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harryspet · 6 months ago

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well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway. When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress.

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now.

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery.

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said,

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged.

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you?

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out.

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that.

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes.

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected.

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo.

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice.

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs.

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness.

“Pull up your dress,” He said next.

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back.

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today.

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded.

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind.

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at.

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace.

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong.

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.”

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling.

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen.

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest.

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening.

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped.

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient.

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs.

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys.

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered.

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted.

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap.

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate.

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

His words all jumbled together.

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.”

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond.

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once.

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang.

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured.

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms.

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails.

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”.

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor. “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock.

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

#dark fic #well kept #rafe cameron #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe x reader #topper thornton #billionaire au #billionaire!rafe #ceo au

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londonfog-chan · 9 months ago

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Eddie Munson x Reader: Ulterior Motives

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+. Mentions of smutty things and pot. Also mentions of being high if that doesn’t sit right with you. Please use your better judgment and be safe out there with edibles y’all.

I fucking told you all this shit would happen one day. I told you I was working on that Ulterior Motives fic. Here it is babes.

***

It was the sexy beat of the drums that probably caught you off guard.

“Baby…”

The wet sound of his tongue against your neck intermingled with the sinful sounds blaring on the television. You tasted like Betty Crocker chocolate.

And then the keyboard came… Maybe a Yamaha or Lowrey.

The sexy percussions…

“Baby…?”

He couldn’t hear you, fumbling for the fly of his jeans as your underwear went sailing over the couch. An unintelligible groan rippled through his throat as the actress on the flick began to sound off, and then the vocalist came on…

“-ing in yo… yes make me realize...”

“Eddie get off I can’t hear!”

You pushed Eddie Munson off you abruptly and his head smacked hard into the coffee table, making him yelp in pain.

Clutching the aching part of his skull and ruffling the messy waves of his brown locks, he looked indignant to see you crawling out from under him on all fours. Your pathway was clear ahead: straight for the glow of the television that beckoned in the dark room like a forbidden idol against the teal carpet and wood panels of your family’s home. The haze of pain sadly didn’t allow him to admire the curvaceous view he currently had of your behind as you crawled on hands and knees. Which was a shame, because you were clad in nothing but his Black Sabbath shirt, and the view from the back was spectacular.

But for you to push him off that quickly… Maybe he did something wrong?

“I’m sorry!” he began quickly apologizing, pulling up his underwear and zipping the fly of distressed Levis quickly as though someone had just walked in, “Sorry! I guess I just got carried away and I thought you wanted…”

“Shhh!”

Eddie froze. His face contorted further into worry. He thought you were going to tell him you heard the characteristic car door slam of your mother’s 1979 Dodge Aspen from the adjacent garage. Evidently the last thing on your mind was hearing anything except for the television. You were pressed against the speaker, trying to listen in to something, although he doubted it was the wet noises or the groaning currently playing out.

Guilt and dread filled his chest. It was all going to shit. This had all been his idea and the whole experience had been one long string of bad luck altogether.

Originally it was a simple plan concocted after you finally passed Mr. Mundy’s remedial math final with a C. Weeks of struggling through understanding your homework and your boyfriend’s high proficiency help finally paid off. Eddie had taken you out to Palace Arcade to spoil the shit out of you with as much time as you wanted on the new Elvira pinball machine, but he felt that treat was just too tame in comparison to achieving such a big goal. Considering Mundy was the last obstacle standing in your way for graduation with him, Eddie thought of something more enticing to welcome you into the ranks of those who would walk for their diploma.

He'd proposed the idea when you called him to tell him your mother had to leave for a few days on business. A different scenario was pictured then: a fun night in with a sleepover at your place with some greasy burgers and crinkle cut fries from Big Top, homemade Munson Special Treats, and a suspiciously obtained copy of one of his favorite porno flicks, Angels of Passion, for the evening’s viewing pleasure. Concluding the evening with a stoner’s nightcap and eating everything the two of you could get your grubby hands on afterwards.

It had been going well up until you flipped out on the shitty music.

“Baby… are you ok?” Eddie asked, rubbing the back of his head as he sat up.

He got scared when you didn’t respond at all. Hardly acknowledging he was there.

