idea he could play like that.  It only made you more attracted to him, right when you were trying to play it cool.

You heard the crowd going wild, you heard the music come to a halt, and you knew you were supposed to be getting ready for your own set.  Right now, you weren’t sure if you could even name one of your own songs…

Well, probably just one— the one about him.  In your mind, it was sort of a graduation present from you to Eddie— but you weren’t even a hundred percent sure he ever heard it.

You waited a few minutes, hoping maybe Corroded Coffin would be gone when you stepped out— yet praying that they wouldn’t be— but when you entered the hallway again, you found a typical scene between the opener and headliner: musicians and their most privileged fans everywhere, getting in the way of crew trying desperately to set up between acts, and Eddie right there in the middle of all of it.

He was sitting on an amp, fiddling around on his acoustic, girls hanging off of his arm and sitting in a circle around him.  Christ.

Hesitantly, you walked up to the group, crossing your arms and watching for a moment.  "Guess you made it out of your garage phase," you smirked.

He looked up at you, his strumming coming to a halt, as he gave you a knowing smile.  "Yeah," he offered; his voice was eerily familiar yet different, and you wondered if things were too different now.  If you and him were basically strangers, and you'd just have to wave hello and leave all that history behind.

After all, you'd only met once before, technically.  But to you, it felt like your story wasn't over yet.

“Oh my god,” one of the girls jumped up to you, “I— I’m such a huge fan!”

“Oh?  That’s nice to hear,” you offered her, glancing between her eyes and Eddie’s a few times.  “I— do you want me to sign anything?”

“That would be amazing,” she beamed, “I’ve— I’ve got one of your CDs right here.”

“Ah, a CD,” you nodded as she pulled it out of her purse and you got your trusty metallic Sharpie from your back pocket, “that’s how I know you’re one of the new kids.”

“You can make it out to Pearl,” she decided as you took the album from her, “that’s me.”

“Will do,” you agreed, uncapping the pen with your teeth and writing over the cover.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she said.

“Yeah?” you prompted, mostly focused on writing.

“My favorite song of yours is Pretty Boy,” she explained, “from your new album?  I wanted to ask you who it’s about.”

You glanced at Eddie again, finding him still smiling at you.  Of course he knew, he barely had to listen to the verse to figure it out, it wasn’t exactly cryptic.  Can’t take you home when there’s no home to go to, still remember you with all the guys that I go through, it was pretty obvious.  “Uh,” you stalled, voice slurred a bit from talking with a pen cap in your mouth, “it’s… not really about anyone.  It’s just about the idea of someone.”

You handed her back the CD and put your marker away.  “Wow,” she smiled when you gave it back, reading the message to herself.  Pearl— don’t be a slut, with your signature across the bottom.  Her smile faltered slightly, but she thanked you weakly. 

“That’s good advice,” you informed her sternly as she sat back down.

“You know,�� Eddie piped up, making your heart beat faster, “I wanted you to sign something of mine, too.”

You smirked at him, summoning some confidence from deep within yourself.  “Kid, you’ve already got my name written all over you.”

A few of the girls started whispering to each other, and Eddie glanced down— he didn’t seem too caught off-guard, but his cheeks did flush.  “Then maybe you can make my guitar match,” he suggested.

“Sure,” you agreed, and he stood up, lifting the guitar’s strap over his shoulder so he could hold it out for you and your re-uncapped marker.

Your hands were almost shaking, at the worst possible time, as he stood so close, staring at you with those eyes.  You thought about what you might write, and decided as you made contact with the glossy wood.

Eddie,

I’m still waiting for you.

As you put your signature at the bottom, you were startled slightly by a flash; you turned to see one of the girls had taken an instant photo, and she pulled it out and shook it as it developed.  “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, “just a little piece of rock and roll history.  Legends meeting for the first time!”

You didn’t correct her; Eddie just nodded.  “You’ll have to send that to Rolling Stone,” he decided.

“There you go,” you announced as you finished the signature, watching him read what you’d written.

“Thanks,” he smiled, turning the guitar and holding it forward so he could look at it better before looking at you again.  “Any chance I could bum a smoke?”

One of the girls started to reach into her bag, but without even looking at her, Eddie held his hand out and she froze.  “Actually, I—” quit, you were about to say, but then you met his gaze.  He really was still that boy you found waiting outside the back of a smaller stadium nearly four years ago— his eyes were the same: tender, pleading, hopeful.  You knew the feeling well.  “I… have a pack in my dressing room,” you offered.

“Great,” he smiled.

“Aw, don’t go!” one of the girls whined, the rest joining in a chorus of moping.  

“Uh— hey!  There’s Gareth!” Eddie pointed.  “Will you girls go cheer him up?  He, uh, just broke up with his girlfriend.”

Eddie gave his best sympathetic sigh as the girls’ eyes lit up; and while the cloud of adorers descended on the drummer, you guided Eddie back with you across the backstage tunnel, tumbling through the green room door with him.

When you were both on the other side and the door shut, he didn’t even give you a chance to offer him a drink, now that he was definitely old enough— he just kissed you, with every ounce of passion he’d been saving for you all this time.  You whimpered and grabbed his face, holding him close, letting his tongue roam wherever and tasting his smile in return.

He pushed you back against the wall, pulling your hips against his, pressing all of himself against you; he tried to break the kiss to say something, but you pulled his face towards you again, you just needed a little more.

He hummed against your lips, and you let him go so he could kiss your neck instead.  Your back was already arching up off the wall, and you felt his hands slide up the back of your shirt, tickling the dip of your spine, finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in a moment so he could bring his hands around to the front and grope your chest.

You grinned as his fingers toyed with your nipples and squeezed your sensitive skin; there was more experience behind his movements than before, yet the same boyish eagerness under it all.

That said, your grin faded when he pulled your shirt and bra up, exposing you to the air, indulging himself in a glance and a sigh at your breasts before he put his mouth on them.  “Fuck,” you whined.  “Eddie, fuck.”

Your hands reached up and tangled in his hair, and he moaned around your skin, moving to the other nipple while his fingers gently pinched the first.  “Say my name again,” he demanded.

“Make me,” you countered.

He stopped right away, spinning you around as you held your hands against the wall to keep yourself upright.  He pressed his back up to yours, letting his hips rock so you could feel his erection against you and you purred.  The way his fingers quickly unbuttoned your jeans reminded you a bit of the way he fingered his guitar on stage; the way he pushed your pants and underwear down and grabbed a handful of your ass before giving it a sudden spank reminded you of someone totally different from Eddie.  I guess a lot can change in a few years…

“You gonna fuck me or what?” you sighed.  “I’ve gotta be on stage any minute now.”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he promised— or maybe it was a warning.  "But I'm not your groupie anymore, sweetheart, I'm a star, and I fuck like one.  All those girls wanted me to do to them what you did to me— but all I want is to be buried in you."

You hummed proudly turning around and facing him so you could start working on his belt for him.  “Did you miss me?” you wondered, taunting with your question, but he wasn’t fazed.

“‘Course I did,” he smiled.  "I wasn't a virgin when we met, but I still think you made a man outta me that night.  You even let me come in you, you remember that?  So dirty," he smirked, a hint of a snarl on his smile as he scrunched up his nose for a second.  "You just want this cunt bred, huh?"

"Damn," you sighed, "you’re all grown up— and you got nasty."

He laughed breathlessly, looking down.  "Guess I did.  You haven't changed, though."

He guided you across the room, to the vanity, where he spun you around and bent you over quickly— not too rough, but definitely hurried— yanking your head up by your hair so you had to look in the mirror.

"Want you to see how pretty you are taking my cock."

He was inside you a moment later, and your eyes rolled back.  “Fuck,” you groaned, legs quivering as he started off right away; he gave you long, deep strokes that made your walls clench.

"I remember how you like it," he purred.  "Deep, and rough— and you like being in control.  But right now, I wanna see you lose control."

Well, that was the plan if he kept talking like that…

“I wanna see you come for me,” he continued, “exactly when I tell you to.”

“Yeah?” you chuckled breathlessly.  “If you wanted obedience you should’ve snagged one of those little tarts from the pit.”

“If you wanted me to play nice you should’ve taken me with you when we first met,” he shot back, fucking you harder as anger tinted his voice and his movements.  “Back when I was still an impressionable kid.”

“That’s— that’s exactly why I didn’t,” you explained through your teeth.  “I was trying to do right by you.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Yes!” you admitted.  “Yes, I wish I wasn’t such a damn good person, okay?  Now just fuck me, damn it!”

He laughed a little, but finally did as he was told, taking hold of your hips and setting a brutal pace.  

“S’this… this how you fuck your groupies?” you choked out.  

He laughed as he shook his head.  “No, I take my time with them.”

Fuck.  “I liked you better when you were nice.”

He smacked your ass again, making you whimper.  “Don’t lie to me.”

Touche… “Did you like me better when I was just your fantasy?” you managed to get out.

“No,” he sighed, leaning down and laying his body over yours, holding you tighter.  “No, I like you best like this— here, with me.  Real.”

You whined and dropped your head down, hoping to hide your watering eyes, but he cooed as he pet your hair before grabbing it pulling you up again. 

“Look, baby,” he insisted, “I want you to see it— god, you’re so beautiful.  Look how beautiful you are.”

“Y-you’re beautiful, too,” you blurted out as you watched his face in the reflection, still a bit red as he panted behind you, and he gave you a breathless smile

"Tell me how good it feels,” he instructed.

"So good, Eddie, your cock is so good," you groaned.

“Y’love it, huh?” he taunted, but his eyebrows knitted together when you shook your head.

“No, Ed— I hate this… I hate that I’m the one that made you bitter,” you admitted.  “You were so sweet before…”

He slowed down a bit, one hand brushing your hair out of your face as the other held your hips— tight, but not painfully so.  “I’m still yours,” he whispered by your ear, making you bite your lip to hold back a sob.  “Baby, I’m still yours.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“Because you’re not mine.”

You laughed— you actually laughed, and he hissed as it made you tighten on him.  “Damn, you got older, but you didn’t get much smarter, huh?” you noticed.  “I was yours from the start, Eddie.”

He fucked you harder— but not exactly in the rough way.  In a patient, but needy, way; and you felt him smile as he kissed your neck again.  “You’re just saying that,” he presumed teasingly.

“No— god, it’s real, it’s not just ‘cause we’re fucking,” you promised.  “I’m yours.”

He pulled out and dropped to his knees, suddenly colliding his mouth with your sopping cunt.  You whined as your legs quivered.  "Fuck, Ed—!"

He growled as he lapped at you hungrily.  "So sweet,” you could barely make out his mumbled groan when it was spoken right against your wet skin.  

You were amazed he had the patience to stop fucking you in the middle of that— amazed and slightly pissed.  “Fuck me,” you begged, “c’mon, I said I’m yours— I meant it.”

“You’re gonna make me come too fast if you keep saying you’re mine,” he explained.  “I don’t want it to end yet.”

“Well, we’re already out of time,” you noticed as you glanced at the clock, “I should be on by now… they’re probably looking for me.”

“Well, let’s help them find you,” he encouraged with one more lick up the seam of your cunt before he stood up and shoved his cock inside you roughly.  His pace was faster after that, careless to the way he hit the end of you every time— except it wasn’t careless, it was intentional.  "Uh huh, scream for my cock, it'll get your voice warmed up,” he encouraged with a smile.

“God, I’m way too close,” you groaned, toes curling inside your boots, back arching deeper even as he held your hips steady.  “Don’t make fun of me for coming so fast… I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“I’m— Christ, I’m not in any place to judge, am I?  M’gonna come too,” he promised, “inside you.  Gonna let it all drip out of you while you’re playing your set.” 

Imagining that was what pushed you over the edge, actually.  “Eddie, I’m coming,” you sobbed, “fuck, I— don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“I’ll never stop, I’ll never fucking stop, I swear,” he grunted— and even though he stopped barely ten seconds later as his own orgasm hit him, you knew exactly what he meant.

You both caught your breath, and he held you close as his legs gave out— which meant you both fell onto the floor, but you hardly noticed; you just let him pull you closer as your eyes fluttered shut.

It was a beautiful, peaceful moment for exactly two seconds before someone banged on the door.  “WE NEED YOU TO SET UP!!” a crew member bellowed through the wood.

“GIMME A MINUTE!” you screamed back, making Eddie laugh behind you— and you followed suit.  “Not so romantic, huh?”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he assured softly, running his fingers down your back.  “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“I deserved it,” you sighed, “I’m sorry I left you in Indiana in 1985.”

He scoffed.  “I deserved that, too.”

You relaxed as he pulled your back into his chest, kissing along your neck.  “I’ve gotta get up and get myself together,” you reminded him.

“Okay,” he sighed, letting you go so you could awkwardly climb up and start pulling your pants back on.

He just laid on the floor and watched you for a second, before shoving his cock back in his own jeans and standing up to correct his button and fly.  

You bent down to look in the vanity again, wiping under your eye to carefully remove the evidence of an eyeliner-stained tear.

"I fell in love with you back then," he said suddenly, and you smiled, though you didn’t turn around.

"When we met?" you assumed.

"Before that," he replied.  You stood up this time and faced him, heart beating so hard it made you wonder if he could see your chest moving.  "Before you even knew me, before I really knew you, I loved you.  I worshiped you.  And before you even took me for yourself, I was yours.  I still am, baby— I'm still yours, and I always was."

“Do you still love me?” you asked hesitantly— only because you knew you were ready for a no.

“Yes,” he smiled, stepping closer to you, “of course.”

"I never stopped thinking about you," you promised quietly.  "I never forgot you."

He grabbed your hands suddenly, holding them up with his between the two of you, and you stared at them before you looked up at his eyes instead, brimming with optimism just like you’d dreamed of him for years.  "I'm not letting you leave me again," he insisted.  "You know how good we are together.  You know I'll always love you.  C'mon and let me be yours, angel— I'm gonna love you so much you won't know what to do with yourself."

You smirked.  "I think you're always mine, whether I let you or not."

"I think you wanna marry me."

You nearly choked, and you felt your cheeks burn but you tried to keep your cool.  "Bold claim."

"What if I ask you now?"

"You got a ring?"

"Do I?" he snorted, pulling a skull off of his right middle finger and getting down on one knee as he brandished it for you.  "I don't want anyone else.  You don't need anyone else.  No more of this ships in the night crap— us, forever."

"A skull?  Not the most romantic."

"Oh, but it is," he grinned, "til death do us part, babe.  It was almost four years ago I said I'd follow you anywhere, I meant it, and I'll follow you to the grave."

The sound tech banged loudly on the door again.  "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON TEN MINUTES AGO, THE CROWD'S GONNA REVOLT," he bellowed.

"I need to play my set, Eddie," you reminded the man on his knee before you. 

"Then play," he agreed, "and give me your answer after the encore."

You leaned down and kissed him, more gently than you’d allowed yourself before.  “I will,” you promised.  

You dashed out of the dressing room and towards the stage, a thousand people swarming around you to put your earpiece in, fling your guitar around your shoulder, brush powder over your face— and in a whirlwind of a few seconds, you were right there in front of the crowd, your band surrounding you.  The crowd cheered, and your heart swelled; I’ve still got it.

“Good evening, Indianapolis!” you greeted through the microphone, and the roar grew.  “Are we having fun tonight?”

It was easy, but it worked, and they applauded and whooped excitedly.

“How was that opener?” you prompted, and they cheered again.  “Is it just me or was that frontman kinda cute?”

A more feminine cheer answered as if to say, it’s not just you.

“Hope you like this first song,” was your simple introduction before the drummer counted you off and you all began to play.

All in all, it was a great show.  Crowd was good, band killed it (as always), and aside from a moment of feedback from one of the speakers, it all went pretty much perfectly.  And that was all in spite of your mind being totally overwhelmed with thoughts of Eddie.  Normally, music cleared your head, but nothing could keep your thoughts from everything that had just happened— and not even just that!  You were thinking about that first night, about how young he was then; about when you called him and he stayed on with you until you fell asleep so you wouldn’t have to spend another night alone; about when he first looked at you backstage half an hour ago, holding onto his guitar, surrounded by girls but looking at you like you were the only woman in the world.

Shows always went by fast, especially when they went this well, but this one seemed to go by in a moment— and there you were, waiting in the dark, hearing them chant.

Encore, encore, encore!

You were about to go back out, but you smiled to yourself as you grabbed a stage manager by the sleeve.  "Get me the lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin— bring him out on stage."

"Now?"

"Now."

He ran off to search for Eddie, and you turned to your bassist, Alex: “Think we’ve made ‘em wait long enough?”

Jerome answered instead.  “Everybody knows you like to tease,” he smirked.

True, but not as true as it used to be.  “Let’s go back,” you announced, hearing a roar of applause wash onto the stage as the musicians took the stage once more.

"We missed you," you offered into the mic, hearing the crowd cheer.  "Want us to play one more?"

They screamed again, almost deafeningly, and you laughed.  You glanced over at the side of the stage and felt your heart melt just at the sight of Eddie there, the stage manager getting him ready to go out.

"I've got someone I want you guys to meet first," you explained.  "An old friend of mine.  You know him best as the guy who rocked the fuck out of this place before I came on…"

As they figured out who you were talking about, their applause restored.

"If you don't mind, I'd like him to come out and play this song with me."

Of course, that only made them more excited.  I’ll show you rock and roll history, boys and girls.

You motioned for him to come out, and he walked on with a smile and a wave to the encouraging crowd.  "But I want you to know something else about him,” you continued as he grabbed one of your guitars and put it on, fiddling with it for a second to make sure he knew the sound and feel of the instrument.  “He's not just the hottest new sound in metal, and he's not just a heartthrob—"

The girls cheered louder at that.

"He's also—" you glanced at him, standing beside you at the other microphone, smiling back at you with slight confusion.  You took a deep breath in and out, surprised at how shaky it was.  You didn't think you got nervous anymore.  "He's also my fiancé."

You expected a huge reaction to that, but there was a pause first— a stillness that said, did we just hear that right?

Time seemed to slow down as you stepped up to him.  The crowd was frozen, and silent, and then they were gone.  Your band was gone, the crew was gone, it was just you and him in an empty stadium.

When you were in front of him, his eyes blinking at you, his smile soft and patient, you reached up and held his cheek.  "I promised I wouldn't forget you, Eddie," you whispered.  "Believe it or not, I tried.  But I couldn’t— because I love you."

He smiled back wider.  "I love you too," he returned.  "Wanna get married?"

You laughed a bit.  "Okay," you answered flippantly, and he pulled you into a sudden, powerful kiss.

Then the crowd was back, and louder than ever.  You felt Eddie's hand take yours, squeezing it before gently slipping the skull ring on your finger.  Yes, it was a little big, but it would do for now.

You returned to the mic with a smile as you addressed the crowd again.  "We're gonna play a song for you all, it's called Pretty Boy.  Do you know that one, Eddie?"

"I think I can keep up," he answered into his own microphone with a smirk.

"Then let's show 'em how good we are together," you decided, turning over your shoulder to make eye contact with the drummer as you counted off: "one, two, three, four!"

[scarletslxt]

oh my god the angst! i cant take the sadness of this😫😫. i just need eddie and the reader to be happy on tour together.

𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 • eddie munson x reader

sequel to 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗲

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 • far too long after your rendezvous with that cute groupie you couldn't get out of your head, you finally make good on your promise to call.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 • 4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 • smut (18+ only), phone sex, m and f masturbation, discussions of oral f and m receiving and penetrative sex, subby eddie, pillow humping (kinda), fluff, pining, some angst, lots of dirty talk

Your manager was the one who convinced you to get a cell phone.  It was a luxury item, it was a status symbol— it was bulky and heavy and you barely used it.  She was still the only person who called you on it!

And you'd never even placed a call from the brick before, not in the first three months of owning it.

But, it's usefulness became more apparent when you were stuck on the tour bus, up later than usual, horribly bored.  Not just bored, but… lonely, to put it nicely.

Your mind ran through some people you could call to take care of this problem, but it's not like anyone could get on the bus with you when you were going 75 miles an hour through the California desert.

That's when you remembered someone else; someone you'd never really forgotten.

Rolling on your side on the bed, you slid open your bedside drawer and searched until you found a folded up piece of paper.  You opened it and beamed as you saw the numbers written in messy, boyish scrawl, snatching the phone so you could punch it in.

You held it to your ear as it rang, anticipation building.

"Hello?"

You smiled as you heard the familiar voice, blurting out, "Eddie?"

The next pause was so long that you almost worried you'd accidentally called the wrong number, but he finally broke it.  "You know how long I've been waiting for you to call?" he laughed breathlessly.

"Sorry for the suspense, kid," you smiled.  "Got busy."

"That new album— wow," he began immediately.  "I was worried when you put out a ballad as a single, but damn— it was such a good record!"

"The label picks the singles," you explained.

"You just keep getting better," he sighed.  "You're incredible."

"You flatter me," you cooed.

"How've you been?!" he asked excitedly.

"Uh, you know, the usual.  We're doing a tour in Europe this time, kinda crazy," you hummed.

"Tell me all about it!" he encouraged.

"Oh, it's boring," you dismissed.

"No, seriously, I have a geography final tomorrow."

You laughed.  "I forgot how funny you are."

"Well, I try…"

"And I forgot how sexy your voice is."

