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ivymarquis · 6 months

Text

A Little Death

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| The author has decided she can't be assed to edit this, Chubby!Reader, Kidnapping, nondescript mentions of torture. Ambiguous mentions of S/A (vague enough you can chose to ignore that part if you want tbh), Reader is traumatized from her ordeal but working through it. Fingering, PiV, riding, squirting, Simon has a moment where he's worried he triggered reader after sex but that is an incorrect assumption on his part.

On days like this Simon can almost pretend he’s normal.

The game’s on, a beer in one hand while the other has been commandeered by his girlfriend with a simple “Gimmie.”

Simon has never been one to worry about his nails beyond clipping them for practicality’s sake.

Having a SAS lieutenant for a boyfriend means she deals with what she insists is Simon’s paranoia and he insists is a healthy level of suspicion about the outside world. Having a nail technician for a girlfriend means every so often she’ll commandeer his hands to ensure they’re up to her standards. As it turned out, adhering to regulations wasn’t up to par for her.

His neighbor is a popular woman.

It sets him on edge, all the traffic. One or two people at a time, usually other women- sometimes with a man in tow, other times not. They show up, they stay for maybe an hour or maybe 4, and they leave. Within 30 minutes someone else is knocking on her door.

Normal men humor their partners about things they don’t particularly give a fuck about when left to their own devices, as an acknowledgment of its importance to them.

And so he sits, beer in one hand as she works on the other. Once she’s finished she gathers up the towel that acts as a catch for the various clips and trimmings before making her move to switch sides, Simon easily acquiescing to her whim.

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” She asks one night. Music plays lowly from a laptop on her patio as he steps onto his for a smoke break. Just because he’s got his vice doesn’t mean he wants the whole flat smelling like it.

“Don’t sleep much anyway, pet. Bit of music won’t change that one way or another.”

Despite his insistence that he’s merely humoring her, he soaks up the attention she readily gives him. When she’s done and tidied after herself she returns with a small bottle of lotion.

He’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she massages his hand. If he plays his cards right tonight he can probably get her to soothe some of the aches and stiff muscles that always plague him. For now he melts as she seems to know exactly what points to hit in his palm and forearm.

It’s domestic and normal and Simon can almost ignore the burner phone he keeps on him at all times.

It goes off at 5am on a Sunday, Simon already awake and having been watching the ceiling fan since 4:30. He can’t fall back asleep but can’t bring himself to separate from her.

She burrows further into his chest as his shifting disrupts her. He’s fairly certain she would crawl inside his ribcage if she could, curl up right next to his heart and never leave.

Simon would gladly let her.

She’s a nail technician, he comes to learn. Sure as shit, he eventually memorizes the traffic that comes and goes on a roughly two week interval. Some of them are steadfast in their appointments. 2 o clock every other Thursday. 4 o clock every other Friday. Others not so much- they come around frequently but the days and times are random after the 14 day mark.

The familiarity of some of the faces takes him slightly less on edge. He will never relax, not truly, but it settles him down now that he knows the pattern.

It also explains why her hands have two completely different designs on each one. Color, pattern, the shape of the nails. Her left and right hand look like they belong to two different people.

Simon doesn’t use social media, for obvious reasons. His little neighbor has formed an entire career for herself based off of it.

But the phone buzzes on the nightstand, an omniscient presence that always hovers heavy in the air.

“Price?” Is all he gives for a greeting. Trying to keep his words short and concise. He doesn’t want to wake her, still under the lull she draws him into without trying.

He keeps his work and his personal life separate with no intention of ever melding the two.

“Laswell’s got intel. We meet in 2 days, back on base at 06:00.”

He is about to respond, both an acknowledgment and a hopeful end to the conversation, when she stretches next to him with a groan of protest at being awoken so early.

“Tell your other girlfriend I said hi,” she grumbles, already knowing it’s Price on the phone and that the clock is officially counting down on the time they have left together.

“You know at a certain point I'm going to just decide you’ve got a whole secret life with a wife and kids and a picket fence.”

He doesn’t want his work to ever follow him home. Not to her. He keeps them strictly separate. She knows he’s military- specifically SAS- and that he works in counter terrorism and that’s about all he’s willing to tell. She doesn’t need to know details. And more importantly the details don’t ever need to know about her.

His past missions have haunted him in the worst way possible. He’s finally rebuilt something for himself as the ghost of a dead man, and doesn’t want anything to ever tarnish what he’s found.

He can’t entirely blame her. It takes a leap of faith to accept the little he offers her. What does he have? A dead man’s name and most likely a violent end waiting for him.

Eventually he does offer a small peace offering. Price is enough to settle the concerns that she hides as jokes. Provides enough credibility that she can let go of the concern that he’s living a double life.

Well, he is. But not the kind that nags at her.

Price knows her; Gaz and Soap know that he’s got someone waiting for him at home, but Simon is already at his limit of how much intermingling he can handle. They’re both compromising, both making allowances for their comfort levels for the sake of the other. But he has to draw the line somewhere.

If Simon had his way Gaz and Soap would be none the wiser, but a night of frantic coupling before he’d left had Simon bearing marks that are incredibly obvious in the changing room.

“Steamin’ Jesus L.T.! You get jumped by a wildcat?” The chortle from the Scot makes it obvious that Johnny is yet again not afraid to push Simon’s buttons.

There’s no denying what they are, nor how he got them. Neither Soap nor Gaz are stupid.

Long, red scratch marks criss cross the broad expanse of his scarred back. He certainly hadn’t complained when his lovely girl had left her mark on him- those nails dragging across his skin had only encouraged him as his hips clapped wetly against hers, hands gripping her knees as he pressed them to her shoulders.

Most nights he is soft and gentle and strokes her skin while his lips press either in her hair or the soft expanse of her neck. He doesn’t roughhouse her tonight, but the knowledge he’ll be gone for weeks and tonight is their last together for the foreseeable future?

Well, the pair of them are a bit amped about the impending separation. It’s a good thing neither of them are particularly known for their good sleeping habits, because there’s not a lot of that usually happening on the nights before Simon leaves.

Leaving without waking her up is an impossible task but he tries anyway.

Whereas Simon finds sleep difficult to achieve and eventually sleeps like the dead once he finds it, she drifts readily enough but will wake at the drop of a hat.

Usually she’ll settle soon after. Eyes following his form in the dark, waiting expectantly for him to come back after he dresses to kiss her goodbye.

They carve out a routine for themselves. One for when Simon is home, and one for when he’s preparing to walk out the door until eventually coming back through it.

His therapist is equal parts shocked and pleased to hear that Simon is taking the leap and opening himself up emotionally to someone.

His therapist is less pleased about the way he simply buries himself in her life when he’s on leave.

Simon is nothing- has nothing- when he is not acting in the line of duty. He is a dead man with nothing to his name and no one who gives a fuck if he ever walks back through the door that isn’t tied to his military career.

He thrives on the stability and schedule on base. On the simplicity of nights spent out on the field. Wake up, piss, dont die, go to sleep. Wake up, repeat.

Some days the only thing keeping him from trying to end it all (again, he bitterly acknowledges) when he’s gotten too far into a bottle of bourbon is his therapist and the thought of his team’s face at the news.

Until, at least, he meets her.

The mission is brief but successful. Simon is pleased.

The deepest of the scratch marks has just finished healing and he’s already missing the sensation of her nails dragging against his skin- and he’s not picky about the context, either.

There have been plenty of nights he’s fallen asleep with his face buried in her chest with one of her hands scratching gently at his scalp and the other tracing in broad strokes across his back.

Of course those nails also feel divine scratching at his abdomen while she is on her knees for him.

There’s a process he goes through when he gets home. It lets him shed the mantle of Ghost- to calm down as much as he’s able and be better equipped to deal with civilian life. Helps him give her the illusion that she is with a normal man who’s not holding onto himself with a death grip, desperately trying to keep the pieces together.

He feels fine when he leaves base and heads home. Everything is normal.

Until he turns the corner and sees the door ajar.

Fear runs ice cold in his veins, hackles raised and on guard.

I’m just being paranoid, he tries to self soothe as he steps towards the door. She tells me all the time.

Course, it was one thing when he gripes about how she answers the door without looking to see who it is. She doesn’t leave the fucking door open.

“Wish you’d at least look at the peep hole before just opening the bloody door,” he grouses into her hair, pulling her in so she’s tucked up to his side.

“If I’m expecting someone to come at 3 and there’s a knock at 3, I already know who it is, Si.”

There are times when he is grateful that she has, by comparison, lived a life where she thinks he is paranoid and needlessly worries. She hasn’t had the experiences he has, and he doesn’t wish that upon her. He’s grateful with the knowledge that every time he’s sent out, thus far, that she’s been tucked away safe and sound until he returns.

But of course the other shoe was always going to drop eventually.

“Price?” Simon doesn’t know who else to call.

He’s standing in the middle of his flat, evidence of an altercation scattered around the living room.

She put up a fight if the state of the flat is anything to go by. He wants to be proud of that at least, use it as hope-

He just feels hollow.

A group the 141 has dealt with prior are the ones all the signs point to. They wanted the team’s attention and by God they fucking got it.

Simon doesn’t understand how they found she has any ties to him. He’s so careful- keeps her tucked away and hidden from any potential cross over with his work.

The next few days are a blur and Simon’s mental health has seen better days.

He resigns himself, even when Laswell gets a hit and the 141 are loaded into a helo, to the fact that at best this will be a body retrieval mission.

Even as Soap gives a reassuring knock into his shoulder- we’ll get her back, LT- as confident as ever.

His sweet girl is dead, just like every other person Simon has ever cared about.

He doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve losing them all. The only ones he has left are his team, and that’s a tenuous state at best. His family was good. They were normal people with normal lives. She is good and a normal person.

Her only sin is being foolish enough to love him.

Some time between getting on the bird and offloading, Simon forces the thoughts in a corner and blocks them off.

Simon, the terrified boyfriend, gives way to Ghost so he can get through this in one piece. He just wants to find her, bring her home and bury her body. He’s numb to anything beyond the scope of the plan he’s formed in his mind.

It’s laughably easy. A fringe group the 141 has had altercations with- she’s not exactly a high profile prisoner. They just wanted to fuck with Simon.

There’s no satisfaction or vindication as they clear the building floor by floor.

He feels nothing.

The further they venture into the building with no sign of her, the pit in his stomach sinks just as far. There’s no sign of anything concrete or anywhere they’d keep a prisoner.

And then there, in a corner of a hallway, Ghost spots it-

An acrylic nail lying broken on the ground, dried blood clotted on the tips.

For the first time in days, Simon feels something.

It’s not hope. He doesn’t dare hope.

But it’s confirmation that she has, at some point, been in the building.

It’s also confirmation that she gave it a fighting chance.

She’s a civilian- nothing much she can do against professional criminals. But she tried and Simon has to find something in that.

They split into pairs down a hallway clearing rooms. Every door that opens only to not have her in it is like a knife that keeps twisting in his abdomen.

Just let him have this one thing.

It’s just as Ghost and Soap have called out clear on another room that he hears Price’s voice call to him down the hall.

There’s only one reason Price would be calling for him specifically.

As he approaches he can hear the captain again, softer this time. Can’t make out what he’s saying but everything feels slow; like he’s moving under water.

As his mind prepares him for every horrific potential image waiting for him beyond the threshold of the door- there’s nothing that prepares him for what he sees.

She’s alive.

Wide eyed and panicked, which is to be expected all things considered, but she’s here and she’s breathing.

Simon forgets himself entirely. He swings wildly from feeling nothing to feeling everything and it bubbles up all at once as he barrels towards her.

He forgets that while she knows Simon is SAS she knows nothing of Ghost. Simon works in counter terrorism, yes, but she knows nothing about the mask.

So after being kidnapped and going through God-knows-what in her absence, she’s got no fucking clue the 6’4 fucker with the skull mask gunning for her is her boyfriend.

The sharp, croaked “Stay the fuck away from me!” doesn’t cut but it does jog his memory enough to know she’s absolutely terrified.

Again there’s that part of him that is proud of her. After everything she’s been through even if she wouldn’t stand a chance in an actual altercation- She’s not huddled in the corner. She looks willing to fight him, until Simon rips the mask off his face. “It’s me, love! It’s me.”

“Simon? What the fuck is that?!”

Rather than scrambling to get away she turns to launch herself at him, a tangle of limbs as they cling to each other and reassure themselves that yes this is real and yes the other is there. That this fucking nightmare is over.

Simon buries his nose in her hair- was so certain he’d be bringing her home in a body bag he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. She’s shaking in his grip, sobs ripping through her as he shushes her gently and murmurs “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you now.”

“As much as I love a good reunion- we need to get going, Ghost.” Price is ever the voice of reason, because Simon’s head is not in the game right now.

He wants to cling to her and never let her go- he needs to pull his head out of his ass.

Price isn’t wrong. As much as he has to fight off the impulse to tuck her against his side and keep her there, they have shit to do.

He won’t truly be able to relax until she’s safely stowed on the helo and they’re on their way back.

It’s a bit easier once he puts the mask on. His brain is trained to focus on work and not let his personal life muddy the waters. Where Simon can’t help but falter, Ghost is dauntless.

Simon can barely string a thought together now that he has her back in his arms. Simon still cannot believe she’s alive and breathing even after touching, smelling and hearing her.

But Ghost can focus on getting her to the helo.

Everything is a blur as Price and Gaz lead with Soap bringing up the rear.

Ghost can’t quite decide where he wants her- keeps alternating between keeping her behind him in the event they get blindsided, that he’ll take any hits that go past Price or Gaz, or getting her in front of him so he can keep an eye on her, and there’s two SAS soldiers in front of her and two behind.

The hostiles in the building wanted the 141’s attention. Mission fucking accomplished.

The ones they chance across are dropped with ease. Simon is no stranger to returning to a location and making his point. Right now he’s got bigger concerns to be worried about.

A knot of anxiety lodges itself on his ribcage as they move through the building that doesn’t unwind until he’s got her strapped to her seat in the helo.

For the first time in days he can breathe. The knot slowly untangles as they ascend.

It finally settles in for both of them that she is out and she is safe. She’s been quiet the whole trek to the helo but Price, Soap, and Gaz have been on enough hostage recovery missions to not be caught off guard as she bursts into tears and buries her face in Ghost’s vest.

It’s finally safe for her to do so, the adrenaline wearing off as she sobs.

For the most part the other three men try to avert their eyes and not intrude.

Simon’s always been reserved about his life off base and watching him soothe his partner is bordering too personal for the others to witness.

It comes and goes in waves; Simon will settle her down, crooning quietly in her ear too low for the others to hear. She’ll stifle her tears for a bit as he soothes her. They go straight to medical after landing to have her looked at. She starts up again while waiting for the nurse to come back, trying to apologize to Simon through choked sobs.

He won’t hear it, softly but firmly brushing her apologies to the side and assuring her everything’s fine now, love. No need to apologize.

He feels physically ill when the nurse delicately asks if she needs a rape kit or screenings done.

The rest of the 141 gives them a wide berth- which is a marked accomplishment because all too often Soap and Gaz are trailing behind him and finding some sort of shenanigans to get up to. Simon is perfectly content with the arrangement. He wants to focus his attention on her and that’s easier to do without the sergeants under foot.

His room on base is much like his entire apartment was before she moved in.

It’s 3am, Simon needs to take a piss and as he’s doing so, he’s not-quite eye level with a sign that says

“★★★★★ -

Would poop here again”

He’s got no idea when or where she found that, let alone put it up, but rolls his eyes good naturedly as he tucks himself away.

Normal people have bathroom decor.

Simon can appreciate a bit or a joke as much as the next person- but while this space is his it’s not something he’s ever felt the need to decorate. It’s a bed for him to crash on in between missions or if he’s too bloody exhausted to safely make the trek home.

There’s only one piece of any sort of personal touch to the room- a framed photo of her.

Simon intends to see her through the next few days- they’ll head home in the morning and realistically there’s only so long John can hold off on calling the boys in again. But the captain says he’ll do what he can to keep Simon home while they settle back in. He’s been due for some leave anyway.

He doesn’t sleep the first night. She swings drastically between being knocked out and jolting awake screaming and crying. Even once she’s gotten over the initial shock of her rescue it still takes time for her nervous system to calm down.

“I’ve got you, love- you’re safe here” he murmurs into her ear as she trembles like a leaf. “We’ll be home soon, yeah? You’ll feel better once you’re in our bed.”

The question is twofold- it is to soothe her, and also to gauge her reaction to the prospect of going home. Simon won’t hesitate to set the flat ablaze if it makes her feel better.

Start fresh.

For now she seems to sleep better if he’s got her pinned up against the wall- the bulk of him a physical barrier to anything that might enter the room.

He’s always slept between her and the door so that’s no hardship- it just takes time to realize she feels safer trapped between him and the wall.

They make it through the first night in one piece, although the next morning she will not stop chewing on her nails. With someone else, he wouldn’t necessarily be surprised- but she’s never been a nail biter.

It dawns on him, as she sits on the couch and bursts into tears, that she wants the nails (or at least the ones that survived the ordeal) off, and is winding herself up too much to take them off the way she knows she should.

Simon goes to her office; he’s watched her enough that he knows the steps and the materials she’ll need, gathering them up before coaxing her to the table.

There’s no interest in redoing them but Simon manages to get the current sets off of her so she doesn’t damage her nail beds- assuming she stops chewing on them (which she does).

Over the next few days he lets her set the pace. She’s jumpy at home and calmer when he takes her out to run errands or just to stretch their legs.

Maybe he will propose moving sooner rather than later. Their building is a shithole anyway.

He puts her in therapy after a week. It’s the only time he’s away from her. Realistically he knows it’s not good to have her so used to always being within arms length or eyesight of him- it’s not sustainable when eventually he will be called back in. But he has no qualms for the coddling he subjects her to while he’s able to. She’s quiet and comfortable with his hovering in a way she’d never tolerate before she was abducted- he figures he’ll know when she’s feeling a bit like herself again when she starts complaining about him not giving her any space.

Knowing she’s got the therapist gives him some security on how she’ll mentally cope when eventually he needs to leave again.

Her bursting into tears occurs less frequently. If Simon has to pry himself away from her to take a piss in the middle of the night she’s not up, back ramrod straight and waiting for him to come back with wet, teary eyes.

As the days tick on, bleeding into months later, Simon idly acknowledges that-short of when he’s on deployment- this is the longest they’ve gone without having sex. There’s nothing else that goes with that acknowledgement- he’s far more concerned with her well being than he is getting his kicks. He’s just taking stock of all their ‘normals’ and prior to her abduction they’d had quite the active sex life.

It’s one day as they’re watching a movie that it’s apparent Simon isn’t the only one aware of their dry spell.

They’re laying on the couch, her back pressed against his front with one of his heavy arms draped across her rib cage to keep her snuggled up against him as they watch the screen in front.

At first he thinks that she’s repositioning- thinks nothing of it and lifts his arm just enough to allow her the freedom to wiggle to a more comfortable spot. She keeps wiggling though and Simon is trying to keep his mind off the sensation of her arse grinding into his groin. Trying to ignore the way his dick twitches in interest, because- God help him- he's not dead and the love of his life is grinding her arse on him. Bodies are going to do what bodies do, and he can feel himself stiffening in response.

“Sweetheart, you need to sit still,” he whispers the plea into her ear.

Her head tilts back towards him and lust jolts through his body at the look in her eyes while she still continues to grind against him.

“I miss you, Simon,” and given how he is rarely further than grabbing distance from her, there’s very few other ways to interpret what exactly it is that she is missing.

He’s a goner when she gives him that wide, doe eyed expression paired with the prettiest “Please?” he’s ever heard in his life.

One moment they’re quiet and content laying on their sides on the couch- the next Simon’s gripping her arm and pulling her on top of him as he settles onto his back. She follows his lead and moves so her weight is settled on his hips as his hands grip hers.

It is no hardship on his end to wait for her- the patience never truly even registered in his brain. She can have as much time as she needs and Simon will give it to her gladly.

But his pretty girl batting her eyes at him and pleading softly for him? His patience isn’t the only thing he’s willing to give her.

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t mean to second guess her or make her question herself but he does want to make sure that she’s not acting on obligation.

“Yes, Simon- Please,” and who is he to deny her?

His hands are on her immediately- pulling her towards him and encouraging her to grind, knowing her sweet clit will light up at the friction of her soft panties dragging across the rough material of his jeans.

His lips find hers, separating only briefly as he hauls her dress up and over her head, happily discarding the material in a heap on the floor.

His hands grip her hips, Simon relaxing into the couch while his fingers dug into the pillow soft skin perching above him. He’s straining against the fabric of his jeans- knows the tip of his erection is leaking clear pre and it’s not just going to be her being the reason the fabric has a wet spot.

The couch is certainly not the worst place to be, his beautiful girlfriend’s tits in his face as she grinds down in his lap with little hitching breaths.

“Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, kissing down her jawbone, the length of her neck and across her collar bone before happily mouthing at her breasts which are blessedly right in his face.

