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mothandpidgeon · 27 days ago

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Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 1

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SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), slow burn, yearning, soft!Ezra, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), reader is a millennial but otherwise not described, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: This one is for all my Thackary Binx girlies. I've had some version of this story in my brain for years now. I'm very excited slash nervous to be sharing it with you!

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thanks @tinytinymenace for suggesting the title and @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me ramble about this.

🐈‍⬛

Connor’s mouth is on you before you can get your key in the door. He’s lucky he’s a good kisser because he spent most of your date talking about his music. You’re lucky you don’t have a guitar because you’re pretty sure he’d serenade you.

“Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says after you press him back.

You laugh, triumph blossoming in your chest.

“At least control yourself until we get inside,” you tease.

You hold his hand as you let yourself in. It’s quiet and dark now save the little reading lamp beside the faded, floral sofa. You’re relieved, maybe nobody’s home.

“Cool place,” Connor says wandering in behind you.

He’s taking in the details of your little apartment— a small kitchen tiled in green and an equally cozy living room. The attic ceilings slant with the roofline. There are pressed flowers and astrological charts on the walls, their frames outlined by the vines of overgrown philodendron. You pull him into another kiss so his eyes don’t linger too long on the books on your shelves, before he wonders why the spice rack is full of jars of belladonna and blackthorn instead of garlic and cinnamon.

He squeezes your hips and your hands lace through his hair. Connor might not be the one but that’s not what you’re looking for. He’s exactly the kind of guy you won’t feel guilty about ghosting. Until then, he’ll be a good lay.

He’s got his hand up your shirt when you hear your bedroom door squeak on its hinges. Out saunters Ezra, stretching out his long, black body like he’s just woken up. He was probably dozing on his favorite spot in the bay window.

“Hi, Ez,” you say, stepping out of Connor’s arms. Your cheeks heat, feeling like you’ve been caught doing something obscene.

Ezra brushes against your shins, a move that’s more territorial than it is affectionate.

“Did we wake you?” you ask, scritching him on the white patch between his ears.

“This your cat?” Connor asks.

To call Ezra your cat as if you owned him doesn’t feel right. Even calling him a cat seems inaccurate. Ezra’s been your familiar since you were 18, passed down through generations of your family, but he was once a witch in his own right before being cursed to live in this form for 1000 years.

“That’s Ezra,” you say, sidestepping the question entirely.

“Ez, this is Connor.”

“Hi, kitty. Pss pss pss,” Connor tries, crouching down to offer a hand for Ezra to sniff.

Ezra does no such thing. He merely looks at him disdainfully, then his golden eyes shift to you with a look that says you’ve got to be kidding me.

“Want a drink?” you ask, pulling Connor’s attention away.

“Yeah,” he says. He takes off his jacket making himself at home.

Ezra never approves of any of your dates and he isn’t shy about letting them know it, scratching up their jeans and hiding wallets under the couch. Once he left a hairball in a pair of new sneakers. As much as it drives you insane, you can’t be angry with him. It’s his job to not only be a companion and do your bidding but also to protect you. Now it feels like you’re bringing dates home to your older brother. Your older brother by a few centuries. He was turned sometime before the country existed.

As you pour two glasses of wine, Connor slips his hands around your waist and his lips graze your neck. You’re already working up incantations for passion, whispering the words to yourself as he kisses down to your shoulder. The one good thing about being a witch is you can mask even the worst sex with a little bit of magic. Not that you have low expectations for Connor. There’s a promising bulge where you grind your ass back into him.

A crash rouses you from your reverie.

“Ez!” you bark.

Ezra has swatted Connor’s phone to the floor. He sits on the counter with a mild defiance on his feline face.

“That’s ok,” Connor says, retrieving it and turning it over. “He didn’t mean it. Right bud?”

You’re not sure that cats can roll their eyes but Ezra does whatever the equivalent is before turning away with his tail raised to give Connor a full view of his asshole. He hops gracefully to the floor and retreats back into the other room.

“Sorry. He doesn’t really like…people,” you say.

“That’s ok. As long as you like me,” he says, pulling you back into his body.

You laugh at him before you let him kiss you.

—

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you ask.

You’re straddling Connor’s lap on the sofa. The strap of your black, lace bra dangles off of your shoulder.

“Huh?” he replies, as if he’s been roused from a trance. “Yeah.”

You chuckle to yourself. His lips are kiss swollen and eyes dazed. There’s a reason why witches are known to be seductive. Mortals can’t resist the magic.

You slide off of his lap and guide him up towards your room.

Ezra’s sleeping on your pillow, curled into a soft little ball.

“Wait here,” you tell Connor, depositing him on the edge of your bed. “Let me just—“

You scoop Ezra up and he lets out a yowl in displeasure. You take him to the living room, set him on the back of the couch and he blinks up at you, groggy and annoyed.

“Exiled once again,” he complains, his human voice a silky southern drawl.

“Just for a couple of hours. Can you stay out here?” you ask, your voice hushed.

“Have I not suffered enough?”

“Youre right. It’s so terrible.” You roll your eyes. “I make you sleep on the couch instead of the bed.”

“Two hundred and fifty three years in this feline form—“ he goes on.

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss.

“ —And the true curse is listening to you fornicate with a cavalcade of dim witted mortals,” he goes on.

“Did you say something?” Connor asks.

You whip your head around to find him standing in your doorway.

“Not to you, hun,” you say. With a flick of your finger, he turns on his heel and goes back inside. You’ll have to cast another spell to rid him of any magical memories.

“I live here, too, little mage,” Ezra says.

“Well, when you start paying rent, we’ll get a two bedroom,” you quip.

“That little jest never gets old,” he grumbles.

He leaps down from the couch and heads to the entryway.

“Where are you going?” you ask, keeping your words as quiet as you can.

“Leaving you to your debauchery,” Ezra says over his shoulder and he disappears through the flap in the bottom of the front door.

—

In the morning, you wake up alone.

Of course, you got rid of Connor as soon as you were sated. He asked to see you again to which you have a noncommittal answer.

You’d expected Ezra to return, though. He might complain about being kicked out of bed but he knows nobody stays the night.

“I only sleep with one man and that’s you,” you joke all the time.

Each night you rest your chin on the top of his head, his warm body pressed back into your chest. It’s hard for you to fall asleep without Ezra purring beside you.

You linger for a while after getting dressed, sitting in the bay window and watching the leaves begin to fall. The apartment feels so empty without Ezra in it. It’s too quiet. That damned cat has two centuries worth of stories and you’ve heard them all ten times. You’re constantly begging him to shut up. Right now, you feel oddly lonely.

Eventually you decide that waiting around for him is silly. You’ve got to get to work. Fortunately, you only need to venture down the back stairs and you’re there. Your apartment is in the attic of The Arcane Page.

You let yourself in and you’re immediately hit by the smell of leather bound books, old paper, and the drying herbs Aunt Margot has hanging from the ceiling. The shop is packed so tightly with rows of bookshelves and oddities, it’s almost impossible to tell that this used to be a proper house. What had once been confined to the front rooms grew to take over the kitchen and sun porch, up the stairs to the bedrooms until the whole thing functioned as the store.

The old Victorian is just off the main street that’s filled with quaint cafes, gift shops, and antique stores. It attracts all sorts— wannabe spiritual types looking for selenite wands, academics in search of rare books, and old ladies drawn in by the lush garden out front. Witches, too. The basement is full of spell books and strange ingredients, off limits to mortals.

You hear aunt Margot’s jewelry before she comes into sight, Her gold earrings tinkling, bracelets jangling.

“Morning, dear,” she says, without glancing in your direction. She knows you’re coming before you arrive and not just because she can hear you on the back stairs.

She’s behind the counter in one of her regular linen dresses, dark hair streaked with silver falling around her shoulders. She pours from her porcelain tea pot.

“Has Ez come down here?” you ask, glancing around the bookshelves to all of his favorite hiding spots.

“No?” she says. She pushes one of the cups your way. Delicate and decorated with spell work, the scent of assam wafts up to your nostrils. “Percy, have you seen your friend Ezra?”

A little white mouse appears on the counter, paws clutching one of Margot’s rings. He scrunches up his pink nose at the suggestion he’s a friend of Ezra. Margot’s familiar has never gotten along with him. Despite the fact that one of them is a demon and the other is a cursed witch, the old cat versus mouse thing is somehow universal. Ezra’s threatened to eat Percival a hundred times, sometimes leaving dead chipmunks and mice at the threshold of the bookstore just to amuse himself.

Percy shakes his head haughtily and then wraps his body around Margot’s steaming teacup.

“He’s mad at me,” you sigh.

“How come?” she asks, an eyebrow arched curiously.

“I had company last night.” You put the cup to your lips as soon as the words leave you.

“Let me guess. Another mortal.” Margot rolls her dark-lined eyes. She leans on the counter and sips her tea.

You just shrug.

“Then I don’t blame him,” she says.

“It’s not the ‘50s. I can date a mortal. Didn’t you read Harry Potter?” you ask, knowing it’ll get a rise out of her.

“You millennial witches and Harry fucking Potter.

A mortal—“

“Killed my great great great great grandmother. I know,” you say. As if you haven’t had that fact drummed into you since you were old enough to walk. You decide not to mention how hypocritical it is that Margot dislikes mortals when she’ll happily take their money. It’s not worth it. The two of you have had this argument a hundred times.

“I like mortals. They’re uncomplicated,” you tell her.

“Uncomplicated? They’re boring.” She sets down her tea cup. “Have you ever been with another witch?”

Your cheeks heat at the question. Not because she’s your aunt. You’d tell her just about anything and, considering the fact that she raised you, she knows pretty much all there is about you. You’ve had plenty of sex but you’ve never done it with a witch, a fact that makes you feel like a virgin all over again. It’s not for lack of trying. There’s just not a whole lot of hot, single witches in your area. And while you’ve talked about going somewhere where the witches are in excess— Salem, New Orleans, Portland— you’ve always found some reason to stay in the Catskills screwing mortals.

Luckily, you don’t have to answer Aunt Margot’s question because Percy squeaks and she says, “I know but she won’t.” Then she turns her attention to you and translates, “Percy says you ought to just summon Ezra.”

You frown at him. You could. A simple spell would compel Ezra to return to you but you can never bring yourself to cast it. Maybe if he were just an ordinary familiar, not a witch with his own desires, you might feel more comfortable using magic on him like that, but he has so little of his own. The least you can give him is the freedom to be alone if that’s what he wants.

“You spoil him,” she tells you. Sometimes you’re not sure if Margot can read your thoughts or if she just knows you well. “He’s your familiar not your roommate.”

You finish your tea and put the cup down on its saucer.

“You know what? I’m going to shelve some books downstairs,” you say.

“Oh would you look at that,” Margot says, peering into your empty cup with amusement on her lips. “Maybe there is a witch in your future after all.”

She holds the teacup out for you to see the wet leaves have formed a clump in the shape of a heart.

—

Ezra’s limping by the time he returns home. The sun has already begun to dip below the trees, painting the sky autumnal shades of purple and orange. Though he resents the idea he’s turned into a house cat, he’d much rather spend the night on the couch than have to do another in the damn woods. No matter how much it hurts.

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask when he slips back through the cat door.

You’re immediately kneeling beside him, concern cutting your pretty features. Shame settles between his shoulders. As your familiar, he has no right to disappear for an entire day. He almost wishes you’d punish him— dunk him in an ice bath or beat him with a hair brush like some of his old masters had— but he knows you won’t. You’re too good to him. That’s where he went wrong and fell in love with you.

It happened slowly. You treated him more like a pet than a servant. From the very beginning, you let him sleep in your bed, drifting off to sleep as you stroked his belly. Sometimes he thought you were the one purring. You talked to him. Not just about magic but you shared your entire life with him. No witch had trusted him, called him a friend in all the time since he’d been cursed, not until you.

As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized this was more than just affection. You were beautiful and bold. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

You’re off limits in every way. In human years, you’re not young but you’re practically a child compared to his 300 years. The bond between witch and familiar is sacred, a line even a witch as forward thinking as you would never dare to cross. And, of course, there’s the little matter of his being a cat.

“I was getting really worried,” you say.

“You requested solitude,” he responds.

You sigh and pick him up, setting him on the counter.

“You hurt your leg,” you tutt, taking his paw in your hand so you can examine his injury.

He spent the night prowling the forest, anything to save himself the agony of hearing you with that mortal. In this self pity, he’d picked a fight with one of the feral tomcats that lives in the old graveyard.

“This is why I don’t like it when you stay out all night,” you chide as you disappear into the bathroom. “Those cats are vicious.”

You return with a small jar of healing ointment you brewed specially for him.

“I’ve walked this earth a cat longer than those mangey beasts. Longer than I was human,” he says.

You begin by cleaning the cut, his fur now matted with blood and leaves. Your touch isn’t unfamiliar to Ezra yet he still wonders what it would be like to feel your skin, the softness of your cheek and plush thigh without a layer of fur in between. To hold your hand with one of his own.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. You’re right. You live here too. And I know you don’t like mortals,” you say, as you clean his wound.

He’s let you believe that that’s why he’s so petulant when you bring your suitors around. Mortals have never been his cup of tea but he absolutely despises the ones that you bed, humans that have no business being with any witch let alone one like you.

“They’re below you. You deserve a proper witch,” Ezra says.

That’s a far more painful reality. Even if he were in the running, which he never will be, There are thousands of witches more worthy of you. One day you’ll find one and Ezra will watch you fall in love. With someone else. He’ll stay the same just as he has all these years, and be your loyal familiar even as you inevitably share less with him. He’ll watch you age and fade. Eventually, he’ll lose you entirely. Perhaps you’ll have a daughter that will take him on as her familiar but he can’t imagine caring for any other witch half as much as he loves you.

“Come on. You act like you never seduced a mortal,” you say.

The peppermint oil of the ointment tingles on his tender leg.

“There was an art to such things in my time. One had to concert more effort than opening an app,” Ezra says.

You smirk as you finish bandaging him.

“I got you something. To make up for it,” you say when you’re finished.

You glance towards the coffee table, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Ezra follows your gaze to find a tray of take out sashimi waiting there. His stomach growls. Perhaps he is a house cat. He’d forgotten to catch himself dinner.

You bring him over and lift the plastic lid off of the container and Ezra sniffs at the glistening fish. It smells glorious.

He wishes he deserved you. You know what he is, what he did to be convicted of such a harsh curse and yet you care for him like no other witch has.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Is this tuna belly?” he asks.

“Your favorite.”

“I suppose I could find it in my heart to forgive you,” Ezra says though you’ve done nothing wrong.

You scoop him off of the table, cradling him like a baby.

“Easy on the wound, little mage,” he complains but secretly his heart swells.

You laugh and kiss the white patch on his brow.

“I love you, Ez.”

🐈‍⬛

Part 2

I'd love to hear from you! Don't be shy!

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect fic #pedro pascal fic #ezra x f!reader #witchy #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect fan fiction

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ophanum · 5 months ago

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hi! i was wondering if i could make a request for jerome valeska x innocent!reader where they just have a bit if a poor self image and are struggling to believe jerome is actually into them? thank you!

' TWO ! - Jerome Valeska

ft. Jerome Valeska x Innocent! gn! reader

You've always felt a bit like a wallflower, easily overlooked. You work at a small bookstore, surrounded by stories but struggling to find your own happy ending. Jerome's manic energy and flamboyant personality intimidate you, making you feel even more plain.

He first noticed you because you genuinely laughed at his jokes, the only one not horrified. He finds your innocence refreshing, a stark contrast to Gotham's jaded cynicism. His methods of showing affection are...unconventional. Presents of exploding whoopie cushions and glitter bombs leave you bewildered but strangely charmed.

You can't quite believe someone like Jerome could be interested in you. Surely, it's a prank, right? You try to deflect his compliments, brushing them off with a nervous laugh, "Oh, you're just being silly, Jerome." He gets frustrated by your self-deprecation. "Sweetheart, a person wouldn't waste his confetti on a boring audience."

One rainy afternoon, Jerome finds you hiding behind a stack of books, tears threatening to spill. You confess your insecurities, your voice barely a whisper. He kneels before you, a rare moment of sincerity in his emerald eyes. "You, my dear, are a beautiful anomaly in this dreary world. Don't you dare dim your light." It takes time, but Jerome's unwavering attention slowly chips away at your self-doubt. He introduces you to his own brand of "fun," which involves harmless pranks and late-night explorations of abandoned buildings.

You don't become a villainous mastermind by his side, but your influence does soften his edges a touch. You become his confidante, the one person he can (occasionally) be serious with. In his own twisted way, Jerome cherishes you, a source of genuine connection in his chaotic life.You, in turn, learn to appreciate your own quirks and find a strange sense of belonging in Jerome's brand of madness.

Jerome "borrows" a spotlight from the theater and sets it outside your window one night, bathing your apartment in a dramatic glow. He serenades you with a hilariously off-key song about the most "gorgeous bookstore nobody in Gotham appreciates and the only handsome joker in gotham does." It's cheesy, but it makes you smile.

Jerome thrives on attention, and you, by association, become entangled in his dramatic antics. He might hold an "auction" for a date with you at his "club," bids starting with a whoopie cushion and escalating to increasingly ridiculous items. (Don't worry, he secretly outbids everyone at the last minute). You get dragged onstage during one of his "performances," his grand declaration of love involving juggling flaming bowling pins (and somehow managing not to set himself on fire).

