#whewww

[tqmies]

thinking about cockwarming with mark and him being all whinny about it😩😩

BITCH you got me fucked up. i want mark so bad.

He'd definitely slide the tip in, wincing at how warm you feel. And he's devastated that you just expect him to sit there with you like that.

You're insistent on watching some stupid movie that he could care less about, especially when he's literally inside you. But every time he squirms a little, you threaten to move and he gets all still again.

All he can think about is having his way with you against the couch right there in your living room. Sheathing his cock inside you like he had been wanting to all day, before you decided you wanted to try this cock warming nonsense, as he likes to call it.

This is pure torture, and he doubt's any man alive actually enjoys this shit. Sure, you feel close, and it's romantic in theory and all.

But in practice? He just wants to fuck already.

So he voices this, whining in your ear as you ignore him and pretend to be fully focused on the movie. When in reality, you're struggling just as much too. Your boyfriends thick cock is in you and you'd think you'd be unaffected?

However, you do like to hear Mark whine.

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 5/12)

HEHEHE THIS ONES PACKED W LOTS OF... STUFF, ENJOYYYY!!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie doesn't think he hates you anymore and you can't figure out eddie's game

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, masturbation (f), maybe a little kith (hehe), flirting, and eddie being a jealous boy <3

word count: 6.5k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

The four-day break seems to go by in the blink of an eye, and before you know it, it’s show day again.

As always, everybody is busy and filled with pre-show jitters. Although Eddie and Gareth have yet to speak with one another and resolve their dispute, breakfast is not as tense as last time, and you assume the time away from each other has aided in that realm. But then again, you have an inkling that Eddie is only putting up a nice front for Wayne since it’s his last day in New York.

Eddie is stiff and rigid throughout the morning, taught as a guitar string and vividly battling something he has yet to announce. He’s quiet at breakfast and only speaks when directly addressed, and he doesn’t taunt any back and forth that could transpire between him and Gareth. Jeff’s girlfriend joins the table for the first time, and you sit beside her. 

Naomi is kind and bubbly with tight, curly brown strands that smell of honey and lime whenever she brushes past you. She’s from a small town in Georgia, where she spent most of her life before going off to college and getting a bachelor's in fine arts. She tells you about her most recent projects and showcases and even invites you to attend if you’re ever in town, and you take her number to keep in contact.

Jeff has radiant energy throughout the meal, and you think he and Naomi make a fine couple with how they seem to complete each other.

After breakfast, you make a few calls for work and fill in Anna on your progress. She informs you that they’re working on setting a date for Corroded Coffin’s photoshoot for the magazine and should be in contact with Richie sometime soon. When Anna asks how the trip has been so far, you lie and tell her it’s been seamless and fun. 

You never told Anna about Eddie hating your guts, and you don’t even debate telling her that you’ve somehow stirred the pot between two of the band members or that you kissed the lead singer.

You’re still having a hard time convincing yourself that it was even real.

For a moment, when you woke up this morning, you thought you’d dreamt of kissing Eddie, but no dream ever feels as vivid as that.

You could feel the warmth radiating from Eddie’s body, the coolness of his rings stinging your cheeks when he placed his hands over your jaw to pull you in. The taste and smell of weed mixed in with the worn-down scent of his cologne from the day. And the kiss was so quick, and you were so sleepy you barely had enough time to memorize what his lips felt like or how the feeling of his warm breath against your upper lip sent shivers down your spine.

It left you in a daze for most of the day. Every time you remembered what had happened, your heart raced and the back of your neck heated— and you wanted to ask Eddie what the fuck that was about, but Eddie was nowhere to be found.

After breakfast, Eddie practically falls off the face of the earth. Nobody hears from or sees Eddie, and he doesn’t even show up for rehearsals, which is when Richie becomes suspicious.

“Has anybody fuckin’ seen Eddie, for the love of god?” Richie exclaims. Off to the side, the bass player plucks a deep tune in boredom. Standing center stage, Jeff looks at Richie and shakes his head before glancing at the other two members. Gareth sits behind his drum set, twirling the thick drumsticks between the knuckles of his fingers, lower jaw promptly working a piece of gum as he shrugs. His eye looks better, you note.

And that’s another thing. Gareth has been avoiding you like the plague. You didn’t talk to him much before, but now it’s as if you don’t even exist, and fuck is it making your job more complicated than it already is. How are you supposed to write about Corroded Coffin when half of the said band hates your guts?

Wayne had been spending the day at the hotel, preparing to fly back tomorrow morning, so you doubt he knows where his nephew went. Richie asked an assistant to check if Eddie was being a hermit in his room, but to nobody’s surprise, Eddie wasn’t there either.

By the time 8 o’clock rolls around, the doors to the venue have opened for fans to flood in, and Eddie is still yet to show up. You stand in front of the barricade, a perfect and obstructed view of the stage where you can see everything, including the hustle backstage. 

Wayne has opted for a seat next to the sound booth in the crowd, claiming he’d rather not spend the next few hours standing on his feet, “When you’re older, you’ll understand.” He claimed.

You enjoy the opening act, bopping along and singing to the lyrics you know, and before you know it, the band is leaving, and the clock for Corroded Coffin’s appearance is ticking— still, no word from Eddie.

You’re busy watching the stage crew set up Corroded Coffin’s display when a familiar face approaches you. “How’s the article coming along?”

James, one of the three tour photographers for Corroded Coffin. You sat next to James on day five of breakfast. James is kind, and with your little snippets of conversation, you’ve come to peg him as not exactly what you’d expect. 

James’ skin is littered with tattoos, sleeves up both arms with intricate ink slithering up his neck. You’d ask him how many tattoos he has in total, and he’d confessed that he lost count a long time ago and has now resulted in just throwing out a random number when people ask, to which you laughed.

He has jet-black curly hair that you’ve only seen at breakfast because he likes to slick it back most days, and he has piercings in each ear and one on his right eyebrow. 

He’s a character, James. Intimidating from the outside, but nothing but soft, fluffy teddy bear warmth on the inside. 

