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powderblueblood · 8 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER NINE — EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

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summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper. content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji word count: 16.4k

Dear Lord,

Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one.

Amen.

When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business.

Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.

He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade.

Al’s insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Lipton’s kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddie’s already lost his appetite.

Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer.

“Courage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!” Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph.

He hadn’t had much of an appetite for anything since he’d visited the nurse’s office.

He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, why’d I do that and angry like, why’d I leave you just standing there like that, and why’d you let me.

“C’mon, kid, you look famished,” Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. “Wayne’s Hungry Man dinners ain’t hittin’ the way they used to, huh?”

Al’s smile doesn’t slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.

“Well, Dad,” Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, “You know what coulda solved that?”

“What’s that, huh?”

“You staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.”

Al doesn’t falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldn’t slide from his face.

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, “You really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.”

Eddie’s spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, I’m not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally.

“Though, judgin’ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethin’ without thinkin’ it the whole way through first. Huh?” Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if that’s possible. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargrove’s face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.

According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didn’t cave his entire cheek in. He still couldn’t totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent.

Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, “S’nothing. Just– shit at school.”

Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole into–you guessed it–yet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table.

Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old man’s blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddie’s skin a little.

But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick won’t look at Eddie.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?” Other shoe, meet short, hard drop.

Eddie’s grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.

“Who?” He’s this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, that’s how good it’s gotten.

Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddie’s skull, they’re such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner.

“You’re a lot of things, Eddie Munson,” he says, “but you ain’t dumb.”

“Truly do not know what you’re yakkin’ about. Can I eat?”

“Come on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated piece’ah something?”

“Can I eat?”

“A little forbidden flame, maybe, two’ah you?”

“Can I eat?”

“Can’t say I blame ya. If I were… twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes ‘em a little more mature. Think I got a shot?” Al’s teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way he’s trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. “Huh? Eddie?”

Al’s lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayne’s voices overlap.

“Maybe we leave that girl out of this, Al–” “–can I eat, or what?”

SLAM! Al’s fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rick’s dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes.

“You can answer the goddamn question! Shit!”

Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is this– his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when he’s as coked up as he is right now.

Ever since he’d roared into Rick’s driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little cool– but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils.

Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasn’t residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker.

He folds his arms, waiting for Al’s tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to say–

“Sorry. Sorry,” pressed through a line of grit teeth, “I just… Hmm.” It’s like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. “She’s a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame about–”

“Al, what’re you gettin’ at with all this?” Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesn’t know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he won’t be the one to bend first. “What did you bring us up here for? And don’t–” the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, “--say you just wanted to get together. I don’t buy it. Eddie sure doesn’t buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, he’s a fool.”

Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. “Wayne–”

“You bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girl’s father? You really spin out that far?”

It’s not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down.

Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that.

“Listen. Alright. It’s not– alright,” Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if he’s trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. “With that girl’s old man permanently benched so to speak, there’s an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candy–who knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is… an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I could’ve– that I can do.”

Eddie knows that his dad doesn’t realize he’s saying a lot of nothing, because Al’s always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a cat’s harvested eyeball. Huh.

“... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of y’all.” Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. “Y’know, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I really–,” a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. “--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt… Made me wanna do right by you, is all.”

“How much of that doin’ right have you got up your nose, Dad?” Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what he’s back for; not to sell, couldn’t possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. “Try before you buy isn’t exactly the most cost-effective policy.”

“Jesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?” Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. “You have an in! You have the in!”

The in, of course, being Eddie’s connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Al’s like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like he’s doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.

“This whole town could be ours if you would just–”

That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rick’s warped wooden floor.

“I don’t want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!” he yells, spittle flying, “And–and I certainly don’t want it if it’s anything to do with you!”

What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ain’t in too great a shape–he’s barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where he’s king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he can’t even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?

Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.

Yeah. Exactly.

He’d wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything.

He’d have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, “That’s my boy.” Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe he’s loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father… and a father needs his boy, y’know!

Fuck that.

“We should split.” It’s Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rick– like he’s Al’s keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isn’t raking in a cash cow from Al’s great Ray Doevski replacement theory.

“No, c’mon–” Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but can’t really be bothered.

Wayne follows Eddie’s furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van.

Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. He’d been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of days– out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

“The in,” Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel.

Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well he’s been caught red-handed. There’s no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after he’d specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless.

Unfortunately, he’s like his father that way.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. “She…”

Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does.

“She doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this,” Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. “Whatever Dad’s planning on doing–”

“Neither do you,” Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddie’s heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow.

Even if Wayne hasn’t seen you two together, laughing ‘til you’re stupid like the kids that you are, can’t he see…

“Why can’t this be easy?” Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world.

Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayne’s hard stare seems to peel back some. He’s always known where Eddie’s heart is at. Eddie’s starting to think he wishes he knew less.

—

Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what you’ve done.

It’s exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring.

Truth is, you’re beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, you’ve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story you’d read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didn’t have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings!

Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but you’d take that over this graceless stumbling shit!

You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargrove’s car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!

Instead, however, you’ve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you would’ve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.

Billy Hargrove’s two week suspension means you don’t have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie.

And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.

Speaking of Eddie, there’s too much speaking of Eddie to do.

You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Payin’ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He was– well. I was gonna say he was a ‘good man’, but that sounds kinda funny, don’t it?”

It wasn’t about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.

Especially the fact that you’re sitting in your college-going beau’s chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it weren’t for him…

“Lacy?” a voice calls from the driver’s seat. “You alright?”

You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because you’re fine! You’d said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parent’s house–why wasn’t he back in school yet–and said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet.

You’d gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back.

You’d reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurse’s office. It didn’t quite stick–paled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didn’t secretly want to fuck each other.

And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehavior– but you’d told him that you had newspaper business to attend to.

“I’m fine,” you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. He’s cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didn’t get it.

He didn’t get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadn’t been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.

Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasn’t keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo.

“You love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezin’ your knees together.”

“For Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. ‘Ordinary fuckin’ people, I hate ‘em’--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.”

“That why you’ve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?”

“Down, dog.”

Anyway. Fuck.

“Listen, Lacy, I gotta tell you s–”

“Can’t right now! I’m already late and Fred is gonna have my head,” you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. “Call me!” You pray that he doesn’t.

Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time.

As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda.

Typically enough, no one’s here on time. Everyone’s late. You’re perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. That’s the goddamn ticket, isn’t it? You’re alone in all of this. You always have been.

Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You can’t tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then you’d have to explain the continued and complicated Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you can’t shake it, and no one can share it.

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. It’s all a little heavy, isn’t it?

As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gym’s double doors.

“Oh, what the fuck.”

“Had to see it for myself.” Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.

“Sir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, you’re not my type.”

“Careful up there, Doevski. There’s more detentions where this came from.”

“Freak accident. I can’t be caged.”

“Well, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!” Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo.

You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. “What elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes aren’t built for that.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lacy,” the teacher digs, “We’re still waiting on your comrades.”

“I’m late, I’m late, I know I’m late!” a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. “Some goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the road–”

“Ronnie?”

“Hey, Lacy!” she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.

“Ron, what’re you–”

An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big ol’ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.

“You’re late, Wheeler,” Kaminsky tries, but Nancy’s already consulting her wristwatch.

“Detention starts at nine sharp, right?” she says, impenetrable as always. “It’s 8:58.”

“Then can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?” Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard.

“Alright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then I’m bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?” he scoffs. Wow, so he’s like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody.

At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed off–more pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy.

You shoot Ronnie a look like, what’s the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy.

Ronnie just shrugs.

“Alright!” Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, “So, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. We’re gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?”

The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed.

Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, “And I understand that some of you are violent offenders,” that’s a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, “but please. Don’t use this opportunity to take another girl’s eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.”

Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.

He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five.

“How many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?” Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door.

“Depends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?” you question.

Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, “And is he using his imagination or Ms Kelley’s yearbook picture?”

Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.

Robin, however, doesn’t weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.

“Buckley’s got the right idea,” you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, “Sooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over with…”

Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, who’s nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you both– and Robin.

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted.

“At what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?” you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head.

“Well, yours goes without saying,” Ronnie chuckles, “going all batter on Hargrove’s car like that. Did you actually bust a window?”

“Just swung it around,” you say, driving your heel into the bench, “I may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didn’t inherit getting caught. What about you?”

Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, “Actually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.”

Your brow furrows. “Nance?” your voice rings down to the lower rungs, “Ronnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.”

“Yeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you went–”

“--totally awesome psycho–”

“--in the parking lot and… I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.”

Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad she’d dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, who’d already invaded Eddie’s territory, much to her apparent shame.

What a majorette of a bitch.

You would’ve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.

“You toed up to Nicole Summers?” a little pause, your voice goes smaller, “For me?”

Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.

“Ronnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.”

Ronnie pffts. “Like she hasn’t done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.”

“Nicole wouldn’t even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.”

“Oh, stop,” Ronnie’s gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish.

“Wait, that was real?” you say, eyes darting between them, “I thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.”

Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didn’t stick too long.

“We?” Nancy scoffs, not mean.

“The royal ‘we’,” Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice.

Your hackles can’t help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something?

“And why are you here, Robin?” you call, hands knitting in your lap.

“I was with these bozos,” she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, “For some godforsaken reason… and now I really wish I wasn’t.”

“Why’s that?” you press.

Nancy’s whole upper half tenses. “Robin–”

Robin’s chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose.

“Steve found out,” Robin says, “About the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling him–like, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about you–”

You and Ronnie can’t even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. She’s all spit and fury, she’s on Robin.

“Oh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!” Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, “‘Oh, I couldn’t help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came out–’ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?”

Robin’s face seizes in a snarl. “Are you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?”

“What is your problem?” Nancy’s voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, “How is this any of your business?”

“Should we stop this?” Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.

You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. “I kinda wanna see where this goes.”

“He is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right after– after–!”

Both your and Ronnie’s mouths drop into an ‘o’. You’re kind of disappointed–a big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you weren’t first on the call list?!

“Jesus, Robin!” Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, “Get a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isn’t doing you any favors!”

“Why, Nancy? I thought you loved him.” What confusing wording.

“I–”

Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you can’t take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both.

“Ladies! Break it up!”

“You heard Kaminsky! We’re all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!”

You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robin’s jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancy’s elbow, and she jerks away from you at first.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

“We’re supposed to be chiseling,” Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, we’ll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, we’ll get this shit cleared in no time.

Nancy starts working furiously, but that’s kind of not what you had in mind here.

“You broke up with Steve?” you ask, point blank. Like she’d ask you.

She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. “I wasn’t gonna tell him, you know. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And then–fucking Buckley– and he had all these questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why didn’t I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didn’t I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen… stupid shit like that.”

“He’s sensitive.”

“He’s a moron.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” as if you didn’t have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasn’t it? He’s meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right?

“No, Lacy, he’s a moron,” Nancy hisses, spit flying again; you’ve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. “Why should I have to tell Steve about something like that if it’s just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why can’t I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?”

This is a bigger conversation, isn’t it? What you’d once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.

“At least if he was still an asshole, I wouldn’t feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.”

“Now it’s just like you’ve kicked a puppy.”

“Exactly.”

“What total bullshit.”

Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.

There’s a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.

“I’m the sublimator, by the way. I know that,” Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, “It’s easy to… fold into someone like Steve when, y’know… you’re not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. But I wanted to.”

Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.

You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like they’ve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, you’re familiar with that too.

You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. “Thanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffs softly, “You covered for me. And you didn’t have to.”

“Hey,” you hold out your pinkie finger. It’s the least you can do. “Promise is a promise, right?”

—

The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie.

“What do you think,” you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, who’s standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, “Should we take ‘em outside, make ‘em do Abbey Road?”

In the middle of it all sits the man who can’t help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with what’s unfolding in front of him.

Good.

Ronnie clearly hadn’t even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when you’d hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. You’d firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing.

You’d also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldn’t be delayed after all.

So, nah. Good ol’ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddie’s day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, it’d raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?

“Capital idea,” Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like he’s playing to the cheap seats, “Maybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.”

Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now.

“Let’s get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciples’ brains,” come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathan’s shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.

“Wh– how do you… want him?”

Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at him–not enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.

“Exsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,” you say to Jonathan, “But, I trust you. Do whatever.”

As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when he’s at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are.

Byers, to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, it’s Jonathan Byers so it’s not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather we’ve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in with–

“So you guys are…” he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. That’s unfair. Means he caught Eddie’s immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding.

“Neighbors,” Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. “She can… hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. S’why she’s here. To shut me up, I guess.”

Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angle– a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for god’s sake.

“Gotcha journalism,” Byers quips. Byers quips.

Eddie’s mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, “Exactly.”

Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck.

It’s not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddie’s skin– Eddie didn’t even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are.

And now you’re sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and you’re listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him you’re recording the minutiae of their answers.

Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why aren’t you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?

“She’s cool, y’know.” Click, goes Byer’s camera again. “Lacy.”

Eddie’s voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly.

“I heard you blew it with her.”

Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. “She told you about that?”

Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’d be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie weren’t both classified outsiders.

“Well, uh,” Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, “It was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind of–”

“She’s different now.” Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didn’t call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover. “I mean. She’s retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. She’s not, like– pretending to be something.”

Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera.