He paused for a second.  "Oh, you think so?"

"Are you alone?"

"Y-yeah, whole place to myself," he agreed.

"Good.  Because I want you to say some things to me that I don't need anybody else hearing."

You could all but hear his shiver, and you grinned.  "Okay," he said shakily.

"Do you still jerk off to my poster?" you asked, point-blank.

"Yes," he answered instantly.

"Tell me how you do it," you instructed.  "Tell me what you think about."

"Uh, fuck," he stalled as you slipped your hand into your panties.  You were already just a little wet from hearing him talk at all.  "I mean, like, how I do it physically?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, when I'm thinking about you I get hard in a half second… so I just lay in my bed and look at it— your poster is right on the other wall.  And I get it out of my jeans and start stroking my dick."

"You don't use lotion?"

"Only when I'm feeling… extravagant."

You smiled.  "And, not to be too cliched here, but what are you wearing?"

"Well, uh," he stammered, "I run this club at my school?  And we make— I make— shirts for everybody.  So I'm wearing mine.  And my leather jacket, and some ripped jeans."

"Sounds cute," you smiled.  "This club, it's not the I fucked a celebrity club or anything, is it?"

"N-no, it's just a club for Dungeons and Dragons."

"Oh right— that, uh, Satanic game," you nodded.

"Oh!  It's not actually Satanic," he corrected, "it's just an immersive roleplaying experience where you roll dice and you can do basically anything you want.  It's a fantasy game!"

"Oh," you frowned, "I think I liked it better when I thought it was Satanic."

He snorted a laugh.  "But you probably don't wanna hear about that.  You could always, uh, tell me what you're wearing?"

"Gonna be a pretty short list," you warned.  "I've only got my underwear on."

"O-oh, shit," he hissed, "that's hot."

It was only because you'd stripped out of your performance wear and got too lazy to put pajamas on.

"It would be even hotter if you didn't have anything on," Eddie added, and you laughed but respected his boldness.

"Not while you're still totally clothed, pretty boy," you cooed. 

"Well I can get naked in, like, ten seconds," he offered.

"Oh, I'm sure," you grinned, "but not yet.  I want you to just touch yourself through your jeans first."

"You… huh?" he mumbled.

"I'm sure you've got a nice bulge going," you assumed, "just rub your dick through your jeans— get even harder for me."

"O-oh, fuck," he groaned.  "Okay, I'm doing it…"

"Does that feel good?" you pressed.

"Not good enough," he whined.  "Obviously I don't usually tease myself this much."

"Well, this will be a fun new experience for you," you decided.  "I'm teasing myself too, if that makes you feel any better.  I'm playing with my clit really slow and gentle…"

"Fuck," he grunted, "you sh-should play with your tits, too."

"Yeah? I was thinking about licking my fingers and running them around my nipples, what do you think?"

"I think if those are the fingers that were just on your pussy, then that's really fucking sexy," he replied.

"They are," you promised, and he growled through his teeth.

"God, do it, I wanna hear it," he encouraged.

Pulling your hand out from your panties and bringing it to your tongue, you wet your fingertips and circled your hardening nipples one at a time.  Your moan was totally natural, and louder than you expected.

"You sound so pretty," he praised, "I— god, I'm squeezing my bulge way too hard and it's not even helping.  I need to be in you right now."

"I'd be so much louder if you were," you imagined, shutting your eyes, picturing him above you again.

"God, please, I'm so hard," he whimpered.  "It fucking hurts, I need to—"

"Get it out, Eddie," you offered, and you heard him sigh so hard it was almost a moan as the sound of fabric shuffling came through the line.  At the same time, you put your hand in your panties again, biting your lip while you rubbed your clit properly.

"Can I jerk off?" he asked dutifully, and you grinned.

"No, right now I just want you to rub it on something," you decided.  "Is there anything in your room that's as soft as me?"

"Fuck no," he sighed, "for that to be true there'd have to be a girl in here."

"Have there, uh, been any girls in your room since you last saw me?"

There was a pause, and it made your heart catch.  "Don't tell me you're jealous," he realized, lowering his voice in a way that made you shudder.

"So what if I am?  I wish you were all mine, pretty boy— nobody else should get to feel that perfect cock of yours…"

He laughed a little.  "Well, there have been a couple girls since you rocked my world in that bus, darling," he admitted.  "But they were nothing compared to you."

It still made your jaw clench angrily.  He shouldn't have told you— you were going to go harder on him now.  "Come on, Eddie, something to rub your cock on, I don't have all night here."

"Okay, well, there's… something here…"

You raised an eyebrow.  "And what would that be?"

"Um… you remember when I used your extremely tiny bathroom before I left?" he mumbled, and you grinned.

"Yeah…?"

"Well, there was a shirt on the floor— a black one?  I guess you changed out of it that day but, uh… I might have… taken it."

You smiled wide, feeling your cunt pulse as you imagined him that desperate.  "Naughty," you scolded.

"It was this old KISS shirt and it smelled like you— and I actually sprayed it with your perfume while I was in there too and… there's still a little bit of your scent left on it.  I get rock hard every time I smell it."

"Then rub your cock on it.  Put it on your bed and hump it like the needy boy you are, hm?"

"Sh-shit," he groaned, and you heard the bed creaking under his weight.  "Fuck, it's— god, you're so— shit."

You grinned playfully at his obvious disdain for the teasing, but he was helpless to you now.  "Keep going, do it just how you would fuck me," you encouraged, "give that shirt the night of its life, Eddie."

"Ohhh baby," he whined.  "Fuck, I'm so fuckin' hard… I-I'm leaking…"

"Hm, wish I could lick that up for you," you cooed, laughing when he moaned loudly.

"You're so dirty," he groaned, "the things you say— oh my god—"

"I just like driving you crazy," you admitted.

"Yeah?  It's working," he sighed.

"Are you still humping the shirt, Eddie?"

"Yeah, how I'd fuck you, like you said," he agreed.  "I'm giving it, uh, long strokes— that's what made you moan the loudest, before.  And you liked it when I went really deep."

"Yeah," you agreed, back longing to arch hearing him talk like that.  "I liked feeling your cock all the way inside— I was afraid at first that you wouldn't fit…"

"Y-you're making that up," he coughed.

"No, really, I wasn't sure I could take it…"

"Well, fuck, you did," he sighed, "you took it so well— all of me, all of my… big c-cock…"

"Uh huh," you agreed coyly.  "You're good at this, Eddie, you're making me jealous of my own fucking shirt."

"Don't make me come on it," he whimpered, "cause then I'll have to wash it and your smell will be gone— please, it's all I've got left of you."

Ouch.  Leave it to him to drop those little heartbreakers when you were trying to be sexy.

"You don't need to come on it, in fact you can stop humping it altogether," you decided.  "Stroke that pretty cock for me Eddie, I wanna hear you moan."

It was so loud, poor baby, he was so sensitive.  "Thank you," he choked out, and your heart twisted.

"Just think about how much better it would feel if it was me instead of your hand."

"So much better, god, fuckin' perfect," he whined.

You smiled to yourself.  "Do you miss my pussy?" 

"So much— I always think about it when I do this."

"She's so wet for you right now," you taunted, making him groan.

"God, what I would give to slide right into your wet little hole, let you feel this cock stretch you out— I wanna feel you cream on me again."

"Uh huh?  What else do you want?"

"I want— I want you to suck me off again, your mouth felt fucking amazing," he added.

"Anything else?"

"A-and I wish I'd gotten a chance to eat you out when we were together— I would've loved making you come on my tongue.”

“Well,” you smirked, “I certainly wouldn’t have minded that…”

“Yeah?  Then maybe I would’ve made you come twice,” he purred, “again.”

“Bet you’re still real proud of that,” you giggled.

“Proud is an understatement— I’m waiting for my trophy any day now,” he corrected.  “Shit, and making you come with my head between your thighs?  Holding your hips so I can keep you just where I want you?  Tasting how bad you need me?”

You moaned as you rubbed your clit harder and faster, your hips starting to rock on their own as your pleasure grew.

“Fuck, do that again,” he grunted.  “Moan for me again.”

You couldn’t exactly force it to happen, but you did slide two fingers into yourself— just to feel full for a moment— and your next sound was lower and needier.  “God, I miss your cock,” you admitted with a sigh.

“Just say the word, I swear on my life I’d be driving across the country to see you,” he sighed.

“But you can’t miss that— ah, fuck— that geography final,” you purred, making him laugh.

“Guess not,” he agreed.  “F-fuck, I’m close…”

“Good,” you praised, “I’m so hot imagining you coming right now— making a nice big mess, jerking your thick cock, listening to me, picturing us together again—”

“Tell me it’s gonna happen,” he groaned, “‘cause fuck, babe— I dunno how I’m supposed to go on knowing it was just one night.”

You raised an eyebrow.  “Shouldn’t you be happy with just one night?  That’s more than most people get.”

He paused.  “I should be, yeah, but m’not.  It was too good for just once— the way I feel about you, I can’t be happy with just once,” he admitted with a heavy sigh.  “If you weren’t gonna make me yours, you should’ve never touched me.”

As fucked up as it was, you nearly came when he said that— but you managed to hold back.  Not because you got off to sad things, but because you felt the exact same fucking way.  “You’re mine, Eddie,” you breathed.  “Mine— fucking mine.”

“Oh god,” he whined, “I-I’m gonna come.  Fuck.  Please…”

“Come for me, Eddie,” you ordered, but he surprised you by disobeying (for now).

"I-I want you to come when I come," he pleaded.

"No, then I won't be able to focus on how cute you sound," you laughed.  "I need to listen closely so I can imagine you're pumping that huge load into me instead."

"Fuck," he groaned.  "That's what I'm imagining too.  It felt so good to come inside you…"

"I loved all that jizz dripping out of me for the rest of the night," you recalled, "it felt so dirty but I fuckin' loved it."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he whimpered.

"After you left, I tasted it," you admitted.

"Oh fuck!" he said again, yelping. "I-I'm gonna come, I'm so close, just— just tell me somethin'."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me you really care about me."

You gasped slightly.  "Eddie, I…"

You surprised yourself when you realized what you were about to say.  I'm falling for you.  You tried to think of what else you could say, something that would be true and satisfy him without giving yourself away entirely.  I think sometimes you're the only one who ever loved me for who I am.  I miss you so much that I can't bring myself to call because I'll miss you more.  I get scared because I worry you'd hate me if you knew me better.  I regret letting you go even though I know it was right.

"I meant what I said before," you offered instead.  "I need you."

"I— oh god— I need you too," he whimpered.  "I'm gonna come, fuck fuck fuck!"

His high pitched whines dropped to a low, deep groan as he came— abrupt, choking sorts of moans that made it so easy to imagine every pump of hot come he was coating his bed with.

"Oh my god," he sighed, "fuck, I just… I came everywhere.  Fuck."

He let out a breathless laugh and it was the sweetest thing you'd heard all day.

"I… I have no idea how to clean this up," he realized.  "B-but you still need to come, right?  Just tell me what you wanna hear, you can get off to my voice."

"I want to hear you beg," you decided.

"I— god, I'll try," he offered.  "Uh, please?  Please come…"

"Good start," you egged him on.

"I… I want you to," he kept going.  "I wanna hear it, and I can imagine that I'm licking your cunt while you do it."

Fuck, he's not bad.  "I'm close," you whispered, "Eddie, I'm close— just keep going…"

"Please, please," he whimpered, "let me hear it, come for me— I know you'll sound so damn good… please just come, I want you to feel as good as I do— you deserve to feel so good…"

You gasped as it hit you, a sharp stab of pleasure that made your fingers nearly cramp up— but thankfully they didn’t, and you were able to keep pushing yourself further and further into it.

“Fuck, s’good, you’re so good,” he praised, “you sound just like I remember— except, you know, you were louder with me.”

You smiled as you started to come down, hips bucking weakly while a wave of numbness settled over you.  “Damn,” you laughed breathlessly, hearing Eddie laugh too.  “I’ve actually never done that before.  Phone sex— not masturbating, that I’m very familiar with.”

“I’m kind of surprised,” he replied.

“You thought I would’ve had phone sex by now?” you assumed.

“No— the masturbating thing,” he corrected, “I mean, you’re a superstar!  You could just have this, like, endless line of guys who wait for you to get horny and you could have sex whenever you want.”

“Uh huh, endless line of guys?” you repeated, sinking into the sheets a little deeper— that relaxation that could only come in those ‘after’ moments only enhanced by talking with Eddie.  He seemed to put you at ease so naturally.  “I don’t have room for many more people in this bus.”

“Okay, then just one guy,” he added, his grin audible even through the layer of static.  “One super cool, curly-haired, educationally-challenged metalhead guy!”

“Hm, he sounds like a lot of fun,” you considered, “and I do like the idea of getting laid every day.”

“Every—” he choked, starting over again as his voice cracked.  “Every day?”

“What, worried you can’t keep up?” you smirked.

“Oh— no, that is… so not my problem,” he sighed, and you laughed.  “I’m just dying a little inside because you’re calling me from heaven and I’m stuck in hell— which has been going by Hawkins, Indiana for the past several years.”

You smiled, softer than before.  “I’ll send you a postcard.  Wish you were here.”

“Yeah…”

The silence wasn’t quite awkward… it was comfortable, but somber, too.

“It’s too bad your tour didn’t stop in Indiana this time,” he finally blurted out.  

“Oh, Eddie— I really tried,” you promised, sitting up.  “But the venue changed their price, and the label wasn’t pleased, and I argued about it but—”

“Hey,” he interrupted with a laugh, “it’s fine.  I’m a big kid, I can handle it.”

You sighed.  “I know.”

“And I’ll wait for you,” he promised.  “As long as you need.”

“Funny,” you laughed, “I always thought I was the one waiting on you.”

“Waiting on me to do what?” he wondered.

“Graduate!”

“Right,” he chuckled thinly, “that’s what everybody’s waiting on me to do.  But I seriously don’t know if I can pass Ms. O’Donnell’s class.”

You sighed, shifting onto your side as you slipped under your covers; that orgasm took you out, and it was already later than you would normally go to sleep.  “Tell me about it,” you offered.

“Well,” he sighed, “first of all, she assigns so much reading— and reading kinda gives me a headache…”

He talked for a while about it, venting about his issues, about the jocks in his class that bully him, about the teachers who didn’t really believe in him.

You listened, eyes getting heavier, the sound of his voice like a comfort for your mind similar to the blanket that was draped over your body.  “And don’t even get me started on Mr. Young’s math class…”

“Eddie?” you interrupted.

“Huh?” he mumbled.  “Oh, fuck, was I rambling again.”

“No, no, it was fine,” you promised, “I’m just getting pretty tired…”

“Oh… okay,” he offered.

“Will you stay on the line until I fall asleep?” you requested hesitantly.

“O-oh!  Yeah, sure,” he agreed.  

You couldn’t be sure how long he stayed on after you drifted off, soothed by the fuzzy sound of the silence over the phone— you had no way of knowing that he stayed on for hours and just listened to your breathing, hoping to hear you whisper or mumble to yourself, smiling when you snored for a minute.

All you knew was that when you woke up, there was a dial tone in your ear.

You hung up and put the phone away, its battery nearly drained, and snuggled yourself back into the sheets for a few more hours— hopefully able to continue your dream where it left off.

You called again a few months later, from what was technically your home phone— but the LA mansion never really felt like home.

An older, rougher voice answered after five or six rings.  "Hello?"

"Um, is Eddie there?" you asked.

"No," the man answered flatly.

"Will… he be back soon?"

"Considering he doesn't live here anymore, I'm figurin' not."

"O-oh…"

"Who's callin'?" 

"Uh, just an old friend.  He's not… in jail or anything, is he?"

The man laughed heartily.  "Amazingly, no.  He moved to Indianapolis after he graduated—"

You interrupted with a beaming smile: "He graduated?"

"Yes ma'am, and he even got a few As on his final report card," he explained proudly.  

You opened your mouth to ask for another way to reach Eddie now— a new number, maybe an address, but you suddenly stopped.  He finally did it, he escaped.  And he did it without you.

Maybe he needed to move on; really, it sounded like he already had.

Now that he was out of school he might ask to join you on tour like you promised over a year ago.  It would break your heart to have to say no to him— if you could find the strength to.  Worse, you were terrified that he wouldn't ask to be with you, that he'd be content without you… which simultaneously is what you wanted, and what you feared most.

You didn't want to know, was the main thing.  You didn't want to find out the hard way that he didn't need you anymore.

"Listen, uh, next time you see him, just tell him to take care, okay?" you requested.

"Sure, can I get a name with that message?" the man pressed.

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.  "You don't have to say it's from me," you decided.  "Just tell him on my behalf, is all."

"O…kay…" he replied, confused.  "I will."

You thanked him and hung up, looking around the empty house— someone else decorated it, and it looked good, but it was too empty and clean, too sterile.  Why even have all this space if you had nothing to fill it with but noise.

Noise, that’s what you needed right now; you went upstairs to grab your guitar, suddenly realizing you had a new song to write.

part 3 coming soon...

[scarletslxt]

this was amazinggg

Crazy Bitch

pairing: stripper!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: you got cheated on, and your best friends are sick of you waisting away in bed, so they take you out for a girls night to help you forget. and you end up forgetting all about him when you step into a strip club. (all characters are aged around 25)

warnings: 18+, strippers, lap dance f receiving, sneaky little touching, licking.

authors notes: i have been needing this. also i did so much research because i don’t actually know how to give a male lap dance, my search history is questionable. but i’m a pro now… in my head anyway.

requests are open!

it had been sixteen days since you found out Josh was cheating on you. you haven’t left your room since, only to pee, or raid the kitchen, or open the door for the food delivery guy. and you were living in a pile of your own filth and pity. you phone was continuously ringing, but you continuously ignored it. you rolled yourself over, a crunch underneath your pillow. you pulled the half eaten packet of chips from two days ago out, and stuffed a handful in your mouth, crumbs falling everywhere. you tossed the packet away and curled the blanket up over your head.

“Bitch,” a voice echoed from the bedroom doorway, “it fucking reeks in here, when was the last time you showered?”

it was your best friend, you groaned, “i don’t know, Robin.”

“Ew.” she walked through your room, opening up your window and waiving her hands trying to push the smell out, “He really did a fucking number on you.”

“Yeah, apparently.” you stayed tucked under the covers.

She sat down on the bed beside you, “You have to come into work on Monday, i can’t cover for you anymore, t he dead grandma excuse has run it’s course.”

“Fine.” you mumbled.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay…”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you haven’t replied to my texts or calls in three days.”

“Fuck.” you groaned, rolling over and pulling the covers down a bit, “It’s been three days?”

“Yes and-“ she started, “is that his shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Mother fucker.” she slapped your arm, “Burn it!”

“But i love him!”

“Loved him!” she snapped, “He’s not worth your love!”

you groaned, “Go away!”

“No!” she smiled, “Come on. out of bed, we’re having a girls night. Jason’s being an asshole to Chrissy again so she wants to go out, you need to forget Josh, im supporting your need for some fix it dick, Nancy follows me anywhere, and Barb follows her.”

“I don’t want fix it dick.” you whined, “no dick can fix it!”

“Temporarily it can!” she patted your arm, “Let’s get you in the shower.”

——————————————————————————

you actually felt extremely clean. and ultimately, you felt much, much better. you wrapped your hair up in a small towel, and wrapped your body in another before walking back into you room. it was now clean, the sheets changed, rubbish gone, clothes in your hamper. Robin had put some incense on your bedside table, and sprayed some air freshener around the place, and lit a couple candles. the different scents all mixed together was a bit much, but it was better than two week old BO and off food. she was on the other side of the room, changing into an outfit for the night. she had laid something out on the bed for you. you walked over fo find a skimpy red dress with spaghetti strap sleeves and a lace up back laid out, a pair of black lacy knickers, your leather jacket, and some red platformed lace up heels to match.

“Rob-“

“You always feel better when you put something sexy on. just do it.”

——————————————————————————

By the time you got to the bar, you were feeling a little more confident. Robin had fixed you up with a dark smokey eye and a pop of red on your lips. you girls had been at the bar for about two hours, a few cocktails in.

“There are no hunks here tonight.” You sighed, “I’m not getting any, girls.”

“Well, we should probably just find somewhere else. the night is young, and so are we!” Robin declared, “You need some dick.”

you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, there are afew-“ Chrissy started.

“We should leave right now.” Nancy interrupted, “Y/N, look at me, yeah, keep your eyes on me.”

“What?” you started to turn, but Robin grabbed your face, bring you back.

“Yup.” She smiled, “It’s this game, it’s called… look at me… and don’t turn around.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, “You guys are weird.”

you turned around and Robin let out a loud groan. there, in the entrance stood Josh, his blonde little bimbo under his arm. the little shit, both of them, he was cheating the whole damn relationship and she knew the entire time. nothing but anger coursed through your veins.

“Y/N, don’t worry about it.” Nancy tried to comfort you, “He’s not worth your time.”

“And look at her. he picked the wrong girl.” Robin scoffed, “You are like, ten times hotter then she could ever be.”

“Yeah, look at those frilly socks and mary janes pared with ripped jeans and a band tee, no sense of coordination.” Barb nodded.

“She’s trying so hard to be like you,” Chrissy smiled, “Look, she’s even done her hair like you always do.”

