whats-your-face

[whats-your-face]

[4] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

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Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 4 Word Count: 8,762

Ch. 4 Warning: Talk of menstruation and bleeding, mentions of blood and wartime, aggressive male behavior (Harry gets a little violent with the Lord Mayor), discrimination

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n hadn't been given a choice on the style of her wedding dress. It had already been selected for her. But it was breathtaking. She'd never seen anything like it before, and that she would soon be wearing it in front of the kingdom? It was no wonder she was not given a choice. She would never have picked such a lavish thing because she did not feel worthy of it.

That morning was her first fitting. She stood with her arms stretched outward, one person on each side, holding her steady, while the dressmaker pinned and tucked and cut at the lace and the silk, adjusting it to her size. Mrs. Mable was the royal seamstress, and Y/n couldn't help but feel she held some contempt for her. The way she was pulling and prodding, even poking her with pins, all felt intentional.

"Ow!" Y/n winced when Mrs. Mable stuck a pin through the silk skirt, and it grazed her skin. Again. She was becoming ireful toward the woman when all she wanted was to relive the kiss she'd just had with the king, not a few hours earlier. She'd received a handful of strangers into the Rose Room for the fitting, and she'd been soaring with hot cheeks and a softly fluttering heart before Mrs. Mable got her hands on her.

She didn't know that the lace had its own name, Honiton, or that the diamond necklace they showed her (to be kept in its satin case until the day of the wedding) was Turkish. The dress had an off-the-shoulder, open neckline, with layered sleeves down to her elbows, all lined with the special lace. The silk corset bodice was pointed downward in a deep V, while the skirt was full and pleated silk.

Staring at her figure in the mirror, she felt like a fraud. How had this happened to her? How had luck (or misfortune, she wasn't sure yet) stricken her so abruptly? It was one thing to have been expecting her new lot, to have been raised up for it and accustomed to royal life, but it was another to have been plucked from the streets, shoved into it blindly, and to have people enraged by her presence without ever getting to know her first.

"Please be careful. You're poking her…" Phoebe said to Mrs. Mable.

The woman, whose face was hidden behind silk and lace as she bunched up the bottom hem of the dress, dropped her pin cushion to the floor as she jabbed another sharp object into the fabric. "She'll be fine. I've only nicked her a few times. It's part of the work if you want it done properly."

"But she will be your queen. She is to be treated with the utmost care and —"

Mrs. Mable stood up and pulled at the back collar of Y/n's dress, making her nearly stumble. "Queen Consort. There is a difference. We'll see if she makes it that far."

"The King is taken by her. She will prove you all wrong. You'll see." Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the dressmaker.

Y/n glanced at Phoebe in warning. She didn't want people arguing over her status. It wasn't worth it. If Mrs. Mable wanted to treat her like she was still a street beggar, all while fitting her for her royal wedding gown, then so be it. She'd soon learn who she was dealing with, and Y/n would not forget the treatment she was being subjected to.

"We will see." Mrs. Mable turned Y/n around and took her measuring tape to her hips, waist, and bust, before spinning her around again to help her step out of the dress. "I'll return two days before the wedding for the final fitting, along with the finished veil. And don't get too heavy-handed with tarts or the dress will be too tight."

Y/n looked down at her figure and glanced at it in the mirror. She hadn't gained very much weight at all, but kept being told she needed to gain more. Now there was the dressmaker telling her to go lightly on the very tart Y/n requested to have in the room for herself and anyone else who wanted some. Her mood was a little foul after having been prodded and nicked, so she huffed, stepping past Mrs. Mable to grab a piece of tart and shove it into her mouth as she stared at the woman in defiance.

When the dressmaker and her helpers left the room, Phoebe closed the door and leaned into it, shaking her head. "That woman is awful. There's gossip that she's been vying to have her daughter meet the king before you two are wed."

Y/n slid her standard dress back on, and Phoebe pushed herself from the door to help fasten the back. "What do you mean? To present her to him? For marriage?"

"I believe so."

She knew that the middle and upper classes of Thornekeep were spoiled and mean. So, it shouldn't have surprised her that Mrs. Mable didn't take seriously her eventual new title, and that she hoped her daughter could steal the designation for herself. Y/n was slowly learning about the politics of the kingdom and she was going to have to brace herself for what was soon to come.

"Now let's finish that tart."

. .

Harry was seething. The council had found the Lord Mayor guilty, but he was only charged a measly fine for his transgression. A fine! Imagine forcefully taking the king's wife-to-be from her quarters, openly disrespecting the crown, and humiliating her in front of the kingdom… and the punishment was nothing more than a fine?

He couldn't believe it when the news was sent to him. He'd planned on an in-person visit to retrieve the brooch from the Lord Mayor, but when he learned he'd gotten away with nary a slap to the wrist, he immediately sought out his Proctor to go back before the council to appeal the decision. His only recourse was to prove she'd been hurt in some way.

He stormed into the room where Y/n was in the middle of her etiquette class, and the governess stood from her chair quickly and lowered her head. "Your Majesty."

He breezed by the woman and pulled Y/n's chair out, dropping down to his knees in front of her without so much as a glance toward the governess. Y/n gasped when he pulled her skirts up and he put his hand over the dark blue and brown spot on her knee. He'd seen the bruise the morning before when he tried to get her to join him in his tub.

"This. Did this happen when they pushed you around and removed you from the castle?"

Y/n blinked slowly at him as he looked up at her. He looked desperate, wild. She had nearly forgotten the bruise herself and she certainly hadn't realized he'd even seen the thing.

"Yes. I was pushed down to my knees and hands from the steps. It was bruised much worse at first, but it's better now. Can hardly feel it really."

"And who pushed you? His name, Y/n. Was it the Lord Mayor?"

"I… I'm not sure. It was two men… The Lord Mayor never touched me except to take the brooch."

She watched as he clenched his jaw and looked down at the bruise, his thumb running along the top of her knee. "He was there, though. Did you hear him order the men to take you?"

Y/n thought back to that awful morning, and she nodded. "Yes. He said that your duties fall on him when you're away and that it was his command. And Niall! The guard, who's just there outside the door. He was there and he heard it and saw it all. That's who he said it to."

"So he ordered men to do this to you. And we have a witness." He pushed himself to stand up and stepped away quickly, back toward the door, before he turned to speak again. "I will get your brooch back for you today."

When the door was closed, the governess looked shocked as she watched Y/n slide the fabric back down her legs.

"What? Is this what it takes for you to notice my presence? The king himself must barge into your classroom and cause a disturbance for you to realize I'm sitting here?"

The woman wiped her hands down her dress and turned toward the table to speak. It seemed she only spoke to Y/n with her back turned to her. "I notice. I've already taught you plenty—"

Y/n stood up. "You should speak to me with more respect from now on. I will be the queen soon. If not, I'm sure the king will have words with you next. I will not return for any remaining classes. I understand now that I have much better manners than even you do."

She dismissed herself and stepped out of the room with that awful woman. Niall was waiting at the door, and he greeted her with a polite, sharp nod. "At least you and Phoebe are kind to me," she said, smiling at him as she began to walk toward the grand staircase that would lead them up to the king's chambers. "And you're kind to Phoebe as well. Thank you for that."

Niall didn't speak often. His duties didn't allow for it. But a few times he let his guard slip — so to speak — and he'd say a few words. "I've no reason to disrespect you or your lady-in-waiting."

Y/n smiled to herself as she continued up the steps. The stairs were wide, and they seemed to go on forever. The landings, on the way up, split the levels into threes, and the stairs curved around and continued up until they found the floor with the king's chambers and the Rose Room, where her chambers were. "If you disrespected Phoebe, I'm sure she'd be heartbroken. She rather likes you."

Before Y/n could pull the door open with it's heavy iron knob Niall spoke. "She does? Did she say something?"

She looked around the hallway and then up at Niall. "Of course she did. But that's nothing I can discuss with you. Secret is safe with me. No need to worry."

. .

Y/n had a large bruise on her left knee and a castle guard as witness. Harry doubted anyone else would offer to attest. He'd bring Niall with him the following day to meet again with the Proctor for proof of the Lord Mayor's mishandling of his queen-to-be. But first, he needed to find the Lord Mayor to deal with him at once and retrieve the brooch.

He didn't bother announcing his arrival or sending the house steward to call to the Lord Mayor that he was there. And it was good to be king because it meant that people had to listen to what he asked of them, even if they didn't much like him. So when he lowered his hand and stepped inside, the house steward bowed his head and let Harry in without a peep.

He wasn't hard to find. Harry spotted him quickly in his first-floor study, reading, and the Lord Mayor stood in haste. "Your Majesty. To what do I owe the honor of your sudden and unexpected presence?"

The king stepped toward the large bookshelf and ran a finger over the hard bindings. Harry's saunter and cold grin were vexing. The Lord Mayor had never met anyone so plaguy in his life. The king was full of himself and was purposefully bucking tradition. He had a much more suitable and beautiful option than Y/n, which the king would have loved.

"You have something that belongs to Y/n. The woman to whom I will be wed at the end of next week."

"I have nothing in my home that belongs to that girl."

Harry bit down on his molars as his dark gaze seared at the Lord Mayor before he bounded toward him, heavy steps over the wooden floors, until the king's hand was wrapped around the man's throat and his back pressed against the wall.

"I will not be disrespected by you once more, Virgil," he spat the name between his teeth. "First, you insult me behind my back and make a show of carting off my wife-to-be and her family like animals. And now you lie to my face? If you do not produce the brooch, that will be considered theft, which you will regret when I drag you before the council."

The man's eyes were wide as he tried to pry the king's strong grip from his windpipe. He wheezed as the back of his throat constricted when he attempted to speak.

"I can't hear you. Speak louder, worm."

Harry was enjoying watching Virgil squirm and gasp. He could squeeze tighter and hold on for a few minutes longer, be done with the man for good. But then, having to explain to Parliament what had happened would be awfully annoying, so he opted for just scaring him instead.

"You were much easier to subdue than I imagined. But then again, you have aged like spoiled curd. Flimsy muscles trying to pry my hand away. Give it another go. Let's see what you've got, old man."

The Lord Mayor did not have it in him to pry Harry's hand from his throat. And it was true, he was getting older and his body was not as virile as it had once been. He was no match for the young king. He tried twisting, but instead of working himself free, Harry released him and stepped back as the man fell to the floor and violently coughed.

Harry laughed as he stepped around the Lord Mayor to his desk and sat down in the chair, closing the book Virgil had been reading. "Where's the brooch? Or should I fetch your wife and tell her what you've done?"

The Lord Mayor, with his palm at his throat, coughed. "King Styles…" He inhaled sharply, his voice pinched as he tried to speak after the king had restricted his air. "I was protecting you. Protecting Thornekeep!"

Harry glared at the pathetic man, still on the floor, trying to push himself to his knees. "You defied me and the kingdom. You showed contempt toward Y/n and her family." He pushed himself from the chair and stood over Virgil, looking down at him. "And on your command, you had two men push her down to her knees, inflicting pain and making her bruise. That is assault, which will not go unpunished."

The Lord Mayor finally leveraged himself to stand, placing a hand on the bookshelf and pulling himself upward. "My Lord, please. The girl is a street beggar. Her word is not to be trusted. My advice is to consider another—"

Harry stepped in closer, his boots bumping into the old man's as he pushed him by his chest, his back against the bookshelf. "Your advice is not needed nor warranted. I am King. I will choose what I please, and I will have what I want."

The man stood with his hands upward as he bent back and away from the king, still standing toe-to-toe with him. "I didn't hurt the girl or her family. I simply returned them from where they came."

"I will have you tried for treason. Assault! What you did to her is inexcusable. You flagrantly disobeyed my command. If the council doesn't find you guilty, I do. And if they don't impose a more severe penalty, I will. I'll take this into my own hands if need be."

"There's a beautiful young woman. Much lovlier than Y/n. Pearl is her name… Smart, golden hair, a virgin. Her family comes from—"

Harry laughed loudly, cutting Virgil off. "I will marry Y/n. I want no one else for my queen. You have overstepped your duties with me, and after I'm done with you, you will not be welcome in or near the castle. You will be stripped of your title, and you and your wife will be considered a disgrace to the kingdom. I will see to it."

"Please… My Lord…" He kept his hands upward in surrender. "This is excessive. Do you really think that having my title stripped will be well received by the proletariat who elected me? It would be bedlam! The people would not stand for such controversy!"

"Has it not gotten into your skull, yet, that I am not concerned by outrage or controversy. Let them be angry. Anger is better than complacency."

"Complacency is prosperous. Anger is costly."

"And I have the means to pay whatever the cost if need be."

"You are going to bankrupt the kingdom with your frivolous actions. Your father would be turning in his grave if he knew what you were up to."

Harry spat, "Good. I hope my father rots. Let the spoiled aristocracy learn to work for their meals like everyone else. Have you seen the rookeries? Do you know the reality of what sits on the outskirts? Thornekeep is prosperous, but only for you. Only for those who don't need it."

"Oh, pish!" Virgil laughed incredulously. "You act like some kind of martyr, yet you've seen the rookeries of Thornekeep but once! Stop this madness! You will drive our kingdom into the ground with your foolishness! You've no idea the damage it will cause—"

Harry slammed his fist into the wood of the bookcase directly next to the Lord Mayor's head. "I have been to the slums in many a kingdom. You forget, maggot, that I spent most of my adulthood outside of Thornekeep as commander-in-chief of our kingdom's armies. I led my men to victory in dangerous battles across the land. I fought alongside the downtrodden. I've lived it. I've seen it all up close. I do not care who hates me. Let my father's rest be disturbed. I care not!"

"Heavens! What is going on?" Virgil's wife appeared in the doorway, the look of surprise on her face quite amusing to Harry.

Harry patted the Lord Mayor's shoulder and stepped back. "We were just having a good ol' chat about my future wife. Though Virgil here does seem to fancy a golden-haired girl called Pearl, I explained to him that I'm a man with morals and already spoken for. I'm sure any other man would be grateful for a chance with her. Even married ones like yourself."

The woman blinked in surprise at her husband. "Little Pearl? You mean Mr. and Mrs. Mable's daughter?"

Harry nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved toward the doorway and smiled casually at her. "Yes. I believe that was who he was referring to. He's quite fond of the girl. I don't know how he's become privy to her virginal status, but your husband seems quite excited about that detail. Bit too young for me…"

He leaned in closer to the Lord Mayor's wife and spoke quietly. "I prefer 'em thicker through the calf and more mature personally, but your husband has his own tastes, I presume. Just keep an eye on him around little Pearl, will you?"

"Your majesty!?" The woman looked at the king, her mouth agape.

Harry grinned back at the man. "My wife's brooch, the one you stole? Have it sent to her within the hour, or I will be back again before nightfall."

. .

Y/n felt feverish and her insides were twisting and turning and squeezing tight, like her guts were being clamped together and wrung into a ball. Her sisters' bickering about the little game they were playing nearly tipped her over the edge of anger. She wanted to scream at them for silence. And most interestingly, she hadn't been able to finish the dinner that was served to her either. She had no appetite.

"Y/n. Are you feeling alright? You look unwell." Her mother put the back of her hand up to her forehead and gasped. "My child! You're burning hot! Phoebe! Where is Phoebe? Where is the guard?"

Y/n sighed and leaned forward as she closed her eyes, placing her elbows on the table. She wasn't worried about her manners at that moment. She felt like she was about to vomit. She heard her mother shuffle from the dining room to find Phoebe, who'd just wandered off only moments before.

If she hadn't been in so much sudden pain, she would have found it amusing that both Phoebe and Niall were nowhere in sight. Pushing herself from her chair to stand, her father rushed to her side. "Careful there. Here we go."

He leveraged her to standing, draping her arm over his shoulder, and began to help her back to the King's quarters. Before they had reached the stairs, Phoebe was there on her other side, arm drawn across her back to help. "I'm so sorry, madam! I didn't know you were poorly. I would have—"

"It's okay, Pheobe. Don't stress. I just need to lie down…"

She hadn't seen the king all afternoon and figured it was better that he wasn't seeing her in that state. He'd probably change his mind about her altogether if he saw her like that. If she wasn't healthy, what good was she to him? She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth when a spasm wracked her organs.

"Should we fetch a doctor?" Her father said.

"I just need to lie down. Please."

Y/n was brought to the king's bed and propped against the pillows when she noticed her mother, sisters, and Niall standing in the doorway watching. She didn't want an audience. She wanted to rest and needed the pain to go away.

Phoebe pulled at the blankets as she tried to make the bed more comfortable, and Y/n groaned. "Please… I just need rest. I'm not dying." Although she felt like she was.

"Yes. Of course. We'll leave you be. But we will be fetching a doctor whether you like it or not."

Y/n closed her eyes and rolled to her side as her father and Phoebe finally left the room. She groaned quietly and hugged herself around her stomach. She wondered if she'd eaten something bad. Or perhaps God was finally punishing her for her lustful thoughts and behavior.

Making herself into a ball, she clenched her teeth and felt something wet on her leg. She paused and slowly she reached down, bringing her hand under her chemise to feel, and when she lifted her hand in front of her face, she hadn't expected to see blood.

Blood coming from… there?

She pushed herself up to sit and pulled at her skirt. More blood. "Am I with my monthly sickness?" she whispered.

It had been some months since she'd bled at all, so to suddenly see blood… Well, it explained the pain she was feeling, though it'd never ached like that before. Hissing in pain, she bent forward and closed her eyes. At least now she knew she wasn't going to die.

. .

Y/n startled when the door to her chambers was suddenly pushed open, and in stepped a vexed-looking Harry. "Are you okay? I was told you've fallen ill."

"I'm not ill. Not in the sense that I'm sick with something I've caught. It's my…" She glanced away and sighed before looking him back in the eye. "Lunation."

"Lunation," he said the word slowly as he stood there, blinking at her. If she'd ever seen a confused man before, he was it. She nearly laughed at the expression on his face. To see the king look at her like that… Well, it wasn't something she felt she'd be seeing often. Had no one told him? She'd assumed everyone in the castle was talking about it by now.

"I'm having my menses."

"Oh! Yes. I see..." He stepped in closer next to her bed. "But why must you be here? I thought I'd find you in my room."

Y/n pressed her hands into the top of the bedding she sat upon. "Special mattress. They put this over the bigger one underneath. To catch my blood. I didn't think you'd want me next to you while I'm… well…"

Harry pushed his hand over the thin, smaller mattress and nodded. "Is it comfortable. Feels stiff."

"Nicer than anything I used to sleep on. I'm perplexed that this is meant for me to bleed on, and then it gets burned after. I'd have loved to have had this mattress at one time."

"Is it always like this for you? Your menses?"

Y/n leaned back and placed her hands over her stomach. "No. I haven't bled in some time. It was never on schedule anyway. The doctor said I must have been malnourished, and now that I'm eating well, my body is… revitalising was the word he used. He did come with tea and some medicine, and I feel much better now, though. He said I'll be fine."

She heard him push out a breath, like he'd been holding it in. "I've got something for you…"

He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the lovely brooch that had been taken from her. She smiled and sat up. "I'm so glad it's not been lost for good. It's so beautiful."

Harry reached for her hand and placed the golden breastpin into her palm. "Virgil will not be coming around here again. His invitation to the wedding has been revoked. My Proctor is working on having his title stripped."

"Thank you for getting it back for me. I realize my presence here is an incumbrance. To you and to everyone who cares about the crown. I can see I'm not well-liked in this castle."

Harry furrowed his brow and trailed his eyes over her figure. "Who else has been rude with you?"

"Besides you?" She tucked her lips into her mouth and watched his expression fall.

"My rudeness was meant to be a test of your resolve. Have I not amended myself to you?"

"Little by little, I suppose. I can't expect you to dote on me like a man burning with desire when you have none for me."

"I may not express my desires plainly, but I would not have you here if I didn't want you here. Perhaps it's not evident to you, my motivations, but you have been a surprise to me. A pleasant one. One that I intend on keeping for good."

Y/n had only been teasing at first, but his tiny confession was consoling to her. She knew there was a small flame burning between them, but his visage was not an easy one to see through.

"You chose me to anger the kingdom and to produce an heir. Are you saying now that there's more to it than just that?"

He clenched his jaw and slid his irises down to her bare feet. "It is true that was my initial purpose with you. But as I said, you've been a surprise to me."

She looked down at her feet as he ran the pad of his finger over her ankle and then upward to her shin, stopping at the bottom hem of her chemise. She swallowed as she looked back up to his face at his lips. The lips she'd kissed just the morning before. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about how it felt. It left such a warm, lingering sensation on her skin that she was sure she'd never be without it again.

Harry sat down at the edge of the mattress, his hand still on her shin, before he drew his fingers back down to her ankle. He'd been so worried about her at first. His assistant, Fred, told him she'd nearly fainted at dinner and had to be brought to bed, and something about a doctor. He probably should have waited to hear the rest, but his legs were carrying him quickly up to his room to get to her before he could even think about what he was doing.

When he didn't find her in his room, he dashed back into the hallway like a madman to the Rose Room, to her quarters. His heart had been racing, and he was already thinking the worst. Until he saw her propped against her feather pillows with her pretty eyes aimed wide at his intrusion.

The truth was, his mind had been in a fog since he'd kissed her. He wasn't a man who kissed his conquests typically. He found kissing to be a waste when his only intention was usually to get himself off. But Y/n's mouth was soothing and sweet. He could have let himself kiss her for hours, just savoring the smell of her skin and the tiny licks of her tongue against his. Best of all, her breath wasn't offensive in the least. It was like herbs and warm honey.

He brushed his knuckles against his lips in reverie and pressed his palm over her shin, wrapping his fingers around the underside, and kept his gaze fixed on her. He didn't know what he'd have done if she had been worse off. He was still feeling the waves of calming relief easing his mind now that he'd found her well.

"You've also been a surprise to me. I disliked you at first. Thought you were the devil." She smiled softly, biting her lip and then releasing it.

"I'm still the devil, little mouse. That, you were not wrong about."

She shook her head. "No. You're different with me. If you were still treating me as you had at first, I'd be contemplating running off with Lane."

His brows stitched together tightly, and the ease on his face was gone. "Lane. Is he going to be a problem for us?"

"A problem? He's my friend."

"He's a friend who's smitten with you, and you just said you'd thought of running off with him. Are you also smitten with him?"

Y/n laughed and shook her head. "Heavens no! Never."

Harry did not laugh with her. "But you're close to one another. Has he ever tried to kiss you?"

She stopped chuckling and blinked at the king slowly. Was she to lie to him and say no? Certainly, he wouldn't take it well if she told him the truth. She'd seen him in his jealousy before and wasn't keen on another outburst from him.

Looking down at where he was now clutching her shin, she shook her head no but kept her lips pressed together. She was afraid that if she were to speak the lie, he'd see right through her.

Harry reached toward her chin and tilted her face up. "Look at me when you answer. Have you kissed him?"

She blinked harshly and inhaled through her nose as she shook her head again, but she couldn't lie when she was looking directly at him. "Just… Well… Once. He was drunk, and I only wanted him to stop asking, so I let him, but that was it. I never even thought of him like that… I—"

"Who else have you kissed other than me?"

"My Lord, I—"

"Harry." He interrupted. "In private, you will call me by my given name, unless you plan on running off with another man, then the cold formalities will do. So tell me. How many others have you kissed?"

"No one else. Just you. I can hardly even count Lane, it was gross."

He let go of her chin and stood up, stepping away, his back to her. "And did he do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere he shouldn't?"

"Of course not. You are the only one who's ever touched me where he shouldn't."

Harry turned to look at her. "Where I shouldn't? Are you the maker of the law now? To tell the king, your husband, that he shouldn't touch you?"

"We're not wed yet."

"I could wed you tonight if I so please. Do not forget who I am."

"How could I? You're the devil. Just like you said."

Harry let out an incredulous sigh and shook his head. "You're free to leave if you like. I'm sure you'd prefer Lane over the devil."

She crossed her legs together and sat up, glaring at him. "Your jealousy is risible when the whole kingdom knows of your past exploits. How many women before me did you lie with and kiss, and how many do you still take?"

She wasn't sure she was prepared to hear his answer. She was sure he'd been having his fun and would continue to.

Stepping back toward the bed, he narrowed his eyes at her and placed his palms down on the mattress. "Since you? None. I haven't."

"You didn't return to your room last night. I must assume you were in another woman's bed."

"I was in my office working. I slept there. I have taken no women since you have arrived, and before you, it matters not."

She wanted to believe that he had not been soothing his heathen nature with other women, but a man like Harry, the king, could do as he pleased, and Y/n would have no say in what he did when he was away from her.

"Then why should it matter that a boy once kissed me a long time ago? And I don't think I believe that you've been keeping your fiddle clean either."

He couldn't answer her first question without sounding like a pathetic sap, but he knew the answer was because he was, in fact, jealous. He thought that when he'd kissed her, he had been her first. Harry didn't know why he was feeling so sentimental about a little kiss, but he likened the feeling to someone having poked a sharp pin into his chest. Even her accusation left him stung in pain.

"I might be the devil to you, but your accusations of me are false. I have no interest in anyone else in that way."

"But you could if you wanted. You're the all-powerful king. What's stopping you from rogering any other pretty girl who surely throws herself at your feet? Certainly, it isn't because of me."

Harry stood up, removing his hands from the mattress and stared at her in disbelief. He'd been accused of many things before, but somehow, having Y/n fault him with infidelity when he'd practically been a saint was absurd.

"Would you like me to go off and stick my fork into another woman? I have no interest in doing such a thing, but you seem quite fond of the idea."

She looked away from him. She wasn't sure why he cared or why she was provoking him. "I'm tired. I need rest."

"You didn't answer me earlier. Who else has been rude with you, Y/n? Tell me."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she sighed as she looked back at him. "The governess, the laundress, the dressmaker, some of the maids, the castle steward, the butler's servants, one of the footmen was particularly hateful when I was being dragged away into the cart—"

"Is your lady in waiting also hostile with you?"

She shook her head. "No. Phoebe's very kind. I think of her as a friend. Niall too, he's also very genial. I trust them both equally.

Harry looked down at the floor and worked the bottom part of his jaw from side to side. He hadn't realized that so many of his staff had been cruel to her. He expected some friction, but this? He lifted his gaze back up to hers. "Why haven't you told me?"

"Did you not already imagine I'd be treated with such disdain? No one wants me here in the castle… Well, most don't. I represent everything they hate."

"I suppose I was mistaken in thinking that even if they disliked you, they wouldn't outright scorn you. Even the governess?" He shook his head and placed his hand on the wooden poster of the bed.

"I've tried everything with her. I meet with her on time for every class. I'm polite, quiet, and I always practice what she's shown me. But I've come to accept that she thinks she's wasting her time with me… that I'm not worth the trouble. She never looks at me. Only speaks with her back turned, and then half the class acts like I don't exist. Most of the hour is spent looking at a wall while she reads. One time, I arrived early and she wasn't there. When she finally stepped into the room, it was half past and she never once looked at me or spoke, even when I asked her what she'd be teaching me that day."

"Do not indulge her anymore. You needn't put yourself through that kind of turmoil for a class that teaches useless politesse."

"I won't. I told her today that I wouldn't return."

"Good. And how are your parents faring?"

Y/n smiled, confused and a little astounded by the sudden change of subject as well as the shift in his mood. "They are very happy. I think they, too, are treated poorly, but they ignore it because they're so strong-headed. The beds and the food are quite enough to keep their mouths shut about ill treatment."

She watched as he traced his fingers over the thin stuffed mattress she sat on. "As soon as you are given your title, anyone who treats your family badly will be punished for it."

Y/n nodded and looked down at the brooch in her hand, running her thumb along the engraving. The small thing was heavier than it looked. She was glad to have it back, mostly so that it wasn't lost. She knew it meant a lot to Harry because it was once his mother's.

"She didn't have a chance to wear it but a handful of times," he said, looking at the breastpin. "They were going to bury it with her, but I stole it." He smiled at the memory as he traced his finger along the edge of the blanket near her thigh. "It was sitting in a tin tray with her other valuable jewels, and after I took it, my father tore the castle apart to try and find it. No one ever suspected it was me. Had hidden it for many years, then took it with me to war. No one ever knew."

Y/n looked up at him. She wasn't surprised that he'd stolen it as a child, and somehow it made him seem so much more human. He was just a small boy when he lost his mother. He deserved to have a piece of her to take with him.

"So you've always had a rebellious heart."

He licked his lips and looked down at her. "Yes. I suppose I have."

"Do you miss her?"

Stress lines carved into his forehead. "Not anymore. I still think of her, though. Fond memories… I came to terms with all that a long time ago."

"You're a very strong person."

"Strong? Maybe. Most everything is a farce, Y/n. I prefer the appearance of stoicism, so that's what I allow everyone to see. It's better to keep emotion out of reach."

"Does that mean you don't allow yourself to feel sad or happy?"

"I don't allow others to see it. That does not mean I don't feel those things. I do, however, prefer to remain rational. I let logic rule, not my emotions."

"But you are making significant changes by rejecting convention. You are causing tumult in the kingdom, and people are outraged. How is it that you are ruling by logic when you've created such a stir amongst the people?"

Harry sighed and sat down next to her, his eyes reaching from her face down to the brooch in her hand. "Do you believe that my actions speak of a man governed by his irrational feelings?"

"Some people think you're acting rashly. But to me, I find your plight noble. The poors are always overlooked. We fend for ourselves the best we can, but now to have the king on our side feels like our voice has finally been heard. Emotional or rational thinking, I don't know. But it's not without good virtue or mindful discernment."

"Mindful discernment." He smiled as he returned his gaze to hers. "I suppose I do have a soft spot for the undervalued among us. Even if it began as a means to an end."

Y/n let the words sink into her pores. She knew all along that he chose her to upset people. She wasn't delusive. Even if he'd started being nicer on occasion, she was still but a means to an end for him. But he was also a means to an end for her as well. She and her family could live comfortably, well fed, well rested, safe… Maybe true love had not been meant for her like she once imagined.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you saw me that day. Otherwise, I'd just be another undervalued, begging strangers for any kindness. At least I have a comfortable bed to lie down in." Yn laughed and closed her fingers around the brooch. "My mother thinks you courted me. I don't know why she'd believe a king would be interested in a street beggar, but I won't correct her. She still believes in true love and fate and all that. Don't have the heart to tell her how it happened. That you selected me out of convenience. A means to an end, if you will."

Harry's brows pulled together. "Is that what you think? That this is all just a show?"

"Is it not?"

"You will be crowned Queen, and you will be my wife, with whom I will produce an heir. That is not a show."

"Maybe not a show. But you said it yourself, a means to an end."

"What were you expecting, Y/n? Love at first sight? Anyone I would have selected would have been the same. But I did not anticipate to find you so alluring. I've grown very fond of you in these weeks."

She swallowed as her skin burned hot. It was most infuriating to her that he could sway her emotions so rapidly. In one beat, she was a disappointing burden, and yet in another, she was fond and alluring.

Even as she sat there, the thin fabric of her chemise covering most of her skin, while she bled into the mattress below her, he meant his words just the same. She was more beautiful and captivating by the day. Lifting his hand up to the curve of her jaw, he let his pupils wander over the features of her face, and he could tell she was nervous.

"What is it, mouse?" he asked in a soft timbre.

She blinked her eyes and looked back up at him, her mouth parted as she paused for a moment to let her irises mesh with his. "Sometimes you're confusing to me. I don't know how to feel when you speak about me. I know you don't love me. I never expected that from you. But I don't think I imagined you'd find me alluring either. Especially right now while I'm painting the mattress under me in red."

He slid his thumb over her cheekbone as he pushed out a breathy laugh.

"Is what I said laughable to you?" she asked, her brow raised.

He grinned. "Yes, your words amuse me. You're quick-witted. Do you think that because you're having your mensus that I would recoil in disgust?"

She nodded. "Yes, in fact. Even my father is repulsed, and he loves me."

Harry shook his head, and she watched his gaze drag down to her bare ankles and then back up to her face. It was almost lewd the way he so brazenly wiped his sight over her frame the way he had. She might as well have been lying there naked.

"I'm not squeamish by a little blood, Y/n. I've sewn limbs and gashed wounds together. I've used my bare hands to stop the bleeding of maimed soldiers more times than I care to count. I saw the most ghastly things when I was leading our royal army not that long ago. Your mensus does not unnerve me in the slightest."

"I see. But even still, it isn't desirable. You cannot tell me you find me alluring in this moment."

"And why not? You are not less beautiful or mouthy because of it. It does not deter my fondness." He grinned.

She had a hard time believing him. But why would he lie to her? He had no reason to try and make her feel better about herself because either way, she wasn't going anywhere.

"Even when I offered myself to you the morning before, you didn't want me, and I wasn't yet bleeding. How can you say these things to me now?"

Harry shifted, his knee pushed into her thigh as he took her face in his hands. "What are you on about? I made it clear my feelings about that. And then I kissed you. Do you not remember any of it?"

Her lashes fluttered as she tried to maintain calm. Of course, she remembered it all. Word for word. And then the kiss… Every brush of his lips and tongue, the way her body washed in heat every time she relived the kiss in her mind. It had changed a part of her, so of course, she hadn't forgotten.

"I remember."

He nodded and let go of her cheeks. She remembered, but did she remember it the way he did? Had he been alone in the way his heart pounded wildly behind his chest, in the way his fingertips burned, and his blood simmered… The way he was breathless when he finally pulled away? For that had never happened to him before, and it marked him so violently that he couldn't think straight all night.

And it had just been a kiss. Was he a fool to let the feel of her warm mouth against his take up so much space in his chest as he had? Even then, he'd wanted to kiss her again to revel in the sensation.

"I can't stop thinking about it. The kiss…" she confessed.

He looked back up at her face, relieved at her words but stricken by his shameful inner thoughts. He couldn't help but feel a kindred madness working its way through his veins.

"Nor can I," Harry replied quietly, almost reluctantly, like an admission passed between the cracks of armour. “The kiss, I can still feel it sitting on my lips.”

His thumb skimmed her bottom lip, light as breath, his eyes fixed there. "The moment I felt your mouth on mine, I knew it was something that would stay with me.” He paused. “And I found myself imagining it over and over.”

Y/n sat still, afraid to breathe too loudly, her heart fluttering rapidly like a mouse, the pulse pumping in her neck.

Harry’s voice dropped lower. “It lingers. The feeling of you. I wasn't prepared to let it sink me to the depths.”

She shivered, her nerves causing her skin to prick, as his words lay gently over her heart. "But you left so quickly after and didn't return to me last night. I know you said you were working, but you made your choice to keep away from me."

“Because I didn’t trust myself last night.” His hand slid to the side of her neck, his thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of her throat. “You offered yourself to me, and I was feeling reckless things. I have spent a lifetime reining in heedless actions. Staying away was best for us both.”

She boldly slid her shaky hand against his leg as his gaze lifted sharply to hers. He hadn't expected it, and in that brief moment, a recognition passed between them; they were two people, human and flawed, no different than the other. Their outward status meant nothing in those seconds that ticked by.

He leaned forward slowly, his nose brushing against hers. “You drive me mad.”

She smiled gently, their lips nearly touching. “You deserve it.”

That earned a brief breath of a laugh from him, more air than sound. And then, before reason could interrupt, before obligation, or her own festering doubts could rise to interfere, Harry kissed her.

It was not like the first time. This one felt impatient, a test of sanity or madness, a sating of curiosity. It was filled with a slow ache that had been building since their first clash of wills. His mouth moved over hers with devastating precision until she pressed her tongue to his, and the precision turned into a starved pace, as though every second he didn’t kiss her was one he could no longer justify.

Y/n’s fingers crept up his hard, solid chest, curling into the soft linen of his shirt as she responded, matching his hunger with a keenness of her own. Her body ached with a desperate need to be touched, to know she mattered to him.

And Harry touched her like she did matter. As if the truth he couldn’t yet speak was being carved into the space between them. His lips opened and closed around hers, his fingers slid gently up her spine to the back of her neck as she moaned into his mouth.

A harsh knock on the door startled them. The king slowly parted from her and turned toward the door. "Who's there?"

Y/n sat forward to watch the door open, and in stepped Harry's assistant, hands clasped behind his back, head lowered. "Your majesty. Forgive my intrusion, but your presence is requested. The Lord Mayor and His Grace, Duke Hughes are here to settle a dispute."

"Send them away. It's far too late to be resolving conflicts, and I have nothing more to say to the Lord Mayor today."

The man nodded shallowly as he kept his eyes turned to the floor. "He said that if you refuse to meet with him, he will report you for theft, assault, and trespassing."

Harry laughed and ran a finger under his nose. "That spineless worm. Fine. Tell him to make himself comfortable in the drawing room. I'll come find him soon."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Fred said as he closed the door behind himself.

Harry moved his hand from hers and fixed his gaze on her pretty eyes. “You should rest.”

“I won’t be able to,” she murmured. “Not after that.”

“After the kiss or the intrusion?"

She smiled shyly and looked down at her lap. "The kiss."

Harry nudged her chin upward to look at him. "Then think of it as a dream.”

She looked at him as he pulled away, her voice barely above a hush. “Did you feel reckless again?”

His soft green eyes scanned hers for a quiet moment. Then, with a final kiss to her brow, he answered, “Maybe.”

With that, he stood, smoothing the front of his waistcoat, his mask of control slowly knitting itself back over his face — but not before she caught the softness still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“I'll be around to check on you, but I'd better find you fast asleep when I return. And I’ll see to the governess tomorrow.”

He made for the door, and just before exiting, he glanced over his shoulder with a glint of something playful in his eyes. “Rest, little mouse. The devil’s watching over you tonight.”

She pushed a breathy laugh from her lips and watched the edge of his mouth turn upward before he left her alone in her room. The silence around her felt stiff and accusatory, but she quelled the burgeoning shame and guilt that started to rise up in her. Y/n was done with needless worrying about wanting to kiss a handsome man who would soon be her husband. She touched her lips softly, the feel of his mouth engraved on hers.

Perhaps he was the devil but she was beginning to see that maybe the devil wasn't as bad as everyone had said.

. .

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[whats-your-face]

Niall groans when she rejects another idea, this one involving her biting her lip or something after saying some lust-filled, naughty pick-up line that would only work if she were too hot for anyone to care if she said something stupid. “You’re delusional, and not the fun kind,” Niall says it like an insult, rolling his eyes, “Anything you do or say will be hot, he’ll be drooling over himself trying to get at you. Honestly, what’s stopping you from just looking at him and saying you want to fuck?” 

“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.” 

“Well, fuck all of that,” he answers just as easy, “Tell him to come over and hang paintings for you or something. Or – wait! Wait, say that you want him to teach you how to make those custard tarts I had in Portugal last year. Adam had mentioned something about Harry knowing how.” 

or

Harry is jealous, and Y/N is delusional (derogatory)

part 1

part 2

part 3

(19k+ words)

iv.

When Harry first met Y/N, he didn’t think much of her. 

Not necessarily in a negative way; he’d been introduced to the class she was in, and nobody stuck out to him. There was no aura of greatness, none of them looked confident, and every single face staring back at him looked scared shitless, and unsettled. From the moment their chef instructor established why Harry was there, he had a feeling he would leave unimpressed, uninspired, and maybe slightly annoyed from the waste of time. He watched them all scramble around for a little while to plate their food, and glanced over most of them a couple of times, except this one woman on the far right, middle station, preparing a lobster dish. Harry had thought that was pretty ballsy, making seafood as the first impression, though they didn’t know it was him who was coming when their instructor said they had a visitor that day.

Then Harry carefully tried all the food. It wasn’t that anything was outright bad, just not spectacular. Nothing that made him want to go in for another bite, nothing that he wanted to chew thoroughly just to pick out the different ingredients they used. Almost robotically, he cut, chewed, swallowed, and went to the next. He doesn’t hum his approval, doesn’t grumble his disapproval, just continues on. 

And then he gets to Y/N’s station. He didn’t know it was hers at the time. They were all sitting at the sides of the cooking stations, gawking at him as he tried their dishes, so at first, he had no clue who had chosen to make Shepherd's Pie as their first impression. Still, he sighed a little bit, cutting into it, ready to be slightly disappointed by a lack of flavor profile. 

Then he bites into it. 

Harry’s Nan, in her prime, used to make Shepherd's pie a lot, one she found in a cookbook from the '60s. She told him the recipe several times, cooked it with him, and even wrote down step-by-step how she prepared it, but from the moment he started finding interest in cooking, he could not make it quite like her. It never tasted bad, per se, just wrong – it was never as good, as flavorful, as warm as when she made it for him. Eventually, Harry had just accepted that it wasn't something that could be replicated. He’d come to terms with the fact that half of what he was tasting was nostalgia; she’d still make it for him if he asked, but she’s older now and has arthritis in her fingers, so he would feel too guilty suggesting it.  

Yet here he is, chewing a piece of this random culinary student’s Shepherd's pie, and it’s like his Nan had slipped her version of it right in front of him and he hadn’t noticed. He feels his face pull up (he doesn’t know why he looks so angry when he enjoys food, but that’s just his thinking face), he swallows, and it sits warm in his belly, better than anything that he’d tasted today. The same amount of spices, the perfect ratio of meat and vegetables, the same texture against his tongue, and the roof of his mouth. It’s amazing, and for once, Harry wants to take a second bite. 

“Who made this?” He asked aloud, and he remembered how nervous she looked. How she raised her hand, the slight tremble of it, how she blinked probably a thousand times in the span of three seconds, “Come here.” Harry was left wondering if he was really that scary when she came up to him and looked like she was seconds from passing out. He sliced into the side of it, the insides spilling out in the way they would if this were commercial, revealing the steaming insides, “Where’d you learn to make this?” Because he had to know. Something Harry had never been able to replicate in his 15 years spent cooking, this woman had been able to accomplish in what? The hour or two they had to prepare this for him? Did she know his Nan? 

“Um – a cookbook, Sir.” Her voice shook a little bit. 

Harry laughed through his nose – what a small world, right? His Nan hadn’t been able to find that cookbook for decades, yet this random woman had probably plucked it off a secondhand shelf and decided to try cooking this specific dish. All for it to lead to this moment, when Harry is looking for someone to mentor. Harry had never been one to believe in fate; he thought all of that was very silly. But for the first time, he thought that maybe there might be something in the universe working in his favor.  

Did Harry want to mentor someone? Yes and no. He believed that he had a lot to teach other chefs, a wealth of knowledge that he’d like to share and use to cultivate stronger chefs, but in the same breath, Harry knew who he was. He knew the type of person he was and the kind of mentor he was; there was no room for mistakes, no room for bad dishes, no room for complaining, whining, or fussing. He expected them to work the same hours he does, to give their life over to the craft just as he had, and he wouldn’t accept anything less than the intense passion and strive for success. Adam was much more personable than Harry, he knew that, so it was easy for him to find people to mentor and get along with. He was much less picky and much more amicable, and people didn’t run off from him as often as they did from Harry. 

In the past couple of years, Harry had 10 different apprenticeships, and only 3 of them had made it past the 5-month mark, and only 1 of them stuck it out with him to the very end (his name was Franklin). Harry never asked them to leave or to quit; they did it of their own volition, and Harry always thought that maybe that was for the best. If they couldn’t handle Harry when he was being relatively nice, then there’s no way they could handle a food critic having a shit day. 

So he chose Y/N but his hope was low for how long she might last. The way she looked seconds from dropping right to the ground as soon as he asked who’d made the dish worried him, but with the Shepherd's pie – well, he couldn’t just let her disappear into the abyss of culinary students. Harry hoped, in the back of his mind, that one day he could convince her to make it for him again. To show him exactly how she does it. 

To be honest. . he was shocked by her. Y/N was a strong chef – stronger than he’d given her credit for, not only in her cooking skills but in her mental fortitude. To be in Harry’s kitchen, and to be studying beneath him, is not for someone with a weak constitution, he could admit that. Yet she took every critique, every scoff, every scold, and every yell (Harry isn’t proud of those) in stride. Even if she looked a little taken aback, or like she might piss herself, she always nodded firmly, said something cheesy like, “Yes chef, yes sir,” and then corrected the problem. That’s what Harry had always appreciated the most from her was that she corrected the issues he brought to her attention and she never made them again. 

He’d been angry when he saw the hair. Even madder when Y/N did not explain herself, merely tipped her head down and let the customer berate her, then when Harry had taken her to the side and given her what he’d thought was the chance to explain herself, she said nothing. Saying nothing is an admission of guilt in Harry’s eyes, so he scolded her and told her not to embarrass him – but there was something a little different this time. This time, the look that stared back at him was filled with something he’d not seen from her before. Something that, if she’d ever felt it when he spoke to her, she was typically good at schooling. 

It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner to the storage room and heard Adam ask if she was crying, hearing her blame it on allergies that just suddenly sprouted after he’d yelled at her – he realized the look was hurt. Harry yelling at her had hurt her that time, and that. . .that definitely gave him some pause. It was the only reason why he decided to investigate it, the only reason why he found out that this guy was a repeat offender. The only reason that he realized Y/N would rather take the lashing he’d given her for something that she’d not even done than to argue with him. 

He definitely did some reflecting. Harry had always thought people feared him because they respected him, but he didn’t want anyone to actually be scared of him. Enough that she would hold her tongue when it would benefit her. Harry doesn’t like excuses, sure, but he wouldn’t have seen that as an excuse. And if he’d allowed her to get closer to him, then maybe she would realize that defending yourself from a lying prick wasn’t making an excuse in Harry’s eyes. 

