#if you read all that you're a rockstar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

say-al0e · 27 days

Text

What Are Friends For

Rating: M | This is smut, no one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: A conversation with friends reminds you that you're about to begin college as a virgin. It bothers you more than you care to admit so you consult your best friend, Eddie; is virginity really that much of a turn off? (Or, best friend!Eddie takes your virginity) Warnings: virgin!reader, PinV, some nerves about virginity and first times. Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader Word Count: 7.2k

Eddie sat on his bedroom floor, one knee bent with an elbow resting atop it, in a rare display of quiet contemplation. With his back pressed to the dresser, cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other, he scribbled in the notebook he used to write lyrics and, occasionally, plan campaigns.

Rain pattered against the roof of the trailer, heavy and loud and easily drowning out the tape Eddie had playing to fill the quiet. From your perch on his bed, yellowed paperback held open in your hands, you could see it falling in sheets outside the window. With the weather so dreary, there was little you could do other than sit inside - bored, miserable, rereading a book borrowed from Eddie’s shelf that you could practically recite in your sleep - and with him otherwise occupied, you were left alone with thoughts you preferred not to dwell on.

Though you’d read the book in hand a dozen times, could recite the notes Eddie’d scribbled in the margins by heart, if he asked, it would be impossible to relay where in the plot you’d stopped. The words that usually captivated you blurred into one, a mess of nonsensical characters in fading ink, so you dropped it into the sheets with a quiet sigh and rolled onto your side to glance at Eddie in hopes of finding a distraction.

The dark curls you loved were tamed into a low bun, hair swept away from his neck to provide some sort of relief from the oppressive summer heat, with a few strands framing his face. The plush of his lips were swollen, bitten in concentration over the course of the day as he stared intently at the paper. Those dark eyes were narrowed in concentration as he scribbled relentlessly and you could see the tip of his tongue as he pressed it between his lips.

Eddie’s leather jacket and battle vest were replaced by a cutoff Metallica shirt, cropped at the bottom to expose his lower stomach - the band of his shorts, the missing band of his underwear, the dark smattering of hair just beneath his navel between splotches of ink trailing into the band of his shorts - every time he shifted. Most of his tattoos were on display, save for the ones near his collarbones, and you wondered if he realized you could draw most of them from memory.

It would’ve been nice to be able to say that you were struck, just in that moment, by how attractive Eddie was. To confess that you’d never noticed how achingly beautiful your best friend was would’ve been a lie as his beauty was something you’d always seen.

Few things baffled you more than how people - closed-minded classmates, shallow girls who sought out pigheaded jocks - saw Eddie as anything other than breathtakingly beautiful. His personality was enough, a kind heart and a brilliant mind, but personality aside, you always thought he looked like someone out of a magazine. He was a rockstar stuck in tiny little Hawkins, a figure from your wildest fantasies brought to life.

The wild curl of his hair, the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the bright glimmer of his eyes; it all made you giddy, a little lovesick in a way only Nikki Sixx had so far managed. With every glimpse of Eddie that you stole, you grew a little more enamored and as a conversation you’d had earlier that morning simmered at the forefront of your mind, you wondered if that was part of the problem.

A conversation with friends, the majority of whom rarely pressed about your love life - mostly because they knew there was nothing to share, in part due to your feelings for Eddie - that began as excited chatter about college, classes, and, ultimately, boys, sent you spiraling.

Somehow, the conversation went from playful fun to pressing for details about your lack of dates and, finally, a shared certainty that college would change things for you. However, an off-handed comment about inexperience being a turn-off made you question whether college would change anything at all.

Pulling yourself back to reality, reminding yourself that the only opinion that mattered was your own, proved impossible. Every thought that crossed your mind centered on your inexperience, a trait your friends acknowledged and giggled at, and you couldn’t stop yourself from calling out.

“Eddie?”

If he noticed the tremor in your voice - and, this time, he likely didn’t - he said nothing. Instead, he hummed his acknowledgement. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

The pet name was casual, something that slipped off his tongue easily, just as it had done a thousand times before without a second thought, but it never failed to set fire to your skin. There was something about the way his voice wrapped around the word, a little rough around the edges but dripping honey - a little darker, a little deeper - in a tone you’d never been privy to, that had your heart hammering in your chest. The thud of it was loud, drowned out the music and the rain, and you wondered if Eddie could hear it, too, as he glanced up at you for the first time in an hour.

Whatever expression you thought you’d hidden, however careful you imagined you’d been, Eddie saw right through you. With only a tentative glance at your face, his lips pulled into a frown as he dropped his composition book into a pile of laundry before shuffling closer to you. When he sat with his back pressed to the bed, arm lifting to rest on the mattress as his hand sought yours, you could see the concern clouding his eyes. “You alright?”

A brief thought of brushing him off, of pretending that you were fine - bored, or maybe tired, just for an excuse to have sought his attention - but Eddie knew you well. He’d seen your face, caught the glimpse of upset in your eyes, and wouldn’t settle for anything less than a real answer.

With a sigh, you wrapped your arms around your knees and spared him a sideways glance. “I… You know how I’ve never…”

An annoyed huff, bothered by how difficult it seemed to be just to say the words, escaped as you shook your head. Eddie tipped his to get a better look at your face and the weight of his gaze burning into your skin made it difficult to concentrate. Regardless of the knowledge that this was Eddie - someone who loved you, someone who wouldn’t judge you or laugh at you, despite how objectively stupid you imagined you were being - it was still difficult to string together a coherent sentence.

“Can you not look at me, please? I can’t think with you looking at me.”

Eddie was unfazed by your request. It was one he’d grown used to over the years, one you threw at him every time you wanted to discuss something serious - or embarrassing or simply vulnerable - and couldn’t find the nerve. So, instead of questioning you, he simply pushed himself up and climbed onto the bed to join you. He shifted his body to press his back to the wall, stretched his legs across the mattress, and held out a hand.

“Alright, c’mere.”

When you placed your hand in his, shifted onto your knees to shuffle a little closer, Eddie twined his fingers with yours and tugged. With little effort, he hauled you onto his lap. A soft hand pressed to the back of your head and guided your face to hide in the crook of his neck - a position you’d been in a thousand times before, a position that made you feel safe to bare your soul.

This time, however, you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage as you grew overwhelmingly aware of the heat of Eddie’s body pressed to yours. Everything seemed too clear, too loud, too real; the green apple scent of his shampoo, the herbal hint of weed that always seemed to linger, the softness of his skin as your hand rested against his bicep, the firm press of his body as he held you in place, the callous of his fingers as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt to brush at the bare skin of your back.

It was almost too much.

Rather than comforting, you felt Eddie’s touch set your skin alight. It needled at your nerve endings, hastened the pace of your already spiraling thoughts, and you nearly lost your train of thought as he hummed to regain your attention.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

The rasp of his voice in your ear, warm and soft and concerned in a way he only ever seemed to be for you, cut clear through the hammering of your heart. It filled your chest with a sticky warmth and you inhaled as deep as you could in an effort to steel yourself for the conversation you weren’t certain you wanted to have.

“You know how I had breakfast with my friends this morning?” Eddie hummed, acknowledging the plans you’d had before the day devolved into rain and quiet. “We were talking and I know it’s stupid, but I just… I started thinking about it and I couldn’t stop.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging and encouraging you to continue, as he waited patiently. “I’ve never really been on a date and guys don’t really like me. That’s fine, I guess. I mean, it’s not,” you amended, huffing slightly as you traced his tattoo idly. “But there’s not a lot I can do to change it. Anyway, they were kind of laughing about it. They were talking about college changing things and then Amanda said it would be a major turnoff and I… Well, she’s right. I don’t want to go to college a virgin who’s never even held hands with someone romantically. It’s not a major deal but I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I really don’t want to have some cute college guy ask me to make out and have to tell him that I’ve never done that and him think I’m a total loser and lose interest in me.”

The entire confession spilled past your lips in a rushed whisper, mumbled against Eddie’s skin in a hurried huff as you wasted no time thinking. Thinking about it, agonizing over how to express your concern, would only make it harder and you knew that getting it all out in the open would be the easiest option.

Still, that did little to calm your racing heart as Eddie’s hands stilled against your skin.

“Sweetheart.” He sighed, understanding and just a little gentler than you were accustomed to, as he lifted one hand to cup your cheek. “Look at me, please.” With great effort, you allowed him to tip your head so that he could search your face. After a beat of silence, he assured you. “There’s nothing wrong with still being a virgin and it’s not a turnoff. If some asshole college guy thinks any different of you, that’s his loss. Just means he’s not the one for you.”

Rationally, you knew that.

That was something you’d told yourself a thousand times over, a reminder repeated every time the topic arose. But rationality had little place in the whirlwind of emotion the conversation drudged up.

“I know,” you promised him, dipping your head to focus on the fading letters of his t-shirt. Tracing the nearly destroyed ink, you hummed. “I just… I don’t want to be pressured into it and I don’t want it to be a bad memory. I know it’s not going to be perfect but I just want it to be good. I want it to be like something from a movie.” Though you didn’t really want to know, though you knew it would only curdle the already sour thoughts in the pit of your stomach, you allowed yourself to ask. “How was yours?”

Eddie laughed quietly as he resumed his soft stroking of your skin. “Nothing is like the movies,” he declared, pausing only when you huffed. “Not to rain on your parade or anything,” he teased. “But all of my firsts were pretty shitty. My first kiss was under the bleachers in junior high and she laughed at me after because it was just a dare. And my first time was over in, like, three seconds. I was high and horny and came the second she let me inside. I’m just glad she never told anyone. But shit happens, sweetheart. It gets better, easier. Just find someone you trust.”

Without thinking, you said, “I trust you.” For a split second, it felt as if the world stopped spinning. You willed a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole as you immediately lifted your hand to cover your mouth. “I don’t… I don’t know why I just said that. Fuck, I’m sorry, Eddie. I-“

Instead of allowing you to pull away, to put a considerable amount of space between you both, Eddie held you tight to his chest as he tipped your head once more. “It’s okay,” he assured you, dipping his head to meet your eyes. There was no hint of anger - no disgust or annoyance, no amusement; none of the negativity you imagined you’d see - and you swallowed your rising panic as he urged, “Calm down, sweetheart. Take a breath.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” you repeated.

“For what?” Eddie’s question was honest, uncertain as to why you were apologizing, and you could only shrug as you withered beneath the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t know. I just… felt like I needed to?”

A beat of silence passed as Eddie studied your face. You weren’t quite sure what he was looking for but he seemed to find it as his thumb brushed your cheekbone.

“Complete honesty, alright?” It was a request Eddie made rarely as he always trusted you to be honest. It was only made in moments like this - moments of unrivaled vulnerability, moments that saw you both struggling to speak normally - and you granted it readily.

“Alright.”

“Is this… Do you want me to be your first?” The question was blunt - maybe more so than Eddie intended - but you appreciated his directness even as you inhaled sharply.

“I think so,” you admitted, unable to shift your gaze even as his warm brown eyes set your skin alight. “I mean, I trust you, more than anyone else. You’re… You’re Eddie,” you pointed out, smiling softly. “You’re my best friend. I don’t think there’s anyone better.”

“This isn’t something you have to do, sweetheart. You don’t have to lose it right now,” he reminded you, soft but certain. “There’s no shame in being a virgin. Whoever you end up choosing, if they’re the right person, they won’t mind. I know you trust me but you don’t have to choose me just because you want to get it over with.”

“That’s not why I’m choosing you.” Eddie tipped his head, an uncertainty few others were allowed to see flickering across his face as he awaited your elaboration. “I know that this will change everything,” you admitted, voice a whisper behind the rain.

“It doesn’t have to,” Eddie interjected, voice as quiet as you’d ever heard it. “Whatever happens, or doesn’t, is entirely up to you.”

“But I want it to!” He blinked, surprised by the conviction in your voice, but kept quiet as you continued. “The reason I’ve had so much trouble finding someone else, someone I want, is because I want you. I have for a long time.”

Though you’d known how you felt about Eddie for a long while - swallowed it down, hid it for fear of ruining the best friendship you’d ever had - admitting the words aloud felt final. It felt heavy, sinking to the pit of your stomach like a stone, but you knew that the only way out was through.

There were only two options. The first, Eddie would reject you - never harshly, soft and sweet in the way he seemed to only be with you - seemed most likely to you. But the second, that was the option you wished for.

Eddie returning your feelings, wanting you just as you wanted him, seemed plausible some days. When he held your hand in crowds, when he lounged in his bed and spent hours discussing books and movies and music with you, when he threw an arm around your shoulders and grinned brighter than the sun every time you made it to one of his shows; you saw a future in which he loved you, too.

But insecurity, irrational and loud, told you that you were imagining the softness of his touch or the gentle tone of his voice. It made you uneasy, kept you from admitting your feelings for fear of the worst, and you nearly wished you’d allowed the insecurity to win as silence stretched around you.

Until Eddie spoke and destroyed any remaining shred of insecurity.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while, sweetheart.”

Soft fingers brushed across your cheek, tracing the slope lightly as Eddie watched you blink owlishly. There was a moment of stunned silence, a beat in which you wondered if your dalliances with the supernatural had damaged your hearing more significantly than you’d realized, before you inhaled deeply.

“Are you… are you sure?”

The soft smile on Eddie’s face was reassuring. “Very sure. Remember when we first met?” A spark of memory - a flash of the past, the moment you nearly bowled him over on your way to find Steve before facing yet another supernatural threat - as your brows furrowed. “I started going to history after that, just ‘cause I knew you were in that class.”

“That’s been a while.” It hadn’t, not really - not in the grand scheme of the misery of Hawkins - but it felt like forever as Eddie shrugged.

“Time flies,” he declared with a half-shrug. The soft brush of Eddie’s fingers across your rapidly heating skin continued, easily mapping the features you occasionally caught him studying with an intensity you now recognized as love, and he smiled as you inhaled a shaking breath.

“I don’t know if I remember a time before falling in love with you.”

The admission was quiet, a whisper in the still of Eddie’s room, but it felt as if you’d shouted it. Vulnerability was not new, not with Eddie, though baring your soul so completely was terrifying. He accepted it easily, however, and smiled as he cradled your jaw.

“You don’t have to butter me up, sweetheart,” he teased - an effort to lighten the mood, not downplay your emotions, and ease the deafening thundering of your heart. “I’m already yours.”

With that, he leaned in and bumped your nose with his own. He waited, giving you the final choice - whether you truly wanted to take that step or not - and allowed you to make the first move.

Though you knew Eddie would never make fun of you - not for something serious, something that meant so much to you, anyway - there was still a sense of hesitance as you studied him. Up close, you could see the tiny imperfections, the little lines and freckles and spots that made him, him, and you knew that this was what you wanted.

Before he could reassure you, tell you that it was fine if you weren’t sure, if you needed more time, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss itself was not perfect. It was not something out of a film, with fireworks and an immediate, instinctual understanding of what to do. It was clumsy, a little tentative, and curious, but it was good. The warmth of Eddie’s palm bleeding into your skin, the brush of his curls as his bangs tickled your forehead, the soft exhale he released as you pressed closer, just a touch relieved you felt comfortable enough to trust him with this; all elements you would’ve never considered important before the moment at hand.

But all too soon, it was over.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Eddie broke the embrace, pulled away just enough to allow you to draw in a deep breath, and smiled. “You gotta breathe, sweetheart,” he teased, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he took in the sight of you - glazed eyes, parted lips. “Don’t want you passing out on me.”

With anyone else, it would’ve felt like a slight - a jab, rude and mean-spirited - but you knew Eddie. You knew that it was light, fond, and rolled your eyes in response. “Breathe, got it,” you nodded, serious in your study. “Any other notes?”

“Nah. For a first kiss, it wasn’t too bad,” he hummed, after pausing a moment in faux thought. There was a dramatic air of seriousness, though you could tell he was still teasing. “Technique could use a little work, though.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes, a glittering mirth that told you he wasn’t poking fun at you - not really, not maliciously - and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded. “I suppose someone will have to teach me,” you reasoned, fingers twisting in his curls when he hummed as if it was the most rational thought. “I learn through experience.”

That grin returned, bright - pleased that you seemed to have relaxed; and, truly, you had, as there was nothing to fear in Eddie’s embrace. He’d proven that time and time again. “Lucky for you,” he hummed, tipping his head to brush your lips with his own, “I’m an excellent teacher. Very committed. Willing to spend all night here, if that’s what it takes.”

Then, his lips were on yours once again.

This kiss was more certain, a little more eager, as Eddie took the reins and guided you. He used the hand cradling your jaw to tip your head, to turn it just the way he wanted, and hummed encouragingly as you melted into him. It was still a little clumsy, still exploratory in a way you’d never experienced, but to you, it was perfect.

And as Eddie’s free hand began to drift down your shoulder, careful not to move too fast, you broke from him just long enough to speak.

“It’s okay,” you promised him, breathless - chest heaving, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

With that, you returned your mouth to his.

Every press of Eddie’s mouth to yours, every swipe of his fingers over your heated skin, should’ve made you more nervous. This was farther than you’d ever gone, a complete deviation from the norm in which you were overlooked - only heard about experiences such as this from friends - and you worried there would be an overwhelming anxiety in the pit of your stomach as you attempted to gain some of that experience.

However, as Eddie’s hands began to wander and his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you found that it was the exact opposite.

Eddie made you comfortable, set you completely at ease.

The idea that this would be the culmination of every experience you’d dreamt of having didn’t make you nervous. The rapid thundering of your heart was not from fear but an excitement, a gratitude that your firsts were being taken by someone you’d loved for so long.

There was an eagerness, not to get it over with but to experience it - to understand you’d been missing. And Eddie seemed to realize that as his hands began to dip beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he urged, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes - grinning when you blinked slowly, attempting to regain your sense of reality. “How’d you imagine your first time? Bet it was romantic, maybe some candles or something. Not here, with Metallica playing in the background.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, fingers playing with the strands fallen from his low bun. “But other times it was quick, in someone’s backseat with the radio playing, just to get it over with, I think. But, lately…” Eddie hummed, urging you to continue, as his hands drifted higher - fingers brushing the underside of your breasts, dragging back down your stomach and stealing your focus. “Lately, it’s been you and it’s been here and Metallica’s been playing in the background. You’re in my head but you’re prettier in real life.”

“Flattery, sweetheart,” he teased, grin bright as he tipped his head to nose at your jaw, though you could see the emotion glittering in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, hands lifting higher - cupping your breasts, earning a gasp from you at the warmth of his palms against your skin. “‘Bout you, here. What you’d look like, what you’d sound like,” he hummed, appreciative when you sighed contentedly as he began to knead the soft flesh. “Think I like the real thing more.”

From your position on his lap, you could feel him growing harder, pressed to your thigh as you shifted. He hid it well, his own desire, but you heard the sharp inhale he released as you reached for the scrunchie holding his hair back and brushed the tent in his shorts.

“Can I take this off?” The question was breathed against your skin, nearly lost to the heavy thud of your heart, but you managed to nod as Eddie’s hands fell to the hem of your top.

Eddie had seen you in a bathing suit before, had seen you in just a bra after a torrential downpour left you both soaked and shivering, but this was different. Soon, he would see you completely and though you felt a bit of nerves, you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t judge. So, you shifted and worked to get rid of the soft fabric.

When your shirt joined a handful of others on his floor, he made no effort to ogle you - though you imagined that would come later, when he knew you were well and truly relaxed. Instead, he returned his mouth to yours and his hands to cup your breasts.

With you sufficiently distracted, Eddie easily maneuvered the pair of you so that you were on your back, lying pliant beneath him. When you hummed, laughed slightly at the bounce as you both settled into the mattress, he broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to your rapidly overheating skin. He started at the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, before beginning to trail a path down your throat.

“If you change your mind,” he hummed, voice muffled against your skin, “just tell me. Tell me everything, okay? Don’t worry about being too loud. No such thing.”

“Not gonna change my mind,” you assured him, voice pitching higher as his teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Want this, want you.”

At that, Eddie continued his descent. His lips left a trail of fire in their wake and you gave in to his urging to not worry about your volume. With each brush of his mouth, each tickle of his hair against your skin, you made no effort to hide the soft noises of pleasure. And with each one, Eddie seemed to grow more and more eager.

Those wide eyes lifted to meet yours as he reached your chest, one hand kneading soft flesh as he nipped at the sensitive skin of the opposite breast. He sucked a bruise into the skin, shooting you a wink as he did so, before dipping lower and capturing your nipple between his lips. And when you gasped, hands flying to his hair, he hummed in approval.

Eddie spent a few moments focusing on your breasts, moments in which you realized you couldn’t have chosen a better first partner - someone who loved you, someone who was more interested in making the moment good for you than he was in the act itself - before he began to dip lower.

“I’m totally down to eat you out,” he offered, glancing up at you with those wide eyes, “but if you’re not up for it yet, that’s okay. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you considered his offer. The press of his body to yours, the weight of him atop you, the warmth of his hands and mouth; it was all overwhelming, in the most beautiful way. Still, you weren’t sure if that was something you wanted in that moment. It sounded fun, and he seemed very serious about his offer, but you weren’t sure how much you wanted so soon. So, you decided to decline his offer, for the time being.

“Next time,” you promised, fingers carding through his curls as he pressed soft kisses to your stomach. “I… Sounds nice, but feels like too much this time,” you admitted, not ashamed but almost.

Eddie, however, easily accepted your answer. “Might be,” he agreed, with an easy grin. “I’m pretty good with my mouth.” It was teasing, accompanied by another wink, and made you roll your eyes.

“You’re pretty good at never closing it,” you countered, squealing when he nipped your skin.

“We’ll revisit this conversation when you’re comfortable,” he teased, grinning as he shifted up and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

As he distracted you with a kiss - this one messier, more eager than the last - his hands continued to wander. They trailed down your stomach, traced the same path as his lips, before dipping beneath the band of your shorts. His fingers brushed the warm skin, earning a sharp gasp.

“Still okay?” The question was breathed against your lips, and you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, though your heart felt as if it might beat out of your chest. “Still okay.”

Calloused fingers dipped lower, brushed over the fabric of your panties, and slipped between your spread thighs. There wasn’t a ton of room for him to move, and you realized that he was at least trying to get you used to the sensation as his fingers brushed the fabric covering your folds. If he felt the damp patch - he did, you could tell by the pleased grin he wore - he said nothing. He would tease you for it later. This time, he simply returned his mouth to yours.

Eddie gave you a few moments to adjust to his touch, his fingers brushing the fabric - teasing, soft - before he nudged the now soaked fabric aside and allowed his fingers to drag through the slick gathered there. His touch was light, not hesitant but conscious, careful, waiting in case you changed your mind.

It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set you on edge, but there was only pleasure as you melted into his embrace and tugged at the curls framing his face as his thumb found your clit.

The touch was electric, filled your veins with a blistering warmth that seemed all encompassing, and you began to understand why your friends made such a big deal of it all. The touch itself was good, better than your own fingers, but knowing that it was Eddie, with his wide eyes and pretty smile, made it that much better.

Every press of his fingers grew more experimental, dragging through your folds and coating his fingers in slick. He teased, brushed lightly and swallowed every sigh and soft moan you released. And after a few long, torturous moments, he finally pressed a finger to your entrance and pulled away just enough to catch sight of your face.

“I’m okay,” you promised him, before he could ask. He hummed, acknowledging, and slowly began to pump his finger, getting you used to the motion. “I kinda get it,” you hummed, gasping as his thumb brushed your clit.

“Mm, get what?”

Eddie pressed a second finger in, then, and his fingers were larger than yours. It was a bit of a stretch, a little more than you were used to, but it was nice and you told him as much as you leaned in to nip his jaw. “Why people like this, why my friends talk about it all the time.”

A quiet laugh filled your ears as he began to work you open, careful to prepare you. “Good. Glad this hasn’t put you totally off sex forever,” he teased, before he brushed his thumb over your clit and earned himself another moan. “Glad you’re not totally questioning why the fuck you thought trusting me with this was a good idea,” he laughed.

“I trust you with everything,” you promised, gasping as he began to work his fingers a touch faster and pressed a spot that made your head spin. “Oh, fuck.”

“There?” Eddie grinned, pleased to have found that spot, and made certain to pay special attention to it as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon,” he urged, “make some noise for me, sweetheart.”

With Eddie’s encouragement, and with the quickening press of his fingers into you, you found it easier and easier to make the noise he was hoping to hear. Though his space was limited, he made the most of it. He paid close attention to what made you gasp, what made you sigh, what made you moan. And with each swipe of his fingers, with every brush of his thumb over your clit, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper into him as the fire burning in your veins threatened to consume you entirely.

Though your friends warned you that much of it was over quick, you hadn’t quite anticipated just how fast Edie would be able to push you over the edge. But after only a few moments of his eager ministrations, the press of his fingers and his thumb and the brush of his mouth over your heated skin, you found yourself falling over the edge with a cry of his name.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice tight as he lifted his head to watch you - the part of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the heave of your chest. “Look pretty, coming for me. Wanna make you do it again.”

The gravel in his voice, a rasp you’d never heard, made your head spin and your chest ache in a pleasant way as his fingers continued pressing, pushing you through the aftershocks. All that existed in your mind was him; Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Despite the difficulty you felt in catching your breath, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was pulling him close and pressing your mouth to his.

Eddie easily gave in, allowed you to take your fill of him, and only removed his hand from between your thighs when you grasped his forearm. However, he didn’t pull away entirely. He simply slipped his fingers beneath the band on either side and began to nudge the fabric down.

Without breaking the kiss, you shimmied out of the fabric - no longer caring about being entirely exposed, only caring about having him closer. In the midst of the kiss, Eddie shifted, arm reaching out blindly and swiping at his nightstand. He caught a few stray items, knocked them from the table with a clatter, and you laughed as you broke the kiss.

“What’re you looking for, Eds?”

With a bit of space between you, he eagerly pulled away just enough to tug his own shirt off - up, over his head, joining the fabric on the floor - before shoving his shorts down his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any boxers and you felt hesitant to glance down, despite the permission he gave you. No matter how comfortable he made you, some things still felt like too much for the first time, especially when you’d been half-certain you would lose your virginity in some dark room and now you could see Eddie all too well.

“Condom,” he answered, grinning when you flustered. “Don’t suppose you have one in your bag, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say I do. Wasn’t exactly expecting… this.” In fact, it was the last thing you’d been expecting from your visit to Eddie’s. However, you weren’t going to complain.

“Good unexpected?” He turned his full attention to the nightstand, then, shuffling through drawers and you laughed as you hummed your agreement.

“Totally.”

A metallic jingle caught your attention and as Eddie shuffled through the items in the nightstand in search of a condom, you searched for the source of the sound. A pair of silver hoops, hanging on a hook near the bed, caught your eye and you inhaled a shaking breath.

“…are those handcuffs?”

Eddie laughed, the noise quickly covered with a triumphant hum as he found the foil packet, before his full attention returned to you. There was an easy amusement in his eyes, warm and bright, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry about those right now, sweetheart,” he urged. “Eyes on me, yeah?"

“Can I worry about them later?” The question was teasing, tinged with only a touch of nerves as Eddie settled between your spread thighs and allowed one large hand to softly grip the plush flesh.

“Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already thinking about next time,” he teased with a grin. “I’m creating a monster.”

“Your monster.”

That brilliant smile remained, bright and wide, as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. “My monster,” he agreed, words mumbled against your lips. He kissed you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you boneless beneath him, before he breathed a gentle reminder. Those soft eyes met yours as he said, “We don’t have to do this. If you’ve changed your mind, if you wanna wait, that’s okay.”

“I want this. No one I’d rather do this with.”

Eddie shifted closer, then, rested more of his weight atop you and shifted so that the tip of his cock bumped your aching clit. When you inhaled sharply, fingers pressing harshly into his shoulders, Eddie shifted his hips and notched the head of his cock at your entrance. And with a final nod of your head, he pressed forward.

The immediate experience was almost expected - your friends told you that it would hurt, that the first time wasn’t much fun. Only, it wasn’t so much pain as it was discomfort. There was no blinding pain, no tears, just an odd sensation that made you squirm. There was a sharp pinch, a sensation you’d never felt before, but it was bearable.

And you told Eddie as much when he lifted a hand to your cheek and asked, “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Fine,” you assured him, still a touch breathless as he pressed closer. “Doesn’t feel good yet but it doesn’t hurt.”

Eddie leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek - to your nose, to your jaw, to your forehead - before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “It’ll feel good in a minute, when you get used to it.”

As difficult as it seemed, you believed him. You knew that he was right, and that he would do his best to make sure you were comfortable, so you simply tangled your fingers in his hair and buried your face in the crook of his neck to leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against the heated skin.

After a moment, Eddie was fully sheathed inside, body pressed to yours as he waited for you to give him the okay to move. As you adjusted, the kiss grew more heated and his hands wandered, returning to your core as his thumb found your aching clit.

When you jolted, clenched around him, Eddie broke the kiss. “Fuck me,” he laughed, tipping his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Promise I’m not always ready to blow this quick. You’re just so fucking tight.”

“Flattery,” you teased, breathless as you tugged playfully at his hair. “’S’okay. You can move.”

With your permission, Eddie began to experimentally shift his hips. He moved slowly at first, pulling out only an inch or two, before he began to move in earnest.

The pace was slow, easy, but with every shift of his hips, the better it got. The discomfort began to fade, giving way to a fullness that was more pleasant than you expected. And with his thumb brushing your clit, gathering the slick, you felt yourself enjoying it more and more.

“You know,” he hummed, lips brushing your skin as he continued shifting his hips almost experimentally, “it’s kinda hot, how much you trust me. ’S’like you’re in love with me or something.”

“Unfortunately, I am.” It was so soft, so fond, that Eddie couldn’t seem to find a teasing reply. The words were accompanied by a sticky warmth in your chest, so glad to have your feelings out in the open and returned.

The way Eddie treated you made the warmth that much more pleasant. He made your enjoyment a priority, eyes on your face as he watched for any signs of discomfort. Even as his pace grew faster, hips snapping into yours - driving deeper, pulling out farther - now that you’d adjusted, he still kept his full attention on you.

And when you felt yourself beginning to fall over the edge for the second time, he hummed in encouragement. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, only just beginning to show how affected he was, voice wavering and breath a little labored. “Come for me. Sound so pretty when you do.”

After a few more snaps of his hips, you fell over the edge and Eddie was quick to follow with a low curse.

The high was unlike any you’d ever felt. It flooded your veins with fire, scorched you from within, and you swore you saw stars as you rode out your high. Eddie buried his face in the crook of your neck to catch his breath and, after a moment of desperately attempting to catch your own, you carded your fingers through his disheveled curls. He remained atop you - weight not quite fully pressed into you but enough for you to feel - for a few long moments before pulling out and tying off the condom. He stood, disappeared into the bathroom to toss it into the trash, before he returned and fell back into bed beside you.