You discover your own strength lies in defying his expectations. When he tries to scare you with a creepy mask, you burst out laughing, the sound echoing eerily in the abandoned building. Jerome, momentarily flustered, breaks character with a surprised grin. You use humor to disarm him, deflecting his pranks with witty comebacks that leave him speechless (for a moment, at least).

Jerome, surprisingly, opens up to you about his past, the traumas that fuel his madness. He lets down his guard in a way he never has with anyone else. In return, you share your own vulnerabilities, the dreams you tucked away because you never felt good enough. These moments of intimacy create a fragile bond, a flicker of normalcy in their chaotic world.

Inevitably, Jim gets wind of Jerome's newfound...stability. He's suspicious, wondering if it's a trap. You find yourself caught in the crossfire, Jim mistaking you for a hostage. Jerome, in a rare display of seriousness, stands between you and the detective, a manic glint in his eyes.

"Touch her, Jimbo, and you'll be facing more than just a laughing fit." You become a bargaining chip in their twisted game, but you also become a reason for them to find a fragile truce.

The Jim, intrigued by Jerome's newfound…softness, decides to investigate. He finds you at the bookstore, surrounded by fairytales with happy endings. A flicker of something akin to curiosity dances in his eyes.

"You must be very special," he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice, "to tame the likes of him."

You reply calmly, "Maybe everyone just needs a good story once in a while, Mr. Gordon." The Joker raises an eyebrow, a rare sign of genuine surprise, before tipping his hat and disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

Deep down, Jerome craves a connection, a feeling of belonging. Your presence sparks a flicker of protectiveness in him. He "borrows" flowers from the park (with some...creative pruning methods) and leaves them on your doorstep, accompanied by a note scrawled in messy handwriting that reads, "For the most beautiful flower in Gotham (who deserves thorns, but I couldn't find any)."

He notices a stray cat hanging around the bookstore and, surprisingly gently, coaxes it inside with a can of tuna. You name it "Puddin'," much to Jerome's amusement (and secret delight).

Gotham may never be a place with a happily ever after, but with Jerome, you find a strange sense of belonging. You learn to embrace the chaos, your own inner strength blossoming under his (surprisingly) supportive gaze.

Gotham's perpetual gloom seemed to cling to you more than usual. You shuffled through the rain-slick streets, head down, the colorful flyers advertising Jerome's upcoming 'show' swirling around your ankles like taunting mockeries.

Jerome. Just the name sent a shiver down your spine, a peculiar mix of terror and...something else. Maybe it was the way his emerald eyes gleamed with manic delight, or the easy way he made you laugh, a sound rarely heard these days.

You bumped into someone, scattering flyers. A hand brushed yours as you reached down. You looked up, startled, into Jerome's face. A wide, genuine smile stretched across his lips, devoid of its usual malice.

"There you are! I was hoping you'd make it," he said, his voice a melodic whisper.

You stammered, cheeks flushing. "I, uh, I wasn't sure..."

Jerome tilted his head, his smile softening. "Why wouldn't you be? You're the star of the show, doll."

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. "Me? But I'm...ordinary."

Jerome's smile faltered for a brief moment, then returned, wider than ever. "Ordinary is boring, darling. You? You're captivating in your own little way."

He tucked a flyer behind your ear, the garish colors a stark contrast to your drab clothes. "See you tonight, love."

He winked and sauntered off, leaving you breathless and bewildered. You stared at the flyer, the bold letters screaming, "Jerome's Grand Finale: The Unveiling of Gotham's Most Exquisite Catch!"

Was he serious? You, an afterthought in most people's lives, Gotham's most exquisite catch? The idea was laughable, if it weren't coming from the city's most notorious villain.

That night, you found yourself drawn to the abandoned theater, a moth to a flame. Jerome's laughter echoed from within, laced with a dangerous edge. You hesitated at the doorway, then pushed through.

The scene that unfolded was pure chaos. Jerome, dressed in a flamboyant ringmaster's coat, orchestrated a mayhem of explosions, confetti, and terrified hostages. Yet, his eyes kept searching for you.

When they met, a secret smile played on his lips. He held up a spotlight, bathing you in its warm glow. "There she is, folks! The one who makes the world a little less dreary!"

A blush burned your cheeks, but you couldn't help but straighten a little, a flicker of newfound confidence warming you from the inside. Maybe, just maybe, Jerome saw something special in you, something you couldn't see in yourself.

The ending, as expected, was a fiery spectacle. But as the flames subsided, Jerome knelt before you, a single red rose held out.

"You were magnificent, doll," he whispered, his eyes shining with an emotion you couldn't decipher.

In the flickering light, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, a hint of the man beneath the mask. And in that moment, you knew, whatever this twisted thing between you was, it was real.

#jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska #gotham x reader #gotham imagine #gotham fox #gotham

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sincerelyverena · 6 months ago

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pls pls pls charles x short!alive!reader? established relationship, maybe just some fluffy moments between the two?

⟡⁺ THE GHOST OF YOU

tysm for the req, anon! 💞💞 ive thoroughly enjoyed my return here, n now the story is yours n i hoped u enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it <3 special shoutout to my dbd betareaders, i love and appreciate all of u sm!

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X GN!READER ‘think i like you best when you're just with me and no one else.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒you love him. and he loves you too. a story as simple as that.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒fluff ﹐short!reader﹐alive!reader ﹐established relationship ﹐im still getting a feel for charles character so go easy on me pls ﹐havent written non-smut in a long LONG time

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @love-xoxojules﹐@immortal101 ﹐@fadedpictures91 ﹐@charles-rxwlands﹐ @kidbiscuitt @smallestgremlin

Falling in love with a ghost wasn’t on the cards for you, until you met Charles Rowland.

The supernatural had haunted you since you were a small child, being the victim of a near-death experience isn’t easy on any youngling. Especially you. The consequences of viewing these seemingly mythological creatures took years of patience and silent work to endure, more so, because nobody would ever believe you if you told them you saw ghosts. How ghastly.

And as a young child, you couldn’t imagine that decades into the future, you’d be laid between the arms of one. Two bronzed columns that supported the minuscule length of your torso. And for a ghost? Charles is oddly warm. Or maybe that’s you warming up to your idea of your body heat, marinating in the crisp sheets of your bed. A sanctuary the two of you now shared, together.

But it was nice to think that it was Charles too. He was the reason why you felt comfortable and protected after all. In a world of witchcraft, warlocks, dangers, and death Charles was your home.

A pair of bow-turned lips place themselves against your temple, assisting you in drifting out of sleep. Charles murmurs against the surface of your skin, planting scattered kisses along the top of your head in the process. ‘Dove, we’re meeting Crystal for coffee, remember?’

Charles’s gently mustered words are enough to serenade a response out of your sleepy self. You murmur incoherent words, flipping yourself over so that when you inch your eyes open, they can delight in your boyfriend’s beauty.

His ebony-clad curls are fluffed to perfection atop his head, not a hint of bed-head in sight, which you consider impressive before you remember that Charles mostly spent the night just watching you. As if nothing else in the world matters. You extend a hand to the defined curve of his jaw, practically guiding his lips toward your own. They lock together in familiarity, and nothing but pure, honeyed ecstasy buzzes throughout you. This is better than coffee, better than anything. Charles tasted like heaven, hell, and everything in between.

And as you two separated, Charles beamed down at you with something indescribable bouncing around in his whiskey eyes. ‘I think a sleep-in wouldn’t hurt, now, would it?’ Rising to the day seems like the logical option. Something that barely crosses your mind for a second before you fall captive to those bronzed arms, weaving around the hitch of your waist. And before you know it, you discover yourself half-tossed atop the ghost you had fallen for. The tall length of his legs tangled with your own. And any responsible, adult-like thought dissolved as your lips crashed together. Something oh-so-destructible yet perfect, how could you say no?

And possibly, that perfect destruction is always the reason why you both are considered late to possibly anything imaginable. If Edwin found himself in the depths of the fiery circles of hell again, the entire group would bet that you and Charles would take an eternity to part before he’d get rescued. It’d be more beneficial for Edwin to smuggle out himself.

‘We’re going to be awfully late, angel.’

‘Maybe because you keep distracting me.’

‘Nonsense, I’m brills and can do no wrong.’

You tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror before you. You scrutinise Charles with a disbelieving gaze at his words, which shortly dissolve into nothing less than adoration. Nevertheless, you continued to feign annoyance as you combed a single hand through your hair and down your scalp. Fingers adjusting the little strands to suit your desire for tidiness.

You abandon this aspiration, pivoting upon your heel. The mask of annoyance you pertain slips away into nothingness as a soft laugh escapes you amid your words. Facing your boyfriend, you slip a hand into his own.

‘You’re lucky that I love you.’

'I am so very lucky.'

Charles’ adjusted his position as he moved his lips from the curve of your forehead, toward the curve of your lips. There was something passionate about how the deep onyx of hues sparked with something even deeper. Something warm and honeyed, indescribable. And before you could even decipher what it was you could feel the honeyed taste of him upon your lips, Charles scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

His arm relented against the small of your back, even as you holler out empty threats and meaningless curses amid your laughter. This merely prompted Charles to bounce you atop his shoulder blade, a chuckle of his own heard as you huffed and puffed. Nevertheless, you would refuse to admit that the action of soft intimacy made you feel over the moon with exhilaration.

A curse of Charles’s own accompanied your laughter as he was a breath away from the side of his torso slamming into the doorway he attempted to parade you through, which frankly made you laugh harder.

‘You’re such a dick.’ You managed to wheeze out.

‘I think you may be right about that one.’

Charles’s voice sounded with a tinge of mischief, which crept, announced in his tone. You could almost hear the grin in his voice as he articulated his words, even through your limited peripheral vision as you were held captive in his arms.

‘You love it, though.’

The Charles-like cockiness your boyfriend presented caused you to blow out a breath of feigned exasperation. Yet, unbeknownst to him, the slow ghost of a smile proceeded to creep onto your lips. Especially as he continued to balance you upon the bridge of his broadened shoulder, for a hint of dramatics, of course. Because you did love it.

And as the two of you ventured toward inevitable lateness, you couldn’t help but think how you couldn’t wait to do it all again the following morning.

WORD COUNT: 973 MASTERLIST REQ ME!

#📂﹟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐬 .ᐟ #📁﹟𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .ᐟ #📎﹟ 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 .ᐟ #👻 ﹟ 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 .ᐟ #🏏 ﹟ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 .ᐟ #sincerelyverena #fanfiction #dead boy detectives fic #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives #charles rowland/you #charles rowland/reader #charles rowland x you #charles rowland x reader #charles rowland #niko sasaki #crystal palace #edwin payne

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akutasoda · 7 months ago

Note

Hello hello!!! Congrats in reaching 1k followers!!!! I've always enjoyed your writing so I'm not surprised you'd get 1k!

For the event could I request Jing Yuan and Dan Heng catching an anxious!reader singing for the first time? Maybe they catch reader softly serenading both of them while assuming the two were asleep. (Jing Yuan x reader x Dan Heng)

thank you :)

🍵 nonnie

silent melodies

synopsis - you start seranding them at a long awaited reunion, unaware they hear you

includes - dan heng + jing yuan

warnings - gn!reader, reader is a long life species?, angst, bittersweet angst, comfort/fluff, wc - 825

a/n: thank you!! <3

dan heng would only have one reason to step foot back on the luofu, to brave what awaited him and that would be to see you again - jing yuan would be there too but mainly you. so when the express took to the luofu he really did want to join them but he knew a much harsher fate awaited him if he ever saw him again, but all he could think about in his stay on the express was you. even if he wasn't the one you fell in love with.

it was a compromise really. during the life of imbibitor lunae, he had become absolutely head over heels for you, the long life species that he wanted by his side until it was his time to be reborn. however he had a slight competition with his fellow quintet member who was also vying for your attention. it seemed more than reasonable for him and jing yuan to come to some sort of agreement, even just letting you choose your lover, but they were both too smitten to even fathom the idea of willingly giving you up.

ultimately, they planned to do the reasonable option and leave the decision to you and you alone but you were a bit indecisive and asled for some time to mull it over. eventually you informed them that you simply couldn't pick and that's when jing yuan announced that he wouldn't mind sharing you with imbibitor lunae if you didn't mind yourself - after all it was your decision at the end of the day. you did feel quite 'put on the spot' and you're nerves were starting to kick in but you agreed.

it seemed that was the right decision. it had merely been a week of your relationship with the two of them before it all delved into chaos and heartbreak. imbibitor lunae made a stupid decision in the grief of his friend and willingly would accept the consequences, he just wanted to see you one last time. you never visited him in the shackling prison, he understood and came to terms with it - even when he was forcefully reborn he didn't expect you to visit him and his only solace came from jing yuan who would inform him of how you were doing.

you had stayed with jing yuan ever since and now the express was docked at the luofu, dan heng couldn't help bit indulge himself and see the two of you. he wasn't imbibitor lunae. he wasn't your lover nor a friend but he hoped that you'd allow him a moment of peace, a moment to see how you were fairing after all these years. it was no surprise that he found you in a more isolated spot on the luofu - especially since he could faintly remember a place like this in his dreams. and there he could find you with jing yuan.

it was a bittersweet reunion, if it could even be called that. jing yuan showed some friendly intentions but he knew who it wasn't, and would soon return to his place were his head rested on your shoulder so he could rest once again. you didn't care that it wasn't imbibitor lunae, you knew this would be the closest chance you had to seeing him and this opportunity wouldn't escape. dan heng was rather pleased to know you hadn't changed much and he could practically feel a weight lifting from his chest just by being in your presence, he could also feel the lack of sleep overcome him.

soon enough you had your lover and your other lover's reincarnation rested comfortably by your side. for a moment you could convince yourself that nothing had happened, nobody had gotten exiled and no relationships were destroyed. in this fleeting moment you could cast aside your hesitations to start humming a small tune, you always had the habit of doing so back in the day when you were absolutely certain they were both asleep - you weren't exactly confident with your skills. you could easily lose yourself in the moment and finally be able to really imagine that this was how it used to be.

that would be up until jing yuan woke from his brief slumber to you serenading the both of them. immediately, you stopped and tried hiding your face in embarrassment at being caught serenading them only for jing yuan to stop you. the small commotion managed to drag dan heng out of the first peaceful sleep he had in ages and he was immediately informed by jing yuan that you had been serenading them - your hands flew up to your face in pure embarrassment as jing yuan chucked softly beside you. dan heng melted slightly at the pure idea that you still harboured something to him even if it wasn't him. maybe just maybe he could drop the pretences and enjoy his time with you and jing yuan.

akutasoda's 1k event

#↪♡akutasoda's 1k event ♡#—stellaronhvnters.#🍵 anon↩#x reader #x gender neutral reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader

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eoieopda · 2 years ago

Text

reckless serenade (kth)

i’ve been trying to figure out exactly what it is i need // called up to listen to the voice of reason // and got the answering machine

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot - Sequel to The Bad Thing drabble. Summary: Your husband hasn’t looked at you in months, but his co-worker, Kim Taehyung, can’t take his eyes off you. Word Count: 4K, with 2K+ being smut, lmao. Content: SMUT - 18+; Taehyung's POV; infidelity; reader's husband really is just The Worst; oral sex (m and f receiving); multiple orgasms; face-sitting; penetrative sex (p in v); tbh it doesn't explicitly state whether it's protected or unprotected sex, so??; moral quandaries; Taehyung gets his own fucking warning tbh. A/N: This Taehyung is back by popular demand. This picks up where the drabble left off, so go read that if you haven’t! Actual note and tags are at the end :)

You’d returned to the table separately, several minutes apart, to quell suspicion.

As it turned out, the subtlety hadn’t been unnecessary. Nobody batted an eye when Taehyung sat down after a prolonged absence; and, as expected, your husband’s lecherous gaze hadn’t left the waitress long enough to find you missing. So, when you’d slid back into the seat at Taehyung’s side, no one knew your dirty little secret.

Secrets. Plural.

Park Ji-won might never know that you’d just orgasmed thrice, only a few meters away behind an unlocked door. Or that Taehyung’s orgasm was still lingering where he left it, staining the inside of your little lace panties. Or that the wedding ring he’d bought for his pretty, young bride was still in Taehyung’s pocket, rolling between the fingers that now knew you inside and out.

Definitely not that you’d left that ring in Taehyung’s possession with the promise of retrieving it after dinner — if you even wanted that tacky thing back in the first place.

When the bill came, Taehyung’s co-workers — your husband included — whined like petulant fucking children that the twelve bottles of liquor they’d consumed were fully accounted for. Out of habit, Taehyung glowered and turned to see how you were reacting, only to find that you’d done the same.

There was a wry smile tugging at your lips when you whispered, “Well, well, well… if it isn’t the consequences of their own actions.”

He’d snorted into his glass of water, watched his life flash before his eyes, and — thankfully — managed to swallow down his laughter before he could choke on it.

Is this the personality your husband misses out on, listening to everyone but you?

Taehyung, keeper of the company’s black card, bowed to the waitress as he handed it over. She’d smiled at him — the first genuine one he’d seen from her all night — and scurried off to close out what had likely been one of the worst shifts of her life thus far.

Normally, he’d feel the same: eager to leave and get the fuck away from the ghouls he already spent too much time with. So annoyed by their lack of manners and restraint that his rage would carry him out the door, to his car, and home again without either foot seeming to come in contact with the ground. He’d levitate this time, too, but for different reasons.

Instead, Taehyung flew home on thoughts of you. He’d replayed the way you shivered when he pulled your chair out for you and helped you into your coat. Like a rose petal in his palm, so fucking delicate, he’d carried the memory of your hand bumping innocently against his on his way out the door. And as he drove, he thought of what you’d said under your breath.