Harry was always watching her closely and listening, but he turned his attention to her with up to 150% focus. He already knew that she had a close relationship with Niall, Adam’s apprentice, but he hadn’t realized how close to Adam Y/N was. He wasn’t even her mentor, yet she typically went to him with a lot of the problems that she had, whether they were related to what she was cooking right then, or just a random question she thought of that had to do with a dish from a week ago. Things that she should be comfortable asking him but she wasn’t. He saw how the three of them bounced off one another, how playful they were, how comfortable she seemed when Adam called her name versus how nervous she looked when Harry even glanced in her direction. 

Then she nearly passed out, too scared to tell him she hadn’t eaten, too worried that he’d be annoyed with her because she needed to fulfill a basic human need. And Harry felt like shit. Even without the slight, verbal lashing that only Adam could get away with giving him. 

“You need to be a little nicer if you’re going in place of me,” he told him, speaking just above a whisper, only so that he could hear him as Harry carefully made peanut butter and jelly, “You look pissed off, and that isn’t what she needs right now.”

“I just don’t understand why she felt the need to lie.” 

Adam sighs, “Because you’re scary and you don’t make yourself approachable. Why would she be honest?” He cracked open the jar of jelly for him, sliding it over and shaking his head, “She’s sweet and just wants to do well. Why can’t you see that?” 

Harry can see that. He does – he knows that she wants to do well because she does do well. She puts her heart and soul into this just as he does. Maybe he should have spoken to her earlier about what she needed from him. Maybe Harry should have given her the opportunity before that day to tell him that she liked verbal praise, that she wanted to know he thought she was doing well, that he was proud of her. That might have saved them a whole lot of trouble. 

So that’s what he does. He isn’t kissing her feet or anything, but he makes an effort to tell her when she does good, and Y/N always looks so pleased with herself afterward. . he feels even more guilty for keeping it from her. Harry hadn’t realized she needed it – she always just did well without him flattering her and continued to do well without it, so he figured it wasn’t a necessity. But Harry remembers how important it is to be told you’re doing well; how nice a tender stroke to the ego could be when you’re trying to find yourself in an industry as competitive as this one. So he tells her when things are good, he utilizes the compliment sandwich technique (he had to look it up), and he tries to become a better mentor for her. And when he notices she’s asking him more questions rather than scouting Adam out, or she doesn’t look as frightened when she asks him to repeat a step in the process of cooking, it feels good. 

At some point, his feelings twisted into something a little more...unrefined, as far as mentor/pupil relationships go. He thinks something tickled in the back of his head when he saw the reaction she had to his praise. The soft smiles, the murmured “thank-yous”, how she seemed to have a little more of a skip in her step afterward. When she’d call him over to show him her dish, even if it was something he didn’t necessarily need to see, it was like a bird preening its feathers to show off. Or a puppy wagging its tail when their owner told it it did well. 

The feeling only mushroomed into something unignorable when he went out to eat with them. Once Adam had initially asked, Harry planned on saying no – he was pissed off about the boiler and needed to spend some time calculating how this would affect this month's earnings. Plus, he desperately needed a night to himself, to take a bath, do a face mask, maybe fuck his fist and relieve some of the tension that is always residing in his shoulders. 

But when Adam mentioned that Y/N and Niall would be attending, he was. . .intrigued. He knew in brief glimpses what they might act like outside of work, just from the conversations that he’d accidentally stumbled upon between the two of them. Harry had a feeling that Y/N was far more exuberant than she acted in the kitchen, maybe much more silly, calmer, relaxed, and settled – he was interested to see it. To see if this tickle in the back of his head is just a tickle and nothing more. 

The tickle was more of a gnawing by the end of the night. After feeding her, watching as she ate everything that he gave her and ate it well, he learned that she had a cat and that in her time spent free of work because of the boiler, she planned to hang out with said cat. There was a satisfaction that rang deep in his bones when he fed someone, especially someone he’d felt that he’d stolen a meal or two away from in the past. Harry hoped his carefully crafted wraps were enough to make up for any time that she felt she needed to starve to continue working and please him. And she looked cute, too, with her cheeks full as she chewed. Even cuter when she was drunk, dancing, and grinding on her friend. Even cuter, all panicked, flustered, begging him to let her wash his shirt after knocking his drink all over it. 

By the end of the night, it wasn’t even just a gnawing. 

He wanted to chew on her. 

Y/N was fun. She was fun to tease, fun in her responses, how she stumbled over her words and so clearly was reading into things correctly, only for him to watch on her face as she tried to talk herself out of what she’d very correctly read into. Told him it depended on the context whether or not she liked to be out of control of her body, and god, it took everything in him not to pull the car over and suck on her tongue right there. 

She’d always been cute – his cute little apprentice, always dutiful in her job, showing up on time, trying to impress him. Call it cuteness-aggression or Harry’s general dominant tendencies, but he needed to dig his teeth into her. Into her lips, into her neck, into her hips, the soft of her belly, the flesh of her thighs. He wanted to lick her all over, make her sweat, stretch her out, have her beg – everything, all of it. He felt a little bit like he was in heat. 

It’d been a long time since he’d gotten to explore kink with someone. Harry knew that she was interested in him, because he’s always listening, and she and Niall are not as quiet or sneaky as they think they are. Maybe to people who aren’t paying such intense attention to them, but Harry might as well be Y/N’s shadow for as deeply as he keeps tabs on her in the kitchen. He hadn’t been sure that she was interested in the dynamics he’s interested in until he took the chance one night, while they were making the cake, and he had her suck the icing off his thumb. 

Harry had never met someone so receptive to him before. When she whined because he took his thumb away, Harry could have sunk to his knees for her right there and stuffed his face anywhere she wanted him to. Despite outer appearances, Harry truly isn’t a complex man. The way she let him poke and prod around in her mouth, just because he could, just because she was letting him – he knew then and there he would be obsessed with her. 

The build-up is the best part. The waiting, watching her try to figure it out, the realization that overcomes her when she understands what he wants, how easily she plays with him. Y/N doesn’t mind playing the part of his filthy, greedy little puppy so long as he takes care of her, tells her how good she’s doing, lets her fill her mouth up with his fingers, and plays with her pussy. Even when he stops, even when he edges her, even when he’s mean and makes her want and want and want, she’s still so good for him, so cute, so precious, he’s just too delighted. 

There’s a trust there that Harry loves. She trusts him to see her like that. Trusts him to decide when she cums and when she doesn’t. Trust him to take care of her afterward, even if she doesn’t know she needs to be taken care of. Harry won’t ever leave her alone directly after they play, no matter how often she offers to get a ride – he could tell it was just a courtesy. She didn’t want to leave his side yet, and he didn’t want her to leave. He’s found recently that he thrives off taking care of her, in little ways. Feeding her and fucking her are the big ones. 

Though as he holds her in his arms right now, sleeping soundly with her cheek pushed up against his chest after he fucked her, Harry thinks cuddling might be a big one too. 

Initially, Harry had planned on edging them both for nearly a month. The anticipation was one of the best parts for him, and he could tell that Y/N enjoyed it too; gluttons for the swelling desire had begun swallowing them both whole. He had it all planned out, by the week, by the day, by the hour – how long he would play with her pussy until he felt it tighten around his fingers (it was so easy to tell when she was about to cum, her walls squeezing, like it was begging him to stay inside, begging him to keep her full, fuck her until she spasms and twitches and whines, drenching them). He’d decided on a day he’d invite her over to his flat and finally make her cum, and then he’d feed her well, take care of her, let her spend the night if she wanted to, or make sure she got home safely if she wanted that instead. 

He had not accounted for Youngjae to come to his restaurant before this happened. He hadn’t accounted for Youngjae to ask to speak with the chef who made his meal, to compliment Y/N so genuinely, to invite her to his restaurant. He hadn’t accounted for the shy, giggly look Y/N was giving someone who wasn’t Harry. And he sure as fuck hadn’t accounted for the thick, oozy glob of something inky and consuming to slip down his throat, acrid and pungent, unavoidable. A feeling Harry hadn’t experienced properly in quite a while. 

He was jealous. 

On one hand, he feels pride in the compliments she received. To be so enamored by a plate as a chef that you need to speak to the person who prepared it is one of the highest forms of praise in the cooking world. For his pupil to be praised for how well she’s done, he couldn’t be more proud of her, and how far she’s come as a chef. 

And on the other hand, he cannot stand it. At this point, Harry knows Y/N. He knows how much she likes to be praised, like a bird preening its pretty feathers. He wasn’t blind to see that Youngjae was gorgeous, so to be complimented by a well-renowned chef, looking like him, and praise already makes you all wiggly and giggly? He wondered if her heart had skipped a beat when Youngjae smiled at her. If her palms got clammy from the nerves of it. If she was thinking about taking him up on the offer, getting pressed over the side of his desk, her face buried into the side of his neck. 

The thought was like an invasive plant; the seedling stuffed itself in the soil, an image of Y/N as pretty and cute as she looks, begging to be filled up, and it was someone who wasn’t him making it happen. The plants take root in the grooves of his brain, winding, tangled vines, growing unmanageable and wild. He had to remove himself from the kitchen, stew in his office, and wonder if his ears were as red as they felt, but he was too ashamed to check. What a petulant response to an interaction that was relatively mild. Harry has had her drooling around his fingers, yet he’s irate by the smile she gives another chef when they compliment her? He needed to grow up. 

His problem lies in the fact that he is not someone who gets jealous. Feelings of envy have never swayed him – if Harry wanted something or someone, then he’d get them eventually, through dedication and hard work. Nothing in this life drops at your feet; you must put forth an effort for the things you want, and that’s what he does. So there was never a need to be jealous of anyone, for anything. 

Yet there he was, his teeth gritted, his mind a frenzied swirl. Weeks and weeks of build-up that Harry would snuff out in a night, and surprisingly, he doesn’t regret even a second of it. Especially not when she begged so pretty for him. When she whimpered out Puppy can handle more – and almost made Harry cum completely untouched. Not when she snores on his chest now, deep in her dreams, limbs twisted around him like a koala. He replays the night over a dozen times in his head, and finds himself content. It’s odd, whatever feeling stirs in his chest – he definitely wouldn’t call it love, and he doesn’t think he’d necessarily even call it a crush. What he feels is something equal parts fond and possessive. As he plays with her limp fingers, slotting their fingers together, Harry is able to come to one conclusion, though.

Y/N was his, Harry had decided. His and his alone. 

                                                                    .                  .                  .

Y/N’s warm. 

Typically, she wakes up pretty cold. Not just because she has a sketchy furnace or she fell asleep with the fan whipping above her head – she just generally wakes up shivering, most of the time, with Hazelnut huddled against some part of her body for warmth (Y/N likes to pretend that it’s because Hazelnut loves her but deep down she knew it was for survival purposes only). For whatever reason, her room is always a little icier than the rest of her flat, so the cold seeps beneath her skin and leaves her whole body shivering. 

Today is different, though – this morning is odd. Y/N starts to come to but doesn’t open her eyes immediately; she lets her consciousness ease in rather than forcing it abruptly. She isn’t waking up to an alarm so she imagines that this is an off day, which means she could be a little lazier in starting her day. Plus, she’s so nice and warm, she’s almost certain it was a dream and she’s hesitant to leave the beauty of it. 

Y/N isn’t sure what eventually clues her in that she isn’t asleep anymore. Maybe it’s the way her neck is a little sore, like she’d been in the same position for most of the night. Or maybe it’s the fact that her cheek is not pressed up against her pillow, or Hazelnut’s fur, or even her mattress, how it sometimes is when she wiggles down in the middle of the night. Instead, she’s on something more solid, a different feeling – like skin – and there’s a momentary panic because what the fuck, there shouldn’t be anybody else in bed with her! 

Her eyes peel open, and just as soon as they do, the memories of last night flood back into her head. Harry taking her home, Harry splitting her apart piece-by-piece, him finally letting her cum, all of the embarrassing things she said, when he’d offered for her to stay for the come down. Then she fell asleep, and that – he hadn’t offered her to spend the night. He told her she could stay for a little while, sure, he might have said as long as she needed to be polite, but to fall asleep? On him, no less – she just manages to make herself more of a nuisance every day! 

Y/N stiffened, nervous to move. Was he asleep or was he awake? Y/N doesn’t know what’s worse: Harry being asleep and her waking him up, trying to sneak out of here and not disturb him, or Harry already being awake and annoyed that she took up space in his bed and stayed glued to his side all night. She was nice and warm, and it was pleasant to her, but what if Harry liked to sleep cold? What if he kept shoving her off of him last night, and she just kept rolling back into his space? The thought makes her want to crawl under a rock. Plus, she’s still stark naked, and like – she is fine with him seeing her like that in the moment, but she didn’t necessarily want her bits out in the light of day. Where were her clothes? Did she take them off in here or had he been peeling them off on the way to his room? 

Oh my god, this is the worst! Why didn’t she just stay awake long enough to make it home last night? 

If there was one thing about Y/N, it was that she never wanted to overstay her welcome, no matter the circumstances. She likes to be invited directly, or she doesn’t normally do it, too overcome with fear that whoever she’s with thinks she’s trying to make it something that it isn’t. The last thing she wants to be is the sad, desperate girl begging for more in a relationship than there is. Especially with someone like Harry – she does not doubt he’ll be blunt with her, and while that’s nice in the long run, she doesn’t need him to put into words that this isn’t a relationship, that she’s just fun to play with, that if he actually wanted someone seriously it wouldn’t be her. Because Harry needs someone like – well-established, probably? Someone successful already, driven, with more goals than her (she has goals, but most of them are related to things he’s already accomplished, so there’s probably no fun in watching her try to obtain them – like a been there, done that kind of thing). They’d be cool too, to catch Harry’s attention. Could probably hold their own in banter with him, make him laugh, and. . .she needs to stop. Now she’s just stressed out and making herself sad so –

“I can hear you thinking,” Harry’s voice startles her. It’s warm, a little rough from just waking up, her cheek vibrates with it from where she’s lying on his chest still, and it makes her insides twist in something giddy that she’ll have to stuff her face into her pillow and giggle about later, “Enough.” 

“Sorry,” she pushes herself up slowly, taking the blankets with her and covering her upper half, and trying not to look so obviously panicked. Y/N attempts to school her face, twisting so that she could look at him – she hadn’t realized how unready she was to see this version of Harry until right now. In the mornings, while she’s sure it looks like she just woke up five minutes before walking into the kitchen, Harry always looks like he’s been up for a couple of hours. Refreshed, his skin is always glowy, his eyes are always bright (for him at least) without a dark circle in sight. Most days, he kind of looks model-ready, and when she started, she’d always wonder if he was about to get interviewed or something, but was too nervous to ask him. She knew now that the answer was no – Harry just took very good care of himself.

(“Fucking prick, I come in and I look like I haven’t slept in days.” Niall complained once. 

“That’s because you stay up all night playing Roblox or whatever the hell.” 

“It’s League and you know I have a self-imposed 11 PM monitors off policy on work nights!) 

This Harry, however, was different. Still pretty, of course, because the universe is out to get her, but a different kind of pretty. His eyes are swollen and puffy, noting that he’d clearly just woken up as well. His cheeks were flushed a little bit, pink just slightly coloring his skin, and his hair was a mess on top of his head. He must have just run his tongue over his lips to wet them, because they glisten in the sunlight (or maybe his lips are just naturally glossy too, because why wouldn’t they be at this point?). 

Her strong, intimidating, slightly mean sometimes mentor – looked so incredibly soft. Y/N wanted to press on his belly and stuff her face in his throat, and melt over him like a second skin. If they were together like actually, then she thinks she would. Maybe Harry would even like that. . .she thinks. Or maybe he wouldn’t want that in a partner. But in a fuck buddy, he does like her a little needy, so there’s a chance she could get away with that now, right? 

“I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” She finally speaks, suddenly needing to avoid eye contact at all costs. Instead, she stares at his hand, where it’s resting on his chest, where her head had been just a few moments prior, “I – um. . .” she feels awkward, and sore, and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Should she act casual about it? It’s still kind of blowing her mind that they had sex – that it felt as good as it did. She doesn’t think her hand or any of her toys could ever compare to whatever all of that was. 

Harry stares at her for a while. She thought maybe he was just trying to wake up, or maybe he was crafting the perfect way to tell her to leave without scorching her feelings too painfully (who is she kidding? He’d just tell her to go home because he had shit to do or something). Or he could be waiting to see if she was going to finish whatever the second half of her sentence was, though what it was didn’t exist to her either. 

A quiet sigh leaves his mouth, “Do you regret it?” He inquired plainly. 

Eyes wide, Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever shaken her head so fast in her life. It kind of jostles her brain a little bit, even, “No! No, not at all, oh my god – I could – how could I ever regret something like that?” She twisted to face him more, only one hand holding the blanket up now, loosely, “I mean like – I regret some of the things I said ‘cos I think I may have come off a bit pathetic, but everything you did – everything we’ve done – oh, it’s great. I don’t regret that, I just –  feel bad about. . .about imposing my presence on you all night. We have work today, and  I didn’t ask to spend the night.” 

Harry pushes himself up now too, leaning back on his mountains of pillows, “I told you we could stay like that as long as you needed,” he reminded her, “If that meant all night, then so be it. I don’t mind. Though I think Hazelnut might have.” 

 (Hazelnut would have something to say about her absence, but since her food releases on a timer, she got dinner last night, and her middle-of-the-night snack so it isn’t like she was going hungry. Honestly, Y/N thinks Hazelnut likes to have the night to herself sometimes, but missing out on her human heater is probably why she yells at her when she walks in after being gone.) 

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, assessing his face for any inkling that he might be lying. Y/N doesn’t expect him to lie, of course, and she does expect him to be blunt with her, and honest – but sometimes he does unexpected things too. Like secretly being tenderhearted enough to make her a big slice of cake and call her ex a dick. Giving her his hoodie when she was freezing in a movie theater, also unexpected. Then there was the whole putting his fingers in her mouth thing, and the subsequent edging to follow. 

So, maybe he would lie to make her feel better. But if someone doesn’t lie often, then she would figure he’d have a massive tell to suggest that he was. Instead, she finds nothing – his same impassive face that he’s always making, except for the amusement hidden beneath his gaze when he’s looking at her in particular. 

“Oh, puppy,” he clicks his tongue, patting her thigh, “Let me feed you, then I’ll send you on your way, so you can get ready for work, hm?” 

A clear plan is nice. Harry's offering to feed her is even nicer. 

“Okay, that – that-that sounds good.” Y/N nods, “Could I – could you find me my clothes? I’m not really sure where they landed.” 

Harry kicks his blankets off, “I’ll just give you something of mine.” 

                                                                  .                    .                    .

“Oh my fucking – wait – what are you telling me right now? You spent the night?” 

It was the first proper Spring day; the weather was balmy, the breeze was warm, and with the sun hanging high in the sky and beaming pleasant rays like sweet kisses, it coaxed all the bunnies, birds, and squirrels out of their nests, warm in the grass. Niall, for all his ‘curtains-closed-so-it-doesn’t-glare-on-my-computer-screen’ gamer tendencies, does appreciate a warm day. So he made up a little picnic for them to enjoy, with homemade blackberry jam and fresh bread from the French bakery beside his flat. They had cheese and crackers too, which was interesting, the spring time critters in their area of the park. That, or they were nosy and wanted to hear Y/N update Niall. 

And Niall was just as floored as she was, about all of it. 

Y/N’s face feels hot recounting the events, because Niall wants to know everything. Every minute detail, from positions to an advanced description of Harry’s prick (equipped with a crude drawing Y/N tried on his iPad, which he always carted around in his satchel) – Y/N was giving Niall the nitty gritty. 

“I know,” she held her face in her hands, “I’m still so embarrassed about it, and I’m still like – like I keep convincing myself that he only lied and said it was okay so I didn’t cry in front of him or something stupid.” 

“Okay, first and foremost, if sex isn’t putting your ass to sleep, then it isn’t good sex. Harry is well aware of that,” Niall has one finger up, then dramatically pulls the second finger – his middle – up with the fingers of his other hand. “Secondly, he was so fucking clearly jealous! Remember when you were blowing me off before? When I suggested it in the kitchen.”

Y/N shook her head, “And I’m blowing you off now too–” she rumpled her lips, “What would he have even been jealous of?” 

Niall, who has given up the theatrics of marking each point with his finger, now busies himself with the jam and stares at her like she’s an idiot, “I’m sorry, did you black out and forget a very sexy young chef coming to the restaurant, bringing you out to compliment you, then writing his number on the back of a card offering you to come his kitchen right in front of your CILF?” 

“My who?” 

“Chef I like to fuck,” Niall continued, “Like, you’re a little dense sometimes but this is crazy. Even Adam noticed Harry was jealous! His ears were bright red, he snapped at everyone for asking you about Youngjae, and then suddenly you broke the weeks of edging the very same night. Like, he might as well have tattooed ‘I’m jealous’ right across his forehead.” 

Y/N’s heart is racing at the possibility of it, equal parts giddy at the thought and reluctant to get her hopes up. It’d be kind of fun if he were jealous, she thinks – to evoke any emotion from him is exciting, she’s found, and that would be a new one. But when speaking to a fellow partner in delusion, she’s learned to take most things with a grain of salt – even if Adam seemed to notice as well. Adam and Niall share a singular brain cell on most days, so it wouldn’t surprise her if they started thinking the same, too. 

“I don’t know, like besides all of that, he didn’t really act jealous or anything. He didn’t say he was.” 

Niall tears into his bread, dips it into the jam, and then stuffs it in his mouth. Though he pushes his bite into his cheek so he could speak around it, “Harry’s a bit too prideful to just admit that, I reckon. The one thing he’s not gonna be honest about is being jealous over another chef.” Y/N rubs the plastic of the cracker package between her fingers, staring at a bunny that has gotten suspiciously closer with each glance she made at it. If she didn’t know any better, she would think it was about to trot on over and snatch the food on the blanket, “Okay, now roll it back to what we were talking about – he offered a chew toy? I’m getting on Amazon immediately and getting you a collar and leash set, he’ll go crazy.” 

“Okay, but like what if he doesn’t want to?” Y/N pushes her thumb against her knee, “Like…maybe he got it out of his system and now he won’t want to.”

Niall groans, rolls his eyes, already pulling out his phone, “Shut the hell up,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but everything you’ve described to me does not sound like a man who is planning on one and done. Calling you puppy, edging himself with you, ‘It’s seriously so cute to see a puppy behaving so well?’ That man is obsessed. And he’s possessive too, which is kind of cute,” he sighs, “Okay, I need to go to an actual kink site, Amazon is showing me actual dog collars.” 

Y/N plucks a manchego cube from the container that Niall had carefully packaged, laying it carefully on her cracker, “He hasn’t said anything though, and we haven’t like – y’know. . done our thing lately.” 

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him?” Niall answered instantly, making a grabby hand at the bottle he filled to the top with pineapple juice, “Like, wasn’t he all nervous that you regretted it? He’s probably waiting for you to give a sign that you still want it. Right?” 

She guesses she hadn’t considered that. Y/N wasn’t the one to spearhead most of their situations together; she usually let Harry come to her, but if he’d been worried still that she didn’t like what happened, then that might give him some pause. And had the scenario been different, if this dynamic was different, then she might not care about telling him she wanted to fuck him still, and keep his fingers in her mouth, and hear him say all those filthy things again. But it was Harry, and she’s like. . predisposed to being nervous no matter what it is involving him. 

“How would – I mean, how might I go about that? You’ve got more experience in this department.” 

Niall peered up at her, “Interesting way to subtly call me a little slutty, but yeah, you’re right,” Y/N reached out and slapped his leg, “And lucky for you, I love an operation title. So, operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time – commences today.” 

“God, that’s a mouthful,” Y/N complained.

“And hopefully your mouth will be full of Harry by the end of the week.” 

Niall and Y/N spend the remainder of the picnic deciding what she should do. Niall has always had an intense, vivid imagination, so the plans he makes always come with plenty of detail and every potential scenario that may arise from them. Which is why, instead of having the cute, one-hour lunch they had planned, they spent 3 hours finding different positions on the blanket, attempting to get comfortable on the lumpy ground, snacking until the food he packed was gone, and going over what she should do. The tentative title of “operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time” gets shortened to Operation: Seduce Harry and she spends 10 minutes convincing him he does not need to make it a notes app bullet pointed list. 

They go through a variety of different ideas. Y/N cornering him in his office after everyone leaves, popping a button on her shirt, and revealing something lacy and sheer underneath them. Adam convincing Harry to go out with them again, Y/N asking if he wants to dance together, grinding and gyrating on him in a way that could only mean she was looking to get him hard. Stumbling into his lap, hand landing on his prick, giving him a soft squeeze and a wink. Y/N sending him a photo of her neck with a collar fixed around it that’s heart pendant says yours, fingers twisted around a leash, also in the photo. 

All of the ideas Y/N would rather walk the plank out at sea than actually do. The fact of the matter is, Y/N is not good at seducing, or flirting, really, for that matter – so each one of these ideas is shoving her out of her comfort zone. And when Y/N is shoved out of her comfort zone instead of gently nudged, the outcome is not something spectacular; she just ends up making a fool of herself. So she refuses each idea that Niall, who – had he been in this situation, would have just messaged something out of pocket like are we going to fuck again or what? – came up with. 

Niall groans when she rejects another idea, this one involving her biting her lip or something after saying some lust-filled, naughty pick-up line that would only work if she were too hot for anyone to care if she said something stupid. “You’re delusional, and not the fun kind,” Niall says it like an insult, rolling his eyes, “Anything you do or say will be hot, he’ll be drooling over himself trying to get at you. Honestly, what’s stopping you from just looking at him and saying you want to fuck?” 

“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.” 

“Well, fuck all of that,” he answers just as easy, “Tell him to come over and hang paintings for you or something. Or – wait! Wait, say that you want him to teach you how to make those custard tarts I had in Portugal last year. Adam had mentioned something about Harry knowing how.” 

That. . wasn’t a bad idea. Of all his ideas so far, this had been the one most like her. One that would be the least likely to spark any warning flags in Harry’s brain – especially if she could just send him a message, that he’d hopefully just respond to, then not bring up when she saw him later. Niall encourages her to message him while he’s sitting there so that he can help her draft it up, but there’s not much to draft so she suspects he’s just being nosy. Making sure that she goes through with it, instead of going home, chickening out, pretending that their conversation never happened. 

Hi Harry! 

Would you be able to come to my place sometime soon? There’s something I want to learn how to make. 

There isn’t an immediate answer, but Y/N doesn’t expect one. Most of the time, Y/N wonders if Harry even remembers he has her number, let alone a phone, so she’d expect a response hours from now. Hell, maybe even tomorrow morning. If it extends beyond that, however, she’ll assume that he hates her and never wants to touch her again, so she hopes he doesn’t wait that long. Unless that was his version of letting her down easy. 

Y/N sets her phone face down on the blanket, puts her face in her hands, and does a little yell. Niall’s hand is warm on her shoulder when he reaches out and squeezes. 

“Please, he’s g’na trip over himself to get to your place,” Niall assures her. “Do you have another sundress like this one? If not, wash this one and wear it again if he doesn’t reply tonight – your tits look great in it.” 

                                                          .                        .                         .

Approximately 16 hours later, Y/N’s ringtone stirs her awake. 

She’s confused, of course, because at first she thinks it’s her alarm and she knew for a fact that the color of the sky did not equate to the time her off-day alarm would be ringing. Then, as she further drags herself into consciousness, she recognizes that she’s getting a call, and that Hazelnut was using her thighs as a launchpad to jump off the bed, nails digging in faintly through the blanket. Y/N pats around for her phone on the mattress, blinking blearily at the screen and seeing the contact name Harry Styles. 

Her eyes widen, and she sits up so fast that black spots dot her vision. Was she not off today? Fuck! Did she oversleep her real alarms? Oh, god, he was going to kill her – 

“I’m so sorry, Harry, I must have overslept, but I’m going to literally run out of here and –” 

“Slow down,” Harry cuts her off, clicking his tongue, “You’re off today.” 

The relief flushes through her fast, her adrenaline spike halting almost instantly, “Oh,” her heart is hammering – doesn’t he know calling her stresses her out? She swears she had mentioned that to him one day, or maybe she had just told him it was when he messaged her. Whenever Harry contacts her in general, she thinks her heart rate goes from a resting beat to a post-marathon speed in three seconds flat. “Is everything okay?” She settles for resting her face into her palm, trying to un-dizzy herself. Y/N had no business sitting up as quickly as she did, and she’s almost 80% sure she is walking around an undiagnosed anemic (at least undiagnosed by a medical professional; Niall diagnosed her himself when he caught a glimpse of her soft palate and said it looked relatively pale). 

“You tell me,” Harry answered and continued in response to Y/N’s confused sound, “There’s a message from you yesterday.” 

The memory of it floods back into her head instantaneously, her face feels hot, and she fumbles and stumbles around her thoughts and then her words, because what the fuck! He was supposed to message her back, not call her, is he crazy? The act alone suggests that he has no consideration for the social intricacies of someone as nervous as Y/N.

“Oh, yeah, I – um, was wondering if you could help me hang some paintings that are. . .that are too high up for me to reach.” 

Harry is quiet for a second, besides a soft hum on the other end. Y/N takes it as a hum like he’s thinking about it, maybe, but then learns that it might be more a confused sound sparking from his throat because, “I thought you said you wanted to learn how to make something?” 

Fuck. 

Fuck! How the hell did she screw that up? Harry definitely set this up somehow. She isn’t sure how, exactly, but she knew this was a carefully orchestrated plan to make her look like a big, stupid idiot. Embarrassment flares hot in her chest, warping its way down her belly, curling in a not fun, and horny way. No, this is pure, white hot shame, as she clears her throat, almost sputtering over her own spit, “Oh, yes! That too – two for one, kind of deal, if you’re. . .if you’re willing to help?” 

This time, when Harry hums, it sounds amused. Her shoulders sink – he’s onto her. Lying about the reason she wants him to come over feels more desperate than if she had just emptied all of her thoughts into a message and sent it to him. At least then he might see her as bold, opposed to cowardly. Something she and Niall forgot to consider was how bad she was at lying, especially to Harry, who always seems to be able to see right through her. Even a phone call away. 

“Sure, I suppose we could make that happen,” he finally replies; Y/N swallows thickly, suddenly reminded of her morning breath and how soaked in sleep she feels still, after the abrupt yank from her dreams, “What did you want to learn how to make?” 

“Um, these one custard tarts from Portugal.” Y/N at least remembered that, “Adam said you knew how to make them.” 

A delighted sound filters through the phone now, and she wonders if his face is as expressive as his voice seems to be through her speaker. What kind of face was he making now? Was it his same impassive glare, or was it softer? Was it how soft his gaze looks right after he wakes up? It’s crazy that this is something Y/N knows now – that she’s aware of how puffy his face gets from sleep, and how soft he looks because of it. She’d like to see it again, honestly, and to properly enjoy a morning cuddle without second-guessing every decision she’d ever made in the world. 

“The one Niall liked?” He inquired, but before Y/N could investigate how he would know that, Harry continued, “Yes, I can make them. I’ll show you how. Are you free this evening?” 

“Yes!” She agreed, nodding her head though he couldn’t see it, “Yes, I am, you can come whenever.” 

Niall would have rolled his eyes at how eager she sounded, but Harry merely puffs a laugh, “I’ll come around 5 then. Does that sound okay?” 

“Yes,” she nodded again, to nobody in particular – maybe Hazelnut who is showing off her flexibility and licking the fur over her calf, “That’s great.” 

“Good, I’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up the phone and Y/N takes a moment to put her face into a pillow and scream. That. . .could have gone worse. Almost went completely south because she’s stupid, but at least she was getting him over here. The first part of the operation, while clunky, meant that she could shift into the second part, which was an everything shower and to wear one of the five different outfit choices that Niall had given her. Y/N thought it’d be odd if he came over and she was just hanging out in a sundress, because she knew for a fact she did not give the vibes of someone who still dressed nice when they were at home alone. If Y/N digs through the memories of the last few months and her inevitable info dumps she drops on Harry now and then, she’s certain that she told him she immediately switches into comfortable clothes when she gets home from any outing. And while that piece of information about her was inconsequential, and most anybody would probably forget about it, Harry has a habit of holding onto things that other people would throw out of their heads. 

The shower experience was long and intense, as it always is when she has to exfoliate, shave everything, oil down, steam open her pores, etc. At first, she’s sweating in the hot water, pelting her skin, then she’s shivering because her water heater might only hold three gallons. That’s how it acts anyway, when ten minutes into the shower the water goes lukewarm and Y/N has goosebumps pimpled all over her body. By the time she comes out, she feels like she’s shed a layer of skin reptile-style, raw and new and soft. She didn’t shave her private bits, only because Niall had made an offhand comment about how Harry seems like a guy who enjoys the hair – and with things like kinks and interests, Niall is spot on in his reads. They’d only been friends all of one week before he correctly guessed that Y/N had a thing for being praised. Only a month before, he narrowed his eyes across the table at her and said, “You like being humiliated, don’t you? Seem like the type.” 

Y/N chooses something simple to wear – just a shirt and some soft, linen shorts. Beneath them both, she wore one of her prettier sets; something she’d bought after her ex when she had the intentions to get back out there, fuck her way through the town, forget about that emotionally cheating prick. Of course, that didn’t necessarily happen. Instead, she cried on Niall’s sofa into a bowl of coddle he’d made for her, watching a romance anime, and wishing she could wipe that bastard from her memory (while Niall, simultaneously, offered to wipe him from the face of the earth). 

Maybe Harry would think she looked cozy and cute – those were the vibes she was hoping to achieve, rather than unkempt and rumpled, which is how she usually looked on her off days at home. Hazelnut had been following her with her eyes all day, a judgmental gleam cased in the narrowed, snake-like pupils. Something that said: Who are you trying to fool right now? He’s going to take one look at you and know that this isn't normal for you. To that, she ignores her because what the fuck Hazelnut? What a grumpy thought, you’re cat-ness is really showing today. 

Y/N started getting ready too early, so she finishes getting ready too early, which means the rest of the day is spent agonizing over every detail of this plan. The truth is, she did have some pictures she wanted hung up relatively high, but was too scared to get on her step stool and do it herself. So at least she wasn’t like. . totally lying to him. And maybe she had no interest in learning how to make these tarts, but it’d be a good skill to have in her back pocket. She’s still delighted by the fact that Harry is good at making pastries as well as savory foods; a true all-arounder in the chef world. 

Hazelnut is sleeping in Y/N’s lap while she chews away at her nails, forcing herself not to look at the clock, only to be startled out of her skin when there’s a knock at the door. Her kitty, who has absolutely had it with her over-anxious energy today, jumps out of her lap and trots into the hallway, toward Y/N’s bedroom, no doubt. Y/N peels the blankets off of her and wonders if she’s going to black out as she opens the door, revealing Harry, his hair slightly mussed from the wind, in a soft, worn-looking shirt with a band Y/N didn’t know on the front, and jeans. Had she seen him in jeans before? Probably. Definitely not these jeans though, tight around his thighs in a way that makes her swallow hard; spit dragging down her dry throat. 

He smiles at her, gentle and small, “Hello,” he greets her, shuffling the bags in his right hand to his left, then raising them, “I brought the ingredients.” 

Good, because I didn’t even think to buy anything at all, and pretend that this was real, “Yay,” Y/N grinned, ushering him in, “Um, come on in – is the weather nice?” 

“Mm,” Harry hums, “Very.” 

Ideally, Y/N would have started to strip or whatever the hell Niall’s next step in the operation was, but at the first sight of Harry, any hope of following the plan had gone out her cracked window. Billowed between her curtains first, got all messed up, then slipped out into the evening air. Her heart rate is already picking up a little too quickly for her liking. 

Instead of enacting the rest of the plan, Y/N somehow ends up learning how to make these Portuguese tarts (Pasteis de Nata is what Harry tells her they’re called). It’s a more intricate process than she had imagined, which is both good and bad for her situation at hand. The benefits lie in the fact that it would make sense she’d need help learning how to make this, from forming the dough, to making the syrup without overcooking or undercooking it (the temperature had to be precise – 100 degrees C, and thank god Harry brought a thermometer with him). Harry is a little less stern when he’s teaching her this – she doesn’t know if it’s because it isn’t something that they’re making for the restaurant, or if it’s the change of scenery. 

Y/N would have thought she’d be more self-conscious about Harry in her kitchen. It’s a small thing, nowhere near the size of his own, and with ten times fewer supplies than he had, but Harry adapts to it easily. Even handles Hazelnut worming and weaving between his ankles well, clicking his tongue sweetly at her. For a moment, Y/N forgets that she had ulterior motives altogether, focusing on the complex process, making the custard, cutting the set dough, filling the muffin tin carefully. 

By the time Harry slid the tin into the oven, he turned to face her, “Alright, while those bake,” he began, then looked into her living room, “Where is it that you want these paintings hung?” 

“Oh,” she tries to busy herself filling one of the many mixing bowls with hot water and soap, “You – we don’t have to do that! Sorry, I can just ask Ni later and –” 

“I don’t mind,” Harry cut her off, looping around her counter, “Come on, show me.” 

Honestly, it feels a little surreal for Harry – critically acclaimed, Michelin star having Harry Styles – to be carefully balancing on a step stool and asking if her tiger painting looks level from where she stood. A couple of times she digs her nails into the meat of her palm, considering that this may be a dream of some kind, but the bite of pain reminds her that this is very much reality. Even more so when the oven beeps and Y/N goes to remove the pastries, the heat when she opens the door flushes over her face and upper body. They smell good as she sets them carefully on the stove, her mouth watering. 

She expected Harry to still be in her living room, but instead she turns around and he’s standing in the kitchen behind her. “Ah!” Y/N’s yelp echoes against her walls, then she cringes at her voice – the neighbors heard, probably, because the walls are paper thin. They were a little crabby too, so she’ll probably get a passive-aggressive mention on it next time they share an elevator ride, “Are you – be honest, did you go to ballet school or something? You move quietly as a ballerina.” 

“Do you know a lot of ballerinas?” Harry tilted his head, his eyes dragging down her body in a way that wasn’t very secretive at all. Y/N isn’t sure if the warmth that flushes through her is still from the oven or not, but it feels just the same, and her heart, that had settled some at this point, kicks up again. 

“A few,” she answered, though she doesn’t know if he cares or not, “I met them like. . .forever ago. They were my ex’s friends, so I don’t see them much anymore, but they used to walk around like they were floating.” Harry’s eyes are still dragging over her, and Y/N stupidly keeps talking, feeling more and more flustered by the second, when his gaze lingers on her legs, “They were nice, but I always got the feeling they didn’t really like me? But maybe they just knew I wasn’t – um – going to be around for long or something. I dunno.” 

Harry steps closer to her, his hand propped on the counter, “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me. Okay?” Y/N feels pinned under his gaze, breath feeling heavy in her chest when she holds it. She nods, slowly, only twice, and Harry continues, “Why did you really invite me over?” 

Ah. Of course, Y/N had suspected Harry knew she was lying from the moment she fucked up on the phone call but he’d just given her a little bit of grace. Played into her ploy for the hell of it, maybe to be nice, but had done both of the things she’d asked of him. Though he knew there was something more, Y/N did not doubt that if she kept the lie up for appearances, and told him this was all she’d wanted, then he’d leave with no questions asked and no hard feelings. 

She swallows again, thicker, and wonders if he can hear it when she does. Her mouth opens, but she can’t figure out what to say – if only she’d taken up Niall on his offer to speak into an earpiece for her. 

Harry fills in the quiet space, “Unless that was all,” he offers, “Then I can leave.” 

“No!” Y/N snaps from whatever embarrassed daze she’d been relegated to at the question, explosive in her answer, taking a step closer to him, “No, I don’t – I don’t want you to leave, I’m just. . .bad, at this,” she exhales, shoulders slumping, “I’m so bad at this.” 

Concern dribbles over his features, “At what?” 

Y/N motions between them, “This – seducing you, or whatever,” now that the can of worms had been opened, Y/N pours them out, a conglomerate, slimy, wiggly mess of words that she has no hope policing, “I can only do it when I’m like, horny beyond sensible thought. Like a – y’know. . .” 

Harry finishes for her, “A dumb little puppy?” 

Something in the air changes, heavy, inviting. She blinks at him, then answers a breathy, “Yeah,” because how could she disagree? 

Harry hums low in his chest, that contemplative sound he makes sometimes (Y/N could probably make a soundboard of all Harry’s different hums and meanings – something that only months upon months of studying under someone could provide you the ability of). At the same time, he takes another small step further. They’re less than an arm's length apart – maybe a forearm? There’s a low clicking of his tongue, how he was doing it for Hazelnut earlier, and Y/N feels herself shudder; she liked when he treated her like she was just a little pet. Something he just keeps around to keep him company sometimes; one he thinks is cute, and honorary – a bratty little thing that he can’t help but be fond of when they nuzzle up against him. At least that’s how she hopes he sees it, rather than a pet someone dumped on him and feels more like a pest. Y/N likes to pretend that the latter isn’t an option for now. 

“I’ve had my face buried in your cunt,” he begins, “My fingers and my cock, both have been inside of you. I made you squirt last week, and yet you’re still nervous about telling me what you want?” His fingers smooth the hair from her face, a soft exhale leaves her lips at the feeling of it, he skims his nails across her forehead, before he flicks them there. Y/N pouts at him, reaching up and batting his hand away, “Bet you think I’m mean, hm?” Harry goads and Y/N falls for it, nodding, still frowning, “I reckon it’s time I show you what mean really is, yeah?” 

She watches as he reaches into his pocket for something, “What–what do you mean?” 

“I mean,” he reveals a thin, silky sliver of fabric. . .oh my god, “That good puppies don’t lie to their owners, don’t you know that? Only bad puppies do that. I need to correct the behavior.” 

Something hot sizzles under her skin; his mouth is just filthy. Does he practice saying this shit or does it just come to him at the moment? It’s crazy, how all he’s done is flick her in the forehead and speak, and she’s ready to fall to the floor in front of him, take his pants with her, mouth at his cock. Is this how everyone who has been with Harry feels? She’d be hard pressed to believe otherwise. 

“Okay,” she breathes out again, eyes leaving the dark blindfold, “I get it.” 

“Yeah?” He smiles, “Good. Why don’t you show me to your room?” 

If Y/N wasn’t so horny that she was dizzy, then she might be embarrassed about him being in her room. The only men who have been in her room are Niall and her ex. Niall doesn’t count because he’s Niall, and her ex used to make fun of her decorations because he’s a huge dickhead, so she kind of overthinks it when people come inside. 

But Harry doesn’t give her much time to think, actually. He peels her top off before Y/N even realizes, and comes face-to-face with the pretty pink bralette she wore. It was sheer, with a lace trim around the cups that was kind of itchy but easy to ignore. There’s a flower lying over where her nipple is, hiding the top of it, but her areola peeks through, and Harry is staring. He bites at his bottom lip for a second, another contemplative look, before he hooks his fingers into her shorts, “This is a pretty little set,” he murmurs when he wiggles her bottoms down, seeing the matching underwear, “Did you wear it for me?” 

“Yes,” she replies, shy about it, looking away. 

Harry reaches up, runs his thumb over her bottom lip, and dips into it but never fully tips inside of her mouth. Instead, his other hand finds her shoulder, giving her a small press, and Y/N gets the picture – he wants her on her knees. After she’s set on them, hands in her lap, heart roaring in her ears, the loudest thumps it could possibly give, Harry takes the blindfold and carefully twists it around her eyes. Her vision is cut off instantly, nothing but the dark material in front of her, obscuring any chance she had of seeing what’s next. 

Y/N is kind of confused about what’s going to happen, until Harry jobs her memory, “I warned you about this, a little while ago,” he murmured, “What I do to bad puppies. How I show them how mean I can be.”

The realization dawns on her, an intense wave slams through her of both arousal and dread, and it must show on her face, because Harry puffs a laugh that sounds all too sinister with her eyes covered, “But wait I –” 

“Uh-uh,” she hears him undo his zipper, listens as the fabric shuffles and drops, and she can only imagine what his cock must look like. If he was fully hard already, or if he was still a little soft. The color of his prick – if it was that pretty, flushed pink that it got last time she was able to see it. Does he leak a lot? Y/N feels more desperate now than ever to know, “You don’t lie to me, ever, okay? You should know by now that I’ll give you what you want when you want it. You just have to ask me.” He sighed, and she didn’t know if it was because he’d finally twisted a hand around himself or because he was exasperated with her – she can’t see, to be able to tell, “And if it takes this to teach you that, then so be it.” 

Y/N’s mouth waters when she hears a cap pop open, the squeeze of a bottle, the wet sounds that follow it, and her fingers dig into her thighs. This is already more cruel than anything Harry has ever done to her, and it’s been approximately ten seconds, so she assumes it’s only going to get worse. 

“Y’know,” Harry starts, because seriously, his vocabulary ranges from intellectual musings on the art of cuisine and the filthiest, smuttiest thoughts Y/N has ever heard come out of someone’s mouth, second only to Niall on one of his tirades, “This isn’t too new, for me – touching myself to you. The only thing different is that you’re right in front of me.” His voice is awfully measured for someone touching themselves and Y/N isn’t sure if she’s supposed to respond or not. He didn’t tell her she couldn’t. 

