#1990s miss kiss

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Naturistics Miss Kiss Watermelon Shimmer Shiner Lip Gloss

mid-late 1990s, maybe early 2000s?

Found on Ebay, user cdlyktn

[shiroi-honoo]

T.M.Revolution - Fate and Faith (2011)

[ja3yun]

On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day. 

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist. 

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win. 

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either. 

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick. 

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward. 

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop. 

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again. 

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.” 

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him. 

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air. 

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space. 

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept. 

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking. 

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around. 

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown. 

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.” 

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday. 

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger. 

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy. 

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him. 

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?” 

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom. 

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?” 

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice. 

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock. 

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through. 

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family. 

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders. 

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard. 

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this. 

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago. 

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.” 

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers. 

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some -  that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier -  you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA. 

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment. 

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably. 

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right. 

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine. 

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it. 

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?” 

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues. 

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought. 

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose. 

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more. 

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts. 

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most. 

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep. 

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow. 

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it. 

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities. 

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…” 

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.  

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen -  and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning. 

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate. 

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway. 

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it. 

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite. 

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another. 

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white. 

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance. 

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy. 

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock. 

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace. 

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.  

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you. 

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible. 

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.” 

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes. 

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige. 

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull. 

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn. 

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity. 

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes. 

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Lost Number pt. I

Here’s Part 2!

Word count: 19k

Paring: Eddie Munson x plus size!fem!reader

CW: 18+ MDNI smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving)

Rhythm Riot Music Festival, Los Angeles, June, 1990

The venue was packed and if you were honest, you didn’t even want to be there. You were just trying to be a good girlfriend and cheer on your wannabe rockstar boyfriend. You never liked big crowds and the loud music gave you a headache, but you wanted to be supportive so you always stood side stage with a pair of earplugs, singing along.

Being the band’s manager, you somehow were able to book them a slot in a festival that was meant specifically for rock/metal. They were playing alongside a bunch of big names and your own boyfriend didn’t even seem grateful that you had gotten him the biggest gig of his career.

You didn’t want to admit it, but your relationship had been rocky for months. You were together but you weren’t. It was as if you both knew it was over but neither of you wanted to be the first to actually utter the words. He wasn’t the same man you fell in love with. You didn’t recognize him anymore with the way he was dressing and especially the way he was treating you and his own band mates. You would try to talk to him about it but were always met with doors slamming in your face or just straight up denial.

You paced back and forth in the hallway outside their dressing room while the band were getting ready for their performance. You weren’t allowed in because you were deemed a “distraction” despite the fact that Chris barely even spared you a second glance anymore. You were forced to wait until it was time for them to go onstage to make sure they had everything they needed even though most of the time they didn’t and they ended up being late.

One of the acts passed you having just come off stage and you couldn’t keep your eyes off the pretty lead singer as he nodded in your direction. You figured that would be it, but he stopped in front of you and you didn’t miss how he was checking you out. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips.

You had only ever seen Eddie Munson on TV or in magazines which didn’t do him justice. He was much prettier in person which you didn’t think was possible, but there he stood in front of you looking like something that came out of your dreams. He was dressed in a leather jacket with nothing underneath and pair of matching leather pants and you had to stop yourself from staring at his chest and the tattoos that were covering it. Even though Chris wasn’t really your boyfriend anymore, you’d never forgive yourself for cheating on him.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here by yourself?” Eddie asked, tilting his head to the side.

Before you could answer, the door behind him opened and the members of Void stepped out. Your boyfriend looked between you and Eddie and felt jealousy rush through him. He didn’t care if the two of you were practically broken up, you were still his and there was no way that he’d let Eddie fucking Munson steal you away from him.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you with a bright smile. He’d never called you that throughout your entire relationship. He hadn’t really called you anything except for your name. “It’s time for us to go onstage.” Honestly, you couldn’t have given less of a fuck about him. All you cared about was the absolute smoke show in front of you.

“I’ll see you after?” Chris asked, stepping over to stand next to you. He took one of your shoulder in his hand and turned you to face him before resting his hands on your waist.

“Yeah-“ you couldn’t even finish before his lips were on yours. He was quick to stick his tongue in your mouth which caught you off guard. He hadn’t kissed you like that in a long time and you wondered what had gotten into him. This was all about him. All for show. To send Eddie a message, to show him that you belonged to Chris.

You were quick to pull away, unsure of what he was doing and why he was doing it. Because it clearly wasn’t for you like he wanted you to believe. That was who he was now, the kind of guy who did things only because they would benefit him in some way.

“Uh, have a good show,” was all you were able to say. You were trying to say the right thing, knowing that the wrong one wouldn’t end well for you. He was becoming so sensitive, like you had to say or do just the right thing or else he would get angry. One wrong move and it was game over for everyone.

“That’s it?” He asked a little too loudly. “You push me away and that’s all you have to say?” He was the one who kissed you out of nowhere and he was the one who was upset?

“I-“ You tried to defend yourself but he cut you off be for you could.

“Save it. I have to get on stage. You better have a better attitude when I get back,” he pointed at you before heading to the stage, the others following close behind. You knew you should have gone with him, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when most of the songs were about a relationship that you didn’t have anymore. It just reminded you of what used to be and it broke your heart that you two had grown apart so much when you were convinced that you were going to be together forever. You had laid side by side talking about how you were going to get married and now you couldn’t even remember the last time you slept in the same bed.

“Where the hell are you going?” Eddie asked Chris as he made his way to the stage. You were so in your head that you had forgotten he was even there. He wasn’t going to let Chris get away with speaking to you that way. Eddie wasn’t a saint by any means, but he’d never speak to anyone that way. Especially not his girlfriend. Chris only flipped him off not even bothering to turn around to face him. He disappeared around the corner and Eddie just let out a sigh, accepting defeat.

He turned to you to see how you were holding up and could see by the look on your face that you were tired. Whether it was because of lack of sleep or because of your dickhead of a boyfriend he didn’t know.

“I know he’s your boyfriend and all but his band fucking sucks.”

“I know,” you nodded, leaning against the wall. You hated that he was right. You tried to be supportive of Chris, but you just couldn’t. Sure, the lyrics were catchy, but they weren’t really about anything. At first, they wrote some of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard, but after they got that first check, it was like a switch was flipped. Now all they wanted was to write music that they thought people wanted to hear, not songs that actually meant anything. That would mean that they actually had to care about their work and weren’t just wanting to be paid.

That was what made Void different from the other bands in their genre. The others actually believed in their music. They poured their hearts and souls into it and it was obvious when people listened to it. It was the reason why they were all so popular. People could connect to what they were singing about and could relate to the words in one way or another.

After a while, all Void wanted was the fame, money, and girls and it showed. They never rehearsed before going on stage anymore or made sure that their instruments were tuned properly. The only reason why they even got the gig in the first place was because you had to practically beg the people who were running the event. How could you root for them when they were so bad that you had to ask for them to be invited to play?

“And no offense sweetheart, but he’s kind of a dick,” Eddie added. That was something you still weren’t able to admit to yourself. Gone was the man who’d make you breakfast in the morning and make up songs about how much he loved you while he did it. Gone was the man who you felt like you could tell anything to and he wouldn’t judge you. He was behaving like a completely different person and you felt like you couldn’t even be around him anymore.

“None taken,” you shook your head. “I’m very well aware. I plan on breaking up with him after the festival.” You actually hadn’t thought about it at all but now that you said it, you felt like you had to go through with it. You felt like you owed that to yourself. You had dealt with Chris’s bullshit long enough.

“Good for you,” he nodded. “I’d hate for you to settle.” He’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. Typical Eddie wanting something he couldn’t have. You were just so pretty and he tried to keep himself from admiring the way your outfit hugged every curve of your body.

“Well, unfortunately, I think I’m only attracted to losers.”

“That’s a real shame, sweetheart. I thought we had something going here,” he nudged your shoulder. His tone made it sound like he was joking but there was a hint of truth to his words. He had every intention of flirting with you until he found out you had a boyfriend.

“I didn’t think I was your type.”

“I didn’t think I had one.” Eddie wasn’t aware he had a type. How could he when he had only recently been getting female attention? He was still trying to figure out why women were even interested in him in the first place so who was he to deny any of it?

“Oh, you know what I mean.” You waved your hand in a dismissive manner and he didn’t like what you were implying.

“Clearly, I don’t.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing. You hadn’t meant to offend him. You thought you were just stating the obvious. You’d only seen him with girls who looked nothing like you. They were all skinny not to mention literal models. You clearly didn’t fit into that category so you didn’t see why he would have been interested in you. It wasn’t like you cared. It wasn’t like anything would come of it even if he did.

“I’ve seen you on the covers of all the gossip magazines, okay? I know what you’re like.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You really believe that bullshit? You know that everything’s fake. I mean, sure, I was hanging out with those girls and maybe I slept with a couple of them, but that doesn’t mean that they’re the only kind of girls I’m interested in.”

“Then what are you interested in?”

“Anything.” He stepped closer to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to push your boundaries.

“Even me?” You hadn’t meant to say that out loud but you were just too curious. If you were being honest, you had developed a little crush on the singer and had even made him your hall pass, that Chris had agreed on if he could have Whitney Houston. That was only because he never thought it would happen. But there Eddie was, shamelessly flirting with you and you couldn’t get yourself to do the same because you felt like you were betraying Chris.

“Oh, especially you, sweetheart. In this little thing?” He referred to your skirt. “Stopped me in my tracks.” Your face grew hot at his comment. You hadn’t been flirted with in a while and missed the way it felt to have someone actually be attracted to you. You wondered why you were even still with Chad when you had a man who was the total package right in front of you.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” You couldn’t tell whether or not he was actually being genuine or if he was just trying to get into your pants. Either way, you were going to take it. You just wanted attention and here he was, offering it up to you on a silver platter.

“If I was trying to make you feel better, I’d tell you how fucking gorgeous I think you are.” His eyes trailed down your body, taking his time to look at every inch of it and you didn’t miss how he spent a longer time on your legs. “Well, sweetheart, I should get back to my dressing room. It was nice to meet you-“ he paused, realizing that he hadn’t gotten your name.

“Y/n,” you replied, putting your hand out to shake unsure of why you were doing it.

“Y/n,” he repeated, taking his time with each syllable while taking your hands in his. “Sounds like a great song name,” he winked before reluctantly pulling his hand away. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around,” you nodded and he turned on his heel to head back to his dressing room. You watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner, wondering how he managed to even make walking look attractive.

You pressed yourself against the wall and fiddled with the pass that was hanging around your neck while Void was finishing up their set, wondering what the fuck just happened. You had just had a conversation with Eddie Munson and you didn’t sound like an idiot like you thought you would have if you had ever gotten the chance to meet him. He liked you and had even flirted with you and you hadn’t done the same in fear that your boyfriend would have found out. You didn’t know why you cared. Chris would have jumped at the chance to sleep with his celebrity crush and you were still faithful to him despite the fact that you knew that he was probably (definitely) cheating on you.

Your ears perked up as Chris announced that they were going to play their last song which just so happened to be their most popular. You wondered what people would have said if they found out that you wrote it despite not having any credit on the song at all. Chris had found the lyrics in your notebook and passed them off as his own in a writing session. You didn’t want to embarrass him so you called him out as soon as you were alone with him, but he couldn’t have given less of a fuck that he had hurt you.

Not only had he invaded your privacy by going through your private journal, he had given the song away which had ended up on their debut record and had quickly become their most popular song to date. There was something so sick and twisted about him profiting off of a song that you had written about how horribly he had treated you. He used your pain and turned it into something that would make him money while you hadn’t seen a single dime. It had gotten to the point where you couldn’t even be proud of it because it was tainted by your greedy boyfriend and his bandmates.

You headed to the dressing room and sat on the couch, awaiting the band’s arrival. If you didn’t, they were more than likely to leave without you, you practically being an afterthought to them. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you knew that it wouldn’t have made any difference if you weren’t there. All of your suggestions were always met by vetos because God forbid a woman actually had a good idea. They treated you like their servant and you were starting to wonder why you had stayed so long. It certainly wasn’t the money since they weren’t paying you and it definitely wasn’t because of your piece of shit boyfriend.

It was about time that you stood up for yourself and did things that you actually wanted to do. You didn’t want to get their coffee or cigarettes or hem their pants because they were too long. You were over restringing their guitars and tuning them only for them to need new strings and another tune after one performance. You were tired of them taking advantage of you and you weren’t going to take it any longer. Void could find another manager, one who was more cut out for the job. And Chris could certainly find another woman to satisfy his needs. He wouldn’t miss you and you definitely wouldn’t miss him.

The door swung open and Chris entered the room followed by Joey and Max. They were all laughing about something but it quickly came to a stop when they locked eyes on you. You could see Chris’s eyes form into a glare. It was the kind of look that someone would give their enemy, not their significant other.

“What are you doing here?” He spit. Like he didn’t want you there and you knew he didn’t. He never wanted you around unless it benefitted him.

“I was waiting on you.” His eyebrows furrowed at your words as if he was confused. You always waited for him to get off stage, you just didn’t do it in his dressing room.

“Why?” The words came out like he was offended which you thought was weird. Why wouldn’t he want you to wait for him? He used to love coming back to you but now he was treating you as if you were a piece of gum that got stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“To tell you that I quit.” You crossed your arms over your chest and you kind of liked that he was getting angry. It showed how much he relied on you and how fucked he was going to be when you were gone.

“Quit?” He let out a laugh as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “You can’t just quit, y/n. We have a contract.” Did he mean the contract that he typed up one night when he drunkenly suggested that you should be Void’s manager? Back when he still thought you had good ideas. Back when he still loved you.

“Which isn’t legally binding so I can quit if I damn well please and I do.” You stood up from the couch with a newfound confidence, feeling a thousand pounds lighter. “Also, I’m breaking up with you.” The three boys’ mouths dropped open, like they couldn’t believe what you were saying. Chris’s eyes quickly turned dark, a look that always scared you.

“No you’re not,” he let out a chuckle. He wasn’t going to let you leave. You couldn’t. Not when he still had laundry that needed to be done and his guitar needed to be tuned.

“I am, actually. I’m leaving tonight and getting on the first plane out of here.” You had no idea how you were going to do that, but you were going to figure it out. You needed to get the fuck out of there and you needed to do it right then.

“With what money?” He laughed and Joey and Max joined in, the three of them laughing hysterically at you. For once, you didn’t feel embarrassed.

“Oh, believe me, I can find some.” You were sure that there were plenty of nice men in the city who would be happy to lend you some money.

“This is bullshit,” he shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing. He was angry and for the first time, you didn’t care that you had upset him. It was what he deserved for being a piece of shit.

“No, whats bullshit is how long I stood by your side taking your terrible treatment.” You shook your head. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to you while you’ve been fucking other girls behind my back.”

“I-“ He eyes were darting around the room as if he was he was avoiding making eye contact with you. He definitely was. You were right and he didn’t want to admit it. He was a selfish prick and had been too caught up in his own life to see how terribly he had treated you. Maybe if he could have apologized, you’d would’ve stayed.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I saw the Polaroids. Not only that, but I’m fucking tired of being treated like garbage. I’m a human. Did you forget that? You must have since all I seem to be to you is a servant. You’re a dick and so are you,” you pointed to the other boys. “Well, good luck, you guys. You’re gonna need it.” You grabbed your purse and made your way to the door and slammed it as soon as you were out of the room.

Before you realized what you were doing, you were heading to the bathroom in angry stomps, muttering to yourself about what had just happened. He had laughed at you when you told him that you were going to leave. The only reason why you didn’t have any money was because he had used up any little bit you had. Whether it was asking to borrow a twenty before he was supposed to be paid or just straight up stealing it from your wallet, you never seemed to have enough for yourself.

You shut yourself in one of the stalls and before you could stop it, tears were streaming down your face. Whether they were of happiness or sadness you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were relieved. You felt a huge weight lift from your shoulders. It was like you could finally breathe again, as if Chad had been suffocating you all those years. You were finally free and there was nothing he could do to stop you or make you stay.

You reached for some toilet paper only to find that the roll was empty, the only thing left being the cardboard. That only made you cry harder. Couldn’t you have anything? You had barely any money to your name to get a flight home, no where to go after the festival since you shared an apartment with Chris, and no friends that were your own. You were fucked and it was finally settling in. Maybe if you begged, he’d let you stay with him just until you got back on your feet. Fat chance. He’d probably already have someone else by the time you got back home with your stuff at the curb while the two of them laughed at you from the open window.

You exited the stall and reached for a paper towel before dabbing at your tears then fixing your smudged makeup with what you had in your purse, making sure there were no remnants of your tears. You’d be damned if anyone saw you cry. Especially over a man. You wanted them all to think you weren’t affected. You wanted them to think that you were nothing but a bad bitch.

After you fixed your hair and makeup, you fled the bathroom before taking the band’s car to head back to the hotel. You were surprised that they hadn’t left yet and were even more surprised that the driver had believed you when you told him that the band told you to go ahead.

You looked out the window and tried not to think all of the problems you caused for yourself. Maybe that was why you stayed with Chris for so long. Not because you wanted to make it work, but because you were scared of what it meant for your future. Now you actually had to think about it and hated how much he had fucked up for you. Of course you had moved into his apartment so you had nowhere to go when you finally got home. You supposed that you could live in your car until you got a job and saved enough to find somewhere to live more permanently. That was, if you actually found a way to get home. All you had was five hundred dollars to your name, which you were grateful to have anything, but that would have only covered your flight, not leaving much for anything else you were going to need.

The car pulled up to the hotel and you felt the tears fall again as you entered the building. You held it all in until you got to the elevator. Once the doors closed, you collapsed to the floor and let it all out, grateful that you were the only one there. You let out a loud scream out of frustration and felt relief rush through you as you did so. It was almost therapeutic in a way. It was years of repressed emotions that you were finally able to feel. You had bottled them up for so long that you were sure that they had to come out eventually and here they were, finally being able to breathe.

You exited the elevator when it stopped on your floor, wiping the tears from your face, grateful that no one else had been in the hallway. You opened the door to your room, still pissed that you had to share with Chris because you didn’t have enough money for your own room. You threw your bag onto the bed and frantically packed up your belongings into your suitcase, practically tearing the room apart partially in anger and partially because you couldn’t even find anything in the pig sty that Chris had created.

You rifled through the drawers on your side of the bed, finding all of your smaller belongings like your sleep mask and vibrator which you hadn’t even gotten a chance to use because Chris had always been in the room. You sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to satisfy you so you had to take matters into your own hands. Not that he ever satisfied you when you did sleep together.

You went through the drawers on the other side and stopped when you came across an envelope underneath Chris’s journal. You pulled it out of the drawer and noticed that your name was written on it in your mother’s neat handwriting. You turned it over and to your surprise, it wasn’t opened. You ripped it open and noticed a bunch of bills sitting inside it. It had to be hundreds of dollars. Hundreds of dollars that belonged to you. It was the money your parents had said they were going to send because they knew you had been struggling. It was your money and he took it, not even bothering to tell you that it had actually been sent. You had gotten into multiple arguments with your parents over it and now you felt bad for getting upset with them. It seemed like all of your problems always led back to Chris.

You pulled the cash out of the envelope and counted it, realizing that it had been much more than you had anticipated and you were grateful that it was all actually there. You set the cash on top of the drawer and turned the envelope back over only to see that it had been addressed to your old apartment meaning that Chris had been holding onto it for at least six months before the two of you had moved into your new place.

You put the cash back into the envelope and threw it into your purse before putting the journal back where it belonged and closing the drawer. When you went on your first date with Chris, you never thought he’d turn into such a dick. He had been sweet and caring and would have called out the man you just broke up with. He always hated guys like that so you weren’t sure what had happened that made him become one. Was it your fault? No, it couldn’t have been. What had you done except love him unconditionally?

It was late so you decided to head to bed, setting an alarm on the clock so you could get to the airport to catch a flight before Chris even woke up. He didn’t deserve a goodbye. You never wanted to see him again and if you had anything to do with it, you wouldn’t.

You threw on some pajamas and brushed your teeth, enjoying having the room to yourself since all Chris seemed to want to do was talk to you about shit that you could have not given less of a fuck about or made comments about what you were wearing or how you did your hair.

Since you had gotten to the room first, you decided that you were going to take the bed, the couch having done a number on your back having slept on it multiple nights in a row. It was just as soft at you thought it would be and you laid your head on the pillow feeling exhausted from the events that had taken place in only a matter of a few hours. You deserved a good night’s sleep after all the shit you had been through in the past twenty four hours.

Eddie entered the dressing room where Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were all sitting on the couch, the three of them still sweating from their performance and they each were nursing a beer. They all turned to Eddie whose cheeks were tinted a light red and a smile was playing on his pretty pink lips. He pressed himself against the door and stuck his hands into his pockets, staring at his band members as they all waited for him to speak, wanting to know if he got a number or not.

“Well?” Jeff asked since he knew the others wouldn’t. The four of them still weren’t used to female attention.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Eddie sighed pushing himself off of the door and heading over to the vanity to fix his hair.

“Damn,” Gareth replied.

“Sorry man,” Doug added.

“I was so close to flirting with her when her piece of shit boyfriend came out of his dressing room. I could see the way he was looking at me,” he moved his hair this way and that, trying to make it look like less of a mess but he was sure that he was making it worse. “He was clearly threatened. Even stuck his tongue down her throat to send me a message. He was looking at me the whole time.”

