#stage dive series

[lexxwithbooks]

📖: 𝑳𝒊𝒄𝒌 (𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑒 #1) 💍🎸🎤

✍🏽: 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭

Get the book! 🌟

[themyscirah]

Does anyone know if there was simonjess crumbs in the justice league book at the time or is it like just in their solo (meaning I need to reread that book again which I was already planning on doing but like still)

[normareckas]

Taylor is my favorite 🥰 she’s so real and funny! I cannot wait to see her live for the first time!!!

[magicbeansprout]

Diana 🦋

I want to update or redo the character sheets I’ve made to have a more united theme around the outfits, starting with Diana, since I felt that the image in her sheet was the weakest of the three I’ve posted.

[tossawary]

One of my personal nitpicks for historical fantasy is a lack of servants, staff, subordinates, and... idk... subjects? Like, their absence is not... a total dealbreaker for me, depending on the situations the characters are in and whether or not I can just assume that other people are there in the background... but so many of the protagonists in historical fantasy stuff are higher-ranking (very often royalty), and/or have busy jobs, and/or have enormous houses that would necessitate having at least part-time staff.

Like, girl, you should have a maid! WHERE is your chaperone?! WHO is driving this carriage?! Where are your footmen? Are you trying to imply that a WEALTHY DUCHESS is taking a CAB?! You know that you probably have tenants, right? Where is your steward?! Where is your lawyer? Your accountant?! (Like, yeah, you're not going to have your lawyer living in your house, but you HAVE one, right???)

Or, man, you're supposed to be a military commander and you don't even have a single secretary?! Where is your SQUIRE?! (In the spirit of historical fiction, I am jumping wildly across time periods with every sentence here.) Man, I know you aren't looking after your own boots. Where are your GUARDS?! Who set up this tent for you?! Who is looking after your horse?! Who is making and carrying the incredibly valuable maps people are recklessly stabbing daggers into?!

SOMEONE has to be scrubbing these floors and delivering the mail and cooking the meals and doing laundry, and they're probably all DIFFERENT people! My dentist has at least three different receptionists and we can't even get ONE for our court wizard here? A sorcerer's apprentice to take notes? Someone like Sherlock Holmes could get away with just having a housekeeper and taking taxis, sure, but your character is supposed to be a KING?! Why is he answering his own front door? He's going to get assassinated. His SERVANTS should have SERVANTS.

Like, yes, I understand that a lot of servants in certain places at certain times were supposed to make their labor invisible, but there have always been servants who still had to interact directly with the masters of the house?! Yeah, there are potentially really messy ethics here, class divisions are bullshit, but I don't think that completely ignoring the reality that humans have ALWAYS been doing work for other humans is better than just including some well-paid and well-treated servants and employees? Because a complete absence of them, especially where logically for the worldbuilding there MUST be servants (and probably exploited servants, or worse, for some particular worldbuilds to work), often makes me think that your main characters just don't care enough to notice the "lower class" people or know their names.

Also, even Frodo Baggins had a gardener and Samwise Gamgee might be the best damn character in the story?! Sam saved the world?! Servants are PEOPLE. Servants are often the funniest and most interesting characters, tbh, with the most to say about a society and its workings (yes, Discworld is a very good book series, highly recommend), and also the joke of some romantic scene being carefully orchestrated by a stage crew of servants frantically diving into bushes to stay out of sight never gets old to me. Teamwork makes the dream work!

I don't want to gatekeep historical fiction, especially not historical fantasy, because the worlds don't necessarily have to conform to our own and may have magic and characters are often in very unique circumstances, but... sometimes I pick up a story and it's like... "Author, please tell me that you know there is a difference between a butler and a valet?!"

[nitw]

OKAY REAL TALK. i'm on episode 5 rn. if this keeps up the way i think it is then this show is such a fucking genius adaptation, and i never would've seen it coming

like yeah, an animated scott pilgrim series authentic to the comics and the story bryan originally wanted to tell would've been amazing too. but when you think about it, SCOTT'S story has already been told to us more than a few times now. even if the live action movie took a different turn by accident, the overall message of "well-intentioned people can still make, and should still take responsibility for, mistakes that hurt those who care about them, and indifference will only end up hurting them back" still sticks for the most part.

but it's mainly been from scott's perspective. which makes sense! he's the main character, so, obviously!! but here's the thing: ramona has ALWAYS served as a reflection of scott's issues. ngl i think this is one of the most consistent things in the entire franchise, and it's why i love ramona so much. as we dive further into her backstory we learn just how much of a wall she's built around herself, how she's afraid of trusting people, but especially that, as sympathetic as she is, she's also caused so much (unintentional) damage herself. although she's introduced as someone literally too good to be true and unreachable by scott's standards, it becomes more and more apparent how similar scott and ramona are, and so they're perfect for guiding each other towards a brighter path.

and what better way to highlight this than to flip the tables completely, putting RAMONA center stage aka making the audience intimately familiar with her immediately, making SCOTT the mysterious damsel in distress/goal at the finish line instead, driving ramona to face the 7 evil exes and making amends with them in a way scott never could???

also can i just say. HUGE SHOUTOUT to the marketing team for hiding this reveal SOOOOO well. like seriously, i was worried they were showing TOO MUCH in the trailers BUT I WAS WRONG. WE GOT PLAYED SO HARD

[florencebirdsong]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Marvel Kinktober 2024

Summary: Wanda wants to see just how good you can be.

Tags: breathplay, mommy wanda, sub reader, praise kink, obedience, implied subspace, soft wanda, oral (r receiving), fingers (r receiving), bondage without bondage

Words: 953 | AO3

Authors note: This is super early but I’m trying to get a jumpstart on kinktober which I am about 15% done with and very excited for :3 This is the only one I’m publishing before October since I needed one fic to set up my ao3 series. Please enjoy!

“Still,” Wanda murmurs against your skin and you obey instantly. She hums happily as she continues her gentle exploration, hands smoothing down skin while her lips gently caress the curve of your stomach. It’s a struggle not to move, to press insistently into her teasing hands, but you don’t twitch. Not even when she finally, finally, makes it down to where you want her the most.

The bold swipe her tongue makes surprises you but her nose nudging your clit is what truly does you in. Your hips twitch upwards and a small moan escapes your lips.

Wanda doesn’t reprimand you like you’re expecting. Her hands merely press your hips down as she dives in for more.

“So wet,” she murmurs. You want to point out that she’s been teasing you for forever but her command from earlier still holds so you settle for a whine. Her grin brushes your inner thigh, “Hold your breath while mommy cleans you up, baby.”

She waits patiently for you to take two deep, lung filling breaths and for you to hold the third before she puts her tongue back on you.

Torturous kitten licks swipe up your slit, teasingly dipping deeper but never up towards your clit. You get to breathe when the mess is gone but she’s just making more.

One heartbeat after that thought and she clearly commands, “Breathe.”

You let your breath out in a controlled rush and curl your fingers into the mattress. That hadn’t been long enough for the euphoria to go to your head, it only adds to the ache that her teasing has created.

“Good girl,” her thumb rubs gentle circles into your hip. You continue to take deep breaths. Evening out your breathing is important and you know Wanda won’t go again so early until you do so.

Wanda’s hands travel to your thighs as you do so and she parts them further. Her gaze hot enough that it’s almost a caress.

“Such a messy baby,” she flashes you grin, “I could spend all night cleaning you up.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow when you try to protest and your slam your mouth shut. You shake your head rapidly and give her your best pleading eyes. Her grin grows as she returns her eyes to your dripping pussy.

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Her tongue starts just below your end trance and firmly travels all the way up over your clit, “Although, isn’t there a saying about needing to make a bigger mess to clean up a smaller one?” Wanda pauses like she expects an answer so you give her a desperate whine and buck your hips. “Don’t be naughty,” she tsks and you immediately lower your hips, “Mommy knows what you want.”

Wanda pushing your thighs apart is the only warning you get before she says, “In,” and pushes her tongue deep inside of you. You’d moan if you weren’t holding your breath.

The relief of having her finally inside of you is immeasurable and your muscles tense as you try to stay still. Wanda doesn’t let up, devouring you now that she has given herself permission to do so. It’s not until your lungs gives you a second insistent demand that she pulls back and tells you to breathe. Her fingers replace her tongue, teasing your entrance for a moment before starting long, deep strokes.

The release of air is much less controlled this time but you’re not at gasping stage quite yet. Wanda’s free hand taps your thigh twice and you tap the mattress twice back in confirmation. She’s biting her lip, her gaze focused entirely on her fingers. You’re squirming now but Wanda seems too entranced to care. Biting your hand doesn’t quiet the moans as much as you’d like but you don’t want Wanda to stop. Her thumb finds your clit and any subtlety is over. A loud moan rips from your lips and your hips’ search for more pressure is humiliatingly obvious. Wanda chuckles quietly and brings her mouth back to your clit.