“It’s… well, it’s going. I’ve still got a bit of work to do, but so far, so good.” You nod. James smiles and nods, “I’m excited to see the final product. I won’t lie, after we spoke at breakfast, I did a little digging,” he responds. You raise your eyebrows in interest, “Digging?”

“Yeah, you know, looked at some of your past work and whatnot— which, by the way, the piece on the Cocteau Twins was insane,” He exclaims. Your eyes widen, “Really? Not many people talk about that one; I didn’t think it got around.” You laugh.

James tells you about his favorite pieces of yours he read, and he asks questions about each one of them. What your favorite interview was, who were you most excited to write about, and which of your works is your favorite piece so far.

You eventually end up talking about James and his current projects aside from the tour. He tells you about the new exhibit he’s partnering with in downtown LA. It’s an immersive piece, something new in the art world where the audience, for the first time, will get to experience art in a more tangible way. It’s more interactive and fulfilling for those who struggle to grasp the full context behind the art, and James seems more than excited about it when he tells you to stop by if you have the time.

However, before you can respond, the lights in the venue dim, and the crowd roars. 

This has always been your favorite part of a show, that moment when the lights cut off and the arena comes to life with a shared excitement. It’s exhilarating and pulls you to the edge of your seat, no matter how often you’ve seen it.

Through the smoke-filled venue and the dark atmosphere, you can see each of the boys file out onto the stage, Gareth spinning his drumsticks between his knuckles as he steps onto the drum riser while the other two grab their instruments. Three members are on stage, and you remember that Eddie has been missing in action for the entire day.

The crowd grows louder when they see the shadows of the boys on stage, screaming their names and chanting in anticipation. And as he shreds the first chords to the opening song, you worry that Eddie really might’ve skipped out on tonight’s show.

You’re happily mistaken, however, because soon you see another figure step out, and the crowd goes deafeningly loud.

Beside you, James smiles and shakes his head, “Shit never gets old,” he yells over the screams.

And your heart is racing for some reason as you watch the tall figure walk in the darkness, curly mane of hair akin to a halo as he steps up to the mic, electric guitar strapped across his body.

He leans into the mic and says a few words, words you don’t even hear due to how loud the crowd is, but you feel the gruffness and bass of his voice booming through the speakers, and you nearly mistake it for your heartbeat.

Because when the song finally starts and the stage lights go up, you’re at a loss for words.

Eddie is gorgeous, undeniably so; he always has been, and you never thought he wasn’t. The only thing that got in the way of Eddie’s beauty was his shitty attitude towards you. But this… the way Eddie looks tonight— you’re a speechless and wavering mess of mixed feelings.

Tonight, Eddie is beautiful.

His hair is down as usual, curly and healthy strands sitting pretty atop his shoulders, and he’s opted to play the show in nothing but leather pants and his usual boots.

His upper body is on full display, broad shoulders, and muscles flexing with each strum of his guitar, back muscles working overtime as he trashes along to the music. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, tattoo-covered skin glistening beneath the lights, and you want nothing more than to run your hands down his chest and watch the way it smudges beneath your fingertips.

When the second song finishes, Eddie’s chest is heaving as he pauses and looks out into the crowd, scanning the rows with a lopsided, smug grin.

You can hear faint pants leaving his lips as he leans into the mic, jewelry-wrapped fingers hugging the fret of his guitar. He gazes in silence for a moment, listening to the cheers of the crowd that pull the corners of his mouth into a wider grin. And you don’t even notice the rest of the band on stage because all you see and hear is Eddie.

You hold your breath when his eyes find yours, and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of his dark eyes shining beneath smudged, black eyeliner. 

“Fuck,” he breathes with a smile, softly laughing when the crowd screams at his voice, “Do you look good tonight, New York.”

And he’s saying this and looking at you.

He is staring at you like he can see through to your soul, and it makes your head dizzy with a whirlwind of emotions and greedy wishes.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Eddie finally looks away from you and into the crowd, “Are you ready to have a good time, New York?”

Eddie has never, in all his years of living, played as well as he did tonight.

He’s not sure what exactly caused this; maybe the fact that Wayne is in the crowd tonight, or perhaps because he’s still pissed with Gareth, or maybe because he can’t stop thinking about kissing you, or probably because he hates the way you and James won’t stop fucking talking to each other.

Eddie doesn’t know why it pisses him off to see you laughing and enjoying the company of James, but it does. It ticks him off to no end, and he can’t help the feeling that brews in his chest when you lean forward to hear James over the music or when James innocently squeezes your bicep to get your attention before he says something.

By the middle of the show, Eddie has had enough. He’s four shots of tequila in, and he’s feeling bold with the crowd's energy, so when his infamous guitar solo in one of the songs comes, he doesn’t stand center stage as usual.

No, Eddie makes sure to walk over and stand right in front of where you and James stand and play his solo like it’s the last time he'll ever play.

It’s a sinful view, and the crowd goes wild, the big screens zooming in on his skilled fingers dancing across the frets, the flexing of his wet torso, the flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes and tosses his head back. His lips are slick and parted in ecstasy from the adrenaline high. 

And Eddie can feel your eyes on him. Can feel the heat of your gaze burning through every inch of his body, rolling over every movement he makes and taking him in like he’s a prized possession in a museum. He thrives off of it, and he plays harder.

When his solo ends, Eddie doesn’t bother looking at the crowd or James or his band; no, Eddie only looks at you, making sure you understand what he’s trying to say through his eyes. And for a moment, Eddie wishes James would turn the camera away from him and capture your beauty instead— because you look like an angel under red lights.

Eddie has only allowed himself small moments to appreciate the sight of you, but now, he is greedy with the upper hand he has. He takes in every piece of you; your hair, your eyes, your lips, the delicate necklace kissing the skin of your collarbones— and Eddie wants to run his tongue up the side of your neck and hear you whimper for him. Wants to dig his teeth into your skin until you keen and whine and beg him for more more more. 

The skirt you’re wearing, god, it’s fucking short, and Eddie imagines the way your skin would feel beneath his fingers, pressing into the fat of your thighs and marveling when the skin gives way to the pressure. Hot and messy fingerprints all around your hips and ribs. Teeth bearing marks across your stomach and chest. Eddie is dizzy with lust and need, and he feels like a fucking animal writhing and waiting to pounce.