Simon groans in pleasure as he teases one nipple, her sweet mewls and the grip on his hair only spurring him on.

Grabbing a handful of her plush arse, he groans in anticipation while switching from one breast to the other.

It’s been a fair while since his back has been shredded by her nails and he can’t wait to feel the bite of them dragging down the length of his spine.

“Lift up, sweetheart,” he instructs, somewhat loath to release her plump bottom but eager to get her dripping for him.

She pulls up enough for him to slip one hand between her legs. Exploring fingers are quick to spread her wetness, dipping between her folds and dragging back up to circle her clit softly.

“Fuck- Simon!” she whines in his ear.

He knows enough by now what makes her tick. Once she’s all warmed up and ready to roll, that sweet cunt of hers could take a thrashing. But warming up involves feather-light touches to get her squirming and squealing for him.

“Feels good, pretty?” he asks despite knowing the answer in the way her arms wrap around his neck and she sags against him, hips twitching as she lets him tease her.

“Ye-yeah,” she murmurs, and presses her lips against his neck as he takes another pass- finger pulling away from her clit just to draw shivers from her as he traces back down her folds and presses ever so lightly against the entrance on her- just to the first knuckle- and making his way back to tease her clit.

Each pass has her rocking her hips more as he slips more of his finger inside, eventually adding a second that has her mewling and squirming in his lap.

He’s going to have one hell of a hickey from how she’s sucking on his neck, but Simon can’t bring himself to care. Not when his ears are graced with the delightful little noises she makes- whimpers of protest as he pulls his fingers out of her, the shaky inhales as he circles her clit and the trembling moan when he once again slides his fingers inside of her to give a few pointed strokes to her g-spot just to get her shivering and blinking up at him with lust-blown eyes.

“Fuck you’re wet,” there’s absolutely zero resistance now, even when he slides a third finger inside her.

“Please,” she mewls into his skin, hips rocking in time with the thrust of his fingers into her.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.” He’s always found her an absolute delight to tease- she gets so flustered and stares at him with that doe eyed, betrayed look- how dare he make her ask for anything when it’s obvious what she wants.

“Please let me cum,” she pants as her eyes screw up in pleasure while his fingers trace and circle her clit for several passes.

“You wanna cum, love?” His tone is just a bit too soft to be a mocking tease despite the way she glares at him. Spoiled little thing so easily sliding back into her old habits.

“I’m going to bite you,” she grumbles in bemused annoyance, brows furrowing as she tries to follow his hand while teasing her.

He doesn’t doubt his little viper for a second, mollifying her displeasure with three fingers digging for that spot that makes her see stars.

“Oh~,” she mewls against him as he stokes the fires of her orgasm with a vengeance. He doesn’t stop, angling his hand so his thumb can stroke against her clit and enjoying the way she trembles against him like a leaf caught in a windstorm.

“That the spot, hm? Right there, innit?” He rumbles low in her ear, a satisfied smirk on his face as she nods in a big sweeping motion against his neck. “Come on, pretty. You wanna cum so badly? Do it.” he baits.

Mission accomplished.

Fuck he’ll remember the vision of her crying and cumming and trembling in his hold, soaking his forearm and abdomen as she squirts, for the rest of his days. His free hand runs soothingly down her back for a few passes before pulling both hands away from her.

She’s immediately whining against him, upset at having his touch taken away. “Simon, please-”

He shushes her with a kiss to her temple, “I know what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs while deftly undoing his pants and freeing his cock.

It only takes a few strokes, already straining and ready to perform, before they’re shuffling as he pulls and maneuvers her so she’s hovering above him and Oh fuck has Simon missed this as she sinks down on him.

It always takes a couple attempts- he’s not a small man, and doesn’t want to risk injury. Not to mention there’s just something fucking delicious about only giving her a few inches, pulling back and feeding her just a few more. Slow, short, steady thrusts that get deeper bit by bit, having Simon ready to melt into the couch at the bliss of being buried in her by the time she sinks all of her weight onto him, her groin pressing against his.

She’s so fucking warm and wet, clinging to him as she shuffles to get good leverage on top of him to bounce.

Bloody fucking hell does she feel good. “That’s it, pretty. Take it all,” he encourages her while she whimpers above him- if he angles himself just right he can grind her clit against him in a way that has her sucking down air and shivering.

She’s so good for him but he knows there’s only so long she can bounce in his lap- even resting on one knee on the couch and her other foot on the floor so she can shift her weight and give leg a break every now and then, Simon throwing his head back and groaning loudly.

It’s one of the only times he’s particularly verbose- Usually content to be silent and broody unless he has a specific question in mind, the bedroom (or in this case the living room) is the one place where he is a chatterbox. The mouth on him is surreal at times, and while one would think his sweet girl would be use to the filth every now and then he’ll catch her off guard with some particularly out of pocket comment.

For now though, he’s a bit reserved- doesn’t want to go from zero to a hundred out of nowhere.

No, for now his attention is focused on the goddess bouncing on his cock, wondering if he can get her to squirt a second time if he just- he shifts underneath her, changing the angle and fucking hell does that seem to do the trick for her. Swiping one of his thumbs across his tongue before pressing it to her clit and circling again, Simon can’t help the smug look on his face when she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts as he thrusts up into her. From how those pretty thighs are trembling, her legs are about to give out as he fucks into her.

“Simon!” She’s yelping his name with glassy eyes and a clenching cunt “Fuck- Simon! Please-”

She doesn’t have the energy to get herself back up again- poor thing, her thighs must be burning, and he can’t help but be a cocky fuck about the fact that she loves riding his dick to the point that she physically can’t keep going.

“On your back, sweetheart,” he instructs with a light swat to her ass- appreciating the way her body jiggles at the impact.

His sweet girl has done so well and worked so hard, it’s only right that he rewards her. Once she’s on her back he grips her under her knees and folds her legs back- gives himself room between those gorgeous thighs.

“Fuck, baby- please don’t stop,” she pants underneath him, back arching in pleasure as his mouth drops to her breasts again. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck, and he twitches in anticipation at the feel of her nails tracing ever so lightly against his back.

“Not gonna stop, pretty girl.” he groans against her skin, alternating between which nipple he has between his teeth.

Fuck she’s clenching down on him like a vice. He knows she’s getting close; squirming in his grip, keeping her legs nice and spread for him. The feel of her nails reaching down his back and dragging up his spine pulls a groan that would be embarrassing if Simon could find it within himself to care in the slightest. The slight pain encourages him as he cants against her.

“Simon!” The sound of his hips knocking into the back of her thighs is loud and messy. Fuck he’s such a goner when she looks up at him with that sweet expression on her face- pure adoration and wonder in her eyes.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fucking hell, love,” he grunts out, a second wind reinvigorating him when she starts shaking. Those plush thighs shaking in his hold as he knocks the sense out of her pretty head, he’s so fucking close he can taste it but is determined to get her across the finish line first.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he purrs in her ear, “You feel fucking perfect taking my cock. This wet cunt’s all mine, innit?”

All she can do is chant “Yes! Yes! Yes!” over and over again- Simon’s not sure if even she is certain if she’s repeating the word to answer him, or if she’s just babbling because he’s making her feel good and she’s getting close.

“You gonna cum again love? Gonna soak me, hm?” He’s just running his mouth now- knows the shit she likes to hear, reaffirmed by the way she’s shivering in his hold and crying for it with a glassy eyed gaze.

Whatever she is going to respond with is cut off with a squeal. Simon rears back, enjoying the show as she makes a mess all over his cock with her eyes rolled back. He lets go of one of her legs in favor of teasing her clit just shy of overstimulation to prolong her orgasm- she lets him for a time before her hands abandon shredding his back in favor of wrapping around his wrist in a plea for mercy.

“Simon it’s too much,” she laments with teary eyes as he pulls his hand away with a chuckle and a chaste kiss.

He stays curled over her, hips driving into hers. “Tell me where you want it,” he instructs.

“Inside! Please, I want it inside!” Her answer is sharp and immediate, the leg not pinned to her chest wrapping around his waist like she is daring him to even try to pull out.

And fuck there is something cathartic about his orgasm when it hits. Burying his face in her soft body while his hips snapped into hers a few times, Simon groans as his vision damn near whites out for a second.

Simon knows better than most that there’s good days and bad days- and a presumed good day can become a bad day quicker than one can blink. But overall he feels like consistently she’s doing better all around. They take their time calming down, Simon showering her in attention and getting a feel for where her head is at. Praising her for how well she did and making sure she feels stable.

He lets out a breath, feeling confident that she’s settled, having a good day, and everything is fine for now.

And it is. Until about two hours later.

One moment they’re finishing the movie they’d initially started before the impromptu romp on the couch, and then Simon has a 3 second warning of her sniffling as she obviously tries to fight back the tears and then she’s sobbing harder than she has in weeks.

Simon goes from content to concerned in a second, his blood turning to ice in his veins. His immediate assumption is that their prior activities finally caught up with her mentally and now that she’s had time to think it over it wasn’t good. It was too fucking soon to have sex. He should have told her no, should have been gentler, should have-

“Sweetheart? Talk to me,” his voice is tinged with a thinly controlled concern (not panic he convinces himself) and while he means to comfort her, she can hear his tone and that just sets her off anew.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she blubbers, turning to face him. “I don’t know why I’m crying!”

That settles Simon’s nerves somewhat, stroking her back and pulling her close to comfort her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” he soothes her, listening to her sniffle against his shirt after shoving her into the crook of his neck.

“I just want to feel normal again,” she sobs into his collar.

“You will, love,” he assures her- never mind that ‘normal’ is something that even he struggles with on a near daily basis. “It’ll take time but you’ll get there. I promise.”

He’s a bastard for making a promise to her that he can’t guarantee to keep. There’s a part of him that knows that- hell, he’s been working on his shit for years and he still doesn’t feel normal most days.

But while he can’t promise that she’ll ever get back to feeling exactly the same as she did before all of this happened, he can promise that he’ll be by her side and ensure she’s adjusting. It will take time, and work, but Simon will make sure she gets there one step at a time.

#my writing #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #x chubby reader #cw sa implied

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joelslastofus · 3 months

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[SUMMARY: Preoutbreak: Sarah is in college and brings home a friend Joel is secretly attracted to.]

Smut, big age gap

“Don’t you worry, baby girl, you keep those pretty eyes on me, no one’s gonna see us.”

A few months into your freshman year in college you became friends with a girl named Sarah. She was sweet, funny and you both had many things in common. It was finally your first break after months of exams and papers and so you two planned to have a fun night out. Sarah had planned for you to go over her house that evening for dinner just so her father could meet who she would be hanging out with. She warned you about how her father would be asking many questions as any typical father would.

That night Sarah first introduced you to her uncle Tommy, he was friendly just as she had described him to be. Her father, Joel soon came out of his room meeting you all in the kitchen.

“There he is” Sarah spoke playfully greeting her father before turning to you.

“This is who I’ve been telling you about, please don’t scare her off” she whispered to him not noticing the way his eyes lightened up the second they landed on you.

“Nice to meet you, Mr.Miller” you smiled politely.

“Please hun, you can call me Joel” he stretched his hand out to you. Your eyes equally lighting up at the sight of him, you didn’t expect to be so attracted to him.

“You two studying the same thing?”

“Yes” Sarah quickly interjected.

“Just call me when the pizzas here” she quickly pulled you into her room as Joel and Tommy both watched you until you she closed the door.

“She’s cute” Tommy shrugged making Joel look back at him.

“College girls now huh?” Joel responded sarcastically before taking a sip of his beer and walking away. The only thing was, Joel thought you were cute too, hell he thought you were beautiful but he wouldn’t admit it.

“Pizzas here!” Joel called out to the room as you both came out laughing together.

“I want in on the joke” Joel said as he opened up the box of pizza.

“Sorry, dad you wouldn’t get it you’re the past the fourty mark” Sarah teased.

“Hahaha” Joel tone was playful before taking a bite of his pizza.

You sat across from Joel as you ate, you could see his eyes on you.

“So, what’s this party you lady’s are going to?” You looked at Sarah waiting for her to answer.

“It’s a club-“

“A club” Joel raised his brows.

Joel wasn’t used to his daughter partying much, in his eyes she was still his little girl.

“Yes dad a club, you know where women my age like to go and have some fun” Joel cleared his throat a little uncomfortable with the thought just because he knew what was out there. His eyes landed on you making your heart begin to race.

“Do you drink, hun?”

“Dad we’re twenty not fifteen!” Sarah interjected making Tommy chuckle.

“Sorry about that, my brother can be a little-“

“Overprotective” Sarah continued.

“It’s ok, my parents would be the same if they were still alive” your comment catching both men off guard.

“Oh it’s fine, it was when I was a baby. I don’t remember” a slight awkward chuckle escaped your lips followed by silence.

“I’m sorry, darlin’” Joel eventually spoke with sincerity.

You smiled at him and sighed.

“Well this pizza is delicious” you changed the topic quickly as they all agreed.

The next day you and Sarah planned to meet at her job and leave from there until she learned her shift was changed last minute. Sarah would be leaving work later than you and realized she forgot a pair of heels to change into. Last minute she asked if you could pass by her job to pick up her house keys in order to get her shoes for her. It was already eight o’ clock and you were dressed ready to go thinking she would be out earlier.

“Don’t worry, no one’s home you can just walk in and grab my black heels in the closet then we’ll go once I’m off the clock.” She explained over the phone as you pulled up in front of her house.

Once you hung up you entered her house and quietly walked towards her bedroom when you suddenly heard the bathroom door open before you could reach her door. You gasped to see Joel walk out of a steamed room with only a towel around his waste.

“Mr.Miller-oh my gosh-“ you froze unable to move as your eyes wandered down his wet chest before you caught yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I thought no one was here” you quickly looked away as he stood caught off guard himself. In a panic not knowing what to do with yourself, you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you. A black mini dress that flattered your curves, a touch of cleavage giving a peak at your plump breasts, Joel cleared his throat quickly looking away.

“Is there something you need?” He asked covering up his reaction with an irritated tone.

“I’m sorry, Sarah asked me to come by and pick up her black heels for her because she’s coming out of work later, I-“

“Well go on,” he cut you off just trying to get you away from his view before you could notice how hard he was about to be. Quickly running to her bedroom your heart raced as you checked her closet and didn’t find no damn shoes.

“Dammit, Sarah!” You whispered just hoping to finally leave from there. On your knees you checked under her bed not knowing Joel stood at the door way with the very heels you were looking for.

“Come on” you whispered reaching farther into her bed giving Joel the perfect view of your ass cheeks slightly peeking through beneath your dress. Joel stood still silently taking the sight before him, if you were someone else he would’ve taken you in the hall in that very moment….but you were his daughters friend…hell you were only twenty years old.

“Shit” you whispered as you stood up when the sudden sound of Joel’s voice made you jump.

“Looking for these?” You turned to him to still find him with his wet hair slick back, your lips parting but you couldn’t find the words to say.

“Sweetheart” he tilted his head dangling the shoes off his fingers.

“Oh-um yes” you walked towards him silently taking the shoes off his hand as he took a quick glimpse at your cleavage before you could notice. His damp skin glistening from the light in the hall, the two of you trying your hardest to keep your eyes off each other…to keep your hands off each other.

“I better go” you smiled nervously as he nodded still at the doorway. Slowly you slid by him, your breast accidentally brushing up past his arm as you practically ran to the door. Joel stood in silent watching as you walked out and closed the door shut.

“Oh my god” you whispered as you rushed starting your car and driving off as fast as you could.

“You ok?” Sarah asked as she sat in the passenger seat rushing to put on her heels.

“Yeah why?”

“I don’t know..you look weird” she looked at you with a raised brow.

“No I’m fine, let’s just get going”

“Ok, you’re sleeping over my place tonight right?” She asked as she put on her seatbelt.

“What?” You almost jumped at the question.

“Remember? You said you’d sleep at my place after? Girl what’s wrong with you? You definitely need a drink.” She chuckled before you pulled off into the road.

The whole night out dancing you enjoyed yourself yet you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. You were anxious to see him that night, a part of you wanting to while the other half of you wanted to hide away from embarrassment. Sarah ended up drinking a little more than you did to a point where she began to stumble.

“My fathers….gonna kill me” she slurred.

“Don’t worry, lets eat something and get you home.” By the end of the night you had drank so little that you sobered up in time. Sarah was mumbling away things that you couldn’t understand as she walked beside you before getting into the car.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You asked Sarah twenty minutes into the drive.

“Yes, I just want to shower and get into bed” she sighed. Once arriving Sarah seemed to be a little more steady on her feet thankfully, quietly walking beside you she looked through her window to see Joel on the couch.

“Great, he was probably waiting up for me. He’s on the couch watching a movie” your heart sunk not expecting to see him the moment you walked through the door.

Joel looked over hearing the door unlock and watched as you both quietly walked in.

“Wasn’t expecting you two back for another hour” he leaned forward as he noticed you struggled to look him in the eye.

“Hi Mr.Miller” you whispered before finally looking up at him, the two of you locking eyes for just a moment.

“Hey dad, we’re just exhausted. Gonna head to my room, we’ll talk in the morning.” Sarah spoke with a groggy voice as Joel stood up and watched you both walk past him. His eyes couldn’t help but look at your back side when you suddenly looked back at him and caught him checking you out. He quickly looked up yet didn’t say a word, what could he say? Looking away you walked into Sarah’s room and closed the door.

“My uncles probably knocked out already, I’m sure my dads gonna sleep now that I’m home. If you don’t mind I’m gonna shower I reek of tequila.” You laughed and began to take off your make up. You could hear Joel saying goodnight to Sarah as she walked to the bathroom, the sound of Joel’s bedroom door closing before she started her shower.

With a sigh you changed into your oversized shirt still thinking about how Joel looked at you today. Maybe it was all in your imagination, why would your friends father look at you this way?

Sarah warned you she would take a while in the shower and you could feel your stomach rumbling for something small having barely eaten that day. Hesitantly you opened the door to a dark living room and no one around. Tip towing into the kitchen you turned on a small lamp searching for something to eat when you found some chocolate chip cookies.

“Yes” you whispered taking a bite into one with a satisfied sigh. Joel silently made his way out of his room and found you in the kitchen with your back to him. Once again he found himself with the beautiful view of your legs, Joel couldn’t understand this attraction he couldn’t ignore. He knew it was wrong to look at you this way but he found it harder and harder to stop himself.

“Enjoying that cookie huh?” Joels voice made you jump as you turned to find him leaning on the door way with his arms crossed. He wore a navy blue shirt with grey sweat pants that you of course noticed traced the print of his manhood perfectly.

“I didn’t hear you come out, I thought everyone was asleep”

“I’m sorry, darlin’ did I scare you?” He stood up straight and began to walk towards you.

“No, not at all. I just-“ you became distracted with the way he was looking at you listening carefully to what you had to say.

“Look about today, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were home and-“

“Mhm” he nodded as he continued walking towards you to a point that you began to back up.

“If I would’ve known that you were going to walk out like that-“ you noticed Joel cornered you back against the kitchen counter, his body close enough to where you had no where to go.

“Mr.Miller…” you whispered noticing his eyes wandered to your lips.

“Mhm” he looked back up with eyes that you found to be so dreamy you could melt. It was as if he didn’t notice how close he was to you or maybe he did and he didn’t care.

“I um…” you found yourself at a loss for words when he slowly and unexpectedly placed his index finger under your chin angling your face towards him leaning in and kissing you. In that moment you felt something explode within you, your body feeling as if it was lifted up off the ground before you slowly pulled back.

“Mr.Miller..Sarah-“

“I know” he interrupted in a husky voice.

“This isn’t right” you whispered.

“I know” before you could say another word he leaned in again kissing you passionately..this time you didn’t stop him. His hands held your waist and he kissed you more eagerly, a trail of kisses leading to your neck, he felt your body sink against his.

“What are we doing?” You whispered but he didn’t say a word, his lips covering yours when you felt his erection poking against your pelvis. Joel couldn’t control himself any longer, he pushed his pants far enough where his cock was exposed and lifted up one of your legs. The head of his cock brushing against your soaked underwear, he could feel the heat from your pussy calling for him. Joel looked down at you as he pulled your underwear to the side, allowing him to enter. You held your breath at the first feel of his cock beginning to enter you, grabbing onto his shirt tightly. With a crease between his brow Joel kept his eyes on you feeling how aroused you were as he fully entered with a quick thrust.

“Mr-Mr.Miller..” you gasped feeling how big he was inside you. He didn’t say a word, slowly thrusting into a rythm that made you drip down his cock. His eyes never left yours as he fucked you, he knew he shouldn’t have been doing this but it felt so fucking good. You could hear Sarah still in the shower, you couldn’t believe what you were doing. How the hell did you end up having sex standing up with your friends father in the kitchen.

Joel held your leg up leaning his face now against your neck as his breathing grew heavier. Your eyes rolling back with your fingers through his curls, you moaned with him beginning to thrust harder.

“Fuck” he lifted his head as sweat built up making his curls stick to his forehead.

