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lokis-army-77 · 3 days ago

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forbidden fruit of desire part II

dom! masked! rockstar! Eddie x fem! ballerina! Reader

blurb: You and Eddie continue your game, but struggle to find time to meet up. A odd connection pops up, and your past seems to want to haunt you.

Read Part One

word count: 5.8 k

AN: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for taking so long but my degree is currently KICKING MY ASS. I think I tagged everyone who was interested in a part two, if not, I am so sorry. Yet again thank you to @vintagehellfire for the inspo with your fic! I'm so so sorry again for taking forever (tbh I feel like this chapter isn't as good as the first but I digress!)

CW: dead dove, do not eat! Minors do not interact!, porn with a plot, dom! Eddie, Sub! Reader, ex relationship with Jonathan is mentioned, kink discussions, cnc, roleplay, dubcon, primal play, mask kink, corruption kink, exhibitionism/ semi public, unprotected sex, ejaculation, mentions of choking, threats, shame and humilation kink, degradation kink, penetrative sex (PinV), fantasies around coercion, phone sex, fantasies around prey and being hunted, suggestive photographs, aftercare, dacryphilia, drinking, smoking, possible stalking, hinting at religious trauma, the reader is into being used, free use kink, hair pulling, spitting, tying up, etc.

You sat at your local coffee shop, your mug growing cold under your hands as you tried to perk yourself up. You were exhausted. With rehearsals back-to-back and your show only a week away, you had little to no time to relax. Your matcha latte provided a slight source of caffeine, but it barely kept you awake.

Nancy plopped down in front of you, sliding a warm and inviting croissant in your direction, her expression stern. "Don't give me any bullshit about how you need to be eating lean during show season. You're about to fall over."

You sighed and took the offering, biting into the flaky pastry and nearly moaning at its decadence. The bread was fluffy and buttery, likely making a mess of your clothes with the pastry crumbs, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You washed down the treat with your matcha latte, sighing contentedly.

"Thanks, Nance."

She waved you off, smiling. "Don't worry about it."

If you thought you were a worrywart and a mother hen to your friends, Nancy was like a farmer keeping all of you in check. She was highly protective and caring, but she also knew when to back off. Clearly, you looked like a mess.

"So… what happened?" Nancy asked, taking a sip of her iced Americano with a smug expression.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure out what she meant, your expression one of confusion. You racked your brain for what she could be referring to, but came up blank. "With what?"

She groaned, rolling her eyes and giving you a pointed look as she set her cup on the table. One brow arched, and she crossed her arms. "You asking Steve for Edward Munson's number?"

You felt your whole body light up in embarrassment at that name, your cheeks heating and your chest tightening. Eddie. She was talking about Eddie.

Shame swallowed you whole as you remembered your sour mood from earlier in the week and the source of your confusion. Sure, other factors were stressing you out (rehearsals, bills, trying to help Chrissy through her breakup with that jerk Jason, and rekindling a friendship with Jonathan), but a central point of pain was your shame and humiliation over Eddie suddenly disappearing after your first… encounter.

He had messaged you to make sure you got home safe that night, but then he vanished, unresponsive to your texts. You had even tried to find him on social media, but to no avail. He felt like some figment of your imagination, allowing you to live a brief fantasy before disappearing back to… wherever he came from.

You looked down as you stirred your spoon in your latte to hide your hurt expression. "I just asked for the number to thank him for helping with Jonathan. That's it."

Nancy winced, her expression softening with concern. "Did that guy hurt you? I know he's Steve's friend, but I swear I'll kick his ass."

You laughed softly, shaking your head and shrugging off the hurt. Maybe the fantasy frightened him after all. "No, seriously, Nance, it was nothing. Just—"

Before you could reassure her, your phone began ringing, surprising you. You looked down and saw Jonathan's name flash on the screen, and your heart began to race. He usually didn't call. You picked up immediately, your heart squeezing in fear.

“Y/N?” Jonathan's voice sounded warbled and… slurred. You frowned as you heard someone yelling at him in the background, and you chewed on your lip in worry.

"Jon, what's going on?" you asked. Nancy looked at you, her lips pulled down in a frown, a crease forming between her brows.

"Just… just was out at a bar and… they're trying to… fight me. I… Shaddup!"

Your frown deepened as you gathered your things and looked outside. It was about 7 or 8 p.m.; the sun had set, and the world was quieter. Although a few drinks at the bar weren't a big deal, you were becoming increasingly concerned. This was the second time Jonathan had been extremely drunk. Usually, he smoked weed, but you'd never seen or heard him this intoxicated.

You asked Jonathan for the name of the bar he was at, and he told you. Nancy offered to pick him up instead to give you a break, but you declined, worried that Jonathan might feel embarrassed. You apologized to Nancy for leaving so early, but she waved you off before giving you a serious look.

"Hey… I know he's our friend… but don't care for him so much that you forget to care for yourself."

A sourness stirred in your stomach as you nodded and hugged Nancy goodbye, rushing off to pick up Jonathan.

So much for taking a break.

Later, you were hanging out with Nancy and Steve and headed to a café during one of your few off days from rehearsals. You were chatting and laughing when you spotted Steve waving from across the road.

Eddie.

He was standing there, clad in a leather jacket and jeans that should have been illegal to wear (they looked criminally good on him). His hair was in a messy bun, curls spilling out from the sides. His skin was a shade darker than you remembered, as if he had been out by the coast. He looked… good.

Your heart squeezed as you fought to suppress a pout.

He waved back, a blinding, dimpled grin on his face, his facial piercings glinting in the sun. You turned your gaze away, avoiding his eyes. In your peripheral vision, you saw his expression crumble, his brows drawing together from confusion.

What was that?

Eddie didn't take long to reach out; his text did nothing to quell the impending doom you feel thrumming under your skin.

Can we talk?

You text back in agreement, scheduling another meeting at The Hideout, your stomach swirling with nerves. You didn't know what it was, but you didn't want to give him up yet. He was charming and alluring, with an air of mystery about him. It felt like you and he were tied by a string of fate—if that string was a rope with a pair of handcuffs attached.

This time, you dressed in a much more alluring outfit: heels, a skirt, and a cute top that you had meant to wear out more often. You did your makeup and headed out the door, trying to ignore the slight trembling in your hands. Here we go again.

When you arrived at The Hideout and headed toward your usual booth in the back, you spotted Jason Carver, Chrissy's ex-boyfriend. He waved at you with that blinding smile and started walking in your direction. Your muscles tensed as your stomach swirled in disgust. You tried to keep your facial expression kind and soft.

Jason Carver was a slimeball of a man, showering Chrissy with gifts and trying to seem innocent, but you knew better. He had been nagging Chrissy for years to quit the company, urging her to leave behind her dreams of being a dancer. After being together for years, you were grateful she had finally cut him off. Still, the reasoning behind her decision didn't make your blood boil any less. You clenched your hands at your sides as he approached, his megawatt smile blinding you. His greedy gaze roamed over you, and suddenly, you wished you had worn something less revealing; your skin crawled with disgust.

"Y/N! It's nice to see you. What are you doing around here?" he asked.

You offered a polite smile, trying to cut the conversation short. "I'm meeting a friend for a drink. If you'll excuse me—"

His eyes searched your face, feigning sorrow. "It's not Chrissy, is it? Could you please tell her I'm truly sorry? I think the whole thing got blown out of—"

Your blood began to boil with fury, your heart nearly pounding in your ears as you opened your mouth to snap at him, maybe even claw his eyeballs out. Suddenly, you felt a leather-clad arm wrap around your shoulders, freezing you momentarily. You looked up to find Eddie standing next to you, wearing a stern expression. His eyes were narrowed as he stared down at Jason, making the man seem two feet tall. Eddie radiated a protectiveness and tension you had only seen glimpses of, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Carver," he said.

Jason's face transformed from pity to disgust, amusement flickering in his eyes. "No way… Y/N, you're meeting up with Munson?" His incredulous tone sounded like he wasn't sure if he should be laughing or retching at the sight of the two of you.

You felt your nails dig into your palms as you gritted your teeth, forcing a tense smile. "Yes, we're good friends. If you'll excuse me."

You walked away, gripping Eddie's hand, your mind focused on the anger bubbling beneath the surface. When you reached the booth, you slid into the leather seat across from Eddie. He sat there, his expression guarded as he observed you.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

You scoffed and shook your head. "Sorry… Jason is my friend's ex. He's a…"

"Douchebag?" Eddie finished for you, a grim expression on his face. "Yeah, I know."

You frowned slightly at his intensity, and his hand waved you off. "It's a story for another time."

He shot you a look, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned in a bit, his voice low. "Mind telling me what changed, princess?"

Your face heated as your chest tightened, and your mind nearly short-circuited at the nickname. You tried to keep your tone guarded, but some of the hurt and embarrassment slipped through, much to your chagrin. "You disappeared. I thought you were... I don't know... ghosting me or something? That it wasn't as good for you."

Eddie's expression turned serious, a mix of shock and concern. His voice was gruff with emotion, and his eyes darkened slightly. His hands were flat against the table as he leaned in closer. "Dove... I was far from disappointed that night. I can't stop thinking about it."

Your breath hitched as your heart nearly stopped. He leaned back a bit, continuing to speak.

"I'm sorry for not reaching out. I was busy working on some projects for my music side gig and had to head to California. It was hectic making sure the shop had someone to cover my shifts and informing clients that I would be away."

As you think of Eddie's work as a tattoo artist and piercer, you realize how little you knew about his world. You feel sheepish and embarrassed, your face heating up right to the tips of your ears.

"No, no, I'm sorry. We agreed to keep this casual, and I shouldn't have gotten so… upset."

Eddie waved your concern away, his expression serious. "No, it was a vulnerable time for both of us. I should have communicated better. I'm sorry."

You nod, extending your hand with a soft smile. "Forgiven?"

He takes your hand, a soft smile forming as he chuckles. He shakes your hand firmly, and you nearly melt at the feel of his calluses.

"Forgiven," he replies, letting go of your hand and pursing his lips slightly before chewing on the bottom one. His expression displays a mix of curiosity and desire.

"I meant what I said about not being able to stop thinking about it. It's been all I can focus on."

Your heart races at his confession, and your stomach swirls with excitement. Your voice comes out as a whisper. "Me too."

Eddie smirks, tilting his head slightly. "The ball's in your court, dove. You choose the game. Then we play."

You feel yourself melt at his confidence and demeanor. He's got you wrapped around his finger. Your mind races with countless ideas before settling on one that makes your heart thump.

"Surprise me."

He furrows his brow slightly before licking his lips and nodding.

"I can do that."

He stands up, reaches out a hand to help you out of the booth, and walks with you to your car. The silence between you is comfortable, and you feel safe in his presence. As you climb into your vehicle, he kisses you on the cheek and whispers in your ear,

"Until next time, little dove."

You shiver at the sound of his voice, the closeness of his breath, and the cinnamon scent wafting from his mouth, which reminds you of the first time you two kissed. Desire pools in your stomach, and your thighs squeeze together for relief.

As you get into your car, you rub a hand down your face, fighting a smile.

You can't wait.

Now sitting in your car, you try to catch your breath while staring at the large, intimidating building looming before you. You adjust your rearview mirror to double-check your makeup and look yourself in the eyes. You notice a slight tremor in your hands.

You've come to the local museum for an arts benefit organized for all the local art organizations. Your company has also been invited, with the hope of generating some extra revenue by auctioning off tickets or lessons. Despite what people think, being a dancer doesn't pay well.

Steve will be there, along with Nancy and Robin. Steve usually attends because he loves supporting a good cause, and Robin and Nancy seem to go everywhere together these days. Jonathan has insisted on coming, not only to help with his photography but also to do some freelancing.

Surrounded by your friends, you'd think you would feel more secure, but you can't shake your anxiety. This is a ball, requiring the best soloist behavior. You made sure your clothes accentuated your ideal "ballerina" look. Soft pinks and nudes, with just the right amount of cleavage showing; the skirt of your dress is flowy and falls just past your knees. You sigh and straighten your shoulders, forcing yourself to smile despite your nerves.

"You got this."

You step out of your car into the chilly night, spotting some of your friends by the steps. Nancy is wearing a gorgeous purple dress, while Robin sports a dark burgundy pantsuit with a vest, her jacket draped lazily over her shoulders. The two of you exchange smiles and hug each other.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Rob and I were just catching up out here before we head into all the... crowds," Nancy says, her eyes darting between you and Robin. You nearly raise an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what's going on, when you spot a petite strawberry blonde bounding up the steps toward you. She's wearing a beautiful baby blue dress that complements her perfectly.

"Y/N! C'mon, we need to go inside! Madame Lebelle is waiting for us," Chrissy gasps, grabbing your arm and tugging you into the magnificent building. You smile and wave apologetically at your friends, warmth creeping to the tips of your ears.

Once inside the museum, you feel your stomach twist into knots. The place is filled with people dressed up, far more elegantly than you expected. As you scan the crowd, you notice many attendees look straight out of a movie. You feel a gentle tug on your arm and glance over at Chrissy, who has a soft smile on her face, but her eyes convey understanding.

"Do you need a minute? I know it's a lot to take in," she says.

You shake your head, smiling as you try to push down your nerves. "I'll be okay. Let's go find the others."

When you and Chrissy locate the rest of your group, they are engaged in conversation with some donors while sipping champagne. You join in, mirroring their actions, taking photos when asked, and receiving congratulations on your solo role. Each compliment makes your stomach clench with nervousness at how many people express excitement about getting to see you perform as a soloist. Eventually, the mix of alcohol and nerves makes the room feel even more suffocating.

