#Florida bathroom bill
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
So. That Florida Bathroom Bill, huh?
TW: bathroom bills, transphobia, internalized transphobia.
I ainât beating around the bush. I will be using strong language here. If that ainât your cup of tea or if youâre just here for my usual brand of gay fanart and fic, itâs okay to scroll past this post. Really. I wonât judge. This is one doozy of a vent.
For the people in my DMs asking me if Iâm okay (as a trans person in Florida considering recent bathroom bill bullshit) Iâm just⊠sitting here with an exasperated sigh.
Itâs funny that the first time I hear of this is from a DM from someone on the other side of the world. Iâve been deliberately avoiding lgbt Florida news for some time because the more I think about it, the harder it is to be civil in transphobic conversations.
Last night I was deadnamed in front of a few people, and today at my graduation Iâll likely be deadnamed in front of a whole convention center. Thatâs what I get for not changing my name legally, huh. Oh well. Didnât wanna go through all the paperwork just yet (in case I go for a different name) so Iâm stuck with the one Iâm sure I donât want.
So again, I try not to think about it.
But yeah. It sucks.
Honestly? The bathroom bill doesnât change much for me. Itâs still the same shit as always.
The one time I went into the menâs restroom, I freaked out a cis guy so badly (poor dude was genuinely scared of ME accusing HIM of something bad) that I never did that again.
As for womenâs restrooms (the one I most frequently use) thatâs a whole other deal. Most days, I donât pass. Iâll just go out and say that. I have a high voice, boobs, and a bit of hips. Some days I dress really feminine too, so it only makes sense. No one here is going to buy âsee I LOOK like a woman but no see Iâm secretly a âman but not quiteâ inside but I wear makeup as a kind of exaggerated cosplay of a gender I am NOT, yâsee?â
I donât want to have a nuanced discussion of gender in the bathroom. Most people 30+ in age donât even know what non-binary is and barely get the concept of trans. As much as I love being and educator and advocate, after a long road trip I want to piss and get on with my life. Also cis men have told me the horror stories of male bathrooms (how do you get shit ON the ceiling????) and then Iâm thankful to have been âborn a womanâ or whatever.
Most days I donât think about it too hard. But on my more dysphoric days or when on the blessed days I do genuinely pass more masc - when I go into the bathroom looking like this:
I genuinely donât know which bathroom to use.
Itâs embarrassing. Especially when thereâs no family restroom available. And when I go to the womenâs restroom, I sometimes get these looks. Brief, surreptitious glances they think I donât notice. To ease tensions, I lift my pitch and give a compliment. I even puff out my (binded) breasts slightly as if to say, âYes, I have tits and a pussy, does that soothe your cisnormative and petty fears that I would assault you?â
Jesus, some days I wish I could say that quote outright. But I canât, and I know itâs not fair to them. Theyâre scared, I get it. I remind them of a traumatic experience. Sometimes, certain people who have nothing to do a trauma invoke fears of it unintentionally by raising their voices or saying something off or even existing. But thatâs MY responsibility to fucking deal with that. Other people canât help existing.
By and large, people with transphobic tendencies here are usually nice. Beyond, nice even. Theyâll help you host a spontaneous ice cream party. Theyâll buy you allergy meds when youâre choking. Theyâll take you in after your mother kicked you out. Like I said, genuinely sweet and kind people.
Which makes it harder when they accuse trans people of transitioning to skirt military drafts, to cheat at sports, to deal with mommy issues. When they equate gays to sex crimes (yes, the ones youâre thinking of). When they refuse to call you your full name. When they call you a baby who refuses to clean her pooped diapers.
I try to be nice. But by god, is my patience waningâŠ
By. Fucking. god.
Iâm tired of the way itâs affected me. Making me feel worth less than cis folks, like my feelings matter less. Even worse, I hate how it makes me jealous and spiteful towards younger trans folks in better situations. Younger trans folk I donât understand. Donât get me wrong, itâs not an excuse to mistreat them the way I was mistreated. And Iâm genuinely glad that theyâre living a better life. I have to work on these thoughts, itâs my responsibility. It would be nice, though, to live in a world where I could devote more energy to celebrating our collective existence instead of surviving it.
That being said, Iâm grateful for the people here and in person who have stuck by my guns. The people who check in on my when shit gets worse in terms of politics.
What helps most?
What really helps is when people get mad WITH me. For so long I was told my anger was something to be stowed away, to be quietly extinguished with calm words or relieved by some masturbatory exercise of civil discourse. You know. Where you get off to talking civilly but donât actually get anywhere and you still have to live in a world that was just as transphobic as before. I just want people to be pissed WITH me. To share in my anger and frustration. To join me as I slam the desk, flip the table, and cry to the heavens,
This fucking sucks
Right now this matters to me even more than action. These check ins, sharing in my anger - it helps, it really does. Makes me feel less alone in the world.
#Trevor screams#Trevor talks#Godspeed if you got through this absolute motherfucker of a vent#tw: vent#tw: transphobia#TW: internalized transphobia#TW: some suggestive language towards the end#Florida#Florida bathroom bill#trans bathrooms#ron desantis
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
#us politics#republicans#conservatives#twitter#tweet#gop#florida republicans#Florida#transphobia#trans rights#transgender#transgender rights#trans#webster barnaby#x men#magneto#hb 1421#trans bathroom bills#2023#alejandra caraballo#@WeekesPrincess#Princess Weekes#marvel comics
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
To the Florida trans community- I just heard about the bathroom bill passing. I'm so, so sorry this has happened. I'm sure you must be devastated. It's a scary time right now but please remember you have so many people in this country who support you. Laws get passed, but they can also be overturned. I know it might not be soon but I believe it will happen. Please keep believing that change can happen. The day is coming when everyone will respect you for who you are. They are fighting so hard against you right now because they are afraid of how powerful they know you are. Sincerely, a cis ally from Massachusetts.
#Florida#fuck desantis#bathroom bill#trans rights#transgender#trans ally#cis ally#lgbtq community#transphobia tw
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
are we not forgetting that half these races take place in legalized hate crime zones
#including texas and florida#i miss when everyone was rallying to boycott north carolina bc of their transphobic bathroom bill#now people are like yippee let's give abbott & desantis millions of dollars hooray
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
I don't know how to describe how hurtful it is to watch all the communities and individuals who were out and loud and vocal about BLM and Roe v Wade be dead silent now
#like.........#businesses pulled out of contracts over nc bathroom bills#now every week a new state bans gender affirming care and people are silent#Republicans shut down protections in the senate and we are silent#florida and some other states institutes a new genocidal law by the day#and people are silent!!!#who had SO MUCH#to say before#and all the trans people i ask or that i know are too scared to even go outside#nvm organize something#and our allies#people we were allies to#people we (I) thought were community#are#silent#quiet#still
2 notes
·
View notes
Photo
"I'm tired of hearing about queer people's problems!"
Oh? Imagine how tired WE are of LIVING in them."
Some folks would prefer that I keep politics OUT of my comic strip, but⊠uh⊠itâs a comic about my life as a transgender woman, and itâs KINDA hard to not be a smidge political when one party keeps pushing and passing laws that make it a crime for me to exist.  So, sorry if you feel this is unfair, but it feels pretty frickinâ unfair to be labeled a literal criminal for existing.Â
#transgender#trans#anti lgbtq#lgbtq#bathroom bill#governor desantis#florida#megacon#comic#comicon#ron desantis#ron deathsantis#lgbtqia#transition#transgirl#anti-trans bills
11K notes
·
View notes
Text
Utah will become the third state to restrict trans persons from using bathrooms in buildings other than schools, alongside Florida and North Dakota. However, the legislation in Utah is of a different caliber as North Dakotaâs bill only applies to correctional facilities and dorms and Floridaâs legislation only applies to government-owned buildings.
In accordance with the bill, trans individuals could also be charged with voyeurism and/or criminal trespass if they use publicly owned bathrooms that align with their gender. According to Utahâs law, these class B Misdemeanors are punishable with up to six months in jail and a fine starting at $1,000 if charged and convicted.
20K notes
·
View notes
Text
How it's going as a trans person in Florida: Planned Parenthood, 26Health, and Spektrum Health have announced they have paused all gender affirming care.
To recap, DeSantis signed several anti-trans bills into law this week. Care is banned for minors, care is all but banned for adults, Don't Say Gay has been extended, children can be kidnapped from affirming parents by non-affirming family, and there is a bathroom bill that subjects trans folks to arrest for using government owned facilities, such as those in courthouses, airports, many stadiums and parks.
The adult effective ban was felt immediately. The main elements are:
signing at every visit an in-person informed consent form created by the state
all care come from physicians instead of nurse practitioners
no telemed for gender-affirming care
Currently, it is unknown if existing HRT prescriptions written by NPs will be honored by pharmacies. I personally know one person who was able to pick up testosterone yesterday, but I have also read many reports of folks being denied. I myself don't have a refill ready for another 10 days and will report back after I try my own pickup.
What's additionally dangerous is those of us, myself included, who get non-HRT prescriptions from our gender clinics now face the uncertainty of continuing of *all* of our medical care. Our health clinics are at risk of shuttering permanently as they lose major income, and many of us will lose STD meds, depression meds, heart meds, etc, etc.
When we say "this will kill us," it goes beyond suicide risk from forced detransition.
"But you can still get HRT from a physician."
So many suck or are outright hostile and the demand outstrips the supply. Before I found my NP-run clinic, one physician just decided to not call in my Rx, another was so shit at reading lab results, he thought I had hepatitis, and the third I had to threaten to kick in the teeth for trying to force too large a speculum in me.
Also, the state-required consent form has not been finalized and distributed yet, so at this point, everything has pretty much ground to a halt.
It was estimated that 80% of trans adults would lose their healthcare because of how many use providers like Planned Parenthood, but the impact seems even greater now.
"You can get your non-gender care elsewhere still."
DeSantis recently signed a bill that allows healthcare professionals to discriminate against trans people.
Sure, we can try to find care elsewhere, but it will be a slow and expensive process, with no guarantees. It took me over 20 years to get my heart condition treated because of transphobic doctors.
What can I do as a trans Floridian?
Stay in communication with your clinic - many are working on getting physicians added to the roster to prescribe HRT. Lawsuits are being filed and it's possible the changes to adult care can be rolled back.
Continue to try to pick up your meds, but begin looking for care elsewhere, though. Inside and outside the state.
Remember that while telemed for gender affirming care has been banned, you can still cross state lines for care. See Erin's map of informed consent clinics.
Many people will turn to DIY, but be sure you are aware of the risks here, especially if on testosterone, which is a controlled substance.
What should I be worried about next as a trans Floridian?
I worry about the following next steps towards genocide:
Banning getting care out of state. This is from the anti-abortion playbook. They will likely start with kids again, but we've seen how quickly adult care gets axed.
Being declared mentally incompetent or a risk in some way. This could be anything from being barred from gun ownership to not being allowed to work for the government.
Being declared a de facto predator. This has already happened with the latest bathroom law (cis people can eject trans people from government owned single-gender facilities, with arrest as a penalty), so watch out for it being applied to privately-owned facilities. Watch for discussions of official lists of trans people.
Gender presentation enforcement laws, essentially banning "cross dressing". Laws that block or rollback documentation changes.
These all have historic precedence and are huge "I'm in danger" red flags.
What can I do as a cis person?
Amplify all this news. Talk frankly about how this is genocide. And donate what you can to trans mutual aid campaigns so people can travel to get healthcare or even leave the state.
Here's some articles to get started on building awareness:
Take care, everyone, of yourself and each other.
12K notes
·
View notes
Text
"Georgia Republicans bundled over a dozen measures that targeted the stateâs transgender residents into omnibus packages in a desperate attempt to get them passed. In a stunning defeat for the GOP, every single one of them failed.
Legislators gutted bills that had passed through committee and instead stuffed them full of their anti-LGBTQ+ wishlist items.
Bills that would ban transgender students from playing on teams aligned with their gender identity, ban transgender students from bathrooms aligned with their gender identity, opt parents into notification for every book a student checks out of the library, bar sex education before sixth grade, make all sex-ed classes opt-in and expand obscenity laws to make it easier to ban books with LGBTQ+ content all failed.
âMAGA politicians in Georgia tried it all in service to their anti-LGBTQ+ agenda,â said Human Rights Campaign Georgia State Director Bentley Hudgins, âincluding silencing debate and gutting unrelated, popular bills that had bipartisan support to ram through policies that would have put young LGBTQ+ Georgians in harmâs way. They failed.â
âItâs undeniable that the tides are shifting, both here in Georgia and across the nation,â Georgia Equality executive director Jeff Graham added. âAnti-LGBTQ actors are losing their political power, and more and more Georgians who know and love LGBTQ people are standing up against their baseless fear-mongering.â
In Florida recently, nearly two dozen anti-LGBTQ+ bills were defeated in the wake of Gov. Ron DeSantisâs (R) presidential campaign implosion, dozens of measures in Virginia were tabled [Note: In the US, "tabled" means "shelved" or "taken out of consideration - the opposite of its meaning in the UK and other places], and Ohioâs governor backed off his attempt to restrict gender-affirming care access for transgender adults and minors.Â
Meanwhile, in D.C., Democrats successfully excised 50 anti-LGBTQ+ provisions in the two budget bills passed and signed by President Joe Biden to fund the federal government.
Even Fox News has been forced to acknowledge transgender issues are among the lowest-priority concerns among voters."