“Mommy’s going to make you cum now. But only if you hold your breath like a good girl. You get one extra for behaving so well,” Wanda’s eyes never leave your clit. She doesn’t wait this time and you barely get a lung full of air in before she’s leaning down and sucking hard.

You throw your head back and cling to the sheets. Her fingers speed up and her tongue presses firmly against your clit and you’re starting to get lightheaded. Pleasure flood through you and builds fast, sending a flash up your spine with every swipe of Wanda’s tongue and press of her fingers.

You aren’t going to make it but Wanda gives that glorious permission, “One,” and you suck in a breath as fast as you can. It makes your head even lighter and sends a tingle straight to your clit. Three heartbeats later and you’re cumming over Wanda’s fingers. The feeling sharpening thanks to your lack of air.

Wanda begins cooing the second she feels you cum, “There we go, such a good girl for me. You did so well, my perfect girl. So good,” and on as you catch your breath. Her hands run firmly up and down your thighs to keep you grounded.

She crawls up your body to cover your face in soft kisses and whisper warm praises. The afterglow fills you and you reach up to pull her against you. Wanda goes happily, her weight reassuring as your head grows foggier. Your eyes slip shut as she runs her lips across your cheek and you bask in her attention as she slowly reassures you and brings you back to earth.

[pucksandpower]

Heyyyyy how are you? Hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself. How is medical school hope you're doing good. So I was thinking about the grid kids series and a scenario appeared in my head. So basically the baby still a toddler say a swear word and when asked who taught her that she just tell she heard that from Yuki, but in reality it was the grid kids that braided her with candy. It's just so funny to me

Grid Kids: Potty Mouth

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids help expand their sister’s vocabulary in interesting ways

Series Masterlist

It’s a lazy Saturday morning and you’re making breakfast. Your toddler daughter is happily perched on Sebastian’s lap at the kitchen island, babbling about anything and everything while he nods along seriously.

The grid kids lounge around, still half-asleep. Game night ran late, fueled by one too many Red Bulls and everyone’s chronic competitiveness.

Charles yawns loudly. “I don’t know how she has so much energy already.”

“Right?” Lando grumbles. “It should be illegal to be awake before 10 am on weekends.”

Max stumbles to the coffee maker, nearly tripping over George who’s fallen back asleep on the floor. Mick and Lance are slumped together on the couch, bleary-eyes barely open.

As you finish cooking, you turn to your daughter. “Okay sweetie, breakfast is ready!”

She grins, kicking her little legs excitedly. As Sebastian goes to lift her into the highchair, she suddenly shrieks “FUCK!”

A stunned silence descends on the room. Eight heads swivel towards the little girl, eyes wide. Sebastian and you exchange horrified looks.

“Where did you learn that word?” You ask gently.

She blinks up at you innocently. “Yuki said it!”

The grid kids practically dive over each other to appear shocked and appalled.

“Yuki? Using language like that?” George exclaims.

“How disgraceful!” Max adds. “We’ll be having a stern talking to with him about this.”

You raise an eyebrow at them.

Something seems … off.

Sebastian kneels to your daughter’s level. “Honigbienchen, are you sure Yuki said that? Not one of your brothers?”

She nods vigorously. “Yuki said it when we were playing race cars!”

The boys subtly sigh in relief.

Crisis averted.

Or so they think.

“You know, I don’t recall Yuki having a chance to play with you recently,” you say slowly.

A tense pause.

Sideways glances are exchanged.

The grid kids develop a sudden fascination with the ceiling.

“Alright boys, enough playing dumb. Who taught her the swear word?” Sebastian asks, his Dad Voice™ making them squirm.

“It was Max!”

“It was Charles!”

“It was Lando!”

“It was Lance!”

“It was George!”

“It was Mick!”

They all exclaim in unison, pointing fingers.

A fierce blame game erupts as their bickering intensifies to chaos.

“Enough!” You shout over the noise.

The six drivers fall silent, heads hanging guiltily.

You sigh, lifting your daughter into her highchair. “We’re very disappointed in all of you. You know she’s at the stage where she repeats everything she hears.”

“We’re sorry,” Mick says quietly. “We should have been more responsible.” The others nod, mumbling apologies.

“And we’re sorry we made you say it was Yuki, munchkin,” Lance adds. “We just didn’t want Mom and Dad to be mad at us.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Lying makes it worse. But we know you didn’t mean any harm.”

“Tell you what,” you offer. “Whoever teaches her the most educational words this week is forgiven. Good, clean words only!”

The boys’ faces light up. Charles grabs a notepad and they huddle together, beginning to strategize.

You can’t help but smile.

Crisis averted.

***

What follows is a week of mayhem.

“Look Lando, it’s an AARDVARK!” George points excitedly at a cartoon aardvark in a book. “Aardvark starts with A!”

Lando nods seriously. “Aardvark. Aaaaardvark.”

Your daughter claps her little hands. “Aawdvawk!”

The boys high-five. One point for them.

Later, Max drives his toy model RB22 towards her. “Vroom vroom! This is a race car! It has DRS. Can you say drag reduction system?”

She scrunches her nose. “Dwag wedection system!”

“Nice one!” Lance whispers. Max grins, ruffling your daughter’s hair smugly.

At dinner, Charles scans his food. “Mmm, broccoli! This is BROCCOLI!” He holds up a roasted floret. “Can you try and say it?”

“Bwock-lee!” Your daughter squeals through a mouthful of the vegetable. Charles pumps his fist.

Mick doesn’t waste time and pulls out a small globe as soon as she finishes eating, pointing at a certain country. “Look! It’s Germany! That’s where Papa and I come from. Can you say Germany?”

Your daughter scrunches her face in concentration. “Ger...mummy?”

Mick chuckles, “Close enough!”

Sebastian winks at you with a smirk, “Well Mummy sure did conquer Germany, didn’t she?”

You playfully raise an eyebrow, “If by Germany you mean one particularly sexy German driver, then yes, I guess I did.” The grid kids pretend to gag.

Too bad. You’ll take the payback any way you can.

This continues for days. Meal times become vocabulary lessons, walks around the house are accompanied by exaggerated pointing at objects. Books are read with ridiculous enthusiasm, animal noises amplified.

You and Sebastian exchange amused looks as the boys vie for your daughter’s attention, each hoping to teach her the most complex word or phrase. Their efforts have become less about earning forgiveness and more about one-upping each other.

By the end of the week, her vocabulary has expanded exponentially. The boys even taught themselves some new words in the process.

As the boys argue over who should be declared the winner during dinner the following Saturday, Sebastian whistles loudly. “Enough! You all went above and beyond this week with her.”

You smile. “You’re all forgiven. And I think we can thank you for increasing her word bank more in a week than months of normal teaching.”

They cheer, exchanging pleased grins.

You lean down to your daughter’s level. “Now, can we agree no more bad words?”

She nods seriously. “No fuck!”

The room descends into chaos once again.

***

It’s race day and the paddock is hectic as usual. You and Sebastian finally relented and brought your daughter along after weeks of nonstop begging from the grid kids to have their sister on the sideline cheering for them.

As you walk through the pit lane, she squeals and points. “Max! Lando! Chawles! Lance! Mick! Geowge!”

The boys grin, waving enthusiastically as they rush to crowd around her, cooing over how big she’s gotten in the few days they haven’t seen her while she giggles and soaks up the attention.

Nearby, Yuki is chatting with his trainer. Your daughter tugs Sebastian’s hand and skips over to him. “Yuki! Hi Yuki!”

Yuki turns, smiling. “Hi, o-joh-chan! Excited for the race?”

She nods, pigtails bouncing. As Yuki leans down to chat with her, a two-way radio falls off a passing golf cart, narrowly missing his foot.

“Ah shit!” He exclaims before freezing. Your daughter’s eyes go wide. The grid kids stiffen, bracing themselves.

Yuki stares at you and Sebastian in horror, realizing his mistake. “Oops! Uh, I mean ... shoot!”

But it’s too late. A devilish grin spreads across your daughter’s face.

This is her moment.

“SHIT!” She shouts gleefully.

Yuki turns bright red as laughter erupts around him. “I am so sorry!” He sputters. “I didn’t mean to—”

Sebastian just chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we know it was an accident.”

Your daughter is thrilled with this new word she can very clearly enunciate. She spots two team principals across the paddock.

“Chwistian! Shit!” She yells. “Toto! Shiiit!”