You excuse yourself and sigh, stepping into the alleyway between the museum and an office building. The alley is narrow and dark, with poor lighting. You lean your head against the wall and take a moment to slow your breathing. Though the cold air makes you shiver, it also helps to settle your nerves. Just as you're about to turn and head back into the building, you hear footsteps approaching. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as your heart races in your chest.

The footsteps are confident and swift. You hear the jingle of a chain accompanying them, along with a low, rasping voice.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to be out here alone, little dove?"

Eddie.

You spot his figure even in this dark corner, though he's dressed in all black and almost indistinguishable from the shadows. A tightness forms in your chest against your dress as longing and desire creep into your veins. You feel excitement...and fear. You take a step back, your body craving a chase.

"I just needed a moment," you whimper, your voice nearly breathless.

A dark chuckle escapes him as he continues walking forward, making your heart race and your mouth water.

"Oh, little dove...what you need is a lesson."

He quickens his pace as you turn and run in your heels, your desire pooling between your thighs from the thrill of the chase.

Damn.

How did he know your desires so well?

You are running, your heart pumping as you attempt to evade him, the wind rushing past your skin, making the game even more electrifying. You nearly reach the street before he grabs your wrist, tugging you back with quick reflexes. He swiftly pins you against the rough brick wall, pressing your cheek against it while holding one arm behind your back, trapping you. Your heart races as you hear his rough voice in your ear, his scent enveloping you. You breathe in the aroma of tobacco, green apple, and warm spice. Your desire is palpable, your body aching to be touched.

"I can't stand how innocent you look... I'm going to ruin you."

You whimper and shake your head no, pleading and begging him...but he knows what you are pleading and begging for. He pulls up your skirt and dives a cold, ringed finger through your folds delicately at first, but then with more force. You moan softly, biting your lip. He chuckles, softly rubbing circles around your clit, eliciting waves of soft pleasure through you but fanning the flames of your desire.

"You're so wet, little dove. You wanted to be fucked outside...where anyone can catch you?" His voice is condescending, dripping with lust.

You shake your head and try to hold your moans, the pleasure and his teasing almost building up the ache to a throb in your clit.

He chuckles, shaking his head, curls brushing your cheek as he unbuttons his pants quickly, running his hard cock against your entrance teasingly, making you arch into him, whimpering. When he thrusts in suddenly, you cry out, your moan louder than you mean to be. He puts a hand over your mouth, brown eyes stern and dark with lust, even in the dim light.

"Shut up and take my cock like a good little slut, yeah?" His voice is severe and so rough, the degradation making your knees weak.

He continues to hold you like this, thrusting in and out slowly and tortuously at first before building up the pace, his grip over your mouth and hip making your skin feel aflame. You rock your hips back against him, feeling the familiar feeling of pleasure rise, your whimpers muffled through his hand.

He nearly growls in your ear, his voice teetering on feral. "Fucking hell...You were walking around looking so fucking delectable in that dress...Knew I had to fuck you...Fill you...make sure you walk around the space, my cum nearly running down your legs. Perfect little ballerina...but really, you're a cockslut."

You nearly cum at his voice, your pleasure building up as your hands claw at the bricks, your eyes filling with tears as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, looking into his eyes. You whimper against his hand and clench around his cock, loving the way it rubs against the perfect spot.

He moans, thrusting sloppier, his voice strained as his jaw clenches.

"Fuck... I'm gonna cum. Gonna fill you up, little dove..."

Your eyes nearly roll back as he brushes that spot inside you that makes you see stars, his tight grip and feeling his cock twitch as he releases into you, the warmth filling you and making you moan. Your body feels like it has just released all at once; your muscles are now heavy and feeling released.

You and Eddie stand there for a minute, breathing heavily, staring at one another before he slowly lets go of your mouth and pulls out of you, both of you hissing at the loss of contact. You feel his cum slowly leaking down your inner thigh, thankful for your knee-length skirt.

He searches your eyes and whispers, "You alright? I wasn't too rough, was I?"

You shake your head no, a smile threatening to break out on your face. "No. It was perfect."

He smiles back, and even in the poor lighting, his grin is blinding. "I hope that was a good surprise. I didn't really mean to do that tonight."

You blink at him in shock, laughing a bit. "You mean that was a surprise for you, too?"

He shrugs sheepishly, smiling. "I meant to surprise you at a different time. But I saw you here...in that dress...and I just needed you."

You laugh and squeeze his bicep, your heart still thrumming from the sex, your brain giddy from the pleasure. "Well, thank you."

He grins and grabs your hand, helping you back to the front of the building before looking at the imposing door, a smile falling.

"Back to the party, I guess."

You nod, your smile faltering, but you squeeze his hand. "I'll see you later?" You're questioning it like he didn't just finish inside you and leave you dripping with his cum. But you worry, especially when most men you've asked to engage in these things run off.

His smile returns, this time with a devilish twinkle. "Oh, trust me... You're not getting away from me that fast."

Your stomach flips as he heads inside, your heart racing.

You head inside a few minutes later, eyes continuously finding his, the hunger and mischief in his alighting a flame in you, and a curiosity like no other.

You had an addiction, and its name was Eddie Munson.

You're a few weeks into performance and show season, and your schedule is so packed it makes your head spin. You've been nonstop alternating between shows, rehearsals, and helping Chrissy find a new place while she crashes at her parents'. Not only that, but lately you've been Jonathan's 'go-to' gal about stress.

Nancy and Steve are on your case about not caring for yourself, but you can't help it.

There's not even enough hours in a day to sleep well.

To make matters worse, you and Eddie have been texting, trying to find an overlap in your schedules but failing to do so, what with his music projects and your shows.

It's driving you to the end of your rope when today, the day you thought you might finally be able to see him, you are held up at rehearsal for an extra 2 hours.

Fucking fouettes.

You slump into your apartment, collapsing into your couch and throwing your dress rehearsal bag on the floor. Your tense muscles scream out in protest as your bones seem to melt. A sigh falls from your lips, brain swimming with frustration as you pull out your phone and tap Eddie's contact, deciding to call rather than text, not trusting your fingers to even move the few centimeters to type out something.

The phone rings before you hear a raspy voice on the other end, the gruffness making your thighs squeeze together and your breath catch. It's like your cells are attuned to his voice.

"What's up, dove?"

You clear your throat, sighing a bit as you fiddle with your fingers, your voice sheepish as you chew on your bottom lip. You struggle to be honest, your chest squeezed in anxiousness, but still wanting to let him know how much you want him.

"Just...really wanted to see you tonight. But my company director kept me for two more hours than expected. So now I'm glued to the couch and I don't even think I can move a muscle."

You hear a chuckle, and a bit of rustling, Eddie sounding a bit more awake now.

"Well, I would love to see you too...sadly, I'm not in town right now. Doing a thing," He says nonchalantly, and you can picture him waving his hands and talking with that easy lopsided grin that you've grown to crave.

You groan, throwing your head back, cursing. Body slumping into your too-soft couch, your mouth opens before you can stop it.

"I just...I could really use some sense of release right now."

Eddie's side rustles a bit, and you swear you almost hear a hitch in his breath. There's a beat of silence before he responds, his voice raw with lust.

"...Yeah? You need my cock, little dove?"

The filth coming from his mouth has your cheeks burning and your heart catching in your chest. Your voice chimes a breathless 'yes'.

A dark chuckle sounds from Eddie's side of the line as he hears you, his tone teasing and so deliciously cruel.

"Mmm. Wonder how wet you got just at the sound of my voice... At the mere thought of my cock. Poor little slut, deprived of being fucked properly. No one else can chase you down...tie you up...fuck you like you deserve."

You whimper without meaning to, your heart skipping as your desire grows. You feel your thighs shift, trying to relieve the need between your legs.

"Pl-please...Eddie..."

He growls out, his tone sending an immediate pang of want to you again, causing you to whimper again.

"Beg. Then maybe I'll let you touch yourself, little slut."

Your mind is entering that all-too-familiar state of only thinking of him, of being fucked. You whimper, pleas of 'please' and promises of behaving falling from your lips, your mouth moving with your brain really filtering out your words. You can hear your tone of voice slurring as your thighs continue to shift against one another, the pressure not enough.

His dark chuckle sounds before his condescending tone cuts through the phone, drinking in your pathetic pleas.

"Alright. Touch yourself, baby. Rub that pretty little clit for me, hm?"

You nod before slipping your hands beneath your warm-up shorts, thankful that your tights were removed before your drive home. You slip a hand between your leotard and whimper at the feeling of wetness. Your clit was swollen, and your toes nearly curled at your touch mixed with Eddie's coaxing.

"God, I bet you're soaked. Your pretty little cunt is probably weeping, just missing being filled. And I miss filling it. Miss fucking into you and leaving you full of cum. Fucking miss choking you as you get drunk on my cock. Fuck," He hisses, his voice near a growl, his words making you arch in wanton need.

You feel your hips move in reckless abandon against your hand, your moans less contained.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty. Want a fucking soundtrack of your moans, your crying. You can't imagine how many times I've fucked my hand just thinking about your whimpering and begging...I can't wait to come home and fuck you properly. Maybe this time we can play in the shower..."

Your mind swims with the imagination of him coming into your shower, your moans and whimpers making it hard to speak, but your breathless voice listing out your fantasy.

"I-I could leave my door unlo-locked and take a shower...let you stalk me and c-come in and f-fuck me. Even f-fight back a l-little..."

Eddie's groan is near pornographic and sends a shock of pleasure to your cunt, his voice gruff. "Fuck, dove. You're so goddamn perfect. Fucking filthy and gorgeous. With a cunt so tight and sweet...Shit. I'm gonna cum, fuck-Cum with me, baby. Soak your pretty little practice gear for me, hm?"

You feel your desire build to a peak as you whimper and moan, praises and pleas falling from your lips without care as you feel it snap right as Eddie grits out his 'fuck' and your moan loudly, your head falling back against the couch, your cunt fluttering around nothing.

There's a bit of silence before Eddie chuckles a bit, sighing.

"Shit, dove. You're making me rethink finishing this project."

You laugh softly, your cheeks burning as you struggle to catch your breath, smiling.

"Touche, Munson."

Eddie groans and sighs, seeming to rustle around on the line before his voice sounds tender and apologetic, making your heart skip a beat. "Look, dove, I gotta go. I have to be up at the ass crack of dawn, sadly. But I'm headed back in about a week or two. The moment I am, you're mine. Alright?"

You nod weakly, squeaking out a yes before wishing him a good night and hanging up. You sit on the couch for a moment, relaxing in your bonelessness before sighing and heading off to the shower, which you needed after rehearsal and that orgasm.

Two weeks later, and it's your final show. You and Eddie have been messaging back and forth, mostly just small talk, but you're finally figuring out a day to get together.

You've performed your heart out and are both saddened and relieved at the end of this show, your muscles worn and your body begging for a break.

After your bows, you head out to the main hallway, clad in a simple but elegant cocktail dress, makeup still done. You smile as you see the familiar faces of your friends. Steve, Nancy, Robin, and even Jonathan are all dressed up, showering you with hugs and flowers. You almost feel sheepish at the attention. Nancy, Robin, and Steve are headed over to congratulate Chrissy as well, but not before Nancy squeezes your arm and subtly nods her head to a corner, causing your brows to furrow in confusion as she walks away, grinning. You look over, and your breath catches in your throat.

Standing there is Eddie, clad in a black button-down and slacks, sleeves rolled up to display his ink and silver jewelry. His hair is tied back in a bun, and his eyes are scanning the hall cautiously, clearly out of his element.

"You should stay away from him."

The familiar rasp of Jonathan's voice snaps your head to him, your face heating up at his comment, and your heart squeezing. You try to hide your frustration.

"Look, Jonathan, we're just friends. Plus I don't think-"

His brow furrows, and he comes closer, causing you to step back. You see the red in his eyes, making your heart sting.

He came here high?

"Look, Y/N. I wouldn't say anything, but we went to high school together. He was in a rough crowd, and his dad was a criminal. And from what I hear, he followed in his footsteps. I mean he-"

You frown and put up a hand to stop him, your tone stern as you try not to feel embarrassed or frustrated with him. Jonathan is a friend, and you should hear him out...but you and Eddie are casual. And it's not his business.

"I'm stopping you there. He's a friend. Nothing more. If he decides to tell me about his past, that's his choice."

Jonathan looks to Eddie, who catches his gaze and seems to straighten up, seeing the two of you next to one another. He walks over, his gaze hard, jaw tight. Jonathan shakes his head and sighs before heading over to Steve and Nancy, brushing your shoulder as he passes by, mumbling.

"Just...look him up. And be safe."

You frown, frustration pricking at you, but shake it off as Eddie smiles lopsidedly at you, relieved that Jonathan is gone, clearly. His tone is light but with a hint of an edge to it, like he's holding back.

"What did Byers want?"

You shake your head, sighing. "Nothing, just...being overprotective."

Eddie hums in response, before pulling an arm from behind his back, his grin almost shy as he looks at you, eyes twinkling with admiration.

"For you."

You look down at the bouquet in his hands, your heart fluttering. It's your favorite flowers, enough for a large vase, all tied up in a lacy bow of your favorite color. You blink in shock and admiration, and your brain churns at a memory.

Only one person knew you always wanted a bouquet of your favorite flower, and even what your real favorite flower was.

Acheron.

You had once sent a letter while drunk and frankly desperate for something. You talked about a dream of your favorite bouquet and a night out before being fucked into oblivion.

There's no way he's....Is there?

You shake off the coincidence and smile, your body aflame.

"Thank you, Eddie. These are gorgeous."

He nods, his eyes glinting like he has a secret, his voice a low timber. "You deserve them, dove. You were wonderful."