-via LGBTQ Nation, April 1, 2024
#united states#us politics#lgbtq#lgbtq issues#lgbtq positivity#transgender#trans issues#trans positivity#transphobia#homophobia#anti trans laws#book bans#gender affirming care#georgia#florida#virginia#ohio#d.c.#republicans#democrats#voting matters#good news#hope
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Itâs funny because so many transphobic people were saying âtrans people shouldnât be allowed in bathrooms because theyâre creeps who want to peep on your genitals!â and then to keep trans people out of bathrooms they implemented laws to ensure that a creep will peep on your genitals.
Like wow, now instead of having a trans person go into the bathroom, take a piss, and leave, people in Kansas and Florida have to be forced to go through invasive inspections to go to a bathroom, with a chance that they wonât be allowed in for no reason! This is such an improvement and makes everybody feel safer, Iâm sure. /sar
terfs be like iâm joining the fight against restrictive gender roles on the side of the restrictive gender roles
49K notes
·
View notes
Text
A coalition of organizations serving families and parents in Florida has come together to launch Equality Floridaâs new statewide program, Parenting With Pride. The goal is to create a hub of resources for queer families to know their rights, to have access to support and resources, and to combat harmful laws that affect them in the state.
âAs a mom of four, including two LGBTQ children, the last few years have taken a toll on families like mine, and the time has come for us to speak out,â said Equality Florida Parents & Families support manager Jennifer Solomon said in a statement.
âParents are fed up with politicians waging war on families by banning books, censoring curriculum, whitewashing history, replacing education with propaganda â all at the expense of our kids and their futures,â she added. âWe developed Parenting with Pride as an answer for families across the state, furious at how they are being used as political pawns and demanding an end to government censorship and intrusion into their lives â to ensure all of our families receive support, become educated, hone their advocacy skills, and get access to the resources they need.â
Launched at the beginning of the school year, the program is poised to significantly impact Floridaâs classrooms as new laws and policies are implemented. Laws and policies, such as the expansion of Republican Gov. Ron DeSantisâs controversial âDonât Say Gayâ law, attacks on Advanced Placement classes and Black history classes, limiting access to restrooms and lockers for transgender and nonbinary students, escalating bans on books, and limiting familiesâ rights to ensure their childrenâs pronouns and titles are honored, have led to a state of uncertainty due to the broad interpretations of the law.
Because of the relentless policy barrage, families are seeking more information and resources than ever before, Equality Florida reported.
In addition to essential tools to support their children as they understand their identity, parents may also seek support as they navigate the impact of new laws and advocate for their childrenâs rights at school. From those ready to speak at school board meetings to those prepared to advocate for their childrenâs rights at the state legislature, families at all stages are looking for the tools to defend their parental rights against government attacks.
The Parenting with Pride program will help these families receive support, gain knowledge and skills, and increase their advocacy skills, Equality Florida expects.
On Tuesday, dozens of parents and community leaders announced the program launch. In addition to showing the wide range of communities impacted by recent legislation, the speakers and attendees embodied the growing coalition of Floridians joining Parenting With Pride.
According to Equality Florida, over 1,000 families across the state have already been involved in the program, with families from Pensacola to Key West all represented.
Parenting With Pride will provide critical information and support and provide families with opportunities to speak at school board meetings and state agency hearings, receive media training to share their stories with the media, and connect with other families ready to fight back, the organization says.
The programâs partners include the Human Rights Campaign, PFLAG, Family Equality, GLSEN, The Trevor Project, the National Center for Transgender Equality, and more.
#us politics#news#advocate#advocate.com#Equality Florida#Parenting With Pride#lgbtqia+ community#lgbtqia+#lgbtqia+ rights#Jennifer Solomon#gov. Ron DeSantis#Florida#don't say gay#parental rights in education#bathroom bills#pronouns#transphobia#republican homophobia
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
alpha!best friend!eddie munson x omega!reader
cw: smut, omegaverse and all that goes with it, unprotected piv an: a rewrite of a previous fic that i had once upon a time ago
The summer heat in Hawkins was unrelenting. Even though it said it was only in the 70âs, you and Eddie were both on the verge of a heat stroke in the tin box trailer that you were hiding in. The window unit was blowing cold air directly on you at full blast, but it still felt like you could melt at any moment.
âIâm headed out,â Wayne yells from the living room. âDonât run up the power bill with that A/C unit in there!â
The two of you groan at the prospect of having to turn the air off, not wanting to even entertain the idea of having to deal with any more heat. Wayne told the two of you to stay in Eddieâs room because heâs convinced the two of you were getting sick. Apparently to Wayne is was a nice day with a cool breeze. Eddie told him he just sounds like the old people who want to move to Florida.
âFuuuuuck this,â Eddie whines, standing up from the bed. âNow that heâs gone, Iâm gonna go take an ice cold shower. At least he wont complain about using all the hot water.â
âSave some for me,â you say as Eddie rounds the bed. He gives you a quick âyou got itâ before disappearing into the hallway.
Once you hear the click of the bathroom door, you wait a moment before ripping your top off. You stand directly in front of the unit, reveling in the way the cool air directly hits your skin. Maybe you were getting sick, but youâd never felt like this before even with the flu. You just hoped this fever would break soon.
As you stood there listening to the sound of the shower turning on the next room over, you get a sudden urge that takes over your whole body. With Eddie not in the room, you were becoming very aware that you couldnât smell him anymore. It was driving you nuts to not be close to him.Â
You look around you at all the clothes scattered around his floor and it felt like an instinct kicked in that was even greater than your want to be in front of cold air. Picking up the pieces on the floor, you begin to pile them on top of his bed on the side closest to the window. You were a little disappointed in your small pile until you spotted his slightly cracked closet door.Â
Pushing it open, you found the jackpot that is Eddieâs dirty clothes pile at the bottom of it. You grab as much of it as you can in one huge armful and are immediately overwhelmed with his intoxicating scent. Eddie had to have changed his soap or his cologne or something to a smell that was the most amazing thing youâd ever smelled in your life.
But it was almost too much. You felt your legs starting to give from under you the more you took in his smell. The heat in your body felt like it was reaching a peak point.Â
Then, without warning, you felt a flood of fluid begin to leak from between your legs. It soaked your panties and began to run down your legs with how much was coming from you. You would probably be embarrassed if you werenât on the verge of doubling over in pain. An unholy ache hit you like a tonne of bricks causing you to fall forward onto Eddieâs bed. The smell of the clothes that your face was now buried in seemed to help a little with the pain, but it wasnât enough to ease it completely.
A sudden need for Eddie had you calling out his name. You didnât know if he would even be able to help, but you knew you needed him. You heard a commotion from the bathroom and the door bursts open to the bedroom. Eddie stands there, wide eyed, dripping with water and wearing nothing but a towel. The sight of him alone only made your need for him grow.Â
As he was about to speak, his hand suddenly comes to his mouth and he collapses against the door frame. But even as this happens he still doesnât take his eyes off of you. You reach out a hand towards him and he does his best to stand upright again, making his way across the room to you.
âWhat--what happened?â He says, struggling to get his words out.
âI donât knowâŠI think that I might be--â
As soon as he got close to you, you were smacked with his scent so hard that another gush of fluid erupts from between your legs. You needed to be near him. Closer than you are now.
Pushing yourself off from the bed, you watch as Eddie eyes grow as wide as saucers, taking in your topless form. You crawl across the bed to get to where he stands, hand outstretched to grab onto him. But you didnât get the chance.
Eddieâs hands grab onto your arms, lifting your up so that you were on your knees on the bed. Teetering the edge, you fall into him and make skin to skin contact with his bare, tattooed chest. Every inch of connection sent little waves of relief through you that traveled straight to where you were aching in your core. You press your face into his neck, rubbing into him and basking in his scent.Â
Eddie says your name in a breathless whisper, and you look up at him with lidded eyes. But as you move, you feel something digging into your stomach. Looking down you find that Eddie is making a very prominent tent in his towel, which was barely still hanging on at this point.Â
When your eyes meet his, you see an almost feral look in them that has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Thereâs an unspoken communication between you as you stare into each otherâs eyes. It only lasts a few seconds, and you swear you here the sounds of a bell before Eddieâs hands are gripping either side of your face, his lips crashing into yours with a fiery passion.
Euphoria washed over you as the two of you embraced, kissing with a fierceness that rivaled two animals fighting for dominance. But you eventually caved, letting him lean you back against his bed so that he could put his whole weight on your body. It would normally feel like too much, but in the moment it didnât feel like it was enough. You wanted Eddie in your skin, melting into you until you were one being.
He felt broader in your grasp, maybe even taller than you were used to. Everything about him just felt like he was dwarfing you. Your hands found purchase in his wet curls, little drops of water rolled down your skin and cooled it. Even after taking a cold shower, he still felt like he was burning where the two of you touched.
His hungry kisses soon left your lips and began to trail down your cheek, your neck, until he was in the crook placing kisses on your collarbone.Â
At some point when wrapped your legs around his waist you must have knocked off his towel, because when you looked down you got a good view of his hard cock where it lay resting between your legs. You buck your hips up in a feeble attempt to get him closer to you, running his cock against your slick folds. Eddie moans against your skin at the contact.
âEddie, please, need you,â you plea with him as you continue to rub against him. Eddie lets out hot air into your neck, mumbling something before heâs reaching down between you and grabbing his cock. He fumbles a bit trying to find your entrance, but when he does, he wastes no time pushing into you and beginning to stretch you out.Â
The feeling of his cock entering you was so relieving that you came instantly with him only part of the way in. Your slick spills from you, covering Eddieâs cock in the process and getting it plenty wet for him to push the rest of the way into you. Having his cock all the way inside you as you spasm around it was like nothing you ever felt before. Youâd had sex before, but no one has ever felt so perfect inside of you as Eddie does right now.
Eddie starts to fuck you through your first orgasm, starting of with a pace that you could tell was him trying to hold back for your sake.
âEddie, you can go faster,â you say, and he gives you a crazed smile before picking up his pace.
âFeel so fucking amazing. Holy fuck, you have no idea,â he says as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. He wraps his arms around your knees and pushes them up as far as they will go, using his body weight to keep himself as close to you as possible.
The look heâs giving you as he pounds into you relentlessly makes your chest flutter. Itâs a mix between crazed and adoration, like you hung the moon and stars in his own personal solar system. It made you realize that maybe your not so little crush on your best friend was perhaps reciprocated. At least you hoped that all of this wasnât just whatever hormones seemed to be pulsing through the two of you right now.
As Eddieâs thrusts became more sporadic, your grip on him tightens. Your nails dig into his back just to hang on, leaving little marks all up and down his back every time you readjust your grip. But, it doesn't last much longer before you eventually let go of him, falling back into the bed.
Eddie takes your loosened grip as an opportunity to switch things up. Before you cal full register whats happening, he pulls out of you fully and completely flips you until youâre on your knees, folded over and fully exposed to him. He wastes to time reentering you, not even giving you the change to complain before heâs really fucking into you like a wild beast. The grip he has on your hips would be painful if you were able to focus on anything other than his cock bullying your insides.Â
Everything at this angle was amplified, and you felt yourself being pushed close to the edge for a second time. Pretty soon your were cumming again, soaking Eddie in the process as your vision begins to go white. Your whole body tenses as you have the most powerful orgasm of your life.
The grip you have on Eddieâs cock puts him not far behind you. You begin to feel a tightness at the entrance of your pussy as Eddieâs knot begins to swell. He gives a few more shallow thrusts before heâs pushing himself as far inside of you as he can get, allowing his knot to lock the two of you together.
Hot cum begins to fill your full cunt as Eddie releases everything he has into you. Any ache that you had left over slowly melts away as you feel yourself being filled as full as you can get with Eddieâs cum.Â
Eddie begins to breath heavy behind you. His grip loosens, running his hands down your back soothingly as he regains his composure. It feels amazing in contrast to the rough fucking you just received from him, but you wouldnât have wanted it any other way.
After a moment of catching breaths, Eddie is able to maneuver your body so that the two of you are laying on your sides. It feels so nice to lay against him, his arms holding you tight against his chest. He rubs his face into your neck, kissing at the scent glad on the back of your neck.
âSo,â you finally say, breaking the silence between the two of you. âI didnât know you were an alpha.â
âI didnât either,â Eddie says with a laugh. âDidnât know you were an omega.â
âSame here,â you respond with a giggle. âDid we both present at the same time?â
âI guess so,â he shrugs behind you.
âI wonder why we presented togetherâŠâ
Eddie hugs you tighter, breathing you in.
âI mean, it might have something to do withâŠwellâŠâ
You smile, turning back to look at him.
âI like you, too, Eddie.â
âI donât like you,â he says, making you frown. But his next words have you beaming, âI think I love you. Like, more than just as friends. Iâve been noticing more recently how much I hate seeing you talk to other guys. I want to just lock you up and keep you by my side. Forever.â
Your cheeks flush, and you could almost cry from how happy you were starting to feel at his confession.Â
âI feel the same. I donât like it when you do deals with other girls in the woods. Itâs been driving me absolutely insane to see you walk out of the trees with them afterwords.âÂ
Eddie barks out a laugh. âTrust me, none of those girls want me. I know their little games by now. Iâm all yoursâŠif youâll have me, of course.â
âWell, considering the position weâre in, I donât think I have any right to say no to that.â
You could feel Eddie cheesing behind you, giddy at the prospect of you finally being his girl.Â
âYou kids still here?â Wayne calls into the trailer a little while later, but gets no response. He figures itâs best to check on the two of you in case you were getting sick. He approaches the bedroom door, giving a few knocks that also go unanswered.Â
He opens the door and peaks in, finding you and Eddie asleep under the covers. He feels relieved hoping that meant whatever fever the two of you were having had broken.Â
It also doesnât get past him how close the two of you are. Eddieâs arms are wrapped around you tight, lips resting gently against your forehead. Wayne chuckles, closing the door behind him.Â
ââbout time.â
thanks for reading!