“Oh fuck me Freddy… Green out babe? You’re not having a bad one are you?!” He asked, his heart racing with fear. “Was it too strong for you? I told you to tell me if you started feeling-…”

“SHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

You turned around with a scowl, putting your finger to your lips as you shushed him harshly. Whether it was Eddie’s ‘special treats’ working their magic or it was the actual shitty pop that Eddie hated, you were simply unmovable. The tune wasn’t Eddie’s style at all, then again if he was watching an adult film he wasn’t really paying attention to whatever out of tune noise the director chose for music. But you seemed fascinated.

You hummed softly along to it, and when the scene ended, you immediately rewound the tape.

“Woah… ok, what are we doing here baby? What are you listening for?” he asked, crawling over to sit next to you as you worked the Betamax.

“What is this melody?!” you asked, using a mocking British accent that you often took on for your rogue character during Hellfire’s current Battle for Baldur’s Gate Campaign.

“… the shittiest stock music known to man?” Eddie responded, and it took him a while to formulate a coherent answer that was both kind and not outright laughing at you, “It’s porno music babe. If it ain’t metal it means nothing to us.”

“Holy fuck…” you hissed through your teeth, “This song… it… it’s really fucking awesome?!”

Okay… Now what the fuck else were you eating besides badly made pot brownies from Uncle Wayne’s tiny kitchen?!

“… You’re kidding, right? Baby… it’s a POP song! Since when do we listen to pop?! Bad pop at that, some of the shittiest music imaginable and you’re here acting like it’s Mr. Crowley.”

Eddie was flailing his arms, almost hurt with you for turning against his strict metal only code in his presence. Normally you had varied tastes, and he tolerated it to a point; the only rule was nonmetal did not exist in your shared van, but anything goes on your Walkman where you could plug in your headphones and Eddie could blast something else on the cassette deck of his 1971 Chevy Van.

“Yeah that’s it… you’ve had way too much.” Eddie said, beginning to try and pull you away from the television, “No way would you find this crap enjoyable if you weren’t completely baked and tone deaf.”

“Eddie no, you don’t understand this is… how the fuck is a porno song this good???” you hissed to yourself.

It had to be the brownies… Had to be… What the hell else could it have been?! Pulling at his hair, Eddie reasoned you had to have eaten too much against his advice. Admittedly he’d bitten off a little more than he could chew today as well, and he could feel it settle in the longer he tried to pull you away from the tv. He usually could pull off pregaming a joint before a treat and still maintain some modicum of law and order of the two of you, but you’d never done this before. You had insisted earlier you would be fine, but he suspected you had bitten off more than you could chew. Definitely on the verge of a green out if your taste in music was declining this badly.

“Eddie this is so good… how the hell did they get like actual musicians to perform for a porn?” you asked, almost desperate. “I wish I could hear the rest of it… if this stupid bitch wasn’t moaning her little bimbo head off…”

“Sweetheart, that’s the whole point of the flick…” Eddie said, holding you against him as he looked deeply into your eyes. “It’s just something to have on in the background while the lead gets plowed like a cornfield. Doesn’t have any other kind of special meaning beyond that.”

You weren’t even paying attention. Completely transfixed, possessed even, as you began to hum along with the song, shaking your backside slightly with the beat. When you began to sing, Eddie had a moment where his brain began to short circuit. You had quite a captivating voice, deep and contralto, although he could never convince you to sing for him beyond screaming along to Rainbow in the Dark while parked out at Lover’s Lake.

“… everyone knows that… ulterior motives… what the hell did he say…?” You muttered, trying to follow along with the lyrics.

You rewound the video at least eight times, each time ignoring Eddie complaining and trying to get you to stop. The music was so bad, he didn’t even notice that after a while, he started feeling like maybe he’d also had a little too much. Shit! He definitely fucked up and pregamed a little too much in anticipation of your sleepover. He should have been paying attention. There was a point where he’d thought he’d rolled tobacco and not the reefer, and cautiously ate a little more of the brownies when after an hour he hadn’t felt the high, but he certainly could have just checked better and stayed with eating only half.

Each time you rewound the tape, you learned a little more of the song, until you perfectly memorized the lyrics that you were able to hear.

“Oh my god Eddie…” you said, completely out of your mind. “Holy shit… I think this is the best song ever written?”