“The bitch.” you scoffed.

the girl noticed you staring, knowing full well who you are. she smirked and pulled Josh in for an agressive kiss, running her hands over her body, trying to shove it in her face that she got him and you didn’t.

“Yeah.” Barb nodded, grabbing your hand, “We should go.”

“Hang on.” you stood and grabbed your drink.

you marched right over to them and dumped your cocktail over their heads. the blue sticky liquid dripping down their heads, between their joined lips and down their necks. they pulled away from one another infuriated. you blew them a quick kiss and stormed off. your possy following close behind.

“Totally badass, L/N.” Nancy praised you.

“I’m gonna need a fucking cigarette.” you shook your head, biting back the tears that threatened to fall.

——————————————————————————

you and Nancy shared a cigarette, whilst discussing places to go with the rest of the group, the warm summer night making you sweat a little.

“Okay, i can’t believe I, of all people, are suggesting this…” Robin started, “but how about we find a strip club?”

“Why is it weird for you to suggest?” you passed the smoke to Nancy, “You regularly talk about your love of boobs, Nancys specifically but still.”

“A male strip club.” Robin pressed, “For you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Chrissy chimed in, “Please. i caught Jason looking up Carols skirt the other day, he deserves to know I’ve been looking at half naked hunks.”

“I want too see some muscular men.” Barb nodded.

“I do not!” Robin said with a smile, “So i will get blindly drunk and keep my eyes closed so you can get some man dick waived in your face.”

“Man dick?” you laughed, “What’s not a man dick?”

“My strap on.” She smirked, “Happy to wield one, not take one.”

“Right.” you sighed, “I’m sorry i asked.”

“So, what do you say?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, no.” you shook your head, you just wanted to go home and curl up in one of his shirts (if Robin hasn’t burned them all).

“Nope.” Robin grabbed your hand, “Majority rules, we’re going!”

——————————————————————————

you all sat down in a booth at the back of the club. it was surprisingly cleaner then you expected, and Robin reminded you that women and get men tended to be less sloppy than straight men. you looked around, a lot of muscular men, a few with a bit too much hair, one that looked sixteen, one that looked like your dad. no one that really took your fancy. a waiter approached your table, a shirtless one, of course, and he had glorious hair.

“Ahoy ladies,” He smiled, “I’m Steve, your waiter, what can i get for you tonight?”

“Hey Stevie.” Robin grinned.

“Oh… Robin.” he frowned, “Thank you so much for taking the time out of your night to come here to bully me, means a lot. and thank you so, so much for bringing her.” he pointed to Nancy.

“Hi.” she smiled up at him.

you, Chrissy and Barb just sat there awkwardly.

“I didn’t come here to bully you, Steve.” Robin rolled her eyes, “those three wanted to go to a strip club, she got cheated on… you really think I know any strip clubs Steve? i only knew this one because you told me you worked here.”

“So your not gonna bully me?” He deadpanned her.

“Not tonight.” she grinned.

He sighed, “Okay then.”

you looked around, and you eyes caught a man dancing the pole, he immediately looked at you and winked. it made you want to gag, he looked way too much like your father.

“I’m gonna need a shot.” you shouted, interrupting whatever conversation was happening now.

“Shots!” Barb shouted.

“Shots it is!” Robin cheered.

“What have you got?” Nancy asked.

“Tonight we got a special of ten cum shots for ten dollars.” he smiled.

Robin choked, “Cum shots?”

“Not real cum.” He laughed, “It’s white chocolate liquor and coconut rum served in a penis shaped shot glass. we do it on nights booked by bachelorettes.”

“Oh.” Robin composed herself, “Anyone want some cum shots?”

“Yes please.” Chrissy nodded.

“Alright Chris.” you laughed, “I think your more likely to leave this place satisfied then me.”

——————————————————————————

“Here you are, ten cum shots.” Steve smiled handing out your drinks.

he winked and walked away.

“Shame he’s not a dancer.” Chrissy sighed, eating him with her eyes, “He’s got a really nice ass.”

“He does.” Barb leant on the table, oogling him too.

“Ready?” Robin held a shot glass up, “One, two, three!”

you all downed the first shot, slamming your glasses down on the table before taking the second one. she. held to your lips, the shape of the little glass makes it look like your sucking a cock.

“Well,” you wiped your mouth, “now i’ve had a cock in my mouth why don’t we head out.”

“We have been here all of five minuets.” Nancy pressed, “Ease up a little.”

——————————————————————————

you zoned out ages ago, staring down at your hands that nursed your beer. you weren’t really having a good time, maybe if anyone here was your type, but they weren’t. a couple of them even looked like Josh. you looked up, taking a sip, when someone caught your eye.

“Yo, Hair.” he yelled to Steve behind the bar, it was a dancer, one you hadn’t seen tonight, he just finished a set of private shows for the bachelorettes, “In desperate need of a whiskey.”

you watched as he leant himself on the bar. he was shirtless, naturally, but he had white cuff links around his wrists and wore a loose navy tie around his neck, complimenting his navy tear away pants. his hair was long and dark and shaggy and he wore lots of rings. but the thing that caught your eye the most, was his tattoos. he was riddled with them, on his arms, his chest, his back, one poking out on his hip. you could only imagine where else he might have some. he felt your stare, and looked over at you, smiling softly and winking. you swore your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away all flustered.

“Ah!” Robin slapped your arm repeatedly, “Your nervous, your flustered, you like someone! you like someone! you think someone’s hot! who?”

“I dont.” you lied.

she looked around the club, “You do, liar.” she bit her lip, “oh it was Van Halen over there, wasn’t it?”

“Nope.” you pressed, cheeks reddening.

“Liar liar pants on fire!” she grinned and jumped up on her seat, squatting on it so she was above everyone’s head level, “Hey! Van Halen!”

“Robin!” You pulled her arm, red as a tomato.

she just poked her tongue out. the guy looked over at her, a raised eyebrow, “Yeah you, come here.” she called.

He quickly skulled his drink, head tipped back and hair falling softly. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed it down, and it was all very hot. he put the glass back on the bar and looked over to Steve, nodding ‘duty calls, big boy’.

“Hi there ladies.” he smiled.

“Hi.” Robin grinned, “you got a name? or do i just keep calling you Van Halen?”

“You girls can call me whatever you like,” he winked, “but most people call me Prince.”

you squinted your eyes at him, a strange stage name for a person that looked the way he did.

“Okay Prince.” She nodded, “busy night?”

“Yeah, actually.” he smiled, “bachelorettes are always a handful. you’d think women that are just about to get married would want to keep their hands to their selves some more.”

you giggled, making him smile at you softly.

“How can I help you tonight?”

“Well,” Robin smiled, “This one just got cheated on, so we’re here to find her a distraction.”

he frowned, genuinely, “Oh, i’m sorry to hear that. it his loss though, losing a pretty thing like you.”

it’s just for the money. you had to remind yourself, but golly you were flustered.

“i know right?” Robin scoffed, “You reckon you could distract her?”

he leant forward on the table, eyeing you down so deliciously, “oh, i can do much more than that.”

Nancy held up a fifty between two fingers, “You do lap dances?”

He stood back up, folding his arms over his chest, “I do.” he nodded, looking at you, “What do you say, sweetheart. you gonna let me take care of you?”

you looked around, cheeks red and body hot, “Uhm… i don’t know.”

“No need to be embarrassed, sweet thing, lotta girls come in here for this very reason.”

“I- I don’t know.” you shrugged.

“Come on!” Robin groaned, “The whole point of this night was to get you a distraction. now a very hot one is right there and you don’t want to take it?”

“I’ll tell you what…” he leant down on the table again, “ill give you a dance in a private room, no one will be around to watch, might feel a little more comfortable, and ill give you an asshole ex-boyfriend discount and only charge for a regular lap dance.”

“C’mon.” Robin nudged your shoulder, talking in a much more sincere tone now, “what’s the worst that could happen? he’ll give you a dance, make you blush a little, distract you for a bit. plus, i know your a sucker for a good bargain.”

“fine.” you muttered and turned to him, “a private room it is.“

the girls all pulled out their purses, grabbing some cash to pay for your dance, all insisting you don’t pay a dime. Eddie collected their money and smiled at you. you stepped out of the booth, and he offered his hand. it was big and calloused and so, so warm. maybe he was a guitarist, you thought. the girls all cheered you on as he led you towards the hallway with the private rooms. he pushed open one of the doors, gesturing for you to go in before closing it behind himself and flicked on the ‘occupied’ switch.

you looked around the room, the walls were covered with a deep red velvet, and the light was dim and sensual, the floor was black and glossy, fit for the dancers.

“Picked the best room in the house.” he smiled.

you just nodded, still a little tense.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He stepped a little closer, his big brown eyes looking into yours, “if you don’t want too, just say the word and i’ll just walk away.”

you nodded slowly, “Sorry, i’m just…”

“nervous?” he laughed.

“yeah.”

“Why don’t you make yourself a bit more comfortable? take your jacket off and sit down on that chair, i’ll put on some music.”

“okay.” you nodded and peeled your jacket off.

you put your things down on the little side table before sitting on the little chair in the middle of the room. he set up the stereo to connect to the clubs radio. he walked back over and squatted down in front of you.

“you sure you want this?”

“I think so.”

“i’m gonna need a yes or no, sweetheart.” he smiled, hands on his knees, “I’m not gonna do anything till i get a yes.”

“Okay.” you nodded, still thinking it over.

he smiled, “So, boyfriend cheated, huh?”

“Yeah.” you sighed, “we were together one fucking year and he was cheating the whole time.”

“Asshole.” he shook his head, “at least he’s out of your life now, huh?”

“Yeah.” you shrugged, “but he’s constantly on my mind.”

“I can help with that, if you’d like.” he smirked, leaning a little closer, “I’m very good at making people forget.”

you took a deep breath, “Yes please.”

He nodded, a smile on his lips, “Very good. now, a few rules.”

“Of course.”

“Rule one,” he started, “you can touch me anywhere you want, except my hair and the inside of my mouth. and you can kiss me or lick me, but not anywhere on my face.”

“Really?”

“I know these lips are very kissable,” he puckered them up, “but they’re off limits, sweetheart.”

you laughed, “no, no, i’m just surprised you allow that much.”

“hey, i know i’m delicious, i have to let you ladies get a little taste right?”

you both laughed, and suddenly you felt a whole lot more comfortable.

“Rule two.” he nodded, “no getting naked. if you take your shirt off, i get fired. got it?”

“Got it.”

“And lastly, rule three,” he looked up at you with puppy dog eyes, “no falling in love with me.”

you smiled, “i’ll try my best.”

“that’s good enough for me.” he smiled and stood.

he walked over to the stereo and skipped to the next song, “just, let me know, with words, if you want me to stop okay? at any given time, i will stop.”

“okay.”

he smiled and the song started to play, Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry started to play. he started to feel the music, moving his hips and shoulders, finding the beat and the right pace. he swung his hips, moving his hands to emphasise his groin, his eyes moving up and down your body. he licked his lips, tipping his head back a little. you didn’t even notice, but you bit your lip, eyes searching his body. he felt himself growing hard, something that didn’t usually happen until the physical contact was involved. he sunk down to his knees, sliding his hands down so he was on all fours and he rolled his hips into the ground. he slid his knees in and out along the ground, grinding into it as he crept closer and closer to you. when he was positioned in front of you, he pushed open your legs a little to position himself between them. he leant backwards, slowly moving further and further down and he slid his hands down his torso and to his groin. as he came back up, his hands traveled back to his chest before placing them on your knees. he stood, placing a hand under your chin to make you look at his face, waiting for confirmation to continue. you licked your lips hungrily, and hesitantly placed your hands on his hips. he smirked, your soft hands made his spine shiver. he took a step forward, his legs on either side of your knees. he started to grind his hips, he grabbed your hands gently, taking them to slide over his stomach and up to his pecks as he lowered himself over you, now grinding just above your lap. he usually spent the first part of his routines grinding in front of the woman’s face, so he would still be soft. sometimes he never got hard, it just depended how confident and touchy the girls were, if they were touching his cock a lot, he got hard, and he didn’t like pushing that in their faces. but now, he couldn’t even do that to you at all, because he was as hard as a rock, and he was embarrassed.

“This okay, sweetheart?” he whispered, his face so close to your own.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “already making me forget.”

he smirked, slowly leaning back like he did on the floor, he held your wrists, very loosely, and guided your hands over his torso again, “told you i was good.”

“Why do you call yourself prince?” you asked, fingers tracing over his v-line.

“a couple of reasons.” he smirked, “i’ll let you figure out the rest yourself.”

you smiled, fingers dancing over his happy trail and he shivered, body coming back up. your eyes dropped to his crotch, the light just strong enough for you to notice the tent in his pants and you bit your lip.

“Could that be one of them?” you lightly grazed your finger over it before resting your hand on his thigh, making him twitch, “got a royal dick under there?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, feeling a little self-conscious.

you quirked an eyebrow with a smirk. he stood up, shaking his hips as he did a slow turn, he had his back to you now, and he jutted his ass out into your face. you had so many nerves, and so much anxiety, but you fought that all away and reached your hands out, sliding them over the curve of his ass. he slowly came back to a normal standing position, looking back over his shoulder.

“You like my ass, sweetheart?”

“It’s an ass fit for a prince alright.” you grinned, slapping it softly.

“oh, someone’s got their confidence back.” he teased, “go on, you look like you can hit harder than that.”

you raised an eyebrow, slowly lifting your hand, he nodded at you with a smile pushing his ass out a little and you slapped it again, this time, hard. he bit his lip, and god you were getting very wet, very fast.

“That’s better.” he grinned before backing up a little, lightly grabbing your wrists again.

he lowered himself down, hovering himself over you again. he never sat, and he never would, just hovering. basic stripper rule, don’t crush the client. he took her hands, placing them over his lower thighs, just above the knee. he grinded his hips in a circular motion, slowly he started to stand again, guiding your hands up his thighs till they cupped his groin. thankfully he was facing the other way because your face went so fucking red and you were clenching your thighs, that he did notice though. he began to lower himself again, hips still grinding and he slid your hands up over his stomach and onto his pecs. he started to stand again, bringing your hands back down to his crotch, and he started to sit again, sliding your hands back down his thighs. he started to repeat that sequence,

“Your hands are so soft, sweetheart.” he chuckled, “feels so nice.”

“Thank you.” you smiled pressing a little kiss on his back, a shiver darting down his spine and right to that spot, he had to close his eyes to compose himself. he didn’t know what had gotten into him tonight, “your hands are very rough, what do you do?”

“I play guitar.”

“I thought so,” you grinned, “jeez, if your this hot now i think i’d probably die if i say you playing guitar.”

he laughed, turning around slowly, “we wouldn’t want that. don’t think the world would go to shit if it lost someone as pretty as you, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been practicing that line lately, Prince?” you grinned.

“Ah, you got me.” he swept a soft hand under your jaw, “all true though.”

“Yeah yeah.” you rolled your eyes, grinning like a madman.

he lifted your legs, slotting himself underneath so your legs hung over his thighs. he held on to the back of the chair and stared to grind his hips up, making sure he wasn’t grinding against your cunt, just in front of it. but the space was killing you. you thrusted your hips forward, intime with his, your hands travelling down his chest and to his waist. his cock lightly brushed up against your heat and you moaned, your head rolling back. he’d be lying to himself if he said that didn’t make him harder, if that was even possible at this point, he was throbbing.

“God, closer.” you begged, head still tipped back.

“Against the rules, princess.” he grunted, “trust me, i want too.”

you sighed, though, understood, “fucking rules.”

“tell me about it.” he laughed, continuing to roll his hips mere inches from your cunt.

“Is that why your called Prince?” you grinned, “because you call people princess?”

“What?” he raised an eyebrow.

“When you called me princess just then? is that why your names Prince?”

“I called you princess?” he asked, nerves flying.

“Yes.” you smirked, “we’re you not meant too? oh, is that what you call your girlfriend or something?”

He took a breath, “No. don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.” he smiled, “i don’t know why i just said that, never called anyone it before.”

“bullshit, Prince.” you grinned, “I bet you say this to every girl you dance on.”

“Promise,” he leant forward a little, “never said it before.”

your cheeks flushed red, “if you say so.”

he chuckled and shook his head. he fixed your legs around his waist and lifted you up from the chair before kicking it out of the way. he laid you down onto the floor where he straddled your chest, rolling his hips back and forth. the bridge of the song approached and you realised this was almost over, you never wanted it to end. you slid your hands up his thighs and he moved forward grinding his hips over your face, he looked up at the roof as he did, trying to hide the embarrassment on his face from his cock being so hard in front of you. but it just made your mouth water.

“This is a great view.” you smiled and he looked down at you, cheeks red, you thought it was very cute.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked.

you batted your eyelashes, “oh yeah.”

“glad you like it, sweetheart.”

he leant over, his hand resting on the ground beside your head and he grinded a little lower, watching you as you watched his groin. your hands slipped up his thighs and held his ass firmly and you licked your lips, a lot. he slowly stood up, leaning over and reaching a hand out for you. you took it and he hoisted you back up before grabbing the chair for you again. he shoved you down on it, standing with a leg either side of you again as he grinded in front of your face again, a hand resting on top of your head.

“Getting a little rough there?” You quirked an eyebrow, hand sliding up one of his thighs.

“Sorry.” he shook his head, scolding himself.

he usually has more control than this, it is his job after all, but something about you just drove him wild.

“No, it’s okay.” you smirked, “be rough. i can tell you want too.”

he looked down at you, a little surprised, “you into the rough stuff are you?”

you nodded, biting your lip. he smirked and lifted your thighs back over his, grinding under you again. one hand held the back of the chair for support, the other grabbed onto your thigh, his fingers digging in deeply.

“Fucking hell.” he looked down, your skirt had ridden up and he could see your lacy, see though panties clear as day.

you pushed your legs further apart and tugged at the waistline of his pants.

“Thought these were tearaways, why haven’t you torn them away?”

he laughed, “you’ve been distracting me a little.”

“oh yeah?” you teased, “not doing your job too well right now.”

“no.” he laughed, tearing at the legs of his pants, tearing them away.

you looked down, he was now just in a little thong, and you had to bite your lip. you saw a little tattoo on his inner thigh, a crown. you drew your finger over it,

“Is this why? or did you get that post naming?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” he teased.

you grabbed his tie, pulling him in closer, your faces mere inches apart, your groins mere inches apart, everything so hot and too much to handle.

“No lips, sweetheart. company policy.”

“Fuck.” you muttered, forcing your hips a little closer to his, “they won’t know.”

he pushed your hips back a bit, “they will. they have a camera.”

he tipped his head to the corner by the door, and sure enough there was a security camera.

“Fuck.” you tipped your head back in annoyance and desperation, “why isn’t it the fucking eighties or something.”

he laughed, his warm breath panning over your face. you lifted your head back up to face him, so close, yet so far away. no lips, he said, but anywhere else. you leant forward, kissing his adam’s apple.

“Fuck.” he tipped his head back, his hair falling out of the way and he squeezed your thigh tighter.

you sucked at his neck, a hand still pulling him in by the thigh, the other reaching around the back of his neck to keep him steady.

“Shit.” he muttered.

“Mhm,” you hummed against his skin, “really wanna touch your hai-“

“do it.” he grunted, “fucking pull it.”

“Fuck.” you moaned and reached your fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful right at his scalp and pulled it down, kissing his neck with more vigour.

“Shit, don’t leave a mark.” he whimpered, still grinding his hips against nothing, “i’ll get fired.”

“Okay.” you moved down his neck a little more, letting that spot rest.

“Princess,” he moaned, “the song ended.”

he didn’t mean to call you that again, it’s just kind of natural.

“Don’t care.”

“i can’t kiss you.” he huffed.

you pulled away, sighing a little, “i know.”

“okay,” he laughed, his movement stilled, “just making sure you knew.”

you nodded, “i have to go, don’t i?”

“yeah, i got more people to dance on.” he chuckled nervously.

“Yeah.” you smiled, a pang of jealousy flying though you.

“I’m gonna need a stiff fucking drink.”

you smiled, “me too.”

he stood back up, reaching for his pants. you stood up, walking over to your bag, slapping his bare ass on the way. you reached into your purse and pulled out a fifty. you walked back over to him, stepping up close and tucking it into his g-string.

“It’s on me, Prince.” you smiled softly, his beautiful eyes gazing into yours, “thanks for making me forget.”

you kissed his shoulder tenderly, and grabbed your bag and jacket, fixing the bottom of your dress before walking out of the room, leaving him there with an extremely hard cock and a bunch of weird feelings.

you walked back out to find all the girls at the bar, Robin was leaning back on it, talking with Steve and the other girls just chatted, sipping on their drinks.

“Hi.” you walked up to them, cheeks all flushed and head dizzy.

“Hello.” Robin smirked, “someone looks like they had some fun.”

you leant on the bar, hands squeezing the edge firmly, Steve walked away.

“Uh oh, what happened.” Nancy asked, standing on the other side of you, the other two huddled around.

“I need to go home, like now.”

“Why?” Robin asked, genuinely concerned.

“because you made me come to a fucking strip club where i can get turned on, but not fucked.”

she laughed, “oh fuck.”

“Yeah, oh fuck.” you rolled your eyes, “i’m extremely sexually frustrated, by me a shot.”