You open your mouth to ask how he knew your favorite flowers when his phone buzzes, and he looks down, shoulders slumping a bit. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and a quick apologetic 'gotta run' before walking off.

You look down at the bouquet, a twang of familiarity and curiosity swirling in your mind before you get lost in the crowds again, spewing 'thank yous' and other appreciations into the night. Your spine tingles as you try to keep civil and not let your mind spin with thoughts of Eddie and Acheron.

You swear you can still feel his eyes on you.

A few days later, you've shaken off the notion of the connection between the two. Eddie works as a tattoo artist and does music as a hobby, not a job. Also, hiding that identity would take a lot of energy and work.

You're checking the mail on a breezy morning when you spot two peculiar things.

One is a single Polaroid, not addressed. Still, the photo is of a highly recognizable mask next to what appears to be pants straining against a mystery boner, the writing on the bottom sloppy and somehow familiar.

Missing your letters. - A

Your face burns, and your thighs clench in need.

Acheron.

But how? And why now?

Your thought is interrupted when you find a more harrowing item. It's a singular rose with a small piece of scripture attached that you know all too well, scrawled in much neater and unknown handwriting, the ink smudged like the author pressed on the paper in anger.

A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. - 1 Timothy 2:11

You swallow thickly, looking around. Your heart is racing in fear as you scurry inside, your stomach twisting.

The past, it seems, comes back with a vengeance.

tagging: @aurora-austen @queenariesofnarnia @bumblebeeswrite @gloomiigloom @steve-loves-eddie @thrashcam @spikeybatt @kittydeadbones @obsessed-midwest-princess @emeraldangeluk @hauntedfawnn @theold-ultraviolence @londonfog-chan @mopeymopeymouse @munsonsuccubus @hellfire--cult @vintagehellfire @ghost-proofbaby

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lokis-army-77 · 3 days ago

Text

forbidden fruit of desire

dom! masked! rockstar! Eddie x fem! ballerina! Reader

blurb: You are a dancer in the city, consistently trying to stay in line and be perfect. You usually don't let people see the darker desires plaguing you, but one man discovers too much at a party. He offers you a chance to get a taste of these fantasies, and you can't help but give in...if only you knew what he was hiding.

Read Part Two

word count: nearly 8k words

AN: Heyo! This has taken a long time and has been quite a trip, but it's finally done. Thank you for the inspo to @vintagehellfire for her Ghost inspired writing, which you can check out here. I highly recommend it. This also pulls heavy inspo from the book Asking for It by Lilah Pace. If you enjoy CNC scenes and HEALTHY kink dynamics, I highly recommend it; it's a great read. Also a bit inspired by Dinner in America's little dirty letter plotline (not the rest of it, though lol) Also thank you to @hauntedfawnn for giving me the support and push to write this <3 you are the best and I hope you enjoy it.

CW: dead dove, do not eat! Minors do not interact!, porn with a plot, dom! Eddie, Sub! Reader, ex relationship with Jonathan is mentioned, kink discussions, cnc, roleplay, dubcon, primal play, mask kink, corruption kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, squirting, ejaculation, choking, threats, shame and humilation kink, degradation kink, oral sex (both for p and v), penetrative sex (PinV), fantasies around coercion, fantasies around prey and being hunted, fantasies involving weapons, nude photographs, aftercare, discussions and fantasies of use of weapons, dacryphilia, drinking, smoking, throwing up, the reader is into being used, free use kink? hair pulling, spitting, tying up, etc.

You were leaning against the wall, nursing a watered-down glass of mystery alcohol, arms wrapped around yourself. Your stomach churned, the condensation on your glass making your already clammy hands worse as you gripped it like a lifeline.

You'd come to this party alone, trying to break free from your predictable routine.

The body-hugging silky red dress Nancy insisted you wear left you feeling self-conscious. She'd promised all week that everyone would be dressed similarly, but when you arrived, most people wore jeans—maybe slightly nicer than casual, but far more relaxed than your attire.

As you fidgeted with the hem of your dress, scanning the party, you spotted your ex.

Jonathan Byers.

You offered a timid wave, which he returned with a sheepish smile.

Your separation had been amicable—you'd always been more friends than lovers.

Well...there was more to the story.

Though you'd been happy together, mostly as friends, there was the...incident. You'd shared certain fantasies with Jonathan, things that excited you but remained unexplored. He hadn't shared your interests. These fantasies ultimately became the final push that ended your relationship, though you couldn't blame him. He'd been kind but understandably concerned.

After all, what kind of sweet girl has fantasies of being forced into the dirt and taken? Being claimed by some type of...monster?

Shaking off the guilt, you ventured deeper into the party toward Nancy. She stood with Steve, the party's host and your mutual friend. His budding acting career explained why his large house was filled with aspiring artists, yourself included.

Probably the only ballet dancer, though.

"Hey, Nance," you called over the loud music.

She turned, smiling and beckoning you over.

You approached, playfully gripping her arm through gritted teeth. "Why am I so overdressed, Nancy...?"

She rolled her eyes as Steve's best friend—Robin?—approached with a whistle.

"Damn Angelina Ballerina! You look HOT!" She grinned, her eyes bloodshot from the brownie in her hand.

You fought a smile as you furrowed your brows at Steve. 'Angelina Ballerina?' you mouthed. He shrugged, laughing.

"Rob thought it was funny since you're a ballerina."

Your cheeks flushed at the joke as you sipped your drink.

Dancers weren't uncommon in this city, especially ballet dancers. But ballet demanded strict discipline. Most dancers followed rigid regimens and specific rules. The rule-breakers were usually prodigies, their perfect form shielding them from scandal.

You maintained a modest public image, keeping any 'misbehaviors' private. While not exactly straight-laced, you avoided intoxication in public.

You had just made soloist, after all.

However... one of your misbehaviors was shared with one other person.

Your mind wandered to earlier that evening, when you'd dropped off the letter containing those little secrets—the excitement and desire stirring in your belly once again.

"...Right, Y/N?" Nancy's voice cut through your thoughts as shame crept in, your chest tightening and cheeks burning.

"Sorry, what?" you asked sheepishly. Nancy playfully tutted before repeating her question, drawing you into the group's discussion about the city's latest project and its traffic woes.

You welcomed the distraction.

Your sides ached from laughing at Steve's latest audition story—he'd landed a role as a body double for a celebrity's posterior in a commercial—when you spotted Jonathan stumbling toward the backyard. Worry tightened your chest.

You excused yourself politely and followed him outside, finding him heaving into the bushes. You rushed to help, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to a table near the pool. Once he was seated and stable, you fetched water from one of the outdoor mini-fridges. He slumped against the table, grumbling.

You lifted his head gently, offering the open bottle.

"C'mon, Jonathan. I brought you some water."

He smiled dopily, clearly intoxicated.

"Thank you, Y/N. You're so nice...you're such—were such—a good girlfriend."

You winced. Jonathan was a messy drunk. Glancing around, you were relieved to find the backyard mostly empty, save for a few smokers by the fence, too far to overhear.

You sat beside him, rubbing his back as he drank sloppily from the bottle.

"Slowly, please," you urged gently, concerned for his well-being.

He lowered the bottle and looked at you, his eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be the boyfriend you wanted... I mean, I really wanted to be... but fuck, baby... forcing you? That wasn't—"

Your eyes widened at his ramblings, your heart seizing in your chest as you glanced around, relieved that most of the party was indoors. Your face burned hot and your mind raced.

"Jonathan, not now—" you tried to stop him, but he continued.

"I mean, I get kinks, everyone has something... you know, but the idea of pretending to be some kind of sick person who chases you down or takes advantage of you... or even forces you? That's so... it's scary. I can't..." he trailed off, eyes hazy and lost.

You felt sick, already tormented by this desire, and now having your ex say it aloud felt even worse.

"Please... Jonathan. Not here," you pleaded softly, eyes stinging.

Jonathan looked up, suddenly pale, clutching his stomach as he turned to kneel into the bushes again. You rushed to his side as he heaved, rubbing his back.

As you knelt in the grass, ignoring the inevitable grass stains, you locked eyes with a stranger.

He was tall, with long unruly brown curls tied up in a messy bun. A sharp jawline contrasted with plump lips, and warm brown eyes danced with a knowing gleam. His mouth curved into a bit of a smirk, revealing a dimple. He radiated danger, from his leather patch jacket to his well-worn combat boots. Tattoos peeked from his shirt's neckline, while a lip ring and nose ring completed his look—like something straight out of an '80s punk band. His face fell a bit when he noticed Jonathan’s continued heaving, his brows furrowing slightly.

One arm was crossed with a the other balancing a cigarette between his fingers as he took in a breath, making you aware of the black painted nails and silver rings adoring his long fingers. The smoke curled from his lips upwards as he breathed out. He dropped the cigarette and stomped it out with the boot before approaching you casually, his voice still husky from the cigarette.

"You need some antacid, friend?" he asked, leaning down to speak to you.

You continued rubbing Jonathan's back, trying to ignore the excitement this walking caution sign stirred in you. You kept your eyes forward, focused on Jonathan.

"That could help, thank you," you replied politely.

The stranger knelt beside you, his larger frame looming, and helped you sit Jonathan up. Jonathan was now just coughing slightly. The stranger reached into his jacket, pulled out some antacid pills, and gently helped Jonathan take them.

You watched Jonathan as he chewed the antacid, his face gradually clearing as he began to sober up. After swallowing, he grabbed the water bottle and took several long gulps. With a heavy sigh, realization dawned across his features. He turned to you, his face pale and eyes apologetic.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up that kink stuff—"

You cut him off, your face burning as you felt the stranger's eyes on you. "It's fine, Jonathan."

The stranger, still watching you intently, whistled sharply. A slightly shorter man with a messy mop of boyish curls jogged over, brows furrowed.

"What's up, Eds?" he questioned, tilting his head in a distinctly puppy-like manner. Despite his bloodshot eyes, he seemed alert.

The stranger—Eds—finally broke his intense gaze from you and looked up. "Go take this guy to Harrington for me, tell him someone should take him home."

The mop of curls nodded, helping Jonathan up and carefully guiding him inside.

You sighed with relief as they left. Looking up, you found a hand extended toward you, offering help. You took it, standing and brushing off your dress, grimacing at the grass stains marring the gorgeous material.

So much for looking nice.

Heat crept up the back of your neck as the stranger continued staring at you. He had that knowing glint in his eye again, with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. You smiled softly and tried to leave, hoping to escape and relax at home before another day of training.

"Well, I better head out, thank you—"

"I'm sorry he embarrassed you like that," he stated matter-of-factly, making your face grow even warmer. You swallowed your pride and attempted a smile.

"It's fine, he means well."

He looked down at you intensely, warm brown eyes searching your face. You felt vulnerable as he chewed his lip, lost in thought. Running a hand through his messy hair with a sigh, his brows furrowed and his tone dropped low.

"Look... I heard what he said earlier. About wanting to be hunted. Wanting to be... forced," his voice was raw, jagged at the edges. Your chest tightened as your heart thumped and your breath caught in your throat. Desire seeped in at his tone—a tone that sounded interested. Almost sensual.

You tried to laugh it off with a wave of your hand, hoping the stranger would ignore your shock. He kept watching you, his expression growing more solemn as he raised a brow.

"It was just a... misunderstanding—" you stammered, your weak argument tumbling out.

He edged closer, making you step back. The look in his eyes was hungry, setting off alarm bells in your head. But alongside the danger came arousal. Undeniable arousal.

"I don't think it was," he stated, voice raw with lust.

You scoffed and tried to break from his gaze, looking back toward the house. "Even if it wasn't, it's none of your—"

"I can give that to you. If you want it," he offered gently, his voice low and soft while carrying a terrifying presence—like a knife wrapped in silk.

Your heart nearly stopped at his words.

"Excuse me?" you said, appalled yet confused.

His voice kept that same calming tone. "The fantasy. You want to be kidnapped... hunted... forced? I can grant you that, safely."

You felt goosebumps rise on your skin as your thighs squeezed tighter together. Your brain, despite your best wishes, was already conjuring images of this man suddenly giving you a dangerous smile before chasing after you—your heels hindering your escape as you tried to dash away, tripping and falling, trying to crawl away as he grabbed your hair and—

You shook away the idea, brows furrowed and heart pounding. "That's insane. I don't even know you."

He leaned back slightly, hands sliding into his pockets as he shrugged, eyes dancing with mischief and danger. "We can keep it that way. Add to the thrill. Lay down some ground rules and agreements, of course. A safe word."

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head. "I don't even know your name."

He grinned, the expression making him appear much more boyish and charming. "It's Eddie. Eddie Munson."

You tried to fight the curiosity pricking at your brain and the desire to ask more.

Why did he want this?

Why you?

Was he crazy?

You shook your head, staring at him incredulously. "We've never even kissed. How do you know we're compatible?"

He leaned forward, cupping your cheek and slotting his mouth against yours. His arm snaked around your waist. His lips were intoxicating, and he tasted like tobacco and cinnamon. You felt yourself melt into his touch, his earlier words fueling the flame. Your skin was on fire, and your core thrummed with need.

He pulled away before you lost yourself in him, a cocky grin clear on his face. He looked at you, eyes searching your face as you remained in a daze, before trying to shake yourself out of it.

There's no way you're going along with this. It's insane.

"No. That's crazy," you snapped, heading off toward the house, heart thrumming and your skin screaming at the loss of sensual bliss.

"Too bad," he called out, lighting another cigarette. "We could've had fun together."

You felt shame and desire swirl in your belly as you huffed and stomped off to escape the party, all the while wondering if you made the right decision.

When you got home, you tried to wipe Eddie from your mind by focusing on another dark fantasy.