“What a freak,” Gareth commented.

“And get this,” Eddie stopped messing with his hair and turned around to face the boys, resting his hands on the vanity and leaning against it. “He’s the lead singing of Void.”

“They’re a shit show,” Jeff shook his head.

“I know. Their only good song is Hurt and I heard that they didn’t even write it.”

“Not surprising,” Doug rolled his eyes. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard that they weren’t even invited and that their manager had to beg to let them play.”

“You’re kidding,” Eddie let out a laugh, leaning over as he did so, probably thinking that it was more funny than it probably was. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“And probably true,” Jeff pointed out.

“So what are you going to do about the girl?” Gareth asked. Eddie didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know he was supposed to something. You were in a relationship and he definitely wasn’t going to get in the middle of it, especially not when Chris seemed to not be able to control his anger and could have easily knocked Eddie out with one punch.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “She’s just a pretty girl, you know? There are plenty of those everywhere.” That was just what he was telling himself so he’d feel better. He felt bad for thinking it, but it pissed him off that guys like Chris got to have you while guys like Eddie had no one. Sure, being in the lead singer in a band helped him in the ladies department, but girls didn’t seem nearly as attracted to him as they were to guys who treated them like garbage. Was he not mean enough? Was that it? Did women just like assholes? Maybe he should have asked Chris since clearly there was something that he was missing.

“I know that’s right,” Doug went to high five him and Eddie ignored him, pushing off of the vanity. He began to pace, something he always did when he needed to think.

Now it all made sense. Of course they were only performing because their manager begged. No one in their right mind would have asked Void to perform and they certainly wouldn’t have done it willingly. It was putting bands like them on the same level as Corroded Coffin and Eddie didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all.

Bands like Void took away from other bands who actually enjoyed what they were doing, making it hard for anyone to be taken seriously. It was hurting the industry and it pissed Eddie off that they were getting praise when they were only in it for the fame when bands like Corroded Coffin were doing it because they loved making music. It was a form of therapy for them. And now there was a group of phonies who everyone was worshipping because they had one hit.

“Whatever,” Eddie shook his head. “We still have tomorrow to be even better so we should get some rest.”

“I thought we were going out.” They usually did after every show, drinking and flirting, some of them getting lucky and others not so much. Eddie loved getting drunk but couldn’t stand the feeling of being hungover, sometimes not even wanting to drink because of it. He always eventually gave in when Jeff would urge a shot into his hand. It always looked so inviting that he had to get a taste and before he knew it, he was many drinks deep, stumbling out of the building with his arm around a girl who he definitely thought was out of his league.

“I think Eddie is a little pouty that he didn’t get that girl’s number,” Gareth teased. Eddie didn’t like the way that Gareth was talking about you, like you were just a girl he struck out with. He definitely would have be in if you hadn’t been with Chris. But that wasn’t what bothered him. He hated that you were being spoken about as if you were an object. You weren’t. You were so much more than that. You were a person and he hated that he always had to remind the guys that they couldn’t just treat women however they wanted because they were famous. They deserved nothing but respect.

“Her name is y/n.” Maybe Eddie was a little upset because you were dating someone, but he’d get over it. He always did. You were just another girl and he could easily find another one who wasn’t attached to anyone. And that was what he planned to do. If he could ever stop thinking about your tiny skirt and your thick thighs that he desperately wanted to bury his head between.

“Okay, sorry, very pouty,” Gareth corrected, putting his hands up in defense. “C’mon dude, you can find someone to help you get over her. The Ruby Room is always crawling with babes.” Gareth was right about that. Eddie was always able to get lucky at The Ruby Room, girls crowding themselves around him like they thought he was somebody that they actually wanted to hang out with. He still wasn’t entirely used to the attention considering he never got any back home since everyone either thought he was a loser or a cult leader even though he was very much neither. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that women wanted him, like they were mistaking him for someone else, but when they would moan his name and his name only, he knew that there was no mistake.

Eddie headed over to the door, ready to head out. His mission now being to get as drunk as possible instead of heading to bed like he probably should have. He couldn’t go to bed sober, especially since you were on his mind. He didn’t like you, you were just someone he was trying to hook up with who happened to have a boyfriend. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t the type to be. He definitely wasn’t disgusted by thinking about what you were probably doing with Chris and how he wanted to be the reason for your pleasure.

“Well,” Eddie turned to his bandmates that were still sitting on the couch. They all stood up and followed Eddie out of the room. He was hoping that he’d see you but only found Void packing up their equipment with you nowhere to be found. He wanted to know where you had run off to.

“Don’t touch that,” Chris smacked Max’s hand that was reaching for Chris’s guitar. Chris had been in an even worse mood since you had broken up with him and now Max and Joey were paying for it. He couldn’t believe that you were leaving him. Him. He thought he had done so much for you over the years and this was how you repaid him? He had let you live with him when the lease on your apartment was up when he could have just let you live on the street. He let you tour with his band when he could have just left you at home. He even used your stupid song and you were just being ungrateful.

“What do you posers want,” Chris snapped as he turned to the foursome. If looks could kill, they all definitely would have been dead, especially Eddie. They were each hoping that the other had left already so they wouldn’t risk running into each other, but clearly that was just wishful thinking.

“Where’s y/n?” Eddie asked, wondering aloud. He didn’t know why he cared, but he was hoping that you were okay. He had hoped that you had dumped Chris’s sorry ass just like you had said you would.

“Kicked her to the curb,” Chris shrugged as if he was unbothered by your breakup. He turned his back to put his guitar into the case then turned back to Eddie once he was done. “You’re more than welcome to have her, Munson,” he let out a chuckle. “I should warn you, though, she doesn’t really put out.” Eddie took a deep breath, trying very hard not to take the bait. He wasn’t the fighting type, but goddamn was it tempting to punch that fucker square in the face.

“If I remember correctly, she told me that she was going to break up with you.” Just from looking at Chris, Eddie could tell that he was lying through his teeth. Especially since his band members didn’t seem to want to back him up. They just packed up their equipment, seeming unbothered by Chris’s behavior which caused Eddie to believe that he did things like this often.

“Oh, did she? Since you guys are so close, right? Well, you were wrong. I dumped her and now she’s at the hotel probably crying her eyes out.”

“I actually bet she’s at The Ruby Room right now getting cozy with someone that’s definitely not you. I bet he’ll take her to the bathroom and make her feel much more pleasure than you ever could.” Eddie was now inches away from him, trying to hold back a laugh at how red his face was. Eddie actually wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he hoped that whatever you were up to was going to piss Chris off.

“You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about, Munson,” Chris poked Eddie’s chest.

“I don’t?” Eddie raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Because from the way she was reacting with your tongue down her throat, she didn’t seem to like it or you for that matter.”

“We’re going through a rough patch.” Chad genuinely believed that. He figured that you were just on your period and needed time to cool off before you’d come running back to him like nothing happened. He didn’t know that you had every intention of catching the first flight out in the morning.

“Right,” Eddie nodded. “So rough that she even admitted that your band fucking sucks. And that you’re an asshole. Cleary you don’t know her as well as you thought you did.” Chris was like a bomb that was seconds from going off. Anger was bubbling inside of him and his eyes were filled with rage.

“Alright, I’m tired of your shit, Edward.” Chris poked his chest again. Eddie wasn’t going to give in as tempting as it was. All Chris was looking for was a fight and Eddie had no intention of giving him what he wanted.

“Am I upsetting you, Douglas?” Eddie put on a fake pout and he could have sworn that he could see smoke coming out of Chris’s ears. He didn’t think he would actually hit him like he seemed to want to. He was a pussy after all.

“You should be so happy that I haven’t kicked your ass.”

“Like you could,” Eddie let out a laugh. Sure, Chris was ripped and could definitely win the fight, but he was all bark and no bite. There was no actual heat to his threats. Without another word, Chris punched Eddie square in the nose causing the singer to stumble backwards. He clutched his nose and just as soon as he was able to stand up straight, Chris went in for another punch, this time his hitting Eddie’s left eye. He stepped back again while the members of Void were quick to run off with their belongings, disappearing around the corner as quickly as possible. Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were quick to rush to Eddie’s aid, all wincing at the way his face looked once he finally pulled his hand away.

The foursome headed back to the dressing room, Gareth holding onto Eddie, making sure that he was okay as they walked. He thought it was his duty, them being best friends and all. He’d been there for Eddie’s good, bad, and ugly. He had seen how everyone in Hawkins had treated him and despite how much he stood up for the boy, nobody would relent. He was just a kid who played a role-play game with his friends and everyone thought that made him evil.

Gareth helped Eddie sit down in the chair in front of the vanity and handed him some tissues and a couple Advil along with a water bottle. If a few little comments set Chad off, Eddie wondered just how you were treated when he was actually upset. He hoped that Chris hadn’t laid a finger on you unless it was lovingly. But he was pretty sure that the guy didn’t have a single loving bone in his body.

Eddie turned to the mirror and stuck a tissue in each of his nostrils, trying to get a good look at his face. There wasn’t any real damage but the blood. For a couple of punches, Chris really got him good. He could feel the pain coursing through his nose all the way to his head. He didn’t look too bad but knew it would be worse in the morning. Maybe he could garner some sympathy with a sob story to ensure that he’d be able to take someone home.

Eddie took the Advil and threw back some water to wash it all down, feeling like his head was pounding. As he cleaned himself up, the band gathered up all of their belongings and headed to their car to take them back to their hotel so they could freshen up before their night out. Eddie didn’t care if he had the worst headache known to man, he was going to get some. He didn’t even care with who, he just felt like he needed something good after the shit he had been through.

The car pulled up to the building and Eddie practically jumped out, as soon as it stopped moving. He made a beeline for the elevator while the rest leisurely followed him, Gareth carrying his guitar since that hadn’t really been a worry of Eddie’s. All he was concerned about was getting out of the stupid leather and jumping in the shower to wash off the shitty day.

The elevator opened and the four of them stepped inside, Eddie tapping his foot against the floor. He didn’t know why he was so anxious, but his heart was racing and he couldn’t seem to stay still. He was just very suddenly aware of how his clothes were sticking to his sweaty skin and how dirty his hair felt. The doors opened on their floor and he practically ran down the hall, pulling his room key out of his pocket as he did so. He opened the door and slammed it behind him, so grateful that him and the other members of the band all got their own rooms. He could pace around with his guitar, humming the lyrics to a song he was writing at three am if he damn well pleased. He no longer needed to take showers just to have his much needed alone time after being overstimulated the whole day.

Eddie stripped himself of his clothes and left them in a small pile in the floor by his bed. His whole room had been a mess and he figured he should have cleaned it if he was going to bring a girl back there, but that would be after his shower. He entered the bathroom and turned the shower on, humming along to the stupid song that Void had performed before they left the stage. He hated their guts, but goddamn was it catchy. He’d give them that. He couldn’t help but think about how different it sounded to the rest of their songs. The other ones were so shallow and misogynistic and Hurt was so beautifully written that he thought it couldn’t have possibly been written by them, not even Chris. Especially not Chris.

Once the water was hot enough, Eddie jumped into the shower, taking his time to wash every inch of his body. It was something that he usually did pretty quickly just to get it over with because of how much he hated to look at it. He hated that he wasn’t as ripped as the other guys around town and the fact women either laughed at him or were scared of him definitely didn’t help. If he was being honest, it wasn’t until he lost his virginity that he actually felt a sliver of confidence. He had no fucking clue what he was doing, but the fact someone actually gave him the time of day and wanted to see him naked made him feel significantly better about himself.

Now he was the lead singer of one of the biggest metal bands in the industry and both men and women actually seemed to like him. He didn’t care if it was genuine or just because he was famous. He’d take any affection he could get no matter the intention. Whether they were into his personality or his body, it didn’t matter to him, as long as it was consensual and they were comfortable was all he cared about. He couldn’t believe how many men in the industry took advantage of people and got away with it because they were famous. It disgusted him and he wondered how many people would still like them if they knew the kind of men they really are when they thought no one was looking.

He finished with his shower and wiped down the mirror to get another glimpse at his face. His nose was now a little swollen but there wasn’t any actual damage from what he could see. And the skin around his eye was just a little red. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad he had initially thought it would. Maybe it would just swell then go back down by the time he needed to perform the next day.

Once he decided he had enough of looking at his refection he headed back into his room and rifled through his messy suitcase for something to wear to the club. Everything he pulled out looked like shit. He usually didn’t put much thought into what he wore, but for whatever reason, he wanted to look nice. He wanted to look good. For whatever reason, he was hoping to run into you, even though he figured you wouldn’t be there. He was hoping that you were at LAX waiting for your flight home. He had hoped that you were okay despite the obvious pain that you were experiencing.

He settled on a black button up shirt and a pair of jeans with his boots that he definitely needed to replace. He only buttoned a few of the bottom buttons, leaving a lot of his chest on display. He then tucked it into his jeans, hearing a knock on his door. He headed over and opened the door for who he assumed was Jeff then headed to his shoes that he had left by the bed before sitting on it to put them on. Jeff stepped into the room, closing the door before stepping over to Eddie. He was dressed similarly the only difference was that his shirt was navy blue and he was wearing a wife beater under it and his jeans were a darker wash. Eddie always admired the way Jeff dressed and sometimes wished he had the confidence to pull off the things he wore when they were onstage.

“You clean up nice,” Jeff complimented. “I might even be into you.”

“Thanks, you too. Where are the others?” Eddie asked, putting on his socks then quickly throwing on his boots. He stood from the bed and headed for the door, making sure he had his key before the pair stepped into the hallway.

“Waiting on the elevator.” Eddie caught sight of his band mates who were whistling and catcalling him as he walked towards them. It was something they always did to mess with him while simultaneously trying to hype him up. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He had gone out more times than he could count so it was nothing new to him. Maybe it was because he didn’t actually want to go for once. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you no matter how he tried. You were taking up every inch of his brain and he hated it. He was trying to get laid and he couldn’t exactly do that when all he could think about was the outfit you had been wearing and how he wanted to be the one who got to see what was underneath.

As soon as the doors opened, Eddie stepped inside and threw on his sunglasses, knowing that the bright lights of the club would make his headache worse. He pressed himself against the wall, really wishing he had something to numb the pain. A joint or a line, whatever he could get his hands on. He knew they wouldn’t heal him, but they would at least give him the illusion that he was. He should have probably (definitely) gone to bed, but the night was young and so was he so he was going to have a great time and not think about you or how much he wanted to knock Chris’s light out. He couldn’t promise that he’d keep his hands to himself this time if he saw the bastard. He was going to punch the living daylights out of him, not only for what Chris had done to him, but also for you. Especially for you.

The Ruby Room, Los Angeles, 1990

Before Eddie knew it, the car that he wasn’t even aware that he had gotten into was pulling up to the all too familiar building with the words The Ruby Room across the front in bright red lights. Doug was pushing him out of the car and he took the hint, moving faster than he was willing to. He stepped out onto the street and headed towards the entrance, completely bypassing all of people in line waiting to get in. The man at the door pulled back the velvet rope and the members of Corroded Coffin walked through.

“Thanks Hank,” Eddie pat the man’s shoulder, showing him his signature megawatt smile.

“Anything for you guys,” Hank replied and Eddie followed his friends inside. He’d never get over how overstimulating everything was when he first entered the building. With all the bright lights and loud music, it was like his own personal hell, but he’d get over it once he had a few drinks. He made a beeline for the bar and ordered his usual while drumming his fingers on the wood while he waited. He scanned the room, looking for the girl he was going take home when he stopped. He felt like time had frozen when he caught sight of you sitting at a table by yourself sipping on a cocktail. He blinked a couple times, certain that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but once he rubbed them a little too aggressively and saw that you were still there, he was sure that you were very real. He turned back to the bar to see his drink was in front of him and grabbed it and was about to head your way, but he figured he’d leave you alone to give you space.

You hadn’t even planned to go out. You had every intention of going to bed, but you just couldn’t stand being there when Chris got back. You knew he would have intentionally been loud just to wake you up and yell at you for things that were his fault and he would definitely have something to say now that you had broken up with him. He was so angry with you and you didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing that he could say that would make you want to go back to him. You were done and ready to focus on yourself for once.

As much as you liked the idea of going home with someone, you couldn’t find it in yourself. Not because of Chris, but because you hadn’t had sex in six months and weren’t even sure if you knew how to do it anymore. You also weren’t even sure if you liked it. The only person you had slept with was Chris and you tried to get out of it any chance you could. You knew it wasn’t supposed to be that way. You had people talk about amazing it was but every time you did things with Chris, it was nothing but awkward and uncomfortable. He seemed to enjoy himself but didn’t even ask if you liked it. You knew that he wasn’t doing something right but blamed yourself because you knew that he couldn’t possible believe that he was the problem.

Eddie watched you for a few more seconds and was about to turn away when he saw a man approach you. He sat in the chair next to yours without an invitation and was getting a little too close to you for your liking. He was touching your hair and making odd comments which you figured he thought were compliments. He scooted his chair closer to yours and Eddie decided that he had enough. Before he could stop himself, he was making his way over to your table with more confidence than he ever had in his life. He weaved his way through all of the dancing bodies, trying not to spill his drink as he did so. He kept his eyes on you and didn’t miss the way yours lit up when you saw him. He didn’t know if it was because you knew you were going to be saved or if you were just happy to see him, but didn’t care which one it was.

“So sorry I’m late sweetheart,” he greeted as he got to your table. You turned to him and couldn’t stop staring. His hair was extra curly and you just wanted to run your fingers through to see if it was as soft as it looked. And his shirt perfectly showcased his chest and all of his tattoos that you wanted to trace with your fingers and maybe even your tongue.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man slurred before you could speak. He looked old enough to be your father and that made Eddie feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t stand letting some creep hit on you when you were uncomfortable. He knew you could defend yourself, but he felt like he needed to step in to keep you safe.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you turned to the man, emphasizing the last word and Eddie couldn’t understand the feeling he got when he heard it. “And he’s going to kick your ass if you don’t get the fuck out of here.” You were speaking with so much confidence, as if you actually believed that Eddie actually could beat his ass when he definitely couldn’t.

“You?” The man laughed, standing from the chair and getting closer to Eddie, sizing him up. Eddie was sure that the guy could have flicked him and he’d fly across the room, so he wasn’t sure why you had said that he could beat his ass when there was absolutely no competition. He was going to get hit for the second time that night and he wasn’t sure he’d still have a nose after that. He moved his sunglasses up onto his head and prepared for the inevitable but it didn’t come. He opened his eyes and the man’s mouth was agape.

“Eddie Munson?” He asked in shock. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. I love your work.” Eddie let out a sigh of relief and the man put his hand out to shake.

“Oh, thanks. Nice to meet you,” Eddie smiled at him and took his hand, shaking it, swearing that he could hear a crack over the loud music at how hard the man was holding his hand. He finally let go, his face lighting up as he did so.

“The pleasure’s all mine. I saw you guys performing earlier and you were amazing.” Eddie realized early on in his career that Corroded Coffin’s main demographic was men that were old enough to be his father. Every one that he had met had been nothing but complimentary and seemed to be very dedicated. He was always so appreciative and couldn’t help but think about how they reminded him of Wayne. He really needed to give him a call.

“Wow, thanks man,” Eddie nodded. Had something actually gone right for him for once? He swore he was going to end up in the hospital and now this guy was telling him that he was a huge fan? Being famous was weird, Eddie knew that for sure. Maybe since now he knew the guy respected him, he could get him to leave you alone.

“Well, I won’t keep you. You guys have a great night and I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he nodded his head towards you then turned and disappeared into all of the dancing bodies on the dance floor. Eddie let out a sigh of relief as he sat in the chair beside you. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. How good he looked in the harsh club lighting which you didn’t think was possible. You thought maybe it was the alcohol, but you looked down at your drink and realized that you had only had a few sips so you decided that he just looked like that. So pretty and nice. The second thing surprisingly not being common in men.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, turning to face him. He looked intimidating, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He threw his glasses onto the table and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to process everything that just happened.

“I know,” he nodded. “But I wanted to.”

“I could have taken care of myself.” Eddie knew that but maybe he just wanted an excuse to talk to you. He didn’t know why he needed one since he could talk to you if he wanted to. You made him nervous and he wasn’t sure why. He thought he was finally getting good at talking to girls but here you were in your red dress looking as beautiful as ever in the bright lights.

“I know,” he said again with another nod. “But again, I wanted to.”

“Well, that’s sweet. It’s good you didn’t get your ass kicked. Crazy that he was a fan, huh? Guess you should consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh, I do.” He had to be to have a chance to see you again. “I couldn’t take another ass kicking.”

“Another one?” He turned his face to her and she caught sight of the redness around his eye. She took his face in her hands and turned it so she could see just how bad his injury was. “Eddie,” she gasped, pulling his face closer to hers so she could get a better look and he had tried his best to ignore the thudding of his heart against his chest. “Who did this to you?”

“Your boyfriend,” he grumbled, hating the way the words felt on his tongue. “Or I guess now he’s your ex boyfriend.”