“So,” he hummed, bouncing onto the mattress with a laugh and tugging you into his side. “First time. Not some frat guy in the backseat of some fancy car, or in some shitty dorm room but, not bad?”

“No,” you agreed, tipping your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Not bad. Not some frat guy but I think this was better.”

“You think?” Eddie scoffed with faux outrage. “Okay, well, clearly we’re gonna have to do this again and again and again until you know that this was better.”

Though the night began with an insecurity, in that wonderful way of his, Eddie managed to turn it into a beautiful moment. And though you were starting college in the fall, you knew that you wouldn’t be starting a virgin or searching for some frat boy to help you gain the experiences your friends so often spoke of. You would be starting college with a boyfriend and the knowledge that your love was requited. And you loved the idea that Eddie would be with you for every next step.

After all, what are boyfriends for?

__________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Slowly but surely going through the WIPs I have had for months. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #v's fics

2K notes · View notes

mariana-oconnor · 1 year

Text

Types of AO3 Summary

Option 1 - The Excerpt:

The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.

Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.

Option 2 - The No Frills:

Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.

Example: "A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."

Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.

Option 3 - The Hook:

Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.

Example: "Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."

Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.

Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:

"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.

Example: "The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".

Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.

Option 5 - The Rule of Three:

Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').

Example: "Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."

Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.

Option 6 - The Trope Lure:

Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.

Example: "The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."

Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.

Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.

Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:

(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.

Example: "So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"

Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.

(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)

Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)

Option 8 - The Unapology:

Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.

You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!

Example: "There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"

Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.

Option 9 - The Interrogation:

What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?

Example: "What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"

Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.

Option 10 - The Multipack:

Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.

Example: "A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts. Chapter 1: Regency AU Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy Chapter 4: Space pirates!"

Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.

Option ? - The Void:

I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.

Example:

Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?

#AO3 #fandom #on writing #clearing out my drafts #long post #Qd #This list is intended for entertainment purposes only #I just came across a lot of fic summaries that followed similar rules #so I decided to post this about it #I'm sure other options are available #If you've ever used number 7 that's not bad of you #But my advice would be to not do that

10K notes · View notes

undreaming-fanfiction · 25 days

Text

My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things drabble #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson #lotr steddie #ish #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread we die like Boromir MY BOY #ahem this got long #Steve the redorkifier Harrington #Eddie the reemerging dork Munson

1K notes · View notes

hyuckmov · 7 months

Text

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 2 of 3

wc: 18k (yay!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), a bit of fluff warnings: wet dreams, jerking off, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, making out, praise kink, strength kink (? he's strong...) crying during sex, dirty talk, aftercare...? petnames (baby, princess), and ... names needs to be read after part 1 i think! a/n: shorter warnings list lmfao anyway.... i....this took me awhile but i really hope u enjoy this and the way it reads. let me know what you think and please be kind :) thank you thank you THANK YOU to every single one of you on my taglist and if you've sent me an ask, reblogged, or left a comment. i could not have finished this without u

haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — especially to you.

he knew what he was doing each time he showed up around you at a party, love bites staining his skin and hair messy and wild. he noticed the way you recognised the perfume on him with a crinkle of your nose, or the slight flicker of sadness in your eyes when his phone would vibrate against the bedside table, wandering to the names on his phone. he could feel the way your shoulders tensed when he smiled blankly at you, track your movements as you looked away when he was cozying up with someone else.

and most of all – he knew that beyond that, you couldn't go to him for all your hurt. and that was what would be most painful, the knowledge that everything you had to suffer was unjustified, feelings not tied to reason, because he never made you any promises.

haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — and he always hoped that his touch could be a good enough apology.

all throughout rehearsals, when they took the trip to the venue, back to when he had woken up that morning, something had stirred in his chest. he was never nervous before shows, but this time he fiddled with his guitar mindlessly, wandering over to the bar and ordering just a few drinks to hopefully dull the way his heart was racing in his chest, alcohol burning a path down his throat. he picked at the way his hair fell over his eyes, re-doing his makeup before the show with the black eyeliner that he couldn't hold without thinking of you. his bandmates watching him carefully, not knowing what had changed. he wouldn't be able to tell them if they'd asked.

it was only when the girl in the bathroom had stumbled away on shaky feet, leaving one last slick touch on his arm as a goodbye, when all his feelings that had ached in him that day came crashing down in his chest, that crushing weight he couldn't ignore each time he tried to breathe.

you had kissed him — and it felt like a promise.

it was this thought that now stung at him, as he watched the numbers on the screen of the elevator flick higher and higher. he had made his way to your apartment as if on autopilot, driving down streets now too familiar. he always knows the hurt he causes you — and he feels it now, like retribution, because even now he has no right to be angry at you. no right to blame you for his hurt, because while he had never made you promises, in reality you hadn't either.

but the reality was he was here now, knocking on your apartment door.

"y/n?"

there's warm light seeping out under your apartment door, he can see all your shoes on the rack outside. jaemin's not home, but you definitely are.

he knocks again, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"y/n, i know you're home."

his hand curls into a fist, and he hits it against the door, twice. he thinks he can hear something beyond the door, a clink of something like keys, so he raises his voice, the tone of it rough.

"are you happy now?"

mark has told him he gets vindictive when he's hurt or scared, has urged him to think before he speaks.

"does it make you feel like you have the upper hand? standing me up?"

but haechan can't distinguish what he's feeling right now.

"because i don't care at all," he spits, lies he'd never rehearsed, the alcohol mixing with thoughts he didn't even know he had, to inflict the cruelest hurt. "at least i know the girl i fucked didn't feel any different." his voice dips low, cold freezing over each syllable. "i hope you know even if you went, i still would've picked her. it didn't make any difference."

the night is still, and quiet. his words seem to swell in the air, ringing around in his head. he stands in front of the door, head lowered, hand still lingering on cool surface, breaths dragged out of his lungs painfully. he waits for so long, that he wonders if he was speaking to no one at all — if you'd been asleep, if he imagined the sounds beyond the door.

but then there's a soft click, and the door drifts open.

the moment haechan sees you, he feels it like a shot to his chest, because something was terribly wrong.

it's not just the tears running down your cheeks.

your face is blotchy and red, dark circles under your teary eyes, your hair mussed up and tangled. you're wrapped in layers of clothing despite the cool summer night, your body still trembling with cold, and when you speak, your voice is so hoarse and broken that it makes goosebumps break out over his skin — and an achy tone he never wanted to hear from you ever again.

"it didn't make a difference?"

his lips part. he tugs on his jacket, trying to to close it, to pull up his collar a little higher, but it's too late — your eyes are already reading the marks on his skin, drinking in every last detail of him. 5 minutes ago he had wanted nothing more than for you to open the door and see him exactly like this — lipstick smudged lips and fucked out eyes, the smell of fake roses clinging to each fibre of his clothing, the rips in his jeans tugged this way and that.

and all at once he knew — you had wanted to go, and he just accused you of the worst thing. you were going to go, and now he was forcing you to look at him like this. if the trip here made him feel vulnerable and bruised, he knew it must have felt like this for you too on the nights he didn't ask for you — the two of you sharing feelings that you weren't supposed to have, that you couldn't justify.

now haechan sees the way your face crumples, tears gathering on your waterline. you lift your hands to wipe them away, and it's like he can feel the way your chest shakes with wounded sounds and choked sobs, your fingers clenching into fists as you bite your lip to keep from bursting into tears.

"y/n-" he breathes. "are you…is everything —"

"s-so you didn't mean it? when you invited me?" you're trying to steady your breathing. every second that passes where he's watching you fall to pieces in the doorway feels like it's searing into haechan's skin, the heavy feeling in his chest increasing tenfold with guilt. he swallows, as he watches you take a few deep breaths. "i thought… i thought it meant…when you invited m-me you said you weren't making empty promises —"

"i wasn't." he bites his lip, taking a step towards you. "y/n —"

but you back away. "i was going to go, haechan. i was really going to go –"

"i know." he knew now.

" — but i've been sick since yesterday, and it wasn't getting any better, i couldn't leave the house –"

"why didn't you tell me?" he desperately wants to run away, but he knows it's worse for you.

your voice is small. "i don't have your number."

it had slipped his mind. it was something so stupid, something so small – how he never wanted to give you a way to talk to him, or give himself an easy way to access you, didn't want things to be too easy. all of it had slowly built up to that feeling each time he glanced at his phone that night, clutching the lifeless device in his hands.

the last thing he should do, if he ever wanted to see you again, is blame you. he bites back his question of why you didn't ask jaemin for help, wrapping his jacket around his body self-consciously, running a hand through his hair. "i forgot," he whispers. hurt flickers across your face again.

"i d-don't know why i thought this would be different." you wipe at your face, biting your lip again to keep from trembling. "i hoped that maybe, even if i couldn't show up, you'd come here and take care of me. when i heard you outside the door…"

the words have a bitter bite to them, and you spit them out like you hate the taste in your mouth, hate every memory associated with his care.

"i'll take care of you," he pleads, quickly, stepping towards you.

he doesn't know what he expected, if you'd showed up. maybe he'd play for you, and leave with your hand in his. maybe he could have taken you in his car, or in his soft sheets at home. brought you out for a late dinner, sit with you and let you pry him open as you always did. or maybe he'd say nothing at all, and nothing would have changed – he didn't know.

his touch has always been his apology, always his way of reaching you through the only sure thing the both of you wanted from each other. but the look on your face tells him that the brush of his fingertips against your skin is only cruelty.

"you're fucked up if you think i'm letting you take care of me now," your voice is grating, rough on his skin.

"but i-"

"you'll hold me like this? force me to stare at the marks on your chest? breathe the perfume that isn't yours?" your tone is harsh and accusatory. he takes it all. "what were you going to do, if i showed?"

and for once, haechan can't help but be honest. "i don't know," he mumbles, and he sees the words hit you like a strike to your face.

"you knew i wanted more," you whisper. "you knew i wanted to be close to you, but you always…you always –"

"wanted?" he asks, quietly.

"you can't think i still want to know you, after everything. whatever person lies behind all that…" your tears have stopped, your voice unfeeling. the numbness in you mirrors his own. "i want nothing to do with him."

he can't think of anything to say. he reaches out a hand, and for a moment you let his fingers graze your arm, fear and hurt in the way they curl around your wrist, begging you to hold on to him too. you're scaring him, and he doesn't know how to go back, but he knows he deserves everything you're saying to him. deserves the way you shake free of his hold and close the door, his feet stumbling over themselves as he backs away.

you said you didn't want to know him, that you didn't know him at all. but he can't help thinking that's not true, because you knew him enough to know exactly how to hurt him through the walls, through the boy he pretended to be, right through his chest and past his ribcage, right into his aching heart.

—

ever since your fever broke, your life had been quiet.

you go to all your classes. you cut down on coffee by getting sleep at night. you take walks with jaemin around the neighborhood, falling back into old routines. movie nights, and grocery trips. he was coddling you, and you felt it every day — coming home to warm meals, the way he was more forgiving over little disputes. you didn't deserve it, watching him slip out of the front door quietly, camera bag slung over his shoulder.

you didn't deserve it, because you ached to follow.

some part of you was still trapped inside your room, heady and aching, desperately trying to reach him. needing his apology, needing him to recognise the way he hurt you. you couldn't look for answers in your memories, but you played each scene back in your mind like a looping film reel, letting images suffocate you — his jacket falling open, love bites marking his skin, all the times he's slipped from your grasp. and yet, other fragments come back too — the warmth of his hand on yours in the car, the slight tilt of his head as he brought his gaze level with yours, seeking you out when things got too much. his quiet answers in the dark, the slow smile that spread across his face that made you glow, knowing you'd made him happy.

"he got off lightly," you tell jaemin one night, the both of you on the floor by the couch. ice cream and wine drip condensation on the table-top, and the both of you are too heavy with the rush of sugar and alcohol, the clock ticking in the silence of the room as you sit.

"you just want to see him again," he'd replied, quietly. "don't you?"

"i just wish we could have talked." your voice is small. you and haechan never truly talked, except for some nights in the dark, lying in his arms afraid to breathe, afraid of breaking the tenderness that swelled in the room, afraid of turning on the lights to see who you were holding in the shadows.

"and then what? you'd be together?" jaemin glances over at you, and the concern in his eyes makes you shrink back even more. you were supposed to be doing better. everything in your life was right, it was exactly the way it should be — but why did you feel empty?

"then i'd at least have closure," you mumble. "i'm never going to get any answers unless i talk to him."

a brief expression of discomfort crosses jaemin's face, but it's gone when you blink.

"i just don't want you to see him again, and forget all the ways he hurt you."

you don't say a word. both of you knew that it was something too likely to happen.

—

it's dark in haechan's room. the boy liked it shadowy, black-out curtains drawn over the windows, the air cool from air-conditioning, an air humidifier spewing light blue mist in the corner. the boy sitting in bed had his guitar in his lap, picking at the strings quietly, his phone face-up on the bed next to him, recording his ideas. he was swaddled in a large hoodie, swallowing his frame, shorts riding high on his thighs as he curls into himself.

he doesn't look up when mark shuffles in, closing the door behind him quietly, blinking as his eyes adjust to the low light.

"jaemin's outside."

haechan nods. "i heard you." his voice is a soft sound, boyish. mark has heard it enough growing up, that he knows haechan is scared. he knows haechan is waiting for answers, waiting for the verdict.

"he says he'll only continue to work with us if you stop seeing… y/n."

the name trips in his mouth, clumsy. it feels strange to use it, especially around haechan, who knows you more than any of them do, like he's saying something he's not allowed to, a boy using an expletive he doesn't understand. haechan's body tenses when he hears your name in mark's voice, predictable, almost laughable — the slight tightening of his nimble fingers on the neck of the guitar, slip of his fingers on the guitar pick.

"okay." and the boy goes back to playing.

"you'll stop seeing y/n?"

"yeah." mark moves closer to the bed, sees haechan's lower lip caught in his teeth.

"haechan, stop."

the boy shakes his head roughly, plucking at the strings a little harder.

"what happened? what happened between you and y/n?"

"i'll stop seeing her."

"stop acting like i don't know you," mark mumbles, finally sitting down on the bed. haechan stills, as mark pulls the guitar away from him, his hands going limp as he lets mark set it down at the foot of the bed. "i hate it when you do that."

"i'm sorry." a beat, then haechan buries his face in his hands, pulling at his features, before letting his arms drop down to the bed again. "could you…could you at least tell her?"

"tell her what?"

"that jaemin told me to stay away." haechan fiddles with the hem of his shirt, head still lowered. "i…i shouldn't be the one avoiding her. she should be avoiding me."

"is there a difference?"

"yeah." he mumbles his words, plush lips barely forming each syllable. "because i hurt her. i can't hurt her and then ignore her…that's…that's not right."

"so you want to keep seeing her?"

"i just want…" his voice is hollow, and when he looks up at mark — the dim light in the room catching on the features of his face, mark can finally see the way his lips were raw, skin torn and bitten. his eyes, usually sharp and piercing, are puffy and swollen from crying, dazed pupils blinking up at him. "mark, i don't think i've ever hurt someone like this before."

mark wonders what he could have done, but he doesn't ask. "do you want to make it right?"

"i don't know how." he swallows, throat bobbing. "i don't know if i can."

"maybe avoiding her isn't the best thing…" mark starts, putting a hand on haechan's arm, but haechan flinches.

"the band will kill me. jeno will kill me." mark opens his mouth to argue, but already haechan is leaning back against the headboard, head lowered and looking down at his lap. "i'll do it. i won't see her again."

"it'll be fine" mark reassures, softly. "in a few weeks, after a few more people, you'll forget all about her."

neither of them really believed it.

—

as jaemin sits on the couch — jeno sprawled on an armchair with jisung perched on the armrest, mark sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, he thinks about how these boys have become his close friends. he fits in with them in a way he never has with his other clients — evenings spent photographing them, understanding them through the lens of his camera. cycling trips with jeno, bringing out mark's competitive streak as they drank in the kitchen, babying jisung and taking care of him when the other bandmates weren't around to do so.

and of course, getting to know haechan — teaching him how to use a camera, chatting with him easily about the city. if jaemin was to be honest, haechan intimidated him a little with how guarded he was, every sentence he spoke to jaemin felt like it'd been turned over a million times in his head, each word careful and poised. he also disappeared for long periods of time, sometimes never there during parties.

now jaemin knew what the time had been spent on. who he'd spent it on.

"we're really sorry." it's mark who speaks up first. jisung nods in agreement, while jeno looks on.

"i don't need you to be sorry," mumbles jaemin. "it's not your fault."

"still…" mark scratches the back of his close-cropped hair tentatively. "he mentioned it."

"what did he say?"

"he didn't tell us everything," jisung says, voice hushed. his hair falls over his eyes as he ducks his head in thought. "mostly just told us to stay away."

"did he sound like he wanted them to be exclusive?"

mark and jisung exchange a glance, but it's jeno's voice that answers just as mark's lips part.

"no." when jisung bites his lip, jeno raises his eyebrows, annoyed. "are you kidding? he just said he fucked her more often, and that we should fuck off."

jisung looked wounded. "he didn't say that."

"but that's what he meant."

"mark?"

jaemin calls out to the boy, bringing him out of his thoughts. mark was staring at his own hands, a frown creasing his face.

"haechan agreed," he says, slowly. your name lingers on the tip of his tongue as he says it, like he's tasting the sound, the unfamiliarity of it in his mouth. "i…i think i might know what's going on with haechan, but it's up to him to explain, not me."

"so he won't see her anymore?"

the words come easily to jaemin. he knew it was the deal he was going to make the moment he texted mark to ask if they could talk. he was willing to lose his growing friendship with the rest of the boys if it could give you peace, if all of you could go back to the way things were.

he think back to how he found you — struggling to head out of the door the previous day, barely able to make it to the door, the fever burning up your brain and making your bones ache. he thinks of coming back home to you after he'd went to the pharmacy to get you medicine, slipping his shoes off at the door and immediately knowing that something had changed, from the tears streaming down your face.

"how did this happen?"

"he came to see me" you mumble, struggling with the sleeves of the thick sweater you were trying to pull your arms through. the moment you straighten, you wince as a dull pain throbbed through your head, hunching over again as stars blinked in your vision.

"haechan?"

he sets down the bag of medicine on the kitchen counter, picking up the thermometer and pointing it at your forehead. the light on the screen blinks red, and his eyebrows furrow, the displeased expression on his face only growing stronger.

"why did you open the door?" he asks, slowly. "i thought we talked about this."

"i thought…." your voice is scratchy, as pressure seems to rise inside your skull, pain that made your eyes tear up. it's laughable that you thought he would take care of you, and instead he ripped you to pieces. tears well up in your eyes again, and your lips part, only to let out a small sob.

he grips onto your arm, gently but firmly, steering you back towards your room. you don't have any strength to fight back, it felt like the temperature in the room was at freezing point even though jaemin was only wearing a thin shirt and shorts, and the ache in your bones made every movement shoot pain through your nerves. even after lying down on your bed, swaddled in blankets, the dim light slightly easing the pain in your head, you were too weak to lift your head, stretching your fingers out over the blanket and crawling towards where jaemin's hand rested on the sheets.

he held your hand and listened to you talk, knowing you needed to let it all out. he didn't judge, he didn't make faces. just listened with his eyes closed as you told him about meeting haechan, the way he pulled you away from everyone else and how you'd followed. he observed you quietly through his lashes as you sniffled, breaths breaking up your words.

the story got harder to tell when you recounted moments of his tenderness — when he'd call you his, when he took care of you, when he'd promise to be harsh with you but never went through with it, the way his face fell when you cried. you stuttered and hesitated through it all, because you didn't know if any of it was real or just imagined.

jaemin knows he could have hurt you further — broken every last illusion, pierced through the image of haechan you had in your head. but he didn't have the heart to, so this was the best he could do — making sure it stopped.

"it's done," mark nods, but he looks unhappy.

jaemin doesn't feel the weight lift from his chest like he thought it would. he feels jisung move to sit next to him, a hand on his shoulder as he observes his face.

"i'm really sorry," he mumbles, lips barely moving.

"it's not your fault," jaemin replies, leaning back against the cushions, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

—

haechan is dreaming again.

except it's more memory than dream, the way you're laid up against the pillows, fingers tangled in his hair as he leaves kisses on your inner thighs. it's so vivid, the way you taste, the twitch of your muscles as you tense around him, the small gasp as he pulls away to sit back on his knees.

"please-" you whimper, needy from being teased. scrabbling, you bring your knees to your chest, hands trembling as you hook them on your thighs, tears smearing your cheeks with a dewy glow. you were trying to keep your voice quiet, small sounds barely escaping your lips as you bit down on them, pleading with him through murmurs and barely coherent words. his shirt on your body crinkled everywhere from how he'd been grabbing at it, the long sleeves falling over your palms. it was straight out of a wet dream, which it now was, as you begged him to fuck you, your wet folds slick with spit and arousal as you bared yourself to him, pleading with him to sink into you.

in memory, he croons. he gives you what you asked for — pressing your weight into the mattress as he pushes into you, feel you pulse around him as he goes in hard and deep, feel your body trembling against his.

but in dream, he can be honest enough with himself to admit that it scares him when you cry. that his stomach twists when he hears you beg, like missing a step on a staircase, a second where he's rushing into nothing — not knowing if he'd made you like this, not knowing if he was hurting you. from the girl shaking against him, clumsy hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and you now — hips rocking into nothing, desperate for him.

"i'm here," he whispers, gently taking your hands and slowly lowering your legs down to the bed. he kisses you until your breathing calms and slows, your hands now on the sides of his face, caressing his cheeks. he likes how you touch him as if you could ever bruise him, loving brushes of your fingertips, urgency making your fingers curl into his skin, hesitant scratches on his shoulders that your hands skitter away from.

in dream, he pushes into you slowly, watching the way your lips part, breath caught in your chest, eyes fluttering closed as you take him in. wet sounds fill the room as he begins to move his hips, your face shyly tucked into his chest, your ankles sweetly hooked against his lower back as you melt together. the feelings in his chest intensifying the pleasure he feels from you wrapped around him. his eyes meet yours as you blink up at him, and it's so real — the way you glow against the sheets of his bed, eyes all soft and sparkling with tenderness.

but then he wakes in the same bed: the feeling of you under him, the crash of his heartbeat in his chest, all of it hanging in the dark, a lingering tattoo on his body.

—

so it's almost like a dream, when he opens the door to the stranger's bedroom, to see you slumped on the floor.

the din from below echoes through the hall, the sounds of the overwhelming crowd seeping into the room and reminding him of why he was here. he'd been looking for a quiet place to be alone — the constant eyes on him making him feel self-conscious and jumpy.

back at the apartment, jeno had said he wasn't being like himself, that he hadn't been himself in a long time, the memory of his laugh ringing in haechan's ears as he climbed upstairs. when has a crowd ever bothered you? when have you ever hated attention?

he didn't know the answers.

now haechan stands in the doorway, not believing his eyes. there was no way you'd known he would be here, alone. you're curled in on yourself on the floor, leaning against the bed with your knees tucked to your chest, eyes shut. your body is still, and for just a while longer he lets himself watch you for just a moment — drink in every single detail he'd missed even if it felt like teasing open his own wounds with fingers caked in salt. the rise and fall of your chest, your hair mussed up and falling over your face, the slope of your shoulders, your arms.

and suddenly he's back in his bed, your weight the only thing he was sure of against his chest, drunk on the soft sounds you made, lips barely forming his name.

you don't know he's here yet. he could walk away, leave you by yourself. but something in him told him he couldn't leave you like this in the middle of a party, barely conscious in a stranger's bedroom. before he knows what he's doing, before he can fathom the consequences, he's kneeling before you, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and draping it over your body. you reek of alcohol, stirring when you feel the weight of the leather on your body, your tongue numb and heavy in your mouth, eyelashes feeling stuck to your cheeks as you struggle to open your eyes.

"y/n?" haechan whispers, choking on the sound of your name.

"haech-" you trail off, fingers coming up to rub your eyes sleepily, the jacket slipping slightly. "haechan." it's the way you say it, like your tongue is too afraid to form the syllables, like something you can't bear to say.

"i-i'm going to find someone," he mumbles, backing away from you, clumsily trying to get to his feet. "you stay here, i'll –"

"don't go-" the words almost get lost from the way you're slurring, lips barely moving, shaking your head as you reach for him again. your fingers slip on the sleeve of his shirt, before curling and holding on tight. "please don't leave."

"i…" pain flickers over his features. he bites his lower lip, body moving towards yours instinctively, your hand crawling up his sleeve and grasping for his arm, fingers digging to the bone as you tremble. but then he feels your breath on his neck, and he pulls away again.

"what happened, y/n? did someone hurt you?" he feels like a hypocrite.

"no," you say, meekly. "i think i just had too much to drink."

"did you come with jaemin?"

you shake your head, nuzzling into him in a way that makes his heart pulse painfully in his chest. "i don't know anyone here."

he still thinks he should get help from any of the girls downstairs. even as you meld yourself a little closer to him, he's almost certain you wouldn't be acting this way if you were sober.

"y/n, i can't. please just let me call jaemin–"

"want you here." you reach for him again, trying to pull him impossibly closer, fitting his body against yours. "don't want jaemin to see me like this."

it dawns on him that besides jaemin, he was the only one you felt comfortable around like this. it wouldn't be the first time he's taken care of you when you were vulnerable or weak, and his body reacts out of habit — pulling you into his arms, his hands gently patting your back as you blink back tears in the crook of his neck. but it still didn't feel right, knowing he was the one who had caused this, and yet he was here holding you.

"let me talk to someone downstairs – i'll see if they can take you home," he murmurs. you bury your face deeper in his neck, shaking your head. "just 5 minutes, okay? i just need 5 minutes —"

"don't want someone to bring me home," you rasp, and his gut twists painfully when i feels your tears damp on his skin. "i don't want to go back to my place. i want to go with you."

"you're going to regret this," he says, softly. to him it's the truth you're not sober enough to see, even if it hurt to tell you. "you don't really want this, y/n."

"is it because you want to find someone else?" your words are soft-edged, lips forming the words carefully, but it pierces him all the same. "is it- is it because you want to bring someone else home?"

"no," he answers, quiet. "i haven't…not in a while."

"so you just don't want to be around me?"

his mind is racing, desperately trying to think of how he could help you, but his mind was coming up with nothing. that same feeling he always had around you — protectiveness intersecting with the ache in his chest everytime your eyes met his, all of it roaring in his ears, louder than the cacophony from any party. for all the times he's claimed he knew what was good for you, he's begun to realise that he has a terrible grasp on how not to hurt you.

"you don't want to be around me," he corrects, but his fate is sealed when you let out a small sob, muffled against his shirt.

and he takes you home.

—

you watch him through your lashes, as he swipes a cotton pad on your face, cleaning off your makeup.

"close your eyes," he mumbles, a slight pout forming on his lips from how hard he was concentrating, trying to be gentle with you. his touches are far too light, and you're sure your makeup is still on your face, but you let your lashes flutter shut anyway, feeling a featherlight brush against your eyelid as he holds it against your eye. dropping the used pad into a small bin, he brings a warm, damp towel up to your face, the material of it soft against your skin.

"can you brush your teeth?" he holds a toothbrush up to your face, but he withdraws it once your hands come up to hold it, completely misjudging the distance and landing on his shoulders instead. "open," he coaxes, parting his own lips so you'd mimic him. he smiles fondly as you open your mouth wide, a hand coming up to hold your face in place. "good girl," he mumbles, and you preen at the praise that shines through your drunken haze, following his instructions to rinse out your mouth.

there's a short pause. having brushed out your hair, removed your makeup and brushed your teeth, the only thing to do next was to get you to bed.

your legs squeeze around his hips, your back against the mirror on his bathroom counter. "haechan," you mumble, tipsiness making you swallow your words. "don't…my clothes…"

"i'll leave them on," he promises, ignoring the way your tight dress looks uncomfortable and unclean to sleep in. "don't worry." of course you don't feel comfortable around him, not after everything.

but for some reason, you're shaking your head, two clumsy hands closing in on one of his and guiding them to your back. "take them off. please–" you add, when he hesitates. "please help me."

"of course," he murmurs, familiarity sparking in his fingertips as they grasp for the zipper, a sense of dejavu in how he drags it down your spine slowly, your back arching slightly. you look at him, drink in the proximity like the first taste of rain after a heatwave — the pretty cut of his eyes, the way his pupils float upwards as he focuses on your back through the mirror. the round tip of his nose, and finally the plushness of his heart-shaped lips. it feels like reprieve, the ache in you finally soothed by the way his breath fans over your cheeks, a gentle balm on an open wound. you lean forward slightly into him as if drawn by a magnetic field, one of your hands coming up to trace the arches of his cupid's bow.

"y/n?" you can feel his lips move, soft like rose petals on your fingertips. "what are you doing?"

"you haven't called me baby all night," you blurt out. "or…or princess." your thumb dips to brush against his lower lip, before he's catching hold of your hand and pulling it away from his face gently.

"i shouldn't," he mumbles, pressing a light kiss to your fingertips before letting go. "i can't."

your dress has gone loose around your body, and you push the sleeves off your shoulders with your hands, letting the fabric drop to your waist. you observe him, watching the way he swallows, throat bobbing when his eyes dart to your chest, lace draped over your curves.

"haechan," you murmur, but then he turns, hands now fumbling with a pile of his clean clothes. he holds out a clean shirt to you, bunching it up at the collar to slip your head through it, but you stop him with a hand on his chest.

"i want that one," you say, softly, pointing to a long sleeved shirt you'd remembered wearing before in the room he'd shared with the boys. something flickers in his eyes, his hands curling into fists before he picks it up. he's putting it over your head, the soft cotton hanging off your shoulders, his hands coming close to your body to guide your arms into the sleeves, until you can't take it anymore.

"haechan, don't you want me?"

his lips part, his hands stilling, slowly unfurling his grasp on you and placing his palms on the counter. "y/n…"

"why aren't you-" you look up at him, biting your lip, your tongue too slow to form the thoughts your mind was racing with. "why haven't you touched me yet? do you not want me like this?"

his heart splinters and fractures. you were so used to it — used to all his touches leading to kisses, kisses leading to him all over your body. "you're drunk." it's the only thing he can say.