Am I a consequence of your husband’s actions, too?

Taehyung has been home for two hours now, and he still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.

He doesn’t bother turning on the television; he’d never be able to focus on whatever would end up flashing across the screen. He doesn’t pick up one of the many books in that untouched, yet ever-growing pile on his coffee table. His gaze keeps flicking hopefully towards his front door, as if staring at it with intention will manifest you on the other side.

What if you changed your mind? What if you'd been caught out? What the hell was Taehyung supposed to do with your wedding ring if you never came back for it?

Fuck. Shit! Motherfu—

His catastrophizing is cut short by a quiet knock on the door. Three shy taps in quick succession, they mirror the way Taehyung’s heart is thudding against his rib cage. He ignores the anticipation turning cartwheels in his stomach as he pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to you.

Even though you’d announced your intentions earlier, Taehyung is still semi-shocked when he opens the door and sees you standing on his doorstep. The look in your eyes tells him that you’re surprised, too. At yourself, maybe, for following this rabbit hole down to the bottom. Or at him, because he hadn’t used any of the past two hours to change from his suit into something less stuffy.

You did change, he notes immediately. You’ve traded in your dress and stilettos for active wear; and Taehyung really might die now, jealous of leggings that smooth over your curves like water. It’s the comfort that really has him fucked up, though. The hair in a loose knot on top of your head, the barely-there stain of pink on your lips now that your lipstick has been discarded.

“There you are,” He hums with a tilt of his head. There on his doorstep; there in real time; there in what he can guess is your usual state. Fucking perfect. “Wasn’t sure if you changed your mind.”

You cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and tilt your head just the same. “I didn't,” you breeze, “I was conducting an endurance test.”

“Oh?” Taehyung chuckles softly, “Do tell.”

“I wanted to see how long I could tolerate sitting home, alone, without even a texted excuse – and without going out of my mind.”

“Two hours? Impressive.”

“Forty-five minutes,” You correct him, eyes twinkling, “I just got really, really lost on my way here.”

“Even more impressive.” Taehyung grins as he opens the door and steps aside to invite you in.

You slink through the gap; and he can’t tell if the way you brush against him is intentional or not. Then, you toe off your sneakers and leave them on the mat next to the door. You look up at him, but he’s still looking at your shoes.

Plausible deniability, he realizes. Just in case tonight is the first night that your husband cares where you are — out on a run.

Taehyung pushes the thought away, tears his gaze off of those Nikes, and refocuses on you. Ignoring the million things he wants to do to you, he nods up the hall to his kitchen. “Care for a drink? I’ve got an incredible bottle of Bordeaux from Pomerol.”

“Just one bottle?” Your tiny smirk weakens his resolve even further. If he didn't love these little exchanges so much, he'd be worshipping you by now. “Not twelve?”

The most perplexing thing about you isn’t how quick-witted you are. Taehyung’s seen it in every conversation he’s ever had with you; and he waits patiently for it, every time. The twist is how subtle you are with your little quips. Perfectly understated, they’ll fly right under the radar of anyone who doesn’t expect them.

Does your husband even know to look?

He leads and you follow until you’re both standing in his kitchen. You take in your surroundings while you nibble thoughtfully on your bottom lip. Taehyung digs through a poorly organized drawer for a corkscrew he’s not sure he even owns.

Now, he’s nervous. This is the part where you find out he’s not a wine guy. He spent every step here praying that you wouldn’t ask him a single question about that Bordeaux because he couldn’t tell you a goddamn thing about it — except that it was a gift from a client, and that he hadn’t opened it because he prefers beer.

You, on the other hand, enjoy wine. If you do end up drinking at the firm events you attend, that’s what you choose. While your husband is off somewhere, drowning in hard liquor, Taehyung is laughing with you and your glass at a table. When the night’s over, he replays the sight of your tongue darting out over your lips, collecting the excess maroon that lingers when you pull your glass away.

Taehyung can’t point out Pomerol on a map and, as it turns out, he can barely operate a wine-opener. Thankfully, you have your back turned and your eyes fixed on the wall calendar full of shit he intends to blow off. You don’t glance back at him until, with a pop, he finally yanks the mangled cork from the bottle’s neck.

Before he can turn to the counter and grab two wine glasses from the rack hanging overhead, you’re already on task. On tiptoe, reaching up, up, up, you let out a frustrated whine when you still come up short. On instinct, Taehyung steps into the space behind you. You lean back against him while he secures one glass in each hand; he feels the heat radiating off your body and nearly drops them.

Not that he would mind.

It’s so hard to give a shit about this wine with the curve of your ass so near to his dick, but he’s a better host than he is a co-worker, so he slips away to pour you a drink. Once he’s finished, he holds yours out to you.

If he were drunk by now, he could’ve blamed it on the alcohol, but he swears there’s a faint crackle of electricity when your fingertips brush against his.

You close your eyes and inhale through your nose. “Mmm,” you hum appreciatively, eyes re-opening to blink up at him, “Smells incredible, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung has no fucking clue because he forgot to fill a glass for himself. He doesn’t care if you notice, either; he’s too transfixed by the sight of your lips parting as you bring your glass to your mouth. You take that burgundy in, the column of your throat bobs as you swallow, and he’s waiting for it – waiting for it – waiting for it...

It’s such an innocent action, the tip of your tongue swiping over your lip, but it sets off something primal in him.

Bordering on feral, Taehyung sets his still-empty glass back on the granite surface of the island and takes four, wide steps to you. A little gasp tumbles out when his hands claim your waist, but it isn’t surprise. Pupils suddenly blown wide, it’s want that prompts you to discard your drink beside his and tangle both hands in his hair.

Though he’s wanted to for years, this is the first time Taehyung has ever kissed you. It’s carnal. You kiss him back, and it’s all clicking teeth, whimpers, and desperate, clinging fingers. Insatiable, too, and it tastes like fancy French wine.

You’re starving for it, he knows, and you whine when his tongue leaves yours lonely. That pout could convince him, without a word, to rob a bank at gunpoint.

Who the fuck would leave you home alone?

“Angel,” Taehyung pants, locking eyes with you. He runs the pad of his thumb over your flushed cheek and feels the way you shiver. “I’m not above fucking you in this kitchen, but after fucking you in a public restroom, I think you’ve earned a bit more comfort than that.”

“Oh, fuck – just like that, angel. Shit!"

You’re on your knees between his spread legs with his throbbing length down your throat and your hair flicked over your shoulder. It’d all spilled from your top-knot a while ago, and Taehyung remains thankful for the shitty construction of that elastic band. Now, he has some part of you to hold while the rest of your body is out of reach.

Every instinct is telling Taehyung to throw his head back against the pillow – with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth hanging open – but then he’d miss the way you keep looking up at him under dark eyelashes. Wet eyes blink as your ravenous mouth works magic, and goddamn, this talent has been going to waste for years.

If he lets your ministrations continue, he’ll be dead long before he can pay you back – with interest. Buried before he can thank you properly for your service with his face between your thighs. So, Taehyung swallows hard, cards his fingers through your hair, and gently guides you off of him.

He’s committed a lot of sins in the past six hours, but interrupting your medal-worthy exhibition feels like the worst of them.

Your voice is a bit hoarse from how much of him you’d taken and how’d deeply you taken him. Wiping at the spit that slicks your chin, you look self-conscious when you rasp, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head firmly though most – definitely not all – of him feels like gelatin. “Fuck no, sweets. That’s why I have to stop you.”

Sitting back on your knees, you pout, and he melts. He’s already spent too much time wondering how your husband can leave you on the sidelines – but that was before Taehyung knew what face you make when you don’t get your way.

Goodbye world, he thinks. He’ll never get out of this bed as long as you’re in it.

He beckons you with a curl of his finger, wholly unprepared for the ramifications of his decision to do so. Now, you’re straddling him, hovering overhead with your face mere centimeters away from his. You lean in when he cradles your jaw in his hand. So sweet, you smile a little when you feel the tickle of his breath warm your lips.

“Ride me.”

Taehyung can’t help himself; he’s nearly pleading. You smirk and move your hand down towards the cock leaking all over his stomach. He reaches out, taps under your chin, and stops you in your tracks. You burn pink when he clarifies, “Not there.”

This idea has you frozen in place. Worse, there’s a speck of anxiety blooming in your eyes; and Taehyung doesn’t have to guess why. He’ll add this to the infinite list of ways Park Ji-won has fucking failed you.

Taehyung was already propped up on his elbow, but now he sits up fully to meet you where you are. “Hey,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your chin before kissing you, “Only if it’s what you want. For what it’s worth –”

Fuck, you look so shy.

He kisses you again. “I want you to fuck yourself on my tongue –” And again. “Until you’ve taken back every orgasm –” Another kiss, and you whimper, “You’ve been deprived of.”

When Taehyung’s eyes flicker back to yours, there’s a new sense of determination burning in your irises. Even better, there’s a brief twitch in your jaw as you place your palm against his bare chest and push him back down against the mattress.

You’re a force of nature every day of the week, but as you crawl over him, it’s the most powerful he’s ever seen you look.

Your hands take hold of the headboard as you lower yourself down towards his mouth, which is already watering at the mere thought of tasting you. Pausing with your slick center just out of his reach, you glance down at Taehyung. He tilts his head to the side, nips playfully at your inner thigh, then soothes the sting with a slow swipe from his tongue.

He doesn’t say a word, but you hear him, nonetheless. Keep going. You do, and you both groan when his mouth meets your cunt.

Finally.

Tongue teasing at your clit, Taehyung’s hands on your thighs pull you down harder. He refuses to accept the shyness keeping distance between you. No, he demands your full weight; all of you.

Angel that you are, you acquiesce and grant permission for him to devour you fully. Taehyung can’t hear you keening over the suckling, slurping, and panting, but he can feel it in the way your thigh muscles clench around his head.

His name rings out clear as a bell, though, right before your whole body begins to shake.

“F-fuck!” You squeak, crumpling forward.

Taehyung suspects that your orgasm is too heavy to face sitting upright, but whatever the reason is, it’s bringing your fluttering cunt closer and closer to him; and he has no plans to stop at one. Spit-slicked and gushing over his mouth, the way you begin to grind against him says that you aren’t tapping out, either.

It’s a start, but he wants more from you. To coax it out, Taehyung pushes his fingertips deeper into the flesh of your legs and pleads with you to give him everything you have. You listen – so fucking well – and drop one hand from the headboard to grip his hair.

Yes, he screams inside his head. Use me, angel, just like that. And you do, rolling your hips against his mouth, tugging at his curls until he feels that incredible sting at his roots.

You come a second time with his tongue darting inside your hole, nose brushing against your clit. Insatiable, both of you, he forces out a third before those aftershocks can even subside.

Taehyung gasps for air when you wriggle away from him. You’re equally out-of-breath when you collapse sideways onto the bed and rest your trembling body against his. When he turns his head to look over at you, he expects to find you with your eyes closed, fully spent. Instead, despite your fluttering eyelids, you stare right back at him.

The way your fingertip traces soft spirals across his chest has his brain spinning, too. For reasons he can’t explain, that delicate touch feels infinitely more intimate than the million ways he’s touched you over the course of the night. It’s the most at-peace he’s felt, too, but you throw a curveball to keep him on his toes.

“Not tired already, are you?” You tease with a devilish grin before placing a kiss on his bicep. When he laughs incredulously at you – you minx – you keep those little kisses coming until they're trailing up the curve of his shoulder.

Taehyung is a firm believer in showing, not simply telling. Catching you completely off-guard, he rolls over until you’re pinned beneath him, head caged between his arms. Your surprise left you in a gasp, but the shock has already given way when he ducks down to nibble at the side of your neck.

You moan when he nips at your earlobe; you miss the way he smirks against your skin because your eyes have fluttered shut again. Who's tired now? He growls low from his chest to recapture your attention, “How do you want it, beautiful?”

Everywhere, all the time, like I do?

Taehyung suckles at a spot below your jaw, and he doesn’t give a fuck if your husband finds his calling card. You don’t either, it seems; you whimper and roll your head to the side to increase his access.

You keen as you place your hands on his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin, “Dealer’s choice, just – please fuck me.” It sounds close enough to a cry when you continue, “I need you inside of me – now.”

How could he ever say no when you beg like that?

Your poor thighs have been through enough, so Taehyung keeps you where you are: nestled underneath him with your heaving chest brushing against his with every breath. You spread your legs to create space for him, then cross your ankles behind his back when you feel his tip tease at your entrance.

He has to fight to keep his eyes open when he enters you; unwilling to miss a second of the way your mouth falls open, even though you’re too vexed to audibly moan. He’s not – not yet, anyway – and he can't keep quiet when your wet heat envelops him.

Slowly to start, Taehyung grinds against you, pushing his cock further into your cunt until he’s buried to the hilt. “Holy shit,” he grunts.

You’re dripping. There are rivulets of you spilling over his length, coating him all the way down. Still, your walls grip him tightly enough to dot stars behind his eyelids. Squeezing, daring him to move but fighting him as he tries to leave. You’ll milk him dry, sooner rather than later.

“I’ll never get over this – could fuck you every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Whimpers spill out of you as he continues to rut against you, stretch you open for him. Your nails dig half-moons into his arms, and they sting, but Taehyung wants every single souvenir you’re willing to give him. He’d archive every touch if he could; play every mewl of yours on a loop, and savor the way it feels when you orgasm around his cock.

“So, don’t stop,” You pant, gripping his jaw and pulling him close enough to kiss. Against his lips, you repeat your demand, “Don’t ever stop.”

Taehyung is still trying to determine which version of you has him most fucked in the head.

He thought it was you and your little, black dress and heels. The version of you that followed the man who took your wedding ring into a public restroom; fucked him; and then left without your ring.

Then, he met the version of you that dresses down for clandestine, extra-marital dick appointments. A dark horse, certainly, but then there's the one who wore nothing at all; who shook, and cried, and came all over his face.

The best thing, he realizes, came last.

It's you in his crewneck, towel-drying your hair in his bathroom while he brushes his teeth. You, saying you'll stay – just this once – because you know for a fact that your husband never came home. You with your chin resting on his chest as your sleepy gaze struggles to focus on him.

Taehyung had figured that you were too tired to speak, so you startle him with your voice; even more so with the deep frown working its way over your face. With how much you shrink when you say, "I think I'm a bad person."

"Why, because you're here?"

You nod. His heart drops, though not because he didn't expect this. Rubbing gentle circles into your back, Taehyung inhales, deep in thought. There's a lot he wants to say, but significantly less that he can even begin to articulate. He can't say the quiet part out loud, even though it's screaming through his skull.

Maybe if your husband was a good person, you wouldn't be where you are right now. Maybe if he loved you, he would be home to notice that you weren't.

He tries his best, sighing, "I think people are a lot more complicated than that."

This thought catches your attention. Your chin digs into him slightly as you tilt your curious head to the side. Cute.

He continues, "I think we're given a hand of cards – some of them great, most of them shitty – and we do our best to play them well. You know, to the extent that we can."

"Do you really believe that, or are you trying to make me feel better?" You smirk, playfully tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

Taehyung exhales forcefully through his nose and tucks a runaway strand of damp hair behind your ear, "Does it matter?"

tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @mgthecat @btschimeyplanet @jihopesjoint @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @jkoofier (couldn't tag) @bbyorchid (couldn't tag) @persphonesorchid @sncx3 @hersheytheekiss (couldn't tag) @iammisstora @quarter-life-crisis2 @here2bbtstrash @dvalitaes @1dsn @iadelicacy

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likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

A/N: So, by now, you've noticed that the original drabble and this fic are both in Tae's POV. I did not want to tell the reader how to feel about this. I wanted it to be as open-to-interpretation as possible, and I really, really, really wanna know what y'all think about the thing I didn't clarify: Do you think (1) they actually have feelings for each other; (2) Taehyung loves the idea of her and feels like he's "saving" her; (3) Reader just wants to be wanted, for once; or (4) it's a combination of things? HMMMM.

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years ago

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part VI)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, discussions of anxiety, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, protected P in V sex.

Word Count | ~16,400

A/N | Oh you won't be able to move for all the fluff. Cheeky shout-out to @heydreamchild for this post which made me lose my mind in the tags and think about Eddie's relationship with Wayne's mug collection.

Taglist (please don't ask to be tagged if you won't interact with the fic)

Previous Chapter

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You screw your eyes shut instead of watching the ping pong ball continue its high arch over the remaining cups on the other side of the table. You hear it hit the floor, the barely suppressed scoff across from you at another missed shot.

Your cheeks are burning, have been since you started this game. You open an eye to find May smiling at you encouragingly as she lines herself up for her turn. She’s more practised than you. Invited to more of these parties, asked to play more of these games. The ball flies from her hand and lands with a gentle splash in one of the three remaining cups in front of you, her expression now tinged with satisfaction. You can’t blame her, you’d look the same if you were good at any of this. You fish the ball out and sip the lukewarm beer for a second before forcing the rest of it down just to get this turn over with.

“Sorry,” you murmur, handing the ball to your partner and stepping aside to let him take his turn. Safely at the corner of the table, you glance quickly at the clock on the other side of the room. It reads 11:03pm, and you wonder if you could negotiate heading home by eleven thirty.

Not likely.