Greedy, greedy, greedy.

He wants it all.

The rest of the show goes back and forth like that. Eddie catches glimpses of you and James talking and takes it upon himself to direct your attention back to the stage— back to him. Near the end, James finally focuses on his fucking job and busies himself with taking pictures instead of flirting with you, and Eddie walks off the stage feeling satisfied.

The band does their meet and greet backstage and signs a few autographs before they can do their usual post-show rituals: drinking, playing games, and making plans to go out.

Despite his love for post-show rituals, Eddie wants nothing to do with it tonight because he can only focus on you. 

You’re standing with James and a stage crew member, talking about something Eddie could care less about, given how he cuts into the conversation, “Can we talk?”

Your eyes are wide and bright when you turn to him, shocked by Eddie’s ability to even acknowledge you, and Eddie thinks about last night and how your lips felt against his. “Um… talk?”

Eddie’s still high on post-show energy, and he doesn’t like that James is standing so close to you, so he takes a leap of faith and wraps a hand around your wrist, gently tugging with a short nod, not even waiting for an answer before he turns and drags you out of the green room. 

He doesn’t know at what point his fingers traveled down your wrist to slip between your warm and gentle fingers, but he becomes hyper-aware of it as soon as you both step out into the hallway, the slam of the door echoing behind you, “Eddie, where are you taking me?”

Eddie glances back at you, fingers subconsciously squeezing yours, “Dressing room. I wanna do the interview.” He answers.

You halt at his response, heels digging into the cement floor and tugging Eddie back, “What?”

The heat of your palm is burning through Eddie’s skin, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop himself from what he wants to do if he continues touching you, so he lets go. “The interview.”

You shake your head and squeeze your eyes, “No, I heard you, but… I mean,” you pause, “why? And why now? This can’t wait until—“

“Look, if you don’t want to do it now, that’s fine, but I’m not doing it any other time.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning around and continuing to walk towards his dressing room.

You silently watch for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden change of heart, but you nod either way and follow after him.

Eddie hardly pays any mind to you when you walk in behind him, busying himself with walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself a glass of the first bottle he sees. Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie notices you awkwardly standing near the door and snickers. “You can take a seat, sweetheart; I didn’t bring you here to, like… chew you out or something.” He jokes.

He makes you a glass despite not asking, and when he turns around, you’re now seated on the light brown couch in the middle of the room, hands fiddling in your lap as you silently wait for Eddie.

He sits on the opposite side of the couch and places the second glass on the coffee table, wordlessly nudging it toward you before leaning back in the seat and taking a long sip.

“Where’s your cute little journal?”

You’re confused.

You don’t understand the game Eddie is playing, and it’s driving you insane the longer you look at him, leaned back against the plush couch, smug smirk kissing the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip, brown, hazy eyes glazing over your nervous figure. The sheer button-down top he now wears is fully unbuttoned to reveal his sweat-glistening torso, leather pants hug his thighs, snug and tauntingly, the button popped open and zipper pulled down to show the sinful sight of a trail of hair that leads to places you’ve been trying so desperately not to imagine. You don’t mean to stare, and you catch yourself when he shifts his hips upward to get more comfortable, the sight of his lower stomach flexing and tattoos coming alive on his skin sending shivers up your spine.

You clear your throat and turn to grab your journal out of your bag. You haven’t had the time to buy a new journal after you ruined the binds by tearing out those pages for Eddie, so you must handle the remaining structure carefully.

You take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, clicking your pen once before glancing at Eddie, “Okay, I guess we’ll… start.”

Eddie smirks, and you want nothing more than to wipe it away.

You open your mouth to ask your first question, but Eddie cuts you off, “I have a proposition,” he begins.

You look at Eddie, blinking once and thinking over if you want to indulge in whatever trick this is. You relent, “Okay?”

Eddie smiles triumphantly and leans forward to put his glass on the table, yours still untouched. He grabs the pack of cigarettes lying to the side, picking a single stick and grabbing the lighter before leaning back onto the couch, lighting the cigarette before shifting to face you. He drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, blowing out a cloud of smoke before speaking, “I get to ask you questions as well. Like a trade-off, for each question you ask, I also get to ask one.”

And it’s not as bad as you’d thought, really. Knowing Eddie, you had expected him to propose a game involving stripping or drinking of some sort, and you had prepared to immediately shut him down— but this, you can settle for this.

So, you shrug, “Okay. We can do that.”

Eddie hums in delight, taking another drag of the burning stick and nodding for you to begin.

“Okay,” you sigh, shifting to get more comfortable. In the distance, you can hear the chaos of backstage rituals happening, and you fight through the noise to focus. “We’ll start light. What made you choose music?”

Eddie twiddles the cigarette between his fingers, silently thinking, “I don’t know. I grew up with music, never went a day without it, so, in a way, I guess you could say music chose me.” He responds.

You nod, “What are some of your first memories with music?”

Eddie smiles and gazes up at the ceiling, and you watch as he seems to wander down a road of memories. “When I was younger,” he begins, “before my mom died, I remember waking up and going to the kitchen to watch her cook breakfast,” he pauses as if trying to see through the fog of time to explain it clearly.

“And she had this small green radio that sat on the window sill, and she would play all of her tapes; The Mamas and Papas, Jefferson Airplane, Sam and Dave— you know… hippie shit.” He says. “I knew Surrealistic Pillow like the back of my hand by the time I could talk, I swear.” He jokes, smiling when you softly laugh. He looks at you, a glint flashing in his eyes, and you can tell the memory brings him a joy he misses. 

And you find yourself thinking back to a few days ago, when you were walking beside Wayne with Richie and Eddie a few paces back. You remember what Wayne had told you then; you remember the tone in his voice and the careful thought he’d used behind each sentence.

“Give him time,” Wayne softly says. You glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Eddie and Richie sharing a cigarette. You turn back to Wayne when he adds, “You’re a nice girl, and Eddie… Eddie doesn’t know what to do with nice.”