“That feels so good” you whispered breathlessly looking up at him as if you were begging for more.

“It do, don’t it?” He grunted before leaning in to kiss you again. He moved faster as your nails dug into his shoulder blades with each deep stroke.

He caught you looking over his shoulder afraid Tommy would come out at any point.

“Don’t you worry, baby girl, you keep those pretty eyes on me, no one’s gonna see us” he panted.

You nodded trusting his word.

Joel continued to push harder almost making you lose your balance on one foot. You gasped but he held you in place not letting you move.

“I got you, darlin’ you’re not going anywhere” he assured you. You moaned feeling his balls slap against you when an unexpected squeal left your lips as he abruptly pulled out and came hard.

“Fuck” his cum dripping down his hand onto the floor. You gasped leaning back onto the counter as you watched him finish off when the sound of the water being shut off distracted you.

“Shit, she’s coming out-“

“Fuck” Joel still out of breath rushed cleaning up as you ran to the room with your heart racing. Minutes later Sarah entered to find you pretending to be half asleep in bed.

“Sorry I took long” she sighed.

“It’s ok” you sat up wanting to rush to the bathroom.

“Just gonna wash up quick and get back to bed” she nodded and lay back in her bed ready to fall asleep.

That night you and Joel couldn’t sleep, awake in your own beds thinking about what you had just done. Joel had never done anything like this before, not with a friend of his daughters.

What the hell would Sarah think?

Then Joel thought about what must’ve been going through your head. Here you were cornered by a man twice your age and seduced, the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable in any way.

The next morning you and Sarah came out to find Tommy had made eveyone a big breakfast. Joel sat at the table as you sat next to Sarah.

You couldn’t look up, your face down staring into your plate the whole time while Joel couldn’t help but glance at you any chance he could get.

“So how was your night ladies?” Tommy asked making you look up.

Oh your night was just great, an unexpected quickie with your friends father but that’s all. You couldn’t help but think sarcastically to yourself.

“It was fun just never drinking tequila again” Sarah chuckled.

“How about you” Tommy asked you but you weren’t paying attention.

“Hey” Sarah nudged you catching your attention.

“What was it, sorry” You smiled awkwardly at Tommy.

“I asked how was your night, how’d you like tequila?”

“Oh no, I barely drank” Joel looked at you as he ate his eggs.

“Oh so she’s a good girl, maybe you can learn a thing or two from her, Sarah” Tommy teased.

“Uncle Tommy, you shouldn’t talk” she teased back.

“Alright alright, got me there” Joel noticed your mind wander off again as Sarah and Tommy laughed together.

“Hey, you’re off today right?” Sarah looked at you.

“If you want we can do our nails, I got some new colors in my room and-“

“I um-sorry, I can’t. I have to go, I have um-I have somewhere to be” Sarah noticed how strangely you sounded but didn’t question anything in that moment.

“Ok another time is fine” she shrugged.

Joel felt guilty noticing how you were acting and was trying to find a way to speak to you without anyone knowing. As Tommy stayed busy on the phone in his room and Sarah watched a movie in hers, Joel caught you on your way out.

“Hey” he walked towards you by the door before you could open it.

“You alright?” He looked down at you in concern as you looked down at the floor.

“I’m fine”

“Listen, hun I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have-“

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I wanted it as much as you did, Mr.Miller” you looked up at him, your words surprising him.

“That’s why I need to leave…I can’t do this. You’re my friends father and-it felt so good but-“

“But what-“

“I have to go” you quickly walked out not being able to say much more. Joel watched you get in your car wondering if he would see you around again…hoping he would…

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fan fic #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 1 year

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part VI)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, discussions of anxiety, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, protected P in V sex.

Word Count | ~16,400

A/N | Oh you won't be able to move for all the fluff. Cheeky shout-out to @heydreamchild for this post which made me lose my mind in the tags and think about Eddie's relationship with Wayne's mug collection.

Taglist (please don't ask to be tagged if you won't interact with the fic)

Previous Chapter

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You screw your eyes shut instead of watching the ping pong ball continue its high arch over the remaining cups on the other side of the table. You hear it hit the floor, the barely suppressed scoff across from you at another missed shot.

Your cheeks are burning, have been since you started this game. You open an eye to find May smiling at you encouragingly as she lines herself up for her turn. She’s more practised than you. Invited to more of these parties, asked to play more of these games. The ball flies from her hand and lands with a gentle splash in one of the three remaining cups in front of you, her expression now tinged with satisfaction. You can’t blame her, you’d look the same if you were good at any of this. You fish the ball out and sip the lukewarm beer for a second before forcing the rest of it down just to get this turn over with.

“Sorry,” you murmur, handing the ball to your partner and stepping aside to let him take his turn. Safely at the corner of the table, you glance quickly at the clock on the other side of the room. It reads 11:03pm, and you wonder if you could negotiate heading home by eleven thirty.

Not likely.

When you’d walked through the door, shoulders pressed between both your friends, you had yourself convinced that you would have a good time tonight. Tipsy from the white wine your mom let you drink under her supervision, warm with joy from an early evening spent with May and Heather in your room. It’s your favourite part of going out; the hour or two before. When it’s just the three of you, with nobody else to perform for, you fit right back together as you always did. Swapping gossip, exchanging compliments. Painting Heather’s nails a soft pink, her steady hands painting yours in return. You worked on May’s make up, smiled shyly into the mirror when she set your hair up the way you like it and told you with a pout how jealous she is of its texture.

You listened to Heather, gentle and happy at seeing her boyfriend, at the flowers he’d brought her. You spoke to May about the film you should rent for your next movie night; a comedy with popcorn or a weepy chick flick with chocolate. You’d watched from your bed, grinning and heartsore while May leaned into Heather’s shoulder, serenading her while she applied her lipstick. Heather rolled her eyes fondly as May crooned into her ear, “I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

Later, head truly fuzzy from paint stripper vodka and lemonade, you’d screamed all the words to Power of Love with them. Hands in the air, hips swaying, content in the knowledge that, if everyone in the house has drank as much as you, none of them will care to remember how you danced and sang tonight. It was exactly as you wanted it to always be. With your friends, believing entirely, at least in the moment, that you still put each other first. That you were friends now not just because you used to be.

Only, Heather’s boyfriend had appeared like a grey cloud in the blue sky of your evening. Before you knew it, she was settled under his arm on a couch at the other side of the room, sipping light beer and talking with the friends he’d brought back from college for the weekend. All boys you can’t stand, and know May can’t stand either. The last time you saw them, when May had told them proudly that you were well on your way to NYU to study Comparative Literature, you’d watched two of them make eye contact, sniggering with each other into their beer. You weren’t proud of yourself for adding that you still might do Chemistry, not that it had helped much.

Soon after, May was called over by some cheer friends. She’d grasped your hand and pulled you along with her, both a blessing and a curse that she refuses to leave you out. Lacking some of your usual self-consciousness, both from your continual sips at your drink and the fact that Caroline, blessedly, hadn’t shown up, you’d managed a brief, fairly friendly chat with Tracy about whether she was wearing too much blush (she was) followed by how well the basketball team will do this year (hell if you know).

Then, when Josh, a boy May has had a simmering crush on since you were freshmen, invited her over to play beer pong, you let her pull you with her again. And here you are, paired with this boy in green and white. Ethan flashes his white toothed smile every time you miss a shot on account of your shaking hands. A charming smile that tells you how girls might get into trouble on his account; girls like Caroline, girls like Erin. You wonder if it was that smile that made Erin follow him upstairs that night, that made Caroline fall back into his arms with little complaint, all the blame placed elsewhere.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, squeezing the top of your arm before turning his attention to the table. May smiles at you again as Josh chugs beer down in a quick gulp, sending you all the signs of gratitude that make you feel guilty for thinking almost exclusively about the ways you could leave soon.

When it’s your turn again, you take stock of the cups across from you. Two on your side, four on theirs, so with any luck this is your last turn. You watch the ball just brush the opposite rim of one of the cups, before bouncing lamely to the table. “Okay, that one was close.” Ethan says kindly, elbowing you.

“Nah, her head’s in the clouds,” Josh says with a smirk, catching the ball and bouncing it a couple times off the table. “Too busy thinking about…Munson, right? Would not have thought that was your type, but uh, I guess that explains why you wouldn’t let Andy-”

“Leave her alone, Josh,” May cuts in, leaning away from him with a scowl. You feel a rush around your ears, your heart in your throat. You like to forget this fact, but sometimes you’re reminded of it like seeing it written in bright red neon. Just about everybody knows what happened between you and Andy to varying degrees of detail, and they can all use it against you whenever they want.

“It’s not that serious,” he says, the following laugh more defensive when May rolls her eyes. “You are dating the freak, right?”

Your toes curl. “Don’t call him that.”

“C’mon, man,” Ethan sighs. “You’re killing the mood.”

“It’s dead and buried,” May corrects, face set in that brilliant frown that gets your heart pumping when it’s directed at you.

Josh glances between the three of you, landing particularly on May and her crossed arms. He looks to Ethan again for support, throws his hands up when he finds none there. “Fine,” he says, smacking his teeth. “‘S boring playing girls anyway.”

He bounces the ball across the table to Ethan, and stalks off with his shoulders sagging. May’s face softens when she comes over to you, your chest warm at her concern. “You okay?”

“Mm. Thank you.”

She pouts, swaying a little. “Why are guys such jerks?”

“Um, I’m right here,” Ethan laughs, chucking the ball back and forth between his hands. There’s that smile again, easy and sharp and clean. You think of Erin, dragged through mud.

“Thanks,” you mumble, barely glancing at him.

“No problem. He’s an idiot when he’s drunk.”

If you were braver, you’d say he’s an idiot sober, too.

“Looks like we need to even the teams up,” May says brightly.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you answer, the only relief from the situation that this may give you a chance to escape for a brief moment. “I wanna get some water. You guys can keep playing.”

“You sure?” She asks, leaning in so it really is just the two of you, giving you a hit of tuberose and orange blossom, the same perfume she’s worn since your first high school party in ‘83. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing her arm gratefully. “I’ll be right back.”

The air is fresher the second you’re in the hallway, without the clutch of warm bodies forcing you to mutter ‘excuse me’ enough that the words lose all meaning. The damp heat picks up again in the kitchen, smaller groups standing around with cups in their hands, some swaying to the distant music. You glance at the sink, find a couple crowded in front of it, their eyes intent on eachother. Even your slightly fuzzy mind decides against trying to navigate around them in search of water.

“Hey, Ringwald.” It takes a good couple of seconds for you to register that the greeting might be for you. It requires a tap on the shoulder, Erin’s half there smile directed your way. She holds up a cup. “Want some?”

You glance into it, find clear liquid that gets your hopes up. “Water?”

She snorts. “I know I’m pretty badass, but six shots of vodka in one cup is a little much. Even for me.”

You take it gratefully, screaming at your tipsy brain to remember not to drink too much of someone else’s water. A couple gulps and you hand it back to her, surprised at how much you needed it, throat a little scratchy from singing earlier before your joy left with Heather.

“So, uh, how are you?”

You nod, giving her a close lipped smile. “Yeah, fine. How are you?”

Erin tilts her head, her right eye narrowing. “No, I mean, like really how are you?” She waves her cup around, as if gesturing to the entire house. “Seems like you and May are friends again, I guess.”

“We were always friends,” you assure, heart panging. “She was just,” you search for it, unprepared for this conversation. Where you normally would avoid answering altogether, your cottoned up mind combined with the earnest desperation to defend your friend ends in a rambling answer. “I didn’t tell her the right way, you know? She was hurt, finding out from somebody else about, you know, Eddie and I. But we talked it all out and she’s forgiven me.”

“Forgiven…you?”

“For not telling her myself.”

Erin taps a finger on her cup, considering you. “That’s what she was angry about?”

Your mouth opens, thoughts tangling. “Um, I mean, among other things,” you rush, giving her a reassuring smile. “But everything’s fine now.”

“Okay,” she says, that half smile returning. “Glad to hear it, Ringwald.”

“I, um,” you step a little closer, forcing yourself to look right into her eyes. “I did want to say thank you for that actually. I just-” You just worried endlessly about approaching her, how you would even thank her for preventing you from being quizzed about your sex life in front of an entire group. You shrug, and luckily Erin seems to understand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You shouldn’t have had to explain yourself in the first place. But those girls are pretty vicious when they smell blood.”

You’re struck with a pity for her you know she’d probably hate you feeling. You try to remember what she was like before her entire friend group turned on her, before she was taken in by that sharp smile. She still had the sarcastic wit, you’re sure. But without the undertone of anger that comes along every other sentence; less bite. Erin has always been confident, but now she carries herself like somebody full of righteous indignation and nowhere to put it.

“You can have the rest of this,” she says, handing you the water and looking away like she’s read your whole thought process and wants out of the conversation quick. “Those six shots actually sound kind of appealing now.”

“Okay, well, see you later?”

She gives you a little thumbs up as she passes. You watch her elbow past the couple at the sink to reach the bottles and cups piled beside it. Already feeling more sober than you had when you walked in, you finish the cool water, resisting the temptation to start playing with the material of your skirt.

“Hey, uh…hey.” You look over at Neil from your Physics class, recognising the sound of somebody trying and failing to remember your name. “Could you talk to Munson for me? Tell him I’m good for the money, it’s just that it’s another week before I get paid.”

You blink. The information takes a second to move from your ears to your brain, longer to process their whole meaning. You feel a flutter in your chest; something like excitement, something like relief. “Eddie’s here?”

“Yeah, and he’s making a really big deal out of twenty dollars, you know?”

You look over his shoulder as if Eddie might be standing out in the hallway, finding only the empty doorway. “Where is he?”

“Uh, he was by the stereo I think? So, you’ll talk to him?”

“Um, sure,” you mumble, pressing past him to walk down the hall back into the living room. There’s May, laughing as Ethan tips his head back to drink, the table laden with a new set of cups. On the other side of the room, Heather, nodding at something and looking serious as ever.

And then you catch him; a head of messy curls, denim on leather, the cut out t-shirt you know Eddie sewed on himself by hand. He’s standing right next to the stereo, sorting through records. His curls shift with a shake of his head and you just know his expression is dismayed, truly disappointed in the collection. To his side, a group of boys is searching their pockets, failing to hide their efforts to pool money together.

Eddie’s presence pulls at you, an invisible but physical tug, and before you know it you’re crossing the room towards him. He jumps a little when you rest your palm on his back, his hand flying to his wallet chain. Then his brown eyes land on you, and you feel the unique joy of watching Eddie realising it’s you. His expression turns in an instant from guarded to happiness. Round eyes look you up and down once in surprise to confirm it’s you, once again in appreciation. He leans right into you, smile a little wolfish. “Well, hey. What brings you to my darkened corner, sweet thing?”

What can you say to that? That in the six, seven hours since you’ve seen him, you’ve felt the lack of his presence? That you’ve spent the last hour in particular wishing you’d never come here, wondering why you didn’t go home with him instead?

“Was surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, gesturing with his head to the boys behind him. “My services were required, you see.” His eyes track down again, zeroing in at the place on your legs where your dress ends, the fishnet tights wrapped around your thighs. “You look, uh,” he clears his throat, clearly searching for the right word. “Shit. I mean, fuck. You look good.”

Your cheeks warm. You turn to the side a touch, pressing your knees together. “Thank you.”

“I um, really like these.” His hand teases the hem of your dress, thumb brushing across the string of your tights. Eddie’s fingers are a warm sting that has your breath catching, your body aching to be closer to him, to more of his heat.

“Munson?” Sounds from behind him, and the spell is broken. Eddie jumps again, hand parting from your skin like he’d touched a hot stove. His hair flies around him as he turns, face becoming impassive again.

“Gentlemen,” he says, standing in front of you. “Managed to pool your allowances?”

“Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie’s head tilts. “For future reference, save the shit talk till after you have the product in your hand. Unless you wanna add another ten percent for the ounce-”

“No, it’s fine,” another says, elbowing his friend. “It’s all there.”

Eddie sighs, taking the collection of rumpled bills from his hand. You watch him stand in front of the antsy boys, counting each note twice over just to watch them squirm. “Mm. Looks like it’s all here.” He brings his wallet from his back pocket, attached to his jeans by a chain, and tucks the money inside. Then, after glancing around him quickly, Eddie’s right hand disappears into the front of his pants.

“Kept it warm for you, boys,” he cackles, pulling out a plastic baggy filled with green clumps and hurling it towards them.

In the next second, he’s grabbed your hand and is pulling you through the crowd to the sound of, “Munson, you prick!” from behind you. You can hear Eddie’s almost manic giggling over the music, your heart pounding from speeding after him and the fear of the chance at being followed by five boys, all half drunk and furious.

Eddie’s hand remains tight around yours until the cool air out the front door hits your heated skin, finally slowing to catch his breath, still chuckling to himself. You watch him, wide eyed, as he leans back against the front wall, head falling back and then forward to look at you. His eyes flash, his face tells you he’s proud.

“Why did you do that?”

His laughter stops when he spies the serious look on your face, your hands fiddling with your skirt. “Ah, shit. Sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t plan for you to be around but there wasn’t much I could do, sweet thing. It was already down there, y’know?”

“That’s not what I- Why would you aggravate them like that, Eddie?”

Something a little cold comes over his face then. “Satisfaction, pure and simple,” he answers. “The only kind I can get out of guys like that.”

“But, if you didn’t speak to them like that-”

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “If I didn’t speak to them like that- Hell, if I gave them that weed for free, got on my knees and asked for an ounce of kindness, come Monday they’re still gonna throw me, or Jeff, or any of the guys from Hellfire into a locker,” he tells you, voice a plea for you to understand. “Or call me a freak, or lock one of the freshmen, who still barely know their way around the building, in a supply closet for an hour.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “It’s got absolutely nothing to do with me aggravating them or not, okay? It's not about how nice I am, or how I talk to them - it's about this," he stresses grabbing his long hair, then his shirt. "And this. And D&D and the fucking trailer and my piece of shit father. No amount of sweet talk will fix it cause they don't want me to be nice; they want me to change. And I can’t do that, okay? More importantly, I won’t do that.”

Everything he says makes your chest hurt.

It makes sense, that this is how Eddie Munson thinks. Since your first stumbled word, you’ve been hiding yourself away, blending into the crowd to avoid all the pain that comes with being singled out. But him? Eddie has no interest in curling in on himself, shrinking his personality to fit in. Everything he says, every move he makes, is unapologetic. As true to himself as that shirt.

But it hurts to think that something so unnatural to you could be right. For all your good will, all your work and staying under the radar, it hasn't saved you. Your need to keep quiet only led to Caroline’s harshness, the laughter from the cheer girls. Your desperation to avoid judgement only opened all the right doors for Andy to hurt you the way he did, for everyone around you to know exactly how. All your complacency, all your acquiescence, none of it kept your friends nearly as close as you’d wanted them.

You swallow, catch Eddie’s eyes, and whisper in earnest. “I don’t want you to change.”

You could cry at the relief in his face, the fast blinking that vanishes the shine in his eyes. His head tilts. “No?”

You shake your head vehemently, wishing he would hold your hand again so you could play with his fingers. He pushes himself off the wall and leans into your space, hair falling towards you. You look between his eyes and his collar, debating hiding your face there.

“Not even my driving?”

“Okay,” you answer, watching his dimples press into his face. “Maybe I’d like you to change one thing.”

“I knew it!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up. “Sweet girls like you are only ever after one thing. You wanna fix me, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, smiling to the side. “Just, gently improve your interest in speed limits?”

“Yeah? And what about my proclivity for pineapple and olive pizza?”

You chew the inside of your lip, suppressing giggles. “I think, given time, I can learn to live with it.” You feel a buzz of pride at Eddie’s laugh, the crinkle around his eyes he gets when he’s really, truly happy. “I do mean it, Eddie. I like you exactly as you are. More-” You take a breath. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

Eddie’s hand finds yours again, your fingers curling into his, your knuckles at his palm.

“Like me enough to come home with me?”

You want to. Desperately. The relief you felt at seeing him, your whole body telling you that you’d rather spend an evening with Eddie than here, navigating social circles you’ll never really be a part of.

“I have to tell my friends first,” you say, watching Eddie nod.

“Sure thing. I can wait.”

“Okay.” Your gaze travels between his eyes and his collar again, stalling your departure. You want a kiss. Want to kiss him all the time, even for a short goodbye. Eddie, sensing your hesitance to leave, narrows his eyes a little like he's trying to work you out. He catches your eyes dart to his lips, and they curve.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to you. It’s a perfect, innocent little thing. But you like it, like the domesticity you’re learning with Eddie. You want kisses goodbye and hello, his hand in yours in the car. You want elbows meeting sides while cooking together, waking up in the middle of the night just to hear Eddie breathing before you fall away again, catching sight of each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth in the morning. You want your daily life, with Eddie in it, with all the things he adds just by way of existing.

You give him another quick peck, face hot, and run into the house before your mouth asks him to leave with you now and never come back.