“I wouldn’t know. I blew it, remember?” But you didn’t, man.

Little does he know.

“Are we done?” Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. “We’ve already lost–”

“--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?” you drawl, crossing a final ‘t’ in your notes. “Of course. My apologies. Tight schedule?”

Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. You– you’re good. You’re vicious and you’re good.

“Theee tightest,” Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats.

Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”

And she was right, with what she’d said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his face–bolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you weren’t letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through.

You’d been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses.

“Oh, I’m positive,” you assure her, turning to Jonathan. “I need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.”

“Waiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,” Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, “Okay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think you’re going to stay for the game?” His ire is genuine. “It’s Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We don’t need bleacher bunnies.”

“Oh, come on, Munson!” you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. “The people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.”

“The people being?”

“Your critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkins’ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?”

“We don’t need any help from the press on that front.”

“Really?” You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah.

“A–actually, Eddie… I think it’d be… pretty cool,” Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. “I mean, if we’re in the school paper, my Mom’ll be less suspicious that we’re like–”

“--doing k-bombs in the drama room…” you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear.

“--and stuff.”

Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, he’s about to shit.

“And who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?” he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, “Jeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?”

The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Gareth’s angle.

“Shut up!” Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re all gettin’ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.”

That’s creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasn’t so gooey in the middle.

“Munson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.”

You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.

What follows is… exactly what you should have expected, actually.

Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdom’s innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is… involved. You’d done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didn’t really seep into the membrane. It’s something you could only really engage with if you saw it in action– you’d have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated?

And fill in they… kind of did.

Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnie’s character–a highly capable bard, from what you understand–attempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. They’d taken her hostage, and she’s managed to escape her chains but they’re ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.

Eddie weaves these stories like gossamer– both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if they’re shaking in their boots while doing it– shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.

Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate right– Jonathan Byers’ lens pointed right at you.

“Uh–” you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on.

“I’m headin’ out– gotta pick Will up from…” he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the time– Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?

“Tell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,” you say, “and thank you.”

Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “I still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.”

Your face peels into a grin that says don’t worry, I”m good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party don’t even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything.

“...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.”

An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease.

“I know, I know, if you had it your way, you’d be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,” Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, “but I wouldn’t inflict that on the janitorial staff. ‘kay? Scat. Outta my sight.”

With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.

Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, “Need a ride?” to Ronnie, the last straggler.

She shakes her head, smile barely contained. “Uh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and I’ll two wheel my way back– you, uh, have fun though.”

“Bye, Ronnie,” you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like he’d completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. It’s also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when it’s just the two of you. As it is now.

Alone, together. Again.

There’s a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkle’s farm.

You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing? Can’t that, like, fry your brain?” Carol’d ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere.

“Try it, Care,” you’d giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, “It feels weird. It feels good!”

You’d woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?

Eddie still doesn’t look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table.

“Get everything you need?”

“No,” you answer, short. “Missing my key interview.”

Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows he’s not getting out of this.

What’s more, you don’t think he really wants to.

“Pretty controversial subject matter,” he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God he’d used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. “What with the panic, and all.”

“Me and controversy are bedfellows,” your shoulder darts up, “I’m the big spoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, “Like when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch a little. “Define ‘a lot of trouble’ by your standards.”

“They made me print a retraction!” You’re genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, “I mean, how insane? ‘Bad for school spirit,’ they said. Like I’m some kind of pep exorcist.”

Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yadda—but you smile, and the tension feels like it’s waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.

“Can we get started?” The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.

“Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Fire away.

You’re quick with it. “Why this?”

“Really? That’s your first question?” Eddie looks bemused.

“It’s the least rudimentary of all the Ws,” you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, “People know who you are–against their will, mostly. People can glean what the game is–or will, once I put a fine point on the… everything that just happened there. What people don’t get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?”

His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Nope, too vague.”

“Vague?”

You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.

“Basketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didn’t come here for the everyman answer.”

“What did you come here for?” That’s loaded. The way he’s daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.

“The Munson answer.” It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. “Dig for me.”

A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery.

“Escape,” he eventually tells you.

“Go on,” you press.

“There is this… insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading ‘em, even writing ‘em– it’s good, but it isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.”

“But not idyllic.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together.

“No. If these campaigns were just… the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, that’s not a campaign. That’s a circle jerk.”

“The idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.”

“Right. To adventure. Beat the odds.”

“And you can’t do that alone.”

“Well, you can. I think that’s called, like, writing a book.”

“Ohh-kay, Eddie…”

“No, no, no, I mean,” Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?”

He’s on one now, so you don’t stop him. Eddie’s eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like this—got bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when he’d been the defiant one his whole life.

You think about a littler him, yearning for escape.

“It also doesn’t work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, y’know, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when they’re played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. It’s not about winning or losing, y’know? Whatever happens out there,” he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, “doesn’t matter. Whether life’s beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call ‘em, sit at this table and they’re part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. They’re part of–”

“--a team.” You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.

Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. “Not my phrasing. But.”

“That thread runs through it all,” you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, “Teamwork. Belonging. Victory– an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you can’t find it elsewhere.”

Eddie’s chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. “Sounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.”

“And?”

“Thought you weren’t pulling for the everyman answer.”

“A hook’s a hook’s a hook,” you quirk your eyebrows, “–and, when you put it that way—”

“When you put it that way.”

“—what really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?”

“Besides the cult of personality surrounding all jocks–”

“As if you don’t court your own little cult of personality—“

“—we actually win our campaigns.”

You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.

“Oh. Oh, that’s good,” you say, sketching it down.

“I foresee letters to the editor in your future,” Eddie says, and he’s smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be.

No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just… does whatever he wants.

You find yourself wanting to touch the fence.

And maybe it’s that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all.

“It wasn’t broken or anything, then?” you ask, gesturing to his hand.

Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel what’s coming.

“Oh no, it was shattered,” he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, “My bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.”

“Right, the calcium—”

“Nah. Rare botulism side effect,” he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!

Dumbass.

“Rare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.”

“I’ll tell the guys.”

Silence falls again, and if you reach around, there’s something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion.

“Um,” Eddie’s face contorts into a tiny cringe, “I found out what the… what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasn’t here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all but– but Ronnie told me.”

A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. You’d opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors.

“Pretty creative bit, huh?” is all you offer.

“Almost too creative for Hargrove,” Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger.

“Are you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?” It sounds like you’re offended, but.

“No,” Eddie meets you right where you’re at with this sparkle framing his stare, “I’m saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.”

“And would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkins’ breaks?”

You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly… Saliva catching in the low light. It’s warm in here. Stuffy.

“Prob–”

“I miss you.”

You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldn’t be talking to anybody else.

“You do?” His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them.

“Don’t act brand new. Everything’s harder without you. You have to know that.”

He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dork’s Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagine…

“Lace…”

This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but it’s necessary.

“I can’t stand the tension of not being around you,” you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, “And I can’t stand the tension when I’m with you either, with you and wanting to–... so what do I do, Eddie?”

You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathan’s Pentax. Eddie’s face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this?

You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out.

“What do I do, Eddie?”

Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I don’t know… in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says don’t you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig.

“Forget it. Forget about all of it,” he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, “We can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we don’t know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. It’d be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. We’ve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was… we could...”

“Fuck you,” you say in a soft rush.

Eddie only realizes that you’re both smiling when you kiss him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth.

You give him an, “Mm,” and if feels like an ascent to heaven.

Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths.

Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurse’s office, weaving the leather out of Eddie’s belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddie’s eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him.

“Reset this.” You tug at his zipper. “Tell me to stop.”

“Lacy…” Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. He’d dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like you’re Snow White and it’s a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. “Jesus, y–...”

Eddie’s arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch him– fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading.

Eddie’s groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. You’re looking at him like he’s a bad puppy, like you’re teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. You’re beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.

“Tell me to stop,” you echo yourself, and you’re fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what you’re doing. You don’t. You’ve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is now– like he’d throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. It’s drunkard-making. It’s a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you.

“Tell me to s–”

Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s fucking doing this but–

“Stop,” he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. “Stopstopstop, Lacy. Fuck– fuck.”

Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. “Really?” Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesn’t exactly go slack right away.

“Yeah. Yes,” Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. “I c–I didn’t do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping… But Eddie drops his face right down to yours.

“You deserve… so much more than giving me a handy on school property,” he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. “Hot as it is. Right out of my… nastiest dreams as it is.”

Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing.

“Had a premonition about this, didja?” The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. It’s nice.

“Came to me in a vision,” he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. “I’m a prognosticator.” Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. “Been known to prognosticate.”

“Five dollar vocab word,” you mumble into his mouth, can’t help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddie’s lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.

“Come home with me,” he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. “Please.” A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. “... I missed you. Too. Y’know?”

“I do…” you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, “actually need a ride… so.”

—

The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddie’d laid on you right before he’d helped you into the passenger seat. Even after he’d insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, “This thing,” he’d gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, “this thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!”

“Don’t laugh!” you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile you’re suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.

“I’m no-oo-oht!” Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, “I just– I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!” His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.

“Woah!” you yelp, “Eddie, the road! You should’ve let me drive, you’re feral!”

Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. “Lace, please don’t get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. She’s a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like it’s the demolition derby.”

Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. You’ve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae… you press Eddie’s DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesn’t help, thumb stroking your chin and everything.

“This is suh-rreal.”

“Stop zooming out so hard or I’m not gonna have sex with you!” You’re kidding. You’re so completely kidding. If he doesn’t touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, you’re going to disintegrate.

But Eddie pauses. “Like, you don’t. Have to.” Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. “You don’t– by the way. It’s whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know I’ve been kinda–”

“Eddie.”

“...you still want to though, right?”

The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom… who knew. She’d been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.

Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesn’t waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door.

And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours.

“Eddie…” mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.”

Something pops in your chest; he’s… Jesus, he’s so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.

“Hey. Redirect,” you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. “Come to my place.”

Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. “Your… y–are you sure?”

“Sure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.”

He murmurs, “Bedsheets,” with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. “Get your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.”

That new lock doesn’t stick at all, thank god.

Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundings– he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night he’d driven you back from the fallout at Harrington’s. But he’s too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom.

Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?

You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.

Eddie’s chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like you’d captured him.

Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead.

He’s standing in your bedroom.

You’re far more cluttered than he expected you to be.

He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty.

Well, that’s wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.

On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones he’d helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission you’d bought him breakfast for but didn’t have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape.

It’s confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasn’t been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser.

“Place is filthy, cheerleader.”

“You’d know about mess, freak.”

The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonight’s entertainment purposes, the bed.

As he’s sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddie’s eye travels to the window.

“Did you fix your blinds?” he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel.

“My blinds?” you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. You’d made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. “How’d you know about my blinds?”

He could’ve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didn’t straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. “Uuh.”

It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. “Were you… watching me, Munson?”

Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not he’s ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now.

“That. Dep…ends. What do you,” Please don’t kick him out. Please don’t kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.

Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. “What do you think about that?”

Fact is, he’d subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth.

Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe you’d flash an ankle at him next and he’d be institutionalized for hysterics.

You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like you’re studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurse’s office.

But this isn’t the goddamn nurse’s office. You’re not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds.

“They’ve blinded men for that, y’know? Before.”

Eddie can’t answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.

A sustained shock travels up your neck.

“I mean, was it worth it?”

“Was it w… Lacy.” Eddie’s hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like he’s trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I might have fuckin’ carpal tunnel because of you.”

Jesus. He makes you feel so…

Desired. Needed. You’ve never felt that way before, and you don’t quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed.

Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun.

Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. You’d seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other was–affable enemies, irritated acquaintances. He’d looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and you’d wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest.

You didn’t, though. You’d sniped, asked where the cigarettes were.

This is all one big case of making up for lost time.

You’ve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you.

Remember me? I’m real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.

His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. It’s gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, I’m here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, I’ve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter.

Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.

His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. “I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, “I just got you back.”

Your hips lift to help him and you’re wiggling the thing off and you’re wiggling your tights off and he’s thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one another’s mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over.

The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesn’t feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someone’s shitty car. It doesn’t feel rote, like you’re doing it to stack up experience points– that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like you’re progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does?

Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him for–but he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud.

Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can barely see straight, but he’s trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packet–like you’d never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode.

He, too, has no idea what he’s doing but he can’t help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. He’s watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. He’s a wonderful student, when he wants to be.

Eddie is throbbing, and there’s too much cotton and lace between you.

There’s also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet.

“I oughta tell you,” Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, “I’m, uh. I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” He’s got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like he’s holding your breath right in his hands.

A new shade of pink rises high in Eddie’s already straining cheeks. He really doesn’t want to have to use his words to spell it out. “Thiii-iiss.”

Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project.

“This isn’t that.” Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure he’s listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s not.”

He’s really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and it’d usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered.

But the way he regards you doesn’t call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.

A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip that’s gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, “hahh!”-- he’s edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? “Sorry–”

“Don’t– no, Eddie, don’t stop,” you strain, laugh a little, “You just… surprised me. Keep– keep surprising me. Please.”

Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until he’s lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.

In your fantasies, you hadn’t anticipated him being so giving–so eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate ‘power’, doing so.

But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and it’s tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.

You know when you’re close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesn’t feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention.