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eds#alpha!eddie msunon#best friend!eddie munson#omegaverse#alpha!best friend!eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#eddie munson smut
296 notes
·
View notes
Text
đąđ đąđ đđđ«đ€đŹ | đđđđąđ đŠđźđ§đŹđšđ§
part one | part two | part three | part four
You donât mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson â heâs handsome and talented, but heâs the biggest jerk youâve ever met. Eddie thinks youâre infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. CH4: You work up the guts to call him, Eddie drags you out on a date, and the looming shadow of an unknown photographer follows you around. [14k]
fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension ish, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing, nudes MDNI
đ©â€ïžđȘ
Doraâs Convenience, Florida, February 1991Â
The air here smells like sulphur.Â
After spending the last four and a half days in Canada, Florida is a shock. The air is warm and thick and the smells are less than pretty âhot baked seaweed floats in on the sea, and the groundwater carries a naturally occurring bacteria that prompts a scent that you can't say you care forâ but the people are kind.Â
Perhaps too long alone with only Morgan, Ananya, and your tour manager, Angel, for company has made you biassed, but so far everyone's been incredibly sweet. Hotel attendants, venue staff, a batch of shiny new techies; all smiling, happy, and willing to help. You haven't carried your own bag since the plane touched down.Â
Florida is hellishly humid. You miss the freezing bite of cold that accompanied you everywhere in Toronto. You long for a gust of wind that has no smell.Â
"Come on, wonderboy," Morgan says, tapping her uncharacteristic sneaker into your ankle.Â
You savour the last blessed seconds of the store's open freezer before closing the door with a brokenhearted frown. The effects of the cold and the clean smell dissipate near immediately, leaving you uncomfortable once again. Morgan continues on without waiting for you, a basket heavy in the crook of her arm. She's got enough glass soda bottles for everybody, yet you doubt she's in a sharing mood. You double back to grab one for you and another for Ananya, winding between aisles and wondering how people can eat half of the stuff on display when the weather is this hot. It feels unlivable.Â
At the front wall behind plexiglass and an unhappy cashier there's a TV playing Madonna, chirpy pop lyrics clearly not working any wonders.Â
His long hair shifts against his shoulder with the artificial breeze. He looks a little like Eddie, you think unwittingly, pretty in an unexaggerated way, his eyes big but not brown. You nibble on your lip and put the coke bottles down by Morgan's basket.Â
"You can go wait in the car," Angel says. Morgan's already left, happy for Angel to foot the bill and carry her things.Â
You shake your head. You don't mind waiting with her and the car is stifling in the heat. Better to linger in the open air.
The TV fades from Madonna to Guns 'N' Roses. You tilt your head to one side wistfully. No offence meant to your not-boyfriend, but half the rockstars on TV look like Eddie. With the picture small and blurry and up as high as it is on the wall mount, they could swap him out for Slash and you'd be none the wiser. Maybe not half the rockstars, actually âbleaching is all the rage right now, a contrast to Eddie's dark head of hair. You wonder if you'd still want Eddie to press you up against bathroom walls if he were blonde.Â
Probably.Â
You're thinking of Eddie less than you worried you would. Things are hectic beyond words, and most spare moments are spent showering, eating, or trying to sleep. Sleeping on the bus was difficult at first due to the tight quarters and loud noise, but you're at a point of exhaustion where Morgan's ranting might as well be a lullaby. The rap of Ananya's sticks against the bench in front of her or her compulsive thigh slapping fades away when you've been awake for eighteen hours straight.Â
You're in good spirits tonight at the promise of a double bed in your own room. A tiny room, you'd been told, but your own. Privacy feels like a myth lately; you're ravenous for some alone time to do whatever you want without judgement.
You're toying with the idea of asking Angel how you could maybe possibly get into contact with Eddie. You honestly don't have a clue in the world where he is, what state or country. He could be in Alaska and you'd be none the wiser. Where Godless follow locations where they know they'll have full venues, like the Midwest, Canada, and smaller shows in the 'worldwide' branch of their tour later in the year, Corroded Coffin are hitting every venue that's open.Â
You can't deny it any longer. There's no point, and now you're on good terms you see little worth in pretending Corroded Coffin aren't wildly more popular than Godless. You aren't saying better. But beyond subjectivity is the cold hard truth: Eddie's band are charting high. Â
Godless' new album is doing better than anyone on your team really expected it to, but, while you're unsure of the inner working politics, you know that the sales team were 'positive' rather than ecstatic. You can't fucking imagine how stuffed the vaults are about to become over at Rollerboy. If they skewed themselves in the right light they could be up there with Van Halen in a year or two. Not that they will, who knows? What you understand about the band is limited to the feel of Eddie's hands and Jamison's quiet rejection.Â
Point is, Corroded Coffin's new album is about to come out, and it's going to do well, and as far as you know their tour is a sell-out dream.Â
The cashier bags Morgan's overstuffed basket and moves onto your cokes. Your eyes slide to the magazine stand in front of the checkout.Â
Exclusive Conversation with Rising Stars of Rock: Corroded Coffin.Â
You grab it up and try to add it to your stuff inconspicuously, which means you couldn't make it more obvious. Angel snorts.Â
"Can I escape ridicule for one day?" you ask.Â
"The ridiculous deserve ridicule." Angel eyes the total and cracks open the touring purse. "You don't need a rockstar boyfriend."Â
"I'm ridiculous?" you ask wryly.Â
"Yeah, babe. You and the girls," âshe hands over a pretty wad of cash with a keep-the-change nod and grabs the brown paper bagsâ "might not be the next Aerosmith, but that means jack shit. You guys are awesome, not just 'cause you're my responsibility. I've seen it. I've seen you guys. And I know you hate talking about being a girl band, but you are a girl bandâ"Â
You groan. Of course you are. Pretending gender doesn't play into it would be silly. But it gives you a migraine whenever you think about it, so you try not to.Â
"You guys could be as big as The Bangles. Especially if you stopped wasting time on silly boys," she furthers. Ouch.Â
Angel steps out into the sunshine. You follow, shielding your eyes as you look for the car, a pretty red Mercedes-Benz with all the windows rolled down.Â
"The Bangles," you repeat, genuinely surprised by her comparison. "The only thing we have in common with them is that we're girls."Â
"You know what else you could have in common with them? Mansions and early retirement. Hey, Hazy Shade of Winter was actually good. You should try something like that."Â
"Uh-huh," you say.Â
"Hey!" Morgan shouts, shoulders out the passenger side window. "Could you guys at least pretend you have somewhere to be? We aren't all social rejects. A sense of urgency, if you will!"Â
"Walk slower," Angel mutters. "Ooh, I've dropped my contact. You know, the ones I've miraculously started wearing?"Â
"Oh no," you giggle, kneeling down to feel for it. You must be rather overdramatic about it, incurring Morgan's whining wrath.Â
You find Angel's very real contact and return to the car. Morgan drones about her throat and how it's reacting to the constantly changing weather, and then swaps tactics when nobody is quite as pitying as she would've liked to complain about Ananya's "antisocial behaviour".Â
Ananya has taken to listening to her Walkman non-stop while not on stage. Bad for her hearing, good for her mental health, you imagine. It came about after a missing wad of cash and has yet to see an end. You resent and revere Ananya's determination, jealous that she's escaping Morgan's frankly horrendous behaviour, amazed that she has the willpower.
The more you know Morgan, the less youâve felt you could love her. It might be cruel to recognise that. She demeans your style, pokes fun at your body, and worst of all, she takes the piss out of your constant dedication to the music you make.Â
Proud isn't the right word when describing the relationship you have with making music. You aren't proud of yourself for anything. You'd pictured a sort of satisfaction in getting to this point, now that you're a real musician in a famous band with sweetheart fans and the occasional acclaim. You should feel proud of yourself, but you don't.Â
You'd felt relief, and now the agony of clinging to it.Â
Worse is that this could all be different. If you were prettier, someone Morgan approved of. If you were smarter, and could garner Ananya's interest. Feeling like an outsider in the extreme that you do can't be good for you, but there's no quick fix. The only time it goes away is when you're on stage playing music for a thousand outsiders.Â
Or when you're with Eddie.Â
As you stupidly told him.Â
What good will it do, telling a boy how you feel? When he's off map, surrounded by people who think he's great and women who won't stop telling him so. Maybe boys, too. You can't get a read on him.Â
Naive as it was to tell himâ whatever it was that you told him. I don't feel sick when I'm with you. How romantic. Naive as it was, you don't totally regret it. He'd sought you out at your show to take you to dinner and suddenly he's cutting the sleeves off of your t-shirt in a family owned pizza place and kissing your neck all slow and smooth like it's the only place in the world he wanted to be. His hand at your waist, and the way he stopped when you got quiet. His hug. That might be what you miss most. Boy's got a world-class smile that gives dizzying, sickly kisses but what you want to feel most is the weight of his arms around you. You want him to hold you steady.Â
People suck. Eddie sucks. He was mean and then he was sweet and now he's just not here.Â
You want to see him again.
What a sickening revelation. Anxiety pricks your fingers, pins and needles shooting down the lengths of your arms from your skipping heart. You stick your head as far as you dare to out of the window, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea.Â
If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dogâŠÂ
You grip the door.Â
You miss him, and it's terrifying. He can be cruel. You can be cruel too, but you'd been at his fucking mercy. He'd looked at you and he'd known exactly what to say that was gonna mess you up. He has a talent for it. You hate this, and you know now you won't sleep until you're sure things are okay between you, though there's no reason anything would've changed since the last time you saw him. What kind of pathetic does that make you?Â
It would be nice to hear his voice. The Eddie who dotes on you. Eddie under all his layers. You don't want him fucked on bad ice again, but the version of him you'd met that night makes you smile as you recall it. Wide eyes, quiet but honest.Â
I sent you flowers, because⊠because those girls are mean to you, he'd rambled, slouched on the stairs, slightly too heavy for you to help him up. And I didn't like seeing you fall over. I wanted you to feel better. I don't know anything about girls... Did you like the flowers?
The Mercedes-Benz rolls up beside The Blue Lily Club, its name taken from what it used to be, presently a hotel. It has all the trimmings of a music venue, big windows and wood, but indoors it couldn't be more plush.Â
Ananya holds a hand out for her room key at the front desk and doesn't speak a word. She's kind enough to smile at the chauffeur who'd helped carry your bags inside.Â
"It doesn't usually look this nice in here, don't get used to luxury," Angel warns. "They're redecorating."
You trail behind her, dragging your suitcase over hardwood floors. The wheels click click click. "We'll come here again?"Â
"Next time we're in Clearwater. S'where we stayed last time. You hadn't bumped up yet."Â
"Was it this hot when you were here?" You rub your hand across a clammy cheek. "It feels like summer."
Angel smiles. "You think it's hot now, try a week here in May. I usually don't remember different tour dates but that was hell on Earth. Air conditioning broke in one of the buses into Jacksonville. Holy shit."Â
Angel divulges her evening plans for ice cold cocktails in the hotel bar and invites you along. You decline outside of your hotel room, "I'll probably sleep."Â
She nods. "Nice. Catch up on what you missed."Â
She gets a couple of steps further down the hall toward her own room when you admit defeat.Â
"Hey, Angel?" You pull at the neckline of your t-shirt. "You, uh, wouldn't know how I could get somebody's number? Someone from Rollerboy?"Â
"From Rollerboy, huh?" she asks, knowing exactly who you want to talk to. Fuck the techie who saw you and Eddie leaving, and fuck Morgan for spreading it around.Â
You push your bottom lip against the edges of your top teeth and drag until the delicate skin there hurts.Â
"I'll see what I can do," she says.Â
Twenty minutes later you have a phone number for his hotel and instructions on how to actually get through their privacy wall. You perch on the edge of your white bed and stare at the phone, like wanting to talk to him will make it ring. You reach for it, hesitate, and reach for it again.Â
You dial the number one rotation at a time and wait for it to pick up.Â
"Four Seasons Houston, Samantha speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?"Â
You choke on air. Four Seasons? What kind of money are these losers on?Â
"Hi, I'm hoping to be put through to one of your guests, an Eddie Munson? Room 146?"Â
"And is he expecting your call?"Â
"No, ma'am."Â
"Who's calling?"Â
"Y/N." You consider giving your second name. Does Eddie even know your second name? You suppose he could've seen it in one of the magazines, but that's doubtful.Â
"Hold please."
You think about hanging up, but you've given your name. If Eddie's there and he's willing to talk to you and you hang up, he'll still know it was you calling. Is that worse? The embarrassment of chickening out versus the endless mortifying possibilities of what you might say when he answers, if he answers, oh fuckâÂ
"Transferring now."Â
You hold your breath.Â
The phone clicks twice.Â
"Hi?"Â
"Hey," you say quickly. You inhale, intending onâ on what? Your panic is palpable.
"Hi," he says again, something warm in his voice. "Y/N? My Y/N, or a fan who knows just what to say to get my number?"Â
You go a bit blind. "Your Y/N."Â
"Hey. How's Florida?"Â
You sit back in bed and kick off your shoes. The phone shakes in your hand. This is more nerve-wracking than any conversation you've had beforehand, and it's in the small talk stages. It should be easy, you wanted to talk to him, but this is the first time you've sought him out ever. It shows your hand.