You find May in the kitchen, huddled together with a couple of the cheer girls as well as Ethan. She waves brightly when she catches sight of you, gesturing you over. “Hi!” She calls, hair mussed, clearly having continued to drink since you parted. “Where did you go?”

“Um, I was thinking I might go home,” you say, fiddling with your skirt. “M’tired.”

“Oh, are Heather and Patrick leaving too?”

“No, no. I ran into Eddie. He’s gonna give me a ride home.”

You brace yourself, the back of your neck prickling with tension. You watch the expression on May’s face shift from confusion, not to anger or disappointment, but amusement.

“Ohh-kay, you’re tired,” she laughs, shaking her head. You make a noise in embarrassment, checking to see if the rest of the group are listening in and she grins at you, pulling you into a quick, floral smelling, hug. “Have a good night, okay? I’ll see you later.”

You give her a squeeze back, chest warm. “Yeah, later.”

You give a half hearted wave to everyone else, navigating your way to the living room. Heather is where she has been all evening, under Patrick’s arm. “Hey,” you say, avoiding eye contact with the boys around her. “I’m gonna head.”

“Already?” Heather pouts. A quick throb or annoyance rises and falls, your anger that she wouldn't have noticed either way reasoned with the fact that it was your decision not to spend any time with this group.

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“I thought I was giving you a ride?” Patrick asks, leaning over.

"No, Eddie's gonna take me home."

There’s a moment of quiet, information sinking in before Patrick's face displays a shocked frown. "Eddie? Munson? You're getting in that scrap heap he calls a van?"

You look from him to Heather, spy the clear guilt on her face when you say, "He's my boyfriend. Heather didn't tell you?"

“She most certainly did not- when the fuck-”

“I’m sure she can fill you in,” you say, voice edging towards breaking, thinking about her encouragement, her fingers on the cross around her neck. Heather's mouth opens, her hand coming to that very pendant, and you shake your head. "Bye."

She calls your name behind you, but doesn't come after you when you leave.

Eddie is waiting for you still, balancing a seat on the porch rail and smoking when you emerge. A dimple presses into his face when he flicks the cigarette away and slides down. “All good?”

You grab his hand, bury your face into his shoulder to lean on him a little. Breathe in leather and drugstore shampoo - Eddie, Eddie, Eddie - until your heart stops throbbing painfully.

“All good,” you mumble, turning your head to look at him from his shoulder. “Home?”

You realise how tired you are when you are settled in Eddie’s van, your eyes and limbs heavy. You half want to curl up in the soft seat and drift, but get taken in by watching Eddie as he drives. His fingers following the guitar licks of his music on the steering wheel, his hair shifting when he rocks his head forward. The way he glances at you when he turns, catches you staring and grins to himself every time.

"You know, I didn’t really have you down as someone who’d be into paaarties,” he says, eyes wide with his mocking tone. He glances at you again, at your worn out state, and half closes an eye. “And I gotta say, you don't seem like you were having a good time."

You think about that for a minute, wondering how best to explain your complicated relationship with social events. “I like dancing with my friends,” you start with a shrug. “And getting ready.” You lean your head back. “It’s like the only time the three of us are together anymore.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, glancing over at you. “Why’s that?”

Why is that? You’ve wondered it yourself. It felt like, suddenly, though maybe it happened very slowly without you realising, whatever delicate thread held you together started to strain as you moved in different directions. Or, as they did; leaving you lonely in the place you used to share. Waiting for them to visit, when it suits them.

They changed. You stayed the same.

Only, you must have changed a little. You replay that last moment with Heather tonight in your head, wondering if you’ve ever shown her your hurt, your anger. Six months ago, you doubt you’d even have left at all. It’s more likely that you would have stayed, wishing to be anywhere else, until they wanted to leave.

Eddie looks over at you following your long silence, adopts the soft, encouraging smile he gives you to show you he’ll wait for your answer, regardless of the reasons it’s taking you so long to find it. You get an inkling, then, of why you’ve changed, if only a little.

“We’re all just…different than we were,” you say finally.

“People change, I guess,” Eddie nods. “For better or worse.”

You think you might be better.

Exhaustion takes over when you cross the comforting threshold into Eddie’s home; the familiar smell and warmth of it sending a message across your body that you can relax now. You clean your teeth with the brush Eddie presented you with the first time you stayed over, scrub at your face with warm water until all that’s left are panda eyes you don’t have the fortitude to deal with. When Eddie takes his turn in the bathroom, you search through the little drawer he’d cleaned out for you to find soft cotton pyjamas that have your eyes drifting the second you have them on.

When Eddie returns, you’re standing in the middle of the room fiddling with your hands, still a little worried about the assumption of getting into his bed when he’s not there.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he says, holding the covers open for you and tucking them over your shoulder when you’re settled on the good pillow, the one he insists you take every time. You watch, heart sore, as Eddie removes every one of his rings, counting the little metallic clanks as he drops them on the table. Then goes his bracelet, his watch and his wallet chain. You stare shamelessly as he pulls his shirt over his head, soft hair following the collar up, up, up, and dropping down again in a curly mass around his pale shoulders as the fabric pulls away. You hear the distinct clink of his belt, curl your knees up at the heat the sound sends through your core. Eddie wiggles his hips a little as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them ungracefully, kicking them off his heels. He stands before you in his blue plaid boxers, all pale tattooed skin.

“You’ve been staring at me all evenin’,” he says, approaching you, dropping down in a squat so his face is right by yours.

You can’t argue, but find yourself fiddling with the duvet, pulling it up to your cheek and half hiding in it to mumble into the polyester. “I like looking at you.”

“Yeah? Well, looking’s free. Usually touching would cost you,” he says, reaching out with a finger to pull the cover down from your face and leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “But, uh, just between you and I, sweet thing, you can touch for free, too.” Your toes curl, glancing quickly at Eddie’s pink mouth, watching his lips tilt. “Need some of my services just now?”

“Yeah,”

He hums, his big hand capturing your cheek to tilt your face to his. Eddie’s kisses are gentle and warm. You taste dried toothpaste on his lips, the lasting smoke in his breath from that final cigarette. Then, when your kisses have turned too sleepy to last, just soft presses to his bottom lip, he climbs into the other side of the bed and reaches out for you, fingers wiggling. You tuck yourself into his side, and fall asleep quick.

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You drift to waking, gently pulled from sleep by sunshine peeking through cheap blinds and the distant sound of a barking dog. You are comfortably cozy under the sheets. Even having shifted to either side of the bed in the night, no longer tangled, you can feel the heat of Eddie at your back.

You half snooze for a long time, eyes drifting open to take in the contents of the room. The amps and the Corroded Coffin wall hanging, a closet slightly more full than the first time you were here, a floor still messy but less littered with piles of half clean half dirty laundry. Eddie’s acoustic guitar, his writing overtop in white, THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS.

You close your eyes again. The next time they open, the room is brighter. Turning ungracefully, you come face to face with Eddie, and huff a soft laugh through your nose. Eddie’s hair in the morning is a beast, pressed to either side of his face from his tossing against the pillow. Some locks frizzed to the point of dullness, some still set in loose curls; both types tossed over the front of his face. Reaching out, you tuck each lock back until you can see him properly, every pretty feature of his face.

You consider trying to wake him, but find yourself simply shuffling closer, tucking yourself into him, nose at his neck. Eddie hums, one arm coming up instinctively to settle over your half asleep body.

You finally jump awake to the sound of the front door falling closed in a swinging slam. Eddie blinks opposite you, fully registering the noise and your presence together. He hums, closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath through his nose and opens his mouth wide to yawn so loud he might as well have screamed.

“Coffee, boy!?” Wayne calls as Eddie stretches and cracks his pale limbs. He glances at you in question.

You chew the inside of your lip. “Should he know I’m here?”

Eddie takes this in for a second, then smiles. “I mean, he’s about to, either way.”

Regret at not having asked Eddie to set an alarm rids all the warm cosiness of the scene. Your face feels hot already at the thought of facing Wayne on a Saturday morning having clearly slept in this bed. “He’ll- he’ll think we-”

Recognition dawns on Eddie’s face, and he shakes his head quickly. “He won’t think anything, sweetheart,” he tells you, leaning in till he’s put himself in your eyeline. Eddie’s expression is earnest until it shifts into an amused smile. “I’ll even tell him you slept on the floor to preserve my innocence. Score you some points with the old man.”

Eddie’s sleepy laughter has some of the tightness in your chest abating. The sight of his eyes crinkling at the sides, dimples digging into his cheeks, is a treat you don’t usually get so early.

“What time is it?” You ask, realising it may not be early at all if Wayne’s back. Eddie grabs his watch from the bedside table, blinks away residual blurriness.

“Nine thirty.”

Later than you’ve slept since school started back up, yet even now, the thought of curling back up in Eddie’s arms and snoozing for a little longer is an attractive prospect you’re seriously considering.

“I heard your caterwaul of a yawn, boy! How many coffee’s am I making!?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. You nod. He calls back. “Three! If you can count that high!”

The sounds of clinking mugs and sizzling oil mix with Eddie’s soft grunts as he gets himself dressed, jumping up and down to pull his jeans over his feet and searching through the closet for a t-shirt adorned with three angels, all smoking.

He takes you in when he’s put his rings on, no doubt almost as messy haired as him, watching him from his bed. Brown eyes bright, Eddie leans in to give you a soft kiss.

“Morning, sweet thing,” he says. His hand cups your cheek, letting you press into his wide palm. “Take your time, mm? I’ll assure Wayne my innocence remains intact.”

Your nose scrunches at his teasing, even as you turn to press a quick kiss to the centre of his hand. Eddie rubs a thumb under your eye, then shuffles out his door. Immediately, the noise of clinking plates is smothered by the exchange of familiar jabs and teases between the uncle and nephew.

The days you’ve spent here have made you realise how special their relationship is. Not something less than father and son, but in fact something more. Wayne looks upon Eddie with the exasperated fondness of a dad, but reserves the true judgement they can be prone to. No passive aggressive comments about Eddie’s track record at school, nor questions about the way he dresses, despite the bookmarked King James bible that sits on the coffee table. He’s ruffled Eddie’s hair kindly every time he’s been here while you were doing homework, hung his latest C- graded test up on the fridge. Eddie told you Wayne bought him that acoustic guitar when he was thirteen, saved up for months to take him to a real music shop in Indianapolis and let him pick one out.

You can see, even, the parts of Wayne that have filtered straight down to Eddie. Their humour overlaps, the way they can banter back and forth with each other, never crossing the line into hurt. Though, where Eddie can’t help but grin at a good joke, Wayne remains deadpan through every jibe.

Wayne, when he gets talking, can spin a yarn the same way Eddie can. Stories about his nights at the factory, his old job driving trucks across the country, his youth, told not in a long ramble, but structured perfectly to have you on the edge of your seat.

You know now that Eddie’s kindness, the way he treats you, was a gift from Wayne. His genuine interest in your life, your plans. His continual, earnest offer of food from his fridge every time he sees you. When your mom made a lasagne for you to take in thanks for all the evenings you’ve spent here, Wayne didn’t send the dish with Eddie to school, but drove to your house with it cleaned to a shine to hand it back and thank her personally. Soon after, Eddie let it slip that the daisies he brought you for your first date were bought at Wayne’s insistence.

You’d wondered, that day at the lake, how a boy treated like Eddie is treated could be so bright and kind.

Wayne was the answer.

So you should be braver, emerging from Eddie’s room in that big hoodie of his he’d been lending you on and off and shorts you’d left here the last time you stayed over, no doubt still sporting panda eyes from last night. But you find yourself making use of the long sleeves, fidgeting with your fingers against the fabric.

Eddie’s in the midst of getting his wrist thwacked with a spatula for attempting to steal a streak of bacon as Wayne transferred them from pan to plate. Gasping, he holds his hand in the air and lets his wrist fall limp. “I- I can’t feel my fingers!”

Wayne silently watches Eddie flop his hand back and forth, only a slight crinkle at his eyes suggesting he finds anything his nephew is doing at all amusing. When he catches sight of you, his gaze barely flickers from your messy hair to Eddie’s hoodie. “Mornin’,” he says, turning his back to a still howling Eddie to shake the pan. “Eggs? Bacon?”

The temptation to refuse, to be polite and pretend you don’t want anything from him prickles at the back of your mind. Only, experience has taught you he’ll only plate you up something anyway. There for you if you change your mind, something both he and Eddie say frequently.

“Please,” you nod.

“You gonna set the table, Eddie?”

“How can I?” Eddie cries, wrapping his other hand around the injured arm and holding it up as if the ailment has moved all the way to his elbow. “With this!?”

Wanting to make yourself useful, you venture into the cutlery drawer yourself, giggling as Eddie shakes his limp hand at you, before pulling up the fold out table at the other side of the kitchen. “You’re on coffee duty then, Ed.”

Eddie gives up the routine at the prospect of picking out mugs, his eyes shining. It’s an activity he seems to enjoy deeply; shuffling over to the expansive collection and perusing them like he doesn’t already know exactly who’s getting what.

Eddie likes to give Wayne a novelty Garfield mug, something about the quiet, serious man drinking from the head of the large orange cat tickling him. For himself, a black mug with THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE printed in white letters around a cartoon duck. For a while, he has been trying out different mugs for you, showing the best of Wayne’s extensive collection. But he’s settled on a white NASA mug Wayne picked up on a trip to Houston. “For my smart girl,” he’d said the first time he handed it to you, expression all fondness and pride.

Eating together is becoming familiar to you now. Wayne has picked up on your tendency to keep quiet the same way Eddie did, sometimes asking you questions but generally letting you decide when you want to speak without much prying.

“You two got plans?” He asks, glancing briefly at you then turning to Eddie when you look unsure.

“Uh, nothing solid,” Eddie says, focused on the construction of an increasingly complex breakfast sandwich. “But I was thinking about heading to Greenfield to pick up an album. I had loan of Accept’s newest record from Jeff before he remembered I had it.” His tongue peeks out at his concentration, topping the egg, bacon, hashbrown and tomato with a final piece of toast. “Didn’t think three months was too long to keep it. I mean, what’s an album between friends?”

You watch in near fascination as he manages to keep it all in tact through a large bite. He chews slowly, and swallows. “I’d welcome a road trip buddy if you’d be so inclined, Princess.”

Your face warms at the name used in front of Wayne, but you nod.

“There’s a good bookshop, too,” he says, clearly holding himself back from taking another significant bite. “S’where I got my copy of Orpheus.” He must see something, excitement probably, move across your face, because next Eddie is flashing a pleased smile. “Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

When you’re all finished, dishes washed by you at your gentle insistence, face scrubbed further with luke warm water from the tap and hair finger combed through, you leave a yawning Wayne to his fold out.

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The shop, located two towns over from Hawkins, smells like the music room at your first school. The memory hits you as soon as you walk through the door; standing in three lines and belting out an off tune Amazing Grace with another thirty kids. Playing with claves and tambourines. Eddie seems in his element here, directing you through display shelves of pop and country records around a corner to the back where his kind of music is kept. “Course, some albums I just use the cassette,” he tells you, rifling through a couple of records. You look around the section yourself, counting up the albums you recognise from Eddie’s desk, his glove compartment. “But when I love an album I kinda have to get it on vinyl, you know?”

You don’t, not really. You have your own pile of albums in your room, all plastic rectangles ready for your cassette player or your walkman. Your dad has a collection of country records, your Mom some Joni Mitchell, the Crosby, Stills and Nash records she played constantly when you were a child. Before Eddie started asking you to pick out albums you thought looked good in his room, you hadn’t touched a vinyl since your aunt asked you to put on the White Christmas over the holidays.

Eddie senses your confusion, and shrugs. “I mean, I wanna see the album art for real,” he tells you, finding one as an example. “Not quite as effective at four by three inches, right?” You recognise it immediately as Holy Diver. Eddie has a shirt with this cover on it; a demon standing over a priest splashing in water. He was wearing it that day in the woods, when you ran right up and kissed him. He takes the record from you when you nod, placing it back carefully.

“And there’s albums a stereo just can’t do justice to. They’re useful when I wanna skip songs. But hearing it from start to finish? At the highest quality? It just needs a record. Ah-” He finds the album he came here for and shows you. A blue background, with a chrome, blocky heart shape filled with valves and pumps. "Metal Heart," Eddie explains. "Latest, and best, album by Accept. They're this German heavy metal band? The lead guitarist, Wolf Hoffman?” He sighs wistfully, looking off into the distance. “Man, what I'd do if I got him in a room alone.”

You make an awful snorting sound when you laugh, have to ignore the delight on Eddie’s face lest you burn up entirely. "So,” you start. “Heavy metal is different from regular metal, or is it just another term for it?”

Eddie's face lights up at the question, putting on a refined accent. "Heavy metal, young lady, is a type of metal that encompasses many genres,” he explains, bringing a hand up to add to the role. “For example, one could say all thrash metal is heavy metal, but only a simple fool, would seek to claim that all heavy metal is thrash metal. Do you follow?” His character falls apart at your giggle. “I said metal too many times, huh? Note taken. You wanna listen?"

At your nod, Eddie walks you back round to the front towards a row of glass booths housing record players and headphones. You watch his hands move carefully, treating the record with the same care he uses to hold your hand. When it's in place, he dons the headphones and places the needle, nodding his head until it reaches the start of the particular song he wants you to hear. His hair fans out a little as he removes them, making to place them over your ears until you flinch and he jerks them back.

“A little loud,”

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning a knob on the record player. “I forgot. Princess ears.” He replaces the headphones, eyebrows raising in question. The volume more manageable now, you nod happily, listening to pulsing guitars build in intensity, joined by thrashing drums and eventually the telltale screeching voice that immediately transports you into Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of his life.

Eddie’s eyes are all soft excitement, shining at you, watching for your reactions.

If you had to make a list of all the things to like about Eddie, his passion would surely sit near the top. The way he fizzes all over to talk about music, and Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings. The way he’s desperate to share his interests with you. Not out of expectation for you to feel exactly the same about any of it, and certainly not with any assumptions that you should understand it already. Just to share, to let you in, to show himself to you.

You wish you were more like him, that way. That you weren’t more comfortable hiding, keeping bits of yourself under lock and key lest their exposure leave the most delicate parts of you open to attack. You try to imagine Eddie using anything like that against you. You remember him leaning across the table to you on your first date, listening to you ramble about wyverns and etymology while your feet tapped your anxiety out onto the floor. He’d thanked you for sharing. Very metal, he’d said.

Three minutes in, and you realise Eddie’s been playing the whole song in his head, because he brings his hands up to follow the chords playing in your ears with an imaginary guitar, hair shaking as he throws his head back and forth. Then he flashes his smile, soft cheeks displaying his dimples and smile lines.

You can’t help it.

You step forward until your feet are patterned with his. You reach out for his sleeve, playing with the chains keeping the left connected across his wrist. Eddie’s still watching you when you tilt your chin, leaning towards him to press your lips to his. Anxiety prickles along your spine, but you know that nobody can see you. Even better, you know that Eddie is between you and the door, hiding you from the world. With the distinctive chains of his jacket in your fingers, his music sounding through your headphones, his lips on yours; everything around you is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Safe, safe, safe.

He pulls away with a huff of breath against your lips, giving you a series of chaste pecks like he isn’t quite ready to stop kissing you entirely despite protesting lungs. Your face burns, but it’s worth it for the way Eddie is staring at you when you finally open your eyes.

“What was that for?” He mouths, gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes.

You bring your foot up, pressing the top of it to the back of your ankle and sliding it up and down your calf. A braver version of you would say what every part of you is screaming. Instead you shrug, still fiddling with his sleeve. Eddie tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied, but doesn't press you.

"I like this," you tell him as it finishes, removing the headphones.

"Well, that settles it," he answers, sliding the record from the player back into its sleeve. "You're coming home with me."

You watch Eddie navigate the shop like it's a second home. He stops off at the cassettes, rifling through for anything new, anything he might not have heard before. He grabs a couple blank tapes too, looks at you to the side with pink cheeks. "In case I wanna make any more mixtapes."

At the desk, Eddie places everything down carefully while you wait at the empty till. After a good thirty seconds, you start playing with the rings on Eddie's left hand while his other raps against the wooden desk. "Uh, hello? Anybody- ah, shit."

"Munson," says the bespeckled boy who emerges from the back room.

Eddie’s fingers twitch, and you cease your fidgeting to look up at him, find his face pulled taught. "Oh, hi. I, uh, didn't think you worked on Saturdays anymore."

"Switched to the weekend shift," he answers, stony faced. "That gonna be a problem for you? Surely you’re not still in highschool?"

Eddie frowns, hand twitching again as he sighs. "Listen, man, I'm not looking to argue-"

"Don't know why else you'd show your face. You know your money's no good to me."

Eddie slumps, all the easy happiness pulled from him. He hasn’t looked at you once, and your heart aches.

"I'm buying these," you declare, searching through your bag for your purse. Tissues, no, lipgloss, no, mixtape, no.

They both turn to you. The boy behind the desk takes you in finally, his nose wrinkling. "Oh yeah? You a metal fan?"