Christian trips over his own feet. Toto turns an alarming shade of splotchy red but can’t help laughing. You and Sebastian hurry over, trying to shush her excited swearing.

The grid kids are crying with laughter. Charles is wheezing. “This is even better than I imagined!”

Max high-fives your daughter. “That’s my girl! You tell them!”

You shoot him a warning look and he gives you an innocent grin. Sebastian scoops up your still-cursing daughter, bouncing her gently. “Alright sweetie, I think that’s enough for today.”

Her lip wobbles. “But it’s fun, Papa.”

The boys are zero help, doubled over cackling. Yuki still looks mortified.

Sebastian kisses your daughter’s forehead, stifling a grin. “I know but let’s keep the excitement PG for now, okay? You can say those words when you’re a grown up too.”

You take her little hand, ready to steer her away before she can scar any more eardrums. As you walk off, she peeks over Sebastian’s shoulder and yells one last farewell.

“Bye Yuki! SHIIIT!”

[bangaveragewhitewine]

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers)  - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn. 

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips). 

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months. 

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation. 

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies. 

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll. 

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig. 

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights). 

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross. 

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air. 

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.” 

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks. 

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks. 

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns,  “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..” 

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.” 

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside. 

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts. 

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips. 

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.  

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was. 

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat. 

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick. 

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish. 

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure. 

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter. 

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious. 

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago. 

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving. 

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).  

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy. 

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward. 

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain. 

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice. 

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose. 

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on. 

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”  

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you. 

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch. 

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control. 

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night. 

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall. 

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink. 

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it. 

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes. 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-” 

As you take another sip, the door swings open. 

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office. 

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you. 

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by. 

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting. 

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you. 

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too. 

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.   

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.” 

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare. 

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?” 

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -” 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy. 

I want to. What does that mean? 

Eddie covers himself quickly. 

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.” 

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you. 

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness. 

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.” 

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes. 

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it. 

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task. 

“Very gentle,” he murmurs. 

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth. 

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other. 

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards. 

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?” 

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight. 

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass. 

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body. 

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt. 

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much. 

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.” 

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.” 

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught. 

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night 

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night. 

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness). 

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself. 

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?” 

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition. 

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise. 

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine. 

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.” 

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.” 

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.” 

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.” 

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad. 

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live. 

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.” 

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline. 

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.” 

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working. 

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.” 

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.” 

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand. 

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?” 

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs. 

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door. 

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks. 

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean. 

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie. 

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola. 

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him. 

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip. 

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.” 

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger. 

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.” 

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew. 

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him. 

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes. 

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.” 

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer. 

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too. 

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little. 

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.” 

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink. 

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime. 

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside. 

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently. 

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee. 

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.” 

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.” 

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real. 

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary. 

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out. 

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering. 

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door. 

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door.  “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car. 

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on. 

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place. 

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both. 

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head. 

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone. 

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case. 

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne. 

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.” 

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you. 

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.” 

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.” 

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on. 

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain. 

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting. 

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag. 

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off. 

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.” 

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm. 

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours. 

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning. 

His smile makes your tummy flutter. 

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening. 

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..” 

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks. 

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful. 

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong? 

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly. 

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary. 

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you. 

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?” 

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue. 

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat. 

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too. 

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever. 

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word. 

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder. 

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real. 

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp. 

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too. 

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again. 

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth. 

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?” 

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper. 

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.” 

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek. 

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.” 

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did. 

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes. 

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way. 

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms. 

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break. 

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.  

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again). 

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement. 

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson. 

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time... 

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door. 

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager. 

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley… 

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car? 

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief. 

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?” 

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself. 

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter. 

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.” 

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip. 

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…” 

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over. 

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close. 

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car. 

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.” 

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.” 

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt. 

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine. 

“Well then…” you say quietly. 

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes. 

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly. 

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers. 

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along. 

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say. 

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say. 

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.” 

“You should be so lucky.” 

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss. 

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this… 

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops. 

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8. 

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through. 

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?” 

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat. 

“You gonna behave?” 

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key. 

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass. 

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected. 

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?” 

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath. 

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way. 

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again. 

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on. 

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself. 

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green. 

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter. 

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn. 

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again. 

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?” 

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.” 

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?” 

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing. 

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…” 

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance. 

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there. 

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip. 

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges. 

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap. 

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?” 

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him. 

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips. 

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you. 

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise. 

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat. 

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes. 

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath. 

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one. 

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time. 

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him. 

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more. 

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.” 

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle. 

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace. 

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.” 

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand. 

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..” 

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!” 

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?” 

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts. 

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction. 

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes. 

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…” 

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny. 

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press. 

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak. 

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit. 

“Fuhhh- Eddie.” 

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man. 

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping. 

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face. 

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss. 

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge. 

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living. 

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter. 

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow. 

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand. 

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that. 

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs. 

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it. 

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are. 

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you. 

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?” 

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full. 

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…” 

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager. 

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs. 

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him. 

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving. 

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside. 

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch. 

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest. 

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet. 

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks. 

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.  

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob. 

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze. 

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.” 

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door. 

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer. 

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers. 

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong. 

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod. 

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.” 

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.” 

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗘?

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is a worldwide famous singer, but her favorite thing in the world is hearing Chris singing just for her.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

When you are a world-famous singer who performs at least once a month, tours every year, models, acts, does interviews, is looked at everywhere by papparazzi and scouts, has articles published about you - often with false information -, it was safe to say that Y/N needed a place to rest, and hers was next to Chris.

Her resting with him was many things: spending hours marathoning mindless movies on the couch wrapped in a fluffy blanket and her boyfriend's arms, or when she could lay on Chris's lap and sink into a new book; sometimes it was when her house shared with the triplets smelled like her favorite cake, or when she spent the day making a new DIY that she found on tiktok...

Y/N was a girl with simple tastes, she didn't need much to be impressed, just a few minutes next to Chris were enough for her to feel like the luckiest girl in the world and finally be able to relax her body completely, getting rid of the adrenaline of having a life as an artist.

Don't get me wrong, Y/N loved her profession, since she was little her biggest dream was to be able to perform in front of a crowd and show her talent, and her fans provided that for her; seeing a sea of ​​people in front of her singing along to a song she composed made her see stars, the adrenaline that coursed through her veins when she picked up her pink microphone and could walk, dance, run and jump around the stage freely while singing the lyrics that referred to important moments in her life was incredible.

But nothing compared to waking up next to Chris in the morning and finding the sleepy face she loved so much along with his husky morning voice, or cooking homemade food for them and receiving a hug from behind that was always accompanied by "I love you so much". No moment in front of interviewers with overpriced magazines compared to when Chris won a round of one of his video games and got up from his chair with an excited scream, running over to where Y/N was and showering her with kisses.

Don't even remind me of the thousands of butterflies that flew together in Y/N's stomach when Chris wrote one of his love letters to her, delivering it along with several sweets and chocolates that she was addicted to - a weekly event in their lives.

Y/N's professional life was hectic and tiring, when she wasn't on a plane going from one country to another, she was in a studio recording a new song, or on a famous program answering very controversial questions.

So, when her busy day's were over and she could simply be Y/N, she would go straight into Chris's arms, where she knew she would receive comfort and security.

And that's exactly what she did today. After a turbulent day in the studio recording her new songs, making wrong high notes and having to redo them, crossing out written verses and rewriting them, the girl just wanted to get home and dive into her boyfriend's arms.

Y/N slowly closed the door to her shared room with Chris, her eyes wandering to the low lights and the almost imperceptible sound coming from the television, which was turned on in a random series.

Chris was already in bed dressed in his pajamas, the fluffy gray blanket covering his body up to his shoulders. He had his eyes almost closed from the intense tiredness, but he seemed to fight against it.

That was another thing that Y/N loved about Chris, regardless of what time she came home, he would always be waiting for her awake - more or less.

The girl walked with light steps to the nightstand on her side of the bed, taking the remote control and turning off the television, complete silence settling in the room.

"Hey, I didn't hear you coming." The brunette's sleepy voice caught Y/N's attention, who turned her face towards him, seeing him still lying in the same position, but with his blue eyes now very much open and looking at her. Probably having "woken up" due to the lack of the background sound.

"Hi my love, I just arrived. I'm just going to take a shower and come to bed with you." Y/N responded in a whisper.

"Okay." He said softly, looking at her from below with doe eyes.