“Absolutely.” she turned into the bar, calling Steve back over, “We need a shot of your strongest cheapest vodka.”

“Strongest cheapest?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” she nodded.

“Alright then.” he nodded a little confused but grabbed a bottle anyway.

you downed the shot instantly.

“Wow, he really did a number on you.”

“yeah, you think.” you glared at her, “i’m wetter then i’ve ever been in my entire life. i swear to god if he just touched me even once i probably would have came.”

“Jesus.” Chrissy shook her head, “I mean, he is hot but damn, that’s a lot.”

“Yeah, you didn’t have him dancing for you, Chrissy. he’s like a… a sexy… sex god or something.”

“A sexy sex god?” Robin had a look on her face saying ‘are you for real’.

“I know. pathetic.” you shook your head, “Steve can i get some water?”

“Yeah darl,” he nodded, “and ah, for the record, Prince tends to have a hold on girls like that. they usually come straight to the bar, asking for a shot. that’s why we call him Prince.”

you quirked an eyebrow.

“He rules the club.” he laughed, “the ladies love him.”

“tell me about it.” you took the cup he placed on the bar and skulled it down, “Fuck company policy.”

“Why.” Robin asked.

“Because, i want to fuck him.”

“I recommend getting over it.” She smiled.

“Agreed.” Steve nodded, “Even if policy allowed you to fuck customers, he wouldn’t. he has a brilliant sense of control and he’s told me before, girls that walk in here instantly become unattractive to him.”

“What the fuck Steve.” Nancy glared at him.

“Really?” you felt your heart sink, “fucker knows how to get his money then.”

“What do you mean.” Barb asked.

“For one, he was saying he wanted to touch me, but couldn’t. secondly, he was fucking moaning when i kissed his neck, and-“

“Your allowed to kiss him?” Robins jaw dropped.

“Only in private rooms.” Steve began to dry a glass, “but never on the face.”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “but he also told me his number one rule was no touching his hair, but then when i was kissing him he told me to pull it.”

“Wait, wait.” Steve shook his head, throwing the tea towel over his shoulder, “He let you touch his hair?”

“Yes.” you nodded, “so he really makes you feel special, gave him an extra fifty for it.”

Steve laughed, “you did not touch his hair.”

“Yes i did.” you nodded, “i told you, i pulled it.”

“what the fuck?” he leant against the bar, “he thinks his hair is like, sacred or some shit, treats it like it’s gonna break. never lets a single person touch it, and if they do, he gets really upset.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, “this is not working, i’m not gonna start feeling special again and give you guys all my money. we’re leaving.”

“i’m not lying.” he shook his head, “i’m just shocked. maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

“weird.” Robin nodded slowly, “finish your drinks girls, Y/N has a hot date with her vibrator.”

“Hey.” The Princes voice picked up behind you, and you froze, “uh, Y/N?”

you turned slowly, “Hi?”

He held the fifty out that you gave him, “please, don’t want your money. in fact you can all have your money back, i’ll go get it.”

“what?” you raised an eyebrow pushing his hand and the money away, “no, it’s your job, keep it.”

“yeah but i-“ he looked over his shoulder and whispered, “i don’t want your money. i enjoyed that more than i’m supposed to.”

you blushed a little.

“can you just take it, if i’m caught talking to you right now i could get fired.” he leant over your shoulder and looked at steve, “don’t fucking tell.”

Steve imitated zipping his lips and continued to dry a glass.

“Why could you get fired?”

he looked around a little freaked out, and the girls all gathered around the two of you, looking out and creating a barricade.

“Because, my fucking manager looked at the security footage and gave me a warning. we’re not supposed to… take an interest in our clients.”

you quirked an eyebrow.

“oh come on.” he rolled his eyes, “you really didn’t notice?”

“I thought it was just all talk.”

“I can see that.” he nodded, “Promise it wasn’t. please, take your money back.”

“No, Prince.” you pushed his hand away again, “it’s okay, it’s your job. you liking it is just an added bonus.”

he felt a little guilty, but he nodded.

“I know why they call you Prince now.” you smiled, “it’s a bit pretentious if you ask me.”

“yeah, i liked your reasons better.” he smiled.

“Cool.”

he took a breath, looking around and glaring at Steve who raised his hands in defence and walked away, “Hey, im going out on a limb here, definitely could get fired for if, but i finish at three.”

you smirked, “you definitely could get fired for this.”

“totally worth it.”

you grinned and waived Steve back over, “you got a pen?”

“yeah.” he nodded, handing one to you before tending to a customer.

you smirked and dropped down to your knees. you tore his pants open a little so you could just see his hip, you popped the cap off the pen and wrote your address, smirking up at him as you did. he watched you the whole time, his dick growing hard at the sight of you on your knees in front of him. you pressed a little kiss over the words freshly written and fixed his pants. as you stood, you stuck your tongue out, licking your way up his torso.

“i am so gonna be fired tomorrow.” he smiled.

“see you after three.”

“Yeah.” he smirked, chucking you a wink before he walked away.

the girls slowly turned around to face you, all excited.

“Scratch that,” Robin smiled, “make it a hot date with Van Halen instead.”

sorry, this took forever to get out lol.

@3rriberri

[scarletslxt]

ouchhhh this one hurt.

A Fine Line*

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers Summary: Steve doesn’t know when the friendship became something more, but now you’re in front of him, dripping with need and the rain has come for you both. A/N: NSFW Sex-Pollen, Super-Soldier, Super-Smut!! Angst at the end. Warnings: Dub-con. Hurt. Twist at the end please don’t read this if you are unsure of any of these warnings.

Tony quirks an eyebrow over to your spot at the conference table when he walks in. You’re there early, hands over your lap, legs crossed underneath. It’s quite a sight, he thinks, coming from a woman who can hardly be bothered to exit a burning building.

It’s eight-thirty. The fact that you are the first to be in the conference room raises all his red flags. He tugs his lavender glasses up and down his nose bridge just to make sure he’s not hallucinating. The frown he sports stretches lower until it melts into his well-groomed beard.

Keep reading

#poor steve #did not see this one coming

[scarletslxt]

the hottest shit ive ever read.

This can be read as a part two to this blurb, but it can also just be a horny stand-alone lol

So we’ve established that Steve has like,, a GIGANTIC cock and knows how to use it right

So obviously, after seeing it, feeling it for the first time, you’re ruined for good. You can’t get enough of his cock inside of you, of his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he fucks you every night.

But every night just isn’t enough. You’re thinking about him all the time, zoning out when he crosses his legs, thinking about his thick cock trapped just behind the denim. You’re in public, trying to have fun with your friends, but all you can think about is how heavy his cock is on your tongue, how the tip lodges in the back of your throat whenever you try to take him all the way in your mouth. How he fucked you till you were sobbing just the night before, his hand wrapped around your throat while he bullied his fat cock all the way into your soaking cunt, whispering into your ear about how “you can take it sweetheart. I know you can, baby, you’re so good, taking me all the way inside so well. Begging for it, even. C’mon baby, you’re my good girl aren’t you? My perfect whore, just for me to use.”

And when Steve looks at you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder while you play cards with your friends, and sees how your eyes are glassed over, staring aimlessly ahead, he just knows. So before you know it, he’s gently guiding you to your feet, giving your friends some bullshit excuse about how you and he were up super early that morning (you weren’t) and how you both need to get home (you don’t).

But you don’t try to fight him on it, don’t want to. All you want to do is get home and let Steve do whatever he wants to you.

You can’t help it when you get into the car though. The thought of him, of his fat cock stretching you out till you’re gaping, of his sticky cum dripping out of your cunt as he takes you over and over and over, god, it already has you whining as you settle into the leather of the passenger seat. Steve is buckling you in, and you’re already gripping his jaw in your hands, dragging his lips to yours, whining into his mouth about how you “need daddy’s cock so bad, oh God, Steve. Please, please daddy, fuck me, ‘m so empty without your cock, can’t, can’t breathe without it daddy, need it so bad in me, I-” and he’s shushing you so gently, so comforting, before he’s yanking your head back hard with a harsh grip in your hair and muttering into your ear, “good girls are fucking patient, baby. Why aren’t you being good?” And you mutter, “I am good, I’m good, daddy, promise,” but your back is arching, hips jerking at the pain of his grip in your hair, and you know you aren’t being good, not at all. But Steve seems to take pity on you, and lets go, not saying a word.

And he doesn’t say a word the whole way back, but he’s got one hand on your thigh while he drives, and you can see the outline of his hard cock through his jeans.

And when you finally, finally get home? He’s wrenching you out of your car seat, lifting you into his arms while your legs wrap around his waist, not caring about any neighbors; you’re too busy trying to press your pussy onto his cock through your clothes, nuzzling your face into his neck while he carries you through the door to his house.

His parents aren’t home, they never are, so you don’t worry when he carries you to the couch in the living room, too desperate to go up the stairs.

What you aren’t expecting though, is him abandoning the couch altogether, laying you flat on the plush rug on the floor, ripping your shorts down your legs so fast you can feel the denim burn as it slides off your thighs. You can barely register the cool air on your hot pussy before he’s jamming two fingers into you, jackhammering them into you so hard your whole body shakes with the force of it, the slick squishing sounds of your pussy thundering in your ears. His fingers become three, then four, and just as you’re screaming, “Daddy, daddy, I can’t, it’s too much,” you can blearily see the muscles in his arm flexing as he drives his fingers into you, while his other hand drops to his jeans, unzipping them and shoving them down just enough to take his heavy cock out. “If my fingers are too much, I have no idea how you’re gonna take this cock, baby.” You can’t think, can’t even breathe as he presses the fat tip against your tiny hole, muttering about how “you always take me so well, baby. You can do it again, you have to. You begged for this, remember?” And you choke on a scream as slides his fat cock into you, not giving you a second to adjust. He’s ramming into your dripping pussy in seconds, his massive cock feeling like he’s rearranging your fucking guts while he’s wrenching your knees apart, spreading you wider, wider, just taking it as he buries himself inside over and over.

You’re pawing at his hairy chest for some kind of relief, little punched out uh, uh, uhs escaping your throat with every thrust, as if his cock is literally punching them out from your stomach. Steve is grunting with you, with the force of his thrusts, but he still manages to grunt out, “if you’re gonna act like a whore, princess, I’m going to fuck you like one.”

A keening whine escapes your throat as he grips your hips, hiking them into the air and onto his cock, impaling you over and over and over. “Is this what you wanted, slut? So fucking needy, thinking about me while we’re with our friends, drooling over my dick like you’re starving for it. Is this all you need, honey, to be fucked like a bitch?”

And you’re wheezing out a tiny “yes, yes daddy, yes,” without thinking about it, just wanting to please your daddy, please Steve. 

“But you’re my bitch, aren’t you angel? My little whore,” Steve can feel you tighten around his cock. “You wanna cum, baby?”

“Please, please daddy, I need to cum, please let me cum.” 

“Go ahead then, slut. Gush on your daddy’s big cock.”

But you can barely hear him give you permission, it’s too good, the pleasure-pain of his cock filling you up so deep, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, slick sounds of your squishing cunt colliding with his sticky, hairy thighs. And suddenly, you’re cumming, and it feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, overwhelming, too tight and too much and so, so fucking good. 

Your head is thrashing against the rug as cry out delirious praises of “daddy, daddy, you’re so good, so big, your cock is s’good.”

Steve can barely look away from your convulsing form as you squirt all over his cock, soaking his balls and his thighs and the rug, and he can’t help but lean forward and cup a hand behind your head and bring your lips together, muttering about how “you’re so gorgeous, so sexy baby, didn’t know you could do that.” You can’t even kiss him back, too far gone, to drunk on his cock to do anything but let your mouth gape open as your daddy licks into it. 

Steve is whispering praises into your ear, sweet nothings about how good, how beautiful, how perfect you are, as his hips stutter and his thick cum floods your pussy, adding to the mess between your bodies and on the plush rug below. 

You feel bleary, ripped apart but also like the most perfect thing in the world. Steve is still inside you as he lifts you up, knowing that you want to keep him there as long as possible, and takes you upstairs to his room. 

You trust him to take care of you as he lays you gently onto his bed, kissing you softly on the forehead, while you whisper a soft “thank you, daddy, love you so much.”

You can feel Steve smile into your hair as he murmurs back, “love you too baby, more than you’ll ever know. My perfect baby girl.” 

And you fall asleep, feeling warm and precious and Steve’s. 

[scarletslxt]

AMAZING CHAPTER AS ALWAYSSS. and OMG! they were so so close to finally kissing😵😵

𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 5: stone in love.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - after presenting your portraiture project, you and eddie seem to get on a bit better... but how long can it last?

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 5.3k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - jealous?/protective eddie and a narrowly-avoided car accident... that's all I can think of

The professor tilted his head as he looked at Kate’s submission.  “Aren’t you worried it’s a little obvious?” he asked, and she looked totally thrown off her rhythm by that.

“Well— uh, I— it’s just that—”

“Calm down,” he laughed lightly, “it’s not bad at all.  The framing is perfect, and it makes the set work.  The similarity between the two images makes it rather comical."

Kate had taken a picture of her daughter— barely a year old— laughing with glee as she sat on the kitchen floor, only to be already throwing a tantrum in the second picture.  Based on the feedback, she’ll probably be getting a B from Professor Hill, and your palms got clammy as he stepped up to the next student; you didn’t need an A to pass the class, but you needed his approval for, you know, your sanity.

He tilted his head as he looked at Richie's submission next: two pictures of his wife, clearly posed, in sepia tones.  "This is interesting," he hummed.  "You're definitely showing two sides here.  But… they're not as different as you think.  I do like the subversion of expectations, though: the ‘happy’ side looks much more sinister than the more demure one."

"Th-thank you," Richie mumbled.

"Just maybe show a little more variety next time?" Professor Hill suggested, making Richie nod dutifully.

That feedback made you shift uncomfortably as you stood; it reminded you of waiting to be judged for the seventh grade science fair.  You got second place and, though that still disappointed you because you were so close to first, your dad had taken you out for a sundae afterwards.

You swallowed as you watched the professor sigh at the sight of George’s photos.  "Now, George, I see what you were going for here,” he said.  “It's hard not to… you're beating me over the head with your message."

Considering George’s two photos were one of his model dressed as an angel and another dressed as a devil… yes, it was obvious.  You felt a little better seeing that it wasn’t received especially well— you were afraid, when you saw George’s coming in today, that your set was too minimalistic.

But then he was looking at yours, and any sense of relief was gone as you straightened your back and waited for his feedback.

And waited.

He stared at yours for a long time.  A long, long time.  His face didn’t help you read him at all, and when he opened his mouth to speak, you were completely prepared for him to tear you to shreds for ignoring the prompt.

“You’ve done something so fascinating here,” Professor Hill finally broke the silence.  “You know, everyone else in the class chose to show two radically different sides of their subject, in fact, most of them changed clothes for the second shot.  But you… you’ve submitted two photos taken likely a split second apart.”

“Yes, actually, they were taken sequentially,” you explained.

“Why did you place them in this order?” he asked.  “Why not this one on the right?”

“Well… I’ll show you,” you decided, peeling the photos carefully off of the posterboard and sticking them back on the other way around.  “Doesn’t he look more insecure when they’re ordered this way?  Like he’s just had a thought, but he’s deciding not to say it?  I like it better the other way— it feels more hopeful.”

The professor smiled.  “I agree.  The order you’ve submitted them in, it evokes… the past and the future.  On the left, a man caught in a memory; on the right, a man dreaming of a possibility.”

You heard some of your classmates snickering to themselves, no doubt rolling their eyes and deciding that this is all pretentious artsy over-analysis— but you smiled, because they were just jealous and Professor Hill was right.  

“Congratulations,” he told you with a grin and a pat on the back, “this is really great work.  I’m giving you full credit; and I’m encouraging you to submit this for the end-of-year showcase.  See if you can find any galleries in Indianapolis looking for portrait work, too.”

 You were so excited, you couldn’t stop yourself; as soon as you ran home from the bus stop, you jumped on Eddie with a tight embrace, beaming as you put your chin on his shoulder.

“Woah, hey,” he mumbled, but eventually, he put his arms around you.  You pulled back, smiling up at him and laughing at the (understandably) confused look on his face.  

“I got a perfect grade,” you explained.  “Your pictures!  I got an A+!”

“Oh, wow,” he smiled, hands tightening where they held your waist.  “That’s amazing!  Might be the closest I’ve ever been to getting an A+ myself...”

“You did get it, Eddie, it was all you,” you insisted.

“I just sat there!” he dismissed. “You took the pictures, you did all the hard work— and it paid off!”

The front door swung open, and you and Eddie looked at your mom and Wayne stepping in— and you both seemed to realize, at the same time, that his hands were around your waist and yours were at the back of his neck.  And you must have also realized it was a little strange, because you both pulled away at lightning speed as your mom gave you a quizzical look.

“What’s going on?” she wondered.

“Mom— I got a perfect score on my portraiture project,” you explained, “the professor wants me to submit my work for competition.”

“Oh my god!” she gasped, running up to hug you.  “That’s amazing!”

“Good job,” Wayne offered you a tilted smile and a thumbs up, which you reciprocated while you were still caught in your mom’s arms.

You glanced back at Eddie from the hug, catching his sympathetic smile. 

“Let’s celebrate with a nice dinner, huh?” Wayne suddenly suggested.  “We could go out somewhere—”

“Why don’t you grill some steaks?” Eddie interjecting instead.  “Haven’t done that in a while.”

“If that’s what you want,” Wayne prompted you, and your mom released you from the hug.

Truth be told, you could think of a lot of dinners you would like more than Wayne’s homemade steaks, but, for one, you couldn’t think of any that your new makeshift family could actually afford…

And, two, it actually sounded sort of wholesome.  Wayne at the grill, your mom making sides, and Eddie… being nice?  He had gone soft on you for an afternoon in honor of your achievement, it seemed.

There was a peace to it— a sense of stillness and quiet even through the sounds of the meat on the grill, your mom making sides in the kitchen, the clanging of flatware as you and Eddie set the table.  You knew it wouldn’t last forever, and Eddie would go back to his usual self soon; it could all collapse at any moment, the illusion of normalcy.  It was less like a stalemate and more like a truce, like when armies declare a ceasefire for Christmas or something.  You laughed politely at Wayne’s safe attempts at humor, your mom listening to Eddie’s story about how he talked his way out of detention, and both of them explained some wedding plans they’d made.

“Actually,” your mom began, looking down sheepishly for a moment at her fork piercing some pieces of corn, “we wanted to ask you two something.”

You felt oddly nervous as you imagined what question they could possibly have that could concern the both of you.  You were watching her carefully, wondering if it would be the question you feared the most— the question you hadn’t even asked yourself yet— but it was Wayne that spoke up next.  “We thought it might be nice if you—” he looked at you— “were the flower girl.  And Ed, you could be the ringbearer.”

You glanced at Eddie, who did the same to you, and there was a shared understanding in a fraction of a moment— that you both wanted to point out that those were concerningly juvenile roles for two young adults, but that neither of you were going to say that just because it was easier to make them happy.

“That would be nice,” you nodded.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to give me any responsibility at all,” Eddie joked.

“I know they’re sort of silly jobs,” your mom smiled, “you’re probably thinking you’re a little old for a job kids normally do.”

You and Eddie looked at each other again.

“It wouldn’t be just that— the truth is, we decided not to have a bridal party,” your mom clarified.

“Right,” Eddie nodded, “and… what is that, again?”

“You know, groomsmen and bridesmaids and all that?” she told him.  “The best man, the maid of honor?”

“Oh,” he hummed, “I thought— I thought a bridal party was a party you had before the wedding.”

“That’s a bridal shower,” you corrected.

“But wait, what about a bachelorette party?” he tilted his head.

“That’s a different thing,” your mom said, “and we’re not having one of those, either.”

“And no bachelor party,” Wayne added.

“Aw,” Eddie pouted, “I thought we were gonna go to strip club!”  Wayne glared at Eddie who smiled nervously in response.  “I’m kidding, obviously,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“The point is,” Wayne continued, “we both thought that, really, you’d be the only ones up there with us.  There isn’t anybody else that matters to us much, anyways—”

I thought you had a brother, you almost blurted out, but then you realized it wasn’t worth bringing up now.

“We thought it might be sort of like having a best man and maid of honor, without calling it that.  I-it was just an idea—” he stumbled, but you cut in.

“I’m really honored that you want us to be involved that way,” you assured, “and we’ll do whatever we can to help out on your day.”

Wayne smiled a bit and nodded, and your mom held and squeezed his hand.  “We just want you both to know how special you are to us— and we’re so thankful that you’re supporting us.  We know this hasn’t always been easy for you.”

For the third and final time, you and Eddie looked at each other.  He was smirking like he could just burst out laughing right now; you imagined that you were giving him a hint of glare, but you couldn’t be sure what he saw in your eyes right then.

After that, normal dinner-consumption resumed; as usual, Eddie excused himself first— he ate fast and messy like he thought someone would swoop in and take his food away if he didn’t have it down in record time.  Then your mom was finished, though she hadn’t actually finished her food, and got up to start washing dishes.  And with just you and Wayne left, you figured it would be more enjoyable to help in the kitchen than try to navigate a conversation.  “Thanks for the steaks, Wayne,” you told him, and with a mouthful of mashed potatoes he only offered you a polite nod as you got up and took your plate to the sink.