“Chris did this to you? Eddie, I’m so sorry. He’s such a fucking ass.” You hated that he had taken a punch from your shitty ex and wondered what had happened. You decided you were going to ask later when everything wasn’t so fresh. You brought your thumb up to graze the redness around his eye and he winced. “I’m sorry,” You apologized, completely removing your hands from his face and Eddie was already missing your touch. You stood up from the table and held your hand out for him to take. He looked at it, dumbfounded, wondering why you were offering it to him and what you wanted him to do with it. You shook it and it finally registered that you wanted him to hold it.

He put his hand in yours and you pulled him up from the table, pulling him towards the dance floor. You weaved your way through the crowd and Eddie admired how quickly and seamlessly you seemed to move, like you knew exactly where to go. He had no idea where you were taking him, but he didn’t care. He was beginning to realize he’d follow you anywhere and that scared him. He had only just met you and now he was head over heels. He didn’t get attached to women, that was his thing. He didn’t think he was even capable of being interested in someone beyond sex but here he was, following you, knowing that no matter where you were taking him, he’d be okay just because you were there. Eddie caught sight of his band mates as he looked around the club and they all gave him a thumbs up when they realized that you were pulling him down a hallway, assuming that the two of you were going to get up to something filthy.

Once Eddie was out of his daze, he realized that you were pulling him into the women’s bathroom. You instructed him to stand at the sink and he listened, willing to do whatever you told him. He looked at his reflection and was about to reach up and touch his eye but you rested your hand on his shoulder and turned him around before he could. Before he could register what was going on, your hand was digging through your purse for something and Eddie just stood there and watched, admiring your beauty now that he had gotten a full view of your dress. Your dress that he wanted to slip his hands under and feel your soft skin under his.

“I swear I’m gonna kill Chris,” you muttered, pulling out what looked like a tube of lipstick but instead of red or pink that he was used to seeing, it was the color of your skin which he had never seen before.

“Can I help?” He didn’t want to help for the sake of helping, he wanted to beat the shit out of Chris for how terribly he had treated everyone in his path, especially you. He also wanted revenge for himself, to reverse the rolls and give him the shiner. He couldn’t let him get away with it now that he’d seen the real him.

“I’ll need someone to help me bury the body, won’t I?” You set your purse on the counter and took the cap off of the tube, twisting the bullet so you had access to more product. “I’m gonna fix your eye, okay?”

“You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart.” Eddie closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, putting his hands on top of it. You moved to his left side where his injury was and pressed yourself against the counter, gently taking his chin in your hand, lightly pressing the concealer stick to his skin, not missing his winces as you did so. It must have hurt much worse than it looked. You lightly blended the makeup with your fingers and Eddie didn’t care how much it hurt, he just liked that you were touching him, loving the way the pads of your fingers felt against his skin. Loving how close you were to him, and how amazing you smelled. He couldn’t tell whether it was your perfume or if you just smelled that good naturally, but goddamn was it addicting.

Eddie opened his eyes and couldn’t help but look into yours, captivated by the color and the cute concentrated look you had on your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your tongue was barely poking through your lips, your pretty red painted lips that he wanted to know the taste of but knew he wouldn’t. Not then. Not when you had just broken up with your boyfriend. The wounds were still open and he could see them even though you had bandaged them up. He may have only known you for a few hours at that point, but he could see right through you. He could see that you were hurting even though you pretended that you weren’t. You were trying to be tough and he hated that you felt like you had to hide your emotions. You didn’t. At least not with him. He wouldn’t have judged you if you had wanted to break something in anger or if you just wanted to cry. He would have let you, would have even held you while you did it.

You tapped on some setting powder with a makeup brush and finished up before stepping back to admire your work, nodding to yourself in approval. It wasn’t your best by any means, but you did what you could in a pinch. It wasn’t like it mattered that much in the ruby colored club lighting, but you just wanted to help Eddie out. At least, that was what you were telling yourself. It wasn’t because you were looking for an excuse to touch his pretty face, no. And it wasn’t because you wanted to be close to him either. You just saw someone in need and wanted to provide for them. That was it.

“Take a look,” you referred to the mirror. Eddie turned to it and leaned on the counter to get a better look. The redness was gone and he actually looked normal. He turned to look at you and you didn’t miss the small smile kicked up at the corner of his mouth.

“It looks great,” he complimented. “Truly. The greatest makeup job I’ve ever had.” Maybe he was exaggerating but he didn’t care. He had only had his makeup done a few times for certain performances and some music videos and every time he dreaded it, hating that people were that close to him, hating being touched like that. But with you, he didn’t mind, not one bit. In fact, he didn’t think that you were close enough, didn’t think that you had touched him for nearly as long as you should have.

“Really?” You looked him in the eyes and could see that he was being genuine. Everyone in your life had always made fun of you for interest in makeup and the fact that you had wanted to make a career out of it. They all told you that it wasn’t a “real job” and that you couldn’t possibly be successful doing people’s makeup for a living. That it was just a silly hobby and you shouldn’t spend so much time doing something that won’t make you any money.

“Definitely,” Eddie stepped closed to you, taking a chance. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and grabbed him by his hips, pulling him so he was flush to your body. His eyes widened at your sudden movement but he wasn’t going to deny your touch. His hands hesitantly moved to your shoulders and he looked at your face the entire time to gauge your reaction. He watched your pretty lips part and he stared at them, wondering if they were at soft as they looked, if they tasted as good as he was hoping they would. You ran your tongue along your bottom lip and that was it. He had to have you, but he wanted you make the first move.

You leaned closer to him, so close that he could feel your breath on his face. Your lips ghosted over his and he had to blink a few times to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming even though he could feel your hot touch despite his shirt being a barrier between your hand and his skin.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said. He wanted you so badly but wanted to be considerate of you and your fragile state. He didn’t want you to move on too soon.

“But doesn’t that make it more fun,” your grip on his waist tightened and he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t like seeing that side of you. “Knowing that we shouldn’t but doing it anyway?”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathed and closed his eyes, waiting for your lips to meet his. Just as you caught his bottom lip between your two, there was a loud beeping sound coming from your purse. You ignored it and rested your hands against Eddie’s face, slowly moving them into his hair. He wrapped his arms around your waist as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip and he opened up, letting yours meet his. He pressed you against the counter and you untucked his shirt from his pants, moving your hands beneath it to run your fingers up his bare back.

The loud beeping sounded again and you reluctantly pulled away, Eddie chasing your lips as you did so. He got in one more kiss before you reached for your purse and pulled out your pager seeing that you had pages from both Max and Joey. All that was said was that Chris needed you and that you needed to come back to the hotel. You didn’t need to do anything. You threw the pager back in your bag before pressing your lips to Eddie’s again.

“Do you want to get a drink?” You asked, pulling away from him. He was caught off guard by your question and figured that whatever message you got on your beeper must have upset you.

“I’d love to get a drink,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door but you pulled him back. Before he could ask what you were doing, you wiped away the lipstick that had transferred onto his skin and only laughed when it smudged across his cheek.

“You look like the Joker.” You continued to laugh and he couldn’t help but join in as you tried and failed to wipe the lipstick off his face.

“Me?” He laughed. “Look at you!” He moved out of the way so you could see yourself in the mirror and you leaned in close to get a better look. He was right. You did look much worse than he did. Your lipstick was all over the bottom half of your face to the point where you almost resembled a clown. You were quick to grab Eddie’s face, about to wipe the lipstick away before he stopped you.

“Wait,” he grabbed your hands, moving them away from his face.

“What?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing your eyebrows.

“Don’t wipe it away.”

“Why?”

“I like having your mark on me.” You blushed at his words then turned to the mirror to remove your lipstick to fix it up.

“What all do you have in there?” He asked as you rummaged in your purse for your lipstick.

“In my purse? Anything and everything I could possibly need.”

“Like what? Can I see?” You handed him your purse while you continued wiping his face. He pulled out everything one by one, mesmerized by how much you were able to carry in such a small bag. He didn’t miss the envelope filled with cash but didn’t want to mess with it. He came across what felt like a pencil and pulled out quickly realizing that it was eyeliner. He had seen other performers wear it but was always afraid he’d poke his eye out.

You finished taking off the lipstick then took your concealer and put it in on the spots of your foundation that had been removed then tapped on some powder over it to make sure it stayed in place. You then took a tube of lipstick and applied it to your lips, rubbing them together to make sure that it was evenly applied. Eddie watched you in awe, fascinated with the whole process, loving the precision of everything. He swore that he could watch you apply your makeup for hours and never get bored.

“Ready?” You asked, turning to him with a smile on your freshly glossed lips. He just smiled back in complete adoration.

“Ready,” he nodded and pulled your purse out of your reach when you went to grab it from him. “Now what kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you carry your purse?” He scoffed in feigned offense.

“You’re not a gentleman,” you replied, reaching for the purse again but he just held it further out of your reach.

“Ouch, doll,” he put his hand up to where his heart was and acted as if he was in pain. “You wound me. Let’s settle this now. You let me carry your purse and I’ll buy you a drink, alright?”

“Then what do I get in return?” You crossed your arms over your chest and put on a pout.

“You get to hangout with me.”

“Hmm,” you pondered. “I don’t think that’s a fair trade.”

“Damn, you’re just firing shots tonight, aren’t you, doll?” He gave you his megawatt smile then opened the door for you to exit the bathroom. You stepped into the hallway and grabbed his hand, leading him back out onto the dance floor.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” You led him over to the bar. He drummed his free hand on the bar while you waited for the busy bartender to get to you. You turned to look at him and gave him a small smile which he returned and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. For someone who was so used to be being in the public eye, Eddie always seemed to forget that people could perceive him when he wasn’t onstage. He didn’t expect attention, especially not from women like you. You were so pretty and smart and now you were available. He could have asked you out if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t. Only because he wanted you to be comfortable. He was going to wait and see if you’d give him your number or at least tell him that you were interested. He didn’t think that making out with him in the Ruby Room bathroom counted as interested.

You ordered another cosmopolitan while Eddie ordered another beer, adding both drinks to his tab while handing over his credit card. While you waited, you wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him as close to you as possible. He leaned into you, turning his head towards yours. He looked at you in admiration and hated that he could see himself falling for you only having met you earlier that day.

He could see himself calling you while on tour and hearing about your day. He could see the two of you dancing around the kitchen in your pajamas while he hummed a song that he wrote for you. He could even see the two of you sitting on the front porch of the house you just bought while the dog you insisted on getting ran around the yard.

Eddie’s first thought would have been to run, to get away from you and the feelings that he was having, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay put and see how everything would turn out. He was just so content being beside you. You didn’t even have to speak, just knowing that you were there was enough for him.

“Here you go,” you handed him his beer and for a second, he completely forgot where he was. For a moment, it was just the two of you in your own little world and now he was back in the real one where other people existed and he wished the two of you could go somewhere you could be alone. He wanted to get to know you without the outside world intervening. He didn’t want to be arrogant but he knew of his celebrity status and as much as he loved the people who loved him, he had to admit that he wasn’t always so happy to have them interrupt his night to talk to him.

“Thanks,” he smiled and took a sip, turning to scan the club. When he turned back to you, you were holding a shot out to him. “What’s this for?” He set his beer on the bar and took the shot from you, holding it between his fingers.

“To new beginnings,” you held your shot up motioning for him to cheers.

“Fuck yeah,” he nodded, completely understanding what you were implying. “To new beginnings.” You both downed the liquid and it burned going down but you liked the way it made you feel. It gave you more confidence. It let you turn your brain off even if it was only for a few hours.

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked, looking at the dance floor longingly. Eddie followed your gaze and couldn’t help but think about how much he hated dancing and being around that many people at once. He normally would have said no but how could he have after seeing that adorable pout on your face?

“Sure,” he nodded and you were quickly to pull him out there while he tried to make sure that you didn’t spill any of your drink. It was a very close call but he was successful as you got onto the dance floor. He watched you as you moved to the beat, insisting that he hold your drink while you did so. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you moved your hips to the terrible pop beat that was playing over the speakers. He set the drinks on the table where his friends had been sitting and you were quick to grab his hands and rest them on your waist. He tried to mimic the way you were moving but didn’t think his body could do the same.

You thought it was cute that he was trying to copy you and decided to help him in his struggle. You rested your hands on his waist, moving his hips this way and that and he couldn’t help but let out a giggle at how ridiculous he probably looked. Once you thought he got the hang of it, you turned your back to him and started grinding against his crotch. His eyes widened as he watched you, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. He had seen people dance like that countless times but when it came time for his turn, his mind went completely blank. It didn’t help that you were making him hard and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

After what felt like far too long, you turned back around and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. His arms moved to your waist and he enveloped you into a hug, pulling you closer to him.

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. I know that you probably have better things to do but I really appreciate it.” Better things to do? Like what? Going to bed? Sleeping with a woman that wasn’t you? Yeah right. He wanted to be there for you. To be the shoulder you cried on.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he rubbed your back sympathetically. You stayed like that for a while, the floor slowly emptying as the night turned to morning. You heard last call and decided to call it a night. Neither of you wanted it to end, but you thought it was for the best. You didn’t want to go back to Chris, but you didn’t think you had a choice. You certainly weren’t going to ask Eddie if you could stay with him. He had already done so much for you and you weren’t going to push it.

The two of you exited the club as it was shutting down, the remaining members of Corroded Coffin following your lead. The five of you stood on the sidewalk awkwardly as the boys waited for their ride. You saw the other boys eyeing Eddie as if they were all communicating with looks that you clearly didn’t understand.

“Well,” you spoke up. “I should probably get back.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, even though it was taking everything in him to not ask you to stay the night. Not even to sleep with you. He just wanted to make sure you were safe.

“Have a good night guys. I had a nice time.” Before he could register what you were doing, you had grabbed his hand, scribbling on it with your eyeliner pencil, that being the only writing utensil you had on hand. “This is my phone and pager numbers. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” You threw the pencil back into your purse and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s lips before making your way down the street.

That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t really going to let you walk down the streets of LA at night alone would he? No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let you leave without one last kiss to hold him over until he saw you again. He ran after you as fast as he could and you turned around in confusion as he stood in front of you. He grabbed you by your face and pressed his lips roughly to yours, taking no time to swipe his tongue along your bottom one. You let him in, grabbing hold of his shirt. His hands quickly moved to your hair, his fingertips pressing into your scalp.

“I just needed one more taste,” he mumbled against your lips. You only pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I told you not to be a stranger, Munson.” You only pulled him closer, pecking his lips.

“I-“ he cut himself off before speaking again. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. You could ask me up to your room right now and I’d say yes.” You really hadn’t been expecting to go back to where he was staying, but you couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t want to go back to your room and who would pass up the chance to fuck a rockstar?

“D-do you want to go to my room?” He was surprised he could get the words out considering how fuzzy his brain felt at the thought of you wanting to fuck him.

“I’d be honored.” You took his hand in yours and he pulled you back over to the boys as soon as the car pulled up. The five of you all piled into it, you and Eddie ending up alone in the very back seat. Your hand was still holding his and you pulled them to rest on your lap, your free hand fiddling with his rings that adorned his fingers. His fingers that you so desperately wanted to touch you in every place imaginable.

You whispered to each other the whole way, giggling as you did so, definitely annoying Eddie’s friends who were sitting in front of you. They were all getting sick of your flirty conversation and couldn’t wait for the car to pull up to the hotel so they could get away.

The car finally go to the hotel and your jaw dropped at the sight in front of you. You weren’t surprised that Corroded Coffin had the cash to stay there considering how popular they had become over the years.

Eddie took you by the hand and led you inside the building and you were completely mesmerized by how nice it was. It made where you were staying look like a dump. It was so nice that you felt out of place like you usually did when you went to places like that. You didn’t grow up with much money and didn’t really know anyone who did so you definitely didn’t think you’d ever step foot in the Beverly Hills hotel. Especially not with the lead singer of Corroded Coffin.

The others took the elevator that came down while you and Eddie stayed back to take your own. Your flirting continued as you stood in the empty lobby, the only people there being the two of you. You looked up at him and realized that you didn’t actually have anything to worry about like you usually did when it was that time of night. You’d lay your head on your pillow and everything you were worried about that quieted itself during the day became very loud in your head. It was to the point where you could barely sleep most nights because whatever Chris had been worried about would be passed off to you because for whatever reason, he wanted to make everything a concern to you even when it didn’t actually involve you.

It was as if all of the chaos had left had your head as soon as you and Chris were broken up. All of the problems that you previously had just weren’t there. You didn’t have to take care of his laundry or pack up his suitcase to make everything fit. You didn’t have to restring his fucking guitar or make him his special tea that supposedly helped his voice sound better but you were sure it was a scam. You didn’t have to do anything for that man anymore and you felt good. You were finally free from his shackles.

One of the elevators opened and you grabbed Eddie by the shirt, pulling him inside. He pressed the button for his floor before his hands found your waist again and moved farther down as your lips attached to his. You went to unbutton his shirt, the fact that you were in an elevator was the least of your worries. You needed him and you needed him now. It didn’t matter that you had issues with being intimate with someone. You were confident that Eddie would satisfy your needs and be nothing but a gentleman while he did it.

Eddie’s hands slipped under your dress as you undid the last button, his entire chest in display for your viewing pleasure. You pulled back to look at him, wondering how you got so lucky. How you got Eddie Munson to actually agree to sleep with you. And it took absolutely no convincing. He was on board for whatever you liked to do. You barely even knew him and he was already wrapped around your finger.

Before his hands could get any farther, the elevator dinged signaling that it was on the correct floor and Eddie reluctantly removed himself from you, stealing one more kiss before leading you to his room.

“It’s kind of messy,” he said sheepishly as he unlocked the door. You didn’t think that mattered considering what you were about to get up to. The cleanliness of his room was the least of your worries. He opened the door and you were surprised at how surprisingly clean it was. It wasn’t immaculate by any means but it was definitely better than the rooms of other men that you had seen. There were small piles of clothes and an open cluttered suitcase, but that was it as far as the mess went. It was very clean compared to the roommate you had shared a living space with over the past few years.

“So this is how the other half lives,” you sighed, collapsing onto his bed. It was much softer than the one where you were staying.

“It could be your life too,” he replied, lying down next to you. He didn’t know why he said that, but it was too late to take it back. You turned to look at him but he just kept staring at the ceiling, afraid to look you in the eye.

“I guess you’re right. I think I was put on this earth to be a rockstar’s girlfriend.” His cheeks heated up at that. He would have asked you out if he knew for sure that you were talking about him, but you weren’t. You definitely weren’t. Eddie was the kind of guy you snuck into your window because your parents didn’t approve, not the kind of guy you’d bring home. And definitely not the kind of guy who wanted to be a boyfriend. People slept with him and that was it. And that was how he liked it. It was everything he liked without all the “feelings” bullshit.

The two of you fell silent and you rolled on top of him, straddling his hips and pressed your lips to his once again and he was quick to put his hands under your dress. You removed it, letting it fall to the floor. His hands landed on your thighs, giving them a squeeze as he licked into your mouth. He liked how soft they were under his rough hands.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “So this is what I’ve been missing. God, angel, you’re perfect.”

“Perfect?” You loved that word and how easily he was able to say it in regard to you. Like it was something that he said all the time.

“Perfect,” he pressed his lips to yours once more. “And don’t you forget it.”

You pulled his open shirt from his shoulders and threw it to the side. Eddie was quick to flip you over so now he was straddling you. He captured your top lip between his two in a brief kiss before moving down to your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses to the skin. He went down to your chest ,sucking on your breast, his tongue running over your nipple.

You let out a soft moan and he chuckled to himself, loving the way it sounded coming from your pretty lips. He continued sucking on your breast, hearing more moans come from you. He took your nipple in between his teeth and pulling to get just the right sound he wanted from you.

“Oh,” you let out another moan. He repeated the same action before giving it a little suck. “Oh, Eddie.”

“That’s right, princess,” he said before pulling away from your chest. “Say my name.” He moved to your other breast and did the exact same thing, getting more moans from you. He was loving seeing you like this and knowing that it was all for him was driving him wild. He kissed all the way down your stomach and made his way to your waist.

“Can I remove these,” he asked, referring to your underwear. He was being so nice and respectful and you weren’t used to that. You were used to rough and mean.

“Um,” you hesitated. You wanted him to, you really did, but you were still fragile. You weren’t ready but were too afraid to admit that to him. You felt bad considering how eager he was, but you just couldn’t go through with it.

“I don’t have to," he sat up, completely moving his hands away from you, leaning up as he did so.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. Eddie didn’t know why you were telling him that. He was willing to do whatever you wanted. He hoped that you knew that.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I do…I just-I don’t know. I’m nervous. I-I’ve only ever felt this way a few times but it’s been a long time and I don’t even know what to do.”

“That’s okay,” he pushed some of your hair out of your face.

“I mean, I don’t even know what it looks like down there anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” his hands rested on your face. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I want you to feel comfortable, okay? Tonight is all about you.” All about you? You couldn’t remember the last time you had been the focus of anything. For the longest time, it was all about Chris and what he wanted. For once, you were going to be the center of attention and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

“Me? What about you, Eddie?” You wanted to know what he was going to get out of the arrangement. Certainly not much.

“Darling, believe me, I’d get plenty of pleasure from hearing your pretty sounds.” Your eyes widened at that. You were still in shock that he always somehow knew exactly what to say.

“Remove them,” you commanded.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He knew exactly to what you were referring, but he wanted to hear you say it again.

“Remove them,” you repeated. “Please,” you begged and he was quick to remove the fabric and toss it aside. He spread your legs and a devilish grin made its way upon his face.