"Hot. Really hot. The receptionist, uh, said it isn't usually like this early in the year. Yeah, it's hot."Â
"It's not so bad here, considering." He sounds unlike himself. You've heard him flirting, almost torturous, and you've heard him mad. You've heard him drunk, high, offended, salacious, smug, and soft. None of those memories align. "Hey," he says, confusing you even worse, "why're you calling? Is everything okay?"
You hold the phone up in the air and twist to smash your face into the huge hotel pillows. They're gloriously cold and nowhere near enough to cool the open flame that is your flushing face.Â
"Nothing's wrong, I'm sorry," you say weakly, pulling the receiver back to your ear, head craned awkwardly so you don't smother it. "I wasâ I was thinking about you," âholy fucking fuckâ "uh, 'cause I saw you in Lastick Magazine."Â
You can still save it.Â
"Who'd you have to blow for that one?" you ask.Â
Wrong.Â
"Loser!" he cheers. Your heart sinks, but he goes on, "You gave me a heart attack, I thought something happened!"Â
"No, nothing happened," you say. If you were on better footing you'd make a sly joke about big scary Eddie worrying about you.Â
"Okay, good."Â
You smile, tugging at the sheer, cornflower blue fabric of your skirt as you think, He sounds happy to hear from me.
"How's Houston?"Â
"Babe, you wouldn't fucking believe it. They got us posted up in some four star skyscraper. Two mini fridges. Two. It's insanity, I'm basically royalty here."Â
You look around your small room. "Ah, but do you have a damp splodge on the ceiling shaped like the letter W?" you ask.
"They musta forgot to put it in the welcome basket."Â
You laugh suddenly, startled at his good humour. It's like it's been hooked out of your chest on fishing wire, an ugly garbling sound that infects him down the line.
"Shit, I think I was starting to forget what you sound like," Eddie says.Â
You know exactly what he means.Â
You won't tell him, though. Your heart is racing again as it did in the car; he's being lovely like you're friends, like you're more than that, and you love it but it scares you shitless. Boys do this kind of stuff, right? Say pretty things, kiss you like you're something treasured, and one day they stop answering your calls. Vet you through to their assistant, and piggy bank your affections by acting like you're still something the next time you see them in person.Â
Eddie kissed the top of your arm the last time you saw him. If he acts like you're just friends when you see him next, you're gonna scalp him. Or self admit.Â
"I meant to ask you about something before I left," he says, bridging a mildly awkward silence with a dip into flirting bravado, "but you were all over me, you know? Didn't have time to ask."Â
"Yeah? That's not how I remember it."Â
"No accounting for stupidity." You can hear his smile. "Can I ask, or are you gonna talk over me again?"Â
"I should hang up on you."Â
"After all the trouble you went to to reach me," he sympathises.Â
"Tell me how the dial tone sounds next time."Â
"Alright! Jesus, you're pushy. What I wanted to ask is, you're in Oklahoma in a month.â
âWhereâs the question?â
âYou suck. Fine, Iâll spell it out for you. Iâm in Oklahoma next month, and youâll be there at the same time, and I know some of your shirts still have sleeves which is lame and very 1989 of you. I could maybe take some time out of my busy schedule and help you with it. Consider it my charitable act of the year.â
You want to see him. He canât know it. You donât want to play games with him, and you donât wanna get messed around. He canât have all the power.Â
âI donât know, Munson⊠Iâm pretty busy, ânâ I kinda like my sleeves.â
âYeah?â
âYep.â
He snorts. âShit, fine. Weâll leave your sleeves alone. Maybe we couldââ
âAre you listening to Loggins and Messina?â you ask suddenly, phone pressed so hard to your ear you know itâll leave a mark.Â
âWhat?â he scoffs. âNo, of course not.â
The music gets quieter, but you know what you heard. âYou are! Thatâs Thinking Of You, Iâd know it anywhere!â
âSo what if I am?â
âYouâre such a sweetheart,â you say, not really thinking about how it sounds. âI love that song, itâs so sweet. I thought you were this big scary jerk but it turns out youâre just as soft as the rest of us. Turn it up, I wanna listen.â
Eddie doesnât argue with you. He turns it up.Â
âWhat is that? Itâs too clean to be on the radio. Donât tell me youâre carrying a Loggins and Messina record around with you, please donât, because Iâd really have to tell someone about it.â
âOh, you would, would you?â he asks.Â
âIâm gonna drag your reputation through the mud, Munson.â
Your too-big smile slowly fades when he doesnât joke back. Was that too far? He canât possibly think that youâre being serious â as if. You donât have the power, influence, or connections to touch his reputation, let alone drag it. Your lips part as you hesitate to correct yourself, uncurling where youâd been comfortable on the bed.
Eddie finally puts you out of your misery.Â
âDid you hear that?â he asks.Â
âNo? What was it?â
âThat was me crying out in terror. You didnât hear it?â
âThatâs not even funny,â you complain. âI'm not the only one. You realise theyâre calling you a womaniser in Lastick, right?â You grab your copy of the magazine from the end of the bed and splay it open, flicking through pages until you find his article. ââHeartthrob guitarist Eddie Munson is barely entering his mid-20âs, but his masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike,ââ you read, letting the magazine flop back flat.Â
âDid they really say âmasterful fingeringâ?â he asks.Â
You smile at the sound of his laughter. âYou pig. Whatâs funny about that, Munson?"
âUhâŠâ
âIâm messing with you. Mastery aside, youâre missing the point. They described you as a heartthrob in the third biggest music magazine in intercontinental America. Like, someone went to college for four years, worked their way up the corporate ladder, blood, sweat and tears included, to call you a heartthrob, and they didnât lose their job.â
âRight, right. The point is that you think Iâm ugly.â
âThe point is that I have proof youâreâŠâ You think about the point. You want to ruin his reputation as a heartthrob by telling everyone he listens to romantic soft rock. Because that makes sense. Â
âYou have proof that Iâm not just a heartthrob, Iâm sensitive.â He sounds so fucking smug. âMaking me even more of a heartthrob.â
You frown, taking the article back into your hands. âOh, right! âHis masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike, but is Munson the sweetheart he seems? Insider information hints that this young musician is spending less time making music and more time womanising the elite bachelorettes of Palm Springs.â
You blink. Your reading had become less smug as it went, and by the time youâve finished youâve the beginnings of a pit forming in your stomach. His alleged womanising had felt funny a moment ago. Why does it bother you now?
Because youâve been confronted with the good. His laugh. His love songs. And youâre realising he isnât as in your reach as youâd thought.Â
Eddie snorts. Thereâs a sound like heâs rubbing the receiver against bedsheets, and you wait apprehensively for him to speak.Â
âSorry, I was turning the lights off. Thatâs a bit fucking rich. Whoâs their inside source, Pinocchio the real boy? I was in Palm Springs for two days, and you saw me, I was fucked the entire time.â He has no clue how much youâd needed him to say that. âMaybe someone saw us together, you could pass for one of those pretty rich girls easy.â He also doesnât know how much of an affect his easy compliments have on you, apparently. âI donât know how someone could look at me and describe my behaviour as womanising. Pathetic, sure.â
Thereâs a hard edge to his voice. He made you feel better, even if he doesnât know it. You donât mind doing the same. Â
âYou were sweet,â you argue mildly. âYou were. You asked me how I was, and when you saw I was wearing heels you sat down in the middle of the staircase and made me sit with you.â
âYou donât usually wear heels.â
âMorgan saysââ Eddie groans. âWhat?â
âMorgan says a lot of dumb shit, is what she says,â Eddie grouches. âForgive me but sheâs a fucking loser.â
You feel oddly protective of her for a moment, âSheâs the opposite.â
âNo, but her attitude ruins everything she has going for her. Sheâs talented, sheâs the next Nicks when she sings that one song, Heartbreak House? She impresses me, but sheâs fucking mean, sweetheart. You know sheâs mean.â
âI guess,â you mumble, scratching the seam of your pants with your fingernail, not sure why you're defending her. âAren't we all?â
Another patch of silence.Â
âYeah,â he says finally. âYeah, we can all be pretty mean.â
âThatâs the business, right?â you ask, knowing it isn't true.Â
âI think⊠we all have a propensity for cruelty when we feel pinned, and thatâŠâ He clears his throat. âTrying to make it when the scene is this competitive can feel like a looming hand. Just waiting to pluck you off of your pedestal.â
You laugh weirdly, all strangled breathlessness. âEasy to see who writes the lyrics.â
âFuck you. You know what I mean.â
You do. Morganâs probably trying her best, in the same way that youâre doing yours, balancing friendship and music and fame and a high-pressure job with little room for slip-ups. And now Eddie. Maybe Morgan has an Eddie somewhere, some larger than life loverboy with a penchant for sharpness and sweetness simultaneously.
âI want to tell you something,â Eddie says.Â
âOh, gross. You canât just say that, now Iâm panicking,â you admit, sitting up in bed, knuckles aching at the tight grip you have on the phone. âItâs something normal, right? Or not normal. Did you get some unfortunately transmitted disease or something?â
âUnfortunately,â he quotes. âThatâs funny. Definitely didnât, the last person I touched was you.â Itâs heart-rending, until he adds, âApart from your fleas, Iâm clean. And Iâm trying to tell you something slightly serious, so if you could keep any allusions of disease to yourself for a minute, Iâd appreciate that.â
âOkay, sure. Tell me something.â
Thereâs a small sound. Maybe heâs licked his lips, or changed positions. âWhen I⊠when we had that fight, in the Prover Theatre. I just want you to know that I regret how I treated you. I wish I could take it back, and⊠I wish I had the guts to tell you in person, but I donât. Sorry. Iâm sorry. Itâs not how I want to be, and I need you to know that youâre right about me, Iâm a loser, but Iâm the kind of loser who wants to take you out to dinner and knock my soda in my lap or try to kiss you too soon, not the kind of loser who leaves you hanging.â He laughs like you had, like itâs being dragged out of him, and you realise that Eddie Munson is panicking on the other side. âShit, can I take some of that back? Iâm cool, I swear.â
You smile hard, your cheeks aching. âNo, you canât take it back.â
âFine. Iâm a loser.â
âFor the record,â you say, âyou did kiss me way too soon.â
He laughs roughly, a sound half threat and half promise. âYou annoy me so much. When you get to Oklahoma Iâm gonna make sure you know it.â
A curl of warmth unfurls deep in your stomach. You have the good sense not to ask what he means by that.
-
Cowboy Cadaver, Oklahoma, March 1991
Eddie finds that he hates having an almost-girlfriend. In his head, in his chest, you're his girl. He doesnât know how to explain himself beyond that. Itâs this feeling like heat, like light, like the kiss of a sunbeam on a cold day warming his skin. And itâs the blessed breeze in a heatwave, itâs ice on an ache, itâs the feeling of your skin, your pulse under his touch. Absence doesnât make the heart grow fonder âit grabs wanting by the neck and squeezes all the air out. If he doesnât get to see you soon heâs gonna lose it.Â
He tried explaining it to Wayne down the phone, because heâs being a good nephew now and actually calling, but he couldnât take himself seriously, all those cheesy metaphors like chewed cud in his mouth waiting to be swallowed and yacked back up. He said, âDoes it always feel like this?â
And Wayne sort of laughed, a derisive snort to seal the deal, and said, âEds, you ainât the first kid to fall for a girl.â
Which isnât what he asked, but he reckons Wayne was telling him Yes, it always feels like this. Eddie doesnât know if heâs ever been in love before. Heâd wanted to kiss that guy on the track team junior year so badly it kept him awake at night, and he was sweet on the soft bartender when he bussed at the Hideout to the point where the entire kitchen staff started calling him âsquirty creamâ on account of how whipped he was, but Eddie canât ever remember feeling like this.Â
He blames himself, thinking you were right after all â he did kiss you too soon. And for the wrong reasons. Now he knows what it feels like, knows what sound you make when you like it, how was he ever supposed to move past that? Your arm under his lips, or your hair against his cheek as he tried to hug the bone-deep dread out of your system, a faucet drip drip dripping by your thigh. He canât remember what you smell like anymore, only that you smelled good, and he gets that thisâll be the nature of whatever relationship you two manage to cradle for a long while; heâd never ask you to follow him, and he thinks youâd rather die than do anything similar.Â
Still, heâs starting to offer up whatever it is whoever it is thatâs looking down on him will take to get a quick hit. Sweetheart for his face in the curve of your neck, five seconds to breathe in the smell of your subtle perfume. Itâs extreme, but Eddieâs feeling extreme right now. Every minute that youâre late winds the wanting coil tighter.Â
He doesnât have anyone with him to tell him to get real. He pictures it instead, Jamison in the chair opposite, grimacing at the cider sticky table between them and the state of Eddieâs patheticness clearly displayed. Stop bouncing your leg, fuckhead. She said sheâd meet you here, didnât she?Â
Heâs going over what-ifs when you appear. Youâre wearing a sweatshirt that says âI visited the Great Wall,â with a helpful picture overtop and jeans without rips. Heâd be upset at the lack of skin if he couldnât see the shapes of your thighs so clearly. Heâs a sucker for them.Â
Better are your hands. No, better is your smile, because he knows you more than he should already and he knows what your smile means. Youâre happy to see him, and you donât want him to know it.Â
He hasnât practised this part. Shock horror, heâs been too confident in his head yet again and assumed heâd know what to do when he saw you, but he doesnât, God, he doesnât have a clue. Can he kiss you? Hug you? Itâs feeling like neither. You slide into the booth chair opposite and your shoe bumps his.