“Thank you,” your mom said to you quietly as you scraped your plate; you thought, at first, that she was thanking you for cleaning up after yourself, until you realized she wouldn’t thank you for something that basic.

“What for?” you pressed.

“For saying yes,” she replied.  “Being our flower girl.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, “of course.”

“I know it’s silly,” your mom insisted again, “but it was Wayne’s idea, and I think it’s sweet.  I think you and Eddie are still little kids to him.”

“He didn’t know me when I was a kid,” you noticed.

“No,” she agreed, “but, he knows how it feels.”

You didn’t know exactly what she meant, but you understood it enough to nod and smile.  “I’m gonna go to my room,” you informed her, stepping out of the kitchen and through the living room to the hallway.  

The ambient sound of Eddie’s presence— namely, the jingling of a chain and the sound of dull fingernails scratching under a mess of curly hair— made you stop outside your door, though.

You leaned around the corner, seeing Eddie holding your project in his hand; you'd had to shove the posterboard into your backpack to make it fit, but the pictures hadn't been folded at all.  You were about to tell him not to go through your backpack like that, until you saw that he wasn’t doing anything.

He was just looking at the pictures— you hadn't shown them to him after development, but you let him know you'd picked two pictures from the same place.

That was meaningful since you and Eddie had taken way too many pictures, at tons of different locations around the Hawkins woods: two rolls of film were used by the end of the day.

"What do you think?" you asked him with a smile, making him jump as he realized you were watching.  You could've sworn you saw him wipe his cheek with the back of his hand before he turned to look at you, but you couldn't be sure why.

"Yeah, uh," he cleared his throat, "they're good.  You're… um, they're good."

“Thanks,” you nodded, “they are.  I’m pretty happy with how they turned out.”

“You should be, you got an A,” he nodded, awkwardly sticking his arm out to hand them back to you.  You took them back with a little smile.  “Did you develop the one where I was hanging upside down from the tree?  I kinda wanted to see it.”

“I didn’t,” you replied, “but I could, if you really want to—”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “don’t go through all that trouble.”

“Maybe I should,” you wondered, “and you could have it— like, something to remember our day together, I guess…”

Your heart was racing as you suggested it, but he shook his head again as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.  “Oh, that’s not necessary.  I’m never gonna forget that day,” he promised.

He didn’t say anything else, he just stepped past you and walked out of the room.  You looked down at the pictures in your hand, and your professor’s writing underneath.

Great work!  Excited to see what you can do with color next time.  A+

You remembered what he said about looking for galleries to submit them to, and decided to get on with that— you left the room, too, in search of the phone book so you could start circling numbers to call tomorrow.

You would’ve never gone to sleep if you knew that Eddie was going to take over the house while you were unconscious.

It started innocently enough.  "I'm gonna try to get some beauty rest for an hour or so," you announced to the lunch table as you stood up— because a foggy Sunday afternoon is the perfect time for a nap, and you hadn’t slept too well after waking up from a specific dream about your bunkmate.

"You're gonna need more than an hour," Eddie quipped, and you kicked him under the table.

"Sleep tight, honey,” your mom offered, and with that, you shut yourself in your room for a while.

You didn’t sleep all that much, but you did get some rest— most of all you got some quiet, which you were in desperate need of.  Of course, you only got that quiet because you kept a pillow over your head, otherwise you would’ve heard Eddie watching TV so much louder than he needed to; he just had to try to disrupt you, it seemed.

You actually stayed stowed away for more than an hour— more like an hour and a half, until Eddie rapped on the door and leaned in.

“What?” you asked pointedly without looking up from your book.

"So, hey, here's the thing," he began.  "The theater room is being used today by, well, theater— and we can't reschedule our campaign because Jeff has robotics camp…"

“There must be some part of this that I’m supposed to give a fuck about?” you assumed.

"We're meeting here tonight."

You slammed your book shut and stood up in front of your bed.  "Hell no," you replied.

He coughed.  "Uh, I wasn't actually asking.  I live here too."

"I lived here first!" you reminded him.

"Your mom already said they could come over!" he rebutted.

"MOM!" you yelled for her, wanting that decision explained to your face.

"She's not home," he informed you, “left during your beauty rest.  And she said I could have Hellfire here, so, eat me.”

“No thanks— they say you are what you eat, and I don’t wanna be a giant dork, so—” you quipped, but you were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“They’re here!” Eddie noticed excitedly, bounding down the hallway to the front door.

Curious, you followed him until you were in your doorway, crossing your arms and leaning against the frame. 

He opened the door rather dramatically, revealing his band of fellow freaks on the other side, puffing up his chest and then bowing and extending his arm to let them in.  “My good sirs,” he greeted.

They bowed in return; you felt like you were watching some kind of bizarre ritual.  At least they won’t be low on virgins to sacrifice, you thought with a smirk to yourself.

It was the one with the curly hair and trucker hat that walked in first, looking around the house and nodding.  “Nice place,” he told Eddie.

“It’s not his place,” you corrected, crossing your arms and getting the attention of the group.  “It’s mine— or, well, my mom’s, but—”

“Woah,” the kid interrupted, eyes going wider.  “You’re his sister?”

“I mean, not really—” you began, getting cut off again.

“He talks about you,” a gangly-looking kid with dark hair suddenly said.

“That’s— it sounds weird when you say it like that,” Eddie dismissed with a thin laugh as he wrapped his arms around both boys.  “You came up,” he explained, “I mean, I wanted to warn them you’d be here, being all… annoying and stuff, presumably.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna stay as far out of your way as possible,” you promised, “I’m just gonna be in my room—”

“Wait, don’t we get to meet Eddie’s new sister?” the curly-haired one frowned.  “After he talked about her so much?”

“What?” you asked.

One of the older boys, standing in the back, mumbled, “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Hey!” Eddie barked at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped.  

“Guys, can’t you just introduce yourselves?  Act normal for a half second?” Eddie suggested to the group.

“You said normal is overrated,” the dark-haired one reminded him.

“Yeah, but this is a girl.  You guys remember how to talk to girls, right?”

Most of them shook their heads.

“Lucky for you all, I’m actually a woman,” you frowned, “and I’m just gonna hide in my room, if you don’t mind—”

“Our room,” Eddie smiled, tilting back on his heels for a second.

The one with curly hair stuck his hand out towards you.  “I’m Dustin.  Henderson— Dustin Henderson, nice to meet you.”

You gave his hand a quick glance before shaking it; god knows where that’s been.  “Eddie talks about you too, you know.”

“Really?” Dustin smiled.

“I’m sure much more flattering things than he says about me,” you laughed.

“Uh— I’m Mike,” the taller one offered next.  “Mike Wheeler.”

“Wheeler!  You’re Nancy’s little brother?” you noticed, and he nodded.

“Do you know her?” he wondered.

“Not well— but she and I— we met once or twice.  I’m friends with her boyfriend, Jonathan— or, I guess, we were friends, before he moved… I dunno.  Anyways,” you caught yourself oversharing, “nice to meet you.”

“I didn’t know you knew Will’s brother,” another one said, stuttering for a half-second when you looked at him.  “I’m Lucas, by the way.”

“Yep, these are our new blood,” Eddie announced proudly as he stood behind the three boys.  “The future of Hellfire.”

“Good to know you have lots of… impressionable children to spend your time with,” you said flatly.

“You, uh, probably don’t remember me—” another member said, but you were smiling at him before he finished.

“Jeff,” you nodded, “of course I do.  You were the only one who could stay still for my pictures.”

His skin was too dark to show a blush, and yet you could tell he was anyways just by the way he smiled and glanced down.  “O-oh, uh, yeah… that was a while ago.”

“Stuck with me,” you shrugged.  “But you,” you turned your attention to the other one standing in the back, “you weren’t a member then, were you?”

“Uh, no,” he shook his head, “not yet.  I’m Gareth.”

“Also known as Corroded Coffin’s metal-as-fuck rhythm guitarist and metal-as-fuck drummer,” Eddie added with a proud grin, “respectively.”

“Right,” you hummed, “I’m sure you’re… very, very loud.”

“We try to be,” Gareth shrugged.

“Okay, can we stop doing introductions now and get to playing?” Lucas groaned.  “Please?”

They did; and you were going to hide in your room, you really were— you did, for the first ten minutes.  But then you were hungry and decided to sneak something from the kitchen, especially without your mom around to judge you for the junk food.

That was the plan, but it went awry all too soon.  You could hear them at the kitchen table, but they hadn’t spotted you; you stayed behind the wall in between, with only a view of Eddie’s shoulder and the corner of the table.

“I’ll… open the door,” Mike announced.

“No!  Wait,” Jeff stopped him, “let me cast Find Traps first.”

“Good idea,” Dustin agreed.

“No traps,” Eddie told the table.

“Somehow, that feels ominous,” Lucas decided.

“Okay, I’m gonna open the door,” Mike insisted.

“You open the door,” Eddie informed him, “and behind the door waits… a troll!”

“Oh Jesus,” Jeff groaned.

“I knew it,” Lucas reminded everyone.

It took you a moment to realize that the slurred, deep voice you heard after that was actually Eddie’s troll impression as he spoke for it, and you covered your mouth to suppress a giggle at the ridiculous voice.  You hopped up and sat on the counter, still obscured from the group’s view; there you stayed for the rest of the campaign, swinging your feet off the edge, trying your best to be discreet as you carefully snacked from a bag of chips, listening to Eddie and the club laugh and yell and roll dice like it was so much more than a dumb game.

You held your three-ring binder to your chest as you walked in step with Pete, laughing at his caricature-esque impression of Professor Bingen.

“Stop!” you snorted, pushing him on the shoulder.  “He doesn’t sound like that!”

“He so does,” Pete insisted.  “Today, uh, we’ll be discussing, uh, the, uh, human psyche, uhhh—”

“Come on,” you rolled your eyes, “that’s not fair— we talk about the human psyche every day.”

“Still,” Pete smirked, “he’s so boring.  All of psychology is boring.”

“Then why did you even sign up for this class?” you wondered.

“Uh, isn’t it obvious?” he replied with a raised eyebrow.  “That class is full of chicks!”

You sneered as you broke away from the eye contact— in the distance you spotted Eddie’s van, and he was outside of it, leaned against the passenger door.  “Enrolling in a class just to meet girls,” you mumbled, “how romantic.”

“Hey, maybe it is,” Pete defended with an elbow to your side, “you don’t know— maybe I’ll meet Mrs. Right during one of those mind-numbingly boring lectures."

"I guess we'll see," you shrugged.  "My ride's here, so I'll catch you later?"

"That's your ride?" he noticed, nodding towards Eddie.  "Uh, he looks scary."

"He doesn't scare me," you rolled your eyes.  Even without the tats and leather and other tough guy accoutrements, Eddie's uncharacteristic glare that he wore at the moment was contributing to the 'scary' persona. Who pissed in his cornflakes? you wondered.

"You, um…" Pete cleared his throat.  "You hang out with guys like that?"

You looked at the classmate beside you, and realized by the look on his face what he meant.  "Oh!  No, he's my— he's my brother, I guess."

"Oh," Pete sighed.  "That makes a little more sense.  Still kind of terrified for him to see me with you, though, so, uh— catch you later?"

"Sure!" you agreed, waving, but he was already gone; he'd nearly left a cloud in the shape of his silhouette he ran so fast.

Deflating with a sigh, you approached Eddie where he was parked and waiting by the curb.

"'Sup?" you asked, but he said nothing, just opening the door for you and slamming it shut as soon as you were sat; he came around to the driver's side and you could definitely see that he was irritated, but you still didn't know why.

He broke the uncomfortable silence a few seconds after he started the van. “Who was that?” Eddie asked— already his tone put you off, and you moved your head back as you crinkled your brow.

“You mean Pete?” you replied, body lurching as Eddie began the drive with just a bit too much force.  “He’s in my psychology class.”

“You two are, uh, friendly?” Eddie noticed, turning his head to change lanes and sending that hair spinning over his shoulders.

“Well, we have a project together,” you explained.

“And?  Who is he?”

“He’s Pete,” you repeated.

“But like— what’s his deal?” Eddie pressed.

“Well, he’s single,” you sneered, “which you must be relieved to hear since you’re so obsessed with him.”

“Jesus,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “so now I can’t even ask about someone you’re talking to?  I’m just curious, since, you know, you don’t have any friends.”

“Fuck off,” you spat.

“He’s probably trying to get you into bed, you know,” Eddie warned.  “Just remember that.”

“He’s literally just trying to pass the class, as am I, Ed,” you denied.

“Nope!  No way,” he shook his head, waving his hand quickly before putting it back on the steering wheel.  “He only has one thing on his mind.  And it’s not his fucking grades.”

“You would know,” you rolled your eyes.

“Exactly!” he yelped.  “Men are disgusting.  Don’t let that guy even think you’re interested in him, or he’s never gonna let it go.  Also, you should probably have pepper spray in your backpack.”

“You know, to your credit,” you offered, sighing as you crossed your arms and looked out the window, “this is the first time I’ve really felt like I have a brother.”

His demeanor shifted suddenly, and he sounded way too proud of himself when he replied, “Really?”

You didn’t say anything, just puffing out a breath of air.

“Is that a bad thing?” he realized, deflating a bit.

“It is when it’s you!” you answered.  “You’re trying to drive me crazy, right?”

He let out a little sigh.  “Sometimes.  And sometimes I just… I dunno.”

You looked at him to see him shaking his head.  “What?” you wondered.

“Sometimes I’m actually just trying to protect you,” he admitted, catching your gaze for a moment, “believe it or not.”

Your question was just one word— an instinctive reaction, a first-thought-best-thought blurt.  And in the Freudian tradition that you’d been learning about that very day, it said more than anything else could have.

You didn’t even look up from your lap where you were picking at one of your nails; it just sort of… came out.

“Why?” you asked him.

He didn’t look at you, he just smiled and glanced down for a second, before returning his focus to the road ahead.

Just then, saved by the chord, you heard an all-too-familiar tune start to play on the radio.

Josie’s on a vacation far away—

“Turn it up!” you demanded, as if you weren’t already reaching for the knob.  “I love this song!”

“Of course you do,” he mumbled unenthusiastically.

“ —and talk it over,” you began to sing along emphatically, “so many things that I wanna say, you know I like my girls a little bit older—”

“How can you like this?” he glanced at you.

“Shut up, it’s good,” you shoved him on the shoulder.  “I just wanna use your love, tonight—”

“This is horrible, I hate this,” Eddie informed you, and you turned to lean in closer to him as you sang confidently (if not too pitch-accurate).

“I don’t wanna lose your love, toniiiiight!”

You mimed the aggressive double-strike on the snare, beginning to drum all over the air as the song continued.

“I ain’t got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I’m in trouble,” you continued, “you know I’d do anything for you—”

In the corner of your eye, you noticed Eddie looking at you, and you looked back at him as you grinned and kept singing.

“Stay the night but keep it undercover,” you added, and for some reason, you winked at him.  He glanced away quickly.

You kept singing and dancing (as best you could while buckled into a passenger seat), swinging your head around wildly as the chorus played again.  He watched you and laughed.  “You know, it’s wasted on a song like this,” Eddie interjected, nearly yelling to be heard over the song, “but you do know how to headbang.  You’d fit right in at a Corroded Coffin show.”

You stopped singing, because there weren’t words for the guitar solo anyways, and looked over at him.  “Really?  You should take me some time,” you decided, resting your arm on the console between you two.

“Yeah?  I will,” he smiled, and you smiled back, and then you realized that you were pretty close to him— too close, maybe?  But it didn’t feel too close, it felt… nice.  It made your heart race, but you liked it anyway.

The interlude ended and the words picked back up again, but you weren’t singing along this time.  You were too busy looking at Eddie’s eyes, because they were looking at your lips.  

Try to stop my hands from shakin’, ‘cause something in my mind’s not makin’ sense…

Why was he looking at your lips?  Why were you looking at his?  Most of all, why did they look so… kissable?

Been a while since we were all alone, I can’t hide the way I’m feelin’...

It almost seemed like he was moving in closer— he wasn’t moving in closer, was he?  He wasn’t about to kiss you, right?  Oh god, he’s about to kiss you.  

You knew you should stop him, you should put your hands on his shoulders and tell him that yes, you had thought about it too, but this can’t happen; you’re family, kind of.  Well, not really, but… maybe too close to it?

You started to reach up to his shoulders, but you realized that if you touched him, you wouldn’t push him away— no, you’d pull him closer, you’d squeeze those strong shoulders, you’d tangle your fingers in that hair…

HOOOOOOOONK!

You and Eddie both screamed— briefly, but still embarrassingly high-pitched— as you looked back at the road and saw a truck speeding towards you in the oncoming lane… which the van had drifted into, of course.  Eddie slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel quickly, which got you out of harm’s way but into the dirt on the side of the road; your hands grabbed at the first things they could find, which were your door on the right and his arm on your left.

Within a few seconds, the van came to a screeching halt and you and Eddie let out a simultaneous sigh.

You peeled your hand off of his arm, and he turned his head to the side with a blank— yet so expressive— look on his face.

Your Love was still playing.  You reached forward and turned the radio off.

“That was fun,” Eddie announced breathlessly, “let’s have more near-death experiences together.”

[scarletslxt]

fangs. part three.

Link to part one: here.

Plot: Eddie wasn’t dead. He could never leave his girl to face the world without him, and he would make sure of it. Even if he was a little bit different.

Pairing: steddie x fem!reader, eddie munson x fem!reader

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: 18+, dark!eddie, perv!eddie, stalker!eddie, blood, vampire!eddie, dark content, rough sex, p in v, choking, dirty talk, degradation, markings, obsessive behavior, violence, masterbation, jealousy, intrusive thoughts, slapping, hair pulling, cum in v, steve, steve, cuck!steve, cuck!eddie, oversharing, spanking, biting. slight cnc. established consent. sleepy sex, internalized homophobia. unsafe sex. breeding kink.

notes: this part was my favorite, i was kicking and giggling while working on this, please let me know if you enjoy or have any reqs!!!

I do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work. minors do not read. eighteen plus only. please please please be kind and reblog or comment if you enjoyed! - spooks :)

eddie walked towards the trailer door, he grabbed his leather jacket slipping it over his red and black flannel. “eddie, wait.” steve choked out the words while looking at the clock, it was almost midnight. “where are you going?” he stood up and walked towards the door, following in his counterpart’s footsteps. “do you need to be told everything? you’re not a child.” eddie kept his back to steve and giggled as he opened the door to his trailer.

Keep reading

[scarletslxt]

THIS IS SO DARK I LOVE IT 🤤🤤🤤

𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰 || dark!koner x reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 || not every knight in not-so-shining armour is worth trusting.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 || 6.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 || NONCON DARK SMUT (18+ only DO NOT PROCEED IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU), unprotected sex, breeding kink/forced breeding, painful sex, loss of virginity, a little bleeding, lots of crying, predator/prey dynamic, severe degradation, knife kink, threatened murder, kidnapping/implied imprisonment, touch of stockholm syndrome

{context/knowledge of game of thrones not required! I've only watched this one episode out of the entire series lmao}

again I cannot stress enough that this fic is about sexual assault. don't hit keep reading if you don't want to keep reading. don't send me hate or comment negativity because it's not going to stop me.

It was probably a little bizarre, even dangerous— certainly forward— to throw yourself into the arms of the first man you saw.  But when you’d been running and searching helplessly for hours, barefoot in the chilly Northern woods, desperation overtook decorum. 

All you’d been looking for were signs of life, any evidence that you might find somewhere to bathe and eat and sleep so you could begin to find your way back home, but you’d found something much better than that: a man wearing a sword and black leather with a cowl.  In other words, a guard, in Stark armour.  Clearly, your captors had taken you farther North than you thought if you were this close to Winterfell, but that was the least of your worries now— all that mattered was finding some way back, and now, you had a chance.  Maybe the gods really did hear your prayers…

Running up to the man, you threw yourself into him, grabbing at the clothes on his chest.  His eyes were wide as he looked down at you, and he reached towards his sword for only a second before he must’ve realised you weren’t much of a threat.

“Please, please sir,” you gasped, “I— I’m lost, please—”

You could think of a thousand things you should be saying— who you were, what happened to you, how to reach your father and take you home— but none of them were coming out properly.  “Eh, alright, alright,” he offered, but it didn’t do much to slow your racing heart.  “What’s the matter, miss?”

You swallowed, about to start over, but you jumped slightly when you felt his hands reach up and brush over your shoulders; his eyes traced over your face and down your neck, and you shuddered nervously.  “Er— well, I-I’ve been lost, and I need help— I need to go home… I’m so far from home,” you breathed.

“Mm,” he hummed, and you couldn’t tell if he’d been listening to a word you’d said; one of his gloved hands touched your hair, and you jerked away— except, of course, that his other hand was at your waist and kept you still.

The crunching of leaves on the ground nearby got your attention, and suddenly over the guard’s shoulder, another guard— taller, and more portly— appeared.

"Well, who do we have here?" the second smiled at you.

You wriggled in the grasp of the first man again.  “Looks like we’ve got a lost little lamb in the woods,” he informed his compatriot, voice a little condescending as he pouted his lips playfully and kept his eyes trained on you.

“What happened to you, love?”