“Did you. . .would you, before we started this?” 

Harry clears his throat a little, “Mm, no, not before,” he admits to her, “After though – the first time you let me poke around in that pretty mouth, I went home and fucked my hand. As soon as I walked through the door,” Y/N’s breath feels sticky in her lungs, she wonders how close he is to her face – he sounds close, but she could just be imagining things, “Dropped my pants, spit into my hand, then humped into it – haven’t done something like that since my early 20s. Felt all buzzy and good, like something was sizzling beneath my skin,” the next sigh is clearly more of a moan and Y/N wiggles in her spot, readjusting her hips. Her knees are already a bit achy from the position, but that is the least of her concerns right now. 

“That’s – wow,” she breathes, “I started having wet dreams again, about you, when – after – it was like every night. I thought I was g’na go crazy. You were haunting me like an incubus or something.” 

He chuckles, low in his chest, “Poor baby,” he murmurs, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, hm?” 

“No,” she answered honestly, which is surprisingly a lot easier to do when she can’t see him, “You’re all I could think about, some days. All I can think about.” Was that too much? Maybe not – Harry moans after she says it, and she can hear the slick sound of his hand speeding up, getting wetter, “Could you tell me what you think about me? When you’re touching yourself, I wanna know what turns you on. What fantasies do you have?” 

“Naughty little thing,” he practically purrs, and it sounds like the start of a tease – like he’s going to tell her that’s classified information, or how puppies don’t need to worry their dumb little brains about things like that – but he surprises her, “I have a lot of them. Too many to go through – some of them filthier than others – ahh,” he groans, and she can imagine him tilting his head up, squeezing around the tip – it’s probably leaking by now, if he was a leaky person. She’d do anything to taste it. “Do you want me to be honest, honey? It might be a lot.”  

“Please,” she begs, “Anything, I – I don’t think you could say anything that’s too much, ‘cos I want so much, I want anything – I want everything, you could. . .could do whatever to me. And I’d like it – even if it's gross.” 

Harry coos, “So cute,” before he finally tells her, “The puppy thing isn’t just a nickname for me,” he admits, the sound of his hand slows down, like he’s wringing himself out, knows that he’s going to be too worked up not to cum while he talks about it. Y/N’s toes curl in anticipation, her fingernails bite into her thighs – from the introduction alone, she has a feeling that Niall has probably been right about something, “I think you’d be so cute with a leash and collar – maybe with a pendant that has my name on it, so if you get lost they know who to return you to. Would reserve a whole day for it – wake you up and have you cockwarm me but not let you cum, so you’re needy all day. Have you follow me around on all fours? The couch is a reward, but I’d let you curl up all pretty near my feet, and when you’d start whining because you’re needy, I’d – fuck –” his hand speeds up again, “I’d let you hump my leg. Let you pant and drool all over me, but if you get too loud I’ll give your mouth something to do – whether it’s my fingers, my cock or a chew toy. Jesus – and all you’d have to do is be pretty all day. Don’t need to think, just need to. . .need to let me decide for you.” 

Y/N feels like she might combust, the blood in her veins roaring through her body, her arousal clinging to her underwear. It’s too much in the way that Y/N wants it – needs it. Had never considered actually being a puppy for him until then, but it sounds. . .it sounds nice, being out of her head. Cock drunk and stupid with something in her mouth. A whole day of just letting Harry decide for her. Maybe he’d let her crawl into his lap. Maybe he’d pet her, rub her back, scratch her scalp, coo and murmur at her like she really was just his little, sweet pet and. . .

“Yeah,” she nods, sitting up a little higher, a little straighter, “Yeah, that, that sounds good, I’d like that. Wanna be a dumb puppy for you, don’t want to think.” 

Harry groans, and it reverberates through her even from this distance; it feels as if he were pressed right up against her. “I’d get you a tail plug,” he keeps going, encouraged, “Fuck it into you. Let it stretch you out all day. If you were a naughty thing, then I’d take it out and only fuck your other little hole while you whined and cried about it. Oh, and sometimes I just want to. . want to tie you up and see how much you can take. How many orgasms can I wring out of you, until you’re spent, so exhausted that you can’t stay awake.” 

“I’d let you fuck me after I fell asleep,” she tells him, “You could keep going, I wouldn’t mind, I’d like knowing that you were doing it – that you did it – when I woke up the next morning.” 

This little tidbit is rewarded by Harry giving her his fingers. His thumb finds her bottom lip again, only this time he does dip it in toward her tongue, lets her nip and suck at it, “Yeah? You want me to fuck that messy pussy while you sleep?” She moans around his thumb, nodding, “What am I going to do with a filthy puppy like you?” 

“I want it,” she murmurs around his thumb, feeling the way he moves her around with the fingers of the same hand cradling her jaw, “Please, let me taste, I wanna taste –” 

“This is a punishment, Pup,” he reminds her, but she can sense him stepping closer, hear his hand clearer, feel the warmth emanating from his body, “Only good girls get to taste my cock.” 

Something twists in her chest, a whine leaves her mouth as she moves forward, closer, “Please,” her mouth is still full of his thumb, “Please, I need it, I’ve been dreaming about it, don’t be – don’t be mean –” 

“Aish, shhhh,” he says between a mix of a chuckle and a moan, “Take what you’re given, baby. Take what daddy gives you.” 

But Y/N needs it – she needs it so bad. Especially after he says something like that – when he calls himself that – when it’s something Y/N didn’t even know she was into until right then. It makes things 10x more serious for her – she feels more desperate than she thinks she ever has. Her underwear is so wet that it’s uncomfortable at this point, and she’s so worked up she thinks all it would take is for him to barely press a knuckle to her clit and she’d cum. Her hands, that had been good, sitting in her lap, now reach out and blindly grab for him. She finds his legs, the skin of his thighs, she thinks, a little fuzzy from the hair. The muscle is thick and begging for her teeth to dig into it, it tenses under her grip, but he doesn’t make her take her hands off of him. 

“So needy,” his tone is placating, as he tickles under her chin, “Silly thing –” whatever else he was going to say is clipped off by another sound, a rasped, “G’na cum for you,” falling from his mouth. Y/N feels so worked up and so incensed that she isn’t actually seeing it, that she could scream. She wants it – would he let her taste that at least? Or was that considered a treat too? Y/N sticks out her tongue just in case, wishing she were feeling it against her tongue, stroking the inside of her cheek, filling her mouth up too full so that her jaw aches as badly as her knees. 

A reedy sound leaves him, “Look at you,” she wonders what debauched version of her he’s seeing right now, and if she needs to be concerned or not. Suddenly, she feels his index finger swipe against her cheek, “You’re crying, Puppy. Do you need it that badly? Want daddy’s cock?” 

Y/N hadn’t realized she was crying until he said it. Now she feels the sticky, wet on her cheeks, the salty taste of it when they drip down to her lips, onto her tongue. It’s like. . .so serious right now, for her. Niall had told her once about how he cried during sex, and how afterward he felt silly, but in the moment, everything seemed so intense and he just wanted so much, that all he could think to do was cry. How, in the moment, it felt so serious, his desperation, and she finally understands it. 

Then, she feels it, the very tip of his cock resting against her tongue, “Don’t close your lips around it,” he warns her, “Just let me – fuck, fuck, just let me –” 

Let him what, she doesn’t know, but Y/N fights every urge to close her lips around the head and suck him into her mouth. Still, she drools at the taste of him, the precum salty on her tongue, the tacky feel of the lube, her whole body vibrates when he groans long and drawn out, the tip throbbing once against her tongue before he starts to cum. It’s warm, there’s a lot of it – it’s not as bitter as some that she’s tasted before. Harry eats so cleanly, it makes sense, but it carries that musk and headiness that only he could have. It pools on her tongue, drips down her lips, probably over his thumb that he uses to hook around her bottom lip and keep her jaw open, and Y/N is rueful of any of it not savored. But he didn’t tell her to swallow it, and she’s exercising immense self-restraint right now. 

Once Harry finishes, breathless, inhaling and exhaling loudly, “Swallow for me,” he orders, and Y/N wastes no time, bringing her lips together and swallowing it down, warm in her belly. 

The thing was, Y/N had been so good at exercising her self-restraint when her eyes were covered, but she was not prepared for the sight before her when Harry removed the blindfold. It slips away, off of her face, and it takes her a second to readjust to the lighting in the room. She blinks several times, working the bleariness from her gaze, and then Harry comes into focus. His cock, softening, wet at the tip with precum and cum and the lube he’d been using to make it wet and messy from the jump. His skin is flushed pink, and looks soft, and Y/N is like. . she’s only a human, okay? She can only tell herself no so many times before she has to give in. 

She leans in without thinking, takes the tip of his cock into her mouth, then swallows him down to the root. Harry seems omnipotent about a lot of things regarding her, but he clearly had not been expecting this, if the startled squawk that left his mouth is anything to go by. He stumbles backward a bit, probably sensitive, and when the back of his knees hit her bed, he drops down on top of it. Y/N follows after him, greedy, wanting, mouth open, and taking him back inside. 

“Oh fuck,” he cried out, his hips bucking into her mouth, and it’s good – to see him lose it like this. To feel him get harder in her mouth, even though he’s probably overstimulated and sensitive, but he doesn’t yank her off. Doesn’t even scold her yet, just spreads his legs and lets her have her way. Y/N appreciates it, and the noises he makes, the choked off whine that has her buzzing. His hand carefully rests on her head, once again, pushing her hair out of the way, “Just like that, Puppy.” 

Harry’s lips look so swollen, like he’d been licking and gnawing at them the whole time her eyes were covered. Y/N wants to stare at him while she has her mouthful of his cock, but cross eyed really isn’t a good look for her, and the thought of Harry seeing her at the angle of her looking up from beneath her eyebrows almost stuns her out of whatever brave daze she’d found herself in. So she just imagined how pretty he must look – she caught a glimpse of it, the way his brow was furrowed, how he almost looked like he was in pain, but the moans were denoting that he felt good. 

To make him cum again doesn’t take very long.  He twitches in her mouth, against her tongue, then against her cheek when she presses it up against the inside of it, letting him see the bulge of it outside of her mouth. There’s less of it this time, but still a good amount, something for Y/N to swallow down greedily, to lick off her lips after. When she pulls off of him, she fully expects to be chastised for doing that without him telling her to, but Harry doesn’t look mad. More so amused, a little fond – again, like he’s staring at a dog who just doesn’t know any better but still might be cute. 

“Come up here,” he offers, and Y/N has sense enough to be a little careful of his cock when she crawls into his lap. Harry flops himself onto his back and brings her with him, laughing when she squeals, “So fucking filthy, aren’t you?” His hand still finds her back – he unclips the bra, but it doesn’t seem like he means to do anything with it. Just get it out of his way as he starts to tickle her back, light caresses along the knobs of her spine, tracing the curves and dips, the point of her shoulder blades. Y/N melts into him, nuzzling her face into his throat. Her cheeks are wet from her tears and her mouth is wet from spit and cum, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only coos a sound and keeps rubbing her back. “You won’t cum tonight, for that little stunt you pulled,” he murmured, and Y/N kind of figured as much. . She’s just pleased that he doesn’t seem upset about it. More humored than anything, “It felt good though, Sweetheart. You’re good with your tongue – can’t wait to feel it when you aren’t trying to overstimulate me.” 

Y/N giggles against him, sinks into the feeling – this warmth, the buzz in her bones, the hum across her skin. 

“Do you know what subspace is, Pet?” Harry inquires, and Y/N shakes her head, melts further into him, head full of cotton, “Mm, okay. We’ll talk about it later, okay?” 

She nods and closes her eyes. 

                                                                   .                   .                   .

“I fucking knew it, I’m always right!” 

Y/N’s neck is sore from how she has it craned, keeping her phone squished between her ear and her shoulder to talk with Niall, because her hands were full. It’d been a long while since Y/N had done a solo shopping trip, mostly because she knows she talks herself out of getting most things, but if she goes with Niall, he’ll convince her everything is a good idea. And listen, sometimes you just need someone to agree with everything you pick up, so she’d rather go with him. 

Today, Niall had a doctor’s appointment at noon, a lunch date with his cousin at 2:30, and a dick appointment at 6 PM because he liked to be on League by 9 to at least get an hour in before bed. They had an extra day off, courtesy of Harry having business to tend to (meetings and the like) today and Niall complaining enough that Adam finally agreed to let him have some time off too. This wasn’t special treatment gifted to them by Y/N’s throat goat antics, however, Harry always gave her a free day if he wouldn’t be in. And Niall always got a free day if he was fussy enough. 

It feels like it happened a week ago, despite being last night. Harry reminded her before he left that she’d have the day off, so to take it easy and enjoy her day off. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another soft one to her temple – he was always very gentle with her after they did something together, which she thought was nice. Especially when she finds out she’s been going into some version of subspace this whole time, Harry explained to her once she’d been pulled out of it for the most part. It’s why he always makes the effort to stay, why he’s so careful with her. Up until the moment they part from each other. 

So she slept in today, but she woke up kind of antsy, and wanting to spend money, so here she was – on a street full of shops that she really didn’t need to be going in and out of, but was anyway. Niall had originally called to tell her that his blood work looked divine, then Y/N promptly info dumped the entire night before to him. The whole time he was gasping and yelling, she wondered if he was in his car or if he was out in public – there was no shame on his end, and she guesses not hers either, if she’s sharing this in public. At least she’s kind of whispering though. 

“Good think I already made the purchase and it’s getting sent to your house – collar and leash. I’ll let him pick what chew toy he wants for you, though.” 

Y/N’s face feels like it’s going to burn off, “Enough – send me how much I owe you though.” 

“It’s on the house, from one kink freak to another,” he answered easily, “Risky move jumping his bones like that though, I’m surprised he even allowed it. Reckon it’s because you look so cute and pitiful when you cry.” 

“Thank you?” Y/N says it, unsure, “Anyway, we’re always talking about my shit – who is this dinner time dick appointment you’re meeting up with?” 

Niall makes a noise like he just remembered that was happening, “Oh, yeah, he’s nobody special,” he tells her, “His personality reminded me of this character I like in an otome game. Speaking of, I need you to download it – there’s a character who is like a level 1000 yearner. He’s got your name written all over him.”

Y/N snorts, pleasantly surprised that Niall’s request of her isn’t something to do with his balls – but before she can entertain the idea of downloading, someone says her name. The familiarity of the voice makes her spine go ramrod straight, tension immediately builds in her neck, and Niall’s voice fades into murmurs of background noise. Y/N turns to her left, and like a demon that had resurrected from the mud and soil of a swamp, she sees Rowan – her ex – jogging across the street to get to her. Y/N should have pretended like she hadn’t heard a fucking thing and kept trucking it, but of course she full body stopped then completely turned to look at him, so pretending was out of the question. 

“Ni,” she cut him off, from whatever tirade he’d started, “Let me call you back, yeah?” 

She hangs up before he can question her and Rowan is close enough to hear her, “Hey! Was that Ni on the phone? Tell him I said what’s up!” 

If he knew you’d bothered to speak to me, he’d probably teleport here and beat your ass – is what Y/N wanted to say, but instead she forces a smile, “Sure, I will,” before an awkward, “Hey. What-uh-what’re you doing out here?” 

Rowan tilts his head – he cut his hair shorter, since she’d seen him last, and dyed it blond – something he used to swear he would never do. Y/N guesses people change, though. It suits him well enough, and seeing someone blond with brown eyes is always pretty rare, so it’s an interesting look, “What you’re doing, I imagine. It’s nice to shop during a weekday, when it isn’t as crowded.” He smiled, “I’m looking for a gift. Remi’s birthday is in a couple of days.” 

Y/N knew that already, only because she and Niall had done an extensive deep dive into her socials after she found out about the whole “emotional cheating” situation. What she doesn’t know is if Rowan is legitimately just an idiot and thinks nothing of it when he brings her up, or if he’s trying to get a reaction out of her again. That bitter ex-girlfriend that he craved to have, it seemed, when he used to go out of his way to try and work her up. Get her angry – make it seem like he was something that needed to be sought after, fought for. 

“Fun,” she replies as warmly as she could make it, “Give her a happy birthday from me.” 

Y/N is about to make an excuse, pivot on her heel, and fuck off out of there, but Rowan is too quick – he always has been. “Ah! I just – can’t believe my luck today. I was just thinking about you this morning. . was going to message you but. . .” You never answer, is left unsaid. “Let me take you for a coffee? I’ll be quick, I promise, I just feel like. . .I feel like I need to talk to you. I don’t like how things ended. Closure and all that.” 

She blinked at him – what the fuck? What closure did he need? He fell in love with his coworker after spending three years making Y/N insecure about stupid shit. Y/N, to his face, had been super chill about the whole thing and only requested that he leave the stuff she’d left at his flat in a box at her door. There was no closure to be had, in her opinion. 

But if she said that. . .she knew how it would come off. So she sighs, relents, “Okay,” she answers, “But I really don’t have a lot of time.” 

Rowan seems relieved, nodding, “I’ll be quick,” he promises again, then nudges his thumb in the direction he came, “I was about to go in there before I saw you. Their lattes are good – you still like caramel, right?”

It was awkward.  You would think that after spending three years of your life with someone, seeing them again wouldn’t feel like meeting up with a stranger, but it does. The last time she spoke with Rowan like this, Y/N had barely started culinary school, Harry was someone she knew in name alone, and she still washed her clothes in a big mess of colors rather than separating the blacks, lights, and whites – so it’d been a while. There are huge gaps in time to be filled, and if they had actually ended things on a good note, Y/N wouldn’t mind learning what he’d been doing since they last saw each other like this. Instead, she doesn’t give a fuck, and would rather tell Harry that sometimes she pretends he’s holding her when she’s trying to fall asleep alone. 

If Rowan senses the tension, he doesn’t act like it. His fingers run along the rim of the mug he has, “I – honestly? I just wanted to apologize,” he starts, hitting the ground running like he always did, “How I – what I did and how I did it were unfair. How I told you – I look back and kind of cringe at it. I probably sounded like a huge dick.” 

You are a huge dick. 

“That’s alright,” Y/N replied, “It was a long time ago. We were younger.” 

He grimaces, “Still, sometimes I think about you and I just wish we could’ve kept in touch properly. But I know it’s my fault that we didn’t.” Rowan licks over his lips, then pulls the mug to his mouth, taking a small sip and wincing when the heat of it hits his tongue, “I’m not asking for you to forgive me, or anything. First and foremost, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for. . .well, I was never the best partner to you. Being with Remi has made me realize this.” 

If Y/N were more spiteful, she’d probably say something like, “Pray tell how being with your new girlfriend has opened your eyes to your poor, lowly ex, whom you ridiculed, and made feel silly and gross and unimportant, and unloved. Explain why I feel more of a connection with my boss who calls me puppy and has me suck on his fingers, than I ever did with you, in the three years wer were together. Why stay with me so long, if it was only going to take six months to upend it?” 

But she didn’t do that, because she’s a cool ex. Not the crazy ex guys they are always talking about, just normal, and that’s all. Not at all annoyed by him, or his presence. An apology is nice, sure, but he’s about three years too late, and she isn’t interested in patching anything up or being invited to the wedding. Especially when she has the feeling that this is an elaborate ploy to something greater – something that will benefit him. 

“It’s all good,” she tells him instead, nodding her head, “I’ve moved past it.” Harry would probably click his tongue and call her a liar if he were here. Feed her bottom lip into her mouth and click his tongue at her. Silly puppy, what reason is there to lie for? 

“Ah, well – I’m glad I could say that to you finally. All that being said, how are you? How is working at like, the most fancy restaurant in the world?” He grins at her, “You’ve always been such an amazing cook, you deserve to be at such a good place.” 

Y/N nodded, “I’m good. It is really nice, and the people are kinder than I would have expected – the staff, at least. The people coming in can be a bit smarmy sometimes, but they’re just rich, so – you know how that is.” 

“Ugh, yeah,” he agrees, like he’s ever been in the service industry his entire life, “It’s pretty busy there, isn’t it?” Y/N hums, nodding, taking a small sip of the latte — it’s overly sweet which means it’s just her type, “Do you guys ever do events?” 

Here we go, “Hm? Events?” 

“You know, like birthdays…wedding receptions…stuff like that?” 

Something sour sits in Y/N’s gut as she looks at him, quietly for a moment. Enough time passes that it’s slightly uncomfortable, but she thinks he deserves it – this had been nothing innocent, as she suspected. Rowan didn’t want to make up with her because guilt had been eating away at him; he wanted to make up with her because he wanted a favor. Events in their restaurant are few and far between, because Harry hand-picks which ones he’s willing to do. During the wedding season last year, they had 5 receptions out of the 95 that requested it. They have an “event coordinators” number listed on the site, but it literally just rings in Harry’s office. He goes through his messages at the end of the day and ignores most of them. 

“We have an event coordinator,” she tells him, “Try giving him a call?” 

“Ah, that’s the thing,” Rowan gives a slanted smile, one that she used to think was cute way back when, but now she thinks is oily, “I’ve called but can never get through. I was wondering – if it wasn’t too much to ask for – would you be willing to put in a good word for me? Um, the reception would be this summer, sometime – our previous venue accidentally double booked so we’re kind of crunched for time.” 

That’s not my problem, “Oh,” she replied lamely, “I see. Well –” 

Y/N doesn’t know what excuse she was about to make, because she sure as fuck was not about to be a server at her exes wedding – but she doesn’t have to know. Not when, like an angel cast down from the sky in the form of Youngjae, appears at their table, all dimples, “Y/N!” He says it so cheerily, like they had plenty of history together and not just one successful meal. 

“Oh, wow, what perfect timing!” Y/N is quick to get to her feet, “Thank you for meeting me here, I was just finishing up my coffee. Ah, anyway, sorry Rowan, I’ll give it a try, but we’re pretty booked up so it may not work. I’d look into other venues. Thank you for the coffee, have a good rest of your day.” 

Y/N doesn’t think before looping her fingers around Youngjae’s wrist and guiding him out of the cafe. He goes with her easily, thankfully, and continues to walk with her until they round a corner, out of sight of the windows and the door of the cafe. “I’m so sorry,” she rushes to say, twisting to face him, “I was in the worst, most awkward conversation ever and needed to leave. Your timing really was perfect.”  She grimaces, “But I’m sure you were in there getting a drink or something – um, can I pay you back for it?” 

He’s still smiling, shaking his head, “No, that’s fine, I wasn’t ordering,” he motions behind them, “I own this building, so I was just checking in for the day.” 

Eyes wide, Y/N gapes, “Oh? You own this one?” He nods, “I guess I didn’t realize you owned multiple – multiple chains?” 

“Yes, though this is more of a family endeavor,” he replies, “May I ask what the awkward conversation was? Or is this a secret?” 

She snorted, reaching up to knuckle at her eyes now, tired from doing everything in her power not to narrow or squint at everything Rowan said. What a crazy bastard – even if they’d ended things on beautiful terms, it is completely inappropriate to ask your ex something like that. Inappropriate and stupid – it’s one thing if he’d just go behind her back to do it, it’s another thing to try and wrap her up in it. Why the fuck would that have been a good idea? 

Y/N explained the situation to a shocked and equally appalled Youngjae. It’s nice to see his reaction, because part of her wondered if she was overreacting, but the way his mouth is pulled into legitimate distress makes her feel a bit better, “That’s horrible,” he replies, “Do you want me to ban him from the cafe?” 

This makes her really laugh, this time, startled out of her by the absurdity of it. Youngjae seems happy with her reaction, his dimples reappearing quickly. It makes her think about Harry and how she wishes she got to see his dimples more often, the deep little craters are so cute. 

“No, no, that’s okay. He’s always been stupid, I’m just somehow surprised by it still. It’s been a while since I’ve even spoken to him.” She sighs, waving her hand back and forth in the air, batting the interaction away, “I’m sorry for that – for getting you involved and then. . .then telling you about it. I feel very silly.” 

“It’s silly to feel silly,” he told her, “Now that we’re together, though, I do have a question? If you’re willing to answer?” Y/N looked at him, waited for him to continue, “You haven’t accepted my invitation yet, to my restaurant. I’m wondering if you’re not interested in Korean cuisine?” 

Her eyes go wide again, “Oh my god!” She all but cries out, “Oh my god, I’m the worst – I completely forgot about that,” she hides her face in her hands, “We’ve been so busy and – you know I was wondering why I had a dentist appointment card in my purse but I just kept moving past it.” 

Youngjae laughs, good-naturedly, warmly, “Ah, that’s good then! I was worried I may have come off too strong before,” he tells her, “I should have had one of my cards with me, but I hadn’t been planning on enjoying my meal as much as I did. Are you free today? Perhaps you can come with me?” He motions down the street, “It’s close by, just a small walk.” 

Y/N looks at her watch and well – what the hell, she didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day. He did save her bum, and it’s not even like this is her repaying him for it. Y/N’s unsure why he wants to visit his restaurant so badly, but chalks it up to chefs just liking to show other chefs what they can do, and teaching younger chefs what they could become. It only benefits Y/N, in the end, to get additional experience, especially in a type of food she’s never had much experience in, besides barbeques. And even then, somehow she manages to evade grilling most of the time. 

“Sure!” She answers, “Why not? That’d be fun.” 

                                                        .                               .                           .

It is a lot of fun. 

Youngjae is more like Adam in his approach to teaching; he’s silly and playful, and makes a lot of bad jokes that make Y/N laugh. He shows her the kitchen, their pantry, their cooler, and refrigerators. Introduces her to his staff, who scold him for getting in their way, and he only laughs about it and steps to the side. If any one of Harry’s staff had scolded him for getting in their way, he’d probably put their hand in a boiling pot, so this was an interesting dynamic to witness. Whereas Harry ran things with an iron fist, Youngjae seemed to be more tender-handed – both worked in their own way. 

As promised, he does show her a recipe: sundubu-jjigae, a soft-tofu stew. Despite being more relaxed by nature, he is just as methodical as Harry in preparing ingredients, showing her how to cut, where to cut, where you could be more liberal with spices, seasonings, and sauces, and when it pays to be more reserved. He demonstrates how to prepare the anchovies, the pork belly – how he increases or decreases the amount of each ingredient needed based on how big of a serving they’re making. It’s one of their more popular dishes, so they have to make a lot of it every day. 

The process takes a little over an hour – it probably would have been shorter, had he not had to stop and explain so many things to Y/N, but he seems delighted to. 

“Is this your new student?” One of the chefs inquires, hip leaning against the counter, watching carefully like she was also learning how, “Miss. Y/N?” 

Youngjae smiles but shakes his head, “Harry Styles is her mentor,” he tells them, and a steady gasp pulls from the chef’s chest, and a younger man nearby, “And that man is a bit scary, so I’m not looking to steal his virtuoso. I had one of her meals and it was so delicious, I’m still thinking about it,” he tells them, stirring the soup idly, and Y/N’s face feels hot with embarrassment and pride, “It reminds me of when I ate Mr. Styles’ for the first time, which says to me you absorb like a sponge – those are the best people to share skills with. I like to teach, and it is good to have multiple things in your repertoire. I believe so, at least.” 

By the time they finished, when Y/N took her first taste, she gasped. It was good – Y/N had had it before, but now she was having the World’s 50 best restaurants version of it, made from the very owner himself. She’s buzzing, because she feels like she learned a lot today, and food is delicious, and she thinks she’s very lucky to be able to learn so many amazing things. Especially when an older woman pulls her to the side, “I’ll show you how to make mandu,” she tells her, “It’s very easy.” 

Y/N spends a few uninterrupted hours there, learning, trying to utilize her sponge-like qualities that Youngjae had just said she had. She almost doesn’t realize her phone is buzzing in her back pocket until it’s about to go to voicemail. Then, when she slips it from her pocket, she sees Harry’s contact and is thoroughly surprised. She guesses she has been here for a while – he’s probably finished all of his meetings. Still, she wouldn’t have thought this meant he would contact her at the end of it. 

“Hello?” Y/N holds her finger up to the woman she’s speaking with, promising to be right back, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry countered. 

Y/N shrugs, then realizes he isn’t there to see it, “Oh, I dunno, you never really call me,” she explains, “At least not unprovoked.” 

Harry hums, she can hear the jingle of his keys on the other end of the phone, “Are you home? I’ll come over. I’ve finished for the day.”

She’s surprised, really, because if they aren’t working Harry rarely has seen her two days in a row, “Oh!” She’s surprised, looking again at her watch, checking the time, “I’m with Mr. Youngjae right now, but I should be home after that!” 

It’s quiet on the other end. More than quiet – silent, actually, eerily so – until Harry speaks again, “I didn’t know you were planning on that today.” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t really a plan or anything,” she explained, “It was crazy, but I ran into him at a cafe when my ex tricked me into having a coffee with him so –” 

“Your ex?” Harry repeated, cutting her off, “The one who messages you periodically and asks for dinner reservations?” 

Y/N snorted – she’d forgotten she told him that, and was thoroughly surprised that he remembered, “The one and only.”  

Harry is quiet again, before he hums – this hum, in particular, Y/N doesn’t know if she’s ever heard before. It’s short – a staccato noise. Y/N doesn’t even know if she could classify it as a hum, but she does, “I see,” he finally replies, “You’ve had a busy day.” 

She scratches her forearm, “Yeah, a little,” she tells him, “But I’d – I’d like if you still came over. I can message you when I’m home, m’just about done here – I’m learning how to make mandu.” 

Another short hum, “Yes, I’d like to see you after.” 

“It’s a date then!” Y/N exclaims, then realizes what she says, and backtracks instantly, “Oh, I – um – I mean. . . I mean it’s a plan, then, haha,” she swallows hard, “Okay, I need to get back. I’ll message you!” 

She hangs up, heart doing a weird little stutter. How exciting for her – she’d kind of thought the day was going to be ruined once Rowan showed his dumb fucking face to her, but it’s shaping up to be quite nice. Harry sounded a little odd on the phone, but she wondered if he was just feeling awkward about seeing her two days in a row. It’s new for him, for sure – maybe they could eat together, in a couple of hours. Maybe he would make her cum, after withholding it last night. Y/N kind of hopes he does, because then the chances of her going into subspace are greater, and the chances of getting a cuddle out of him are greater too. Harry’s a great cuddler, but she knows she’ll only get that at the end of the night. 

The options are endless, really, what they’ll do. 

Y/N is smiling as she walks back into the kitchen. 

                                                                        .                          .                         .

Harry is crashing out. 

He never really understood the phrase when he overheard Niall and Y/N saying it (then Adam, subsequently, who always ended up using whatever weird phrases and lingo the two adopted for the month), if they touched wet food, or if Niall lost a rank in his League game, or if Adam had to sous vide another steak after a group of 10 executives came to eat one day. All of those feelings must have equated to what he feels right now, though, like he’s spinning out of orbit. Like he’s an alien spaceship, careening towards earth, slamming into some random farmland against his will. Sparks flying, pieces of shrapnel everywhere, and there he sat in the middle of it, overwhelmed, and consumed by the feeling. 

It was one thing to hear that Y/N had seen her ex today. Harry didn’t care about that much; he cared in the way that he feels bad she had to see him, because he had picked up how difficult the dynamic between the two of them was, and he knew how it ended was shitty. He also knew that he never left her alone, so she must have been annoyed, to some degree. Harry hates that for her, and that for her off day, she had to waste even a little bit of time on him. 

But to learn that Youngjae – pretty-eyed, nice teeth, dimpled Youngjae was the one to swoop in and save her? To learn that she had been with him since, learning something under someone else, not within reach of him. . .well, he’s seething, if he’s honest. The thick murk of jealousy sits in his chest and sinks to his stomach, as he imagined it. How sweet Youngjae must be to her right now, how he must be praising her, how Y/N is getting that twinkle in her eye and that sparkle in her veins when someone tells her she’s doing well. He’s well aware of what that praise shifts into, if Y/N’s attracted to someone, and hell, there’s no way she isn’t attracted to him. Even fucking Harry is attracted to him! And they’re probably alone, all snuggled up in a kitchen, giggling between each other, and –

Wow, he seriously can’t even think about it. It’s making his teeth hurt, probably from the way his jaw is set and tensed. He’s already outside of her place – he’d waited all of 30 minutes, but he was just driving around aimlessly and mad, so he thought it’d be safer to just park it somewhere. He doesn’t have to wait for long – he sees her walking to the building and feels like he’s going to faint because no way Youngjae got to see her in that pretty of a fucking sundress before Harry could. It’s a purple-ish pink, and flows in the wind, blowing up, almost high enough for her bum to show but she was too quick for it to actually show anything. Did that happen when she was with Youngjae too? Did he see her bum? Or, worse, did he see that cute, embarrassed look on her face? The one that makes Harry hard? 

He waits for 15 minutes so he feels less pathetic about immediately showing up. Y/N messaged him a little bit after he’d seen her, a home! :) – that shows she’s just so painfully unaware of the turmoil he’s going through. He could tell over the phone as well, listening to how excited she sounded to be learning how to make mandu. Harry needs to get it in check before he gets in front of her door, or else. . .or else. . .he’s not sure what would happen, but he doesn’t know if he’ll like it. 

Harry knocks on the door and struggles not to immediately crowd her space. She smiles when she sees him, though her brows are raised a bit, “Oh, you’re fast!” 

“I was around,” he explained, and conveniently left out that “around” was right outside, in her parking lot. Hazelnut eyeballs him from the couch arm she’s propped on, with a look that says she knows something is up. Y/N always talks about the cat giving her looks, and he could only imagine that this was one of them. He understands more why Y/N is always so shaken by them. 

When he steps in, closer to her, he sniffs the air a little. “Are you wearing a new perfume?” 

“Hm?” Her head tilted – very puppy-like of her, and his prick does twitch in interest, but he reels himself in for a moment, watching as she tilted into her bicep and sniffed, “No, I’m not?” 

“You smell flowery today,” Harry notes. 

“Oh, do I? That might be Youngjae then or something – he kind of smells like a garden and we hugged before I left.” 

A garden? You’re fucking joking. 

Harry closes the door behind him, steps further into the flat, and further into Y/N’s space. He is unable to keep up pretenses for longer than those fifteen seconds, before he’s sliding a hand to the side of her neck, “How do you feel about marks?” 

“Like love bites?” She rephrases, and Harry nods. 

“Yeah, sure. How do you feel about them?” 

Y/N shrugs, “I mean, I don’t mind them but – ah!” 

He wastes no time, doesn’t hear her but that lingers in the air afterward. Harry fixes his lips around a tender, sensitive bit of skin where her shoulder and throat meet and bites down. The feeling of it makes Y/N jump, jerking back but Harry holds her still, and she doesn’t complain apart from a little whine. Soon enough, she’s craning her neck to the opposite side, giving him more room to do it. She’s so obedient, it makes him dizzy, or maybe that’s just because he isn’t breathing how he has his nose shoved up against her. He licks over the skin he’d chosen before suckling on it, holding her still, making sure it’s something dark and glowing, a pretty bruise that she’ll wear on her throat until it eventually fades. One he can press into, one she could see in the mirror and remember he gave her. 

It’s pretty when Harry looks at it. Even prettier when he runs a thumb over it and she jumps, sucking in a wet gasp. 

“You have a no hickey policy,” she finally says, and Harry hums, bemused, “At work. That’s – that’s what I was going to say – I like them but you. . .you remember, you almost ripped Ni a new one when he showed up with one on his neck and he sweated his makeup off.” 

Harry vaguely remembers that. He couldn’t be bothered with the full memory, though, as he continues to run his thumb over the bruise. 

“Remind me to give him an extra break,” he replies, “How many of these do you think I can give you?” 

[whats-your-face]

—iii. the smoke, and who's still standing when it clears

cw: some slight implied sexual thoughts?

an: i had to cut a part from this or else it was going to be way too long. see ya in the next one, reefer rick.

“So, how did it go?”

Tonya sits across from you looking perfect as always, such a beautiful light in your life. Even when she’s antagonizing you.

“It was…really nice actually.” A small, shy smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your mind recalls the night before.

Your date with Sam went way smoother than you had anticipated. He picked you up on time, even coming to the door to get you which you knew Tonya was going to bring up today. He did everything right; held open all of the doors, pulled your seat out for you, paid for your food, actually listened to what you had to say and didn’t interrupt you. He was extremely charming and funny, and the two of you had a lot more in common than you expected.

“Sam sounds pretty perfect, doesn’t he?” Tonya says with a teasing tone, eyebrows raising suggestively. 

“Yeah, I guess I’m making him sound that way, huh? It makes me wonder how bad his faults are going to be.” 

“Unless he’s got bodies in his basement I’d say keep him around.” Tonya raises her hand to count on her fingers, “He’s hot, he’s got a good job, good manners—I’d say baby trap his ass.”

“TONYA!” You lean in, whisper yelling at your friend’s suggestion, the two of you breaking out into a fit of giggles. “I am absolutely not doing that. But…I did agree to a second date.”

“I guess I can take that for now,” Tonya shrugs, taking a sip of her mimosa. “Oh, speaking of dates, I almost forgot. Charlie and I are going out of town for our anniversary. He’s taking me to Chicago!” Her giddiness warms you. Even if you aren’t a fan of him, you have to admit seeing your best friend happy brings you your own kind of happiness. 

The sharp sound of the phone ringing makes you jump, almost dropping the plate you were cleaning into the soapy water. You look at the stove clock reading just a little past 8 pm. In the few weeks that you’ve been here not once has the phone ever rang. Walking over to it, your hand hovers over the plastic as you debate on if you should answer it. It’s not like it's your house, but who else is going to answer the phone? 

A sigh of relief comes from you as the phone ceases it’s ringing on its own. The quiet takes over again, and you think you’re in the clear until the ringing starts again. 

Grabbing the phone, you quickly bring it to your ear with a, “Hello?” 

There’s a pause, and you repeat your greeting into the receiver. Suddenly you can pick up some whispering, at least two voices talking to each other on the other line. 

“Sorry, wrong number.” Click. Dial tone.

You look down at the phone before shaking your head and placing it back in place. But only a single step is taken before the phone begins to ring again. Annoyed now, you pick up the phone once more.

“Hello?” You say again, tone reflecting your temperament.

“Ugh, not again,” you hear the voice from the other end groan. “Sorry, miss.” Click. Dial tone again.

‘What the fuck?’ you think, putting the phone back on the hook again. You hover around it for a moment, and sure enough it begins to ring again.

“Listen, kid,” your start, tone firm, “If you keep calling here to bother this family I will call Chief Hopper.”

“You know Hopper?” The younger boy's voice says from the other line. No, you don’t know him. But Wayne told you to say that in case this exact scenario was to arise.

“Yes, I actually have his personal number right here—”

“So do I,” the boy quips back, striking a nerve. You’re about to give this kid an earful before he continues on. “I just saw him earlier today, actually. But that’s not the point. I’m just trying to get a hold of my friend and this is the number his uncle gave me to call and—”

“Uncle?”

“Yes, uncle. I don’t see how out of all the information I gave you that him having an uncle is what caught your attention.”

“Oh, my god, you are so annoying. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is your friend’s name Eddie?”

“YES! Yes! His name is Eddie—”

“Dude, don’t tell her his name—”

“Chill out, Mike, it’s fine—How do you know Eddie?”

“Well,” you draw out, returning some of the attitude back to the other end of the call, “I think me telling you that depends on who is asking?”

There’s a bit of muffled deliberation between the boy on the phone and whoever Mike. You wait patiently, foot tapping against the kitchen tile. After a moment you hear a sigh come from the other line, followed by a throat clearing.

“Okay, fine. My name is Dustin Henderson,” the boy starts. “I’m calling looking for Eddie Munson. He is my friend, and myself and some of his other friends are worried about him. I’m assuming you’re in his house for some reason, and I am asking you if we could talk to him. Please.”

“Dustin Henderson, huh?” You repeat, attempting to keep a bit of sass in your tone. In reality, the name instantly rings a bell. Wayne told you a little about Eddie’s friends, and along with the guys that Eddie was in a band with, the name Dustin came up a lot. Wayne said Eddie looked at Dustin like a little brother he never had. 

It takes everything in you to keep your composure right now. Eddie’s been feeling much better these last couple days, so you’re sure he’ll be delighted to talk to his friends. “Okay, Dustin Henderson. Let me go ask him if he’s up to taking a phone call. Hold on.”

You set the phone down on the kitchen table and jog down the hall to Eddie’s room. Knocking on his door, you push it open slightly before calling into the room.

“Eddie? Are you up?”

“Hmmm…I am now,” the groggy, sleepy voice from the other side of the door sends an unwanted chill down your back. Quickly shaking it off, you enter the room to Eddie sitting up in his bed, hair in every which direction and arms outstretched as he lets out the most unnecessarily loud yawn you’ve ever heard. You give him an unimpressed look to which he returns mockingly.

“Can I help you? Or did you just come in here to stare?”

You roll your eyes, “You have a phone call. From a Dustin Henderson, who seems like he very much would like to speak with you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, an excited expression on his face. Though, it’s a fleeting one, as his features become downtrodden and he starts to sink down into himself.

“Tell him I’m asleep.”

“What? Why?”

He huffs. “I don’t want to talk to him…”

“Eddie, he’s called the house at least four times. Can you just—“

“No.”

You watch him sink under the covers again, back into the safety net of his comforter. You stand there for a moment, dumbstruck. Eddie’s can definitely be an ass, but Wayne told you before that Eddie’s friends mean a lot to him.

Leaving Eddie behind in his room, you make your way back to the kitchen. Bringing the phone to your ear, you can hear the boys on the other end having a conversation between them.

“—aybe it’s his girlfriend,” the other boy says teasingly.

“Eddie? With a girl? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dustin scoffs.

“Hello?” You say into the receiver with a giggle.

“Yes, hi, we’re still here,” Dustin says with urgency.

“Hi, um, so I went to check on him and he says he’s not really feeling up to talking today.”

“Oh, okay…” Your heart aches hearing the disappointment in the boy’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Try again tomorrow, okay? Maybe a little earlier. I think his medicine makes him sleepy.”

“Alright, will do,” Dustin perks up. “Thank you ma’am.” 

You give him your name before giving your goodbyes.

Dustin and Mike call every day for the next 4 days. One time with their friend Will, who apparently has never met Eddie but wants to meet him so they can all talk about dungeons and dragons. 

You see, Eddie was their dungeon master in their high school club, which also includes the guys in Eddie’s band. All of them have been playing a new campaign, and they want to give Eddie all the details of their first get together without him.

All of this you have learned against your will, mostly because every time Eddie turns down their phone call, you can’ help but lend an ear when they get going. And, boy, do they get going.

“So we told Will to cast a fireball, but he wanted to save his spell slot and—”

“What's a spell slot?” You sit at the dining room table, flipping through a car magazine Wayne left sitting out.

“It’s, like, the amount of spells you’re allowed to use per day in the game.”

“Ooooh, so he only gets so many?”

“Correct.”

“Well, then yeah it would make sense that he would want to conserve them.”

“See,” Mike stresses from the other end of the line, “She doesn’t even play and she gets it! Quit picking on Will! It’s not like we lost anyway.”

“Yeah, but we would have gotten through the hoard a lot quicker if he had at least tried.”

The sound of Eddie’s bell pulls you from the boys’ banter. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you say, placing the phone down on the table. 

Sprinting down the hall, you knock quickly before entering the room. Eddie still doesn’t call for you often, so when he does you can't help but worry a bit. “Everything okay—oh shit!” 

Instead of hiding under his covers, Eddie sits back against the headboard of the hospital bed. His covers have all been kicked to the floor and the middle of his bed sheet is drenched. Upon further inspection, you see that his shirt and boxers are soaked as well. 

“Eddie, what happened?”

“What does it look like?!” His tone is full of frustration. “I dropped my fucking cup and the lid popped off and spilled all over the place!”

“Okay, okay,” you say calmly, “I can fix this. Why don’t you get in your chair and I’ll strip the bed?”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbled, face wincing in pain as he slowly moved his body to sit on the edge of the bed. You moved to the side of the bed and offered a helping hand, which he ignored but at least you tried. Once he was properly sitting on the edge, you grabbed his chair and positioned it before raising the bed. 

“Okay, just put your hands on my shoulders…” you start, instructing him like you would one of your patients. “And I’ll just—“ 

Your hands hover for a moment as you fully process that he is only wearing boxers. Wet boxers that, when in close proximity, don’t leave much to the imagination when left wet and sticking to his body.

Not wanting to let your eyes wander, you preoccupy yourself by placing your hands on his hips and grabbing the hem of his undergarment. 

“On the count of three, we’ll pivot. Ready?”

Eddie gives you a nod, placing his hands on your shoulders and holding tightly. You keep your eyes on his foot as you count down, shifting him into his chair in one swift motion. He grunts as he gets adjusted in the chair, a little winded from all the movement. 

“You good?” You ask, taking a step back. 

“I’ll live,” he says with cynicism. 

“You better. Won't look good on me if you die on my watch.

It’s fleeting, but you swear that you see the corner of his lips curl up into a smile before he turns away from you. 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, “I’m gonna get in the shower.”

You perk up at his declaration. “Really? Okay! Let me go hang up with Dustin and the guys and I’ll get my stuff for you.”