âHi,â you say.Â
âYeah, hi. Holy fuck.â
âWhat?â you ask, head whipping back to look the way you came.
âNo, nothing, I just forgot how pretty you are. Itâs kind of shocking up close. You know they called you âhomespunâ in Lastick?â
âFucker,â you say, not a hint of malice in it as you deflate in front of him.Â
âMm. Nice sweatshirt. How was it? The Great Wall?â
âI donât know, I got this at Goodwill.â You both pause, a synchronised, silently agreed upon ceasefire to take the other in. You look more than pretty, really, âcos he was fucking with you when he said it but that doesnât mean it isnât true, it is, youâre lovely when you smile and youâre smiling like heâs just told you he got a lucky scratcher and heâs giving you the winnings. âYou look happy,â you say.Â
âDitto.â
You grab at the collar of your sweatshirt. âSorry, this is awkward, I don't know why.â
Eddieâs surprised at your honesty, not because you arenât an honest person, but maybe because heâs used to skirting around the issue with you. Thereâs a mutual attitude that anything unsaid is untrue, and lately youâve both said a ton of stuff you can't take back. Heâs sorry, he wants to see you. You feel better when youâre with him. Itâs embarrassing considering how little time youâve spent together, and Eddie wants to change that. Hence dinner here in a blowout with floors that grab at your shoes and cigarette ash caked in the salt and pepper holders. The likelihood of an interruption is small.Â
âItâs fine,â he says faux confidently, while his heart is thudding against his Adam's apple. âI know how to fix it.â
Eddie reaches down under the table for the rumpled jansport heâd brought with him and pulls out two gifts. They arenât wrapped, even though that wouldâve been more romantic. He hadnât found the time. He places them in front of you without ceremony, a chocolate rose in plastic wrap and a CD from that Indiana band you like, signed and sealed.Â
âWhatâŠâ you mumble, picking up the CD with an adorably awed pout. âHowâd you get this?â
âAsked around.â A lot. It was shameful.Â
Unfortunately for him, thereâs a little more awkwardness to cut through, the shame of vulnerability or the realisation that youâre both standing on the precipice of something shiny and new. Suddenly, every word feels important. He has to make it clear that heâs repentant, and desperate, but only for you.Â
âDo you like it?â he asks.
You immediately nod, two tight dips of your chin as your thumb rubs over the plastic wrap irreverently. Your eyes are slightly widened, your pupils like dimes. âEddie, I didnât bring you anything.â
He leans back against the cool leather seat. âYou didnât have to. Iâm just happy to see you.â
You stand up, and he thinks Oh thank fuck, youâre sitting on the bench beside him, youâre gonna kiss him saccharine sweet on the cheek like the darling girl that you are. His hand lands unabashedly atop the curve of your hip as you settle down beside him, his heart like the pull cord on a chainsaw that keeps skipping, your impending kiss the roar of the engine as it wakes.Â
Your hand touches his thigh. Youâve the chocolate rose in hand, a shy smile on your lips.Â
âWill you share it with me?â
He comes up short. Yeah, a kiss would be nice, but this is good too.Â
Dramatics aside (dramatics being the kinder word, because Eddie doesnât feel dramatic at all, and thatâs genuinely worse), heâs missed you without metaphor. Something in him relaxes as you unpackage the rose and snap it up. You offer him a carved leaf as you nibble on the stem. The awkwardness begins to fade, at least on his end, though that might be down to his lingering hand behind your back, not touching you but close enough.Â
âI told everyone I was going window shopping,â you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you meet his eyes.Â
âThey believe you?â
âNope. They know youâre here.â
âMine were the same,â Eddie comforts, reaching for the flower of your rose to break it apart. He holds some up to see if youâll let him feed you. You wrinkle your nose at him and laugh. He laughs back. âOpen up.â
âNo,â you say, laughing through your nose as he presses a petal to your lip. Your jaw softens as you lean back, and itâs a sight to see, your eyes lit with amusement and your lips pressed tightly closed.Â
He doesnât wanna push his luck. He puts the chocolate petal in your hand and leans back to chew through his own, happy to watch you through half-lidded eyes. His squinting makes you squirm, until you figure out his angle and give him a playful glare.Â
It's swiftly interrupted by a big yawn. âIâm so tired,â you say, rubbing your eye with a sore looking hand.Â
âYour hands are fucked,â he says. Itâs no wonder that youâre tired. You never stop. Even when the guitar pickâs fallen between strings. âThatâs a bad one.â
He takes your hand in his to rub his thumb over the pad of your index finger, where the whorl of your fingerprint is cut decisively down the middle and scabbing over. The skin around it is mottled. His thumbnail scratches down the side of your finger gently as he looks it over. Thereâs nothing he can do to make it better.Â
âYou know they invented picks for a reason,â he says.Â
Your middle and marriage fingers rest lightly against the meat of his thumb. Your pinky fits in the slight dip of his palm, its tip at the the bisection of hills at the bottom of his palm. Your nails arenât long, but youâve painted them an unassuming, translucent blue. He pushes his thumb into your fingers so they curl toward your own palm and slowly, you cover his thumb with yours. Itâs a weird angle to hold hands, but he doesnât mind. Like you can read his thoughts, you turn your hand into his, but then you must change your mind. You pull it out of his hold and face toward the table again, away from him, your forearms pushed together. You lean back with a tired moan. It turns his heart.Â
âI like shows, but I donât like touring,â you say. âI think we should get to pick a venue and thatâs it, thatâs where we play. The fans can come to us.â
âThe fans,â Eddie repeats.Â
Heâs not trying to make fun of you. Itâs weird to say something like that aloud and know that itâs true. You have fans. You both do. People like your music enough to come and see you play.Â
And you both like playing music enough to subject yourself to borderline torturous conditions. Packing yourselves up like parcels delivered from one stage to another.Â
âI bet Madonna loves touring,â he says.Â
âYeah?â
âThey arenât making her live in a ten by two box sixteen hours a day,â he says.Â
âDonât do math,â you plead, your head dipped back and drifting toward his arm. âI really am tired.â
âYou couldâve cancelled. Not that I wanted you to.â He softens his voice, his best approximation of a caring boyfriend, though heâs never been one before.Â
âI didnât want to cancelâŠâ
âYou need me to take you home?â he asks, concerned as you let your head drop on his shoulder.
âCan I just sit here a while?â
âSure. Anything. UhâŠâ He wraps his arm around your shoulder.Â
Eddie would be content if you fell asleep but you fight your fatigue, and heâs glad for it when you move into easy conversation. This part he can do. Over the phone, he's told you about Wayne and growing up, and about stuff he doesnât think heâs told anyone before, not secret so much as mundanities that no one ever wanted to listen to. He sticks to mundane things for now. Like the phone calls between you both (new, occasional, but always too long), he talks until he runs out of things to say, and even then he drags it out to a painful threshold.
Somehow, some way, you lay your head on his shoulder and keep it there for a while, and you tell him about your nightmare tour and all the fighting. Morganâs not speaking to you, Ananyaâs not speaking to anyone. She has a pair of headphones that she keeps on morning noon and night, sometimes during soundcheck, where she adamantly refuses to participate.Â
âAnanya used to be okay,â you say, nearly whispering like youâre worried youâll get caught telling him secrets. âBut sheâs just as bad as Morgan now. Theyâre still fighting about Morganâsâ Okay, donât tell anybody, but Morgan does a lot of cokeââ
âIs that a secret?â Eddie asks.Â
Heâs not being condescending, itâs just that half the people you see on MTV have a bad coke problem and Morgan is often on MTV.
âNo, but she stole money out of Ananyaâs purse at a party when we were first touring âcos she didnât have a dime to her name, itâs pretty bad. I didnât tell you on the phone âcos I was worried someone was listening to us.â
Eddie blanches. âYou think people were listening to us?â He said some brave things to you last time, a cheeky promise wrapped up in platitudes.Â
âI mean, no? But the secretaries can listen on the line in some places, ânâ you were staying in all those skyscrapers. Itâs not, like, a thing. Morgan swears she was gonna pay it back. Anya got mad, ânâ Morgan implied that any money in Anyaâs purse was money she made.â
âI see.â
You lift your head slightly. âPlease donât tell anyone. Theyâd kill me if they knew I told you.â
He smiles at you reassuringly. âMy lips are sealed.â He eyes your pretty mouth, your face as close as it is. âWell, mostly sealed. Ooh, you could buy my silence.â
âHow does one go about that?â you ask quietly, knowing exactly how, heâs sure.
Eddie gives you the softest kiss he can manage, hiding his nervousness well. He grabs your upper arm, and grab isn't the right word but itâs the only word that makes any sense given the quickness of his movement; he's leaning in and he needs to be touching you first, steady himself. You smile into his lips.Â
âThatâs not gonna be enough,â he says as you pull away. You startle him by leaning in again quickly, your lips parted a fraction and hot against his as your hand stretches out across his chest.Â
Heâd intended to stay chaste with you. He's trying to rescue the head-first plunge that was his handful of confessions, make your possible relationship one that works, but he can't help himself. He takes it slow, admittedly, but slow kisses become long, and he turns lax at the feeling of your fingertips over his heart.Â
Eddie pulls away when he can make himself, cupping your face in his hand in an effort to communicate how much he wants to be kissing you still. âCan I get you something to drink?â
âWhy? Do I taste bad?â you ask. You have a shiny mouth.Â
âYou taste like chocolate. I just figured I should buy you a drink before somebody else does.â
âEddie,â you say, leaning into his palm ever so slightly, âthere's no one else here.â
âCanât say I blame them. Who names a bar âCowboy Cadaverâ?â
Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile.Â
âYour band is called Corroded Coffin.â
âAnd itâs a good name.â He pecks you quickly. âYes?â
Your answering hum tickles.Â
âWhy do I feel like we aren't supposed to be doing this?â you ask, second hand joining your first on his chest.Â
âBecause weâre meeting in secret?â he suggests, covering your hands with one of his. âOr mild secrecy. We aren't subtle.â
âYou're not subtle.â
âNo,â he agrees, and forgive him but heâs feeling positively sunny and sounds it.
âThis is okay, though? We both want this?â you ask.Â
âI-â No more running away. No more casual cruelty. âI definitely want this.â
You grin, leaning up in a move that surprises him as your arms wrap around his neck, his hair under your arms. You smile sheepishly before ducking your face under his, the tip of your nose crushed to the soft part beneath his jaw. He has a grin all his own as he grasps your back. Eddie kisses the side of your head, any skin he can reach, three times in quick succession, and feels an acute sense of relief. Thereâs something final about it like a puzzle piece clicking into place that explains the photograph, or the snap of a finishing line against his stomach. He's suddenly pin-sharp ecstatic, and he shows it with a rough squeeze.Â
âYou smell really nice,â he praises, his nose by your hair.Â
âThatâs pervy, I think.â
âIâm trying to be nice,â he says.Â
He can hear even to himself how brazen he sounds, that awful flirtation he can't help from enacting with you now he knows you like this. He wants to impress, and he wants to be honest at the same time. He wants to be himself. Itâs getting easier.Â
âNice isnât a word Iâd associate with you,â you say, but you sit back to meet his eyes and amend, âThatâs not true. You can be lovely.âÂ
You give him a look that can only be described as loving. Itâs pure affection, and if he weren't sitting heâd have fallen over from how it makes him feel. You lean forward until the top part of your face is on his cheek, your eyelashes twitching like a butterflyâs wing.Â
âThank you for the presents. You didn't have to get me anything," you say.Â
He looks behind your head to the bar around you both. He's been so distracted by your looming presence, your arrival, and now having you in his arms, he hadn't noticed the patrons milling in as happy hour draws nearer. Thereâs a couple of older men at the bar, and one looks unseeing toward your public display. It makes him uneasy.