You slipped out of your stained dress, keeping on your lacy thong and bra. Grabbing your headphones, you turned to your playlist to begin your weekly ritual earlier than usual.

Corroded Coffin began playing in your ears as you thought of the lead singer, Acheron, his deep and sultry voice caressing your ears. His mask, designed to look like a faceless devil, excited you.

You didn't know what he looked like.

But you desired him intensely.

No one in your company or friend group knew about your love for Corroded Coffin. The metal band was a local legend, playing shows throughout town while wearing masks to hide their identities. They had attracted women who were drawn to the mystery, and you were part of that devoted following.

One fateful night after seeing them live, you took things further. At home, picturing Acheron, you touched yourself. Something possessed you to snap a polaroid right as you climaxed, capturing only your hand in your panties and your mouth open in a moan. After coming down from your high, you wrote a letter—a diary entry of sorts—to Acheron. In a daze, you mailed both the letter and photo a week later, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

Now you did it almost every week, sending photos to Corroded Coffin's P.O. Box in town.

It was strange, perhaps even creepy or perverted, but you couldn't help it. It felt liberating to do something so...filthy. Especially when you usually played it safe.

As the guitar picked up speed and Acheron's voice filled your ears, you lay on your bed. Your hands traced downward, caressing your breasts before sliding under your thong. You began readying yourself, circling your already swollen clit. Images flashed through your mind: his mask looming over you, his body shrouded in black, his hands pinning yours down.

You moaned, your back arching as pleasure built, your other hand tugging and playing with your nipples. Your mind filled with more imagery—Acheron growling in your ear, his words filthy. Your clit throbbed as you continued to play with it, your pleasure mounting. Acheron thrusting into you brutally, hand poised at your throat. You were so close. Then Acheron's mask tilted up slightly and it was Eddie—

Before you could stop yourself or halt that train of thought, you came, racing to snap a picture. You moaned loudly, gasping as you crashed from your high more intensely than usual.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands, your stomach twisting.

You needed to stop thinking of him.

The following week consisted of harsh training regimes and constant rehearsals for a show months away. You were tired and kept busy, but not busy enough that you could ensure you wouldn't find yourself every night and morning falling apart to pleasure yet again, Eddie's smirk at the forefront of your dangerous fantasies.

You had just done this for probably the 13th time when you sighed and resigned.

You needed to get this out of your system.

You texted Steve after that, shocked when he immediately texted you back.

Yeah, I know Eddie. Why? What's up?

If he came off a little strong; sorry about that. He's a bit of a drama queen sometimes.

You quickly made some excuse about needing to thank him for the help with Jonathan, feeling your heart race in your chest. Steve sent you his number, letting you know that Eddie worked as a tattoo artist and piercer in his free time outside of music, so he may not respond for a bit.

You messaged the number, shaking your hands as you typed out an excuse. You introduced yourself and thanked him for helping with Jonathan, leaving a vague 'Can we talk?' at the end.

Meet me at the Hideout tonite, 10:00 pm.

You chewed on your nail as you read the message, heart fluttering and cunt thrumming with desire.

You changed about six times before settling on a casual outfit: a cute top and jeans. You did your makeup and tried to hype yourself up for the conversation.

You were sitting in a booth at the bar, an espresso martini in front of you, fiddling nervously on your phone.

Eddie strolled in later, ordering a single beer before heading over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. He sat down in front of you, seeming casual. You felt confused and nervous, taking a sip of your drink for courage before speaking.

“So…about that offer…”

He stared at you intently, brown eyes pining you to the spot.

You fiddled with your clothes, trying to avoid Eddie's eyes.

"How would it…work? Hypothetically," You mumbled, staring down at your drink.

"Eyes on me, dove," Eddie said, voice clear and stern.

A shiver of excitement went up your spine, your body already responding to the authoritative tone in his voice.

"We should talk about limits first, what's off the table the first time and completely," he said coolly, his eyes intensely looking at you as you felt your face get hot.

"Yeah…uh… let's do that." You cleared your throat, taking a sip from your drink to soothe your nerves.

"I think we should start less intense, something like a home invasion or coercion…but no weapons…this time," You say, your voice thick with lust.

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Got it. Is weapons something you would be okay with? Something for me to work towards and earn?" He casually offers the idea of having your life in his hands. Somehow, that turned you on even more. You nodded breathlessly.

"Weapons like knives would be fine later. Degradation and humiliation are fine… I don't want any body fluids other than…spit and cum. I don't want any degradation regarding my body. Or anyone else involved. And no videos or photos, just to be safe. I don't mind getting roughed up, but we should have a safe word beforehand. And no anal the first time," You practically blurted out, all your fantasies seeming to leak out in one sentence.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully, his eyes darkening in the most lustful gaze, his tongue edging to wet his lips. You felt hot, your thighs rubbing together as your pulse quickened and your cunt throbbed.

"Okay. I can work with that. I mostly have the same limits. I don't mind you fighting back or running. But if we are ever caught or someone asks, you have to tell the truth about what we have going on here, no matter how embarrassed you are," he said seriously, his brow arching.

You nodded, taking a sip to try and calm your shaking hands and quivering heart. "Yeah, of course." The alcohol was begging to loosen your tongue and make your mind swim with fantasies of the two of you.

"Our safe word could be the color system, red for stop, yellow for pause or slow down."

Eddie smirked a bit at that cocking his head at you. "You know, despite appearing meek, you seem to know a lot about dominant and submissive scenes. Have you ever done anything like this before?" He took a drink from his beer.

You shook your head. "No…but I've done research. The internet is a fantastic place," you joked, trying to ignore the throbbing need between your legs.

Eddie nodded, taking off his leather jacket and standing up, the jacket slunt over one arm and hanging in front of him.

He had a hard-on.

You swallowed, looking up at him.

He smiled down at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll text you when and where to meet me and the basic idea of what we'll do."

You felt wetness build up even more and slight annoyance. "You're just leaving?"

Eddie laughed a bit, his dimples making his charm even more evident, your heart thumping out of your chest.

Damn, he was attractive.

"We'll have our time together later."

You nodded, sipping on your drink and looking at his back retreat as he left.

You'd never felt so excited and nervous about a text in your life.

That fateful, chilly Friday evening, you received a text. You were at rehearsal and had let Eddie know your schedule, alongside the results of your STI check-up, which you had both sent for safety purposes. He sent his just a few days later. Both clean. The company was beginning to come alive once again after the holidays, and you were worried about the show season.

You didn’t see the text until that night after sitting down in the dressing room, groaning from the pain, your feet pinched, your muscles sore. You rolled your neck and stretched, wincing at the release and popping. You began undoing the ribbons on your pointe shoes and pulling them off, sighing in relief once your feet were free from the shoes and the spacers and gels. You frowned at the beautiful implements of torture, noticing how much the shank and box had softened. They were definitely inching towards being dead, which was no surprise with all the training and rehearsing you had been doing. You put the shoes in your bag, making a note to try and look through the company’s pairs later that weekend. You pulled out your phone, looking down at the message and feeling your body alight with desire at the mere sight of the text.

Don’t get dressed. Stay after the rehearsal in the dressing room. I’ll find you.

You gasped softly, looking around to make sure none of your fellow company members heard or saw your text. Your mind raced, curious as to what his plan was. Was he going to play an obsessed fan? A game of cat and mouse?

Your fellow dancers were too busy getting out of costumes, putting on oversized shirts and sweats, taking out bobby pins, and discussing what they’d eat once they headed home. You sat a while, not in your costume but still in your flesh-toned leotard and tights, your dramatic stage makeup still done.

“Aren’t you gonna get dressed, Y/N?”

You turned your head to look up at your friend, Chrissy, a fellow dancer. She was already wearing a cozy pink sweater, along with some leggings and little boots. Her strawberry blonde and wavy hair was free from the migraine-inducing bun it had been in previously.

You shook your head, pulling out a warm-up skirt and standing up to wrap it around you. The thin material did not hide the expanse of your legs but made you feel less vulnerable. You suddenly wished you had worn your beautiful maroon leotard with lace rather than this one for warm-up, feeling like the material shade made it appear as though you were topless. You sat back down and placed on leg warmers to keep from feeling the chill while looking at Chrissy.

“No, I think I may stay after…try to get in some practice on that fouette turn sequence. I keep feeling like I’m not staying in place and leaning.”

She nodded but gave you a concerned look. “Just don’t work too hard. You were so laser-focused today I thought you were some ballet robot,” She teased, nudging your shoulder. You smiled softly, nodding. You had been so laser-focused to avoid your brain slipping into thoughts of Eddie and his large hands and dangerous smile.

Chrissy waved bye to you after leaving, and the drones of dancers, all chatting and bundling up to head out into the cold, seemed to tag along behind her.

You chewed on your lip, relieved that the stage crews left early tonight on this rare occasion, and the director of the company had wished you all a good night, also chiming in for you to not stay too late to practice. You were left alone now, your chest thrumming, your body ignited with desire and fear. You had been sitting idly, playing on your phone and stretching a bit as time passed. You sighed in disappointment as the lights backstage automatically went off, and no one was moving, so you decided to grab your bags and leave.

When you waved your arms and looked up, turning your head to the mirror to grab for your things, you saw him.

He was standing there, clad entirely in black from head to toe. He wore a black mask with a blood-splattered skull over the top of his face, similar to the ones you had seen the crew for Corroded Coffin wear at concerts. He had on a black leather trench coat with the collar popped up, his worn combat boots on his feet the only giveaway. Even his rings were gone, replaced by black gloves. He breathed heavily, eyeing you. Your heart raced, but at the same time, it felt like your desire built, your breasts straining against the tight leotard, your legs shaking.

The danger was thrilling. Yes, you knew this was Eddie. He had the same build, the same boots you had seen at the party, and the same eyes. But the slight off chance that this could be some crazed stranger? That made you shake.

“What do you want?” You called out shakily, trying to reach your bag slowly to pretend to pull out a weapon.

“Don’t,” he growled, voice much huskier and dripping with lust than the last time you spoke. Your cunt seemed to throb at the words, already building up wetness despite not even being touched yet. He stalked you; his walk was much more calculated, and his gait made you instinctively shrink, feeling like prey.

You could smell his crisp, clean green apple shampoo as he came close, and though his mouth was closed and barely visible through the hole in the mask, you could detect a hint of cinnamon and tobacco. His eyes were the same warm brown, but they had an edge. The pupils were so big that the soft brown was a ring around the deep black. He stepped until you were chest to chest, and you nearly whimpered from the friction of fabric against your nipples, your leotard providing a little barrier. He flexed a hand before reaching out to touch your face. You flinched, not because you thought he would hurt you, but because you felt your nerves alight.

It was like a shock of adrenaline to your system. You felt painfully alive under his sharp gaze and predatory stance.

He held your face gently before gripping it, squeezing your cheeks to cause your face to pout. His voice was low and held authority, his eyes staring deep into your own. “I’ve been watching you, little dove. So prim and polite…so delicate. Like glass…” He squeezed your face a bit more, making you whimper, your eyes widening as your pulse picked up.

“But I know that’s not the truth,” he growled before coming near your ear, voice lowering to a whisper but somehow making the hairs on your neck stand up more than the growl. “I see you at night, wanton and needy…touching yourself to the idea of someone breaking you…praying for company…begging some heavenly figure to send you the most sinful pleasures…”

You felt your heart thump loudly in your chest, your face heating, and your skin seemed to build desire, your nipples aching to be touched, your clit thrumming with need.

Eddie’s hand let go of your face, his glove running down your neck, the soft, warm cotton against your cold skin making you shake. His hand ran from your collarbone up the back of your neck to cup your head. His tone was condescending, his voice laced with humor. “You just need someone to break you, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body shaking in his grip, eyes looking up into his own as you fought back a moan. “N-no, please, I just need to go-”

He growled, fingers going to lace through the roots of your hair instead and tugging, making you cry out. His voice was animalistic. “Shut the fuck up.”

You whimpered, feeling your legs weaken even more as your thighs rubbed together to relieve the ache somehow.

Eddie pulled you along by the hair slowly, seemingly looser than before, so as not to hurt you. Soft whines left your throat as you followed him, taking note that he was pulling you into the stage, recognizing the area even with the stage lights and audience lights off, the slight gleam of the glow tape on the floor your only light. He let go of your roots, the pull at your scalp loosening but not lessening your desire. Your heart picked up, the drumming loud in your ear.

What was he going to do to you?

He pulled back a bit, and you could barely make out his shape. His dark clothes made him even harder to see in the dark. His voice was a whisper, a low and sultry song to your ears.

“Perform for me, little dove.”

You blinked a few times, the words sinking in. “W-what?”

A snarl left his throat, his words sharp. “You heard me. Dance for me…show me you deserve to fly and be free.” A devilish grin came across his face as he stared at you, his piercings and teeth barely visible in the dark. “After all, I like to play with my meal before I eat it.”

You swallowed and nodded, breathing in deeply and feeling how your skin still was ignited like an electric shock, your body so responsive to the beast that Eddie had become.

You stood in 3rd position and began to dance, allowing yourself to get lost in the movement, feeling something come over you. You weren’t doing the steps in the show; your movement was more freeing, and your body was moving as though you were trying to invite Eddie. Your hips rolled as your arms slid up your body before turning and leaping, falling to the floor. While on the floor, you crawled to Eddie like a willing dog, looking up to him, panting with need. You felt possessed…and it felt delicious.