Eddie’s hair flies everywhere with the way his head snaps in your direction. His head bows, eyes squinting as he speaks, “What do you mean hang up with Dustin and the guys…?”

“Oh, they called again so I was talking to them.”

“So, you’re saying you’ve been talking to my friends on my phone…?”

“Well you’re not doing it,” you shrug. “They were just telling me about the game you guys play, I guess Will didn’t cast a flameball because he wanted to save one of his slots or something—“

“Okay, first of all, it’s fireball, not flameball. And second, why the hell are they telling you about this stuff? Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Sorry, fireball,” you apologize with sarcasm. “And, they would be telling you all of this if you would just talk to them.”

His face scrunches up, head shaking before he turns away from you completely. You notice for the first time that he pushes the wheels with the palms of his hands rather than using his fingers to grip them. Having helped set up his dinner for him a few times, you’ve seen that with the tissue damage to his right hand that he doesn’t have much mobility in it. 

The temptation to offer some physical therapy for it sits in your mind. But, you’re not sure how he would react to your offer, so you’ll hold off until you can chip away at him a little more. He pushes himself slowly into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. With a sigh you leave him be and go to hang up the call with the boys. 

After grabbing new bed sheets, you reenter Eddie’s room and begin to strip his bed, piling everything onto the floor. You're about to take off the pillow cases when a sudden clatter has you rushing to the bathroom door. 

Pushing it open, you peer inside to see Eddie sitting at the sink. From what you can see of his reflection, it looks like he’s trying to shave the scruffy, uneven hair that's grown on the non scarred parts of his face. 

“You’re quick, huh?” He comments as he reaches into the sink for his electric razor. 

“Well, can’t blame me after the other day, can you?” You tease, referring to his fall last week. He doesn’t respond and turns the razor back on to continue shaving. 

As you stand there and watch him, your words come out like word vomit. “You look good like that.”

His eyes flick to meet yours in the reflection in the mirror. “What's that supposed to mean?” He asks with a clipped tone.

“It means what I said.” 

And you could leave it at that. You often wonder if he had been bullied even before his scarring with how often he questions any praise you throw at him. But, instead you decide that doubling down and talking more is the proper thing to do. “You look very nice clean shaven. Very handsome.”

Big, brown eyes blink slowly at you. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t clean up for you before now. I’ll do my best to make myself easier to look at from here on out.” He gives you that same tight lipped smile that you’ve begun to notice whenever he gets an attitude like this.

Your jaw drops and you scoff. “Eddie, that is not what I meant and you know—” He cuts you off by turning on the razor again, the loud buzz muffling your words as it echoes off the bathroom walls. 

Your shoulders slump in defeat. You want to just turn tail and take care of his bed, but decide to get the bathroom set up for him while you’re in there. You place towels on the floor and on his shower chair, leave a couple of washcloths on the built-in handrail, and set the shower head down so that everything is within reach for him. 

“Oh, I almost forgot—“ You were expecting Eddie to still be fidgeting at the sink, too preoccupied with setting things up for him to notice that he was watching you run around his bathroom with amusement. 

“I, um…” his unmoving glare was tense, making you feel like you were being evaluated. “I brought some stuff for your hair to, uh, help with the knots and stuff. Let me go grab them for you.”

The first step you take is slow, expecting some form of protest from him. But, when he remains silent you rush through the door and across the hall to grab the supplies you’ve stowed away in it. Detangler, a pick comb, and some shampoo and conditioner that should help with the curls. 

With full arms you reenter Eddie’s bathroom. He’s moved closer to the shower’s edge and looks to be in the process of removing his shirt on his own. The limited mobility along with the tightness of his scars make it difficult for him to move his arms up above his head, but his stubborn ass seems to be a glutton for punishment.

“Here,” you say, setting everything on the shower shelf. Tugging his shirt up for him, his head disappears inside of the shirt and his fluff of hair reappears as you pull it off completely. You still can't get over how his back is almost completely void of scars when compared to the rest of body. 

“Thanks,” he says without much thought. You hum in return, tossing the shirt on top of his bed.

“Anything else I can help you with?” 

No response. You look back at him and see that he’s completely still. “Everything okay?” You ask, noticing the troubled look on his face as you round his chair. 

“I…” he says quietly, eyes concentrated on the tiles on the floor, “I can’t stand up on my own and take my underwear off…”

Oh.

At this point in your schooling, seeing someone naked wouldn’t normally bother you after all of the saggy boobs and flat butts you’ve washed during your nursing assistant training. It’s a necessary skill to be able to detach the naked body from inherent sexuality in the medical field. 

And Eddie’s body shouldn’t be any different. Just because he’s close to you in age doesn’t make him any different from your previous patients. So why is your face heating up thinking about it?

“I-I see,” you say, trying to not sound as flustered as you are. “Let me think…Oh! Why don't we get you on the seat, we’ll lay a towel across your lap, and then you can shimmy your boxers off under them?”

Eddie mulls it over for a moment before reluctantly shaking his head. You move in front of him to get into position and make another quick transfer onto the shower chair. Eddie hisses in pain next to your ear, most likely due to the stiff plastic of the seat that he’s not used to pushing into his back and butt. 

Placing a towel over his lap, you stand by as he wordlessly slips his hands under it and begins rocking back and forth. You keep your eyes above chest level, not wanting to look away in case he were to start to fall. 

“Shit!” Eddie says, making you look down instinctively. The towel must have caught on his boxers as he was pulling them down, and you watched in slow motion as the towel slipped lower, getting dangerously close to exposing him. 

Thinking quickly, you grab for the towel and hold it up against his skin. Eddie’s hands flail as he tries to get them out from under it as fast as he can. His boxers fall unceremoniously off his thigh and pool around his single ankle. The two of you stare at them, then at your hand that is pressed firmly into his lower abdomen. You have a firm hold on the towel, your hand the only thing keeping it from joining the dark blue boxers on the shower tile as it’s fully fallen off of his lap, draped down to cover his…

…is that his…against the heel of your palm?

Pushing back the inappropriate thoughts starting to form in your mind, you grab the ends of the towel and lay them on Eddie’s lap again. He doesn’t say anything as his hands do their best to hold the fabric in place as you adjust it. You’re almost afraid to look up at him, not wanting to acknowledge that you may or may not have accidentally grabbed your patient by the dick.

“Okay,” you say with as steady of a voice as you can muster, “I think you should be good now. You grab his boxers from around his ankle and quickly make your exit from the shower, pulling the curtain behind you. “Just shout if you need me!”

The hard spray of the shower turning on is the only response you get.

“Ow!”

“Eddie, if you want me to comb out these knots you’re going to have to complain less.”

“I can’t help I have a tender scalp now.”

“Now?”

You can see Eddie’s scrunched up expression in the mirror’s reflection as you spray detangler into his curls. The conditioner had done quite a bit of loosening of his tangles and mats, but there was still a fair bit that needed to be combed out.

“Yes, now. I used to be able to just take a brush through it at the end of the day and be fine. But no one really took care of it when I was in the hospital.”

“Wayne never tried to do anything with it?”

Eddie gives you an annoyed look in the mirror. “You’ve seen my uncle, right? He’s not exactly the person I would go to for my hair care advice.” The shine that comes from the head of the older Munson is definitely prominent. 

“What about the nurses?” You ask as you comb through another successfully detangled section of his hair. He doesn’t respond right away, a distant look in his eyes as he stares at his own reflection.

“No, they couldn’t help me either.”

“Hmm. Well, I don’t mind doing your hair for you. My best friend is a hair stylist and can give me some tips to help you keep it manageable after my time with you is done, too.”

“What do you mean after your time is done?” He asks after a moment.

You tilt your head at him. “Like when my volunteering program is done? I think it goes until the end of the semester. So like the first or second week of December.”

“You’re a volunteer?” There was an angry lit to his tone.

“Y-yeah? I’m sorry I thought you knew—”

“No, I thought…I thought my uncle was paying you to be here.”

You shake your head, “No, no, I’m doing this as part of my schooling. My class is working with the VisitingAngels to get more help in Hawkins. It’s totally free and I don’t make any money, just some extra credit for school.”

Eddie’s face changes as he processes your words, before visibility softening as he looks at you. “Well, I guess you must have pulled the short straw to get stuck with me then.”

There was a complete change in his attitude all of the sudden. The normal agitation in his voice was gone, making his statement sound lighter than anything he’s ever said to you before.

“I picked you.”

His eyes meet yours, dumbfounded. 

“Well, kind of,” you start. “Sa—I mean, they told me that you were a…special case. A lot of information was redacted in your sheet, and, well, you know, with everything else…”

“I’m sure I wasn’t anyone else’s first choice.”

“But, I didn’t think that was fair, so I said I would take care of you. Glad I did, even if you give me more trouble than you’re worth sometimes.”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing and you laugh as you continue to work through his hair. 

Your lower back ached as you climbed out of your car. School was out for teacher’s meetings so you switched with a coworker to have all of Saturday off. Sam asked to take you to the movies for your second date and you both decided to do ice cream after so you wanted to be able to sleep in and lessen the chance of falling asleep during the movie. But you paid the price today, forgetting that your coworker is normally the one who puts inventory away. 

“Hey there, little lady,” Wayne says as he walks out from the backyard. It’s not as hot as it had been, colder weather on the horizon as September was coming to a close, but the older man had a dark gray ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt.

“Hey, Wayne,” you waved to him with a smile. “Getting some last minute yard work done before the rain comes in?”

“Yeah, wanna get this grass seed down so come spring it’ll start to grow. Tired of havin’ta clean mud off m’truck all the damn time.”

“Do you need any help? I used to work all summer in the garden with my grandma as a kid. I’m sure I still have a little bit of green left in these thumbs.”

Wayne’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, the lines looking deep with age. “That’s alright darlin’, I’m done for the day. Preciate ya askin’. Better get inside and get ready fer work.”

You follow him into the house where you’re met with the sound of heavy metal all throughout. You look at Wayne confused, but he just shakes his head and starts heading down the hallway. He pushes Eddie’s door open and your hands fly to your ears with how much louder the music gets before it abruptly stops. 

“What the hell, Wayne!” You hear Eddie whine. 

“Look, I get you’re excited kid but I don’t think your Uncle Ben would appreciate you using his gift to make yourself go deaf.”

“Uncle Ben?” 

Both pairs of Munson eyes land on where you stand in the doorway. They look as if they’ve been caught and you wonder if you should have stayed in the living room. 

“Sorry, I—“

“No, it’s fine,” Wayne says, giving Eddie a look. “Ben is a friend of mine. S’known Eddie since I got custody of em and Eddie’s just always called em Uncle ever since.”

“Oh okay,” is all you said. It seemed like such a normal thing, but the sketchy way they were acting made you not want to press further. “I guess you must have gotten a new toy then, huh?”

Sitting where Eddie’s nightstand was is a cabinet stereo system, decked out with a record player on top and shelves to put cassettes and records underneath. You couldn’t say for sure but it looked brand new, either way it would have cost Uncle Ben a pretty penny to buy it. 

“Yeah,” he says with an airy giggle, the empty cassette in his hands. It catches you off guard to hear him so excited, and when you look up at him, you have to do a double take. 

He’s smiling. 

For the first time in the two months that you’ve been taking care of him, he’s genuinely smiling. 

“Who are you listening to?” You ask, leaning in to get a better look at the case. 

“Megadeth,” he says with a grizzly voice, nodding his head to a song in his mind. 

“Ooohhh cool,” you say with genuine fascination. “I’ve heard of them but I’ve not actually sat and listened to them.”

Eddie’s hair flies as he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “You’ve heard of them?”

You nod, “Yeah, I think the record store where I live has been playing them though. They’re putting a new album out or something.”

“Yes! This!” He says, shaking the cassette in his hands. “It came out two weeks ago. I didn’t think I was going to get a chance to hear it.”

  “And you better give Uncle Ben a nice thank you card for it. I wondered what he’d been picking up so much over time for.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, do my best to do that.”

“So, Eddie, what other music do you like?” You ask, wanting to give him a distraction before he slips into a bad place. His ears perk up at your question and the look he gives you makes you feel like you’re going to be standing there with him for a while. 

And you did. Long enough that Wayne was able to take a shower and get his lunch ready for work. By the time he came in to let you know he was leaving, he figured he’d find you looking bored to death and shuffling awkwardly as his nephew droned on about his music knowledge. 

But, what he found instead was you sitting in Eddie’s chair, leaning into him intently as he animatedly speaks about whatever band he’s gotten started on. Wayne knows how Eddie can get once he gets started. But you don’t look bored at all like he probably has at times. 

In fact, Wayne would dare to say you have a bit of a sparkle in your eyes as you gaze up at his nephew. 

“Hey, kids, I’m heading out,” he calls into the room, grabbing both of your attentions instantly.

“What?” You ask, turning to look back at the clock on the dresser. “Oh my god, it’s been an hour and a half already? Eddie, you still need to eat dinner.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wayne waves a hand, “I have a pizza on its way.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie looks at Wayne with a pinched brow. “You gave someone our address?”

“Boy, just trust me, okay? You know I wouldn't let just anybody bring a pizza to this house.”

Your mind instantly goes to Hopper. You’ve heard Wayne and Eddie talk about him before a handful of times but you’ve never actually seen him. He’s brought things to the house for Eddie before when you’ve not been there, leaving you very curious about him.

“Okay, if you say so.” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. 

Right on que, a knock raps against the door with a rapid urgency. It makes you jump, something the younger Munson notices but doesn’t comment on.

“That must be the delivery boys,” Wayne says with a sly smile before leaving the room. Eddie looks at you with a quirked brow, wording ‘boys?’ at you with confusion. 

As you go to inspect what Wayne is up to, you hear the loud voices of boys as they begin to file into the house. The entryway fills with 6 or 7 bodies of all different ages and sizes, all of them wearing the same baseball style tee shirt with a red devil face on the front. 

“Hellfire…” you say to yourself, reading the shirts before letting out a gasp. Your feet carry you down the hall where you look amongst the group.

“Bring the pizza in here boys,” hear Wayne say from the kitchen, “Jeff and Grant, come n’help me get this table setup for ya.”

You watch as two of the older boys go into the kitchen followed by the one still carrying the pizza, leaving the younger ones to finish kicking off their shoes. One of them finally notices you and straightens before turning to grab the shirt of a taller boy behind him. 

“Oh shit, it’s you!” You recognize his voice. Mike Wheeler shoves another boy with curly hair next to him, who curses and turns to face you as well. He says your name like it’s a question, sussing you out before getting excited.

“In the flesh,” you say, gesturing towards yourself. 

“Hell yeah,” he says in his giggly voice. “We didn’t know if you were gonna be here or not.”

“I didn’t know you guys were gonna be here at all!”

“What really?” Mike says with a scrunched nose.

“That would be cause’a me.” Wayne leans through the threshold, that sly smile still on his face. “I didn’t tell ya in case ya told Ed. Sorry, hope this is alright. Dustin told me he’d been callin’ and that Eddie wouldn’t talk to em, so I figured he couldn’t ignore em if they was already here.”

Eddie’s bell rings from his room, and Eddie and Mike visibly perk up.

“Is that him?” Dustin asks excitedly.

“Yeah, he’s back in his room. Come on,” you say as you turn on your heel. Giddy with excitement, you couldn’t wait to see Eddie’s face when he got to see his friends. Them being here on top of getting his stereo system? It’s almost like it’s…his…

“Is today Eddie’s birthday?” You quickly stop to face the boys that had followed you down the hall, causing them to almost run into you. 

“What, no?” Dustin says confused, “His birthday’s not til May.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Okay good. Sorry, he’s right in here—”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Eddie’s slightly strained voice called from the other side of the door. You could hear a tinge of panic in his tone, and it hit you that all he could hear was loud noise with no context while he’s stuck in his bed.

“Wait right—”

“EDDIEEEEEEEE!” Dustin shouts, stepping past you and pushing the bedroom door open. Mike follows behind and the quiet boy with him gives a soft sorry as he files in behind him.

“Wait, where’s that bastard at?!” The older boys come running out of the kitchen, pushing each other until they stumble into Eddie’s room as well. 

Eddie’s bed has a living wall around it, bodies blocking your ability to see his face. Before you can go in to check on him, Wayne calls for you from down the hall, a pizza crust in his hand. 

“Hey, he didn’t get his pain meds for the night yet. Figured he would be too tired and end up being grumpy by the time they got here, so I held off on it. Obviously if he needs em he can have him, but he seemed pretty distracted with his cassette to notice any pain.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say with a nod. “I’ll probably have him take them after they eat with his other meds.” You pause for a moment, putting a hand on Wayne’s arm. “If I had to take a guess, he’s probably going to be grumpy anyway, but…he’ll thank you for it eventually.” 

He gives you a nod before gathering his lunch and heading out for the night. A chorus of guffaws from down the hall had your interest piqued. But, as you made it to the doorway, you felt like your stomach was in your throat as you watched the boys trying to get Eddie into his wheelchair, one arm around the shoulders of two of his friends while another was holding onto his ankle.

“Woah, woah, pump the brakes there guys,” you say running to them. The boys all look at you collectively, then look to Eddie. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine!” Eddie laughs. His eyes were creased from how hard he was smiling and his laugh filled you with a fluffy feeling. 

“I can tell you’re fine, but I don’t want you to get hurt and have to send these guys home.” Just as quickly as they had tried to lift him, they sat him gently back down so he was sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Sorry to be the party pooper, but once he’s in the chair he’s free game.”

“So, are you gonna introduce us or what, dude?” One of the boys finally asks as you get Eddie situated to put in his chair. He lets out a sigh, avoiding your eyes, saying your name to the group of boys. “She’s my…caretaker.” There was a bit of hesitation in that last word, but you ignored it. 

He said your name again as if speaking to you this time, “This is the Hellfire Club. I guess you know Dustin, Mike, and Will already,” he says gesturing to the three younger boys who all wave and smile in their own way. “And these boneheads double as my old band members; Jeff, Grant, and Gareth.” The older guys nod and give their hellos, still giving Eddie a knowing look.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Finally.” Eddie gives you a deadpanned look before you lift him to pivot in his chair, making you almost fall into him as you do. He plops in his chair and unlocks it, and you step aside so that he can back away from the bed. 

“Oh, let me push you!”

“No, I wanna push him!”

You roll your eyes, and watch as the boys file out of Eddie’s room and into the hallway.

“Man, we really need to get you some decorations for your room,” the last boy calls as he looks around. That gives you an idea, and you grab the one named Gareth by the arm. He looks at you with wild eyes, standing nervously in front of you. “W-whats up?” He attempts to ask with a slight shake in his voice.

“What kind of things does he like?” You ask the nervous boy, looking him straight in the eye.

“W-what?”

“For his room. I want to get him some things but don’t know what to be looking for when I’m out.”

“Oh, um…He likes metal music. And he used to have a bunch of band shirts. Mostly Black Sabbath, Dio, Metallica…But he also likes Dungeons and Dragons. But I guess that’s obvious. Oh, and The Hobbit series.”

“Like Lord of the Rings?” You ask. 

He nods, “Yeah. He carried a copy of The Hobbit with him everywhere. It was practically falling apart, b-but he loved it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you think. “Thank you, Gareth,” you say, and he takes that as the OK for him to go, sprinting out the bedroom door.

“Oh, man, dude,” Dustin says from the table, mouth full of pizza “Wait until you see what Jeff’s got planned.”

“Yeah,” Will chimes in, “Jeff has been keeping us on our toes. We’ll definitely need your help to get through this session.”

“I don’t know,” Jeff says, loading his plate with pizza and cheesy bread, “what I have on the agenda for tonight might be the end for this group of folly.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Jeff. Just because I’ve been out of commission doesn’t mean that I don’t know all the tricks in the book.” Eddie says from his spot on the table. 

You maneuver around the boys as they get their plates and drinks. Someone had already gotten Eddie a plate and a cup full of a fizzy drink, which, thankfully, was way too dark to be one of the beers that you see sitting on the counter. It was in a regular solo cup though.

“Eddie,” you call from across the counter, and he looks up at you carefully. “Do you want a straw?” You ask, opening the counter above you. Looking out of the corner of your eyes, you see the boys have stopped talking, eyes looking everywhere except for Eddie as if trying to gauge his reaction but not make it obvious.

It takes him a moment to respond. “Um, yes, please.” He says quietly, hands in his lap as he leans in to look at the paper sitting in front of him. Grant sits on one side of him, leaning in and pointing out something about his character sheet which in turn breaks the silence among the table. 

When you round the table to bring his straw, you place it in his cup and he gives you a quiet thanks again. You nod, but can’t help to notice that he hasn’t eaten any of his pizza. 

Not wanting to draw too much attention to him again, you lean into his ear with a low voice. “Do you need me to cut up your pizza?” He doesn’t move at first, but subtly shakes his head enough for you to notice. You take your lip between your teeth and nod, backing away.

Once their game gets going, you grab your pizza and head into the living room, putting on your headphones and cracking open your textbook. You can’t help but look over at the table for every loud noise that they made, which was a lot, but you didn’t want to be too distracted in case Eddie needed you.

Things seemed like they were going well, until out of the corner of your eye you saw Grant jump up from his seat looking down between him and Eddie. The paper plate and Eddie’s pizza slice were both face down on the floor. You pulled your headphones off quickly, scrambling to your feet to clean the mess.

“Woah,” Grant says when you appear from behind him. “I can get it. It’s no biggie.”

Eddie’s face looked forlorn, still staring down at the place where Grant was wiping the red sauce with a paper towel. 

“Let me get you another slice,” Dustin said, rising from his seat.

“No,” Eddie said, voice almost panicked. “It’s fine, I don’t—I don’t need any.” 

“You barely even got to eat this piece,” Grant said with a questioning tone as he tossed the dirty piece away. 

“I’m getting you another piece.”

“Eddie.”

His panicked eyes met yours, and you could see the breakdown bubbling inside of him. His head was shaking, mouth opening and closing but the words weren’t coming out. Tears rolled down his cheeks. You’d never seen him get this upset before. 

You put a hand on either cheek and made him focus on you. “Eddie, it’s fine. No one here is upset with you. It’s just a slice of pizza. There’s, like, two more whole pizza’s over there. Dustin is going to get you another piece. Do you want me to cut it up for you? You should be able to pick up the smaller pieces.” He looks between your eyes before nodding finally. You give him a reassuring smile and take your hands from his face. 

“I’ll get you a refill, too,” you say, ignoring the tension in the room and continuing on like nothing happened. Dustin handed you the new plate when you walked by, trading it for the cup you had to refill. Grant took his place back next to Eddie and the table started to talk again. 

“Here you go,” Dustin says, reaching across the table to set Eddie’s drink back in front of him. “And here is an extra cup to roll your dice in.” You watch Eddie eye the cup before pinching it between his fingers. He gives a small thanks and the table moves on, becoming so engrossed in the game once again that no one even notices when you place the new plate on the table. Eddie mindlessly picks at the cut pieces as Jeff gives a speech about a cave having a hoard of something inside of it.

A hand waves in front of your face, pulling your attention from the textbook. When you look up, you see Dustin, Mike and Will peering over you. And out of the corner of your eye you see Jeff, Grant, and Gareth pushing Eddie’s chair down the hall.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You ask, pulling your headphones down and around your neck. 

“Bathroom break!” Gareth shouts.

“Do you need my help?” You call back.

“Nope!”

These boys are going to kill you.

“What are you studying for?” Will turns his head to try and see the contents of your book.

“Oh, this is my medical terminology book. I’m in nursing school.” The three boys give a collective ‘ooooohh’ that makes you laugh. “It’s pretty interesting, but I don’t think you guys would like it all that much.”

“Hey, we like science stuff,” Dustin says.

“Yeah, he goes to a science camp every summer.”

“To see my girlfriend!”

“Yeah that’s totally the only reason,” Will chimes in with a roll of his eyes.

“Wow, Dustin has a science camp girlfriend, huh?” You say teasingly.

“She’s not just my science camp girlfriend. I talk to her on my ham radio, too. She lives in a different state.”

“And she’s Mormon.”

“Yeah, her dad doesn’t like us talking so we have to be sneaky. Mike has a girlfriend, too.”

“Does she also live in another state where she can only be accessed via radio?”

“No, she lives with Will just a little bit away from here,” Mike says, jutting his thumb back at Will. You tilt your head at the boys, confused as to what they mean.

“How far is a little bit?” You ask.

“Like, I don’t know, five—ten minutes by car?” Mike says looking at Will and Dustin who nod in agreement. “El—I mean Jane’s dad is Chief Hopper. And he’s dating Will’s mom. They live in a house that they built out here.”

Every sentence was like whiplash. That would explain why Wayne asks the chief to come out here. It would be easier if he’s so close by to come and check on Eddie. But, obviously he has a family so he can’t be here all the time. 

“Back from the bathroom! No one died!” Gareth shouts as Grant and Jeff push Eddie back into the dining room. The three younger boys rush back into the dinning room as well taking their places at the table once again.

It was almost pitch black dark when you opened your eyes, the only light coming from the clock on the stove. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. When did you fall asleep? And who put this blanket on you?

You could make out your textbook on the coffee table, and when you looked around, it seemed like the boys had cleaned up and put the table back against the wall. You jumped up from your seat suddenly, about to take off down the hall to check on Eddie when a voice from beside you made you scream.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie shouted in reaction to your shriek. You pulled the lamp cord on the table next to you and the room was lit with a low light. Eddie’s form came into focus where he sat in the recliner, eyes squinting from the brightness.

“What the hell, Eddie!” You whisper shout. “Why are you out here and not in bed?”

“I…” he stuttered, “I didn’t know if you’d hear me if I needed you. So, I just had the guys put me here. That’s all.”

You blink at him, not awake enough to fully understand, but also not fully awake enough to argue. Rubbing the sleepies from your eyes, you look at him better. He looked like he had gotten a clean set of clothes on and even had his drinking cup next to him in the chair. 

“Guess they got you set up pretty good, huh?”

He nods, shimmying in the chair as he gets settled again.

“Eddie?” He looks over at you, puzzled. “Why were you so against seeing them? Or even just talking to them? They seemed really happy to see you.” Eddie turned away from you and was quiet for several moments. He took a deep breath in and sighed.

“I was…Some of them…Some of them haven’t…seen me since…since before…” His voice was shaky. You were about to tell him that he didn’t have to explain himself, but he kept going, voice leveling out a bit when he cleared it.

“Dustin, he was there. One of the ones who…found me. But the rest of them, they haven’t seen me since before break. Since before…everything happened. And none of them have seen me like this. I’ve changed so much that…I was worried they would see me and freak out. I don’t think I could have handled that.”

“Well, they certainly didn’t seem too bothered by any of your changes. They’re a good group of friends.” Eddie nods in agreement. “Did you guys have a good time?” A big, cheesy smile spreads across Eddie's face.

“Yeah, we did. Totally kicked Jeff’s monster hoard’s asses,” he said with a laugh.

“What time did everyone leave?” You ask, looking at the clock where it reads 3am. Thank god you switched shifts.

“Dustin, Mike, and Will all left around 10:30 or 11. Hopper came and picked them up. Guess they’re all staying at Mike’s.”

You let out an exasperated grunt, throwing your head back onto the couch.

“What was that?” Eddie laughs at your dramatics.

“I missed Hopper, again! I’ve been hearing about this guy but haven’t seen him yet!”

Eddie snorts, “You’re not really missing much. He’s just this really tall dude with a bunch of scars now from being imprisoned by the Russians.”

You look at him with shock. “He was what?”

Eddie shakes his head, “After they left, my other friends stayed until like one. We talked outside for a bit. They said they want to start coming here to do Hellfire meetings every other Friday, but I told them I’d have to ask you first.”

“Why do you have to ask me?” You look at him with a furrowed brow. “If you have to ask anyone it would be Wayne.”

“I know you like to study and stuff, and I don’t want them to be a distraction for you while they’re here. Or for you to have to worry about me or whatever.”

“Oh, well, that’s really thoughtful of you Eddie. But I’m okay. If I really need to study, I’ll just go sit in your room or something.”

He nods his head, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Did you guys talk about anything else?”

Your words caught him off guard, you can tell by the blanched look on his face.

“Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I thought it was pretty boring,” Sam said, taking a bite from the sundae he’d ordered for the two of you to split. You couldn’t decide what you wanted, so he ordered it as a way to get a little bit of everything. It was huge, and you were thankful that you didn’t have to eat it alone.

“I wouldn’t know considering you had my attention most of the movie,” you said, referring to all the stolen kisses and brief make out sessions that kept you pulled from paying attention to what you were watching. The movie was kind of boring, though, so you really couldn’t complain.

“That was my way of saving your sanity,” he says with a smirk.

“My hero,” you say with a roll of your eyes. 

“Oh, hey you got something—”

“Oh, what—”

“It’s right there,” he says pointing at your lip, “like a little hot fudge or something.”

“Did I get it?” You ask, licking your lips where he pointed.

“No, no. Here let me—” His hand cradles your face and he plants another kiss on your lips, making you squeal and giggle at his antics.

“Ha, ha, you’re so funny,” you say when you pull away. He looks at you with a sparkle in his eyes for a moment, before looking down with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I just really like doing that.”

“What, being a dork?”

“No, kissing you,” he says seriously, “It’s nice. You’re nice.”

Heat hits your cheeks at his words. Sam has been nothing but a gentleman to you since you met. Sometimes he comes out to your car and will walk with you to your class, carrying your books for you the whole way. Other days you’ll bring him a coffee to his office when you’ve had time to stop in the mornings. 

He’s always asking questions about you, and he genuinely seems interested when you talk about yourself, not tuning out like some guys do when a girl talks about themselves. 

And when you ask questions about him he always seems to have an interesting answer. Whether it’s about his well off parents who have a summer home in Scottsdale or how he played varsity football for his high school, there was always a story within a story for him to tell you all the details about. 

You did have to admit though, that, yes, he was really nice and interesting, but maybe he really wasn’t your type? Tonya told you that it’s just your brain’s way of telling you that you can’t have anything nice. But, you just…can’t quite put a finger on it.

Still, it wasn’t enough to turn down a third date.

thank you for reading.

[whats-your-face]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie's gorgeous ex-girlfriend arrived with a proposition, and when he was hesitant to refuse it, everything the two of you have been holding back boiled over. (4.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, panic attack, vomiting, parental conflict, poverty, insecurities, secret relationship, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @word-wytch for helping me with Eddie's mannerisms 💚

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter fourteen: burned

Babe.

She called him ‘babe,’ that one word laced with more than friendliness. There was a history behind it, a sultriness, all of it seeming so natural.

There was no air left to breathe; of this, you were almost certain. Your lungs constricted around nothing, shoved tight behind your ribs with nowhere to expand. 

She called him babe. And she kissed him. 

On the cheek, on the lips—it didn’t matter. She had kissed him and it didn’t sound like he’d attempted to stop her. Nor had he corrected her when she’d called the motel a shithole. His ex-girlfriend showed up and called your home–and his–a shithole, and he’d all but agreed with her.

And she called him babe.

You were going to be sick, your head spinning from the myriad emotions coursing through it. Anger, frustration, confusion, sadness, and envy stirred up a fatal cocktail that had you retching into the wastebasket next to the desk.

A door swung open, and you prayed that it was Mom or Dad, already formulating a believable reason as to why you were suddenly throwing up. Must’ve eaten something that disagreed with me; I’ll be fine–

“Heiress?”

Of course it was Eddie. Of course. His footsteps got faster as he heard you throwing up, barely audible through the blood pulsing in your ears. Before you knew it, he was crouching down beside you, one hand gently stroking your back, your shirt now soaked through with sweat.

You wrenched away, shrugging off his touch and wiping your lips. “Don’t touch me.” Your voice was hoarse from sickness and hurt.

Eddie flinched at your gruff demeanor, toppling backwards onto his jean-clad bottom with a soft oof. “Heiress, it’s fine. I’m not afraid of a little–”

“No!” You found your emotional footing, grounding yourself in anger rather than shaking it off. The last thing you needed was for him to see you as vulnerable. Even worse, pitiful. “Leave me alone.”

You couldn’t look at him without seeing her, so beautiful and badass. Everything he wanted and more. Had he blushed when she kissed him? Had his hand slid around her waist to pull her closer, to breathe in her perfection? The thought sent your stomach roiling, and it took a mountain of force to keep from getting sick again.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “I can get you some ginger ale, o-or some water–”

You shook your head subtly lest you rouse another round of nausea. “I said leave me alone,” you said through gritted teeth. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you were disgusted with yourself for wishing he would kiss them away. “I’m fine.”

Babe. With a kiss.

“At least let me take out the trash.”

“Can you just fucking go?” You whirled around to finally face him, your heart momentarily lurching at his recoil. “You can probably still catch up with your girlfriend. She just left.”

“My…” Eddie cocked his head with a naivety that had you simultaneously wanting to comfort and smack him. “Who, Fiona?”

Logically, you knew she had a name, but hearing him say it still made everything worse. Fiona. 

“Yeah, her,” you spat. Just because you knew her name didn’t mean you had to say it.

A disbelieving chuckle escaped Eddie’s lips, half-hearted in its landing. “She’s not my girlfriend, Heiress.” His voice had a prickly edge to it, and it made you feel slightly less guilty about your own snappiness. 

“Did you tell her that?” Frustration flamed behind your eyes. “Because I heard her call you ‘babe’ and give you a kiss.”

You summoned all of your strength and pushed yourself up to standing. Eddie followed suit, though he didn’t need to lean on the desk to keep himself upright like you did. 

“Christ.” He raked his fingers through his curls. “It was a kiss on the cheek. It’s not like we were frenching in the hallway.”

The visual alone might have sent you back to the trash can, but you held your composure. What was left of it, anyway. 

“And what about her calling you ‘babe’?”

He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, an act of innocence. “Probably just out of habit from when she was…y’know…”

My girlfriend. He didn’t need to say the words aloud; you filled in the blanks without any assistance. 

“But you didn’t correct her.” You were being petty, and while you hated yourself for it, you also couldn’t stop it. A dam had been broken, and the rupture unleashed all of the frustration and confusion that you’d kept bottled up. 

From outside, a car blared its horn loud enough to startle you. Eddie brought his hand out to comfort you, almost instinctively, before he remembered you were mid-argument and let it drop to his side. 

“Honestly,” he exhaled, “I wasn’t really paying attention when she said that.”

Your stomach soured. If he wasn’t listening to the words she was saying, then what was his mind occupied with? Images of him stampeded through your head: Eddie lusting over bow-shaped lips, the subtle swell of her breasts beneath her tank top, the way her denim miniskirt emphasized the curve of her ass…all while you stood behind the desk none the wiser. 

You shoved the implication aside. “Why was she here? How did she even know you were here?”

Eddie’s nails scratched along the desk, the only sound for a few seconds until he spoke again. “I talked to her after they did their show at Webster Hall.” 

How could you have forgotten that show—the one he was at the night someone vandalized Eisen’s. 

“I told her where I was staying, gave her the room number. She took a chance and stopped by tonight.”

“For what?” You quickly assessed his clothes; nothing seemed to be rumpled or unbuttoned that would indicate any below-the-belt activities. 

Eddie caught your eyes roving his body, and not in the hungry, desire-filled way you had looked at him earlier today. 

“She asked me to rejoin the band,” he said quietly. “They want me back for their tour.” 

Rejoin the band for their tour. If the tabloid article was accurate, that meant he’d be leaving within the next few weeks. 

Your silence spoke volumes. Eddie huffed out a laugh thick with venom. “Wow, thanks for your enthusiasm. Really amps up my excitement.”

“It’s just…a lot to process.” You picked at your lower lip, the bit of dry skin suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. “Do they want you back permanently? Or just until Caleb Dalton gets out of rehab?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back, protecting an open wound. “What are you talking about? Who’s going to rehab?”

Shit. You screwed your eyes shut, but there was no more feigning ignorance. He had to know the truth, and you had to be the one to break it to him. 

And so you told him everything: the public intoxication arrest, the rehab stay, the threat it posed to the band’s future. When he asked how you knew all of this, you were honest about that, too. 

“So, wait.” Eddie held up his forefinger to stop you, though you’d already run out of words to say. “You knew about this stuff since our first date? And then you read the article today? And you never thought to tell me about any of it?” 

Shame snaked its way through your veins, heating you from the inside. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes, and you forced yourself to blink them back. You knew you should have told him; maybe not during that first date, but certainly in the days following. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t had the opportunity. Even spotting that article this afternoon brought up the perfect moment. 

But you’d let your cowardice take over, and now you were paying the price.

“I wasn’t sure what to say.” It was a pathetic excuse, and you both knew it.

Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, snagging them on a knotted curl. “How about, ‘hey, Eddie, did you hear about what’s going on with your old band?’ Or you could’ve come right out with it, something like, ‘your replacement is in rehab, just so you know.’” He shook his head in stunned disbelief, his nostrils flaring with each word. “Anything, Heiress. Anything!”

You winced at his increasing volume. “Eddie, maybe we should talk about this another–”

“No!” He hissed through gritted teeth. “No, I’m so fucking sick and tired of waiting. Waiting for you to tell your parents about us, waiting for another big break, waiting for something to finally go right for once in my stupid life!” He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the old wood and your nerves, veins pulsing in his forearm. “I’m such a goddamn idiot. I should’ve been saving up every penny to get back home, but I stuck around here for…for someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.”

Every part of you ached to refute that statement, to insist that you did care about him. But it wouldn’t be of any use; he’d already made up his mind that he meant nothing to you. And what did you have to disprove him? The way fear kept you from telling your parents the truth? The constant sneaking around to avoid the inevitable confrontation that came with them discovering the real relationship between you and Eddie?

“And every time I ask you about it, it’s always ‘soon,’ or ‘I’m going to.’” Eddie continued, his jaw twitching as he inhaled. “I might as well be back in high school, hooking up with cheerleaders behind their boyfriends’ backs, acting like nothing happened between us.” He looked at you with utter disgust. “At least they had a decent excuse. You’re just selfish.”

“Selfish?” Of all of the words used to describe you, good or bad, selfish hadn’t ever been one of them. “I’m…no, I’m not–”

The scent of stale cigarette smoke choked you. “Well, what would you call it, then? What would you call stringing me along while you weave your little web of lies?” He leaned in, though there was no need with how loud he was speaking. “I thought we were a team, Heiress. And a damn good one at that. But you were playing by yourself this whole fucking time.”

Your throat went dry, your body hollow. You were selfish. You spent so much time worried about the potential backlash that you never considered how he felt. 

Eddie didn’t stop, not even when the tears rolled down your cheeks. “You know what I think?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, like he knew he should suppress what he was about to say but no longer could hold back. “I think you can’t handle people following their dreams when you’re too scared to follow yours. I think you liked having me here because that meant I wasn’t out there trying to be a ‘superstar.’” He hooked his fingers to make air-quotes. 

“But I’m done with your games, Heiress. I’m done pretending to just be the handyman you happen to get along with. I’m done with you.”

A response, a retort, a poignant Fuck off all stayed lodged in your throat. Only the sound of a door swinging open echoed through the motel. 

Shit. Your parents. They must’ve woken up from the arguing and—

“What the hell is going on out here?” Phyllis’s rough, irritated voice called out. Her robe was half-open, the top of one freckled breast visible. She had her trusty bat raised, ready to fight, but when she saw the commotion was only you and Eddie, her posture loosened. “Jesus Christ, I thought someone was trying to…never mind.” She shook her head and scowled. “If you two don’t learn to keep it down, then I’ll just have to be louder.”

You and Eddie normally would have laughed and shot back a cheeky comment, but neither of you mustered up a joke. Phyllis had already turned back around to her room, figuring out how to salvage her client’s evening after the interruption. 

“I’m leaving anyway,” Eddie grumbled. The tips of his ears were pink from the sheer heat of his anger. 

“Leaving? Like, for good?” Your voice was so tiny that you barely heard it, and you were surprised that he did. Even more surprised that he didn’t pretend not to hear it and keep walking away. 

He sighed with the weight of the world. “Yeah, Heiress. For good.” He turned back to face you one last time, a serpentine bite in his tone. “And for what it’s worth, I liked when Fiona called me ‘babe.’ It was nice hearing someone say it without checking their surroundings first.”

So he had noticed it—the way you made sure your parents weren’t around before calling him a pet name or pressing a kiss to his waiting lips. You weren’t as subtle as you’d hoped, and he’d picked up on it. 

Eddie held his same stoic expression as he watched your face fall, your posture slumping in total defeat. His words were cruel, but they didn’t lack truth. And it didn’t mean you were ready to hear them. 

“Fuck you,” you said weakly. You no longer cared if he saw you cry. Shame over vulnerability couldn’t hold a candle to the loss you already felt, though he was still standing in front of you. “Just…fuck you. I should’ve left you on that bench.”

“Then who would be your charity case?” His brown eyes, usually soft and comforting, teasing, or filled with lust, held only rage now. “Who would you pretend to give a shit about?”

Insecurity chipped away at your minimal resolve to stay upright as you wondered what kind of eyes Fiona saw tonight. 

“Do you…” you sniffled, wishing you would just wake up and realize the whole argument was a dream. “Do you really think this was all pretend for me?”

Eddie paused for a moment, actually considering the possibility. Its mere feasibility was another dagger through your already broken heart. 

“Honestly, Heiress,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

He left you in stunned silence, only the sounds of boulevard traffic filling the air. Life had been sucked out of the lobby, leaving it devoid of the lightheartedness it only began holding when Eddie came around. 

Before him, before that night, you were alone. You were lonely. It had only been two months since then, yet you found it impossible to remember a time before him. Tonight felt like the first time you’d ever spent a shift by yourself. 

What if you followed him back down the hall? What if you took his hand and held it, promising not to let go until you told your parents about the relationship? What if you peppered his face with kisses until his anger melted into something resembling forgiveness?

The young woman who you’d been on his first night in the motel would roll her eyes at the mess you’d become. She would have told you not to waste your efforts on a man, especially one who was so obviously a temporary fixture in your life. Dating a guest? One who had no connections to the city? It was destined for failure from the start. 

Maybe it was best if you let him be for the evening. Give him some time to cool down. Not to mention, you’d be leaving the desk unmanned if you followed him, and what a way that would be to break the news to your parents. 

Sorry I abandoned my job; I was just trying to keep my secret relationship with Eddie from ending. Did I mention that Uncle Mo and Aunt Tam caught up making out in the park?

Eddie didn’t leave his room for the rest of the night. You sighed with relief at six A.M. when Dad took the desk and there was no sign of Eddie. 

He probably fell asleep, you reasoned as you changed into your pajamas. I’ll talk to him when I wake up and we’ll work it out. 

You were done hiding your feelings. 

As you tumbled into bed, the weight of exhaustion somehow heavier than your guilt, you mentally sketched out your apology. No, it was more than an apology; it was a promise. A promise to proudly be his girl no matter who was watching. A promise to give him your heart with no stipulations. A promise to be the team he thought you always were. 

For the first time in a long time, you awoke before your alarm. Nerves fluttered in your belly as you got dressed. You threw on the nearest clean clothes you could find, lest you wimp out before you even left the room. 

Eddie, I’m so sorry. It’s me and you. I want it to be me and you. I’ll tell my parents about us right now so we don’t have to hide, because…I love you, Eddie Munson. I love the way you always pat your pocket for your cigarettes and lighter before you go anywhere. I love the way your tongue pokes out whenever you’re focused. I love the way you hold me, like I’m safe as long as you’re around. 

And then you’d kiss him, soft and slow, losing yourself in his touch with the intention of never again leaving him behind. 

Knock knock. 

No answer. 

Knock knock knock. 

Again, nothing. 

You waited for a few minutes—or maybe it was only a couple of seconds. Time crawled as you waited for him to answer. 

“Eddie?”

Silence. 

“Eddie?” One more, but louder. Loud enough to catch Dad’s attention from the lobby. 

Dad’s brows knit together. “Eddie left this morning around 6:30. He didn’t tell you?”

Dread rose in your esophagus and almost had you hurtling towards the trashcan again. 

Of course he left. Why wouldn’t he? What did he have to stay for? Did you actually expect him to give up the opportunity to tour for a life of motel repairs, subway station guitar shows, and a girlfriend afraid to have a public relationship?

“I assumed he told you…” The wrinkles in Dad's forehead became more pronounced with confusion. 

You cleared your throat and faked a laugh. “Oh, right. I must’ve forgotten.” You gave yourself a little bop on the head as if to say, silly me! “I, uh, should probably clean his room.”

Dad nodded and said something about the washing machine acting up, and to be cognizant of laundry load size. And despite what you now knew, your first instinct was to ask Eddie to fix it. 

Room four still smelled like his drugstore cologne and his cigarettes. In fact, that coupled with the used ashtray and the unmade bed were the only evidence that Eddie had been here at all. That this man hadn’t been a figment of your imagination for the past few months. 

Your eyes roved the room for something—anything—to indicate a hint of forgiveness from him. Something to tell you this leave was only temporary. Maybe a note or even the phone number of where he’d be staying. 

Probably with Fiona. 

Your lungs struggled for air, tightening with each shallow breath. You couldn’t reach your room fast enough. 

You pictured the two of them sharing a bed, limbs intertwined. He’ll look at her with love and desire: the talented badass girl he truly wanted. That he’d ever wasted time with someone who was quick to confront a stoned stranger but couldn’t lie to her parents would be a blip on his dating radar; a lapse in judgment he’d one day laugh off. 