âYou're welcome," he says. "We have an audience."Â
You follow his gaze over your shoulder and promptly untuck yourself from his embrace when you see the bar isn't as empty as you'd thought. Thereâs no time for heartbreak âyou weave your fingers with his and hide them between your thighs, a small smile playing on your lips.Â
Eddie could get used to this.Â
â
Marriott Dean Music Store, Oklahoma, (still) March 1991
Thereâs a black and white Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It caught Eddieâs eye as soon as you arrived, and while you have no use for it (and your Fender bass's gonna jinx you if you touch an instrument that isn't her, you just know it), you kinda wanna feel it for yourself.Â
âSee the headstock? The line wrapped around the bottom?â Eddie says under his breath.Â
There's a storehand standing behind the small counter not too far from your position near the entrance.Â
You nod carefully. âYeah?â
âRelacquered. And conveniently not mentioned on the price tag. It might be a new one, sometimes they crack backward from the pressure of the strings.â
You glance between Eddie, his pale face and a new crop of sun-wrought freckles, and the âlike newâ label on the guitar. An â87 standard has no need for lies, itâs not as if the price difference between it and the new â91 is overlarge.Â
âAre you looking for something new?â you ask.Â
If Eddie functions anything like you do, heâll have his own hardware but wonât hesitate to borrow from a well-packed bank of state-of-the-art instruments that follows the tour. He might even change instrument mid set. He won't need something new, but need and want are estranged.Â
âNah,â he says, nudging you gently away from the guitar display. His hand ghosts your elbow, like he might steer you around. âI have a Rich Warlock, you seen those? I got a new one last year ânâ the output level for the bridge pickup is giving me grief, but Iâm not an asshole. I could sit down and fix it myself, butâŠâ
You brush aside a beaded curtain and take a short step down into the store, where a wealth of CDâs, cassettes and vinyls are packed in rows on tables. Thereâs an older man flicking through records, but beside that the room is empty. A big yellow sticker faded from the sun warns of CCTV.Â
âYouâre too busy,â you finish.Â
âI'm way too busy.â
There's a calmness to being with him here you hadn't expected. It's like lying on the stairs with him all over again, but he's missing that awful far off look to his eyes, he's tip top shape: Eddie Munson is sober. He said it like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't, but you squeezed his hand anyways because you figure you'd want someone to feel proud of you if you stopped. You don't have a problem, just every dalliance with recreational substances is a chance at something worse. He should feel good about what he's doing.Â
Especially when you understand the feeling that drives you there in the first place. The insane stress of wanting to prove that you're worth something, and the feeling like lukewarm water dripping down your spine when you're standing in the middle of a room, in the middle of a crowd, and you realise you could disappear and nobody would know until the next show. That confrontation of how small your life has become, through your own mediation and everything else.Â
You'd give anything to escape that feeling. Some nights, you do.Â
You told yourself you'd play it cool. What happened between you and Eddie, what's happening, it's muddled. You remember the profound hurt feeling of his final blow, and you hold it up against how you're feeling now as his fingertips coast down your arm, a thoughtless touch as he stands beside you to give his opinions on the box of records in front. He's nice. He's more nice than not. You wanted to squeeze his hand and you had, cool girl facade on the back burner.Â
Maybe you're the one who was cruel. You think back to how it all went down. The details grow fuzzier in the distance, but you know you hurt him like he hurt you. And unlike him, you can't remember having said sorry.Â
You turn your head and find his face remarkably close to your own. He doesn't flinch nor move, only smiles at the weight of your gaze and flicks to the next vinyl.Â
"I'm sorry," you say, awkward but earnest. You don't give yourself the time to chicken out.Â
You can't stand thinking you might have hurt him now. Even if he hurt you worse. The guilt of hurting anybody at all feels heavy, worse because it's you.Â
"For what?" he asks.
"For what I said. At the theatre. And for walking away at Monsters of Rock."Â
"I walked away," he says, confused. "I pretty much ran. Not my finest moment."Â
"No, at the store."Â
Recognition crosses his features. He smiles rather weirdly, inclining his head close enough to kiss you.Â
"You didn't have to listen to me. I respect that. You know that, right? You don't have to listen just 'cos someone has something to say." His brows crease inward. "I hate what I said to you at the theatre. And I felt guilty about it. You make me so mad, and I'm childish and I can't deal with that. But it's not your fault. You don't deserve a lashing every time I have one to give."
Eddie tilts his head to the left. "Sorry," he adds. "Don't try to make me feel betterâ don't, I can see it on your face. It's not why I said it."Â
He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then pulls back to see if it's worked. You're smiling. He takes it for a win. Â
"I'm a big girl," you say after a short second of staring at him, the ridge of his nose and the curls silhouetting his slight hint of cheekbone. "I don't need you to take all of the blame."Â
"Ah, but I'm selfish. I want it all." He shrugs. "Better luck next time."Â
"Nerd."Â
"Loser."Â
He goes back to the records with a smile. You look at it a little longer, allowed and aggrieved at once. He shouldn't be that pretty.Â
You watch his hands, hoping he'll give himself away and falter. A gift deserves a gift. CD's aren't cheap. You could buy him a vinyl. He must have a player of some sort, considering his Loggins and Messina habit.Â
"Think they'll have your new LP?" he asks.Â
"They'll have yours."Â
Eddie shakes his head. "I'm not asking about mine."Â
"They won't have it here, this place is tiny. City stores are the only place I've seen any of our stuff," you say.
"Well, you guys are plastered. I saw the cover on the side of a bus in Pasadena."Â
You gawp at him. "You did not."Â
"I did! Think I don't know that ugly font by now? Godless in huge black and white letters. It's a bad name, by the way," he ribs.Â
"What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't there when they chose it."Â
Eddie shrugs, the toned muscle of his arms shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It might've been black once upon a time, but the merchandise he sports now is a washed out grey. You put your hand over the curve of his bicep because you want to, and pleasure simmers when he doesn't move away.Â
"If it were me," he says, in a tone of voice that spells irksome teasing a mile off, "and the name were that bad, I'd go on strike. Refuse to play. That'll make them fix it, while you still have time."Â
"I'm sure you could get away with that," you say.Â
"You don't think you would?"Â
"I'm not really tenured."Â
"Ah, but who could say no to such a pretty face," he praises, pushing the box of records away from himself. "Shit, guess we better go ask for a test run on that Les Paul. This is all⊠questionable."Â
"You're gonna serenade me?" you ask, returning his teasing.Â
"You're gonna serenade me. I know you know your way around a rhythm guitar. You're holding out on me," he says, knocking your elbows together.Â
You love this. All these familiar touches. Like a moth to a flame, you follow him back up into the main storefront and sit beside him on top of a crate, cradling the Les Paul like a baby you're terrified of dropping. Even with tour money you couldn't pay for it now. At the end, sure. But you doubt the manager would take an IOU.Â
"What do I play?" you ask.Â
"Anything."Â
"That's not helpful."Â
"Something fun," he says.Â
Your fingers slide up the fretboard to an E flat. You bite your lip. "I'm in bass mode." It's automatic. You'd immediately set yourself up for a baseline.Â
Baseline to riff for rhythm guitar is easy enough. E flat becomes E flat major. G becomes G minor.Â
"Pentatonics," Eddie whispers when you hesitate.Â
"You really aren't helpful," you laugh. "This is hard."Â
"I'm telling people you said that."Â
You mess around until you have the basis of a simple riff down, hoping you'll impress him. He shouldn't be impressed, you've seen him play things a thousand times more complicated in person, but he beams as you work your way through a verse and then an impromptu chorus.Â
"Is that fucking Blondie?" he asks.Â
"No."Â
"It so is! Hanging On the Telephone, everyone knows that song."Â
"And everyone knows it's a cover. I'm doing The Nerves version, obviously."Â
You smile at each other until he cracks. "Obviously," he concedes. "Do the rest."Â
"Like I'm your dog," you say, a joke that brushes too close to home.Â
You fumble over the strings, gaze resolute on the body of the guitar rather than his face.Â
You don't care that he said it âyou care that he knows he said it. It doesn't make sense in so little words, but the feeling is contrite. It doesn't allow for sensical explanation.Â
The humiliation of being seen is worse than a spurned insult thrown haphazard at your feet. His insult isn't as bad as your reaction to it. The fact that he knows it upset you. That's the worst part.Â
It's embarrassing because he was right. Of course it is. And it doesn't get better, because you're still the same. Still running back after every kick. No matter the leg. Â
You play him the rest of the song. Or rather, your best approximation. It's incredibly difficult to play by ear and you haven't heard the song in a while. When the guitar sounds more like a transparent translation of the lyrics than the actual meat of the instrumentals you give up, picking at the strings and listening to the individual tuning of each once. Eddie doesn't speak. Each second of his silence grows worse, your throat dry as the Sahara and horrifyingly thick. Why isn't he talking?Â
His hand covers your shoulder. Fingers in a row across the slight dip of it, thumb rubbing reassuringly into your shoulder blade. "You're so fucking talented," he says quietly, his voice just above your ear. "I hope you know that."Â
"I got lucky," you say, shaking your head.Â
"No, you worked hard. There's a difference."Â
His hand slides over the hill of your upper arm. Eddie gives you a gentle shake. You let your head flop into the crook of his neck. His hair tickles your forehead, but he smells so good you stay longer than you should.Â
"Play me something," you say, trying to sound less morose than you feel.Â
Whether he hears your emotion or not, he pats your arm and sits up. You hand over the guitar, and Eddie props the body over his thigh and runs his fingers up the fretboard, feeling the craftsmanship appreciatively despite his earlier disapproval.Â
"What do you wanna hear?" he asks.Â
"What do you know?"Â
"God, I know everything. You should know that."Â
"Well, you can't play anything too impressive, you'll draw attention."Â
He nods very seriously at your sarcasm. He's immediately more at home than you'd been with it, and his hands look like they have a mind of their own. He plays a tight riff you recognise from one of their songs that is, to your horror, a warm up. He turns the amp down, and before you know it he's elbow deep in a complication of chords that might genuinely have you sweating if it were you rather than him. He does it like it's nothing. A walk in the park, and one he so clearly takes pleasure in. His eyes light up, the kind of look he's had before when he's made you laugh, or something a little milder than the electricity of his rough stageside kiss.Â
You're in awe.Â
He fucks up somewhere and laughs. A sweet giggle.Â
"S'what I get for trying to show off."Â
He plucks a string sharply. Hair's falling in his eyes, nearly hiding the sheepish curve of his lips. You see it, and adore it, and don't know what you're supposed to do about that.Â
"I'll get him to put this away before I break it and we can get something to eat," he says, looking up from the guitar.
"It's weird to be with you. Without anything in the way," you say before you can stop yourself.Â
You're glad you've said it when he raises his eyebrows. "Super weird. No more excuses. Wanna get freaky in the employee bathroom?" He laughs at his own joke. "It feels right, though," he adds warmly, before sincerity gets too much and he looks away.Â
He gives the store employee back the Les Paul for its case and swings his backpack over one arm. He holds the other one out, wriggling his fingers so you know it isn't optional. You'd have tried it if he didn't offer.Â
You hold hands out of the store and onto the street, busy but not crowded, and try to think of what you're supposed to say. You're in the soul of Tulsa, rather than the heart âyou and Eddie decided to meet somewhere far enough from the city centre as to miss anyone who'd know who you are (or, more accurately, know who he is). You're not the kind of musicians who get papped often, or ever. Morgan's snow exposĂ© was opportunistic, and Eddie was on the news for his epic destruction of property, but beside that it's purposeful photoshoots or moot. But this, this thing, whatever it is, it isn't for anybody else. You don't want anyone knowing quite yet. If Morgan found out you'd probably chuck up from the anxiety of what she'd do, some 'well-meaning' sabotage. Contrary to what she'd said in the past, how you should pick up the phone if Eddie calls, you know how she functions. Jealousy, or maybe some unjust belief that she deserves every ounce of lust or affection or attention, would absolutely wreck her. She doesn't like you enough to let you have this. You know it.Â
"Are you okay?" Eddie asks.Â
The sunlight makes him paler than usual. Pasty skin, dark dark hair, he'd be a vampire if his hand weren't warm in yours. You tighten your grip.Â
"I think I'm not half as cool as I want to be."Â
He licks his lips. "You're cool."Â
You lift your chin to look at the sky, the wind moving over your hair gently. You trust Eddie enough to let him pull you out of harm's way. At least, you think you do.Â
"I'm worried about people finding out about us."Â
"Us?" Eddie asks. Horror surges. It's smothered as quickly as it comes by your hand swung in his, and his pleased little smile as he says, "There's an us."Â
It's useless to pretend otherwise. And if it makes him that happy, you're thrilled. Genuinely.Â
"Would it be so terrible?" Less sun and more apprehension, Eddie fails at bravado. "If people knew about your smoking hot plaything?"Â
"You're not my plaything, you'reâ not my plaything," you stammer.Â
"Bummer for me. I think I'd be into it."Â
He guides you around a fire hydrant and across a short gap in the sidewalk. You have no idea where he's leading you. It's sunny enough that you don't complain.Â
"I don't want people to know about us becauseâ because I barely know about us, and, umâ I'm sorry, this is the opposite of attractive."Â
"How many compliments do you want?" he asks seriously, "'Cause I have a couple locked and loaded."Â
"Let's go back to when you didn't like me."Â
"Who cares how attractive you are? Not that you're not. But I don't want you to not tell me things because it's not hot. What kind of relationship would that turn into? Superficial, who wants that?" He stops swinging your hand abruptly, and to your pleasure, his cheeks are pink. "Do you want that?"Â
"No," you mumble.Â
"Oh. Good."Â
"What kind of relationship do you want?" you ask.Â
"A nice one." He does his fucking ridiculous giggle again and you could kiss him right here in the street. "You're ruining my reputation. I used to be respectable. Now I'm a bigger loser than before, and people are gonna clock on."Â
"They've clocked on."Â
"Cruel!" he says, delighted.Â
"IâŠ" You look anywhere but his face. His hand is so, so heavy. "You really don't care if I'm honest?"Â
"I want you to be honest. We're not seventeen. I know girls do all the same gross stuff that boys do, babe."Â
"What do you think I'm about to say?" You laugh.Â
"Something really disgusting from the way you're freezing up."Â
The breeze kisses at your cheeks. A stray leaf falls from the tree to your left and twists through the air, dancing in circles until it stops at your feet. You step over it gingerly.Â
"Eddie, I just want you to know what you're getting intoâ"Â
"What am I getting into?"Â
"I'm notâ I'mâ" You struggle for words. There's no dictionary for how you feel. There's so much stuff wrong with you and he can't know any of it. You're stupid and lazy and bad at the things you're good at. You're tired, and sick, and you can't seem to get things right. You love sincerely and it's hardly ever enough. "I don't really know why you want this."Â
He speaks with lips barely parted, mumbling but somehow unafraid. "I don't really know why I wouldn't want this."Â
Eddie turns the corner and pulls you with him. An empty sidewalk beckons, white and stretching long down the boulevard. He pulls your joined hands up into the air and guides you into a slow twirl.Â
"I think you're beautiful. You impress me, and you make me wanna write bad songs," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. "What am I saying? I can't write a bad song. It's impossible. Especially if they're about you."Â
"But I don't get that, we don't get along."Â
"What do you call this?" he asks.