Eddie’s jaw was tight under the mask, his eyes barely visible, but you felt the barely caged desire as he hissed. “Fuck.” His hand went down to his pants, popping open the button before pulling out his length. You stared in awe, saliva building in your mouth, your cunt pulsing around nothing at the sight of the thick cock. It was so pretty. You never thought a cock would be pretty…but he was. The darkness made it hard to distinguish shades or the color of his cock, but you could see he was slightly curved and girthy. He had prominent veins and precum leaking out of his slit. You experimentally licked it, nearly moaning at the heady taste and the way his hip thrust up to your mouth, groans softly leaving his mouth.

He thrust gently into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head of him and making work to lick the head as you sucked his shaft. You felt yourself get wetter as you continued to bob your head back and forth, the width of Eddie making your mouth so full. That just added to the growing desire in your stomach, making you think of how full he would fill you. You continued to suck, and Eddie’s gloved hand gripped at his own jeans, his voice hoarse.

“Fuck, dove.”

You hummed around his cock before he pulled you off him, his cock standing painfully stiff now and slick before he shoved you down. You whimpered, falling backward as he leaned over you, staring down at you. He took a pause before tearing at your leotard, peeling it off you, and leaning down. He inhaled deeply at your sweat-covered form, groaning. His tongue darted out to lick and nip underneath your tits, reveling in the sweat and primality of it all. You writhed under him, his wet tongue and the cold metal of his piercings against your heated skin making you all the more sensitive. He began kissing down your body, his gloved hands pinning your own arms to your side. You shifted beneath him, whines leaving your throat. He growled, nipping at your stomach right above your glistening pussy.

“Keep fucking still.”

You bit your lip, trying to quiet the sounds escaping you, as Eddie moved one hand to push your legs until your thighs were to your chest. He stared down at your wet cunt, a dark chuckle escaping his lips.

“And you pretend to be so innocent.”

He parted your dripping folds, licking one broad stripe up to your clit, making your back arch, and you whimper. You continued to beg, your mind drunk on this feeling. “Please, please…I’ll be good…”

His sharp laugh made your breath catch as he shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t be dripping for me like this if you were good.” He dove back down between your thighs, flicking his tongue against your clit and dipping it into your entrance. You felt your nerves ignite, like you were about to tip over, only for him to pull away. Your clit was swollen, and he stared at it, smirking. He looked at you, his tongue licking a flat, broad stripe again before sucking on your clit. You felt your body shake, the pleasure rolling in intense waves, your cunt clenching around nothing.

This was heaven. Or hell. You couldn’t decide. All your past exes had managed to get you off, but often, it was due to you helping yourself. And there was nothing wrong with that, indeed. But Eddie…Eddie understood. His commandeering tone, his danger. Hell, this was your soft introduction to primal play, consensual nonconsent, and even BDSM.

Eddie continued sucking, pulling your orgasm out of you. The pain in your overstimulated clit kicking in as you tried to push him off, not truly trying and whimpering at his dedication, shaking his head as you felt your clit painfully throb and your body arch again, a broken cry nearly falling from your lips before Eddie slapped a gloved hand over your mouth. Tears were building at the corner of your eyes, your chest heaving as you felt loose. Your pussy was still clenching around nothing, your body begging to be released from his spell.

You felt the pain increase to the brink of pleasure, your eyes welling with tears and your body arching off the stage, your head thrown back as you tried to choke down whimpers and moans, crashing into your orgasm headfirst rather than building a crescendo. Eddie pulled away, his mask and mouth glistening with you, a smirk on his lips. He crashed his lips into yours, making you moan against his mouth. You were dazed. Eddie consumed your body and whole being.

As Eddie pulled away, he pinned your arms above your head, snarling down at you as he thrust into you suddenly, causing you to cry out. Tears rolled down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensation, and you squirmed beneath Eddie, caught in this role of being his prey...the idea making you so slick you swore you were dripping onto the stage.

"Please-please, I'll do anything, I-"

Eddie barked a laugh while continuously thrusting before leaning in, voice condescending as he mocked you, the humiliation making your face burn but your cunt clench around him.

"Aw...you don't want this? Are you sure? Because your pussy is taking me so well, dove."

Eddie's face leaned in as he moaned, eyes nearly rolling back at the sight of your tears, before licking a hot stripe up your cheek, catching your tears and moaning at it. "God, I love to see your pretty little makeup run," He growled in your ear, the sentence pulling a shiver and whimper from you.

He was thrusting into you in a way that was deep but not too fast, making your hands clench around nothing and your body beg for release. He continued to thrust at this mind-blowing deep rhythm before placing one of his hands under your thigh and pushing it up to your chest again, making his thrusts feel as if they were brushing against the most electrifying spot and causing your moans to grow louder. Eddie chuckled darkly before picking up the pace, his hips snapping against yours. "There we fucking go..."

You whimpered, the pleasure building up again as your body begged for release, your mouth beginning to allow pleading to tumble out of it. "Please, I just-Please...oh god...I'm close-"

Eddie's grin grew dark and dangerous yet somehow inviting. In its haze, your brain was reminded of the nursery rhyme about a crocodile's smile being inviting but devouring you. Right as the thought crossed your mind, you felt Eddie sit up to thrust deeper, making the pressure build, the growing pleasure almost pushing you over the edge. Eddie continued thrusting as he used his teeth to pull off one glove, the action itself making you clench around him. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as his voice growled out. "Careful, dove." He placed his thumb on his tongue a bit, licking it, before placing the digit against your swollen clit. He rubbed the appendage in slow circles, making you hiss as you felt your orgasm crash into you, the pleasure continuing as he didn't pull away and instead increased his pace, growling above you.

"Fuck...so tight, dove...such a pretty pussy...all for me...fuck-fuck, shit...I'm gonna fucking cum...gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine...fu-fuck!" Eddie growled, his hips nearly bruising yours from the pace. You felt the pleasure mix with the pain of the overstimulation, your moans no longer being held back as your back arched, and you thought you felt yourself tighten and push Eddie out, the sensation of an extreme release and wetness. You laid there, nearly seeing stars. You were fucked stupid and dazed, trying to catch your breath. Your body was awake yet so tired. You blinked slowly as Eddie looked shocked yet wild down at you. He pulled off his mask now, curls wild and his chest rising and falling as he pushed back his hair from his face, a bewildered laugh in his voice.

"Holy fuck...you just squirted."

You felt your body tense slightly as you sat up, your eyes wide, your cheeks heated, and your chest tightened. You stared down, seeing the wet spot against the wood, Eddie's cum dripping out of you, along with your own wetness, a puddle around your thighs. Eddie's cock was still hard, cum dripping from the slit and your wetness dripping off of it. Before the sense of shame or embarrassment could kick in, Eddie leaned in and kissed you, his mouth nearly bruising you. He pulled away from the kiss, panting, his mouth in a grin that was hard to see due to the dark but evident in his voice.

"Fuck...that was hot."

You laughed, nodding, feeling the worry in your chest fade away. Eddie got up, walked over to a bag he seemed to have hidden near the side of the stage, and briefly turned on the stage lights. He came over to you with warm wipes, water, and the change of clothes from your bag. He kneeled next to you, handing you the water and wiping the cloth delicately at your entrance, the cold material making you hiss a bit but helping soothe your swollen cunt. Eddie wiped himself down before tucking himself back into his jeans. The two of you were quiet other than the occasional "You okay?" but Eddie assisted you in drinking water and getting dressed, even cleaning the floor. When you both stood up, you nearly dropped in embarrassment as you could now see the giant wet spot against the front of his jeans. Eddie noticed your expression and looked down, chuckling a bit before looking up, a smirk on his face and lust in his eyes yet again. His eyes danced with desire.

"Looks like I get to walk away with a prize...something to help tide me over until I can see you again."

Your chest tightened as you nodded and chewed on your lip, walking with Eddie to turn off the light and grab your bag. He insisted on walking you to your car and helping you close up, taking time to ensure you were safe and okay. Right before he walked away, Eddie grabbed your hand, squeezing it and smiling gently.

"I had fun, little dove. Until next time?"

You nodded, smiling softly and feeling your heart pick up at the idea of having your body experience otherworldy pleasure like that again. "Yeah...I'd like that."

Eddie's charming grin returned as he kissed your cheek. "I'll text you." He jogged off to his bike, tossing on his helmet and hopping on. Your eyes stared as he rode away, and your thighs clenched at the sight. You leaned your head against your steering wheel, your whole face burning as you whimpered to yourself.

"Fuck."

Eddie's POV

Eddie stood in his dressing room, staring down at the latest letter, a sense of amusement and surprise mixing as he stared at the photo. The Polaroid, this time, was signed a kiss of red lipstick he'd only just come to know, the knowledge making his jeans tighten against his cock.

The letters he had received from you were often explicit, the feminine writing and sticker-covered envelopes often in juxtaposition to your filthy thoughts. This latest letter was about how desperately you wanted him to fuck you backstage, risking hundreds of fans hearing your whimpers and moans, perhaps even a crew member or two catching you. Eddie smirked at the thought, shaking his head. It was a stroke of luck that he had found you at that party; his focus at the time was to keep Jeff and Gareth from trouble. He had been leaning against the fence when he heard your ex...Johnny?...blabbing loudly about your CNC kink. Eddie had attempted to ignore the dangling bait, but his mind got the better, and he was curious. He had walked over, noticing how caring you seemed to be, despite the absolute asshole loudly exposing your kinks.

Eddie sometimes spoke without thinking, but this time, there was much more thought behind his proposition. Eddie had tried endless times to discuss his kinks with people he was interested in, but each time, it ended in disgust or fear. Eddie knew it was fucked up to desire people's fear and playing an evil character. Eddie had discussed the guilt in therapy endlessly but kept circling back to the fantasies. He figured, why not just offer? Maybe you desired it just as much. You had first been shocked and tried to hide your interest with anger, but Eddie heard how your breath caught or saw how your pupils widened. When you reached back out, Eddie couldn't deny that he was thrilled. The experience was mindblowing and had him thinking endlessly of you.

And then this little envelope came in the mail, the weekly letter he so often looked forward to. Eddie hadn't even thought of it but opened the letter nonetheless. He spotted the Polaroid, staring at it before his breath caught in his throat. In the photo, Eddie recognized your body. Yes, it had been dark that night, but even without the lights, he recognized your shape. He spotted the phone case he had seen on your phone at the party and the theatre, his chest tight and his stomach twisting.

Now he was sitting there, his cock hard and a smirk on his face as he processed the knowledge. You were filthy, a perfect little ballerina in public and a caretaker in public, when in reality, you wanted someone to take control...someone to wipe all thoughts from your brain and fuck you stupid. Eddie looked up at the clock, noting the time before locking his dressing room door and sitting back down, unbuttoning his jeans before pulling his cock out, spitting in his right hand before grasping his hardened dick. He hissed at the chilly contact, his skin scorching and his cock nearly throbbing with desire. He began stroking, his mind wandering as he started a rhythm.

You on your knees, eyes full of tears as Eddie fucked your throat, moans lost on his cock-

You running in the woods away from Eddie, him catching you by a sleeve, causing you to fall into the dirt. Your usually pristine clothes are torn and covered in mud, your eyes wild as you attempt to push him off you. Eddie grins as he holds a knife up to glint at you in the moonlight. You freeze, and Eddie sees the fear and desire mixing in your eyes as he has the knife gently against your chest, tracing down your body. Your breath catches as you whimper and beg-

Eddie sits at a table; you are tied up to a chair, eyes searching wildly as your mouth is gagged. You squirm in the seat as Eddie reads your letters condescendingly, your face embarrassed, and your eyes widen in shame and horror. Eddie continues to read and takes note as you pant, and your thighs attempt to rub together, your lust evident despite the situation. Eddie then has you lean over a table as he removes the gag, making you read aloud your filthy fantasies before thrusting into you at a mind-numbing pace, your words lost in your moans and whimpers, Eddie taking time to shame you, calling you a filthy slut and smacking your ass as he pumps into you-

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Eddie hissed, grabbing a tissue quickly before he cums, feeling his balls tighten as he nearly sees white, the orgasm crashing over him.

He sits there for a minute before wiping himself off, the hungry beast within him now even more hungry for you. He sat staring at your photo, his mind racing with what to do with this information, but he found himself chuckling and dragging a hand down his face, his mind now completely absorbed with thoughts of you. He stood up, rushing to change, covering himself in a black button-up and form-fitting pants alongside his combat boots before painting around his eyes in black, slipping on his dark blood-red demon mask, staring in the mirror for a second before taking off his rings and sliding on his leather half gloves. He saw his mouth smirk in the mirror, his mind flashing with one thought before grasping his guitar and heading to the stage.

He would play a little with his food before letting you know the power you had over him...

To be continued?

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lokis-army-77 · 3 days ago

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Shattered Glass（2004）

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lokis-army-77 · 4 days ago

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Reblog if you're a fanfic writer and you wanna know what your followers' favorite story of yours is ❤

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lokis-army-77 · 13 days ago

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love, meteors, and clark kent's accidental flight

a/n: this was purely inspired by the fact i totally interpreted that final kiss in the film as clark just being so enraptured he didn't even notice he was flying tehe

Working at the Daily Planet, you - like everyone with eyes - are particularly enamoured with Clark Kent. A meteor and a spilled secret later, he shows you just how enamoured with you he is. spoiler-free, fem!reader, 7k, all fluff babey <3

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You always hear him before you see him—though the ding of the elevator is a dead giveaway.

A glance at the clock tells you it’s 9:07am. Not the latest he's been, but it's definitely getting there.

"You're late, Kent."

"Sorry, sorry."

There's a smattering of murmured apologies being given out behind you, soft, fast footsteps, and then something is placed beside you. An iced latte rings the beginnings of a water-mark on your desk.

You look up, already smiling. "Please don't tell me you were late because you were getting me this."

Clark, ruffled and clutching his briefcase in one hand, balancing a tray of coffees in the other, pauses in his hurried motions. He looks down at you guiltily.