You dig your teeth into the inside of your cheek, chest tightening at the pained gaze in his eyes when he speaks, “He hasn’t had much of that in his life.”

“I know you don’t owe it to him, but just give him some time… he’ll come around.”

Eddie glances at your empty page before gazing back into your eyes, “You gonna write something down? I’m not repeating any of this, just so you know.”

You nod, snapping out of your daze to begin writing. Eddie patiently waits as you jot down your thoughts and conversation, burning through his cigarette and watching your every move.

You look back at him when you finish, and fight the urge to shy away when you realize he hasn’t looked away from you this entire time. “Um, okay, tell me about—” “I believe I get to ask two questions now.” Eddie cuts in with a smirk.

“Oh,” you pause, “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”

Eddie ashes his cigarette and grabs his drink again, “When did you start writing?”

And Eddie keeps surprising you. For some reason, you thought Eddie would ask something dumb, inappropriate, or condescending— nothing of this matter. You didn’t think Eddie was interested in actually learning something about you.

You sigh as you think, “Well, the first time I ever wrote for myself was around middle school; I had a diary.” You respond, and Eddie’s eyebrows raise in interest, “It was lilac with a gold lock on the pages, and I carried the key around on my necklace because I was so afraid someone would get ahold of it.” You shake your head as Eddie laughs.

“Now, what in god’s name was little middle school Birdie writing about in her secret diary?” Eddie pries.

You scoff, “Like I’d ever tell you that.” You roll your eyes, and Eddie makes a sound of protest, “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” He pokes. You raise an eyebrow and glance at Eddie, “You’d be surprised by what goes through the mind of a twelve-year-old girl on the precipice of puberty. I’m taking those pages to the grave.”

Eddie laughs loudly at that, head tossing back with the action. You find it beautiful, the way his neck stretches and his skin molds against his bones— kissable and enticing.

“Okay, well, aside from your secretive diary. What made you choose this,” Eddie nods towards the journal in your lap.

You hum and purse your lips in thought, “I’ve always loved writing. I loved reading too, still do, and I tried writing fiction, but there’s something about writing people’s stories that just… feels good.” You respond.

“I know how easy it is to become misunderstood in this industry, so I want to hear the truth and help the audience see things from a clearer perspective. I want to help create an understanding if that makes sense.”

Eddie nods, eyes soft and smiling within his gaze. “That’s neat.” He comments, and you smile.

He sips his drink before speaking, “So, how did you end up writing for Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You laugh, “A shit ton of groveling, I’ll tell you that.”

You reach forward and pick up your drink for the first time, taking a sip before speaking, “I’d been trying to get an interview for the longest time, and then I finally just gave up for a while, but then my friend saw an opening a few months later and sent in one of my writings and… I guess they liked it enough to hire me,” You shrug.

“But,” you hold up a finger, “I spent a good year just running errands and shit for the managers; it was awful,” you admit. “So, how’d you end up with the big guys?” Eddie asks.

“Well, I wrote a hell of a paper and blew their fuckin’ minds.” You jokingly say, smirking over the rim of your glass as you take a sip. Eddie softly laughs and takes a sip of his drink as you place yours back down on the table in exchange for picking up your pen.

“My turn,” You remind him.

He nods, and you glance at your journal, thinking about what you want to ask next. “I know in the past you’ve mentioned that you don’t particularly release songs about your life, but you rather opt to tell stories within your music,” you mention, and Eddie nods in confirmation. 

“What’s the reasoning behind that?”

It’s a slightly more in-depth question, and Eddie has to take a few moments of silent pondering before he answers. “Well, for starters, I’ve always considered myself more of a storyteller. I like to create different scenarios and characters and find ways to bring them to life,” He begins.

You quietly jot down notes as you listen to him speak, “When I was in high school, I got really into Dungeons and Dragons, and I still love the game, but I guess you could say it stems from that— the storytelling aspect, I mean.” 

“But as for why I don’t release more personal songs… I don’t know; I guess I just like to keep a part of my life private to some degree. However, that doesn’t mean these made-up characters and scenarios I sing about aren’t in some way correlated to me,” He hints, and you nod in understanding.

“That’s neat.” You copy his words from earlier, and you both smile.

You and Eddie go back and forth with questions for a bit, touching base with topics like childhood, friendships, current projects, and such. It’s nice to have a decent conversation with Eddie, and for a moment you forget that you’re even doing your job because interviewing Eddie feels like any normal conversation you’d have— lighthearted, smooth, and innocent. Until—

“Alright, my turn. This one’s good,” Eddie starts.

You’re both two glasses in, and your cheeks feel warm from the drinks as you gesture for Eddie to go on. Eddie gazes at you and studies you briefly before speaking, “What’s going on with you and James?”

You blink in confusion, “James?” You question. Eddie nods, “Yeah, James. The photographer.” Eddie explains.

Your face twists in slight confusion as Eddie sips his drink, “What about him?” You ask.

Eddie laughs, “What’s up with you two? Are you guys together or something?”

And there it is. The game that Eddie’s been playing all along, revealed in all its true nature. 

Your eyebrows furrow in defense, annoyed with the sudden shift in demeanor, “Is that any of your business?” You question, and Eddie laughs, tapping his ring against the glass of his drink with a soft clink, “Sweetheart, it’s my business if I’m cutting the check.” He snickers.

You narrow your gaze at him, clearly irritated with his words. You don’t know why you ever gave him the chance. Eddie has only ever shown you his true colors, and he’s, more than once, told you that he doesn’t take you or your profession seriously. This has reminded you so.

“You don’t pay me,” you snap, “And I doubt you’ve even touched a check in the last three years.”

Eddie smirks, amused by your sudden frustration, “Maybe you have a point,” he relents, “But you still haven’t answered my question.” He points out.

You roll your eyes, “Why do you care, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs, “I’m curious.” He smugly answers. 

“I don’t ask you who you’re fucking, do I?” A lousy attempt at dodging the question.

Eddie shrugs again, “You could if you want to, I don’t mind. I bet you’ve been curious to know anyway, haven’t you?” He replies.

You don’t like the way that makes your insides squirm with heat.