If he wasn’t already laughing at you. 

July arrived a few weeks later with near-literal roaring flames. 

Independence Day brought a few extra guests to the motel, mostly young couples who booked last-minute getaways to see the Macy’s fireworks display. Raw envy bared its teeth with each affectionate touch and stolen kiss, and you’d had to hold back a biting remark every time you saw an exchange of intimate gestures. 

You and Eddie could have taken a moment to watch the fireworks display, his arms wrapped around you and his chin on your shoulder as colors lit up the sky. 

Heat came the week after. 

It ripped through the city; even the local weatherman’s warnings didn’t fully capture just how stifling it would be. 

A line of perspiration trickled down your back as you folded towels and placed them on the closet shelf. 

Mom was at the desk, a battery-operated oscillating fan doing its best to keep her cool. It stopped mid-rotation, and she smacked it to start it up again.

“Dad didn’t get the big one?” The batteries must nearly be drained after use for days on end. The corded one would be better, and would last longer than one reliant on batteries. 

Mom shook her head. “That thing sucks up electricity like a monster,” she said. “No use running up the bill over it. I’ll just pick up new batteries later.”

The mention of the motel’s financial decline sliced you open, and you quickly tried to patch the wound with a distraction. 

“I can go now.” Before Mom could protest, you plucked your wallet from your room. It was brutally hot outside, the humidity enveloping you the moment you opened the front door. But anything was better than staying home and creating imaginary scenarios where Eddie would come from around the corner, wearing his signature smirk. 

In some of your wilder daydreams, he wore little else. 

Outside wasn’t much better than inside, especially with the sun beating down, but a breeze blew by every so often that provided some relief. Kids played in the street, opening fire hydrants and splashing around. They had no reverence for the beauty of childhood summers. Not yet—that would come with time, when opportunities to cherish that innocence were solidly in the past. 

You and Ben used to play like that, your parents peering out of the motel window every so often to make sure you were both still there, still safe. Always looking out for you, even as you stretched into your teenage years and craved independence. 

You should call Ben and meet up again. Maybe invite Nora, too. They’d take your mind off of your never-ending and ever-growing list of mistakes. 

The trip to the convenience store was for naught, the cashier informing you that they were sold out of everything except for watch batteries. Same went for the next two stores you tried. Apparently everyone’s portable fans decided to crap out on the same day. 

Resignedly, you trudged back to the motel. Maybe you could convince Mom to use the corded fan, or at least tell you where it had been stashed so you could set it up during your shift. 

All thoughts of fan whereabouts disappeared when you got back to the motel and saw Mom and Dad standing at the desk. Dad kept his head down as though inspecting the scratched wood. Mom was the one glaring at you, an open envelope clutched in her hand. It bore a violet emblem on the top left-hand corner. 

“What is this?” She phrased it as a question, but her clenched jaw told you that she already knew the answer. 

“I-I don’t—”

Mom shook her head. “No. Don’t tell me you don’t know why you got a tuition bill from NYU.” She glanced once more at the logo. “From the Silberman School of Social Work, actually.”

You said nothing. Ever since Admitted Students’ Day, you always made sure to be around when the mail arrived. The one day you left, it arrived without warning. 

Dad spoke your name in a breath. “How did you get into a social work program if you majored in hospitality?”

And then there was that. No lie, no matter how tangled the web, could explain the cold, hard proof in front of them. 

Words poured out of you, barely giving you moments to breathe. 

“I meant to tell you–I wanted to tell you. It’s just…you’ve been counting on me to take over the motel. I never wanted to let you down.” Despite your assumption that you’d depleted your reservoir of tears over Eddie, your throat tightened with the beginnings of a crying jag. “I just want to help people.”

Mom’s fist clenched around the envelope. “And how is this helping us?” She opened her mouth to speak again, but Dad gently placing his hand over hers temporarily silenced her.

“You lied to us,” Dad said. “You lied, and then you kept lying.”

“I know.” Your voice was so small that you could barely hear it. Or maybe that was because of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“You know.” Mom scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, how nice of you to be so self-aware.” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “So what did you major in? And how did that lead you to one of the most expensive schools in the city?”

You told them everything–the decision to study psychology, the graduate school fair that you’d attended, the student representative you’d spoken to who assured you that you’d make an excellent candidate for their Masters program. And lastly, you told them that the program requirements would prevent you from working at the motel starting next month.

Mom stayed angry, her eyes narrowed, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from interrupting you. But Dad…

He was slightly hunched over and unsettlingly quiet. You’d almost rather he’d be yelling, or at least hurling his feelings toward you like Mom was.

He looked at Mom when he finally spoke, but his words cut you with a serrated edge. “We can’t pay for a new employee. And we need a third person to run the place, unless you and I want to split twelve hour days–”

“No. I–I’ll fix this.” There was no way that your aging parents would be working over eighty hours a week. “I won’t go to NYU. I’ll call them right now and see if I can rescind my acceptance, and then I’ll cancel my student loans.”

“Do you really think we can trust you after all of this?” Mom’s shouting startled you, but your flinching didn’t deter you. “And let me guess–you have some part in Eddie leaving, too?”

Now that you weren’t expecting. The pause between Mom’s question and your nod gave her all of the information she needed.

“Let me get this straight,” she seethed. “You pick a major that has nothing to do with hospitality. You apply to and then accept an offer to a graduate program that means you can’t support the family business. You don’t tell us a word about any of this, so we’re sitting around like idiots instead of planning accordingly. And then,” she pointed her finger at you, “when we do find someone to help out around here, you strike up an inappropriate relationship that I told you would end badly.”

Dad’s teary eyes met yours. “How could you do this to us?” Once again, his whisper was a knife.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t bother to wipe your cheeks, knowing they’d stay damp until you couldn’t cry any longer. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Your brain throbbed against your skull, the forming pounding headache distracting you from the flickering lights. Everything was blurred anyway.

Mom noticed–she always noticed when something was awry, even if she couldn’t pinpoint its exact cause. “Great, now the bulbs are going.”

“I’ll get some new ones.” You’d pay for them yourself if you had to; you wouldn’t dare touch any of the money in the register. “I’ll go out right now and–”

The lights flickered once more, only this time, they didn’t go back on. The hum of electricity died out in an instant. You poked your head out of the front door, heart sinking as you saw the other business owners doing the same thing. The block was quiet except for the exchange between a flour-covered pizzeria worker and the cashier of the ninety-nine cent store:

“Is yours out, too?”

“Sure is.”

An overwhelming stillness encompassed the neighborhood. There was no hum of air conditioning coming from any of the other businesses. Traffic lights had gone dark, drivers slowing to a crawl upon the realization that there was neither a red, yellow, nor green indicator. A glance down the street at the high-rise office buildings, their windows suspiciously void of their usual overhead lighting, told you that the rest of the city wasn’t faring any better.

A blackout. In the middle of the hottest week of the summer.

In more ways than one, you were totally and completely powerless.

--

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[whats-your-face]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie asked you on a date. Maybe. Possibly. But you definitely accepted. (5.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, mentions of sex, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, tipsiness, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter ten: this foolish lover's game

“I’m telling you: it’s a date.”

Nora flicked through the items on the clearance rack, searching for something in your size. She pulled out a floral shirt, wrinkled her nose, and promptly put it back. 

“It’s 1993. A guy and a girl can hang out without it being something romantic,” you retorted, trying to ignore the fuzziness that filled your head at the potential classification of your upcoming night out with Eddie as a ‘date.’

“Very true. But that’s not the case here.��� Nora sighed at the limited clothing choices and at your stubbornness. She stalked over to a rack of regularly-priced skirts, evidently on a mission. “And you know it, too, which is why you asked me to help you choose a new outfit.”

You had done that, though you definitely regretted it now. It had been so long since you’d actually gone out with friends that you really did need new clothes, but you had no idea where to start. 

Enter Nora: best friend extraordinaire. She was just as great at finding clothes that flatter your figure as she was at being a study buddy. Her opinion mattered to you; it was necessary, especially considering the way you currently teemed with self-doubt. 

She plucked a denim miniskirt from the lineup and held it against your waist. “Go try this on,” she said. You reached for the price tag, almost certain that it was out of budget, but she clamped her hand over yours. “My treat. Now, go.”

There was no arguing with her, not while she was shooing you into the dressing room. She clasped your shoulders as she steered you towards a curtain, yanked it open, and shoved you inside. “I’ll wait here,” she said.

You closed the curtain once again, unbuttoning your shorts and letting them fall to the thin carpet below you. 

The skirt hung on its hanger, buttons all along the front, and it was impossible not to imagine Eddie being the one undoing them. His nimble fingers would dance across the seam as he positioned himself between your legs. You could practically feel his hands as they crept further upwards towards that dangerously sensitive part of you—

“Can we stop by the food court when you’re done? I’m dying for one of those cinnamon pretzels.”

The sound of Nora’s voice instantly cooled your heating skin. “Y-Yeah, sure,” you stammered. 

Focus on that, you silently reprimanded yourself. Focus on Auntie Anne’s or Orange Julius or Panda Express—not Eddie tracing his tongue along your inner thighs. 

You stepped into the skirt, warding off any lingering Eddie-related thoughts. Monday night would be like hanging out with Nora or Ben. There was no need to worry about your hair, or your clothes, or your makeup. Eddie was a friend, and only a friend, despite what absurdities your other friends planted in your head. 

With the last button fastened, you allowed yourself to glance at your reflection in the mirror. The denim hugged your curves delicately, providing just a hint of what laid beneath without giving too much away. It looked odd paired with the old t-shirt you’d thrown on this morning, but the right top would make a world of difference. 

Nora clapped her hands together the moment you opened the curtain. Her brown eyes lit up, and a soft squeal of excitement emanated from her throat. 

“You’re gonna have Eddie eating out the palm of your hand,” she declared, reaching out to give you a little spin. 

You gently pulled away from her as though it would offset the fluttering low in your stomach. “I told you, it’s—”

“Yeah, I know. Just two friends going to the bar, pretending they don’t wanna bone each other.” Nora rolled her eyes, already sick of the will they-won’t they song-and-dance. 

You ducked back into the fitting room to change out of the skirt. “He doesn’t wanna bone me.”

“But you wanna bone him?” 

It came out as a question, but you knew she meant as a statement. 

“First of all, stop saying ‘bone.’” You hissed, tugging your shorts back over your legs. “Second, Eddie and I are friends, and he’s taking me out for graduation. End of story.”

Nora’s sigh was audible from the other side of the curtain. “Not ‘end of story.’ You didn’t answer my question. Do you wanna b—have sex with Eddie?”

Your hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and though you couldn’t see her face, you were certain she was grinning when she announced, “I knew it!”

“It’s not like that,” you protested. The fitting room was suddenly far too crowded and depleted of oxygen despite you being its only occupant. You threaded the teeth into your shorts zipper and grabbed the skirt, now heavy in your hand. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute, but—”

“But nothing. C’mon, just admit it: you like Eddie.” You could detect a hint of exasperation in her tone. Frustration, even, or confusion as to why you continually denied yourself life’s small pleasures. 

You couldn’t answer that, either. 

Protest died with the subtle twitch of your lips that gave away the truth. You hated your tells, the ones that swiftly uncovered the feelings you worked diligently to stifle. And you knew that if Nora kept pressing you about this crush, you would eventually break down and divulge it all. 

Not just your burgeoning romantic feelings towards Eddie. Not the way you told bad jokes just to see his lopsided smile and the nose crinkle that often accompanied it. Not the multiple occasions when you caught yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and ached to kiss right along the hardened edge of his biceps. 

Once you said those thoughts out loud, gave them the weight of spoken words, they became real. Able to hurt you when he inevitably didn’t reciprocate them. 

And that terrified you. 

“You have a big ol’ crush on him,” Nora continued, “and he has one on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” you mumbled, purposely averting your gaze from hers.

Through peripheral vision, you could see her raise one brow. “Says who?”

Says the song lyrics about his ex-girlfriend. But that was too much to explain, so you slapped on a tight smile and shook the thought away. “Never mind. Let’s just pay for this.”

Nora swiped her credit card with an ease that only comes with the luxury of not having to worry about paying the water bill. She never had to dip into her own savings to keep the lights on. Buying her friend a miniskirt for a maybe-date wasn’t going to affect her grocery budget. 

“I have the perfect pair of Docs to go with this. You can borrow them,” she said, pointedly adding “for your date.” She was either oblivious or didn’t care that the cashier was eavesdropping on your conversation. 

“Not a date.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nora plucked the bagged skirt from the cashier, flashed her a grateful smile, and shoved it in your direction. “Just answer one question for me—are you gonna wear lace panties underneath this, or cotton?” 

When you once again failed to look at her, her grin widened.  

“That’s what I thought.”

On Monday evening, you found yourself poised in front of the mirror, still fogged from your shower. The inky blue sky leaked into your room through the time-worn blinds, the sun almost fully faded into nighttime, which meant that Eddie would be knocking on your door at any moment. 

The hem of your black fitted t-shirt met the waist of your skirt, the slightest gap between the two fabrics. It wasn’t scandalous by any stretch of the imagination, but it still conveyed one message: you wanted Eddie to look at you. Wanted him to notice your soft skin the way you noticed his flexing muscles, with awe and more lust than you cared to admit. 

Did it all reek of desperation? What if Eddie was wearing the sweatpants he’d donned to remove the wallpaper? Just the possibility of him looking at your own outfit, at the effort you put into your appearance, and realizing you’d interpreted a friendly gesture as a date had you cringing. 

No, this was a bad idea. You had to back out, now. Claim that you weren’t feeling well, maybe even take some ibuprofen in front of him, and promise a raincheck. You did feel the familiar throbbing that accompanied a tension headache, so it wasn’t a total lie—

Knock knock. 

Sweat overrode the antiperspirant you’d lathered on, flooding you with a nervous heat. You frantically wiped your slick palms on the bed sheet like a cat at its scratching post and opened the door. 

Eddie's eyes widened and his tongue brushed over his lower lip. There was no hiding the way his gaze dropped to your exposed thighs, drinking in every ounce of visible skin as though it was the only sustenance he’d ever need. His stare was hungry, if only for a moment, before his words broke the trance. 

“You look…good. Pretty.” He swallowed thickly and forced himself to meet your eyes. “Sorry…just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

Pretty. Eddie Munson thought you were pretty. The notion sent serotonin surging through you, a soft giggle passing through your lips. It was embarrassing, this schoolgirl crush, the way a simple word from him rendered you pathetically speechless.

A barrage of compliments perched themselves on your tongue, waiting to be untethered. He looked good, too; beyond that, he looked handsome. His cream colored shirt was baggy around his torso but clung to his biceps, drawing your attention to the vein that ran up his forearm. 

You willed yourself to say something, anything, to reciprocate his kind words.   

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring your nervous energy as he gently rocked from the heel to the toe of his Reeboks. “We should get going,” he said.

Opportunity slipped from your grasp; anything you said now would seem like pity. Your only response was a nod as you locked the door and started towards the lobby.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Mom stood behind the desk, flipping through the check-in sheets with the  cap end of a pen clenched between her teeth. She looked up, blinking in rapid succession when she saw you and Eddie approaching. You weren’t sure what surprised her more: you going out, or the man accompanying you.

“Well, don’t you two look nice!” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just getting a drink,” you said as casually as you could. “Celebrating my—the wallpaper.” It was a lame finish, one that Mom didn’t quite believe, but she lacked the energy to push further. 

Guilt panged in your chest, not just at the lie, but because part of you felt like you were taking advantage of her exhaustion. You couldn’t tell her the real reason for the celebration; bile rose in your throat at the thought. Instead, you smiled and promised to be home before the start of your shift. 

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Eddie added with a mischievous edge, not sexual in nature but still had your stomach doing somersaults. “I know she can be quite the troublemaker.”

Mom laughed at this, so pure and genuine that you were half-tempted to ask Eddie if you could stay here and talk with her all night. Maybe he could break the news to her, since they seemed to get on well enough.

You felt her watch as Eddie opened the door for you and gave the tiniest bow to let you pass, though you didn’t dare look back at her. Not because she wouldn’t approve—just the opposite. Looking at your mother would confirm what you already knew deep down: she’d be beaming at the sight of you going on a date. 

If that’s what this was. 

Eddie shuffled to walk right by your side, sneakers scuffing against the broken pavement. A flicker of hope ignited within you that he would do something to confirm that this was, in fact, a romantic endeavor and not just two friends getting a drink. Perhaps an arm slung over your shoulder or a hand laced with yours. 

There was only the gentle brush of his fingers against yours, knuckles grazing one another as they nearly slotted together. It was taunting, the way they could be a perfect fit if given the chance. 

You almost went for it, almost grabbed hold of his hand yourself, but fear had you in its own grasp. Even if the benefit outweighed the risk, you couldn’t stop picturing him tugging his hand away from yours in a humiliating show of rejection. 

“You okay? You’re not, like, mad at me again, are you?” Concern creased Eddie’s brows, and your heavy heart realized that the last time you were this quiet around him was after the argument. 

“Not at all. Sorry.” You shot him a reassuring smile. “Just lost in my own thoughts.” You sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate on those thoughts. 

Luckily, he just tilted his head towards you, his eyes taking on an even more doe-like quality than usual. “That’s the problem with you smart people: you’re always thinking too much.”

You laughed as you nudged him, your right shoulder colliding with his left. He stumbled slightly, quickly catching himself before he could fully lose his balance. 

“Hey!” He yelped, rubbing his upper arm. The muscles beneath it flexed at his touch. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I…” You shook your nerves loose and faced him, speaking before you fully lost yourself in his full, waiting lips. “I’d never damage merchandise as priceless as you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the compliment seemingly rebooting his brain. Was it too forward? No, it couldn’t have been; he’d called you pretty just moments before. And it wasn’t as if you’d been forward enough to say he was sexy (though he was) or accidentally emasculated him by pointing out how adorable his soft dimples were (another fact). 

His exhale was a disbelieving chuckle. “I, uh, don’t think anyone’s called me ‘priceless’ before. ‘Worthless,’ maybe, but…” He trailed off in an attempt to contain it as a lighthearted joke, but it was anchored by an undeniable truth. 

If you could, you would wash away the ego-marring stains left behind by those who hurt him. Scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine as though they’d never been tarnished by self-doubt. 

“Priceless.” You said it definitively, leaving no room for further argument. 

Eddie ducked behind his hair, letting the curly locks dangle over his mouth to mask his flustered smile. You were willing to bet that a blush was spreading across the apples of his cheeks. 

Curiosity loosened your inhibitions enough for you to reach out and tuck a few strands behind his ear. Sure enough, a delicate pink tinged his skin. You wanted to kiss it until your lips grew swollen from where his stubble scratched them raw.

Doing that would require something far more potent than inquisitiveness. 

There was a decent crowd that night, not as packed as the weekend would have been, but there were enough people that only one empty stool remained in front of the bar. Eddie gestured to it, offering you the seat just as he had on the subway last week. 

You tucked the denim fabric of your skirt behind your thighs as you sat. Eddie watched every movement, an unreadable desire darkening his expression, as if he wished it were his fingers on your skin. 

Your smile seemed to snap him from his trance. He waved down the bartender, who held up her forefinger to signal she would be right over. 

A shadow draped over you as you scanned the liquor-cluttered shelves, bathing you in a welcoming darkness. Protection. Eddie’s arms framed your torso, his hands planted firmly on the bartop. And when you lightly grasped his wrist, your thumb rubbing against the soft hairs on his arm, you could have sworn you felt the tension leave his body in one swift exhale.

“What are you gonna get?” The grainy pop music playing from the speakers and a cacophony of neighboring conversations muffled his voice, and he had to shout just to be heard. 

“A vodka tonic.” Simple, classic, and most importantly—not expensive. Though you probably should let him be the judge of that, considering it was his treat. “If that’s okay?”

Eddie laughed softly and nodded. “It’s your night, Heiress.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip. 

He ordered your drink first, then placed his order for whatever beer was on tap before declining to open a tab. Your chest went slightly concave; you should have followed his lead and ordered the cheaper option. 

As if sensing your guilt, Eddie pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “It’s your night,” he repeated, grabbing your short, stout glass and placing it in your hand. He raised his own taller mug, proposing a toast. “To a badass future social worker and all of the lives she’s gonna change. For the better,” he added quickly. 

Before he could clink his glass to yours, you locked eyes with him. The brown eyes that steeled themselves against you the night he first checked into the motel were now pillow-soft, beckoning you to fall. He may not have even been aware of it himself. 

“To the coolest rockstar I know,” you said, allowing the lips of your glasses to touch. “And the second-coolest guest to ever stay at the motel.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Second?”

“You really think you’re cooler than Phyllis?”

“Touché.” He relented with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink that left a foamy mustache on his upper lip. Without a second thought, he licked it away. 

The movement enraptured you: his tongue swiping over his skin, leaving no residue in its wake. That same tongue that peeked out from his mouth when he was focused, a simple muscle, but it held your attention for a beat too long. 

“Are you…” Eddie gestured towards your vodka tonic, and you realized you hadn’t even taken a sip. 

Cheers to embarrassing yourself ten minutes into the date. Non-date. Whatever it was. 

The vodka’s bitterness and the bubbles from the tonic water seeped into your tongue. You savored the burn as you swallowed. It had been so long since you’d had a drink, and just the first taste had you buzzing. If you didn’t pace yourself properly, you’d be tipsy far too soon. 

The sound system crackled and microphone feedback shot through the bar. You and Eddie winced in unison, each taking a gulp of your drinks. 

A man in his mid-thirties, balding with a goatee, stood at a makeshift stage at the back of the bar. “Welcome to Music Mondays here at The Brink. That’s right…it’s karaoke night!”

There was a smattering of applause that didn’t  match the emcee’s enthusiasm, but he remained undeterred. 

“Sign up here with your name and your song, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Drink that liquid courage and come on down!” The microphone screeched once more as he slid it back into the stand. 

You turned to Eddie, your eyes wide with mischief. “You’re gonna do it, right?”

Eddie scoffed. “Fuck, no. I’m not getting up there and making a fool of myself.”

“But it’s my night,” you reminded him. “You said so yourself.”

He looked poised to argue, one hand gripped tightly around the mug’s handle, his mouth ready to say no. But then you batted your eyelashes and pouted, all in jest. A dramatic showing that you didn’t expect would convince him. 

A wry smile betrayed his tough exterior as his thumb ghosted your lower lip. Lightning crackled at his touch, soft as it was, illuminating your bones and surging through your veins. When he pulled back, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a light red stain tinged his skin. If he noticed it, he made no attempt to wipe it off. 

“It is your night,” he mused, gaze flickering to your mouth before promptly returning to your eyes. When you lit up in anticipation of him conceding, he couldn’t help but grin back. “One song. And I’m choosing it.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when his touch still lingered on your lip. He disappeared for a moment to add his name to the list. As soon as he was out of sight, you took a much larger gulp of your drink. A trickle escaped out of the corner of your mouth, and you haphazardly swiped at it with the back of your hand, lest it ruin the shirt you’d picked out especially for the date. 

This isn’t a date. The reminder was as harsh as the vodka itself. You lifted the glass once more and drained it until the half-melted ice cubes clicked against your teeth. Whatever this evening was, you needed to relax. Enjoy Eddie’s company without reading too much into his every move. 

You turned your attention to the TV mounted above the shelves, engrossing yourself in the scrolling closed captions. A weatherman announced that this summer was going to be a ‘scorcher,’ and though he said it with a plastic grin, you inwardly cringed at the impact the air conditioning would have on the electric bill. 

“I’m up third.” Eddie’s voice broke in, turning the upcoming weather into a distant memory. He raised his brows when he saw your glass, now empty on the sticky bartop. “You finished that already?”

“Mhm.” Your smile was sloppier than you intended, your head starting to float from your neck as tipsiness crept in. 

Eddie breathed out, shaking his head with a glimmer of a smirk. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed, and you didn’t have time to ask before he waved over the bartender. “Just water, please.” He nodded his thanks when she slid it over. “Drink,” he said to you, and you dutifully obliged. 

“What song did you pick out?” Something that is supposed to be screamed more than sung, you assumed. 

He just shook his head again and swallowed more beer. “It’s a surprise.” His eyes twinkled when he said it, and you wondered if his choice erred more on the side of Madonna than Metallica. 

A woman got up on stage and began her rousing rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. 

Peppy? Upbeat? A great way to kick off karaoke night? Absolutely. 

On-key? Not even close. 

“If you ever start a new band, you should ask her to join.” You chinpointed towards the woman currently butchering the Cyndi Lauper classic. “She’s got that star power, I think.”

Eddie snorted but composed himself quickly to play into your joke. “I’m worried she’d outshine me.” He widened his eyes in faux concern. “Go solo and leave me behind, y’know?”  

“She’ll probably steal all of your groupies, too,” you added, tutting as if to say, what a shame. 

“Even you?”

You cocked your brow. “Who said I’m your groupie?”

He leaned his elbow against the bar, mouth slackjaw at your rejection. Disbelieving laughter left his throat in a huff. 

“I take you out, treat you to the best watered-down drink this city has to offer, and this is the thanks I get?” His curls brushed against his cheeks when he shook his head. “Who would you be a groupie for? Wait, no; lemme guess.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “New Kids on the Block? Boyz II Men?”

“I think I’d die if Joey McIntyre so much as looked at me.” You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The watered-down or not, the alcohol was certainly turning sober thoughts into tipsy words. 

Eddie chugged half of the beer, watching as the woman on stage finished her song and left with a triumphant bow. “Pretty sure your shitty taste in music is what plays at the gates of Hell,” he said to you. 

Your response was a mere flick of your middle finger. 

A man in a suit took the stage next, loosening his tie as he positioned himself behind the microphone. A group of similarly-dressed men started hooting and hollering obnoxiously the moment the opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ blared through the sound system.

You looked back to Eddie. If he was nervous about singing karaoke, he didn’t show it. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture much less tense than on the walk to the bar. Maybe the alcohol loosened him up as it had you. 

“What about you?” You asked. “Whose groupie would you be?”

“Easy,” he said, not missing a beat. “Joan Jett. Total badass, killer musician, and hot as hell.” He nodded to confirm his choice before leaning in and loudly whispering. “Bad Reputation was basically my secret anthem in high school.”

You laughed. “Did you imagine it playing in the background when you walked down the halls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Eddie grinned and polished off his beer. 

His confession warmed you—or maybe that was just the vodka working its way through your bloodstream. Regardless, you were intrigued by the glimpse into his past and found yourself hungry for more. 

“Can I ask you a non-groupie related question?”

“Shoot.”

Your tongue was heavy, the resulting slurring softening your words. “If your hometown is so shitty, why are you trying to go back?”

He loosened a chuckle, glancing at the shelves of booze before looking back to you. “My uncle still lives there. He, ah, he raised me after my dad split and my mom…y’know.” Eddie cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “Why? You want me to stick around?” 

The hair on his forearm tickled when he slid it over to nudge you, his pinky finger overlapping yours. 

Of course you wanted him to stick around. You’d smear honey all over the motel’s siding to lure more bees, tempt them to build their nests among the sticky sweetness, just so he would have a reason to stay. 

The man on stage belted out his final “don’t stop believin’” as his buddies enveloped him in drunken hugs. 

“All right!” The emcee bleated into the microphone. “Next up, we have…” He checked the sign-up sheet. “…Eddie! Let’s give him a hand, folks.”

A smattering of applause echoed throughout the room, the excitement of karaoke night already dwindling. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t show it. 

“This one’s for you, Heiress.” He winked and sprinted towards the stage. 

Eddie pressed his foot on the microphone stand, adjusting it so it was level with his lips. His fingers curled around its neck, dramatically tugging it closer as the instrumentals piped through the sound system.

Well, since my baby left me Well, I found a new place to dwell Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street At Heartbreak Hotel

His hips swung back and forth, the gyrations not quite as precise as Elvis’s, but he still snapped them in time with the staccato guitar chords. The right heel of his sneakers tapped the floor as he continued, voice dipping into his lower register.

Where I'll be, I'll be so lonely, baby  Well, I'm so lonely  I'll be so lonely, I could die

Free hand pressed to his heart, Eddie leaned in your direction and tilted the mic stand while he sang. The movements were reminiscent of how a man would dance with someone he loved, impassioned yet graceful. Charisma oozed from every pore, his natural command of the stage an enduring reminder of his brief foray into rock stardom.   

The other patrons faded into the background as his eyes fixed on you, a personal serenade rather than karaoke night amongst a sea of drunks. Easiness weaved through each note he sang, his body loosening and his lips curving into a smile when you let out a vodka-fueled whoop of admiration. 

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin'  And the desk clerk's dressed in black  Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street  Well, they'll never, they'll never look back

Eddie pointed to you when he referenced the desk clerk, the crowd following his every move. The heat of their stares only exacerbated the warmth that the alcohol already sent coursing through you, but you felt no need to hide. The rich timbre of his voice was a magnetic pull, drawing you in until it echoed deep in your bones. 

Although it's always crowded  But you still can find some room  For broken hearted lovers  To cry there in their gloom  Where they get so, they get so lonely, baby  Well, they're so lonely  They'll be so lonely, they could die

He ended the song with one final swing of his hips, one foot turned inward in an Elvis-esque pose. If anyone else applauded for him, it couldn’t be heard over the sound of your cheers. 

He made a beeline for you. “Did that live up to your expectations?” Sweat dripped from his flushed forehead and down his temples. 

“Exceeded them, actually.” 

The bartender slid over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “On the house,” she explained when you and Eddie looked at her in confusion. 

You shouldn’t. The TV set that broadcasted the news showed that it was nearly nine o’clock and you were already tipsy from the one drink. Adding a shot—and subsequently mixing liquor—was a recipe for disaster. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t wanna,” Eddie said. “I’ll take them both.”

With a shake of your head, you took the glass nearest you and downed it, the whiskey burning stronger than you had anticipated. Tears reflexively welled in your eyes, leaving you clinging to the hope that you had blinked them away before Eddie could notice.

He let out a soft, low whistle. “Well, okay then.” His own shot disappeared past his grimacing lips.

A familiar synthesized beat replaced the idle hum of conversation as a middle-aged woman began her song. Eddie threw back his head when he heard it, groaning as though the ‘80s hit left him in agony.

“You’re such a music snob,” you lamented, reaching out with both of your hands to grab onto his. If this is what liquid courage felt like, you were more than happy to ride that wave. “There’s more to life than heavy metal.”

“I just sang Elvis!” He protested, but his efforts were all in vain as you hopped off of the barstool and led him away from your empty shot glasses. “Heiress…” His tone was a warning, one that you promptly ignored.

You let your gaze meet his, the vodka-and-whiskey combination working overtime to stifle your nerves. 

“Dance with me.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy and I want you to dance with me.” 

“You wanna dance, huh?” He laughed again when you nodded. “All right; let’s dance.” 

Eddie’s hands slid down to your wrists and adjusted your arms so they draped over his shoulders, his curls tickling your fingers when they clasped behind his neck. He hesitated for a second before letting his own fingertips rest on your waist, careful to avoid dipping below the small of your back.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love  Never hesitating to become the fated ones  

The current performer was marginally better than the first two, but her voice wasn’t nearly as polished as Eddie’s. She kept getting too close to the mic, the lyrics muffled each time her purple-lipsticked mouth grazed the cover. 

You inched forward, your chest against Eddie’s as the two of you swayed in tandem. His fingers flexed before tugging you closer, evidence that you weren’t the only one affected by the shot. 

“Can’t remember the last time I heard this song,” he mused wistfully. “Probably my senior prom. The last one, anyway.”

“You had more than one senior prom?”

His cheeks, already pinkened from the liquor, flushed a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, it, uh, took me a few tries to graduate,” Eddie admitted. “But I did it.” A sheepish smile still held a twinge of pride. 

“You did it.”

“Yeah.” One arm reached back to grasp your hand and twirl you around, and you breathed an audible sigh of relief when the room didn’t spin with you. “But tonight,” he grinned, “is all about you.” 

You. Not the motel or its crumbling financial infrastructure. Not the guests or your parents. Not school or exams or term papers. Just you. 

An involuntary giggle wriggled its way up and you ducked your head to hide it, your forehead brushing against Eddie’s lips. Did he purse them slightly in a hint of a kiss, or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning and returning to some secret place inside  Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say  Take my breath away

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a smile in his voice.

“Mhm. Just happy.”

“Yeah? Good.” His forefinger tucked under your chin and tilted it upwards, granting him a better look at you. The tip of his tongue parted his lips and swiped over the whiskey-scented residue. “You deserve to be happy.”

You did deserve to be happy. You deserved joyful moments in your life, people who surrounded you in sunshine even when rain poured.

My love, take my breath away  My love, take my breath away

You deserved Eddie.

Standing before you, his eyes never strayed from your form, flicking from your face to where his hands gripped your waist. His chest rose and fell in time with the music. 

“I…” You swallowed your fear, already tempered by tipsiness, curling your fingers into the back of his ribbed t-shirt collar. 

Desire rippled down your spine and you leaned in to close that godforsaken gap, already tasting him on your tongue. 

But not before he pulled away. 

--

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@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[whats-your-face]

season 1 rafe with his gf & son

i have to be sooo truthful here in that rafe is like 90% the actual worst during the events of season 1 to high school gf!

he's still doing drugs and going to parties, never coming home until the early morning if at all

maybe he was on better terms with his gf for a while, but everyone on the island knows that the pair are always on-and-off

when they are good, rafe is surprisingly sweet to her. he's always opening doors and looking after their son so she can rest. rafe is so much more physically affectionate too during these times, with his hands always on her, stroking her hip or playing with her hair

and then when they fight, it's like all that goes away and he's back to ignoring her

she lives in the main house now as that's where their son's nursery is, but most of the time she's sleeping in the guest room after they argue

rafe's idea of family bonding is going to the country club, drinking his expensive whiskey and eating overpriced food. he likes seeing his son look around wide-eyed at the new sights and new people, and he enjoys having his son sit in his lap while he drinks, mumbling nonsense to see his little smile

he tries to take his son out golfing once only to realise that he couldn't be away from his mother for so long, much to his annoyance. it's fine though bc he's insisting they all go together next time - problem solved in his mind

rafe and high school gf! go to midsummer's together as each others dates. rafe wouldn't have let her go with anyone else anyway, but he likes the display of having her on his arm. he matches his suit to the floral design of her gown to make the statement even clearer (they have a child together and he's worried about people knowing she's his???)

he manages to hide a lot of the events that go on from his gf, but some of them still reach her ears courtesy of sarah, and he can't stand the disappointed look she gives him. sometimes though, he makes her sit down and listen to his explanation, trying to get her to see his side. he's so relieved when she nods and no longer looks at him in that way (but she still doesn't tell him he was right, he always notes)

when barry burns rafe, he's knocking on the door of the guest room with tears in his eyes, clutching his badly burnt arm to his chest. gf just looks at him wide-eyed, telling him to sit on her bed while she grabs the first aid kit. rafe can't help but let the tears stream down his face as she cleans, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as he sobs. that night is the first time he sleeps with her in the guest room, his head nuzzled into her chest as she cradles him

ok but if barry ever threatens his girl and kid rafe won't let it go. he's landing a punch on the drug dealer's face immediately, his rage spiking instantaneously. barry learns not to threaten them again after the second time he wore purple bruises on his chin

oh, sweet pretty gf has no idea what rafe has done to the sheriff, and he plans to keep it that way. he wanted to protect his dad, but he absolutely refuses to let anything happen to his own family. she's so shocked when he tells her of john b's actions, the boy having lived down the hall from them, and rafe plays into the role of protector again. he's got her in his arms as she cries about how he was around their son, and rafe just hums and tells her "i would never let someone hurt either of you, you know that right?". it warms his heart to see her nod into his chest.

sometimes his gf walks into the nursery only to see her son not in his crib, but she knows exactly where he is. pushing open rafe's door she sees the two of them in bed, her sweet baby cuddled up on rafe's bare chest as they both sleep. he needs to be with his son when he has a bad day, which seems to be more often than not nowadays

rafe is rapidly growing more mentally unwell and the only thing that seems to soothe him is his gf and son, and he spends as much time as he can with them. the little baby is always in his arms as he coos down at him, watching his kid's eyes brighten at the sight of his dada. rafe reasons with himself that everything he does is to protect his family and that he couldn't be wrong then, could he?

Click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

Click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

Oh this was a bit of a novel, but rafe truly has so many facets to explore, let alone once you give him a big motivator like a kid!

[whats-your-face]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie lowered his guard during a late night conversation, revealing crucial details about his past. But was it enough for you to reciprocate? (4.3k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, homelessness, brief mention of neglect, brief mention of sex work, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter four: show me yours, i'll show you mine

If convincing Eddie to take the job wasn’t enough of a struggle, you still had to explain the situation to your parents.

Hi Mom and Dad, I invited a guest to help fix up the motel. The same one who stole a blanket–but don’t worry, I got it back. Oh, and he’ll be staying here for free.

They were understandably taken aback by your decision, especially without consulting them first, but you’d mustered up a strong argument: Eddie was young, he was easy to get along with, and he showed a basic sense of personal responsibility. Not to mention that the place could certainly use the repairs; peeling wallpaper was just the tip of the iceberg. Lightbulbs needed to be replaced, carpets needed to be scrubbed, and the outside of the building desperately needed to be power washed. 

“Plus, summer break doesn’t start for another few weeks,” you hastily added. “We won’t need to worry about renting out Eddie’s room until then.”

Mom arched an eyebrow at the newfound ascription—not room four, but Eddie’s room—but said nothing, only looking at your father for his seal of approval. 

He breathed out, long and low, trying to do the calculations in his head. Your heart flip-flopped when his gaze dropped to the ground, his signature move when he was about to tell you no. 

“If he doesn’t help out, he can’t afford to stay here anyway. It’s not like we’re losing money if he keeps the room for a bit.” You winced at the slight whine in your voice, the opposite of the infallible exterior you’d wanted to present. 

Dad laughed, not unkindly, but belittlement panged in your chest nonetheless. “Except for the water, air conditioning, and electricity he uses,” he pointed out, ticking off each item on his fingers. “Unless he plans to only sit in the dark, sweat, and never shower.” He sighed as unmistakable disappointment weaved into your eyes and filled them with tears. 

Now you’d have to tell Eddie that the offer was off the table, that he was shit out of luck, that you’d let him down. You never should’ve opened your big mouth in the first place. Captain Save-the-World, except you only ever made things worse. If you wore a cape, it would get snagged on tree branches each time you tried to fly.

“You have a good heart,” Mom spoke up, trying to nurse your wounded feelings, “but kindness doesn’t pay the bills.” She glanced at Dad again, her mouth set in a straight line. “Maybe we can discuss this further.”

You fought to ignore the hope that bloomed from her words, but the corners of your mouth turned upwards before you could rein it in. “Thank you,” you murmured, offering them both a grateful smile. 

People called you a ‘bleeding heart,’ teasing you about your constant attempts to solve problems beyond a reasonable scope. At last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, your uncle had informed you—unprompted—that he would never vote for you for President because “you’d just give all my money to the poor.”

While your parents were more realistic with their goals than you were, they did their best to encourage your compassionate spirit; there was no doubt that you got your sense of morality from them. After deliberating on Eddie’s fate for a few hours, they had finally relented—with one stipulation. 

“Your mother and I are not going to supervise him, so he’ll have to work night shifts with you,” Dad had said sternly. 

“Really?” You clapped your hands in celebration. “Thank you! I mean, um, Eddie thanks you.”

Dad gave your shoulders a quick squeeze; it was his version of you’re welcome. “Yeah, well.” He played it cool, keeping his tone breezy. “It’ll be good practice for when you take over the place.”

You’d nodded in response, your insides twisting in a clashing mix of excitement and shame. Eddie wouldn’t have to live on the street, but it required you to continue lying to your parents. 

I’ll tell them the truth once Eddie finds a real job and gets his own place. I can only handle one crisis at a time. 

That was how you’d found yourself spending your Tuesday evening with Eddie Munson. The motel was otherwise empty, save for your parents, a middle-aged trucker in room 7, and Phyllis in her usual digs.

You and Dad had spent the end of his shift covering the floor with giant flimsy drop cloths. They hadn’t been used in years, evidenced by the thin layer of dust that coated them when you’d dug them out from the back of the supply closet. You’d tried your best to shake it all off but instead sent yourself into a sneezing fit. 

Eddie sauntered into the lobby at a quarter after ten. Gray sweatpants sagged at his waist, the drawstring noticeably missing from the elastic band, and his white cotton undershirt had a tan stain that spread across his left pec. 

“Coffee,” he explained with a shrug, rolling a hair tie off of his wrist and pulling his curls into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He looked at you blankly and waited for you to instruct him, but you had already dove into your schoolwork. “Um, is there a ladder? Tools?” He pursed his lips and scanned the room with indifference.

“Oh! Right, yeah.” You could have smacked yourself for not having everything set up for him. “We don’t have a ladder per se, but this step stool should work fine.” You pulled it out from behind the desk along with a scoring tool, a spray bottle filled with a vinegar and water solution, and a putty knife. “I also grabbed the clock radio from my room if you wanted to listen to some music. Might help pass the time.”

Eddie nodded, watching carefully as you switched the radio on and tuned the dial to a Top 40 station. He shook his head the moment the electric beat of Haddaway’s “What is Love” played through the tinny speakers.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a scoff, dropping the supplies right where he stood, footsteps heavy even with the cloth underneath him. Without another word, he spun the knob past the static until the sound of an electric guitar crackled through. He bobbed his head a few times, finding the rhythm. “This’ll do.” 

“Not a Eurodance fan?”

His back was turned to you as he returned to the task at hand which left him unable to see the sarcastic smirk you sported. “Fuck no.” He stepped up on the tool and began cutting into the old wallpaper, puffing out an irritated laugh. “I can’t believe—scratch—you voluntarily—scratch—listen to that–scratch–shit.” His biceps flexed with each flick of the blade in a consistent rhythm. 

Drumming your fingernails on the desk, you twirled your pen in your free hand as you reread your own handwriting. You’d stayed at the library and filled notebook pages with bullet points about early childhood development until a squirrely librarian kicked you out at closing time. The choppy sentence fragments begged to be fleshed out into a fully-formed essay, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus.

Write words. Make edits. Add a comma. Do something, anything, dammit.

Almost an hour passed without you making an iota of progress on your paper. The words swam on the page until they just looked like inky squiggles with no real meaning, your brain blank as if you’d never written anything in your life. Cool air tickled your nose as you exhaled through your lips. Why couldn’t you just concentrate?

“It’s this music,” you muttered to yourself, too low for your company to hear. Your temples throbbed with frustration, and you reached over and snapped back to the previous station. 

Eddie’s head whipped around at the sudden change, frowning when he heard pop music instead of the metal that had just been playing. “Seriously?” He leaned one hand on the wall and threw the other up in exasperation. 

“Yes, seriously,” you bit back, teeth clenched in annoyance. “I can’t focus on my writing with that on.”

Eddie grumbled something unintelligible but went back to work, the scratching serving as a strange backdrop to the song. 

Janet Jackson faded out to a too-chipper deejay. “You folks know what time it is!” His voice reminded you of old-school toothpaste commercials, over-exaggerated and unnaturally polished. “That’s right; it’s time for Rad or Retch—where I play a song from a new artist, and you call in and let me know whether you think it’s rad or if it makes you wanna retch!” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, adding an exasperated “Jesus H. Christ,” under his breath. 

“This one’s called ‘Watch Me Leave’ by Death’s Echo, a grunge group from—”

The announcement came to an abrupt end as Eddie nearly leaped from the stool to the desk and yanked the plug out of its socket. The two-pronged head hit the floor with a soft thud. 

“Hey!” Your eyes widened in confusion and then disbelief, flickering over to where he stood. You expected him to wear a scowl that matched your own; instead, he looked like he’d just taken a knife to the gut, and you took a step back. “Whoa, you okay?”

Eddie tensed the moment he detected your sympathetic tone, shoulders pinched and jaw rigid. “‘M fine.” He pressed the heel of his left hand atop his right knuckles until they cracked. “Sorry.” He bent down and gently plugged the cord back into the wall, but you immediately flicked the power button to the off-position. 

It was silent for a full minute, save for the scorer against the wall and the scratch of pen on paper. When Eddie finally spoke, his voice was so soft that you barely heard it.

“That was my band.”

Confusion creased your brows. You set down your pen and stole a glance at him. His body remained facing the wall, but he was no longer working, hands lamely at his sides. “What?”

“Death’s Echo was, uh,” he shook a rogue curl from his eyes, “that was my band.”

“Oh.” Awkwardness seeped into the room and filled every crevice as you wracked your brain for a suitable response. “But…not anymore?”

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Nope.” The p sound popped softly as though signaling the discussion’s end, but there was a pregnant pause before he started removing the wallpaper again.

“Why not?” The question sprang from your tongue, curiosity getting the best of you.

A hesitant chuckle accompanied his sigh. “I thought you didn't make small talk with strangers.” He climbed back on the step stool and ripped off a strip of paper.

“I thought we weren’t strangers anymore,” you quipped back, not missing the smile that ghosted his lips.