When you’d walked through the door, shoulders pressed between both your friends, you had yourself convinced that you would have a good time tonight. Tipsy from the white wine your mom let you drink under her supervision, warm with joy from an early evening spent with May and Heather in your room. It’s your favourite part of going out; the hour or two before. When it’s just the three of you, with nobody else to perform for, you fit right back together as you always did. Swapping gossip, exchanging compliments. Painting Heather’s nails a soft pink, her steady hands painting yours in return. You worked on May’s make up, smiled shyly into the mirror when she set your hair up the way you like it and told you with a pout how jealous she is of its texture.

You listened to Heather, gentle and happy at seeing her boyfriend, at the flowers he’d brought her. You spoke to May about the film you should rent for your next movie night; a comedy with popcorn or a weepy chick flick with chocolate. You’d watched from your bed, grinning and heartsore while May leaned into Heather’s shoulder, serenading her while she applied her lipstick. Heather rolled her eyes fondly as May crooned into her ear, “I can’t fight this feeling anymore!”

Later, head truly fuzzy from paint stripper vodka and lemonade, you’d screamed all the words to Power of Love with them. Hands in the air, hips swaying, content in the knowledge that, if everyone in the house has drank as much as you, none of them will care to remember how you danced and sang tonight. It was exactly as you wanted it to always be. With your friends, believing entirely, at least in the moment, that you still put each other first. That you were friends now not just because you used to be.

Only, Heather’s boyfriend had appeared like a grey cloud in the blue sky of your evening. Before you knew it, she was settled under his arm on a couch at the other side of the room, sipping light beer and talking with the friends he’d brought back from college for the weekend. All boys you can’t stand, and know May can’t stand either. The last time you saw them, when May had told them proudly that you were well on your way to NYU to study Comparative Literature, you’d watched two of them make eye contact, sniggering with each other into their beer. You weren’t proud of yourself for adding that you still might do Chemistry, not that it had helped much.

Soon after, May was called over by some cheer friends. She’d grasped your hand and pulled you along with her, both a blessing and a curse that she refuses to leave you out. Lacking some of your usual self-consciousness, both from your continual sips at your drink and the fact that Caroline, blessedly, hadn’t shown up, you’d managed a brief, fairly friendly chat with Tracy about whether she was wearing too much blush (she was) followed by how well the basketball team will do this year (hell if you know).

Then, when Josh, a boy May has had a simmering crush on since you were freshmen, invited her over to play beer pong, you let her pull you with her again. And here you are, paired with this boy in green and white. Ethan flashes his white toothed smile every time you miss a shot on account of your shaking hands. A charming smile that tells you how girls might get into trouble on his account; girls like Caroline, girls like Erin. You wonder if it was that smile that made Erin follow him upstairs that night, that made Caroline fall back into his arms with little complaint, all the blame placed elsewhere.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, squeezing the top of your arm before turning his attention to the table. May smiles at you again as Josh chugs beer down in a quick gulp, sending you all the signs of gratitude that make you feel guilty for thinking almost exclusively about the ways you could leave soon.

When it’s your turn again, you take stock of the cups across from you. Two on your side, four on theirs, so with any luck this is your last turn. You watch the ball just brush the opposite rim of one of the cups, before bouncing lamely to the table. “Okay, that one was close.” Ethan says kindly, elbowing you.

“Nah, her head’s in the clouds,” Josh says with a smirk, catching the ball and bouncing it a couple times off the table. “Too busy thinking about…Munson, right? Would not have thought that was your type, but uh, I guess that explains why you wouldn’t let Andy-”

“Leave her alone, Josh,” May cuts in, leaning away from him with a scowl. You feel a rush around your ears, your heart in your throat. You like to forget this fact, but sometimes you’re reminded of it like seeing it written in bright red neon. Just about everybody knows what happened between you and Andy to varying degrees of detail, and they can all use it against you whenever they want.

“It’s not that serious,” he says, the following laugh more defensive when May rolls her eyes. “You are dating the freak, right?”

Your toes curl. “Don’t call him that.”

“C’mon, man,” Ethan sighs. “You’re killing the mood.”

“It’s dead and buried,” May corrects, face set in that brilliant frown that gets your heart pumping when it’s directed at you.

Josh glances between the three of you, landing particularly on May and her crossed arms. He looks to Ethan again for support, throws his hands up when he finds none there. “Fine,” he says, smacking his teeth. “‘S boring playing girls anyway.”

He bounces the ball across the table to Ethan, and stalks off with his shoulders sagging. May’s face softens when she comes over to you, your chest warm at her concern. “You okay?”

“Mm. Thank you.”

She pouts, swaying a little. “Why are guys such jerks?”

“Um, I’m right here,” Ethan laughs, chucking the ball back and forth between his hands. There’s that smile again, easy and sharp and clean. You think of Erin, dragged through mud.

“Thanks,” you mumble, barely glancing at him.

“No problem. He’s an idiot when he’s drunk.”

If you were braver, you’d say he’s an idiot sober, too.

“Looks like we need to even the teams up,” May says brightly.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you answer, the only relief from the situation that this may give you a chance to escape for a brief moment. “I wanna get some water. You guys can keep playing.”

“You sure?” She asks, leaning in so it really is just the two of you, giving you a hit of tuberose and orange blossom, the same perfume she’s worn since your first high school party in ‘83. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing her arm gratefully. “I’ll be right back.”

The air is fresher the second you’re in the hallway, without the clutch of warm bodies forcing you to mutter ‘excuse me’ enough that the words lose all meaning. The damp heat picks up again in the kitchen, smaller groups standing around with cups in their hands, some swaying to the distant music. You glance at the sink, find a couple crowded in front of it, their eyes intent on eachother. Even your slightly fuzzy mind decides against trying to navigate around them in search of water.

“Hey, Ringwald.” It takes a good couple of seconds for you to register that the greeting might be for you. It requires a tap on the shoulder, Erin’s half there smile directed your way. She holds up a cup. “Want some?”

You glance into it, find clear liquid that gets your hopes up. “Water?”

She snorts. “I know I’m pretty badass, but six shots of vodka in one cup is a little much. Even for me.”

You take it gratefully, screaming at your tipsy brain to remember not to drink too much of someone else’s water. A couple gulps and you hand it back to her, surprised at how much you needed it, throat a little scratchy from singing earlier before your joy left with Heather.

“So, uh, how are you?”

You nod, giving her a close lipped smile. “Yeah, fine. How are you?”

Erin tilts her head, her right eye narrowing. “No, I mean, like really how are you?” She waves her cup around, as if gesturing to the entire house. “Seems like you and May are friends again, I guess.”

“We were always friends,” you assure, heart panging. “She was just,” you search for it, unprepared for this conversation. Where you normally would avoid answering altogether, your cottoned up mind combined with the earnest desperation to defend your friend ends in a rambling answer. “I didn’t tell her the right way, you know? She was hurt, finding out from somebody else about, you know, Eddie and I. But we talked it all out and she’s forgiven me.”

“Forgiven…you?”

“For not telling her myself.”

Erin taps a finger on her cup, considering you. “That’s what she was angry about?”

Your mouth opens, thoughts tangling. “Um, I mean, among other things,” you rush, giving her a reassuring smile. “But everything’s fine now.”

“Okay,” she says, that half smile returning. “Glad to hear it, Ringwald.”

“I, um,” you step a little closer, forcing yourself to look right into her eyes. “I did want to say thank you for that actually. I just-” You just worried endlessly about approaching her, how you would even thank her for preventing you from being quizzed about your sex life in front of an entire group. You shrug, and luckily Erin seems to understand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You shouldn’t have had to explain yourself in the first place. But those girls are pretty vicious when they smell blood.”

You’re struck with a pity for her you know she’d probably hate you feeling. You try to remember what she was like before her entire friend group turned on her, before she was taken in by that sharp smile. She still had the sarcastic wit, you’re sure. But without the undertone of anger that comes along every other sentence; less bite. Erin has always been confident, but now she carries herself like somebody full of righteous indignation and nowhere to put it.

“You can have the rest of this,” she says, handing you the water and looking away like she’s read your whole thought process and wants out of the conversation quick. “Those six shots actually sound kind of appealing now.”

“Okay, well, see you later?”

She gives you a little thumbs up as she passes. You watch her elbow past the couple at the sink to reach the bottles and cups piled beside it. Already feeling more sober than you had when you walked in, you finish the cool water, resisting the temptation to start playing with the material of your skirt.

“Hey, uh…hey.” You look over at Neil from your Physics class, recognising the sound of somebody trying and failing to remember your name. “Could you talk to Munson for me? Tell him I’m good for the money, it’s just that it’s another week before I get paid.”

You blink. The information takes a second to move from your ears to your brain, longer to process their whole meaning. You feel a flutter in your chest; something like excitement, something like relief. “Eddie’s here?”

“Yeah, and he’s making a really big deal out of twenty dollars, you know?”

You look over his shoulder as if Eddie might be standing out in the hallway, finding only the empty doorway. “Where is he?”

“Uh, he was by the stereo I think? So, you’ll talk to him?”

“Um, sure,” you mumble, pressing past him to walk down the hall back into the living room. There’s May, laughing as Ethan tips his head back to drink, the table laden with a new set of cups. On the other side of the room, Heather, nodding at something and looking serious as ever.

And then you catch him; a head of messy curls, denim on leather, the cut out t-shirt you know Eddie sewed on himself by hand. He’s standing right next to the stereo, sorting through records. His curls shift with a shake of his head and you just know his expression is dismayed, truly disappointed in the collection. To his side, a group of boys is searching their pockets, failing to hide their efforts to pool money together.

Eddie’s presence pulls at you, an invisible but physical tug, and before you know it you’re crossing the room towards him. He jumps a little when you rest your palm on his back, his hand flying to his wallet chain. Then his brown eyes land on you, and you feel the unique joy of watching Eddie realising it’s you. His expression turns in an instant from guarded to happiness. Round eyes look you up and down once in surprise to confirm it’s you, once again in appreciation. He leans right into you, smile a little wolfish. “Well, hey. What brings you to my darkened corner, sweet thing?”

What can you say to that? That in the six, seven hours since you’ve seen him, you’ve felt the lack of his presence? That you’ve spent the last hour in particular wishing you’d never come here, wondering why you didn’t go home with him instead?

“Was surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, gesturing with his head to the boys behind him. “My services were required, you see.” His eyes track down again, zeroing in at the place on your legs where your dress ends, the fishnet tights wrapped around your thighs. “You look, uh,” he clears his throat, clearly searching for the right word. “Shit. I mean, fuck. You look good.”

Your cheeks warm. You turn to the side a touch, pressing your knees together. “Thank you.”

“I um, really like these.” His hand teases the hem of your dress, thumb brushing across the string of your tights. Eddie’s fingers are a warm sting that has your breath catching, your body aching to be closer to him, to more of his heat.

“Munson?” Sounds from behind him, and the spell is broken. Eddie jumps again, hand parting from your skin like he’d touched a hot stove. His hair flies around him as he turns, face becoming impassive again.

“Gentlemen,” he says, standing in front of you. “Managed to pool your allowances?”

“Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie’s head tilts. “For future reference, save the shit talk till after you have the product in your hand. Unless you wanna add another ten percent for the ounce-”

“No, it’s fine,” another says, elbowing his friend. “It’s all there.”

Eddie sighs, taking the collection of rumpled bills from his hand. You watch him stand in front of the antsy boys, counting each note twice over just to watch them squirm. “Mm. Looks like it’s all here.” He brings his wallet from his back pocket, attached to his jeans by a chain, and tucks the money inside. Then, after glancing around him quickly, Eddie’s right hand disappears into the front of his pants.

“Kept it warm for you, boys,” he cackles, pulling out a plastic baggy filled with green clumps and hurling it towards them.

In the next second, he’s grabbed your hand and is pulling you through the crowd to the sound of, “Munson, you prick!” from behind you. You can hear Eddie’s almost manic giggling over the music, your heart pounding from speeding after him and the fear of the chance at being followed by five boys, all half drunk and furious.

Eddie’s hand remains tight around yours until the cool air out the front door hits your heated skin, finally slowing to catch his breath, still chuckling to himself. You watch him, wide eyed, as he leans back against the front wall, head falling back and then forward to look at you. His eyes flash, his face tells you he’s proud.

“Why did you do that?”

His laughter stops when he spies the serious look on your face, your hands fiddling with your skirt. “Ah, shit. Sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t plan for you to be around but there wasn’t much I could do, sweet thing. It was already down there, y’know?”

“That’s not what I- Why would you aggravate them like that, Eddie?”

Something a little cold comes over his face then. “Satisfaction, pure and simple,” he answers. “The only kind I can get out of guys like that.”

“But, if you didn’t speak to them like that-”

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “If I didn’t speak to them like that- Hell, if I gave them that weed for free, got on my knees and asked for an ounce of kindness, come Monday they’re still gonna throw me, or Jeff, or any of the guys from Hellfire into a locker,” he tells you, voice a plea for you to understand. “Or call me a freak, or lock one of the freshmen, who still barely know their way around the building, in a supply closet for an hour.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “It’s got absolutely nothing to do with me aggravating them or not, okay? It's not about how nice I am, or how I talk to them - it's about this," he stresses grabbing his long hair, then his shirt. "And this. And D&D and the fucking trailer and my piece of shit father. No amount of sweet talk will fix it cause they don't want me to be nice; they want me to change. And I can’t do that, okay? More importantly, I won’t do that.”

Everything he says makes your chest hurt.

It makes sense, that this is how Eddie Munson thinks. Since your first stumbled word, you’ve been hiding yourself away, blending into the crowd to avoid all the pain that comes with being singled out. But him? Eddie has no interest in curling in on himself, shrinking his personality to fit in. Everything he says, every move he makes, is unapologetic. As true to himself as that shirt.

But it hurts to think that something so unnatural to you could be right. For all your good will, all your work and staying under the radar, it hasn't saved you. Your need to keep quiet only led to Caroline’s harshness, the laughter from the cheer girls. Your desperation to avoid judgement only opened all the right doors for Andy to hurt you the way he did, for everyone around you to know exactly how. All your complacency, all your acquiescence, none of it kept your friends nearly as close as you’d wanted them.

You swallow, catch Eddie’s eyes, and whisper in earnest. “I don’t want you to change.”

You could cry at the relief in his face, the fast blinking that vanishes the shine in his eyes. His head tilts. “No?”

You shake your head vehemently, wishing he would hold your hand again so you could play with his fingers. He pushes himself off the wall and leans into your space, hair falling towards you. You look between his eyes and his collar, debating hiding your face there.

“Not even my driving?”

“Okay,” you answer, watching his dimples press into his face. “Maybe I’d like you to change one thing.”

“I knew it!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up. “Sweet girls like you are only ever after one thing. You wanna fix me, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, smiling to the side. “Just, gently improve your interest in speed limits?”

“Yeah? And what about my proclivity for pineapple and olive pizza?”

You chew the inside of your lip, suppressing giggles. “I think, given time, I can learn to live with it.” You feel a buzz of pride at Eddie’s laugh, the crinkle around his eyes he gets when he’s really, truly happy. “I do mean it, Eddie. I like you exactly as you are. More-” You take a breath. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

Eddie’s hand finds yours again, your fingers curling into his, your knuckles at his palm.

“Like me enough to come home with me?”

You want to. Desperately. The relief you felt at seeing him, your whole body telling you that you’d rather spend an evening with Eddie than here, navigating social circles you’ll never really be a part of.

“I have to tell my friends first,” you say, watching Eddie nod.

“Sure thing. I can wait.”

“Okay.” Your gaze travels between his eyes and his collar again, stalling your departure. You want a kiss. Want to kiss him all the time, even for a short goodbye. Eddie, sensing your hesitance to leave, narrows his eyes a little like he's trying to work you out. He catches your eyes dart to his lips, and they curve.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to you. It’s a perfect, innocent little thing. But you like it, like the domesticity you’re learning with Eddie. You want kisses goodbye and hello, his hand in yours in the car. You want elbows meeting sides while cooking together, waking up in the middle of the night just to hear Eddie breathing before you fall away again, catching sight of each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth in the morning. You want your daily life, with Eddie in it, with all the things he adds just by way of existing.

You give him another quick peck, face hot, and run into the house before your mouth asks him to leave with you now and never come back.

You find May in the kitchen, huddled together with a couple of the cheer girls as well as Ethan. She waves brightly when she catches sight of you, gesturing you over. “Hi!” She calls, hair mussed, clearly having continued to drink since you parted. “Where did you go?”

“Um, I was thinking I might go home,” you say, fiddling with your skirt. “M’tired.”

“Oh, are Heather and Patrick leaving too?”

“No, no. I ran into Eddie. He’s gonna give me a ride home.”

You brace yourself, the back of your neck prickling with tension. You watch the expression on May’s face shift from confusion, not to anger or disappointment, but amusement.

“Ohh-kay, you’re tired,” she laughs, shaking her head. You make a noise in embarrassment, checking to see if the rest of the group are listening in and she grins at you, pulling you into a quick, floral smelling, hug. “Have a good night, okay? I’ll see you later.”

You give her a squeeze back, chest warm. “Yeah, later.”

You give a half hearted wave to everyone else, navigating your way to the living room. Heather is where she has been all evening, under Patrick’s arm. “Hey,” you say, avoiding eye contact with the boys around her. “I’m gonna head.”

“Already?” Heather pouts. A quick throb or annoyance rises and falls, your anger that she wouldn't have noticed either way reasoned with the fact that it was your decision not to spend any time with this group.

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“I thought I was giving you a ride?” Patrick asks, leaning over.

"No, Eddie's gonna take me home."

There’s a moment of quiet, information sinking in before Patrick's face displays a shocked frown. "Eddie? Munson? You're getting in that scrap heap he calls a van?"