"Mm hmm,” you say, voice higher than you’d like.

"Okay, name three Metallica albums."

You glance at Eddie, find him rolling his eyes until you ask. “But Metallica only has two albums, right?"

Eddie’s immediate smile is warmth inducing, causes you to shuffle with shy pride. You thrust out the money in your hand, start gathering up the items again to place in your shopping bag while Eddie grins in the face of the scowling man.

"Whatever,” he says finally. “I don't wanna see you around here again, Munson."

Eddie gives him a little salute, then grabs the bag from you and takes your hand to leave.

"Jesus," he breathes as soon as the bell announcing the doors closure sounds. "You can't talk like that, sweet thing. We're in public. You’ve-" He scratches at the back of his neck. “You’ve really been listening to me talk about it all the time, huh?”

You frown. “Of course, Eddie. I like it,” you answer, tugging his hand to start the walk back to the van. “Who was that?"

Eddie’s smile drops. "Uh, Peter? We actually, kinda used to be friends. I introduced him to all his favourite bands back in the day, you know? Then suddenly he’s the gatekeeper of metal- I mean it’s a fucking joke.” He opens the side door, placing your bag behind the front seat. “S'how I met Gareth, really. Poor kid couldn't name two Dio albums so he gets insulted buying the latest one, what the hell is that? We all have to start somewhere. I mean, when I met that guy he was a U2 fan. Anyway-” he continues, closing the door. “I told him he was being a dick and he got all pissy about it."

You chew your lip. "He acts that way, because you called him a dick?"

Eddie blanches, his head falling back with a quick groan. "Okay, I wanna add a disclaimer that I was sixteen and dumb," he starts. "And he really was being a dick, acting like- like all those guys metalheads are supposed to hate in the first place, and-"

"And?"

"And I hit him. Real gentle. With my fist."

"Eddie,"

"Sweet thing, even you woulda decked him if you'd been there. I swear. And, I just can't fucking stand that shit, you know?"

You do know. Eddie is all gentle touch and soft smiles around you, but something changes in him when he’s witness to injustice. He'd had to miss a date just last week because he had detention, brought about by standing over a sophomore who'd dared to mess with one of the freshmen in Eddie's club. "You make one vague threat about human sacrifice and suddenly everyone's got an opinion on what constitutes bullying," he'd complained later. "If teachers aren’t gonna teach that kid not to be a cunt, why shouldn't I scare it out of him?"

You've heard him call the whole group his little sheep, laughing like he doesn't kind of mean it. Like he doesn't think of them as weird kids he'd gathered together in something of a herd, a pack. Like he doesn't think of himself as their shepherd, as their protector.

"Point is," he says now. "He's the one in the wrong, I swear. Shit. I can't believe he works weekends now."

"Well, I can go in for you."

"Yeah? You can set him straight, my baby metalhead. Fuck- didn't even say thank you. Was too busy trying to pretend I wasn't half fucking hard-" You make a soft noise and Eddie blinks, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. How much was it again?"

You press a toe to the top of your other shoe shyly. "Can't I buy you them?"

"Huh?"

"Like a gift?"

Eddie’s face twists. You thought he was just being a gentleman, when he’d paid sneakily on your first date. You know now that’s only part of it. He likes driving you places but won’t accept gas money, likes making you dinner at his home but won’t let you pay for groceries when you tag along on errands. The only thing he doesn’t get twitchy about is your baking, but that’s because you’re there eating them too. You think this might further influence from Wayne; a certain pride, a refusal to accept anything monetary from you.

"But, sweet thing-"

"Please, Eddie?"

He watches you, conflicting emotions passing along his expression. "Okay. But you’re picking out a book. A real fancy one. I wanna see leather binding yeah? And one of those little ribbons attached, okay?"

Your toes curl, nodding happily. "Okay."

You feel more at home as you walk through a glass door to the smell of old paper and ink.

Joan Baez croons from the record player in the corner. The woman at the register nods as you enter but offers no other greeting. Eddie follows after you when you make a beeline to the poetry section; full of battered, well loved books with cracked spines and fading covers.

You send Eddie a shy look, spine prickling from being watched in what feels like a solitary activity. You rub your thumb at a dusty shelf, wondering how to tell him, when he leans in a little. "Hey, you’ve been taking all my music recommendations. Anything for me to read?”

“Oh,” you say, mind lighting up before dimming at the thought of being too pushy, or recommending something he might hate. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” he says, leaning in more until he's all you can see, tilting his head until you’re looking into his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

You chew the inside of your lip. “Mm. Maybe- Have you ever read The Metamorphosis?”

Eddie leans back, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Can’t say I have.”

“I think,” you consider it again. “I think you’d like it. It’s about, well- A man turns into…an insect.” You simmer over the fact you want to share, let yourself believe that Eddie will be as willing as always to hear it. “It was written in German, and the word for what he turns into literally translates to, like, an animal you can’t sacrifice. Like, vermin?” Eddie’s watching you round off this information in a rush, smiling a little. “Kafka, the writer, didn’t want the actual animal to be specific. But sometimes it’s mistranslated and people say he turns into a beetle, or…or a cockroach,” you trail off, cringing at the sound of yourself. “I’m not selling it very well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he answers. “Sounds suitably weird. Kafka, you said? I’ll get searching.”

Eddie disappears round the corner, leaving you to comfortable contemplation of the poetry selection. Rilke's entire works, some Wilde, some Shelley. You search for something new and land on a name you've never heard. Drawing it from the shelf, you peer at the cover, a silhouette of a bridge bathed in orange, with the Selected Poems by Marina Tsvetaeva printed above.

You read a couple of the shorter poems, struck by her voice, her imagery. Turning to a random page, see the original Russian on one side, the English translation on the other. The title, asking the question, Where Does Such Tenderness Come From? Your heart pangs in recognition of her feelings as you read, the best part of poetry always finding yourself reflected back at you.

You and your eyelashes - she writes. Longer than anyone’s, as if she knows about the eyes you wish you had the confidence to stare into without respite.

“Found anything?”

You jump, closing the book quickly as if you’d been reading something illicit. Eddie gives you a quick up and down look, keeping his distance until your shoulders drop their tension. “Yes,” you say, turning the book so he can see the cover. “I’d never even heard of her but I like her already.”

“Enough to kick poor Rainer off the top spot?”

You feel that strange warmth that comes with being known, the little reminder of things that Eddie has learned and remembered about you. “Not quite, but I’ll still give her a chance.” You glance down at the book in Eddie’s hands, glad to see he’s grabbed your recommendation. “You like it?”

“Seems weird as fuck,” he confirms matter of factly. “So it’s almost like I’m contractually obliged to read it, you know?”

He pulls the new book gently from your hands, retrieving his chained wallet from his back pocket. "My turn," he says with an unusual seriousness. “You want any others?”

You shake your head, lean up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, surrounded and sheltered as you are by shelves and books. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Nah,” he says, face a soft pink.

Later, when Eddie has followed you perusing shop windows, and you are full up on drive through fries, eaten in the front of Eddie’s van as you listened to his story of negotiating $20 of payment between his entire band for their nights playing at the Hideout, Eddie drives you back, glancing over at you every so often like he wants to say something, but turning his head back to the road every time instead.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You feel relaxed, content, sitting comfy on the couch outside of Eddie’s trailer. He popped his head in earlier and found Wayne still sleeping, so you settled here to read in companionable silence. You, discovering more of Marina’s voice, drifting back again and again to the one poem that makes your chest full.

Eddie lies with his head resting on your lap, flicking through the short novella. You play with his hair throughout, curling locks around your fingers and stroking his fringe back from his forehead. Occasionally, you glance down at him, taking in his furrowed brow and eyes shining wet at a couple moments.

“Well, that was fucked up!” Eddie cries, snapping the book shut and somehow managing to whisper a yell. “He just dies? And they don’t care?”

You close your book to focus on him, resting it next to you. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, scratching softly. Eddie, even in his indignation, tilts his head towards the satisfying feeling like a cat. “Mm. That’s the point. He was living his life for his family, but they didn’t really care about him.”

“Yeah, but there’s not caring about someone and there’s hurtling fruit at them,” he reasons. “That Kafka guy had issues, I can’t be the only one who’s noticed.”

You crack a shy smile. “I think he’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie’s dimples tease you. “You’re a freak.”

Your stomach flips at the affection in his voice, fingers stilling in his hair for a second before resuming their gentle caress.

It hits you then, watching Eddie's pretty face, that you’re going to be alone with him again through the night, without interruption, and your throat lumps. As if he realises at the same time, Eddie sits up, hair still at angles from your exploring hands. His mouth opens, then closes again, his eyes flicking from your face to your hands where you’ve started fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

Forcing yourself to take on his example, you ask, “what are you thinking, Eddie?”

“Big question,” he says. “But uh, I guess, I never thought…I never thought sex was that important, you know? Hell, I lost my virginity in the bathrooms at the Emerson Theatre.” His eyes scrunch closed as soon as he says it, like he regrets letting that particular detail slip right now. When one opens, and finds you smiling at him encouragingly, he sighs with his whole body. “And, I hope you know that it wouldn’t matter to me if you had been with somebody else,” he continues, eyes wide. “Like, at all. But at the same time, I’m happy I’m first, you know? Cause I know I can look after you. I can give you what you deserve. Which, again, technically should be a big fancy bed and linen sheets, but some people have absolutely no patience, so-”

“Eddie,” you groan. But it has no bite. You’re already smiling at him, grabbing at his palm to play with his fingers, heart full.

He clears his throat. “So yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about. Also seeing you naked, obviously. But that takes up a good 30% of my brain pretty much all the time so it’s not entirely relevant here.”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh, watching him clutch his chest in mock hurt.

“I just bared my soul to you!” He cries, watching your giggles incredulously. “Do’st thou mock me? Have you no heart, woman?”

You bury the rest of your laughter in his neck, feeling a kind of dizzy happiness that makes it hard to stop. Eddie’s chest shaking under your cheek tells you that he’s as affected, a hand coming up to stroke at your hair as the mirth fades. Turning to look at where your hands have started up playing with his fingers again, you think about what you want to say.

“Eddie,” you whisper, pulling from his neck, looking between his eyes and his forehead as you search for the bravery he has in spades, the ease to tell him that it always had to be him.

Only, the front door of the trailer opens, revealing a sleepy looking, shirtless, Wayne.

“Oh, Jesus, have some decorum, man!” Eddie yells, covering your eyes with his hand.

“Evenin’, Eddie,” he says, followed by your own name. You wave, blinking to Eddie’s palm. “Get everything you wanted?”

“Yup, sweet girl bought me my very own Metal Heart,” he grins, tapping the album where it sits at his side on the couch as you wrestle his arm away. “Sleep well?”

“As good as I can.” He answers earnestly. “Just makin’ coffee then I’ll hit the road. You want anything?”

"I want you to put some clothes on!"

“No, thank you,” you answer over him, shaking your head and leaning into Eddie’s arm. When Wayne's gone, you glance up, find those soft eyes, those long dark eyelashes. Longer than anyone's.

"What are you thinking?"

You answer honestly. "That you're gonna look after me."

"I will," he nods, sounding almost stern. "As long as you want me to."

You wish it was easy to say, but all you can do is think it.

Always, always, always.

Wayne leaves with a gruff goodbye, a reminder to Eddie that there's left over pasta in the refrigerator. You remember the first time you were here at the same time as Wayne, the almost desperate rush to get into Eddie's room the second he was gone.

Now, you and Eddie stay, settled into one another for a long while after, until the sun has moved from high overhead to just behind the trees in front, turning the scene to a silhouette backlit with orange light. Eddie disappears, comes back with bowls of that pasta. You talk about school, and Eddie's band. He explains more about thrash metal, you tell him your new favourite German word you’d learned only yesterday. When the orange fades to blue-black, Eddie looks over at you.

"Ready?"

You wonder what it means, that despite the increasing thrum of your heart in your chest, you don't even have to think about it. "Yes."

He holds your hand all the way to his room, guiding you through like you don't know how to find his bed at the end. When the door is closed, sheltering you from the world outside, you wrap your arms tight around him, give yourself the comfort of hiding in his collar, feeling the slow rise and fall from his breath.

Eddie hums, his hand coming to that space at the back of your neck that eases everything in your body that you’re used to holding tight. “How you feeling, honey?”

“Good,” you mumble. Then, wondering if he can feel the heavy beat of your heart. “Nervous.”

“Okay,” he says, fingers stroking and squeezing at your tender skin. “What are you nervous about? Anything we can fix?”

You let that thought sit. You are still learning how much Eddie means it when he says things like that. Still practising the belief that Eddie wants you to share your worries, carry some of the burden for you. The responsibility of trying to shed the weight, the disappointment of knowing some of it just has to be carried.

You’re resigned to telling him, but finding the exact reason for the nerves twisting your stomach takes its own time. With anyone else, you’d be worried about pain, about what happens if you have to stop. These concerns float away on their own at the feeling of Eddie’s hand stroking at you, his lips pressing kisses at your temple. Then you land on it, and press your face deeper against the softness of his shirt.

“I don’t know, I guess- What should I do?” You ask, voice small. “So it’s good for you, too.”

You feel his sigh from the rise in his chest, the shake of his head from the brush of his hair against your cheek.

“Will you look at me?” He asks, waiting for you to tilt your head to find him. “You want the truth?” You nod, chin still tight to his shirt. Eddie’s eyes narrow a touch, leaning down conspiratorially. “It will feel good for me,” he starts, his free hand rubbing at your waist. “If we can get your pussy all soft, first.” A surprised throb between your legs has you clenching down on nothing, close to whimpering at the gentle roughness of Eddie’s voice. “All soft, and wet enough that I can just slide in, fill you up easy. Making you cum on my cock, sweet thing. That’s what’ll feel good, for me.” Eddie gives you a wolfish grin as he starts walking you backwards towards his bed, raising his eyebrows in question. “Think we can do that?”

It’s easy, then. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm, my good girl,” he says, holding you with the backs of your knees pressed to the side of his mattress, his nose at your temple. “Can I kiss you?”

Even easier. “Yes, Eddie.”

His lips press soft across your cheek and down to your mouth, warm and waiting for him. He's gentle with you, none of the fierceness you've felt in Eddie's kisses more recently. Like he's restraining himself, learning how you like to be touched in the lead up to something new. Your hands find his shoulders, soft cotton of his shirt, and rub at the fabric. His tongue flicks subtly against your bottom lip, but you're already desperate to taste him for real, letting him press deeper without any more prompting.

You feel it at the sound of his laugh, the sudden curve of his lips, the huff of air from his nose against your cheek. The addictive high of showing Eddie how shameless he makes you, the knowledge that he sees you as you are. Not a wallflower here, or a naïve girl. Not an ingénue, to be taken advantage of, or protected from corruption.

With Eddie, you can be as you are. Inexperienced and desperate in equal measure, as nervous as you are sure.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, pulling away only to blink down at you for a couple seconds before he captures your mouth again, tongue pressing to yours, hot and wet. You whine slowly, rising in volume, your fingers clasping at him. "S'alright," he soothes, giving you another press to your pout. His hand rubs at the back of your neck, encouraging you to lean your head into his support, give him space to leave plush kisses down the side of your throat.

"Eddie," you whisper, softer than you'd expected. Not a moan, or even a plea for more. Just to say it, to feel the shape of his name in your mouth again.

"So sweet," Eddie says, voice a wonderful vibration against your sensitive neck. "Sweetest girl I've ever seen- fuck. Can I?" His hands tug at the hem of your sweater and you nod desperately, helping him pull it off over your head. His lips return to your skin the second the material is on the floor, a wet press down to the softness of your chest. You feel his smile, his excited breath. He sucks, pulls at your flesh until it aches and you squirm. “Mm,” he sighs. “Can’t help it. Wanna mark you up-”

Gentle hands peel your bra from your chest, the tenderness vanishing with his tongue finding the pert bud of your nipple, treating the sensitive peak to wet warmth and friction that has your toes curling. The quick scrape of teeth makes you bat at Eddie's shoulder even as your body tilts to follow his mouth when it retreats.

He gives the other similar treatment, groaning when your fingers drift upwards to tug at his hair. Another little squeak at the graze of his teeth and he’s pulling away to look at you. Your heart jumps at the sight of him, hair mussed from burying himself into your skin, face a light pink, lips wet and kissed dark. The way his eyes flick about you, you’re sure you must be in a similar state.

Eddie’s throat bobs. “Wanna sit up on the bed, there?”

You nod, letting him help you up to the mattress and stand between your swinging legs.

“Need to go over something else, before we really get started,” he tells you, walking you back to sit on the bed, legs swinging off the side. Eddie drops to his knees to take your ankle in hand and pull at your laces. He sets your sneakers to the side, pings your socks over after them. He presses tickling kisses up your calves, eyes all bright when you laugh and kick at him slightly.

Once he’s back at your height, his hands move to your waistband, thumbing at the button of your shorts. “You know that any time you wanna stop, you just say, okay? I mean it, sweet thing.” He pops the button, pulls at the zip. When his hands smooth under the denim to your hips, helping pull them down, he continues. “Doesn’t matter when. Even if I’m making this face-” He scrunches his nose up and lets his tongue hang out in a gross approximation of his expression when he cums and you can’t help but cover your eyes at the image. “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not what you look like!”

“That’s right, you’re the expert now, huh? This better?” He asks, stretching his lips flat and crossing his eyes.

“Stoh-op!” You cry, somewhere between giggly and mortified. Eddie’s face settles back into its regular pretty softness, all shining amused eyes and laugh lines.

“That’s exactly what you say to me if you want me to, mm? Or slow down or anything else you want, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you murmur, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “Will you,” you swallow, playing with the neckline of his shirt. “Can you keep talking to me? While…”

“You say that like I'm gonna be able to stop talking. Hips up, sweetheart,” he says, helping you lie back so he can pull at your shorts. “Nah,” he breathes, hands disappearing to drag his shirt over his head. “You’ll be sick of my voice by tomorrow.”

Eddie helps you shuffle up the bed, your head falling easy to the good pillow.

“Never,” you tell him, arms opening to pull him in. He finds your mouth again, kisses a little more desperate, already a touch breathless. Your fingers brush at the back of his hair, soft curls between his shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hand dances over the soft skin of your stomach, pulling giggles from you when he hits ticklish spots. His fingers edge at the frilled waistband of your panties, waiting for your hips to tilt towards him to dip inside.

“Oh, honey,” he says with a gentle pout, fingers meeting the hot wet warmth between your legs. “Should’ve told me you were feelin’ desperate.”

Your thighs twitch at the first gentle circle around your clit. Eddie’s thick fingers, the roughness at their ends that catches the sensitive bud so perfectly with each little rub. Already your mind feels light with pleasure, body sinking into the bliss of being touched by Eddie. You’re caught between watching his hand where it disappears, the impression of his knuckles moving under blue cotton, and pulling up the courage to stare back at Eddie as he scans every twitch of your face. He grins at you when you manage to turn to him, licking his lips quickly. The little peek of his tongue, the memory of all the ways it makes you weak for him, has your legs kicking and twitching.

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks, eyes flickering to your lips as they open to let out a moan. “Want me to open this pussy up, sweet thing? Get you ready for me?”

You like that, enough that you nod desperately without thinking twice. “Yeah, want- please, Eddie?”

“Jesus,” he huffs a laugh, his fingers easing downwards only to drag slick from your pussy back up to your twitchy clit. “So fucking good, baby. Say please again?”

Your hips tilt up, chasing his hand though he makes no move to deprive you of it. Your whole body feels hot; from his words, his voice, as much as his touch. When you chance a look in Eddie’s eyes, all the warm brown has been swallowed up, leaving his gaze dark and intent on you. You curl your fingers into his shoulder, stare at the pick hanging from his necklace, swaying with the subtle movement of his torso following the pace of his arm. “Please, please, Eddie.”

You make a high noise of protest when his fingers pull away from your bud, shivers running up your spine at Eddie’s patronising coo, the jutting of his plush bottom lip. “Like I said, no patience. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” He sighs, pushes at your thighs to catch a glimpse of the dark, sodden material between your legs. “Just gotta get these off you, give me space to work, hm?”

Eddie disappears from your side, moving down the bed to sit between your legs. His fingers hook quick into your waistband to pull your panties down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, rubbing the wet cotton between his fingers. “Maybe you can be patient. You been wet all day, pretty?” You watch him lean over, hooking your panties over the headboard.

“Eddie,”

He only flashes you a grin, hand strokes at your thigh, fingers digging into the softness to push your leg back. You feel the sticky split of your cunt as it opens up for him, the wave of cool air against your heat.

“Fuck, look at her,” Eddie breathes, dropping down to his front. His wide eyes blink in near fascination, like it’s anything new to him, watching your cunt flex and shine. “You want two?”

You clench down at the thought. “Yeah.”