“Fair enough.” Eddie conceded easily, not at all angry to be proven wrong. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared up at the yellow-tinged lighting overhead before slicing into the wallpaper. “Sometimes you think you want something, but it turns out to be a steaming pile of horseshit.” The last word was punctuated by a grunt, and the last panel of wallpaper fluttered to the ground. “That’s the music industry in a nutshell.”

You nodded in agreement despite an obvious lack of knowledge.

“They sign your band,” he continued, aiming the spray bottle nozzle at the wall and pulling the trigger, “and you think it’s because they like you. Or at least your music, your sound, whatever.” He wrinkled his nose as he got an unexpected whiff of the vinegar solution’s pungency. “But you’re really just a front for whatever they want to sell. Which, apparently, is grunge.” 

You had too many questions. They probably referred to record producers or agents or some other bigwigs, you surmised, but what did they do that made Eddie so cynical? 

That was far too loaded to ask, at least in that moment, so you opted for a more humorous follow-up. “You mean it wasn’t all sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll?” you joked, but Eddie didn’t share in your lightheartedness. 

“At the beginning, when we first got signed, yeah.” His brown eyes exuded wistfulness, remembrance of better times. He blinked twice and snapped himself out of it. “We put out a few albums that didn’t completely flop, I guess. And we were the opening act on a couple of tours. Got a good chunk of money in the bank.”

That explained the Calvin Klein underwear he was wearing on that first night. You capped your pen and leaned in, trying not to be overly inquisitive but unable to contain yourself. “So…what happened?” What led you here?

“We get called into a meeting, and we’re all thinking that the label’s gonna tell us we’re headlining, right? Maybe not, like, The Garden, but bigger venues than we usually played. But, uh…” he trailed off and rubbed the tip of his nose with an open palm, “it was an ultimatum: shift from metal to grunge, or get dropped.”

You listened intently as Eddie relayed the ordeal. The label executives had cited the increasing popularity of Nirvana and Pearl Jam along with decreasing interest in heavy metal bands. “Cobain’s selling; Ozzy isn’t,” they’d explained. If Death’s Echo wanted to play to packed arenas and have their music on mainstream radio, they had to adapt to the times.

“I told them we weren’t sellouts and to kiss my ass,” Eddie said to you, huffing out an annoyed breath. “But the rest of the band didn’t give a shit about that; if those suits told them to jump, they’d say ‘how high.’ So, I quit and waited for them to come crawling back.” 

He didn’t elaborate after that. He didn’t need to. Because if they’d done as Eddie had hoped, he wouldn’t be performing manual labor just to live in a struggling motel, basking in the gloominess that he wore like a second skin.

“If you could go back and do it differently, would you?” You grimaced at your own intrusiveness. “Sorry, that was—”

“It’s fine.” Eddie didn’t give an answer right away, his teeth grating against his lower lip. “Y’know, I’d like to say no, but losing your record deal, your apartment, your girlfriend, your so-called ‘friends,’ and every nice thing you own can make a guy kinda cynical.”

Girlfriend?

It was far from the most dire item on that list, but it needled at you. Maybe it was the mental image of Eddie watching everything get taken from him and then adding heartbreak on top of it all. 

“How about you?”

His voice yanked you from your thoughts and had your heart in your throat. “Huh?”

“You. Your whole deal.” He gestured at you with the scraper. “Why you’re always doing homework like a little nerd.” You couldn't detect a note of taunting in his teasing, only playfulness, just as it had been that very first night. 

You scowled for only a second before a smile broke through. “Don’t you have wallpaper to remove?”

Eddie snorted out a laugh. “I see how it is: when it’s my shit, I’m free to talk. But when it’s your shit, I’m a lowly employee.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “My deepest apologies, Heiress.”

You didn’t bother to argue, choosing instead to pivot to a new subject altogether. “How long does this take, anyway?” Walking out from behind the desk to inspect his work, you ran your finger down the wall. Once you got past the stench of vinegar, he was actually doing a pretty good job.  

“You think you could do better?” He saw your gentle ribbing and upped the ante, holding out the putty scraper as if saying, be my guest.

Plucking it from his grasp, you smirked and chose a spot right at eye level. Challenge accepted. 

Though the glue had softened considerably, removing it still required decent muscle. You put your bodyweight into it and pushed through the resistance, but you only managed to pull off a little bit. 

You heard Eddie laugh through his nose as he stood behind you, watching you struggle. “Harder than it looks, huh?” He ignored your middle finger and stepped a half-inch closer. “Let me help.”

One calloused hand dwarfed yours, his fingers wrapping around where your fist held the scraper. The other found purchase on the bicep of your free arm where your T-shirt’s cuff met skin, stabilizing without entrapping you. You could easily get out of his grasp if you wanted. 

You stayed there. 

He tightened his grip around yours and made short, downward strokes, admittedly taking off far more glue than you had. “There ya go,” he murmured. His breath was warm on your neck, gooseflesh rising when he spoke. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Just like that.”

Butterflies beat their wings in your stomach, a result of the unexpected proximity compounded by an unmet need for connection that starkly contrasted the night shift’s normal solitude. A loose tendril of his hair tickled against your ear, and the realization of how close your bodies actually were shattered whatever spell had been cast. 

Eddie pulled away quickly, the air cooling where his hand once rested. Did he also feel that sudden loss of contact, or was it all in your head?

With a shaky breath, you stepped aside and silently returned the tool to him. “Should probably leave this to the expert,” you muttered, forcing nervous laughter. “I have to get back to writing anyway.”

His eyes bored into you as you walked back to the desk, but neither of you said another word. You glanced over at him every so often, noting the perspiration dampening his collar and under his arms as he toiled away at the glue and wished you had a water bottle to offer him.

Maybe next time. 

You got halfway through the first body paragraph when Eddie spoke again.

“You’re really not gonna talk?”

You looked up to see him swipe his forearm along his brows as he shot you a tired grin.

“We just had a whole conversation,” you pointed out, returning your attention to your essay. 

“About me,” he said. He wiped his palms on his pants, leaving behind a sweaty print, and traipsed over to you. “I mean, every time I see you, you’re either going to school or coming back from school or doing work for school…” 

You shrugged, no big deal. “Okay, yeah, I go to school.”

“For what?”

Shit. “Hospitality and hotel management.”

“Really.” Eddie leaned over and snatched up your paper. You reached out to grab it back, but it was too late. The bridge of his nose scrunched as he read the opening paragraph to himself. “Doesn’t look like hospitality to me.” Amusement raised his brows. “Care to explain?”

It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you felt strangely obligated. He’d confided in you, so you should at least moderately indulge him. 

“Fine,” you relented, “I’m studying psychology.” That might have been the first time you’d ever said those words aloud in the motel lobby; it was oddly freeing. 

Eddie nodded and continued to scan the paper. “You wanna be a shrink?”

“Social worker.” 

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a tough gig. Especially if you’re working with kids.” He shook the essay pages for emphasis. 

“Yeah. I know.”

“Right.” He shoved one hand in his pants pocket. “What made you decide to be a social worker?”

You breathed out a laugh. “You want the easy answer or the real one?”

He didn’t hesitate before answering. “Real one. Always.” He returned your essay and rested his un-pocketed hand on the desk. Inquiring eyes beckoned you to continue.

With less trepidation than you’d anticipated, you tell him the story of that fateful day in the summer of 1987, just two years after you’d graduated from high school.

You were still working the afternoon shift, and summer break brought its usual influx of guests. People came and went in blurs of luggage, but there was one particular patron who had made her presence known.

“Hi!”

You peered over the desk to find the source of the lively greeting. A young girl, no older than five, stared back at you, syrupy grape stickiness surrounding her lips. The cause was most likely a popsicle, as evidenced by the purple stained stick clenched in her right hand.

“Um, hi,” you said with a smile that was, for the first time in a long while, not encased in customer service insincerity. “What’s your name?” And where did you come from?

Unfazed by your bewilderment, she introduced herself as Izzy and asked you if you wanted to play. “We just have to stay here, or else my mommy will get mad,” she explained with urgency.

You nodded slowly, sorting through the information without raising any alarm. “And where is your mommy?”

Izzy’s hazel eyes darted back towards the hallway. “In our room. She’s with a friend so I can’t go in.” She dropped her voice to what she considered a whisper, but it was still clear as day. “Her friend is a boy.”

Your stomach turned. Of course. Instead of watching her child, this mother was probably shooting up with her boyfriend of the week. 

“I can’t play right now, but you can sit here with me until your mommy and her friend come back out,” you said. “I have paper and pens if you wanna draw.”

This satisfied her, and she plopped down on the floor and patted the spot next to her. That day hadn’t been particularly hectic, so you obliged and sat.

“What’re you gonna draw?” Izzy asked, reaching for a blue pen. You didn’t have time to answer before she proudly announced, “I’m gonna draw a flower. Do you like flowers?”

“Mhm.”

Izzy smiled as she surrounded a circle with swirling loops. “You can draw a flower, too. Maybe a rose. Or a sunflower!”

Her excitement at the latter option was all you needed. “Sunflower it is, Miss Izzy.” You drew a circle of your own and filled it with a cross-hatched pattern, curating pointed-tipped petals around it. 

“D’you have crayons?” she asked, not looking up from her own flower.

You put down your pen and offered a pitying frown. “No, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. You should get some, though. ‘Cause you can draw prettier flowers with crayons.” 

The two of you stayed on the floor for ten minutes. All the while, she quizzed you on your favorite color, animal, food, and TV show. She was halfway through a heated explanation of why Friend Bear was superior to Share Bear when a frantic voice called out her name. 

“Mommy!” Izzy practically flew into her mother’s arms. You watched as the woman’s entire body sagged in relief, pulling her daughter in close. A man trailed behind her, discreetly zipping up his fly and walking out the front door. 

“Izzy, I told you to sit in the hall and eat your ice pop,” her mom gently scolded, words muffled by her lips being pressed to Izzy’s scalp. 

Izzy scrunched her nose in confusion. “But I finished it.” She pointed at the empty stick, now on the ground where she’d been sitting, as proof. In true childlike fashion, she jumped to a new topic without waiting for the first conversation to conclude. “Mommy, you wanna see what I drawed?”

“Of course, baby.” She easily feigned excitement as Izzy presented her with a series of scribbles that were meant to be various flowers, people, and farm animals. “Wow! I think you’re gonna be an artist one day.”

The little girl continued chatting, blissfully unaware of the panic she’d inadvertently caused. Her mom allowed herself to look away for just a moment to glance at you, mouthing a tiny “thank you” and blinking her tear-filled eyes.

“And…I don’t know,” you lamely supplied as you wrapped up the story. “I guess I realized that I had all of these assumptions, this sort of preconceived notion that this woman was a deadbeat parent, but she obviously loved Izzy more than anything.” You picked at your thumbnail nervously. “No one should have to sell their body for money just to survive. She deserved better than that.” 

Eddie stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing everything you’d thrown at him. “And you wanted to help her,” he finally said.

“Yeah.” You thought back to the way her gaze simultaneously held gratitude and guilt. Her daughter was safe, but she knew that this was not the final time she’d be in this predicament.

The experience had awakened a realization in you: working at the motel was never your dream, but it kept a roof over your head and food in your belly. You weren’t left to navigate the world on your own. Independence was a privilege, not a mandate.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie broke in, “I think you’ll be a great social worker someday.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice and slipped back to the awaiting task; despite insisting that you talked to him while he worked, he hadn’t touched any of the tools while you spoke.

Your smile was a thank you, and you tuned the radio back to the metal station Eddie had chosen earlier. He didn’t say anything else, but you noted the subtle tap of his toe against the drop cloth.

Eddie worked for a few more hours until he’d stripped the wall of all paper and glue. “All right,” he said, balancing the step stool on two fingers. Sleepiness softened his own smile, all lips and no teeth. “Let me know when the new wallpaper comes in. You, uh, know where I live.”

“Will do.” Your thumb absently grazed against the words you’d just written, smudging them. You rubbed at the black ink seeping into your skin, silently chastising your own carelessness. “Good night, Eddie.”

He stretched and scratched at the U-neck of his collar, exposing a sliver of chest hair. 

“Sweet dreams, Heiress.”

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[whats-your-face]

Masterlist

Long Fics:

Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford X Reader. :

Y/N has tried hard to forget her past as a club hang around in Charming. She's tried to be a better person attempting to run her family's funeral home and be an upstanding member of society. However a request for a favor from SAMCRO in exchange for payment for debts drags her right back into the life she tried so hard to leave behind. The offer of payment isn't the only thing pulling her back into the world of SAMCRO. A certain Scotsman proves to be another incentive to Y/N to possibly find her way back to the life she'd sworn to leave behind.

One , Two , Three , Four , Five , Six , Seven , Eight , Nine , Ten , Eleven , Twelve , Thirteen , Fourteen , 15 , 16,

Lilies and Thistles:

Lily Unser comes back to Charming to be with her ailing father. She finds that the world she left behind for college is changing. Things are changing fast and she doesn't know where to stand. Soon Lily finds herself connected to someone who gives her a reason to stay in California. Is Chibs enough to keep her here? Is Lily enough to mend his damaged heart? Starts before season 1.

1 ,

Now That I Have You

Molly and her young son have come to Charming trying to start a new life after fleeing an abusive marriage. The last thing she expects to find is a relationship with a certain Scot. Chibs didn't expect to find love either but finds that he doesn't want to let go of Molly and her boy. Can he protect them when her past comes knocking? Can she accept Chibs' often dangerous life?

One , Two , Three , Four , Five , Six , Seven ,

Scorned

When Sheriff Althea Jarry returns from a sabbatical and discovers that Chibs Telford has taken an ol lady, she's none too pleased. Will her attempts to destroy the peace Chibs Telford has found with Y/N have dangerous consequences for Chibs and Y/N and all that they hold dear?

One, Two , Three , Four , Five , Six , Seven ,

Oneshots:

Wrong Number

When Y/N sends some enticing photos meant for her ol man to the wrong number, she receives some surprising but much hoped for results.

Belonging

Chibs decides that the best way to protect Y/N from the violence of his life is to break her heart. Y/N decides that the best way to mend her broken heart is to agree to a date with a rookie cop much to Chibs' irritation. Chibs is left attempting to win back Y/N and show her they belong to one another the only way he knows how. A smut dialog request. 18+

Deserving

When Frankie Diamonds takes Chibs Telford hostage after going on a rampage and Diosa, Y/N is left fearing the man she loves may be gone from her life forever.

Homecoming

Y/N longs for Chibs Telford after a week apart. A moment of attempting to find some relief from the tension and longing for her fiancé ends in a surprising result as Chibs arrives to a welcome home he had not been anticipating. 18+ Smut dialogue request.

Sweetness

Chibs Telford reflects on how his ol lady came into his life and showed him a sense of sweetness he never thought he deserved. During a moment of intimacy Y/N and Chibs make a surprising but pleasing discovery in the bedroom. 18+smut

Never Lost

President Chibs Telford needs some reassurance from his ol lady as he contemplates the future of SAMCRO. 18+ smut

Fight for What You Want

One ,

When Chibs Telford overhears the woman he’s been unwilling to make a move on has a first date lined up, will he be willing to fight for her? When Y/N’s first date turns into the first date from hell will Chibs Telford’s efforts to protect her be enough to turn the night around?

[whats-your-face]

— ୨୧ being chibs telford's younger old lady would include...

( gif does not belong to me. these were requested by my lavender anon, i hope you all enjoy 🩷 i had a lot of fun writing these, i almost want to write more 🤭 )

- your age is not an issue for chibs. as long as you are well over the legal age to be with him, and mature, it's actually something he overlooks often.

- don't get me wrong, he does enjoy the banter the guys give him about having a "hot young thing" like you around, but he tries not to make it a big deal.

- chibs ends up teaching you a lot about life in general, but you take to being an old lady really nicely. he teaches you how to play pool and you eventually hold your liquor better after countless nights of staying up trying to out drink your old man. spoiler alert; you never do.

- gemma and tara love you, although they had their doubts at first. once you prove your loyalty and that you can handle your own shit, you earn their respect.

- while chibs admires your ability to take care of yourself, he really does love to take care of you himself. he does this in so many ways, most notably being financially but it's not all about the money and little gifts for you.

- he also shows his affection and appreciation for you by running you hot baths, reading to you on nights in together and by his constant praise of you.

- literally he talks about you all the time. to the point where the guys have to walk away from him or he'll talk their ears off all night about you. he's a passionate guy, okay?

- again, chibs won't complain that he has such a beautiful girl on his arm, but man does he pick on you. he can't wrap his head around it most days, why would you want some old man like him anyway? you always tell him to shut up

- i feel like pda might not be something chibs is used to, but with you, he can't help but give you a kiss with every goodbye, or keep his arms wrapped around you at a club party. he loves when you sit on his lap, the man just can't stop smiling.

[whats-your-face]

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Reader} - Chapters and Warnings

Picture for Banner: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Warnings - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch.3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 🔥 - Ch. 9 🔥 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11 - Ch. 12 - Ch. 13 - Ch. 14 - Ch. 15 - Ch. 16 - Ch. 17 🔥- Ch. 18 🔥

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU

Warnings: Ab*se, Violence, Mental Health, Cursing, Smut, oral sex, p in v, unprotected sex, A/B/O dynamics but not explicit, dirty talking, breeding kink, bdsm, choking, mental abuse, manipulation, depression, self sabotage

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

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Summary:

The world only reigns in Betas, the middle in between an Alpha and Omega, someone who provides children with the adequate amount of treatments and prescriptions in medications, making them fertile. That is how the world procreated and mutated into just this kind of gender.

Alphas and Omegas were a myth.

Normal jobs, normal people, normal life, great friends. That's what you want. But of course, there's always a needle somewhere that pokes and doesn't stop. Yours was called Eddie Munson.

--------------------------

This has Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Let me be clear, NONE of this is going to be relevant till a certain part of the story. It is a very important dynamic indeed, but there's no explicit behaviour in the characters at the beginning or in the middle of it. Like literally, PACKS DO NOT EVEN EXIST.

The smut will be MILD. I know that Omegaverse tends to go EXPLICIT, but I do not write that. There will be at some point, mentions of rut, heat, and other things that I will explain along the way. But if you are uncomfortable at some point, do not read. There will be though, dirty talking, because it cannot really be avoided. But it won't happen in all the smut, I promise.

Just treat this as a normal Enemies to Lovers AU, until the Omegaverse lore appears which won't be too explicit.

No Stranger Things lore involved.

Slowburn, of course. 

Specific topics will be included that may be triggering to some: ab*se, violence, drugs, mental health, and cursing.

There'll be no usage of Y/N in this story. 

I do not own ANY of the characters involved.

The picture of Eddie in the cover (Which is property of Pitifulbaby on tumblr) is actually how Eddie looks in this AU. Same old metal head, just with a beard and using manbuns.

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Now: Let's go over some definitions if you are not familiar in the Omegaverse universe. (ADAPTED TO THIS STORY, OF COURSE)

- Alphas: In some stories, they may exhibit "dominant" behavior or have other temperamental quirks. They are able to impregnate Omegas. Male Alphas usually have a knot when aroused, and they go into rut for a specific amount of time.

- Betas: Betas are often presented as having "normal" human anatomy, with none of the special attributes of Alphas or Omegas. They may be the peacemakers between Alphas and Omegas. They cannot impregnate or get pregnant if not going through special treatment to do so.

- Omegas: They can get pregnant and go into heat for a few days, depending the person. Omegas are often portrayed as the most fragile of the hierarchy, with frailer bodies and painful presentations.

Alphas and Omegas have SCENT glands. They have them on their neck, wrists, and sometimes on their ankles. While Alphas scents are usually musky, dominant, rough; Omegas have a sweet, peachy kind of smell.

This scent only becomes stronger as they go into rut or in heat.

Alphas and Omegas also have a Mating gland, something that Betas do not have. This is always positioned between the junction of the neck and shoulder, and they have to bite one another to seal their bond, and be forever mates. 

It can happen that one of the two might not seal the bond, and not bite the other person. The bite will disappear in time, as well as the bond that the person that bit created, but it is a painful process for the biter. 

As there are no Alphas or Omegas in this story, the world is as we know it, except for the fertility treatments people have to go through to get a baby. 

There are no packs, no 'pups' as people call the children in this AU.

(If you have more questions, please don't be afraid to ask!)

-----------------------------------------

Follow me for updates! ❤️

[whats-your-face]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

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[whats-your-face]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.1k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! suggestive moments, mature readers only please!

You and Carter didn’t fight, it just didn’t happen.

Like any sisters, you got on each other’s nerves, you disagreed on things, you borrowed each other’s clothes without asking - but you didn’t fight. 

Growing up, your parents fought all the time. You and Carter would sit in her bedroom and listen to music, talking and laughing and pretending not to hear. Ever since then, you had a silent agreement; you didn’t fight and you never raised your voices at each other.

The problem with this system was that you were never quite sure when she was upset with you. Your stomach churned the whole rest of your shower, as she stood uncharacteristically quiet at the bathroom sink and did her makeup.

Maybe she hadn’t heard you, or maybe she had just hated your words so much that she couldn’t even respond to them. You knew she wouldn’t like it when you admitted that you’d be with Rafe if he asked you, but pretending it had never been said seemed particularly childish. 

A little while later, you sat on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror as she did your hair and makeup. You found your eyes continually drifting up to her, searching for any sign of anger. When a full half-an-hour passed and she still hadn’t responded to your comments about Rafe, you broke down and asked, “are you mad at me?”

“For what?” She scrunched her eyebrows.

“For what I said in the shower,” you wrung your hands in your lap, not sure you wanted the answer.

“Bitch, you know I have the short term memory of an ant, you’re gonna have to give me more to work with.”

You laughed at her bluntness, the lightheartedness of her words relaxing you enough to face your fear.

“What I said about Rafe,” you said. “That I’d be with him if he asked me to.”

She paused her work on your hair, setting the brush down and meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“When did you say that?” She twisted her lips.

“When you came back in, while I was in the shower.”

She shook her head, “must’ve been talking to someone else because I’ve definitely never heard you say that. I feel like I would’ve remembered something so insane.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, playing the whole thing back in your mind. You had definitely heard someone come in, the door squeaking at their arrival. That means someone else in the house was walking around with your deepest secret. And now Carter knew it too.

“Oh,” you said. “Never mind then.”

“Yeah right, you really think I’m just gonna move on from that?” Carter put her hands on her hips.

“We could just pretend I never said anything,” you shrugged.

“Yes you know me,” Carter rolled her eyes, “I’m famous for letting things go and being super chill when I hear someone say something batshit crazy.”

You sighed, “okay fine, but what you didn’t hear was me following the statement up by saying I know I shouldn’t be with him ‘cause I’d probably hate myself the whole time.”

Carter started working on your hair again, her contorted face betraying her attempt to act casual.

“Please just say whatever you’re thinking,” you urged her.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” she replied.

You snorted, “since when?”

“I just, like, ugh,” she dropped her head back in frustration. “Why him? Like I’ve never understood. What is it about him?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I’ve never really known. He’s just…”

“Arrogant, selfish, a bully…” she finished your sentence for you.

“Stop,” you laughed, shaking your head.  

“Just be careful, okay?” She placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting your eye in the mirror. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I know,” you nodded. “I will be.”

“If Rafe Cameron has zero haters then I am dead,” she concluded.

“I know that too,” you smiled.

Carter leaned past you to collect a couple bobby pins from the bathroom sink, her shirt slipping slightly off her shoulder and revealing a patch of deep purple marks.

“Oh my god,” you squealed. “Are those hickies?!”

She dragged her shirt back over her shoulder defensively.

“No! I fell!”

“Uh-huh, right onto Topper’s mouth apparently!” You poked her side, teasing her.

“Shut up,” she smiled and you cackled. 

After that, the Rafe conversation was dropped as you pressed Carter for more details on her hook up with Topper. She tried to play cool, but you could tell there was something more going on under the surface that she didn’t want to say. You decided to be patient, if she was going to finally come to terms with her feelings for him, she was going to do it all on her own.

When she was finally done with your hair and makeup, you inspected yourself in the mirror. 

“Baddie,” she winked at you.

You blushed, “alright let’s go, the boys are probably waiting.”

Carter stood back and crossed her arms, giving you an incredulous look.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re not wearing that.”

You looked down at your outfit, a crop top, black jeans, and boots. You thought it was a perfectly acceptable clubbing outfit, but Carter clearly disagreed.

“Why not?”

“We’re going out to, like, clubs. In downtown Miami. You gotta stunt on ‘em a little bit,” she argued.

“I am! Look how tight these jeans are,” you did a spin to display your point.

“Good thing I brought the perfect dress in your size for just such an occasion,” she ignored you.

“Oh okay so this was a premeditated makeover?” You smiled.

She ran down the hall to her room and returned with a lacy, red minidress. Knowing you’d lose any argument you posed, you changed into it reluctantly. The corset top hugged your waist, pushing your chest up. Your shoulders slumped instinctually, like you could hide away in yourself. You’d come a long way on your self-love journey, but your self-doubt still crept in from time to time. 

As per usual, Carter sensed it right away.

“Shoulders back, head up,” Carter reminded you. “Let ‘em know.”

You took a deep breath, nodding in the mirror, choosing to leave your insecurities behind. You’d borrow her faith in you for just one night.

As Carter, Maddie and Sabrina did their final touch ups and compared outfits, you pulled on your heels and headed downstairs. The other girls didn’t seem concerned with punctuality, but you were sure Topper was probably freaking out about how long they were taking.

It wasn’t Topper you found in the kitchen, though. 

Rafe stood at the sink with his back to you, his black button up pulled taught over his defined back muscles as he stared off into space and the cup in his hand overflowed.

You smiled, holding your shoulders back as Carter had taught you, bracing for him to see you in this dress.

“Thirsty?”

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He felt his resolve break with the rest of his brain, dizzy and drowning in the sight of you. He had the ridiculous urge to shield his eyes, like he was hiding them from the sun, your beauty too overwhelming to gaze directly at.

He set the glass down on the counter, drying his hands with a nearby towel, never once breaking eye contact with you.

Licking his lips quickly, he shamelessly let his eyes drag over your bare legs and up your body, knowing full well you could see him take in every inch of you. He didn’t care, he needed you to understand what you were doing to him.

When his eyes finally landed on yours, he clenched his jaw tight, nostrils flaring with his rising pulse. He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, telling you silently: you’re killing me.

“You like it?” You whispered, running your hands over the lacy fabric.

Rafe opened his mouth to answer, planning something along the lines of “do I like it? Are you fucking kidding me?” but before he could, the rest of the girls came clamorring down the stairs behind you, stealing the moment. 

At the sound of clicking heels and giggles, the rest of the boys came filing into the room.

Rafe gave you one more longing look before handing Kelce the glass of water. Kelce tried to protest, but Rafe shoved it in his hands anyway.

“We’re not leaving ‘til you drink it,” Rafe scolded him.

“Taking over Topper’s mom duties?” Maddie laughed at the exchange.

“No, Rafe’s much more dad vibes,” Carter countered.

“Yes and mom and dad will be pissed if our Ubers leave, so let’s go children,” Topper herded the group toward the front door. 

Rafe took the now empty glass from Kelce and left it in the sink, and you lingered back for a second, pretending to fix your shoe so you’d both end up at the back of the pack. He watched as you bent down and fiddled with the slingback, hovering close when you stood.

“Nice dress,” he mumbled down to you.

“You think so?” You twisted your lips to keep from beaming at him, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.

“There’s not much of it,” he teased, scratching the back of his head as he looked down over the lacy fabric. “But yeah, it’s nice.”

“You gonna give me the ‘you’re not leaving the house in that, young lady’ treatment?” You pressed him. “You really are like the dad.”

“Why? Would you change if I told you to?” He asked skeptically.

“Not a fucking chance,” you scoffed, swinging your hips as you spun and made for the front door.

He was really planning on staying away from you? What a fucking joke. He followed you out of the house like you had him on a leash. He was in for a long night.

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It took all of five minutes for Carter to grab Topper’s hand and pull him to the corner of the club, and it took even less time for their close talking to become a full on makeout.

You smirked at them as you ordered another drink, knowing you’d need something to help you get through this evening if Carter wasn’t going to be by your side. You could feel Tom’s eyes on you as he approached from the other side of the bar.

The whole Uber here, Tom had been eyeing you in the rear view mirror from the front seat. The only stare that made you more uncomfortable was Sabrina’s. It couldn’t be more clear that she’d grown attached to him on their jet ski ride, laughing loud at his unfunny jokes and hovering in his vicinity all night. You had unwittingly fallen into a love triangle you wanted nothing to do with.

You could feel his attempt to hit on you before he even spoke.

“Put her drink on my tab,” Tom told the bartender. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” you said, not wanting to give him any openings.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I know I’ve been kind of a jerk today, the least I can do is buy you a drink to say sorry.”

The bartender handed you the glass, and you immediately took a sip, fiddling with the straw uncomfortably.

“Sorry for what?” You feigned ignorance.

“Last night, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird,” he said, stepping closer to you. He clearly couldn’t see the irony that he was apologizing for making you feel weird while actively making you feel weird. “I just think you’re really cool and I wanted to get to know you better.”

He was crowding your space now, the scent of his heavy cologne choking your senses. Just a few days ago, you found the same smell enticing, but now, there was only one person you wanted standing this close.

Your eyes flicked over Tom’s shoulder, scanning the crowd for him. You found him leaning against the wall, Kelce talking to him emphatically about something you couldn’t hear. You didn’t have to get his attention, his eyes were already on you. Tight lipped smile, you flicked your eyes between him and Tom, trying to communicate your need for his assistance.

Rafe didn’t need anything more to understand what you were asking, tuned in to your every move and sensing your need for him before you even caught his eye. He pushed off the wall and left Kelce talking to no one so he could shove his way through the crowd. Taller than almost everyone, you tracked him the whole way through the sea of people. Tom seemed none the wiser, continuing hitting on you.

“Maybe we could get out of here,” Tom suggested, leaning in a little too close so you could hear him over the music.

“Nah, not tonight bro.” 

Rafe appeared by your side just in time, forcing Tom to take a step back as he draped his arm over your shoulders possessively. Tom’s eyes flew between the two of you as you reached up to the hand on your shoulder and threaded your fingers with Rafe’s. Relief swelled through your body as Tom stepped back. You leaned into Rafe’s hold more, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a grateful squeeze. You knew he felt it when you saw his mouth perk up at the corners. But he didn’t take his eyes off Tom, his work here unfinished.

“Since when are you two together?” Tom puzzled defensively.

“Look man, why don’t you go find, uh, Sabrina,” Rafe waved him off. “Or literally any other girl here.”

As if Rafe’s suggestion had summoned her, Sabrina appeared at Tom’s side.

“Oh my god,” she slurred, eyes red and glossy with intoxication. “Are y’all a thing now? Girl, I never thought you’d actually do it. Good for you!”

It had the cadence of women supporting women, but the undertone was clear. You didn’t miss the disbelief in her tone, subtly trying to cut you down while appearing to lift you up. If Carter was here, she’d bitch her out. But you didn’t need saving from this one.

You tightened your hold on Rafe’s hand, swinging his arm from around your shoulders but not letting go. You pulled him away from Tom and Sabrina, leading him deep into the crowd on the dancefloor. 

Before he had the chance to ask what you were doing, you placed his hands on your waist, spinning in his grasp until your back was flush with his chest and moving to the music. He made no protest, squeezing you between his hands and swaying along with you. Tom and Sabrina watched from across the room, his jaw clenched and her arms crossed.

After a few minutes, both sets of eyes eventually left you, but you didn’t notice, and you didn’t stop. It wasn’t for show anymore. You closed your eyes as you continued to let the music move you. Rafe’s strong arms on either side of you, your brain flashed images of his half naked body in the kitchen and how he kneeled in front of you in the basement. The same fingertips that had so gently caressed your calf were now burrowing into the soft flesh of your hips. One of your arms stretched up, your palm finding the back of his neck, kneading his skin as you clung to him.

When you looked up to meet his eyes, they were ablaze with pure lust. Your lips parted to tell him you felt it too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you showed him, your body moving through the music like water. The bass pumped through your chest, tangling with your thumping heart beat until you couldn’t tell which was which. 

Rafe held you tight against him, like if he let you go you might slip under the waves again. His head sank low, until the tip of his nose was grazing just over the curve of your neck. He was hardly moving, not so much dancing as swaying, letting you do the work his eyes drank in every inch of your body.

With a precise roll of your hips, you pushed against him, and you nearly gasped at the feeling of something hard and demanding pressing into your hip. Your lips twisted with the sweetest satisfaction.

“Thought you were trying to be a gentleman,” you said over the music.

“I was,” he brought his lips to your ear so you could hear him. “But you’re making it too fucking hard.”

Smirking, you twisted in his arms until you were facing each other. You both caught the accidental euphemism and met eyes, breaking into matching laughter.

“You know what I mean,” he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think I do,” you teased with a quirked eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

His smile fell, as did his hands, lowering from your waist to your hips. You reached both arms up, wrapping around his neck and lacing your fingers behind him. 

His eyes swept over your face as he whispered, “you look so-”

“Cute?” 

You meant it in jest, but he didn’t laugh. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched as he took you in, serious as hell when he said,

“So fucking beautiful.”

You shuddered in his arms, and he ran his hand down your exposed back, tracing his fingers delicately over your spine.

“Been driving me crazy since I saw you on the beach,” he continued.

His hand kept falling lower, though it slowed as it reached your lower back, asking for permission with his hesitancy. Your body arched into him without even thinking about it. His palm glided over your ass, the soft fabric of your dress and your plush flesh beneath it pulling an involuntary groan from him. He went lower still, slotting his fingers in the crease where your ass meets your thigh, lingering, setting up camp like he’d stay there all night if you let him. He found the spot so deliberately that you knew he’d been thinking about it for days. 

You waited with baited breath, your silence inviting him to keep talking. 

All he said next was your name. It was low and needy, like a request, or maybe a warning. Flames erupted in your stomach and sent a hot blush sweeping across your body.

“Do you…” your throat tightened with vulnerability, “do you want to go somewhere?”

Yes, Rafe thought, anywhere, for any amount of time.

But there was a small voice in the back of his head giving him pause. Your voice, earlier today in the shower, when you thought you were talking to someone else.

“I don’t want you to hate yourself,” he shook his head, sad eyes falling from your face to his shoes.

You tilted your head as you examined him, unsure for a moment what he meant. Then it clicked, realizing those were your words on his lips. He was the one who heard you in the bathroom. You fought the temptation to run away in embarrassment when you remembered what else he must’ve heard. 

After all you’d admitted to, the piece he was clearly holding onto was the only part you didn’t actually mean. You had added the detail about hating yourself when you thought you were talking to Carter and that she was upset with you.

It was too much to explain to him there on the crowded dance floor. You slipped your hand into his and pulled him from the crowd, out a side door and into the alleyway.

Once outside, you tucked your hair behind your ears and looked down anxiously at your feet. The loss of the music and the sobering night air weakened the boldness you had mustered inside.

“When you said we should go somewhere I wasn’t picturing so much garbage,” Rafe motioned towards the nearby dumpster. 

You laughed, his playful words successfully easing your nerves. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself why you’d brought him out here.

“You heard me, didn’t you? In the shower?” 

“I’m sorry,” he blushed, caught red handed. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. But…yeah.”

“I didn’t mean it,” you told him.

Hurt flashed in his eyes for just a second, before he nodded and squared his shoulders to cover it up.

“Got it,” he shrugged.

“No, I mean, the hating myself part,” you clarified. 

“So the other stuff…?” He was quick to follow up.

The door for you to finally tell him how you felt was wide open in front of you, but you weren’t sure if you could walk through it. The words you’d been holding back your whole life sat on the tip of your tongue, but refused to pass your lips. You looked at him helplessly.

“I can’t,” you shook your head.

Rafe sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What? You can’t what?” 

Your mouth fell open in disbelief, incensed that he was the one with an attitude here.

“You know what?” You said, hands on your hips. “I don’t think you have a lot of room to be snapping at me, Rafe. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“Everything I’ve done?” He huffed. “Please, tell me what I did that’s so terrible?”

“Seriously? High school wasn’t that long ago, Rafe.”

“Look I know I was a dick, okay?” He stepped forward, voice softening a bit with his apology. “And maybe you’ll never forgive me. But all that shit? That guy? That’s in the past, and I don’t want to talk about the past anymore, I just wanna be with you now.”

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you shook your head sadly. “I don’t know if I can just pretend none of that happened.”

“How long then?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Tell me how long I’m gonna be paying for some shit I did when I was seventeen so I at least have an idea, please. Give me a date so I can plan for it.”

“Let’s see, Rafe, I wanted you for twelve years, you’ve wanted me for like two days. Does that seem even to you?”

Your words struck him, the anger in his eyes dissolving, replaced with tenderness. He stepped towards you tentatively, ducking just a bit to better read your face. 

“You really think I’ve only wanted you for two days?” He mumbled softly. “Baby…”

It was the second time he’d called you that today. You were in too much pain when he said it after you fell off the jet ski, but your brain had tucked it away subconsciously to revisit when you felt better. He’d called you baby before, when you were in high school. It had always given you butterflies, and you never called attention to it, afraid he’d stop if he realized how much it meant to you.

Since then, you’d reframed the memories to convince yourself that he never actually meant it, that it was some kind of manipulation tactic. But the way it rolled so naturally off his tongue earlier, and the way he’d breathed it so desperately now, made you reconsider.

“Please don’t call me that,” you pleaded. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

Rafe just blinked back at you, not an ounce of deception in his voice when he said, “I’ve always meant it.”

His confession pinched your heart, the whole story rewriting itself in your mind. For the first time ever, you let yourself actually believe that he cared for you, that he’d always cared for you. To anyone else who knew the whole story, it might seem unlikely, but seeing the look in his eyes right now, you had never been so sure of anything in your life.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, your deep longing for him stronger than ever. He felt it too, you could tell by the way he drew closer, his body lining up with yours, eyes locked to your lips.

With the most tenderness you’ve ever encountered, he reached his hand up, the pad of his thumb landing on your bottom lip and pulling it gently from between your teeth, undoing you.

“Rafe…” you whispered, a plea and a question, as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Can I?” He breathed. “Please?”

You nodded, never meaning anything more than when you told him “yes.”

(to be continued)

a/n: chat what do we think? are we forgiving him? only 3 chapters to goooo. Also I wrote “shoulders back. head up. let ‘em know.” on my bathroom mirror as my new morning mantra 💘

as always, sorry if I leave you off the tags it's not intentional! to be the first to know when I post a new chapter, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[whats-your-face]

When the Wolfsbane Blooms | part ii | e.m. x reader au

Summary | September 1916. Edward Munson is back in Hawkins after 13 years, returning to live with his uncle who serves as groundskeeper to the Talbot Estate. Upon his return it’s as if nothing has changed... except the Talbot daughter, who wasn’t nearly so striking back when they were children. But a strange danger seems to coincide with Eddie’s arrival, and all it takes is one fateful night to expose him to exactly what this danger is…

Tags & Warnings | 18+, angsty horror romance, fem reader, depictions of violence and death, smut and nsfw themes, reader last name for plot purposes, use of some 3rd person narrative, historical inaccuracies

A.N | Thank you to everyone who has shown love for the fic thus far, this has been such a beast to work on, but I love every minute of it! I'm a little biased towards this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do 👀

W.C | 12.5k

!! MINORS DNI !!

“... through no fault of your own…”

As planned, you ventured to the gardens post-supper, a book in hand to keep yourself preoccupied should Eddie be delayed. Your father seemed none the wiser to your plans, far as you could tell, unaware of your lilac dress in need of a cleaning, unaware of your evening rendezvous to come. As had become habit as you grew older, he visited the library for brandy and a cigar following your evening meal, and you went off to read either by the fire or on a bench amongst the rose bushes.

It was a comfortable existence, the one shared between the two of you, albeit also a lonely one. Your father was certainly capable of affection, but he was never good at showing it; for a man with a whirlwind of emotions constantly present in his eyes, he had the irritating habit of keeping them all to himself. He showed love and care from a distance, and you couldn’t begrudge him for that, although in your younger years it often left you wondering if perhaps there was something wrong with you.

For your entire life, it was always just the two of you and the half-dozen staff of the house - you never knew your mother, and your father was entirely disinterested in the prospect of ever taking another wife. In fact, it seemed as if sometimes he was fearful of the idea, as if there was some unseen danger in taking a new bride. He often seemed too preoccupied for such trivial things as romance, although what could possibly keep his mind so busy, you didn’t know even to this day; managing the estate and businesses was certainly a demanding task, but he’d always had staff and advisors to assist with such things. You figured that it was his emotions that wouldn’t allow him to commit his time to anything else, even something so simple as spending an evening by the fire with his daughter.

What he did make time for, frustratingly enough, was your recent engagement, made purely out of arrangement given your family’s position in society. You’d always known a convenient marriage was expected of you, despite the changing of society, but you’d also always hoped foolishly that you could put it off until you found a suitor on your own. But considering that you were already 24 years of age, the clock of expectation was ticking, and so your father had set up an engagement with a local family of similarly high standings.

The man was fine enough, from a decent family that wasn’t so stuffy that it made you want to rip your hair out. But he was terribly boring, completely and utterly incompatible with your wild ideas and your lust for life. It was evident that he didn’t quite see women as people - they were mothers or wives or daughters, they weren’t meant to have ambitions and aspirations. And as infuriating as that perspective was to you, you nonetheless thought you could at least tolerate such a man once you became his wife - after all, better he be boring than cruel, for boring could be ignored.

But with Edward Munson showing up after all these years away, suddenly you weren’t so confident in your tolerance for boring people.

You knew better than to become swept up in your childhood fantasies, you were logically aware of how silly you were to become excited at the mere prospect of Eddie as a concept. But you just couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t resist the ache you felt for your long-lost friend. Up until today, you admittedly hadn’t thought about him in a number of years; it’s not that he was ever truly forgotten, but you had accepted long ago that you two weren’t going to see each other ever again, and you had to become okay with that idea.

So, to have Eddie turn up entirely unannounced after all this time was a shock to your system, like the sensation of jumping into a freezing lake on a hot day; you were suddenly submerged in the thought of him, having dived in head first like a fearless child.

Now that you had Eddie back, you missed him so deeply, mourned the possibilities of what life would have been like had he stayed in Hawkins with you. And yes, you certainly knew that you were getting caught up in your excitement of finally having him home, but you also weren’t going to deny yourself the joys of his company. After all, it wouldn’t be long now until you were someone else’s wife - you may as well delight in your freedoms while you still have them, especially if those delights were in Eddie’s hands.

And so, you eagerly awaited his company, the sun low enough now that you could no longer read your book from where you sat. You could have moved closer to the house where light shined out through the windows, but you hadn’t been particularly interested in the novel to begin with; all while you’d been staring at the pages, your mind had been elsewhere.

So, you set the book aside and looked about, growing nervous as you anticipated Eddie’s arrival; you suspected that he was waiting until the sun had disappeared entirely beyond the horizon, nervous of being caught alone with you now that you both were all grown up. Since childhood, he’d feared the wrath of your father, especially after the day you two were found in the abandoned chapel - that was a terrifying and altering experience for you as well, so you certainly couldn’t blame Eddie for his reservations.

After that day, your father had never looked upon the boy in quite the same way, had never trusted you with him like he used to. He’d still let the two of you play together, but you weren’t to go beyond his sight, forced to keep to the gardens or the front lawn so that someone may always keep a watchful eye. And then only a short few years after that, Eddie was gone, and although he never said as much, you knew your father was relieved for it.

Something that had stirred your childish fears at the time was how that day at the chapel seemed to coincide with a spike of animal attacks in the area; you began to associate the two events in your mind, foolish as that may have been. The howling of a wolf at night would enter your dreams and turn them to nightmares, where you were trapped in the confines of the chapel and cornered by a monster. For weeks, this wolf seemed on rampage, attacking livestock and even going so far as to harm a few town citizens. But somehow, the animal was never caught.

Eventually, the danger faded away, eventually the attacks stopped and the cries of the animal no longer haunted you. But to your eight year old brain, it seemed the wolf was angered by your trespassing in the chapel, it seemed that you and Eddie had provoked it into such extreme violence; since then, you’d always secretly harbored a fear of wolves.

So, much like your irrational, childish fear of wolves, your father’s anxieties seemed utterly illogical to you. They’d led to disagreements and fights throughout the years, and to this day you never quite understand why he held such resentment towards your childhood friend.

Footsteps upon the stone path caught your attention and drew you out of your reverie; eagerly you jumped to your feet, heart fluttering in your chest with impatience. Although it was perhaps dumb, you ducked into the shadow of the nearest tree, your giddiness prompting you to behave so childishly, as if to make up for the times you two had lost. You listened and waited, hearing the careful steps come closer and closer until they were finally upon you.

Eddie hadn’t spotted you, pausing to pick up your book from the nearby bench, looking left and right in search of you; you held in a laugh as he continued forward, straining his neck as if that may help him find you faster. You ever so carefully tiptoed up behind him, mindful of the way your shoes would click against the path; you had one hand cupped over your mouth to maintain your silence, and once Eddie was finally within reach, you lashed out, quickly pressing your fingers into his sides to startle him.