Y/N leaned over the bed momentarily, sealing her lips over Chris' soft ones for a few seconds before getting up again and walking to the bathroom.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N opened the bathroom door, the steam from the hot shower escaping momentarily as she crossed to the bedroom, already in her pajamas, before closing it again.

She walked slowly to the bed, seeing Chris lying on his side and holding his phone with one of his hands, looking more awake than before - or trying to -, the screen brightness turned to a minimum as his thumb scrolled through his Instagram feed.

Chris lifted his head slightly when he heard her approaching, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he stretched slowly, locking the screen of his phone and briefly placing it on top of his bedside table. He opened his arms, waiting for his girlfriend to lay there.

Y/N returned the smile, lifting the gray blanket and laying down on her side of the bed, snuggling in before burying herself in Chris's arms. She ran her nose down his neck, breathing in the fresh scent of soap on his skin, caressing the sensitive spot with her lips.

His hands circled her shoulders, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips at the comfort that the warmth post-bath of Y/N's body provided. The girl lifted her left hand, running it through Chris' hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

"How was your day?" Chris asked softly a few seconds later, his blue eyes taking in his girl's tired features.

The deep sigh that escaped her mouth was answer enough for him: tiring.

"Did you eat anything? Are you hungry?" He continued, lifting his right hand - which was previously on Y/N's waist - and taking her left hand from his own hair, bringing it to his lips and sealing the soft skin for a few seconds, keeping his attention on her face.

"I had lunch, honey, I'm not hungry." She replied, a tired smile appearing on her lips at his affectionate gesture.

"Don't you want me to get you a snack? Lunch was many hours ago, kitten." Chris intertwined their fingers, only receiving a shake of her head.

"Can you sing f'me?" Y/N asked in a low, weak tone, her words barely noticeable.

A goofy smile grew on Chris's face, his eyes shining with excitement and love. He adored it when his singer girlfriend asked him to sing for her, it seemed too ironic to be true, but that was exactly what Y/N adored most.

"What do you want today? Rap, pop or rock?" He teased, a soft chuckle escaping Y/N's lips as she rolled her eyes, intertwining their legs together and scooting closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder, placing a little kiss on the region.

"Anything is fine, I just want to hear you sing." She asked, eager to listen her boy's soft voice against her ear.

"Y/N baby, I dedicate this one for you." He joked, a smile on his voice before he started to sing a song that he knew that was one of his girl's favorite. "Stay bugging out, days on end..." Chris began slowly, resting his chin on his girlfriend's head, his voice now sounding hoarse and low, intensifying Y/N's drowsiness. "Days on end."

Her eyes began to flutter closed, her heartbeat calming down as the weight of her shoulders seemed to drain down her body, her limbs relaxing completely.

"Play this often, don't take this shit too seriously." He continued gently, stroking Y/N's back in circles with his left hand, feeling the area lose its previous tension. "Know you get insecure, wish I had more wisdom for you..."

Y/N took a deep breath lightly, allowing her mind to drift off into the world of dreams, Chris's voice becoming muffled and almost null against her ears, but her brain seemed to still register it, using it as a personal tranquilizer.

"Sleep, babe." Chris whispered after singing some more lines, noticing her closed eyes and slightly open mouth.

He pressed his lips to the top of his girlfriend's head, before snuggling closer against her body, allowing himself to sleep, Y/N's slow breathing serving as his favorite lullaby.

[bvidzsoo]

Black Ocean

Black Ocean is a series of 8 connected oneshots happening in the same universe. Are you ready to dive in the lives of eight notorious Pirates known as Ateez?

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Ateez members x female readers

Status: finished

A/N: I will start a taglist, so if you're interested, please comment on this post! Because this is a multi-chaptered series of oneshots, the female readers will be given names which will be used only if they get mentioned in a different members oneshot. You can read them as stand-alones, however, some happenings from previous oneshots will be mentioned here and there, so everything will be connected still. (divider)

1.Park Seonghwa

◆Compass of our hearts

Summary: Park Seonghwa was an orphan. The day Captain Kim found him on the shore the only thing he had with himself in the little basket was a golden compass, his mother's name craved inside it. Seonghwa cherished it dearly and worked hard to find out where he belonged to. However, as a pirate, you make a lot of enemies and you decided to make Seonghwa yours the day you stole his compass. It was your first mistake, you messed with a feared pirate. Your second mistake was not realizing that Seonghwa would find you, and take his compass back as well. (Reader is called Kim Bora in the following oneshots.)

2.Choi Jongho

◆Lullaby of the seas

Summary: Choi Jongho could be described as a dreamer; he loved folklore and fairytales. His father was a sailor and often brought his son out on the sea with himself, thus they lived off of selling fish and pearls. Jongho was well raised and always kind, a very hard-working son, therefore it came as no surprise that he accepted the job offer of a mysterious pirate when his father's house got destroyed by a storm. Jongho was quiet and didn’t bother others, did his job very well and secretly fantasized about meeting a mermaid one day. There was one tiny problem though, the seas they sailed had no mermaids in them, only vicious sirens out for the blood of unassuming pirates and sailors. (Reader is called Sunmi in the following oneshots.)

3.Choi San

◆An Imprisoned Nightingale

Summary: Choi San was everything you needed him to be. A hunter? He’d hunt down anything for you. An assassin? You wanted someone dead, he’d do it. An inside man? That information you needed; he’d bring it to you. He was a mercenary. Ruthless, fearless, uncaring, unfeeling. All he dreamed of was money and power. Everyone who heard his name feared him, people stepped aside on a busy road for him, women never approached him out of fear of being captured and then sold by him. You loved singing, despite working as a waitress, you dreamed of performing on a stage one day. Your whole life you've worked hard, knowing that one day you'll be discovered and your life would change; you'd become a performer for the wealthy. And your life did change, but instead, you became a prisoner, soon to be sold off by nobody else than Choi San. (Reader is called Im Ara in the following oneshots.)

4.Kim Hongjoong

◆The Nightfury

Summary: When Captain Kim died Hongjoong was only fifteen years old. He couldn't let his father's name go in vain, he took over the ship and became the next Captain Kim, better known as The Slayer. Everyone feared Hongjoong and his crew, Ateez. Everyone except you. You met in an Inn when you both were younger and tricked him into threatening an innocent man, and then you robbed him. You thought it was funny how such a powerful and feared man was so easy to play with, so you started your little game of sabotaging Hongjoong's affairs, unknowing that you were playing with fire. Would The Nightfury or The Slayer win once their swords clashed against each other? (Reader is called Lee Yuri in the following oneshots.)

5.Jeong Yunho

◆Irrevocable Love

Summary: Jeong Yunho was always protective of what was his. After his mother's death he stopped living a happy life, his father an alcoholic, his best friend was his only hope. The two of you had grown up together and you couldn't imagine living your life without Yunho, so when he tried to sneak onto the Pirate ship and leave without you, you were beyond hurt. Yunho only wanted to protect you, but he wasn't going anywhere without you. And so, the two of you joined Ateez on their adventures, starting your own love story at the same time. (Reader is called Bae Taeri in the following oneshots.)

6.Kang Yeosang

◆Salty tears, agog whispers

Summary: Kang Yeosang was forced to flee from his once very familiar life as he killed his father. He didn't mean to do it, but he harmed his mother and Yeosang just couldn't sit and watch anymore. You have never had an easy life. You were sold off at a young age, then bought, then sold, then bought again and sold again. It was a neverending cycle. You were just a toy for men to use and then disregard of; you wanted to disappear. And one man almost granted your wish, he killed you, or so he thought...and so did you. But an angel, a kind-hearted man, saved you from your terrible fate. You found a family, just like he did so many years ago. Yeosang was your angel. (Reader is called Jung Hana in the following oneshots.)

7.Jung Wooyoung

◆Heavy is the head that wears the crown

Summary: Jung Wooyoung was a prince. Raised to be a King one day. Except that nobody asked him if he wanted to become one, it was his duty. Wooyoung thought he'd be able to travel the world, sail out and go on adventures, however that is just not how his story was written. So, one day, when he was only thirteen years old, he decided to take the pen in his own hands and change his own story. He became a Pirate. You, you were also a princess, soon to become Queen. Your groom disappeared when the two of you were thirteen and you figured you wouldn't get married now, so there was no reason to stay at your castle and live a boring life. You ran away, living quietly and humbly. That is, until Wooyoung came stumbling through your living room door. (Reader is called Oh Haneul in the following oneshots.)