You look from him to Heather, spy the clear guilt on her face when you say, "He's my boyfriend. Heather didn't tell you?"

“She most certainly did not- when the fuck-”

“I’m sure she can fill you in,” you say, voice edging towards breaking, thinking about her encouragement, her fingers on the cross around her neck. Heather's mouth opens, her hand coming to that very pendant, and you shake your head. "Bye."

She calls your name behind you, but doesn't come after you when you leave.

Eddie is waiting for you still, balancing a seat on the porch rail and smoking when you emerge. A dimple presses into his face when he flicks the cigarette away and slides down. “All good?”

You grab his hand, bury your face into his shoulder to lean on him a little. Breathe in leather and drugstore shampoo - Eddie, Eddie, Eddie - until your heart stops throbbing painfully.

“All good,” you mumble, turning your head to look at him from his shoulder. “Home?”

You realise how tired you are when you are settled in Eddie’s van, your eyes and limbs heavy. You half want to curl up in the soft seat and drift, but get taken in by watching Eddie as he drives. His fingers following the guitar licks of his music on the steering wheel, his hair shifting when he rocks his head forward. The way he glances at you when he turns, catches you staring and grins to himself every time.

"You know, I didn’t really have you down as someone who’d be into paaarties,” he says, eyes wide with his mocking tone. He glances at you again, at your worn out state, and half closes an eye. “And I gotta say, you don't seem like you were having a good time."

You think about that for a minute, wondering how best to explain your complicated relationship with social events. “I like dancing with my friends,” you start with a shrug. “And getting ready.” You lean your head back. “It’s like the only time the three of us are together anymore.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, glancing over at you. “Why’s that?”

Why is that? You’ve wondered it yourself. It felt like, suddenly, though maybe it happened very slowly without you realising, whatever delicate thread held you together started to strain as you moved in different directions. Or, as they did; leaving you lonely in the place you used to share. Waiting for them to visit, when it suits them.

They changed. You stayed the same.

Only, you must have changed a little. You replay that last moment with Heather tonight in your head, wondering if you’ve ever shown her your hurt, your anger. Six months ago, you doubt you’d even have left at all. It’s more likely that you would have stayed, wishing to be anywhere else, until they wanted to leave.

Eddie looks over at you following your long silence, adopts the soft, encouraging smile he gives you to show you he’ll wait for your answer, regardless of the reasons it’s taking you so long to find it. You get an inkling, then, of why you’ve changed, if only a little.

“We’re all just…different than we were,” you say finally.

“People change, I guess,” Eddie nods. “For better or worse.”

You think you might be better.

Exhaustion takes over when you cross the comforting threshold into Eddie’s home; the familiar smell and warmth of it sending a message across your body that you can relax now. You clean your teeth with the brush Eddie presented you with the first time you stayed over, scrub at your face with warm water until all that’s left are panda eyes you don’t have the fortitude to deal with. When Eddie takes his turn in the bathroom, you search through the little drawer he’d cleaned out for you to find soft cotton pyjamas that have your eyes drifting the second you have them on.

When Eddie returns, you’re standing in the middle of the room fiddling with your hands, still a little worried about the assumption of getting into his bed when he’s not there.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he says, holding the covers open for you and tucking them over your shoulder when you’re settled on the good pillow, the one he insists you take every time. You watch, heart sore, as Eddie removes every one of his rings, counting the little metallic clanks as he drops them on the table. Then goes his bracelet, his watch and his wallet chain. You stare shamelessly as he pulls his shirt over his head, soft hair following the collar up, up, up, and dropping down again in a curly mass around his pale shoulders as the fabric pulls away. You hear the distinct clink of his belt, curl your knees up at the heat the sound sends through your core. Eddie wiggles his hips a little as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them ungracefully, kicking them off his heels. He stands before you in his blue plaid boxers, all pale tattooed skin.

“You’ve been staring at me all evenin’,” he says, approaching you, dropping down in a squat so his face is right by yours.

You can’t argue, but find yourself fiddling with the duvet, pulling it up to your cheek and half hiding in it to mumble into the polyester. “I like looking at you.”

“Yeah? Well, looking’s free. Usually touching would cost you,” he says, reaching out with a finger to pull the cover down from your face and leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “But, uh, just between you and I, sweet thing, you can touch for free, too.” Your toes curl, glancing quickly at Eddie’s pink mouth, watching his lips tilt. “Need some of my services just now?”

“Yeah,”

He hums, his big hand capturing your cheek to tilt your face to his. Eddie’s kisses are gentle and warm. You taste dried toothpaste on his lips, the lasting smoke in his breath from that final cigarette. Then, when your kisses have turned too sleepy to last, just soft presses to his bottom lip, he climbs into the other side of the bed and reaches out for you, fingers wiggling. You tuck yourself into his side, and fall asleep quick.

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You drift to waking, gently pulled from sleep by sunshine peeking through cheap blinds and the distant sound of a barking dog. You are comfortably cozy under the sheets. Even having shifted to either side of the bed in the night, no longer tangled, you can feel the heat of Eddie at your back.

You half snooze for a long time, eyes drifting open to take in the contents of the room. The amps and the Corroded Coffin wall hanging, a closet slightly more full than the first time you were here, a floor still messy but less littered with piles of half clean half dirty laundry. Eddie’s acoustic guitar, his writing overtop in white, THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS.

You close your eyes again. The next time they open, the room is brighter. Turning ungracefully, you come face to face with Eddie, and huff a soft laugh through your nose. Eddie’s hair in the morning is a beast, pressed to either side of his face from his tossing against the pillow. Some locks frizzed to the point of dullness, some still set in loose curls; both types tossed over the front of his face. Reaching out, you tuck each lock back until you can see him properly, every pretty feature of his face.

You consider trying to wake him, but find yourself simply shuffling closer, tucking yourself into him, nose at his neck. Eddie hums, one arm coming up instinctively to settle over your half asleep body.

You finally jump awake to the sound of the front door falling closed in a swinging slam. Eddie blinks opposite you, fully registering the noise and your presence together. He hums, closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath through his nose and opens his mouth wide to yawn so loud he might as well have screamed.

“Coffee, boy!?” Wayne calls as Eddie stretches and cracks his pale limbs. He glances at you in question.

You chew the inside of your lip. “Should he know I’m here?”

Eddie takes this in for a second, then smiles. “I mean, he’s about to, either way.”

Regret at not having asked Eddie to set an alarm rids all the warm cosiness of the scene. Your face feels hot already at the thought of facing Wayne on a Saturday morning having clearly slept in this bed. “He’ll- he’ll think we-”

Recognition dawns on Eddie’s face, and he shakes his head quickly. “He won’t think anything, sweetheart,” he tells you, leaning in till he’s put himself in your eyeline. Eddie’s expression is earnest until it shifts into an amused smile. “I’ll even tell him you slept on the floor to preserve my innocence. Score you some points with the old man.”

Eddie’s sleepy laughter has some of the tightness in your chest abating. The sight of his eyes crinkling at the sides, dimples digging into his cheeks, is a treat you don’t usually get so early.

“What time is it?” You ask, realising it may not be early at all if Wayne’s back. Eddie grabs his watch from the bedside table, blinks away residual blurriness.

“Nine thirty.”

Later than you’ve slept since school started back up, yet even now, the thought of curling back up in Eddie’s arms and snoozing for a little longer is an attractive prospect you’re seriously considering.

“I heard your caterwaul of a yawn, boy! How many coffee’s am I making!?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. You nod. He calls back. “Three! If you can count that high!”

The sounds of clinking mugs and sizzling oil mix with Eddie’s soft grunts as he gets himself dressed, jumping up and down to pull his jeans over his feet and searching through the closet for a t-shirt adorned with three angels, all smoking.

He takes you in when he’s put his rings on, no doubt almost as messy haired as him, watching him from his bed. Brown eyes bright, Eddie leans in to give you a soft kiss.

“Morning, sweet thing,” he says. His hand cups your cheek, letting you press into his wide palm. “Take your time, mm? I’ll assure Wayne my innocence remains intact.”

Your nose scrunches at his teasing, even as you turn to press a quick kiss to the centre of his hand. Eddie rubs a thumb under your eye, then shuffles out his door. Immediately, the noise of clinking plates is smothered by the exchange of familiar jabs and teases between the uncle and nephew.

The days you’ve spent here have made you realise how special their relationship is. Not something less than father and son, but in fact something more. Wayne looks upon Eddie with the exasperated fondness of a dad, but reserves the true judgement they can be prone to. No passive aggressive comments about Eddie’s track record at school, nor questions about the way he dresses, despite the bookmarked King James bible that sits on the coffee table. He’s ruffled Eddie’s hair kindly every time he’s been here while you were doing homework, hung his latest C- graded test up on the fridge. Eddie told you Wayne bought him that acoustic guitar when he was thirteen, saved up for months to take him to a real music shop in Indianapolis and let him pick one out.

You can see, even, the parts of Wayne that have filtered straight down to Eddie. Their humour overlaps, the way they can banter back and forth with each other, never crossing the line into hurt. Though, where Eddie can’t help but grin at a good joke, Wayne remains deadpan through every jibe.

Wayne, when he gets talking, can spin a yarn the same way Eddie can. Stories about his nights at the factory, his old job driving trucks across the country, his youth, told not in a long ramble, but structured perfectly to have you on the edge of your seat.

You know now that Eddie’s kindness, the way he treats you, was a gift from Wayne. His genuine interest in your life, your plans. His continual, earnest offer of food from his fridge every time he sees you. When your mom made a lasagne for you to take in thanks for all the evenings you’ve spent here, Wayne didn’t send the dish with Eddie to school, but drove to your house with it cleaned to a shine to hand it back and thank her personally. Soon after, Eddie let it slip that the daisies he brought you for your first date were bought at Wayne’s insistence.

You’d wondered, that day at the lake, how a boy treated like Eddie is treated could be so bright and kind.

Wayne was the answer.

So you should be braver, emerging from Eddie’s room in that big hoodie of his he’d been lending you on and off and shorts you’d left here the last time you stayed over, no doubt still sporting panda eyes from last night. But you find yourself making use of the long sleeves, fidgeting with your fingers against the fabric.

Eddie’s in the midst of getting his wrist thwacked with a spatula for attempting to steal a streak of bacon as Wayne transferred them from pan to plate. Gasping, he holds his hand in the air and lets his wrist fall limp. “I- I can’t feel my fingers!”

Wayne silently watches Eddie flop his hand back and forth, only a slight crinkle at his eyes suggesting he finds anything his nephew is doing at all amusing. When he catches sight of you, his gaze barely flickers from your messy hair to Eddie’s hoodie. “Mornin’,” he says, turning his back to a still howling Eddie to shake the pan. “Eggs? Bacon?”

The temptation to refuse, to be polite and pretend you don’t want anything from him prickles at the back of your mind. Only, experience has taught you he’ll only plate you up something anyway. There for you if you change your mind, something both he and Eddie say frequently.

“Please,” you nod.

“You gonna set the table, Eddie?”

“How can I?” Eddie cries, wrapping his other hand around the injured arm and holding it up as if the ailment has moved all the way to his elbow. “With this!?”

Wanting to make yourself useful, you venture into the cutlery drawer yourself, giggling as Eddie shakes his limp hand at you, before pulling up the fold out table at the other side of the kitchen. “You’re on coffee duty then, Ed.”

Eddie gives up the routine at the prospect of picking out mugs, his eyes shining. It’s an activity he seems to enjoy deeply; shuffling over to the expansive collection and perusing them like he doesn’t already know exactly who’s getting what.

Eddie likes to give Wayne a novelty Garfield mug, something about the quiet, serious man drinking from the head of the large orange cat tickling him. For himself, a black mug with THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE printed in white letters around a cartoon duck. For a while, he has been trying out different mugs for you, showing the best of Wayne’s extensive collection. But he’s settled on a white NASA mug Wayne picked up on a trip to Houston. “For my smart girl,” he’d said the first time he handed it to you, expression all fondness and pride.

Eating together is becoming familiar to you now. Wayne has picked up on your tendency to keep quiet the same way Eddie did, sometimes asking you questions but generally letting you decide when you want to speak without much prying.

“You two got plans?” He asks, glancing briefly at you then turning to Eddie when you look unsure.

“Uh, nothing solid,” Eddie says, focused on the construction of an increasingly complex breakfast sandwich. “But I was thinking about heading to Greenfield to pick up an album. I had loan of Accept’s newest record from Jeff before he remembered I had it.” His tongue peeks out at his concentration, topping the egg, bacon, hashbrown and tomato with a final piece of toast. “Didn’t think three months was too long to keep it. I mean, what’s an album between friends?”

You watch in near fascination as he manages to keep it all in tact through a large bite. He chews slowly, and swallows. “I’d welcome a road trip buddy if you’d be so inclined, Princess.”

Your face warms at the name used in front of Wayne, but you nod.

“There’s a good bookshop, too,” he says, clearly holding himself back from taking another significant bite. “S’where I got my copy of Orpheus.” He must see something, excitement probably, move across your face, because next Eddie is flashing a pleased smile. “Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

When you’re all finished, dishes washed by you at your gentle insistence, face scrubbed further with luke warm water from the tap and hair finger combed through, you leave a yawning Wayne to his fold out.

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The shop, located two towns over from Hawkins, smells like the music room at your first school. The memory hits you as soon as you walk through the door; standing in three lines and belting out an off tune Amazing Grace with another thirty kids. Playing with claves and tambourines. Eddie seems in his element here, directing you through display shelves of pop and country records around a corner to the back where his kind of music is kept. “Course, some albums I just use the cassette,” he tells you, rifling through a couple of records. You look around the section yourself, counting up the albums you recognise from Eddie’s desk, his glove compartment. “But when I love an album I kinda have to get it on vinyl, you know?”

You don’t, not really. You have your own pile of albums in your room, all plastic rectangles ready for your cassette player or your walkman. Your dad has a collection of country records, your Mom some Joni Mitchell, the Crosby, Stills and Nash records she played constantly when you were a child. Before Eddie started asking you to pick out albums you thought looked good in his room, you hadn’t touched a vinyl since your aunt asked you to put on the White Christmas over the holidays.

Eddie senses your confusion, and shrugs. “I mean, I wanna see the album art for real,” he tells you, finding one as an example. “Not quite as effective at four by three inches, right?” You recognise it immediately as Holy Diver. Eddie has a shirt with this cover on it; a demon standing over a priest splashing in water. He was wearing it that day in the woods, when you ran right up and kissed him. He takes the record from you when you nod, placing it back carefully.

“And there’s albums a stereo just can’t do justice to. They’re useful when I wanna skip songs. But hearing it from start to finish? At the highest quality? It just needs a record. Ah-” He finds the album he came here for and shows you. A blue background, with a chrome, blocky heart shape filled with valves and pumps. "Metal Heart," Eddie explains. "Latest, and best, album by Accept. They're this German heavy metal band? The lead guitarist, Wolf Hoffman?” He sighs wistfully, looking off into the distance. “Man, what I'd do if I got him in a room alone.”

You make an awful snorting sound when you laugh, have to ignore the delight on Eddie’s face lest you burn up entirely. "So,” you start. “Heavy metal is different from regular metal, or is it just another term for it?”

Eddie's face lights up at the question, putting on a refined accent. "Heavy metal, young lady, is a type of metal that encompasses many genres,” he explains, bringing a hand up to add to the role. “For example, one could say all thrash metal is heavy metal, but only a simple fool, would seek to claim that all heavy metal is thrash metal. Do you follow?” His character falls apart at your giggle. “I said metal too many times, huh? Note taken. You wanna listen?"

At your nod, Eddie walks you back round to the front towards a row of glass booths housing record players and headphones. You watch his hands move carefully, treating the record with the same care he uses to hold your hand. When it's in place, he dons the headphones and places the needle, nodding his head until it reaches the start of the particular song he wants you to hear. His hair fans out a little as he removes them, making to place them over your ears until you flinch and he jerks them back.

“A little loud,”

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning a knob on the record player. “I forgot. Princess ears.” He replaces the headphones, eyebrows raising in question. The volume more manageable now, you nod happily, listening to pulsing guitars build in intensity, joined by thrashing drums and eventually the telltale screeching voice that immediately transports you into Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of his life.

Eddie’s eyes are all soft excitement, shining at you, watching for your reactions.

If you had to make a list of all the things to like about Eddie, his passion would surely sit near the top. The way he fizzes all over to talk about music, and Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings. The way he’s desperate to share his interests with you. Not out of expectation for you to feel exactly the same about any of it, and certainly not with any assumptions that you should understand it already. Just to share, to let you in, to show himself to you.

You wish you were more like him, that way. That you weren’t more comfortable hiding, keeping bits of yourself under lock and key lest their exposure leave the most delicate parts of you open to attack. You try to imagine Eddie using anything like that against you. You remember him leaning across the table to you on your first date, listening to you ramble about wyverns and etymology while your feet tapped your anxiety out onto the floor. He’d thanked you for sharing. Very metal, he’d said.

Three minutes in, and you realise Eddie’s been playing the whole song in his head, because he brings his hands up to follow the chords playing in your ears with an imaginary guitar, hair shaking as he throws his head back and forth. Then he flashes his smile, soft cheeks displaying his dimples and smile lines.

You can’t help it.

