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kiwi-bitchez · 2 years ago

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Double Down, Triple Threat

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension.

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending.

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics.

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways.

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something."

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order.

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret.

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on.

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that.

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were.

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers.

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar.

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well.

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig.

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him.

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface.

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer.

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him.

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that."

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull.

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt.

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards.

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night.

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot.

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive.

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot.

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something."

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road.

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt.

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong.

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk.

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one.

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood.

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper.

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful.

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door.

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks.

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go."

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step.

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking.

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live."

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies.

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?"

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought.

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat.

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here."

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights.

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought.

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?"

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar.

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on.

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped.

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close.

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy.

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat.

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.”

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside.

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now.

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane.

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this.

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond.

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that.

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say.

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well.

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile.

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago.

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips.

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window.

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form.

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much.

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue.

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner.

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise.

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be.

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.”

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath.

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch.

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief.

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow.

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind.

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there.

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing.

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights.

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow.

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.”

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel.

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale.

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request.

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut.

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes.

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…”

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did.

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it.

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off.

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.”

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances.

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over.

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were.

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…”

He understood, he hated how much he understood.

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him.

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run.

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat.

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive.

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt.

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails.

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers.

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed.

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point.

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction.

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale.

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot.

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice.

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip.

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction.

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?”

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill.

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away.

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands.

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom.

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on.

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself.

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark.

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked.

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you.

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious.

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present.

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed.

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream.

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go.

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around.

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin.

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways?

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away.

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back.

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel.

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging.

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.”

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up.

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.”

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most.

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs.

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way.

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you.

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time.

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?”

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him.

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand.

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary.

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else.

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes.

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch.

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top?

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching.

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment.

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point.

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end.

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold.

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean.

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two.

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his.

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could.

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen.

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong.

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep.

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you.

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months.

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control.

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed.

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze.

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue.

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true.

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper.

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment.

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall.

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl.

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time.

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over.

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was.

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear.

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.”

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this.

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.”

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips.

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you.

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom.

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips.

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom.

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets.

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you.

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed.

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away.

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself.

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect.

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck.

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.”

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body.

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long.

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs.

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up.

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks.

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.”

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away.

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.”

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit.

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred.

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.”

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask.

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest.

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip.

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle.

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?”

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you.

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning.

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone.

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest.

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit.

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand.

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time.

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment.

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare.

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening.

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more.

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more.

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time.

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go.

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you.

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time.

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state.

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you.

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you.

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could.

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all.

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now.

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter.

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue.

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you.

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you.

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts.

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future.

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page.

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock.

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips.

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake.

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his.

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours.

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses.

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.”

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center.

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you.

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name.

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release.

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements.

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm.

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name.

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van.

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets.

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss.

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all.

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice.

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come.

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #smut #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson #stranger things smut #Eddie munson fanfiction

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

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Writing Notes: Cliché

A cliché is an expression that was once innovative but has lost its novelty due to overuse.

Tips on How to Avoid Clichés in Writing

Clichés play such a big role in how we communicate that it may seem impossible to avoid using them in your writing. However, clichés can often be rephrased to convey the same meaning as the original expression. Here are some steps to take if you find clichés in your work:

Think about the meaning of the cliché. Use a dictionary to identify synonyms that could replace the word or phrase that is cliché.

Decide whether or not you need to include the cliché. Often, clichés are unnecessary placeholders in writing and can be deleted.

Rewrite the sentence with new words in place of the cliché. For example, if you’re describing a musical with the cliché “comes full circle,” the description could be changed to say that the musical “returned to the themes with which it started.”

Common Clichés to Avoid

There are a number of clichés that are so overused that they should be avoided like the plague (including that one). Here is a list of clichés you should avoid.

“The wrong side of the bed.”

“Think outside the box.”

“Loose canon.”

“A perfect storm.”

“Can of worms.”

“What goes around comes around.��

“Dead as a doornail.”

“Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Like a kid in a candy store.”

“You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Take the tiger by the tail.”

“Every rose has its thorn.”

“Good things come to those who wait.”

“In the nick of time.”