“Well look at you,” he looked down at your pussy that was much more damp than you were used to. “Is this all for me, princess?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for me.” You couldn’t remember the last time you got wet like this. If you ever had. Any time Chris had tried to fuck you, you were as dry as the desert. You hadn’t even done anything and Eddie was already making you feel much more pleasure than both Chris and your vibrator combined.

“Well, I’m honored.” He took both of your legs and draped them over his shoulders. “Gonna make you feel so good, angel.”

“Yes, god, please.” Eddie lowered his head, pressing a kiss to each of your thighs before burying his face between them. His tongue was quick to lick from your slit to your clit and you slipped your fingers into his hair, giving it a yank. He took that as an invitation to continue and moved his tongue back and forth before adding his fingers into the mix. He pumped them in and out and your legs tightened against his head.

“God, fuck Eddie,” you breathed. “That feels so good, baby.” Eddie continued working his magic with his mouth, removing his fingers, his hands, grabbing onto your hips, digging his fingers into your skin. Your hands buried themselves into his hair, the tips of them pressing into his scalp. “Eddie,” you moaned. “Need more of you.” Eddie pulled away looked up at you and you swore that you were going to remember that look for forever. Like he couldn’t get enough of you. Like he was in love with you and from the way you were making him feel, he was convinced that he was.

He kissed back up to your lips and licked into your mouth, his hands grabbing onto yours, intertwining your fingers. His legs straddled your waist and you could barely even tell that he had put his full weight on you. You were so focused on him and his talented tongue.

“See how good you taste, angel?” He asked, squeezing your hands.

“No,” you shook your head. “Only know how good you taste,” you responded.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me,” he pressed his lips to yours again. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know anything, Eddie,” you bat your eyelashes. “Except the fact that you’re fucking hot.” Eddie captured your lips in another kiss before moving down to your neck, sucking on the base of the side on your throat. His teeth grazed the skin gently and he was quick to diffuse the pain with his tongue.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.” He pressed a few open mouthed kisses to your neck before sucking again.

“Then I guess I should tell you how good you are at this.” Eddie lowered himself on top of you, slotting his legs between yours, his fingers still interlaced with yours.

“Then I should tell you how good you are at taking it. You’re doing so well, princess.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and his hands went to your thighs. “You’re so pretty,” he said, pressing more open mouthed kisses to your neck. “Not even just your face, your body.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m also right,” he replied. “Don’t you think you’re pretty?” You did think you were pretty. Despite all of the things Chris had said to you over the years, you still thought you were hot shit.

“Absolutely,” you nodded and he grinned.

“Good,” he pressed another kiss to your neck, letting his lips linger there before pulling away. “You should be. You’re so fucking hot.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, princess. Could do this all day every day and never get bored. I think you’re the perfect partner.”

“Out of all the others?” Eddie laughed at that. He didn’t like that you were comparing yourself to the other women he slept with, but he couldn’t understand why you were. To him, he could get rid of every other one and be content to have just you every night. He could see himself falling asleep with you in his arms, his head resting on top of yours. He could see himself performing and looking to you who was standing side stage with the biggest smile on your face, cheering him on. He was falling and fast and for once, he wasn’t going to kick you out. The door was wide open and he was letting you in without question.

“There’s no competition. And this isn’t a line. I genuinely mean it.” he went back to work on your neck, sucking on the spot once more. Your breath hitched and you weren’t sure how he was able to take your breath away. His teeth grazed the skin again, harder this time and you let out a gasp.

“God, Eddie,” you moaned. “Is this always what it’s supposed to feel like?” He chuckled and feeling his breath on your neck made goosebumps rise on your skin.

“As long as it’s with me, yeah,” he responded before diving back in. You liked how he knew when it was starting to hurt and he would quickly swipe his tongue across the spot. He knew exactly what he was doing and you were eating up every second of it.

“Well, maybe next time you can give me the full experience.”

“Already thinking about next time, huh?” He pulled back to wink at you.

“Maybe,” you let out a giggle, starting to feel your eyes get heavy, feeling the after effects of all of the pleasure you had just experienced.

“Right, maybe,” he replied, letting go of your hands and moving your hair away from your face. “You’re starting to slur, angel. Maybe it’s time for bed.”

“No,” you whined. “I didn’t get to please you.”

“Next time, sweetheart, next time,” he pat your cheek. “You can do whatever you want to me when you’re not about to fall asleep on me.” He got off of you and went to his suitcase, pulling out a t-shirt. He handed it to you and you changed into it. It was a little tight, but it was still pretty comfortable. You stood up from the bed, feeling sleepiness take over you as you pulled on your underwear. You almost fell to the floor but Eddie caught up before you could.

“Alright, come one. We gotta remove your makeup, sweet girl.” He scooped you up, holding you by the waist with one arm and putting the other under your legs. He carried you to the bathroom effortlessly and set you on the counter. He then grabbed your makeup remover from your purse and put some on a hand towel before wiping your face with it.

“Eddie, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he nodded. “But I want to. Can’t let you sleep in that all night. It’s not gonna be comfortable.”

“I can do it.”

“Can you just let me take care of you, please?”

“You were taking care of me just fine earlier.”

“Not that kind of care, angel,” he wiped your face again, his other hand holding onto your chin.

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” you pulled away from his grasp.

“Well, I was, but you were getting tired and I’m not really into fucking women who are unconscious.”

“I guess I can’t fault you for being a gentleman,” you sighed.

“Gentleman? That’s the bare minimum. How come here.” You leaned forward, leaning into his touch. You opened your legs and he was quick to slot between them, trying to get closer to you. He continued to remove your makeup, trying to be gentle as he did it. You could get used to it. The two of you having a night out, him holding your hair when you drank too much and him taking you home and removing your makeup when you were too drunk. God, you were really was falling for you. You were fucked.

“All done,” he threw the towel to the side and grabbed onto your waist to help you from the counter. He took you by the hand and led you back to his bed. He helped you under the covers and made sure that you were comfortable before removing his pants and throwing on some sweatpants. He then turned off the lamp beside him and got under the covers and was quick to move over to you, taking you in his arms. He rested his chin on top of your head and you buried your face into his chest. He tangled his legs with yours and pulled you even closer, brushing his lips against your forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

You were so comfortable that you were quickly slipping into sleep. Your face was against Eddie’s warm chest with his arms wrapped around your waist and you were very content being there, knowing that he would protect you if anything happened.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing

“Goodnight, Eds,” you sighed dreamily and Eddie loved hearing that sound, feeling at ease that you were content. Before you could fully let sleep consume you, you pulled back to look at him one last time.

“Can I get one last kiss? I really think that would help me sleep.” What was he going to do? Say no? With you looking at him with that adorable sleepy smile? “Please?”

“Well, since you said, please.” He tilted your chin up and pressed a featherlight kiss to your lips. He pulled away only to find you glaring at him and he just let out a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not good enough for you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Ouch, doll,” he put his hand up to his chest. “You hurt me again.” You removed his hand and pressed a kiss to the spot he had been covering.

“Better?”

“Much, thank you. Alright, I’ll give you one more kiss and then we have to go to sleep.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Tilted your head back again and captured your lips between his, this kiss slow and sweet just like all of his others. For being such an intimidating looking guy, he was very good at being a sweetheart. Looks really could be deceiving.

“Alright,” he sighed, pulling away from you. “Bedtime, angel,” he wrapped his arms around your waist again and pulled you to his chest. His chin once again rested on top of your head and he closed his eyes, for once feeling comfortable. All of his nightmares seemed to vanish, the only thing taking over his brain being you and your beautiful face.

Eddie woke up to the sound of a high pitched ringing. He looked to his left and found you on the other side of the bed, looking like an angel, still deep in sleep. So he wasn’t dreaming. All of that stuff that he had done to you had very much happened. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He watched you for a second, noticing the very obvious hickey on your neck. He loved watching you come undone at his simple touches. He loved hearing those sounds come from your pretty lips. God, your lips. He could have kissed them all night long and never gotten bored. They were so soft and sweet just like you. You were so nice and caring and he wondered how Chris could treat you like shit, especially with all of the things you had done for him. If Eddie had been in his place, he would have put a ring on it a long time ago.

The ringing was still going and Eddie turned over, reaching for the phone that was by the clock. He put the phone to his ear, expecting to be met by yelling from his manager, Rick.

“Hello,” he answered, his voice still filled with sleep.

“I swear to god if you’re not here in the next five minutes, I’m going to rip the strings off your guitar one fucking string at a time so that you’ll be on stage looking like a goddamn idiot,” Rick warned through grit teeth.

“God, Richard, you’re so dramatic.”

“I swear, if you were up late with one of those groupies-“

“She’s not a groupie,” he corrected.

“Oh, sorry,” Rick apologized, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or should I say whore.”

“She’s not a whore either,” he looked over at you, still sleeping peacefully. “Look, I’ll be there, damn,” he pulled the phone away from his ear then immediately put it back. “And send a car for (y/n), will you?” He slammed the phone down on the receiver then looked at the clock and swore to himself, practically flinging himself off the bed. He was going to be late for rehearsal. He rushed to put on some jeans he had left in the floor and a t shirt that was hanging on the knob of the bathroom door.

All of the commotion stirred you from your sleep. You watched Eddie throw on his shirt and you wondered where he was going to early. You glanced at the clock and realized that it was noon. Your flight was at four and you were going to have to run like hell if you wanted to change it.

Eddie rushed into the bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth before heading back into bedroom.

“Where are you going?” You asked him, trying to be flirtatious, but he only looked at you with a stressed expression.

“Got rehearsal, doll,” he sighed, grabbing one of his shoes and throwing it on, not even bothering to tie it then grabbed another shoe and put it on.

“Those don’t match,” you let out a laugh and he looked down, noticing that he was wearing a sneaker and a boot. He took off the sneaker and threw on the other boot before rushing over to give you a kiss.

“When’s your flight?” He asked and you almost didn’t want to answer him. If you did, then the whole thing would be ruined. You just couldn’t say goodbye.

“Four,” you grumbled.

“I’ll still be at the festival then, so we can say goodbye at the car.” You wanted to go with him, but you didn’t feel like you had right to. Hookups didn’t stand side stage.

“You’ll still call me?” You were really hoping that he was going to call you.

“I’d be an idiot not to.” You gave him another kiss before changing back into your dress, handing the shirt back to him.

“No, keep it,” he pushed it back to your chest.

“I can’t take your shirt, Ed.” Even though you knew he had plenty to spare, you felt bad taking it, even though you really wanted to.

“Sure you can. And you look way better in it than I do.”

“Oh, shut up.” You put your shoes back on and made sure you have everything that was in your purse before heading to the door. Eddie opened it for you and the two of you headed down the hallway, Eddie making sure to grab hold of your hand as you did so. You were really hoping that he wasn’t going to be a stranger. You couldn’t stand not seeing him again especially after how close the two of you had gotten in just one night.

Eddie pressed the down button for the elevator then pulled you into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. The elevator doors quickly opened, and Eddie urged you inside, the two of you still attached. He pressed you against the wall, his hands grabbing onto your thighs, giving them yet another squeeze. He licked into your mouth and you opened up, letting it find yours. His hands found your ass and he gave it a little pinch, causing up to let out a little squeal.

“Jump,” he commanded and you did as you were told, totally confident that he was going to catch you and he did. Your legs wrapped and his waist and he was quick to pin you to the wall again. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Should’ve done this last night. You look so pretty with your legs wrapped around me, sweetheart.” That only made you tighten your legs around his waist. He pressed his lips to your neck gently and let out a whistle at the mark he had made the night before.

“Oh, how scandalous,” he chuckled. “This is a gnarly hickey. Who did this to you?”

“You did,” you smiled and a full blown grin made its way upon his face.

“That’s right, princess,” he ran his nose along your jaw. “Guess that means you belong to me now.”

“Guess it does,” you responded nonchalantly. You knew Eddie was joking but you definitely wouldn’t have minded being his. The elevator doors opened and Eddie was quick to drop you gently to your feet, grabbing hold of your hand and pulling you out. You tried not to laugh at the older couple giving the two of you disgusted looks as you headed for the entrance.

You got outside where there was a car that Eddie assumed Rick had called for him and he pulled your body to his, pressing yet another kiss to your lips, this one lingering longer than the others.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get back from the festival, alright?” He kissed you again.

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. Eddie opened the car door for you.

“Your carriage awaits, m’lady,” he gestured to the backseat and you hesitantly got in before he closed the door behind you. You waved at him from the window and he waved back before heading over to the car that was waiting for him.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t the end. He was going to call you and you’d meet again. He’d fly to you if he had to. And he would, no questions asked. He had all of this money and he’d gladly spend every cent just to see you one more time.

You told the driver where you were staying and the car took you there. Now that you were away from Eddie, you were forced to think about the near future. You were about to go back to what was left of the life you shared with Chris and you didn’t know what you were going to do. All you did know was that you had every intention of changing your flight to an earlier one. There was no fucking way that you were going to sit next to that dickhead for five hours with nowhere else to go.

You entered the motel, definitely looking a little worse for wear. You hated that you had to leave Eddie and that you actually had to go back home. You hated having to finish packing your suitcase. You hated everything. But all you could think about was Eddie and the way he had made you feel the night before. You couldn’t help but have wanted him to be there to help you out. And he would have in a heartbeat. He would have made you stand behind him while he called Chris out on his bullshit. But he wasn’t. He had to go to rehearsal for the next day of Rhythm Riot so you’d have to face Chris alone.

You reluctantly unlocked the door and stepped inside, caught off guard by the absolute wreck it was. It was as if a tornado ripped through it considering the state it was in. Chris’s back was to you and he whipped around to look at you. His face was beet red and his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. His fists were clenched so tight that you were convinced that one of his veins was going to explode.

“Where the fuck were you?” He asked through grit teeth.

“Out,” you responded nonchalantly as you closed the door behind you. You began to gather your stuff from the floor to put back inside your suitcase. You put the thing on the bed and started throwing your belongings into it, not even bothering to do it neatly. You didn’t have time for that.

“Out where?” He hated how nonchalant you were being. He assumed that he was still your boyfriend so he thought he deserved real answers, not your vague ones.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You raised an eyebrow, loving how angry you were making him.

“Yeah!” He yelled. “I would! I was up all night waiting for you!” You paused for a moment, looking him in the eye. “I needed you to pack my suitcase.”

“I’m not packing anything. We’re broken up, Chris, remember?” You put one of your t-shirts into the case then turned to face him. You then turned back and grabbed more of your clothes from the floor and piled it on top of the others. You moved your hair away from your neck, feeling it becoming sweaty because of how hot the room had become because Chris had the window open despite it being scorching hot outside considering that it was June in California.

“What the fuck is that?” He pointed to your neck. You knew exactly what he was referring to but wanted to play dumb. You just wanted to have some fun.

“What’s what?” You tilted your head to the side, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“That!” He pointed to your neck again.

“Chris, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He rushed over to you and grabbed your face roughly in his hands, turning your head to the side so he could get a better look at the purple mark on your neck.

“This,” he looked directly at the mark.

“Oh,” you let out a giggle. “That. Why don’t you ask Eddie?”

“Munson?” He let go of you completely and turned away, rubbing his hands along his face.

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “I don’t recall.”

“Do not fuck with me, you bitch.” He pointed at you. “Did you…did you fuck him?”

“I did,” you confirmed with a nod. “And he gave me more pleasure than you ever could.” All Chris could do in response was let out a scream in frustration. You were quick to grab the rest of your things and zip it up before racing out of the room.

You got to the elevator and hurriedly pressed the button to go down to the lobby, hoping that Chris wasn’t following you. The door to the suite never opened so you let out a breath and got onto the elevator, letting it take you to the lobby. You went to the front desk and made sure to let the woman behind it know that Chris would be paying for the room you shared. You left after that, making your way to the airport.

[lipglossanon]

Warm My Heart

Puppy!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

paid request from anonymous; thank you so much again!! I’m happy you liked it! 💜

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, hybrid AU, jealous Leon, kissing, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, knotting, shower sex

Proofread ✍️

Word count: 1990

Your best friend finally moved out on her own. She now owns a small house in a quiet little neighborhood, but truthfully, it’s only a few doors down from her parents (so not too much of a change of pace). She insists you visit one Saturday, wanting to celebrate her new digs as well as introduce you to the new hybrid her parents gifted her as a housewarming present. 

She’s seen pics of you with Leon and it must’ve made some kind of impression. To be fair, he is super cute. You definitely got lucky when you opted to adopt him at the spur of the moment. When Saturday finally arrives, Leon pouts and pleads to go with you— whining about missing you, his big blue eyes teary and beseeching.

“I’ll only be gone for a few hours,” you promise, petting his soft, fuzzy ears, “and if you’re really good, I’ll give you a little treat when I get back home.”

His tail wags a bit even as his ears droop, “I’ll be good, miss owner. Please don’t stay gone too long.”

“I’ll try not to,” you kiss his forehead, and he licks a wet stripe up your cheek as he bids you goodbye at the door.

You have a pleasant enough time at your friend’s house; her bunny hybrid is sweet and playful, but extremely shy. She cuddles against you on the sofa for a bit before scampering off to her room. It makes you miss Leon just that much more. Feeling a little homesick, you say goodbye to your friend (promising you’ll visit again soon) and head home. 

Leon’s been such a good boy lately that you’re not too worried about coming home to a messy house. Parking in the driveway, you can see his silhouette at the window before the curtain falls shut, and you smile, knowing he’ll be at the entryway as soon as you go inside. Swinging open the front door, Leon bounces on the balls of his feet, wagging tail a blur behind him. 

After you shut and lock the door, he’s all over you, scenting you all over. He suddenly freezes and growls low in his throat. 

“Why do you smell different?”

He presses his nose against your arm, dragging his face down your side, before kneeling in front of you and sniffing across your hip. 

“You probably smell that little bunny hybrid from earlier,” your tone gentle, hoping to negate any extreme jealousy, “she sat next to me on the couch.”

“Miss owner,” his hands grasp the hem of your skirt, bunching it as he slides his hands up your thighs, “it’s really rude to come home smelling like someone else.”

“Leon,” you gasp, stumbling back against the front door as he nuzzles against your panty clad mound. 

“Gotta make sure you know who you belong to, miss owner,” he laps at your cunt through the fabric, making you buck your hips. 

Pulling away, he lifts you over his shoulder and carries you all the way back into your room. Tossing you down onto the bed, he paws at your clothes until he’s able to pull them all off, leaving you totally nude for his hungry gaze.

“So pretty,” he pants, his tail thumping against the bed. “You smell so good, can’t wait to lick you up.”

He shuffles around to remove his own clothes before sitting between your spread thighs. Precum drools from the tip of his cock, falling in sticky strings down his shaft onto the bedspread. It makes your mouth water, but he doesn’t give you time to stare. Leon lays flat on his stomach, burying his face into your drippy pussy. 

“Oh, god,” you mewl, your hands reaching down to tangle in his soft hair, being careful not to hurt his ears. 

A hot, wet tongue flutters into your pussy drawing your attention down to the soaking wet mess between your thighs. Leon groans and flattens his tongue to lick a stripe up your cunt to suck your pudgy clit. 

“This pussy tastes like mine,” he huffs out, blue eyes looking up at you. “I own it, don’t I, miss owner?”

When you don’t answer, he bites your leg with a low snarl. Keening, you tug his hair a little harder. 

“Yes, yes, Leon, s’your pussy,” you moan, arching your hips towards his mouth. 

He gently nips your swollen bud and kisses down your soaked pussy lips to tongue fuck your hole. His hands come up and pin your hips to the bed as he devours your cunt, groaning and growling as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your pussy. Slick and spit run down your skin to pool underneath your ass. 

“Cum all over my tongue,” he uses one hand to pull the hood of your clit back, “so I can give you my puppy knot, breed you nice and full.”

He licks and kisses your exposed bundle of nerves until your thighs tremble. Slick drips from your hole nonstop as he suckles your clit into his mouth, tongue hot and slippery against the bud until your body jerks, orgasm whiting out your senses. 

“Good owner,” he says excitedly, “now I’m gonna cum all over you so you’ll smell like me.”

“What?” You slur out, pussy still throbbing. 

“You’ll see, pretty owner,” he grunts, shoving your thighs up over his hips as he jerks his cock. 

He presses the drooling head against your abdomen and strokes himself off, shclick schlick schlick echoing in your ears. Whining, he aims his cock up and shoots thick stripes of cum all across your stomach and breasts. You moan loudly. The hot sticky feeling of his cum coating your skin sends fresh arousal leaking from your cunt. 

“Don’t worry, I’m still hard for you,” he drags his cock down to rut against your slit, “won’t pop my knot til I’m inside your tight pussy.”

Mewling, you claw at the sheets as Leon notches the fat head of his cock at your hole and teasingly slips the first few inches in before pulling out. 

“Oh, please, Leon,” tossing your head back, you roll your hips, seeking more from him, “please.”

“So pretty, miss owner,” he hums low in his throat, pressing his cock inside your snug pussy, “you’re so perfect, and you’re all mine. Say it, and I’ll give you my fat puppy knot.”

“Give it to me, Leon, please,” you whine. “I’m all yours, promise. You’re my only sweet boy.”

He whimpers, hips jumping as he fucks into you sloppily, “Oh, miss owner.”