And you could tell him the truth. You could tell him the simple and honest answer that, no, nothing is going on between you and James. But as you look at Eddie sitting across the couch, you can’t find a single reason why Eddie should even care or why he should have the satisfaction of an answer. “Ask something else.” You say.

Eddie doesn’t waste a second to spit out his next question, “Did you like the kiss?”

“A different question.” “Those are my questions, princess.”

God, you don’t even know why you’re putting up with this. You could easily just get up and leave, but you hate to give Eddie any room for thinking he’s won whatever stupid battle this is. 

You shut your journal, refusing to stay another minute, going back and forth with Eddie. You stand and grab your bag, shoving your journal in before looking at Eddie and finally answering his original question, “No, nothing is going on between me and James.” You admit. And you think Eddie will leave it at that, but you're sadly mistaken.

“And the kiss?” He asks.

“What about it?” Your composure is beginning to falter and your frustration is seeping into your tone. Eddie’s eyes glint with mischief, gaze never leaving your fidgety frame as he speaks, “Did you like it?”

“No.”

A lie. A terrible one that Eddie can see right through.

You begin making your way to the door, but Eddie catches you before you can even lay a finger on the handle, turning you around to face him when he speaks, “You’re a shit liar.” He points out.

And he’s so close you can barely think straight with his overwhelming presence. You find your footing through the haze, gazing into Eddie’s eyes when you speak, “Did you ask me to come in here so you can answer my questions, or did you just want to waste my time?”

Eddie is silent for a long moment, eyes dancing between your wide and sharp gaze, darting down to your lips, the tip of his pink tongue darting out to lightly lick across his bottom lip. You can smell the smoke on his breath, reaching out to mix with your liquor-coated exhales.

“Did you like the kiss?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie has you cornered now, pressed against a wall so tight you have no choice but to admit defeat, moving forward to press your lips against his liquor-slicked lips.

It’s hasty. Messy, greedy, drunk, and needy, and it rids your mind of all rational thought as Eddie presses himself against you. 

Eddie kisses you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get, pressing into you so close you’d think he’s trying to jump into your skin. And the taste of Eddie is addicting.

You crave for more, and you’re hesitant to push, but Eddie understands the second he feels your tongue lick against your lips. He takes it upon himself to push his tongue into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth, and you happily let him. All clear thinking has gone out the window at this point, and you let your bag slink off your shoulder to plot onto the floor, busying yourself with sinking your fingers into the curly strands of his hair and gently tugging at the root. Eddie moans against your lips, and you pant, your brain going dizzy at the heavenly sound.

Eddie’s hands are eager and hungry as they rest against your hips, sneaking up your torso to squeeze and grab at your skin. And he hates the fact that there are so many layers of clothes between you, and he wants them gone.

His hand travels down the side of your body and digs into the thick of your thigh, dipping lower to catch the back of your knee and hitch your leg around his waist. You keen, pitching your hips forward into Eddie’s, and he moans, greedily squeezing your skin and gliding up your leg. Cool rings send shivers up your spine when he slips under the hem of your denim skirt and kneads the fat of your ass.

If breathing weren’t a necessity, you would kiss Eddie forever, but your lungs burn with the lack of air, so you find yourself pulling away with a wet gasp, “I—“ Eddie presses a kiss to your lips, cutting you off before you can speak and you whine, fingers moving to dig into the soft material of his open shirt, “Eddie, I can’t… I can’t breathe, I gotta breathe,” You pant.

Eddie laughs, and you smile as he trails his kisses down to your neck, licking against the base of your throat before sinking his teeth into the skin. You moan, whiney and loud in Eddie’s ear and he hums in appreciation, grumbling into the skin of your neck as he speaks, “I wanna fuck you.”

His teeth scrape against your pulse, and you gasp, head dropping back against the wall with a soft thud as your nails dig into the skin of Eddie’s shoulder. “What?” You hazily blink.

Eddie moves back to see you, lust-ridden eyes darting all over your face. And he looks so pretty, hair messy, shirt skewed against his lean frame, lips swollen and pink from kissing, and you want him. You want him to a dangerous degree.

He kisses you, muttering his words against your lips as he squeezes your hips and pulls you closer, “I wanna fuck you.” Eddie repeats.

You pant, opening your mouth against his and preparing to speak, but you’re interrupted by the door opening, the two of you jumping at the sudden intrusion, your hand swiftly shoving at Eddie’s body to push him away. 

And you think you might die because who better to walk in on you and Eddie practically devouring one another than fucking Jeff.

“Oh, shit, uh,” Jeff looks the other way as soon as he sees you and Eddie. You hastily pick up your bag and tug your skirt back down to a modest length from where it had ridden up to your hips.

You and Eddie are still breathing heavily from your extremities, and Eddie— fucking Eddie; he snickers when Jeff glances back at him and makes a lazy attempt at holding back a laugh. Your face and neck heat up in embarrassment as you shift in your spot, wanting nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“The car is here, man, let’s go,” Jeff snickers before leaving.

And truthfully, you don’t currently have the confidence to look Eddie in the eye and register what’s just happened between you two. So, you grip the strap of your bag and flee before Eddie can say or do anything.

You’re not sure how that happened, and you’re not sure why it makes your stomach twist in a way that makes you blush, but you like it. 

And you can’t believe yourself.

You can’t believe that you spent the entire drive to the hotel thinking about how Eddie’s hands felt on your body, his lips against the skin of your neck, or how you could feel him pressed against your thigh, begging to be touched.

When you shower, you try to ignore the throbbing ache between your legs when you think of those words Eddie whispered to you. You try to ignore it as you get ready for bed and ignore the toe-curling sensation of the cool hotel sheets brushing against your hardened nipples when you slip into bed. You try so hard; you really do.

But you can’t help it when you begin imagining how Eddie’s hands would feel across your chest, the light and rough feeling of his calloused fingers ghosting over your nipples to watch as you writhe beneath him. 

Fuck, you really try to ignore it.

But you can’t. It’s annoying, the way Eddie clouds your mind. And you feel like a bitch in heat when the only thing running through your mind and body is the burning desire to cum. And if you stuff your hands between your thighs and bring yourself to cum to the idea of Eddie and the feeling of him pressed against you with your name on his tongue, who’s to judge you but yourself?