You come to a stop. There's a coffee shop to your right with huge open windows. Warm yellow light pours out into the slowly darkening sky.Â
"I do want this," you say, worried you're giving him the wrong idea. He visibly relaxes at your statement, his grip on your hand strengthening once again. "I do," you continue, "whatever this is, I meant what I said, you know. You⊠make everything quiet for me. And I think you'reâ" Beautiful, you should say. "You're Lastick's heartthrob, everybody wants you. I like you."Â
"I'd hope so," he says, pulling you toward him, his second hand vying for yours. He tugs you right up against him, face lit with cocky happiness.Â
You hold your breath. His lashes are super long at the corners, emphasising the deep dark brown that lines his pupils and the gentler bark that surrounds it. He lays a hand against your cheek, encouraging your head up to his. He isn't soft with you like he'd been at the bar, but he isn't mean. You like how sure he is as he pulls you in, as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes shutter closed with the pressure.Â
"I don't care if everybody wants me," he says, and kisses you again, your noses smushed together. "That's not true, anyway," âhe laughs quietly into your open mouth, his breath warm as it fans over your lips and tongueâ "and if it were," âhe kisses you a third time, his head tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction like he can't wait long enough to line up with youâ "it wouldn't change what I want."Â
You have to take a breather if only to let your brain catch up with what he's saying.Â
"Okay," you breathe.Â
He pulls your still joined hands to his heart. "Yeah? I'm not trying to freak you out 'n' go too heavy. I know I'm on thin ice."Â
"You're not on thin ice."Â
"I should be."Â
Maybe. "You're not." You glance down the sidewalk to make sure your public display (you're becoming those people, apparently) isn't in someone's way. Thankfully, there's nobody around. "Sorry. This has been a really nice day, and I'm ruining it."Â
"Date," he corrects. "It's a date, and it's great, and you haven't ruined a thing. We're gonna get dinner and talk about music and Gareth's disgusting bunk and you can feel however you want to feel, long as it's within arms reach. Yeah?"Â
"Yeah, okay," you say. You manage a firm nod.Â
A date. Maybe you're a fool who doesn't deserve him for an almost-boyfriend. If you keep getting in your own way, you'll definitely be one.Â
"What's for dinner?" you ask.Â
Eddie smiles.Â
â
Colo Do Amante Hotel, April 1991
"Do you think you'll ever move away from glam metal?"Â
Eddie looks up from the notebook in his lap. He licks his lip to give himself more time to answer, searching for the right thing to say to you. The more time you spend together, the more he wants to say the right thing, and the more sure he feels that there isn't a wrong thing.Â
You are, quite simply, a wonder. A love.Â
He shouldn't be here. Eddie's playing a show tomorrow night halfway across the country. If even one thing goes wrong with his red-eye, he's fucked. Someone from Rollerboy will murder him, and he'll deserve it. But he's here, because he wanted to see you and miraculously you wanted to see him. A late night phone call from one hotel room to another, his quiet confession.Â
"I miss you," he'd said.Â
You'd hesitated for half a second, if that. "Come and see me, then."Â
So he ditched the bus, got a cab, flew out with his rockstar money and crawled into your bed. You haven't slept together, only laid with one another talking about how much being a musician sucks and how awful you both are for complaining. You'll relax around him now, and he thinks more about seeing you again than he does your muddled past, and he knows that counts for something.Â
"Do I think I'll move away from glam metal?" he repeats, thoughts not strictly yours.Â
He's trying to write about how you look now before you move, before he can forget it. Your figure curled up yet limp beside him, your hand on his stomach and your shirt climbing up the hill of your hip, the pudge of your stomach peaking out. You're wearing something much more showy than the last time he saw you, having done press a couple hours before his arrival and with no will to change. Your tights are dark and floral lace, stretched over sweet thighs vaguely hidden by your black skirt. For all the leg on show he can't see a hint of your top half before your neck. You're layered in fabrics. He loves it, you look awesome, and you'd been amazingly flustered when he told you.
Careful not to smudge your glittery make up, he'd tried to kiss you in the lobby. You'd nearly squeaked, grabbing him by the arm to pull him to the elevator bank.Â
"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have you seen yourself today? Actually? You're fucking killer."Â
You'd shushed him and clicked the wrong floor button. He pretended not to notice when you corrected yourself.Â
Most of the makeup is gone now, kissed off and the rest washed away, but your lashes are still lengthened and they look it as you prop yourself up by his hip and ask, "Well?"Â
"No," he says honestly. There's always room to grow, and music changes with time and with an evolving scene, but Corroded Coffin are famous for how they sound now. "I love how we sound⊠Do you think you'll ever move into glam metal?"Â
"Is there any room?"Â
"No, but when has that ever stopped anyone?"Â
He folds his pen between the leaves of his notebook and chucks it toward his bag in the corner of your room. You shift yourself, not quite sitting up as you pull off your sheer long sleeve and the regular long sleeve beneath it, exposing your arms and your chest to his view. He hadn't been expecting a tank top beneath.Â
He whistles. Can't help himself.Â
You dive to hide your face in the sheets, one arm tucked uncomfortably under your weight and across your chest, the other sliding away from his navel. "Shut up," you murmur.Â
"Sorry. You're just pretty."Â
"Didn't say that before I got my tits out, I notice."Â
He laughs at your grumbling and leans down to talk softly. "Ah, but I did, didn't I? Told you you were 'fucking pretty' but maybe you didn't hear me, you were kissing me so hardâ"Â
You reach blindly for his face and push him away from you, not half as roughly as you could.Â
He's messing with you. It's his prerogative.Â
Being your almost boyfriend comes with privileges, like being privy to how you're feeling. Once unbeknownst to Eddie and probably everyone in your life, you're not a very happy person. He could guess why, he's not blind, but thinking it and knowing it are two different ponds. You don't say much about it, embarrassed by or maybe unable to verbalise how you're feeling beyond, "I'm tired of everything today," and, "Sorry, I'm just worried."Â
About what? he'd asked.Â
You'd nibbled your lip. Everything. Nothing worth saying out loud.
He'd make jokes anyhow, but he makes more of them when he thinks you're feeling down. Teasing you is a surefire trick to distract you from all the stuff you can't handle.Â
It's piling on, he knows. Morgan on the news again, shirtless in a public club, your startled face in the background. You'd been poked fun at by TV hosts and journalists alike. Nothing cruel, but making you the butt of a joke nonetheless. Then there was Ananya's continued selective mutism, disagreements over stage blocking, your ever-present employment anxiety, your very first hate letter disguised as a love note, and, to Eddie's surprise, radio silence from your friend Dornie.Â
He didn't like Dornie to begin with. Now he hates him.Â
"Don't push me away," he whines.Â
"Don't make fun of me."Â
"But you look lovely when you're mad." He grins at you where you're glaring, only your eyes and brows visible in your position. "Exactly like that."Â
"Lovely," you say. He can hear in your voice how the mock fight you'd started has sputtered out. You sound genuine again, a little raspy with oncoming fatigue.Â
"You don't like that word?"Â
You lay flat on your back. Head on the pillows, hands to your collar and fingers picking at one another, you look down at them and away from him and Eddie can't stand losing your attention. He ushers away his notebook on the sheets and climbs toward you on knees. He checks your face as he positions himself between your legs. You smile. He smiles back. He thinks maybe this is what you secretly wanted him to do.Â
"You like Status Quo?" you ask.Â
He smiles and lets his weight press down on you, not paying much attention to what goes where, only the feeling of being on top of you, this close, and being allowed. "Yeah?"Â
"Showaddywaddy?"Â
"Beg your pardon?" he jokes.Â
"Let's go for a little walk," you sing under your breath.Â
"Yeah. I liked that song." He sings, "I wanna tell you, that I love ya." You nod happily.Â
"Queen?" you ask, quieter still.Â
"Don't ask stupid questions."Â
"It's weird that we managed to find each other," you say. "Though everything. You had to like all that music, we had to want this bad, we had to be born at the same time, in the same scenes, and we had to go to the same stupid party."Â
He hangs his head. "I was in a mood."Â
"You were. I figured you were an asshole, you know?"Â
Eddie takes a deep, deep breath. "I remember."Â
"I was⊠pathetic," you say softly, letting your hands drop flat to your chest. You change your mind, tuck a curl behind his ear. "I was desperate, your friend Jamison⊠it doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm trying to say."Â
"There's a difference between pathetic and lonely. You tried to make friends, and I was being a dick becauseâ" He sucks the inside of his cheek.Â
"'Cos you tried to talk to me and I made fun of your court case?" you ask, self-deprecating.Â
"Because you didn't know me."Â
You poke his cheek gently. "That mattered that much to you?"Â
"Sweetheart, we met before."Â
Eddie watches you hear him, and spots the resistance to what he's suggesting. He needles his arms under your waist to feel the breadth of your back in his palms, close enough to kiss you, but wanting to hear what you have to say about it more.Â
"We did," he says.Â
"What do you mean?"Â
"I think about a year before we met at the party, we met at the airport. You weren't in Godless, you weren't even a tech yet, you were on your way to meet the tour in New York. We met, and we talked about music, and I told you to come and meet me if you ever found yourself in the same place."
You'll put me on a list? you'd asked, charmed by his wanting to see you, as impossible as it may have seemed then.
I'll put you on the list.Â
"When I saw you," he says, eyes on the curve of your bottom lip, "I was hoping you'd come to see me, but you didn't remember me, I could tell straight away, and Iâ I'd gotten so used to people saying yes to me that I got more pissed than I should've. I feel like a loser, telling you now, butâ" But it meant something, meeting you before. It meant something.Â
"We did meet," you say, voice like a line of spider web weighed down, and abruptly plinking back up. "You gave me a sticker. I dropped it down a storm drain straight off the plane."Â
He nods encouragingly, "I gave you a Corroded Coffin stickerâ"Â
"With a rose in the background," you interrupt. Â
"Yeah. You remember? You had those huge can headphones and your guitar was falling apart, and I told you about Sweetheart 'cos she was still pretty impressive at the time. You didn't have time to try her before boarding, soâŠ"Â
"So you said I could give her a try the next time we saw each other."Â
Eddie bites his lip. "Yeah."Â
Your breath is noticeably quickened, your gaze snapping onto his face. Recollection lights your eyes, and then, like he'd so desperately wanted to see months ago when he wandered into you of all people at a sticky, snow-loaded party, you smile at him. Like you missed him. Like you can't believe your luck.Â
"Well, hey, stranger," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, fingers tucked neatly behind his ear. "I remember you."Â
"You took your time," he says.Â
"You could've said something," you say, chin dipping to your chest. "How did you remember me after that long?"Â Â
He's trying not to get broken up with before he's officially your boyfriend; he wants to say, You're hard to forget, but he refrains.Â
He leans in for a silky, soft kiss. "Immaculate memory," he says in the slice of time your lips aren't touching, a second gap as he turns his head to better kiss your top lip.Â
"Is there anything you can't do?" you indulge.Â
"Can't get this one really beautiful thing to let me take her photo," he says.Â
You giggle and push him away. "'Cos I know what kind of picture you want, Eddie!"Â
"I already told you that's not true, dirty photos are an epidemic I've yet to feed into." He's a man, not a Saint âhe'd fucking love a dirty photo, but he really does just want a Polaroid for his wallet. "How about we both have a Polaroid of each other? So you don't forget me?"Â
Guilt lines your smile. "I'm sorry," you say, dragging him down for a kiss. "Sorry, sorry. I won't forget you again, MunsonâŠ" You rub his cheek with your thumb. "If I let you take a photo, will you forgive me?"Â
You're already forgiven. "Three photos."Â
"Deal."Â
"Should've asked for five."Â
"You could've asked for the full cartridge and a dirty one and I might've said yes. I can't believe we met before.."Â
Eddie rests his nose on your cheek, eyes closed, already trying to remember how many photos there are left on his camera. "I don't want a picture of your tits because you feel guilty, babe." He laughs as he talks, then, the joke feels that good to say, "I want one because you have the most amazing, killer, gorgeous pair ofâ"Â
You screech to cover his bold compliments and whack his chest playfully. "Get off of me, you freak! Get off, get off, get off."Â
Eddie flips onto his back, chuckling.Â
"How would you even know?" you ask, slipping off of the bed with a little thump and down by your suitcase. You chuck your shitty Polaroid Spectra onto the sheets by his arm and rifle around for a foil sealed cartridge. "You've barely seen them."Â
Like past Eddie, this Eddie still wants to fuck you stupid, but he also really isn't interested in intiating anything before you're ready. He's hoping you'll make the first move, and maybe soon, but watching the tip of your tongue breach your lips as you climb on your knees to fiddle with the Spectra, he's not really thinking about sex.Â
"I've seen them," he disagrees.Â
"You have not."Â
"Have too."Â
"Have not."Â
"I'm seeing them right now."Â
You look down at your chest. The tank top you're wearing isn't especially scandalous, Eddie just loves your shape.Â
"Okay," you say, shyness creeping into your voice and stature, your shoulders bunching up toward your neck a touch, "if I say something and it's too weird, you can tell me no. Please tell me no."Â
He shakes his head gently when you don't add anything else. "What?" he asks.Â
"Do you really want a dirty photo? You could take one. I wouldn't mind," you say.Â
Your voice drops to a murmur with the last two words. Eddie hikes up on his elbows, smile curling and appling his cheeks. "You don't still feel bad about forgetting lil ole me?"Â
"Of course I do, but it's not why I'm offering. I really like you, Eddie. I want to do things other couples do."Â
Earnestness has you sounding your best: your voice has always been one of his very favourite things about you. Your voice, your smile, your passion (maybe that one most of all). When you talk as you are now, without anything in the way, he thinks he might be at his most infatuated.Â
"I really like you," he says, reaching out to steal your hand from the camera. "What I want most is one with your smile, get me? One I can flash at the boys while I'm away, brag about you."Â
"I thought we weren't telling anyone," you say gently.Â
"Not for now. I'll need it eventually, right?"Â
You beam at him. "Right."Â
You pick up your camera and aim it at his face. He knows how he must look, his hair frizzy from hours on a small plane, lips sore from kissing you, ridiculously happy. Now you know everything about him he'd been purposefully hiding. All the bad in all of the good, and all the good in all of the bad. He can't wait to tell you the rest.Â
The flash blinds him for a split second, and your camera chugs as it ejects the photo. You drop it on the sheets and you and Eddie crane your heads together, foreheads kissing while the image appears.Â
"That's a good one, right?" he asks. Upside down, he's not sure.