He bottoms out quickly, cock thick and heavy inside your fluttering walls. Your cunt squeezes and clamps down around his dick, making him grind against you. His tip grazes your cervix, and you wail, the pain melding into pleasure that makes your eyes water. Leon pulls all the way out before bullying himself back into your squelching hole, grunting as his balls smack against your ass. 

“So good, so tight,” he chuffs, ears perked and tail drumming against your legs, “gonna give you my pups, gonna knot you over and over.”

Leon leans forward and licks across your mouth, leaving a trail of spit. 

“Hold your tongue out,” he growls, his pupils blown wide. 

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, and he laps at it, dripping saliva all over your chest. 

“Lick mine,” he murmurs before going back to pressing your tongues together. 

You whine, pussy leaking slick all over his cock while you and Leon lick each other's tongues, making a complete mess of your lips and chins. The spit that drips onto your chest makes your blood run hot. He pulls back to grab your wrists with one hand and hold them above your head. 

“Mmm, always so sweet, miss owner,” he grins, rocking forward and making you writhe on his cock.

“Feels so good,” you gasp out, eyes fluttering when he grinds across the spongy spot at the front of your cunt. 

Leon pulls out suddenly, and you cry at the loss of heat and pressure. He flips you over onto your stomach, making you yelp at the new change. Grabbing your hips, he angles your ass up higher before plunging his cock back inside your chubby cunt. 

“Leon, fuck, s’too deep,” you whine, drool slipping from your lips as your mouth drops open.

“Means it’s a good angle for my knot to take,” he groans, humping harder and faster, “my owner’s the best, got the best pussy, gonna keep you on my knot all the time.”

“Leon,” you moan, “I promise I’m all yours.”

Your breasts, sticky with cum, drag against the sheets as Leon’s thrusts jostle you across the bed.

“You’re squeezing me so tight.”

He drops forward and cages in your body, nuzzling against your neck and shoulders. Leon slips a hand underneath you, spreading open your pussy lips to flick and rub your swollen clit. He circles it over and over until that tight band of arousal in your core snaps. Crying out, you press back against him, legs shaking as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

“Fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you full, creampie this pretty pussy,” he groans, thrusting into you deeper. 

With every rock of his hips, you can feel the swell of his knot pushing against your hole, teasing you with the promise of Leon’s thick load. He nips and bites at your shoulders, hand softly rubbing your clit to make your pussy flutter and milk his cock. He pounds into your cunt a few more times before his knot finally pops—he shoves it into your soft walls, locking you two together. Hot, thick cum shoots out, painting your cervix white while Leon howls softly. 

“It’s so much,” you whisper, voice cracking. 

He grinds against you as he keeps spurting rope after rope inside your dripping pussy. 

“My pretty owner’s full of my sticky puppy cum,” he chuffs against your ear. “Once my knot goes down, I’m gonna stuff you full all over again.”

“Leon,” you mewl, pussy throbbing. 

His fingers continue to rub and tease your clit until a second orgasm washes over you, racking your body with pleasure as you squeeze around his dick like a vice. You sink into your bed and he follows you down, licking and kissing everywhere he can reach. 

True to his word, Leon keeps you on his knot for the rest of the day. Once it goes down the first time, he rearranges you until you're bent over the bed, pounding into your pussy until your legs practically give out. The third time, he helps you to the shower, but instead of washing you, he wraps your legs around his waist and knots you against the shower wall. 

His mouth latches onto your nipples, and he brings you off by just suckling the stiff buds as he pumps your knotted pussy full of cum. Once you beg him for a break, he relents. Helps wash you off once his knot deflates and slips from your hole, cum and slick dripping in thick globs down your thighs. He eagerly licks it up and eats it out of your pussy.

“Taste just like me,” he pants happily, wet tail slinging water as the shower head rains down on you both. 

“I’m too sensitive,” you plead with him, “let me rest, please, Leon. Be a good boy and let me rest.”

He hums happily, blinking water from his eyes as he looks adoringly up at you, “Alright, miss owner. She sure is swollen and wet.”

He runs a featherlight touch across your pussy making your thighs jump. Standing back up, he pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek. 

“I’ll getcha cleaned up,” he murmurs. 

He helps you finish up in the shower before guiding you to his room since your sheets are totally trashed. Laying you down on his bed, you drift off with Leon snuggling next to you. 

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three 

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Eddie goes home, you’re on tour, and the lines between you both continue to blur.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Hawkins, Indiana, December 1990

Eddie listens to his walkman until it runs out of juice. Through the flight from California to Indianapolis, the hours-long bus ride that stops just short of Hawkins, and the final connecting bus on the outskirts. Some metalheads listen to strictly metal, but Eddie likes variety occasionally. Plus, he doesn’t think it’s possible to have ears and not love The Rolling Stones’ Some Girls. 

He has one girl on his mind the entire journey home. He tries not to think about you. He makes himself sick shoving you down into a crevice of his heart, so he admits defeat. His fingers twitch, eager to write about you. He has some lyrics in mind. Evil wretched girl with wicked sweet hands. Heart eater. Soft around the edges. 

He wants to write about your stupid chubby thighs and how they look in skirts. He wants to write about your wrists, your knees and their ever-present bruises. Metaphors for your sickly sweetness won’t stick; cruel becomes kind. Taunting turns teasing. 

It feels like it’s eating him alive, spine first. You’re gnawing on his ribs as he hikes the half a mile from the bus stop into Forest Hills trailer park. He can feel your thumb rubbing makeup off of his cheek as he drags his suitcase up the metal steps to Wayne’s —Eddie’s— front door. 

“Wayne?” he calls. It’s pitch fucking dark. He’s surprised he got all the way here without falling in some ditch. “Could you let me in? It’s freezing.”

He hears stirring from inside. He calls out again in case his uncle changes his mind. “Wayne, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s late. Please don’t leave me out here.”

He’s joking. Wayne would sooner shoot Eddie dead than put him in harm's way. He’s always been that kind of parent, hiding his deep rooted worry underneath a feigned reluctance. Footsteps shuffle and floorboards creak. The door opens between them, and Eddie shoves his suitcase and backpack inside without properly looking at his old man. 

“Eddie, what the fuck, kid?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking up. Wayne’s squinting at him. He’s wearing jeans with deep creases. He must’ve been sleeping in them. “I timed it all wrong. Started coming home and I didn’t think about it. I walked here, you know that?”

Wayne hugs him. Eddie isn’t expecting it. It’s not like Wayne isn’t affectionate, he doles out shoulder claps and hair ruffles like candy, but their hugs are usually one-armed back-slapping affairs. This is a loose encircling with a scratchy cheek against Eddie’s forehead. 

“I’ve been worrying about you.”

Guilt sinks like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Eddie kind of feels like he might puke. He wraps his arms around his uncle and breathes in his smell. Diesel and grease, sure, but so much louder than that is his mint and rosemary soap. 

The weight of Wayne’s arms over Eddie’s shoulders is one of his favourite feelings. He hadn’t realised how much he missed it, but then… maybe he had. 

He wants to tell Wayne there’s no need to worry, but he’s never been good at lying to him. “Think I might have fallen off the wagon, Wayne.”

“Well. Happens to all of us.” He pats Eddie’s back and steps away. He doesn’t look any older than the last time Eddie saw him. In fact, he looks good. Puffy-eyed but healthy. “I thought for sure I’d have to come track you down and drag you back for Christmas myself.”

Eddie locks the door and Wayne shuffles into the kitchen promising coffee and cake. He should protest, tell Wayne he can go back to bed and they’ll catch up in the morning, but he missed the small stuff like this, when he’d get home late from band practice or a midnight premiere of a sci-fi flick and his uncle would be sitting up waiting. 

Eddie loves being home. There’s something to be said about living like the rich —he loves all the high ceilings and endless cushy carpeting— but nothing feels as good as coming home. His room is exactly how he left it minus a few ashtrays and his super unsecret pot stash. The poster wallpaper and the cheap paint. His raggedy bedspread and the corners tucked in haphazardly by tired hands. Eddie resists the want to dive under the covers and slide into the dip in his mattress. He knows every box spring in that fucker, and he missed it. 

Eddie drops his bags at the end of the bed. All the clothes in his suitcase smell like Coors Light, so he changes into rags he left behind, a too-big pair of plaid pyjamas that slip down his hips and a sleeveless Motörhead shirt. Maybe. The emblem is worn to nothing but black lines. 

He follows the smell of coffee through the hallway and into the Munson kitchen, tightening the drawstrings of his pants as he goes, chin tucked to his chest. “I’m losing weight, Wayne, I’m like a fucking twig.”

“Don’t tell me that shit. God knows I taught you how to take care of yourself.”

“I’m stupid. I’m really stupid, actually.”

Wayne whacks the coffee maker. It whirs. “Pick a mug, son.”

“You been cleaning? I don’t wanna look down and see a spider in my cup.”

“Have you been cleaning?” Wayne asks. 

“It’s insane how much I haven’t been cleaning.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“You fucker,” Eddie says, laughing up a storm as he picks out his favourite mug, the Garfield one with a big scratch down the left side. 

“You fucker,” Wayne snaps back. “I should send you packing for the bad language alone.”

“They don’t make you clean your hotel rooms, Wayne, that’s the point of them.”

“I raised you better than that.”

“You did. I keep it classy, I swear, I just,” —Eddie sits down in his chair, watching Wayne stir in milk and sugar just the way he likes it, and feels more than sees as a familiar contentedness like a Gaussian film settles over their easy conversation— “don’t clean up after Gareth. He’s a monster.”

“Do me a favour, Eds. Try and be the best you can be, alright?”

He swallows. He purses his lips. A peculiar lump grows in his throat, but he bites it back and squares himself up. “Yeah. I will.” He thinks about all the parties and powders and girls. He’s never done any cruel shit to anybody and he’s a sweetheart with the ladies, but  there are times when he’d known he was lying before he even said he’d call. He thinks about some of the shit he’s said to you and has to wipe his sweaty palms off on his shirt. 

“I know we didn’t have shit when you were growing up,” Wayne says, not tearful or resentful, just honest as he passes Eddie his mug of coffee and sits down. “And all that money must feel good–”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie says.

“When I see my nephew on TV smashing up equipment worth more than his house–”

“I already told you on the phone it was an accident. And it wouldn’t be worth more than this if you actually cashed the cheques I send you. I know they aren’t bouncing.”

“I don’t want your money, Eddie,” Wayne says gently. It’s odd but not uncommon to hear him speak in such dulcet tones. “That’s not what I raised you for.”

“I know, you–” He cuts his insult off at the stem and scratches his head instead.

Eddie isn’t hankering for a tongue lashing tonight and his scalp is too itchy to focus. He hasn’t washed his hair in a week. It’s obvious just looking at him, curls weighed down and straightened out from the sheer grossness of it. “Shit, I’m disgusting,” he says. 

“You’re gross,” Wayne agrees. “I’ll cash a cheque when the bank opens and get you a bottle of degreaser.”

Eddie hides his smile with a long sip of coffee. It’s hot and awful, ‘cause no matter how much love Wayne puts into it, dollar store coffee tastes like burnt grounds from the get go. Eddie missed it more than anything. Sometimes he’s in the back of the queasy tour bus or lying on the floor in his hotel room coming down off of something risky and all he can think about is Wayne’s coffee.

Wayne has a hard and fast rule about drugs: if it isn’t green, I don’t want you touching it. Eddie still remembers the gasket he blew when he found that little baggy of red and white pills shoved inside an altoids tin. He can’t imagine telling his uncle what he really meant when he said he fell off the wagon. 

Hey, Uncle Wayne, I have this weird love-hate relationship with a girl I don’t really know, and I got caught up doing party drugs (unrelated to our relationship) until I got so high I blacked out, and when I woke up she was there and she was looking at me like you look at a bird with a broken wing, you know? Anyway, the memory of her face won’t leave me alone. It makes me feel like crying. So I haven’t touched anything in two weeks and I thought coming home for Christmas would make up for all the secrets I’m keeping, but now—

Now Eddie doesn’t know what he was thinking. He can’t tell Wayne any of that shit. He wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Wayne would ask something like, It took a girl for you to realise drugs are bad news? And Eddie would say back, No, that’s not it, it wasn’t just her. 

“I’m sooooo fucked,” Eddie says slowly, mildly, scrubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He drags his hands down his face and blinks against the burning he’s left in his wake. 

“You’re not fucked, kid. Lemme cut you a slice of cake.”

Wayne cuts him a slice of cranberry coffee cake and Eddie eats it in two bites. Wayne makes him a burger after that. He doesn’t know what time it is, if it’s closer to night or morning, but Wayne doesn’t mention it until the burger’s gone and an alarm clock is ringing. Eddie watches his uncle truck into the living room and feels crestfallen though he doesn’t deserve to. Eddie hasn’t been home in months. He imagines Wayne alone at the kitchen table with an empty greasy plate waiting on him and wants to cry again. 

Wayne returns in coveralls. He gets a good look at Eddie’s face and sighs, dropping a heavy hand into Eddie’s dark hair. 

“It’ll be fine,” Wayne says. 

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. For being a bad kid. 

He’d said that once. Wayne was sweeping up a smashed plate after a long shift and Eddie, thirteen and defeated with an ache where his mom should’ve been, had been trying to apologise. It had felt so crushing, that broken plate. The last straw. He’d had tears running down his pale cheeks, his hands in his hoodie pocket desperately grabbing at one another. 

And when he’d said it, Wayne had just looked at him. On his knees with a brush, glass shards shining on the linoleum between them. 

You think you’re a bad kid?

Wayne isn’t old and he definitely hadn’t been back then. Thirty something with a crying teenager and what felt like all the world's self-loathing crammed into a tiny kitchen. Eddie’s older now, and he knows how much Wayne gave up for him. Not just his bedroom, which had been relinquished with little more than a shoulder squeeze and five dollars for posters, but a life. Wayne could’ve done anything. Could’ve been a rockstar. 

I ruin everything, he’d said. Teenage angst, maybe, but Eddie felt it in his bones. 

You ain’t ruined anything. 

He hadn’t known what to say so he’d cried, waiting for that nice heavy hand that tussles his hair and pats his back to finally strike out. 

Eds, you’re not a bad kid. Said so quietly. With a steadiness that meant truth. You’re my kid. Could I make a bad kid?

And yeah, there had been a threshold of sincerity and they were passing it. It was the late 70’s. Boys really didn’t cry. At least, not in public. So Eddie wiped his snotty nose in his sleeve and laughed, and then he got on his knees to clean up. 

“Try and sleep,” Wayne says now, older but unchanged otherwise. Still ridiculously forgiving of his not-so-young sprog. He looks at Eddie with his lips pressed together. Eddie wonders if he’s going to hug him again, but Wayne shakes his head. “Shower, you animal. I’ll be back early.”

Eddie sleeps. He showers. He washes his hair three times and doesn’t use conditioner so his curls don’t really curl but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He had a moment in the shower where he swore he remembered something you said to him when he was blackout on sniff cut with procaine and booze. Your voice tentative, the heat of your hand on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He moans into his damp hands, limp hair hanging either side of his head and dripping into his pyjama pants. He can’t forgive his younger self for all the sleeveless shirts, not when Hawkins feels colder than the arctic circle and the window seal in the kitchen has been leaky for the last five years.

He thinks about going shopping, because no matter what Wayne says about degreaser, Eddie’s starting to realise that his uncle won’t be cashing any of the cheques he sent home, and if he wants Wayne taken care of he’s gonna have to do this shit himself, but he doesn’t know where his key is. 

“I’m a fuck up,” he says, catching his eye in the mirror as he straightens out. 

His reflection frowns at him. 

He did manage to get Wayne some shit from California before he came home; a real brown leather jacket from the 60s with minimal wear, though if Wayne wears it is another thing entirely; a Roy Orbinson record that’s miraculously unwarped despite Eddie’s poor packing; more sweatshirts than his uncle could ever wear through. Eddie knows he’ll try. 

There’s some other stuff. CD’s and a nice edition of War of the World’s. Whatever he could stuff in his backpack. 

“Are you going home for Christmas?” you’d asked him. 

He sat on the bottom step of a huge staircase and you the one above him. People walked around you without notice. Two rocks in a stream bed.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You aren’t sure?”

He’d got stuck looking at your cheek, the soft curve of it and the highest point, where light like a small star had kissed you and turned his stomach, that’s how sick with envy he was. 

“I get it,” you’d said, “things at home aren’t always easy.”

“Not that. My Uncle Wayne is my hero.”

“And you still don’t wanna go home?” you’d asked gently. 

“It’s not about what I want.” He remembers this part in detail. He’d stopped looking at you, laying back against the stairs, each step digging into his back. The ceiling had been far away. 

You’d inched into his frame of view, looking down at him with an expression unreadable to his mixed up head. You weren't quite smiling. He still isn’t sure what it meant. 

“It is. That’s the whole point,” you’d said. 

Eddie’s all memory this morning. The ones with Wayne had felt less memory and more story, because memory is unfaithful, and over time we start to break down on the details, putting want in place of fact. But your face hovering above his as the soft strands of your hair ghost against his jaw, all your glitters and the shiny pink sheen on your lips, that’s closer. He remembers how you smelled, and how your tongue peeked out to wet your lips uselessly between words. 

Jet lag and the general feeling of you keeps him lethargic, but he cleans the house (and he’s always said house, even if some people don’t agree, it houses him, fuck you Jenny P from eighth grade grade) and makes dinner ready for Wayne when he gets home. He puts the radio on and tunes into Roller FM. When one of Godless’ songs comes on, he’s not surprised. He listens with his head lolled against the kitchen wall, eyes closed, and tries not to think about your fingers choking the neck of your bass guitar. 

—

Indy Rock Centre, Indianapolis, January 1991

Whoever arranged the tour is a sadist. You can’t believe that a team of professionals sat around a long glossy table with their coffee cups and finger foods and thought, yeah, that will work. You feel like you’re being fucking yo-yo’d between states. 

When you’d joined godless as a stand in for Millyanna, your dates had been plentiful but never as disorganised. Nothing compares to this shit. You wonder if going crazy is a sign of making it big, or if maybe you’re not cut out for all of this after all. 

Jan 22, Kalamazoo, Missouri. Jan 23, Toledo, Ohio. Jan 25, Los Angeles, California. Jan 26, Philadelphia; Jan 28, Indiana, Jan 29, Wisconsin. February? Back in Missouri, back in Ohio, a couple more state dates and then bam — Canada. Don’t worry though, after a week in Canada, you’ll never guess where you’re playing. 

Fucking Florida. 

At least you aren’t alone in your torture. For starters, there’s Morgan, your singer, and Ananya, your drummer, who will also endure and suffer. Then there’s the roadies, the techies and the groupies. The opening acts. The managers, the assistants, the personal assistants, the boyfriends and girlfriends and wives and mistresses. 

And what’s more, you're one of the hundreds of bands touring in North America this year. Maybe thousands. You certainly aren’t the first musician to have to suck it up and tough it out. 

Still, you like to complain. 

It’s your right, for dealing with Morgan. And also— you aren’t getting paid for the tour until after the tour is over, so really complaining is the wealth of the soul. You do get a weekly allowance, which is awesome and not something you were getting beforehand, working instead on an invoice. You’d play a show, you’d get paid for the show. This time you’re getting a flat rate at the end of the tour that’s been contractually agreed upon. It’s more money than you’ll ever know what to do with. One of the more shameful ways you waste time in your little bus bunk is trying to figure out where to put it.

I want a house, you think. A mortgage on a small, pretty house where the weather isn't too hot or too cold. And a puppy. Probably. Maybe a fish tank. I want a bed that spans from one wall to another and… 

You wince. For a moment, you’d seen something stupid, a pale face hidden in the pillow across the way. 

Two puppies, you think forcefully. 

You’ve played four shows already this week. You have one tonight in Indy Rock Centre, and another tomorrow in Wisconsin. You got to stay in the warm, non-vibrating luxury of a hotel room last night, but tonight you have to play the show and get straight back on the bus. 

“You’re gonna glare holes in her. What did she do?”

You stop your mindless staring and come back down to earth. Ananya’s smiling at you, thick eyebrows lifted in wait for your answering gossip. You’d been staring at Morgan where she’s sitting across the room in a plush armchair, cucumbers over her eyes and swarmed by makeup artists and hairstylists with a pedicurist at her feet. 

Ananya does all her make up herself. You want to ask her to do yours, but you worry her messy sweetness won’t suit you. She overlines her already big lips with a sticky red-pink, giving her an effect of having just been kissed (a lot), and rings brown eyes with a slick black kohl. 

“She hasn’t done anything. Yet. Today.”

“She has been a monster, hasn’t she?” she asks, sinking down into the couch with a sigh. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. Her curls are so healthy they bounce.

You hum your agreement and slide down with her. Touring again, Ananya has remembered how much it sucks to be alone without allies. Morgan gets especially volatile from the stress and close quarters. She’s nicer when you’re alone. 

She’ll still ditch you at a moment's notice, but you get it. It’s like high school. 

You miss Dornie. 

It’s cruel to make a friend and suddenly lose them. You can’t help thinking he won’t want to be your friend again the next time you see him. It had been so nice… so peaceful, to know there was someone in your corner. Dornie doesn’t care how famous you are or how much money you’re making. He just wanted to make sure you got home safe and talk about old movies. 

“I’m gonna go find something to drink,” you say. 