His mouth twists, a poor attempt to hold back a smile. You're thankful, if only for the fact you're particularly prone to your most foolish moments when Clark Kent smiles at you.

"Alright," he says. "I won't tell you."

Your eyes track him as he rounds the desk, slanting up his briefcase to deposit it. His response has only made you smile harder. You hide it behind a sip of your coffee.

Upon first taste, a pleased sigh escapes you. The drink is perfectly sweetened, creamy and icy-sweet. You have to force yourself not to chug half of it in one go.

The logo, forest green, printed across the front catches your attention.

Just to check, you glimpse at the other cups in Clark’s tray. He delivers one to Jimmy, his head buried in his laptop, and one to Lois, who hums her thanks. Another to Cat and one to Ron.

Each of their cups are a boring beige - which he’s gone out of his way for you specifically.

“You shouldn’t have,” You say, as Clark sits down opposite you at his desk, his hands finally free. He looks up, expression innocent, and his glasses slide an inch down his nose.

You twist the cup to face him, the only coffee from a different store than the others. “Really.”

Clark shrugs, nudging his glasses back up almost sheepishly. You can almost convince yourself that his ears are a shade pinker.

“It’s the one you like, isn’t it?” He gestures with a pen.

“That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

He’s being unbelievably genuine. As if, of course he’d go the extra distance for you.

“Yes, Clark,” You say, much less firmly than you’re hoping for. Your smile weakens it even more. “It is.”

A ping on your laptop saves you from having the sputter through your exact reasoning on why it’s beside the point.

You tend to it hastily, pointedly ignoring your hot coworkers expression. It’s not smugness — Clark could never be — but it’s something damn close.

He knows he’s right. You know he’s also sort of right too. He's perfectly allowed to do nice things for you. It’s just…

Clark Kent is a man who is too good to be true.

First of all, he’s nice. Awfully nice. Clark goes out of his way to help others.

He opens doors, is always the one with his arm out, holding the elevator, and he never minds the awkward wait for the last person to catch up.

He offers to carry bags, insisting even, then loads them over his arms like they weigh nothing.

You’ve seen him hail a cab for an old lady. He gets coffee for everyone around your corner of the bullpen. He’s nice.

And he seems to do it for the sake of being nice too.

Then there’s also the fact that… Well, you have eyes.

That is to say, he’s handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair and light eyes. He’s double-take-on-the-street-handsome.

He’s a gentleman too, polite and never overstepping. In fact, sometimes you think he’s loud on purpose, rustling as he moves about so he never accidentally catches you off guard.

That combination— the kindness of his character and his attractive appearance —is killer to a girl like you.

And anyone with eyes and a brain, in your humble opinion.

It’s why you’re also 100% sure, without even asking, that he’s already snatched up and locked down.

A man like that, single? In Metropolis? Ha!

Nevermind that he’s never technically mentioned a partner. Clark’s on the reserved side. You know about the same as everyone else; a small town farm boy from Kansas turned big city journalist.

Though, he did mention he was looking after his cousin’s dog to you the other week—after he caught you scrolling the SPCA’s page. You wonder how many people he’s told that to.

Wordlessly, you glance up, peering over the dividers between desks.

Clark’s engaged in his work, as you should be, a furrow between his brows. Despite all that you’ve just outlined, despite him being your coworker, there’s still a tug. You can’t resist the daydream.

Besides, there’s no real harm in a sweet and secret work crush.

No harm other than to perhaps your own ego—which happens every time you catch yourself mooning over him like a muppet.

Nose twitching, you force your eyes down. A new email slides onto your screen, blinking its high priority at you. You sigh, resisting the urge to look back up. It’s a fun daydream, but you have work to do.

You take another sip of your coffee — and in doing so, miss the gaze that lingers on your lips.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Living in Metropolis, two things are a given for all citizens.

1. Some part of your life has been interrupted by intergalactic aliens and 2. You have an opinion on Superman.

These two things usually go hand-in-hand, often when the first thing crashes into your life, forcing the second.

Though, in your experience, most Metropolitans have a handful of words prepared on whether the metahuman is more menace or hero.

As a journalist yourself, you’re surprisingly middle of the road.

Alien attacks suck. Superman does his best to intervene, saving people first, buildings second. Fallout is mitigated, but ultimately inevitable.

You see more of it than usual. You’re the Daily Planet’s man on the ground — out in the fray, it’s generally your notes that veto whatever else is circulating around the news hubbub; Superman action included.

Of course, you’ve not quite managed to snag an interview with the man himself.

That is a Clark Kent exclusive, which infuriates you just a smidge. You suppose it’s good for Superman that Clark favours painting him in a good light.

Today, you’re not even out for a Superman-esque story — your tape-recorder, an old-school thing, whirs loudly on the table to get a quote from the Mayor’s office — but as you track the meteor heading straight for a skyscraper, you figure it’s just one of those days.

“Please excuse me,” You say, reaching out to pause your tape.

The man before you, focus stolen and solely on the incoming meteor through the window, doesn’t respond. His mouth has opened a fraction, in surprise.

You figure he’ll understand you stepping out.

The door chime announces your exit and you get a closer look at today’s threat.

The meteor is a concerning flaming purple colour. A trail, dark and murky, traces its path in the sky. If you strain your ears, you can hear it—a faint whistle, like a shriek picking up volume as it approaches.

You don’t bother taking notes. There’ll be footage streamed online within the minute.

Pocketing your tape-recorder, you straighten your jacket and try to map the trajectory. You squint.

If you had to bet money, you’d guess it’s heading straight for the Harmony block apartments on 7th St - if it’s not intercepted, that is.

Sniffing for the story, you tuck your hands in your pockets and begin to head in that direction.

Dotted throughout the street, people have begun to stop and stare, their worried mutters paired with pointed fingers. Cars screech to a halt and impatient drivers honk their unhappiness.

An odd apprehension tinges the air. A nervous hush settles down amongst the streets.

You wind through the crowds of people easily, keeping a close eye on the violet-coloured projectile. You don’t want to get too close. You’re not stupid — you just need to get close enough to scrape together the important details.

Regular ol’ meteor? Intergalactic version of a catapult flung towards Earth with intent to harm?

Your brows furrow in thought, mind whirring, as you sidestep a halted couple, murmuring your excuse me’s.

Without taking your eyes off the meteor, you fumble around to find your notepad in your bag, You hand bangs against your tape-recorder in your pocket, hitting record.

“Well, what is it?” An older lady remarks.

She’s too blind to see it properly you’d guess, evidenced by her thick-glasses and heavy squint. “Some sort of bird?”

“It’s definitely not a plane,” Someone else in the crowd mutters.

The shriek of the meteor gets louder, its burn transforming to an auburn colour as it tears through the atmosphere. You’re just a couple blocks away from Harmony apartments when you hear it, a familiar sonic boom! that sets you stumbling for a moment.

Something has taken flight.

Just in time as well. An awful crackling noise has pierced through the shrieking of the meteor. Shimmers of light, brighter than the flaming auburn, begin to reach out from within the rock like stretched out fingers.

It’s at this point you have the sense to stop walking toward it.

And as if on cue, the meteor fractures with a loud burst.

The structure crumbles, torn into a handful of pieces and they quickly careen out in various directions. They’re faster now, propelled by the delayed blast.

“Shit.” you say astutely.

There’s a funny thing about things falling right in your line of vision; they can appear to stop moving completely.

You watch, perplexed, as a large chunk of the meteor seems to hover in place, then rise up, then slowly, slowly it dawns on you that it’s rapidly growing in size. You realise with a spike of horror that it’s heading right for you.

“Shit.” you say again, more panicked this time.

This is not what you meant when you said you’re out in the fray. Feet backtracking, you stumble over yourself before realising going backward isn’t your best bet.

You course-correct, before finally realising you aren’t the only one in the crosshairs of this rogue rock.

Your head whips around, left to right. People are staring at the incoming meteor, but not enough have realised what you already had.

“Move,” you say, too quietly. People can’t seem to break their horrified stares. The strange roar of the meteor deafens as it gets closer.

“Move! Everybody move!”

Something in your voice overrides their frozen instincts. A frantic energy surges through the crowd around you, people beginning to move with haste, bleating their fear.

You swallow your relief as the space begins to clear out and you follow them closely, casting another glance around.

Your gaze catches.

A lone child stands in the middle of the rapidly clearing street, a little girl swathed in maroon and confusion. Her little face searches for the reason for the obvious distress washing over the street, despair beginning to sink in.

Limbs freezing, your eyes comb through the crowd desperately, hoping to spot a parent fighting their way back to them - to no avail.

Horror shoves up your throat at the thought of her alone, waiting, unaware of the danger. You move without thinking.

You manage all of one step, then there’s a blur of blue that stops you. Suddenly, the girl is right before you - and so is Superman.

“Hello.” He says politely.

“Hi.” you breathe.

He’s got one hand on the shoulder of the kid, who’s torn between the shock of travelling at super-speed and seeing Superman himself. Her distress has been wiped away by awe.

Superman looks down, smiling kindly, “You’re safe now.”

He looks back up at you. “I trust I can leave this little one with you til the danger is past?”

“Hi.” you say again, foolishly. Your face flames. “I mean- yes, you can.”

When you look back on this interaction, you’ll undoubtedly be beyond embarrassed. Sue you, you’ve never seen Superman up close before.

Superman smiles again, this time his perfect grin on display. He scans the street around you diligently, sweeping for danger.

“You did a terrific job clearing out the street.”

His focus locks onto the now much closer threat with a more serious expression. You secretly take the moment to appreciate the sharp line of his jaw.

“Now, I’ll be right back,” He assures, looking first at the kid, then up to you. You wonder if his curl just does that. “And then we can find this one’s parents together.”

And with a final friendly squeeze on the kid’s shoulder, he turns and launches into flight, heading right for the incoming meteor.

The next few minutes are a bit of daze after that. You snatch moments of the chaos in the sky as Superman juggles between the pieces of the meteor.

It’s unclear if the plan is to let them ground, but given their hideous continued shrieks, you’re rather relieved when he bats them back up into the atmosphere.

Huh, you think, almost amusedly; it’s almost like superpowered baseball.

Just as they had arrived, the pieces streak back up into the sky, their awful shrieks fading as they disappear from view. You spot a familiar blur tracing their paths. Keeping them out of airspace, no doubt.

The girl, who had taken your hand the moment you offered it, still holds it tightly.

“Is he coming back?”

You turn and smile down at her, stooping down to match her height. Truth is, you’re not sure - but Superman seems like a man of his word.

“He said he would be.” You hope that’s assurance enough. “What’s your name?”

“Maisie.” She tells you, smiling enough to show off a slight snaggle-tooth. Adorable.

“That’s a wonderful name,” You say genuinely. “Who were you with today? Who might be looking for you, hm?”

Somewhere across the city, an ambulance siren wails its cry. The crowds are dispersing from their panic, people getting back on track with the danger now averted. This is Metropolis, after all.

Maisie rattles off how she had been with her aunt, ‘cos it’s Tuesday and she spends every Tuesday with her aunt Tess, and they were on their way to get lunch at Alma’s, ‘cos they always get Alma’s on a Tuesday.

It’s a sandwich store only 2 blocks away. She points with a finger in the general direction.

“Hmm,” You hum, following her finger. “I bet if I was your aunt Tess, I would’ve gone to Alma’s to see if you were there. Do you think we should go see if she’s there?”

Maisie nods, her loose pigtails flying with the motion.

“But what about Superman?” She says before you can straighten up.

“Right here.”

You jump a little, having not heard his arrival. Superman at least has the decency to offer you a sheepish look as he steps up on the other side of Maisie, already offering her a hand.

“Alright there, Miss?” He asks her seriously. She openly gawps up at him and nods faintly, her mouth open.

He smiles. “Great.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours intently. “And you, Miss? I think I can handle getting Maisie here back to where she belongs, if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

Maisie’s petite head swings around to face you. She hasn’t let go of your hand. Or closed her mouth. You think she’s even more starstruck that Superman knows her name.

“Y’know, I think I’d like to see her back into safe hands if that’s alright?”

Something flits across Superman’s expression, but he still only smiles and nods. “Two chaperones are certainly better than one.”

So, the three of you walk the two blocks to Alma’s, with both of Maisie’s hands held the whole way. Aunt Tess is tearfully relieved at her safe return and when she blubbers her thank-you’s, you’re surprised when Superman redirects them to you.

“I had help today,” he says.

Between the sincere thankfulness from Aunt Tess and the warm look from Superman, it’s a challenge not to fluster too much.

Maisie waves goodbye to both of you, her little hands still going wildly as she rounds the corner out of sight — and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Thank you for taking good care of her,” says Superman.

You turn and blink, half-surprised he’s still here.

He surely must be busy with, like, …hero stuff, right? But still, he’s taking the time to thank you.

“Of course.” You say. The words stammer a bit as you’re taken aback by his sincerity.

You find he has a very intense gaze when it’s fixed solely on you.

“Not everyone would have stayed with her the whole time. Or stepped in to begin with.” He commends. “It was brave of you to put yourself in danger to help her, so thank you.”

Now you’re really stunned. You flounder for words and end up biting your tongue so nothing stupid comes out.

In the end, you just say, “Of course.” again.

That makes him smile again. Dimples press into his cheeks. It’s enough to threaten to make you swoon.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.” He nods to you, then steps back and readies himself to fly once more.

“Wait,” The sound of your name pulls you up short. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s, uh, on your case.” He nods to it.

Any other questions are swallowed up by the howl of the wind, air tunnelling around him loudly as he abruptly takes flight. He turns to a blur and you watch the sky, even when there’s nothing left to watch.