"It's really perfect," you say.Â
Eddie lifts your chin for another silken kiss.Â
"Listen," he says as he breaks away, his lips tingling, heart in his throat. "Can I be your boyfriend?"Â
He hadn't meant to ask like that.Â
You nod slowly, then quickly, trying uselessly to tamp an ecstatic smile as you paw at his arms. Eddie pulls you back up onto the bed and you make camp in his lamp, hands in his hair and lips like an undulating wave against his. He kisses you until he can't think.
â
The photographer standing outside of the Colo De Amante is cold, fingertips frostbitten and nose like ice, but it's worth it for the photo he gets. Eddie Munson peeling out of the hotel in the late night when he's supposed to be in a different state, hair banded out of his face, giving the photographer a great view of his pleased features.Â
The camera clicks.Â
đ©â€ïžđȘ
thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! please reblog if you have the time!! i love them being all loveydovey but im excited for the drama to start again
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson#stranger things fic#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#rockstar!eddie#rockstar!eddie munson#rockstar!eddie munson x reader#rockstar!eddie x reader#eddie munson fic
768 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hate Fuck
Info - enemies, hate fuck, a little cnc, clothes breaking, cocky Timothée, insults during sex, legs not working from a good fuck, unprotected sex
I was so sick of hearing all about Timothée. Timothée this and Timothée that. So he'd landed a small role in a movie. He wasn't a star or anything.
Eleanor only wanted him along because she was ga ga for him. Her brother Henry was as well. Then there was Violet, Mary, and Harry. We'd all been friends since little up. Henry and Elenor were newer to our group and had brought Timothée into it.
Timothée had been like a shiny toy to the lot of them. I used to be the one they followed and admired. I used to be the one to make them laugh. Now everything was about that bastard of a show off Timothée Chalamet.
We had all scraped our money together to go on a trip to Florida and bask in the heat and beauty. It had taken a lot of work and planning but we'd managed it. At the absolute last moment Timothée had waltzed in and asked if he could go.
Everyone had voted yes except for me. It made me so mad that I had saved for SO long to help pay and he had just grabbed a wad of bills from his pocket. I fucking hated him.
The night felt long and I never slept well in hotels. I decided that I would make use of the out door pool. Perhaps the exercise would make my anger decrease.
The whole flight I'd had to listen to Timothée talk about his time on the movie set. As he spoke Eleanor gushed. I was sat beside Henry and he kept turning back to listen and comment since he was also enamoured with Timothée.
I had a migraine by the time we landed. Timothée had also be elected to choose where we ate that night.
Apparently, since he was part French, he would have better taste than us.
It felt like he was possessing my friends and I was sick of it. At least this swim would be Timothée free. I grabbed my towel and bathing suit. I headed into the bathroom and gasped in annoyance.
I thought for sure l'd packed my new bikini. However, in my hand was my old one. They were both pink, so l must've grabbed the wrong one. This one had clips that easily fell apart and my boobs had grown a bit so that there was a worry about them falling out.
I sighed. I'd have to buy a new suit when we went shopping tomorrow. This would do for now. It wasn't as if anyone else would be out there.
I walked the cold hallways, the ac was always blasting. It was like a blanket of humidity was thrown on me as I exited the hotel. I gasped as the heat hit me. The short walk to the pool had me swearing,
I jumped into the cool water. It soothed my heat prickled skin. I felt calm under the quiet surface. I could finally forget Timothée even existed. All would be right in my world.
SPLASH!
Someone jumped into the pool. I wanted to scream. Of course my nice midnight swim had to be ruined by someone. When I came up and saw who it was I wanted to scream again.
Timothée stood there with dripping curls and a smirk. I hated that he looked godlike in this lighting. His high cheekbones and perfect bone structure. It would be a hell of a lot easier if my arch nemesis was ugly.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.
"Taking a swim," he offered as he leisurely paddled.
"It's midnight!" I shot back.
"You're here," he said blandly. I couldn't deny he was right. I put my hands on my hips and took deep breathes to calm myself.
"You know the world doesn't belong to you y/n. I can go places. I can make friends. I can come on trips. I can go swimming. I can-"
We both flinches as the clasp on my bikini top sprung open. My breasts fell out heavily. I would double D bras so there was a lot on display. Timothée's eyes were right on my nipples. I was too stunned to cover myself.
Suddenly, everything changed from slow and stagnant to fast. Timothée moved towards me. He was feeling me up and kissing me. I'd never felt such electricity. No one had handled my tits the way he did. The perfection in the way he squeezed, the way he rolled the nipples, the way he shuddered into my mouth.
"What are you doing?" l asked, but I didn't stop him.
"Kissing you, feeling you, worshiping your perfect body. It's all l've wanted to do since I first met you," he groaned. He pressed against me and I gasped. He was rock hard in his trunks and he felt big.
"Y-you hate me," I stuttered as one of his hands reached around to my ass. It all felt so good. Perhaps he deserved to brag and eloat if he could make someone feel like this.
"No, you hate me., I adore you," he professed.
"Well you're a pompous idiot, always showing off and-"
He grabbed my jaw and looked into my eyes. He looked filled with lust, like someone on the brink. He was pulling against restraints that would break any moment. Then, in the most surprising and gentle movement he leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on my lips. It left me breathless and needing more.
"Why do you think I show off?" He asked me quietly, and then his long fingers were hooked in my bottoms. "Why do you think I brag and big myself up? Why do you think I mention only my best qualities and abilities?"
"Because, ohhhhh," I cut myself off as my bottoms were pulled all the way down. His large hands left me for a moment. I knew he was pulling his dick free and I couldn't imagine why I wasn't stopping him.
"To feed your own ego. To sound important. To make everyone obsessed with you," I snapped.
"No," he shook his head. I keened when his thick head pressed at my entrance. I could tell he would hit my g spot without even trying. He was so big. My clit throbbed. I hadn't been fucked well in so long.
"For you," he said as he pushed his head in. I grabbed wildly at his biceps.
"All for you, everything I do and say is to get your attention," he said. He had his forehead pressed against mine now. We were heaving together. I nodded slightly to the question that hung in the air.
He pushed all the way inside me. I held back but his moan of gratification was almost enough to make my knees weak. I clung to him. He began to rock his hips. His huge cock was filling me again and again.
"Uh oh fuck, it's even more perfect than I imagined. Uh, uh, uh," he groaned as he slammed home again and again.
I couldn't hold back my pleasure any longer. My nails were already embedded in his skin. I was clenching my jaw so that it ached. I had to make a noise or a sound or something to express how fucking, damn, good I felt!
"I hate you," I whispered, trying out the words on my tongue.
"What's that?" He panted as he pushed deep inside me. He had me against the pool wall. His hands were greedily feeling all over me.
"I hate you," I moaned as he hit a delicious part of me.
"I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world," he whined as he attacked my neck with kisses. I grasped the nape of his neck.
"You're hideous," I responded, my eyes squeezed shut in bliss.
"Your pussy feels, fuck, like heaven," he retorted.
"I can't even tell you're inside me," I nearly cried as he slammed in. He chuckled dark and low in my ear.
The water was splashing everywhere. He was mumbling hot compliments in my ear. I couldn't help but lift my legs up and put them around him.
"Mm, mm, mm," I nearly squealed as he went at me like an animal in heat.
"Please," he gasped
"Please what?" | growled.
"P-please," he said again. He sounded like he was pleading for his life. "Let me cum inside you. You can call me any name you want, just please, can I let loose in this perfect cunt."
"I-l- oh, fuck, yes, you fucking piece of shit, cum inside me raw," | screamed.
"Oh yes!" He shouted and rammed his cock inside me so hard I was seeing stars. My world was spinning as rope after rope of cum filled me up. Then I was coming too. I was exploding with lust and desire and pleasure. I was panting and clawing and making such pathetic noises as we both erupted.
"That was.... Wow," Timothée moaned as he reluctantly pulled out. I sneered at him as best I could.
"Speak for yourself," I said as I got out. However, Timothée giggled when my legs refused to work right when I tried to walk. I glared at the idiot.
#reader insert#timothee chamalet#timothee fanfic#timothee chalamet#timothee x reader#timothee x y/n#timothee imagine#timothee x you#timothée chalamet#x reader#timothée chalamet smut#timothee chalamet smut#timothee smut#smut
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
The first section pertains to bathrooms in any publicly funded building, including the Salt Lake City airport, convention centers, park buildings, recreational centers, buildings of public administration, colleges and universities, public schools, and more. For transgender adults, they would be barred from these buildings unless they had an updated birth certificate and could provide proof of gender reassignment surgery.
...
For transgender people who use the bathroom, a separate provision states that they must judge whether their presence will âlikely cause affront or alarm toâ another individual, essentially requiring transgender people to guess how well they âpassâ to other people using the bathroom. Should they guess wrong or should somebody know their gender identity already, they could be jailed for up to six months.
...
These exceptions for trans people who have obtained gender reassignment surgery and an updated birth certificate, however, are rendered moot by another provision later in the bill that would make it impossible to fulfill the birth certificate requirement. This provision essentially ends all legal recognition of transgender individuals by defining sex in a manner that excludes them from legal recognition and protections.
139 notes
·
View notes
Text
OK!! I WANNA TALK ABOUT BEING GAY!!!
I hope that caught your attention :)
Iâm also hoping to get more input from the queer community here so please comment or rb with anything you have to say.
Please read I think this is incredibly important.
Okay âŹïž
I am a trans man and I have only socially transitioned. I donât usually like to talk about the fact that Iâm trans, because I have this underlying fear that it will somehow remind people that Iâm ânot really a manâ or something. Internalized homophobia, I guess. But this feels really important to talk about.
The 2024 Election. I am confident in my belief that we will have a second trump term. It is so incredibly important for trans kids to build community. If he gets elected, that puts us and queer people as a whole at risk.
Depending on which state youâre from, you may have already gotten a taste of this. Iâm from a primarily red state and weâve got bathroom bills, book bans, and transparency bills.
Bathroom Bill -> bans trans folks from using the bathroom which aligns with their gender identity, requires them to use bathroom that corresponds with their sex at birth. I know for a lot of states, this also removed gender neutral bathrooms in a lot of places.
Book bans -> thank you Ron Fucking DeSantis (florida governer, ran for president but dropped from race in January 2024(?)) Lawmakers can decide what books they consider inappropriate for schools, and have them removed. They defend it by saying theyâre banning âsexual contentâ but majority of it is mentions of queer folks in books. To them two boys holding hands for one sentence may as well be a book full of smut. Overall, theyâre only retracting what they want to, excluding gender/sexuality mentions and critical race theory.
Transparency -> OH MY FUCKING AHSHDHDRRR. Okay so. In my state and many others, thereâs something referred to as a transparency bill. It was advertised as transparency in education and a right for parents to know what the schoolsâ curriculum consists of. Part of this bill requires teachers and administrators to out a student to their parents or guardians if they come out at school. â Going into this school year, I was unaware this bill had passed. I emailed my teachers the week before school and on my second day, the principal was legally required to phone home. Luckily, everything was fine on my end and my mom already knew.
Now these are the things that have already happened. There is so, so much more. Bans on gender affirming care, legally classifying marriage as between a man and a woman, and SO much more that I canât even comprehend enough to type out. Please do your research.
Itâs so hard to stay positive when I fear for my wellbeing, my future, and my life. I am a teenager. I am meant to be going to school to learn math and science, not the Ten Commandments. Iâm meant to be able to use the bathroom without feeling out of place, no matter where I am.
I know this focused primarily on trans people but this also affects the queer community on so many levels.
I cannot be happy in a country that believes that being queer is a mental illness.
I hope to god Iâm reaching people. I think building community is one of the most important things that we could be doing right now. As well as educating and encouraging others to vote blue.
Itâs between a man on his deathbed and a felon.
Itâs between a man who doesnât know where he is and a man who claimed this country would become a âunified reich.â
A democracy or a dictatorship.
#evan speaks#evan rants#evan canât vote#2024 elections#vote blue no matter who#vote blue#donald trump#joe biden#lgbtq#lgbtqia#lgbtq community#lesbian#gay#bisexual#transgender#trans#queer#asexual#intersex#aroace#please share this I need input
84 notes
·
View notes