Because despite everything your mind is telling you, you can’t help but find yourself wanting Eddie.

But all of that flies out the window the following day.

You’d decided to order breakfast to your room, and the hotel sends the daily newspaper with each meal, and you like to read it while sipping on a hot cup of coffee on your terrace. However, when you see the newsletter cover, you’re not sure you have much of an appetite for coffee.

A picture of Eddie from last night with a familiar red-headed girl wrapped around his arm and a caption that makes your stomach twist in knots. The caption, ‘Corroded Coffin lead singer, Eddie Munson, new girlfriend debut!” in bold and italicized letters.

And you don’t know why, but your stomach sinks. You should’ve known better.

————

part six

————

a/n: HIII YOU MADE IT TO THE END!! i know i said there would be drama drama in this part BUT it started getting too long for my liking, SOOO THE REAL DRAMA WILL COMMENCE IN PART 6 HEHE. THANK YOU FOR READING, AND AS ALWAYS, I LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS SO PLS LMK IN THE COMMENTS OR REBLOGS HOW YOU FEELLL <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@mvnsonslvt @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly

[64suns]

stuff from twitter i dont think i posted here 👍

[neopuppy]

https://x.com/allforljn/status/1776235888168849550

😩😩

ahhhhhh… that police officer Jeno fic I’ll never write

[kithtaehyung]

[ 3tan11 ] title card reveal😀👍

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—

a/n: OKAY.. here’s the deal, y’all. even though it is never ever required, i would be so grateful if y’all give some love to both parts when they’re posted. i know it’ll be super easy to just move on from the first part to get to the second, but if you can spare a bit of time to comment, reblog, provide commentary on both when you’re done, that would be amazing! there’s gonna be a lot so i don’t expect anything right away ofc, but whenever you have the time🫂❤️‍🩹 see you at teaser time, and then drop day🍊

[telffiin]

it's done!!! ty to everyone who sent me characters 😘😘😘

(closeups)

[booasaur]

Willow (2022) - 1x01

[rheasbrvtality]

SHE IS SOOO DIVINE

[msbigredmachine]

Another great Raw but Jey in them hoochie daddy shorts 🤯

That thang was thangin’! 🤤🥵

[sugarcoated-lame]

kricket please i had this thoight and i just know you’ll understand it

dad’s best friend, jake seresin. OR! best friend’s dad, jake seresin.

i meannnnnnnnnnn

SEB MY BELOVED ❤️❤️ this has been sitting in my inbox for… way too long and I am SO SO SORRY that it’s taken me so long to get around to answering it 😭 (truthfully I started writing something for it and completely forgot about it, and just found it while going through my drafts today haha 🙈😭😭) BUT today is also your birthday, so what better time for me to finally finish this hehe 🥰

AAAAAAAAAAAH OK

I had to go with dad’s best friend Jake, because I just feel like he would be the biggest tease, and he’d be so smug when he sees the affect he has on you.

Maybe you’re just back from college, and Jake has always known you’ve had a bit of a crush on him since he moved into the neighborhood a few years ago and befriended your father. He could see the way you’d always blush and stumble over your words whenever he’d so much as say hi to you when he was hanging around the house with your dad. The way your leg would bounce nervously under the table and you’d go quiet when your parents would seat him next to you when they’d have him over for dinners.

But now you’re older, a little more confident— and sure he still makes you blush, but now you’re not so afraid to be a bit bolder when it comes to your dad’s best friend. And you make it your mission to make him just as flustered.

Wearing your cutest, more risqué outfits whenever you know he’s going to be around. Going for a swim when you know Jake is coming over to help your dad out back with some yard work and lying out in the sun on a lounge chair in a pretty little bikini, your body on display just for him, glistening as water droplets glide across your smooth skin.

Leaning over him and brushing your arm against his when you go to reach for something at the dinner table. Relishing in the way Jake’s hungry eyes follow your every move no matter how hard he tries to fight it, that strong jaw of his that you’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to press little kisses to, clenching along with his fists anytime you brush past him. His cheeks still going a bit red despite the cocky smirk that fights to grow on his lips whenever you catch him staring.

It’s only when your parents are away for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary that something finally happens between you and Jake. Your dad asked him to check in on you while they’re away, and when you answer the door to in a too-big t-shirt that reaches your mid thighs and makes it hard for him to tell if you’re wearing shorts underneath it, face free of any makeup and showing off your natural beauty, hair in a messy bun with loose tendrils beautifully framing your face— looking absolutely irresistible and offering him a beer, Jake knows that he’s a goner.

You bring Jake his beer and tell him that you were just watching a movie and he’s welcome to join. The tension between the two of you is palpable as you silently watch the movie, nothing but the sounds of your quiet breaths and the movie playing on tv filling the room.

This is the first time you’ve ever been truly alone with him and Jake can see your confidence wavering as you sit on opposite ends of the couch, watching your leg bounce nervously as you try to your hardest to focus on the tv screen and not on him.

You jump when you feel a warm hand cover your knee to stop your fidgeting, looking down at it before turning your gaze towards Jake and seeing that signature, devilish smirk on his lips that never fails to make your cheeks feel hot.

“You nervous about something, honey?”

There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, your too-quick squeak of NO and the way you wince at yourself afterward telling Jake otherwise and only make that grin of his grow wider.

“C’mere, sweets.” His big hand glides up from your knee to your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake as Jake helps to guide you closer and closer to him until you’re hovering over his lap, your hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders.

“You want this, darlin’?” His face is serious as he searches yours for any hint of hesitation, fingers brushing across the smooth skin of your cheek and causing you to whimper as you lean into his gentle touch.

“Yes, I want it— want you, Jake.”

His large hands trail down the length of your sides and you can feel the warmth of them through the thin fabric of your t-shirt as they wrap around your waist, pulling you down securely onto his lap.

Leaving you breathless as his signature cockiness returns, smirk taking over his face and mirth in those pretty, hooded green eyes as Jake leans in to whisper,

“Oh I know you do, honey.”