"i know what i'm doing," you fire back, but your words lilt and smear together. "ask me anything and i can answer you right now."

but all he does is resume putting your arms through the sleeves, your limbs pliant against him as always, and soon you're completely covered up, and he can breathe a little easier. his strong arms grip your waist, and you're like a ragdoll in his grip as he guides you to stand, the dress at your hips falling, the shirt brushing the top of your thighs.

it gets worse when he sets you down in his bed. in another universe, this might be a moment of bliss for him, something romantic and sweet in the way your body curves against his pillows, sinking down into them and blinking up at him hazily. but guilt still thunders in his chest, his vision split by lightning bolts of fear. you would wake up hating him. he would never stop hurting you. you would never want to see him again.

your arms slide up his, grasping for him. "please," you plead, your voice small. "what did i do wrong? why don't you want to touch me?"

"you didn't do any wrong," he murmurs, as he lets his weight sink into bed next to you, feel you curl up against him. just for a minute he tells himself — just until you fall asleep. your weight on his chest feeling like someone had doused his body with warmth, a comfort that made his eyes prickle with tears. "y/n, you're perfect," he whispers, the words melting into the dark.

"don't say that." he feels tears wet against the soft fabric of his shirt over his chest. "stop saying my name."

"baby," he amends. "sweetheart, go to sleep."

you hum. "haechan."

"don't," he echoes.

"what's wrong?" you mumble, your question heavy with sleep.

he grips onto you tighter, holding you fiercely as tears cloud his vision.

"i'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "i'm so so so sorry." when you don't respond, he nuzzles into your hair, freckling wet kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry," he repeats, long after you've fallen asleep.

—

you wake up to the sound of laughter ringing out against the walls.

the room is as dim as it was last night — dark curtains drawn and the lights turned off. time seemed to have come to a standstill, you couldn't tell if it had been days or weeks or even months since you'd fallen asleep. your body ached, still heavy with sleep while your mind cleared — it had been a while since you've slept this well.

blinking your eyes open, you slowly sit up, feeling sheets warm and soft against your skin. you sit there, dazed, getting your bearings as you survey the unfamiliar room again. your clothes, folded on a small couch next to the window. your jewelry on the bedside table, your phone plugged in to the charger.

the only thing you recognised was the long sleeved shirt unmistakeable on your body, the familiar smell of perfume and body lotion in every fiber of the sheets.

stumbling over to the bathroom, the warm light brings back every memory — the party, the drinks, stumbling upstairs into a room as your consciousness slipped away, and then haechan, haechan, haechan. haechan leading you out of the party, taking you home in his car, taking care of you. your fingers ghost over your forehead, where you swear he kissed you just before you woke up.

you turn off the tap. in the silence, there's another round of giggles, bright like a child's, and then —

"baby, don't move!"

haechan's voice rings lighter than you've ever heard it, and the smile in it is evident. this is a voice without shadows, fondness in every lilt and inflection. with something like urgency, you dry your hands on your shirt, padding out of his room, hesitantly blinking into the sunlit living room.

you almost don't believe your eyes.

haechan is sitting on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pink lips stuck out in a pout. sitting on the floor, cross-legged between his knees, was a little girl — her hands busy with a doll, while her own hair was being meticulously braided and arranged by the boy…whose head snaps up the moment he hears the creak of the door.

"you're awake," he blurts out, and the girl looks up.

"hi!" she waves shyly, leaning forward towards you, but whining as the motion tugs on her hair instead. "hyuck! it hurts…"

his eyes finally dart away from yours. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, lightly massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers.

"you're making it messy —"

"right, sorry." he grabs a sparkly pink hairbrush and combs through her hair gently, beginning to rebraid. the girl goes back to her doll, settling back down and quickly losing interest in you.

his eyes flick up to yours again, the tiniest hint of blush on his cheeks. "did you sleep well?"

you nod, feeling like you'd walked in on something you weren't supposed to.

haechan studies your face, a strand of hair falling from his grasp before he tucks it in diligently. "are you hungover? there were painkillers on the bedside table, i don't know if you saw…"

"i'm fine," you croak out.

"and there's breakfast on the table," he murmurs, ducking his head back down to focus on the impressive french braid he was attempting. he looks back up when he feels you staring, as if fixed to the ground beneath your feet.

"is she…?"

"this is my baby sister," he answers, smiling softly. "sorry, i didn't know she was coming over today. her kindergarten is near here so sometimes i walk her to school." and then, with a nod towards the table, "please eat — i made too many sandwiches."

the girl smiles, mumbling softly to herself. "hyuckie makes the best sandwiches."

you can see 'hyuckie' blush at that, his lips pressed together tightly to keep in his smile as he pokes the little girl's cheek softly, going back to the braid. you cross over to the dining table, feet shuffling slowly, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the two siblings, watching the fondness in haechan's eyes. quietly pulling out a chair, you sit down and pick up a sandwich, holding it gingerly between your fingers.

a hushed voice breaks the silence, and you turn to see his sister, cupping her lips against haechan's ear whispering so loud that her words fill the room. "is she your friend?" the girl asks, pointing her pinky finger at you, head tilted with curiosity. haechan's head tilts too, but his eyes wander over to yours as he hesitates.

"yes, she's my friend," he says, slowly. "we're…good friends." sliding the hair ties from his wrist, he finally finishes tying off the braid, before giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "you can play for 5 more minutes okay? hyuckie needs to talk to his friend."

her round eyes blink at you as she slowly gets to her feet, before tottering over to the window, where another pile of dolls lay. haechan clears his throat, before shuffling over to you and sitting down in a chair next to yours.

although he adjusts himself to face you, he keeps his distance – legs drawn in under the chair, hands placed carefully on his knees in a way you'd never seen him do before. it feels like the space between the both of you spans for entire oceans and continents, an invisible force field that holds weight against your limbs, keeping you from leaning in, incapable of even moving your fingertips.

"are you sure you're okay?"

he looks at you — his expression soft like wax melting around a candle wick.

"do you…do you remember how you got here?"

you nod, taking a deep breath. "the party?"

"i'm sorry that you're here like this," he says, quietly. "i didn't know you were going to be there, i wasn't trying to corner you, i swear."

you nod, dazed.

"are you upset with me? for bringing you here?" at the conflict in your expression, he adds on, hurriedly, "i-i know it wasn't the best thing to do. i could've called jaemin, or mark, or anyone downstairs…it's just that i didn't know…i didn't know if it would be okay–"

" — i'm not upset," you cut him off, the pressure easing as you raise a hand jerkily to place it over his. "i believe you. thank you for taking care of me last night."

he exhales slowly, and when he speaks he sounds even more troubled than before. "you…you shouldn't thank me. you shouldn't thank me for anything."

his eyes dart over to his little sister, checking in on her, and the sense that you're intruding on something creeps up on you again.

haechan had been right — there was so much of him you didn't know. you hardly recognised the boy sitting beside you, despite a vague sense of comfort and familiarity in the slightest traces of his expression, the look in his eyes, his thumb absentmindedly stroking yours. it scared you.

you withdraw your hand, pushing your chair a little further from his, the scrape of it dissonant in your ears. "so, uh, i'll just wait downstairs for the taxi if you don't feel comfortable —"

"taxi?" he looks at you, confused.

"i…i should go now, right?"

"i wasn't going to ask you to go," he says, his voice small. "i was…i was hoping we could talk."

"talk?" you echo. after weeks of nothing? "now?"

"i mean, not right now-" he glances over at the clock, wincing. "but can you stay today?"

there's a pause. you don't think you've ever been able to read him — you've spent days second-guessing every emotion you thought he had, the meaning behind each expression, whether he ever told the truth. but something about him like this makes you hesitate, made your breath catch in your throat. all the ways you've tried to learn how to be immune to his words and his touch slowly melting away, because that was your defense against the version of haechan you thought you knew before.

"i'll understand if you say no," he says, quietly. "but i have things i need to say to you. please."

you don't know what to do.

"hyuckie?"

you both turn. haechan's baby sister is waddling over, her fist clenched around her hair ties as the last remnants of the french braid unravel from her head. she sniffles. "it fell."

haechan's eyes dart back to you quickly, before refocusing his attention away. "it's okay-" he soothes, taking the hair ties from her as he swipes the pad of his thumb on her cheek, brushing off the teardrops that have begun to spill from her lashes. his lips jut out into a pout, his head tilting to meet her gaze. "let's just tie it up and go to school, hm?"

"but i want it in a braid…"

"i can't finish it in time," he says, gently, touching the strands of her hair. "i'm sorry. i promise, we'll do it next time, okay?"

her lip wobbles. "but…"

"let me help," you say, suddenly.

he turns, round eyes wide. "what?"

"i'll do her hair. you still need to get her things right?"

he nods, a little dazed. "really?"

"i'll stay," you murmur, and you slip the hair ties from his loose fingers and sling them around your wrist. "i need to talk to you too."

you can feel his eyes on you as he coaxes his sister towards you, the girl shyly hiding her face in your hands as you swiftly braid two pigtails down her back. he still watches you out of the corner of his eye as he packs her bag, noting the way you listen to her babble on about her days at the school, the way you help adjust the straps of her backpack onto her tiny frame.

he looks at you like he's never seen you before. you think you know the feeling.

—

the bed dips under his weight as he sits down.

"hey," you hear him murmur, and you stir. his hair falls over his face, and he's changed out of his clothes, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perches on his dainty nose. it's foreign, and new…until he pushes back his hair boyishly with an open palm, flicking his head like a puppy after a swim, and the skip in your heartbeat feels all too familiar in your ribcage.

"did you get her to school?"

he nods. "i got us lunch too. and stopped to get groceries." studying your face, he leans in. "i didn't want to wake you up so soon. do you feel better?"

you hum. the morning now seemed like just a dream — haechan and his sister, the breakfast sandwiches. he'd left to walk her to school, telling you to rest in his bed until he got home. now, late afternoon light seeps into the room through the open door, until haechan gets up to close it, once again sealing the room in cozy darkness.

"may i…?" he lifts up the corner of the covers, and you nod, easing yourself to the side as he gets into bed, leaning up against the headboard, his eyes trained on his lap. you lay on your side, that same feeling — as if you couldn't reach out and touch him, as if he existed in a world of his own without you, slowly settling in your body like a familiar ache.

but then there's a shift — and you can feel his gaze warm on your skin. you blink up at him, his pupils focused on yours, pools of the darkest molten brown sucking you into his world. he wets his lips with his tongue nervously, taking a shuddering breath.

"y/n, i'm really sorry."

your heart squeezes a little in your chest. "for?"

"for what i said that night…when i thought…when you didn't show up." he takes another breath. "and for not trusting you, for going to your place after i...." his fists clench the fabrics of the sheets, twisting it in his hands.

you bite your lip. "haechan —"

" — i'm not done." he swallows, voice dipping low. "you were right. i knew you wanted more, i always knew exactly when i hurt you. but i never tried…i never tried to change anything. i'm sorry." his hands reach towards yours for a second, but he hesitates, dropping them back on his lap.

"what would you have changed?" you ask, softly.

"i could have stopped seeing you," he murmurs.

you smile, sadly. "i'm not convinced that would have hurt any less." that was something you knew for sure.

"and i don't think i could have stopped myself," he admits.

"haechan," his eyes move to yours. "why did you invite me?" his breathing picks up, and you want desperately to comfort him, to curl up on his lap and soothe him, but you knew the both of you were afraid of what would happen if you touched. knew the possibility that you'd try to find answers in skin-on-skin, lips-on-lips, and the possibility that it would all be lost in translation again.

"i'm sorry, –" he looks at you sadly. "i think i was just trying to get you to stay. i…" he chews on his lip, glasses sliding a little lower on his slender nose bridge as his head dips. "i regret what i said, but some of it was true. i don't know what i would have done, and i don't think i was ready for…for what you thought it was."

you nod, cheek rubbing against soft sheets, thinking about what he said. "haechan, i don't regret not going. i only wished i'd done it intentionally."

"yeah?" he whispers. the sound sticks in his throat.

"if you hadn't found me yesterday…would you still have looked for me? talked to me? i'm not hurt that you didn't find me sooner-" you cut in, when you see the guilt on his features, the parting of his lips in apology. "time apart….time apart was good. i needed it to clear my head. i….i couldn't stop myself around you."

he doesn't say anything, for a while. "jaemin came over," he says, slowly. "and he said i couldn't talk to you or he would stop working with the band and it was decided for me."

"he what?"

haechan shakes his head. "i don't blame him. i'm not going to pretend that i couldn't have still talked to you if i really wanted to. i'm selfish enough to do that, i'll admit. i didn't reach out because i didn't know what to say, and i didn't know what i wanted."

"and now?"

he closes his eyes. "time apart was good," he murmurs, echoing your words. "it gave me a chance to go back to a time before."

your breath catches.

" — but i couldn't. i don't think i can take it any longer. i missed you, y/n. i miss you now, even as you're here."

"you miss me?"

something bothered you about it, hearing him say those words. when he'd pulled you away repeatedly in the weeks you've known each other, when he came for you time and time again, was that missing you too? were things different now?

"i miss spending time with you," he says, almost timidly. "not just…not just sex. everything. i know it's selfish…" his eyes blink open, and he pushed his glasses up, avoiding your gaze. "i didn't mean to pressure you to come back. you can forget i said that."

he shakes his head, trying to clear it.

"i just wanted to tell you i'm sorry for hurting you."

you'd never dared hope for a real apology from him. some part of you expected, or even secretly wished, he would find you again after that night, lie through his teeth to win you back. and in the weeks that followed, you took his silence to mean he didn't even care enough to do that.

and now here you were, sitting with him. after days and nights, he's had time to really mean his words — he wasn't himself, which is maybe why you believed he was telling the truth.

you think you know now, why he refused to let you in. why he hadn't wanted to take your first time, something so intimate and romantic that it would have pierced right through the layers he'd built up around himself. why he drew away so many nights when your touch lingered on each others' skin, when you wanted him to stay.

"haechan," you say, quietly. "i need you to understand that i…that i've learned how to be hurt by you. i don't want to go back to how we were before."

he nods, quickly. "of course."

"and…you say you knew i wanted more. so you know that i wanted to be with you…romantically, right?"

"i know." the words are so quiet, you barely catch them.

"if…if i come back, i don't think i want that anymore." you say, gentle, but firm. jaemin was right — you couldn't let yourself forget all the ways he hurt you. "i associate us with too much hurt. i can't trust you with my heart, can you understand that?"

there's silence. he's nodding, but when his lips part, he's wordless.

"haechan?"

"i understand," he murmurs. "i'm…i didn't…" he breaks off, fiddling with the covers, lip caught in his teeth. "whatever happens next will only happen on your terms," he says, softly. "i only want to do what you want to do, okay?"

your brow furrows. "but haechan, if you don't feel comfortable with something –"

"i'm fine as long as you still want to see me," he whispers.

"if you don't want to let me in, i won't push anymore." you realize you truly mean it when you make the offer out loud. even if it hurt to know that you may never see him like this again, you press on, jaemin's advice resurfacing in your mind again. "you don't owe me any more of yourself. if you want it to just be sex, we can do that – but you have to commit to it too. so no more getting jealous, or —"

" – that's not possible."

"you're not making any sense." you should've been hurt, but sitting here now — looking at him, the way he melts into his room, fuzzy at the edges, soft curves of his face, you can't feel any of it. finally, you're beginning to see that he's just as lost as you are. his head is still bowed low, taking in every word you say like a weight he carries upon him.

"it's not possible because you already know me. you know enough of me that i couldn't perform with you in the crowd, can't be myself around you at a party. i can't stand there onstage, do things like eyefuck girls and play the guitar and pretend to be someone else, while feeling your eyes on me. you'd see right through me."

he sounds like he's on the verge of tears, his voice achy and raw. and as you look up at him, tears are smudging on his waterline, his cheeks glistening as he sniffles.

"i said i'd be fine with anything," he breathes shakily, as he starts to cry, sharp inhales punctuating his words. "and i am, i really am. i-i'm not in the position to set terms. it's fine if you don't want to know me, but i can't pretend we're just strangers anymore. i won't be able to."

words you'd said to him — you can't think i still want to know you, after everything.

for a moment, you entertain the idea that you've hurt him too.

"i don't think i can pretend either," you murmur. "i hated it when you pretended like you didn't know me. like you'd never seen me before."

i'm s-sorry, he chokes, but the syllables scattered across his sobs. he claps a hand to his mouth as his breathing speeds up even more, tears wetting his shirt, achy sounds muffled against his palm. and finally you sit up, limbs still clumsy and heavy from sleep, and you wrap your arms around him, and arm slung over his chest, another around his waist, just like you wanted to all this time.

his breath shudders against your palms, warm body against your skin. you bury your face in his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him that changed no matter who he was or whoever he was pretending to be, until his breathing slows and his sobs come to a shaky stop.

"i missed you too, haechan," you breathe. he shakes his head. "i did-" you insist, but he shakes his head again, a hand coming to touch your arm on his waist, squeezing tight.

"not haechan, donghyuck," he whispers.

"donghyuck," you correct, stroking the side of his cheek lovingly, your fingertip stained with his tears. "i missed you."

"i missed you too." he says it like the words are dangerous, hushed and quiet. "are you…are you really coming back to me?"

"do you think we can be friends?" you ask, tentatively. not lovers, not strangers. this was the only in-between you knew that could do justice to the ways you knew each other, the only way you could see yourself holding on to him now.

he looks at you for a long time, until you forget your question. his nose is tinted pink, his eyes still watery as he drowns in his thoughts.

he swallows. "are you sure?" he asks, softly. "your first time being with someone…and it's not even a real relationship."

"you're doing that thing again," you murmur. "where you tell me what's good for me. how i should do things." you soften when you look up, seeing the guilt in his face, as if he had been caught red-handed. "i'm asking you again," you say, slowly. "do you think we can be friends?"

this time, he nods. "yeah," he murmurs. "friends who…"

you nod too, feeling your cheeks burn, and then you lean in — slotting your lips against his.

for a second, he doesn't kiss you back, and your stomach swoops.

but then his mouth is moving against yours, soft and gentle. a close-lipped kiss, just the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the brush of your noses together, your eyes slowly fluttering shut to focus on the feeling. and even though you'd just agreed — even though you were the one who suggested it, a part of you wondered if you could ever only want to be friends with lee donghyuck.

—

you sit at the dinner table, and haechan's entire body aches with a longing that crests over him like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from his lungs.

he recalls the way he'd felt earlier, walking back across the park from the kindergarten, stopping by the grocery store and wandering the brightly-lit aisles, turning over pasta sauce and soup stock in his hands. the knowledge that you were in his home, sleeping, that he would turn the key in the lock and you would be waiting for him — burned down his throat like alcohol, a bonfire in his stomach. it felt like playing pretend. he was afraid to even drive you back to your apartment, to walk you to your door, to look at you too long in the moments after. and yet here he was, tipsy off the sweetness of being able to come home to you.

after the talk, neither of you had gone much further than kissing.

"i missed you so much," he murmurs – his voice crumpling under the weight of his own words.

"do you want to show me?" your tone is lightly teasing, dipping low as you keep your smile on your face. the warmth coursing through your body has nothing to do with the blankets pooling around your thighs, and everything to do with the boy sitting across from you — doll-like legs with miles of silky skin splayed out over the sheets, back slouching against the headboard, all crumpled in and soft and worn.

if you had gone to the bar weeks ago, let him guide you to this home, to this bed, you might already be familiar with this soft mattress in a whole different way.

neither of you can deny the way your minds wander there still, despite everything. him missing your body framed against his, you craving the sink of his chest, the curve of his waist.

there's silence, as his words register in the boy's head, pain flickering over his features. if he was feeling more like himself, he would pulled you in, caged you under him. tugged at that side of you that was always so pliant and easy for him and watched you unravel under his fingertips. the words are on the tip of his tongue — i'll show you. did you miss me too? kiss me. stay with me.

instead, his fingers withdraw, and gently touch the soft cotton of his shirt's hem, warm light flickering in his eyes. "not like this," he murmurs quietly. "not…not now."

you let out a breath, tension dissipating. "yeah," you'd murmured. "you're right."

you'd gone to take a shower while he prepared dinner. there was something terribly domestic about all of it — you padding into the living room again, each fiber of your being smelling so much like him. the way he turned from where he stood guarding the soup bubbling on the stove to see you in one of his shirts, a towel draped over your shoulders. the feelings he hadn't learned to pin down, hadn't had the time to sort, intensified in his chest, an ache lodged inside him.

friends. he'd introduced you to his sister as his friend, watched you braid her hair and laugh with her softly, heard your sweet voice wishing her good luck with school. the nights he'd spent with you by his side — talking about the band, about his tattoos. asking about how he did during the show, seeking your praise, wanting to know so badly how he appeared in your eyes. the way you somehow reached right through him and made him listen, made him stop. was that friendship?

now with all the plates cleared and washed, the sounds of your clothes tumbling in his washing machine in the background, the smell of black nail polish prickled his nose as you leaned over. your fingers brushing his, holding them in place.

"should i make it a little messy?" your voice is light.

"it's usually messy because i get my sister to do it," he tells you, softly. "you don't have to mimic how it looks."

you nod, a small smile on your face as you dip the brush back in the bottle. there's silence, for a while, as he watches you, studying the way you look with your head bowed, feeling each careful touch of your fingers, and then —

"do you want to talk about rules now?"

you look up at him just briefly before going back to the task. he swallows.

"sure."

another pause. and then quietly, "you can't get jealous anymore, you know that right?"

"i know," he murmurs. "you told me to stop before…but i didn't. i'm sorry."

you nod. "you can't be possessive of me, either."

he hesitates. "so…no marking?"

slowly, you let go of his left hand. "you can still leave hickeys and bruises," you mumble. "just don't…don't call me yours you know?"

he didn't know if he could do that. "okay," he says, softly. "i'll try." and then, slowly and carefully, he asks, "are you going to keep coming to our shows?"

the slide drag of the brush on his nail stops. "do you want me to?"

he bites his lip. "i want you there," he says, slowly. "but i don't know if i'll be okay with having you in the crowd."

"oh."

"maybe you can watch from backstage. or the wings. i want you to," he adds, when you look troubled. "please."

"are we still a secret?"

his lips part. he wanted to say yes — but it was the way you'd asked it, like it was something you feared, that made him hesitate.

"because," you continue. "it didn't feel good, keeping it from jaemin. and as i said, i hated it when you pretended we were strangers."

he felt your hands leave his, capping the bottle of nail polish as you leaned back in your chair, tucking your knees to your chest. he keeps his hands splayed on the table, taking a deep breath.

"no more secrets," he agrees. "and stop going to those parties, y/n. if you want to see me, just tell me."

you raise your eyebrows. "we're not exclusive," you point out, slowly. "i don't go to the parties just for you. haechan, if you don't think you can do this…"

"i can," he says, hurriedly. "i'm sorry. if i see you at a party…i'll say you're my friend. i'm sorry, it's just that i…i'm just…."

"it's okay." giving him a small smile, you get to your feet, shuffling over to the kitchen. you don't hear him come closer as you fill up a glass of water on the kitchen, only know of his presence as his hand touches your shoulder carefully.

"don't go," he murmurs. his arms slide around your body, gently pulling you towards him, and you turn slightly so you can see his face.

"i'm still here," you respond, softly.

but he shakes his head. "don't go."

you turn around in his arms and your lips brush, his own parting against yours, seeking permission. all the time he wonders when he'll stop kissing you like he's swearing an oath — devoted in the way he wraps his lips around yours, patient and true in the way his tongue moves against yours, and even now, something loving in the way he murmurs your name into the cavern of your mouth. his hands move carefully on your skin, nail polish still drying on his fingertips, and if either of you question the way you kiss, you keep it to yourselves.

—

it's different, watching haechan perform, when he's not performing for you.

you saw the way his eyes flitted through the crowd, making and breaking eye contact so fast it was hard to keep track of, each twitch of his expression rehearsed and calculated. a teasing part of his lips, sinful face fluttery and slack as the music crashed all around him, like he could physically feel it. he was right — you didn't see him the same. you knew it was the performance, that he was really the one trying to please the crowd, riding off the pleasure of attention. but despite seeing through it as he had said, it still had you feeling tightly wound inside, pressure building up inside you, a craving for his touch intensifying with each time his hips shifted against his guitar.

and even worse was the way your heartbeat would trip over itself every time haechan's eyes flickered over to you. never during a song, but in the moments between — mark's voice speaking through the mic, the rest of the boys checking on their instruments or interacting with the crowd. he would look over at you briefly, almost shyly, his heart-shaped lips creasing into a smile.

"friends?"

the moment you'd arrived home, you had pleaded with jaemin not to be upset with haechan, but it turned out you didn't need to. haechan had left a message the night of the party, and when you'd walked in looking more well rested and collected than you'd had in days, jaemin knew that you had been safe. you'd reassured him too, when he asked if keeping you from him only made things worse. both of you had needed that time to come to this conclusion. only time would tell if it was the right one.

"so you're going to be friends with benefits?" jaemin raised his eyebrows. "was this his idea or yours?"

"mine," you mumble. feeling the need to defend yourself, you raise your voice just slightly. "i just think that…i want to keep seeing him, and i want to get to know him…but i don't want him in that way. anymore," you add, when jaemin bites his lip.

"did you really lose feelings, or are you just not ready?" he asks, quietly.

you force a laugh out of your chest. "you think i'd still have feelings for someone who hurt me that much?" you try to say it sarcastically, but you don't have the heart to. the words have no bite, and instead truth echoes in the spaces between.

"that's not the worst thing in the world, y/n." his voice is steady, and calm. "it's okay to take your time. if you remember that lying to yourself will only hurt more."

but there are things to soothe the ache.

"did you like the show?"

haechan roughly tugs off his jacket, letting it slump off his shoulders and onto the floor. the moment the last song ended he'd rushed off stage and right to you, eyes blazing under his heavy makeup, the both of you stumbling into one of the small storerooms backstage.

a single small lightbulb barely illuminates the small space, bathing you in warm light and shadow. shelves of boxes line most of the walls, except for a sliver of space that currently presses against your back, your fingers touching the cold surface.

"it was good," you murmur.

"yeah?"

he's still hungry for more. you can see it in his eyes — for all his good girls and you're perfect, you knew he craved to be adored too.

"you were right," you say, softly. "it feels different, watching as your friend."

his smile falters.

"i…i like it more," you continue. "being in the wings…makes me want to get your attention."

"you have my attention now, princess," he points out. he touches a hand to your waist.

it's almost scary, how you slip back into old patterns. a heady rush filling your senses, slowly dragging you under. this is why i couldn't stop, you think, as he leans in ever closer, his eyes glazed over as his gaze slides to your lips.

there's a beat.

"i forgot to ask," he mumbles. "no possessiveness right?"

your mind clears, just a bit. you nod, breathlessly.

"what else?" he asks. looking at you, timidly, he asks. "can i…are pet names okay? can i still call you baby?"

"baby's fine," you whisper.

"princess?"

"hmm?"

"no," he smiles fondly at you. "i was asking if calling you princess was okay."

you want to bury your face in your hands. or his chest. "princess is fine."

his smile grows wider, before he suddenly turns serious again. "are we starting anew?" he asks, hesitantly. "can i…can i bring up things from before? or are we pretending that this is our first time…"

"no more pretending," you murmur, feeling like a hypocrite. "why? did you want to bring up something?"

"kind of," he nods towards the door. "just thought you're going to love this," he says, slyly. "hearing stage crew and bandmates walking by, knowing that at any point someone could hear us, someone could come in…"

and now you do bury your face in your hands, and when he reaches around to hug you, you lean against his chest, feeling his laugh vibrate against you, feeling you with warmth.

"it's okay," he murmurs, as his hands slide down to squeeze your waist. "i won't play with them this time, baby. today's all about you, hm?"

his hands falter, perhaps realizing the words were too tender, a little too loving for what you both claimed this would be.

"lets try not to do anything…romantic?" you mumble.

you regret the words as soon as you say them, your teeth biting into your lip sharply.

haechan's face has shuttered down. you can't read his expression, as he nods, taking your hands in his and kissing them.

"please." you look at him, this time taking the dive, feeling yourself free-falling towards that familiar desire, letting the current swallow you whole. "i need you."

in spite of everything, haechan's lips are as gentle as they've always been.

his lips brush yours, once, twice, before he locks in his kiss, hands trembling slightly as he touches the side of your face, cups you in his palms. you want to ask him what's wrong, pulling away slightly, but he makes a wounded sound from the back of his throat, pressing you against the wall, his head dipping to kiss you fiercely. his tongue slides against yours, and he groans low against your lips.

your hands fumble on his shirt, skimming his broad shoulders, strong arms. he pants into your mouth when your drag your nails down his chest, breaking away. tugging his shirt roughly over his head, he grabs your hands and places them on his chest before leaning in to kiss you again, this time working his way down your neck, his wet kisses making your body shudder as you cling onto him for support.

"please," you murmur, wondering why he was staying so silent. "please-"

but he shakes his head, fingers tracing your jaw, tilting your head up so he lap his tongue over a newly formed bruise. the room is silent save for the sound of his lips, but you crave his voice, his words guiding you through everything, the lilting cadence of it.

"haechan-" a foreign feeling spikes in your stomach as he ignores you, continuing to kiss his way down to your collarbones, fingers tugging your collar wide open. it felt like he wasn't there at all.

he breathes heavy against your skin as he curls his hands around your hips, holding on tight. still he doesn't say a word, or even make a sound, as his caress the back of your thighs.

"stop-" you blurt out. roughly, you take his hands in yours, gripping them by the wrists.

he lifts his head.

"haechan," you start, but he just looks at you. your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

"haechan, you're scaring me." your voice is panicked and tight, the tension so overwhelming that tears begin to blur your vision, your chest rising and falling faster.

"baby?" he asks, alarmed. "what's wrong?"

"please talk to me," you beg, wiping away the tears on your cheek. the ache has soothed slightly at his voice, but you need more. "why…why aren't you talking? you always…you always used to-"

"i'm sorry," he whispers, pulling your body into his, wrapping his bare arms around you. "i'm here," he soothes, in your ear. "i'm here," he mumbles again, and again, until your breathing calms down.

"i'm sorry," he repeats, kissing you softly. "i'm here now, baby, okay?"

you nod, and now you guide his hands to your thighs, feel the way his breathing hitches.

"can i…?"

"please," you say, breathlessly, and his hand cups your warm core.

"fuck," he blurts out. you were so warm, the seat of your panties completely soaked through. he slides them to the side with nimble fingers, inhaling sharply as he strokes your folds.

"how are you so wet? fuck-"

"take them off," you plead, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your skin. immediately, he tugs your panties and skirt down roughly, almost frustrated, barely waiting for you to step out of them before encouraging you to spread your legs wider as he strokes you, fingers dipping to catch at your entrance, your swollen clit.

"so fucking wet," he marvels, groaning slightly as he swipes his fingers softly .