Ananya nods. “Bring me back a coke?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan stops you on your way out with a foot in front of your legs. “Hey, killer, I gave one of your passes to a fan earlier. Is that cool?”

“Morgan, when have you ever cared about my opinion?”

“Ooh, meow,” she croons, taking a cucumber from her eye to squint at you. “What’s the matter, baby? I figured you weren’t using them.”

You smile at her. You can’t help yourself. She stopped hurting your feelings a long time ago. “You want a drink from the machine?”

“Sparkling water, serf.”

If you smudge her nail polish on the way past it isn’t your fault. It isn’t cool with you that she’s given away one of your passes, even though you ask your general manager Angel to give them out at the beginning of the show every night. It’s presumptuous! Normal people don’t do stuff like that without asking.

Serf…

Your nose wrinkles. The dressing room door closes at your back and you take a moment to recall where you’d seen the bank of vending machines in the maze of white hallways. Indy Rock Centre is one of the biggest venues in Indianapolis, and you’ve been here before countless times on the other side to see Black Sabbath, Metallica, The Stacey’s, Doorway to Cooperstown. It’s where all the biggest and best get to play. You wish they’d given you a map. 

You can still walk around without getting recognised. You’re not a superstar, just a guitarist. You smile at people who smile at you and avoid the rest, dodging past black polo shorts wheeling equipment and busybody higher ups barking orders. Someone stands in a corner talking on a brick of a handheld phone. You stare at him for a bit. You’ll never get used to it, phones without wires. Next there’ll be TVs without satellites and electric guitars without amps. 

The vending machine shines like a red beacon at the end of the hallway. You hurry to it, feeding the machine your crumpled per diem one dollar at a time. You get a coke for Ananya, sparkling water for Morgan. When it gets to your own drink, the machine starts to revolt. It spits your dollar out unsympathetically. You pull it from the mouth and flatten it against your thigh.

It doesn’t work again. You nibble your bottom lip. Dollar pulled taut between your two hands, you lift your knee and rub it against your stockings. 

“Fucking fuck,” you whisper, watching in mild horror as the machine accepts and then rejects your dollar for a third time. 

You tuck it back into your purse, a pretty leather thing that clasps shut and fits perfectly in the small pocket of your jacket. It’s your luck, but whatever. They’ll probably bring a couple of bottles of water to the dressing room in a bit. Maybe even a cocktail bar. 

“Hey.”

Your internal monologue chokes. You question your senses for the split second it takes you to meet his eyes — baby browns, soft and flush with gorgeously long lashes. If there’s one thing about Eddie Munson, it’s that he has very sweet eyes. Not the kind you can replicate in daydreams. 

He’s dressed like a bitch. You’re so sick of him. He has his jacket tied around his waist and his shirt has no sleeves, the alarmingly shapely stretch of his arms on full display. Black ink climbs the hills and ridges of his stark veins, his herd of bats jumping as he offers you a dollar. 

You take it. You aren’t sure what to say, so you bask in the almost-silence, every nerve aflame as you feed the vending machine and click the button for your drink. Equipment cages rattle. Radios chirp. Your drink thinks from behind the red Coca Cola panel down into the bottom of the machine for collection. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask finally, squatting to grab your drink. 

You stand, train your eyes on the floor, shove your drink under your arm, and crack open your purse to give him your defective dollar in exchange. He takes it without fanfare. 

“Are you busy?” he asks. 

Regrettably, no. The majority of soundcheck is done, and the show doesn’t start for hours. He gestures to the left and you follow, stupidly, with no idea where he’s leading you to and not a clue what he wants, leaving Morgan and Ananya’s drinks for whoever finds them. Eddie’s jeans aren’t as loose on his hips as they were the last time you saw him. His distracting arms are bigger, biceps like a taunt as he holds a door open for you. You take a breath as you pass him, but he doesn’t smell like anything. No sweat or cologne, no cigarette smoke. 

“Is it mean if I say you look good with clean hair?” you ask, squinting in the sudden brightness. 

He’s led you outside to the back of the venue. Your tour bus stands imposing at the end of the lot, surrounded by Godless branded vans and fancy cars. A truck beeps as it loads into the receiving area backward. 

“Probably.”

“You do, though. Look good.”

“So people tell me.”

Fuck, you think. Fuck it. If he’s gonna be weird about it then you’re pulling the olive branch back in and snapping it in half. 

The sky is white as snow. It hurts to look at, the sun like a steaming egg yolk covered in its own whites, thick clouds shielding her warmth. You pull the sides of your jacket together and button up, uninterested in catching a cold when the next six months of your life are planned down to the hour. Eddie puts his jacket on and zips it tight. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks. 

“Why?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he felt self conscious. “Why not?” he asks. 

You nod. You and Eddie aren’t friends, but you aren’t not friends, either. You’re being cold because you’re seized with embarrassment, not because he deserves it. You have memories of his hand on your cheek, and a cherry stem between his teeth, and you don’t know what you said exactly but you know it hadn’t been amicable small talk. You hate him for knowing stuff about you that you’d wanted to keep secret, and you hate yourself more for telling him in the first place. 

“I came home for Christmas. I’m back in Los Angeles tomorrow night.”

“That’s convenient,” you say. 

“Just had to see you before I went,” he agrees. Deadpan humour is terrifying on him. 

He ducks under a low tree branch and holds it away from your face. Together, you begin to walk down the street and into the city, over patched sidewalks and past brand new stores. The mom and pop shops of your childhood are mostly gone. 

Conversations between you two have this odd oscillation between over familiarity and stilted nothings. You like over familiarity better, when you’re both prone to misunderstandings. You’d take snipping at one another over this strange quiet.  

“Is it nice? Being home?” he asks finally. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’ve been here for what, a month now? I just got here, and it wasn’t to see the ‘rents.”

Eddie lifts his chin to the sky a touch. Molasses of sunlight seep through the clouds now, racing to caress his waved hair and high cheekbones. “It’s been awesome,” he says, his eyes closed. His voice like tree bark, uneven but tough. “Makes me wonder what I liked about L.A. so much.”

“All the free stuff,” you offer. “And free girls.”

“The girls aren’t free,” he protests.

“You aren’t getting free girls?” you ask. 

“Are you?”

“Would that bother you?”

Close-lipped, his tongue pokes the skin under his bottom lip.

“You think stuff like that bothers me?” he asks. 

“It bothers some people.”

Eddie isn’t meeting your eyes consistently, but you don’t think he’s lying when he says, “No, it wouldn’t bother me. But my Uncle Wayne would fucking kill me if he heard me agree that the women are free.”

“How progressive.”

He visually bites back a laugh. He looks up from his shoes and sees you smiling and it breaks him, his laugh sputtering out in bits and pieces. “Shit, I’m just trying to be an okay person.”

You concede, “Fine, the girls aren’t free. They’re just very happy to sleep with you for very little reward.”

“Some might say the reward was, you know, pleasure–”

“Ew–”

“Don’t be childish. What did you want me to say? The reward is a long night of rough and tumble fucking–”

“I liked pleasure better,” you interject. You dance around a huge crack in the sidewalk and pause as you and Eddie reach a crossing. “All night? Really?”

“Want me to prove it?”

“I don’t think you could, Munson.”

“I could…” He rests his hand between your shoulder blades. “But I don’t think we’re there yet.”

He encourages you to cross the street, weaving and winding between parked cars, moving cyclists, and a small family bulldozing passers-bys with a twin stroller. When you’ve crossed to the other side uninjured, his hand falls away. The heat of his palm lingers.

“Good observation.”

“You’re sarcastic today. Or is being on the road making you cranky?”

“Being on the road is definitely making me cranky. It fucking sucks, I forgot how badly it sucks, and I don’t get paid day to day like I used to.”

“Oh, you’re getting a flat rate now? Go you, superstar.” Your walk is more of a crawl, the two of you turned to the left side of the street where children shriek and giggle in the outdoor seating of a restaurant. Eddie stops. “How’s the allowance?”

“You get one of those too?”

Eddie bumps his elbow into yours. “We’re kids. They know it. It’s pretty shitty considering how much money they make off of us in the end, but that’s an asshole thing to say, right? We’re lucky.”

You roll your shoulders. He’s more than right. Coming from nothing, a small town, with no college degree and no rich parents to float you, Eddie’s right. You might have talent and you might work hard but so do a lot of other people, and you’re here, and they’re working for minimum wage back home still hoping. 

You wish every kid like you could get to where you are, but they won’t. You’re more than lucky. You should buy a scratcher. 

“We’re fucking lucky,” Eddie says slowly. “And it’s awful anyways.” He grins. “Come to dinner with me?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner? I’ve been there before,” —he points to the restaurant you’d stopped across from— “and it’s nice.”

You’re insane and you agree. It’s not too fancy to feel like you’re on a date from the outside, and once you’re indoors you feel relaxed. With a glass of cider in your hands you feel positively giddy.

Eddie slouches back into a velvet booth seat that might’ve once been red. He keeps the jacket on and you’re grateful for it, lest you see his stupid nice arms and turn ditzy. His nose twitches as looks out over the restaurant floor toward the kitchen visible through a long window. It’s warm but not stuffy in here, the air fragrant with browning butter and minced garlic. 

The menus are sticky. You pretend to pour over one, not knowing what to say to break the silence. 

“I know I said you were being sarcastic,” Eddie says, “but I think I meant quiet. Even when you sound annoyed, I can barely hear you.”

“That’s dramatic,” you murmur, proving his point. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Well, in what way?”

“What way feels wrong to you?” he asks. 

Trapped. You sip your cold cider. He raps his knuckles against the table. “Come on, what have you got to lose? What did you say to me before?” His eyes soften. “Nobody would believe me if I told them.”

You tap your glass with your thumbnail. 

“I’m okay,” you say honestly. “Most of the time, I feel fine. Or, I forget what’s wrong.”

Eddie flicks his own glass. “Is this about feeling like nothing?”

“I don’t know why I told you that.”

“I have one of those faces.”

“And you were feeding me booze.”

“Don’t say that. You make it sound so shitty.”

“It wasn’t shitty,” you say. “Free drinks, right? What’s shitty about letting a pretty guy pay for you?”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

You kick him under the table. You don’t know what comes over you, shy at your own honesty and irritated with his ridiculousness. I let you kiss me, you want to say. I’d let you do worse. Of course I think you’re pretty. You aren’t cruel — it’s more of a shove with the toe of your shoe. Eddie laughs through a gasp and kicks you back, heel of his converse flat to your calf. 

“You fucking–”

“Sweetheart?” he finishes. 

“No, fuck you. You string me around with your hot and cold act and now you’re coming to my shows taking me to dinner,” —your voice stiffens, thickens, as you glare at him from across the table— “asking me how I’m doing? And I’m the one who has to explain themselves? You tell me, Munson. Do I think that you’re pretty?”

Eddie’s sort of frozen, like a laugh got stuck in his throat and he really is surprised by your sudden anger. You might feel surprised yourself if you had the wherewithal. As it stands, your irritation and your want for an answer is too much.

He hits the toe of his shoe into yours. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not… trying to string you around.” 

He doesn’t say anything else. You deflate, ashamed of your sudden outburst. Tired of all the games. 

“I think you’re pretty,” he says. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

The food arrives and saves him. You want him to explain —you want him to expand, needily, on what he means and how much he means it— and he clearly doesn’t. He grabs his fork and starts shovelling pasta into his mouth like it’ll magically turn the conversation to something more palatable for him. 

“I’d like to change my answer,” you say.

Eddie swallows harshly. “Can’t. All compliments have been locked in. Maybe at our next cat fight.”

—

Eddie’s heart isn’t pounding like he worried it might when he asked you to follow him into the bathroom. He pictured sweaty, shaking palms, his hands hesitant, a reminiscent picture of a past self who didn’t know how to make girls make noise. He thought the next time he was alone with you, it would be the tragic scene from the movies where the boy bears his heart and the girl can’t accept it. He’s not expecting you to understand. It’s getting to the point where the mean shit he said to you isn’t made up of words anymore but the image of you in the Prover Theatre with your sparkling dress and your dull eyes. He hates that he made you feel that way, and he should say sorry. He feels fucking sorry. 

“Don’t cut me,” you say, quiet so you won’t be caught together. 

“I won’t.”

“When was the last time you did this?” 

“It’s like riding a bike,” he insists. “I haven’t forgotten.”

You simper. Propped up on the sink’s counter, your skirt hiking up your thighs (imagine him covering his face with his hands, rocking his head from side to side, you’re wearing garters) and your jacket falling into the basin. You’ve turned one arm toward him trustingly, but apprehension plays clear as day over your mouth. He wants to remark that your mouth is pretty, but it’s not the right word. Perfect feels closer, but again, it’s not what he wants. He has a fascination with how you talk and when you don’t, how your lips have a mind of their own sometimes, nibbled and popped and pouting. 

“It’s easier if you take your shirt off.”

“How many girls believed that one?” you ask happily. He’s ecstatic. Dinner perked you up and now you’re all smiles and warm laughs. He doesn’t know why you’d been angry with him (he does) because you started it (not really), but you got something off your chest at least. 

“None,” he says. “I’m serious that it’s easier. But you really don’t have to take it off for me to make it look good.”

Eddie wields his small pen knife toward your arm. 

“I like my sleeves,” you say as he takes the hem of one such sleeve into his free hand. 

“Don’t be a baby.” He pulls it taut from your skin. You’re both smiling. Carbs are good like that.

“I have fat arms,” you try. 

He’s out of his mind. Eddie leans down and kisses the top of your arm quickly. “Shut up,” he says.

He doesn’t have time to think about what he’s done. It’ll torture him tonight when all he has for distraction are hotel sheets, and then tomorrow on the red eye back to L.A. He honestly doesn’t wanna look at you because if your nose is even slightly wrinkled he’ll have to turn to the gross toilet in the corner and chuck up, but he also doesn't want to freak you out. He looks up at you from under his lashes. 

You look flustered. 

Not disgusted. 

“I’m doing it,” he warns. 

“Yeah,” you say, nearly normal. “Fine. Make me look cool.”

“You admit that I look cool.”

“No.”

Eddie digs the tip of his pen knife into your sleeve and starts pulling. The fabric tears away in a jagged-lined but even circle around your arm, broadening a tantalising stretch. His stomach hurts a bit. To reach your second arm, the one furthest from him, he has to take up station between your spread legs. Or maybe he doesn’t have to, but he does, your thighs like two warm spots either side of him as he leans in close. 

“And this is what’s gonna make them all like me, right? This is the cement of my street cred?”

“Your street cred? No. And I don’t think anything you do could make them like you.” You lean back at his words. He pulls you back in, fingers braceleting your arm as he fakes taking a measurement. “If they don’t like you already, they won’t. Not your fault, not your problem. Who says you even like them?”

“I do, though. That’s my problem. I even like Little Miss Fleetwood,” you grumble. 

He raises his eyebrows to show he’s listening, stabbing at your sleeve and tearing slow. “She still tripping you up?”

“No. I’m just trying to make you laugh.”

He laughs under his breath. “Mission accomplished, baby,” he murmurs. 

Both sleeves sliced, Eddie steps away from you, ignoring the heat in his stomach to take you in. People who don’t know where they stand shouldn’t be so close to one another, he decides, ‘cause wishful thinking has him marking your hands as wanting. Your fingers move slowly as if through water, tip of your index on the left hand stroking down the back of your right marriage. Eddie pins salaciousness on everybody he meets —coke is falling out of fashion fast but sex is always in— but he can’t get a faithful read on you now. He wants you to want to be kissed. Doesn’t trust that you do. 

“You look edgy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you ask.

“An awful way.”

You go quiet, your hands go still. You raise your head until it’s too much, and he realises he’s been moving back in. He drops the penknife in the sink on top of your jacket, putting his hand on your freshly bared arm and bunching the sleeve up as much as he can without it pulling at you. He’s greedy and he wants to palm at your skin like an asshole, that’s not your problem. 

“That bad?” you ask. 

He angles his face over yours. He needs two inches maybe three, and you’d be kissing. His hand falls down your arm to your elbow, clasping weakly over your skin. 

“No,” he says. He can barely hear himself. 

Greedy. His second hand comes up to your face, waiting, and when you lift your jaw just so he slots his hand under it and holds you. 

“What are we doing?” you whisper. 

What are ‘we’ doing? 

“Nothing you don’t want to do.” He widens the gap between you. 

“I know– I know that.” Your arm ventured forward, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. You tug it gently, pulling him forward again. “I just don’t understand it. You. I don’t get what’s happening, Eddie.”

“Well… I was going to kiss you.” Eddie fights to sound the way he feels, out of his element but so earnest his chest aches. “I really, really… want to kiss you.”

It doesn’t feel like admitting defeat, as he’d initially thought it might. Neither does it feel confessional. You can’t confess to a secret already known. 

He kisses you just once. A light brush of his lips against yours. Anymore than that and he knows he’ll start making promises like someone who has room for them. His eyes scrunch closed hard and he struggles not to squeeze your poor cheek as the pressure of your lips builds, as they part, as he pulls back and you chase him. He can’t kiss your mouth anymore than that, but your hands are grabbing at him, pleading and twitching and cold against the searing skin of his abdomen as they search underneath his shirt. Eddie feels the soft curve of your hip under his hand, knowing he can’t fuck you here, and undecided on whether that’ll be his ruin or his saviour. 

You shudder as he kisses down. His hands are hungry but his mouth is sweet, gentle like you deserve as he noses down the column of your throat. 

“I don’t get you,” you say, your fingertips sewn into his hair, scratching over his scalp lightly. Your breath catches as he parts his lips. His teeth scratch over the damp crescents of previous kisses. 

He loses himself in the ticklish feeling of your hand and the heat of your skin. “Hm?” he hums. 

“I understood you better when I thought you didn’t like me.”

He kisses up to the soft crook of your jaw before edging you away, just enough to see the sad set of your eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, utters, like you’re trading secrets. His thumb rubs your cheek, a rough touch. He’s never been much good at aligning his words with actions; his heart and his hands. 

He doesn’t know what to do to fix your sad frown. He kisses you again in case that’s what you wanted but couldn’t say, and it works for a handful of blessed, wretched seconds. You kiss back hard. Eddie has to break it to take a breath. 

You rest your forehead against his. It slides slowly to his nose, and eventually you’ve bowed your head, your hands slipping down to his elbows. 

“I feel sick all the time,” you say. Your hands flex against his skin. “The only time I feel alright is when I’m playing– when I’m making something.” You press your head to his chest. “Or when I’m with you.”

Eddie thinks of all the shitty decisions he’s made. His restlessness, his bad attitude. His propensity to assume the worst. How he’d taken your thumb rubbing a smudge off of his cheek in the Prover Theatre as a jab, rather than a helping hand. 

He wraps his arms around you. 

Your head fits under his rather well. 

“I know what you mean,” he says. And out of everything he’s told you today, that’s the hardest to say aloud. 

Eddie hugs you in the dim light of that dingy bathroom knowing he’s running on borrowed time. All too soon, you’re pulling apart and he’s helping you off of the counter unnecessarily. You don’t hold hands on the way back to Wings Stadium. He thought you might. You’re quiet. He tries to cheer you up, feeling more and more like he’s done something wrong the closer you get to the venue.

He doesn’t have anything to offer. You’re both on tour now. He doesn’t have a clue when he’ll see you next, or what he’ll say when he does. 

Miraculously, he gets you back to your dressing room. He gives your cheek a quick squeeze. 

“Play well tonight,” he says. 

“I always play well.”

You do. He watches you from the VIP section a couple of hours later, impressed. Mildly nauseous. His thumb worries the edge of the pass until it splits in his hand, paper coming apart from cardboard. Your singer might be a handful, but she knows when to be discreet. He slinks out before your set finishes through a side entrance, and his head races with your image. If it weren’t for your cut sleeves and the flank of your upper arm glowing under the stage lights, he’d put his kisses down to surreal delusion. 

Eddie doesn’t notice the lone photographer hiding in the eaves. 

The photographer notices him. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

!!! thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging, it helps so much! Let me know what you thought, what bits you liked and what you want to see next

can you feel another spat coming along 0.0 I honestly had so much fun writing this one especially the scene with Wayne and then the end scene in the bathroom <3 it’s always crazy to see hours and hours condensed into chapters like this but idc I’m having the time of my life and hope u guys r too! the word count is now at a solid 26k I believe though so it does feel rewarding in that way

[imtryingbuck]

Come back

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 3,919

Warnings: Angst. Sad times. Swearing. A grave gets dug up. Brock Rumlow. 

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

  In Loving Memory Of Y/n L/n

    Killed In Action Saving 5 Innocent Children

    Dedicated Agent

    Friend To Everyone

 10/05/1990 - 10/05/2017

“Pass me a donut will ya”

Everyday since the plaque went up 5 years ago, Bucky always reads it. Everyday a small chuckle will leave his lips when reading the quote Tony made sure was engraved in the marble. ‘She always said it and she did tell me once that when she died to have it on the plaque they HAD to give her’ Tony repeated that conversation when they deciding what would be put on the plaque. It was true, did she always say it. He can hear her voice saying the words he reads every day. 

Putting his two fingers to his lips he lightly kisses them, the gently places his fingers on her photo. Her ID photo took 8 tries to take because she wouldn’t sit still or she wouldn’t keep a straight face. In the end they settled on the final one, her with a huge smile on her face. She told Bucky once when he had asked-

‘why are you smiling in your photo?’