“If only walls could talk.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“The pot calling the kettle black.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side.”

“Beating a dead horse.”

Example: “As red as a rose” —a universal descriptor for the color red that is now commonplace and unoriginal.

Other examples of clichés include demarcations of time, such as “in the nick of time” and “at the speed of light.”

Clichés also include expressions about emotions, such as “head over heels” to describe love, and the phrase “every cloud has a silver lining” to express hope in difficult situations.

The word “cliché” comes from French.

It was first used to describe a stereotype: a metal plate used for printing an image.

Both the words “cliché” and “stereotype” derive from printing jargon but now have negative connotations.

Why You Should Avoid Clichés in Writing

Overused clichés can show a lack of original thought, and can make a writer appear unimaginative and lazy.

Clichés are often specific to language and cultures and may be a communication barrier to international readers.

Some old clichés have been repeated for so many years that the original reference is archaic and irrelevant.

When it’s OK to Use Clichés in Writing

There are a few instances in which the use of a cliché as a literary device is acceptable, but clichés should always be chosen wisely. Here are some examples of admissible usage:

To sync with a readership. Clichés of idiomatic phrases and slang words can work for specific audiences. If you’re writing for a baby boomer audience, the cliché “back in the day” would make sense. By contrast, millennial readers would be familiar with the cliché “the struggle is real.”

To simplify. Clichés can be used to explain beginning level concepts. For example, a how-to guide for expectant mothers might use the phrase “Remember, you’re eating for two!”

For characterization. Writers might have a character use clichés to demonstrate that they are not an original thinker.

A thought-terminating cliché is a phrase that offers a reductive answer to a complex idea.

The term was popularized in the 1961 book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism: A Study of ‘Brainwashing’ in China by physiatrist Robert Jay Lifton.

They are also known as semantic stop signs or thought-stoppers.

Here are some examples of thought-terminating clichés:

“To each his own.”

“You win some, you lose some.”

“I’ll cross the bridge when I get there.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#cliche #writing notes #writeblr #writers on tumblr #literature #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing tips #writing advice #light academia #on writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing resources

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funpoire · 3 months ago

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I’m a hard believer in the theory that Crowley is the bad guy of the story and that he might have brought yuu on purpose (or not cause I have 2 different theories)

yuu getting sent on purpose by Crowley could make sense because

Yuu comes into the world with the uniform already on, and all their belongings are gone. I already talked about this in another post, but I still think it’s strange. Hypothetically, every first-year who gets sent to NRC wakes up in uniform. They would still get their belongings somewhere, but for Yuu, it’s just lost for some reason.

Here again, talk about this in another post but the fact that yuu can speak the common language of twisted wonderland is strange. It’s just “Oh yeah twisted wonderland speaks the same language as yuu” because it’s been confirmed that it was because of some unknown magic that made them able to understand and translate what the MC and the other are saying.

Crowley who is probably a super strong mage who after around 6month finds no way to bring yuu home but Ortho finds a way to go back home in a few weeks ? that doesn’t make sense. Crowley doesn’t want to bring back yuu in their world.

Also, the thing that blocks me in this theory is if Crowley purposely brings yuu into this world why neglect them? Why make them public in the eyes of everyone? Why put them in danger?

Yuu getting sent by mistake by Crowley also could make sense because maybe this whole time Crowley's target was grim but not his cute kitty form no, the form that he is going to have in book 8 (the one we saw at the start of the game). Here could make sense since apparently, Grim has some ancient magic on him. so idk maybe Crowley wants world dominance like every other villain (unoriginal Crowley). The weird thing is that in few moments in the story he tried to find a way to kick grim from this school so again weird.

Also, I think his motive to be a bad guy might be related to overblot. Like hear me out he is the reason for the rise of overblot so he can feed Grimm blot stone.

This post is probably not for the Crowley fan but remember it's just a game theory

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst yuu #twisted wonderland yuu #twst mc #dire crowley #crowley twst #crowley twisted wonderland #twst grim #twst theory

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todomitoukei · 11 months ago

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Japanese vs. English Todoroki Family Finale - A 426 Comparison

Just a few days after Horikoshi announced that there were only 5 chapters left, the so-called final chapter for the Todoroki family came out, as always sparking lots of discussion and bringing forth countless questionable takes, followed by the release of the official English translation.