“Jesus H. honey… What, are you a little preppie cheerleader that listens to Madonna now? You a jock?!” There wasn’t much lyrical genius that he could make out above the obnoxious moaning of the actress currently being engaging in the illicit acts. “Listen babe, let’s forgo the porno, okay? I’ll put on our album instead and we’ll listen to real music. You want that baby? I know you love Holy Diver?”

“Eddie just… Just trust me… ha… haha…” you suddenly had a fit of giggles, excited and tickled that you were able to learn the lyrics so quickly. You could hardly talk. And Eddie could hardly even get himself together enough to just shut the damn tv off.

But what happened next suddenly changed everything: you stood up quickly, and began swaying.

“Oh good God above now you’re dancing, babe, come back here…!”

At first Eddie scrambled to his feet, he was afraid the love of his life was going to fall and crash into the entertainment center, but you seemed to really be dancing, following the rhythm fairly well for being baked out of your mind. Your dance was sloppy, wild and reckless, you gyrated your hips mostly, dancing like you were the only one in the room.

Eddie froze. He was almost transfixed, more so on the way you danced rather than the fact that you were transfixed on the song still.

“Eddie watch just… just listen to it again…” you stopped to have a fit of laughter.

“I don’t like this...!” he said, more cautious than curious at this point.

“Eddie! Just trust me! Let me listen to it again, one more time…! Please?”

He hesitated. Every fiber of his being screaming about the dangers that having both of you out of your minds could cause. The logical part of his brain screamed danger, saw it lurking in the sharp corners, odds and ends and angles of the room. He should get you both to bed before one of you got hurt. He should be the responsible one for once in his goddamned life instead of being the bad influence…

“God dammit…” he growled, wiping the final remnants of shame from his face. “Fine. One more time, and then we’re shutting shit down.”

You couldn’t press rewind fast enough. The scene began all over again with the drums, a soft ‘oh yeah’ from the blonde star being worked over by some stud, honestly at this point Eddie had seen the blonde get railed under the giant Coca Cola poster so many times and was getting so high as time marched on he couldn’t even find it in himself to get hard. He was utterly desensitized to the scene, until he saw you begin to dance again, and you were looking at him like you were starving.

“Something in your eyes makes me realize… how strained this feels...” your voice was smooth, a low alto so unlike anything he’d heard in his life. Although you weren’t practiced, and still very high, something about the way you seemed to just be enjoying yourself, letting loose… through the floating giddy feeling creeping up on him, Eddie was just completely captivated watching his beautiful lover have unabashed fun dancing to terrible music.

You reached out to Eddie, fingers beckoning him to dance with you, hips swaying as you continued to sing along.

Now how could he resist you like that? All hot and bothered, needy for him, beckoning him in for a dance…

He moved automatically in, moving slightly to the beat as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressed against him while singing the chorus, sweet little voice softening when you sang ‘tell me the truth’ in a cadence that lilted up at the end, as if you were trying to flirt with him. It was actually very endearing… and Eddie was finding the longer the song went on, he didn’t actually mind the song so long as it was you singing to him.

The longer you danced together, closely pressed against one another, the greater the intensity of the passion was as the raw sexual tension built up. You slowly slid your hands down Eddie’s body, massaging and teasing him as you then slipped your hands into the back pockets of his jeans. You gave him a firm, loving squeeze. Your eyes were watery, squinting up at him in the dark, but to him you looked like an angel.

It had to be the sounds from the television getting to you both on some subconscious level, because the next thing he knew Eddie was being pulled backwards until you both hit the couch, Eddie pinning you to the cushions as you continued to dance, swaying and moving against one another. He didn’t know when it started happening, just knew that at some point the Levis were pooled at his ankles and there you were. Surrounding every sense all at once. Buried in warmth. He was so consumed by a passion that burned hot and heavy, following a rhythmic pattern of give and take, soft and wet, hot and heavy all at the same time, the once terrible music becoming a symphonic masterpiece as you and he made music of your own.

When he pulled away from you, after the most earth shattering peak of enticement, he noticed you were staring at him with stars sparkling in your eyes.

“Best song ever written, right?” you asked, mouth hanging open as you both panted in the aftermath of love.

“Yeah…” he breathed, trying desperately to catch his breath as you took it away with your beauty. “Best song ever written babe…”

#reader insert #eddie munson #stranger things #reader insert fiction #eddie munson x reader #ulterior motives #song fic #stranger things x reader #minors dni #minors do not interact

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