The street around you dims, softened, and then its noise filters back in slowly. Cars droning, traffic lights flicking, the murmur of conversation. You hadn’t realised how much all of that had quietened with Superman’s attention on you.

For a long moment, you’re simply stumped on how to feel.

If one’s things for sure, you have a much more concrete opinion on Superman than you did this morning — though nothing you can quite put a finger on.

Admiration? Maybe.

Something else twinges in there, unbidden.

You slip your hands into your pockets to mull it over, surprised when your hand bumps into something unexpected. Curling your fingers around it, you pull it out.

Still whirring away, your tape-recorder sits in the palm of your hand, record button blinking.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

The tape clicks as it pauses, then revolves back with a scribbling sound.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

You hit pause, then hit rewind. Your finger hovers over the play button, contemplating if you’re really going to listen to this part of the tape over and over like a lovesick teenage girl.

You certainly feel like one. The tape must be wearing thin by this point.

Eyes screwing shut, you hit play.

“Take care of yourself, y/n.”

Hitting pause, you groan. You chuck the tape softly to the other end of the couch you’re draped across so you can’t be tempted to play it once more. Then you bury your face in your hands.

“This is getting pathetic.” you mumble to yourself.

The rogue meteor and your subsequent brush with Superman had occurred two whole days ago.

You’re rather thankful it had all gone down on a Friday. It has certainly given you ample time to waste. All of yesterday and today has been spent on that god forsaken tape and the graininess of Superman’s voice.

The audio was a little muffled, given the device had been pocketed away. There’s lots of rustling, louder than anything else, when you’d been running.

But your whole easy conversation with Maisie as she dawdled her way to Alma’s had been captured — including her a million questions for Superman, that he’d dutifully answered.

That’s not quite the part you’re stuck on though.

Sighing, you deflate into the couch. The image of his dimples, his smile, floats in. You have to mentally bat it away.

Man, why do you feel almost like you’re betraying your crush on Clark right now?

You drag your hands away and huff again at your own dramatics. There’s no betraying. Those crushes fall into the exact same box: unfathomable and impossible.

Sitting up, your eyes fall on the tape recorder. You regard it thoughtfully for a moment.

Beyond the selfish reasons you’ve been abusing the tape, there’s also the question of using it for an article. The idea has been circling your mind since Friday, since your first listen.

There’s a reason you’re the man on the ground. Sure, you can write but, well, you’re not quite top quality like Jimmy or Clark or Lois.

This one though, this tape, has you particularly inspired.

Plus, you’re not exactly jazzed at the idea of passing off the recording to one of your coworkers.

Jimmy? He’d probably latch onto your part in it all, some Superman-inspires-citizen-to-do-good angle. The thought makes your nose wrinkle - you don’t want to be the focal point.

Clark? Who already got Superman interviews? It’s hardly worth his time.

And Lois? No chance you’d turn the tape over to her. She’s so sharp, she’d probably notice the scratch in the audio from where you’ve paused and rewound — and then you’d never know peace.

Given your choices, or lack thereof, it really only leaves you with one last option.

Feeling more set than you have all weekend, you push up off the couch and retrieve your laptop. You settle it in your lap and get comfy, folding the screen up.

After a moment, you lean across and grab the tape recorder too, rewinding once more — this time from the very beginning.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

If someone were to describe you, you bet they'd say that today, you have a pep in your step. And screw it, maybe you do!

It's not every day that you get an article published in the Daily Planet, not with your more lackey-level job on the ground.

But it's more than that too. Not only is it published, but it's on the second page.

For some, that's all in a day's work. For you? It's nothing to sneeze at.

It's your most prolific article published to date in your whole year of working at the Daily Planet. You suppose you have some great inspiration to thank for that

And some of your coworkers are kind enough to take notice of your milestone.

Cat had squealed excitedly her congrats in the elevator earlier, whilst Jimmy had given you a nod of approval from across the bullpen. You're practically walking on air as you drop down into your seat.

For a change, Clark isn't late today.

Glimpsing the time, you watch him subtly out the corner of your eye as he spends the last few free minutes dropping a round of coffee.

The crush in you aches. You bury your yearning beneath your best attempt at looking busy, studying your computer screen.

It's broken instantly when Clark sits across from you and your eyes flit up at the movement.

He's already looking at you. With both hands on the cup, he holds your regular iced latte and presents it forward like a precious gift.

To you, it is. You wonder if it's written on your face, with how you can't bite back your smile.

"I'm sorry I can't get something better to celebrate with." He says as you relieve him of the cup. The condensation clings to your fingers, but you can only focus on the brush of his fingers.

"Celebrate?"

Clark's brow furrows. He regards you with a look that says you know what.

"It's only second page." You downplay.

Like you hadn't done a little dance when you got the email that Perry had greenlit it for the second page.

"Only?" Clark exclaims. If you didn't know better, you'd have no idea he'd copped multiple front page articles for the Planet. "C'mon, you must have some plans for a celebration."

If you're being honest, said plans included curling up on your couch and gorging yourself on Chinese food. Not quite a celebration, but still a treat for you.

"Not really." You admit honestly. The attention from him is making you bashful - and truthful.

Clark shakes his head at that. He plants his hands on the desk and leans forward, looking at you seriously over the rim of his glasses. "That just won't do. Let's do dinner."

After a moment, he seems to realise how pushy that might seem. Clearly (and thankfully), your glee is well-hidden as he retracts in a bit, sitting a bit straighter.

"I mean, that is- if you'd like. Would you?" He clears his throat. "Like to go to dinner?"

You have to wrestle to keep the grin from splitting on your face. Magically, you muster the calm to take a sip of your coffee, pretending to mull it over.

Across the desk, Clark pushes his glasses up his nose - almost nervously.

You get struck with the sudden thought that perhaps, crazily, your crush might not be as one-sided as you once thought.

"I meeean," You drag out the word as if you're still tossing it up. "I was pretty set on the #4 combo from Mr. Go's on my block."

Screw being a journalist, you should be an actor given the little twitch of Clark's brow. You don't let him stew for more than a moment.

"So, you could maybe join?" You offer, nearly holding your breath. "Come to mine?"

Your heart threatens to turn itself inside out from nerves. Somehow, Clark manages to sit up even straighter. He huffs out a breath, then he's grinning, dimples on show. He nods severely.

"To celebrate." He tacks on.

One of his hands has drifted up to fiddle with his tie, but you can't tell if it's tighten or loosen it.

"To celebrate." You agree with a nod. You have to press your lips together to contain your grin. It's a battle you're happy to lose.

And if you spend the rest of the day catching each other's eyes across the desk? That's your own damn business.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"I can't believe I've never heard of this place before!"

You laugh around your forkful of noodles at Clark's earnest excitement. He's had his first bite of food, and it's quickly been followed by his second, third, and fourth.

He looks up at you from the other side of your couch, eyes wide. "This has gotta be, like, Metropolis' best kept secret."

You laugh again and press a finger to your lips. That makes Clark laugh and the sound makes you feel a bit drunk.

He looks devastatingly at home on your couch. His suit jacket had been shed during your walk from the Planet, his tie loosened and stashed in his bag when you sat down to tuck into your food.

Now he sits, his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up. The top button or two of his dress shirt have been undone.

You're nearly undone with it.

This is nothing like the Clark you've gotten to know at work, proper and kept. Sitting in your space, he's casual. Relaxed. Domestic.

It's not a stretch to imagine doing this every night.

It's a particularly nice evening too — even the sunset had tinted the colour of love on your walk back to your apartment, reds fading to a blush pink. Clark had held all the food at his own insistence.

The evening is darker now. A coolness blankets your apartment, amber streetlights reaching through the windows. There's some show playing on your television, but it's on low, barely a murmur.

"Last wonton?" Clark says, holding out the box. "It is your celebration night, after all."

Right. It hasn't felt much like a celebration— mainly because it's been feeling like a date.

It occurs to you that that feeling might not be mutual. You spear the wonton with your fork to give you something to swallow the bad feeling that thought gives you.

You've barely started chewing when Clark starts moving, gathering the plates from your coffee table.

"You don't have tuh—" You protest through your mouthful before you think the better of it.

Clark's already waving you off. The plates quickly form a tall stack and he scoops them up with one hand with remarkable ease.

"Please," He smiles. "I’ve left you with your share.”

He nods to the one plate and one fork still in use in your lap. Then he’s winding his way through the doorway to your kitchen before you can protest further — as if he owns the place!

You chew furiously through your wonton. "Don't do them all before I can help!"

No response beyond a laugh that makes you feel a bit melty. You slow your jaw, enjoying the food, and savouring the swallow.

You sit for a moment, soaking in the moment built around you. He’s here, in your space, and he’s taking care of you - seemingly quite happy to do so.

You’re reaching dangerous levels of hope now.

The plate clinks as you stack the fork atop it, climbing to your feet. You trace Clark’s footsteps to the kitchen.

He’s running the sink, bubbles foaming up in little tufts. He’s already rolled his sleeves back further, exposing the strong muscles in his forearm. His hands hidden are beneath the water, soaking your blue sponge and when he wrings it out, it manages to look extra tiny in his grip.

You take a moment to send a prayer for strength. Or luck. Insane luck. You’ll take either.

Adding your plate to the pile beside the sink, you grab the Garfield tea-towel hanging over the rail and sidle up to take the place next to him.

Wordlessly, Clark lets the suds run off the first plate and then hands it over.

You steal a glimpse at his face. This close you could count his lashes. They kiss together at the end, courtesy of his warm smile.

Side by side, the two of you work in comfortable silence. When passing the next plate, his elbow bumps up your arm and he leaves it there, pressed up lightly against you.

“You know,” Clark says idly, speaking as he scrubs at a pair of forks. “I’ve actually wanted to, uh,” He clears his throat. “Find a way to ask you out to dinner for, well, a long time.”

It’s a miracle you manage not to drop the plate in your hands. That prayer worked fast. Somehow, you recover enough to tease.

“You mean to tell me you hijacked my celebration night for your own gain?”

Without missing a beat, Clark says, “Maybe I did.”

He's completely sincere, nudging his arm against yours again. He rinses off the last plate and this time, instead of handing it over, he plucks the tea-towel out of your hands and starts drying.

With nothing to do with your hands, you’re left to deal with the conversation. You do your best to grasp your courage tightly. You wonder if he'll notice if you pinch yourself, to check if this is real.

“A long time, huh?”

Leaning your hip up against the kitchen counter, you echo his earlier words. Clark’s watching you, something that looks an awful lot like hope in his eyes.

“I…” You start. Your voice is getting quieter as your courage slips away and you can’t quite meet his gaze anymore. “I mean, I- me too.”

You hope he won’t make you spell it out — that he knows what you mean with just those words.

But Clark has never been cruel and he isn’t now. He places the final plate down gently, the tea-towel beside it.

Then he steps closer to you, bracketing you against the counter. It forces your eyes up, because staring at the hollow of his throat is almost as maddening as meeting his expression.

Clark’s smiling, a warmness in his blue eyes you haven’t realised is reserved just for you, til right this moment. His dimples, you bemoan silently. He’s beyond handsome.

He has no right to look like that - to look at you like that.

“Would it be improper of me then,” He begins. “To hope we might do this again?”

You have the sudden urge to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him stupid. Your hands, which have moved to hold the bench for support, are shaking just a bit.

“Not improper at all.” It’s barely a whisper.

His eyes drop to your mouth and that alone makes you feel dizzy.

“Great,” Clark grins, matching your tone with a low murmur. “Because there’s this woman I work with…”

Slowly, he reaches up and gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his hand feels like it’s scorching the side of your face. Your heart is in your throat - and in your head, your stomach, pulsing at the end of every fingertip.

“She’s incredible at what she does,” He continues, hand still hovering. “Beautiful too. And whip-smart—though, I’m beginning to question that, given she said yes to going out with the likes of me.”

That laugh startles out of you and it breaks Clark into a grin too. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s drinking in your joy.

He’s entirely too gorgeous. You have to grip the counter tighter to remain upright.

“Shut up.” you say weakly.

Clark’s eyebrows raise. “And a bit bossy too—”

“Shut up,” you say again, a little more breathlessly. “And kiss me, Clark.”

To his credit, Clark doesn’t waste a second.

The hand that had been hovering finds your neck, burying into your hair, while the other finds the edge of your waist.

He tugs you forward, lightly, but even so it’s enough to make you laugh in surprise - so when he presses his mouth to yours, you’re already smiling.

It makes the first kiss clumsy. You’re too smiley to kiss back properly. That apparently makes Clark smile too, his glasses pressing into the bridge of your nose before you break apart.

“That-” He breathes. “Gosh, sorry, I meant- that is, for it to be less,"

He struggles to pick the correct word. You guess for him.

"Improper?"

Clark laughs at that, his eyes shining with an ardent affection. It's enough to make you shiver in his hold. God, those eyes, that mouth.

"Yes, improper." He says, though he sounds utterly pleased. "Will you let me redeem myself?"

In answer, you finally let yourself give in to the urge that's been building. Fingers curling into the collar of his dress shirt, you have to press up on your toes, but Clark's already there, meeting you halfway.

He's tugging you in again, the hand on your waist tighter as he sweeps you up in a kiss that you'll be dreaming of for years.

Clark is an infuriatingly good kisser you're learning.

Plush lips against yours, your head spins. Through an impossible series of events, in your little kitchenette, you're being kissed by Clark Kent like there's no sweeter taste than your mouth.

Your hands slide up, arms winding around his neck, feeling as though you're floating on literal air.

And it's with that thought that the abrupt realisation that your feet are off the ground comes.

Perplexed, you draw back, blinking in your confusion. Has he lifted you up-?