8.Song Mingi

◆Fine Line Of Our Worlds

Summary: Song Mingi didn't choose to become a Pirate, but after getting saved by the crew, he decided to stay. Nobody at home would miss him, they didn't like him much. However, he would miss his riches dearly, teeth always aching for gold and money. He was a little kleptomaniac, it's mostly why he was punished so often back at home. But here, with Ateez, he was free to do whatever and he loved the idea. You were also rich, very rich. You had ties to the royal family, but never said much about it since it was due to your mother's bloodline, who died giving birth to you. You were daddy's little girl, always getting whatever you wanted, never reprimanded for anything. But your life was boring, you were closed inside your mansion's walls all day long and the only people you could torment to have fun were your maids, who grew tired of your antics. Let's not forget the fact that you also loved stealing. It started out as a little talent of yours when you were just a child, but growing up you realized it became a very unconscious habit. And one night, Mingi seemed to come into your life just at the right moment, sweeping your off your feet, quite literally, and taking you onto a Pirate ship, your fates interlacing forever. (Reader is called Yoon Areum in the following oneshots.)

[milaswriting]

Well, hello! It's certainly been a while since you've had any content from me.

But, that won't be for much longer. The short specials are back, and may be better than ever. Another series of stories from the ros' point of view, all in the crushing stage, all with a different storyline. There are one to two sets of choices in each story and there are full customisation options for your main characters.

I've titled these set of stories in the collection as the comfort series as, at this stage, that's exactly what the ro and the mc are to each other.

Approx. 2k words for each story and over 8k in total, there's a bit to get into.

The content is available for the Golden tier on my Patreon. It will be publicly available before the end of the week.

Here's to diving back into Golden's universe again.

[limonmelon]

armandaniel reclist

Because I really have to start putting these somewhere and because I need everyone to read these and give them the love they deserve:

outcast of all this night by gaypiratedivorce - "After a month in Dubai, Daniel Molloy is back home and miraculously alive, eager to get to work on his first draft. The vampire Armand has other plans." first in an insanely good (and complete!) series.

two truths and a liar by andrealyn - "Facing down the press junket for his book, Daniel Molloy is prepared to hype up his hit novel. He's less prepared to have Armand crash the tour to play bodyguard and doting assistant and he's definitely not ready to have his secrets spilled on a world stage because Armand wants to play games. The longer he sticks around to torment Daniel as he chases him across the country, the longer he stays. So, who's really winning this game?"

to the edge of the earth by andrealyn (you can tell I love her Daniel voice) - "There's nowhere that Armand can run where Daniel won't find him. Using the Talamasca's information, his own dogged determination, and eternity sprawling ahead of them, Daniel's going to find his maker and figure out why Armand keeps running. When he catches him (and he will), he's going to prove that it's going to be the two of them, forever, and that he's going to love Armand the way no one has before."

and then what? by andrealyn - "The droning hum of Louis' boredom is going to drive Armand mad. Instead of accepting it, Armand seeks out the kaleidoscope chaos that is Daniel Molloy's mind to learn why he's so special, so fascinating, so interesting. Every city he finds him in, he learns more before he makes Daniel forget. Every city, Armand grows a little more addicted. And every city, Armand does something he's not supposed to do -- falls a little more in love and eager to give Daniel the memories of who they are together."

his thoughts were red thoughts by spqr - "Daniel’s barely thirty; he can’t fathom one century, let alone five. It’s probably a wonder Armand doesn’t spend his time skulking in a cave somewhere, muttering to himself, covered in the blood and muck of his innocent human victims."

care and keeping by katplanet - "Louis shakes his head. “And now he's got you stepping on him.” Daniel picks his drink up and necks the last half of it. “I have not,” he says, “stepped on him, as of yet.” “But you want to.” “I think so?” Daniel puts the empty glass back on the table and scoots it out of their immediate limb radius. “I think I could want to. I want to want to.” “There you go,” Louis says, “tell him that. That'll set the mood.”" With some really great Louis/Daniel friends who love each other and also fuck too.

Endearments by Nothing_But_Paisley - "Daniel never compared him to a Botticelli angel or a Bernini cherub, never called him a demon or an imp. Such images scarcely existed within that wonderfully secular modern brain of his. Daniel was entirely a creature of the flesh."

open up your skull, i'll be there by typefortydeductions - "He shakes his wrist free and brings it to his mouth, licking up the trail of blood, his eyes never leaving Armand’s. He turns, and walks away, and spends a restless night in his own bed with his dick half-hard and the memory of Armand’s blood and Armand’s hands and Armand’s final whispered words before he upped and left Daniel sprawled newborn on the floor." this series floored me it's so good please read it.

mystic seaport is that way by exastris_scientia - "Daniel should really get more sleep and stop getting himself into these situations..." this series has it's boot on my throat. written pre-Season 2.

bend your dream with the road | VOTE TO END OTW RACISM by meronicavars - "Daniel is asleep dreaming of his own unreliable recollection of Louis at Polynesian Mary's all those years ago and Armand wants to dive into his dream and wrench Louis out, shake him until he realizes that Daniel is his, Daniel has always been his. Isn’t this something Louis should know? That Daniel was his gift to Armand. Why must you torture me with his presence? He wants to ask. Why would you bring him here if not to punish me?" also part of great series and written pre-Season 2.

the man who wasn't there by obstra - ""I just couldn't bear to lose you and Louis in one day.” Armand is looking away from Daniel now and picking more ferociously at the edge of his sleeve, like he's avoiding something big. He's almost afraid to ask, somehow he can tell this is going somewhere significant “Why would losing me be the same as losing Louis Armand? Just some kid you met decades ago in San Francisco, tortured a little bit then threw aside? Explain to me why. Does this have anything to do with the fact that my memory of the 70s has more holes in it than swiss cheese? I thought it was just drugs but I also thought San Francisco was just drugs and look how that turned out.”"

a haunting just for company by valkyrisms - ""I know what a breakup looks like," Daniel says. "The better question is, why are you coming to me about it? I'm the one who broke up your little sham." "This is what humans do, don't they?" Armand asks, letting his voice drop. "Crashing on their friends' couches when there's a blip in their romances?""

Simplicity by WendigoDreaming - "Daniel's memory is a gaping hole morphing slowly into the shape of Armand." also part of an ongoing series!

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning by trinityofone - "He should have left when he had the chance. But he wanted to see how it ended. His mistake. Because the story wasn’t done with him. All at once it was grabbing him by the throat. (A version of Daniel's turning featuring visions, sex, and sexy visions.)"

forever's gonna start tonight by trinityofone (actually just read all their IWTV fic thank you) - "I’ve lost my mind, Daniel thinks, still lavishing kisses to the chest of the creature that killed him. He says the next part out loud: “I fucking hate you. And you hate me. So something is making us do this.” “I don’t hate you,” Armand pants. “You mean nothing to me. Don't stop.”"

more to come!

[dumbseee]

thunder and lightning.

in which, you and jude broke up after a long relationship and you perform the song you wrote for him, in front of him at the ballon d’or ceremony.

jude bellingham x singer!reader.

fc: madison beer.

note: please read this and listen to "thunder and lightning" by serayah. / might turn this into a small serie 🤭

liked by bellahadid, tatemcrae, sabrinacarpenter and 1 829 000 others.

y/n: my most precious and raw song "thunder and lightning" is now yours 🤍 now it’s time to grow and move on.

_

comments have been disabled.

_

you were standing in the middle of this big stage. in front of these important people, some of them used to be people you’d hang out with. but breaking up with jude meant saying goodbye to them too, even if it was hard since you made good friendships thanks to your ex. it was too hard to keep contact with them without jude haunting your thoughts, and they understood that. your break up with jude occured a few months ago now, and you thought you were doing better, but being on this stage, about to perform the song you wrote in one hour, the day he broke up with you, sent shivers all over your body. and you even considered running away.

but you were stronger than before, you worked hard on this song and you needed jude to hear it. you looked absolutely stunning in this dress, you tried to put a smile on your face but only pain and anxiety could be seen. you saw all these people looking at you, some with adoration, others with envy and some with sadness because they knew how hurt you were. thunder and lightning started and you closed your eyes before taking a deep breath. you got this.

"can't you look at me and see that i love ya? and i’d do anything for ya?" you began, looking at the crowd but your eyes immediately found his. you almost stutter on the lyrics but immediately closed your eyes to refocus. his eyes were glowing and his face was torn with concern and almost regret. ha, too late for that boy. "and i’ll do anything for ya, climb up mount everest without a rope, dive into the bermuda without a boat." because it was true, you could do anything for this boy, anything and everything without thinking it twice. you loved him with your whole soul, it was insane. you could’ve quit music if he asked, and that without a second thought because that’s how loyal and in love you were.