"from watching you perform," you say, softly.

the words send pleasure thrumming low in his navel. "yeah?" he murmurs, eyes meeting yours.

slowly, he drops to his knees, and suddenly you feel hypersensitive — his breath on your thighs, hands gripping you tightly. he suckles a kiss close to your core, and you whine, loudly, the sound too loud in the small space.

he looks up at you, sultry eyes framed in dark eyeliner. "let me hear you, baby," he coaxes, easing your legs open. he sticks out the tip of his tongue, and gives your clit a gentle flick, your hips bucking into his face before you can stop yourself. "i've been dreaming about this," he sighs, before he closes in and suckles on your clit.

he lapped at you like all he'd done in your days apart was think about how best to do it — alternating between suckling on your clit, licking your folds with his tongue wide and flat, and prodding at your entrance. one hand keeping you pressed against the wall, his other slips around your entrance, sliding in one long finger, the way your walls suck him in making him moan, vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. you can feel the jut of his finger joints, the pad of his finger curling against your walls, while his tongue focuses on your clit, drawing shapes and letters expertly.

you slump further against the wall, the pleasure making your legs shake, unable to hold yourself up, your hands tangled in his hair, knotting them around your fingers.

"i can't stand-" you're cut off by a moan, as he bites into your thigh, licking up the wetness that stains them, a mix of your arousal and his saliva. "please," you wish you were on a bed, wish both of you had had more patience to go somewhere and do this right, feel the whole weight of his body on yours.

"cum," he pants, sucking on your clit with his plush lips as he coaxes another finger into your warm, now mimicking a vibrating motion with his hand as he pushes in hard and fast. he doesn't break away even as he moans out, now curling his fingers languidly against your walls. "fuck, baby, i need you to cum now because i can't wait any longer-"

his tongue presses onto your clit, and the pressure pushes you overboard. his hand the only thing keeping you upright, pushing roughly into you, he eats you out until your orgasm is over, kitten licking your clit as his head moves this way and that. you open your eyes and see him staring right at you, desire pulsing in his pupils, eyes blown out and dark.

"good?" he breathes, both hands now gripping you tight. you nod, swallowing and gasping. his face is smeared with you, mouth and nose shining and glossy. he licks around his lips, mouth hanging open as his eyes glint.

"more?" he asks, and you nod, gasping, falling to your knees. now, you're finally able to touch him, as your body crashes into his, causing him to nearly tip over from how he kneels, sitting back on his ankles to draw you into him. you kiss him deeply, letting his lips wrap around your tongue just the way you loved it, feel his hum vibrate against your own chest.

his hands ghost under your shirt, and you help him pull it off, his hands cupping your breasts with his familiar touch, sucking kisses down your cleavage as you gasp for air. his hands roam your body indulgently, as if he was afraid you'd dissolve if he wasn't mapping your skin with his palms, his tongue, his lips. one hand trailing up and down your back, unclasping your bra, while the other squeezes the back of your thighs, resting his hand on your ass.

he suckles on your nipples like he had all the time in the world, as if you weren't in a cramped store room feeling as if you were about to explode from his touch alone. gentle tongue drawing circles around the bud, eyes staring up at yours with devotion. your hips move against his, and his eyes flutter shut as he sighs, his hips starting to grind up against you as well.

"turn around," he mumbles. "now, princess."

"i want to see you," you protest, hands gripping onto his arms as he slowly walks forward on his knees, pushing you towards the wall.

"i'm sorry, baby-" he kisses you, placatory and sweet. "we'll go again in my bedroom later, okay? need you like this now."

you let him maneuver you until you're facing the wall, legs spread apart as he kneels in between. trying to soothe you, he rubs a hand over your stomach, reminding you of his presence the entire time he rids himself of his jeans and underwear, rolling on a condom, tension building with every small sound, until you can feel something thick and heavy press between your legs.

"haechan-" you pant, your back arching just slightly as you lean towards the wall for support, feeling his hand squeeze your hip.

"i know," he mumbles, making slight shushing sounds as he eases himself against you. "i know, baby."

even though he was behind you, you knew the face he would make as you felt his tip slowly push past your entrance, the way his eyebrows would float upwards as his eyes went unfocused, lips parting in a lovely 'ah- ah' that he tried hard to contain behind hisses and bitten lips. part of you still wants to see it, but all thoughts are lost as he fully sheaths himself into you, feeling him deep inside from the position. his hand on your hip creeps over to your navel, and he pushes gently over where he was buried inside you, the pressure somehow intensifying as you feel full from all sides.

slowly, his body presses you further into the wall, and you gasp as the cool surface brushes your chest. he kisses the nape of your neck, and your body trembles, shifting against him and whining as you clench around him from sensitivity. behind you, haechan mumbles out a string of curses, hips jolting forward unsteadily before he stops himself.

"please move," you whisper, and he moans, finally thrusting into you. he finds a rhythm that's slow and deep, feeling full and stretched out each time you throb around him. a particularly harsh thrust has you whining, your hips tilting towards the wall, trying to get away, but suddenly the solid weight of his body presses against you ever harsher as he rolls his hips, his chest pressed to your back. he feels stronger, and sturdier than he ever did before, as a hand creeps down to your clit and begins to rub slow and lazy circles, his body attuned to yours. you jolt away from the simulation, ass suddenly jolting back against his length, making you cry out again, sandwiched between pleasure.

"don't run from it," he coaxes. "just take it, hm?"

you had nowhere to go as he fucks himself into you, wet sounds filling the small space, and you're sure the floor is wet with your arousal, can feel your next climax approaching fast, making you forget about the ache in your knees and in the way your head pressed against the hard wall. you begin to shake in his hold, trying to fuck yourself back on his cock while he bullies your clit relentlessly, but once again his chest presses into you, strong arms holding you firmly in place as he overflows your body with pleasure, a hand slowly grasping yours and squeezing.

"i missed you, baby," he says, quietly, voice surprisingly steady despite the way he was ramming into you. "i really missed you." his lips brush the shell of your ear.

you cum unexpectedly, crying out, squeezing tight around him as all the muscles in your body tense. your hand squeezes tight around his as the other rubs quick circles on your clit, working you through your orgasm. you can feel him still behind you as he cums too, whining in a pitch and tone you'd never heard from him before, desperate and achy as you clench around him again from the sound, so sensual that it rekindles a fire inside you despite the soreness in all your limbs.

your weak hands fumble against him, scrabbling against his strong grip. he pulls out with a hiss, helping you turn around to face him. in the semi-darkness, you can see the concern pooling in his eyes, bright and scared.

"was it too rough?" he asks, breathlessly. his hands skim your frame, pulling you onto his lap.

you shake your head, nuzzling into him. you're torn between watching that silvery glow in his eyes, makeup smudged around all his corners, and burying yourself deep inside his chest until you can feel his heartbeat on your cheek.

"baby? are you alright?" he rubs gentle circles on your back, as you nod. "use your words, please," he says, softly.

"you got stronger," you blurt out.

"did i hurt you?" he moves against you, something protective in the way he holds you that makes your body sing with warmth.

"no," you say shyly. "i loved it."

you lift your head just quick enough to catch the way his face crumples. before you can ask, he leans in and he's kissing you again — soft, gentle, sweet and almost shy. when you part, he looks dazed, eyes drifting down to your lips and wandering back up to your eyes.

"you deserve better," he says, quietly.

he looks down, at the way you're sitting in his lap, and then tilts his head sharply to look around the store room, as if he meant you deserved better than this for your first time back with him. as if this was about sex at all.

you take a deep breath, and shake your head. "haechan, you're exactly what i deserve."

the name rings out in the space. it seems to ground him, and he shakes his head to clear it, slowly untangling himself from you as he gets ready to help you up.

you swallow. "take me home," you tell him. "take care of me."

he does exactly as you say.

—

attention simmers on your skin, a palpable heat you're unable to shake.

girls circle the kitchen island like sharks, eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights, but they're never able to come close as it's so clear haechan's focus is entirely on you. haechan's back is turned to the party as he sits on the counter, long legs spilling over and the muscles in his thick thighs accentuated by the way he sits, denim stretched tight and each gaping hole making you doubt your decision to come to the party here, instead of going over to his home.

it was his party, and he should go. the fans would be upset if he didn't at least show. now you were seriously regretting it, as you ducked your head to avoid the glare of another crowd as they passed by, while haechan knocked back another drink.

he had been alight with energy ever since the show ended — agreeing amiably when you suggested going to the party, his smile only wavering when you reminded him he couldn't get jealous. and while your eyes wandered around the party, drinking in the scenes you hadn't seen in awhile, he was doing everything in his power to keep your attention on him, camera strap hanging from his neck as he clicked through the photos, pointing out the parts where jaemin had helped him, explaining the stories behind the pictures.

"i didn't know you were into photography." it's a stupid statement, that you want to retract immediately. of course you didn't – you didn't know much about him at all. but it makes him smile a little proudly, clicking on the dial to speed through the photos.

"yeah well, i've never taken a photo of you." he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. "i know for sure because when we…you know…when we weren't seeing each other, and i missed you…" his cheeks are burning up, his mouth barely moving as he tries to fumble through the rest of the sentence, plush lips swallowing his words. "i couldn't find any photos of you. on my camera or in my phone or…" he trails off.

your heart thrums harder in your chest. "yeah?"

"do…do you have photos of me?" he asks. timidly, softly. his eyes trained on his camera, unseeing, breath held in his chest waiting for your answer.

"of course i do," you murmur. you hope he can hear the smile in your voice, know that it's for him. "rockstar."

his fingers twitch, and he looks up at you, a searing intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before, flames licking at your cheeks as you hold his gaze, a warmth that sparks down your spine like fireworks. the sounds of the party fade away, sealing you in the vacuum of his attention.

"y/n," his voice drops an octave, all the softness drained out of it.

"haechan?"

"let me take a photo of you," he murmurs. "please."

"now?"

"no, not now," he says, slowly. "you know what i mean, princess."

but you never get to clarify, because someone taps you lightly on the shoulder. haechan's eyes flicker behind you, all the intensity faded out, and it feels like your lungs fill with air again as you turn to see jisung, holding two cups in his hands, one of which he's holding out to you.

you're torn between crushing guilt, and relief that he doesn't hate you.

"j-jisung," you splutter. "jisung, hi."

"hi, y/n." he smiles, nudging the cup towards you again, and you take it. almost against your will, your eyes dart over to haechan, but his face is impassive and neutral, camera laying forgotten on his lap as he turns quickly to survey the party behind him. was he trying to offer you privacy, or was he upset?

you sip from the drink, trying not to make a face at the overwhelming sweetness that floods your tastebuds. the boy had barely put any alcohol in it. your hand almost inches towards the cup haechan made for you, wanting to balance out the taste, before you stop yourself.

you didn't want to hurt his feelings again.

"it's been a while," you say, sheepishly. "and again, i'm really sorry about last time."

"it's okay," he says, cheerfully. "haechan already apologised. besides, you can make it up to me on our date."

jisung's words have a physical effect on haechan. you feel him tense up behind you, body going stiff as he turns back to watch you, eyes trained on the side of your face.

"you still owe me a date." you don't know if it's determination, or sheer recklessness, that inspired jisung to say this to you as you stood in the kitchen with haechan just inches away, the side of his thigh still brushing your waist. "are you free tomorrow night?"

you try your best not to look at haechan. he had no right to care, you didn't owe him anything. you didn't know what you wanted to see on his face either way — whether his jealousy would make you angry, whether his sadness would hurt you instead.

"i am," you agree, hesitantly, and jisung's close-lipped smile blooms.

—

"you know there are other boys out there right? that there's a world beyond the band?"

"shut up, jaemin," you mumble, checking your reflection in the dressing room mirror one last time.

"this is good for you." his tone has changed, as he leans against the locked door. "jisung is nice. i hope it works out."

tonight's show had been different. jaemin had reluctantly confirmed that it wasn't just your imagination — the way haechan was quieter throughout, more self-conscious in his performance, eyes barely scanning the crowd, taking longer glances at you throughout the show. jisung's confidence, on the other hand, poured off him in waves, his jacket unzipped, gums showing as he smiled wide.

"i know." you sling your bag across your body, adjusting your skirt, as you turn to face him, taking a deep breath. "i'm really giving him a chance, jaemin. i'm…i'm taking this seriously, even if you don't believe me." it wasn't a lie. you barely knew anything about jisung, and jisung barely knew anything about you — but he was always sincere and sweet, quietly brave under his shyness. you couldn't forget the way he looked at you even with haechan by your side. it made you want to give him a chance too.

"i believe you," he reassures. "good luck, okay?" the door unlatches with a small click, and he gives you one last wave before heading out into the corridor.

your eyes dart back to your reflection one last time before you turn back, satisfied with your appearance, and start towards the door. you barely take a step before there's a creak, and you think it's jaemin coming back, or perhaps jisung, wondering why you took so long.

but of course, things are never easy.

a familiar face enters the room, pushing the door open wide. he doesn't bother to close it, just takes you in for a second — eyes sweeping your frame, taking in your jewelry, the hints of makeup on your skin, your clothes, your neat hair. dejavu crawls over your skin, remembering the first time you'd met jisung, the way haechan had cornered you in the dressing room after, too. you tense your shoulders, preparing for the fight.

"you look nice," he says, quietly.

your lips part. "haechan-"

but before you can speak, he's blurting out his next words. "j-jisung's going to love it," he stammers out, shadows flickering in his gaze as he swallows, throat bobbing. "i… i just came here to say good luck." at your surprised expression, his lips curve up into a sad smile. "that…that's what friends do, right?"

"yeah." your hands grip onto the sling of your bag tightly, afraid of what your hands would do if you let go.

"i'm going to go now," he mumbles. "i…have fun, y/n."

there isn't a trace of sarcasm in his tone, his eyes soft and fond. he leaves before you can say another word, not closing the door behind him. you can hear his boots all the way down the corridor, can hear him disappear up the stairs.

you try not to think about his voice, as you take the back exit out of the venue, see jisung standing in the warm summer night, smiling under a streetlight. try not to dwell on the fact that haechan might have actually wished the best for you – no more layers of pretense under pretense, no more feelings without reason.

it's easier said than done.

—

two hours pass, your food gone from your plates, only the dregs of your drinks left in their glasses, before jisung finally clears his throat.

"this isn't working out, is it?"

"i'm sorry," you say, biting your lip. you'd walked to see a movie, something jisung had picked out, but had been mind-numbingly dull to you. you settled to watch his reactions instead, the way his hands flew over his eyes at the more intense scenes, the way he bit down on his fingers when the tension spiked. it was cute, but less so when he started asking you questions about the movie, and you had to admit you didn't remember any part of the plot past the first 20 minutes.

late night dinner hadn't been better, each topic running itself to the ground quickly, your opinions and lack of opinions causing each conversation to crash to an uncomfortable halt. good things take time, had been jaemin's text to you when you asked for help. you were sure that jisung and you weren't acting like your true selves, the prospect of the date altering the way you talked and responded to each other, until you'd finally come to the conclusion that perhaps you just weren't compatible.

"i really thought this would work out," jisung says, a tinge of sadness coloring his words.

"i wanted it to," you confess. selfishly, you had almost been excited at the prospect of things working out with jisung — needing confirmation that you could still feel for others. excited for the date leading to the next, to fall in love with surety.

excited to find the first relationship, the first 'you and i' that haechan seemed to think you deserved.

"it's okay," jisung reaches out, pats your hand clumsily, shyly, as if surprised that reaching towards you meant he actually got to touch you "i didn't know much about you when i asked you out, anyway. just thought you were really pretty." he looks mortified again, and it makes you laugh — everything about him still endearing.

"do you want to just be friends?" you ask, gently.

it's like a weight lifts from the conversation, and he sighs, relieved. "yeah," he echoes. "friends."

the silence that follows is a lot more peaceful. jisung slumps slightly in his seat, like the tension has left his body. his deep voice somehow still manages to sound timid when he speaks up next.

"since we're friends…"

you nod, encouragingly, taking a last sip of your drink.

"can i ask…do you like haechan?"

you nearly choke. jisung was looking at you carefully, although he smiled at the expression on your face.

"a-are you sure you want to talk about this?' you stammer.

he shrugs, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "i'll always be curious about it, and i guess this is my chance to ask."

you don't have the heart to answer him directly.

"i…i used to," you say, slowly. "but that was when i didn't know him."

"know him?" he asks, confused.

you nod. "yeah. i didn't really know him as a person….just…knew the performance, i guess."

jisung still looks confused, but he nods along. "well, do you know him now?"

you think of the sunlight in his living room. the faint dimple on his cheek as he showed you a photo of his sister running towards the camera, her face alight as she called out for her big brother. his arms around you in the kitchen, as he asked you to stay. the slope of his neck as he turns towards you at the end of a song — the fading sound of his guitar as his eyes sought yours.

"maybe," you say, softly.

"and?" jisung prompts. "could you like him now?"

you don't answer him aloud, but your unspoken words ring in your head.

—

it's different this time, haechan tells himself, as he grips his phone in his hands.

it's different this time, because he knew where you were. he knew why you weren't calling.

he slumps back against his bed, his body heavy with alcohol but his mind racing wild, each thought outpacing the next.

the apartment was silent and empty. both jeno and mark were gone for the night. haechan hadn't bothered to go to the party, knowing that he would feel jisung's absence like a pain lodged in his ribs. he wonders if jisung will bring you home, here, whether you'd let him, even if he knew jisung wasn't the type of boy to go further than hand-holding on the first date. he thinks of it anyway — of hearing your sounds through his bedroom wall. whether it would make you needier to know haechan was listening.

he feels like a loser. he's never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin, more unclean, more ashamed. but then again, there's no one around to know, as he lets his mind wander a little farther, away from you and jisung, away from his phone, sinking deep into the last time he'd touched your skin, images and sensations jumping out eagerly at him when he closed his eyes. flicks through moments that caused a heat to lick down his spine, the familiar hum of pleasure buzzing low in his navel — your legs on his shoulders, your hands in his hair. your taste, the patterns he would draw on your body so you'd shake just the way he liked, the spot on your neck he could kitten-lick to feel you tense up all around him.

that night, even after he'd fucked you in the store room, you had been insatiable.

he'd tried to touch you like the other girls he used to play with — never speaking much, preferring to use his mouth for other things, let their own imaginations run wild with what he could be thinking behind his hooded eyes. he'd taken you with your face turned away from him, pleasure without intimacy, sucking bruises as a keepsake for you after the night ended, not as if you were his to keep or to lose.

let's try not to do anything romantic.

but then you'd begged him to talk to you. told him to take you home. he'd hated it — hated the way you folded for him, like someone had given him powers he couldn't help abuse. do you know how tender this is for me? he'd wanted to ask, as he was touching you again in his sheets back home, racing to meet your every demand before you asked for it.

your legs parted for him as he entered you, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure to watch your every expression, the look he'd been dying to see — your eyelashes fluttering, lips parted silently, the sharp gasp as he found your soft spot, your hands scrabbling against his skin. he held your gaze even as he let you wrap your legs around his waist, ankles locked in a sweetheart's cross behind him as he pushed your legs even higher, letting him in deeper. he'd never imagined himself with anyone like this before — a position so full of love and closeness, feeling your body and ripple against his, leaning in to kiss your lips softly, kiss away your desperation.

he'd almost gone crazy when you found your voice amidst all the pleasure.

"donghyuck," you'd breathed, saying the name like a prayer. "feels so good."

he had stilled, slowing to a stop, even though he was painfully hard in you. his heart racing in his chest, pounding so hard he felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

"you," you mumbled, slowly grinding your hips against him. "you make me feel so good, 's like no one else-"

"yeah?" he picks up the pace again, tilting your body at an angle now so he could go even deeper, watches the way your face changes. he was the one who pulled that sound from your chest — sated but desperate at the same time, needy but satisfied. "i make you feel this good, right? i'm good for you, everything's for you-" he babbled, not making sense to even himself, your praise burying itself deep inside him like a siren song.

you'd choked out more praises, pretty words tumbling from your parted lips, your eyes never leaving his.

"more, hyuck-" you pulled at him, nails scratching down his back. "hyuck-"

it's like he can hear your voice, as his hand slides down to his hip, down to his leaking cock.

he jerks himself off like that — to the images of you pressed under him, your voice calling his name. he does it fast, with no finesse — tugging roughly, the slide too dry, but he doesn't care about drawing out the pleasure, doesn't think it matters if you're not here with him.

he feels even filthier after he finishes — peeling off his soiled shirt, as he stumbles to the bathroom. he knows he won't hear from you tonight, that you wouldn't do that to jisung, but still he keeps his phone unlocked with the ringer on next to his bed as he lays down again.

maybe he would wake up, and you would tell him he could never see you or touch you again. his mind wanders in another direction now, away from your body, away from pleasure — to the ways you made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. when you said his name. when you'd comforted him as he was crying, the kindness in your eyes despite all the ways he hurt you. sitting on the kitchen counter, thinking of ways to keep you with him as your eyes wandered off. look at me, he'd wanted to beg. think of me. just me.

he goes to sleep thinking about how this could be the last night before you'd really only exist in memory and fantasy, before everything changes.

@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35

#haechan smut #fic: rockstar haechan #haechan angst #haechan fluff #haechan au #haechan x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct smut #nct angst #haechan scenario #nct 127 smut #nct 127 angst #donghyuck smut

2K notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 11 months

Note

just read all your imagines and they are so good!! just on here to req anything hobie brown related cos god that man is so fine. maybe like a one-shot where they are fwb cos hobie doest do labels but gets jealous and then asks reader to be his gf and then shows her off to everyone. just like really anything u want to write tbh ✨✨

end of line | h. brown

description. being friends with benefits with your best friend, hobie brown, is fun and all, but you start to realize that maybe firm labels suit you better than whatever this is

includes. slight smut SUGGESTIVE 16+, fem!reader referred to as “girl”, fluff, sweet!hobie, pav gwen and miles mention, rockstar!hobie

a/n: i have no words this was supposed to be uploaded like a week ago but then i went to disney so ... sorry yall. also not edited well bc ... disney. edit: title from the song by daft punk bc tron <3

word count: 1.7k+

things are still in your bedroom. they always are right before he arrives.

you're not a psychic, nor do you have a "spider-sense" (which, with the creepy-sixth sense way hobie described it, you don't want one either), but you like to think that you can tell when he'll come by.

nights when you haven't heard much from him, but the sirens seemed to never stop outside, were usually when your window would creek as it slid up.

you listen out for the sound now as you finish painting your last nail. you'd used the quick dry polish tonight, in hopes that you wouldn't have a repeat of last time, when your fingernails weren't dried but hobie was incredibly impatient and when you were done, you'd realized that your right ring and pinkie fingers were smudged.

the bottle's closed, you'd blown on your nail to ensure it dried, and that's when your window slides open.

there's no point in looking back at him when he tumbles into the room. he starts mumbling complaints as soon as the window's closed, the sound of his shoes unlacing padding his words, something about some common thief who hobie was going to let go but then he went and messed with the lady on the street and her cat.

you'd lost the tail end of his words whenever he started walking closer to you. you sat up straighter, pushed everything out of the way, and waited for him to turn your chair around.

which, when he did, you looked up at him, small smile on your lips as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"how's your night, hm?" he asked, a courtesy before getting to the real action.

you shrugged, pretending to think. "nothing. just a lot of this."

"no smashing societal standards? picking off misogynists one by one?"

a small laugh in the form of a snort from you. "nah. figured i'd take a day off, you know?" the sarcasm dripping from your words. that's not who you were. you wish you could've been like that, could've been like hobie. but there's one spider-person for a reason.

"oh, yeah, uh-huh..." and hobie trailed off as he leaned in, pointer finger hooking under your chin to pull your lips to his.

it always felt good to kiss hobie.

you'd fantasized about it for weeks before it actually happened. he's your closest friend at the moment, and he occupied the title before this arrangement even existed. and of course you had the worry about ruining your beautiful friendship if you became more, fear that you wouldn't be able to go back and you would subsequently lose probably the best friend you've ever had.

but that was no need to worry. because while you could let hobie pull you up and lead you to your bed, sitting back and pulling you into his lap while he kissed you with a tenderness you know so well, you could also just be friends with him, sitting side by side on the couch and having a movie marathon of horrible biopics without thinking about jumping each other's bones.

there's a balance here that you could only hope would've existed.

and it's never thrown off. not even when he pulls your shirt over your head and his full lips find your nipples and the slightly-faded marks he'd left a few days ago. not even when he switches your position, laying you back and kissing down your torso until he can bury his head between your legs. not even when you whine and cry just a bit, slightly begging for him to pull his suit off so he can fuck into you in a way that only he can.

you try not to think about the equilibrium of your relationship with hobie when your legs hook around his waist and the heels of your feet dig into your lower back. you try to solely focus on the way his cock fills you up perfectly, mostly long with the right amount of girth for your walls, tip reaching deep within you in an almost mind bending way.

but you can't help but think about the way hobie doesn't do labels when he helps you to your bathroom, where he lets the shower heat up while you sit in a shirt he left behind a few days ago when he'd shown up as just hobie brown and not spiderman. you can't help but think about being hobie's girlfriend when his big, veiny hands run along your skin after the shower, smothering you in shea butter as you struggle to hold your eyes open. and you don't bother attempting to fight off the lasting thought of being hobie's while he hums an unknown song to himself with your head on his chest, the deep sound of his voice and the vibration of his chest lulling you to sleep.

you need to be someone's.

the friends with benefits scenario was fun, it worked, it was glorious, but you don't think it's for you. and labels aren't for hobie.

so, you look elsewhere.

you're at hobie's show, standing in the back of the pub with a drink you weren't interested in, with some guy you really weren't all that interested in, either. but he smelled nice, and he seemed nice, and you were just looking to broaden your horizons just a bit.

you and hobie weren't exclusive, but maybe it's a little wrong to flirt with someone else at his show. but you were slightly upset, and craving attention, so it didn't matter.

not until hobie got off stage.

it took a while for him to roam over to you, but even then you were still entertaining the other guy. giggling, tilting your head, batting your eyelashes, your hip popped out and a manicure, that was still fresh, blinging as your hand rested on the bone.

he greets you with a term of endearment that he uses often, but it feels different in this circumstance. you tell yourself that it feels different because you want it to feel different.

"oi, babe! who's this bloke?"

his arm slings over your shoulder and you tense under it. your hands folding over your chest, your smile tightening a little.

“uh this is steven.” your hand reaches out to point to the man, a tight lipped smile spreading onto his lips.

“steven …” hobie repeats the name slowly, and without looking at him you can tell that he’s eyeing the guy up and down.

the air is stiff, the three of you are silent, and unfortunately, steven takes the hint to dismiss himself, and you instantly turn to hobie, a scowl on your face.

“what the fuck, hobes?” you’re pissed, but the nickname still slips off easily.

hobie shrugs and reaches into his back pocket, a cigarette appearing and he sticks it between his lips. instantly, your fingers pluck it out from his mouth, instead putting it in your own back pocket.

instead of looking upset, hobie looks amused. his hands reach out to grab your waist, and you want to give in, but you try to push his hands away instead.

hobie lets you, and you don’t know if your happy or upset with that.

“what’d you mean?”

you stare at him, deadpan, then gesture to where steven had walked away towards.

“you just cockblocked me!”

a cocky grin, almost a little condescending. “i didn’t ‘cockblock’ you, babes. you weren’t trying to get with that guy.” your eyebrow lifts and you can see realization come onto hobie’s face. “oh … you were?”

“yes! of course i was!”

“but why? you are i are together.”

“sure, hobes, but we’re not ‘together’.”

“yes we are.”

“no, we aren’t.”

“why do you think that?”

you suddenly feel a little insecure, eyes scanning the thinning crowd, ears noticing the way the volume in the pub is lowered. “because you’ve never put a label on it, bee.”

another layer of realization. hobie’s hands coming to your waist again, but this time you let him pull you in.

“i didn’t know we needed a label. but you’re my girl. and i’m your guy.”

your body heats up and you bite down onto your lower lip giddily, peeking up at hobie through your lashes.

"thought you didn't like relationships?"

"labels. i don't like labels."

there's a disruption in the atmosphere. goosebumps raise on your skin, the hair on the back of your neck sticks up, and even if you weren't aware internally, the way the magazine you were previously reading floats above the table would've tipped you off.

the portal opens shortly after, but you knew it was coming. it took hobie a while to tell you that he was spiderman, longer to convince you that he was spiderman, and a while longer to convince you of the existence society, and even though you know, you still get a little shocked whenever a portal opens.

he comes through first, thud of his heavy boots against the floor of his flat. the spoon in your mouth clings against the side of the bowl, your free hand reaches out to the tv remote to pause the episode as you look over at hobie.

"oi, didn't know you were still here." is all he says before he's walking over, pulling his mask off on the way, and leaning down. your head tilts up instantly to meet his lips in a kiss, your body warming with the way his hand pushes into the back of the couch, slender but muscular form caging you in.

you expect him to sit beside you and force you to give a recap of the episode, but he stands back, and then three other people come through the portal.

"oh ... are we expecting guests?" surprise sits in your words, the tone amplified when hobie takes your bowl of cereal out of your hands to finish it off himself.

"right," he speaks through mouthfuls, saying your name as an introduction to the other three. "this is pav, miles, and gwendy. spider people." you nod, waving at each.

"this here, is my girlfriend." three sets of spider-eyes widen with the admission and you can already sense what's coming.

"wow, you're pretty. 's nice to meet you."

"i knew it! i could sense the tension as soon as we got here."

"you have a girlfriend? wait. i thought you didn't like labels."

a small smile on your face as you tuck your hands in the pocket of hobie’s sweatshirt that you wear.

in coordination learned from how close you two are, you speak at the same time.

"he doesn't like consistency."

"don't like consistency, mate."