You step forward until your feet are patterned with his. You reach out for his sleeve, playing with the chains keeping the left connected across his wrist. Eddie’s still watching you when you tilt your chin, leaning towards him to press your lips to his. Anxiety prickles along your spine, but you know that nobody can see you. Even better, you know that Eddie is between you and the door, hiding you from the world. With the distinctive chains of his jacket in your fingers, his music sounding through your headphones, his lips on yours; everything around you is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Safe, safe, safe.

He pulls away with a huff of breath against your lips, giving you a series of chaste pecks like he isn’t quite ready to stop kissing you entirely despite protesting lungs. Your face burns, but it’s worth it for the way Eddie is staring at you when you finally open your eyes.

“What was that for?” He mouths, gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes.

You bring your foot up, pressing the top of it to the back of your ankle and sliding it up and down your calf. A braver version of you would say what every part of you is screaming. Instead you shrug, still fiddling with his sleeve. Eddie tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied, but doesn't press you.

"I like this," you tell him as it finishes, removing the headphones.

"Well, that settles it," he answers, sliding the record from the player back into its sleeve. "You're coming home with me."

You watch Eddie navigate the shop like it's a second home. He stops off at the cassettes, rifling through for anything new, anything he might not have heard before. He grabs a couple blank tapes too, looks at you to the side with pink cheeks. "In case I wanna make any more mixtapes."

At the desk, Eddie places everything down carefully while you wait at the empty till. After a good thirty seconds, you start playing with the rings on Eddie's left hand while his other raps against the wooden desk. "Uh, hello? Anybody- ah, shit."

"Munson," says the bespeckled boy who emerges from the back room.

Eddie’s fingers twitch, and you cease your fidgeting to look up at him, find his face pulled taught. "Oh, hi. I, uh, didn't think you worked on Saturdays anymore."

"Switched to the weekend shift," he answers, stony faced. "That gonna be a problem for you? Surely you’re not still in highschool?"

Eddie frowns, hand twitching again as he sighs. "Listen, man, I'm not looking to argue-"

"Don't know why else you'd show your face. You know your money's no good to me."

Eddie slumps, all the easy happiness pulled from him. He hasn’t looked at you once, and your heart aches.

"I'm buying these," you declare, searching through your bag for your purse. Tissues, no, lipgloss, no, mixtape, no.

They both turn to you. The boy behind the desk takes you in finally, his nose wrinkling. "Oh yeah? You a metal fan?"

"Mm hmm,” you say, voice higher than you’d like.

"Okay, name three Metallica albums."

You glance at Eddie, find him rolling his eyes until you ask. “But Metallica only has two albums, right?"

Eddie’s immediate smile is warmth inducing, causes you to shuffle with shy pride. You thrust out the money in your hand, start gathering up the items again to place in your shopping bag while Eddie grins in the face of the scowling man.

"Whatever,” he says finally. “I don't wanna see you around here again, Munson."

Eddie gives him a little salute, then grabs the bag from you and takes your hand to leave.

"Jesus," he breathes as soon as the bell announcing the doors closure sounds. "You can't talk like that, sweet thing. We're in public. You’ve-" He scratches at the back of his neck. “You’ve really been listening to me talk about it all the time, huh?”

You frown. “Of course, Eddie. I like it,” you answer, tugging his hand to start the walk back to the van. “Who was that?"

Eddie’s smile drops. "Uh, Peter? We actually, kinda used to be friends. I introduced him to all his favourite bands back in the day, you know? Then suddenly he’s the gatekeeper of metal- I mean it’s a fucking joke.” He opens the side door, placing your bag behind the front seat. “S'how I met Gareth, really. Poor kid couldn't name two Dio albums so he gets insulted buying the latest one, what the hell is that? We all have to start somewhere. I mean, when I met that guy he was a U2 fan. Anyway-” he continues, closing the door. “I told him he was being a dick and he got all pissy about it."

You chew your lip. "He acts that way, because you called him a dick?"

Eddie blanches, his head falling back with a quick groan. "Okay, I wanna add a disclaimer that I was sixteen and dumb," he starts. "And he really was being a dick, acting like- like all those guys metalheads are supposed to hate in the first place, and-"

"And?"

"And I hit him. Real gentle. With my fist."

"Eddie,"

"Sweet thing, even you woulda decked him if you'd been there. I swear. And, I just can't fucking stand that shit, you know?"

You do know. Eddie is all gentle touch and soft smiles around you, but something changes in him when he’s witness to injustice. He'd had to miss a date just last week because he had detention, brought about by standing over a sophomore who'd dared to mess with one of the freshmen in Eddie's club. "You make one vague threat about human sacrifice and suddenly everyone's got an opinion on what constitutes bullying," he'd complained later. "If teachers aren’t gonna teach that kid not to be a cunt, why shouldn't I scare it out of him?"

You've heard him call the whole group his little sheep, laughing like he doesn't kind of mean it. Like he doesn't think of them as weird kids he'd gathered together in something of a herd, a pack. Like he doesn't think of himself as their shepherd, as their protector.

"Point is," he says now. "He's the one in the wrong, I swear. Shit. I can't believe he works weekends now."

"Well, I can go in for you."

"Yeah? You can set him straight, my baby metalhead. Fuck- didn't even say thank you. Was too busy trying to pretend I wasn't half fucking hard-" You make a soft noise and Eddie blinks, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. How much was it again?"

You press a toe to the top of your other shoe shyly. "Can't I buy you them?"

"Huh?"

"Like a gift?"

Eddie’s face twists. You thought he was just being a gentleman, when he’d paid sneakily on your first date. You know now that’s only part of it. He likes driving you places but won’t accept gas money, likes making you dinner at his home but won’t let you pay for groceries when you tag along on errands. The only thing he doesn’t get twitchy about is your baking, but that’s because you’re there eating them too. You think this might further influence from Wayne; a certain pride, a refusal to accept anything monetary from you.

"But, sweet thing-"

"Please, Eddie?"

He watches you, conflicting emotions passing along his expression. "Okay. But you’re picking out a book. A real fancy one. I wanna see leather binding yeah? And one of those little ribbons attached, okay?"

Your toes curl, nodding happily. "Okay."

You feel more at home as you walk through a glass door to the smell of old paper and ink.

Joan Baez croons from the record player in the corner. The woman at the register nods as you enter but offers no other greeting. Eddie follows after you when you make a beeline to the poetry section; full of battered, well loved books with cracked spines and fading covers.

You send Eddie a shy look, spine prickling from being watched in what feels like a solitary activity. You rub your thumb at a dusty shelf, wondering how to tell him, when he leans in a little. "Hey, you’ve been taking all my music recommendations. Anything for me to read?”

“Oh,” you say, mind lighting up before dimming at the thought of being too pushy, or recommending something he might hate. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” he says, leaning in more until he's all you can see, tilting his head until you’re looking into his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

You chew the inside of your lip. “Mm. Maybe- Have you ever read The Metamorphosis?”

Eddie leans back, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Can’t say I have.”

“I think,” you consider it again. “I think you’d like it. It’s about, well- A man turns into…an insect.” You simmer over the fact you want to share, let yourself believe that Eddie will be as willing as always to hear it. “It was written in German, and the word for what he turns into literally translates to, like, an animal you can’t sacrifice. Like, vermin?” Eddie’s watching you round off this information in a rush, smiling a little. “Kafka, the writer, didn’t want the actual animal to be specific. But sometimes it’s mistranslated and people say he turns into a beetle, or…or a cockroach,” you trail off, cringing at the sound of yourself. “I’m not selling it very well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he answers. “Sounds suitably weird. Kafka, you said? I’ll get searching.”

Eddie disappears round the corner, leaving you to comfortable contemplation of the poetry selection. Rilke's entire works, some Wilde, some Shelley. You search for something new and land on a name you've never heard. Drawing it from the shelf, you peer at the cover, a silhouette of a bridge bathed in orange, with the Selected Poems by Marina Tsvetaeva printed above.

You read a couple of the shorter poems, struck by her voice, her imagery. Turning to a random page, see the original Russian on one side, the English translation on the other. The title, asking the question, Where Does Such Tenderness Come From? Your heart pangs in recognition of her feelings as you read, the best part of poetry always finding yourself reflected back at you.

You and your eyelashes - she writes. Longer than anyone’s, as if she knows about the eyes you wish you had the confidence to stare into without respite.

“Found anything?”

You jump, closing the book quickly as if you’d been reading something illicit. Eddie gives you a quick up and down look, keeping his distance until your shoulders drop their tension. “Yes,” you say, turning the book so he can see the cover. “I’d never even heard of her but I like her already.”

“Enough to kick poor Rainer off the top spot?”

You feel that strange warmth that comes with being known, the little reminder of things that Eddie has learned and remembered about you. “Not quite, but I’ll still give her a chance.” You glance down at the book in Eddie’s hands, glad to see he’s grabbed your recommendation. “You like it?”

“Seems weird as fuck,” he confirms matter of factly. “So it’s almost like I’m contractually obliged to read it, you know?”

He pulls the new book gently from your hands, retrieving his chained wallet from his back pocket. "My turn," he says with an unusual seriousness. “You want any others?”

You shake your head, lean up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, surrounded and sheltered as you are by shelves and books. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Nah,” he says, face a soft pink.

Later, when Eddie has followed you perusing shop windows, and you are full up on drive through fries, eaten in the front of Eddie’s van as you listened to his story of negotiating $20 of payment between his entire band for their nights playing at the Hideout, Eddie drives you back, glancing over at you every so often like he wants to say something, but turning his head back to the road every time instead.

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You feel relaxed, content, sitting comfy on the couch outside of Eddie’s trailer. He popped his head in earlier and found Wayne still sleeping, so you settled here to read in companionable silence. You, discovering more of Marina’s voice, drifting back again and again to the one poem that makes your chest full.

Eddie lies with his head resting on your lap, flicking through the short novella. You play with his hair throughout, curling locks around your fingers and stroking his fringe back from his forehead. Occasionally, you glance down at him, taking in his furrowed brow and eyes shining wet at a couple moments.

“Well, that was fucked up!” Eddie cries, snapping the book shut and somehow managing to whisper a yell. “He just dies? And they don’t care?”

You close your book to focus on him, resting it next to you. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, scratching softly. Eddie, even in his indignation, tilts his head towards the satisfying feeling like a cat. “Mm. That’s the point. He was living his life for his family, but they didn’t really care about him.”

“Yeah, but there’s not caring about someone and there’s hurtling fruit at them,” he reasons. “That Kafka guy had issues, I can’t be the only one who’s noticed.”

You crack a shy smile. “I think he’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie’s dimples tease you. “You’re a freak.”

Your stomach flips at the affection in his voice, fingers stilling in his hair for a second before resuming their gentle caress.

It hits you then, watching Eddie's pretty face, that you’re going to be alone with him again through the night, without interruption, and your throat lumps. As if he realises at the same time, Eddie sits up, hair still at angles from your exploring hands. His mouth opens, then closes again, his eyes flicking from your face to your hands where you’ve started fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

Forcing yourself to take on his example, you ask, “what are you thinking, Eddie?”

“Big question,” he says. “But uh, I guess, I never thought…I never thought sex was that important, you know? Hell, I lost my virginity in the bathrooms at the Emerson Theatre.” His eyes scrunch closed as soon as he says it, like he regrets letting that particular detail slip right now. When one opens, and finds you smiling at him encouragingly, he sighs with his whole body. “And, I hope you know that it wouldn’t matter to me if you had been with somebody else,” he continues, eyes wide. “Like, at all. But at the same time, I’m happy I’m first, you know? Cause I know I can look after you. I can give you what you deserve. Which, again, technically should be a big fancy bed and linen sheets, but some people have absolutely no patience, so-”

“Eddie,” you groan. But it has no bite. You’re already smiling at him, grabbing at his palm to play with his fingers, heart full.

He clears his throat. “So yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about. Also seeing you naked, obviously. But that takes up a good 30% of my brain pretty much all the time so it’s not entirely relevant here.”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh, watching him clutch his chest in mock hurt.

“I just bared my soul to you!” He cries, watching your giggles incredulously. “Do’st thou mock me? Have you no heart, woman?”

You bury the rest of your laughter in his neck, feeling a kind of dizzy happiness that makes it hard to stop. Eddie’s chest shaking under your cheek tells you that he’s as affected, a hand coming up to stroke at your hair as the mirth fades. Turning to look at where your hands have started up playing with his fingers again, you think about what you want to say.

“Eddie,” you whisper, pulling from his neck, looking between his eyes and his forehead as you search for the bravery he has in spades, the ease to tell him that it always had to be him.

Only, the front door of the trailer opens, revealing a sleepy looking, shirtless, Wayne.

“Oh, Jesus, have some decorum, man!” Eddie yells, covering your eyes with his hand.

“Evenin’, Eddie,” he says, followed by your own name. You wave, blinking to Eddie’s palm. “Get everything you wanted?”

“Yup, sweet girl bought me my very own Metal Heart,” he grins, tapping the album where it sits at his side on the couch as you wrestle his arm away. “Sleep well?”

“As good as I can.” He answers earnestly. “Just makin’ coffee then I’ll hit the road. You want anything?”

"I want you to put some clothes on!"

“No, thank you,” you answer over him, shaking your head and leaning into Eddie’s arm. When Wayne's gone, you glance up, find those soft eyes, those long dark eyelashes. Longer than anyone's.

"What are you thinking?"

You answer honestly. "That you're gonna look after me."

"I will," he nods, sounding almost stern. "As long as you want me to."

You wish it was easy to say, but all you can do is think it.

Always, always, always.

Wayne leaves with a gruff goodbye, a reminder to Eddie that there's left over pasta in the refrigerator. You remember the first time you were here at the same time as Wayne, the almost desperate rush to get into Eddie's room the second he was gone.

Now, you and Eddie stay, settled into one another for a long while after, until the sun has moved from high overhead to just behind the trees in front, turning the scene to a silhouette backlit with orange light. Eddie disappears, comes back with bowls of that pasta. You talk about school, and Eddie's band. He explains more about thrash metal, you tell him your new favourite German word you’d learned only yesterday. When the orange fades to blue-black, Eddie looks over at you.

"Ready?"

You wonder what it means, that despite the increasing thrum of your heart in your chest, you don't even have to think about it. "Yes."

He holds your hand all the way to his room, guiding you through like you don't know how to find his bed at the end. When the door is closed, sheltering you from the world outside, you wrap your arms tight around him, give yourself the comfort of hiding in his collar, feeling the slow rise and fall from his breath.

Eddie hums, his hand coming to that space at the back of your neck that eases everything in your body that you’re used to holding tight. “How you feeling, honey?”

“Good,” you mumble. Then, wondering if he can feel the heavy beat of your heart. “Nervous.”

“Okay,” he says, fingers stroking and squeezing at your tender skin. “What are you nervous about? Anything we can fix?”

You let that thought sit. You are still learning how much Eddie means it when he says things like that. Still practising the belief that Eddie wants you to share your worries, carry some of the burden for you. The responsibility of trying to shed the weight, the disappointment of knowing some of it just has to be carried.

You’re resigned to telling him, but finding the exact reason for the nerves twisting your stomach takes its own time. With anyone else, you’d be worried about pain, about what happens if you have to stop. These concerns float away on their own at the feeling of Eddie’s hand stroking at you, his lips pressing kisses at your temple. Then you land on it, and press your face deeper against the softness of his shirt.

“I don’t know, I guess- What should I do?” You ask, voice small. “So it’s good for you, too.”

You feel his sigh from the rise in his chest, the shake of his head from the brush of his hair against your cheek.

“Will you look at me?” He asks, waiting for you to tilt your head to find him. “You want the truth?” You nod, chin still tight to his shirt. Eddie’s eyes narrow a touch, leaning down conspiratorially. “It will feel good for me,” he starts, his free hand rubbing at your waist. “If we can get your pussy all soft, first.” A surprised throb between your legs has you clenching down on nothing, close to whimpering at the gentle roughness of Eddie’s voice. “All soft, and wet enough that I can just slide in, fill you up easy. Making you cum on my cock, sweet thing. That’s what’ll feel good, for me.” Eddie gives you a wolfish grin as he starts walking you backwards towards his bed, raising his eyebrows in question. “Think we can do that?”

It’s easy, then. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm, my good girl,” he says, holding you with the backs of your knees pressed to the side of his mattress, his nose at your temple. “Can I kiss you?”

Even easier. “Yes, Eddie.”

His lips press soft across your cheek and down to your mouth, warm and waiting for him. He's gentle with you, none of the fierceness you've felt in Eddie's kisses more recently. Like he's restraining himself, learning how you like to be touched in the lead up to something new. Your hands find his shoulders, soft cotton of his shirt, and rub at the fabric. His tongue flicks subtly against your bottom lip, but you're already desperate to taste him for real, letting him press deeper without any more prompting.

You feel it at the sound of his laugh, the sudden curve of his lips, the huff of air from his nose against your cheek. The addictive high of showing Eddie how shameless he makes you, the knowledge that he sees you as you are. Not a wallflower here, or a naïve girl. Not an ingénue, to be taken advantage of, or protected from corruption.

With Eddie, you can be as you are. Inexperienced and desperate in equal measure, as nervous as you are sure.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, pulling away only to blink down at you for a couple seconds before he captures your mouth again, tongue pressing to yours, hot and wet. You whine slowly, rising in volume, your fingers clasping at him. "S'alright," he soothes, giving you another press to your pout. His hand rubs at the back of your neck, encouraging you to lean your head into his support, give him space to leave plush kisses down the side of your throat.

"Eddie," you whisper, softer than you'd expected. Not a moan, or even a plea for more. Just to say it, to feel the shape of his name in your mouth again.