You cleared your throat, looking back and forth between the two men; the one holding you licked his lips.  "My family is rather wealthy, my father is known in the South— a lord,” you began, “and, well, I was in the market and— I was taken.  I don’t even know how it happened, but I must’ve been hit over the head… I woke up a few hours ago, in the back of a carriage, bound and gagged…”

Your head still hurt, in fact it was killing you, and you were sore all over— especially at your wrists and ankles, which you had managed to untie after some effort in the back of that godforsaken carriage…

“I escaped, barely,” you continued.  “And I just kept running, hoping I would find someone who could help me.”

Your voice trailed off as you realised that, maybe, you hadn’t found what you were looking for.  "Oh, we're gonna help you, miss, don't worry,” the second man insisted, but as you managed to back out of the guard’s grasp, you felt their eyes run all over you.  There was a brief silence, during which you felt a bit like a roast chicken at the centre of a dinner table, before the man who’d been holding you spoke again.

“Well, you’ve told us who you are, we should return the favour,” the soldier announced.  “I am Koner— this here—” he placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder— “is Henk.”

After a prolonged hesitation, you held your skirt and curtsied before them.  “Nice to meet you,” you nodded.  They were almost laughing when you stood up straight again.

“What manners,” Koner grinned.  “She really is a lady.”

“I am.  M-my father was meant to pay a ransom,” you remembered.  “I’m sure if you returned me to him, the ransom could be paid to you instead— it’s handsome, it would still be great money split between you.”

“We may just have to do that,” Henk offered in return, but it wasn’t especially convincing.

Koner stepped closer to you; you started to step back, and then you both froze.  “You’re not… scared, are you, miss?”

“I… er,” you stammered, and before you could get out your denial, they both laughed a little.

“No need to be scared, little lamb,” Henk insisted, “we said we’d help you, didn’t we?”

“U-unharmed,” you blurted out.

“Hm?” Koner pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“If you returned me to my father, unharmed,” you added.

“Well, of course,” he nodded.  

“What would we do to harm you?” Henk wondered.

“I… I don’t know,” you shrugged, clutching your arms to your chest.

“Oh, you must’ve heard scary stories,” Koner posited, “about girls who roam alone in the woods, hm?”

Your throat caught, and you glanced down at the ground as you slightly shuffled backward again.

“About big, scary soldiers having their way with them?” he continued, and a chill jolted up your spine and made your neck tilt to the side.  “That shouldn’t have to happen.”

“I-it won’t?” you looked up at Koner shyly.  His eyes were brown, and dark, and glittering.  He shook his head, clicking his tongue at you.

“Of course, little lady, shouldn’t have to be like that,” he insisted, but his nose scrunched up and his lips curled as he smiled.  “‘Cause I can tell you wan’ it.”

The men snickered at you and your eyes welled with water once again.  They had you trapped, outnumbered, and completely helpless.  You didn’t have much recourse, but you had one very mediocre idea.  

Looking past Koner’s shoulder you squinted towards the far edge of the woods.  “What’s that?” you wondered aloud. 

Koner scoffed, turning his head back over his shoulder for a second.  “Eh?”

“That, there!” you pointed.

“I don’t see nothin’!” he shouted.  “You’re just pulling a trick.”

“No, really,” you insisted.  “Can’t you see it?”

Henk turned to look, too.

“It’s right there, don’t you see it?” you encouraged them.

Koner turned partly to the side, crossing his arms as he craned his neck forward a bit.  That was when you spun on your heel and made a break for it.

You heard them curse and start after you only a second later, but you prayed it was enough of a head start.  Guards like them spend the vast majority of their days standing still or patrolling at a walking pace— maybe they were just out of shape enough, as well as weighed down with armour, that you could get back to the road before they did.  You were so fucking tired of running, you’d been running ever since you broke out of that carriage, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

For almost a minute, you had the lead on them.  It was only when you tripped on a root and stumbled that it started to fall apart.  You could hear them calling after you, and their voices were closer and closer each time; you made a sharp turn, and then another, and suddenly as you swung around a tree, Henk appeared before you and you yelped in shock.

Koner was behind you the next second, pulling you down to the ground with him.  “Thought that would be funny, didya?” he snarled as he pinned you, and you started to scream out for help in case somebody was nearby; a gloved hand over your mouth made quick work of that.  “What happened to those manners, little lady?”

Though it took quite a bit of force through the leather, you bit down on the hand over your mouth.  Koner yowled and pulled his hand back, only to bring it back down a second later in a hard smack across your cheek.

“You little bitch!” he sneered, reaching to his belt and quickly unsheathing a small dagger which he pressed up to your neck.  You stilled, shutting your eyes— which pushed tears down your temples— and willed your heart to not beat so loudly as the blade put terrifying pressure right on your pulse.  “That’ll keep you still, won’t it?  Don’t move.”

You heard him make a nasty sort of noise with his throat, just before he spit right on your face.  It landed just on the side of your mouth and you made a noise of disgust through your grimace.

“C’mon, lick it up,” he taunted, and you fought to turn your face enough to get it off, but the blade on your neck made it too dangerous.  “Not that fucking hard— open your mouth.  Stick your tongue out.  And lick. it. up.”

Though it made you feel nauseous, you hesitantly reached your tongue out over your lips and pulled his spit inside; you were worried you wouldn’t be able to get it down without retching, but it slid down your throat all too easily— though you did start to cough a bit.

“Mhm, that’s a good girl,” he grinned.  “Now lift your skirts up for me.”

You shivered again.  The other guard was still standing there, watching it all rather closely.

“Come on, then, haven’t got all day,” he warned as he pressed the blade harder against your skin.  One slice and it’ll all be over… even with that motivation, it was nearly impossible to convince yourself to reach down and start gathering your dress in your shaking hands.  Still, you did, and he watched you do it with a smile; the air was even colder as it hit your legs, and it felt freezing on your thighs.

He ran his gloved hands over your skin, up higher and higher under what little of your skirts was left below your hips— you closed your eyes and sighed shakily as he started to part your legs for you.

“Mm, pretty thing,” he praised quietly, and you yelped a little when he grabbed your inner thigh roughly.  “I’ll take the dagger away if you promise to be good, alright?”

Letting out a slow breath, you opened your eyes and looked up at him, waiting for him to take the blade off your neck already.

“You’ll be good?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you said.

“Promise.”

“I promise,” you replied through gritted teeth, “to be good.”

Finally, the metal against your skin was gone and you could almost relax.  Still, the knife was on his belt again— and you doubted you’d seen the last of it.

He hummed, looking down between your legs again as he started to move his gloved hands around your lower lips, teasing you with the threat of finally touching your opening.

"Never had upper-class cunt before," he smirked.

"You think it's different?" Henk wondered.

"Guess we'll find out."

Koner began to push his trousers down— you weren’t looking, but you heard the sound of it, of fabric against skin as his little sigh of relief as he let himself free.  

“Open your eyes,” he requested.  “Want you to look at it.”

You shut your eyes tighter and turned your face away.  

“Thought you were gonna be good, huh?  Be a good little lamb for me?” he grunted.  “Look at it or I’m getting the knife again.”

You fluttered your eyes open and glanced down, seeing him sat back on his legs between your own— and poking out from under his tunic, wrapped in one of his gloved hands, was a thick, leaking cock with precum already running down from the tip over his foreskin.  He was carefully stroking himself, watching you with dark eyes, and each movement of his hand made skin slide over the ridge of his head; your eyes couldn’t help but drift down to his hairy, heavy balls, even though they made you grimace.

Your desire to resist was renewed, slightly, as you came to understand that all of that was going to have to fit inside you.

“You won’t hurt me, will you?” you asked quietly, and his teeth shined as he grinned at you.

"Heard they make you ladies keep chaste so you can marry, is that true?" he breathed, laughing when you only whimpered in reply.  “Oh, lamb… yes, I’m gonna hurt you, then.”

His gloved fingers toyed with your pussy, just barely poking at your opening as you whimpered.

"This little maidenhead you're saving for your husband… I could be your husband, little lady,” he gave you a tilted smile.  “I bet you would like it, too.  I bet you'd like it even though I'm just some common soldier... whores like you just wanna be fucked right."

“My father…” you panted, “will have you killed…”

“Your father,” he returned with a sneer, leaning down closer to your face, “will have a worthless fucking daughter now she’s been sullied.  I’m more worried for you than I am for myself.”

He took his glove off with his teeth and tossed it aside before he spit onto his hand, smearing it over his cock quickly as he stared down at you.  

“S’waste, really, you’re such a pretty thing,” he praised roughly, “and a pretty cunt, too.  Can’t wait to ruin it…”

You were already fighting back a cry when you felt the head of his cock press up against you, but when he started to try to force his way in— and failed— it was even worse.

“Shit,” he grumbled, pulling back and spitting again onto himself.

“It won’t fit,” you tried to tell him, hoping he’d give up.

“Shut up,” he hissed, and you must’ve angered him enough to convince him to really give it his all this time— he punched his hips forward and your body gave way, a scream pulled out of your lungs by the pain of being torn open. 

"No!" you shrieked instinctively, but it was useless and weak.  "No, no, no…"

"Don't fight it, little lady, you're just gonna make it worse for yourself," he grunted.  "Shit, you are tight.  Feels so fucking good— love breaking in virgin cunt."

You started to reach up to try to push him away, or claw at him or something, but right as you did it he pushed into the very end of you and your fists clenched; you grabbed handfuls of his tunic, making him smile down at you.

“Not even all the way in yet,” he informed you, and you thought for sure then that he was going to kill you doing this.  “Too big for you, eh?  Aw, don’t cry so much, you’ll fit it all— this is what your little hole is made for, little lady, it's made to be fucked."

Certainly didn't feel that way, not while you were sobbing in anguish on the cold, hard ground.  He pushed in deeper, groaning when his hips were flush with yours, and you screamed for just a second until your voice broke.

"Hurts so much now but in a few minutes you’ll be beggin’ for more, I bet," he purred.  "You think you're too good for it cause you're a lady, huh?  Well us filthy smallfolk fuck better, you'll see."

"Am I bleeding?" you breathed.  He pulled back just enough to look down and see the stain you'd left on his cock.

"Just a tad, don't worry, that's normal for your first time," he assured, "or when a tiny little girl like you has to take a fat cock like this."

He panted as he picked up the pace, fucking into you hard and staring down at where his cock filled you.  You cried and shuddered, legs shaking as you waited for the pain to stop.

“Fuck, s’good little pussy you’ve got,” he grunted, pushing so deep that you were forced to choke out a loud cry.  “Oh, so little— can’t take it all?  Fuck, m’gonna make you take it.”

And he did— he pinned you down at your hips and pressed himself right up against you until his pubic bone and the patch of hair there were grinding roughly on your clit.

“Please!” you sobbed.  “Please, please, I can’t—!”

“Yeah, you can,” he insisted, “just keep your legs open— fuck, you like it, don’t you?”

He was laughing at you, proudly, as he kept rocking his hips, never pulling out very far to make sure you didn’t get even a moment of relief.  “It��s— it’s too much,” you panted, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of you; every time you tried to fill your lungs, his cock hit deeper and the sharp pain inside you kept you breathless.

“Mm, guess my cock really is too big for you,” he purred, “poor thing.  Is it hurting you?”

You nodded feverishly, hot tears rolling down your temples as you bit your lip.

“This big cock’s hurting you, yeah?” he repeated.  “You want me to stop?”

You nodded again.

“Hm,” he groaned lowly as he pulled back.  You were so delirious, you really thought there was a chance that he was going to pull out and leave you be.  But when his cock was halfway out of you, he slammed back in.  

Only a few moments of your scream got out before your voice broke and it was just a pathetic wheeze.  After that, his speed and aggression were ruthless— every thrust was right into the end of you, and they came so fast that you never got a chance to recover from the last one.  He leaned down over you and covered your mouth, muffling your cries— though they were far from silenced— as he pressed his cheek to yours and breathed heavily by your ear.

“Can’t act like you hate it when you’re this fucking wet,” he reminded you, “you’re soaking my cock, little lamb.  You feel that?  Can you fucking hear it— this desperate, whore cunt you’ve got, listen to it, listen…”

There was a filthy, sickening squelching noise echoing through the trees, and until then, you were so numb that you hadn’t considered it was coming from you.  

“Yeah, you can hear it, can’t you?” he grinned.  “Nasty fucking slut.  I know you fucking love it— yeah?  You like getting fucked on the ground, don’t you— you like getting put in your place?”

And in case his meaning wasn't clear enough already, he continued.

“This is your place, little lady,” he whispered, “under me, getting my cock wet.  Getting your dirty little hole fucked open.  S'what stuck-up little whores like you get.”

He rocked his hips harder, faster; it stung, not quite as badly as it had in the very beginning, but still enough to make you bite down on your own teeth to avoid whimpering too loudly.  “P-please,” you heard yourself choke out, though it’s hard to say what exactly you expected him to do for you now.

“Mm?” he groaned, not paying much attention to you— he wasn’t even looking at your face, he was looking down at where he was splitting you in two.

His hand reached up and pushed your dishevelled skirts out of the way, grabbing onto your thigh before it found its way to the sensitive skin of your stomach, just beneath your belly button— and he pressed down, hard, until it seemed to knock all the air out of your lungs.  

“Feel that?” he chuckled, even though you obviously could considering you had started groaning lowly and clawing at the ground beneath you.  He pulled out, which provided much less relief than you expected, only to grab your shoulder and turn you onto your stomach.  Gone totally limp, you didn’t do much to fight it, except that you tried to move your arms out of the way so you wouldn’t lay on them.  

His hand landed on the back of your head, shoving your face down into the dirt and leaves.  The other hand was smearing a little more spit on your opening before he pushed inside you again.

"Fuck," he shouted, "still nice and tight for me.  And you cry so pretty for me too, little lamb.  Sound so cute when you scream…"

The hand on your head released its force on you but didn’t pull back, instead brushing over your hair as if some sort of twisted attempt to soothe you.

“Pretty little braids,” he grinned as he toyed with your hair, experimentally tugging on them.  When he let them go, you whined and dropped your head, not caring that your forehead was in the dirt— you had no strength to hold your neck straight anymore.  “One of your maids do these for you?”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice that you never answered, too busy moving his hand down to grip your hips again— he needed the leverage, driving himself into you even harder as you whined and tightened your hands into fists.

"I bet you had fantasies just like this," he grinned.  "Watched the soldiers from your window and touched your little cunt, wishing one of them would bend you over and make a proper woman outta you?  Oh, I can tell you wanted this, you're gettin' tighter on me."

The fingers around your hip dug into the tender flesh, making you whine and wish you had the strength to writhe away; but you were weak, so weak and exhausted and drained of all spirit.  You didn’t even have the strength to speak anymore, or to cry, only to breathe heavily and hear the rasp of your sore throat.

"You fucking wanted this," he insisted again, breathing through his teeth.  "You wanted to be fucked like a cheap, filthy whore."

He started to fuck you faster and you sobbed loudly— it was too fast, too deep, it made you choke on air as you made fists above the ground.

"Oh, this is how you like it, hm?" he smiled for a moment.  "You like it rough, little lady?"

"No, please no," you begged, when a tug on your braids made you realise he expected an answer.

"You like getting your tiny hole stretched out by cock, I can tell— I think you'll be coming back for more, won'tya?"

He laughed proudly as you shook your head, even though the question didn’t merit much of a response; you sobbed a little harder, watching your tears soak the earth beneath you and turn it from deep brown to pitch black.

“You want it every fucking night now, yeah?” he continued.  “Once cunt gets broken in, it gets greedy— nasty slut like you’s gonna need to be stuffed with cock all the time to be satisfied."

You heard a deep chuckle from the side and suddenly remembered that, as if this all weren’t humiliating enough, his partner was watching at all happen.  You tried not to imagine what he must be seeing, your limp body shoved down in the dirt and violated like this; you tried to imagine anything else but how it felt to be held down, or talked to this way, or filled so deep it made your eyes roll back.

You tried to imagine anything but the reality that, in some horrible way, pleasure was starting to gather in your gut.  Like drops in a bucket, it filled so slowly that you didn’t notice until it was too heavy to carry.  Koner noticed, though, especially when your next weak cry sounded a little different— a little deeper, a little more desperate, a little less pained.  “Uh huh,” he laughed, “knew you liked it— you wan’ a little more, love?”

He shifted his weight around, apparently finding the leverage he needed to fuck you so hard and deep that your legs kicked and your toes curled, all the air in your lungs evacuating with a loud, high-pitched sob.

"Yeah, fuck, scream for me," he encouraged, "don't worry, nobody's gonna hear you but Henk and I."

If only you could stop, if only the screams wouldn't come anymore so he wouldn't get the satisfaction; but the tip of his cock was slamming against a wall deeper inside you than you thought possible, and your eyes were screwed shut tightly as your face striped with hot tears.

He panted heavily as he fucked you, hands squeezing your hips rhythmically.  “Fuck, cunt’s all wet for me, little lamb— just for me, hm?  I know this is exactly what you fuckin’ needed.  C’mon, say it then—” he tugged hard on your hair, wrench your head back— “say you need me.”

“No,” you refused thinly.

“No?” he laughed.  “That’s not a word you get to use with me, lady.”

“I won’t say it,” you insisted.

“I've got a dagger, forget that?  I could kill you,” he reminded you.

“If I’m dead then you can’t fuck me,” you explained.

“Who says?” he grinned, and you felt sick again.  “You’ll stay warm for a few more minutes.  That’s all I need, anyway.”

He started to laugh as your lip quivered.

"Now now, don't cry, little lamb," he cooed, "that'd just be a waste of a pretty face and a sweet little cunt.  You know I won't hurt you if you just do what you're told."

And with three words, you gave away whatever illusion there was remaining of your dignity.  "I… I need you," you choked.

"Need me to fuck you just like this, little lamb?"

"Yes…" you whispered, "yes."

"See?  I told you you would like it," he explained.  "Told you cunt's made to be fucked and it feels good.  But you didn't believe me, did you?  Now look at you: you're spreading your legs because you want more.  You're about to scream my name because you love it so much.  I told you, little lady.  You're a natural whore."

And you couldn't help but believe it, now, considering there was a pleasant chill running up your spine, something erotic about the stretch and the humiliation and the sensation of being watched.  The pain had all but faded inside you, and what was left of it only served to heighten your senses more; you'd never felt pleasure like this before… you'd never felt anything like this before, actually.

"All you royal bitches are, huh?" he went on— the man sure could monologue.  "Dirty fuckin' whores.  Just need some cock to settle you down."

You weren't exactly royal— but maybe to him, you were; the difference was negligible at a certain point.  Whatever you used to be, you were nothing now, and he was treating you as such.

"Hng, fuck— I think I'm just about ready to give you my seed—"

"No," you gasped, "not— please, not inside.  Don't finish inside me."

"Well, where else am I gonna do it?" he laughed.  "This wet little cunt's been begging to be filled since you first saw me, hasn't it?  Did you get all sticky when you saw the big strong guards coming to rescue you?"

You shook your head before you rested it on the ground and whimpered out your little sobs.  "Don't, please— please please…" you repeated, with nothing else to say.

"If you don't want your cunt filled I could always fuck you in another hole, little lady, how about that?  Would you prefer to have your little arse fucked open?"

You tensed up— everywhere.  He must have felt it, and you heard him laugh a little.

"Mm, that's what I thought, so be a good girl and shut your fucking mouth."

His speed was relentless and ruthless, the friction would've been unbearable if it weren't for how humiliatingly wet you'd become.  His grunts above you grew louder and louder; you could just barely see his face in your peripheral as your cheek laid on the ground, redder than before, curly hair sticking to his forehead from sweat.

"Shit— shit," he hissed under his breath, "fuckin' tight…"

He pushed so deep that your throat clenched; one, two, three more times before it all came to a stop.  He nearly yelled as he finished, his face contorting and wrinkling up all together for a second while he bared his teeth, before he suddenly relaxed and dropped his head down onto your shoulder.

“Gods!” he spat.  “Haven’t come like that in ages.  Fuck.”

“That good?” Henk wondered.

“Yeah,” Koner panted his reply.

“So can I have a turn then?”

“No!” Koner barked.  “I told you to keep watch!”

“But—” 

“Would you shut it?” Koner sneered at Henk, turning his head to look at him; and you didn’t really care for the feeling of him holding an entire conversation while he was inside you.  Well, you didn’t care for any of this, of course, but this was just another thing you didn’t care for.

Collapsing on top of you, he pulled you back onto your side, spooning you from behind.  You’d been waiting for it to be over with, so you could finally be empty again and he would finally leave you alone— but neither were happening.  He stayed inside you, holding you close, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

Laughing, he wiped the dirt and small debris off your cheek with a coo.  "Aw, did the little rich girl get dirt on her face?  Did she get her needy cunt filled with some smallfolk's spend?  Poor thing."

As you laid there, numb and distant from everything, he continued to whisper to you.  You caught a few things— praises that felt more like insults than compliments, promises that felt more like threats— but for the most part it fell on deaf ears.

You didn't even realize you were passing out until he gave you some firm pats on your cheek.  "C'mon, stay with me," he ordered.  "If I wanted you knocked out, I would've knocked you out.  Stay awake so you can feel it, little lamb."

He hit you again, and you jerked your face away.