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown smut #hobie brown fluff #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk #celeste writs mcu #hobiesworld!#hobie brown #spider man across the spider verse

5K notes · View notes

auggieblogs · 7 months

Text

Cupids's chokehold | Oscar Piastri Instagram au

Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which Oscar's girlfriend is a rockstar and he (oscar) is our fav groupie?

a/n: Hiiii!!!! I hope everyone is having a good day/night. Felt like my blog needed an Oscar fic so, here it is. Happy reading, everyone:))

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

oscarpiastri

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 789,161 others

oscarpiastri Take a look at my girlfriend, she's the only I got.

tagged yourusername

comments:

username our* girlfriend you mean?

username MOTHER

username Oscar y/n is for the girls and the gays🙏🏻

landonorris wbk, she's all you talk about

yourusername you sound jealous, Norris landonorris I AM

username i am sat

username the first picture❤️

yourusername AJHSJSKS OSCAR BABY ILYSM

*liked by oscarpiastri*

yourusername i mean lol simp

oscarpiastri ???? I love you too.

username jaws on the floor

username my bisexual awakening

mclaren the motorhome could use some tunes @yourusername

yourusername onw to austin rn🫡

username oscar is a groupie confirmed

username that's my wife you're talking about, Piastri

username NOT CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD I AM VIOLENTLY SOBBING

username cool gf 🤝🏻 vroom vroom bf

oscarpiastri word.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 125,114 others

yourusername I love my boyfriend, tbf.

tagged oscarpiastri

comments:

f1 our favourite groupie, tbf.

landonorris mine is max, actually

maxverstappen1 you're my favourite too, lando😉

yourusername my lestappen heart is breaking

username come back home, y/n. the kids miss you

username WELL I LOVE YOU Y/N WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT?

username I love the rockstar gf and racer bf dynamics

oscarpiastri SJSHJSSKJS THAT'S ME I'M THE BF

oscarpiastri you're so pretty WHAT

oscarpiastri I love love love you

yourusername I love you too, angel❤️

*liked by oscarpiastri*

username pda? we've truly lost her y'all

username I am very normal about them. I am also a big fat liar.

username which guitar did you get?

yourusername the red one🥵

charles_leclerc Forza Ferrari?👀

yourusername I meannnnn

landonorris *gasp* traitor, i hope she's uninvited from the paddock

yourusername chill out lil bro

username she's hilarious😭😭😭

username I CANNTTT WITH HER LMFAO

alpinef1team we love your boyfriend too, big deal🙄

username admin you're on thin ice

username very "right where you left me" coded

yourusername I AM DECEASED

username love this comment section sm

oscarpiastri why is everyone calling me a groupie?

1K notes · View notes

aft3rhrs · 18 days

Note

Do you have any blog or fic recs for yandere or mafia BTS? You’ve got me obsessed now!

ily! 💗 and yes, in no particular order bc they're all from my reading lists:

@pynkgothicka — yandere ♡⃝ㅤgangsters ෆ, rockstars, scorned lovers

@aajjks — yandere ♡⃝ㅤemperors, bullies, hybrids, sugar daddies, horror movie aus (jungkook centric)

@jeonggukieverse — yandere ♡⃝ㅤthrillers, mind games, mafia ෆ (jungkook centric)

@taetaecherub — yandere ♡⃝ㅤbullies, stalkers, sweet boyfriends

@yoongsisbae — yandere ♡⃝ㅤlover jungkook, seven days a week and the fantasy

@luv-gukkie — yandere ♡⃝ doctors, stalkers, kidnappers, mafia ෆ

@kooktrash — yandere ♡⃝ coworker taehyung & boyfriend jungkook

@silv3rswirls — yandere ♡⃝ㅤstepbrothers, werewolves, serial killers

@sxtaep — yandere ♡⃝ㅤdance teacher hobi

@themochiverse — yandere ♡⃝ㅤmonster namjoon

@deepdarkdelights — yandere ♡⃝ㅤmonsters, ghosts, cults

here's a list of darker themed blogs if you're interested in dead dove content. enjoy! 🫂

#a r t #anyway as always please remember to leave the talented authors some love ❤️🥹#yandere bts #bts recs 🥀

569 notes · View notes

xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

Text

Love To See Me From Your POV

rockstar! Eddie Munson x wife! reader

summary: Seeing Eddie on the road for the first time should be an exciting moment but when your insecurities rise, you wonder if this is the life you were cut out for.

warnings: angst. reader is insecure: mentions of self hatred and low self-esteem. Eddie and Reader are both in their twenties! Rockstar Eddie. Eddie does call groupies gross. mentions of rough marriage. Eddie and reader fight! slight cheating accusations. fluff. Eddie is the sweetest husband, reader and Eddie being in love and cute. Smut 18+ Only, Minors DNI!! : mentions of sex with groupies, p in v (unprotected), cream pie, slight breeding kink, slight dom/sub, body worship/praise, oral receiving (reader), fingering, squirting. shit writing and bad grammar. Not proofread!!!!

If I missed any please let me know! *

a/n: Hello my loves, I got a request from @kellyxo1 for this little thingy right here! I hope this is okay and I hope you enjoy! Thank you all again for being so wonderful and lovely to me :) And remember if you ever want to request something, you're more than welcome!

There isn't a booklet on what to do and what not to do when you get married, and there's definitely not a booklet on how to be a rockstar's wife. Married life in itself is a difficult task, but learning the ropes of being married while also dealing with the life of fame was something you or Eddie was prepared for.

Getting married right after Eddie's third senior year was always the plan, two young and dumb freshmen solidifying it with hooked pinkies. Obviously you loved one another more than life itself, but going through the motions of being married at the ripe age of 20 is harder than any fairytale make it out to seem.

It was hard that first year, constantly worried about bills, overtired from working long shifts to pay said bills, and just learning how to live with one another. But in between all the hardships, there were small moments where both of you remembered what it was all about. Eating thirty cent noodles, decorating for holidays, the quiet Sunday mornings where you'd get tangled under bed sheets. The love that both of you hold for one another drowning out every other shitty thing around you.

The second and third year, your whole world flipped upside down. After getting lucky and getting picked up by a big record label, Corroded Coffin was now the hottest new band on the market. You remember the day the boys got signed, how most of them shed a tear of happiness, and how happy your husband looked. A moment in time that was now frozen in a picture that hung on your fridge.

You were so proud of the boys, watching them go from a crowd of seven drunks to recording their own album. There was something so special about being there with your husband for every step, cheering him on from the sidelines every time. When the album finally dropped and the number of sales went up, Eddie surprised you with the keys to the little house on Deer Run Road, the same one that the two of you always fantasied about owning.

Although he worked mostly in LA, he told you he planned on staying in Hawkins where he could still get privacy while being close to the people he loved. You also loved it because you wouldn't have to leave your job at the daycare and your husband would always come home to you.

Now on year four, you were the loneliest you've ever been. Between touring, recording, and everything that comes with being in a band, Eddie has barely home. You can't be mad at him though, he's following his dream all while providing a wonderful life for you. Of course there are nights you'd rather have him in bed with you, reading that old torn copy of Lord of The Rings rather than a phone call, but you're just glad he even has the time and energy to do so.

It was hard for the both of you, many times the two of you cried together, confessing the horrible ache that nestled itself in your hearts. You felt terrible, never being able to visit him because your schedule didn't line up with his. That's when you decided you were going to take a week off, fly to whatever city he was in, and surprise him.

With the help of Steve, who pretty much taught you the in's and out's of flying, and the band's personal assistant, you were able to buy a ticket to New York where CC would be performing their final show. That night when Eddie called you, you were buzzing with excitement and it killed you not being able to tell him.

On the way to Eddie's hotel was nerve racking. What would he think of you? Will he like how you changed your hair? Will he be shocked with how much I changed? You wondered how different he looked since the last time he saw you, the only way you got to see him was through your tv or on a cover of a magazine, and you never know how accurate those things can be.

Standing in front of his hotel room was daunting, blood rushing to your ears as your anxiety reached a whole new level. It felt like you never met him before, like he hasn't seen every single part of you or known you since he was a young man. The shakiness of your hands were only getting worse the longer you sat there, you decide it was now or never.

Raising one hand to the peephole, blocking it with your finger so he wouldn't be able to see, you use the other hand to knock on the heavy door.

"Housekeeping!" You disguise your voice the best way you can, making it high pitched and nasally.

Knocking once more, you cringe when you do it harder than before, remembering that he's probably tired from all the travel he's been through.

"Housekeeping!!" Still using the fake voice, trying to soften the blow of your heavy hand you sing the last little bit of the word.

From behind the door you can hear shuffling, yet there was no footsteps heard.

Raising your fist once more, you knock again and this time you can hear him shout something back.

"GO AWAY!" It comes muffled through the door that separates the two of you.

"Good morning, it's housekeeping!!" you cover your mouth with you hand trying to stifle the giggle that fall from your lips, knowing your husband is probably cursing to himself in anger.

Eddie's heavy footsteps and huffing are the only things coming from the room, then the door is being swung open causing the land that was leaning on it to fall dramatically.

In front of you is the man you married, hair messy from sleep, plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, and bare chest on display. He looked so pretty, rubbing his closed eyes with the palm of his hands, pink lips jutting out in a pout, and puffy cheeks.

"I already told you to go the f-" Cracking one of his eyes open to adjust to the harsh light of the hallway, he finally sees you.

"Baby?" His raspy voice in a whisper, like he's questioning if you're real or not. Tired eyes that were once too heavy to open are now bulging out of his head, cartoonish and wild.

"Hi, Teddy." You whisper back, a saccharine smile breaking out on your face.

The air that once lived in your lungs are quickly punched out the moment he lunges towards you, gripping you up and twirling you around. In the middle of a swanky New York hotel, the two of you hold on each other, squeezing tightly to make sure that neither of you will float away in the clouds of a realistic dream.

"My baby, my beautiful girl," You hear it before you see it, the thickness of his sleepy voice does nothing to hide the shakiness. The tears of mourning you, fall from his eyes hitting the exposed part of your neck where he finds solace.

"I'm here, Teddy. I'm here." The dam you've built to hold back your own tears, has finally busted open. The tears of long nights and a cold bed fall onto his warm skin, the one thing you wished to feel once more.

Moving apart slightly, big brown eyes finally meet your own, taking in the imagine of the people they love the most. Teary eyes and stuffy noses, wobbling lips and heavy breathing, two souls reuniting after too much time away from each other.

Planting his forehead to yours, you bask in the feeling of being close. Eddie's warm lips touch yours, a sweet and tear soaked kiss makes you melt.

"I missed you so much, angel." He confesses, the warmth of his breath mixing with your own.

"I know the feeling." You joke and the both of your share a laugh.

"You know," he whispers, forehead still touching your own, "I want to be mad that I'm up at the ass crack of dawn, but you're such a beautiful sight to be woken up to." A gooey smile spreads on his lips and like a yawn, you mimic his actions.

"So you're not interested in housecleaning services this early in the morning?" You question and he snorts at your bad attempt of a joke.

"Angel, you know me better than that." He says and you roll your eyes.

"Now," Eddie lets you down gently, your feet returning to the carpeted floor. "If you don't mind, I would love nothing more than to fall asleep with the sexiest woman in the world."

Leading you into his room, he proves his point by slapping your ass hard. When you turn around to chastise him, you're met with him biting his bottom lip and his gaze still on your ass.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna have so much fun with you." The morning rasp in his voice is replaced with a husky, lust soaked hunger.

Tossing you, lovingly, on the bed, Eddie pounces on you like a tiger. Attacking you with kisses, you try to push him off as best as you can, weak from all your laughter.

"Teddy, I still have to shower!" You shout causing him to pause over you. Catching your breath, you run your hand up and down his arm softly. "I still have yucky airport on me."

Eddie leans down and licks your cheek and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. "Oh yeah, that's my favorite flavor."

"You're such a dork." You tell him and he only smiles bigger down at you.

"Yeah but I'm your dork, Mrs. Munson."

The morning was spent with discovering each other again, not just physically but emotionally. You update him on the kids at your daycare and new Hawkins drama, while he tells you about the antics the boys have gotten into and all the cool stories from this tour.

You missed it, the simplicity of marriage. Even through all the time spent apart is torture, you still find the beauty in the small moments. Like the thirty cent noodles, you enjoy the peace and comfort of whispers passed back and forth a room that isn't your own.

All the bliss you felt from this morning has now been flushed out, now replaced with the roaring waters of doubt. You watch your husband on stage, singing songs he wrote, like you did way back when. This time the crowd isn't just drunk bar patrons, it's beautiful woman screaming his name.

They're all perfect, tiny bodies and big breasts, full hair and flawless makeup. They're everything you're not, everything you never will be. This was the one part of the job you never read about in your how to guide. This was the one thing you forgot to teach yourself about, how to handle millions of woman fawning over your man.

You weren't naïve of course, you knew that the guys had groupies, but you liked to push that into the back of your mind. You trusted Eddie more than anything, you knew he would never do anything to ruin your marriage, but that wasn't the part that had you so upset.

It was the idea of not being good enough that was eating away at you. Like everyone else in the world, you had insecurities. You went through stages with your self consciousness, earning a few battle wounds to your confidence along the way, but over time you became comfortable in your own skin.

This wasn't Hawkins though, this was the big city, and your "small town pretty" is no good here. All of the woman here could chew you up and spit you out, beating you out by miles in a beauty contest.

Your self hatred starts to write over the happy memory of watching Eddie on the biggest stage you've ever seen. Embarrassment fills your body, numbing you from head to toe. You feel so stupid, the clothes you wear are nothing compared to what they wear, you probably look like a clown in the makeup on your face, and your hair is probably flat and dull now.

This wasn't what you signed up for, this isn't in the job description when you sign on to be a rockstar’s wife. You already have to worry about the safety of not only your husband but the rest of the boys too. You worry about Eddie and if he's eating enough, if he's getting enough sleep, and if he's taking care of himself. There is already so much on your plate and you don't think you can handle worrying about the fact that you're not good enough.

The wave of guilt hits you when you look back over to your husband. His beauty is powerful, sometimes it makes you want to cry how pretty he is, and you know deep down he deserves better. Rockstar Eddie Munson deserves a girl that looks like one of them, not someone like you. It makes bile rise in your throat when you think about how he has to watch his friends pick up women from different cities and he has to sit by himself because his old ball and chain is all the way back in nowhereville.

Having a front row seat of your own demise is too much, deciding it would be better to watch on the monitor in the green room. When you're finally alone, it doesn't get any better. The large mirror that hangs on the wall captures your attention, calling to you like a siren to a fisherman.

Taking a seat, you begin to pick apart every single detail of your face. You criticize the shape of your eyes and where they sit, the length of your nose and how the shape sits weird, and how the pores that sit on your skin are way bigger than you remember.

The loud voice in your head pleads with you, begging you to stop before it's too late. "DON'T RUIN THIS" it screams and the demons that have overtaken your mind push it away, not wanting reason to ruin their demolishing.

When the guys enter the room, you realize you've been staring in the mirror for longer than you intended, almost like you were hypnotized.

"What a great fucking show!" Gareth announces as he grabs a beer from the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

"I agree." Grant says as he plops down on one of the leather sofas, exhaling loudly as the adrenaline crashes through him.

"This crowd was definitely the loudest one we've had." Jeff's voice is louder than he thinks. Clapping his hands together, he signals at Gareth to throw him a beer.

"So, what do you two lovebirds plan on doing now that touring is over?" Grant asks, leaning up from his slumped position to look over at you.

Eddie wipes his neck and face off with a towel, stalking over to you with a blissed out look on his face. Leaning down to you, he places a sloppy kiss on your forehead, removing with a loud 'mwah' sound when he does.

"I planned on taking my girl around the city before we head back home." Eddie is still looking down at you, almost like he's questioning you if it's fine with you.

Returning a fake smile, hoping he doesn't notice it doesn't reach your eyes, you nod your head to let him know you approve. A guttural moan pulls your attention to the brown haired boy over who's now sitting on the opposite couch of Grant and Jeff.

"You two are grossly in love, it actually makes me sick." Gareth rolls his eyes and the roar of chuckles ring out in the room.

"You act like we don't have a line of hot ass babes waiting for us." Jeff laughs and Gareth hums as he swallows the sip of alcohol.

"Very true, Jeff. Very fucking true." The boy laughs in agreement.

You know that their comments hold no malice to you but it stings all the same. All you heard was, "Too bad for Eddie, we get to fuck hot girls while he's left with that." It loops through your head, digging a deeper hole, bringing up every bad thought you've ever thought about yourself in the twenty something years you've been alive.

Everyone continues to talk, laughing and joking like they always do and the only thing you can do is get lost inside the storm that tears through your body. The feeling of Eddie's fingers dragging along the skin on the back of your neck has long been forgotten. The voices have all gone muffled, your own demons speaking loudly over them to even try to understand what they're talking about.

"Angel?" Eddie calls and it brings you out of the darkness of your brain.

You hum, craning your neck up to look at him. He's breathtaking, you think, even in the horrible lighting of this dressing room he looks perfect and it crushes you even more.

"You 'kay? Haven't really said much." He says, only loud enough for you to hear, not wanting to bring unwanted attention.

"M'fine, just kind of tired." You shrug. Flashing those pretty teeth at you, he smiles and it makes you sick with love.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I know I didn't give you much time to recover from the flight... and other things." He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows, earning him a light shove from you.

Leaning down once more, he captures your lips in a loving kiss and a small portion of the tension in your body fades.

"See, I told you! Sickening!" Gareth shouts, his arm stretched out and hand face up, directing everyone's eyes to the two of you.

Bashfully, you shove your face into Eddie's stomach to hide. Draping his one arm on your back, he twists his body slightly to look at the others.

"Gareth, you're clearly jealous I get to kiss my smokin' hot wife." Eddie shouts, and a collection of groans fill the room.

If only you could believe the nice words your husband said.

That night in the hotel room, you tell Eddie you're simply too tired to partake in any sexual acts, which he doesn't protest. Laying in the comfort of his strong arms arms, the thoughts are too loud to melt away to sleep. You wonder what Eddie dreams of as you lay awake, if he ever regrets marrying you, and if he wishes he could partake in the same things as the guys. You cry softly, tears pooling on the fabric of your pillow, praying to whoever to is listening to make it better.

The next morning, Eddie is like the energizer bunny when he wakes you up from your four hour sleep. Going to the local diner down the street, Eddie talks about how fun the show was, moving his hands dramatically as he retells you every detail. You try to look interested, smiling and laughing when needed but truthfully you aren't paying attention, you don't even chastise him when he speaks with a mouth full of food.

Afterwards, he shows you around the city and all the sights it offers. It pains you that you can't even enjoy it, too focused on everyone else around you, comparing yourself to every woman that walks past.

Eddie notices, he's noticed since last night but he didn't say anything. At first he genuinely thought you were tired since you never really traveled before, but when you sat across from him at the diner and poked at the food on your plate, he knew. Despite what a lot of people thought, Eddie wasn't stupid. There are many things he had knowledge on and his best subject was you.

He didn't know what was particularly bothering you but he knew all too well. You were in your head about something, beating yourself up about something that wasn't worth the fight, but he knew you could make it out. You always did.

The problem was you didn't fight out of this one. You stayed locked away in the torture chamber that was your mind and let the problem eat you alive. Eddie did everything you always talked about doing, showing you the places you dreamed about and you still didn't crack.

When you returned back to the hotel room, it was oddly quiet. Even Eddie who never stopped talking, was scarily silent. Sitting down on the bed, you started to talk off your shoes, working at the laces slowly.

Eddie stands in the doorway, leaning his body weight on the wall for support. His gaze burns into you, uncomfortably so and you're terrified to even look back at him.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" His tone is serious and it terrifies you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you meet his gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and his features are harsh, waiting for an answer.

"I told you, I'm tired." You lie right through your teeth and like a metal detector he catches it, scoffing loudly and shaking his head.

"I need you to cut the shit, Angel. What is wrong?" He questions again and it ignites a fire within you.

"I told you, I'm fucking tired Eddie. Sorry I'm not you, I don't travel the world for a living." You snap at him.

"Are you- What the fuck did I do?" He argues back and you sigh heavily. This isn't how you wanted it to go but all the emotion from the past four years are coming out in knife like jabs.

"What the fuck did I do," You mock him. "What did you do? I'll tell you what the fuck you did. You left me, you fucking left me. Don't worry Eds, I'm happy for you, trust me. I love knowing that I'm the old ball and chain back home that keeps you from fucking groupies. But it's fine if you look, just not touch, right?"

When you're done you feel worse than before. Eddie stares at you, frown pulling on his lips and big glossy eyes that stare back at you. God, you want to kick yourself for making him feel like shit. This all could've been prevented if you just talked to him, let him in on what was happening but no, the demons won and they shot Eddie down while doing it. The worst part is, you pulled the trigger.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is small, something you've never heard from him and it breaks your heart.

"Fuck- I didn't mean that. I just-" Closing your eyes, you try to compose yourself but it doesn't work. "I just miss you so fucking much. Last night I couldn't even enjoy the show because all the tits that were on display in the front row distracted me. All I could think was 'how could he want me when all of these beautiful woman are better than me?'"

"So instead of watching the end of the show, I sat in front of the mirror and made a list of every ugly thing about me. My body, my face, my voice, every fucking thing about me is horrendous. Then when the guys mentioned fucking groupies, I felt so guilty 'cause while they're out havin fun, you have to sit there all alone because I'm all the way in Hawkins."

It all comes out like word vomit, laying on the floor of the hotel room, filling the room with the stench. Your ugly truths are now out there, you're so fucking vulnerable and all you want to do is hide.

"Are you dumb?" Eddie's voice brings you out of your pity party. Staring at him in shock, you can see his own tears staining his face.

"Do you realize that it kills me not being with you? Every city we go to, all I can think about is you and how much I want to take you there. Those girls you're talking about, the ones the guys screw around with? Yeah, I've seen them and let me tell you, they're gross." Stalking the short distance, he takes a seat right next to you on the bed.

"Do I get jealous because they get to have sex? Absolutely. It's not 'cause of the girls they bring home, it's cause I wish it were you. So many nights I laid awake, jerking off to the thought of you and it was way better than any fucking groupie could do for me." You snort at his admission, rolling your eyes still not believing. Grabbing your chin, he pulls your attention up to him.

"I'm so fucking serious, Angel. I'm so in love with you, it's maddening. Sometimes when I call you, I can't help but blush like I'm back in the ninth grade again. It blows my mind every single day that I got to marry the gorgeous girl from Click's class." His words are like warm butter, melting over you and seeping into your skin.

"Do you really mean that?" It's meek and unsure, like you're scared of what the answer could be.

"Cross my heart." He simply says, marking an 'X' over his heart with the tip of his finger.

Sniffling loudly, you wipe away the tears that roll down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Teddy." You say and he hums, resting his forehead on your just like he did twenty four hours before.

"It's okay, baby. Trust me, I feel the same way sometimes." Furrowing your eyebrows at him, he laughs at the scowl on your face.

"Not like that, baby. I just mean, I get scared one of those hot dads are gonna try to pull a move on you when they drop their kid off." Between the serious look on his face and the honesty in his voice, you can't help but cackle.

"Eddie, who exactly would pull a move? Mr. Gardner? He's like forty and wears a very bad toupee." Eddie tries to cover the snort that comes out with a fake a cough.

"Hey, maybe you're into that kind of thing." He simply shrugs and you roll your eyes.

Settling into a comfortable silence, Eddie kisses you lightly and you pout when he pulls away.

"Can I show you how much I love you?" Your eyes scan his face for a moment before nodding.

"Please." That's all he needs to hear before he's placing you on your back, your head being cradled by the soft cotton pillows.

Eddie starts by kissing you, sweet and slow, reminiscent to the time you and him lost your virginities. The only difference about this time is he knows what he’s doing, confident in the way he glides his tongue against yours.

Moving his attention along your jawline, he places small lingering pecks down your neck. His hand moves down the sides of your body, finding purchase on the bottom of your shirt where he tugs softly on the material. Getting the hint, you sit up and help him pull the garment over your head, your bra is quick to follow.

Laying you back down on the soft cotton of the pillows, he continues his journey down your body. Soft lips leaving prints of love along your collarbones and down your sternum, invisible prints of love collect on your skin where they burn bright and settle into your bones.

“My sweet girl.” He trails more kisses around the doughy flesh of your breast.

Finding the hardened nipple, he swirls his tongue around it before pulling it into his mouth, lightly sucking on it before pulling off with a pop.

“My beautiful girl.” Moving his attention to the other breast, he repeats the same motions from before.

Moving down your tummy, he continues to map out his journey, leaving lingering tattoos onto your skin. Finally making it to his destination, he toys with the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open and pulling the zipper down.

Lifting your hips, you assist him in taking of the restrictive clothing. In one swift action, he rips off the jeans and panties that once covered you. Feeling exposed and shy, you whimper up at him to get his attention.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His tone is concerned and it makes you pout even more.

Wordlessly, you reach your hand down to grab the hem of his shirt where you yank gently. Catching your drift, Eddie pulls it over his head and let’s it fall to the ground where the rest of your close reside.

“You were feelin’ shy, huh?” You nod at his question and he leans up to press his lips to the tip of your nose. “Gotta make sure my girl is comfy.”

Shuffling himself onto his tummy, he places your legs over his shoulders so he can be face to face with your glistening sex.

Kissing the inside of both of your thighs, you squirm trying to move him to the one place you need him most. Tsking loudly, he looks up at you with a correcting gaze.

“Be patient,” he scolds and you listen, biting back your fussing and fidgeting.

A deft finger runs up your slit, moving your slick around as it does. “This pretty cunt is so miserable, huh? She’s sad without me there to make her feel better.”

Taking two of his fingers, Eddie spreads you open to exposing your core causing you to hiss when the cold air hits you.

A swift lick of his tongue hits you like a bullet train, all at once it’s too much but not enough. A sob leaves your throat when he stops, glassy eyes meeting the dark one of your husbands, pleading with him for more.

“You know,” While the pad of his thumb over your aching clit, he continues to keep eye contact with you, “I don’t like when you talk badly about my wife.”

“The strong, smart, loving, and breathtaking woman I married,” He continues his ministrations, not using his other hand to trace around your hole, “Doesn’t deserve to be talked badly about.”

He continues teasing you, not inserting his fingers into your clenching hole and not giving your bundle of nerves enough pressure. He’s making you sweat it out and you think you might die.

He coos sweetly at you, faux pity on his features as he does. “I know, honey. S’it hurt? Want me to make you feel better?”

“Please, Teddy. Please please please.” Your begging falls on deaf ears though, Eddie just continues his evil plan of torture.

“I’ll make it better,” Putting his mouth close to your cunt, you can feel his warm breath and you shy in relief. Moving away quickly, he looks back up at you and you fight the urge to yell at him. “But first, I want you to say you’re beautiful.”

“Wha- Eddie, no! Just fucking- God, just eat me out already!” You yell and he mocks you by laughing.

“Baby, I can leave you high and dry and be perfectly fine. So unless you want to get yourself off, I suggest you do what I say.” Although you know Eddie would never make you take care of yourself, his threat hits you like a lightning strike. His cool demeanor and stoic tone makes you believe every word he said.

“I’m beautiful.” It comes out in a whisper, so low he barely catches it.

“Nuh-uh, say it louder.” Eddie corrects you and the buzzing feeling over embarrassment burns your cheeks.

“I’m beautiful.” This time it’s louder but you don’t sound convincing.

“I want you to believe it. Want you to be nice to my wife.”

Something about the words being said to you makes your heart beam. All of Eddie’s statements to you have been chipping away at the guarded walls of your mind, casting light on the darkness that overshadows it. You start to believe him, you start to let the positive and loving words bring you out of the insecurities that plague your thoughts.

“I’m beautiful.”

You say it at the same volume but this time something in your eyes let’s Eddie know you believe the words you say. The glimmer of light that disappeared 24 hours ago, has finally returned to its rightful spot.

“There’s my girl.” Dimples flash at you before he dives right into you.

Eddie’s tongue replaces his thumb, adding more pressure to the pulsating spot. The finger that once teased you, is not fully seated in you, curled just right while it pumps in and out of you.

He’s not doing much, basically just warming you up for what’s to come, but something about it lights you on fire. The adoration Eddie has for you is being poured into your heart, lighting your body in a glow that he only manages to bring out of you.

Your moans grow louder when Eddie starts sucking on your clit, another finger shoved inside of you moving in and out in a faster speed than before.

You arch off of the bed like you’ve been possessed, whimpering and withering around making Eddie use his unoccupied hand to push you back down.

“Shit, you’re s’tight.” Eddie’s voice comes out slurred, drunk off of the taste of you.

“You gettin’ close? You gonna cum for me, Angel?” You don’t have the energy to answer, too lost in the feeling of your stomach tightening.

Slowing down the speed of his fingers, you huff in aggravation. Eddie’s voice pulls you back down to reality, your bliss slowly starting to fade away.

“I’ll let you cum if you say you’re perfect.” Lifting up on your elbows, you look down to see him already staring at you.

“Eddie I’m not-“ You’re immediately cut off by him, his tone more commanding than before.

“Say it, or you won’t cum at all. I just want to hear you say it.” He begs, his pace starting to quicken and his thumb now going in figure 8’s on your clit.

You’re quickly hurdled back to the euphoria you were just pulled out of. Eyes rolling around in your head, whining as the string in your stomach pulls tighter.

“I’m, shit- M’perfect. Your perfect wife.” You’re a blabbering mess, head thrashing back and forth in ecstasy.

“I’m gonna cum. Teddy, please!” You beg and he gives you exactly what you want.

“Go ‘head, Angel, let go f’me.” With one last stroke on that sweet spot, you’re catapulted into the paradise of your release.

It feels like you’re floating above the clouds, weightless and free. You don’t feel the gush that splashes your thighs or the sheets, and the voice of your husband is nothing but an angelic voice ringing out.

You return back down to the soft mattress, boneless and melting into the bed. When your breathing calms and you finally have the strength to open your eyes, you’re met with a Cheshire Cat like smile and the soaking face of your husband.

“You did such a good job for me baby,” Kissing you sweetly, you can taste yourself on his lips. Pulling away slowly, you bring your arm to his pants, rubbing your palm along the outline of his hard cock.

Shaking his head, he gently grabs your wrist and puts it above your head. “This is about you, Angel. Wanna make you feel good.”

A quiet okay leaves your lips and he continues to work himself out of his pants, letting his dick bounce out of its confides. Saliva pools in your mouth, the desire to taste him takes over and you whimper.

Chuckling at your pouty face, he moves back between your legs that you parted for him. When he runs the tip of his aching cock through your folds, you both hiss on contact.

Lining himself up, Eddie brings his hand to your hip where he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. Both of you moan in unison when he finally breaches your entrance, a feeling neither of you have gotten used to.

Pushing himself further into you, he takes his time to let you adjust to his size, something you still haven’t gotten used to. He stretches you out so nicely, filling you up like nothing else you’ve ever felt. Nothing can compare to him, every bump and ridge of his cock making it even better.

Lacing his fingers into yours, he hovers over you as he starts thrusting slowly into you. A choir of moans are made between the two of you, singing a song better than anything Eddie’s ever written.

With the way your legs are wrapped around his waist, you try to push him in deeper, wanting to stay this close with him forever. This isn’t just about fucking or getting off, this is about the man you fell in love with all those years ago and how he’s appreciating you. He’s trying to show you just how much his heart yearns for you.

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me.” Eddie pants heavily as he thrusts the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix just right.

“Always so good f’me, Angel. You take such good care of me, such a good wife for me.” He’s babbling at this point, reaching the tipping point faster than he thought.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, all you can think about is how much love you love each other, how good he’s making you feel, and how he was able to pull you out of the darkness of your horrible thought.