Eddie hums, nips at the skin of your leg as he drags his fingers through your slick. The first press inside is a good stretch, lacking the edge of pain that comes with three. They sink inside easily with a wet noise that would have you squirming away if you weren’t so fuzzy in the head, so desperate for the pleasure Eddie’s touch promises. The pads of his fingers find the spot at the end of you that he has mapped out, pussy fluttering around his fingers in protest every time they leave to press back in.

“Feels good?” Eddie asks, rubbing his face against your leg. You hum. “You want another?”

“Yeah,” you nod, craving more, wanting everything. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm. Open those legs just a little more, baby- yeah, good girl.”

Eddie gives you one final press of his lips to your thigh as he withdraws his fingers, stroking at you again to gather your slick across all three. You feel the blunt ends of his digits at your entrance, the first push and-

“Oh,” you whine, the familiar ache nothing compared to the euphoria of Eddie’s tongue coming to lap at your sensitive clit. Your hands fly down to his hair, clenching around soft curls as if there’s any possibility he might pull away. He groans, sending a pleasant thrum across your nerves. “Eddie, please.”

Your hips twitch when his fingers meet resistance half way deep, but Eddie stops his approach before you have time to register any discomfort. Clenching tight around his half buried fingers, Eddie lathes his tongue, wide and wet, from where his digits disappear inside to the top of your pussy. Your legs kick again, clit throbbing under his attention. He waits patiently for your body to relax into the pleasure, gently pulling his fingers back before pressing even deeper into your supplicating cunt.

“S’good, Eddie,” you whine, thighs pressing at the sides of his head without your wherewithal. All you know is you can feel him everywhere you need him most. His curls in your hands, tickling the sensitive insides of your legs. His tongue on your clit, gentle sucks that feel like kisses. His fingers filling you, stretching you and rubbing just right at the top wall of your cunt to send tingles along your spine. Ecstasy builds everywhere you can feel him, from a aching twitch between your legs to a wave that passes over your entire body.

Eddie’s name escapes you on repeat without shame. You hear him curse, feel the breath of it against your clit, as you squeeze tight around his fingers, pulsing with each peak of the high.

You finally slump into the mattress again, boneless and tingly. You ignore the wet sound produced by Eddie’s hand leaving your pussy, focusing on how he grins at you as he crawls up your body to settle over you, eyes crinkled at the sides with his satisfaction.

“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he laughs, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss to your lips. “Thought your thighs weren’t ever gonna let me up. Started planning a life down there, you know?”

You giggle, but can’t think of anything clever to say back, caught up in the perfect view of Eddie above you. Pink and lightly freckled, lips dark, the entire bottom half of his face shining from looking after you until he drags your slick to his tongue with his thumb. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, tickling your cheeks until you reach up to tuck it back. He leans absent mindedly towards your hand then, enjoying the warmth of your palm.

As you caress Eddie’s face, he gives you a gentle, wide eyed look. “You still wanna?” He asks, a little rushed. “Cause we can stop right here.”

“I want to,” you answer, just above a whisper, but sounding as sure as you ever have done. “If you do.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he hasn’t quite registered the full meaning. Then, as if he’s taken it in, “yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Eddie climbs off the bed, leaning over his bedside table to search through the drawer, hands emerging with a box labelled TROJAN and a bottle of clear liquid. You watch him fumble a little with the box until it opens, and pull out a square wrapper that has your face feeling hot, as if the presence of condoms is any more illicit that how Eddie has been touching you already.

“Look away!” Eddie jokes when he finds your eyes on him as he pulls at his belt. “Gotta keep my modesty in tact.”

You jokingly cover your eyes, hearing his laughter along with the clink of his belt, his zip pulling open. The mattress dips with Eddie’s return, and you peek through your fingers at him before settling your hands at your sides. Your mind fizzes at the sight of Eddie naked, settled on his knees between your thighs. Your eyes trace all the ink that decorates his torso, the softness of his stomach. The patches of dark hair on his chest, between his legs. His cock is a dark pink, swollen enough that the tip kisses his stomach. Eddie drags a hand over it with a soft groan like he’s been tortured by the wait. If he registers your staring, he doesn’t point it out, focusing on tearing open the foil wrapper and pulling a clear condom down over his length with a sigh.

Your fingers pull at wrinkles in the sheets as Eddie squirts some clear gel from the bottle into his palm, dragging his hand over his cock again to spread it. “What- what’s that?”

“Oh, uh, lube?” Eddie says, throwing the bottle down on the mattress with a bounce. “Makes it easier to, like, move I guess.”

“But-” You’d press your knees together if Eddie weren’t settled between them. “I’m wet.”

Eddie’s eyes flash, lips quirking. “You are, huh?”

“Eddie,”

“Mm. I know, sweet thing. But a little extra never hurt, mm?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Okay,” he answers. “I think it’ll be easiest like this, probably?” He drags the spare pillow from his side, tapping your hips gently to place it under you, tilting your body up to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Eddie. S’good.”

“Okay,” he breathes, shuffling forward. With one hand, he strokes gently at your thigh. The other finds your pussy, his thumb playing with clit until you’re feeling pleasured and loose, settled back onto the bed with fluttering eyes. “Still want this, Princess?”

You stare at him, heart sore as you take in his open expression. You can see the evidence of how desperate he must be, how much he wants this. But he looks at you, and you know he meant it when he said you could stop at any time, that he isn’t expecting anything from you, even now.

This body of yours is used to freezing up, follows a routine of tensing and shaking at questions less serious than this. You breathe, swallow, force yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you, Eddie.”

He watches you, searching for your certainty. You smile, a nervous thing, but real, and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna go slow. If it hurts, you say, yeah? Or kick me in the balls - whatever’s easiest.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him, your body feeling loose and relaxed by the time you feel the tip of him catch at your entrance. You make a soft noise at the back of your throat, wanting to watch him but also wanting desperately to keep yourself relaxed and open. You close your eyes, feel the softness of Eddie’s sheets under your fingers.

“Sweet girl,” Eddie murmurs, still circling your clit as the tip of him sinks inside. You feel the aching stretch of him, the pleasant warmth of Eddie’s cock under rubber. He’s saying something, talking to you like he promised, but you’re focused on your breath, on fighting the urge to bear down on him.

He must be a couple inches deep when he stops and pulls back only to press forward again and you think, for a second, you will be able to lay back and take all the pleasure Eddie always gives you, but-

His thumb circles just perfect at your clit and your pussy flutters, the new tightness resisting the slow press of his cock. It’s a sudden, shocking hurt that has your hips flinching to another stab of pain. Before you can help it your body is tensing all over, a soft pained sound escaping your throat.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, voice rough, and that the squeeze of your pussy must feel good doesn’t even register. You can only think that he must be as frustrated with your body as you are. Not in control, but a witness to it falling back into routine, pulling taught even as Eddie starts hushing softly. The more you tense, the tighter you feel, the pleasant ache of him pushing inside quickly turning to a stinging stretch that has you clenching fists in the sheets, tears springing to your eyes.

Eddie pulls out from you, and your chest throbs.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, wanting to close your legs and hide away from him.

Eddie’s warmth doesn’t vanish as you fear. In fact it grows as he leans over you, an arm coming to circle your waist. You feel his free hand at your hair, stroking it back from your face. “Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your cheek. “You’re in that head, mm? C’mon out.”

The tears that had been bubbling under your eyelids spring free when you open them, tracking down your cheeks as Eddie shakes his head. He wipes each of them away with his thumb until they stop coming. “Sweet thing,” he breathes. “It hurt, and you needed to stop. It’s okay.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek again and you lean into it, resting your palm at the back of his hand as you sigh. Your fingers weave with his, everything better now that you can touch him, now that you can’t run away into your head away from his voice, so close to you.

“Wanna get dressed? We can watch something, mm?”

You shake your head immediately, feeling determined. “Can we try again?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to, Eddie.” You assure, hoping he believes you. You rub your cheek into his palm again. “But, can we stay like this?”

There’s a pause as Eddie blinks at you, then his mouth turns up. “Wanna change tactics, huh, Princess?” You nod, watching as he pulls away briefly to help pull the pillow out from under your hips, his hands pressing at your thighs so he can settle properly between them. You whine softly at the feeling of him, still hard and pulsing, between your legs.

Eddie comes back to you with a kiss, lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, get your fingers pressed to his warm skin, playing with the ends of his hair.

“Forgot who I was dealing with, didn’t I?” He says, rolling his hips so the tip of his cock drags over your twitchy clit. Your toes curl, the ball of your foot stroking a little at the back of Eddie’s calf as your legs curl round him. “My girl needs to touch me all over, huh?”

Eddie grins down at you, wiggles his hips just to hear you gasp at the friction of your clit, feel the way your digits dig at him, your right hand rubbing at a lock of his hair. Tension pours from your body at the weight of him all over you, the chance to watch Eddie’s joy at touching you, the pleasure he feels in tandem with yours at every roll of his hips..

He kisses you again, then both your cheeks and your nose and chin, peppers them in quick succession across your neck to get you giggly and soft. When he emerges, you watch each other. Eddie’s gaze flicks about your face while you count down the checklist of your favourite features; dimples and quirked lips, wrinkles at the sides of his eyes and laugh lines.

“Again?” He asks, one hand moving from your thigh to grasp his cock between you. You nod, press your digits into Eddie’s shoulder as his tip opens you up.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes through the first slow thrust, voice clear as day now he’s so close. “You’re so good, baby.”

Pleasant shivers run through you at the praise. When the stretch makes your body pull taught, your fingers press at Eddie’s skin, letting him feel your need to slow. When the sound of his shaking breath, the sight of his eyes fluttering at the tightness of your cunt around him, has you excited and pliant again, your fingers playing at the ends of his hair tell him that he can start moving once more. Eddie pulls back each time before pressing deeper, humming you through each new tender stretch until you feel the wiry hair above his cock tease your clit. Your hips tilt, chasing the delicious rub, and you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, face dropping into your neck to groan. “How’s it feel?”

Your cunt flutters at the strain in his voice. This time, rather than sending warnings across your body at an unpleasant sting, your pussy bearing down aggravates a dull throb. Like pushing on a sore tooth, it’s painful and addictive all at once, clenching down again for the satisfying feeling of Eddie’s cock twitching inside you, the sound of him groaning against your skin.

“Good, Eddie,” you say honestly, fingers stroking through his hair. “Will you- can you move?”

“Yeah- fuck,” he nods into your neck, laughing softly. “Just gimme onnnnne second. Jesus. ‘How do I make it good for you?’ She asks, with heaven between her legs.”

Your body shakes as both of you giggle together, cut off by another whimpering moan from Eddie. “Aw, shit, don’t laugh or I’m really gonna embarrass myself.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with his chin at your collar. His hips pull back, relieving your pussy of the ache until he slides forward again, letting you feel full, the weight and warmth of him inside you. It’s different than his fingers, which map out the best spots and play with them. Eddie’s cock, thick and heavy, drags along all of them at once.

His face is so close by yours, watching desperately for every sign of pleasure, any hint of discomfort. You open your mouth to reassure him, but all that escapes is a soft, pleased sound that makes his hips stutter.

“Feels good?” Eddie gasps, nodding like he wants to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah, s’good,”

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re gonna want this all the time now, yeah? Need your pretty cunt full of me?”

Pleasant tingles of shame dart up your spine, and one of Eddie’s hands slips between your bodies to rub at your clit again.

“Yeah? Say it, sweet thing.” He groans, hips stuttering at a clench of your cunt around him.

“Like being full of you, Eddie,” you whine, fingers tightening in his hair. “Want it all the time.”

“Jesus- Christ, you’re so good,” he breathes, his fingers bullying your sodden clit. The ache of his cock falls away in comparison to the onslaught of stimulation there, leaving only the satisfying resistance to your cunt clenching down, the sweet fullness, the friction against your sensitive walls. “You’re so good, letting me hear you. Your pretty voice- fuck. Just for me. Think you can cum?”

“Uh huh,”

“Yeah? Like this? Just like this?”

You nod desperately, hips twitching towards him. Chasing the rub of his fingers, the feeling of being stretched full when he presses deep, the throb of his cock inside.

“You cumming, sweet thing?” He asks, as if he can’t see the flutter of your eyes, feel your body clasp around him. “Yeah? Holy-”

Your high is a gentle thing, compared to what you felt with Eddie’s fingers and tongue. A quick rise and fall focused at the top of your cunt that shifts quickly into the numbness of overstimulation. The lasting ache is too present for anything more, but it feels like a promise, a hint of how good it can be with Eddie, if you do this with him again.

You feel boneless and tired while he finds his pleasure, staring down at your warm, satisfied face as he groans. You can feel him inside, the twitch of his cock as he groans, the sudden warmth behind rubber.

His body half collapses on yours, sweat slick skin sticking together. You wrap yourself around him, foot stroking at his calf, hands scratching at the back of his scalp while he tries to catch his breath against your neck. You can feel the pound of his heart where your chests press together, know he must feel yours. When they slow in tandem, beating together, you find Eddie’s wide, soft eyes.

“That-” his voice cracks, his throat clears. “Was that okay?” When you nod, offering a tired smile, he strokes some of your hair back. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” He says, waiting for you to nod again.

You take a shaky breath as Eddie’s softening cock pulls from you, stealing all the soothing warmth inside and leaving you with a sensitive, fluttering pussy. You whimper softly at the tender feeling. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, sweet girl. Gimme one second.”

Shivers run up your spine when Eddie disappears briefly to deal with the condom, a little prickle of something unpleasant at your neck. You’re only starting to replay everything you just did and said that might be shameful, embarrassing, in your head when he returns. Eddie wipes warm damp cloth between your legs. He smooths away the uncomfortable, cooling stickiness. Predictably, he tosses the cloth over his shoulder to fall back into bed and pull you into his chest. There, with his arms tight around you, his adoring gaze set on you, any shame your mind could convince you to feel falls away. Why would you dwell on it, when you can let yourself feel all the warmth Eddie brings?

You lie together for a few minutes, tracing Eddie’s tattoos. Over and over, you drag your pointer finger over the lines forming CORRODED COFFIN under his ribs, letters on Eddie’s skin.

“Thank you,” you murmur eventually, watching Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. You kiss his chest. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice breaking a little at your immediate nod. “Well, uh, thank you for trusting me, sweetheart.”

You lie together until the sweat on your bodies is cool and sticky. When the first shiver runs up your body, Eddie helps you stand from the bed like he expects you to be walking like a new-born deer. You manage into the bathroom by yourself, emerge washed and clad in cosy pyjamas, his soft hoodie. Eddie takes his turn, and returns to bed with steamed warm pink skin and dripping hair that sprinkles droplets on your face when he shakes it out like a dog.

You drift asleep with Eddie’s breath at your ear, his fingers stroking steady at your waist.

You wake the next morning to that same sunlight through blinds, the same dog barking in the distance. If it weren’t for the new ache between your legs, you might have thought you’d dreamt the entire perfect day, woken up to find it was Saturday again.

You turn yourself over to Eddie’s side, find his long bare back, pale and dusted with freckles. In a second, you’ll curl yourself around him, wrap an arm over his torso so he can wake up feeling something like the way you feel when he holds you.

But now, your rapid pulse pounds in your ears. Even as he sleeps, your body won't allow you to say it, or even whisper it. Your throat closes up with the thought of too much, too soon.

But you ache to do something, to let the feeling out somehow. Caught between your throbbing heart and the worries that have kept you quiet your whole life, you shuffle forward, reach out, and draw eight letters, one after the other, on the soft skin of Eddie’s shoulder.

I L O V E Y O U

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Next Part

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader

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starshipsofstarlord · 8 months

Text

Got a Light?

Summary-> Norman goes to a bar after a long day on set, and he’s unexpectedly approached by a ‘stranger’ (1k)

Warnings-> implied smut, smoking, roleplaying, mentions of sex

A/N: I’m thinking of doing a second part with smut, I’d really love some feedback! And thankyou for reading

daryl dixon // norman reedus works main masterlist

The entire bar smelt of booze and sweat; it was crowded, there had been a mass of bodies entering after the clock hit 10, but it had been vastly quieter when Norman had arrived. It had been a long day on set, and all of the man had wanted was a drink before he headed home. He drank the rest of his beer, placing the pint glass back onto the sticky table, standing afterwards and shuffling his jacket onto his shoulders.

It was cool out in the parking lot, the fresh air hitting him better than the alcohol had. He rifled through his pockets, hands searching for the medicine that his lungs craved, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. Just cigarettes. There was no lighter on his body, he groaned at the realisation and threw his head back so that he was aimlessly looking up at the stars. He must have accidentally abandoned it on set or in the bar that he was facing away from, and he had no intention of going back.

One cigarette lay between his fingers as though it were ridiculing him. The sound of high heeled footsteps reached his ears, clearly he wasn’t the only soul that had gotten bored of the loud ruckus. The steps continued until they came to stand beside him, curiosity got the best of Norman and he decided to look at the company that stood beside him, and when he did he knew he was damned. Red lips and alluring eyes took his focus away from the rest of her body, and she could only chuckle at his agape expression.

“You know you need to light that right?” Her voice was like velvet, and Norman could only awkwardly lick his lips, as he tried to hold himself together in front of this beautiful woman. “Unless you’re one of those cheesy guys that are like ‘I can light it but u won’t, it just shows how much power I have.’” Her fingers had done quotation marks to imitate the kind of men that she was talking about, and Norman found it quite adorable.

Everything about her felt magnetising, he was drawn to her, and suddenly Norman felt thankful that he had lost his lighter. And then he realised that he had been silent through their entire interaction thus far, and it made him seem exactly like the type that she had mentioned. “Uh, I yeah. No I mean, sorry. You got a light?” He felt like he had made a complete fool out of himself. On the inside he was beating himself up, it wasn’t uncommon for Norman to be easily embarrassed, but he resented that it had to be seen by the enchanting eyes of this well put together and attractive woman, whose name was a mystery to him. Perhaps it were better for him if he didn’t uncover her social title, otherwise he was certain that he would never forget it.

“Sure I do.” Her hands slipped into the small object one would call a purse, and retrieved it for him, to which the man was thankful. If not for her he wouldn’t have gotten the release that he endearingly craved, but now to his own dismay, Norman thirsted for another. He thought of how her hair would look entangled in the rough grip of his fingers, lipstick smeared around her face and his cock. But he controlled himself and snapped out of his perverted fantasy, and opted for using her light so that he could smoke. “You look tense.” The nameless woman surveyed, pressing her red lips together in a decisive thought. “Sure you’re not just pretending so you can get in my pants?”

Norman had not expected for her to be so bold, and so he stifled and coughed on the trapped smoke in his throat, feeling the burn that it left behind. Whoever this woman was decided that it was appropriate for herself to laugh, relieving the panic that had momentarily subdued Norman. “I mean if that had been the case, let’s just say I wouldn’t be opposed. You’re cute, and I wouldn’t mind per say if you came home with me tonight.” There was a sly undertone in her words as she shamelessly flirted with him and ran her eyes scandalously down his body. Norman thought it to be some inkling of a continuous joke that she were playing along with, however he always tried his best to be optimistic, and this situation gave him a reason to be.

“Glad to hear it.” He responded, returning back to breathing in his cigarette that was getting shorter by the second. Ash flickered from its end, reminding Norman that the clock was ticking away until dawn began to rise, and although he was obligated by his contract to show up to work in the late morning, there was nothing written in the fine print commanding him to be well rested. Sure, it made his life and the stunts his script instructed him to perform easier, but he didn’t want this night to end despite his earlier apprehensions when he was sat in the bar alone.

“Are you ready to leave then? Unless you have someone waiting at home for you of course, committed men and cheaters aren’t really my type either.” She had made it as clear as a crystal for what she was looking for in him, and men in general. Norman stomped out the stump that was remaining of his cigarette, placing his hands that were feeling both hot and cold around her waist, pulling her closer to him, supplying the last heave of smoke to escape his lips and brush over her bare shoulders. “And I can’t help but notice that wedding band around your finger…”

This was all a rouse in her ploy, she was dragging him in for a night he’d never forget. “You’re gonna be the death of me y/n.” Norman informed her, watching as an all knowing smirk found purchase in her breathtaking face. She stepped away from him, only by a few inches as she held something rectangular and silver with her painted fingertips. His lighter. She was one devious minx, and he’d ensure that she was in for it when they got back to their home. “Don’t worry honey, you’ll enjoy everything that I have in store for us tonight.” Norman could only follow his Mrs Reedus to find out what she had planned for them.

#norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon x reader #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus fic #daryl x you

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tinycozycomfort · 9 months

Text

rest in the cup of my palms (part three)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter three: compromise

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: joel helps you work through your doubts.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> sad thoughts about fatherhood, idolization!!, oral sex (f receiving), edging

word count: 5k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: thank you for your patience and thank you as always for reading! and special thank you to @pascalisbaby for bearing with me as i cried my way through this i love u

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“For the first time, I could clearly perceive the nature of feelings and emotions—I physically felt their consistency… the surge of a wave, the crumbling of a cliff… I understood the necessity of comparisons and metaphors using water and fire.”

Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion

───────

Minutes go by, but sluggishly, painfully—a dull crawl that mimics the cinematic use of slow-motion. The fracturing feels pre-climactic and almost momentous, too-long strides of seconds that pave the way for something grand.

In reality, you’re just waiting; in this barely-lit, one shot hallway, aptly partnered by a life-sized amount of discomfort. You feel like a piece of something sprouted up from cement, forced into a mold not made with you in mind—love and like and candy-sweet, feverish feelings—unable to be removed now that you’ve grown in over the lip. Reaching for the sun. And he’s beautiful above you, radiant enough to burn behind closed eyelids—the image that shines there a carefully chosen snapshot that only adds height to where he hangs in the sky.

You’ve become so tired already, from the work-up and the frustration and the effort to stop it—like being outside all day with no reprieve until sunset; he’s that strong. It’s been restraint, followed by actions that negate it, followed by reinstating restraint, and still it doesn’t stop daylight from happening. Morning and high noon and six-o-clock oranges will never stop happening, so why not free yourself of the excessive rumination and the fighting? You’d much rather try to brave him—sunscreen and shade and a flat hand above your brow. Trying is good, easy, uncomplicated. Tonight, you can try. This is a good idea.

He’ll be here soon to prove it, too—on his way to come collect you, confirmed by the oblong rectangle of text on the brick clutched in your fist.

You move enough that it wakes up again, ’Fifteen minutes.’ flashing across its face, burning under the pad of your thumb. The thing is overheating now, somehow having absorbed some of the furious twisting of your excitement, and you shove it deep into your bag to let it cool—too honest of a mirror.

You will your body to restart, moving back out onto the yard in search of Ian, to warn him of your exit—the only courtesy you have enough patience to give—frantic to get to the good part.

You find him out by the flame, one foot resting on the brick-lined ledge of the pit, a still-full beer bottle tight in his grip. It’s tepid, too, if the lack of condensation is any indication. You curl your nose and he tips the top towards you, a waft of sour citrus pouring out.

“What happened? My friend came back very upset that you were gone,” he teases, cocking a smile and rolling his neck over in question, languid and unserious.

“I’m leaving, actually. Didn’t want to go without saying.” You knock the bottle with the back of your hand until it threatens to spill over in the other direction. It’s unoffending, really, a nervous reaction, but it has him visibly questioning what ten minutes out of view had done to make you so taut.

He straightens up minutely at your unrest, only enough to reel back his exaggerated demeanor without drawing looks, “Are you good to drive? I haven’t had any of this yet—I can take you home.”

“I’m not driving. I’ve got a ride.”

“With?”

“Joel’s going to come get me.”

His eyes widen, mouth spreading with what you’re sure are five too many questions, so you stop him before he can continue—afraid to mar his night with what you imagine would be too much to navigate right now, “I’ll explain tomorrow. Text me when you get home. I love you. I’m fine.”

Part of you—a part that has no say right now—feels guilty for doing this to him a second time, for putting your friend through another half-witnessed, poorly justified fit of emotional anguish. He was the one who brought you here, to get away from this very thing, but somewhere in your bag there’s a faint stir, hard vibration jostling the contents, and you fail to think Ian through, again.

He’s barely even started to nod before you turn, slipping through the side gate and out onto the lawn.

It only takes another handful of stretched-out moments—time lost completely on you now—before opaque beams cast across the curve of the street from the top of the cul-de-sac. They drop off into low-lights once the driver registers your presence and you push forward on shaky legs, knees locking—blood having gathered in your chest from anticipation, sloshing around your heart and cutting off circulation to your limbs.

The vehicle—a truck—passes you, hitting the end of the block and returning up the drive, passenger door addressing you when it stops, your reflection warped in its convex surface. The window rolls down with a whir, and Joel’s face appears in the slit, eyes tired and hair flattened unintentionally—you absolutely woke him up.

You let yourself in, hiking up a static-logged leg to settle in the seat before he pulls off back onto the street. It’s silent for too long, and you’re returning to a familiar feeling of acceptance, just like all the nights in your past where you’d admitted to yourself that you were going home with someone, driven by fuzzy feelings of instant connection and promise. It makes him easier to grasp—more human-like.

“You were asleep,” you mumble sheepishly, acknowledging his unpreparedness in an attempt to forgive your own.

“‘Wasn’t supposed to be. I was waiting up for Ellie. I—uh, I thought you were her when you called.”

He sounds just as level as he had on the phone, fingers rapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, “She texted a few hours ago to let me know she was out for the night. I fell asleep before I could see it.”

Joel tucks the corner of his elbow in the window, laying his cheek on curled knuckles, and you chance a real glance at him for the first time.

His dark blue t-shirt is wrinkled where it had been bunched at the torso, hanging limply now over a pair of rumpled jeans. Creases of sofa or pillow-case run up like tendrils on the skin of his arm, pressed in at various degrees of depth—restless enough to continue to pivot, even in repose.

He looks homey, spun out of flesh-colored wool thread and plush, unlike the fatigue you’d seen on him in the classroom, or the buzz of anxious tension on the side of the school a few days ago. Here he’s just Joel, free of the idea of him or his actions; just-awake Joel with nothing to say except the truth. Pressure sits weighted on your shoulders, lingering guilt from choosing to savor, even if within the safety of emotional distance. It’s okay to look, isn’t it? Although looking isn’t all you had in mind.

“Can we go to your house?”

“Did you drink?”

Joel peers over his shoulder at you, and he looks meek but not small, like the question itself isn’t embarrassing but the act of asking it is. Oh. You remember your last encounter, how you’d blamed your exit on the wine, and your heart constricts at the idea that he’s asking because he’s afraid you’ll leave again. In all honesty, you wish you could leave, be strong-willed enough to have him let you out a block from your front door, never to be seen again. But you’re weak, at the mercy of your need to test your limits, your brain dipping into its reserve while your body fights to feign presence, hands rolling into fists in your lap.

“No. I haven't gone out much since the break started. Decided against getting fucked up.”

He hums, satisfied, eyes falling ahead. The tires grind under you, lulling you into another tense quiet until he’s pulling up to the front of a well-kept, stone-faced home at the end of a short street. You lean forward to see more of it beyond the curve of the windshield, lined in copper trim with fender-shaped dents bruising the cover of the garage. It’s a call-back to grade school—what limited experience you had traversing the suburbs as a child—visiting friends in large, traditional houses with pretty concrete fountains and security-alarm signs forced into panels of fresh grass.

Joel steps out and comes around the car to open your door before you have the chance to do it yourself, popping open the handle and stilling for a second before just stepping out of your way, perhaps in the sake of not being overly cliche. You try to appear unaffected by the notion, climbing down with a smile and sealing the door behind you, but you inwardly relish in his considered movements—he’s taming himself for you.

He leads you into the house—as quaint as it seemed to be—smelling warm and peppery like heat-soaked wood. It’s very much lived in, riddled with evidence of use—scuff marks at the threshold and smudged fingerprints in the dark paint on the walls where boots were taken off with the assistance of a grip. A side table brackets one side of the entrance, littered with bobbles and keys and a few other store-bought treasures. At its closest foot are several pairs of little sneakers, piled tall and wide on a wedge of rug, too narrow to be Joel’s.

Ellie.

There are signs of her everywhere, this faceless extension of him, her name scribbled on a few papers on the table and in the corners of framed drawings in the hallway; gorgeous hand, she has—all of the figures looking as true to life as they could, even when confined to paper cages. She lines the edges of their domicile, a path of lovingly curated representations of her, right down to a monogrammed leather sketchbook that sits on the dining table.

And everywhere she is, he follows. Parts of him loom over her place-holders—guitar picks marked J in a dish with a box of charcoal nubs, a rolled up wad of button-up laid over a dark green backpack, a men’s watch sharing space on the counter with two tiny drops of backed silver. He watches over her within the borders of every container, open and solidly present behind her like a tough-knit net—ready to catch.

You step out of your shoes and he walks further in the house with haste, knocking around in what you assume is the kitchen when he returns with a glass of water.

“For you,” as he passes it, “Just in case.”

“Thank you.”

He curls a thumb into a belt loop at his waist, body teetering awkwardly as he watches you drink. You note the more-than-safe distance he’s put between you, the same kind he had implemented last week between his heart-wrenching confession and the point where this entanglement had escalated.

“Okay, so. I’m going to change. Do you want something too?”

You can’t help but smile, a nervous laugh held tight in your throat, “Yes, we can go to your room.”

Even in the dark, you don’t miss the flush of red along his jaw, the same shade he’d worn in the gallery, wine-soaked and unpracticed.

You flinch inwardly. How is it that you are remembering so much about him when he’s existed in your world for less time than should be notable? Only two interactions, now three, but they’ve earned their slot in your fondest of memories; nothing substantial provided still, and he casts your sunrises and warms your earth. You fear what touching him again will do to you.

Joel smiles something shy back, walking past you and motioning for you to do the same. He leads you back through the display, minding the little shoes as he climbs up the steps.

There are photos lining the staircase, less symbolic than the downstairs decorations, but just as revealing. A few of Joel and another man, similar in stature with a full smile and thick, slicked back hair, clasping shoulders or standing pin-straight side by side at different ages in mall-kiosk, christmas card style. Another of a young girl, all teeth and sparse freckles and pale cheeks. She’s wearing a cap and gown, shiny polyester catching in the flash, edges hazy with blur.

That’s her. His daughter. You’ve seen her, you realize, from a few modeling sessions you’d done when you offered to cover for the younger students. You already knew her, too, floating around more than a few hellos on the days you’d sat for her like a silent idol. It feels odd to be in her home now, the two of you connected in a way she hasn’t come to partake in quite yet. She’s been at the head of your conversations with Joel until now—in this moment when she’s here but not here—and you wonder how much he’s considered her place in all this. You should at least thank her, you suppose; nod at her picture in prayer or cross your fingers that you might actually get to meet her—see her again, rather—and get to say it to her face.

Joel walks ahead of you as you linger, unbothered by your interest. You’re glad he does when you reach the last row.

A larger frame bookends the slideshow, standing alone in its unique appearance. It’s hand-made, a thin string of painted ferns on the edges, the wings of something like a butterfly or moth wrapping over the right-hand corner, precise and niche enough to be nothing other than a gift. The picture inside is of the two of them together, happy and puffy-cheeked with their arms wrapped around each other, back-lit in front of some kind of museum display.

Pure joy. His comfort.

A swell of pain lodges in your ribs, eyes drawing wet. He’s losing her, you think, in a way he hasn’t even begun to realize. He's missed so much of her life—at no fault of their own—and will pursue her future as a bystander. You long to give him some kind of relief in that, maybe out of pity or maybe out of need. You wanted to be on your own, you wanted to be separated from everyone else out of spite for letting your family and your ex tower over you, heavy-handing their influence in false gestures of kindness. Not loving. Never loving—only present in best interests and helpful advice. Things that gave you purpose and points. Who was tallying? What have you to show for it now?

You only ever wanted acceptance from them, to be recognized as a person instead of as a student or a daughter or a girlfriend—to be able to transcend role and become an active participant.

It’s too perfect, this thing you each individually lack; what comes of someone who cares and someone who needs caring?

“Hey.” Joel calls from the end of the room, pulling you out of your dissection of his life, voice soft like he’s seeing an apparition he’s unsure is there.

“Hi.” You whisper, walking towards him, ignoring his tentative boundary, “You know, I did everything in my power to not call you.” There’s no point in keeping secrets now, from him or yourself.

He crowds you in the doorway, body slumping on the line of his spine so he can entrap you more securely, u-shaped shoulders and outward facing palms, “Why did you call?”

“I couldn’t help it,” and before he can interrupt, “Joel, I need you to know that this isn’t going to end well.”

“End? Have we started?”

“We were doing this before we both knew it, I think. That’s what you were talking about, right—like we’ve met before?”

“That’s right.” He’s breathing shallowly, unable to hide his desire for proximity now that you’ve allowed him more than he started with, chest moving back and forth like the breeze of the heater is enough to push his tide, “And I meant it.”

“So did I.”

“Then what are you so scared of? If it’s familiar?” His knee knocks into the slice of thigh above yours. He’s getting closer.

“Just because I want you now doesn’t mean I should have you.”

“What if I want you to have me?”

“Even worse.” The heat of his face leaks out onto yours and you open yourself to it—the hot sun in July, the boiling rain of mid-summer, all encompassing and working hard to bring you up to temperature so you can burn along with it. Setting you ablaze.

You lean up, the tip of your nose catching on the stubble lining his jaw, careful to not break eye contact for longer than the briefest moment, nudging him in short taps.

“I do, though, honey. I think you know I do.” His knee pushes between yours, digging into the joint of your leg to unfold you, the rough denim over his zipper dragging across the knob of your hip.

You curl a hand around the fabric covering his stomach, wrinkling it past the point of correction as it folds under the damp of your fist. He’s far from at length now, both nothing of what you intended and exactly what you wanted. He’s thrilled about it too, seemingly—the muscle under his torso fluttering when your nails drag against him.

He’s everything again, everywhere, soft tanned skin and jeans he came up here to ‘change out of’, the invisible halo around him swallowing you, coaxing you into his orbit. You want all of it, piece by piece and for all he’s worth.

“I don’t want to waste you,” you murmur, and there’s that unashamed boldness again, honesty rushing out like an unsupervised beast. Joel wraps his thick fingers around the side of your neck, thumb pushing into soft cheek, between rows of teeth and over skin, pushing them apart.

His eyes are glossy, like he’s just gotten up from a long sleep, gauzy and sloppy and sticky. His mouth hangs open to mimic yours as he speaks, “You couldn’t. I have an endless amount to give,” and then he’s licking the outline of your open lips, slipping his tongue in to press along the roof of your mouth and up up up to the back of your teeth. He’s puffing hard out of his nose, dipping in and out of your split, licking even the pad of his thumb where it pokes through the hollow, touching himself inside you.

His free hand grips the top of your ribs, leading you backwards towards the bed until you’re seated at the edge of it, his back curved harshly to continue to taste you.

You’re kissing him back, you know that, but your thoughts float up to cloud your pleasure and you’re getting ahead of yourself all over again. What does he want? Why does he want it? Would he be upset to learn you’re trying to give him less? You flip the hem of his shirt between your forefinger and thumb, toes curling against the carpet—walking that line of self-doubt.

He breaks away, so careful again even with no clear need to be, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just nervous.”

“About now? Or about me?”

“Both.”

“Just talk to me, then. Tell me why we shouldn’t—we can work through it together. Let me take some of that worry off of you.”

Joel braces a knee on the corner of the mattress to hold himself steady, gripping you under the joints of your shoulders and pulling you towards the center of the bed. He deposits your body like nothing, kneeling at the apex of your thighs.

Your voice shakes, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He works at the buttons on your shirt with long fingers, drawing it over the hills of your shoulders until your collar rolls in on itself from the force, falling away. Joel wraps the layer over the panel of your jacket and pulls, undressing you like he has to memorize how to be able to put you back together. He does the same with your bra, achingly slow, but you can feel tiny tremors in his wrist as it runs against your back.

You just watch for a minute, unable to link what he’s doing to reality, arms feeling weak like the dull ache of a full-body cold, akin to sickness.

“Go on, honey. Only gonna keep going as long as you do.”

“I— I feel connected to you. I don’t want to.”

He closes his eyes and bobs his head, I understand, and your body starts to feel numb at your core, pulsing so violently it prompts you to roll your ankle to make sure you haven’t left it behind.

“More,” he pants, running fully-spread hands over every piece of bare skin, your nipples pulling tight as the motions move from gentle to greedy, passing to tugging.

“I can’t do this again. I have a hard time letting go. What if you want me for the wrong reason and I can’t hate you for it?”

He pops the button of your pants, lifting you up off the bed to take the garment down and off, dipping his fingers into the rim of each of your socks on the way to remove them at the same time.

You push your forefingers into the band of your underwear, but Joel meets your hand as you start, winding a finger around the lace and pulling opposite so they catch—leave these on.

You comply, but you know you’re already wet through them, know that he can see it, and you can’t decide if you want him to know his effect on you, legs buckling in no clear direction; but he feels so good, and he’s almost where you want him, and he’s waiting for you to keep talking, so you lean into the heat. You spread.

“It’s easy to tell myself you’re different once I’m in it. But it never works out right. I get too attached.”

Joel settles in, shouldering the left side of his body under your thigh to bring you open further, wrapping his arm around it and letting a hand situate against your belly. He turns his right palm away from himself, flattening it like a warning sign before he pushes it against the crease of your cunt, rubbing in slow circles with the curve of his fingers, right under the points. You thrash, trying to force him just an inch up to where you’re throbbing, but he doesn’t budge—he’s making you earn it.

“What if you just want me because you think you need someone to take care of? What if you find out you feel better alone?”

He dips two fingers into your cunt through the film of your underwear, shallow but firm—more than just curious. You feel like you might just come from this, from just the suggestion of him.

He uses his forearm to butt against the underside of your thigh, prompting you to lift it towards your chest, and he leans down to cup your clit into his mouth, fabric and all. His mouth is searing with the aid of the material, a tight suction that insulates the heat he’s expelling.

You’re heaving now, light-headed and loose as broad strokes of his tongue soak the already tainted cloth, the extra stimulation from its drag enough to make your head spin. You’re sure that if you breathe any harder your chest will cave in.

“Hm?” He asks against you, demanding, the vibration of it setting your skin alight, and you force your nails into the dip of your hand to keep your mind in the room. You’re stuttering, but it’s not enough of a response, so he leans back—cruel and merciless.

“What did I say?” he coos, left hand pinching into the swell of flesh at your side.

It stings but you gasp, eager to take, even if the attention so so far away from where it should be, and you have to count your breaths out in groups of five to come back into focus.

“What if I’m willing to take what you give me? Does that ruin the safety I’ve built for myself?” you whisper, and finally he peels back the curtain of fabric, only enough to present your entrance, rough fingers greeting your opening with no resistance, twisting and hooking them so just the tips are fixed inside. He positions himself above his hand, spitting onto your still-covered clit, watching it slide down and gather where you join. It’s unnecessary, with how much slick you know is pooled there, trailing down onto the sheets under you, but you chalk it up to just having another piece of him inside of you—you’ll gladly accept it.

You’re so very close, and he can tell, maybe from the shake in your hoisted leg or the lack of time in between airy cries, and he just slides in, right to the first knuckle. No room to be ready.

The sound of blood rushing in your ears is so loud you don’t hear yourself when you start begging. You writhe under the hold he has on you, relieved and overwhelmed and a few inches from your soul pouring right out of your body.

And then he’s not moving again, lessening the recovery time he’s willing to allow you, and you try to dig through the fog of arousal to find real words, but your mind can only conjure up a single-syllable sentence as you beg him to relent.

He frees himself from the clutch of your leg, shimmying out so he can use his unsodden hand to cradle your head, the weight of your skull limp in his palm, “You can do it. Get it all off your chest.”

Joel presses his thumb up under your cheek, pulling at the crease of your lips like he can will you to speak with force alone.

“I can’t. Please. Just finish.”

“You have something else you want to say. I don’t take kindly to giving up. C’mon.”

He gives you a half-step, reminding you part of him is still within you, fingers curling up against the soft muscle and you skip over a hard inhale.

“How am I supposed to know what I’m up against if you won’t tell me?” He says it like it’s obvious, like this is some very common step in relationship-building—finger-fucking you as a reward for confessing your skepticism.

You’re tense, holding the whole of your body in one, tiny scrap of you and it feels like you’ve entered some kind of limbo, suspended in the place between tension and relief, so close to falling that you’re not sure you want either of them.

He angles himself again, pushing his entire heft into your hip with a wide hand so he can fit himself flat against the bed, mouth hovering over your cunt again. He exhales hard over you, the fingers still tucked in your cunt moving as he adjusts.

“Please?” He begs sweetly, high enough on the end that you know he’s mocking you, “You can do better than please.”

You huff hard, swallowing thickly—trying again, “What if you—What if—,” you manage, and the lead-up must be convincing enough because he bows again, body fully flat so he can latch on to your clit with his mouth, lips closing tight around the bud through cotton and sucking hard, the hand inside you stirring to life, his twisted positive reinforcement serving you well.

“Fuck, Joel. Fuck—What if you make me love you, just to leave me?”

Your ankle drifts down to find purchase against his waist, and you can feel him moving, working himself into the mattress. In the chaos, you’d forgotten about his want, and being reminded of his ability to take makes your sweat run cold. He could fuck you now, and instead he’s fucking the bed thinking about you—even bringing you to completion is enough to make him chase release. You lean your head back behind your shoulders, your orgasm overtaking you one harsh wave at a time, stomach filling with thick, hot syrup. You push your teeth so deep into your lip there has to be blood but you can’t taste it, all of your senses honed onto where he’s unraveling you, shrinking in on itself in preparation to violently burst.

He weighs in, now that you’re already cresting, “I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Not now that I know what you need.”

His admission, his promise, is enough to make you see white, pushing your peak into overstimulation far too soon, and you have to be crying or begging or something because he immediately slows, winding you down in an organic way—taking his time leading you past bliss.