‘Because a smile a day keeps the dentist at bay’ 

‘That’s not an expression’

‘Well it should be’

He missed her more and more every day. Today however left a bitter taste in his mouth, today was the anniversary of her death. 

Every year since they watched their friend die, the team makes sure they don’t have missions just so they can celebrated her death as well as her birthday.

Every year on that painful day they gather in the common room and watch all of her favourite films and play all the board games she went crazy over, they would order and/or cook her favourite food. Then they would each blow out a candle on the large donut Tony had specially made for her birthday. 

He remembers that day when Tony surprised her with it a few years before her death. Her squeals made everyone laugh, she made everyone blow out one candle ‘it’s my birthday and I want everyone to get a wish’ and as the years passed they still did it.

They were halfway through the third film when director Fury walked in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but you guys need to hear this”

“What is it?” Tony asks sitting up from where he was slouching.

“Earlier today there was an attack at SHIELD headquarters”

“How many are dead?” Steve asks. 

“The real question you need to ask is how many are alive Rogers”

“Well?” Natasha speaks up from where she sits next to Wanda.

“None. 28 people are in critical condition” each member of the team murmur their different abbreviations of ‘oh god’.

“Who was it do you know?” Steve questions. 

Walking around the sofa and sitting down on the lone chair Fury sighs “There’s was only one person. With a symbol on their back, take a wild guess which one”

“Hydra” They all speak at the same time.

“Yep. Now heres the reason why I’m here. The computers were tampered with, the IT department has managed to find out what was deleted”

“Go on” Tony says when Fury trails off.

“The file.. the only file to be downloaded and deleted was Y/n’s.”

The teams reaction was different from one another’s however Bucky, Bucky’s heart stopped, he’d gone cold and clammy at the same time, so many questions circled his mind. Why hers? Why now? Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? Why her of all agents?

It was as if Steve could read his mind because it was him that asked “Why hers? She’s been dead for 6 years now. Why would Hydra want her file?”

“We-I don’t know. Now here’s the part you guys are not going to like. Ross wants Y/n’s body to be dug up”

Before anyone get say anything “Absolutely fucking not! You touch her grave I’ll kill you myself!” Bucky shouts.

“Then I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again” booms Thor.

“Listen to me, I don’t want to do this! Ro-“

“I don’t care what Ross wants. It’s bad enough her headstone needs to be replaced every two months because of arseholes keep wanting a piece of it, now you want to dig her up? It nearly killed all of us watching her coffin go into that hole now you want us to watch it come back up?” Bucky’s left hand is balled tight in a fist as he paces back and forth.

“You don’t have to watch and you need to watch your tone” Fury shot back.

“What are you going to do with her?” Wanda asks before Bucky can say anything.

“We’ll put her somewhere different- safer. It’s just a precaution and we have no idea what they want with her file. We don’t know why they picked her out of all active agents and Barnes I don’t like this anymore than you do, Y/n was” taking in a deep breath “I miss her too. I’m sorry but I’m going to give Ross the go ahead on this. You guys don’t have to to be there when it happens and when we find out what’s going on we’ll bury her again. I promise”

For a full 20 minutes after Fury left they were sitting in complete silence each trying to wrap their heads around the information they were just given. SHIELD headquarters had been attacked by Hydra - using just one person to assassinate so many agents. Out of all the Agents of SHIELD alive or dead they pick their friends file, their friend who they loved and adored the same friend who always had a smile on her face no matter what, the one person who could light up a room just by walking inside of it. A person who was so full of happiness and sunshine yet deadly and damn right terrifying when she needed to be. 

Now said friend who they have grieved for, for the past 6 years was about to have her resting place disturbed. Like Bucky had said to Fury, it nearly killed each and everyone of the Avengers and the Guardians - who came to Earth just to attend her funeral - they knew that the probability of dying on the job was high, of course they did, they just never expected it to happen to her, they had to watch as their friend, confidant, colleague, the better half to all of them lay in a box surrounded with 4 camera crews broadcasting their every move just so the whole world could watch them in their most vulnerable moment. They watched as her coffin was gently placed into the ground, knowing that it was going to be the last time they would ever see her after the soil would cover her.

They broke. Plain and simple, they broke. Worst part of it was is that the world lapped it up, the images of Natasha more famously known as the Black Widow standing at the grave of her best friend in bright colour clothing crying, was every where - people joked about how the deadly assassin was crying, saying she wasn’t as strong as everyone made her out to be because she cried. Y/n was undoubtedly the only person Nat felt comfortable with, the one person who saw Natasha as Natasha, not the Black Widow but her friend Natty. She was actually the first person in a very long time to see Nat cry, it was when the goldfish - that Y/n had brought her after she found out that Nat had always wanted one - had died, she felt so unbelievably stupid for crying over it but all Y/n did was hold her, told her to stop being silly for calling herself stupid. They buried it near the lake, just the two of them. Y/n even had bagpipes playing on her phone which made the redhead chuckle.

Wanda was called a crybaby because guess what? She was crying, she was crying because she was burying her best friend! The first person other than Steve to treat her like a human being. The first person to show her that not all people were bad, the one person who wasn’t scared of her that time when Wanda had lost control of her powers making people run in fear, not Y/n though nope she was the one who managed to help Wanda ground herself.

Steve was also mocked for crying for the loss of his friend, ‘Captain America weeps at funeral’, ‘Captain America is weak’, ‘Steve Rogers needs to give up the shield’. Y/n was the one who taught him how to use technology, showed him how the modern world worked and operated. She was the first person on his side when he wanted to track Bucky down. He loved her, not romantically, but he loved her so much. She made him feel normal, she never treat him like he was nearing a 100 years old who was missing 70 years of his life, like he actually was.

Sam just like the rest was called weak for crying at his friends funeral. The two of them drove the whole team insane when they were together (which was pretty much all the time) Like Steve he loved Y/n, she was his sister, his angel as he always called her. She was his best friend, favourite person in the world. The photo of Sam falling to his knees at the side of his angels grave was blasted all over the internet.

The photos of Tony clinging on to his now wife Pepper made front pages as well. ‘Billionaire Tony Stark cries at funeral of dead agent’. ‘Billionaire Tony Stark has to be held up by woman at funeral’. He saw Y/n as his daughter - shit she called him dad and he introduced her to anyone as his daughter. She didn’t see him as a bank, nope she hated it when he would give her money, one time she had to ask him if she could borrow money from him doing it with tears in her eyes because she felt ashamed of herself for asking. A few weeks later she gave him the money back with interest, when he told her to stop being silly and for her to keep it they argued for nearly 3 hours. She managed to slip the money into his pocket without him even realising it. Tony loved her so deeply, when he and Pepper found out they was having a baby girl they already had her name picked out - Morgan, Y/n’s middle name.

‘God of Thunder Thor spotted crying at funeral’ Like everyone else of course he was crying he lost his friend, she made him laugh, she made confused - once she convinced him that she was invisible and that he was the only person who could see or hear her, for 3 weeks he was absolutely convinced he was the only person on planet Earth who could see her. It wasn’t until Sam got back from a mission that the whole jig was up. He was truly captivated by her but even more so especially after she was able to lift Mjölnir higher up than Steve was able to, waved his hammer around like it weighed nothing. He, like Bucky, blamed himself for her death, he thought no believed it was his fault she was no longer with them. So yes of course he cried.

Bruce wasn’t allowed to attend his friends funeral because when she died he couldn’t control the big green beefy fella - as Y/n called him - from coming out. Fury and Ross said it would be bad and take the attention away from Y/n if the Hulk was there. He agreed. Y/n loved Hulk like she loved Bruce, she wasn’t afraid of the Hulk - Christ she once tried to have an arm wrestle with him! She didn’t once make Bruce feel like he was a freak or a dangerous monster as small minded people called him. No she treat him with respect and kindness. It took 2 months for him to go from being Hulk to being Bruce again.

Clint turned his hearing aids off for months after her death, he remembered her asking him to teach her how to sign language just so he didn’t have to always wear them. That was an interesting experience to say the very least. Clint adored her, adored the spark she carried around, adored the warmth and tranquillity she oozed. Her strength, willpower and willingness that no one could dream of having been one of the many things he loved about her, and what he misses. The day after she died he went home, home to his wife and children where he collapsed in Laura’s arms and cried himself to sleep that night. He too was mocked for being weak.

Then there was the photos of Bucky who was struggling to stand strong. ‘The world’s deadliest assassin cries’ was the headline on magazine’s for weeks or his personal favourite one ‘Winter Soldier more like Weak Soldier’ Like Nat he too was mocked because he wasn’t wearing all black but bright colours - hell they all were, it was what she wanted and whatever Y/n wanted, she got. Her death hit him the hardest. He loved her. He still loves her after 6 years of her being gone. ‘True love is what them two idiots have’ Tony would say. He blamed himself for what had happened to her, he had just turned his back for a second to hand a child to an agent when the whole building came down trapping her inside, he should of done more he always tells himself. Other than Steve she was his best friend, the one person who wasn’t afraid off his arm, the only person who could calm him down after a nightmare. She was the first person he opened up to and not once did she judge him or called him names, after he finished telling her all the things he remembered she got up and walked over to him and pulled him in for a hug, crying her heart out and apologising over and over again. The worst part for Bucky other than losing her was that he never got to tell her how madly in love he was with her. 

“It doesn’t make sense” Steve was the one who broke the silence.

“Which part?” Tony asks.

“Everything. The attack, Y/n’s file, Ross wanting her to be dug up. Nothing makes sense”

“We need to figure this out. We can’t let them do this to her” Sam shakes his head, whilst trying to keep the tears he was fighting back at bay.

“Fury let me into his thoughts. They think they’re trying to find out how to recreate her genes.” Wanda finally speaks.

Once again the room went quiet. Y/n back story was still a bit of a mystery to the team. It was just something she never spoke about, they knew of the scars that covered the majority of her body and they did know of her mutant gene and that was it. 

Y/n was exactly like Logan, better known as Wolverine. Though Logan’s a Beta level mutant whereas Y/n was an Alpha level, the only one of her kind. She had complete control over her abilities, her fighting skills were untouchable and unmatched. She was a part of the Weapon X program, when she was a young child she was taken from the orphanage she was placed at as a baby - and unknown to the team she was subjected to the worst abuse imaginable at the hands of The Facility. Unlike Logan though her Adamantium claws weren’t poisonous.

And what made Y/n even stronger was just like Wanda she had telekinesis abilities, though Y/n was a bit stronger than the other woman.

They didn’t know that Logan had found her when she was 16, with a chain wrapped around her neck that was connected to the wall, in a dark room that only had a toilet - nothing else. Logan had managed to get her out, which wasn’t easy considering she didn’t trust him and he wasn’t her handler. Logan kept her with him for roughly three years, moving around place to place, keeping each other safe. He was growing weak and unable to keep his promise to her, promise being he’d keep her safe. With a heavy heart he took her to Fury, begging the other man to take care of her. And since then she was a highly respected SHIELD agent and member of the Avengers.

They knew if Hydra were trying to recreate her genes they would have an army that would be unstoppable.

“But why dig her up? Hydra has her file so therefore they… they…”

“Tony? You okay?”

“Other than finding out my daughters grave will be disturbed, I’m fine”. He gets up and walks away.

One by one they follow his lead, leaving Bucky and Thor to blow out the candles - making the same wish as the previous years.

For her to come back.

The very next day they all gather at the cemetery and watched with a heavy heart as her grave gets dug up.

Three days later Fury gets a phone call “Fury you need to come to the Pentagon as soon as you can and don’t tell anyone”

“On my way”.

As soon as he got there he meets with Ross. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s not her”

“What are you talking about Ross?”

“Y/n… it’s not her in the coffin.”

“Hold on, you fucking lied to me you told me you wasn’t going to touch her!”

“Fury we brought a dead agent to the Pentagon for a reason”.

“A dead agent? Remember that dead agent saved you life how many times? Oh yeah six. Six fucking times she saved your arse Ross.” The anger coming off Fury made everyone in the room shift foot to foot.

“Sorry, we brought Y/n to the Pentagon for a reason”

“Why?”

“Simple. We wanted to make sure that they hadn’t gotten to her so we checked, and it’s not her. If-if you just look to your left Nick you’ll see the body that was in her coffin”

Fury stood there for a few minutes just staring at Ross before he looked over to where he had pointed. 

There laid the decaying body of a woman, that was most definitely not Y/n.

“H-how is this possible?”

“We don’t know. It’s a possibility that Hydra got her body first, but it doesn’t explain why they would put this person in her place”

“Or she could be alive?” Fury asked hopefully.

“She’s not” Ross puts a hand to Fury’s shoulder “I checked the footage of the attack and it’s not her, I asked some of the agents that could talk if the person had claws and they all said no” Ross hated himself for calling her ‘a dead agent’ even if she was just that, but like Fury had said, she saved his life more times than one. When Y/n was introduced to him, he had to admit he was intimidated by her. But as time went on they gained each others trust and respect.

“Fury you can’t tell the Winter Soldier about this”

“James. His name is James and you honestly expect me not to say anything to the team?”

“We have no idea how any of them will react, especially him and Thor”

He hated to admit that Ross did have a point, there was no idea how the two men who blamed themselves for her death, would react.

Sighing “What are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s just hope and pray that they don’t have her I guess”.

The screams of pure terror coming from civilians were muffled by the gunfire and explosions, the bodies of civilians and SHIELD agents scattered amongst the wreckage. Hydra made another attack on the Capital.

The Avengers were able to stop Hydra agents from pushing further forwards. But when the ground started to shake they all looked at each other.

Both Steve and Bucky gulped at the sight of the Uber Tank, memories of seeing it during the war flashed through their minds.

“What the fuck is that!” Tony questioned.

“T-that’s Hydras Tank - I thought I destroyed it” Steve answers.

The rain pour of gunfire came to a stop on both sides, agents of Hydra smirked, agents of SHIELD looked terrified. The rumbling stopped, the only sound that could be heard was rubble still falling in the background.

When the hatch came open they waited with bated breath. Rumlow.

Brock Rumlow climbed up and out of the tank, standing on top with a megaphone.

“Do you like her? She’s a real beauty isn’t she? Took us longer than I care to admit to rebuild her but here she is!” He laughs “Hey so the attack the other week on your headquarters, sorry about that. We just needed something, take a wild guess what” Not receiving an answer he sighs and tilts his head to the side “It was to get your friends file! Jesus do I have to do all the work around here?”

“I’ve got a clean shot” Voiced Clint from where ever he was at.

“Not yet” Steve says.

“Truth to be told guys we didn’t need her file, we just wanted to give you a heads up to what was going to come” Waving his arms towards to chaos “I knew if we took her file it would get your attention, and it did didn’t it. I also know that her coffin was taken to the Pentagon, and I also know that Fury’s been keeping a secret from the almighty Avengers”

“What are you talking about?” Steve shouted.

Rumlow chuckles “It’s about time you spoke Captain America, the secret is… how about I just show you huh?” Stomping three times on the Uber Tank “Little bird why don’t you come out so you can play”

The hatch comes open again, a figure all in black - very similar outfit that the Winter Soldier use to wear - emerged and moving their way to stand next to Rumlow.

“Our little bird here is even stronger than she once was. We gave her the serum and it just enhanced her strength.” Moving closer to the person he whispers something none of them could hear. “Look I’ve gotta go, don’t worry I’ll be taking this beauty with me so no need to cry. I’ll let little bird have all the fun, she deserves it” Placing a kiss to the side of the woman’s head, he pushes her off. “Good luck everyone, you’re gonna need it” Climbing back into the tank, the tracks started to rumble once again before leaving the same way it came.

Nobody moved even long after Rumlow and the Uber Tank had gone. That was until some Hydra agents started to drop to the floor with foam spilling from their mouths.

Little bird as Rumlow called her took one step in front of the other until she was roughly 100 feet on the Avengers.

Her hand slowly came up to her face, removing the bottom half of her mask then the glasses.

They couldn’t believe it.

They didn’t want to believe it.

“Y/n?”

<Previous   Next>

Tags: @bethexo07 @doublebassallie

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[paradiseismine]

do you do richie tozier x f reader?

Richie Tozier Headcanons

Pairing: Richie Tozier x f!reader

Warnings: i split my hcs in fluffy and smutty, you can read it partially or totally, as you wish.

Love note from Nina: I was always a bit hesitant in writing for Richie because I haven’t read the It book yet (the source material). However, I’ve seen both movie versions (1990/2017), and since I’ll be basing my writing on Finn’s depiction of Richie, I decided to give it a try. Hope you like it!

Fluff 🎀

- Major hand holder, this one. He takes your hand absentmindedly to cross the street, in a nearly involuntary way, for instance. If he thinks you’re scared or in need of some sort of support, he’ll hold your hand in a heartbeat;

- Richie is a “it’s ok love, I’m here for you” type of guy, all the way;

- Lots of burying his head on the crook of your neck to smell you (whether or not you wear perfume, he’s just really into your scent);

- Physical touch is his main love language, but he’s also a big quality time guy: always looking for places to take you to, things you can do together, all that good stuff;

- Loves touching your hair, massaging your scalp, running his fingers through your tresses as you talk;

- Also loves to “kiss your heart”, aka, putting his lips to the middle of your chest (even if in public) whenever you wear a low cut shirt;

Smut ❤️‍🔥

- Plenty of jokes and commentary about how hot you are/how sweet your pussy tastes/how beautiful your boobs are. Richie will be literally eating a glazed doughnut and say “so much sugar on this, it’s nearly as sweet as y/n’s pussy”

- Despite the jokes, he’s reallyyyy into you, your mind and your body, even if he doesn’t know the best way to show it sometimes;

- A lot of communication is done through touch, specially when it comes to your intimacy together;

- A hand on your thigh under the table as you’re having dinner means “can we do a little something before bed?”, whilst a thumb lightly pushing your bra strap off your shoulder means “I miss your body”;

- He gets embarrassed of his glasses when you two are making out too intensely and they fog up (it’s adorable);

- Having you on his lap, one leg to each side of his waist is a personal favorite;

- This boy lovessss to finger you, omg;

- Rich thinks fingering is a mandatory prep for penetration, as to stretch you out a bit before his dick comes in, because “you’re always so tight, doll, I need to make sure you can take it, you know?”

- Trashmouth knows exactly what to say to get you wet through your panties. There’s lots of degrading, but usually a little praise at the end too.

- Expect to hear things along the lines of “you’re such a little slut for me, aren’t you? All desperate and soaked like that… tsc, tsc, those people who see you looking so ladylike and poised on the street have no idea how much of a whore you are”

- He’s very keen on driving you completely insane during foreplay - dirty words whispered to your ears, very light touches to get your skin tingly and sensitive, some tease and denial as well if he’s not too worked up and desperate to have you;

- His thrusts are mostly slow and steady, he only picks up the pace when you’re satisfied;

- Richie loves to cum in your mouth. Being so talkative and such an oral person in general, nothing grants him a better orgasm than gushing his warm seed into your mouth and having you swallow it;

- Aftercare is really important for him. Cuddles and gentle talking are always on the menu, and even some lighter kisses if you’re in the mood. He’ll always make you laugh too, not only because he’s a goofball, but also cause your laugh is his favorite sound - followed closely by your moans.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 45

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks,

Time for another spreadsheet digest! I read a fuckload of Joel this week but there's plenty of other boys in there as well. Also ran the DMAMC this week so there's several subby pedro boys in here.

Tag me in your fic or send me a message if you'd like to appear on the Digest <3

Letting Go - Dave one shot by @auteurdelabre

Dave meets his match in more ways than one.

subbish!Dave, scenes of violence (guns, blood), descriptions of alcohol, Dave fights the sub life, edging, oral (f receiving), Dom/sub dynamics.

Fairytale of Dieter Bravo - Dieter series by @schnarfer

Dieter Bravo is fresh out of rehab and spending Christmas 1987 with his cousin Declan in the Cotswolds.

Lots of flitting between Dieter/reader POV. Heavy on the 80 references, drugs, alcohol, rehab, so much smoking and swearing. Allusions to smut. A kiss. Reader is married so… infidelity. Reader is a horse girl with strong thighs, but otherwise minimal physical descriptions. A lot more pheasants than I was expecting. Always somehow Fleabag coded. // part 2: it’s just smut. Big snogs, unprotected p in v, fingering, pussy eating, squirting, infidelity (reader is married). We flick between reader and Dieter POV.

Held by the Moon - Dieter/Dave one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Dieter is determined to prove his dedication to the film consultant on his latest project. Dave is determined to not cross any professional boundaries. Only one has the mental fortitude to see their intentions through.

dommy daddy subby baby vibes, "is somebody gonna match my freak?" is the main theme here, drugs/sobriety, Dave is uptight, Dieter is a silly goose, brief film industry stuff, heavy flirting, Dieter is on some Esmerelda shit and Dave is lusting bad like Frollo but without the attempted murder and self-righteous religious stuff, drug testing but make it erotic, this pairing made me insanely horny

Bedroom hymns - Din one shot by @saradika

You’d liked this, when you first got together. His desire. How much he wanted to consume you. To take - the weight of his armor pressing into your back, as he drove you into the thin mattress of his bunk. // But this is what you like more. The leash he offers so willingly to you. Eager to obey, even as the collar tightens. Following at your heels. // After all, his duty is to his people. But it’s you that he serves.

mand’alor!din, sub!din, soft dom!wife!reader, breeding kink, beskar cock cage, reference to needles & birth control, enthusiastic oral sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, references to pregnancy

It's so Obvious, I'm your Number One - Din one shot by @hapan-in-exile

You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the Mandalorian's employer, crimelord Boss Set’ki, and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa. After years of meaningful glances and missed connections, Din Djarin finally claims you as his own. But now…he’d like to switch up the roles.