Removing his hand from yours, he snakes it down your body to find you abandoned clit. With the added pleasure, you clench harder around him and the air in your lungs seeps out in a high pitched gasp.

“I can’t wait to fuck my load into you, baby. Gonna get you nice n’ round, show everyone you’re mine. You want that? Want me to fuck a baby in you?” His voice echoes in your ears and travels down into the pit of your belly, getting you closer to the edge.

“I wan’ it, s-so bad, Teddy. Wanna feel it.” You’re babbling, toes curling at you tippy toe over the line of your orgasm.

“F-fuck you sound so pretty when you beg. Come on, Angel, cum for me.”

And just like that, both of you unravel together. Him painting your walls in his release, while you guys around him. Eddie works both of you through your highs, thrusting sloppy and lazily into you until he can’t anymore.

Eddie doesn’t pull out of you right away, not wanting to let go of the feeling so soon. He lays on your chest, trying to settle his breathing as best as he can. Bringing a hand to the top of his head, you rake your nails softly into his hair.

Humming in delight, Eddie kisses your chest as a thank you. A small blip of time in a long year, the kind that makes the bad days all worth it. The secrets whispered in hotels and lingering trail that still burns on your skin, invisible kiss marks left for reminders.

It’s worth it, all the hardships and long months, when you know he’ll always find his way back to you. The sweet boy from 9th grade that promised his heart to you, now sings his undying love to you for thousands of crowds to hear.

More tears leave your eyes, not in sadness but in pure happiness. You’re so fucking in love with him and sickeningly so, just like Gareth said.

Swiveling his head up to you, Eddie rests his chin lightly on your chest.

“Hi.” He says meekly.

Eddie doesn’t question your tears because he has tears of his own and he knows they’re for the same reason.

“Hi.” You parrot back to him, a wet smile adorning your lips.

“Do you believe me now?” Sweet brown eyes pulls you in, sucking you in as they stare at you.

“Yeah, I do.” You reassure and he smiles.

Using his free hand, Eddie takes his finger to trace shapes over your heart. You melt when you feel him draw a heart with your initials and his on the inside.

“I wanted to tell you,” He flits his eyes down to his finger where it doodles on your skin, “the guys and I have a break now that tours over. So I was thinking..”

A pregnant pause settles between his statement and he makes no moves to finish it. It reminds you of the first time he asked you on a date, nervous and fidgety.

“What is it, Teddy?” Lifting his chin with your fingers, you raise an eyebrow to coax him into answering.

“I was thinkin’ maybe we could try, ya know, for a family or somethin’. “ Eddie’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are coated in a pink blush.

Your heart picks up and you know that Eddie can feel it under his finger. Smiling with all your teeth, you cheeks ache from the stretch.

“You wanna have kids with me?” Your voice is only a whisper and he giggles at you.

“Well I don’t know if you noticed but, I just blew my whole load inside of you.” The bluntness of his statement makes your cheeks burn. Slapping your hands over your face, you cover yourself from the embarrassment

“Hey, don’t need to get all shy on me now,” Pulling your hands away from your face, he smiles smugly at you. “If I recall correctly you were the one all like “yes Teddy ugh please!!”.” Eddie mocks you and you roll your eyes.

“Bye the way, I’ve been counting every eye roll since you got here and I promise your in trouble when we get home.” He points and accusatory finger at you causing you to clench around him.

“I love you, Teddy. Thank you.” You place a kiss to his lips and he smiles brightly at you.

“Don’t need to thank me, baby. I’m glad I’m here to remind you.” Pecking your lips once more, he pulls a way with an even bigger smile.

“Also, I love you too, Mrs. Munson.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader

1K notes · View notes

eddiesxangel · 2 months

Text

Let Me Be Your Goodnight | Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

CW: angst, rough sex, possessive Eddie, female fingering, p in v (protected and unprotected) , creampie, biting, light choking, pet names, Eddie and Reader are fuck buddies, but Reader isn't necessarily a groupie? Mutual pining but Eddie is a fuckboi, heavily inspired by Temporary Fix by 1D lol. Not a happy ending?

WC: 4K

For my 1D babes this is for you 😏

His eyes were transfixed on you. There you were, front and centre, first row, directly in Eddie’s line of sight. Perfect. You were perfect. He wanted you the second he laid his eyes on you. Your cherry red lips are perfectly in sync with the lyrics falling off his lips. He knew he needed to have you.

He tried to find you after the show, but you were gone before security could reach you. You had slipped through his fingers.

Eddie couldn’t believe his luck when he saw you hours later during the after-party. There you were, across the bar, standing with somebody, but it was clear he didn’t know what you liked, but Eddie knew; he read you like a book. Your body language was not inviting, and the eye roll you gave when the guy leaned in and whispered something in your ear. He knew you didn’t want to talk to this guy any longer.

Remembering how your eyes trailed his sweaty muscles as he performed for the crowd. How you were making his leather pants tighter than when they put them earlier that night.

You watched as Eddie sauntered over to you, pushing the countless bodies, including the guy who was trying to take you home, to get to you.

“Hey gorgeous, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He leans on the bar, so close you’re almost touching.

“I’m sorry? who are you?” You twirl the straw in your cocktail.

“Feeling bratty tonight, aren’t we?”

You turn your back on him, flipping your hair over your shoulder, Eddie gets a whiff of your sultry perfume as you do. His eyes scanned your back, stopping at the hem of the tight, shiny black mini-skirt.

You feel Eddie walk up closer behind you, his breath cascading down your collarbone, his body heat radiating off of him like a furnace. You couldn’t help but react as his deep, raspy voice whispered in your ear.

“You know what I think, baby? I think you’re getting real tired of running that mouth of yours… maybe I can show you another way to use it.”

“Excuse you?” You snap.

“You know I saw you looking at me first.” He smirked.

“Who do-”

“And when I was on that stage, all I could think about was you waking up in nothing but my shirt, in my bed.” His hand trailed up the side of your leg and around to the hem of your skirt.

A small gasp leaves your lips as you let Eddie’s hand travel further towards your inner thighs that were clenched.

“You don’t have to tell me anything; I don’t have to read your mind… You’re soaked for me, and you have been since you saw me on stage; why else would you be front and centre, hmmm?”

The cocky prick knew your weakness, and your weakness was him.

“Eddie,” your body relaxes into him, and he removes his hand so it’s in a less compromising position.

“Oh, so the Princess does know who I am?”

“Shut up.” You were not very convincing; you were transfixed by him.

“If you're not hooked on anything right now, I can be your vice.” his plush lips grazed that spot on your neck he knew all too well.

Now, this was not the first time you let Eddie touch you. Any time he was in town, you ended up being pulled together like two magnets. You couldn’t help yourselves; you were addicted. But every time you say it’s the last, that it won’t happen again. That’s why you turned your back to him; if you saw those eyes, you knew you would, in fact, be waking up in his t-shirt.

A moan leaves your ruby-red lips as you feel his hand interlace with your own. Before you know it, you’re willingly being pulled by Eddie, and your lips are attached to his neck as he pulls you out of the club, trying to call a taxi.

A million lights flash as you exit the club, and paps and car headlights flash as he surprisingly doesn't cover your face like he usually would. You’ve seen him paps with dozens of other women; he’s always covering their faces, not wanting to show them off… but not you. Not tonight.

Lipstick is tattooed on Eddie’s throat, claiming him as your own. You couldn’t help it; there was something about Eddie that made you act like an animal. It wasn't the fame or the glitz or the glam or even the money, for that matter. It was Eddie, how he commanded the stage, how he carried himself, how he knew exactly what made you tic.

Eddie could hardly get into the car before he felt your body climb on top of him. Your skirt hiked up, and you straddled him in the back seat. Your hips ground into Eddie’s already hardening cock, and Eddie's hands shot up to your ass to keep you from moving.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Need you.”

“Did my baby miss me?”

You didn’t reply, how could you? Truthfully, Eddie was everything you wanted, but he wasn’t cut out for settling down. You knew there was another version of you in each city, and you couldn’t take the heartbreak.

Your lips latched on his neck once again, only this time you sucked the skin until it was black and blue. That could be his problem for his next girl tomorrow, but for right now, he will be yours tonight.

The ride to the hotel in NYC took as long as expected at two in the morning. The paps tried to follow you, but the taxi driver surprisingly lost their tail. Eddie let out a sigh of relief as he pulled you into the hallways off the elevator. Finally, he was back in the hotel room. He wanted you so bad, even if it was temporary; he was desperate for you. You were his favourite; you could actually be someone to him if he would let you, but Eddie was stubborn. Love didn’t exist for Eddie; he knew that.

“Tell me what you want, gorgeous.”

“I need you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” he ruts his hips into you, pressing you further into the hotel room wall. His lips found your neck, and his hips ground onto you.

You needed Eddie’s hands; his talented fingers were pinning your hands down, but you wanted him to touch you; you needed him to touch you. You squirm under Eddie’s grasp, and he has you right where he wants you. Needy.

“Eddie, touch me already.” You were done with these games; you both were here for one reason. There is no need to beat around the bush or be timid or embarrassed about getting what you want. You wanted him to make you cum, and you were going to get it.

“There’s my girl, knows what she wants”

“Not your girl,” you moan as his fingers trail up your inner thigh.

“No?” Eddie cocks his head because in his mind, you were his favourite.

“Please, I know you, Eds.” You locked eyes. “Tell me to my face I’m the only girl you want... like you were balls deep in someone else yesterday.”

You were right; he couldn’t give you the answer he wanted, but he didn’t want it to be true.

“That’s what I thou-”

“You can own me,” Eddie quickly cut you off, “and we'll call this what you like.” His hands slipped under your panties and across your wet slit finding your swollen clit.

“Eddie!” You moan as your head falls back.

“Good girl, scream my name.” his thick, tattooed, ringed fingers slip past your folds and sink into your walls.

He watched your pretty red lips part as he worked his fingers up inside you, finding that spot deep inside you with ease. He knew your body, studied it, and now he was going to own it, even if it was just tonight.

You trembled below Eddie as his fingers pleasured you like no others could. This is why you keep coming back to Eddie. He knew how to work you, how to please you; he owned you; there was no denying.

“I’m coming!” You gripped his shoulders to brace yourself. It had been a while since Eddie, and you last got together, and he always could get you there quickly.

You needed to wipe that smug look off his face, so you kissed him so you didn’t have to look at him any longer. You push yourself off the wall and walk you and Eddie over to the bed.

Eddie fell back as you climbed on top of him. You needed to feel him under you, you wanted control, you wanted to be the one to give him the most mind-blowing sex of his life that any time he’s inside another girl, you’re the one he’s thinking of. No more temporary.

Grinding your hips down in Eddie's hard cock he lets out a whimper. The squeak of his leather pants against your core, heavy sighs and moans were the only sounds filling the room.

“You want me, Eddie?” You never used pet names with Eddie; it made things too real, and you couldn’t play into the fantasy that he was yours.

“Always, baby.” his chest rose and fell as he lay, and your fingers trailed down his stomach to the waistband of his pants.

“I don’t believe you.” You play with the happy trail leading toward what you want most.

“I’d say otherwise” Eddie cupped his hard cock, gesturing to how much he did in fact need you. You were the one, always.

You take his waistband between your fingers and yank his pants down. Unsurprisingly, he isn’t wearing underwear. His cock sprang free of the tight confines of his pants, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It looked painfully hard, and he looked desperate, needy, and beautiful.

“Tell me what you want, Eddie.”

“Already told you babygirl”

“Tell me again.”

“I want your sweet mouth on my cock; I want you to call me when you’re lonely when you can’t sleep,” he smirked, “You control me, baby, even if it’s just tonight.”

“Shut up” You gripped his hard cock in your hand and rolled your tongue over the tip before taking him as far as you could go. You didn’t let up, you didn’t slow down, you went for it, all in.

You knew he was full of shit, and you wanted to prove to him that he truly was missing out on the best thing that could happen to him.

“Shit, shit, shit, just like that, fuck, that mouth of yours is too good” he gripped your soft hair in his hands.

You worked him to his breaking point, his cock twitched, and you pulled off immediately,

“What the” Eddie stopped mid-sentence as he watched you slowly strip in front of him. His chocolate doe eyes widen as he watches your clothing come off piece by piece. Your exposed skin was calling him; he needed to feel your soft thighs warming his ears, your perfect tits cupped in his hands.

Your last article of clothing fell to the floor, and Eddie's eyes burned into you. He watched as you bent down to pick up his pants. He watched as you found his wallet, pulled it out, and opened it up to find the sealed golden foil he kept inside for times such as these.

You toss his wallet to the side and slowly crawl back to him.

Teasingly, you slowly unwrap the condom, watching Eddie drool as you do. You smirk, knowing you’re making him wait and squirm beneath you.

“Hurry up, baby girl.” He wants to grab the condom from your hand and do it himself so he can throw you around how he likes, but he also wants you to do it; he likes not having to be in control the whole time.

Unlike the others, you knew how Eddie wanted you and how he needed you.

“Patients Ed’s,” you cooed in his ear as your swollen lips trailed down his neck before you sat up to roll the condom on finally. His cock was leaking precum, so you dipped your head down one last time so you could lick it up. Once it was cleaned and clear, you swiftly rolled it down onto his throbbing member and positioned yourself over it so you could sink down.

Riding Eddie was always your favourite pastime; the way he filled you and brushed up against your walls, nothing could compare to that feeling he gave you.

You both let out a moan as you fully enveloped him. Eddie reaches up to grasp your hips to help you move with him. Sure, he loved you on top, in control, but he's only a man; he can't help but fulfill the need to thrust up into you.

Your thighs were burning, but you didn't care. The way Eddie was making you feel was all-consuming. His long hard cock hit that perfect spot every time you bounced down onto him. Skin slapping skin, your breasts bouncing in his face, your pretty mouth left agape in pleasure.

"That's it, bunny. Do you like being my little bunny, bouncing in my cock? This is the only cock that can make you feel this good isn't it?"

You didn't reply; you were too focused on the burning in your thighs and the pleasure building in your core.

Your hand slinked down between you and Eddie so you could rub your clit, giving you enough so your second orgasm of the night could build and build until Edie swatted your hand away.

"Answer me, Bunny," Eddie gritted through his teeth.

"Not your bunny, not yours." You didn't slow down; you only picked up speed.

"Wrong answer," Eddie was annoyed you never played into his little games like the others do.

You felt Eddie steady your waist, stopping you from bouncing, and flip you backwards so you were flat on your back, head almost falling off the foot of the bed.

You let out a startled yelp as Eddie yanks you by your ankles so you are closer to him.

He waists not another second to thrust back into your wet cunt.

"Fuck Eddie!" you cried as he roughly fucks into you. He had your legs pinned by your ears; you didn't even know you were that flexible.

"What was that gorgeous? You're not mine? I think you are, even if it's just tonight." he sneered.

A chain of curses left your mouth as Eddie pounded into you over and over and over again. His large hand travelled up to your chest, surprisingly not resting on your swollen breast but where your heart was.

You were slipping; you were feeling the weakness of your judgment unfold as your impending orgasm grew.

"You're so tight, baby girl; you're so tight for me; I can feel how close you are. You're gripping my cock so good." Eddie spoke as he stroked your hair out of your face. His actions were such a contradiction to how he was abusing your cunt.

"More, Eddie!" you pant.

"No, you know my cock is good enough to make you cum. You've been naughty. This is all you're getting unless you tell me you're mine." His hand slid up from where it was resting on your chest up to your throat, squeezing it hard enough that you still could breathe, but his fingers dug into you so hard there might be a mark left tomorrow.

Fuck him.

"No!" you spit.

"Then this is all you get. He leaned back, releasing your throat from his hands and replaced it with each of your ankles. He steadied himself before jackhammering into your cunt.

You let out a cry, and Eddie's hips slapped hard into you, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. The tip of his tick-long cock grazing your spot.

Eddie was right; his cock was all that you needed because you were coming in seconds, and he wasn't too far behind. Your body felt like it was dripping fire as your orgasm took over your mind and body.

Eddie fucking loved the way your cunt squeezed down on him every time he made you cum with his cock alone. He knew it was a rarity; he was so proud of himself each time.

He fell on top of you after that marathon of sex you both participated in. He pulled out, discarded the condom, and then went to crawl back into bed with you, but you were already up and halfway dressed.

"Where do you think you are going?" he blocks the door with his lean, naked frame.

"Home to sleep, it's three thirty. I'm tired."

"You think I'm letting you go out by yourself in the middle of the night? Looking like that?" He raises his brow.

Suddenly, the euphoria of the sex you just had completely drains out of you.

"What the fuck is that suppose to mean?"

"It means I'm not letting you, the most beautiful woman I've ever met, go out onto the streets where who knows what is out there so you can get snatched up. No way, you're spending the night; I'll sleep on the floor for all I care. It's not safe right now."

What the fuck was happening? Eddie always threw you out once you were done? And did he call you beautiful? Maybe you did, in fact, fuck his brains out?

"Uh, are you feeling okay?" You hold the back of your hand up to feel if he has a fever because what?

"I'm fine but won't be if you leave." He took your wrist off his head and looked you in the eyes.

"Fine, but you promised me a t-shirt." You decided to cave based on your better judgment. "And you don't have to sleep on the floor. I think we are way past that." You turned to walk back to the bed, slowly stripping for Eddie once more.

Eddie made his way over to the closet and pulled out his favourite shirt to give to you.

"Thanks." You caught it when he tossed it to you. You slip over your head before you turn to the bathroom to get unready the best you can.

Thankfully, the hotel came with a fresh toothbrush, and Eddie had cleanser and moisturizer you could borrow. You didn't bother brushing your hair. You just fixed it with your fingers and then exited the bathroom.

Eddie had just come in from the balcony after having a cigarette when you walked back out.

He drank you in; his shirt hugged you in all the right places. Your face was bare and fresh, but the hickeys he had left on your neck were raw; to him, you had never been more beautiful.

You watched him take you in, then hesitated before getting into the bed.

"Uh, what side do you want me to take?" suddenly nervous about sleeping in the same bed as him.

"I usually sleep on the right,"

"Good, I'm more of a left girl myself." God, that was lame.

"Meant to be," Eddie smirked before turning down the bed.

You tried not to read too much into that comment as you crawled in, lying down and facing away from him. You were stiff and didn't understand what had changed between now and all the other one-night stands.

"If you wanted to be the little spoon, all you had to do was ask baby." His strong arm wrapped around your middle and pulled your back flush to his chest.

Was Eddie Munson cuddling you? What kind of twilight zone have you entered?

"Um, Eddie?"

"Yeah, gorgeous?" He spoke as he nuzzled his face into your hair. You could feel his cock hardening against your ass, and there goes your train of thought. All semblance of a sentence was gone from your lips because Eddie's dick was pressed up against your backside.

You can't help it when your pussy floods itself all over again. You can't help it when your ass starts to grind into him.

"Greedy girl, you wanna go again?"

"You started it," You point out.

"Can't get enough of ol'Eddie, can ya, babygril?"

You let out a whine of frustration. You were supposed to be on your way home, but instead, here you are, begging for Eddie's cock once again because you're weak when it comes to him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

You don't let Eddie speak anymore before you take his cock and align it when your dripping entrance.

"Wait, are you sure?" Eddie asked; you never fucked without a condom before.

You didn't give him a verbal response; you only dragged his tip through your wet folds, confirming that this was what you wanted.

You opened your legs a bit wider to let Eddie glide in easily. Another wave of wetness pulsed out of your pussy as the velvety skin of Eddi's cock brushed up inside of you.

You feel Eddie's teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips slowly thrust into you. Your ass pressing into his bush with each thrust.

"Oh, Eddie!" You cried at the pain of his teeth marking you but also the euphoria that his bare cock was giving you. Eddie pulled you in closer, his hand wrapped around your middle, tweaking your hardened nipple under the sift you were wearing.

"Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, " Eddie spoke with each thrust.

"Yours, yours, yours yours," You agreed, fianllly you gave in.

He then gave in and finally played with your clit as he trusted in you again and again. It was slow and sloppy; he fell out a few times, but it was sex like you hadn't had with Eddie before.

Before, it was always rough and hard, a temporary fix to get off and go. But this was different. This was like he was fucking you as if he cared for you as a person. Not just another one in his little black book

Your mouth hung open as silent screams tried to come out of your lungs. You were speechless.

Eddie didn't say much either, which wasn't normal for him, but it didn't feel right at the moment. He wanted to endure the way your body wrapped around him. The way your cunt tightened when the pad of his finger grazed your swollen clit.

Before you knew it, you were coming undone all over Eddie once again. Your cum flooded over Eddie in a warm wet embrace, and that had him trying to pull out, but he wasn't fast enough. His cum was spurting up into you as his cock spasmed inside of you.

"Holly shit," He panted. Never had Eddie had such intimate sex before, and he didn't want to go back.

"Wow," you said when you started coming back to reality. You could feel Eddie's seed leaking out of you, and you needed to go get cleaned up, but you didn't think you could move.

Eddie peppered soft kisses along your neck and over your cheek before falling back exhausted.

"Good night, gorgeous." He wrapped his arms around you and fell asleep instantly.

The next afternoon, Eddie woke up to find he was alone. A pang of disappointment filled his chest before he spotted the note on your pillow.

"We need to talk."

That was all it said, followed by your phone number.

Eddie's stomach dropped while reading it, and he wasn't sure why, so he chose to ignore it and move on with his day...

You hadn't heard from Eddie for about a month, and it was killing you. Had he not seen the note?

You refused to be the one to reach out; you would not be that girl. So it surprised you when Eddie called five weeks later when he was back in New York.

"Hey gorgeous"

"Eddie, we need to talk."

"Don't think we will be doing much talking with your lips wrapped around my dick" You could practically see the smirk on his face. In any other instance, that probably would have made you roll your eyes and give in, but this was too important to skim over.

"Eddie, I'm pregnant."

Eddie doesn't respond, and you hear the disconnected tone on the other end of the line.

Tagging those who seemed interested:

@stretchedoutonthegrass @starksbabie @ghost-proofbaby @goosterroose @thewayitalknj @hellfirehottie420 @cherrycolas-things @yeah-seems-legit @angelina16torres-blog @stevenyeunslvr @peachysink @tastefullyferal @lofaewrites @catherinnn @dirtyhellfireclub @hereforshmut@lovinnscarletknight @basicanti-socialb-tch @hsllfirescoops @fudgingcas @douxiesaurus @splendiferous-bitch @florabelll @thorfemmes @dirtyhellfireclub @remuslupingf@babyela9 @mouthfullofmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx@cyberskeleton @oneforthemunny @fallenxcherub @silversprings-mp3 @ashhole0- @ames1stuff @excelentboiledpotatoes @dreamliners @catherinnn @lolzskye @bamquinn @seductiveplumber-blog @yourlittleangel7777 @curtbiddick @corrodedcorpses @cuddle-calum-luke @munsonology @hairieknuckles @lizzylynch1 @american-idiot-jpg @asimpforthe80s @take-everything-you-can @gravedigginbbydoll @purplehazed-h @corrodedcorpses @chrrymunson @penguinsandpotterheads @urhoneycombwitch @allthingsjoeq

#Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie Munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #rockstar!eddie Munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie Munson angst #Spotify

744 notes · View notes

catcze · 1 month

Text

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

[ ###… ] modern AU, rockstar Wriothesley, gn reader, est. relationship, a lil bit of hurt/comfort, fluff, long-distance pining, lovesick & homesick wrio, kinda cheesy which is kind of on brand for me lol

By the time Wriothesley manages to get back to his hotel room and check his phone, he's pretty sure you're asleep. He hopes you are, knowing how late it must be on your end.

It's no surprise that there are several messages waiting for him— each day you've been apart, you give him something sweet to read in the evenings after a busy day of promos or after a hectic show. Something to make the distance between you seem a little less vast, to let him know that you're still thinking about him.

Even on days where he's dead tired, he'll always read them. Always let you know that he thinks of you, too.

What does surprise him is the newest text, sent at just over twenty minutes ago. Wriothesley frowns as he wonders why you're still up, and his heart only drops more when he scrolls through the messages and reads the latest thing you sent.

I miss you. I really, really miss you.

Before he can even hope that he's not bothering you, his finger near slams on the call button. You answer on the second ring, voice lacking the raspiness of a roused sleep. It makes him sigh with relief.

"Wrio?" you ask, surprised. "Are you okay? What's up?"

"I should be asking you that." Wriothesley sits heavily on the plush bed, flopping back against the pillows with all the grace of a man who just gave a two-hour performance.

As luxurious as the king-sized bed is, with its soft sheets and myriad of immaculately fluffed pillows, he can't help but yearn for the warm familiarity of your own bed and your well-loved blankets.

"Why're you still up, honey? Don't you have breakfast with your friends tomorrow?"

"...can't sleep," you murmur after a beat, voice so quiet. He hears sheets rustling, then silence again. You hesitate. "I... it might sound selfish but I miss you being here with me. It sucks that the bed feels so empty without you."

And oh, if he could, Wriothesley would crawl through the phone right this very second and wrap you in his arms— would crush you to his chest and hold you tight as he listens to your breath taper off into sleep. Would keep you against him, wrapped up in his love and adoration, until you practically have to beat him off of you with a stick.

But he can't and it's killing him.

"It's not selfish. I miss you too," he says, voice longing. "I want to go home to you so bad, sweetheart, you have no idea. Wish I could've packed you up in my bag and smuggled you here with me." He has to fight sleepy giggles at the thought.

"Speaking of— you better be prepared for a crapload of gifts when I get back. I've got a whole suitcase of stuff I thought you'd like."

You gasp, and even sounding a little crackly from the speakers, his heart does a flip. "A whole suitcase?! I wouldn't even know where to put all that!"

"We'll find space. 'm pretty sure there's some stuff we can jigsaw around." Wriothesley tries to keep the tiredness from his voice, tries to fight back the yawn. It's been so long since you've called, what with timezones and schedules getting in the way, and he wants to talk to you longer— ask how your day's been, what your plans are for the rest of the week, if there were any places you want to visit when he gets home. This call is much too short for all the things he wants to say, for all the hours he wants to spend listening to you talk.

But try as he might, you can tell he's close to knocking out without even having to lay an eye on him.

"You should sleep," you tell him, voice soothing him like a balm. "You're probably tired after your show. I saw a few videos, you know— you were so cool. I'm proud of you, Wrio."

He hums, basking in your praise. His eyelids are already growing heavy, the soft siren's song of sleep growing harder to resist. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can imagine that you're just down the hall, busy with something. You'll come in any second now, crawl into bed and slip into his arms, and everything would be right with the world.

"Thank you for... for calling. For checking up on me just because of a text." You giggle at that last bit, and (as it always seems to do) his heart flips. "I love you lots."

"Mm, no need to thank me. Just gimme lots of kisses when I get home." His tongue is growing heavier, sleep more inviting. But he manages to get one last thing out— "I love you lots, too."

Right before Wriothesley lets himself drop, you press a loud, exaggerated kiss to the receiver of your phone. He smiles.

That's how you both fall asleep: with both phones still on the line, even breaths and quiet snores comforting the other into a restful slumber.

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #astronetwrk #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley #U dream abt each other btw tee hee ♡#so tired;;; no speakings rn just vibes then eep #no editing bc got inspired by a song lol

436 notes · View notes

spookysteddie · 4 months

Text

That Friday Night

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

read part one here

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)

a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!

...

You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it.

But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees.

Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’

They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted.

However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous.

Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!”

You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?”

Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.”

Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers.

“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.”

…

You should’ve changed your mind.

You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you.

You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time.

Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face.

“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands.

God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long.

You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it.

“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-”

“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.”

Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!”

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels.

You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?”

You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus.

Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus.

It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.

Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually.

Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts.

“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that. The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs.

“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.”

His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you.

Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.”

He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?”

You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was.

Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.”

Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?”

He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen.

Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke.

“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again.

God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.

A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet.

“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening.

Photos are fine.

Everyone must be tagged.

Nothing negative.

Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar.

That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines.

You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?”

You nod, “y-yeah of course.”

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over.

He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer.

But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.”

…

By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more.

Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason.

“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.”

Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something?

“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes.

Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there!

And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?

Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.”

You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured.

“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.”

“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not?

“‘Precious babies?’”

You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.”

“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne.

It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him.

He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan.

“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.”

You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”

He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.”

Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close.

“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.”

You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?”

“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?”

“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.”

You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent.

He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…”

The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?”

So, you do.

The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name.

From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times.

So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos.

“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music.

You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.”

The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care.

Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back.

You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him.

“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him.

He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.”

“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you.

The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes.

You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.”

He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?”

That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.”

His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top.

Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you.

He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right?

You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center.

“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone.

But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid.

“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.”

You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.”

He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans.

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No.

“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.” He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers.

You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?”

You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous.

But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.”

“V-very.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!”

He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.”

You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.”

His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”

You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.”

He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft”

He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it.

“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.”

You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?”

He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.”

“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.”

You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?”

The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it.

“Oh god! Please.”

“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.”

And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down.

Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.”

You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.

“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’

“And now… we wait.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #modern!rockerstar!eddie munson x influencer!fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

880 notes · View notes

rip-quizilla · 10 months

Text

Eat Me

Pairing: Older!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Popstar!Reader

Summary: (TLDR: you perform with Corroded Coffin, act like a brat the whole time, and Eddie makes you pay for it.) Two years after your hiatus from the music industry, you're back and all grown up now. After collaborating with early 2000's metal sensation Corroded Coffin for several songs off your new album, you debut the new tracks live in a surprise performance with the band during their tour- and the tension between you and frontman Eddie Munson is so thick, you're barely able to keep your pants on throughout the set. (Songs referenced are by Demi Lovato from her album HOLY FVCK, which inspired this fic. I highly suggest listening to the songs "Eat Me" and "Freak" while they're performed in the story for the complete experience!)

Word Count: 14K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, age gap (reader is 27, Eddie is 47), Reader is a brat (Eddie can handle it), fingering, squirting, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap up!!), light degradation, reader has blue hair, reader is a grown-up child star, for the purposes of this fic Corroded Coffin started in the 90s instead of 80s for timeline reasons

🖤🖤🖤

You had no fucking clue what you were doing.

It had been two years since you’d put out music. Two. Years. That’s enough time for a person’s relevance to crawl into a hole and die, which is something you had been strongly considering doing for the duration of those two years.

It was a tale as old as time- child star grows up. Child star is not a child anymore, but the world only wants the star to be a child, so if the star wants to keep being a star, they do not. grow. up.

But you grew up, and guess what happened?

The world hated you for it.