"So sweet," Eddie says, voice a wonderful vibration against your sensitive neck. "Sweetest girl I've ever seen- fuck. Can I?" His hands tug at the hem of your sweater and you nod desperately, helping him pull it off over your head. His lips return to your skin the second the material is on the floor, a wet press down to the softness of your chest. You feel his smile, his excited breath. He sucks, pulls at your flesh until it aches and you squirm. “Mm,” he sighs. “Can’t help it. Wanna mark you up-”

Gentle hands peel your bra from your chest, the tenderness vanishing with his tongue finding the pert bud of your nipple, treating the sensitive peak to wet warmth and friction that has your toes curling. The quick scrape of teeth makes you bat at Eddie's shoulder even as your body tilts to follow his mouth when it retreats.

He gives the other similar treatment, groaning when your fingers drift upwards to tug at his hair. Another little squeak at the graze of his teeth and he’s pulling away to look at you. Your heart jumps at the sight of him, hair mussed from burying himself into your skin, face a light pink, lips wet and kissed dark. The way his eyes flick about you, you’re sure you must be in a similar state.

Eddie’s throat bobs. “Wanna sit up on the bed, there?”

You nod, letting him help you up to the mattress and stand between your swinging legs.

“Need to go over something else, before we really get started,” he tells you, walking you back to sit on the bed, legs swinging off the side. Eddie drops to his knees to take your ankle in hand and pull at your laces. He sets your sneakers to the side, pings your socks over after them. He presses tickling kisses up your calves, eyes all bright when you laugh and kick at him slightly.

Once he’s back at your height, his hands move to your waistband, thumbing at the button of your shorts. “You know that any time you wanna stop, you just say, okay? I mean it, sweet thing.” He pops the button, pulls at the zip. When his hands smooth under the denim to your hips, helping pull them down, he continues. “Doesn’t matter when. Even if I’m making this face-” He scrunches his nose up and lets his tongue hang out in a gross approximation of his expression when he cums and you can’t help but cover your eyes at the image. “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not what you look like!”

“That’s right, you’re the expert now, huh? This better?” He asks, stretching his lips flat and crossing his eyes.

“Stoh-op!” You cry, somewhere between giggly and mortified. Eddie’s face settles back into its regular pretty softness, all shining amused eyes and laugh lines.

“That’s exactly what you say to me if you want me to, mm? Or slow down or anything else you want, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you murmur, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “Will you,” you swallow, playing with the neckline of his shirt. “Can you keep talking to me? While…”

“You say that like I'm gonna be able to stop talking. Hips up, sweetheart,” he says, helping you lie back so he can pull at your shorts. “Nah,” he breathes, hands disappearing to drag his shirt over his head. “You’ll be sick of my voice by tomorrow.”

Eddie helps you shuffle up the bed, your head falling easy to the good pillow.

“Never,” you tell him, arms opening to pull him in. He finds your mouth again, kisses a little more desperate, already a touch breathless. Your fingers brush at the back of his hair, soft curls between his shoulder blades.

Eddie’s hand dances over the soft skin of your stomach, pulling giggles from you when he hits ticklish spots. His fingers edge at the frilled waistband of your panties, waiting for your hips to tilt towards him to dip inside.

“Oh, honey,” he says with a gentle pout, fingers meeting the hot wet warmth between your legs. “Should’ve told me you were feelin’ desperate.”

Your thighs twitch at the first gentle circle around your clit. Eddie’s thick fingers, the roughness at their ends that catches the sensitive bud so perfectly with each little rub. Already your mind feels light with pleasure, body sinking into the bliss of being touched by Eddie. You’re caught between watching his hand where it disappears, the impression of his knuckles moving under blue cotton, and pulling up the courage to stare back at Eddie as he scans every twitch of your face. He grins at you when you manage to turn to him, licking his lips quickly. The little peek of his tongue, the memory of all the ways it makes you weak for him, has your legs kicking and twitching.

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks, eyes flickering to your lips as they open to let out a moan. “Want me to open this pussy up, sweet thing? Get you ready for me?”

You like that, enough that you nod desperately without thinking twice. “Yeah, want- please, Eddie?”

“Jesus,” he huffs a laugh, his fingers easing downwards only to drag slick from your pussy back up to your twitchy clit. “So fucking good, baby. Say please again?”

Your hips tilt up, chasing his hand though he makes no move to deprive you of it. Your whole body feels hot; from his words, his voice, as much as his touch. When you chance a look in Eddie’s eyes, all the warm brown has been swallowed up, leaving his gaze dark and intent on you. You curl your fingers into his shoulder, stare at the pick hanging from his necklace, swaying with the subtle movement of his torso following the pace of his arm. “Please, please, Eddie.”

You make a high noise of protest when his fingers pull away from your bud, shivers running up your spine at Eddie’s patronising coo, the jutting of his plush bottom lip. “Like I said, no patience. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” He sighs, pushes at your thighs to catch a glimpse of the dark, sodden material between your legs. “Just gotta get these off you, give me space to work, hm?”

Eddie disappears from your side, moving down the bed to sit between your legs. His fingers hook quick into your waistband to pull your panties down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, rubbing the wet cotton between his fingers. “Maybe you can be patient. You been wet all day, pretty?” You watch him lean over, hooking your panties over the headboard.

“Eddie,”

He only flashes you a grin, hand strokes at your thigh, fingers digging into the softness to push your leg back. You feel the sticky split of your cunt as it opens up for him, the wave of cool air against your heat.

“Fuck, look at her,” Eddie breathes, dropping down to his front. His wide eyes blink in near fascination, like it’s anything new to him, watching your cunt flex and shine. “You want two?”

You clench down at the thought. “Yeah.”

Eddie hums, nips at the skin of your leg as he drags his fingers through your slick. The first press inside is a good stretch, lacking the edge of pain that comes with three. They sink inside easily with a wet noise that would have you squirming away if you weren’t so fuzzy in the head, so desperate for the pleasure Eddie’s touch promises. The pads of his fingers find the spot at the end of you that he has mapped out, pussy fluttering around his fingers in protest every time they leave to press back in.

“Feels good?” Eddie asks, rubbing his face against your leg. You hum. “You want another?”

“Yeah,” you nod, craving more, wanting everything. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm. Open those legs just a little more, baby- yeah, good girl.”

Eddie gives you one final press of his lips to your thigh as he withdraws his fingers, stroking at you again to gather your slick across all three. You feel the blunt ends of his digits at your entrance, the first push and-

“Oh,” you whine, the familiar ache nothing compared to the euphoria of Eddie’s tongue coming to lap at your sensitive clit. Your hands fly down to his hair, clenching around soft curls as if there’s any possibility he might pull away. He groans, sending a pleasant thrum across your nerves. “Eddie, please.”

Your hips twitch when his fingers meet resistance half way deep, but Eddie stops his approach before you have time to register any discomfort. Clenching tight around his half buried fingers, Eddie lathes his tongue, wide and wet, from where his digits disappear inside to the top of your pussy. Your legs kick again, clit throbbing under his attention. He waits patiently for your body to relax into the pleasure, gently pulling his fingers back before pressing even deeper into your supplicating cunt.

“S’good, Eddie,” you whine, thighs pressing at the sides of his head without your wherewithal. All you know is you can feel him everywhere you need him most. His curls in your hands, tickling the sensitive insides of your legs. His tongue on your clit, gentle sucks that feel like kisses. His fingers filling you, stretching you and rubbing just right at the top wall of your cunt to send tingles along your spine. Ecstasy builds everywhere you can feel him, from a aching twitch between your legs to a wave that passes over your entire body.

Eddie’s name escapes you on repeat without shame. You hear him curse, feel the breath of it against your clit, as you squeeze tight around his fingers, pulsing with each peak of the high.

You finally slump into the mattress again, boneless and tingly. You ignore the wet sound produced by Eddie’s hand leaving your pussy, focusing on how he grins at you as he crawls up your body to settle over you, eyes crinkled at the sides with his satisfaction.

“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he laughs, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss to your lips. “Thought your thighs weren’t ever gonna let me up. Started planning a life down there, you know?”

You giggle, but can’t think of anything clever to say back, caught up in the perfect view of Eddie above you. Pink and lightly freckled, lips dark, the entire bottom half of his face shining from looking after you until he drags your slick to his tongue with his thumb. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, tickling your cheeks until you reach up to tuck it back. He leans absent mindedly towards your hand then, enjoying the warmth of your palm.

As you caress Eddie’s face, he gives you a gentle, wide eyed look. “You still wanna?” He asks, a little rushed. “Cause we can stop right here.”

“I want to,” you answer, just above a whisper, but sounding as sure as you ever have done. “If you do.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he hasn’t quite registered the full meaning. Then, as if he’s taken it in, “yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Eddie climbs off the bed, leaning over his bedside table to search through the drawer, hands emerging with a box labelled TROJAN and a bottle of clear liquid. You watch him fumble a little with the box until it opens, and pull out a square wrapper that has your face feeling hot, as if the presence of condoms is any more illicit that how Eddie has been touching you already.

“Look away!” Eddie jokes when he finds your eyes on him as he pulls at his belt. “Gotta keep my modesty in tact.”

You jokingly cover your eyes, hearing his laughter along with the clink of his belt, his zip pulling open. The mattress dips with Eddie’s return, and you peek through your fingers at him before settling your hands at your sides. Your mind fizzes at the sight of Eddie naked, settled on his knees between your thighs. Your eyes trace all the ink that decorates his torso, the softness of his stomach. The patches of dark hair on his chest, between his legs. His cock is a dark pink, swollen enough that the tip kisses his stomach. Eddie drags a hand over it with a soft groan like he’s been tortured by the wait. If he registers your staring, he doesn’t point it out, focusing on tearing open the foil wrapper and pulling a clear condom down over his length with a sigh.

Your fingers pull at wrinkles in the sheets as Eddie squirts some clear gel from the bottle into his palm, dragging his hand over his cock again to spread it. “What- what’s that?”

“Oh, uh, lube?” Eddie says, throwing the bottle down on the mattress with a bounce. “Makes it easier to, like, move I guess.”

“But-” You’d press your knees together if Eddie weren’t settled between them. “I’m wet.”

Eddie’s eyes flash, lips quirking. “You are, huh?”

“Eddie,”

“Mm. I know, sweet thing. But a little extra never hurt, mm?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Okay,” he answers. “I think it’ll be easiest like this, probably?” He drags the spare pillow from his side, tapping your hips gently to place it under you, tilting your body up to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Eddie. S’good.”

“Okay,” he breathes, shuffling forward. With one hand, he strokes gently at your thigh. The other finds your pussy, his thumb playing with clit until you’re feeling pleasured and loose, settled back onto the bed with fluttering eyes. “Still want this, Princess?”

You stare at him, heart sore as you take in his open expression. You can see the evidence of how desperate he must be, how much he wants this. But he looks at you, and you know he meant it when he said you could stop at any time, that he isn’t expecting anything from you, even now.

This body of yours is used to freezing up, follows a routine of tensing and shaking at questions less serious than this. You breathe, swallow, force yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you, Eddie.”

He watches you, searching for your certainty. You smile, a nervous thing, but real, and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna go slow. If it hurts, you say, yeah? Or kick me in the balls - whatever’s easiest.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him, your body feeling loose and relaxed by the time you feel the tip of him catch at your entrance. You make a soft noise at the back of your throat, wanting to watch him but also wanting desperately to keep yourself relaxed and open. You close your eyes, feel the softness of Eddie’s sheets under your fingers.

“Sweet girl,” Eddie murmurs, still circling your clit as the tip of him sinks inside. You feel the aching stretch of him, the pleasant warmth of Eddie’s cock under rubber. He’s saying something, talking to you like he promised, but you’re focused on your breath, on fighting the urge to bear down on him.

He must be a couple inches deep when he stops and pulls back only to press forward again and you think, for a second, you will be able to lay back and take all the pleasure Eddie always gives you, but-

His thumb circles just perfect at your clit and your pussy flutters, the new tightness resisting the slow press of his cock. It’s a sudden, shocking hurt that has your hips flinching to another stab of pain. Before you can help it your body is tensing all over, a soft pained sound escaping your throat.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, voice rough, and that the squeeze of your pussy must feel good doesn’t even register. You can only think that he must be as frustrated with your body as you are. Not in control, but a witness to it falling back into routine, pulling taught even as Eddie starts hushing softly. The more you tense, the tighter you feel, the pleasant ache of him pushing inside quickly turning to a stinging stretch that has you clenching fists in the sheets, tears springing to your eyes.

Eddie pulls out from you, and your chest throbs.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, wanting to close your legs and hide away from him.

Eddie’s warmth doesn’t vanish as you fear. In fact it grows as he leans over you, an arm coming to circle your waist. You feel his free hand at your hair, stroking it back from your face. “Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your cheek. “You’re in that head, mm? C’mon out.”

The tears that had been bubbling under your eyelids spring free when you open them, tracking down your cheeks as Eddie shakes his head. He wipes each of them away with his thumb until they stop coming. “Sweet thing,” he breathes. “It hurt, and you needed to stop. It’s okay.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek again and you lean into it, resting your palm at the back of his hand as you sigh. Your fingers weave with his, everything better now that you can touch him, now that you can’t run away into your head away from his voice, so close to you.

“Wanna get dressed? We can watch something, mm?”

You shake your head immediately, feeling determined. “Can we try again?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to, Eddie.” You assure, hoping he believes you. You rub your cheek into his palm again. “But, can we stay like this?”

There’s a pause as Eddie blinks at you, then his mouth turns up. “Wanna change tactics, huh, Princess?” You nod, watching as he pulls away briefly to help pull the pillow out from under your hips, his hands pressing at your thighs so he can settle properly between them. You whine softly at the feeling of him, still hard and pulsing, between your legs.

Eddie comes back to you with a kiss, lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, get your fingers pressed to his warm skin, playing with the ends of his hair.

“Forgot who I was dealing with, didn’t I?” He says, rolling his hips so the tip of his cock drags over your twitchy clit. Your toes curl, the ball of your foot stroking a little at the back of Eddie’s calf as your legs curl round him. “My girl needs to touch me all over, huh?”

Eddie grins down at you, wiggles his hips just to hear you gasp at the friction of your clit, feel the way your digits dig at him, your right hand rubbing at a lock of his hair. Tension pours from your body at the weight of him all over you, the chance to watch Eddie’s joy at touching you, the pleasure he feels in tandem with yours at every roll of his hips..

He kisses you again, then both your cheeks and your nose and chin, peppers them in quick succession across your neck to get you giggly and soft. When he emerges, you watch each other. Eddie’s gaze flicks about your face while you count down the checklist of your favourite features; dimples and quirked lips, wrinkles at the sides of his eyes and laugh lines.

“Again?” He asks, one hand moving from your thigh to grasp his cock between you. You nod, press your digits into Eddie’s shoulder as his tip opens you up.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes through the first slow thrust, voice clear as day now he’s so close. “You’re so good, baby.”

Pleasant shivers run through you at the praise. When the stretch makes your body pull taught, your fingers press at Eddie’s skin, letting him feel your need to slow. When the sound of his shaking breath, the sight of his eyes fluttering at the tightness of your cunt around him, has you excited and pliant again, your fingers playing at the ends of his hair tell him that he can start moving once more. Eddie pulls back each time before pressing deeper, humming you through each new tender stretch until you feel the wiry hair above his cock tease your clit. Your hips tilt, chasing the delicious rub, and you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, face dropping into your neck to groan. “How’s it feel?”

Your cunt flutters at the strain in his voice. This time, rather than sending warnings across your body at an unpleasant sting, your pussy bearing down aggravates a dull throb. Like pushing on a sore tooth, it’s painful and addictive all at once, clenching down again for the satisfying feeling of Eddie’s cock twitching inside you, the sound of him groaning against your skin.

“Good, Eddie,” you say honestly, fingers stroking through his hair. “Will you- can you move?”

“Yeah- fuck,” he nods into your neck, laughing softly. “Just gimme onnnnne second. Jesus. ‘How do I make it good for you?’ She asks, with heaven between her legs.”

Your body shakes as both of you giggle together, cut off by another whimpering moan from Eddie. “Aw, shit, don’t laugh or I’m really gonna embarrass myself.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with his chin at your collar. His hips pull back, relieving your pussy of the ache until he slides forward again, letting you feel full, the weight and warmth of him inside you. It’s different than his fingers, which map out the best spots and play with them. Eddie’s cock, thick and heavy, drags along all of them at once.

His face is so close by yours, watching desperately for every sign of pleasure, any hint of discomfort. You open your mouth to reassure him, but all that escapes is a soft, pleased sound that makes his hips stutter.

“Feels good?” Eddie gasps, nodding like he wants to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah, s’good,”

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re gonna want this all the time now, yeah? Need your pretty cunt full of me?”

Pleasant tingles of shame dart up your spine, and one of Eddie’s hands slips between your bodies to rub at your clit again.

“Yeah? Say it, sweet thing.” He groans, hips stuttering at a clench of your cunt around him.

“Like being full of you, Eddie,” you whine, fingers tightening in his hair. “Want it all the time.”

“Jesus- Christ, you’re so good,” he breathes, his fingers bullying your sodden clit. The ache of his cock falls away in comparison to the onslaught of stimulation there, leaving only the satisfying resistance to your cunt clenching down, the sweet fullness, the friction against your sensitive walls. “You’re so good, letting me hear you. Your pretty voice- fuck. Just for me. Think you can cum?”

“Uh huh,”

“Yeah? Like this? Just like this?”