Bondage, blindfold, oral sex (everyone receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slapping, hair pulling, choking, biting, unprotected piv, rough sex, orgasm denial, prostate play, explicit consent, aftercare. No extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

Serpentine - Javi P one shot by @pedgito

Authority looks good on him, but you think he'd look ever better on his knees.

sub!javier, dom!reader (but lbr, they’re both switch) obviously. reader has vague backstory (related to work), enemies to fwb, they fuck a lot oops, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), restraints, brat!javi as god intended, choking, coming untouched, edging for the greater good, amen.

Ain’t shit sweeter - Javi P series by @encasedinobsidian

In the late 1990’s, Javier Peña transfers to the DEA field office in Chicago, finally given a long-awaited opportunity to spend more time with his son while he adjusts to life post-Colombia. But in the midst of it all, he falls in love with the woman who resents his very presence in her life; his own daughter-in-law.

Father in law Javi, Enemies to Lovers, Dad Javi but honestly absent dad Javi, dick from a man you wish was your father, Drink every time I say the word father, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Angst, Size Kink, Size Difference, age gap, Daddy Issues, References to death of a parent, Secret Relationship, Infidelity, I am not spoiling the nature of the ending, No that does not automatically mean there's an unhappy ending, But I'm keeping it a secret for once sorry, Grown ass adult man fuckboy Javi, slightly toxic relationship, Daddy Kink

Through the Glass Joel one shot by @murder-wife

Your neighbor, Joel, seems to have a revolving door of dates. He also doesn't seem to have a taste for keeping his curtains closed. You can't help but watch when it feels like he wants you to see what he's doing to them.

Neighbor Joel, voyeurism, exhibitionism, literally no plot here, S M U T, masturbation, oral sex, cumshot, unprotected PIV

Me and the Devil - Joel one shot by @gracieheartspedro

joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process.

mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking.

Hotline to Heaven - Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

An inquisitive man gets more than what he's used to when he pushes the wrong number on a phone sex hotline.

dom!reader, sub!joel, pre outbreak, empty house means he's up to no good, porn connoisseur, phone sex, dirty talk ( i mean duh) mutual masturbation, swearing, orgasm denial, safeword mentioned but not used, talking him through it this time, a little aftercare, slight mention of one of my favorite movies bc I know Joel would've liked it too.

Change - Joel one shot by @pedgito

Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

sub!joel, no outbreak, power dynamics (he's your boss), age gap (shocker), lots of open communication, vague plot, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, restraints, joel eating the puss with no hands, use of a cockring, joel's a real good boy, open-ended

Mile High Club - Joel one shot by @maiamore

Joel has to fly out of state for the first time in his life and his nerves are frayed. Luckily, he finds a good distraction. You.

m!receiving oral, deep throating, public indecency, mention of drug use, blowjob on a plane basically, alcohol consumption, nervous old man joel

Guilty Pleasure - Joel series by @for-a-longlongtime

You're home from college for the summer, staying with your parents in Austin, TX. So is your dad's best friend, Joel Miller.

Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU.

Frostbite - Max Phillips one shot by @brandyllyn

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man.

This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

Good Pup, Bad Pup - Pero/Javi G one shot by @crowandmousewritingco (mouse)

You give your subs exactly what they deserve

Pup play, spankings, praise AND degradation, strap ons, dildos, Javi's genitalia is referred to as a T dick, pet names, and other debauchery.

Cuffed to the Grind - Tim Rockford one shot by @whocaresstillthelouvre

You're working late 'cause you're a detective.

Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair. smut, unprotected p in v, riding, handcuffs, domming the detective, vag badge, commingled cum, fucking your boss, panty gag, holding on to holsters, whiskey, cop stuff

Happy Reading!

[talenlee]

Hey Talen! I'd like to hear about Read or Die! :)

okay so READ OR DIE was from the late 90s to early 00s, in the period of time when the sort of multi-media project anime you're now used to was gearing up; it had a light novel, a manga, an oav and a tv series and then more stuff spinning off that, in related-but-not-quite-the-same-thing universes. Like you could guess that some characters were the same between series but you couldn't presume anything because the rules of the universe and history were a little different.

And the premise is superpowered librarians fighting evil history zombies.

The central character of the LNs and first OAV were Yomiko Readman, a nerdy shutin book dork meganneko with a deep love of books, obsessively reading all the time and carrying around a rolling suitcase of books to read in case she got bored on public transport. Yomiko's special power is that she could control paper, telekinetically, and used this power for a host of cool effects .

In the first OAV she teams up with a super spy named Miss Deep.

Miss Deep is a super-spy who can phase through walls. She likes to play with Yomiko's hair and kiss her neck.

I am not joking around.

Anyway, the thing is, this series is at its core a sort of twee book-and-library themed superheroes doing a mystery to try and solve a conspiracy plot about someone resurrecting important historical figures who then have evil supernatural powers based on who they were in life. Like Hiraga Gennai is brought back from the dead so he can use lightning bolts made from his clay batteries.

The whole thing is built out of Bullshit Super Spy stuff, in the vein of literally James Bond style, but instead of super-tech magical geek toys, it's all got this low key urban fantasy element where Yomiko can do things like make clothes and barriers and weapons out of paper, but also nobody really comments on this beyond 'it's a thing Yomiko can do,' as a Paper Master.

So the vibes are 1990s Japan's idea of 1970s Britain as told through urban fantasy lesbians fighting history zombies.

It's really good!

The first season of the anime is about Yomiko's first girlfriend trying to find her after getting her first book published. Because she wants Yomiko to read her book. You know, in a heterosexual way. This winds up adopting a trio of sisters who are also Paper Masters, in the classic brat/bimbo/himbo trilune as they solve the mystery of Where Is Nenene's Girlfriend.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How about dreary?

Nedcan break up fighttttt lmao. This one is also complete.

Amsterdam, 1990.

Jan opened the front door to the dreary day and the nation of Canada standing on his stoop with a shy, hopeful smile.

"I wasn't expecting you!" Jan blurted, taken on the back foot. "You're a surprise!"

"A good one, I hope," Matt smiled. He was dressed warmer than required for the weather, wrapped in his good winter coat, gloves and hat and standing in the drizzle, one hand above his face to keep it dry. Jan stood there, gawking. "Can't I come in?"

"Of course!" Jan said, shaking himself loose of his thoughts and flinging the door open.

Matt stepped inside, peeling off his hat and gloves and moving to give Jan a kiss once inside the privacy of the house.

"What are you doing here?" Jan asked. Matt's lips were fish-cold, and Jan shivered a little before he took his coat.

"I was in Kyiv," Matt said. "And I was feeling a bit more myself, so I called your office, and they said you didn't have anything booked, so I got my connecting flight to Rotterdam."

"Oh," Jan said.

"Is it a bad time?" Matt asked.

"No, no. Just… I've got a flight in a few hours."

"Where too?"

"First leg is DC,"

"Oh?" Matt asked, and they moved toward the living room, Matt's suitcase in the foyer and coat hanging on the rack like a guest. "What's in DC?"

"A layover and a few hours at the Dutch Embassy. They're giving a dinner for the Queen."

"Ah, very official. And then?"

"Another flight."

"Where too?" Matt asked, putting his arms around Jan and smiling. "Where have they sent you off to now?"

"Nowhere," Jan said, kissing his hair. Matt dropped his head on Jan's shoulder. "I took vacation time."

"Did I pre-empt a surprise visit? Matt smiled, kissing him, full of promise. He was still cold, and Jan could only let it happen, full of sadness.

Jan was silent for a moment. "Tokyo, actually."

"Oh," Matt dropped his arms. "Well, that's not great timing on my part; I'm sorry. I must have called before you put it on your schedule."

"It's not scheduled," Jan said. "Personal."

Matthew disengaged. "Again?"

"I haven't been there in months."

"A month," Matt said. "You were there in December, and it's not even February."

"I have something I want to be there for."

"Something?" Matt said.

"A gift. A windmill is going up in Sakura."

"A windmill. Goodness." Matt said. "Does that require you?"

"It's my design, so yes, I supposed it does. I based it on one I had in the 18th century. It's quite a fine design.

Matt huffed. "Lucky Sakura."

"Kiku has been looking forward to it.

"You have to, by the sounds of it."

"I have."

Matt nodded, collapsing onto the sofa. He looked off somehow, something more shadowed about his eyes than usual, his face thinner—probably jet lag.

"Do you want to get some lunch?" Jan asked. "Before I go?"

Matt looked at his hands and swallowed. "Jan, If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"Is there a reason I should?" Jan raised a brow.

"I miss you, love you, and want to spend time with you."

"My flights booked, Matt."

"Right." Matt shut his eyes and exhaled. "Okay. That was bad timing on my part. I'm sorry I dropped in unannounced. I really thought you were free."

"Why don't we get lunch and figure out another time."

"I'm not hungry," Matt said. His jaw tensed, and he looked up at Jan. "When can I expect a visit from you?"

"I'll be over with the tulips, like usual."

"Could you take some time before then? Or could I pop over?"

"Can't it wait until May?"

Matt flexed his hands in his lap. "Does it have to? I miss you."

"I don't think I can take any more time for a few months, but I'll call when I get back."

"Do you miss me when I'm not here?"

"I'm always happy to see you."

"That's not what I asked." Matt returned. "Do you miss me? Because it feels like I haven't seen much of you in a long time."

"I'll be there in May. A whole week."

"How long in Japan?"

'Fourteen days."

"Fourteen days," Matt repeated. "Another fourteen days?"

"December was only 10."

"Only?" Matt spat back and then shut his eyes, exhaling. "Sorry."

"That was for a whole different thing. This is official."

"You just said it was personal!"

"It is! But it's for an event!" Jan said, running his hand over Matt's arm to take his hand. "Come on, let's get some food before I have to go. I'll call you when I get back and I'll see you in May."

"Do you even want to see me in May?"

"I always come in May."

"Do you want to though? You're not beholden to me." Matt stared at his hand, supporting him against the wall rather than at Jan. "We're not married; we're not human. You can do whatever you like."

Jan frowned. "Matt— you didn't even mention you wanted company before dumping yourself on my doorstep. I'm not a mind reader."

Matt squeezed his eyes shut against some sort of pain.

"Matthew, be reasonable. I can't do anything if you don't talk to me."

"You aren't listening anymore when I try. Even when I'm here, you're elsewhere. You had a life before me. You still have a life without me. It's fine. Do whatever or whomever you want."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means there were no honorifics when he talked to you. And you still use the formal case when talking to me in public. Because I'm not imp— it's fine. You should go. I'll talk to you when I'm in a fit state."

"You could just talk to me now!" Jan said. "I'm listening now."

"You're already packed," Matt said. "It's fine. I'll go to my Dad's."

"I'm sorry this time didn't work out," Jan said, scrubbing his face. "But you didn't tell me you wanted to see me until 10 minutes ago."

"I tried in December. You were in Japan." Matt smiled wanly, and Jan wasn't sure he'd ever seen him look so hollow. "I tried. I tried talking to you. But you don't return my calls, and that time you were unreachable and in Japan, and now you're on your way there again."

"Matt. There's only a competition where you go and make one. The world's changed, and times change. You have your place with me sometimes, and I have mine with him sometimes. It's not a competition. Just compartments."

"So you can put me in a little box and take me out when you're bored?" Matt sighed through his nose and rubbed his temples. "Just like that?"

"That's not what I said."

"Isn't it?" Matt shot back. "Isn't that what you're doing exactly? I was place holder while you waited for something better! Fifty years ago, you kissed me on VJ day with almost as much relief as VE Day. You kissed me both times. I didn't expect anything from you. But you made me love you. And now you throw that in my face by telling me nothing changed?"

"It hasn't!" Jan shouted. "I love you!"

"Then why aren't you actually here when you lay next to me?" Matt shouted. "Where the fuck are you when I try to talk to you and get only grunts? Why are we always playing phone tag? When I'm trying to make love, and you're closing your eyes? Where the fuck are you, and who are you thinking about? Because in fifty years, we haven't been monogamous, but you never used to close your eyes!

"I buy you flowers every year. I pay attention to you when we're together. But it's not as if we live together. Our lives are long. And complicated. I have feelings for you, for him, for a lot of people. Same as you. Don't begrudge me my life, Matt, Fuck! Its not my fault you're such a fucking child you can't understand this!"

"Oh, I'm a child now?" Matt stood. "It makes me a child that I don't understand how you can do this with him? Of all people?"

"It does! You are a fucking child if you can't understand that. And a hypocrite. Your parents have done far more to each other than Kiku and I ever did."

"How the fuck does that make this okay?"

"Because there was a single war between Kiku and me. One! A single war in 400 years."

"It was the largest conflict the world's ever seen! Ludwig nearly killed you, and Kiku allied with him and they both tried to bring the world to heel. Tell me, should I fuck Ludwig? No!"

"You can if you want! Go, fuck him, love him, let him love you, change! Maybe you'd understand some fucking sense."

Matthew's eyes widened. Jan exhaled and saw his breath. The room had dropped twenty degrees around the personification of Canada.

"Do… do you love him?"

"I did."

"Thats not what I'm asking. Do you love him now? At this moment."

"Yes."

"Fine." Matt exhaled, and the room's temperature rose again. "Fine. Go."

"Matt, don't play the jealous wife. It's beneath you."

"Who the fuck said I was? I just said you were free to do as you liked, didn't I?" Matt smiled again, bitter and fragile like shards of porcelain. "Enjoy your time, Jan."

"…. Will I see you in May?"

"I don't think so."

Send me a word, if it’s in one of my wip documents I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[ichooseviolence]

If they make a Dunk & Egg show, I think it would be neat if it had a 1980's or 1990's flare and style to it. Everything from cinematography, costumes, settings, lighting, and decor. Practical effects??? I miss those, too. (And also, I want to bring the grainy aesthetic back..) D&E is such a unique story within ASoIaF, I think it would be neat if we got something different than HotD and GoT. I'm tired of the dim lighting and lack of flare, and imo, it wouldn't fit the story of D&E, which is an adventure and mostly optimistic.

The 80s: gives off a magical vibe, natural color palletes, beautifully flashy costumes. Editing was much better than it is today. There's too much overediting in films today (American films at least), and the end result is a choppy story. Jacki Chan once touched on this himself. The use of practical effects. Sometimes, practical effects are more magical than CGI.

Excalibur (1981)

Dragonslayer (1981)

The NeverEnding Story (1984)

The 90s: *STUNNINGLY SOFT VISUALS*, the lighting is a little brighter, slightly less grainy than the 80s, excellent cinematography (wide shots are *chefs kiss*), there was a healthy mix of CGI and practical effects, the optimism in story-telling, has a romantic style to it.

Jurassic Park (1993)

The Mummy (1999)

I think I'd opt for a 90s film style for D&E. Soft, romantic, and adventurous with a certain irony in the humor.

[maibluemen]

fic masterlist!

sorted approximately in chronological order of when they take place, though oneshot fics aren't necessarily part of a single continuous timeline. multichap fics, unless otherwise stated, are though.

(yes i only have the one multichap fic so far but there will be others. someday. and this list will update accordingly as i post stuff lol)

like they do in babylon (early 1800s)

rated: e ship: rusliet summary: for the past several nights, russia has been calling lithuania to his study to talk and drink with him, and lithuania doesn't know why--until russia kisses him.

no other sadness in the world (1800s)

rated: g ship: rusliet summary: ivan and tolys have their nightly conversation over tea

plein air (ca. 1880)

rated: t ship: frapol summary: It had been Francis’s idea to head south for a bit, and it had been his suggestion that morning to spend the day at the beach. “You need to rest,” he’d said, “and the warm air will your lungs good.” Feliks hadn’t complained—he was sick of Paris, and the warm air did make it much easier to breathe…he’d missed the sea, too. It's the wrong sea, though, he thought.

last light (1939-44, with some flashbacks)

ongoing rated: e ships: rusliet, ruspru, lietbela; past lietpol and pruaus characters: prussia, lithuania, russia, estonia, belarus, austria, poland, a bunch of human OCs, some others warnings: ww2, rape/noncon, graphic depictions of violence, substance abuse and addiction, mentions of csa summary: just some desperate people trying to survive with (and sometimes in spite of) each other.

midnight rendezvous (1950s)

rated: e ship: ruspol bingo prompt: spanking summary: feliks wants to blow off some steam, and ivan is willing to help.

sweet dreams (1950s)

rated: e ship: rusliet bingo prompt: somnophilia warnings: somnophilia, dubcon bordering very much on noncon summary: clearly, tolys trusts ivan completely, otherwise how could he be sleeping so deeply beside him?

heartlines (1990s)

rated: m ship: lietpol summary: feliks learns to be a little more comfortable with himself around tolys.

between shadows (present day)

rated: t ship: lietbela summary: little lietbela vignette fic that follows them through the seasons.

[flightlesscipher]

I'm fully aware view askewniverse movies are expect the unexpected movies, but out of alll the crazy shit in dogma, I never ever would've expected to see miss queen alanis morissette to be in it...AS GOD NO LESS‼️‼️⁉️ if that aint the most 1990s shi then idk what is

I deadass gasped at the screen and went 😲🫵ITS LIKE RAYYYEEEYAINNNN!!

Anyways..does this fuckin mean that jay was not only kissed by the last scion, but also kissed by god HERSELF!?

[cafenostalgique]

My ultimate film watchlist (1950s)

1930s-1940s | 1960s-1970s | 1980s | 1990s | 2000s | 2010s

I’m particularly in love with film, fashion, and the beauty of the 1950s. I hope that also goes to say that I don’t agree with the negative politics surrounding the decade. As stated in part one, holiday films may appear on multiple lists, as I love holidays and want to watch major films during those times of year as well. Please let me know if I’m ever missing any cult classics as well! I’m always open to add on :)

watched | loved | wouldn’t watch again | holiday

1950

All About Eve

Born Yesterday

Cinderella

Crisis

Harvey

In a Lonely Place

The Asphalt Jungle

Sunset Boulevard

1951

A Christmas Carol

Alice in Wonderland

An American in Paris

A Place in the Sun

A Streetcar Named Desire

People Will Talk

Strangers on a Train

The Day the Earth Stood Still

The Thing from Another World

1952

High Noon

Monkey Business

Room for One More

Singin’ in the Rain 

The Quiet Man

1953

Dream Wife

From Here to Eternity

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Peter Pan

Roman Holiday

The Big Heat

Stalag 17

The War of the Worlds

1954

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

Creature from the Black Lagoon

Dial M for Murder

Godzilla

Rear Window

Sabrina

White Christmas

1955

East of Eden

Guys and Dolls

Lady and the Tramp

Marty

Rebel Without a Cause

The Seven Year Itch

The Trouble with Harry

To Catch A Thief

1956

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

The Killing

The King and I

The Man Who Knew Too Much

The Searchers

The Ten Commandments

1957

12 Angry Men

An Affair to Remember

Kiss Them for Me

Paths of Glory

The Bridge on the River Kwai

The Pride and the Passion

The Seventh Seal

1958

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Houseboat

Indiscreet

Touch of Evil 

Vertigo

1959

Anatomy of a Murder

North by Northwest

Operation Petticoat

Sleeping Beauty

Some Like It Hot

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 35

word count: 377

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

August 16, 1990

Dear Will,

I’m a failure. I’m sitting here, drunk as fucking always, and trying to write coherently. I lied in my letters, my drinking is really bad. I’m not fine. I can’t control what I can’t control what I can’t control. It’s getting harder and harder to focus as I write this. It’s like my memory restarts every five seconds. I’m actually genuinely terrified of what’s going to become of me if I keep going on like this. And it’s ALL your fault, Will. It’s ALL your fault.

I think about that kiss a lot. Way more often than is necessary and acceptable. I remember the fleeting feeling of your lips against mine as if it happened mere seconds ago. Is it a crime that I want you as much as I do? Absolutely. I should be sent to fucking Alcatraz. But then again, losing you was my own personal prison sentence. You’ll never speak to me again, that’s punishment enough.

Wyatt says these letters are actually a really good coping mechanism. And I believe him, it’s just… Why is it so fucking PAINFUL?!?! WHAT THE FUCK?!?! I just want you back in my life. Boyfriend or not. I just need something. Anything. I can’t fucking take this anymore. You’re my fucking EVERYTHING. And I would do ANYTHING just to have what we had again. Even just for one day.

I miss you. And of course, I love you, but I’ll put that love aside if that’s the only way to maintain a friendship with you. You know damn well that I’d die for you, so giving up my love for you shouldn’t have to be this hard. Fuck, I can’t feel my hands. I’m so lonely and hurt and nostalgic and angry and GOD I just want it all to STOP for one fucking second.

It just hit me that today is the one year mark since our fight. One year since I kissed you. One year since you pushed me away. One year since you shattered my heart. One year since you left me in that basement to rot. One year since the dam broke and I haven’t stopped crying since. FUCK YOU, WILLIAM JACOB BYERS.

Hope you’re doing well.

Love,

Mike

-

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