“Eddie!” You whisper-shouted at the same moment, causing him to jump and exclaim with a harsh hiss, dropping the book he’d just picked up. He whipped around quickly to give you a reprimanding look as you laughed, pressing both hands to your mouth so that you wouldn’t be too loud. The startled furrow of Eddie’s brows made your laughter more raucous, and you doubled over, finding the whole thing far more amusing than it actually was.

Eddie couldn’t help but smile with an annoyed twist to his mouth, setting one hand atop your shoulder as he pressed an insistent finger to his lips, “Shh, I don’t want to be caught.”

You looked up at him through your lashes as you began to calm yourself, although giggles still escaped you as you feigned an innocent look. You gave his chest a comforting pat, your wide grin nearly comical.

“We won’t be caught.” You said with the utmost confidence, holding his eyes to make it clear just how certain of that you were. Eddie shook his head at your antics, but didn’t argue, his eyes sparkling with happiness in the moonlight. He picked up the fallen book, dusting it off carefully before holding it out towards you.

“Yours, I presume?” You smiled graciously, taking the book back and holding it close to your chest. For a long beat, the two of you simply drank each other in, silently admiring one another as if you were both works of art. Eddie cleared his throat, while looking down at his feet, meeting your eyes with a little more care, “Shall we?”

You nodded with a sweet smile, the expression only growing more dazzling when Eddie offered his arm for you; hooking your hand in the crook of his elbow, you gave him a surprised look, “When did you learn to behave like a gentleman?”

Eddie laughed with a dip of his head, the two of you aimlessly walking down the garden path, “Sometime between when I last saw you and now.”

You rolled your eyes at the answer, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. With no smart response, you suddenly found yourself growing nervous, although you weren’t sure why; perhaps you feared having nothing to say? Maybe you worried the silence meant this little fantasy would fall apart already? You bit your lip while glancing up at Eddie’s handsome face, wondering if similar fears weighed heavy on his brain.

“Did you miss me?” You blurted out, drawing his attention back.

“Well, you’re not very polite, are you?” Eddie teased with a snarky grin, which made your ears feel warm. You two were heading in the direction of the hedge maze, as if you both knew that’s where the other wanted to go. Sighing deeply, Eddie looked away from you, “Of course I did, especially that first year. There weren’t many friends to be had when every week we were in a new town… I thought about you often.”

He peeked at you bashfully, your warm smile making him nervous, “And after that first year?”

“I had to let you go.” Eddie shook his head as if the thought of it still upset him, still filled him with regret, “Couldn’t spend every day and night worrying over the girl I left behind.”

The sad way he said it made you smile with longing, recalling the wretched few months following his departure and how difficult that time was for you, “I missed you as well; for a while, life was so dreadful without your company.”

Approaching the maze, you considered all the things that had happened the past thirteen years, wondering how you could possibly catch Eddie up on all the things you wanted to share. You wanted to tell him about the time you dipped your toes into the pond only for a leech to grab hold of you; the time you’d meandered into the garden feeling so lonely that his uncle put a trowel in your hand and taught you how to properly dig up dead plants. Or perhaps of your studies of botany, a passion that always kept you company on quiet days.

A depleting thought crossed your mind then, and you stole a glance up at Eddie’s face in consideration - before things went on any further, before you hurt him or led him on, it was only right to mention your annoying little engagement. Feeling the burn of your eyes, Eddie paused and looked at you curiously, knowing your expressions so well that he knew something was irritating you quite suddenly.

“What, don’t tell me my company already bores you.” He teased with that playful grin, to which you couldn’t help but smile back at.

No, you didn’t want to ruin the moment when it had only just begun. So, you shook your head and gave his arm a light tug, continuing the walk into the hedge maze, “No, you could never bore me, Eddie.”

The two of you entered the cozy maze that you’d memorized together so many years ago; you had spent hours trying to find markers and hints as to which direction to go, running back and forth from the start to the end until the both of you could confidently make it through without any help from the other. You wondered if Eddie could still remember his way through the hedges just as well as you.

He guided you around the first familiar turn, and you smiled to yourself - he could remember that much, at least, even if it was muscle memory. As if he knew what you were thinking, Eddie paused and shot you a mischievous look.

“Did you think I forgot?” He leaned in towards you with a challenging gleam in his eyes; you nodded smally, “We spent countless days playing here together - my mind wouldn’t let me forget this maze even if I wanted to. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dreamt of it.”

Rising to the bait, you puffed up your chest a little, removing your hand from his arm, “Oh really? Well, in that case, shall we see who can complete it faster?”

Eddie laughed, his eyes spirited and daring, happy to engage in play, “And what is there to win for the one of us that proves victorious?”

Your heart skipped as if the question were provocative; you took a step closer to Eddie, nearly chest to chest as you gazed up through your lashes, whispering with an airy suggestiveness, “Perhaps that’s for the winner to decide.”

“You speak with such confidence - I hope it isn’t going to your head.”

“And you speak with such determination - I’d hate to see you lose.”

The air was tense as you smiled at one another like scheming children, Eddie eventually took a step back while crossing his arms, tongue wetting his lower lip. You rose your chin defiantly, brow arching as you awaited his response. Eddie narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, Miss Talbot.” He uncrossed his arms to reach into his coat and extract a pocket watch, “Let’s see if you’re up for the challenge. I’ll wait for you at the end of the maze and see just how quickly you can manage it.”

You looked between him and the simple silver watch, “And how will you know when to start the time?”

“Do you remember your bird calls?” The both of you nearly laughed at the question.

“I’m rusty, but I can manage. How do you know I won’t cheat the call, send out my whistle when I’m already halfway through?”

Eddie leaned down with a false threat, eyes piercing into yours as he whispered in a risque tone, “I’m trusting you.”

His voice made you shiver with excitement, but you tried to hide it, just as you tried to hide the way you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself, “Foolish.”

“No one’s accused me of being a fool before.” He pretended that he was offended, taking a flamboyant step away from you. You grinned like a cheshire cat, delighting in your banter.

“Then I’m pleased to be the first.” You teased, causing Eddie to narrow his eyes once more.

“Have you grown more troublesome since I left?”

“Oh, yes, I assure you that I have. Now, let’s start the race, Mr. Munson.” You two shared a playful look of disagreement before Eddie began to jog around the hedge maze, following its exterior walls towards the other side.

You waited impatiently until you heard the chickadee call that the two of you used to practice as kids, the sound making you laugh to yourself. Licking your lips while recalling how to properly make the familiar sound, you called back and began a mad dash through the hedge maze, scooping your skirts up into your hands so as not to trip in your hurry. You took the turns tightly, nearly stumbling over your shoes and loose rocks; the dark of the night made the depths of the maze harder to decipher, but your muscle memory kept you in line, determined to win this childish little race you were now in the midst of.

When you’d finally reached the end, you very nearly crashed into Eddie, who managed to catch you as you both stumbled a few feet. You breathed deeply while trying to catch your breath, your wild eyes meeting Eddie’s as you steadied yourself with your hands upon his chest. Eddie smiling widely back down at you.

“I forgot to check the time.” Your face dropped, balking at Eddie in disbelief. But only moments later, he broke out into impish laughter, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze as you heaved a sigh of relief and slapped his chest.

“Not funny!” You scolded, although all conviction was lost considering that you were laughing along with him.

“Relax, will you?” Eddie held up the pocket watch, announcing your time to you as he placed it in your hand. With a charming grin, Eddie began the walk back around the maze, leaving you to wait for his bird call once more; you kept the clock face turned up to the sky so that the moon kept it illuminated.

Once the chickadee call met your ears, you kept your eyes trained on the watch, giddy to see if Eddie may possibly beat your time. The seconds seemed to move oh-so slowly since he wasn’t within your sight, and for a long while not even the sound of his footfall met your ears. But then you could hear the scuffing of shoes against stone and you began to grow nervous, worried that he would win this race with no real stakes.

Your time came and went, and a victorious grin spread across your face; moments later, Eddie came bursting out of the maze, stumbling much like you had as he skidded to a halt. You moved to him quickly, the self-satisfied look on your face causing him to narrow his eyes as he steady himself with hands upon knees.

“Don’t tell me you won.” He teased, your grin growing even wider as you took a dramatic, victorious bow, waving your hand graciously towards an invisible audience.

“Disappointment does not become you.” You taunted, to which Eddie rolled his eyes. He took back his pocket watch as if your hand burnt his, melodramatically acting up his dismay with groans and huffs, all the while you giggled at his silly display.

“Well, champion,” He leaned back into your space again, eyes alight with roguery, a wolfish grin on his lips, “what do you demand for your winnings?”

A wicked thought came to you, feeling your cheeks warm and your heart drum frantically, even as you tried to keep a cocky look upon your face. Eddie’s playful eyes were beginning to make you nervous, but you hoped your expression appeared just as spirited as his own, biting your lip to mask your nerves. You tapped your finger to your chin contemplatively, humming as if in deep consideration as you looked about the expanse of the lawns and gardens, anything to keep your eyes turned away from the dark of his gaze.

“I’m undecided.” You stated instead of your true answer, not quite courageous enough to share it. Abruptly, you began to jog down the hill’s slope which led to the lower lawns, full of that same nervous and excitable energy you always had as a child when Eddie was around. It felt a little foolish to act as if you were back to being little ones again, but you simply couldn’t help yourself, needing to let out all the giddy sensations that Eddie had stirred back up in you.

Eddie followed behind you with a call to slow down, catching up quickly and grabbing your arm; he spun you around to face him, his eccentric smile a perfect match for yours.

“We shouldn’t wander so far in the dark.” He insisted as he still held to your arm, looking back up in the direction of the mansion; from here, the hill obscured much of it from view, leaving only the upper floor visible to you.

“The dark holds no dangers to me.” You responded with a rascally tone, as if somehow you were untouchable. To reassure him, you added, “We will not go far.”

You took Eddie’s hand in your own as you continued your aimless trek - the lower lawns were home to less impressive gardens than those directly off the Talbot home, but as the explorer you were, they were always a delight to you. These were not gardens of flowers and exotic plants, but of fruits and vegetables, an orchard of trees with lovely offerings. Your personal favorites were the cherry trees, though they were not in season and, thus, they looked dull; but the apples, however, were truly thriving, growing so large and vibrant and aplenty, so you dragged your companion in that direction.

“Will you be helping with the gardens?” You asked, reaching out your free hand to graze the texture of leaves and apples and bark; the trees here had been growing so long that their branches were like a canopy above you.

“I will be doing anything asked of me - I’m lucky your father has even allowed me to return, given how much animosity he still seems to harbor for me.”

You furrowed your brows with disappointment; neither you nor your father brought Eddie up during supper, and so you had no idea what thoughts he now had about the young man, “You think he still harbors animosity?”

Eddie gave you a serious look, a sadness evident in his eyes even though you two wandered in near darkness; you were thankful for the moon, nearly full, for illuminating your way, “You weren’t there for the… odd conversations we had today; it seems he will never be trusting of me, nor will he ever come to like me.”

“Well, I like you, and that’s something he’ll simply have to live with.” Your tone was stubborn and defiantly and bratty, as if your own feelings could possibly sway those of your father; Eddie gave you a grateful look.

“Just don’t land me in trouble.” He said softly, knowing that even this simple act of walking together was something your father would frown upon, that it could be considered taboo for a woman of your status to be seen alone with a man like him.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, leaning in to him a little to rest your head atop his shoulder with an easy smile across your lips, “Fear not, I won’t cause any more trouble than I usually do.”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at that, squeezing your hand back, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, “You are quite capable of stirring up trouble, dove, that answer is not particularly reassuring.”

“I suppose not.” You said with a giggle, delighting in the impromptu term of endearment - Eddie had certainly never called you ‘dove’ before in your youth, but oh, how you hoped he’d continue to say now.

You recalled all the crazy things the two of you had done as children, the headaches you had caused; Eddie had been a troublemaker as well, of course, having dragged you along on many risky adventures that you’d been scolded for later. But now, he seemed far more aware of his station, far more aware of the consequences that awaited adults who broke the rules that children could get away with.

Yes - you reminded yourself once more - you were both grown up now, and could not get away with play and stories the way that you used to. You could no longer be seen together without raising eyebrows, you could no longer laugh and run and joke without propriety being questioned. It was a dismal realization to know that any and all interactions with Eddie would now be scrutinized, by both peers and staff and your father alike. The thought made you sigh with woe, eyes drooping as you considered all the things the two of you could no longer do lest you face the judgments of those around you.

Decidedly, you stopped and turned to face Eddie, who gazed down at you with curiosity. You confidently met his gaze, even as your heart drummed nervously, setting your face into a look of strong resolve; knowing that things were different now, you had to enjoy every single moment together that you could, “The winner has decided the prize she’d like to claim.”

Eddie’s brow rose, a tickled smile befalling his lips at your unexpected announcement, “Has she?”

You nodded, feeling yourself growing cold with anxiety even as your cheeks warmed with bashfulness. Taking a steady breath, you gently placed your hands on the front of his shoulders, watching his eyes glance down before meeting yours with some trepidation; you paused there for a moment to bolster yourself, unwilling to back down, a nervy smile gracing your lips as your eyes softened.

“I want you to kiss me, Edward Munson.”

You felt his gasp rather than hear it, felt the way his shoulders tensed at the softly spoken request; his expression became skittish, his eyes jumpy as they looked about your face for a lie. You held your ground, not shrinking under his gaze or backing down, even as your resolve began to feel shaky, nerves growing in rapid succession.

Your name was a sweet whisper falling off his lips, the sound making you shiver as the moment weighed on you. You stared at him with longing, fearful that he’d reject you, that he’d succumb to the pressures of a society that wouldn’t want you two to be together. But to your surprise, Eddie delicately cupped your cheeks, even as his eyes seemed apologetic and doubtful, looking between yours as if waiting for you to stop him before you did something neither of you could take back.

“I shouldn’t…” He spoke oh-so softly; you shook your head gently in defiance.

“I don’t care.” Your answer was equally small, as if even you feared being caught, “I may not be able to have you amongst society, but when we’re alone, you’ve always been mine.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to your lips, staring with such longing that you practically melted right then and then. As if he could tell the thoughts running through your mind, the corner of his mouth turned up in that charming grin of his, a huff of a laugh escaping him. And that seemed to be all the catalyst he needed, because in the next breath Eddie dipped his head down to capture your lips carefully with his.

His kiss was so tender and chaste, his fingertips curving a little tighter against your jaw. As a sigh left you, all your nerves seemed to melt away with it, your body relaxing against Eddie’s as your hands trailed up to clasp at the back of his neck. Your lips were timid, as if still held back by the disbelief that Eddie was back after all this time, disbelief that he was here with you and you got to kiss him exactly as you wanted to on the day he left.

Eddie pressed closer to you, deepening the kiss as his hands trailing down your neck, your arms, to your waist; the feel of his gentle touch caused your whole body to spark and shiver, your fingers curling into the hair at the base of his skull as an unladylike sound of satisfaction hummed in your throat. You could feel the curve of his smile against your lips, the way his hands squeezed your waist as if spurred on by your moan, and it only made you want him more.

Assertively and a little clumsily, you pushed against Eddie, practically tripping over your feet as you urged him to back up into the nearest tree truck, the bark scratchy against his shoulder blades though he was far too preoccupied to notice.

Your lips were demanding against his, body flush to him as your confidence mounted, Eddie’s arms warm as they encircled you as if fearful of letting go. Your hands became feverish, tugging at his hair, gripping at his neck, holding tight to his shoulders; you wanted to be everywhere at once, to somehow make up for all the time lost in the span of a single kiss.

Eddie’s tongue was wet against your lower lip, a pleasureful gasp escaping you as you opened your mouth to him, grateful for his arms around you as you began to feel weak in the knees. A primal sound rumbled deep in his chest, a growl that made you tingle all over, that made your hands tighten against him. With his arms holding you tight, Eddie leaned into you in a way that forced your back to arch, practically dipping you in his eagerness. Your chest felt as if it were going to burst open, your heart drumming out an excited tattoo, your limbs tingling with electricity.

But then suddenly a howl cried out from the distance, loud enough and frightening enough to make you gasp while abruptly breaking the kiss with Eddie. You whipped your head out towards the wilderness, Eddie’s nose pressed to your cheek as he attempted to catch his breath. The cry of the animal rang out again, sounding closer and more provoked; your eyes widened as you gazed out towards the north, which seemed to be the direction of the danger.

“It’s alright…” Eddie whispered airily, his breath hot against your skin. His hand reached up to gently cup your cheek again, turning your startled gaze back to him; his eyes were dark and lustful as they stared deeply into yours.

“No…” Your voice was also light with breathlessness, chest rising and falling against his, “That was a wolf.”

Eddie made a face as if confused by your concern; you were reminded in that moment that he’d been away for such a long time.

“I was told there were no more wolves around here.” You started, straightening up although you kept yourself securely pressed against Eddie’s warm body. You spoke a mere inch away from his lips, each word a hot breath against his skin, “They’d been hunted to extinction, supposedly; at least that’s what father told me.”

Eddie smiled, his lips brushing against yours, “And you always listen to what your father says?”

You rolled your eyes, still wondering if you’d hear the wolf’s call again; despite the nervous beating of your heart, you ever so delicately kissed Eddie again, “You know I don’t… but we haven’t seen wolves in years… it seemed they disappeared after you left.”

Eddie’s slight laugh vibrated against your chest, the feel of it helping to settle your nerves, “So, it was I who drew them away from Hawkins?”

You grinned fondly at him, slowly beginning to feel at ease as you pressed your fingers tenderly against his skin, “Now that sounds just like one of your stories.”

“Perhaps it is true,” Eddie started with an eager tone, pulling back from you so that he could grab your hand and begin to drag you through the rows of orchard trees, as if he had a destination in mind that you weren’t privy to. You giggled smally while trying not to trip over your feet, “Perhaps they’ve been on the hunt all this time, and I’m the thing they seek. They followed me across the country, stalking closely, but I’m no easy prey to catch, and I always evaded their grasp.”

Coming to the edge of the orchard, Eddie melodramatically threw his free arm in the air, as if presenting the expanse of the dark woods and the beautiful, bright moon to you, “And so they continue to follow, all the way back home - but the wolves will never catch me!”

The last statement was shouted out into the wilderness as if Eddie were daring the creatures to come to him, and as you joyously laughed, you once again saw the boy who explored nature with you, the boy so fond of telling stories to his adoring audience of one.

But then a wolf’s howl sounded back, and the perfect timing froze you, a chill creeping up your spine as your wide eyes looked between Eddie and the vast woodland nearby. Even Eddie - so fearless just moments ago - looked spooked as he stared into the darkness of the trees, gaze unblinking as if a predator may present itself any moment now. His grasp on your hand squeezed tight as he protectively pulled you closer into his side, a shaky breath escaping him as he waited for the creature to call out again.

“We should go back.” You leaned into his neck so he could hear your whisper, feeling the way he slowly nodded in response. That last cry had been even closer than before, and it made you both edgy. The likelihood of a wolf attack was slim, and for all you knew the sound of its howls were simply echoing to seem near, but neither of you was stupid enough to risk it.

So, you both cautiously backed up a few feet before Eddie spun you around, quickly escorting you back through the orchard, up the sloping hill, into the garden that lined the entire backside of Talbot Manor. You didn’t stop until you were safely at the edge of the hedge maze, and then further still Eddie dragged you into the cozy confines of its tall bushes. After twisted a few paces into the maze, Eddie finally stopped, looking down at you as if you were a porcelain doll he feared breaking.

In an effort to reassure you both that all was well, Eddie cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing lightly along the apples of your cheeks; you stared at each other for a long minute, relaxing now that you were seemingly away from danger. The shine of the moonlight in Eddie’s eyes made you smile contently, and as if he saw as much, he leaned in to capture your lips with his once more.

Eddie kissed you with such ardent tenderness that you feared your knees may buckle beneath you; you lightly hooked your hands on his elbows to keep steady. How could this be so easy, this spark between you two that reignited in no time at all? Was it simply nostalgia that drew you like a moth to a flame? You so desperately hoped it was more than that, that the two of you weren’t just getting caught up in the excitement of Eddie’s return.

You slowly pulled your lips from his, pressing your foreheads together as you buzzed from head to toe. The silence between you two was calm, like a kind of enchantment that you couldn’t help getting swept up in.

But as your breaths mingled, a nagging voice sounded in the back of your head, your conscience reminding you that you were an engaged woman running around with a simple mechanic. Your brow furrowed, wishing you could just send the thought away without a concern, but you knew to be better than that.

You pulled a little further from Eddie so that you could meet his eyes, your expression anxious and somber; it took him a few moments to notice, his own look going from lively to worried as he studied your face.

“What is it, dove?” He asked, thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks again. You pressed your lips firmly together while swallowing, fighting off your nerves; you knew what needed to be done, even if you didn’t want to be the one to do it.

“Eddie…” You cupped his hands in yours before gently pulling them away, taking a tense step back that caused doubt to flash across his face. You shook your head at yourself with a sigh, “There is something I should’ve told you.”

Oh, how tempted you were to run deeper into the hedge maze, to hide instead of confront the truth and break Eddie’s heart in the process. Your tongue felt heavy now that you had to say those damned words, and as you kept your eyes locked on Eddie, you could see his trepidation, as if he already suspected what you were about to say.

So, you bit the bullet before your nerves could win out again, “I’m engaged.”

You could see the exact moment his eyes dulled and his heart became heavy, feeling instant regret beginning to stir in you. If only you hadn’t said it, if only you could simply whisk that statement away - anything to bring a smile back to his lovely face.

As Eddie’s gaze dropped from you, you took a step back towards him, although you had to keep yourself from gently grabbing him, knowing your comfort most certainly wasn’t wanted right now. Nonetheless, more words spilled out of you, as if that could make things better.

“If I had known you were coming back, I would’ve found a way to prevent this. God, Eddie, if I could’ve just predicted you’d return, I wouldn’t have let this happen.”

Eddie sighed deeply, his jaw flexing; you couldn’t tell what he was feeling, as the look on his face was one you’d never quite seen before. Was it anger or pain or sadness or confusion?

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, unable to look away now that you’ve hurt him.

Eddie bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the ground as if he were still processing this information, his head shaking slightly at all the thoughts that must have been going through his mind. Unexpectedly, he whispered back with hoarseness, “I’m sorry, too, dove.”

Your brow furrowed as Eddie met your eyes again, his gaze appearing black in the darkness, which made him nearly frightening. What did he have to apologize for, he wasn’t the one who hurt you, after all.

The corner of his mouth pulled up, although there wasn’t any amusement to the expression, “I shouldn’t have come tonight - I gave us both too much hope.”

“But you are not the one who kept a secret.” You replied apologetically, “You are not the one who demanded a kiss and then broke the other’s heart.”

Eddie stared at you for a long, tense beat, “You’re right. And yet, somehow, I feel as if I’ve landed you in trouble once again.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t make a sound, looking between Eddie’s eyes as you still tried to figure out what was going on in his mind. A weak, distressed laugh left you, a sound of disappointment as you tried to center yourself.

“Were we simply getting caught up in all of this?” You vocalized the fear you’d held the entire night, the fear that maybe your guileless excitement might fade away and you two would be left with nothing but old memories. Eddie’s stare remained unreadable for what felt like an eternity, and you began to feel antsy beneath his dark eyes.

He took a cautious step towards you, your heart catching in your chest as you watched him carefully. Each step taken made you more nervous, and yet you stayed firmly planted where you stood. You felt static all throughout your body as you waited, a shaky breath passing your lips as Eddie came close and dipped his head down towards yours. For a moment, you thought perhaps he’d kiss you again in spite of it all, but instead his eyes locked with yours, gaze dark and heavy with a depth of emotion that you wished you could begin to understand.

“I hope that this is no folly.” Eddie whispered longingly before straightening up. He backed up from you, his expression growing tender as he drank you in, the confusing weight of all these feelings adding pressure on his mind; once he had put what he deemed a safe distance between you two, he smiled sadly, “Good night, Ms. Talbot.”

And just like that, he walked off, long legs carrying him so quickly that it was almost like a magic trick. You stared at the spot he once stood, sighing with sadness and longing; how you so hoped this wasn't the end of things for the two of you, as it felt they had only just begun.

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Eddie had managed to keep his distance for three days following that night, busying himself with tasks and chores that would ensure he didn’t have to run into you. Assisting Wayne in the gardens, cleaning up the mess of a garage, running into town with one of the maids to purchase goods - anything was better than having to see you and that forlorn, longing look in your eyes.

Eddie was foolish to have assumed that coming back to Talbot Manor would be easy, that he’d be able to fall back into his old routines as if nothing had changed. He’d become so very swept up in you so damn fast that he hadn’t even considered a boyfriend or fiance or husband could be a factor that would keep you apart; why that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he didn’t know. But he certainly should have known better than to cave to the excitement you both felt, and yet he had done so anyway.

It was easy enough to stay away from you, but what wasn’t so easy for Eddie was the temptation to watch you when you thought no one was looking. There’d been so many times over the course of these days when he’d spot you meandering the garden while he was out in the field or lazing about the porch while he was in the cottage cleaning up after a day of hard work. The first time it happened, Eddie assumed you saw him too, for how could you not notice him cleaning up scraps in the vegetable garden while you walked the orchard? But you always seemed to be lost in some reverie, and he would get lost in watching the beauty that was you.

After three days of managing this, Eddie thought he’d be okay, that he’d find enough distractions to help him abandon his childhood crush that he was foolish to hold on to in the first place. Doing so meant that he’d have no trouble with Sir Talbot, it meant that you could go into your future marriage without the burden of his feelings on your shoulders. Perhaps all would be well, and the two of you would carry on with your lives as if you’d never seen each other again to begin with.

On the eve of that third day, Eddie was lying in bed when a wolf’s howl caught his attention, the sound strangely enchanting to him. At first, he startled slightly, for the night had been silent up till that point; he waited patiently to see if perhaps the call had woken his uncle, if Wayne was perhaps stirring in the cottage’s single bedroom. But the older man was still snoring soundly, and so Eddie tried to roll over and sleep despite still feeling wide awake.

But the animal called out again, and it filled him with a sense of foreboding. Perhaps it was because he remembered your reaction to the wolf that first night, the confused fear that flashed across your eyes; you had said wolves were supposed to be extinct around here, after all. Eddie allowed his curiosity to win out his logic, rising from the cot and going towards the nearest window, wondering if perhaps he could somehow catch sight of the animal; he lingered and lingered there at the window, but as the minutes passed, nothing happened.

As Eddie turned his back, though, another howl rang out, this time sounding closer than any of the previous ones; it sent a chill up his spine, wide eyes looking out into the night and up at the bright full moon overhead. Why was it that wolves seemed drawn to the full moon, he found himself wondering as he, too, became briefly mesmerized by the beacon of light.

There was yet another cry from the creature - Eddie had grown far too curious why the wolf seemed so damned worked up tonight. Letting this get the better of him, he scooped up his trenchcoat, a lantern, and Wayne’s shotgun, slipping into a pair of shoes and carefully stepping out into the night. He paused on the front step, eyes carefully looking about just to make sure the wolf wasn’t possibly upon him; once he deemed it safe, Eddie began to walk out towards the gardens.

He wasn’t expecting to have any kind of confrontation with the animal, and yet he couldn’t help the compulsion to explore. As he swung a wide berth around Talbot Manor, Eddie glanced up at the windows, drawn to the lights still shining out of a couple of them - one being your room, although he tried to ignore that thought.

The wolf called to him again, Eddie’s eyes roaming across the expansive grounds with a furrowed brow; just like the first night, it seemed the animal was howling from the north, as if it were hiding deep in the woods out there. Why Eddie felt such an impulse to chase after the creature, he didn’t know - it was fruitless at best, and dangerous at worst. But he couldn’t resist this sudden fixation, couldn’t resist the pull of mystery.

So, Eddie wandered, mindful of his surroundings as he went, passing by the flower gardens and the vegetable gardens, down a walking path that led to the Talbot woodland; he paused at the edge of the trees, knowing that he’d be foolish to continue forward. He should turn around, he knew, go back to the safety of the cottage and ignore the lively cries of the wolf; the animal was almost certainly far enough away from the home not to pose any danger. But before going back, Eddie lingered at the edge of the wood, the darkness like a wide open mouth and the trees like sharp teeth.

Movement off to his left caused Eddie to start, inhaling sharply as his wide eyes looked about for a sign of something. He slowly turned in a careful circle, grip tightening on the shotgun in hand; he was comfortable enough with using it, having accompanied Wayne on hunts, but he didn’t want to shoot bullets out into the quiet night if he could avoid it.

A rustle in the underbrush, and Eddie looked back into the dark of the trees; for all he knew, it was just an innocent squirrel or even a deer, but that didn’t stop his heart from beating wildly in his chest. He took steady steps backwards towards the safety of the Talbot property, cautious of his surroundings, mindful of any peculiar sound. Leaves crunched under his feet, each crinkle spiking his nerves; if there were a wolf nearby, would it not have already shown itself, would it not have already lunged at him like the easy prey he’d made himself?

Eddie gasped, thinking he saw eyes somewhere in the shadows, bright and clear and far too level with his to be the height of a wolf. But just as quickly, that hint of light was gone, although the scare was enough to make his blood run cold. He froze for a few tense moments, swallowing as he waited to see if the supposed-eyes would reappear; his gut told him that there was something there within the woods, something that he shouldn’t turn his back on.

But when no strange sounds or sights made themselves known after a prolonged, strained minute, Eddie began to move again, taking long strides backwards. His eyes were unblinking as he continued to stare into the endless dark, hearing the anxious pumping of his blood flowing in the otherwise silence.

And then another cruel howl followed by a frightening snarl sounded from before him, causing Eddie to shout out in fear, tripping over his suddenly frantic feet and falling heavily onto the wet grass. He began to scramble backwards, wide-eyed stare searching the woods in a panic; he wasn’t certain why he felt it, but it seemed that the animal was mocking him, that it had waited for just the right moment to give him the scare of his life.

Pushing himself back to his feet with fraught stumbles, Eddie abandoned caution and ran up the hill as fast as humanly possible; he didn’t care if presenting his back would prompt the wolf to chase after him, he needed to put distance between him and the woods, between him and the dangerous animal. His arms pumped wildly, coattails flying behind him as the lantern swung heavily in his hand; he was almost certain he heard heavy footfall over his shoulder, but he didn’t dare look back.

Eddie practically crawled up the slope of the hill, pushing his legs even harder once he’d reached the upper gardens, daring to glance around as he ran madly past Talbot Manor. With the mansion looming tall and imposing, comforting in its own strange way, Eddie finally decided to shoot a frenzied look behind him - but when there was nothing there following him, he slowed so abruptly he nearly skidded to a fall, his expression bewildered.

Steadying himself, Eddie tried to catch his breath as his eyes darted around in every direction; there was no wolf, no monster, nothing except the creeping evening fog and the ever familiar gardens. Eddie made a strained sound of exhaustion and frustration, spinning in every direction just to make sure he was, in fact, safe and alone; a pathetic laugh escaped his throat as he threw his head back, feeling both relief and confusion in tandem.

He couldn’t have been imagining things, could he? There was most certainly something in the woods with gleaming eyes, there had to have been something chasing him simply to taunt him - he couldn’t possibly have been so confused that his mind made that up. His chest heaved, the air cold enough that he could see his breath, and suddenly Eddie felt another shiver of fear course through him. 

“Eddie!” A voice sharply hissed, causing him to startled and look about himself; with the manor off to his side, Eddie saw you sticking your head out the window, your confusion clear under the light of the full moon.

Your eyes were alight with concern as you gazed down upon the frantic man, the night air gently blowing your hair about your face. Eddie’s face was drawn with fright, eyes wide and terror-struck - it was an expression you hadn’t seen on him since childhood, since that day when you two snuck into the abandoned chapel. You looked at your family’s sprawling property, eyes trailing from the gardens to the woodlands out towards the direction of Hawkins; you saw nothing of alarm, but Eddie’s energy certainly had you spooked.

You returned your worried gaze to his face, trying not to raise your voice too much to draw attention, “What’s going on? I heard you shout.”

Eddie shook his head, still breathing heavily through his mouth as he stared up at you, “There’s something in the woods.”

“The wolf?” You asked, having also heard the creature’s cruel howls; you shivered, worried that perhaps the animal was growing bold, that it was going to start lurking around your home.

“I don’t know if it’s a wolf.” Eddie answered gravely, making your blood run cold. Your distressed gaze once again roamed around, hyper aware of anything that may seem out of place; but there was nothing to be seen aside from an owl flying above the trees.

“Eddie…” Your eyes softened as you stared down at your friend, “… Come up.”

He appeared taken aback by the request, looking at the vines and the trellis and the ornate architecture of Talbot Manor; back in the day, he’d learned how to climb up the side of the structure with ease, using the accents and the lattices as grips to bring him all the way to your window. But, of course, that was when he was a spry young boy; for all he knew, he wouldn’t be able to make that same climb now that he was a man. He gave a shake of his head.

“Either you come up or I come down.” You said firmly; you’d known he’d been avoiding you for three days, and considering the strange circumstances of this evening, you couldn’t do with any more time apart from him.

 Eddie considered your words, looking about himself once more before sighing heavily, carefully stashing his gun and lantern in the nearby bushes. You tried not to smile too eagerly as he carefully looked the wall up and down as if he were planning his climb. Once he started the trek up, you stepped back from your window to grab your robe, uselessly wrapping it around yourself before returning to the window and pushing things out of the way.

You could hear Eddie grunting with effort, and so you stuck your head back out for a moment, nearly surprised at how quickly he was making the climb; you grinned a little at the expression he gave you, a boyish vexed delight.

Eddie tugged himself up and into the room, huffing as he found his footing; you closed the window behind him, leaning your rear against the sill as you contently looked him up and down. Eddie turned to face you, the low light of the room accentuating the planes of his face; you crossed your arms as you carefully looked him over.

“Are you alright?” You asked quietly, eying the mud on shoes, the grass on his coat.

Eddie nodded, “More spooked than anything…”

You bit your lip nervously, pushing off the windowsill and taking careful steps towards him, “You said… you don’t know if it was a wolf?”

An unamused laugh escaped Eddie, who rolled his eyes at himself, “I know that that must sound crazy of me.”

You quickly shook your head, gently setting your hand on his arm, “No, you were scared, that doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

Eddie eyed your hand, the way your fingers carefully squeezed the fabric of his coat. He seemed to deflate a little, dropping his head, “It seemed too big… but if not a wolf, I haven’t a clue what it could be.”

You stepped even closer, placing your other hand on his arm as well, your brow furrowed attentively, “It couldn’t have been a bear, could it?”

Eddie shook his head again, eyes seeming a little glazed over as he recalled the last ten minutes, as he tried to find details in his memory that he may have missed the first time, “Didn’t sound like a bear. But maybe I’m just confused.”

He exhaled deeply, some of the tension leaving his shoulders thanks to the comfort of your presence; for the time being, any conflict between you two was forgotten.

Seeing how confused and tired Eddie seemed, you guided your hands up his arms and to his cheeks, your touch gentle and caring as you two stared at one another, “Maybe you are, but we both know you weren’t imagining things - I heard it, too.”

Eddie looked between your eyes in consideration, searching your expression as your thumbs began to rub comforting circles on his jaw. He leaned into the touch a little, breathing steadily in and out as more of his anxious energy began to melt away. Eddie’s eyes became hooded the longer he stared at you, and at the same moment you were both reminded of the fact that you hadn’t seen each other in days, that you hadn’t spoken since his first night back, that being alone together in your private room was a far more intimate thing than either of you should have allowed.

You dipped your head a little, voice quiet, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?” Eddie countered in a similarly small tone, dejection weighing on his shoulders. He was nervous to touch you despite that being the only thing he wanted, nervous to let his guard down again and continue this taboo that you two had begun.

“The engagement wasn’t something I ever wanted,” You continued to whisper, drawing yourself close enough to Eddie so that you were nearly chest-to-chest, “I would’ve happily become an old maid awaiting your return if I had thought it possible, but father wanted to make sure I was cared for should anything happen, and people began to talk about my age as if I was already too old, and--”

Eddie abruptly wrapped his arms around your middle, his lips crashing down on yours like waves upon a shore, a surprised little sound leaping out of you as you tensed up. But just as quickly, you melted into him, kissing Eddie back as if his taste was intoxicating, clinging to his warm body as if fearful of losing him again. His hands upon you were wild and desperate as they squeezed and pressed you close, his mouth hot and wicked as he kissed you as if you were a lifeline.

Your arms snaked around his neck as you kissed him back fervently, your heel lifting off the ground as you moaned into Eddie’s lips. His grip on your body was rousing, his hands feeling every inch of you that he could, memorizing you with his fingertips. It felt an impossible task to break away from him, but you did so abruptly, realizing for a moment that you forgot how to breathe due to the severity of the kiss.

Your noses brushed as you gasped for air, Eddie’s lips close enough that you could still feel them teasing against yours. His eyelashes tickled your skin, prompting you to pull back just far enough to meet his lustful gaze.

“I can’t stop myself around you,” He admitted breathlessly, chest heaving in time with yours, “I have to stay away lest we both end up in trouble.”

“I don’t want you to stay away,” You whispered against his lips, fingers affectionately playing with the hair at the base of his skull, “You were away from me long enough. I don’t care if we’re just being foolish, or if we’re hung up on the past; you’re back, Eddie, and I’m not going to let you go again.”

“Dove…” He muttered the nickname as if it were sacred, “When the time comes that this must come to an end, you better push me away.”

You shook your head smally, firmly grabbing his cheeks again as you stared into his dark eyes, “I’m too selfish for that.”

Eddie chased your lips, capturing them in another chaste kiss, “Then we’re both fools just asking for trouble.”

“So be it.” You kissed him back assertively, longingly, with all that pent-up desire you’d been holding onto for so many years. Eddie breathed desperately, tongue snaking its way into your mouth with an eager groan. You felt like you were on fire as you pressed up against him, relishing in the feel of his body reacting in time with yours, his hands groping feverishly, his hips flush against your own.

Blindly, Eddie tried to guide you in the direction of something, anything that he could prop your body against so he could lavish you; you smiled into the intense kiss as you two tripped over your own feet, your rear finally bumping into your vanity and making everything on top fall over or roll off. You broke the kiss briefly to giggle at it, Eddie’s eyes alight with amusement as he shushed you.

“Be careful.” You whispered with another small laugh, kissing him wistfully as he helped scoop you up so you could sit upon the vanity tabletop. Pressing himself between your legs, Eddie’s hands delighted in the feel of you, pushing your thin robe from your shoulders, fingertips grazing over your bare arms. You shuddered at his touch, back arching, which only urged Eddie to continue to explore you, hands ever so gently drawing an invisible line from your breasts down to your thighs.

He began to tug at the material of your nightdress, fighting with the fabric just so he could expose more of your skin; as your ankles, your calves, your knees became exposed to the air, another chill ran through you. Eddie’s hand ran down the length of your calf, fingers hot and the metal of his rings even hotter, each touch sending you into a frenzy. Pushing the skirt up over your knees, his fingers squeezed your thighs with greed, goosebumps breaking out across your sensitive skin.

Eddie pulled away from your lips to meet your gaze again, eyes hooded and dark as they burned into yours. You salaciously smiled at the lustful look on his face, wanting so desperately to drag his lips back to yours, barely able to contain the hunger you felt for him. His hands continued to squeeze your legs, and when he pressed his hips against yours, you whined at the feel of his erection at your hot center, the layers of clothing between you nearly offensive. The needy sound in your throat made Eddie throb between your legs, and impulsively you rolled your hips against him, watching his eyes practically cross with pleasure.

An eager, breathy laugh left your mouth, prompting Eddie to plant another firm kiss to your lips. You haphazardly shoved at his coat, so he pulled back and quickly dropped it to the floor behind him, hands going right back to your body as if he couldn’t stand being away from you. Instead of returning to your lips, Eddie trailed kisses along your neck, from under your jawline all the way down to your collarbone, inhaling your scent with an animal excitement. Your fingers twisted in his hair, head thrown back as you delighted in the feel of his hot mouth against your skin.

Eddie’s hands returned to your thighs, an annoyed grumble sounding in his throat as the fabric of your drawers kept him from enjoying the feel of your sweet skin. Again, you couldn’t help but laugh airily, delighting in his desperation to touch you, to which Eddie gave you a hungry glare. With a huff, he pushed your skirt out of the way, fingers trailing along to the upper trim of your drawers, assertively tugging them down your legs in one quick move.

A shock of electricity jumped through your nearly exposed body, panting as Eddie tossed the garment aside and returned to you, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you zealously. You impatiently felt along every inch of his body, relishing in the flex of his muscles beneath your hands, the way he tensed as you dipped your fingers into the hem of his trousers; his erection twitched against your thigh, making you feel hot all over as you moaned.

Eddie drew his face away from you, to which you chased after his lips as if you were starved; he smiled tenderly as he held you back for just a moment, meeting your amorous eyes and searching them. Without having to say the words, his look was a question, seeking the assurance that this is what you wanted; you bit your lip with a small nod, practically throwing yourself at Eddie in your wanton desire to touch and be touched.

As you planted sloppy kisses along his lips and jaw, Eddie fumbled with his pants, knuckles brushing your inner thigh which sent a tingling jolt up your spine. He grabbed your legs, fingers squeezing hungrily into your skin as he tugged you closer to the end of the vanity, causing more items to clatter off as you gasped at being pulled.

Eddie gave you a wicked grin before kissing you deeply, savoring the sensual taste of you. He maneuvered, hips snug between your legs as his cock grazed your inner thigh, so, so close to your entrance that it made you keen; he grabbed himself, knuckles brushing along your folds and sending another chill through you. You moaned into his mouth, lips more insistent against his as you steadied yourself with one hand propped behind you and the other securely holding Eddie’s shoulder.

He broke away from the kiss again so he could look you in the eyes, his gaze sultry and tantalizing as he positioned his tip to press up against you, drawing another lewd, impatient mewl from your mouth. As Eddie eased slowly into your heat, the noise that left your lips was utterly sinful, forcing him to cup a hand over your mouth, his commanding expression utterly provocative as you clenched around him. He held in a groan of his own, the sound rumbling low in his chest once he was hilt deep inside you, the size of him making your eyes roll back with ecstasy, your mouth hanging open in bliss.

Eddie stayed perfectly still for just a moment to compose himself, the sight and feel of you was so damn overwhelming that it made him feel like a virgin all over again. And, god, the way you looked back at him with your body wound tight like that was so erotic, he had to be careful not to wake the whole damn house.

Hand still gently pressed against your lips, Eddie began to roll his hips slowly, pulling nearly all the way out of you just so that he could sink sweetly right back in again and again and again. The desirous sounds of your rapture humming behind his hand was intoxicating, spurring him to move a little bit faster, to push a little bit deeper.

Your hand on his shoulder fisted the fabric of his nightshirt, your other desperately grabbing the corner of the vanity for purchase as you sank lower on his cock. His slow, deliberate thrusts made your eyes cross, your moans becoming more urgent with each push of his hips against yours. Eddie was utterly alluring to watch, lips parted as he moaned, sweat breaking out across his forehead as he tried to be oh-so careful of his thrusts.

Desperate to feel him deeper, you rolled your hips in time with his, causing you both to cry out as Eddie hit just the right spot. The change of angle made him tense abruptly, pulling his hand from your jaw so he could brace himself against the vanity; his eyes burned into you, as if challenging you to move like that again. 

With a haughty look on your face, you did just that, rutting your hips experimentally against Eddie’s, toes curling at the pressure created on your clit. The sight of his brow knotting with pleasure bolstered you, urging you to move faster and deeper, pathetic sounds falling past your parted lips as you threw your head back.

Eddie’s hands grabbed desperately at your hips and thighs, fingers digging so harshly into your skin that it nearly hurt; he began to move his body greedily against yours, his cock somehow burying even deeper into you. He rested his forehead against your cheek, his hips jerking up into yours with more force as inconsolable whines sounded in your throat. He spread your legs wider, pushing your knees up higher, each shift and rut driving you wild as you already began to come undone.

Sweat was beginning to make your skin slick, your ass sliding down the vanity as Eddie’s thrusts became more urgent and feverish. Satisfied groans leapt out of him as he held your body steady, strong hands gripping tight to your hips as you arched up into him. As Eddie shifted one of your legs up even higher, you had to bite your own hand to refrain from shouting out with pleasure, his deep angle making your legs shake and clench around him.

The back of your head bumped the vanity mirror, and you realized then just how much noise the piece of furniture was making, the wood groaning under your weight, bumping against the wall. Were you of sound mind, you would have stopped Eddie, but you were too far gone, gasping and mewling with delight as his cock pumped in and out of your slick heat.

Eddie’s hand reached down between the two of you, fingers wickedly circling your clit as he continued to rut deep inside you, a string of satiated sobs passing between your lips. Your thighs clamped tightly around his hips, eyes rolled into the back of your head as your movements became jerky and desperate, the sensations sparking through your entire being impossible to contain.

You grasped wildly at Eddie’s back, nails digging into his skin, body quivering uncontrollably; he was unrelenting, dexterous fingers eagerly rubbing your clit, cock pumping quickly in and out of you. As your body began to feel like static electricity, his own thrusts became more frenzied, his grunts and moans in your ear growing more feral.