You nod desperately, hips twitching towards him. Chasing the rub of his fingers, the feeling of being stretched full when he presses deep, the throb of his cock inside.

“You cumming, sweet thing?” He asks, as if he can’t see the flutter of your eyes, feel your body clasp around him. “Yeah? Holy-”

Your high is a gentle thing, compared to what you felt with Eddie’s fingers and tongue. A quick rise and fall focused at the top of your cunt that shifts quickly into the numbness of overstimulation. The lasting ache is too present for anything more, but it feels like a promise, a hint of how good it can be with Eddie, if you do this with him again.

You feel boneless and tired while he finds his pleasure, staring down at your warm, satisfied face as he groans. You can feel him inside, the twitch of his cock as he groans, the sudden warmth behind rubber.

His body half collapses on yours, sweat slick skin sticking together. You wrap yourself around him, foot stroking at his calf, hands scratching at the back of his scalp while he tries to catch his breath against your neck. You can feel the pound of his heart where your chests press together, know he must feel yours. When they slow in tandem, beating together, you find Eddie’s wide, soft eyes.

“That-” his voice cracks, his throat clears. “Was that okay?” When you nod, offering a tired smile, he strokes some of your hair back. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” He says, waiting for you to nod again.

You take a shaky breath as Eddie’s softening cock pulls from you, stealing all the soothing warmth inside and leaving you with a sensitive, fluttering pussy. You whimper softly at the tender feeling. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, sweet girl. Gimme one second.”

Shivers run up your spine when Eddie disappears briefly to deal with the condom, a little prickle of something unpleasant at your neck. You’re only starting to replay everything you just did and said that might be shameful, embarrassing, in your head when he returns. Eddie wipes warm damp cloth between your legs. He smooths away the uncomfortable, cooling stickiness. Predictably, he tosses the cloth over his shoulder to fall back into bed and pull you into his chest. There, with his arms tight around you, his adoring gaze set on you, any shame your mind could convince you to feel falls away. Why would you dwell on it, when you can let yourself feel all the warmth Eddie brings?

You lie together for a few minutes, tracing Eddie’s tattoos. Over and over, you drag your pointer finger over the lines forming CORRODED COFFIN under his ribs, letters on Eddie’s skin.

“Thank you,” you murmur eventually, watching Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. You kiss his chest. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice breaking a little at your immediate nod. “Well, uh, thank you for trusting me, sweetheart.”

You lie together until the sweat on your bodies is cool and sticky. When the first shiver runs up your body, Eddie helps you stand from the bed like he expects you to be walking like a new-born deer. You manage into the bathroom by yourself, emerge washed and clad in cosy pyjamas, his soft hoodie. Eddie takes his turn, and returns to bed with steamed warm pink skin and dripping hair that sprinkles droplets on your face when he shakes it out like a dog.

You drift asleep with Eddie’s breath at your ear, his fingers stroking steady at your waist.

You wake the next morning to that same sunlight through blinds, the same dog barking in the distance. If it weren’t for the new ache between your legs, you might have thought you’d dreamt the entire perfect day, woken up to find it was Saturday again.

You turn yourself over to Eddie’s side, find his long bare back, pale and dusted with freckles. In a second, you’ll curl yourself around him, wrap an arm over his torso so he can wake up feeling something like the way you feel when he holds you.

But now, your rapid pulse pounds in your ears. Even as he sleeps, your body won't allow you to say it, or even whisper it. Your throat closes up with the thought of too much, too soon.

But you ache to do something, to let the feeling out somehow. Caught between your throbbing heart and the worries that have kept you quiet your whole life, you shuffle forward, reach out, and draw eight letters, one after the other, on the soft skin of Eddie’s shoulder.

I L O V E Y O U

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Next Part

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader

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yoitsjay · 4 months ago

Text

I Was Made For Loving You

Pairings: modern Au band Hunter x Fem! Reader

Summary: you're the new stage manager, and Hunter can't get you off his mind

Warnings: fluff, smut, fingering, no penetrative smut, oral, cum eating, more plot after smut

Word count: 3,094

As the evening quieted, Hunter really couldn’t remove you from his mind.The way you walked, and talked and led them to where they needed to be, it inspired him… and Honestly he wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet…

So after he had tucked Omega into bed, and once she was fast asleep Hunter made his way towards your room, which just so happened to be across from his. He looked around the hallway, making sure nobody was around before knocking on your hotel door.

He only waited for a few seconds before you opened it, already in your more casual attire, a bathing suit resting in your arms. “yes?” You questioned, his eyes snapping down to meet yours. You were about the same height as him, maybe an inch shorter without your boots on, which was a nice change of pace, since most of the girls he saw were always shorter than him.

“Uh- hey- i was going to ask if you wanted to come join me for a swim, i already requested the roof pool so- nobody should be up there…” He trailed off, glancing at the swimsuit in your arms before he looked into your eyes again.

You thought about it for a moment, watching Hunter teeter back and forth on one foot as he waited for a response. “yeah sure, i was gonna go for a swim anyway, might as well not go alone.” You replied, offering the man a smile. “Meet me at the pool in… ten minutes?” You asked, and when he nodded you smiled once more before closing the door.

In those ten minutes you changed into your swimsuit, which was a black one piece with an open back, but the front was covered. However the middle part of the swimsuit was mesh, and see through and was wider at the top, getting narrower as it traveled down, stopping just below the belly button. The neckline was a deep v shape as well, cutting into the mesh and slowing off quite a bit of cleavage, but you liked the way it looked on you, so you didn’t care.

The bottom part of the swimsuit covered lots, unlike other skimpy bathing suits, and the fabric sat lower on your thigh, making it more comfortable and less likely to hike up your ass. You hated when that happened.

Overtop you wore a sheer swimsuit cover up which went down to the floor. It was tied at the front with a thin black string which could be easily pulled loose. Once you were dressed, you made your way to the top of the pool where you noticed Hunter was already waiting, and with an acoustic guitar in his hands.

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to him as he strummed a tune into the night air. “I didn’t know you could play guitar too.” You spoke up, watching as Hunter opened his eyes and paused playing for a moment before he continued. “Yeah- i’m self taught but- guitar playing seems to run in my blood.” He chuckled, watching as you sat down beside him, letting out a soft hum in reply.

“Well, you're definitely not bad.” You teased, relaxing into the chair you were in as he continued playing whatever song he just came up with. Then, he started softly singing the lyrics… and the words sent shivers down your spine.

“Tonight, i wanna give it all to you, in the darkness, there's so much i wanna do.” Hunter sang softly, the melodic lyrics hitting your ears as you closed your eyes, smiling.

“Cause’ girl, I was made for you, and girl you were made for me…” He trailed off, strumming as the speed of the song picked up a bit, but still was slow. Hunter looked at you, and he grinned.

“I was made for loving you, baby, you were made for loving me… and I can't get enough of you baby,can you get enough of me?” He sang. You opened your eyes again, meeting him and seeing something dark, and alluring inside them.

You bit your lip gently as he continued to- what you now assumed was serenading. but every word he sang, you hung off it like he was dripping honey right onto your lips. You tried not to let yourself fall into that trap, but the way he was looking at you…

You stood up abruptly, and Hunter stopped singing as he looked at you with curiosity, watching as you removed the bathing suit cover before running and jumping into the pool. His eyes widened, and he set down his guitar, rushing to the side to make sure you were ok.

“Y/n?” He called out, not seeing you even as the water settled down. Suddenly, a hand reached up from the water and grasped Hunter’s shirt collar before yanking him down into the water, he barely got a breath in, and ended up swallowing some water by accident, so he resurfaced and coughed a few times, seeing your silhouette swimming below him.

Hunter chuckled, diving back into the water after he took a deep breath, chasing you in circles for a moment before he managed to grab your leg and yank you towards him, and then back to the surface of the water.

You and Hunter both laughed, and you splashed him playfully, backing up a foot or two so you weren't so close. “What did you do that for?” He asked, referring to when you had yanked him into the water. “for fun.” You replied snarkily, swimming away from him before pulling yourself up to the edge of the pool. Hunter swam over to you, but before he could get to close you stuck your foot out, placing it against his chest.

He grinned up at you, but didn’t move any closer. “I can't have you falling for me Hunter.” You joked, and gestured for him to sit beside you instead, which he did right away. “oh no? why not?” He asked, getting up for a moment as he went to grab his guitar again, sitting back down beside you. “Because, that's how bands get run out of business.” You explained, and that smile that was on your face was replaced with a look of… anger? before you replaced it with a smile again.

“okay then…” Hunter trailed off, staring into the water as he started playing a small tune again. After a few minutes, he switched it up to a song from another band that he quite enjoyed…

And that's when you started humming at first, having known the lyrics quite well… but as soon as you started singing, Hunter got this odd feeling of deja vu.

“Can you hear the drums, Jesse? i remember long ago another starry night like this”You sang softly, sadly almost. Hunter stared at you, furrowing his brows as he tried to remember why your voice was so familiar. He kept playing the tune, just to hear more of it.

“in the firelight, Jesse, you were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar. I could hear the distant drums and sounds of bugle calls were coming from afar.” You continued singing, kicking your feet slowly in the water.

As you continued singing, your voice got louder, until the strumming of the guitar stopped, and so did you. You looked up at Hunter, raising an eyebrow only to notice the surprised expression on his face. “What?... oh- shit…” You muttered, letting out a sheepish chuckle. “yeah i can-”

“You’re the lead singer of Constellation?” He interrupted, but you frowned. “before we broke up? yeah.” You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. Hunter placed his guitar down, facing you fully. “You music was amazing- why- why did you break up?” He asked, hoping his questions were not too sensitive.

You glanced at him, and sighed. “Because of Jesse, my ex…he was our stage manager like how I'm yours. Some… nude pictures of us got leaked and we had to break up, but we were all getting so much hate so- we disbanded.” You explained, looking away from him.

“That's why i- i don’t want to get too close… i don’t want to ruin your reputation by- by…”

“By sleeping with me?” He asked, and you nodded sadly. “I mean don’t get me wrong, you're attractive as hell, and I think you're funny and kind… i just…” You trailed off, shaking your head again.

Hunter slid into the pool, now standing in front of you as he rested his hands on your thighs. “hey- i'm a big boy, Y/n, and so are my brothers… if you want to have some fun, don’t hold yourself back because of something that happened in the past.” He spoke softly, reaching up to cup your cheek. You stared at him, another sigh leaving your lips.

“okay… but I might need some convincing.” You muttered, seeing Hunter’s smile get a bit bigger. “I think I can do that.” He muttered, lowering himself down a bit as he lifted your leg, and started pressing soft kisses from the ankle all the way up to your inner thigh before pausing, and repeating the motion on your other leg.

You giggled, letting your head fall back as you leaned against your arms, occasional sighs leaving your lips as his hands slid up your thighs and then back down again.

When you looked at Hunter, he was now standing between your legs, his hands resting gently on your waist as he leaned in, and you did too, your lips brushing together as you both seemed to hesitate for a moment… But you realized quickly that Hunter wasn’t hesitating, he was waiting for you to make the first move.

So you did, sliding your arms around his shoulder as you kissed him, moving one hand into his hair while the other just slid down to his back. He pulled you closer, tilting his head slightly as he deepened the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before he slid his tongue into your mouth.

You and Hunter stayed like that for a little while, just kissing, enjoying each other's gentle touches. Occasionally his lips would part from yours when you needed air, and he would leave butterfly kisses against your skin, along with some hickeys which you definitely didn’t mind.

Eventually you pulled back for a moment, staring into his dark eyes, which were filled with lust, maybe some fascination… but he definitely wanted you. “I’m not ready for anything crazy.” You whispered, and he nodded in understanding.

smut under the cut

You let out a soft breath, and pushed him back slightly before you slid into the water, pulling him into another kiss whilst hooking a leg on his hip. “Fuck me with your fingers.” you muttered against his lips, feeling him grin against you as one of his hands slid between the both of you, pushing the bottom part of your swimsuit to the side, his finger brushing against your clit.

“fuck-” You whimpered, letting your head fall against his shoulder as his fingers circled your clit, another curse falling as he slid one of his fingers inside you. “You don’t need to be gentle.” You muttered, hearing Hunter chuckle in response. “Good to know.” he muttered into your neck, nipping at your skin as he slid another into you.

Hunter started slow, but once you adjusted to the third finger he started pumping his fingers in and out of you quicker, curling them against your g-spot which made you howl with pleasure. Nobody would be up at the pools at this hour, or even awake so you could be as loud as you wanted to be.

Hunter continued finger fucking you, so focused on your pleasure that he hadn’t even realized that your hand was down his swim trunks until it was wrapped around his already hard cock, pumping it at the same speed that he was thrusting his fingers into you.

You both moaned, holding each other close as your lips found his again, and his tongue was back into your mouth. You could feel yourself start to get close. “Hunter-” You muttered as you broke the kiss, letting your head fall back as another moan fell from your lips. “Yeah darling?” He grunted, pressing his face to your chest as you squeezed his cock.

“I’m close.” You muttered, pushing your hips into him as he used his thumb to stimulate your clit again. “Yeah? good.” He grunted, and kept doing what he was doing because he knew changing the pattern would probably ruin the orgasm.

“Fuck-” You whined, sucking your bottom lip betweem your teeth as you stared at him. Hunter’s eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, capturing you in another kiss, swallowing all the moans you let out as that coil wound tight in your stomach before snapping as you came, squeezing around his fingers as you stopped your hand, pulling back and panting heavily as you dropped your leg.

“Sit up.” You muttered, moving to the side as you patted the tiled floor. Hunter did as requested, moving his trunks down a bit further as you settled yourself between him, licking the base of his cock all the way up to his tip, sucking on it gently before you slowly bobbed your head down, taking one inch more every time you went down on him.

With the way he was moaning you could tell he was starting to get close, so you made it even better for him as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, hearing a more throaty groan leave his lips. His hand went to your head, grabbing a fistfull of your hair, gently tugging you down. You grinned, breathing through your nose as you bobbed your head faster.

“I’m gunna- fuck!” Hunter exclaimed, lifting his hips slightly upward as he shoved your head further down. Tears pricked your eyes but you tried to loosen your throat as he came. You swallowed, and pulled your head back when you couldn’t handle anymore, coughing a couple times whilst Hunter let out soft apologies.

“Its- its okay Hunt, I enjoyed it.” You chuckled after a moment, licking your lips to collect what remained before you pulled yourself out of the pool, pulling him into a much gentler kiss. “Thank you.” You muttered as you pulled back, helping him to his feet. “your welcome?” He questioned, giving you a quick kiss to your cheek before he grabbed his guitar, walking you back to where you left your coverup, watching as you slid it back on.

“Ready for tomorrow?” you asked, and Hunter nodded, gently grabbing ahold of your hand, walking with you back to your hotel floor, walking to your room door, now standing in front of you.

“I’ll see you for coffee?” He asked, and you nodded. “Of course! I have a little morning and afternoon planner before your evening show tonight, so you’ll see me all day.” You chuckled, and Hunter gave you a look before smiling. He looked around before leaning down and capturing your lips in one last kiss. “Good night, Mesh’la.” He muttered, walking back to his room.

The following morning and afternoon you found quite eventful. You stuck closer to Hunter’s side, and when nobody was looking you squeezed his hand, or pinch his butt just for fun. Already the band liked you, and you liked them just as much, Hunter a little more than the rest of course.

But when you arrived at the venu, and prepared The Bad Batch for their concert, you had pushed aside those feelings, and adopted a work mode to your mannerisms. Hunter liked it though, because you knew exactly what you wanted and when you wanted it to happen.

And soon He was singing, and his band was playing some pretty famous songs of theirs, engaging with the fans who came from different states and even some different countries just to hear them play.

You were watching from the sidelines, talking with the lights and sounds technicians amongst other people. Mainly just keeping your eyes on Hunter as they got prepared to play another song.

Hunter whispered something to his brothers, and they all grinned and nodded in agreement to whatever he said. And then he addressed the crowd, explaining that his band was going to play something brand new for them tonight.

You liked the tune as soon as they started playing it. And when Hunter started singing you felt like you could melt…

“Feel the fire where she walks, Y/n L/n so beautiful, shady and a tempered dame, blinding your eyes with her spider dance” He sang out your name, and your eyes blew wide, seeing the grins on his brothers faces as they saw your reaction.

That little bastard told his brothers what happened. How and when you had no idea, you assumed through text or during breakfast yesterday. But how they managed to plan a song that involved you in such a short amount of time you had no clue.

But the fans seemed to know who you were and some started cheering, minus the fangirls who all booed and threw their nasty underwear on stage, fuckers.

You rolled your eyes, but uncrossed your arms from your chest as Hunter now turned to look at you as the song came to a close, and he gestured for you to come on stage. You shook your head at first, but he was adamant, so you walked on stage, getting pulled into Hunter as he addressed the crowd.

“This is my stage manager, the ex lead singer of Constellation and I'm pretty damn sure I like her, so I'm gonna date her… if that's okay with you Y/n.” He chuckled, staring down at you with a coy grin. You slapped his arm playfully, but nodded. “yeah… i guess that’s alright.” You muttered, a gasp leaving your lips when he had kissed you, in front of thousands of people probably.

When you pulled away you were beet red, but he still held you in his arms. “sing with me?” He asked, and you grinned, nodding your head. “Of course.” You replied, gesturing for one of the tech guys to bring out a second microphone. You stood beside Hunter, more lights moving to cover you and him now as you started singing songs.

You felt like a young teen again, dancing and singing with your friends… you could do this more often.

➺

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