"That's better," he grunted, "you're gonna stay awake, aren't you?"

You groaned, trying to stay lucid but struggling.  Apparently, he had another solution besides hitting you in the face.

Reaching around your front and slipping his hand between your legs, he began to toy with your bud.  It was sloppy and far too aggressive, and it forced your sore and exhausted insides to flex; you groaned through your teeth, trying to buck your hips away as the sensation became too much.  "Getting squirmy, are we?  Think that means you're almost ready to be fucked again.  I've got another load for you already, little lady."

"No, no no no," you sobbed.

"Afraid I'm gonna knock you up?” he taunted.  “Maybe I already did.  All I know's you'll look real cute with a little bump right here…"

He rested his hand on the lowest part of your stomach, pressing down which made you feel even more full; you whined and felt your eyes roll back.

"Love to see you with my bastard in you, sweet lady.  Would your father even take you back?  You could come live with me and I'll take care of you, then."

Crying weakly, you whined as Koner licked up one of your tears.

"Y'want that?  Wanna be my pretty little wife?  Fuck you like this every day."

Yes, that was exactly what you were afraid of; almost as much as you were afraid of getting pregnant by this horrible man.  He was right— your father would disown you.  This cruel soldier, the one with his dirty fingers roughly playing with your tender flesh, the one with his cock throbbing inside you, might be your only hope if you were left with child after today.

"Yeah, I'll keep this cunt full, hm?  And you'll keep your legs spread for your husband," he continued with a devilish smile, "'cause I know you ladies get taught about how to be a good wife.  How to serve and please a man."

His arm slipped under your neck, wrapping around your chest and holding your shoulder tightly.  It kept you still as he forced himself deeper again, and he stopped rubbing you for a moment so he could squeeze your hip and force your back to arch; he found just the right angle to slide into that one place again, the one that made it impossible to keep quiet.

"You love it, don't you?" he whispered right up to your ear.  "You love being fucked in the woods like the filthy breeding bitch you are?  You love the way I fuck you?"

His tongue was on your cheek again, licking away more of your tears.  You tried to shake your head, but he pulled your hips back and kept himself sheathed completely in you; grinding his hips, you felt his heavy, firm balls rubbing against your bud.  The coarse hair covering them was far too rough on your sensitive, swollen flesh, and you whimpered loudly— it was a sharp feeling, something past pleasure but more bearable than pain.  It made your legs quiver and your toes curl.

"All this come so deep," he remembered with a purr, "got so much for you, love.  Been backed up for weeks cause'a little whores like you, acting naughty and playin' hard to get.  But you weren't so hard to get, huh, little lamb?  Just had to catch you, and now you're all mine."

It took you this long, but you finally realised that he wasn't going to let you go.  Maybe someday he'd get bored with you and dump you back in the woods to starve or flee, but for the time being, he was determined to get everything he could out of you— or, maybe in this case, get everything he could into you.

"Gods, you'd be pretty pregnant," he grunted.  “Tell me how much you want my little bastard in you.  Wanna be full and bred, little lady?”

"No…" you sniffled, earning a smack on your cheek that stung for a few seconds afterwards.

"Don't fuckin' talk back to me, little bitch," he warned, "meant what I said— I could kill you.  Now play nice."

He kissed the place he'd just hit, stroking your thigh comfortingly— well, he was trying to be comforting, but it was just unsettling.  Your walls were clenching rhythmically as pleasure started building again, the curve of his cock rubbing against a place inside you that made your back arch of its own accord.

"C'mon, do what you're told," he sighed quietly.  "Tell me you wanna be full and bred by a big strong soldier like me."

"I… I wanna…"

Your mouth fought against the words as they tried to come out— you weren't much of a liar, but even still this was a hell of a lie to try to spit out.  Apparently Koner lost his patience, and his fingers suddenly and painfully pinched your clit.  "Say it," he demanded.

"I wanna be bred!" you yelped, and he smiled against your neck.  You thought he was going to let go, but he didn't, and your body writhed to try to escape from the sensation.

"Mm, tighter when you fight it," he observed with a pleased moan, pinching you even harder until you cried loudly.

As excruciating as it was, you knew you were reaching your breaking point— all this pain and pleasure and fear and disgust was just bubbling up and about to spill over, about to make you do the unimaginable as this horrid man turned your body into his plaything.

"Beg me for it," he grunted.  "Fucking beg me."

"P-please," you choked.  

“Louder.”

“Please!  Please…”

“Y’remember my name, don’t you?”

“Koner,” you breathed, and he groaned as he kissed under your ear.

"Shit, m'gonna come again," he panted, smiling proudly.  "Look what your cunt's done to me, little lady, you're gonna have me drained by the end of the night, aren't you?  This greedy cunt wants every drop."

He stopped pinching your bud just to give it a smack with his hand, making you jolt and choke.  He did it again and your hands grabbed his arm, but he was just so much stronger than you.  "Please!" you sobbed again, and you were ignored and silenced with his other hand over your mouth.

"You can really do it twice?!" Henk noticed, equal parts impressed and concerned.

"Yeah, if I've got a whore like this to play with," Koner answered.  "Gods, need to empty my balls in this pathetic royal bitch.  Hng, little cunt's milking me… fuck."

It was the beginning of the end, waves of intense pleasure crashing over you harder and harder and harder— and with a sob muffled by his hand, you felt it finally snap.

He growled, truly growled right behind you as your legs shook uncontrollably and your teary eyes rolled back.  "Sweet mother of— y'coming, little lamb?" he realised with a low, gravelly voice.  "S'that what I feel on my cock, you're coming for me?"

He fucked you faster, making it unbearable sensitive inside you, and leaned back to get a look at where his cock was slamming into you.

"Oh, you creamed all over me," he laughed, "messy bitch.  Fuck, you're gonna love what I've got for you, nasty cunt."

His own noises got louder, deeper, yet needier, as he kept up the speedy pace.  The rhythmic, wet clapping of skin on skin made you realize just how well you'd soaked your thighs and even his, your slick arousal and his sticky come spreading everywhere.

"Jus' take it," he ordered against your ear as your neck craned back to push your head into his shoulder.  "Take it, c'mon— it's all for you, all this come for you and your needy little hole."

There wasn't any other option but to take it, but to shut your eyes and feel the numb heat, that stinging feeling— sort of like when your skin's still cold while you dip into a steaming hot bath.  It was inside and out now, it was throbbing like a headache that had spread through your entire body.  You knew he was finished when he finally stilled and sighed, his grip on your shoulder and hip both relaxing.

He took gasping breaths against your neck, and you could still feel a pulsing where your bodies were joined, but you weren't sure if it was him or you.

"Good girl," he offered quietly, suddenly pulling out as you hissed from the instant soreness.  You felt his hands on your thighs and bum, and you blinked open your eyes to see him getting a good look at the damage he'd done between your legs.  "Mm, yep— hole's all stretched out, but you're not bleeding too bad.  Could've done a lot worse to you… should be thanking me, really."

He smacked your ass and you whimpered.  "Th-thank you," you mumbled sleepily, shutting your eyes again.

You heard them laughing, but it was distant and fuzzy in your ringing ears.  You felt arms around you and you were lifted off the ground, but on your numb skin it was hard to tell the difference at times. 

"People will be looking for her," Henk's voice was almost clear through the fog.

"They won't find her here," Koner replied.  "She'll be safe in my quarters… nobody's gonna be looking there."

Safe.  It almost sounded nice.

[scarletslxt]

god i love them

This Is Wrong - Pt 12

pairing: stepbro!eddie x fem!reader

summary: its just you and your mum, living your normal little life together, your dad a fuck off drunk. one day, your mum tells you about her new boyfriend. your instantly over the moon, glad shes finally finding herself again and opening her heart. he proposes, and you give them you biggest blessing, and they ask if you wouldn't mind if his nephew moved in for a while, since rent was tight at the trailer park. you had always wanted a sibling, so you gladly agreed. what you didn't know, however, was that the said nephew, was your dealer Eddie Manson, the guy you secretly had a burning desire for.

warnings (18+): reader is 18, phallic images, super perv eddie, masturbation, low key stalker vibes.

part 11 part 13 coming soon

Eddie climbed out of bed, it was four am, and he had no idea why he was awake now, but he was. he went to use the bathroom before walking back to your bed, but his eye caught your bookshelf, and he couldn’t help but snoop. he squinted, looking for the book you had pulled out before. he found it and walked over to your desk, flicking the little lamp on so he could see. he opened it up and pulled out your fake ID. it was very cute, he thought… the name Lilly McKinnon was a little out of character… and apparently you were English. he placed it back and pulled out the pregnancy test that struck his interest before. he riddled with it a bit, before noticing something written on the back, ‘06 July, Eddie & me’. he grinned and bit his lip, looking over to you asleep in bed as he did. he put everything back carefully, adding in an extra joint from his lunchbox, since you were low, and put it back on the shelf. he walked back over to the desk to switch off the light, but something caught his attention. in one of your sketchbooks, there was a loose piece of paper sticking out with soft red and blue water colour splashes on it. a tester page. but he was intrigued. he knew he shouldn’t look, it was your ‘personal’ book, and he’d never want you going through his song book. but he just couldn’t help himself. he needed to know what you were always drawing that you felt the need to hide it from him. it couldn’t be worse than the copious amount of filthy lyrics he had written about you. he hesitated, looking over to make sure you were still dead asleep, and he flipped the cover open.

first page, a bright picture of him smiling, hair blowing soft in the wind, painted in abstract colours. he smiled to himself, and sat down in your chair, flipping through some more. the second page was another picture of him, splayed out in the back of his van. one of their old weekly drug deals. there were plenty like that, a good third of the book was just simple, pretty pieces of art of him. he found it sweet. then, there was a page of his hands, and his arms, detailed, tattoos precise, rings in the exact order he always put them in, his bracelets, and veins. he raised his eyebrow, a few dirty thoughts flooded his mind, but he just brushed them away, he knew you like drawing anatomy. he flicked the page to find a price art of him shirtless, bent over his guitar. one of many, a favourite of yours. next page, another one of him smiling, then him on the couch. then a page full of just his torso and back. you drew his soft muscles, shadows emphasised them, his tattoos to perfection, his v-line, his happy trail, even his necklace. all seven of them in different positions. he found it very endearing, more dirty thoughts in his mind. maybe you watched him too? the next one was him coming out of the shower, hair wet and towel draped around his hips. another of him shredding guitar, eyeliner on. more simple, pretty ones of him. one of him sitting on your bay window, basking in the moonlight, you drew him very well, made him look very pretty. he flicked the page, more of his hands, only this time they were wet, cum dripping from the tips. now the dirty thoughts were allowed. he bit his lip, trying to contain his erection. he turned the page again, another guitar picture. then again, this one was him laying back on your bed, arm over his eyes, your knees just beside him, showing you were straddling him, but there was nothing past his waist. a few more similar, some with your fingers in his mouth, some with hickeys on his neck, some of him looming over you, but shown from your point of view under him. a few more pretty ones. then, him standing softly, looking over his shoulder, his whole body, but completely naked. his eyes widened, he looked at the drawing, then he turned to her wardrobe mirror and looked at himself there. fuck. how’d you make him look so hot? he turned the page, some more of his anatomy, his torso, his thighs, his back, his dick, his hands. he was very hard now, not from the sight of himself (well, maybe a little), but from thinking about you drawing such things. maybe you’d clamp your thighs shut, maybe you’d even touch yourself. fuck. he turned the page to find a drawing of him, leant over the bathroom counter, hair a shaggy mess as he looked himself in the mirror, hand around his cock. you’d painted his cum splashed out on the sink… your sink. jesus fucking christ. another one, Eddie laying in bed, asleep, covers pulled up over his hips, a little drool dripping from the corner of his lips. very sweet. the next one, he was in bed again, laid back against the pillows, head tipped back, bottom lip between his teeth and hand around his cock again, a pair of your panties resting on his chest. shit. he began to rub his cock. he turned the page again, and thank fuck he did, because there was a painting of you, back arched, tits out, his dick buried deep in your pussy, your tongue out, eyes rolled to the back of your head and he had you by the throat. holy shit he was done for. he turned the page again, there, in all its glory was the unfinished painting of his dick. thick and veiny, his little tuft of hair, pre-cum dripping from the tip. it was yet to have all its colour, but shit it was like he was looking at a photo. he pulled the book down onto his lap and lined his cock up next to it, it was literally a perfect match in size.

“Eddie what the fuck, get your dick off my book.” your voice suddenly called from the bed, and you were charging forward to snatch it away, “fuck, you got pre-cum on it.”

he blushed red, feeling a little guilty, “Ah… you can fix it.”

“I told you this was private. how much did you see?”

“All of it.” he smiled, “I can tell why it’s private, wouldn’t want mommy finding that, would you?”

“Jesus, Eddie.” you hugged the book close to your chest feeling violated, “I trusted you not to look at that. I haven’t looked in your song book.”

“I- Im sorry.” he dropped his head, “Really, I’m sorry. i was just so curious… and i didn’t think it could be as bad as my song book—“

“go get it.” you sat up, blank expression on your face.

“What?”

“Your song book. i’m gonna read it.”

his cheeks blushed red, “Uh… I don’t know if you want too…”

“Eddie you just found out I draw you naked on the regular, go get your fucking song book.”

He nodded, standing and walking out to the lounge. he was nervous, you were about to find out just how much of a fucking perv he was. he walked back in and reluctantly handed you the book.

“Those drawings are really good, by the way. you do me so well.”

you blushed, “i know. i have a lot of practice.”

he smiled and looked away, too nervous to see your reaction. you opened up to the first page, nothing special, an angry song about people being idiots. you flicked through a few of the pages, looking for the juicy stuff. you found the song about you, that he played. the lyrics, though unfinished, reflected your prior relationship well. he described how you always wore your leather jacket and smiled at him, handing him the money, letting your hand linger on his for just a second, how he thought he might just have a chance if he tested his luck, but he was too afraid. you smiled to yourself, and Eddie shifted in his seat. you flicked through a few more pages, the juicy stuff.

one called ‘the bathroom’: this song was purely about one little experience he had, where you left the door open slightly when you were drying yourself off after a shower. how, just for a second, he saw your bare legs, your back, your wet hair and soft skin, and how it gave him the hard on of a life time. then, it was about him going into the bathroom once you had left, and rubbed one out, holding your used towel up to his face. your eyes widened and your mouth gaped open. Eddie sunk to the floor, lying on his stomach, face on the floor, pulling his hair around it trying to avoid it all. you just ignored him and continued on reading.

‘Purple panties’: this song was just about a pair of your purple cotton panties. about how they shaped your ass perfectly, showing off your soft curves when you’d walk around in just your panties and a shirt. it described how he snuck into your room whilst you were out and took the used panties from your hamper, and used them to fuck himself. your mouth suddenly fell dry, and you reached for your water bottle.

‘Pictures of you’: this song was about his little collection of pictures of you. ones he’d snapped as you were walking away from your deals, ones of you in your car, ones of you around school, a few of you in your little sports uniform, and a couple he sneaked once he’d moved in, just of you doing normal things. and he wrote about how he jacked off to all of them, each picture stained in his cum.

‘Angel’: this one might sound sweet, but really, it wasn’t. he described the time he’d over heard you singing for the first time, properly, whilst you were in the shower. he thought you had the voice of an angel, so delicate and pretty. he imagined how you’d sound moaning his name with it, and how you’d look in that shower, all sudsy and wet. how he wanted to fuck you up against the wall as you sung for him, moaned for him.

‘missin’ you’: aww, sweet right? wrong. this song described how every time you left him alone in the house, he would go into your room and look through all your things, and jack off in there, even on your things. he’s mark his territory with his cum, let it sit there for a bit and made sure to clear the evidence before you got home. you looked around your room, Eddie was still face down on the floor muttering ‘i’m sorry please don’t hate me’ again and again, you just wondered how much of your stuff had touched his cum before you had.

‘hard’: pretty self explanatory, right? this song just talked about how hard you constantly made him, and how you’d be the constant focus of his masturbation. he honestly couldn’t get off to the thought of anyone else.

‘Should be me’: this song was about the time you had Steve over, and he listened, and rubbed his cock to your pretty little sounds, about how he wanted to walk up there and push Steve away, show him how it was really done. how he wanted to cry because he couldn’t, how good your pretty sounds made him feel, how he found your panties after you’d left, and how he smelt them and got off to that.

‘behind the wall’: this song, like most of the others, was about how he would touch himself, thinking about you and a your pretty little things on the other side of the wall. how he’d imagine you laying there, touching yourself, praying that you’d be thinking of him. how he’d bust in his hand and wish it was yours instead.

‘i know you want to’: this song was about that time, on the upstairs couch, where you were just so close to finally letting him touch you, and then he was cockblocked. it was about how after, he went into your room and got off in it, naturally.

‘between you’: this song was about the time he gave you that tattoo, how he was sat between your legs, between your breasts. how you took off your shirt, how you were wet against him. how it all made him feel so hazy. and of course, how he jerked off to the thought of it.

‘The Godfather’: this song described, in detail, the first time you finally kissed him. and that was it. that was the whole song. just talking about the way your lips felt, how they tasted, how much the whole thing turned him on, how hard that simple little thing got him. how he thought he was dreaming, or being tricked because god you were heavenly.

‘Princess’: this song was about your sex life, primarily about the way your pussy tasted, looked, and felt around his cock. there wasn’t much else too it, just pure hornyness.

and most of them were written before you’d gotten together. you sat there for a moment, no more songs to read, a little unsure of how to go about this. Eddie was still whining on the floor, no, crying. he was genuinely hurting, his heart ached. he knew he was a creep sometimes, a real perv, a horny bastard, but at least no one knew about it, only he did. and now you knew, and he felt terrible, and he was sure you would shun him, push him away, tell your mother to kick him out because he was a dirty little fuck with no boundaries.

“Eddie.” you whispered, “I’m done.”

he lifted his head up, tear stained cheeks. it broke your heart to see him like that. he quickly stood up, reaching for his boxers on the floor,

“I’m sorry, i’m really sorry. i know i’m gross, i’ll go… i’ll- ill try and be out by the end of the month, okay?”

“What?” you asked.

“I’ll try and find my own place so you don’t have to be around me anymore.” he grabbed his other clothes off the ground.

“Eddie, stop.” you pressed, and he froze, “Why do you think my panties were placed so perfectly over the stereo buttons? why do you think i left it on?”

He swallowed thickly, “What?”

“One minuet, a pair of my panties was freshly warn and in my hamper, then i go out, and then when i come home, those same panties are clean and folded in my draw.” she smiled, and he couldn’t move, “you never take them, you just use them and give them back. i was basically giving you a pair, and you still didn’t take them.”

His eyes widened and he tipped his head slightly, too shocked to talk.

you smirked, “How many times have you seen me touch something in here you’ve cum on?” she stood up, walking around her room, “my dresser? my desk? my window bay? these shorts maybe? or this shirt? what about my pillow? have you cum on my pillow, Eddie? did you watch me fall asleep on it hours later?”

He was hesitant, but he slowly nodded. you smirked.

“Show me the pictures. the ones from the song you wrote me, Pictures Of You.”

“Uhm…”

you smiled and walked towards your door, “come on, baby, show me.”

you walked out, towards his room, and he was quick to follow. you opened his door and gestured for him to go in. you settled yourself down on his bed, lying in the centre, your naked body on full display. he reached down behind his headboard and pulled out a little lockbox, placing it on the bed beside her. he then reached into his bedside draw and pulled out a key he had taped underneath. he unlocked the box, and inside laid a bunch of pictures, most stained with his seed, some with smudge marks on them, or ‘water’ damage. you sifted through them, admiring the way he captured you, even if it was borderline stalker creepy… but you found it endearing. you pulled out a ring, you recognised it, you lost it two years ago. you held it up and furrowed your eyebrows.

“i found it in my van one night… knew it was yours. you must have dropped it on one of our deals.” He bit his lip nervously.

you nodded and put it back. you sifted through the photos some more, until you stumbled across a glossy piece of paper. it was cut from the ‘85 year book. your picture, beside one of Eddie, from your musical rehersals, and your writing around it,

I wouldn’t have been able to pass without your weed, Van Halen. hope i get to see you graduate next year x

and beside it, in red lipstick, was the kiss you placed between your pictures. this one didn’t have any stains on it, however, it was a little crumpled and the corners were stubbed, it had clearly been manhandled a lot.

“I remember this.” you laughed, “this was my subtle attempt to show you that I was down to fuck, but I just figured you weren’t interested in me like that when you didn’t come knocking.” you shrugged.

“What!” his jaw dropped, “No way, i thought you were just being nice!”

“Why would i kiss it if i was just being nice Eddie?”

he ran over to his wardrobe and pulled out his ‘84 year book, opening it to the page of his senior home room class.

“Because, all the girls kissed my book in ‘84. i mean, i think it was a teasing thing, because there was this rumour that i never had my first kiss.” he shrugged, “i thought you were carrying it on or something, as a joke.”

you squinted your eyes, taking a deep breath, “you do realise i’ve been flirting with you since our first deal?”