“E-Eddie, I--!” Your mouth moved of its own accord, your attempt at words unintelligible as his hips slapped against your ass, your entire body clamping around him as your climax rapidly overcame you. The fervid whimpering moans falling from your lips were utterly blasphemous, the sound of your satisfaction making it nearly impossible for Eddie to keep it together. His hands held tight to your waist and hips once more, your body shuddering as your orgasm rolled over you in wave after wave.

Eddie could feel the tension then leave your body, his grip becoming even more firm so that you didn’t simply melt off the vanity table. With hungry grunts he thrust up into you, his body unyielding as he used you to reach his completion; a ditzy, satisfied smile graced your lips as you felt his movements become more desperate, his hands becoming more greedy, ready to come undone at any moment.

Eddie hissed through clenched teeth as his hips slapped into you, your orgasm making you so wet for him that it was downright sinful. The rut of his cock inside you became manic with each thrust, his hands clinging so tightly to you that his knuckles were white; he was so goddamn close that he unconsciously whined, the sound making you sigh even as your eyes were still crossed.

Hastily, Eddie pulled out of you, causing you to moan at the lack of him, trying to keep your vision straight so you could drink him in. Eddie grasped his cock firmly in one hand, pumping into his fist as his head dropped back with a string of groans. He came abruptly, his seed spurting between his fingers and onto your exposed stomach, to which you gasped while still trying to come back down to earth. With his other hand, Eddie steadied himself, his weight causing the vanity to lurch a little as he continued to leak onto you, his chest heaving with labored breath.

For a long minute, you two were silent save for heavy gasps and inhales, Eddie’s eyes wound shut as he tried to recover from his orgasm; you watched his face with pining and zeal, savoring in the way his body seemed to shake from the intensity it went through. When finally he looked at you again, his gaze was hooded and dark with yearning, drinking you in carnally; your eyes locked, and briefly you were hypnotized.

Eddie reached out for you tenderly, whispering your name as he brushed his thumb along your lip, his fingers down your neck. You sighed deeply at the tenderness of his touch, eyes fluttering shut. You hummed in contentment, taking a few deep breaths before you met Eddie’s gaze again.

His smile made your heart flutter, the way he studied you made your toes curl; when finally he looked away, it was to scoop up the abandoned pair of drawers that you had long forgotten about. His gaze was amorous as he cleaned up his mess, causing you to giggle a little as if finally the thrill of the evening was setting in, as if you were finally able to wrap your head around what had just transpired between you two.

Eddie helped you sit back up, pulling you into a swift, needy kiss that nearly took your breath away. You pressed your foreheads together, breathing in the scent of each other’s sex, hesitant to speak words for fear that they may somehow shatter the moment. You gently cupped Eddie’s jaw, his own hands bracing against the vanity once again; another giggle hummed in your throat, and you felt the twitch of Eddie’s mustache as he smiled in response.

“It’s a miracle this poor vanity didn’t break.” You whispered hoarsely, your words causing Eddie to laugh as well.

“It certainly did us no favors.” He answered just as quietly. A tranquil beat of silence passed between you two.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.” Your doleful statement was the burdensome reminder of reality - Eddie couldn’t be found here, and you had to go on pretending as if nothing happened. You felt him sigh deeply, breath tickling across your cheeks.

“If only things were that simple, dove.”

“Stay a while longer, at least.” You pleaded, pulling back to meet his eyes, “The night is still young.”

You, of course, had no idea what time it was, although you were certain if you were to look at a clock the hour would take you aback. Eddie shook his head with amusement, as if he’d just thought the same thing, his hands trailing to rest against your hips, where his thumbs rubbed small, comfortable circles into the fabric of your nightgown.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” He answered sweetly.

“Promise?”

Eddie gave you a gentle, doting kiss, “Promise.”

.

.

[PART ONE] | [MASTERLIST]

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[whats-your-face]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 5 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 3.8k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

Years later, you’d still wonder if Topper did it all on purpose. 

When you asked him, he’d just wink and say “bet you’d like to know.” 

As your group walked down the dock towards the rental kiosk, Topper pulled out his phone, grinning down at the screen.

“What’s funny?” Carter tried to read over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” he tucked his phone in his pocket quickly, failing to hide the cheeky look in his eyes, zero poker face. “Kelce is coming.”

The guy Carter had haggled with brought your group over to the three jet skis and gave you a demonstration on how to drive them. You weren’t paying very close attention, more focused on the uneven pairing of the five of you and how to ensure you didn’t end up on the same jet ski as Tom. His rudeness this morning was the final nail in the coffin of your crush.

The guy gave Carter three keys, and you met her eyes, knowing she was thinking the same thing. 

Topper looked at Carter hopefully, his big puppy dog eyes watching her with anticipation. You felt for him, the two of you really weren’t all that different. Sure, he’d gotten to hook up with Carter plenty of times, his crush not totally unrequited, but she’d never given him what he really wanted. At the end of the day, you were just two people who were really good at loving people who didn’t love you back. Still, you knew in your heart of hearts that Carter did love him back, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Maybe you would never get your dream, but you could make sure that two people you cared about got theirs, and that might be the only thing that made this all worth it.

You planned it out quick, knowing Carter was seconds from asking you to ride with her so you wouldn’t be with Tom, and also knowing that what she really wanted was an afternoon alone with Topper.

“I told Kelce I’d ride with him,” you blurted out. 

“Did you?” Carter asked skeptically, trying to figure you out.

“Yeah, I think he’s still worried I’m mad at him,” you made up off the top of your head. “Thought I’d throw him a bone.”

Carter watched you the whole time she boarded the back of Topper’s jet ski, telling him to wait up so they didn’t leave you alone. Tom and Sabrina didn’t seem to care about leaving you, speeding off the second they climbed on their jet ski, Sabrina’s over-the-top shrieks echoing through the air.

“That bother you?” Topper asked when he caught you scowling in their direction.

“Actually, I’m thinking they might be made for each other,” you concluded.

“So you’re not, like, into him?” Topper asked hopefully.

“Not anymore. That ship sailed so quick,” you snorted.

“Ah,” he tried to play it cool, “good to know.” 

“Don’t get any fucking ideas,” Carter warned him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He insisted.

“You don’t have to, you have zero poker face,” Carter said. “No Tom does not equal yes Rafe.”

“I’m just saying it’s good to know. Am I not allowed to know things?” 

You rolled your eyes at their bickering, less than surprised they were having this conversation right in front of you.

“Y’know, you guys can just take off, I’ll be fine waiting for Kelce,” you offered, desperate to move this conversation about your love life out to sea and away from you.

“Right, Kelce,” Topper nodded. “Kelce is coming.”

“Why are you being so weird?!” Carter squinted at him.

“I’m not! I just wanna go!” Topper revved the engine of the jet ski.

Carter looked at you one more time, checking that you were okay with this.

“Have fun!” You said to reassure her.

That’s all Topper needed to hear, he hit the throttle and pulled away from the dock as fast as he could. Carter’s laughter filled the air, she grabbed him tight and tucked her chin in the crook of his shoulder as he drove. She was happy, so you were happy. Your whole life, that’s really all it took, and you knew she felt the same way about you.

With that lovely thought, you climbed on the jet ski so you’d be ready to go as soon as Kelce arrived. 

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Rafe held the keys a little too tight, Kelce struggling to pry them from his hands.

“You gotta take it easy on the clutch, she’s sensitive.”

“I know how to drive, man,” Kelce wriggled the keys from his grip as he climbed into the driver’s seat of Rafe’s truck.

Rafe stalled by the door for a minute, his feet suddenly feeling very heavy. He looked around the marina, scanning for the group. His heart skipped a beat when he found only you, bobbing in the water on your jet ski all alone.

He’d texted Topper a head’s up that he was coming and asked him to let you know. He didn’t want you to think he was in on Topper’s dumbass scheme to get you two together. If he was gonna do this he was gonna do it right, not try to trick you into it.

Now you were waiting for him, looking so gorgeous with your legs on either side of the seat and your hair blowing gently in the wind. 

Usually, he didn’t call girls beautiful, typically opting for hot, or sometimes pretty if he was drunk. But the only word for you right now, and always, was beautiful.

“You gonna let me leave, man?” Kelce asked, gesturing to Rafe’s hands, still clutching the handle of the door.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rafe pulled away, wiping his hand against his board shorts when he realized it was clammy, the sight of you making him nervous in a way he had never been before.

“What’s got you so worried? Are you scared of her or something?” Kelce mocked him.

Rafe was surprised that Kelce had actually caught on to who he was looking at, giving him an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m not scared of her,” he defended himself.

“Don’t even worry about it man, I bet she’s still wrapped around your finger.”

Rafe shot Kelce a steely warning look he’d given him a thousand times.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry,” Kelce explained. “You’re the man.”

Kelce was an idiot, and he spent a good ninety percent of their friendship pissing Rafe off, but he always tried to hype Rafe up. Usually he was annoyed by it, but right now, he actually needed it.

You used to talk about him that way, too. Oh, the money he would pay for you to see him in a good light again. He’d swim across this entire bay just to hear one kind word about him coming from your lips. 

“Nah, I’m really not,” he shook his head slightly, looking back toward you. “But I think with her I could be.”

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The audacity, the fucking nerve of him to come strolling down the dock looking that good. The sun actually broke through the crowds at his arrival, like he’d bribed the gods. He strolled towards you so casually, his grin easy, like he didn’t know he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in real life. It pissed you off.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped at him when he reached you.

His grin faltered, like he was the one surprised to see you.

“Didn’t Topper tell you I was coming?” He asked.

“No, of course he didn’t,” you said, finally understanding the reason for Topper’s strangeness earlier.

“I asked him to,” Rafe swore. “I didn’t want to make you think I was trying to-”

“I think I’m just gonna go alone,” you cut him off, turning the key in the engine of the jet ski, desperate to put an ocean between you and him before he said another considerate thing that he’d just undo later. “You can rent your own.”

“No can do,” said the owner, arriving to hand Rafe a lifejacket. “This is our last one. You better take your boyfriend with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the situation and the misogynistic comment. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumbled. 

Rafe felt the correction was unnecessary, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood for constructive feedback at the moment.

“Is it cool if I, uh, can I come with you?” He wasn’t walking back down this dock without trying.

“Fine,” you agreed reluctantly. “But I’m driving.”

“Good with me,” he climbed on quickly before you could change your mind.

With a kick that sent you both lurching forward, the jet ski roared as you tightened your hand on the throttle. Instinctually, Rafe’s hands landed on your side, holding you both in place. You only had a second to feel the pads of his fingers clinging to the soft skin of your waist before he pulled them away.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

The guy on the dock leaned forward to push the jet ski from the dock, redirecting you out toward the bay.

“No, actually you should hold on,” he instructed. “These babies go fast and it’s a little choppy out there today. Take it real easy out of the marina and then you can kick it up when you’re in open water.”

You could feel Rafe’s hands twitch with hesitancy before they rested on your sides again, so lightly you wondered if he was actually touching you at all.

With a push, you drifted out to sea, slowly picking up speed with the turn of the throttle.

“Do you want me to let go?” He asked, leaning in so you could hear him over the roar of the motor.

Somehow, you thought two completely conflicting thoughts at the exact same time:

Yes, now.

and

No, never.

You settled on, “whatever.”

Rafe started to let go, but the jet ski hit the wake of a nearby boat, and you both nearly flew off the seat. His grip tightened protectively, practically pinning your body down. With his strong hands on you so firmly, it felt like you could hit a tidal wave and he’d still have you in his grasp. You needed more of whatever that was.

Your laughter filled the salty air as you purposefully drove you and Rafe over the choppiest patches of the water, hair whipping behind you into his face, and he didn’t even care. He watched you in the side view mirror on the front of the jet ski, memorizing every inch of your smile like he’d never see it again.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” He teased, yelling over the woosh of the wind.

“It’d be a fun way to go!” You yelled back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rafe’s hands still on your waist, you felt him lean in slightly. Even with two lifejackets between you, the proximity of your bodies was electrifying. You could feel his strong thighs on either side of your hips, closing you in everytime you hit a bump, securing you in place. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just his instinct, you didn’t know which was hotter.

The water rushed behind you, a foamy wake marking your path as you continued driving as fast as you could. The others must’ve gone a different way out of the marina, because they were nowhere in sight. The sky was darkening slightly, the shift in weather causing most boats to drive the opposite way, back to the docks. But you just kept going, and Rafe didn’t tell you to turn around, both drunk on the adrenaline of the speed and the feeling of each other’s skin.

After a particularly jostling bump, the engine sputtered slightly.

“Fuck, what was that?” You puzzled, turning the throttle harder but gaining no speed.

“Here, you gotta twist it like this,” Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours as he guided you to turn the throttle in the exact way you just were.

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” you bickered. “It’s not working.”

“Maybe I should drive?”

“It’s not my driving, something’s wrong with the jet ski,” you argued, swatting his hands away. 

“Can you just let me try?” He argued back.

“No, you’re making it worse!” 

The engine continued to sputter until it cut completely, causing both your bodies to lunge forward as it came to an abrupt halt.

“Rafe what did you do?” You accused him.

“What did I do? You wouldn’t even let me touch it!” He snapped.

You turned the key in the ignition over and over. The jet ski growled a few times but never started back up. Eventually, you gave up with a frustrated huff.

“I think we’re out of gas,” you conceded.

“Well, did you ask the guy if it was filled before you left?” Rafe questioned.

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” You craned your neck to see him, anger in your eyes.

“No, that’s not-”

“I’m so tired of this, Rafe.”

“We’ve only been out here for like a minute.”

“No, not this,” you motioned toward the water, “this,” you motioned between you and him.

“Oh. Me?” He tried and failed to hide his hurt feelings.

“Not you, just, all this back and forth. One second we’re having a good time and the next you’re pulling away or snapping at me. I have fucking whiplash.”

“Are you sure it’s not just from the jet ski?” He attempted a joke, it only half worked.

“How are we gonna get back?” You redirected the conversation before he could see you were smirking.

“A boat will come by,” he said confidently. “We’ll be fine.”

No boats came by in the following minute, or the following five. You sat in tense silence, your previous words still hanging between you. Your head hurt from the wind and trying to figure this man out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost inaudible. “I know I’m…difficult.”

You turned your neck, not quite far enough to see him, but enough to let him know you were listening, that he should go on.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he admitted. “One second I feel like I’ve fucked it up so bad that there’s not even a point in trying to fix it and the next…”

This time, you do turn, twisting your torso so you could look him intently in the eyes, imploring him to say something right for once, begging him not to let you fall off this cliff alone again.

“…you look at me like that,” he almost whispered. “And then I think fuck it, I’d try forever if you let me.”

For the first time ever, he was with you on the way down, finally jumping together.

“Can I?” He asked, voice low.

“Can you what?” you blinked at him slowly, the moment so surreal you worried it wasn’t happening, that you’d wake up in Carter’s bed, all of this day just one long fever dream.

“Fix things…with you?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the most honest answer you could give him.

“Can I try?” His voice broke slightly when he said it, and you could feel the vulnerability leaking through the cracks.

“Yeah,” you gave in.

“I miss you,” he breathed, and your heart felt heavy with longing and resentment at the same time.

“I don’t think you ever really knew me, Rafe,” you said, turning to face forward again, sad eyes scanning the horizon. “You never paid close enough attention.”

He thought over your words, and you could feel that there was something brewing in his mind, a decision he was making. When he finally spoke again, it wasn’t the words you expected.

“What’s your favorite color?”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you said, “huh?”

“Just tell me,” he smiled back, even though you weren’t looking, you could hear it in his voice.

You answered him, and he followed that question up with another, and another, and they kept rolling off his tongue and you kept answering, until the strangeness of it faded and the two of you were just talking.

For over an hour, you drifted, leaning forward on the handlebars with your back to him as Rafe asked you questions and listened intently to your long, detailed answers. You were hesitant, just at first. No one had ever let you talk this long without interrupting you. No one had ever wanted so badly to hear what you had to say. He nodded along to everything, responding with thoughtful mhms and carefully worded follow up questions.

After a while, you forgot about the surrealness of it all, where you were, who you were with. It was just you and your old friend, sharing your lives with each other. 

I could do this for a long time, you thought, like maybe forever.

Everytime you thought he must be bored by now, he just kept asking, hanging on every word like he was collecting them for some secret project.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” and “Who’s your closest friend?” and “Are you still into that one band?” and eventually, when he was running low on ideas, “what’s the last movie you saw?”

You laughed. 

“What?” He asked with a timidness that squeezed your heart.

“The last movie I saw was the last movie you saw,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he chuckled, but there was an edge to it.

“It’s a good movie, though,” you leaned back toward him a little, trying to pull him from whatever thoughts were causing his spirit to fall. “My favorite.”

He nodded, “Tom did a nice job putting together that little shindig.”

“I guess so,” you said, not sure how to proceed.

“You know he plays football for U of F?” He said. “Or did I guess, before he graduated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, he was All American,” he nodded. You’d give all the money you had for one glimpse of what was going on in his head.

“He’s an impressive guy,” he admitted. “I can see why you’d end up in his room.”

“Rafe, oh my god,” you huffed, standing suddenly. Your body rose above him, his eyes tracking every movement. You swung your leg over the seat, flipping around so you were facing him, sitting back down so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I didn’t sleep in Tom’s room.”

“Oh.”

It was all he could muster up, his throat going dry from both the embarrassment he felt for being wrong and the sudden proximity of your bodies. He willed himself not to let his eyes travel down to the way your lifejacket was pushing your chest together, or the soft skin of your bare thighs, now spread open in front of him as you straddled the seat. He kept his eyes on yours, the most respectful option, though it didn’t help his speechlessness. The uninterrupted contact with your beautiful irises nearly put him over the edge. He almost hoped no boats would come by after all so he could look into your eyes for hours.

“Is that why you got up and left last night?” You questioned, not missing the way his eyes were trained intensely on yours.

“The floor was uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“The floor,” you nodded, “the floor was uncomfortable. Got it.”

“You're mad at me again,” he surmised.

“When was I ever not mad at you?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugged sarcastically, “somewhere between the movie and your panties hitting the floor.”

You wanted to slap him. And kiss him. He could tell, teasing you with a sideways smirk. You tried to channel the newfound confidence you’d had last night, addicted to the taste of power.

You leaned forward, hands on the leather seat between you, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Did you like that?” 

“You know I did.” 

He responded so fast and his voice was so low you couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or turned on. Either way, he wasn’t fucking around anymore.

“Then why didn’t you stay?” 

It felt like that one question held so many questions, and based on the look on his face, you knew he could hear it too. You weren’t just asking about last night, you weren’t just asking why he went to sleep on the couch. You were asking about years of him coming up short, why he’d failed you so many times, why he never, ever seemed to pick you.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

As he said it, the wind kicked up, and the jet ski began to rock even harder as waves rose and fell beneath you. One particularly choppy wave had you tilting a little too far off the seat, and Rafe’s hands landed on your waist again. This time, there was nothing hesitant about it. When you didn’t push him away, his thumb brushed an experimental circle into your skin.

“Do you want me to let go?”

In lieu of answering, your hands came to rest over his. He assumed you were gonna pull them off of you, and for a moment you thought you might too, but then his words echoed in your mind: he didn’t know you wanted him to.

You could do this. You could lean into it and just let it happen. You were supposed to fight it, make him grovel more, make him pay you back for the years you’d waited. It’s what everyone expected. You were only a few hundred yards off shore, but the rest of the world felt lightyears away, and out here, there was nothing stopping you letting him touch you, kiss you, have you. You could just let it happen, and no one would have to know.

But before you could decide if you wanted to, a deep rumble of thunder broke out across the sky.

“Shit,” you jumped. 

“We gotta get out of here,” Rafe looked up at the darkening sky nervously.

“But how?” 

“How well can you swim?”

That’s how Rafe ended up in the water, gripping the back of the jet ski as the waves rocked it harshly, water splashing up and landing on your feet. You tightened your lifejacket, feeling apprehensive about the whole thing.

“I can just push us if you want to stay on,” Rafe offered.

“No, it’ll go faster if it’s both of us.”

You stepped to the edge, hesitating, wanting to rip the bandaid and just jump in but not wanting to jump too far off and get separated. Your indecision cost you, your foot slipped and you dropped into the water, your leg scraping against the edge of the jet ski as you fell. 

Blinded by pain, you reached for Rafe as your head slipped under the surface, but your hands came up empty.

(to be continued)

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a/n: as always, sorry for any tag errors!!! I never leave ppl off on purpose so pls let me know! to be first to know when a new chapter drops follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 😘

[whats-your-face]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[whats-your-face]

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader forced marriage au masterlist

divider by @h-aewo

background info

My say

First Impressions

Little miss perfect

Eyes don’t lie

First pregnancy

Foreign feelings

At your defence

Drunk kisses

With the Cameron’s

Cigarette daydreams

Family man

Leo is born

Cameron's meet Leo

I bet on losing dogs

Reminder

If you have any questions with this au feel free to ask!!! Check out #forced marriage au q&a where I’ve already answered a few questions

[whats-your-face]

AND I REMEMBER THINKING, ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET?

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite (still), the sort of fake dating plot has officially entered the chat, sugar (reader) is specifically an idiot, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ AN: dedicating this chapter as a blatant birthday gift to @fracturedarkness. i am so grateful to have you in my life and absolutely adore you to the stars and back <3 thank you for supporting this story so much, and for always just generally being such an absolutely lovely person. we are so undeserving of your presence and light. ily so much my dear friend <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.”

The lobby is cold as Matt’s words echo within the confines of your mind. 

It’s cold enough that the front receptionist dons a cardigan as she types away at the computer, and the security guard wears a jacket worthy of a Chicago winter to identify himself. Cold enough to send a shiver up your spine as you trail behind Matt to the elevators.

Cold enough that innocent bystanders don’t notice the severely chilly shoulder you offer to Eddie the entire time.

You haven’t looked at him more than the one time when you approached the front door of the building, only offering him a fleeting glance before the two of you followed the path of his agent. It’s clear that Eddie should know his way as well as Matt does, but it doesn’t stop him from purposefully trailing behind you. 

In an elevator full of mirrors, even when you should have no choice but to look at the man who has opened up a chasm within your chest, you keep strict eye contact with your own reflection. You can see Eddie in your peripherals, and you can see the look Matt offers him over your shoulder as well. 

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

Eddie had kept you a secret. 

Especially now that I know the truth.

Or spun you into a blatant lie. You don’t know which one is worse. 

“You know,” Matt mutters as he fiddles with a key ring, unlocking the door to what is clearly his office. The plaque on the door says his name. “Normally, when your agent is calling you repeatedly in the dead of night, it means answer him.” 

It’s clear he’s speaking to Eddie, so you let him answer as you slide in past Matt as he holds open the door, “I did answer.”

“And then hung up.”

“I was busy.”

“Clearly.”

The office is surprisingly large, probably a deliberate illusion aided by the panoramic windows that occupy an entire wall across from the door. There’s shelves of awards and photos, cleanly lined up in pristine condition, a few even appearing to be copies of ones you’d spotted in Eddie’s apartment. Plated plaques engraved with achievements, photos of moments of the utmost importance framed by sleek black wood. Photos of Eddie, photos of Corroded Coffin, photos of unfamiliar faces. There’s a few empty spots that reveal the need for dusting, but there’s nothing that makes you particularly ache.

Except for one photo. A photo taken the day that Eddie had clearly signed Matt on as his agent; a photo of him shaking Matt’s hand, the smile on his face never having been more superficial. It couldn’t have been more than a month after the tour that you’d left him during. 

“I don’t understand why the front cover of some stupid ass magazine is so important,” Eddie grumbles as he follows you now, both of you deciding to stand and not yet sit in the empty chairs on the closest side of what must be Matt’s massive desk, “The tabloids run rumors about my dating life all the time-”

“Exactly.”

The door slams shut behind Matt, and he doesn’t bother to lock it. You’re sure whatever is about to transpire, Matt has informed the entire building to leave the three of you alone as you talk. 

“The tabloids are constantly running headlines about you and your mysterious affairs,” Matt continues as he rounds the desk, heading straight for a fairly comfortable looking office chair, “You’re always adding more fuel to the fire. And the label is getting sick of it, Eds.” 

There’s an edge to his tone that has you taking a seat the moment he waves for the two of you to do so. Eddie to your left, and a shelf of all that he is now to your right. A life he’s built without you. A life he drafted the blueprints for with you. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call him Eds in years,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the grey carpet below the soles of your feet. 

Neither man pays you any mind for the time being. 

“I can’t control the press, Matt.”

“You could. You just don’t want to.” 

“To-may-toe, to-maw-toe,” Eddie waves off into the air, slumping into the stagnant chair he now occupies, “My job is to make music, not make some perfect image.” 

“No, my job is to keep your image digestible, at the very least,” Matt is scowling so deeply, you’re convinced you’re watching new wrinkles imprint into his skin in real time, “You and I both know that these days, it’s about more than the music. People need to like you so you can sell records. And all you’ve done is an exceptional job at pissing the people off.” 

You finally, finally spare a glance to Eddie, and his glare matches Matt’s, “It’s never been an issue before.”

Matt lets out a scoff, making your head whip to him, “Oh, no. It certainly has been. The only time it wasn’t an issue was before you signed me as your agent.” 

“That’s why I hired you,” Eddie smiles, but there’s not an ounce of joy behind the curl of his lips, “Right?” 

Matt nods for a few beats, before he turns his head at a leisurely place to level you with a stare. The glare melts microscopically, some form of pity behind his older eyes. 

“You did, and that’s the issue.” 

When Matt’s hands come up to rest on his desk, you notice him immediately toying with the corner of the shortest stack of papers on his desk. Only a few pages, and you don’t miss the several blank spaces left deliberately throughout the top page.

A contract. 

“I’ve done the best that I could with what you’ve given me to work with, but…” Matt trails off, eyes darting to Eddie only momentarily before focusing on you once more, “You haven’t been submitting nearly as many songs as your contract outlined. You’ve been busier making headlines than you have been making albums. I- They’re pissed off, Eddie. The label is pissed off now, and they’re up my ass.” “Sounds like a you problem.” Now, it’s you glaring at Eddie. 

All his hackles are raised, the portrait of who he’s been trying to convince everyone that he has become over the last two years painting over all the lines of the man you’d been digging after these last few weeks. Overshadowing the promise of a good man by a simple, jagged tone of voice. 

“No, it’s a you problem,” you snap, making both men finally have no choice but to acknowledge you, “You’re the one who wants to be a rockstar, not Matt. If you’d pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually listen to him, maybe he could actually help you.” 

It’s crueler than necessary. A slap to Eddie’s awe-stricken face. “I-” he starts, but your glare sharpens, eyes narrowing at him as he tries to ready a counter-argument, and it’s clear the fight dies on his tongue as he sighs, “Fine – fine. What do we do about it, Matt?” 

When the unspoken battle fizzles out, reluctantly on your part and eagerly on Eddie’s, Matt is simply onlooking with the faintest of smiles. 

“What?” Eddie questions immediately, clearly just as confused by you in his sudden change in demeanor, “Why are you smiling?” 

“Her.” 

He nods curtly in your direction, grin growing a bit wider. It does little to answer the question. 

“Me?” you ask, lifting a ginger finger to rest against your chest.

“You,” Matt repeats, and nods a bit more eagerly for a few seconds before he rifles those papers in front of him again, “Just now. You watched the way we were going back and forth. I can’t get through to Eddie-” a short pause in which Eddie almost speaks up, but one lift of your hand to signal him to stay quiet is effective, “-but you clearly can. He went from argumentative to agreeable in seconds. He became digestible, all because of you.” 

Your stomach sinks. You can see where this is going, even if Eddie can’t, as you croak out, “It could have been a one-off. Sheer luck.” 

The contracts. The headlines. The meeting with both of you. 

“I don’t think it was.” 

You’ve read about this somewhere, in some awful and painfully predictable romance book. You’ve seen a movie about this before, in some rundown and eerily empty theater as the cheesy rom-com occupies the big screen. “I can’t control Ed-” you start, but Matt is quick to cut you off.

“You’ve gotten more out of him in the last three weeks than I have in the last year,” Matt points out, leaning forward on his desk, palms making the wood creak, “He’s in the studio, making more music than I can even keep track of. He’s willing to get involved in the band's decisions, not even sleeping through the meetings with the suits these days.” 

Eddie scoffs as he shifts uncomfortably, “Maybe I’m just inspired.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Matt readily agrees, “By her.” 

The fucking contracts. You’ve already had to sign on to be involved in Eddie’s life for a full three months, smoke and mirrors about closure and just surviving these months having filtered through your lungs since the moment you stepped foot in that conference room. 

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

This was about to become about far more than just arranging a party for a single release. This was about to become about far more than just getting closure. 

“Just get it over with,” you whisper, staring blankly at papers you can practically read already, even upside down. You’re not an idiot – you realize now what Matt, what the label wants. “Say it.”

Eddie’s still in the dark as he glances at you, “Say what?” 

Matt shares a knowing look with you. Almost sad, almost remorseful. As if he isn’t about to ruin your life. As if he isn’t about to ask you to burn down every single thing you had built up with your own bare hands. 

Just over a month ago, you had been convinced you’d finally closed the chapter on this part of your life. You had let the ink dry, you had let the fresh pages cool, and you had damned the entire novel of you and Eddie to the attic of your past. To gather dust, to be eaten away by the moths, to be forgotten as you moved along with life – you swore it was finally over.

And now this. Now, you were contracted to help him with the damn release party for a song certainly about you. Now, Matt was about to ask you to sign away the last of your sanity, all for the sake of the man you thought you’d finally slammed the door on. 

“You think I can control Eddie, that I could be good for his image,” you say flatly, not sparing a glance at the problem child beside you, “You think I can fix the mess he’s made, because you can’t. You’re assuming, and assuming, and assuming,” you take a deep breath, moments away from breaking apart, not letting it show as you lean back in the chair, “Assuming is bad for business, Matt.” 

To your surprise, Matt nods in agreement, “It is. So don’t let me make an ass of myself – prove the assumptions right,” Finally, he grabs a pen, bringing it to lay atop of the contracts. “I’ve already pitched the idea to the big shots upstairs. They’ve already approved it.” 

Eddie lurches forward, “What idea?” 

Matt ignores Eddie’s question, the conversation spiraling into tunnel vision between you two, “Again, I am sorry.” 

He slides the contracts in a circle, finally making them legible to you and Eddie. 

PUBLIC RELATIONS (PR) AGREEMENT.

Eddie takes the time to read the sentences, littered with blank spaces perfectly sized to fit your legal names. Spots for dates, empty boxes for initials. 

A neatly wrapped up present – a professional PR stunt in a contract. 

“Matt, what is this?” Eddie’s voice is shaking as he gets about halfway through the page, “What the fuck does this mean?” 

“PR stunts are common in the industry,” Common with problem rockstars, he means, “Sometimes they’re simple agreements to benefit both parties, and sometimes they’re last ditch attempts at saving someone’s image. It’s the latter, for you.” 

Eddie isn’t piecing it together fast enough. Or maybe he has, and he’s just in denial. 

“Say it fucking plainly, or I’ll leave this office and-”

“It’s time to kill your bachelor image,” Matt grabs a second pen, working mechanically as though he’s gone into autopilot, “Tame the bad boy image, as I put it to the suits.”

“You want me to agree to be Eddie’s fake girlfriend,” you take over the explaining, since Matt won’t just say it, “You want us to sign a contract, and promise to play nice in public. Act so in love the entire public forgets that Eddie ever trashed a hotel room or stuck his tongue down some random’s throat-” 

“I haven’t done that publicly in months,” he snaps, now looking harshly at you, clearly infuriated the more he reads. 

“No, but the rumors still circulate,” you recall your Google search that night before Eddie came properly barrelling back into your life, “The only thing people love to gossip about more than someone’s downfall, is their love life.” 

“Exactly.” Matt clicks one pen, and puts it closer to Eddie. “So help me out, and give them something good to talk about for once.” 

You need a moment; you need to consider it all, you need to weigh out the pros and cons. The room is suffocating, all that dust you’d previously noticed now itching your throat and the fabric of the chair stabbing far too uncomfortably against your skin through your clothes. The large windows can’t stop the walls from closing in.

“No,” Eddie barks out, throwing himself back from the paper as though it might burn him, “No.”

“Eddie, please trust me when I say-” 

“I’m not doing this – I’m not doing this to her.” 

“You’ve already done it to me,” you laugh bitterly, leaning forward and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. Until the space behind your eyes aches. “The headline went viral online, right?”

“Yeah,” guilt seeps into Matt’s words, “It did.” 

“Have they figured out who I am?” 

The they in question being the fans – the they in question being the tabloids. If just one person recognizes you and cracks the code, you’ll be the talk of the town for at least a month, regardless if you sign the contract or not. 

You’re the first girl to ever be taken back to the infamous Rockstar’s apartment. The first to ever make it past the threshold of the bars, the clubs, the afterparties. 

It’s already a big deal. 

“Not from what I’ve seen,” When Matt slides a pen over to you, he makes a point to not click it. A choice is very clearly being given. Eddie is expected to sign, no longer being given a choice, but you? You don’t have to do this, “There've been a few D list model’s names thrown out, and a few people thought it might even be a B lister in a wig, but… they don’t know it’s you, yet.” 

Yet. But they will, eventually. The general public is capable of astonishing things when they set their minds to it. No doubt, there would be a way for them to resurface old photos of you and Eddie prior to the band skyrocketing to success, or someone who knows you will recognize your blurry side profile in the paparazzi’s pictures.

Eddie doesn’t budge on his stance, arms crossed and eyes blazing, “What’s the alternative?” 

“Excuse me?” Matt raises a brow.

“The alternative,” one of Eddie’s ringed hands flourishes through the air, “What can we do instead of this?” 

You already know what Matt is about to say before he opens his mouth. You already know the ultimatum about to be presented to the two of you. 

“You only have two options,” he sighs, a pregnant pause before he continues, “Either you sign this contract, we arrange the fake dates and press, so on and so forth. Or you cut off all communications. The two of you are never even seen in the same city again, if possible. You,” he pauses to nod towards you, “Will sign an NDA before disappearing from Eddie’s circle entirely. And you,” he then nods to Eddie, a bit more stern as he looks to his client, “will have to go through the process of signing some other sort of damage control scheme. Likely either an arrangement with someone else of the label’s choosing, or a contract of celibacy for the next year or so. Put it into writing that you’ll be the angel child of the label for an indefinite amount of time.”

You’re still reeling a bit from the threat of having to vanish from Eddie’s life once more, for good this time, when you catch onto that last part, “If I don’t agree to this, you’ll just replace me with someone else?” 

The image coming to mind through the fog makes you sick, and not for the expected reasons. It’s not the image of Eddie with his hands on someone else that makes your skin crawl. It’s not the picture of Eddie singing songs on a stage every night, songs written about you, and claiming they’re about some other lover in the crowd. 

It’s the look on his face. 

The fall of every muscle, the spark of fear behind umber eyes. The immediate fiddling of rings that exposes all the anxiety building up beneath his skin. 

The thought of being in his shoes, and being forced to pretend to love a stranger, all because of a few mistakes.

And - okay, well, a few mistakes is an understatement. Eddie did this to himself. He had dug this grave, shovelful by shovelful, all by his own doing. He had made his bed; he should have to sleep in it. 

But you can’t. You can’t let him when you see the shakes in his breath and the sincere regret, when you recall every single moment from the night before with such striking clarity. Even after all that the two of you have been through, you can’t resist that inherent urge to protect him. 

You can’t quiet the voice that whispers that you still care for him, and you still want to be there for him, even at your own destruction. 

He opens his mouth, surely about to seal his fate and agree to the one thing you know he doesn’t want to do but will for your sake, when you beat him to the punch line. 

“I’ll do it.” 

You don’t want to vanish again. You want to stay. You want to fight. 

“What?” Eddie looks up to you, and he looks close to tears, “What, no. You’re not doing this-” 

You ignore him, swallowing hard as you nearly jump out of the chair to retrieve the pen and glance over the paper until you find a random spot to begin signing at. The click of the pen drowns out his protest, and the angry scribbling across the paper shuts him up entirely. 

The signature is messier than the one you’d scanned into the computer for all your emails, but it will do. 

“Why would you do that?” Eddie asks, eyes wild as he reaches out to take the pen from you. But it doesn’t matter – the damage is done, “Why the fuck would you sign that?” 

“You heard him,” you try to keep a steady tone, you really do, but you fail miserably. You refuse to look in Eddie’s eyes, instead choosing to channel all your glaring and all your anger towards Matt, “It was this or I leave again. It was the easiest option for everyone involved.” 

Matt is riddled with disbelief – he clearly hadn’t thought you’d do it. He had thought he’d lost the battle. 

“I…” he glances down at the paper, avoiding looking at Eddie’s hands that still hovers to snatch away the pen, instead choosing to point at another blank line towards the top of the page before he clears his throat to assume a professional voice, “Please print your name here.”

Eddie’s hand falls away, and as you carve out the letters on the parchment, you swear it’s your blood staining the page rather than the ink. 

—

“Are you fucking insane?” 

Once the two of you had finished filling out all the dreadful paperwork, Matt had offered to call a car to take you both back to the studio. 

“I’m not the one screaming in the street right now.” 

You were starting to regret not requesting a separate car from Eddie.

“Why the fuck would you sign that contract?” he continues his tirade, hands flailing as he stands before you on the sidewalk. “We had options, Sugar! Fucking options-” 

“Shitty options,” you finally snap, leaning around his figure, glancing down the busy street for any sign of the black SUV that would be picking you up, “We had shitty options, and I chose the lesser of the two evils.” 

“Lesser of two evils?” he laughs bitterly, hand shoving down into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes, “I was ready to tell him to just get one of those D list models on the phone. I had one rule, one fucking rule, and we’ve managed to break it with one flick of a pen.” 

As he pulls out a cigarette, lighter appearing in his other hand as he cups the stick between his teeth, you decide to humor him, “And what would that one rule be? Hm?” 

He takes his time. Lights the cigarette, takes a long drag, holds it in his lungs as he shoves the lighter back deep within his pocket. His eyes find yours carefully just as the first wisps of smoke slip free from between his lips, breeze ruffling his curls across his forehead. 

“Keep you out of it.”

Your mouth snaps shut just as another strong breeze whips around the two of you.

What the fuck can you say to that?

“Keep me out of it?” you repeat his words in dubiety, creases forming between your brows, “What do you mean keep me out of it?”

You’re going in circles today, continuously returning to asking questions you already know the answers to. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher what Eddie means by his rule. 

The notebook of songs that have yet to see the light of day. The way his past was seemingly erased the moment the band shot into stardom. The lack of your name and memory having ever been so much as uttered in an interview. The fact that even Matt hadn’t known the truth about you two. 

You had originally been hurt at the erasure of you from the history of Eddie Munson, but there’s something breaking behind his eyes currently that offers explanation. 

“Out of this entire shit show,” his breaths are hard and heavy as he flicks the ash off the cigarette, making no move to take a second drag, “Out of all the rumors, out of all the fucking headlines. I just- I just didn’t want them to ruin you, too.” 

And yet, here you were. 

“What’s done is done,” you mutter, an SUV turning onto the street that you have a hunch is heading your way, “Not like we can unsign the contracts.” 

The car is, in fact, yours. Eddie opens the door after stomping out his cigarette. He holds it open long enough for you to climb in first, following quickly after and slamming the vehicle shut. Cutting off all the noise of the outside world and immediately leaving the two of you to be alone, properly alone, once more. 

Save for, of course, the driver.

But the man doesn’t even so much as glance back at the two of you in the backseat before he’s slowly setting the car into motion once more, already beginning to navigate the roads back to the studio. 

Until suddenly, Eddie is piping up, an irritable voice capable of echoing about the inside of the SUV.

“Take us back to my apartment,” he demands, but when you glare at him from the side, he clears his throat and adds on a measly, “Please.”

It’s a start. There’s a long road ahead, but it’s a start. 

You expected the entire ride to be filled with arguments. Under the assumption that Eddie would be too riled up to care about the driver’s presence, you sit tensely and wait for him to throw the first punch once more. Make a comment about what you’d last said before getting in the car, once again scrutinize the decision you had made. He’d never been silent in his anger; he was always loud, always made it known. He’d always claimed, back in Hawkins, he’d rather you know he’s angry so the two of you could fix it. 

But he doesn’t say a word. His jaw twitches with irritations, his eyes stay focused on the passing sidewalk out his window rather than you, and his entire body remains an impenetrable distance from your own. Even on the roughest of turns, he never allows his knee to so much as bump yours.

He’s not making it known. He’s not offering the option to fix it.

You fall into old habits immediately, youth insecurities as you simmer in the silence and the boil of a fight that has to happen eventually – right? The fight is unavoidable. The fight had already technically begun outside of Matt’s office. He has to make it known at some point; he has to say what needs to be said so the two of you can just fix it. 

But then a hoarse voice in the back of your mind whispers, what if he doesn’t see this as something worth fixing? 

Had you even seen it as something worth fixing? 

You had been the one to leave originally. You had been the one to not make it known to him all those years ago, never using your words to tell him how you had felt and leave the door for redemption wide open. You had been the one that had evaluated the situation, and for some strange reason, deemed your relationship with someone you had truly believed you’d spend the rest of your life with as something to just run from. 

By the time the car has arrived outside of Eddie’s building, you’re a mess. Metaphorically, physically, mentally. A tragic mess. 

He still holds open the door for you, still nods at your squeak of thanks as you shuffle past him. He still mutters a pitiful goodbye to his driver. And he still won’t look at you, won’t speak to you. 

Something inside of you burns. Had he even intended for you to follow him into the apartment? Or had he hoped you would have given your address to the driver as he slid out of the seat, set your eyes on your own home and away from him? 

It’s funny, the way one quick signature and you’re back to square one of your youth. Insecure and unsure, second guessing every choice. The entire persona you had built up over two long years has officially crumbled, and you don’t even have to look into a mirror to absolutely hate the girl staring back now. 

At least before, the catch of your reflection in the shining walls of an elevator wouldn’t make you sick to your stomach. At least in those two long years, you could stand the sound of your own breathing. 

Each step down the hall and towards Eddie’s front door after the quiet elevator ride is haunted. More self-doubt, more anger at yourself. The pad of the soles of your shoes against carpeting is a drumming heartbeat building up to something. 

That something snaps when Eddie unlocks the door. 

He motions for you to enter first, but you stand your ground. Staring him down, silently urging him to just fucking look at you. 

“After you,” he mumbles when you make no move to walk past him, waving his hand a second time as he continues to stare at the ground. 

You were both different people. Personas don’t just crumble because you sign a contract. You were still someone head-strong, someone capable, someone who could be sure of herself. You weren’t some naive child, lost in the thrills of your first grandiose love. And Eddie was no longer the boy you’d spent long days and longer nights with at Lover’s Lake, and at local record shops every Sunday. He was no longer the person you’d kiss dizzy as the incense burned on the shelf. He was someone new, someone different, someone unfamiliar. 

And yet, even in knowing all of this, attempting to redrill it all into your head once more, you also know that some things will never have to change. Some things between the two of you will always stay the same.

You want one of those things to be making the anger known. 

“Look at me,” the demand comes out soft, a bit more feeble than you’d wanted, but it still comes out all the same. The words fall from your lips, and you swear you see Eddie flinch.

He doesn’t look up. 

“Eddie,” you say, a bit more urgently, a tad bit more desperate, “I know you’re pissed so-”

“I don’t wanna do this. Not here.” 

You take a sharp breath, and bite back the urge to spit out tough luck, “Well, I do.” 

“Do you?” When his head finally snaps up and his eyes finally meet yours, it’s as if ice shards have replaced all your blood, chilling your system to its core, “Do you really? You wanna finish that fight we started back in the studio, right here – right outside of my apartment?” 

There it is: the anger. It strains every syllable of every word of his. But there’s still hope, all because of one little word.

The fight we started. 

We. Not just you, not just him. We.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, something in you eager at him finally just acknowledging it once again. His silence had been cruel, his brooding had been torture, and it’s easier to hear the venom he directs to you than nothing at all. “I do. I want to fight.” 

Did something just soften in his eyes, or are you just delusional? Are you that desperate to crave and imagine him feeling all the same things you were feeling? You want him to want this; you want him to want the fight, because then, it means there’s still something to fix. 

“Can we at least do it inside the apartment?” he flatly requests, lips a fine line as he levels you with that same dead stare. Dead, with glimmers of something buried alive beneath the surface. 

Something. Anything. 

He was never a stain. He isn’t an old maroon, seeped into the cotton of your existence, rusting over your past. He’s something here, something tangible, in this very moment. He’s fresh wine rushing down your chest, he’s vibrant scarlet sticking to your skin. The potential of a stain, but for now, the wound is still wet. Still fresh. Still something you can wipe away, if you play your cards right. 

You walk through his door, shoulder brushing his chest, and you almost wonder if you’re even willing to play your cards right. This time, you almost consider if what you want, what you’ve always wanted, is for Eddie to leave a stain on you that could never be cleaned away. 

After all, what is a stain if not a reminder of something loved, something worth keeping, fixed or not?

The door shuts softly behind Eddie as he trails in behind you, and with a final sigh and click of the lock, he turns to you.

“Alright. Let’s fight.”

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