“Eddie,” you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. It’s yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! “Eddie, Eddie– come here, come to me.”

Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. That’s all from you?

Eddie does as he’s told, heart pounding– and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out.

“Fuck! Fuck, you–” he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, “N-not fuck you, obvi-ously, but–hunh–okay, kinda fuck you…”

Eddie’s lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from you– the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. It’s not a tactic, you’re not teasing; you’re angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it.

“Baby, please, please, I’m not gonna last–”

“Who said you had to?” you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. “Who said you had to?”

The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pause– for all of a pulsating second.

“I want you… inside. Don’t you want to feel me?” you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic.

Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you.

“Want? It’s all I want–fuck, it’s all I fucking think about, Lacy–huhh–”

His first attempt results in a gasp of pain– the sting, the stretch, it’s a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.

“Y–shit, baby, are you–”

“I’m okay,” you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. “Just–slower. Ease it in. You’re– you’re pretty remarkable, Eddie.”

“Remarkable?” he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. “Really?”

“Prodigiou—ss, uhh–fuck!” Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt.

Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest.

Eddie’s cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but it’s delicious–pinned and sweetly painful.

“Prodigious–is a five dollar–fuckin’--vocab word–” he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightly– you’re clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. “Lacy, Jesus, you’re so tight–you feel so good–how the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!”

There’s a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesn’t let up. Eddie’s voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. “Oh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, I’m g– fuck, I’m–”

The way Eddie’s hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that… “You holding out on me?” you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, “Don’t you dare–don’t you dare.”

“Lacy, uhh– please, ’mgonnafucking–”

“Cum for me? Are you?”

Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddie’s hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.

“For you, for you, shit, only for you–only for you, only fucking ever–fuck–”

His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it.

You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. “You feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, you’re so good for me...” The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch.

A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him.

Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddie’s cursing himself for every second he’s wasted not doing this with you.

And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. You’re going to burn the world down for this boy.

“Lacy. You–”

And then, y’know, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks.

Little too much deja vu for your liking these days!

Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with you– which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” These are not like your prior ‘fucks’, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, “Fuck?”

“My mom!” You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you.

“Under, under, gogogo!”

Because if there’s one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? It’s enter a room uninvited.

Case in fucking point–

“Lacy?” A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. You’re praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar.

Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off.

She’s smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually she’s got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you haven’t been spending much quality time lately, see.

“Lacy! What–” your mom’s brow knits, but it’s a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. She’s looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isn’t she? The mascara that’s surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense he’s in this very room? “--what are you doing?”

“Napping. Crying. What does it look like?” you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesn’t notice Eddie’s incriminating clothes strewn across the floor.

Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. He’s crouched behind your bare ass, a position he’s in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funny–or would be, if he wasn’t scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.

Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that he’s buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is.

“Well. Wrap it up,” your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least you’re on the pill. “I have a surprise.”

Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog.

“She sounds happy,” he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist.

You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you first– cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. “Just–you sound happy, mom!”

She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Y’know, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup she’s alway sporting.

“Get on with it already.”

You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed.

“You gotta get out of here,” you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it.

The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.

“Jesus, that thing’s impressive.”

Eddie’s fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, he’s all romance–totally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesn’t care. He’s had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesn’t want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him.

There’s no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that.

And you knew it first, because you know everything first.

“You sure?” he hums into your sweet lips, “You absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quiet…”

Eddie’s also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on.

“What if I don’t want you to be real, real quiet?”

You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock.

“Lace…” he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.

“Lacy!” a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddie’s dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm.

“Fuck, okay, go! Window!”

Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddie’s uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little further–you hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. And…

You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable sense–

Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole.

–except that. That makes sense.

The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead.

“To be continued?” Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes.

Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him.

“I’m comin’ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,” he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. “And I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.”

“Go!” you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way.

“Faster!” you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him.

He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch.

“You try runnin’ with a hard on! Witch!”

It’s far, far, far too quiet once he’s escaped through the front door of his trailer.

It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid cliché cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.

You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.

The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you… you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.

Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I don’t want to know about any g–

“Lorelei.”

The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.

You don’t just stop in your tracks, you’re repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you there’s an immediate threat in the heart of your home.

No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.

“Daddy.”

Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother don’t even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. “Of course!” your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your father’s worldly facade.

“Why not compromise. Wear charcoal,” you’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parents’ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, “You can plead guilty and still look smug about it.”

Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because you knew if you did, you’d be next.

Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like he’s expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy.

“Should I ask how you’re here?” you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your father’s shoulder, tuts and sighs. Can’t you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.

“Good behavior,” Ray smiles, “Can’t say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?”

“Principal Higgins called,” your mom chimes in, “Or rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldn’t tell us?”

“That’s why he’s here?” You laugh a little, inwardly. “With all due respect, Daddy, that’s a terrible reason to break out of prison.”

To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously.

“Y’know, I really didn’t anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,” he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. “I mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolais–”

“We’re fresh out,” you gesture to your cringing mother.

“--a dinner at, Christ, Enzo’s, since that’s where our budget is at now,” his lighter flicks and ignites the end, “But no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about… fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.”

The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.

“Take a seat, Lacy,” your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, “and tell me all about Eddie Munson.”

Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time you’re caught off guard by anyone’s father, it’d better be God himself.

This bit is getting old.

author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff - like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have - al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right - our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast - not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry) - i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well - speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd. - the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall - SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR - lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy. - eddie is kinda gossamer coded - cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god - god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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lovebugism · 9 months

Note

I know this is early, but fights on Christmas for the prompts thingy. Maybe with Punchy x Eddie? Or with Steve?

ty for requesting angel! hope u like it :D — eddie tells you that his dad is coming to hawkins for christmas and an argument ensues (peach x eddie, angst, hurt/comfort tw for toxic parents, 1.5k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The smell of a homecooked dinner lingers in the air, warm and nostalgic. You spoon the leftovers into plastic containers for when Wayne gets home from the graveyard shift. Eddie’s laughter sounds from the distance, where he takes a phone call in the living room. The sound is warmer. More nostalgic.

He hangs up and walks back to you, wearing a bright pink grin that shows all his teeth.

“Who was that?” you ask, smiling because he is.

Eddie shrugs, trying to be nonchalant despite his beaming. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter across from you. “That was— That was my dad, actually,” he tells you, still a bit dazed about the whole thing. He’d almost forgotten what his father’s voice sounded like before now.

Your grin fades. “…What?”

He nods with his brows raised behind his fluffy bangs. “Yeah. He’s, uh— He wants to come to Hawkins for Christmas, apparently. Said he’s finally got some time off work, so he’s gonna drive up here in a few days and stay for a while.”

Work doesn’t mean work — not with Alan, anyway. You know this, so you’re not entirely sure why Eddie doesn’t. If you had to guess, the asshole got up to too much trouble and needs a place to lay low until it all dies down.

You try to be supportive of your smiling boy, but your concern is evident, practically dripping from your features. “Oh. That’s… That’s… Does Wayne know?”

“Um, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Don’t you know why that is?” you ask him, trying to laugh. It comes out much more bitter than you intended it to.

“Uh… No?”

You drop the wooden spoon into the bowl and face him entirely. Your hip digs into the counter’s edge — a distant pain that doesn’t rival your burning anger. “He’s not telling Wayne because he knows Wayne won’t let him stay.”

Eddie’s chin jerks back like he’s flinching. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says with a forced chuckle.

You sigh. You don’t want to be insensitive, but his obliviousness makes you impatient.

“Eddie… He’s… Your dad…” You try to explain it all to him, but you can’t find the words to. There are far too many ways to describe his father, and you come up short in the end. “I mean— you’re not letting him come, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he laughs.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to see you, Eddie. Or Wayne— He doesn’t care about either of you, you know that.”

Eddie goes agape with shock. You’re not usually so confrontational. You’re unusually argumentative, and it surprises him — offends him. “You say that like you know anything about him,” he argues with a scoff. He’s still smiling but there’s little warmth behind it.

“You don’t know anything about him!” you retort, a little harsher than you mean to. Your hands flail as you gesture wildly. “He doesn’t know anything about you, either, Eddie. He’s an addict. He chose thatover you a long time ago.”

Eddie clenches his teeth. You can see it in the way his temples shift. “I told you that because I trusted you,” he says with a tight jaw, trying not to show you how angry he is. “Not for you to use against me—”

“I’m not using it against you, Eddie. I’m trying to protect you!”

He scoffs a cynical laugh. “Well, you’re doing an awful good job of that, aren’t you, Peach?”

His unusual bitterness stings somewhere deep in your chest.

You don’t know why he’s being so blind.

Except, you sorta do. You’re the resident expert of letting assholes into your life over and over and over again — like a kicked puppy that doesn’t know when to stop coming back.

That’s the root of your frustration, you think. You know a lot more than he’s giving you credit for, and it’s infuriating to be written off so easily.

You huff and turn away from him again. You pop the lids onto the tupperware containers to busy your trembling hands. “Fine. Let him come. I don’t care. I’m not the one that’s gonna get my heart broken after all this.”

“Wow,” Eddie muses, dragging the vowel for effect. “That’s real sweet, babe— what would I do without you?”

You leave the bowls to cool on the container and disappear down the hallway. You go to his bedroom for your bag, and he doesn’t follow behind you — you’re not sure you want him to. After nearly a week in the trailer, you figure you’ve spent entirely too much time together.

And as much as it hurts, you know it’s not the end of the world.

If you and Eddie — the neurotic type A and the laid-back-to-a-fault type B — can survive hanging up Christmas decorations together, you’re pretty sure your relationship can survive just about anything.

He’s still lingering at the counter when you get back, idling like he’s been waiting for your return. He sees your bag slung over your shoulder and deflates like a popped balloon. “Where are you going?” he wonders despite his ebbing anger.

“Home. It’s getting late.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

“Exactly,” you hum, stilling when you reach his side. You press a chaste kiss to the apple of his cheek and walk towards the door without looking back. “Call me when you tell Wayne.”

“C’mon, Peach. You don’t have to go.”

You turn back with your hand on the rusted brass door knob. “I’m mad at you,” you say with a soft smile on your lips.

Eddie grins back at you but doesn’t press it any further. You’re allowed to be angry. Hell, he’s still a little angry, too. And if you wanna be alone, then so be it — as long as you’re back in his bed when all the bullshit’s over with.

‘Cause he’s mature and everything like that now.

That’s why he just smiles as he tells you, “Call me when you get home.”

—————

You call him when you get home that night.

He calls you the next morning when Wayne gets home, all worked up because his uncle took the news about as well as you did.

You’re not a total asshole, so you don’t rub it in his face. When he comes to you after a few more days have passed — fighting back tears because his dad ditched him all over again — there are no I told you so’s. No bitterness or stupid comebacks.

You just hold him and love on him like you always do. He needs that now more than ever, you figure.

You sit with him on your couch while he hides his tears in your lap. His dirty sneakers scuff the cushions that you’re usually a stickler about keeping clean. You quickly find that you don’t care as much as you thought you did, because you’ve never seen your boy so sad.

It makes your chest ache. Like his heartache is your own in some way.

“I’m an idiot,” Eddie grouses, muffled into the pillow in your lap. He feels like one, anyway. He’s spending the week before Christmas crying his eyes out because he was too stubborn to listen to you.

He’s a total dumbass.

The dumbest of dumbasses.

Your fingers dance through the soft strands of his chestnut hair, scratching gently at his scalp to keep him grounded. “No, you’re not, Eds. Your dad’s just an asshole.”

He scoffs, managing a small laugh despite his tear-stained face. “Yeah. That too.”

“And that’s not your fault, either. You know that.”

“No, I know,” he insists, sniffling as he turns onto his back. His chocolate eyes are rimmed red and slightly glassy. His cheeks are softly flushed, speckled with a rosy heat. Strands of hair stick to his wet jaw. You smooth them away with the palm of your hand while he wipes at his reddened nose with the back of his.

“I just… I guess I just thought he’d changed, you know?” he confesses, voice wet with emotion.

You nod sympathetically. “I know. It’s the worst feeling in the fucking world.”

You have a different kind of experience in that department — the skeleton in your closet that always comes back to haunt you department. For you, it’s Billy. For Eddie, it’s Alan. The sting is a different one, but it still hurts in the same place.

“I should’ve listened to you, huh?” Eddie asks, the corner of his lips curled into a sad smile.

“I know why you didn’t want to,” you assure, smoothing your palm over the top of his wild head. You hope the warmth of your touch will aid his inevitable post-cry headache. “But I didn’t say it to hurt your feelings, you know that, right?”

“I know. I knew it then, too, I just… didn’t want to believe it, I guess.”

“I know what it’s like,” you promise. And then, when you see his mouth twist into an apology, you cut him off as gently as you can. “And don’t apologize for it, either. It’s okay, Eds. I promise.”

He grins at you, still a bit weighed down with leftover emotion.

His eyes squeeze shut when you swipe tears from beneath them, the edges of them crinkling ever so slightly. And when he opens them again, they glimmer with a newfound life.

No one on earth is as resilient as your boy.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: blurbcember

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katbakubae · 1 year

Text

AFABreaderxBakugou

Synopsis: Sick of your boyfriends lack of time with you because of his busy schedule, you decided to take some time for yourself. Unfortunately, letting that happen was never an option for him.