“No i did not…” he closed the book and tossed it across the room, “your too pretty to openly flirt with a thing like me.”

he sat down on the edge of the bed, and you sat up, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pressing your chest to his back, “a thing like you?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, you know…”

“Oh…” you pretended to have a realisation, “A massive pervert.”

he shrunk, “I’m sorry. i really am, i know i’m-“

“Eddie Im trying to tell you that I don’t care that your a perv.” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “in fact, i find it hot.”

he raised his eyebrows, turning his head to face you, “Sorry?”

“Yeah. you need me that badly you have to jerk yourself off in my room. you think i’m that pretty you take photos of me from afar. why wouldn’t that turn me on? shows you want me, Ed’s.”

“I- I do… so much.”

“And just so you know, you can steal my underwear whenever you want.” you winked, “I steal your shirts, it’s only fair.”

He grinned, “I guess it is.”

“Okay, my pervy master,” you sat back, “where’s your stalker cam?”

He quirked an eyebrow and walked over to his dresser, grabbing his camera off the top, holding it up for you.

You sat up on your knees and leant forward, arching your back and stretching your arms along the fabric, “is this a good position to start? you can get some good angles with this pose, right?”

“Ah, i’m confused.” he scratched the back of his neck.

“you haven’t got any sexy photos of me, only stalker ones from far away. don’t you want some like this?” you pushed your ass further in the air.

his face blushed red and he choked on his own saliva, “you want me to take a photo of you, like that… naked?”

“If you want too.” you smiled, “give you some more material for when i’m not home.”

he nodded slowly, bringing the camera to his eye and snapping a quick pick. he pulled the camera back, and reloaded the film, he hovered the camera over his eye again, steeping to the side a little to get a batter angle, your eyes followed him, giving a sexy smirk and putting two of your fingers in your mouth.

“Your my fucking dream girl.” he shook his head and snapped another pic.

[scarletslxt]

I LOVEEEE THEIR RELATIONSHIP

The Penthouse

5: Soother

18+

A depraved group of wealthy individuals own the penthouse in which you live, as well as the rights to your body. You're their very own shared mistress, and practically a human sex doll for when they need a break from their jobs and families.

You always know what Mr. Barnes needs, more than he knows himself.

Content Warning: Scientist!Bucky x Sex Worker!Reader, mature themes, adultery, smut, underwater sex, daddy kink, fluff, soft dom!bucky, creampie, aftercare.

Series Masterlist

Bucky Barnes is the only one of your owners with a regular schedule. He visits the penthouse on the last Friday of every month, without fail.

Usually, he lets you know in advance what he wants, but today, he's given you barely any indication. Nevertheless, you could hear the dejection in his voice over the phone earlier and you know he needs some soothing tonight, so you've decided to give him most favorite view in the world when you open the door for him.

Soapy tits.

His lips part as his eyes immediately fall to your chest. The only sound is the dripping of water as the droplets fall off your soaked body and onto the wooden floorboards. He swallows thickly, not even bothering to make his staring subtle.

"You caught me in the middle of a bath," You tell him teasingly as you step backwards. "Come, join me."

"You're..." He trails off, unable to find the right word to say. Perfect wouldn't be enough.

"C'mon, daddy," You sing, turning around and making your way back to the bathroom.

You get back into the circular tub as soon as you can, sighing with content as the warm water envelops your body. He strips down while you gentle wade your arms, getting onto your knees in the center of the tub and watching the bubbles move around. There are a few clicking noises as he removes his metal arm before he finally climbs in behind you, immediately pulling you onto his lap while he melts into the water, letting out a low groan.

To the world, he's the smartest man in biotechnology, carrying out cutting-edge research in bionic limbs and prosthetics. He's also the recipient of a Nobel Prize, the CEO of multiple charities, and he officially became a billionaire last year.

But to you, he's just, "Bucky."

"Mmm," Is his response as he strokes your thigh. "I'm here, nymph."

Of all your owners, Bucky is the one you feel safest around. He was the first one you met, and he's the glue that binds this agreement together. It's an unspoken rule that he's in charge, and you like it that way. Without him, you fear the others would exploit you. Overwork you. Bucky makes sure that nothing happens without your consent, and that you're always taken care of, physically and mentally.

You turn your head to face him, giving him a small smile. "Guess what I did today?" You ask him excitedly.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as his eyes flutter closed. "Decided to let me try and put it in your ass again?" He questions with a glint of hope in his voice.

"I invested in Barnes Bionics," You tell him proudly, making his eyes open.

"Yeah?" He chuckles softly. "How much?"

"Five grand," You answer, making him snort. His reaction pulls a scoff from you as you lightly hit his chest. "Reggie told me to start small! It's my first ever investment; we can't all be financial experts, alright?"

"You're right, you're right," He says, still laughing as he meets your eyes. "You're so cute."

"Don't patronize me!" You scold, glaring at him.

He makes you forget the last two minutes with a soft kiss, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck as he sticks his tongue into your mouth. You place your legs on either side of his, straddling his lap while resting your arms on his shoulders. He pulls away from the kiss to get a look at you, scanning your face as though you're the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

"Your investment is very much appreciated," He says sweetly, stroking your lower back. "Maybe one day, you'll be a key stakeholder."

A smile pulls at your lips as you rest your hands on his chest. "At least 40%," You add. "You'll have to rename it. Barnes & Y/L/N Bionics."

"Rolls off the tongue," Bucky purrs, moving his hand to your hip. "You can be the beauty to my brains. The perfect match."

"Don't be so romantic," You mutter with a smirk, cupping his face in your hands. "I might think you're getting soft on me."

"Does it feel like I'm getting soft?" He teases as his erect cock presses against your thigh.

"Never does," You mumble lowly as your legs squeeze together.

Bucky pulls you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. Wordlessly, you reach down to wrap your hand around his dick, knowing what he wants without him having to say it. He shudders, watching as you bring it to your entrance. You look up, meeting his eyes and retaining eye contact as he slowly inches into you, making you suck in a breath.

"Baby," He whispers, and his eyes flutter shut.

"It's okay, daddy," You mumble, placing both hands on his shoulders and sinking further down on his length. "Just relax. You don't have to worry about a single thing anymore."

Once you've taken him in entirely, you raise your hips up, leaving just his tip inside you before sinking back down again. He lets out a low groan, throwing his head back over the rim of the bathtub. The subtle scent of lavender relaxes you both while you slowly ride him, up and down, up and down, up and down.

"My God," Bucky whines under his breath, wrapping his hand around your throat. "You're my perfect little nymph, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy," You reply lowly, giving his lips a soft kiss. "All yours. Nobody can take me from you."

"Nobody will ever, ever take you from me," He reiterates, his eyes opening back up as they darken. "You belong to me. The others, they mean nothing. Tell me."

"They mean nothing, daddy," You promise. "You're the one that has my soul. I'll be yours 'til the end."

He moans and it sounds like your name. Reaching forward, he wraps his lips around one of your hard nipples and sucks, letting out breathy moans around it. Your pleasure elevates and your stomach flips, and you can't help but ride him faster, chasing your end.

"Just like that, baby," Bucky praises you with a whisper of a smirk on his lips.

The water ripples smack against your body and spill out of the tub, but neither of you care about the mess - or the safety hazard you'll face when you try to get out. All that matters to you is giving him a break from the stress of being James Barnes, and allowing him to feel unbridled pleasure, free from judgement or outsider opinion. And all that matters to him is keeping you safe, keeping you happy, and keeping you his.

In the penthouse, the past doesn't matter. What either of you have done to survive bears no weight. When you're here and alone with one another, all you see is the person before you. You see a great man, intelligent and ambitious, your carer, your protector. He sees a great woman, intelligent and perceptive, his most prized possession, his nymph.

His cock twitches inside you, stroking your walls and stretching you out. Your g-spot is stroked over and over, and you feel yourself letting go of your physical body and slipping into the mental realm that only Bucky can take you to.

Your face falls forward to rest in his neck and he strokes your hair with his hand. Low groans leave his mouth and whimpers escape yours, meeting in the middle in perfect harmony.

"I'm close," He can't help but spill out against your forehead weakly.

"Me too," You mewl before sinking your teeth into his lower neck and biting him, hard. You'll leave a mark, but you don't care. Neither of you care. He'll find some half-ass excuse and she'll pretend to believe him.

You ride him faster, desperate for release, letting out whiny moans. Bucky grunts when you clench around him before you utter his name, milking his cock as you cum. He growls through gritted teeth while spilling his cum into you, pulling on your hair as he thrusts into you a few times, making sure to give you every last drop.

"Oh, daddy," You purr as you slowly begin to come down from your high, breathing heavily.

"Fuck," He whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. "You always make me cum so quickly, nymph."

Giggling, you meet his eyes. "Sorry, Mr. Barnes," You apologize coyly.

Smiling down at you, he stares at your face for a few seconds before killing the distance between you and kissing you sweetly. The kiss is soft and sweet, thanks to his exhaustion, and your tongues gently stroke against each other.

"I forgive you, baby," He mumbles. "How could I last any longer in a pussy as perfect as yours, hmm?"

"If it makes you feel any better, Tony came in his pants last time he was here," You reveal with a grin, still proud that you manged to reduce the mogul to nothing with just a bit of dry humping.

"That does make me feel better," Bucky says, before patting your ass. "C'mon. Let's get out of here before my dick prunes up."

Ten minutes later, the two of you are sitting on the floor of the balcony, overlooking the New York skyline. The distant sound of cars comes from below, a gentle breeze blows through your hair, and Bucky's arms are wrapped tightly around your waist while you sit between his legs.

You take a long puff of the cigar in your mouth, nodding as you take it out to blow out the smoke. "These are much nicer than the ones you brought last time," You tell him, handing it back to him. "Not as bitter."

"Much more expensive, too," He grumbles, taking it from you.

Leaning your head against his chest, you let out a content sigh. There's nowhere else you'd rather be than right here, enjoying a summer night with Bucky. When you're with him, you feel as though nothing could go wrong. And he feels the same way with you.

"Sam wants to see you on Wednesday," He informs you. "S'that alright?"

"Sure," You reply. "Haven't seen him in a while."

Bucky lets out a grumble. "You know why," He utters bitterly.

"It was an accident," You say, turning to look up at him. "And it didn't even hurt that bad."

"He made you bleed, Y/N," He reminds you with a glare. "How many times have I told him to be careful? Always bringing over a new fuckin' contraption to use on you."

"It's what he's into," You tell him with a smile. "And I wasn't in any more pain than usual. He just accidentally drew a little blood. It's not like I broke a bone."

"Yeah, whatever," He mumbles before taking a long drag from the cigar.

Slowly, you get up and turn around so you can straddle his waist. Leaning forward, you kiss between his brows, stopping him from frowning. You then kiss the rest of his face, pressing soft smooches to his skin, not stopping until he finally breaks and gives you a smile.

"There's my pretty man," You coo, rubbing his scalp through his fluffy hair. "Love me?"

"Always," He replies with his eyes on yours, bringing the cigar back to his mouth. He does have love for you, as you do for him. You tell yourselves it's a friendly love, like the kind between two peers, but you know it runs a little deeper than that. Neither of you would ever admit it out loud, though. You aren't sure you even know how to love. Not properly, anyway. Not in the way that ends with marriage and babies.

"And you?" He asks with a raised brow.

"And I, what?" You retort teasingly.

He uses his metal hand to squeeze your cheeks together, pulling your face closer to his. "Say it, baby," He requests sweetly. "What I wanna hear."

"What you wanna hear?" You repeat with a smirk before giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look. "I'm in love with you, Mr. Barnes. Truly, madly, deeply. Nobody else makes me feel the way you do."

"Mmm, that sounds good," He replies lowly, giving your lips a soft kiss. "My adorable little nymph. Hungry?"

"Starving," You say, grazing your thumb over the hickey you left him. "Will you cook for me, Bucky?"

He gives you a smile, his eyes twinkling as he puts down the cigar and wraps his arms around you. "You're lucky I love you, baby."

bucky masterlist

i no longer have a taglist, but if you follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications, you'll know when i post.

buy me a kofi <3

[scarletslxt]

so excited to read this series!!

𝕚: 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖 (high school sweethearts | eddie munson x reader)

complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist

“𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕦𝕡 - 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖

𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕥 𝕦𝕡 - 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕥𝕪𝕡𝕖” - high school sweethearts | melanie martinez

➵ part one of the ‘high school sweethearts’ miniseries

words || 𝟚𝕜

summary || in which eddie needs more customers, and the reader wants to piss off her parents

series masterlist || high school sweethearts 

a/n || i wrote more eddie! aren’t you proud? ➵ part of miniseries; check the masterlist ^! ➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

taglist || @natashaashleymarvelromanoff @hamartohierophobia (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, comment or p.m. me!)

warnings || angst ➵ some religious criticism (christianity)

eddie munson sat at the head of the hellfire table, his trusty lunchbox tucked next to the magazine he’d been mocking mere moments ago. it was filled - much more than usual - and his usual level of fidgeting had only increased due to his inability to find potential buyers that month. usually, he’d get an influx in those first few days - owing to his regulars knowing that was when he restocked - but, this month, newsweek had unfortunately beaten him to the cut.

he’d read the magazine briefly after dustin had shoved it into his chest with an exaggerated ‘what bullshit!’. although silently against the freshman’s language, he expresses his agreement, as he flipped through the pages. it was an article detailing the ‘heavy’ link between satanic cults and dungeons & dragons, with most of the founding in scattered statistics and incorrect information. nevertheless, he’d treated it as a bit of a joke, muttering that maybe the group were satan worshippers, making dustin smile - his pearls on full display. 

although his initial reaction was nonchalant, he was finding it hard to be so - as he realized that this was absolutely tanking his sales. he’d made a full payment to rick that month, as opposed to an advance - the advantages of a friendship - but he was still finding it worrying as to how he’d be getting his income now. 

he noticed two cheerleaders nearing the table and, gripping his box in some hope, he beams at them. they’re quick to scoff, rolling their eyes as they walked away, giggling a little as their footsteps quietened. he sighed in disappointment, releasing his box and setting it gently on the table. 

god forbid one of these preps learn to do some individual research instead of just listening to whatever their mommies and daddies said. 

speaking of which, he glanced over to the other side of the cafeteria. there - in the sea of people - sat her, her hair tucked behind her ear, the virginal white of her blouse radiant. her smile was wide as she listened to whatever her friends were saying. god, even that smile pissed him off - it was just so sweet, so rehearsed, so fake. 

she was a religious nut - not exactly as bad as carver, but that christian superiority still seemed to fuel her every stride. she was perfect - a beauty that had managed to maintain an innocence. she was sweet, she went to church every sunday, she volunteered constantly, and she was well on her way to a possible valedictorian role. on top of that, she was well-loved by, well, everyone. 

she was, in essence, his antithesis. where she was built in jesus’ image, he was perceived a spawn of satan. where her kindness made her popular, his hobbies made him hated. and, as her religious nature brought really nothing of entertainment value to the populars, her personality gave her a magnificent in with them. on the other hand, one article detailing satanic activity was stripping his role of the only person in hawkins to really get a party going. 

eddie munson hated hating people. it was tiring, and - honestly - a bit of a waste of time. truly, he reserved that pleasure for the worst of the worst: those being jason carver, mrs. o’donnell and her. 

jason was cut and dry: the epitome of everything wrong with highschool; the poster child for forced conformity. it was almost like a gang, the way jason’s ‘us versus them’ mantra worked, with anyone on the ‘them’ side of that spectrum subject to ruthless ostracization and harassment. eddie’d always said he’d love to see the look on jason’s face when the basketball star realized how many of the goons he’d recruited - all of whom outwardly aghast by the metalhead - were willing to make deals with him in the woods behind the school or in the living room of his house. that day was yet to come, though.

then, there was mrs. o’donnell. his reasoning in this case was that the old hag was doing absolutely everything in her power to keep him at the dreaded highschool for longer than she had to. sure, eddie had never really cared much for his education, but if he was comfortably in d- and c-averages in all of his other classes, he’d figured it was a targeted attempt to absolutely stiff him in her class. now, he was just praying that he wouldn’t blow her exams, knowing that, should he get a solid - not good, just solid - score, she’d have no choice put to pass him. until then, he’d still hate her - he was sure of it. 

finally, there she was. he never let on to anyone about their strange relationship, as it would lead to incredulous looks and worried statements. 

‘hate her? how the hell could you hate her?’ and, worse, he wouldn’t be able to explain it, owing to the fact that no one would understand. and, why would they? the sweet, god-loving, church-going, perfect woman could - in their heads - never have a darker side, could she? she could never have a side that would make her look at someone with such disdain and spout hateful things as someone, could she?

well, unfortunately, she did. and, unfortunately he was the one subject to it. it had all started with a few shocked glances in the periods that they shared, spurred on by his all-black look, with chains, rings and imagery to match his taste. then, it was an outward rudeness that she’d shown whenever he’d speak to her, be it ignoring him, shutting him down, or telling him to stop talking to her immediately. he’d only asked for a pencil - did he really deserve all that?

it had come to a head - cementing that the fact that the two of them truly hated each other - when he’d gotten called into the principal’s office. this had occurred a few times before - concern for his grades (something that the faculty had simply given up on since) and, then, concerns of illegal activity (which they couldn’t stick him for). this time, he found her sitting on the chair to the right of the one that the principal gestured for him to sit in. he was - safe to say - very confused, as his leg bounced, waiting to see just what the hell was going on. 

he was quick to realize - after the principal had begun asking him questions about hellfire - that she’d put in a fucking complaint about his club. her argument was that it promoted violence and satanism, and his argument was that of course it fucking didn’t? that had prompted her to pull out newspaper articles highlighting bullshit coincidences, and that had prompted him to implore the principal to take one look at dustin henderson - asking him could that boy ever be a satanist? could he? there was a silence from everyone, and he leaned back. i rest my case. 

they were both told to head back to class, and the principal had confirmed that nothing would happen to hellfire. nevertheless, that had broke the camel’s back, causing him to finally add her name to his very short list. 

as the months passed, though, his hate for her toyed the line between being annoyed and being angry. of course, he wasn’t exactly one to take anything lying down, but he liked to think he was also somewhat a gentleman. she’d never given him reason to hate her - except that one incident - but, he was sure, he’d given her plenty of reasons. eddie munson loved a good quip, allowing his mouth to run just a little too long whenever she’d say something rude or assumptive. it was fun to see that perfect, soft persona crack just a little as she’d have to hide her seethes through tight-lipped smiles and closed eyes. he felt he was justified, never necessarily being rude, just using whatever she’d said against her. 

called him a satanist? shame the principal didn’t think so, princess.

said he was a bad influence? everyone’s a bad influence compared to jesus, princess.

told him to stop calling her princess? so sorry, won’t happen again - sweetheart. 

though - he smiled - he had noticed that she did always love coming back for more. 

she was currently sitting through the most boring date imaginable. y’know the problem with ‘picturesque’? it was goddamn boring - boring, washed out, and predictable. did she predict he would show up with flowers - not even for her, just ones that her mother could put in the vase on the windowsill? of course she did. did she predict he would have some sort of awkward banter with her father, promising good faith and intentions, as well as promising to keep her curfew? well, of course she did. and, did she predict he’d take her to - apparently - the only good diner in town after benny’s shut down, and they would talk about themselves in a way akin to icebreakers done at the beginning of middle school? no, she actually didn’t. just kidding, of course she fucking did. 

she didn’t have anything against him - michael! that was his name! they all sounded the same to her, honestly - no, no the problem was her parents. if she had it her way, she would have given up on these cookie-cutter dates with these cookie-cutter guys ages ago, but she didn’t. her parents had been setting her up on these dates for years now, somehow having an endless supply of church-going, god-loving boys to pick from in hawkins. the town was only yay big, she was still confused as to how they managed to keep finding them. she’d hated every one of them - all the guys the exact same, with the same game plan: marrying her right after school and starting some trade job while she sat at home with the kids. she shuddered - the thought of having kids that she would have full responsibility of with any of these guys made her feel - well, a bit queasy. 

honestly, she figured that she could get an oscar by this point, considering that she was simply an actress in all aspects of her life. she hated her parents, but she still played the perfect part of daddy’s little girl - the spitting image of her mother some 20 years ago. she hated her friends, but laughed through all their corny jokes and their boring conversation. she hated her classes, her grades, her life - finding it all stupid to play such a perfect student when all her parents truly expected from her was to be a housewife who pumped out kids for her loving, definitely-not-demeaning boyfriend-turned-husband for the next 10 or 20 years. 

though, she’d managed to trudge through all of it - all of it, until her support system crashed and burned into the pile of her dishonest life. 

when she’d realized that all the days at church, all the memorized sermons, all the crosses and bibles - all of it was only there to hurt her. she found herself becoming more and more unsure of the truthful nature of everything and anything her parents told her - including the validity of their god. if he was just as they described, why would such a good soul likeherself be so goddamn miserable?

she’d finally realized what it all was, as she found herself at her doorstep, the unlucky boy that she had yet to reject smiling widely as - she was sure - he imagined his beautiful future with her. well, the one he would be allowed, anyways. she’d realized that all her parents really wanted was to have her out of their fingers by the end of her senior year, and she’d been happily hopping, skipping and jumping into their plan, agreeing to every date, agreeing to the ruthless religious rituals, agreeing to every damn thing they said. 

she needed to show them that she wouldn’t do that. that she couldn’t. if they wanted to find the perfect christian boy for her, she’d just have to find the exact opposite.  unfortunately, she knew exactly who that would be.