One hand cradling the back of your head, the other tenderly squeezes at your waist and pulls you flush against his chest as Jake pulls you in for a bruising kiss. The movie long-forgotten, this is just the beginning of a not-nearly long enough weekend spent learning each other’s bodies, figuring out what makes the other tick and fall apart, with Jake taking you on nearly every surface of your parents’ house and making you feel oh so good.

hehe thank you so much for this delicious thot, my love! I hope you enjoy this little birthday present from me 🥹 happy birthday babey, ilysm! 🥰😘💐💜💕💜💕💜

everyone go wish @sebsxphia a happy birthday <3

[sugar-coat-it]

After reading the car fic I realised your on my wavelength and can do the right amount of dirty for this request, could you help a girl out with some anal, spitting and a bit of breathe play please. 🙏

LETS GET THIS FUCKING PARTY STARTED WOOOOOOO

No plot, pure porn blurb like god intended 

It’s dirty dirty. You’ve been warned. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

You’re craning your neck to look back at Matty while he’s got you bent over your kitchen table. The remnants of your romantic dinner are cast to the side as he pours lube into his hand from the bottle he keeps in the bedside table. He eyes you for a moment, drinking in the eager look in your eyes while he tugs down his pants and briefs with one hand, just enough for his cock to spring out, the tip flushed with the neglect of straining against his trousers. Your lips part with a soft moan as he lowers his hand slicked by the lube to his shaft, clenching his jaw while stroking himself until he’s fully coated with the cool substance. He chuckles lightly at how taken you seem by the sight of his own hand wrapped around his cock, mentally storing that away for another time. You wiggle your hips enticingly at him, swaying against the edge of the table knowing that his eyes will snap to your ass. A groan rumbles in his throat as his greedy hands reach to spread you open for him, getting an eyeful of your glistening cunt and pretty little hole. He’d already stretched you out with his fingers, going knuckle deep inside you until he was satisfied with the way you loosened up. He was not going to have his darling girl not properly prepped for him, he’d rather go celibate than see you uncomfortable or god forbid feeling pain during sex (unless it’s the good kind). For good measure, he squeezes out more lube onto his fingers, spreading it around the rim of your hole tantalizingly slow. He swallows thickly, already jumping the gun and imagining what you’re going to look like when his cum seeps out of your ass. 

“Matty,” you call with an impatient pout, seeing that he’s getting lost in thought.

He just grins at you boyishly, giving you a sharp spank on your pussy and relishing in the little yelp you make before he continues. Matty grabs himself at the base of his cock, leaning forward to trace the tip around your hole once, twice, before starting to slowly sink into you. Both of your gasps reverberate through the kitchen at the feeling of him filling you up, curling your hand into a fist to try and withstand the bit of a burning stretch that comes with having a boyfriend with a big dick. You look away with a whimper to bury your face in your arm, your back arching as he pushes in till he reaches his hilt. He lets out a resounding, satisfied sigh at how tight you fit around him, squeezing his cock better than any toy ever could.

“Fuck, that’s good. Feels nice, angel?” he coos, tapping you on the ass just to watch the recoil. 

“Mhm,” you answer, nodding into your arm against the table, “Want it rough, babe.”

Matty’s eyes light up at that, his mind flipping through a plethora of ideas of how to be a little mean while he’s fucking you. He starts rocking his hips slowly, letting you get a feel for him while he thinks, keeping a tight grip on your hip bones for leverage. 

“Think I can manage that,” he says, sounding very pleased at your inclination to be treated like a princess but fucked like a slut. 

You let out little hums and whimpers every time his hips connect with yours, fully pressed against the plushness of your ass. Your body feels hot, heat flushing through your whole body at the sound of skin on skin getting harsher as Matty speeds up. He’s finding his rhythm now, gritting his teeth at how good you feel while he snaps his hips into yours with a roughness that leaves you throbbing and lightheaded. With a whine, you strain to turn your head and find him biting his lip with concentration, eyes trained on where he’s disappearing inside of you. His eyes flick up to yours, the normal toffee color hazy and dark with lust. Knowing you’re watching him, he smirks at you before opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. Your brows furrow with a stunned look as he lets saliva drip from the tip of his tongue onto your hole where he’s drilling into you. You can’t help but moan at the depravity of it, him using his spit as a bit of extra lubricant to fuck you harder. 

“Fuuuuuck, I can feel you getting tighter ‘round me,” he groans, tossing his head back as you clench because of his little display, pulling your hips back against his to meet his harsh thrusts.

The edge of the table bites into your hips as you knock into it repeatedly because of the force he’s fucking you with. Matty snakes one of his hands up your side, splaying his fingers out over your collarbones before sliding up to hold your throat, his hand constricting enough to make you start to feel a little dizzy. These aren’t Matty’s normal touches of sweet tenderness, he’s grabbing at you with greed, hunger seeping through his fingertips. You let out a strangled whine as he pulls your head up slightly from the table by your neck, forcing you to arch your back. He leans forward, draping himself over your body so you feel his hot pants for breath against the shell of your ear. 

“Nobody can fuck you like me. Say it,” he drawls, tensing his fingers to get a good grip on the columns of your throat.

“N-nobody fucks me like you, Matty, no one,” you repeat breathily, your eyes rolling back a bit at the combination of him slightly cutting off your airflow while also slamming himself into your ass. 

“Damn fuckin’ straight,” he spits, letting go of your throat while your walls flutter around his cock.

You slump back down against your arm, moaning with pathetic wantonness at every thrust. He’s getting closer now, his technique faltering, but what he’s lacking in focused thrusts, he makes up for with pure speed, wildly fucking himself in and out of you. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, reaching down to hastily swipe between your legs at your clit. 

You can hardly focus on what he’d said, yelping at the sudden stimulation as your body arches, legs quivering like they’re threatening to give out from under you while Matty pounds you, his grunts sounding animalistic.

“What?” you mumble between panting breaths, lifting your head up slightly. 

He clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes impatiently. He stops circling your clit and reaches to grab your jaw, turning your head back towards him.

“Open your fucking mouth, I’m not gonna ask again.”