The post that inspired this fic:

CW: smut, language, dom!Bakugou, possessiveness, jealousy, (mild) stalking, name calling, spanking, rough oral.

One-shot

Word count: 4,411

You couldn’t believe your asshole of a boyfriend.

Actually, you could, but that was beside the point. He was always doing this shit lately, pissing you off. You watched with heated eyes as he continued training two hours past when he said he’d be done. Two hours past the time you got here and an hour late for your dinner reservation.

You understood he was busy, you knew that when you got in a relationship with him, and you supported him. However, as his girlfriend, was it too much to ask that he give you even 5% of his time? What were you even doing here?

That was stupid, you knew what you were doing here. You loved him so much that you couldn’t breathe. But…how could you have a relationship like this? You didn’t feel like a priority. He couldn’t even stop training long enough to take you to a dinner he had made reservations for. He wasn’t on duty, and he knew you were waiting.

Anger and hurt flushed your body at the disrespect to your feelings and time—you made your decision quickly as you stood up and left the training room. Part of you wondered if he’d even notice. Is that where you were in your relationship? It had been this way for months. At first, you didn’t complain at all; you tried to be understanding. Then, you’d tentatively told him you weren’t seeing him often. He said he realized that, and he’d work to make more time for you.

He hadn’t. You’d been more than patient. You hardly felt like you were a part of his life anymore. You hated to think it, but part of you even began to wonder if he was cheating on you. Typically, he got home after you’d fallen asleep, even when you tried to wait for him. As a new hero, his hours were brutal. When you woke up for work, you wouldn’t wake him with your needs…you knew he was exhausted.

Your eyes burned with tears as you quickly packed a bag. You weren’t sure you were strong enough to actually leave him, but you needed some time to yourself. You needed to think about your relationship with Katsuki, and where it was going...or wasn’t going.

You cried as you got in your car and left your home you’d shared with him the past year as you headed to Mina’s house.

Mina was shocked when you showed up at her doorstep, looking miserable with a suitcase. Of course, she immediately let you in. She’d made you some hot tea, you tearfully let her know everything that was going on. Her brows kept furrowing as she listened intently, but you could see that she was getting angry on your behalf as well.

“I’m so sorry, hun,” Mina said softly when you finished talking, putting her hand on your forearm, “I’m not trying to defend him, but I don’t think he’s cheating on you. He doesn’t have time for you, let alone anyone else,” she said softly, and you sighed.

You rubbed your face, pausing when your phone started going off. Your heart raced when you saw it was Katsuki. You stared at your phone on the table as the call finished, but it immediately started ringing again. You picked it up and opened your texts as your phone continued to ring from his constant calls.

I’m okay, Katsuki. I just need some time to myself. Don’t worry about me.

You sent him the text, the calls pausing as you watched him immediately begin typing.

What the fuck does that mean?! WHERE ARE YOU?

You sighed, and began typing again.

I’m safe.

“He’s probably losing it,” Mina spoke up with a frown, “I understand why you’re angry, and wanting time is fair but Bakugo is…Bakugo.” She chuckled, making you smile weakly. You knew exactly what she meant. He wasn’t the type to just…let things happen that he didn’t like.

You better tell me where you’re at right the fuck now!

You frowned. He wasn’t in the place to be making demands. When you didn’t immediately text back, he began calling again. You sighed and powered your phone down.

“I just…I’m not happy, but I love him so much, you know?” You told Mina in a dejected voice, “I can’t continue like this, I can’t bear it…but I don’t think I can leave him. What should I do?”

Mina sighed, giving you a small smile. “I think you should try to make it work with Bakugo. I think he loves you…he’s just so focused on being the number one hero, he sometimes doesn’t see much else,” Mina said, rubbing your arm.

“Then maybe…he doesn’t need me,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision, “I never see him Mina. No relationship would survive this.”

“I know, I-“ Mina stopped as there was a sudden, loud knock on Mina's door.

“PINKIE! OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR! I KNOW SHE’S IN THERE!”

Your eyes widened as anger immediately swelled inside you.

Oh so now he cares?

“Mina, I’m so sorry. I’ll deal with it,” you said stiffly and Katsuki continued to bang on the door. You hurried and ripped it open, your heart lurching when you saw your sweaty boyfriend standing on the doorstep. He was still in his training clothes, his ash blonde hair hanging over his furious, crimson eyes. He must have finally noticed you left and immediately set out to look for you. His strong chest was heaving as he gave you a furious look, and you gave him one right back.

“What the HELL-“

“Shhh!” You snapped, putting your hands on your hips, “this is Mina’s house! You can’t cause a scene here-“

“THE HELL I CAN’T!” He roared, his body shaking furiously, “You think you can just fuckin’ walk out on me?!”

Anger coursed through your body as you took a calming breath, trying not to incite your explosive boyfriend further, given you weren’t at home. “I’m allowed to have time to myself. What do you care, anyways? I’m amazed you even noticed I wasn’t there! I need time to think-“

“To think?! About what!” He cut in with a snap, his chest heaving a little harder. Though his face was enraged, you saw the panic in his crimson eyes, “About leaving me?! You got a fuckin’ problem, you talk to me about it! You don’t do this shit-“

“I HAVE tried to talk to you about it!” You hissed, your jaw locking in fury and his furious look dimmed slightly, “you didn’t listen or care, I don’t know,” you huffed, crossing your arms, “you need time to decide if there’s room for me in your life, because right now, there’s not. And I need to decide whether I can do this or not…”

His brows shot up, his furious look snapped right back on his face as he crossed the threshold, making you gasp as he grabbed your upper arms.

“Of course there’s room for you in my life, and of course I care, shitty woman!” He growled down at you, your heart aching when you saw hurt in his ruby eyes, “I fuckin’ love you, and you’re telling me you don’t know whether you want to fuckin’ be with me or not?” He hissed, his grip tightening on your upper arms.

“If you love me, then act like it,” you emphasized, pursing your lips in indignation, “you act like you don’t care whether I’m there or not. We haven’t even had sex-“

“You’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat because we haven’t fucked in a hot minute?” He scoffed, “I shoulda known, you’re such a fuckin’ slut you can barely go a day without a cock buried in ya, huh?”

Your face immediately became burning hot as you heard Mina clear her throat in the background. “I’ll, uh, go see Kiri for a little while and let you guys talk…” she said awkwardly as you both turned to look at her. She looked equally amused and awkward as you felt guilty.

“No, Mina. This is your house, we can just-“

“It’s okay!” Mina cut in with a laugh, shaking her head. “I promised that big lug I’d see him this weekend and it’s still early,” she shrugged, you and Katsuki moving out of the way as she slipped through the door, “you two fix whatever this is, because you’re too cute of a couple to throw the towel in.”

Katsuki snorted as Mina grinned happily and left. Immediately, Katsuki shut the door as you crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a dirty look.

“Do you have any fuckin’ idea what you put me through?” He said in a low voice, his hands clenching at his sides, “I saw you were gone, so I went home with a gift to apologize and you were fuckin’ gone. I called and I called and you fuckin’ ignored me. What the fuck is wrong with you? You get pissed off, so you let me think you’re dead, you fuckin’ brat?!”

You frowned. Maybe you didn’t go about this the best way, but you knew if you told him, you’d never leave. He’d try to stop you, and you knew he’d succeed.

“You ignore me constantly! I know you’re busy and I understand that, but for fucks sake, Katsuki, it’s like I don’t even exist anymore!” You cried, tears burning your eyes as his gaze narrowed on your watery eyes and broken words.

His nostrils flared. “I didn’t think it was that fuckin’ serious. You haven’t said shit,” he growled, “all you said was you hadn’t seen me much, it hardly even sounded like a complaint. You’re at fault too because you’re holding everything in and then acting like a fuckin’ brat without even giving me a chance!”

You stared at him, pursing your lips. You didn’t want to ask your boyfriend to spend time with you. He should just want to and make time for you without you harping on him about it. Was that too much to ask? By the look on his face, it seems he knew what you were thinking.

“You think I don’t miss you? You think I don’t fuckin’ know how busy I’ve been? Fuck, on patrol, I can barely even concentrate because all I want is to go home and fuck your brains out,” he growled, making your eyes go wide as he stepped closer, “You think I don’t want you? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I don’t wake you up when I get home because I want you to have enough rest and not be sleep deprived like me. So I just jerk off next to you, looking at you in those slutty little shorts you like to wear to bed,” your eyes widened further as heat blossomed in your abdomen. You had no idea he did that… “but I ain’t being so fuckin’ curteous anymore. I’m gonna wake your ass up and put you through the fuckin’ headboard every night and you better fuckin’ take it.”

Your lips parted, a shallow breath leaving you as he looked at you with heated eyes. “It’s…it’s not just sex, I-“

His scoff cut you off. “No, but a huge part of it is. What, it’s just coincidence you lose your bratty attitude every time you’re dicked down? Don’t fuckin’ think so, princess.”

“It’s not just that-!” Your words were cut off when he roughly grabbed your cheeks and slammed his lips posessively onto yours. Your heart was immediately thundering in your chest as your hands instinctively moved up to clutch his broad shoulders. He slid his hand to your hair, gripping tightly as he devoured your lips hungrily before breaking away and running his lips to your ear.

“Nah, but it’s a good fuckin’ start,” he growled, making you gasp as he easily lifted you off your feet. You kicked your legs slightly as his heavy boots stomped across Mina’s wood floor with you.

“Katsuki, I-!” You yelped as he threw you down on Mina’s couch, grabbing your dress and yanking it down your body hurriedly, his jaw tense. He looked deranged with lust and anger as you gulped, heat building between your legs.

“Get this shit off,” he growled, grabbing the front of your bra and snapping the fabric that held your cups together. You squeaked as he ripped it from your body, his hand then curling around the band on your panties and ripping them down your legs to clearly get you naked as quickly as possible. Though he’d seen you naked many times, you still somehow found a way to be embarrassed at your own nudity as his crimson eyes hungrily looked over your skin as though he was seeing it the first time.

He was always like that.

You jolted off the couch when he immediately cupped your sex, sliding his rough and calloused fingers through your already messy folds. Katsuki was a teaser, he liked to make you beg. He generally never immediately went for it like this.

Your back arched off the couch as you let out a choked breath, his crimson eyes heatedly watching as he circled and played with your clit. He crawled over you, his other hand pinned next to your head as he roughly shoved a finger inside you, making you whimper.

“Show me how fuckin’ mad you are, princess,” he said in a dark voice. Your lips parted, but words failed you as a second finger joined his first, and he began curling his fingers exactly how you liked, his thumb gently playing with your clit as pleasure wracked your frame. “C’mon, what? Nothing to say, hah? Thought you were being a fuckin’ brat? You gonna leave me baby?” He hissed, leaning down and firmly biting your nipple, making you cry out weakly as pleasure rolled over your skin.

You felt a pang of hurt at the slight pain in his rough voice. You wanted to tell him you weren’t leaving him, that you’d never leave him…you loved him so much it scared you.

A whimper left your lips as he hotly moved his tongue over your tightened nipples, his red eyes blazing up at you. His hand was moving expertly between your legs as you began to feel the trickling of bliss start to roll over your skin at his skilled ministrations.

Your body tensed up and he suddenly removed his hand and mouth, making your eyes fly open in alarm as your body throbbed and he moved away from you. You sharply looked at him to see him standing, slowly sliding his soaked fingers in his mouth. He gave you a devilish smirk as you panted heavily in frustration, pushing yourself to your elbows.

“How about now, princess, you fuckin’ mad?” He said in a dark voice, peeling his black muscle shirt off his defined body. You huffed hotly, trying not to give him the satisfaction of begging him, even though you were throbbing needily between your legs. Your eyes widened slightly as he began unbuckling his pants, shoving them and his briefs down his strong thighs. The large appendage bobbed angrily, his flushed tip leaking profusely as you squeezed your thighs together, trying not to look as desperate as you definitely felt.

You gasped when he leaned down, his hand curling in your hair and firmly pulling you up.

“Since you don’t want to use your damn bratty mouth to speak and communicate with me, I suppose I’ll have to find another use for it,” He said sadistically, his thick and strong arm pulling, causing you to topple forward on the floor on your knees. His grip on your hair kept you upright as he chuckled darkly at your clumsiness, his cock stabbing your cheek.

“C’mon princess, open up. If you’re good, maybe I’ll give that slutty pussy what it wants,” he said darkly, prodding your lips to coax you to part your pursed lips.

You didn’t know how you felt. You were furious, but you were also extremely turned on. Your eyes blazed when he grabbed his rock hard cock and slapped your cheek a few times with it.

His eyes were fiery pits, clearly loving your stubborn defiance as he pinched your nose, making you still in shock. You tried slapping his hand away, some part of you told you to pinch his thigh. It was your safety, so you knew he’d stop if you did…wouldn’t he? Either way, you didn’t try. He grinned devilishly as you finally opened your mouth to take a deep breath. The second you exhaled, he released your nose and slid his cock roughly into your mouth.

He groaned deeply when you immediately gagged, gripping the back of your head tightly.