"like thunder and lightning, we were meant to be, wrapped up inside your arms, that's right where i belong." you hit the hook with more vulnerability in your voice, it resonated in the whole room and inside people’s heart. you knew some people in the audience would relate to your situation, girlfriends of footballers who suffered the disrespect of their partner. or even footballers themselves having their heart broken by women who never actually loved them. this song wasn’t just about you and jude, it was about this feeling of despair when you see the person you love, leaving you heartbroken and alone. you saw some old friends bobbing their heads to your song and even sending smiles and thumbs ups to you.

you soon end the song, for a minute the room is frozen in silence, no one moves. and the one to break the ice was jude, he got up and clapped you like no one ever clapped for you. soon enough the whole room followed, giving you a standing ovation. you felt your eyes getting watery as you locked eyes with jude, his expression was unreadable. you were the one to break the eye contact as you bowed to the audience and blowed a kiss to the camera. you left the stage and almost ran backstage to let the tears you kept inside since the beginning of the performance, run down your cheeks. you let yourself fall to the ground, your agent and friend hugged you from behind and kissed the top of your head. "let’s go home now." you whispered between a sob.

liked by trentarnold66, vinijr, rodrygogoes and 3 729 028 others.

judebellingham: such an honour to win these trophies. making my parents proud and being a good role model for my brother has always been my top priority, thank you for the support and thank you for always being by my side.

_

fan1: CONGRATS KING

fan2: deserved so much more but i’m so happy for him

fan3: making the parents proud >>

fan4: the fact that y/n was there too and probably congratulated him :(

fan5: lmao nah she probably left after the performance, she hates his ass now

fan6: as she should tbh

fan7: y/n deserved way better

vinijr: 🔥🔥🔥

philfoden: congrats mate! keep shinning 💪🏼

fan8: i’m a huge fan but you should be held accountable for how you treated y/n

fan9: DON’T LISTEN TO THE HATERS KING

fan10: the future of football is right there

fan11: keep showing them who’s the boss jude!

fan12: he looked so good tho 🥴

fan13: finally a stylist who does him justice

deuxmoi: hm, being a good role model right? then care to explain why a little bird came to us with receipts about the night she had with you, while you were dating y/n?

fan14: WTF

fan15: WTFFFABSKSKSLDDD WHAT IS THIS

fan16: nah they must be lying jude would NEVER cheat

fan17: deuxmoi isn’t even a reliable source!

fan18: yeah but apparently they got receipts so…

view all comment.

y/n just posted a story!

caption: couldn’t relate more.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Hey! I was reading on your character arcs and was wondering how you would write character regression over the course of the story :)

Hey there, fellow writer! Thanks so much for your message. Sorry, this response took so long. But, I'm thrilled that you found my posts on character arcs helpful, and I'm excited to dive into the topic of character regression with you. It's a fascinating and complex aspect of storytelling that can add so much depth to our narratives when done well.

What is Character Regression?

Before we dive into the nitty-gritty, let's define what we mean by character regression. In essence, character regression is the opposite of character growth or development. It's when a character moves backwards in terms of their personal growth, beliefs, or behavior. They might lose skills they once had, revert to old, harmful patterns, or abandon positive traits they've developed.

This doesn't mean your character simply becomes "worse" or "evil." Regression is a nuanced process that can happen for various reasons and manifest in different ways. It's about your character losing ground on their personal journey, facing setbacks, or struggling with challenges that push them back towards old habits or mindsets.

Why Use Character Regression?

Now, you might be wondering, "Why would I want my character to regress? Isn't that the opposite of what we usually aim for in storytelling?" Great question! While it's true that we often focus on character growth, regression can be an incredibly powerful tool in your storytelling toolkit. Here's why:

Realism: Let's face it, real life isn't a straight line of constant improvement. We all face setbacks, make mistakes, and sometimes fall back into old patterns. Including regression in your character's journey can make them feel more authentic and relatable.

Conflict and Tension: Regression can create internal conflict for your character and tension in your story. It gives your character something to struggle against, adding depth to their arc.

Emotional Impact: Watching a character we care about struggle or backslide can be incredibly emotional for readers, creating a strong connection to the story.

Set-up for Greater Growth: Sometimes, a character needs to hit rock bottom before they can truly grow. Regression can set the stage for even more significant character development later in the story.

Exploring Complex Themes: Character regression allows you to delve into themes like addiction, trauma, fear of change, or the difficulty of personal growth.

How to Write Character Regression

Alright, now that we've covered the what and why, let's get into the how. Writing character regression requires a delicate touch and careful planning. Here are some steps and tips to help you navigate this tricky terrain:

(Beware Very Long Post!)

Establish a Baseline

Before you can show regression, you need to establish where your character starts. What skills do they have? What are their core beliefs and values? What positive traits define them? This baseline will be crucial for showing how the character changes over time.

For example, let's say we have a character named Alex who starts the story as a confident, outgoing person with a strong sense of right and wrong. This is our baseline. (I will be using "Alex" as an example character for the remainder of the post)

Identify the Catalyst

Regression doesn't happen in a vacuum. There's usually a triggering event or series of events that start the process. This could be a traumatic experience, a significant loss, a series of failures, or even a gradual wearing down of the character's resolve.

In Alex's case, maybe they witness a horrific crime that shakes their faith in humanity and the justice system.

Show Gradual Changes

Regression, like growth, usually happens gradually. Start with small changes in behavior, thought patterns, or reactions to situations. These should be subtle at first, things that the character (and maybe even the reader) might not immediately notice.

Alex might start being a little less friendly to strangers, or hesitate before helping someone in need – small shifts that hint at bigger changes to come.

Internal Conflict

As the character begins to regress, show their internal struggle. They likely won't be happy about these changes and might fight against them. This internal conflict can be a great source of tension and character depth.

Alex might berate themselves for their newfound hesitation, trying to force themselves to be the person they used to be.

External Consequences

The character's regression should have real consequences in their world. How does it affect their relationships? Their job? Their role in the main plot of your story?

Maybe Alex's friends start to notice their withdrawal and become concerned. Or perhaps their hesitation in a crucial moment leads to negative consequences in the main plot.

Escalation

As the story progresses, the regression should become more pronounced. The character might start to rationalize their behavior, or fully embrace their new, regressed self.

Alex might start actively avoiding social situations, or develop a cynical worldview that contrasts sharply with their former optimism.

Rock Bottom

In many stories with character regression, there's a "rock bottom" moment – a point where the regression reaches its peak. This is often a powerful, emotional scene that fully illustrates how far the character has fallen.

For Alex, this might be a moment where they refuse to help someone in danger, fully betraying their former values.

Potential for Redemption

Even if your story ends with the character in a regressed state, it can be powerful to show a glimmer of their former self. This hints at the potential for future growth and can leave the reader with a sense of hope (or tragedy, if that potential is never realized).

Maybe in Alex's darkest moment, they have a flicker of doubt about their new worldview, or a memory of who they used to be.

Tips for Writing Effective Character Regression

Now that we've covered the general process, here are some additional tips to help you write compelling character regression:

Keep it Believable: The reasons for the regression should make sense for the character and the story. Don't have a character completely change overnight without good reason.

Show, Don't Tell: Instead of simply stating that a character has regressed, show it through their actions, thoughts, and dialogue.

Use Supporting Characters: Other characters can serve as mirrors, reflecting the changes in your regressing character and providing commentary on those changes.

Maintain Sympathy: Even as your character regresses, try to maintain reader sympathy. Help the reader understand why the character is making these choices, even if they don't agree with them.

Consider the Pacing: Regression can happen at different speeds. It might be a slow burn throughout the story, or a rapid descent following a major event. Choose the pacing that works best for your narrative.

Don't Forget the Positives: Regression doesn't mean a character loses all their positive traits. They might still show flashes of their old self, adding complexity to their portrayal.

Use Metaphors and Symbolism: Visual cues, recurring motifs, or symbolic elements can help underscore the character's regression in subtle ways.

Explore Different Types of Regression: Regression can be moral, emotional, professional, or related to specific skills or relationships. Mix and match for a nuanced portrayal.

Common Pitfalls to Avoid

As with any writing technique, there are some common pitfalls to watch out for when writing character regression:

Making it Too Sudden: Unless there's a massively traumatic event, regression usually doesn't happen overnight. Be careful not to have your character change too quickly without proper buildup.

Losing Reader Sympathy: If your character's regression makes them completely unlikeable, you risk losing reader investment. Always strive to keep them understandable, even if not always sympathetic.

Inconsistent Motivation: Make sure the reasons for your character's regression remain consistent and logical within the context of your story.

Ignoring the Impact on Plot: Remember that character regression should impact your main story. Don't let it become a subplot that doesn't connect to the main narrative.

Overdoing It: Regression doesn't mean your character has to become a completely different person. Maintain some core aspects of their personality to keep them recognizable.