It takes one glance to realise that yes, not only are your feet off the ground—but so are Clark's.

It gives you a violent shock, but instinct has you clinging closer to Clark as a startled yelp escapes you. Then you're on the ground again, so quick you'd think you imagined it, if not for the shock in your legs.

You scramble back in bewilderment, hands clambering for purchase on the counter.

"I-! That-! You can fly!" You exclaim, pointing at the ground where you had just levitated.

Clark starts to stammer. "I-I, it's not- listen, I can explain."

You stare at him, waiting, but Clark only smothers a hand over his mouth. He still looks terribly blushed from the kiss, cheeks pink and mouth undoubtedly the same. His glasses are askew.

Somehow, you know you're staring at a huge puzzle piece.

Screwing your eyes shut, you attempt to process the rolling rampage of thoughts streaming through your mind.

Clark Kent can fly!

Clark Kent kissed you! (Less important, but still a thought.)

Clark Kent is... not human?

Your eyes open again and Clark's still there, his hands now hanging off his neck. He looks terribly stressed, his own eyes screwed shut in thought.

"Okay, listen-" He says abruptly, eyes still closed.

"—No, wait," You interrupt, holding a hand up. You're nearly there, you know it. The realisation is so close you can almost taste it.

Who else do you know who can fly? Technically, there's more than a handful of meta-humans with the capability of flight — but squinting at your hot coworker crush, a particular one is coming to mind.

The moment you consider it, you know it to be true. You straighten up with an incredulous look - and Clark knows that you know.

Clark Kent is Superman! You kissed Clark Kent! You've kissed Superman!

"Oh, man." you say dazedly. Something compels your feet to move and mindlessly, you're walking to the couch. It sinks under you as you flop onto it, still reeling in your disbelief.

That would certainly explains the absences at work. Knowing your name, that day on the street. The same dimples you go crazy for. Now you've figured out the puzzle piece, you can't stop marvelling at how well it fits.

"y/n?" Clark has followed you from the kitchen, a wary look on his face, unsure what to make of your silence.

You blink, taking in the sight of him perched nervously on the other end of your second-hand couch and a delighted laugh is tickled out of you. "Of course, it's you."

Clark tenses up momentarily before he shifts to sit closer to you. "Okay, but, really, you have to listen—" He's pushing a hand across his face, knocking his glasses. Without thinking, he plucks them off his face.

Woah. So, that's why you hadn't picked it - given how when you look at Clark's face clearly, without his glasses, it's obviously Superman staring back at you.

Without much thought, you're clambering forward across the couch, closer, and taking his face between your palms. Clark watches you closely, still distracted with speaking - "—you can't tell anyone, I'm serious- What're you doing?"

You're tilting his face from side to side is what you're doing. "Of course," You say again, this time sounding a little more awed. "I mean, I wouldn't have picked it— it's the glasses, right? They have some sort of—"

Your sentence is cut off, Clark's hands reaching up to encircle your wrists. He holds your hands still and says you name once more, softer.

"You don't seem to be hearing me. Or," His eyes roam your face, searching for something. "You aren't really... responding how I thought you would. You can’t tell anyone."

His worry finally reaches you. You stop your near-frantic moment of revelations and breathe, feeling the concern in his words, shown on his face.

His brow is furrowed, eyes stormy. You can't stop looking at him. It's like you've never seen his face before.

"Do you really think I would?" You ask quietly.

Clark swallows, throat bobbing. After a moment, he answers honestly. "No. I don't think you would."

The truth of his statement sits in the air, blanketing the pair of you in something warmer, tasting of trust. You're looking at Superman —looking at Clark — and all you can think of is how it all makes sense. This, him, you—all of it.

Somewhere within you, the baby crush from Friday’s brush with Superman merges with your feelings for Clark. It fizzles in you, rushing through your veins. God, you like him so much.

"So,” You breathe. “What now?"

"What now?" Clark echoes. He's still holding your wrists, but his grip has softened. As if he's holding them to keep you close this time round. "I mean, I- well, if you still—that is to say... Dinner?"

He sputters through the sentence, landing clumsily on the last word. You're grinning before he's even finished.

"Dinner would be—" You pause for effect. "Super."

"Alright," Clark declares, shaking his head dramatically. "Date invitation revoked for that one. Are you kidding me? Already?"

He's released your wrists, getting to his feet and making a big show of it. Still, he's grinning and you're laughing, hopelessly enamoured. The laughter threads through your words.

"No take backsies."

“Alright, fine,” Clark huffs, crossing his arms. The bulge of his biceps draws your eye and this time, you let yourself look. You think you’ve earned it.

An unexplained question piques your mind.

��You didn’t mean to tell me.” You comment, tilting your head slightly. “Why did you fly?”

Whatever reaction you're expecting, it's not the glorious one that unfolds before your eyes. A blush paints Clark’s cheeks, but it doesn’t stop there. You can see it crawling down his neck, beneath his shirt. His ears are tinted red.

He scratches the back of his neck bashfully, avoiding eye contact. His voice has dropped in volume. “That’s… I… it happenswhenIgetexcited.”

“What?”

“It hasn’t happened for years!” The words suddenly burst out, Clark's hands held out. “It was more, like, when I was younger, yeah, if I got, like,” He begins to stammer. “Too excited, or- or happy, it would- just, oh gosh.”

He buries his face in his hands. You take a moment to process his words, brows rising to your hairline.

“Oh,” You sound pleased as punch. “Oh, okay, that’s just adorable.”

Clark straightens up, dragging his hands from his face and placing them on his hips. His face is still pinker than you’ve ever seen. He seems to accept his fate. “Thank you. I think?”

If he was still beside you on the couch, you think you wouldn't be able to resist kissing him once more. Instead, you lose the fight against your grin. You tuck up one leg and drape your arm across it, pressing your smile into your skin.

“You gonna have that under control in time for our next dinner?” You say.

Clark perks up at you words, as though he assumed the reason for his accidental flight might’ve scared you off. Like being excited could ever be bad.

“Yes.” He nods seriously. "Absolutely."

"Then," you say lightly, as though your heart isn’t pumping molten lava right now. You give a little shrug, aiming for nonchalant and fooling no-one. "It's a date."

Clark nods again, straightening up. He folds his arms, his posture serious, but you can still see it in his face - the joy. The excitement.

"It's a date." He agrees - and it sounds like the promise of much, much more than that.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

tagging sum lovelies i think might be interested <3 but no pressure @spideystevie @sanguineterrain @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @aarchimedes

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lokis-army-77 · 17 days ago

Text

The Name

Eddie Munson x Partner!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Eddie comes home from tour, but while you're being intimate, he slips up big time

Warning: 18+ I will block you if you are under 18 or have no age in your blog. p in v, infidelity, angst HURT NO COMFORT

Thank you @munson-blurbs for the request and thank you @hellfire--cult @littlesubbyflower and @eddie-munsons-balls for beta reading

Eddie had been away on tour for six months, and you had barely seen him except for a couple of hours when the band had stopped in Indianapolis. You longed for the day when he would return home, and now that he finally had, you were all over each other. The first thing he did after dropping his bags off at the front door was kiss you like he was a man starved, rushing you to the bedroom.

He laid you over the edge of the bed and wasted no time as he stripped your shorts from your body.

“Fuck me, baby, missed this pussy so bad,” he groaned, fingers flexing as he gripped your hips.

“Missed you too, Eds. Fuck I need you.” You arch into the mattress and look back at him. His hair is a mess, frizzy ringlets fall around his eyes, and he pushes them away only for them to fall right back into place. His strong commanding presence behind you, the bulge in his pants pressing into your cunt, was something you had craved for weeks, and you were giddy to have him on the verge of fucking you.

“Yeah? Gonna show me how much you missed me?” His hips rub his cock into the quickly appearing wetness between your folds.

You nod into the sheets, “Mhm.”

Nimble, guitarist fingers slither up the backs of your legs, creating goose bumps in their wake. The metal of his belt clinks as he unfastens it and his jeans. Anticipation bubbles in your belly as you wait for him.

His cock is hard and warm when he passes the tip over your cunt, spreading your juices over his length.

You can’t help but whimper when he slips inside you, stretching you more than you had been in months. It stung only a little, but that soon subsided into hot pleasure as he speared into you further, hips moving back and forth, skin against skin.

“Oh, Eddie!”

“I know, baby, my cock feels so good in that tight pussy doesn’t it?”

“Yes- oh fuck- ah! Yes, Eddie, yes! Feels so good.” He hadn’t been inside you long, but you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, soaring closer to the sun.

Eddie’s fingers are gripping your hips tightly, brusquely so. “God, I’m so close,” he grunts out.

Pushing your hips back to meet his, you encourage him to keep going, you wanna feel him spill inside you, want him to fill you with his cum. Fuck, you’ve missed this.

“I’m so close, too. Don’t stop, Eddie. Baby, don't stop.” It feels so good; you just want to scream and let the whole world hear how he makes you feel, even after months away.

“Yeah? Gonna cum, baby? Go ahead, wanna feel you squeezin’ me.”

With his permission given, you felt that carefully built dam start to crumble as he continued to fuck into you.

“Oh fuck!” you cry as you let go. “Oh shit, oh shit, I'm coming. Eddie! Fuc- mmm I’m coming!” Pleasure and ecstasy wash over you, your body going rigid as your release comes.

It was so much that a ringing in your ears masked all other sounds, almost everything.

As Eddie’s on high followed yours, you heard it, a name that wasn’t your own. A name that was followed by a slew of I love you’s and he hadn’t even noticed. Now your body was frozen for a completely different reason.

You lie there face down in the mattress, even after Eddie falls exhausted to your side. His torturous lips press an insultingly tender kiss to your shoulder, and you flinch.

He tries to follow as you maneuver your upper body away from him. “Baby, what are you doing?” He checks, thinking you're playing some sort of game. Reaching a hand out, you swat it away, finally pulling yourself up, kneeling on the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “What's wrong?”

Shooting him a glare, one you wish could have sent him further than six feet under, you make to stand.

Eddie grabs your wrist, halting you.

“Get your fucking hand off me,” you seethe.

He’s taken aback, eyes blinking like he had been slapped across the face.

You take your hand and pry his from you, “I said ‘Get your god damn hand off me,’ Eddie, you piece of shit.”

The confusion etches into his face even deeper. “Whoa, now, what the fuck is happening? Why are you being so aggressive?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid with me, I already feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.” You’re quickly going around the room, picking up your clothes and throwing them back on, refusing to have any sort of argument naked. “I should have known. All the missed phone calls, the excuses to not have me at your shows, the goddamn pink panties I found in your room on the tour bus. But no, I was naive enough and trusting enough to trust that my fiancé, the man I have spent half of my fucking life with, wouldn't do something like this to me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you hated that Eddie was going to see you cry. “Who is she, Eddie? Hum? Who's Jessica?”

He looked like a deer caught in headlights. Those usually bright, coffee-brown eyes are now full of terror and regret. His hands hung at his sides, flexing and unflexing. “I can explain.”

You scoffed, “Oh, I'd love for you to explain. Go ahead, feed me some lie about why you're moaning that you love another woman while you're balls fucking deep inside me.”

He's silent.

“Go on, Edward, I'm waiting.”

You watch as he moves to put on his boxers. When they were fitted snugly to his hips, he opened his mouth to talk, then shut it again. He struggled to speak for a good minute until finally the words came out in a stutter and anxious mess.

“I- Baby, you have to understand, please, you have to understand that I didn't mean to. She- uh, she followed us to each stop, made herself known.” His hands shake as he runs them nervously through his frizzy hair. “I swear I had no intention of doing anything with her, but one night, after the show, she was drinking in the bus with the boys, and I was in my room. She ended up bringing me beer after beer until I didn't know up from down or right from left. I was drunk, I wouldn’t have had sex with her sober!”

“Oh… okay,” you say with a deadly calm. “I get it now.”

His eyes sparked. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do,” you confirm, uncrossing your arms and pointing accusatorily at him. “I get that you are a lying, cheating, no good, son of a bitch, who only cares about himself and ONLY himself.”

Turning on your heel, you head into the shared bathroom and begin to angrily pack your toiletries.

Do not cry. Do not cry.

You chant those three words over and over in your head like a mantra as you pack a small duffle bag. Eddie's babbling is muffled by the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

He follows you like a lost puppy around the home until you head for the garage. When he sees you placing your things into the passenger seat of your car, he begins begging with renewed vigor, pleading with you not to go.

Pushing him away, you quickly enter the vehicle, locking to doors to be safe. You stare at the back wall of the garage for a moment before turning the car on and barely cracking the window.

“I'm going to my mom's for a few days, I expect you to be out of the house when I get back.”

“Baby, please, let's talk about this.”

Glaring at him, you give him his answer. “No.”

Only when the house was out of sight did you start crying. The emotions had welled up as much as they could before spilling over. Breathing became labored, your throat ached, and there was a stabbing pain right behind your eyes.

All you wanted to do was sleep, to think about this mess some other day

#boost rb

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lokis-army-77 · 17 days ago

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lokis-army-77 · 17 days ago

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Hi I just read the name with eddie munson x reader and I was wondering if theres gonna be a part 2 or not bc Im curious as to if they're done for good or if they reconcile or something bc that was a good one and the ending had me like 😯

Tha ks for the question! Im glad you liked the fic!!

Unfortunately, I don't believe that I'll make part 2 simply because it took me from the end of April until last night to finish it 😬😬 and I've not got the hyperfixation but foe Eddie at the moment.

But i do have a johnny storm x reader that I just started and am excited for so stay tuned for that! It shouldn't take me 4 months to write it lmaoo

#caroline talks #carolines inbox

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lokis-army-77 · 18 days ago