So you stopped trying to be a star. You’d dropped off the face of the earth and deleted every social media app from your phone. You’d bought a house in the mountains, and thanks to modern technologies like Amazon and DoorDash, you basically never had to leave. It was a little scary how easily you had become a hermit living in a cabin in the woods. Your life quickly became a never ending cycle of reading, binge-watching tv, and dying/cutting your hair whenever the mood struck (The latest spontaneous color change had left you with a surprisingly pretty shade of faded blue).

It was easy, running away… until it caught up with you.

After all, at your core you had always been a performer. From your first audition at five years old to your big break at twelve, to the first album you’d put out on your television network’s record label- you had always been a person who had something to say and craved an audience to hear it. When your audience had turned on you, it had jolted your rhythm enough that you forgot the words to a song you’d been singing as long as you could remember.

It had taken you a couple years, but eventually you figured out that when you play the same song on repeat for long enough, it gets old.

So you wrote a new song.

To be more precise, you wrote a whole album. Literally.

Some of the songs were composed, some still needed a tune, but the message of the album was clear: I’m not that little girl on your TV screen anymore. You don’t have to like it, but you sure as hell can’t change it.

The minute you’d figured that out, you’d called your team. Once they understood the direction your career was headed, they helped get everything in order for your re-entry into the fray that had driven you out in the first place.

There was only one part of the album that made you nervous.

I know two years doesn’t seem like that long, your agent had said, but the public eye doesn’t have a very impressive attention span. You only have half of the album composed, right? This is the perfect opportunity to make the other half of the songs collaborations with artists that are in the public eye!

The idea made sense. Their popularity helps you, and if the songs go over well, then it helps the other artists too. The only issue was that these songs were way more vulnerable than what you used to write… hell, half the songs you’d recorded before your hiatus were written by whatever run of the mill joe schmo had gotten the kid-friendly execs’ stamp of approval. Even when you’d split from the network after turning twenty-three, you’d kept your songs strictly PG-rated since you knew the majority of your audience were minors. These new songs, though…

You weren’t an idiot. The themes of these songs were not subtle. Anyone who listened to these new songs was going to see a side of you that wasn’t all that pretty. Were you ready for that? Were you ready to bare that darkness to not only the world, but to other artists who meant to help you make music out of it?

Your anxiety about the album had gotten even worse when your agent had given you the list of potential collaborators.

One song that you were particularly proud of called “Eat Me” had some very metal undertones to it, so you’d told your agent that you’d like to collaborate with a metal band or artist to compose the music that would match the lyrics. Almost immediately, your agent had suggested a collaboration with Corroded Coffin.

The band had been HUGE when you were a kid, topping charts throughout your childhood and making a name for themselves as one of the most culturally relevant turn-of-the-century metal bands. Even now, they were a household name. Your older brother had been a huge fan, so you’d actually listened to their music quite a lot growing up. They weren’t some random collaboration- if Corroded Coffin read your lyrics (which were basically your soul laid out on display) and thought they were shit? It might just send you spiraling right back to your cabin in the mountains.

You had been equal parts thrilled and terrified when your agent told you they’d agreed to collaborate on the song.

Currently, you were sitting in your home-away-from-home, a cozy apartment that you rented on a month-to-month basis whenever you needed to be in New York, which just so happened to be where Eddie Munson, lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin had asked to meet with you. It was your album, so you had invited him to come to your place and discuss his ideas for the song. You shifted nervously on your couch and glanced at the time on your phone. He was ten minutes late- that shouldn’t bother you, a lot of musicians had a habit of running late. Just because you didn’t subscribe to that stereotype didn’t mean you had to judge him for doing the opposite.

When you finally heard the buzz of your doorbell, you practically hopped off the couch. You peeped through the little door viewer to catch a glimpse before you had to look one of your childhood heroes in the eye. You… you hadn’t been adequately prepared to see this.

Eddie Munson had been attractive in his hay day- you could admit that. You’d seen the pictures of him on their album covers, the press photos, the magazines… he had always been cute in a scruffy sort of way. You hadn’t bothered Googling what he looked like now, which you were currently regretting since you had not been adequately prepared for the father of all DILFs to be standing on your doorstep.

After doing some quick math, you came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson must be in his mid to late forties at this point. His hair was still long and curly and thick as hell, but you noticed other details that you distinctly remembered were not present on the album covers you remember from your brother’s CD collection- dark, whiskery shadow along his cheeks and jawline. Tattoos creeping up from the collar of the crew neck shirt he wore, as well as every inch of his arms. A nose ring. Smile lines. Soft creases forming between thick brown eyebrows.

Eyebrows drawing together in confusion because you weren’t opening the door.

Shit. You inhaled sharply and hastily made to open the door. Breathe, you instructed yourself, taking a moment to blow out a semi-relaxing breath before turning the doorknob and plastering on your best entertainment industry smile.

“Hi!” you said, a little too peppy- you knew you sounded too peppy because the rockstar in front of you actually flinched when your high-pitched sorority girl voice slapped him in the face. “Sorry, I think I’m a little caffeine-riddled, I just finished my third cup of coffee.” You said apologetically, swinging the door open wider for him to step through the threshold into your apartment.

“Too many frappuccinos there, huh popstar?” His voice… if it hadn’t been so condescending, you might have melted on the spot. Your pride, however, had to argue with your clenching thighs.

“Uhm, no-” you laughed, keeping your voice airy as you shut the door and leaned back on it to ensure it was closed. “-just cold brew, rockstar.” You couldn’t help but add that quip at the end, seeing how he had just called you popstar like it was the same as calling someone a pussy or a wimp. What was his deal?

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, and then turned back as if you hadn’t said anything at all. He simply sauntered through the hallway to your living room, where you had laid all the necessary materials for your composing process across the coffee table- but he wasn’t looking at that. He seemed to be inspecting your walls, the decor, the old pictures that sat in frames on your floating shelves, the records you had displayed above your turntable. His eyes surveyed everything like he was a judge at a fucking science fair, and your heart was starting to race as you started to irrationally wonder if you fell short of his expectations or something.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get his attention.

He turned to face you, irritation flashing across his expression like a cloud blowing past the sun. You took a breath. Calm down, you chided yourself mentally, he’s probably just a prick, don’t take it personally. Be professional.

“Can I get you something to drink?” You chirped politely, to which he smirked and shook his head.

“Don’t trouble yourself, sweetheart.”

You bristled; sweetheart? Who did he think he was, Don Draper? Was this the 1950’s? Were you his fucking secretary? Your blood pressure rose by the second.

“Hm.” you respond, chewing your lip to keep a snarky response to yourself. “Well, we can go ahead and get started if you want.” You gestured to the pages strewn across the coffee table. Notebook pages with your lyrics written out in black pen, empty pages of sheet music that you planned to fill out with a melody to coincide with your words as the morning went on. Your acoustic guitar sat securely in its stand beside the couch, eagerly awaiting your hands to make the message in your music come alive.

Munson sunk into the cushions of your leather couch, manspreading enough to make you feel like a guest in your own apartment. His forearms rested on the thighs of his ripped charcoal jeans as he surveyed the pages before him. He grabbed the notebook page full of lyrics first, chuckling when he saw the title.

“Eat Me, huh?” he raised an eyebrow at you, and the way he was holding the page between the two of you left only the top half of his face visible from where you sat. You noted that Eddie Munson had extremely expressive eyes. “That’s a pretty evocative title for such a squeaky-clean ‘lil diva.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s kind of the point.” Using your pointer finger to pull the page down, the bottom half of the rockstar’s face coming into view and spiking your blood pressure again when you saw that fucking smirk still on his face.

That’s it. This guy is an ass.

“Maybe my agent didn’t accurately portray my vision for this album,” you said, struggling to grit out the words without coming across angry. “If that’s the case, I’m very sorry we got our wires crossed.”

Ready to listen, Munson leaned back into your couch and crossed one booted foot over his knee, an arm thrown across the top of your couch cushions. The picture of nonchalance.

Cocky bastard.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I haven’t put any music out in over two years.” you began. “This isn’t just a new album for me- it's more like a debut album for the new direction I want to take my career in. Up until now, I’ve been portraying a very different side of myself that…if I’m being honest, it wasn’t really me. It was childish and immature and I…”

You huffed out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep being a kid, I’m twenty-fucking-seven years old, for god’s sake.” the rockstar’s eyebrows jumped up at hearing your expletive, obviously amused.

What the fuck? Here you were, being vulnerable with a complete stranger, and he thought it was amusing? You half expected him to laugh, but you brushed past it and decided to ignore this asshole being even more of an asshole.

“What I’m trying to say is this is a very personal album for me. It’s very different from what I’ve been putting out, and that is very much the point. Does that make sense?”

You watched as he slowly nodded his head, mulling over your words. “So…it’s like a coming of age thing?” he ventured, “Like, ‘little girl’s all grown up and sexy now’ all that?” his mouth turned up at one corner. “How very Miley Cyrus of you, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, physically recoiling a bit. “Are you being serious right now?” you balked.

He shrugged.

Oh, you fumed, that is it. Fuck this guy.

You stood from the couch, finally snapping after holding yourself back from giving this asshat a piece of your mind. “What is your problem?” Munson’s smirk faded a bit, but his smug air remained intact as he stared up at you.

“Look sweetheart-”

“No.” you cut him off, stopping him with a hand in the air. “Stop calling me sweetheart like you know me or like that isn’t a condescending fucking way to speak to someone. You have done nothing but talk down to me since you walked through that door, so no, you do not get to talk to me like that, I don’t care how famous you are.”

There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face now, and you took pride in that. Maybe there was a conscience in there somewhere that was telling him I told you so right now.

You took the page from his hands and held it up for emphasis. “If you had just read my fucking song before making assumptions, then maybe you would have understood that this song is actually a social commentary on people like you who assume the direct trajectory of a child star’s career is to go from cute and childish to sexy ‘girls gone wild’ or whatever the fuck.” you spat, practically shaking the paper in your hand. “I’m allowed to grow into whoever I damn well please, and that’s exactly what this song is about. If I want to write a song about sex- and I’ve written a few, they’re on the fucking album- I’ll write them because that’s what I want to write! I’m not doing it for shock value or because I like attention; hell, I’ve been a literal hermit in the woods for two years, I don’t give a fuck about attention!”

You finally paused to breathe, and you knew your eyes must look absolutely insane because the man before you genuinely looked terrified.

Steeling yourself, you inhaled and exhaled slowly, attempting to push down some of that hysteria. “Sorry.” you bit, “Didn’t mean to unload all that on you. It’s just… this song is a part of me, and you just belittled it without even reading past the title.” You looked him directly in those big brown eyes and thought- hoped- for a second that you saw understanding in his gaze. “That was shitty. I’m not letting other people make me feel like shit anymore.”

When you were finished, silence took over. It settled over the room like a reprieve from a short but heavy rainfall before the sun showed itself again. Suddenly, Eddie Munson stood from your couch and marched to your door, letting himself out with a sharp click of your doorknob latching closed.

Okay. That went well. The lead singer of one of the most famous metal bands just came to your apartment, got yelled at, and ran away. You were just starting to ponder how you would explain this one to your publicist before you heard a knock at your door. Tentatively, you opened it- you didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was.

Eddie Munson stood at your door wearing an expression that you hadn’t seen yet today- he looked open, compassionate, and sorry. One hand in his pocket with the other outstretched, tattoos winding up the expanse of skin, rings glinting light from the sconces on either side of your door. He was offering his hand.

Smiling slightly, you accepted his gesture. You grasped his ink-scarred hand, feeling the cold metal of his rings press against your skin as you shook it. “It’s lovely to meet you-” he said your name softly, and you realized that when he had entered your apartment earlier, you hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries. Hadn’t introduced yourselves, almost as if fame got rid of the need for normal human introductions. Now, here he was, remedying that.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Munson,” you said, voice less chipper than it had been when the two of you originally stood in these same spots. “I’m a huge fan.”

He winced at ‘Mr.’, clapping his other hand over yours tightly. “Please, for the love of god, don’t call me Mr. Munson.” his big brown eyes pleaded with you. “Call me Eddie.”

Your smile widened as you nodded. “Eddie.” you repeated. “Is this you telling me we’re starting over?”

He let go of your hand, and you felt a sudden chill as the warmth of his skin left yours. “If that’s alright with you?” he replied softly, turning up the end of his sentence like a question.

Instead of saying yes, you simply stepped back to make room for him in your hallway. With a pleasant grin on your lips, you gestured for him to step inside. “Let’s get started, then.”

After sitting down on the couch once more, Eddie took the sheet of notebook paper on which you’d scrawled a part of your soul written in verse and began to read intently. Leaving him to digest the song completely (also because you felt awkward sitting there in silence as he read your work) you left to grab two water bottles from the kitchen. When you returned, he had already grabbed a fresh sheet of notebook paper and begun jotting down notes.

You placed the bottles on coasters, bracing yourself for the criticism that you knew was coming-

“You were right.”

Huh?

You craned your neck to see what he had written on the notebook paper. “About what?”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Eddie yanked the paper out of your line of sight. “About this song, it’s completely different from what I’d assumed you would write. Actually,” he grinned. “-it’s kinda fucking metal.”

You smiled, once again reaching for the page. “Then let me see what you wrote-”

“I’m not finished yet, keep your panties on.”

The two of you worked for hours that afternoon, Eddie suggesting lines and chords as you wrote corresponding notes and chords on your sheet music. It didn’t take long for you to grab the acoustic guitar and begin strumming out portions of the song until it was finished.

Both of you agreed it was something to be proud of.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie stuttered before exiting your apartment that evening, when you were both happy with the work you’d done for the day. “I hope you know how sorry I am for being such an ass when I got here earlier-”

You shrugged, any traces of anger melted away at this point. “Eh.” you smirked. “You made up for it. That song might be my favorite on the album now, honestly, I meant it when I said I was a fan of yours- wouldn’t have trusted it with anyone else.”

He smiled at you warmly. “I’m honored to have such a talented fan.” The door was open, but he wasn’t leaving yet. Instead, Eddie stood with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest leaning his weight to one shoulder against the doorway. “I mean it though, you’re a talented songwriter. If you want to collaborate on any other songs, just say the word and I’m back here.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, “Dead serious.”

Smiling excitedly, you ran to your notebook, flipping through the pages until you found what you were looking for. You looked up at Eddie, a knowing grin on your lips. “Remember those songs about sex I mentioned?”

***

The original plan for your album had been to collaborate with multiple artists for about fifty percent of your album, while the other fifty percent would only feature you. What ended up happening was slightly different.

The more songs Eddie saw, the more passionate he became about the message you were working to convey through your lyrics. He ended up reworking every single song with you in a completely collaborative process, where he never overstepped, never tried to take over- simply understood what you were trying to say and added the extra ‘oomph’ each song had been needing to truly become what you had envisioned.

“I feel like I really can’t just call this my album now, Eddie, you’ve contributed way more to this to just be credited as a featured artist-”

You’d first voiced concerns about how to credit Eddie in the album a few days into your songwriting spree. It became an easy routine, Eddie would come over first thing in the morning, and the two of you would sit in your living room working through your songs and ordering takeout until the sun set.

“Well it’s not a collaboration album with Corroded Coffin,” Eddie had replied, sticking a bite of noodles into his mouth. The two of you had been seated at your kitchen table, white boxes of Chinese food, napkins, and torn chopstick wrappers decorating the space between you. “Those fuckers haven’t even met you, they don’t get credit for anything they ain’t playing on.”

“But I’m talking about you.” you pushed, “If we keep going the way we’ve been, you’re going to be a vital part of the composition for every track on this album! I’m not going to let you avoid credit for that.” you gazed at him, unable to hide the admiration you’d begun to feel for the artist at your table. “Let me list you as a composer for every track you help me with. We already know you and your band will be featured on Eat Me and Freak, so obviously you’ll be credited for those…”

As you continued to ramble on about how Eddie would be credited for each and every song lyric he suggested, he got distracted looking at the way your hair glinted slightly different shades of blue in the sunlight that filtered in through your balcony window. His eyes followed the light along your skin, taking in the way it glistened off the dewey shine on your cheekbone, how it shone directly into the corner of your eye so that colors he had never noticed were brought to the surface of your irises…

This wasn’t the first time that Eddie had gotten distracted watching you rant about something you were passionate about. He knew he was supposed to be listening, that it was very important that he knew what your songs were about, that he understood the details of your plans for the album so that you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself later- but dammit, you were just so pretty. Really fucking pretty, it was hard for him not to get distracted. Initially, this whole collaboration had just been something that Eddie’s publicist had suggested for getting the newer generation listening to Corroded Coffin in time for their new album to drop at the end of the summerl, so when Eddie had first waltzed into your apartment he’d been expecting a kid; an innocent, teeny-bopper sort of persona. He hadn’t expected a loud, firecracker of a woman with hair the color of his old denim jacket.

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He was well aware that he was old enough to be your father. You were what- twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Definitely under thirty. And here he was, pushing forty-seven with a salt and pepper shadow on his jawline. The hair on his head hadn’t started graying yet (he dreaded the day that he would have to use *gulp* hair dye) but he knew it was only a matter of time. For him to be ogling you like this? It would probably make you uncomfortable if you knew how often his eyes forgot to look away when you left the room. What was that old saying? Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave-

“Eddie?”

Shit. He’d missed an entire conversation, hadn’t he?

He gave you his best apologetic smile, which didn’t work at all. You sighed, hanging your head low exasperatedly. “You didn’t hear a word of that did you?”

“Not a word, zoned out.”

You threw a fortune cookie at him.

***

You and Eddie didn’t see each other for a while after recording the album. Eddie was there with the rest of Corroded Coffin to record the two tracks that they were featured in for the album, but after that plus a few guitar parts Eddie had been kind enough to record for some other songs, the two of you hadn’t had a reason to see each other.

That was why you were so nervous for tonight.

After working all summer and the better part of the fall, the album was finally finished. Copies of CDs and special edition vinyl were already being shipped out to music stores across the country and set to hit shelves in a week, so tonight was the kickoff event for your publicity tour: you would be joining Corroded Coffin tonight onstage for a surprise performance of Eat Me and Freak. Tonight was October 31st, and premiering those songs on Halloween with the metal king that helped you make them the masterpieces they were? This was just one of those moments when the stars aligned poetically.

You looked yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves before heading to sound check. It had been a couple of months since you’d seen Eddie, but that wouldn’t matter, right? You’d spent a whole week workshopping incredibly personal- in some cases, intimately personal- songs with the guy, so singing onstage with him shouldn’t be a big deal. You were a professional, so it didn’t matter that you hadn’t performed in over two years, you could do this. Never mind the fact that this was the first performance of the rest of your career; never mind that sometimes the way Eddie looked at you make you feel like your knees were about to buckle; never mind that Eddie Munson, rock god and sex symbol of the metal world, was going to be within touching distance the moment you set foot on that stage…

A knock at the door of your tiny dressing room startled you, along with a voice letting you know that sound check was about to begin. Decisively, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the stage before you could psych yourself out any more.

When you got to the stage, Eddie was the first person you laid eyes on. He smiled at you, dark curls flying around his face and forming a sinful-looking halo around his face as he gave you a friendly nod- god, he was gorgeous. Waving back at him, you returned the nod and grinned. You wouldn’t be going on until the end of their set, so you situated yourself on an empty stool backstage with a view of the band.

Their practice was fascinating to watch, how all four of the band members were so obviously masters of their craft, each ear trained to notice any imperfection in the way their instruments sounded through the stereos. Every once in a while, Eddie would look your way out the corner of his eye, just to check if you were still watching; you always were. Whenever he saw you looking directly at him, never glancing down at your phone or at the other band members (besides the odd look thrown in Gareth Emerson’s direction; the way his curls bounced was honestly hypnotic), he’d hold your eye contact, smirk into the microphone, and continue to belt out the lyrics to his songs with a smidge more cockiness than he had been prior.

When the time finally came for you to join them, you took a deep breath and strutted to where Eddie stood in the center of the stage. No one had handed you a mic, so you weren’t sure where you were supposed to stand until Eddie moved aside to make room for you at his mic stand.

You looked questioningly at Eddie. “You don’t need your mic?”

He chuckled, placing a hand on the small of your back as he put his lips to your ear. You figured he was just trying to avoid the mic picking up his voice, but the hand on your back… that was new. Was this a move? Was Eddie Munson making a move? On you?

Oh.

That’s a fun development.

“This one’s all you, darlin’.” Eddie said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll stay out of your way. Also-” He pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, and your lips must have been a little too close to the mic because it picked up your fucking gasp. You jerked your head away from the mic, cursing yourself for being so nervous.

Eddie definitely noticed, but all he did was chuckle, still staring at you with giant doe eyes framed by smile lines and bushy brown eyebrows. “-it’s good to see you, popstar.” There was no condescension in his tone this time; all you could find in his gaze was kind, genuine joy that you were here, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Confidently, you gripped the mic with both hands, smirking at Eddie through your side eye. You didn’t bother leaning away from the mic when you replied, sprinkling sultry into your voice. If Eddie Munson was trying to drop a hint, you wanted him to know you were receiving it.

“It’s good to see you too, rockstar.”

***

Mic check went flawlessly, which meant it was time for you and the band to eat in the green room while fans began lining up outside the venue, waiting for the doors to open.

You had a couple drinks with the band while biding your time before you had to get dressed for the show. Much to your delight, Eddie never left your side the whole time. You had been close to him in your living room day after day when you’d worked on your songs, but this was different; you kept noticing little glances and touches that spoke louder than words- how his hands lingered longer than expected, never missing a chance to touch your arm or place a hand on your back to guide you as you walked. How his eyes were most focused whenever he was looking at you, and he never seemed to give you passing glances- every look he gave you was intense and purposeful, it made you shiver in a very good way. When he and the band left to get ready for showtime, he took a moment to check on how you were before leaving to go to his dressing room.

“You nervous?” he asked. There wasn’t any judgment there, just concern for you.

“Yes,” you admitted, “But I think I’ve got it.”

Eddie smiled widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tightly. “Oh I know you’ve got it, angel.”

You caught his wrist, holding it to your shoulder before he could retract it. Turning to him, you batted your eyes a bit before raising an eyebrow. “Angel, huh?”

Eddie inclined his head, eyes narrowing flirtatiously. “What, should I switch back to sweetheart?”

You smirked. “Only if you wanna make me mad.”

It took everything in you not to shrink back from him as he leaned forward, practically glowering over you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but must have decided against it. You saw his tongue poke into the inside of his cheek as he nodded to himself, eyes narrowing further as if he were having a whole conversation within his head that you weren’t privy to. Finally, he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze and you let him go, staring at him with every ounce of confidence you could muster.

“...I’ll remember that, popstar.” he said, voice low and gravelly and sure to throw you into a coma if he said the right words with that voice at the right time. You didn’t let him see how much he was affecting you, though- save for a little grin that you couldn’t hide as he smirked at you and walked away.

When he exited the green room- and you were sure you were alone- you finally let out a breath that you’d been holding for what seemed like entire minutes. You grabbed your drink, chugging down the rest of your liquid courage in the hopes that it might also cool you down a bit.

***

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, and the gravity of what was about to happen was starting to get to you.

Corroded Coffin was about to start the song that would be your cue to join them. You stood in the wings like you had during sound check, this time fussing over your outfit to ensure every piece was in place. The fact that it was Halloween combined with the tone of your new album had influenced your wardrobe choice for the evening- ripped black jeans that were more rip than jean, a strappy black bustier top with a plethora of silver buckles that decorating the surface of your bodice where the sides attached at your sternum, fishnet fingerless gloves, and your favorite part of the outfit: the biggest platform boots you’d ever owned. You remembered seeing them and falling in love immediately with the straps that decorated the entirety of the shoe, as well as the silver buckles on each strap that matched your top like a dream. Paired with your blue hair, you looked strikingly goth and nearly unrecognizable from the girl your fans remembered.

When Eddie announced you onstage, you had to take a deep breath before joining him out there. Slow inhale, slow exhale… and then you were overtaken with hot stage lights.

Out on the stage, you could really take in the size of this crowd- it was far larger than what you were used to, and when they realized who you were, they went wild. You couldn’t help but be intimidated until you felt Eddie’s hand gently grounding you as it ghosted the skin on your back.

His lips tickled your ear as he leaned in and whispered in your ear out of range from the mic, “Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.”

You felt a flare of indignation intertwined with delight, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little evilly into the mic at this little shit of a rockstar.

He did that on purpose.

You looked at him with the biggest smirk on your face, and it matched the smug, sultry grin on his. Silently, he nodded at the audience as if to say ‘Well? They’re waiting.’

You looked over your shoulder at Jeff on the bass, nodded, and right on cue as Jeff began the first note of the song, the entire stage was flooded with scarlet light.

***

Eddie could tell you were nervous. Flirting with you probably wasn’t helping, and for all he knew, he might even be making you uncomfortable.

However…

Over the years, Eddie’s gotten more perceptive when it came to the subtleties of body language. He didn’t miss the fact that you’d been leaning into every touch he ghosted over your skin, no matter how overt or fleeting those touches might have been. He’d seen the change in your eye contact when it lingered a little longer than necessary- that shift from attentive to intrigued, even a little wanting at times.

The only question was what you wanted, and Eddie was really hoping it was him.

As he watched you take his place at the mic, standing monochrome in scarlet light, he bit his lip as he tried to hold back the salacious grin that slid across his lips; he was unsuccessful.

Eddie hit his guitar part easily as you purred the lyrics that the two of you had slaved over into your microphone.

Be more predictable

Be less political

Not too original

Keep to tradition, but stay individual

Thrusting ever so slightly with his warlock, Eddie channeled the rage and rebellion of your lyrics into every word, smirking with the next few lines- they had been one of the first additions to the song that he’d made, and you more than did them justice.

Dirty but washable

Winning but stoppable

All that I’m hearing is

You wanna make the impossible possible

Even though you’d been nervous earlier, it looked like you’d been able to shake it all off. Confidence was rolling off you like waves, strength in your comfort onstage practically seeping out of your pores. Eddie felt proud, yes, but mostly? He was turned the fuck on by it. His eyes never left you as you carefully removed the mic from its stand and leisurely strode to the edge of the stage as you sang the next lines, punctuating the last with a little shake of your head and a comically disgusted wrinkle of your nose.

Is this what you’d all prefer?

Would you like me better if I was still her?

Did she make your mouths water?

Ugh.

Just like you’d practiced, flashing white lights littered the stage right on cue when the drums opened up the chorus, and you belted those lyrics with all the anger and exasperation that he knew you’d felt when you’d written them. You were a force to be reckoned with- this was that girl he’d met when he’d walked into your apartment acting like a jackass; this was the firecracker of a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him exactly what she thought.

I know the part I’ve played before

I know the shit that I’ve ignored

I know the girl that you adored

She’s dead, it’s time to fucking mourn

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

Dinner’s served, it’s on the floor

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

You dropped to a crouch, for the end of the chorus, legs bent but spread slightly, and flashing lights glinted off the metal buckles of your platform boots. Your voice ripped from your chest as you belted into the mic.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

Eddie was incredibly grateful for the crouch you’d dropped into, because it gave him a view of your ass that was so perfect, he actually groaned. Swooned, practically. Thank god you had his mic and the music was loud enough that no one noticed. He hoped. However, anyone with eyes could probably see that he was basically undressing you with his gaze right now, so he really needed to get it together unless he wanted to be on a front page tomorrow for the wrong reasons. He cringed, imagining the headline Munson Ogles Popstar Half His Age. Mid-Life Crisis? Yeah. His publicist would love that one.

You stood back up, stalking the edge of the stage as you sang the second verse. When you were about halfway through, you turned to look over your shoulder at Eddie, and it just about knocked the breath from his lungs. Your eyes- lined in black and zeroing in on him like something out of his metalhead fantasies- smoldered like embers on the edge of a cigarette as you sang the second half of the verse to him.

Longer hair and tighter clothes

Would you like me better if I didn’t oppose?

Silver platters, pretty bows…

You were at his side now, turned sideways from the crowd so you were facing him as he turned to face you in tandem. About a foot away from each other, the only thing between you was his guitar, thankfully big enough to hide the way his hard-on was quickly growing harder with every moment you looked at him with those eyes.

Your expression shifted, eyes rolling as you threw your head back in mock boredom, amping the lines up to the extreme. As you lifted your head back up, you looked at him with the brattiest fucking face Eddie had ever seen as you delivered the final line of the verse into the mic.

…Fuck.

And then you smirked, tip of your tongue peeking out of your lips and you winked at him.

Fucking. Winked.

Ohhhhhh, you were doing this on purpose. You had to be.

And Eddie couldn’t do shit about it, because you were in the middle of a performance, on stage, jumping around in platform boots and screaming the chorus into your mic like fucking banshee. So he channeled every ounce of sexual frustration into shredding the fuck out of his guitar and staring you down, salivating at the way you blazed on that stage like a witch at the stake. Then, about halfway through that chorus, at the edge of the stage and working the crowd for all they could give you, Eddie just about had a heart attack.

Because you dropped to your fucking knees.

You let the music take control of you, screaming ‘I can’t spoon-feed you anymore’ into the mic, you dropped down to one knee followed by the other as you delivered the final lines before Eddie’s solo.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

You held your last note long and loud, widening your knees and leaning into a backbend that didn’t stop until your upper back touched the stage behind you. Eddie was amazed that he was even able to remember his part when you were in front of him doing that. Jesus Christ.

Eddie continued to play, and he saw you crane your neck just in time to make eye contact with him as you delivered the next line of the song. You brought the mic to your lips, your knees still spread open and your spine deliciously arched.

Choke on it!

God…you were gonna kill him.

You pushed yourself back into a kneeling position, facing the audience. As Eddie’s guitar solo became more complex, and his playing more impressive, your jaw dropped as you looked to the audience and fanned yourself, as if you were all sharing a joint reaction of ‘wow, are you guys hearing this too?!’. Eyes crinkling from your smile, you brought the mic to your mouth again.

Choke on it!

Once you were back on your feet, you stood at ease in the center of the stage as you waited out Eddie’s solo. When he finished, you stared down the crowd as you delivered the last chorus. At this point, Eddie could see some of the spectators mouthing the words along with you, and his chest swelled with pride at your ability to win over a crowd that hadn’t even been expecting you on stage. Hell, knowing his fans, most of them were probably older than you by several years, and yet here they were singing your song.

When you drew your first breath after the final note, the crowd went wild. He expected you to be staring at them, soaking up the energy of a satisfied throng of fans, but no- immediately, your eyes were on him, an ear-to-ear smile stretching across your face. You had just absolutely killed your first song performed in two years, and you wanted to share your joy with him before you shared it with anyone else.