Dumbly, you do exactly as he says, your lips falling open as you stick your tongue out instinctually. Matty narrows his eyes at you before leaning in, keeping a harsh hold on your jaw as he spits in your mouth, muttering “Don’t swallow”. You let out a garbled moan, lashes fluttering as you keep his spit on your tongue as instructed. 

“Tongue out. If you let any of that spill on the table, you’re not cumming. Got it?” He instructs plainly, letting go of your face to bury his hand between your legs again, calloused fingers toying with your swollen bud. 

You whine as he keeps fucking you with enough force to rock the table, your tongue out as you try not to keep his spit from dripping off of it. Your mind is going in so many different directions that it’s making your head spin, panting like a bitch in heat as you both get closer and closer to the edge. 

“Gonna fuckin’ cum… fill up this perfect, tight ass,” he hisses, pulling almost completely out before slamming back into you hard. 

You squeal, trying not to spill any of his saliva despite how purposefully hard he’s making it for you to succeed. You make unintelligible noises to try and tell him that you’re close too, but he can already tell you are with the way you’re clenching around his shaft. He’s unrelentingly rubbing at your clit while getting ready to release inside you, eyeing the table to make sure you’re playing by his rules. The pressure is building to a high, you’re clawing at the table to stay grounded. 

“Cum with me, c’mon sweetheart, let me feel you,” Matty groans, his hips stuttering as he reaches his breaking point. 

You gasp as you feel his hot ropes of cum spilling inside of you while Matty unabashedly let out loud moans. You're not far behind as your climax suddenly racks your body, moaning gutterally as the tension snaps. Matty grabs your face, turning to smash his lips to yours, sucking on your tongue sloppily as a reward for keeping his spit in your mouth. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” he moans into the careless kiss. 

[munchymuchy]

sandwiched between two big asses releasing wet & bubbly farts.....just picture that for a minute.

[simply-trash5]

short break from prompts cuz at this rate ill use em all up--hardcore switches. fondly dubbed Baby/Daddy by yours truly. 🥵

men who look at you and say 'man, that right there? that's my world.' so much they switch on a dime when they pick up on your mood. plagued by silly 'what ifs' during sex? or you feelin' all pillowy, wanna be treated like royalty? straight up being a brat, jus' cuz? Daddy comes right out to serve. what about that hot fuzzy feeling in your gut?? wanna treat him like the pillow king he is? upset from the day? everything about to combust, all at once? two words, and these came right outta his own mouth; USE HIM. treat him as you wish disrespectfully. if you wanna get physical, GO AHEAD because just like you, he knows his limits and ya'lls safeword.

i just--i can't get enough. i may be a brat through and through and have my days, but i love a man who practices safe sex and/or is open to be treated like the handsome stud, cute sweetheart he is 🥴

BEANZ.

Look a man like this will bring you to your knees. They love you unconditionally; the good and the ugly parts. So soft for you but just a little spicy…

The men in question: Daichi, Akaashi, Kakashi, Itachi, FatGum, Mirio, Izuku, Jean, Connie

[starfallkaz]

Never realised how important feeling seen in a book was to me, until I read books with black main characters. I’ve always read books with white protagonists, with people who didn’t sound like me or look like me, or act like me. Different family dynamics, different histories.

Then I read about black characters written by black people for black people and it sounds silly but I’m getting emotional thinking about it. it felt like coming home after a long time away. We all deserve to have our stories told in the fiction we love.

[emberwood-if]

Hello! Long time no see! I haven't been active in a meaningful way since early January. A lot of Not-So-Good things have happened (as well as good things) in my life and Emberwood kind of got lost in the mess.

I opened up the chapter 2 file and reread it and decided to just put it out. It's done, and it works, but it can be better so I'll consider it an alpha chapter. My beta testers offered great, great comments and corrections and critiques and so I have made the decision to go back and rewrite and update once I'm more on top of things. I just wanted to share it with you guys because Chapter 2 has been collecting dust in my files a while now and I don't see why I wouldn't post it.

so here it is!

DEMO (PROLOGUE + CHAPTER1 + CHAPTER2// 106,261K words)

I *highly* advise rereading from the beginning for a refresher (it's been a while.)(it might break anyway.) Also, I would say ignore the stats and the stat page as I have plans to overhaul that. There's probably some errors and stuff but there shouldn't be any game breaking errors (aka you should be able to play the entire demo.)

Just to reiterate: Chapter 2 will eventually get overhauled and updated.

If there are any errors, I would rather get reports at emberwoodif@gmail.com since I am not on Tumblr much.

Thank you for your patience, your understanding, your enthusiasm and everything else!

[areislol]

neuvillette thirsts? oh those are second nature to me now. my brain is pickled. i am down horrendous. anyway-

imagine him being fascinated by your body and habits and practices related to it, both as things humans do and things you do. he loves to touch you gently while helping you put on any skincare products. if you have piercings, he initially doesn't understand why one would decorate themself in such a way, but finds himself inexplicably drawn to the idea. and in the bedroom you make sure to show him as many tricks and toys devised to wring out more pleasure as you can.

(this was more vibes and less thirst i guess but I can do that too. just you wait)

WHWEWWWW LORDD THIS MADE ME FEEL SOME TYPA WAYYY

ur so right anon. also this is fem reader so I’m sorry if you didn’t expect that anon ☹️

this kind of leads towards my smut fic but he would be such a soft dom and no one can change my mind. he would be the type to take his time with you and touch you slowly and sensually, wanting to take his time with you and savour you.

RAGHH HE DEF KISSES UR INSECURITIES AND LOVES KISSING UUU LIKE ON UR NECK, COLLARBONE, CHEEKS AND LIPS, YOUR HIP AND STOMACH YOUR INNER THIGHS EVERYWHERE GOD DAMNN

and he is SO soft and gentle with his kisses too, even after overstimulating the shit out of your poor pussy he makes sure to occasionally plant gentle kisses onto your clit of your folds.

i got so much write but I gotta write other stuff so maybe I can elaborate on this later in my fic ❤️

I am neuvillette’s number one fan and lover and wife and childhood friend and pet.