“C’mon, use your damn mouth for something, brat,” he demanded in a deep and husky voice, moving his hips. His abs were flexing in front of your gaze as he pumped himself into your mouth. Your eyes glazed over slightly as you began sucking him and moving your tongue around his length, making him hiss sharply.

“That’s it - good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, a tingle traveling down your spine at his praise. You looked up at him as he thrust in your mouth, and god, he was gorgeous. His soft lips were parted in pleasure, his smooth cheeks flushed pink as his inferno eyes stared down at you with more lust than you’d ever seen in anyone. The way he always looked at you in these moments never ceased to amaze you. You felt so…wanted. Your heart began to lift slightly as emotion filled your chest, despite the fact that he was currently spearing his cock down your throat.

He suddenly yanked your head off him as you breathed heavily, a line of spit connecting your lips and his flushed head as he looked down at you. You knew you’d hurt him as you looked into his eyes, and he stared down at you.

“I love you…” you whispered, seeing his brow cock in mild surprise that you chose now to say that. He pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring as he huffed.

“Yeah? Cause it seems like you fuckin’ forgot that,” he said roughly, his hand tightening in your hair as you immediately shook your head.

“Never,” you replied instantly, a somewhat soft look briefly entering his eyes for a moment. He released your hair, just to grab your arms and easily throw you up on the couch. You felt breathless as he got on his knees on the cushions and easily spun you around, slamming your front over the back of the couch. You yelped, clutching the back as his hand came down hard on your backside, making you jolt and instinctively reach around and grab his forearm. He easily grabbed your wrists in one hand and pinned them to your lower back. His other hand came down on your opposite cheek, making you squeal and wriggle in his grasp.

You couldn’t believe Katsuki had you bent over Mina’s couch, butt naked, spanking you. You’d absolutely die if she walked in and saw this.

“Katsuki, w-what if Mina-“

“I hope she fuckin’ does, so she can see how pathetic you are for my cock,” he growled, slapping your stinging skin once more as you cried out, “what did you tell her, hah? Did you bitch and whine about how I’m an awful boyfriend? Is that what you said, brat?”

You shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes. You’d never talk too badly about him, you loved him too much…

He grunted. “I don’t fuckin’ believe you. Funny how your pussy is sloppy as fuck for your shitty fuckin’ boyfriend,” he growled, squeezing the skin of your ass harshly.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You knew he’d never outright say it, but you knew him well enough to know you’d deeply hurt him by not communicating with him, packing a bag and leaving him to worry. You knew you were justified in how you felt, but he had a point, too. If you had confronted him more than vaguely a few months ago, this probably wouldn’t have happened.

“You’re not…I just don’t feel important to you…” you sniffled, tucking your face against the cloth of the couch.

You inhaled sharply when his strong body was draped over your back, his face rubbing against your neck as you cried softly. You could feel his stubble scraping across your skin, making a chill run down your spine as you smelt his heavy caramel and smoky scent - a product of his quirk and all the sweating he did during training.

“Don’t…ever leave me again,” he breathed in a deep voice against your ear, his grip on your wrists tightening for moments before releasing them and wrapping his arms around your waist. Your breath hitched when you felt his cock slide against your folds teasingly. “Don’t ever fuckin’ leave me again…” he repeated, tightening his hold on your waist, “if you ever fuckin’ left me…I don’t…” he shook slightly against your back, as though the very thought made him tremble with despair, “I’d fuckin’ lose it. No one can have you but me - nobody,”

You gripped the back of the couch, crying out loudly as he entered you in one fluid thrust before you could respond. He didn’t want a response, any moment of vulnerability was cut short the second he said what he needed to say. It’s just the way he was.

“Fuck,” he groaned hotly in your ear, gripping your hips as he panted. Your eyes fluttered, lips parting as he began rolling his hips into you, bearing down on your body with his. The squelching noise from how soaked you were almost made you cringe, but you were too blissed out to think about being embarrassed. “Slutty pussy drippin’ down my balls,” he hissed darkly, sliding his hand to the front of your throat and giving you a hot, open mouthed kiss on your shoulder as he leaned up. He held your throat and began a brutal pace, lurching you forward into the couch as you whined and gripped the fabric harshly.

“Fuckin’ hell, princess,” he grunted as you pushed back into his brutal thrusts, your mouth falling open, “such a fuckin’ hopeless slut, aren’t you?” He growled, his grip on your throat tightening a fraction.

He slapped his hand across your ass once more, making you squeak as he continued to roughly slam you into the couch. “Tryin’ to act like you don’t want it so fuckin’ bad. Do I have to re-train this slutty pussy of yours?” He growled, moans tumbling from your lips as you felt the beginnings of your climax starting to inch across your body. You were so fucking close…

“Katsuki…” you moaned, biting your lip, “please…” you whined, feeling feverish and desperate as he slammed into you, his thick cock sliding against your walls and stroking the fire inside you. Your thighs were trembling as you tethered on the edge, pushing back into him messily.

“C’mon, cum on your shitty boyfriends cock, princess,” he snapped, curling his hand in your hair and harshly yanking your head back as the bliss of your climax crashed into you and you cried out loudly, jerking against him as you fluttered around him. He hissed through his teeth, a grunt leaving his lips as he grabbed both your hips. You were draped over the couch limply as he roughly chased his own release, feeling like a fucked out doll that couldn’t even move.

“Fuck, gonna cum inside you…fuck, that’s it baby,” he groaned, sounding desperate and gripping your hips harshly as he pulled you back against his him. He was moving at a bruising pace that was getting uncoordinated and sloppy as he got close. “Gonna…fuckin’ take it,” he growled, slamming his hips against yours as he pulsed inside of you, make you gasp as he groaned in pleasure. You could feel his strong thighs trembling against yours as he rutted against you, his fingers leaving bruises on your soft skin as he panted harshly.

You were both quiet for moments as you tried to catch your breath. You certainly hadn’t expected this to happen, but you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a pleasant surprise.

Damn him. There was no way you weren’t going to go back home with him, and he likely knew it.

“I’ll take more time and I’ll wake your ass up when I get home, alright?” He said in a gruff voice, leaning down and rubbing his face against your hair, “and don’t tell me to not wake you up to fuck, too late for that shit.”

You couldn’t stop yourself when a laugh bubbled from your throat as he grunted and pulled out, quickly moving fabric between your legs to stop his cum from dripping onto Minas couch. You turned to look, seeing he was cleaning you with his own shirt. You smirked, shaking your head as you sat up and began grabbing the clothes he ripped off, getting dressed as he pulled his pants up, his ripped upper body on display. He always made sure to clean you up afterwards, and though his brows were pinched in irritation, he’d still take care of you.

“Practice ran longer than expected, but I had shit planned,” he said roughly, rubbing his hand over his undercut and then crossing his arms, “I’ve had a lot of shit to do lately. I’m not stupid, I fuckin’ know I ain’t been there enough. But fuck, it’s temporary. Can’t you just bear with me? Damn woman, you don’t have to try to leave me-“

“I wasn’t leaving, Katsuki!” You exclaimed, waving your arms out, “I was feeling really negative and I just needed space to…think!”

“About what?” He snapped, walking up to you and wrapping his arms around you, yanking you against his naked chest, “you just wanted to fuckin’ punish me instead of just talkin’ to me.”

You pursed your lips. Was that even true? Did you just want to make him think he was losing you?

You sighed, pushing your forehead against his chest. “Can we just…go home? Mina should be back soon.”

“So? She already missed the show,” Katsuki snorted, making you smile as you looked up at him, propping your chin on his chest.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He smirked, “I love you too, fuckin’ brat.”

A/N: I’m currently working on my other pieces! Since it’s been a while, I decided to upload this one from my drafts in the mean time! 💗

#mha #bnha #boku no hero acedamia #bakugo #bakugou #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year

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reader somehow manages to escape the cabin in the woods where serial killer ghoap is keeping them, and stumbles across two park rangers on patrol. ranger price is so, so kind, wrapping you up in a blanket and giving you water and assuring you that everything will be fine, it'll be ok. ranger garrick listens to your sobbing, almost incoherent story of what happened to you with sympathetic eyes. they load you into the back of their jeep, garrick sitting in the back with you gently holding your hands in his to soothe you and calm you down. the gentle touch gets hard and solid when you realize they've brought you right back to soap and ghost's cabin.

FUCK yeah dude. Hell yeah. This is the only idea ever actually. I want to crush it up into a blender and drink it for breakfast everyday. This fucks so hard

They’re so nice :( And Price has that paternal thing going on - you showed up naked and he took the shirt right off his back for you to wear, he just immediately makes you feel so comfortable. And Gaz is such a good empathizer, he makes you feel like he’s really feeling your horror, and he’s so familiar in a way you can’t really describe, it feels natural to relax with him

And dear fucking God the BETRAYAL!!!! You’d see the cabin and just start screaming, looking at them through the mirror with wide eyes. Gaz would maybe laugh a little, maybe coo to you and reassure you it’ll all be ok. Price is rolling his eyes, telling you not to be so dramatic, they’re just taking you back where you belong. And the worst part is you fight to stay with them when they drop you off - you cling to the interior of the car, then to Gaz, then to Price, desperate for anything but Ghost and Soap.

Maybe a few weeks later Gaz and Price come over for dinner. And you’re not nearly broken enough to have no spirit, so you spend the entire evening just fucking glaring at them like they killed your dog, refuse to talk to them, refuse to do anything but stew in your anger.

Gaz is a little condescending, a little pouty maybe. Does that C’mon, you still angry? We took you home, you don’t like us for that? Were we supposed to just leave a stray on the side of the road? And you fucking hate his tone, it takes everything in you to bite your tongue and not just shout in his face.

But Price is a lot condescending. He rubs a hand over your hair, smirks down at you with a mean little glint in his eyes. Says Don’t like your men, girl? You mad at us for putting you back where you belong? What, did they punish you real rough? Don’t take that shit out on me. Chin up, with a little chuck to your chin that has your growling like an animal You’re better off here than anywhere else. Your men take nice care of you, could at the very least treat their guests with some respect.

Johnny and Simon don’t push you to be nice. You sit in Simon’s lap for the meal and the most he does is smirk a little when you get particularly grouchy, but he doesn’t make you talk to them. He does make you kneel between his knees in the living room when Gaz and Price linger to chat. Runs a hand through your hair until you very unwillingly fall asleep with your face on his knee.

#asks and answers #bo writes #serial killer ghoap x reader

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 2 years

Text

Messy break up part two

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

There will probably be another part to this soon

Read part one first!

Eddie woke up with swollen eyes and the driest throat. While walking to the kitchen for water he sees that the trailer is empty but he can hear muffled voices from outside. He went to the sink when he overheard Wayne’s voice through the open window.

“I know the boys strong, this town has never given him a chance to be weak. Its why I appreciate you so much, Eddie he doesn’t even let himself be weak in front of me but with you he let’s all his walls come down. He really needs you in his life.” Wayne pulls you into a side hug and rubs your shoulder. “I think it’s best if you stay over tonight. I have to go back soon and I don’t want him alone another night.” Nodding along to what he said you reassured Wayne that you didn’t plan on leaving Eddie alone after what happened.

Eddie never realized how much he did need you. Wayne’s words really struck something in him, you really are the only person to ever see every side of him. No matter what he felt, anger, sadness, pure joy, he went to you to talk about what was going on. You never made him uncomfortable for having emotions, you were never scared of him when he was angry and you never pitied him when he was at his lowest. “I really do need them.” Eddie mumbles to himself and he wanted to prove that to you.

You walk back into the trailer and see Eddie in the kitchen area. “Hey Ed’s how are you feeling?” You scrunch up your nose at hearing the question leave your mouth. “Sorry stupid question” Eddie shook his head, “No it’s okay, I feel a bit better I think I really needed some sleep.” You nod along to what he said, “Well are you up for going out to eat or do you want me to order a pizza or I can pick something up” he thinks about it for a few seconds before deciding. “Let’s just order a pizza I thought we could watch some movies.” This shocked you knowing how touchy he has been when it comes to movies but neither less you agree.

The pizza finally arrives and while you pay for it Eddie picks out the movies he wants to watch. You walk back over to the couch with the pizza and sit it down on the coffee table before sitting next to Eddie. While the movie plays you guys eat and talk, it feels like how things were before Eddie even got with Chrissy and neither one of you realized how much you missed this. As the movies play Eddie is inching closer to you slowly to not be as noticeable. Even though you do notice you just let it happen. By the end of the night Eddie and you are cuddling together as the movie ends.

It’s been a few weeks since the mishap with the box and it seems like some switch flipped inside of Eddie. He is completely different then he was before, but not in a bad way, no he is finally becoming like his old self and everyone couldn’t be more relieved. You and Eddie have been hanging out more then you were before, which you didn’t even think was possible, but now it’s like you live with the Munson’s thankfully neither of them mind. Wayne thinks its nice to have another person with them, someone who he knows cares for both of the Munson men and actually wants to help take care of them. Eddie loves having you over all the time, waking up to see you already up having coffee with his uncle, coming home and seeing you make dinner, going to bed after wishing you a goodnight. It all means so much to him and it’s really helping him realize his feelings for you, however he isn’t ready to tell you. He’s at a constant battle within himself, What if I mess up our friendship? What if I misread all of this? What if I lose them? What if Wayne was wrong? What if....

He has no clue on what to do.