He pulls his hand free of you, sliding his grip over the damp, half-mounted fabric and peeling it away, hand circling your calf to maneuver you gently.

You’re fully naked now, and when he rolls over to stand at the foot of the bed, you remember he’s still clothed. There he is, above you again like he brings the dawn, bent shirt and uneven waistband and shiny slip over his lips.

It looks different from your memory though, here he looks inexplicably pained, face wrinkled, and then settles another reminder—he hadn’t come.

“Wait, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer, just recedes to another part of the room you can’t see over your heap of arms and legs.

You’re still swallowing ragged mouthfuls of air, not quite normal, when he reappears, the feeling of hot cloth against your still fragile cunt makes you writhe.

“Joel.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t get to… finish,” you mutter, and how you’re too embarrassed to address his arousal even after what just transpired is beyond you.

“No need to rush anything. I can take care of myself for now, plenty of time to get to that point.”

“What now, then?”

“Sleep with me. I can take you home if you want, or to your car, but I would much rather if you stayed.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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firsttimewriter92 · 1 year

Text

We were young

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Summary: A fun evening at your home with task force 141 turnes slightly sour when the topic switches to your previous partners. Soap takes it particularly hard.

Minors, don´t interact!! This is heavy! No smut. Hurt/Comfort

Part 2

Word count: 4.088

Warnings: comfort/fluff in the end BUT: mentions of sexual abuse, talks of virginity taken, abusive ex, stalking, mentions of porn, blood, crying, protective Soap, cursing, heavy topics in general

Authors note: I would like all of you to proceed with caution when reading this fic. Everything you read here actually happened to me and this is MY outlet because I wish I had a Soap at the time I actually realised what had happened to me. I chose him for this fic because I think he´d be just the right person to help. As I said, please be careful but I still hope you enjoy the story and my version of our favourite Scottish golden boy :)

“Okey! Most embarrassing thing your ex ever did!”

You rolled your eyes at a tipsy Gaz trying not to smile. This actually was an interesting question and would surely make this little get together more fun. You were currently sitting on your plush couch in your small living room/kitchen. Around you an assortment of the task force 141.

Gaz was sitting on the floor on one of your throw pillows, leaning heavily onto your wooden coffee table. Next to you on the couch sat Price, contently nursing a beer and smiling mildly. You even got Simon to come. Although it was probably his Captain who forced him to come and unwind from a particular rough mission. Three weeks they had been gone. Another three weeks of worry over your friends.

You had met them when your new neighbor moved in. When you´d heard the ruckus outside your door, you had peeked out carefully only to see three men shouting at each other, trying to maneuver a massive couch through the door. “I swear to god, Soap! You tell me to pivot one more time, I´m goin´ to fuckin´ kill you!” That had been Gaz shouting at a snickering man who had been holding the back of the couch. Meeting his gaze, you´d immediately noticed his piercing blue eyes, full lips and 5 o´clock shadow.

After your initial meeting, things just took off naturally. You would notice when he came back from a mission, quickly moving to the door to say welcome back. He´d always smile at you, no matter how banged up he was, holding a small conversation and then vanishing into his apartment to sleep for days it seemed. After a few months you made it a habit to bring over food every time he came back. He seemed to genuinely worship you for that and at one point didn’t even bother walking into his own living space. He had just knocked on your door, waited until you´d opened it and gave you a tired smile. “Hiya, lass. ´M back and starvin´.

Meeting the other members of his task force had happened gradually. Johnny had invited you out to a bar one evening and the whole group just seemed to kick it off with you. After that evening you´d brought home a very drunk John MacTavish and helped him into bed. He´d grabbed your arm and tried to cuddle it as he was laying on his bed fully clothed. Snorting you´d knelt down and waited until he was asleep. By the time you´d seen his face relax and his breathing had evened out, you couldn´t help yourself and had touched his face very lightly. Mapping out his features, you had wondered what this usual sunshine of a man had to endure anytime he went away.

You only knew that they were in the military and went on missions. They wouldn’t tell you more and you always thought it was a good thing. You worried none the less about them. If you would actually really know what they were doing, you´d probably lose your goddamn mind.

Johnny had been your neighbor for three years now and you enjoyed those little get togethers at your place immensely. You knew of course that Simon for example only came around because he wanted you to see for yourself that he was okey. Johnny and Gaz were the ones who genuinely wanted to unwind and just have a nice evening and you guessed so did Price. Even though he never really drank much , he always gave the warmest hello and goodbye hugs.

“Good one, Gaz!” bellowed Johnny and plopped down on your recliner giving you a little wink. “You go first, then” he toasted towards Gaz who blinked slowly and pinched his brows. He looked as if he tried really hard to remember something. “He got piss drunk because he thought I was out cheatin´…found him butt naked on my balcony creaming slurs from the top of his lungs. My elderly neighbor almost called the coppers.” He shook his head. “It was just a fling but I called it off the next mornin´. I can´t deal with jealous and crazy.”

Prize sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried to look put off by the story. You could see his beard twitch though and the little laugh lines around his eyes appeared. Johnny was wheezing into his glass of whisky and even Simon had scooted to the edge of his seat on your armchair.

“`Aight, Captain. Let´s hear it then” Gaz said with a grin and leaned back onto his hand. Price huffed and took a swig from his bottle. “´S no way I´m tellin´ that. ´M very happy with the missus” he waved his hand in front, showing off his wedding ring. “We´re talkin´ about our exes, Cap. Not our spouses.” Johnny rolled his eyes good naturedly. It was hard to be annoyed with Price when he was talking about his wife. The man was obsessed. He smirked. “My ex- fiancé is my wife, ya muppet.”

“I don’t think you´ll get an answer out of him, Gaz” you giggled and bumped Price softly with your shoulder. He just shook his head in denial and sipped the rest of his beer. “Fiiiiiiine,” Gaz groaned. “Ghost, your turn.”

You whipped your head around to the bulging figure sitting in your chair, his elbows on his knees. Simon never really talked much and you were sure he wouldn’t get into these kind of shenanigans. To your surprise though (and to everyone else´s as well) he leaned back a little, pulled down his mask to take another big gulp of his scotch and slowly spoke. “She… got a little too excited and uhh…bit me.”

Silence.

“WHAT?!” Johnny almost jumped out of his seat, his full attention on Simon. “What do you mean, she bit you? You realise that can be pretty hot though, right?” Your tipsy brain really tried not to imagine biting into Johnny´s delicious neck. Simon hung his head. “Believe me, she bit a part of me where teeth really aren´t supposed to be used.”

“Yer arse and parsley, Ghost (You´re talking shit)!!! She bit yer doaber (dick)?!?!” Gaz was already crying with laughter on your carpet as Johnny looked at Simon as if he´d suddenly grew a second head. Until he as well dissolved into cackling wheezes, holding his stomach. You couldn’t help but join in on the laughter whereas Price actually looked mortified this time. “We were fourteen!!” Simon groaned. “We knew fuck-all about what we were doin´.”

Still trying to catch your breath you looked at Simon who gave you an almost pained look, understandably. “But you did have….relationships since then, right? Your last girlfriend wasn´t at the age of 14, was it?” You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

His eyes suddenly narrowed and you knew he was smiling underneath his mask. His eyes glinted a little. “Relationships? None. I joined the military at 16. Not much time for that. Relations?...Plenty.”

Hollering and whooping Gaz and Johnny started clapping while Simon sat back into the chair again. You could feel your face burn pleasantly. Simon coming out of his shell this much and even cracking innuendos made you really happy. “Johnny,” you looked at him. “Your turn.” You were almost bouncing out of your seat out of sheer excitement over what kind of story he would tell.

He still had tears in his eyes but they looked a bit sheepishly at you. “Well,” he drawled. “Not so much an embarrassing story or a story about an ex but…more of a crazy one.” He winked at you and continued. “There was this young lass. She worked at the front desk of the military accommodation office. When I fist joined, she took a likin´ to me. Didn´t think much off it. I was there maybe three or four times. I´ve never seen her outside of the office.” Somehow you didn’t think this story would end that well. You stomach sank a bit. “By the time I was 18 and just about to join the SAS I came home one night with me mates and well…there she was. Naked as a wee baby, standin´ right in the middle of our room.” He shook his head when Gaz started to grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Would have been funny…if she hadn´t brought a fuckin´ knife and held it to her own throat.”

Ice made its way into your veins and you stared at Johnny disbelievingly, almost in horror. He had a tight lipped smile on his face. No real joy adorning his features.

“We were quick enough so nothing happened but when they dragged her screaming arse out the barracks, she looked more like a banshee than a human.” He sighed heavily. “She seemed like a nice girl. Quiet, but nice.”

“Why in the shit did she do that, though? What did she want?” Gaz looked seriously taken aback.

Johnny took a deep breath through his nose and gave you a nervous side glance. “Me, apparently.”

The ice in your veins was replaced with rage and you balled your fists. What would have happened to Johnny if some crazy stalker hurt herself because of him or worse yet, for him?

Johnny continued. “When they searched her flat they found…stuff. Missing shirts from my room, pictures, something like a shine…I don´t funkin´ know. I never saw any of that. They just told me she lost her shit when she heard I was leaving and joining the SAS.” He shrugged his shoulders and the little glint in his eyes was back. “I´m glad I didn´t see what she had been up to. Freaks me out just knowing about it.”

Gaz pushed out a long breath through his lips. “Maaaaaaaate, what the fuck?! We know you´re a pretty boy but, damn. That´s fucked up.” Johnny chuckled and nodded his head. “Tell me about it. Makes you a little cautious about who you want to date. Not that there is much…dating.” You could clearly see his eyes flicking over to you. You gave him a sweet smile that he immediately returned. His shoulders relaxing more and more. “You can say that again,” Gaz said and grossed his arms behind his head. “We can´t all be as lucky as our dear Captain.”

Price snorted but his chest swelled with a content sigh. It was adorable, really.

“Right then,” Johnny clapped his hands and sat up straight, his torso turned to you. “Onto the most interesting story” he winked. You scoffed. “Don´t be a creep, Johnny” Simon said lowly from his place across from him. He just waved his hand at him dismissively without looking away from your face.

You also sat up straight again and giggled. “It´s not about my recent ex...I don’t have many of them anyway but…” your shoulders shook in an effort not to laugh out loud. “My first ever boyfriend? He tried to take my virginity…in his moms bed!!” You started cackling. Gaz and Johnny joining in. “Jesus” you heard Price mutter from next to you, chuckling.

Gaz was rolling on the floor “You´ve got to be shitting me” he wheezed. “He did not!” Clutching your stomach you wiped away at your eyes and nodded. “´M not kidding.”

“H-how old…How old was that idiot?” Johnny asked you through hearty laughs. “He was eighteeeeen” you wheezed. Another roll of laughter went through the room. “I was only sixteen and had no idea how relationships were supposed to work but I did get that that was NOT it.”

Johnny seemed to sober up a little bit, though still grinning he looked intently at you. “Please tell me you dumped his arse, lass.” You nodded. “Eventually yes. I mean…like I said, I didn’t have any experience with having a boyfriend. But by the time he tried to actively isolate me from my friends and my family, I´ve had enough. He tried to take me away from a family event even though I told him I couldn’t spend time with him that weekend.” Slowly their laughter ebbed away to little chuckles. You felt like something shifted in the air. Johnny´s grin looked forced all of a sudden.

Trying to light up the mood you quickly turned back to the previous topic, starting to laugh again. “Also…get this…this idiot was so hellbent on taking my virginity, he even undressed me in my sleep! Telling me I probably did it myself and I should listen to what my body wants.”

This time the change in the air was almost tangible. Johnny´s face fell completely and his eyes went stone cold. Gaz was staring at you from the floor with a disbelieving look on his face and Simons knuckles turned white. Your stomach clenched uncomfortably. You tried to think about these events in a comical way whenever you could, because if you didn´t, that would only mean these happenings were nothing else but…

Price´s face appeared in your peripheral and you turned your head. His eyes were warm but stern when he spoke. “___, love. You know what he actually did, right?” You took a long breath through your nose and nodded your head. “Yes, yes I know what he did. I sensed the danger and got out. Believe me, bullshit like that will never happen to me again.” You tried to give your friends an encouraging smile. “Nothing else happened. He was just a massive creep.”

Gaz finally caught himself. “Yeah, no kiddin´” he said with an angry huff. “What a dick! Who thinks that´s how you woo a young lady into giving you her virginity no less? Bleachch…” He made a retching sound with his throat. “Yeah, yeah” you said. Feeling Johnny still boring his eyes into you from the side you tried desperately to change the mood again. “So tell us then, Gaz. How did you do it?”

__________________________________________________________

Thankfully your distraction worked and after another two hours of drinking and light-hearted conversation, Price and Gaz got up to go home. Price mumbled something about not wanting to leave his wife alone for too long while hugging you to his broad chest. You wound your arms around his shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Again…I´m so happy for you. Make sure you get some ice cream and pickles on your way back.” He grinned adorably when he let you go and walked outside, waiting for the others. Gaz too hugged you and gave you a small wink. “Thanks for having us,___. As always.” You nodded and he hesitated for a second. “If there´s anything you want to talk about, call me.” Your heart swelled for your friend as you smiled at him. “I will” you promised him.

Next was Simon. He raised one of his large hands as he always did, put it on your head, as he always did and gently rubbed your scalp, as he always did. Smiling up at him he gave you a meaningful look. “I know, Simon” you said before he had to speak. Huffing a little bit he patted your head once more and also left.

You had a feeling you knew why, when you turned away from the door, Johnny was still standing in your living room awkwardly. He made eye contact with you and tried to smile but his eyes were still full of concern and anger. You didn’t like that look on him. He turned quickly and began cleaning up the various bottles and glasses, bringing them to your kitchen.

Thinking it was probably best to give him some time you picked up the throw pillow and rearranged your furniture back to its original place. You could hear him take a deep breath behind you.

“Was that really all he did?” he asked in a seemingly calm voice. You knew better. He was boiling up inside. “Johnny…” you breathed in a small voice. This was truly not something you wanted to get into too deep tonight. “Did he. Do. Anything. Else?” He didn’t sound angry. In fact his voice was clear and soft. You knew he would not let this go. Johnny was way too stubborn for that. Giving into your fate you sat down on the sofa again and patted the space next to you. He moved quickly but didn’t sit down next to you.

He sat down on your sturdy, wooden coffee table right in front of you, leaning onto his knees. Your gaze shot to his jean clad thighs and folded hands. Thank god he was wearing a long sleeved Henley. You didn’t think you could´ve handled a peek of his forearms right now. He was so close your heart began hammering. Not just because of the conversation you were about to have with him. He smelled so good. Like laundry detergent, peppermint aftershave and warm summer winds at the sea.

Looking back up into his face his eyes were soft and warm. Ever present though, was the piercing colour that always reminded you of blue shattered glass.

“You don’t have to tell me” he reassured you in a whisper. “But sometimes talking about these things can actually help.” You knew he was right, so you nodded your head softly and took another deep breath. Folding your hands in your lap, nervously rubbing them together you began to speak.

“As I said, he was hellbent on taking my virginity. It was like he was obsessed with it. Always wanted to talk about it. Everything we talked about kind of always ended there. To be honest…I was flattered at the beginning that he wanted to give me that experience so badly. He was my boyfriend, I liked him a lot.” Johnny nodded in understanding.

“But when he started to become obsessive I felt less and less comfortable. He´d pick me up from a friends birthday party way before it actually ended. He tried to pick me up from school so I could spend the rest of the day with him and bring me back to my parents’ house later. Basically just to sleep there. On the weekends I basically had to force him to meet any of my friends because he didn’t want me to leave him to go see them.”

Saying all of this out loud made your blood boil. “Yes, I know I was only sixteen but I should´ve realized sooner what he was doing. He undressed me in my sleep!!” Your voice rose while you spoke your last words and your hands suddenly became fists. Without hesitation Johnny grabbed them and soothingly rubbed his fingers over your knuckles. “___, listen to me. What he did is nothing short of…I´m so sorry…sexual abuse. He took advantage of the fact that you liked him. But seriously. All I can hear is that you stood your ground. You still went to see your friends, you ended it when it was too much. What he did…” his features became hard once more. “What he did happened without your consent. That´s inexcusable.”

“It´s not all” you choked out, realizing horrified that your eyes began to water, threatening to spill over if you actually told him. He stilled for a moment and then relaxed again. Still holding your hands protectively he said “Tell me. I´m here, just tell me.”

“When he saw that talking about having sex with me wasn’t going anywhere he…he tried to take my, as he put it ´fear´ away by showing me…these…I´d never seen porn like that before, Johnny.” You could hear the fear in your voice as your sixteen year old self tried to explain herself. The tears were there, falling onto your cheeks as you looked him in the eyes. His hands moved to your face and carefully wiped them away while speaking. “He showed you videos?” You nodded, sniffling. “Of women having their virginity taken. `See? It´s not that bad´ ´They´re not scared´…They were bleeding, Johnny.”

He was next to you on the couch in an instant, hugging you close to him. His gentle hands and reassuring presence warmed every cell of your body and without thinking about it you clambered onto his lap and buried your face in his neck. Immediately his arm wound around your waist and pulled you as close as possible to him. His other hand came up to your face and gently held it, softly dragging his fingertips over your damp cheeks and jaw. From this angle you couldn’t see his face of course but by the way his thighs were shaking and his pulse was thumping wildly against your forehead you knew he tried to hold himself back from exploding.

And still, right now he was so calming and comforting. His body heat encasing you, warming your clammy hands, his gentle fingers rubbing security and safety back into your body. You´d always felt like that with him. Secure and safe. He was playful and earnest. He flirted with you but only if you responded in kind. It was fun. He´d never given you the feeling of being pushed into a corner. That you had to respond, that you had to react. Suddenly a very clear revelation came to you.

If it came to him, to Johnny, you trusted him. Not just as a friend. You´d trust him with every aspect of your mind…and body. Not being able to remember when the last time was you trusted someone like this, you grabbed onto his Henley and nuzzled your nose into the base of his neck.

_______________________________________________

Johnny was in trouble. Big, big trouble. He could feel the rage boiling in his veins as he still held your sleeping form on the couch half an hour later. His chin propped up onto your head, he was still drawing patters onto your waist and neck. He felt twisted. Finally he was able to hold you the way he wanted to for a very long time. Securely tucked into him, without a worry in the world. But that was just it, wasn’t it? There was worry. Worry and fear were the reasons he held you right now. He´d take it, though. All of it if it meant he was able to sooth you, help you. He´d listen to every single bad experience you´ve had, just to slowly and gradually show you that not all men were these…absolutely fuckin´ spineless, narcissistic, balls less, creepy, psychopathic….calm down, Johnny. He took a deep breath. When it came down to it, he just wanted to show you, let you know that he wasn’t like that. That he cared for you, adored you, respected you.

Hearing what you´d been through with just the first romantic relation in your life, he realized that this venture would probably proof to be more complicated than he thought. Screw it! He was determined.

He looked down onto your sleeping face and his heart squeezed in his chest. You were the most caring, selfless person he´d ever met. He was genuinely impressed with how you managed to be such an angel of a person even though something like this happened to you at such a young age. And it wasn´t like you couldn’t handle yourself. He had seen you feisty. Nothing that would scare him but it sure did the baw bag that had tried to feel you up one night.

Shaking his head lightly he carefully got up and maneuverer you onto your couch. Your fuzzy blanket was draped securely over you when he quickly scribbled down a note for you and lay it on the coffee table in front of you. You mumbled something in your sleep. Johnny leaned down to you and carefully lay a hand on your cheek. A smile made its way onto your lips and he nearly sat down on the carpet to watch you sleep all night. Making sure you were well rested. But then the knot in his stomach twisted once more.

He felt it. The unbearable rage he´d felt for the last three hours almost making its way up his throat like bile. With the last ounce of gentleness he had in him he lightly kissed your forehead and turned towards the door.

As he was walking outside he pulled out his cell phone.

Johnny, she alright?

“Yea…well, kind of. You at the base´s gym, Lt?”

Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. Why?

“Meet ya there in 20 minutes”

Wha´ happened?

“I need to punch the shite out of someone without actually killin´ em!”

He could hear his Lt chuckle.

´Aright. See you in 20.

________________________________________________________

Thank you very much for reading. I hope I didn´t scar you for life. :) I would love a like, comment or reblog. They always make me happy. If you experienced anything of the likes of what is written above, I hope you´re doing okey and have someone to talk about this. If not, send me a message. I´d like to help.

A part 2 is not planned but if requested, I´ll find a way to do it :)

Love you all and please take care of yourselves! <3

@lolis-pikt @thychuvaluswife @rand0m--fangirl @biggiecheeselover @fullldash @radishdoodles @deceive-me @f0rg0tmynam3 @starthewolf-146 @polnareffsbouncybaraboobies @konig-breedme @rainhopesforbetterdaystomorrow @kdkj122920 @thychuvaluswife @deceive-me @radishdoodles @depressedacidtest

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