Examples from Literature and Media

Sometimes, it helps to see how other writers have handled character regression. Here are a few examples you might find inspiring:

Walter White from "Breaking Bad": His transformation from mild-mannered teacher to drug kingpin is a masterclass in character regression.

Daenerys Targaryen from "Game of Thrones": Her descent into ruthlessness in the final season is a controversial but noteworthy example of character regression.

Oscar Wilde's Dorian Gray: His moral decay over the course of the novel is a classic example of character regression in literature.

Michael Corleone in "The Godfather": His transformation from war hero to ruthless mafia boss is a powerful portrayal of moral regression.

Studying these and other examples can give you ideas on how to handle regression in your own writing.

Final Thoughts

Writing character regression can be challenging, but it's also an incredibly rewarding aspect of storytelling. It allows us to explore the complexities of human nature, the fragility of personal growth, and the myriad ways that life can shape and reshape us. When done well, it can create some of the most memorable and impactful characters in literature.

Remember, there's no one "right" way to write character regression. The key is to make it authentic to your character and your story. Let it grow organically from the events of your plot and the unique personality of your character. And most importantly, don't be afraid to dig deep into the messy, complicated aspects of human nature.

As writers, we have the privilege and responsibility of reflecting the full spectrum of human experience in our work. Character regression is a part of that spectrum, and embracing it can lead to richer, more nuanced storytelling.

Balancing Regression and Reader Expectations

One thing to keep in mind as you write character regression is the balance between realistic portrayal and reader expectations. Readers often come to stories expecting character growth, so a character who regresses can be jarring or even frustrating if not handled carefully.

Here are a few strategies to help manage this:

Foreshadowing: Hint at the potential for regression early in the story. This can help prepare readers for what's to come.

Clear Motivation: Make sure the reasons for the regression are clear and understandable, even if not agreeable.

Moments of Hope: Intersperse moments where the character shows glimmers of their former self or potential for growth. This can help maintain reader investment.

Character Self-Awareness: Having the character acknowledge their regression can help readers process it.

Narrative Purpose: Ensure the regression serves a clear purpose in your overall story. If readers can see why it's necessary, they're more likely to accept it.

Character Regression in Different Genres

The way you approach character regression might vary depending on the genre you're writing in. Here's how it might look in different contexts:

In Literary Fiction: Character regression often serves as a deep exploration of human nature and societal influences. It might be subtle and psychological, focusing on internal changes rather than external actions.

In Fantasy or Science Fiction: Regression might be tied to magical or technological elements. Perhaps a character loses special abilities, or technology they relied on fails them, forcing them to regress to a more primitive state.

In Romance: Regression could manifest as a character retreating from emotional vulnerability, perhaps due to heartbreak or fear. The challenge becomes learning to open up again.

In Thrillers or Crime Fiction: A character might regress morally, crossing lines they never thought they would. This can create intense internal conflict and external tension.

In Horror: Regression might take on a more visceral or psychological form, with characters losing their grip on reality or reverting to primal states in the face of terror.

Character Regression and Story Structure

Consider how character regression fits into your overall story structure. It can be a powerful tool at different points in your narrative:

As an Inciting Incident: A character's sudden regression could be the event that kicks off your main plot.

During the Rising Action: Regression can add complications and raise the stakes as your story progresses.

At the Midpoint: A significant regression at the midpoint can dramatically shift the direction of your story.

During the Dark Night of the Soul: This low point in many story structures is a perfect place for a character to experience severe regression.

In the Resolution: Sometimes, a story might end with a character's regression, leaving readers with a sense of tragedy or unresolved tension.

The Role of Regression in Character Ensembles

If you're writing a story with multiple main characters, character regression can play an interesting role in group dynamics. Here are a few ways to use it:

Contrast: Have one character regress while others grow, highlighting the different paths people can take when faced with similar challenges.

Domino Effect: One character's regression might trigger changes in others, either pushing them to grow in response or causing them to regress as well.

Support Systems: Show how a group responds to one member's regression. Do they try to help? Enable the behavior? Distance themselves?

Power Dynamics: Regression can shift the balance of power within a group, creating new conflicts and alliances.

Regression and Theme

Character regression can be a powerful way to explore and reinforce your story's themes. For example:

If your theme is about the corrupting influence of power, showing a character regress morally as they gain more influence can underscore this idea.

For a theme about the importance of human connection, you might show a character regressing into isolation and the negative effects this has.

If you're exploring ideas about identity, having a character regress to an earlier version of themselves can raise interesting questions about who we really are.

A Word of Encouragement

As I wrap up this deep dive into character regression, I want to offer a word of encouragement. Writing regression can be emotionally taxing. It often requires us to delve into dark places, to imagine our characters at their worst, to confront difficult truths about human nature. This can be challenging, even distressing at times.

Remember to take care of yourself as you write. It's okay to step back if things get too intense. Talk to fellow writers about what you're working on. Engage in self-care practices that help you process and separate from the darker elements of your work.

And most importantly, don't lose sight of why you're including regression in your story. Whether it's to create a more realistic character journey, to explore complex themes, or to set up a powerful redemption arc, keep that purpose in mind. Let it guide you through the difficult moments of writing.

Remember, every character's journey is unique. There's no one-size-fits-all approach to writing regression. Trust your instincts, stay true to your character and your story, and don't be afraid to push boundaries and explore uncomfortable truths. That's where the most powerful writing often emerges.

I hope this deep dive into character regression has been helpful! Keep writing, keep exploring, and never stop pushing yourself to grow as a storyteller. Your voices and your stories matter.

Happy writing, - Rin T

Sources:

K.M. Weiland's blog post: "How to Write Character Arcs: The Flat Arc"

K.M. Weiland's "Helping Writers Become Authors" blog: "5 Ways to Write a Negative Character Arc"

TV Tropes: "Fallen Hero" 

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 16

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: almost a month after the party, you’re hanging out with evan at his house, trying to get your assignment done.

word count: 2.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: y’all thought i forgot about their assignment?? wrong. this is ANGSTY i’m sorry!! but the poll was pretty much tied and it’s short lived if it’s any consolation :// enjoy<33

warnings: mentions of cheating??, no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

It’s well into November when you’re hanging out with Evan in his room, trying desperately to get the last few parts of your assignment mapped out. It’s not hard work, but with the way you’re sitting cross legged on Evan’s bed while he sits facing you on his desk chair, Evan’s brain is only focused on pouncing on you. You’re talking about the research article you found while Evan is staring shamelessly at your body, humming along with you to make it seem like he’s paying attention. You sigh and stop talking once you realize his head is a million miles away, and you close your laptop, raising a brow at him.

“Ev, can you not pay attention for, like, 30 more minutes?” you ask in a teasing, yet slightly exasperated tone. His eyes finally dart up to yours, and he gives you a cheeky smile as he shrugs. 

“Oh, I’m paying attention, princess. You thought you could come over looking like that and I’d just work on the assignment?” he asks, raising a brow as he looks down at your body again.

“I’m wearing leggings and a hoodie. I literally could not be more covered up.” you say with a laugh, setting your laptop to the side, knowing there’s no way of getting him to focus now. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he stands up and stalks toward you on the bed. He holds out a hand once he’s in front of you, which you take. He helps pull you up, then puts his hands on your hips and pulls you against him with a smirk. You meet his lips as he leans down, your hands moving to his cheeks as you smile into the kiss.

“You’re a damn temptress.” he murmurs against your lips, which makes you laugh. You pull away, giving him a “really?” look, still laughing quietly.

“You want to take a break?” you ask, one hand moving up to run through his hair. He nods, humming softly as he feels your fingers massaging his scalp. He pushes you back onto the bed, and waits until your head is on one of his pillows before he dives onto the bed beside you, making the bed creak and bounce you around a little. He moves to lay practically on top of you, one leg thrown over both of yours, his arm draped over your tummy, and his head resting against your soft chest. He hums against your chest, sinking into you as you chuckle, shaking your head. Your hand goes back up to run through his hair again, and although it’s a little harder to breathe with his weight on you, you wouldn’t dream of moving. 

You stay quiet for a while, absentmindedly running your hand through his scalp before you break the silence, speaking before you can really think about what you’re saying.

“We’re graduating this year.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but he hears you anyway, and he hums softly, nodding slightly. He mumbles, “I know, it’s crazy.” and you nod along with him, starting to think about life after college.

“What are you gonna do after?” you ask softly, your words hanging heavily in the air as the implications of the question suddenly become a little clearer to both of you. You weren’t really sure where you were going with what you were saying at first, but now, it’s clear to you and Evan that you’re really asking “what about us after graduation?”