Taglist: @sinczir @lokiofasgard616 @harrys-tittie

If you enjoyed please consider liking, reblogging, and commenting. It means the world to me!

I just hit 200 followers!!! If you enjoy my work please consider following me <3

#eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x reader #eddie imagines #eddie munson #Eddie munson angst #part two #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader

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karmic-vibes · 2 years

Text

If I Can Dream

18 - Troubled With Pain

cw: marital dispute, mentions of cheating, allusions to possible SA, minors dni !!! nsfw content (name calling (slut), brief mentions of pegging, dacryphilia, allusions to dubcon, hate-sex, make up-sex, afab anatomy used for fingering/oral/unprotected piv sex)

Year: 1993

“So, what brings you two in here today?” Dr. McCormick beamed.

Steve and Eddie were sat on opposite sides of her couch, hesitant to look at one another.

“Boys, this will only work if you communicate with not only each other, but also me. So, come on, fill me in. What’s the 411?”

“I fucked up,” Steve rushed out.

“How, dear?”

“I got too drunk and did some things with an old fling. I pushed it down for years and it recently resurfaced.”

“And let me guess, your husband just found out about it, which is why you two are now in my office?”

“Bingo…”

“Okay, before I really delve into this, what have you two tried at home?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“To try and resolve tensions. Most people don’t jump right to therapy.”

“Well…”

“God, Eddie, please,” Steve cried out. His face was shoved into their mattress, tears streaming down him face, begging his husband for mercy. “Eddie, please, please, please!”

“You are gonna take my fucking cock and you’re gonna like it, got it, big boy? You wanna be a slut, then you’re gonna take me like a slut,” Eddie panted through his teeth. He grabbed a fistful of Steve’s hair and yanked him up, making him whimper. “Are we clear?”

“Yes!” Steve cried out. “God, Eddie!”

Steve and Eddie looked to each other, with Eddie blushing up to his ears. He bit the insides of his cheeks and went back to staring out the window.

“We’ve tried listening to music and dancing around the house with our daughter,” Steve cleared his throat. “You know, try to bring us back to when we were younger.”

“Mhmm, what else?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Is that the only thing you guys have tried?”

“I mean…”

“For fuck’s sake, I rail him until he cries,” Eddie finally blurted out. “We’ve been hate-fucking, okay? I first suggested it to hopefully get some of my anger out, but it’s not doing anything, so here we are.”

“Okay, then…”

“No need to be so modest Steve, Jesus,” Eddie huffed.

“And this ‘hate-fucking’ is consensual between the two of you?” The two nodded. “Words, boys.”

“Yes,” they simultaneously said.

“Okay. Whose idea was it?”

“Mine,” Eddie said.

“And, Eddie, what did you initially hope the gain from it?”

“Jesus, um… I don’t know.” Steve scoffed. “Jesus Christ, what’s your problem, Steven?”

“You know exactly what you wanted to get from it.”

“Since when are you in my head, huh?”

“Look who’s being modest now,” he growled.

“Boys!” Dr. McCormick boomed. “Steve, why do you think Eddie started doing this after he found out?”

“Well, for starters, he was angry, and I can’t blame him—I’d be livid too. He wanted to get some control and passion back into the relationship, so naturally, this is what he resorted to.”

“Eddie, any thoughts?”

“No, annoyingly, he’s right on the money.”

“Okay, I can deal without the attitude, Harrington.”

“You are in no place to be talking right now, Steven.”

“Boys,” Dr. McCormick warned. “Eddie, why were you trying to get passion back?”

“Because he doesn’t sleep with me, and when he does, it’s over so quick and I get nothing out of it.”

“When was the last time you two were actually intimate? No child, no distractions, no hate, and no worries. Just endless time to kill to love and pleasure each other?”

“Before Bobby was even conceived,” Eddie scoffed.

“And how old is he?”

“Oh, she,” Steve politely corrected.

“Apologies. How old is she?”

“She’ll be five next month.”

“So you two haven’t had a proper intimate night in nearly six years?”

“Sounds about right,” Eddie mumbled.

“Okay, so your first assignment is to go back to your roots. Find the little things that made you fall in love with each other. Have a proper evening without Bobby. Go out to dinner, make a mixtape of all your favorite songs, and have sex like it’s your first time all over again. Okay? Start back at the basics. Can you boys do that?”

“We can try,” Steve said.

“There is no try, only do,” Eddie muttered.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Steve teased, smiling faintly.

While he’d never admit it, Eddie started smiling too.

Later in the week, the two managed to get Pattie to watch Bobby for the night at her own apartment. She insisted that she could watch her as long as she needed so the two could have a proper date night. And with that, the boys were off to save their marriage.

Steve was in charge of planning dinner while Eddie was in charge of the mixtape. Of course, there were minor details and surprises in between that they’d share along the way.

When Steve got out of work, he pulled up to their house and knocked on the door until Eddie answered. As Eddie swung open the door, tears were brought to his eyes—Steve was in a suit nearly identical to the one he wore on their first date. He held a clear box in his hand, containing a boutonnière that mirrored Eddie’s first corsage.

“Steve…” Eddie whispered. “I love it.”

“Do you? It’s not too much?”

“No, not at all,” he sniffed. “Now I feel underdressed.”

“You look great,” Steve insisted. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The couple headed to the car, with Steve insisting on carrying Eddie to the passenger side. Once they were on their way to the restaurant, Eddie popped in the mixtape he made for their evening and, much to his dismay, it opened with ABBA.

“Eds, you didn’t need to put this on,” Steve tutted his tongue.

“Well, I love you, stupid, so I had to put something you like on here.”

“After all this shit, you still love me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I love you too.”

“I know you do.”

“You do know that I’m sorry, right? I know I’ve said it a million times, but I mean it every single time. Eds, I would give anything to take that night back.”

“I know,” he sighed, resting his hand on Steve’s thigh.

“It was a stupid, drunk mistake.”

“I know… and I know, with that being said, it wasn’t entirely your fault. He took advantage. I just don’t think I knew where to direct my anger.”

“But it was still partly my fault.”

“But not as much as either of us are chalking it up to be. Okay? I’m more angry that you hid it from me for so long.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. You were pretty far along in your pregnancy, and we just got married. It seemed like terrible timing regardless. I should’ve told you as soon as it happened, but last thing I wanted was something happening to Bobby. I could’ve handled any backlash that came from you, but if something happened to her? I don’t think I would’ve ever been able to forgive myself.”

“I know, honey, I know,” Eddie whispered. “Hey, Stevie?”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t ever hurt you, did I?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

“No, I mean… when we were having sex. Did I ever hurt you? I-I was really, really angry and I wasn’t thinking about how it was affecting you. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I was railing you until you cried! Several times a night, for like a week!”

“I mean, it hurt at first, but–”

“Then why didn’t you say anything, Stevie?” Eddie’s voice was soft, with genuine concern for his husband.

“I don’t know, Eds, you were getting your anger out, and–”

“No… no and. Did I hurt you when you didn’t want to be hurt?” Eddie teared up. Steve let out a sigh and focused on the road. “Stevie…”

“In the beginning, yes.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie… I really am… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t mean to, honey. It’s okay. I don’t hold anything against you. Just call it even.”

“Stevie–”

“Adultery versus a sore asshole. Tit for tat,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry…” Tears ran down Eddie’s cheeks.

“I know… it’s okay. I’m okay. I promise, it’s okay, Eds. I liked it near the end.”

“Really?” he sniffed.

“Yeah, you got better at it. I’m sure I was hurting girls similarly when I first started having sex. There’s a learning curve, y’know?” Eddie chuckled to himself, wiping his eyes.

“So, we’re okay?”

“More than okay, Eds. I promise.”

“I love you…”

“I love you too.”

“So, how often did you hurt Nance?” Eddie teased.

“Ugh, that poor girl. It’s a miracle she didn’t kill me. Not gonna lie, I’ve hate-fucked her a few times, and–”

“And she didn’t shoot your dick off? Christ, Harrington. That was ballsy of you.”

“I’m lucky we were able to procreate and I’m just gonna leave it at that.”

“God, you’re stupid.”

“And you’re pretty,” Steve smiled.

They pulled into the first open spot they saw at the restaurant and Steve escorted his husband inside. He opened his car door for him, offered up his coat, and led him in. They had a lovely dinner and were soon on their way home.

It was odd to come home together, to a house without a child. However, they made do with the awkwardness and headed to the living room to pop open a bottle of wine. Each of them had a few glasses before they were all over each other.

Steve pulled Eddie into his lap, hands gently resting on his hips as Eddie rested his on Steve’s cheeks. There was no anger to either of them. No resentment. Just love.

“I love you,” Steve mumbled between kisses. “I love you so fucking much.”

“God, I love you too, Stevie.”

Steve pushed Eddie’s hair aside and began gently kissing his neck. Eddie contently hummed as he rutted his hips into Steve’s. Steve cupped the swole of his husband’s ass and pulled him in closer, easing him into another heated kiss.

Steve grabbed onto Eddie’s legs and wrapped them around his waist, carrying him upstairs. He delicately set Eddie down on the bed and hovered over him, smiling fondly.

“What’re you starin’ at, Harrington?” Eddie panted.

“Nothing, just… you. Can I?” Steve asked, tugging at Eddie’s shirt.

“I dunno, can you?”

“There’s my husband,” Steve chuckled, quickly kissing him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Well? Can you take it off?”

“Pretty sure I can.”

“Then show me, c’mon, Harrington. Don’t leave a guy hangin’!”

The two undressed each other and before they knew it, they were in the same position as the first time they ever had sex. Eddie was splayed out on the bed, completely naked, while Steve was only in his boxers, pressing against his exposed spouse. He licked a few of his finger tips before teasing Eddie, slowly circling his clit and sinking two fingers into him.

A hushed moan escaped Eddie’s lips as he pulled Steve down for a kiss, moaning into his mouth. Steve held a steady, firm pace, playing with his clit as he worked Eddie open.

Without warning, Steve pulled back from their lustful kiss and kissed down Eddie’s body. He paid attention to every single inch of him, staying persistent with his fingers. As he worked his way down, he settled between Eddie’s legs, hooking his arms around his thighs to pull him closer. He slowly licked a stripe up from Eddie’s hole to his clit, making him cry out.

“Please, Steve,” Eddie whined, gripping the bedsheets. “Please, it’s been so long. Please, please!”

“I’ll take good care of you, baby, I promise,” Steve hummed into Eddie’s core.

The night continued as such—nothing but slow, passionate love. They took care of one another, assuring each of their needs were met. They hadn’t even known how much time had passed, and they were too blissed out to care.

“Stevie, please, please,” Eddie breathed as his body rocked with his husband’s thrusts.

Eddie’s legs were wrapped around Steve’s waist, trying to pull him in closer. Steve kept one hand rested on Eddie’s hip as the other rested on his mound, thumb pressing firm circles into his clit. Eddie’s back bowed off the bed as he felt himself creeping towards his second (possibly third, he was losing count) orgasm of the evening. He was rushing out Steve’s name, begging for release, with garbled gibberish sprinkled in between.

“God, you look– shit, Eds, fuck… squeezing me so tight,” Steve panted. “You look gorgeous under me, Harrington.”

Eddie’s eyes were screwed shut, humming in appreciation as his husband praised him.

“You take me so well, Eds, fuck. Come on, cum for me baby. Cum all over my cock.”

“God, Steve, please!”

“Please what, pretty boy?”

“Please make me cum!” he cried out. “Please, god, just like that, Stevie.”

The hot pool of passion was building up in Eddie’s stomach, releasing just moments later, with Steve not too far behind. Steve collapsed next to Eddie, who instinctively cuddled against his chest. Steve ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair as the two tried catching their breath.

“We need to pawn off the hell spawn more often,” Eddie panted.

“Absolutely we do, Christ,” Steve huffed. “I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, Stevie.”

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah… I think we are.”

“You’re not still mad at me?”

“I still have a teeny, tiny bit of anger stored somewhere for you not telling me, but overall, no, I’m not mad.”

“Thank god.” Steve kissed Eddie’s sweaty forehead. “I hated being so distant from you. It felt wrong.”

“I know, big boy, I know.” Eddie smushed his face into Steve’s chest and sighed.

“So what time are we picking the spawn up tomorrow?”

“After a round of morning sex?”

“Maybe a few rounds?”

“Oh, I like the sound of that, Harrington.”

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gemwing1988 · 4 months

Text

Heart, Soul & Mind — The Devil TV Tropes

Warning, this fanmade trope contains spoilers so please read with care and enjoy.

The main antagonist of the Cuphead game, he takes up this role once again in the fanfiction. Bitter with his defeat at the hands of the Cup Brothers, the Devil plans revenge when he finds three mysteries gems and a book as a portal to kidnap our three heroines along with Matt and Liam.

Abhorrent Admirer: Towards Katie.

Ambiguous Situation: He has obvious reasons why he would kidnap Katie, Lexie and Natty, but why nab Matt and Liam as well? Did he grabbed them by mistake when they tried to escape with the girls? Did he do it because he doesn’t want to leave any witnesses? Or does he want to either take their souls or use them as a means to blackmail the girls into giving him their cooperation?

And Now You Must Marry Me: The Devil is basically the King Bowser to Katie’s Princess Peach.