Eddie couldn’t help but mirror your smile- it was the least he could do, after the way you just made his heart swell to triple its usual size. He took a few steps over to where Jeff stood with his bass, nodding to the mic in a silent question, to which Jeff gladly stepped aside.

“If this is what happens when you take a two-year hiatus,” Eddie said slyly into the mic, “then maybe you should do it more often, rockstar.”

The crowd cheered again, and you looked caught off guard by his calling you rockstar instead of popstar. To Eddie, it made perfect sense- tonight, there was nothing pop about you. You were rock & roll incarnate, his equal in every single way. You took a few steps back until you and he were the same distance from the edge of the stage, and as long as he was speaking, your eyes never left him.

“So I’ve been working with this absolute badass on an album- well no, I’m giving myself way too much credit, she wrote an album, I plucked a few guitar strings, yada yada yada-” You giggled as Eddie reminded the crowd of your name, loud and clear, so they knew who to look up on Spotify later. “-anyway, her album drops in a week, that last song you heard was called…”

Eddie looked at you with expectant eyes and a devilish smile. He wanted to hear you say it. Just for fun. He enjoyed being a little shit.

You smirked into your mic. “Eat Me.”

The crowd cheered again, all it took was hearing you say two little words. Eddie knew the feeling.

“We’ve got one more before our lovely guest has to leave the stage, and this one is my personal favorite off the album.” Eddie started warming up with a couple chords from the song before adding, “This is Freak.”

You had replaced the mic into its stand at center stage, which was where Eddie headed to meet you. During sound check, you had asked him if he would need his own mic for this one, but Eddie- selfishly- had said it was no problem, and he didn’t mind sharing. That was a drastic understatement though, since he would happily leap at any excuse to have his lips close to yours in any capacity at all.

You smiled at him, and you were doing that thing again- that thing where you looked at him like you were giving him a dare. That thing where you touched the tip of your tongue to your upper lip.

Eddie wanted to bite that lip.

Instead, he smoldered down at you as he began the opening chords to Freak.

***

You may not have been sure about Eddie’s feelings before tonight, but you were now.

He wanted you. Bad. So bad, you felt high off the lust that was rolling off the man beside you.

You could tell by the way he was looking at you that he wanted to do so many things to you here and now, but due to the giant crowd before you that wasn’t an option. The power trip of knowing that every move you made was driving him crazy and he couldn’t do shit about it made you feel bratty as fuck, and you channeled every ounce of that into each word of your next song.

Pinch me, singe me, inch me to the edge

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let the sultry lyrics take over, arms bending as you brought them up to dance above your head as you stretched your neck back. Your pose mimicked the way you might have stretched across a bed, arching your back slightly in a way that you knew would make Eddie’s mind wander to all the right places.

Prod me, laud me, ungodly but heaven-sent

As the tempo picked up for the bridge, your lips brushed the mic and you bounced slightly to the beat. Looking up at Eddie, you felt your chest tighten when you saw how blown his pupils were as they zeroed in on you. There was nothing silly or flirty in his gaze now- this was lust, want, need… it was predatory in a way that made you shiver.

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freak go crazy.

Eddie’s guitar launched into the chorus with you, both of your mouths breaking your little standoff by smiling because you couldn’t help yourselves- performing together, this close, singing lyrics that the two of you connected with- you were having so much fun.

Am what I am and what I am is a piece of meat

Take a bite just to watch me bleed

Freak

Say what you want and what you want is behind your teeth

Ain’t gotta spell it out for me

Freak

Now Eddie’s lips were the ones on the mic, his throaty voice tearing through the air in a way that made you stop short from its power alone. He sang the first two lines on his own-

Bait me, you can cage me

Even plate me, I don’t care

You joined him for the bridge on one side of the mic while his mouth remained in place at the other, and his voice dropped down to his chest to create a sound that was more growl than song. He sounded demonic, feral- damn, you wanted to jump his bones right now.

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freaks go crazy

As you both sang the chorus together this time, your eye contact across the microphone was charged with feelings reflected as though you were looking in a mirror. Anticipation for what would happen after this show was building with every lyric, and as he growled his lines into the mic you wondered what the headline would be if you stuck your tongue down his throat right now.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how you wanted to start this next leg of your career- at least publicly. Different time, different place. Like, say, in about thirty minutes. In your dressing room. Against a wall, preferably.

When you finished the chorus, Eddie shredded through his guitar solo like a bat out of hell, even improvised a scream into the mic that made your jaw drop yet again. Upon hearing it, you couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, hopping up and down in your platform boots and headbanging along with him. After he’d finished, you took hold of the mic stand with both hands and began chanting repeating lines that would take you through to the next chorus before ending the song.

Came from the trauma, stayed for the drama

You sang the line twice before Eddie joined you for the third and fourth repetition, that deep, ripping croon tearing its way through his throat and out of his plush pink lips less than an inch from yours. You wanted to turn your head and look at him so badly, but you were so close that you’d be locking lips if you did.

As you both sang the final chorus, you pulled back just enough for your gazes to meet; you were rewarded with lust blown umber eyes, sweat-soaked curls framing a face as timeless as music itself, and a grin that sparked pure joy in your very soul.

If this guy can fuck, you might just fall for him.

Eddie prompted the audience to cheer for you one more time after the song was over, shooting you a smile as he brought you in for a friendly hug. He was in front of thousands; you knew his hands would remain in strictly G-rated areas (unfortunately), but he did whisper in your ear out of range from the mic.

“Wait for me in your dressing room.”

Bingo.

You thought about following his lead- waiting patiently in your dressing room for him to finish up his show then have his way with you- but you had a better idea. You tilted your head up quickly to bring your lips up to his ear, your clear lip gloss catching its shell.

“I’m gonna keep watching you in the wings- you can do whatever you want after that.”

Your eyes met as you pulled away, and you let yourself revel for a moment at the way he looked at you- like he wanted to, well…eat you. Eyes so dark they were almost black under the stage lights, he shook his head slightly in disbelief. Again, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline from driving him crazy when he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it; you were beginning to think you might be addicted.

As Corroded Coffin finished their set, you stayed offstage and did exactly what you said you would- you watched Eddie every second. You were like a sponge soaking up every flip of his hair, every deft movement of his fingers as they flew across the frets of his guitar. Every once in a while, his eyes would flick to where you stood, checking to see if you were still there, which of course you were. Each time he saw you, you watched as he shook his head again, or rolled his eyes, or- in one case which almost resulted in you melting into a puddle on the floor- maintaining eye contact as he belted out lyrics to songs he wrote, with a gaze so smoldering it felt as if there were no one in the whole arena but the two of you. With every minute, every note, every song- you felt him spinning a web around you like a spider trapping its prey, and you willingly anticipated the moment he would finally storm off the stage and drink you dry.

And that’s exactly what he did.

The last song ended, and Eddie wasted no time in ripping his guitar from his torso, handing it to a roadie without a second glance and grabbing you by the hand. You didn’t protest as he pulled you into a corner backstage away from any prying eyes. Before you could think a coherent thought besides Wow, I’m wet, Eddie took both your wrists in his strong, ring-dappled hands and slammed them above your head against the wall. His eyes, black with lust and wolfishly hungry, bored into yours as he used the last ounce of restraint to hold himself back long enough to ask the vital question, “Tell me, you want this?”

He bit the words out; growled them into your face as your eyes widened, desire painting your expression a gorgeous shade of pathetic as you nodded desperately. A deep groan sounded from his chest as Eddie pressed his pelvis against yours, and you gasped at how hard he was. “Words, sweetheart, I need you to say it.”

That familiar flare of indignation in your chest mingled with the flames in your core that burned for all he had to give you. Your eyes shifted, screaming rebellion that harmonized with the submission that your body so desperately craved. The corner of your mouth quirked up in a mocking half-smile. “Fuck yes, I want it, what do you think I was bouncing around out there for-”

His lips murmured a “Fucking Christ,” as he cut your sentence short, smashing his needy mouth against your burgeoning smirk. His arms crumbled as he finally felt the release of his skin on yours, caging you in as his forearms collapsed against the wall, hands still closed around your wrists. His biceps flexed, framing your faces as he all but devoured you in a kiss that was so wanting, so possessive- it claimed you. It ruined all kisses that came before it and would ever follow it.

He was ruining you, and you committed the way his whole body covered yours and made you feel both safe and coveted to memory, imprinting it on your mind knowing that you would probably never feel this wanted ever again.

Then, just as soon as he was on you, his touch lifted away.

A needy whine escaped your lips before you could hold it back. Eddie slotted his tattooed hand into the space where your neck met your jawline, thumb caressing your skin as he smiled sweetly down at you- but his eyes were anything but sweet.

“I gotta go back out for the encore. Go take these off-” you melted into his touch as his other hand played with the buckles at the front of your top. His hand at your neck crept back, taking your chin between his thumb and the middle knuckles of his forefinger as if he were scolding a child.

“-and wait in your dressing room.”

Your eyelids were heavy, and you smirked as you opened your mouth to argue-

“And don’t fucking argue with me.”

You bit the reply into your bottom lip- you could save the brattiness for later. Just as Eddie had begun to pull away, his eyes dropped to your teeth on your lip and in half a second he was on you again.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue along the soft skin before biting down firm enough to set off your mental alarms yet soft enough that you didn’t feel any pain from it. He pulled away once more, letting your lip go with a little pop.

“Been wanting to do that all night.” Eddie said, his shit-eating grin back in full force as he winked at you and jogged back to the stage. You stayed put for a second, smiling like an idiot as you heard the roar of the crowd, imagining what Eddie must look like while he returned to the stage with lips pink and swollen from his attempt at eating you alive. No one would know why he looked out of breath and a little extra happy… but you would.

You’d never walked as fast in your life as you did in that moment, making a beeline for your dressing room, fingers already beginning to work on the buckles at your sternum.

***

When Eddie opened the door to your dressing room about ten minutes later, the gigantic grin on his face fell instantly when he saw you lounging on the couch in the same clothes you’d been wearing during sound check, sans your oversized skull sweatshirt. Your black shorts and knit tank top still showed plenty of skin, but he had explicitly told you to take off your clothes and wait for him. You were still in the mood to brat out, apparently.

You looked up at him from your phone, smiling sweetly with challenging eyes. “Hi.”

Eddie closed the door behind him, leaning against it as it shut. “Hi.” he mimicked, crossing his inked forearms over his chest. He stared at you silently, expectantly.

You raised an eyebrow, coyly pretending not to know what he was being so pissy about. “What?”

Eddie pushed off the door, walking towards you at a pace that was agonizingly slow. “You know what.”

You huffed haughtily, looking back at your phone and pretending to be more interested in your screen than the man who’d had you panting up against a wall ten minutes ago. “Well that’s a little presumptuous of you, I’m not a mind reader.”

It didn’t take Eddie long to cross the expanse of your tiny dressing room, deftly sliding the phone from your hands and placing it on a low table beside the couch. “Should’ve known you weren’t listening earlier,” Eddie tsked and shook his head in disappointment. “I know you were a little distracted back there, sweetheart, but when I told you to take your clothes off, I meant it.”

You sighed as Eddie stared down at you from where he stood, towering over you as you laid back against the couch cushions. His gaze devoured you piece by piece as it roved over your wide eyes, glossy lips- your shoulders still shining from sweat after giving your all to the stage, your chest as it rose and fell with your quickening breath.

“Well,” you purred, like a cat who knew they were the center of attention and didn’t mind it in the slightest. “You didn’t say not to put on clothes after I took the other ones off…”

As you spoke he leaned forward, placing a knee on the couch between your legs so that your heat was only inches from his thigh. His hands splayed across your rib cage, admiring the stark contrast between his ink-covered hands and your soft, cream-colored shirt. It was thin enough to see… wait, were you-?

Eddie smirked, a breathy laugh escaping through his nose as he pulled the fabric taut, confirming his suspicions that yep, you weren’t wearing a bra.

Oblivious to Eddie’s train of thought, you continued, “...if you wanted me to just wait here for you naked then you should’ve been more specif-”

Rrrrriiiiipp!

Your jaw dropped, cold air hitting your bare breasts without warning as Eddie tore your shirt open. You squealed, your shocked voice jumping up several octaves. “Eddie!” but your eyes told a different story. You were pissed, but the anger you felt was nothing compared to how fucking hot he looked after doing something as dominant and unexpected as ripping your fucking clothes off.

He raised his eyebrows, giving you a moment to push him away in case he had gone too far- but you didn’t. Instead, you narrowed your eyes up at him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, pressing your cleavage together the way you knew would drive him nuts. “That was fucking Gucci!” you pouted.

Eddie laughed, taking your crossed arms and shoving them up above your head over the arm of the couch as he mockingly imitated your high-pitched “‘That was fucking Gucci!’” he lowered himself over you, bringing his face to the hollow of your neck, and you heard him inhale the scent of you from your collarbone to your ear. He wrapped his lips around the underside of your ear and sucked, then bit, savoring your little moan at the sensation. His mouth met your ear as he growled, “Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just done as you were told, instead of being a little fucking brat.”

Eddie pulled back, sitting up on his knee that was still slotted between your legs as he cupped his hands around your naked breasts. He kneaded them, played with you like he was testing out a brand new toy. He addressed you without looking up into your eyes as he continued to paw at your chest. “You gonna be a good girl now and do what I tell you to?”

You raised your eyebrows, amused that he expected your submission so quickly. Smugly, you looked up at him through narrowed eyes, placing your hands behind your head like a pillow and sighed petulantly.

“Fucking bite me.”

His eyes snapped up at you, thick with predatory disbelief at your cheek even when he had you half naked beneath you. He’d been challenged before, sure- but at this point, when he had his woman pinned down and moaning under him, he was usually the undisputed decision-maker during sex. The smile that bloomed across his lips was devilish, almost like there was a beast within him that had been kept safely under lock and key- until you’d said that.

Eddie was on you, grabbing one breast and enveloping the nipple in a harsh suck of his lips, biting down on the little nub hard. You gasped, the sound a lewd, sharp moan that brought out a laugh in him so nefarious it gave you chills. He looked up at you with eyes alight with amusement and feral need that shook you to your core.

“Oh, baby-” he laughed, crawling up until his face hovered over yours. “-I’m gonna have some fucking fun with you.”

Taking your face in his hands, Eddie Munson kissed you like it was what he had been put on God’s green earth to do. His lips moved against yours with a beautiful mix of urgency and devotion, like you could just tell that right here, right now, there was nothing else he cared about except making sure you knew exactly how badly he wanted- needed- to make you his. He slowly lowered the rest of his body until his pelvis was flat against yours, grinding into your clothed heat and exploiting the chink in your brat armor that was the his fucking size.

You bucked your hips up into him, craving friction as you moaned into his mouth. Eddie chuckled, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “What’s the matter baby, you need something?”

You pouted against him, moving a hand to reach between the two of you and palm him through his jeans, but he knocked your hand out of the way, continuing to dry hump you to insanity. You whined as he bit your pouting lip, sucking it into his mouth before his tongue slipped into yours. It explored you, tasting you as your tongue happily let him in. You felt his hand creep down your torso, giving your abused, bitten tit a little squeeze before traveling further down to the button of your shorts.

He undid the button with ease before you registered that he was taking off your clothes after he had denied you access to do the same to him. “Hey,” you panted, reaching for him, “you first, that’s not fair. I’m nearly naked and you haven’t even taken off your shirt.”

Eddie chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he feigned confusion. “Fair?” he asked, “Since when did you want to play fair?” He reached back down to your shorts, button already undone, and gently pulled down the zipper. “You were the one out there- as you said- ‘bouncing around’-” His hands raked up your thighs until they reached the hem of your shorts and slowly tugged them down as you lifted your hips slightly so he could remove them smoothly. Eddie smirked; NOW she does what I want her to do. “-knowing full well I couldn’t do a damn thing about it… and that fucking wink-” His eyes rolled back in his head just imagining it. He groaned as he pulled your shorts from your feet and discarded them on the floor. “-what the fuck was that, huh? Trying to get a rise out of me, baby?”

You giggled, bubbly laughter floating into a breathy sigh as Eddie’s finger traced the line of your slit through your panties. “Hmmmmm, like it when you call me baby.” you hummed.

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh you do?” His finger traveled up over the fabric, and he chuckled when you bucked up into his touch as the pad of his finger passed over your clit. That finger slipped under the elastic waistband of your panties, pulling it upwards off your skin as far as it could stretch. “You’re entirely too happy right now,” he stated, matter-of-factly. He let go of the elastic, making you jump with a breathy whimper as it hit your skin with a soft sting. “I’m switching back to sweetheart.”

You whined and he laughed as he continued to play with the elastic on your panties. He stared at them, entranced, before a wolfish grin took up residence on his face. “You like these?” he asked, and you knew where this was going right away.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “How kind of you to ask this time.”

The grin grew, and he took the crotch of your panties into his fist, grabbing the fabric above it with his other hand to do the same. You ground your hips against his knuckles as they brushed your pussy, already soaked and eager for any friction you could get. “Yeah, you know what,” he voiced, as if he were simply thinking out loud. “I don’t really care if you like them or not.”

And with that, another article of clothing was ripped to shreds by Eddie Munson and his stupid, tattooed, ring-covered, sexy-as-fuck hands.

This time you couldn’t even be offended; you were just fucking feral at this point. While he was still distracted by your panties, you quickly shoved yourself up to a kneeling position, startling him enough that he moaned into the fervent kiss that crashed into his mouth. The two of you knelt on the couch cushions, hands grabbing at fabric desperately in a quest to make your skin connect at every square inch you had. Eddie allowed you to pull his shirt over his head, and the shallow breath you had left was instantly knocked from your lungs when you took in the ink that decorated his torso. Some tattoos were old and faded almost blue, while others looked newer- song lyrics, mythical creatures, hellish images adorned his skin like a tapestry that belonged in a museum- but it was here, under your hands. All for you. You couldn’t hold yourself back from bending down a little lower, sliding your tongue up his sternum over the masterpieces scarred into his skin and licking a long, broad stripe from his chest until you reached the tip of his chin. You felt him shiver, arms tightening around you after shoving the remains of your tank top over your shoulders. You started to push him back, planning to open his pants and show him what else you could do with your tongue- but Eddie wasn’t about to let you be on top after the way you’d been acting all night.

“Mm-mm, nope.” he mumbled, stepping off the couch.

“I’m just trying to suck your cock, baby. Please?” You looked up at him with your best puppy-dog eyes, widening your legs as you knelt on the couch facing him, squishing your boobs together in that way that usually got you exactly what you wanted. For some reason, Eddie was immune.

He placed his hand along your neck, thumb and forefinger squeezing just enough for him to feel your pulse. The way your eyes widened, looking up at him the same way you had when he’d shoved you up against a wall earlier- it brought a satisfied hum out of Eddie, and he loved the way he could feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. There was no hiding what you felt when his hand was wrapped around your throat.

“You like calling me baby, sweetheart?”

You gulped. He felt it, of course, and he had to hold back a laugh- you looked so cute like this. Made him want to break you just to see what you’d be like when he picked up the pieces.

Your eyes were blown wide, like a hunted fox with nowhere to run. “Is that okay? Can I call you baby?”

His face crumpled- god, you were adorable. Eddie smiled sympathetically, “Oh you can call me whatever you want, sweetheart-” His thumb moved up to your bottom lip, stroking gently before working it into your mouth; he groaned, head thrown back when he felt your soft, wet tongue swirl around his digit and coat it with your spit.

“-don’t care what you’re calling me as long as you know I own your ass tonight.”

And then you moaned- oh, you fucking moaned his name around his finger in your mouth, and his cock twitched at the way it sounded. He wanted to record that, play it on loop, put it in a fucking song, hell- anything for him to be able to listen to it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to hear it, to know it was his name on your fucking tongue.

His thumb ripped from your mouth, replaced by his middle and ring finger, delving surprisingly deep into your mouth as you gagged around them. Your tongue quickly resumed its previous motions, lapping at his thick fingers and sliding over, under, around, between them. You reveled in the taste of metal as you tongued his silver rings. You gasped when he removed his fingers before, without warning, he slid them into your weeping pussy.

Your expression was beautifully obscene, eyes wide with surprise while your mouth- glistening with spit from his fingers leaving in a rush- fallen open in a silent scream. Eddie thrust his fingers up and into you repeatedly, forcing you open wider and wider with the rapid motion.

“Actually, I changed my mind,” Eddie grit into your ear, “I don’t wanna hear anything but my goddamn name leave that pretty ‘lil mouth until I’m done with you, aright?”

You were moaning, but evidently that was still not enough to deter you from being your snarky self. “Well that’s unrealistic, I’ll probably say more than just tha- ah! Oh fuck-!”

Eddie’s pace was relentless, fingers ripping through you with a vengeance as he muttered “Bratty little slut-” spearing you over and over as you sped toward the white-hot precipice that wasn’t quite release, but certainly what Eddie intended to pull out of you.

You moaned as what felt like a dam within you suddenly gave way, flooding your inner thighs, Eddie’s hand, and the couch beneath you. Eddie smiled wide, the muscles in his arm screaming pointlessly- he wasn’t going to stop until you’d given him every last drop there was to give.

“-yeah, not so bratty when you’re squirting all over my hand, are you baby? What, are you trying to say something? Spit it out, popstar-”

The noises tumbling from your lips were anything but coherent, Eddie knew that. He just kept grinning like a kid in a candy store as you babbled sounds that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have just been yes, yes, yes, Eddie, god yes!

Whatever it was, it was music to his ears.

Eddie looped his arms under your knees, pulling you into a sitting position with your legs wide open. Dropping to his knees, he stared at your spread pussy, glistening with the slick he’d just wrestled from you. His hands, wet with all you’d given him, grasped your thighs firmly but gently as he looked up into your eyes. It might have been the post-orgasmic haze you were experiencing, but for a second, Eddie looked at you with nothing in his eyes but care and admiration. His gaze shone like sunlight as he looked up at you, your stomach creasing from the crunch position he'd placed you in, your breasts rising and falling with each breath- the way he stared at you made you feel like an angel.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” he whispered, hands squeezing your thighs affectionately. Before you could even react, his tongue was on you, lapping away at your soaked pussy. You mewled, head thrown back and spine arching as unraveled you from the inside out. He traced endless intricate shapes over your clit, your lips, your hole- thoughts flew from your brain as you let his mouth drive you fucking wild. His ministrations slowed at one point, causing you to open your eyes- you couldn’t even remember when you’d closed them- and look up at Eddie.

Upon looking up, you were blessed with the sight of Eddie Munson, close-cut beard soaked with your slick, shirtless, pantsless, and currently pulling off his black boxers to reveal a cock that made you salivate on sight.

You let your brattiness fly out the window- there would be time for more of it later, but right now you needed that cock in one of your holes and you didn’t quite care which one.

Eddie stroked himself leisurely, eyes boring down into yours the whole time. “Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

You spread your legs open wider for him. “Please.” you whined.

Eddie shook his head, disappointed, sinking to his knees again. “See, this is what I knew would happen,” he murmured, sliding a finger around your clit at a torturously slow pace. “I can’t believe you got fucked stupid already and I didn’t even have to use my cock, those were just my fingers, baby.” From the slick sounds you heard from below your line of sight, you knew that he was jerking himself off as he played with your pussy. It was enough to pull a desperate moan from your throat. He licked one flat, wet stripe from your opening to your clit before murmuring against you, “Can’t even use your words and tell me what you want, sweet girl’s been fucked too dumb to make decisions, is that right?”

You found yourself nodding ‘yes’, the dirty words flying out of his mouth in rapid succession throwing your brain into overdrive. He was right; you barely had the brain capacity to think right now, much less match his attitude with snark. All you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, waiting for whatever he planned on doing next.

Eddie clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he looked at you pityingly. “That’s right, don’t worry baby I’ll just make all the decisions now, okay?” He rose, leaning over you as he placed a knee to your side and stroked himself, lining up his fully hard cock at your entrance. Your heartbeat quickened, excitement and anticipation building now that you knew his cock would be inside you soon. You mewled as his tip stroked your slit, up and down and up and down again… and stopping at your hole, hovering outside you.

You looked up at him desperately, only to breathe in sharply upon seeing his devilish grin paired with coal-black lust-blown eyes.

“Beg for it.”

You sighed so heavy it became a sob, frustrated and scrunching up your face like you were ready to throw a tantrum.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whined.

“There she is.” he murmured.

If looks could kill, your glare would have sent Eddie Munson to his deathbed. He matched it with a condescending smile that spoke volumes of the power trip he was on right now. Leaning in slightly closer, he repeated himself. “Beg, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

Eddie shrugged, backing up just enough for his cock to leave your skin- you knew it was over from there.

“Wait!” you cried, eyebrows drawing together desperately under his cocksure gaze. Christ you didn’t want to beg, but you might not have a choice. Eddie waited patiently, stroking his cock absentmindedly as he watched you squirm below him.

You looked up at him, giving him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes. “Please fuck me Eddie.” Your voice was honey sweet, soft and submissive.

Eddie crouched down, sticking a finger in his mouth before he used it to play with your pussy, stroking circles around your clit and pumping it slowly in and out of you. “Aww, baby…” he crooned before narrowing his eyes. “-we both know you can do better than that.”

You groaned, back arching as your hands fisted frustratingly into the cushions. “Eddie, pleaaasse-”

“Try harder, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Eddie you fucking prick, just fucking fuck me, please, I need your cock-”

Eddie smiled- that was good enough for him. “‘Atta girl.” he groaned deeply as he pushed his cock into your waiting hole, your thankful moan mingling with his.

His dick was perfect, filling you deliciously and long enough to just hit that spot beneath your clit that made your nerves go berserk. You didn’t realize how loud your moaning was until Eddie shut you up by covering your mouth with his own, swallowing down every sound you made and repaying you with noises of his own.

“God, baby- so fuckin’ tight-”

You moaned, squeezing him as his cock speared you again and again. You were so built up between your squirting earlier and Eddie’s talented tongue- you were already getting close.

As if he could read your mind, Eddie grunted out as he continued thrusting into you, “I’m nearly there already, baby, you gonna cum with me?”

You whined, nodding ‘yes’ as he pacified your mewling with his thumb. You lapped at it lewdly, covering him with a thick layer of your spit before releasing it with a pop. Eddie brought it down to your clit, working gentle circles around your bundle of nerves as his thrusting picked up the pace. You squirmed under him, chasing your release as you listened to the filth that poured from his mouth while he fucked the living shit out of you.

“Jesus, fuck, so tight- my sweet girl, gonna fucking ruin you. Gonna make you come undone on my cock, just a fucking mess, gonna cum so hard on my cock-”

That last thing he said seemed to jerk him back into reality- his eyes grew wide, snapped out of his high as he looked down at you. “Shit, I don’t have a condom…baby, I’m so sorry, shit, where should I-”

You reached down, raking your nails softly over his hips. “I’m on birth control.” you said, smiling calmly. You kicked yourself for being so eager; normally you would still insist on a condom even with your implant, but Eddie just did something to you. “You haven’t been fucking any random groupies, have you?”

Eddie huffed, his laughter strained by his fast-approaching orgasm. “You’re the first in a while, angel. Last I checked I was clean, but I can still pull out if you-”

“Inside.” you whispered, grasping his ass and pulling him deeper into you. “I trust you, Eddie, I want you to fill me.”

His movements stuttered, big brown eyes wide and watching you like you were a miracle unfolding underneath him. He was still for half a second before his thumb resumed its movements over your clit as he thrusted faster, harder than before.

“Oh fuck, you want me to fill you baby? You want my fucking cum?”

His cock speared into you as deep as it could go, Eddie’s attention to your clit driving you over the edge with relentless speed. “Yes, I want it Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Fucking take it baby, cum on that cock.”

Eddie groaned as you clamped down on him, his seed spilling inside of you while your pussy fluttered around him. You arched your back until your face was pressed into the cushions behind you, muffling your whimpering voice as you moaned his name.

A few moments passed, the air thick with the sound of heavy breathing and the smell of sex, before Eddie slowly pulled out of your wet heat. You laid there for a moment before you felt Eddie clean his sticky spend from your thighs and ass using a tissue.

“Normally,” he said gently, “I would use a warm washcloth to do this, but we have limited options.”

You sat up as he finished, smiling up at him playfully. “That sounds nice,” you said, “maybe I shouldn’t have listened to you earlier, made you wait until you couldn’t take it anymore and just whisked me off to your place.”

Eddie sat down beside you, pulling you into his lap. He looked up at you with nothing but content sweetness in his eyes, any trace of the feral dominance from earlier gone for now. “I mean, we can still do that.”

You beamed, “Really?”

Eddie scoffed, tugging you closer. “What do you mean, ‘really’? You think I need to be desperately horny to want you in my bed?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the mention of his bed. “I don’t know… I guess I didn’t know if you wanted this to just be a one time thing, or…” You trailed off, unsure of what Eddie’s expectations had been for what happened after.

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Sweetheart,” he said, his finger tracing circles on your thigh affectionately. “We can hash out details whenever you’re comfortable… but tonight? I would count myself a very lucky man if you came home with me tonight.” He touched his forehead to yours, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. “Okay?” he asked.

You looked down, suddenly shy upon hearing his honey-sweet words. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before looking him in his big brown eyes. “Okay.” you whispered.

Your eyes stayed connected, melting you until your lips met his again, kissing him sweetly as his hands worked their way to your ass, squeezing as he sighed into your kiss.

“Alright,” he grunted, playfully slapping your thigh as a signal to stand up. “Let’s get you dressed.”

You giggled. “In what? You ripped up all my clothes!” you held up the shredded panties, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eddie shrugged, stepping into his boxers. “I didn’t rip up all of them, don’t be so dramatic.” He picked up your shorts, tossing them to you. “Just go commando with the shorts and wear your sweatshirt, no one will know.”

You sighed, stepping over your torn Gucci tank top and retrieving your bra from where it sat neatly folded in a chair. Eddie looked over his shoulder at you as you began to put it on and gasped.

“You did have a bra!”

You smirked, reaching behind your back for the clasp. “Yeah… I wanted to see your face when I wasn’t wearing one.”

Eddie shook his head, smiling like an idiot as he buckled his jeans. “Unbelievable.” he chided, “Was it worth it?”

You tugged your sweatshirt over the bra, taking a few steps in Eddie’s direction until you were close enough to snake your hand around to the back of his neck and pull him down for one more kiss. When you pulled away, Eddie looked down at you entranced, blinking rapidly as if emerging from a dream. He could only describe the feeling in his chest as complete and utter euphoria.

You grinned up at him, eyes alight with adrenaline that still lingered from your performance onstage and absolute infatuation with the man before you.

“So worth it.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #rockstar!eddie munson #older!eddie munson #popstar!reader #inspired by demi lovato's album holy fvck #brat!reader #dom!eddie munson #rip-quizilla

2K notes · View notes