He raises his head, resting his chin on your chest as he looks up at you, eyes studying your slightly nervous expression. You know it’s a little much to ask; you’ve only known each other for 3 months, but you can’t imagine just going your separate ways once you walk across the stage.

“I don’t know, princess.” he tells you softly, not knowing what else to say. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn’t want to say anything that he can’t promise.

“Well, you’re gonna have your degree. What kind of work do you want to do with it?” He huffs, thinking about having to find a fulltime job.

“Honestly, I’m only here because my parents basically forced me to go to college. I don’t even want to do anything with the degree, I just did it to shut them up.” he tells you, resting his cheek back on your chest again. Your heartbeat and steady rising and falling of your chest help to calm him, and he lets out a silent sigh. You hum softly, frowning at his words.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not planning on going back to Pennsylvania?” you ask, desperate to know more. You’ve always thought about staying in LA once you graduate, and it would be perfect if he’s considering it too. 

“Definitely not. I don’t really know where I wanna go, or what I wanna do. I’m just kind of hoping it’ll hit me, and I’ll figure it out.” he tells you earnestly with a small shrug, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. All he knows is that he really doesn’t want to go anywhere without you. He almost laughs as he thinks about it. Before he met you, he couldn’t imagine becoming so close with a girl that he can’t bear the thought of parting from her, but now, he silently hopes that after graduation you stay together.

“Your parents live close to here, right? Would you stay around here after graduation?” he asks after a few moments of silence. 

“I would, but I wouldn’t take moving somewhere else off the table.” you tell him, and although you’re saying it because you know you’d probably follow him anywhere, you also welcome the idea of seeing new places. “So, I guess neither of us know what we want.” you say with a soft laugh, feeling a little silly for bringing it up.

“I know what I want.” he says matter of factly, giving you a wink as he raises his cheek off your chest again to look up at you. You feel your cheeks heating up as you look down at him, unable to fight off the smile forming on your face. He leans up and kisses you softly, like a promise, almost as if saying “we’ll figure this out.”

Once he pulls back, he gets up quickly, straddling your lap and starting to tickle your sides, hoping to take your mind off of the hard questions with no real answers hanging in the air. You let out a loud, surprised laugh, starting to squirm under him as you try to push his hands away. You cry out a breathy “stop, stop” as he keeps tickling you, a shrug on his face. Once he’s sure your conversation is forgotten about, he eases up, planting a big, audible kiss on your cheek. He admires the way your eyes crease when he pulls back, the dazed expression in your eyes, and how your smile is plastered to your face, and his heart swells. 

He gets up, mumbling a quick “I’ll be right back” as he leaves the room, keeping your hands together, dangling between you for a moment before he finally turns and goes to the bathroom.

While you lay on his bed and wait for him, you think about your plans with your roommate to go to a local farmers market tomorrow, and you figure you should start planning your outfit before you forget and have to throw something on at the last minute. You go to reach for your phone, but you remember it’s still on Evan’s desk, charging. You look over at Evan’s phone on the bed, and decide to reach for it instead, sitting up as you do. You only want to know the weather, and you know his password anyway, so you figure he won’t mind.

When you pick up his phone, you’re met with a text notification on the lock screen from Sabrina. You furrow your brows, thinking about when you met her a number of weeks ago. You can’t help the nerves creeping into your belly, thinking about how shamelessly she was flirting with him, and you can feel your heart start to race a little. You trust him, and you don’t want to do anything to make him think you don’t, but thinking about her texting him still makes your stomach churn.

When you swipe up to unlock his phone, however, the phone thinks you clicked on the message, so when you put in his password, you’re immediately faced with their conversation. You’re met with a picture of her in a bikini, posed at the beach, looking absolutely stunning. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes roaming over her slim waist, and her small thighs, and dread fills your belly. The only other thing you see before you hear Evan’s footsteps outside his door is her newest text below the picture.

Sabrina: heyyy, there’s a party at delta phi on friday. you going? ;)

You slam the phone down before he comes in, plastering a fake smile to your face when his eyes land on you. He raises a brow, taking in your unsure eyes and fidgeting fingers as you sit on the bed.

“What’s up?” he asks, closing the door and walking back over to the bed. You shrug, still smiling as he lays down on his side, propped up on his elbow.

“Nothing.” you say softly, looking down at your fingers, turning the ring on your middle finger, trying to slow the thoughts swarming in your brain. Were you just taking his “I know what I want” as something completely different? Was he acting so unsure with you because he didn’t want to tell you that he didn’t want to keep seeing you yet? Was he just a really good liar?

“What’s going on in that pretty little head, huh? Talk to me, princess.” He pulls you out of your thoughts, and for a moment, his soft voice almost works to calm your nerves. But then the picture comes back into your brain, and you feel like you’re going to throw up. You had slowly begun to let your guard down, opting to not suck in your plush tummy when his hands ghost across it, and not feeling awkward when he puts a hand on your thigh. You feel your insecurities bubbling to the surface again; of course he’s looking at her.

“Nothing.” you say again, a little sharply. He’s taken aback by your tone, and his eyes widen slightly, confused by your sudden switch up. “Can we please just drop it? I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

He knows you, and he knows pushing you further will make you shut down even more, so he begrudgingly agrees, mutters a quiet “okay.” He turns onto his back and faces the ceiling, opting to stay quiet and give you a minute as you fall further and further into your own mind. He reaches for his phone beside him, and turns it on. His heart falls when he sees that it opens to his conversation with Sabrina. He sighs, sitting up and nudging your leg with his arm, wanting you to look at him.

“Baby, I-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Why do you still talk to her?” you ask him softly, tears threatening to spill. You know you can’t be mad at him for talking to her before you started dating, but him still letting her send those pictures makes your heart clench.

“Will you let me explain, princess? Please?” he asks desperately, fighting the urge to touch you. He knows he should let you have your space right now; that pulling you into his arms would only make you more upset. You nod once, looking up at him as you chew on your lip anxiously. You can’t wait to hear what he has to say, but you’re also dreading it just as much.

“I still have a class with her. She still flirts with me sometimes in class, but I don’t do anything about it, I swear. She’s been asking when we should hang out, but I keep brushing her off, so I guess she finally got fed up and decided to text me again.” he tells you, eyes boring into yours as he searches for any hint that you don’t believe him. You listen intently, a tear finally escaping your eye as you reply.

“Why is she still sending you pictures? Why are you letting her?” Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, and you reach up quickly to wipe the tear from your cheek. He sighs, tilting his head to the side as his eyes soften. He clenches his fist as he tries not to reach out to you, finally understanding why you’re so upset.

“Baby, did you see the timestamp on that text? It was from August. Before we met.” he tells you, eyes locked on yours. Your brows furrow at his words, mouth going dry. You hadn’t even thought to check; you were just so focused on her. He opens the conversation and holds the phone out for you to see, and you see that he’s telling the truth. You feel so stupid, and you let out a big breath, looking down as you laugh weakly.

“I didn’t see that.” you say quietly, feeling more tears running down your cheeks, although you’re not sure why. He’s very clearly not cheating on you.

“Yeah, I guess not. Come here, princess.” he tells you, pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly. You hug him back, sniffling softly, feeling extremely stupid.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” you whisper, laughing at yourself. He chuckles as well, shaking his head.

“You thought you just caught your boyfriend cheating on you. I think a few tears are allowed.” he tells you softly, his tone slightly teasing. You laugh again, sniffling as you pull back.

“I’m glad you’re not.” is all you can manage to say as you look at him, leaning into his touch as he reaches up to wipe your tears.

“You think I’d do that to you?” he teases, but you can see a hint of seriousness in his tone. He knows that cheating definitely isn’t uncommon, but he doesn’t feel good about you thinking that he would, despite your reasoning being very valid. He relaxes slightly when he sees you shake your head, a smile making its way onto his face again.

“You haven’t given me a reason to. I wasn’t purposely looking through your messages. I was just gonna check the weather, and I clicked the wrong thing.” you explain with a shrug, looking down as you fidget with your ring again. You don’t want him to think you were snooping; you really don’t want him to think you don’t trust him.

“Well, I’m glad you trust me. Because I would never hurt you. And I know saying that means nothing, so I’m gonna keep showing you that. As long as you’ll let me.” he tells you earnestly. He leans in to rest his forehead on yours, and one of his hands moves to the side of your neck, holding you there.

“Yeah? Promise?” you get out in a teasing tone, although your heart is hammering in your chest at his words.

“Promise.” he tells you, holding out his pinky with a cheeky smile. You giggle and link your pinky with his, looking into his eyes until he launches himself at you and pins you against the bed, kissing you deeply.

next chapter

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