And Your Little Dog Too!:

For some reason, he also kidnaps Matt and Liam when he only needed Katie, Lexie and Natty. Perhaps he had decided to try and take their souls as humans from a different are a rarity to him.

He’s bent on going after the Cup Brothers as Revenge for his humiliating defeat at the end of the game.

Not even the former debtors are safe from his campaign of breaking the Dreamstones to his will.

He has zero qualms of using Kaichi, Aya and Daisy as a means to blackmail the Dreamstones.

Baddie Flattery:

Berserk Button:

Big Bad: He’s the main antagonist of the Cuphead franchise after all.

Boom Stick:

Burning with Anger: In the fanfic, he takes after his TCS counterpart where he literally explodes in flames of rage in the same fashion of Hades from Disney’s Hercules.

Cigar Chomper: Much like in the game, he smokes on a cigar, which is often displayed in some chapters.

Deadpanned Snarker:

Embarrassing Nickname:

Lexie gladly came up with the idea to call him “Ol’ Scratch Butt”, inspired by the old Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons where Sonic calls Dr. Robotnik, “Robuttnik”.

In Chapter 19: Take to the Skies, Katie called him “Luci” when she was defending Kaichi since the Devil insulted the Sprigon about his name. Apparently Luci is actually short for Lucifer.

Entitled to Have You: Nothing will stand in his way to make Katie his wife and queen.

Evil Gloating:

Evil is Petty: He callously claimed that Kaichi’s name is stupid when Katie tried to keep her Sprigon companion from picking a fight with him.

Fangs Are Evil: He gets a mouthful of sharp fangs whether to be super scary or when he’s extremely angry.

Faux Affably Evil:

Finger-Snap Lighter:

The Ghost:

Subverted. In Playing With Loaded Dice, he gets mentioned here and there and the only thing that came close to him making an appearance was just an illusion in the mirror challenge.

Played straight when in The Cuphead Show — Dreamstones Edition.

If I Can’t Have You…:

I Have You Now, My Pretty:

I Want Them Alive!:

It Amuses Me:

It’s Personal: He still has bone to pick with Cuphead and Mugman.

Kick the Dog:

Laser-Guided Karma:

Near-Villain Victory:

No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Dine: After recapturing the Dreamstones, the Devil takes Katie away and forced her to have a luxurious dinner with him, magically dolling her in an elegant gown, and all the while trying to seduce her.

One-Man Army: He’s the Devil, what do you expect? He’s a force to be reckoned with.

Pick on Someone Your Own Size:

Prehensile Tail:

Red Eyes, Take Warning:

Revenge:

The Rival: To Lexie and Natty since they’re both Christians.

Sadist:

Sealed Evil in a Can:

Second-Face Smoke:

Shout-Out: In the fanfic, he wears a golden cuff encrusted with red gemstone to cover up the crack in his left horn. This was greatly inspired by his counterpart in the Casino Cups AU.

Sizeshifter: Much like in the original game and the cartoon, the Devil is able to change his size at will, growing up to the size as Cala Maria.

Slasher Smile:

Stalker With/Without a Crush:

Took a Level in Hardcore: He had always been powerful in the game but his pitchfork/trident is now much like in the cartoon as he’s able to shoot fire, zap and levitate things and even teleport with it.

Villain Takes an Interest:

Villainous Breakdown:

Villainous Crush:

We Can Rule Together:

Would Hit a Girl: He forcefully yanked Cala Maria’s soul in Chapter 24: Now You Sea Me, Now You Don’t.

Would Hurt a Child:

He has a score to settle with the Cup Brothers and nothing’s going to stop him from taking their souls.

He also has zero qualms of kidnapping and endangering Matt, a 9-year-old human boy.

Wreathed in Flames: Akin to his TCS counterpart, he literally bursts into flames whenever he gets extremely angry.

Your Soul is Mine!:

You Have Failed Me!:

You Meddling Kids!:

#Cuphead game #Cuphead: Don’t Deal with the Devil #Cuphead the Devil #Cuphead fanfiction #Cuphead AU #Something I did for fun

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ekoilemartinwrite · 2 years

Text

Journal January 28, 2023

I feel angry. I feel frustrated. I partially feel wrathful, and very hurt. It's-told that I that they didn't want to date me because of their own issues. This is not the first time I've been told that by someone I wanted to date!

This one at least is more aware of their own issues. Different issues this time, sorta.

It's so strange, that I have literally been through an abusive relationship. I have been the abused girlfriend, I had the abuser boyfriend. I'm at least fairly certain he was a narcissist.

This time, this is someone I want to date. This is someone I want to marry, and someone who wants to marry me. We both agree on that. – I am trying so hard to love as Christ loved the church as Christ loves the church. And I am learning that that means – I do not bow to every whim, I do not avoid her rage, or hurt anger, or her lashing out. That's my own abuse and my own trauma. To placate and make calm. To just go for the ride.

She is so brilliant, and I am so inarticulate. She is so willing to work with me, and I realize that makes it sounds so strangely capitulatory. I don't think she fully recognizes all of her issues, or at least not all the extent of it. I see behind her mask and she sees behind mine. We both like what we see. We are both occasionally deeply frustrated, she occasionally says she wants to murder me mostly playfully I think. I don't think she would actually do it, she has problems killing a spider or a bug in the house.

I don't think she fully realizes how long it sometimes takes me and my mind to process an idea and emotion and to fully articulate something. And in order to have a conversation, there has to be a back and forth. And it is much more difficult for me to process things when I am stationary. And it is much more difficult for her to be articulate when we are moving. She thinks in words, my mind doesn't. Words are, for me, translation. It's partially why I'm very precise with my wording. Because I don't think in words, words are for into my mind, the way I understand and process things. Words are, for her, her native language.

Uncle Iro’s bubble tea mochi. She had not gotten her paycheck yet, I had money. She wanted to get it up, and I didn't. We were at one of the local malls, after getting dinner. I've been having difficulty with food, and her current approach to food sets me off, especially when I don't have premade food to fall back on. The way I handled not wanting to get the mochi, was to bring up her dog who she has decided she wants to save up money in order to help our dog get surgery. Saving money partially requires not spending it. That was a bit of mood emotional manipulation on my part, which was not okay. Said I could have just said I don't want to spend the money on that. Which I did eventually say, but that was after the emotional manipulation. This sparked a calm rational argument, I'm not even sure precisely about what. We broached several different topics. It eventually ended, partially in us intentionally trying to list each other's flaws. The worst thing she good list about me was that I am hot unhygienic – she felt that my list was mostly kind things about her. Which technically it was.

She has been profoundly hurt, and has a lot of anger. And I don't think she knows how to, or has hardly any tools, to process that. In some ways it would be easier if she were stupid. Because then she could just blame the immediate people who hurt her. But she understands that it wasn't done maliciously. Fallible humans who made the best decisions they could with the resources they had at the time is what she sees. I don't think you really understands or appreciates how brilliant, or instinctively compassionate, she is.

She's also a bit of an emotional bulldozer. And I need to learn how to not be plowed over. I don't want to continue to be a battered wife. And she hasn't done that to me, she's actively tried not to do that. But I feel that, in the last several weeks, or maybe month and a half or so, I've maybe been shutting down. And I don't know why. I thought maybe, it's the intensity of the emotions that I feel for her. I know I love her. I know, at this moment, she is still on semi equal footing with my priorities between her and God. I don't think she really understands that for a long time she was a higher priority for me than God. That she had a bigger place than God in my life. And I've been working with God to fix that. She is an idol to me. And God deserves better than that.

God deserves better than that in my life. I deserve better than that in my life. Ashley, also, deserves better than that. We both see each other, and maybe I make her work more than she should to read me. As I don't talk as much as I use to. I don't think she fully understands how much I need space to fully articulate things. Or at least how much I need movement in order to process things. During this conversation I was playing with my hands, and she got stressed out and distracted by me moving my thumbs in a weird way that would normally give her, in her hands pain.

I told her she has a shopping addiction, which I thought she had articulated to me but I was wrong. That is not a thing that she said. I do not think that I was correct about that, not precisely. I was thinking it, but it is not a thing that she said. I interpreted that she had one based on certain actions of how she wants to save money, because it is a complete – planning for lack of control by allowing someone else complete control, does not speak well.

I keep coming back to feeling like a battered wife. I remember Ajay, and going out to get him cigarettes and beer. I remember him waiting in my apartment, coming back from getting those things and thinking “if we dated, this would be an abusive relationship." I still consider doing it. We wound up not dating, because he was not honest with me about something which he had said. Thank you God! And he would've been too. He would've utterly taken advantage of me. In multiple ways. Jay was not an abuser, he had been on the receiving end of that too often. But he did want to not date me, specifically because of his own issues, and wanting to spare me: he made the comparison like Spider-Man choosing not to date Mary Jane in order to keep her safe. I loathe that argument. Then there is my most recent ex-boyfriend, who I am very certain was a narcissist, who is not actually interested in dating me and only wanted the sex. Which he was horrifically bad at. He also made all of my addictions much worse.

I realize that both my roommate and J talked a lot. I have been much more quiet of the past month or more, I think because I feel as though I have not enough room to think in my own head, to process what I want to say if anything. Multiple times she's told me to stop moving because it's distracting to her, and I am currently realizing I need to move in order to have my mind processed things. That makes me feel like I'm being shut down.

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michelle-is-writing · 2 years

Text

Long Time Coming, Jax Teller

Word Count: 2k~

When you see the man you’ve been with for the past year out with another woman, you get angry. You get upset; that’s normal. However, as of right now, I don’t feel any of that. When I first caught the familiar hair and equally familiar body outside a bar, I didn’t think much of it. I had gone out to dinner with my friends after work, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. However, I wasn’t expecting to see him when I got in my car after dinner; the bar he stood outside being right next to the restaurant I just left. Like I said, he was free to do whatever he wanted, but that didn’t mean he could make out with another woman when he thought I wouldn’t find out.

I felt anger rush through me the instant I saw it, red taking over my vision, but as the seconds passed, I started planning in my head. We didn’t live together, but in the year we were together, some of his stuff ended up at my place - including his laptop and other valuable things. That didn’t matter though; it was all going by the curb as soon as I got back to my apartment.

Once I walk into my house, I change out of my work clothes and into shorts and a tank top before heading to the kitchen and pouring myself a shot of whiskey from a bottle I was saving to enjoy with him. With my speakers turned on, I begin ridding my home of any trace of him. As sad as it sounds, I knew the romance had been dead for a while - we never even had sex as he “didn’t feel quite up to it.” My friends always told me I deserved someone better as it seemed like we were only tolerating the relationship, neither of us wanting to actually end it. However, my closest friend, Jax, was probably the biggest advocate for me to leave him. It didn’t help that his family would also tell me I deserved better as I always had a close relationship with Jax’s mom and the club. Jax always told me he never liked the man, but I blamed that on me and Jax always being stuck at the hip since we were kids; now I see Jax was right, and he was a dirtbag.

After packing the third box full of my now-ex’s shit, I pour myself my fifth or sixth shot and focus on emptying my fridge and pantry of anything that only he eats. I don’t even put it in a bag for him to get later; it’s all going directly in the trash can. Just like the rest of his stuff that’s waiting by the front door for me to take out to the curb.

I’m not sure if it’s the liquor I’ve been drinking or the growing irritation from finding little things of his around my place, but I feel like I might be going a little overboard. I just can’t get the image of him kissing that other woman out of my head. I was supposed to be the only woman he kissed, but in all actuality, we didn’t have a real kiss in what felt like months. Like I said, I knew the relationship was going downhill, but now that I feel so much resentment and barely any heartbreak for him, I have no idea how we were still together until now.

A slight rumbling sound disrupts me from my thoughts, causing my head to poke up from the fridge. A few seconds pass before I end up brushing it off and focusing on my music as I throw the last frozen dinner of his in the trash. Despite this, a loud knock sounding against my front door makes me poke my head out of my fridge once more and over to my entryway. It feels as if my heart and stomach drop as my head begins racing with thoughts of my ex being at my door. I’m calling him my ex even though he doesn’t know he’s now my ex, but if it is him at my door, then he’ll know when he sees his belongings ready for him. Although, that’s not what I’m worried about. I still have no idea how I’m even going to confront him over me catching him making out with another person.

Pausing my music, I head over to my front door before looking out the peephole, only to see my favorite person. Immediately unlatching the lock, I open my door to greet Jax with a grin. “Hi!” I say to him, my previous shots influencing my sudden excitement over my best friend coming over.

Jax only gives me a confused smirk before nodding at me. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” He asks, receiving a nod back from me. “But you’re here by yourself?” His question unintentionally stings, instantly reminding me of why I decided to open up that bottle anyways.

Seeing me shrink into myself a little, Jax seemingly picks up on my sullen mood as barely another second passes before he’s stepping into my apartment with a worried look on his face. “Baby? What’s wrong?” He asks, making my stomach churn at him calling me the nickname he’s called me since we were little. I knew as a teenager that I was in love with my childhood best friend, but now that I’m an adult, I’ve had to push those feelings away. He hasn’t given me any hint of him reciprocating my feelings as things between us have always remained the same. Jax and I are still best friends all these years later, and only best friends.

I can feel my face begin to drop at the heartbreak, but not from my recent breakup. “I broke up with Josh,” I decide to tell Jax, looking away from Jax’s blue eyes and over to the boxes by the front door. Most of them are just random things he left over here with the rest being a few pieces of his clothes. After all, he only stayed the night a few times, which was odd now that I think about it. Most people stay over at their significant other’s place, right?

Before I can think anymore about my stupid ex, I watch Jax turn his head to look over at them with me, the gears slowly turning in his head as he looks back at me shortly afterward. “Darlin’,” he murmurs, taking another step forward to cup my face in one hand while the other rests against my waist. Once again, the line between us as friends and lovers is questioned, but I can almost guarantee nothing has been changed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been upset over that asshole.”

Jax’s words make me smile before I ultimately end up laughing, leaving Jax to slide his hand on my face down to match his other hand on my waist. He simply holds me as I get lost in my giggles with him eventually joining in out of slight confusion.

“You know, I was a little hurt at first,” I admit to Jax, looking down at the floor as my arms hang around his neck. “But after a few seconds, I just snapped out of it and came home to get rid of his shit… I caught him cheating, Jax,” I reveal to him, his grip on me going stiff as he listens to every word that leaves my mouth. “I went to dinner with the girls at work and saw him kissing another girl when I went outside to leave,” leaning my head against his chest, I let out a sigh as Jax continues holding me, his grip never ceasing. “I just want everything of his out.”

A few seconds of calm silence pass between us before Jax does something that surprises me. He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry, baby. You don’t deserve that,” He tells me, his words settling deep within my chest. I really wish I wouldn’t have opened that bottle now because sober me would’ve already been freaking out over my current predicament, but then again, maybe that’s a good thing.

“Then what do I deserve, Jax?” I question him, leaning my head up to look at him. From this angle, my eyes trail up his blonde chin to his ocean-like eyes as they stare back at me, a bit darker than before. I go to question this until I see his vision fall to my lips, and as if a switch were flipped, I take the hint.

Just as I begin to lean up, Jax meets me in the middle and places his soft lips against mine in one of the best kisses I’ve ever had. All of the made up scenarios I had in my head as a teenager are nothing compared to what’s happening right now. The way his hands grab at me, effortlessly pulling me closer to him makes me hold onto him for dear life as his lips continue their assault on mine.

Chests heaving, we reluctantly pull away as panted breaths fall from out from our parted lips. “Is that what I deserve?” I can’t help but ask Jax, my eyes watching as his face shifts from bliss to that of utter happiness.

“And so much more,” Jax utters, still breathless as he presses another kiss to my lips. “More than that guy could ever give you, baby girl,” at the same time Jax says this, one of Jax’s hands slides away from my waist and up to my face where he brushes my hair away from my face. “Why don’t you just go get ready for bed, hm? I’ll take all his shit out.”

A grin breaks out across my face at his words. “Thank you, baby.”

“Of course,” Jax murmurs back, biting his smirking lip as his eyes stay trained on my form disappearing into the hallway. However, just as I turn the corner, I hide behind the wall and wait a second before turning to watch Jax. Just as I do this, I see him walk out my front door with one of the boxes before kicking it across the street, its contents flying out as he does so. I hold back my laughter at this, and instead, I choose to wander into my room and wait for Jax to join me once he’s done taking care of my ex’s stuff.

It doesn’t take him long to come into my room before stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed with me. As soon as he does so, his arms find their way around me and pull me close, keeping me warm against his chest. For a few moments, the silence around us is very calming and relaxing, like everything is where it belongs - including us.

“I always hated that jerkoff,” Jax murmurs, causing me to let out a small laugh. Of course he’d be the one to break the silence.

“I could tell,” I murmur back, looking up from his bare chest. His beautiful eyes greet mine instantly, and I can’t help but feel lost in them. “You made it pretty obvious.”

Jax stares back at me, almost gawking. “Then why didn’t you break up with him?” He asks, earning a knowing look back from me. “Okay, I know I should’ve made a move sooner, but baby, I hated seeing him anywhere near you.”

Seeing him nervously explain himself to me, I teasingly smile as my eyes squint. “Jackson Teller,” I say his name, slowly, “was that jealousy I just heard leave your lips?”

At my question, Jax simply smirks before leaning down and pressing our lips together once more like earlier. “What can I say?” He simply whispers, his face mere centimeters from mine. “You’ve always been my girl… I’ve just been too much of a pussy to do anything about it,” this time, I’m the one that connects our lips, Jax pulling away with a soft sigh as soon as the kiss is over, his eyes wandering down my form. “I’m lucky. So damn lucky.”

#jax teller x reader #Jax teller #Jax teller imagine #jax teller imagines #Jackson teller #Jackson teller x reader #Jackson teller imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagines #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy x reader #Jax teller x fem reader #jax teller x fem!reader

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sluttywonwoo · 3 years

Text

take it off || k.mg x reader

Pairing: mob!mingyu x fem reader

Summary: as much as you hate to admit it, jealousy looks good on your fiancé

Warnings: swearing, light smut (18+)

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n: reworked this old blurb originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

“Mingyu, slow down,” you said with a sigh, trying not to roll your eyes.

“What was he thinking?” Mingyu spat, not acknowledging what you had just said. He gripped the steering wheel even harder.

You watched as his knuckles began to turn white and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Baby, take a deep breath. Relax.”

He just shrugged you off and cursed at the car in front of him.

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax.”

“It’s not a big deal, Gyu.”

He actually turned his head towards you and looked at you this time. “You’re joking.”

You shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve had worse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You winced, knowing you’d probably made it worse and that Mingyu was likely now picturing the grimy hands of ill-intentioned strangers all over your body.

“I should have him killed,” he snarled.

To most, that threat would sound completely ridiculous or utterly insane, but your fiancé was the head of the Seoul mob-the South West branch anyway- and he was no stranger to violence. Having someone killed would be as easy as snapping his fingers.

You scoffed to call his bluff.

“You think I won’t?” he challenged and you groaned.

“You promised you were done with that.”

It’s true, one of the conditions of your engagement had been that Mingyu agree to put the more sinister side of his business to rest, and although you trusted him, in all honesty, you weren’t sure how well he was upholding his end of the deal.

“I’d make an exception.”

“Well don’t. I don’t want some poor guy’s blood on my hands.”

At that, the car screeched to a stop right in the middle of the freeway. The cars behind you honked and flashed their lights at Mingyu as they maneuvered to avoid a collision.

You huffed in frustration, wanting to bang your head against the dashboard. This was exactly why you didn’t like for Mingyu to drive himself: he pulled dangerous shit all the time like this. Literally, all of his other men had drivers who took them places and you desperately wished Mingyu would hire someone, but he insisted that it was safest if he was the one driving (yet here you were in the middle of the highway).

“You could’ve fucking killed us!” you shouted, more annoyed than anything.

Mingyu took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But y/n, he’s not just some poor guy.”

“He was trying to get a rise out of you, Gyu. He fucking hates you, of course, he’d go after me, and he was drunk.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes at you, foot still pressed firmly on the brake. “That’s not a fucking excuse, you of all people should know that. Why are you trying to defend him?”

“I’m not trying to defend him, I’m just saying he doesn’t deserve to die. Can we please just get home?”

Mingyu relented and put the car back into motion making you breathe a sigh of relief.

Even though he didn’t say anything else you could tell his mind was still going a thousand miles a minute. You watched him chew at his lip in silence and wondered what was going on in that beautiful head of his. Nothing good, you could be sure of that.

Mingyu’s mind was darker than most. Occupational hazard. He carried so much pain that you hadn’t known about when you first met him. He’d let you in slowly, keeping you at arm’s length for months, until he almost lost you. And then he knew he couldn’t keep things from you anymore. It was still a challenge to understand his thought process sometimes, but you liked it that way. How could a ruthless, power-hungry mobster also be the most loving, family-oriented person you’d ever met in your life? How could someone who dropped a grand on a dinner like it was nothing secretly rather spend one more night picnicking with crappy Chinese food on the bedroom floor in your old apartment? You couldn’t think of an answer, and you didn’t want to.

The guy at the bar tonight had been some rival of Mingyu’s. You hadn’t seen him before, but you could tell because when Mingyu got up to get the two of you more drinks he swooped in and laid it on heavy. He looped one arm around your waist and placed his other hand on your knee and began attempting to seduce you. Sure, you were uncomfortable but more than anything you were angry. And tired. Tired of being used as bait, something to get to Mingyu.

You didn’t want to make a scene so you listened to the asshole talk about how much better he’d treat you than Mingyu until your fiancé eventually returned with your drinks in hand, face beet red, eyes dark with anger.

The man, you never caught his name, left the bar with a broken nose. Mingyu left with bruised knuckles. You’d thought it would end at that, but of course, once Mingyu got started it was hard for him to stop. It was a gift in the bedroom, but a curse in the rest of your life.

Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it, Mingyu broke the silence in the car and said “I know what he said to you,” and it all clicked.

Normally, a hand on your shoulder, thigh, ass was enough to set Mingyu off, but combine that with the filthy words he’d undoubtedly overheard spilling from the man’s lips… no wonder all he could see was red.

“Mingyu, I-“

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to start something.”

“Start something? Is that true? Or do you think he’s right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think he can satisfy you better than I can?”

“Mingyu!”

“Well do you?”

You shook your head and rubbed your thighs together, fighting a shiver. As irritating as Mingyu’s jealousy could be, the effect it had on you was even more infuriating. The man could already turn you on without doing anything and whenever he started acting a little jealous it was game over for you. It was pathetic, really.

“Why the fuck did he even think it was okay to look at you, let alone touch you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged finally settling in to play the game. “These big dudes with huge muscles just think they can have whoever they want.”

Mingyu whipped his head back towards you. “What did you say?”

You ignored him. “I mean he definitely wouldn’t be as good as you, but he could do some damage.” Mingyu was full-on glaring at you now, and you wanted to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, but you couldn’t give up so fast. “I mean, just one of his hands could probably wrap around my whole neck. Like they were giant, and you know what they say about guys with big hands-“

“Do you think this is funny?”

Any sane person wouldn’t even think about taunting Mingyu like this, not with his reputation, but you couldn’t be sane to be with someone like Mingyu anyway, and besides, you knew he was a big softie at heart.

“A little,” you admitted. “You look really hot right now.”

He really did. His hair was tousled with silver highlights from the moonlight streaming in through the windshield, his tan skin was flushed with adrenaline, and his white button-up was unbuttoned just a few times to show off his collarbone. You bit your lip. You were so fucking weak.

“That’s not going to work.”

“No?” You quirked an eyebrow and leaned over the console to see that he was already more than half hard in his dress pants. “Because it looks like it’s working.” You reached over and began to palm him through his trousers, smirking when he cursed and rolled his neck at the contact.

“Y/n, if I have to pull over, you’re not going to be able to walk for the next week.”

Oh no, that’d be horrible you thought to yourself and rolled your eyes. He had to know that’s what you secretly wanted, right? Right? Why were men so stupid?

Either way, you took your hand back and moved it up under the hem of your dress to where you were feeling a little desperate for some friction. You sighed deeply when you rubbed yourself over your panties, not even surprised at how wet you were.

“Fuck,” you hissed out and hiked your legs up onto the seat so you could give Mingyu a better view.

“Stop that.”

He said it so forcefully that you froze, fingers hovering over your panties, about to pull them to the side. Then you smiled.

“No.” You went ahead and did it anyway, slipping two fingers inside of yourself easily.

You weren’t one to defy Mingyu often, especially when it came to what he asked of you in the bedroom, but you knew how crazy it drove him and just couldn’t resist.

Mingyu groaned, trying and failing to maintain an angry expression. His eyes betrayed an absolutely sinful lust that made you want to melt and you wished more than anything he’d just pull the fucking car over.

“Fuck, Gyu,” you gasped, “I wish these were your fingers, you’re so good with your fingers.”

“Yeah? You sure you wish they’re my fingers? Not someone else’s?”

You shook your head vigorously. “Never. You’re the only one who knows how to make me cum that hard.”

“Is that what you want? To cum hard?”

“God, yes,” you moaned, pumping your fingers in and out of you faster.

“Take off your dress.”

“What?” you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right, you were still driving down the highway after all.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Not wanting to push your luck any further you didn’t hesitate to listen this time and pulled the loose fabric up and over your head.

“Good girl,” he praised and you whined. You were still wearing your bra and underwear and as much as you’d love to flash oncoming traffic, you hoped Mingyu wouldn’t ask you to take them off.

“You can touch yourself,” he said and you complied, knowing it was more of an instruction than an allowance.

It felt good, really good, but you still wished it was him instead of you.

“Fuck, darling you look so beautiful like that, God, I can’t believe I get to marry you.”

“If, you stop, killing people,” you managed to get out through gritted teeth and Mingyu laughed.

“I’m not going to kill him, baby. I made a promise. You’re too important to risk losing, even if he is a fucking prick.”

You whimpered, the mixture of complete head-over-heels love you felt for Mingyu and pleasure making you crumble.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, reaching over and taking you by the wrist, stalling your movements just as you were about to fall over the edge. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever met that asshole.”

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erwinsvow · 3 years

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

#... uh yeah <3 step uncle eren #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager imagine #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger x reader #aot #fics #tw step cest #tw dubcon

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