So let’s take a closer look at the Japanese lines, starting with the Todoroki family’s short conversation before going to see Touya:

「来なくて大丈夫って言ったのに！」

「来なくて ; konakute」-> not coming 「大丈夫 ; daijoubu」-> okay; alright 「って ; tte」-> quoting particle (casual of と) 「言った ; itta」-> said 「のに ; noni」-> even though

= “Even though we said it’s okay not to come.”

「それを言うなら貴方たちもよ冬美夏雄」

「それ ; sore」-> that 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「言う ; iu」-> to say 「なら ; nara」-> that being the case; on the topic of 「貴方たち ; anatatachi」-> you (plural) 「も ; mo」-> also; too 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「冬美 ; fuyumi」-> Fuyumi 「夏雄 ; natsuo」-> Natsuo

= “On the topic of saying that, you too, Fuyumi, Natsuo.”

What stood out to me here was Rei calling him Natsuo, when usually, everyone else (except Endeavor) calls him Natsu-kun or Natsu. Calling him by the full version of his first name rather than a shortened version might be done to indicate that things have changed, although not necessarily in a negative way. It's more that there has been a shift.

By the way, I am working on a masterpost talking about how the family addresses + refers to each other. Yes, I am going through the entire manga for that (this is a cry for help). Once the manga is finished I will post it (at some point), so look out for that if you’re interested in finding out exactly how many times who gets called what (yes, I am counting and making graphs)!

「お母さんでも…」

「お母さん ; okaasan」-> mom 「でも ; demo」-> but

= “But mom…”

「それを言うならおまえもだ冷」

「それ ; sore」-> that 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「言う ; iu」-> to say 「なら ; nara」-> that being the case; on the topic of 「おまえ ; omae」-> you 「も ; mo」-> also; too 「だ ; da」-> be 「冷 ; rei」-> Rei

= “On the topic of saying that, you too, Rei.”

I love that he almost fully copies Rei’s phrase here. This is the first of many unoriginal lines that he has in this chapter. It only goes downhill from here.

「義務感で来たんじゃねぇから！皆そうだろ」

「義務感 ; gimukan」-> sense of duty (obligation) 「で ; de」-> with; by 「来た ; kita」-> came 「ん ; n」-> explanatory particle 「じゃねえ ; janee」-> isn’t 「から ; kara」-> because; so (used to change the other person’s thoughts etc.) 「皆 ; mina」-> everyone 「そう ; sou」-> so; that way 「だろ ; daro」-> right?

= “I didn’t come out of a sense of duty! Everyone is that way, right?”

Usually, a second phrase would follow up the kara, but can also be left out when the meaning of that second phrase is implied enough. Since Fuyumi said Shouto didn’t have to come (if he didn’t want to, didn’t feel comfortable etc.) there is an implication that perhaps he only showed up because he felt like that was expected of him. Ending his clarification of “I didn’t come because I felt obligated” with kara “so” the implied follow up would be along the lines of “don’t worry”, which then gets wrapped up suggesting that all of them are showing up not because they feel pressured to do so, but because they want to visit Touya - since they basically just went around in a circle letting each other know they didn’t have to come if they don’t want to.

「会話は可能ですが一日に数分が限界です」

「会話 ; kaiwa」-> conversation 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「可能 ; kanou」-> possible 「です ; desu」-> to be 「が ; ga」-> but 「一日 ; ichi nichi」-> one day 「に ; ni」-> at; in 「数分 ; suufun」-> a few minutes 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「限界 ; genkai」-> limit 「です ; desu」-> to be

= “Conversations are possible, but a few minutes a day is the limit.”

I’m not sure how long Touya has been in here, but this line indicates that the staff members have been talking to him and I’d be curious to know what those conversations were like. What did they talk about? What kind of attitude did he give them? What was his reaction when he first regained consciousness? These are the questions we want answered, but alas, the Todoroki family plot simply isn’t about him. All the way to the bitter end it shall remain focusing on the most underrepresented group of them all: rich middle-aged men.

「緩やかに死へと向かっている…それが今の轟燈矢です」

「緩やかに ; yuruyakani」-> slowly 「死 ; shi」-> death 「へと ; e to」-> towards 「向かっている ; mukatteiru」-> to face; to head toward 「れ ; sore」-> that 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「今 ; ima」-> now; current 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「轟燈矢 ; todoroki touya」-> Touya Todoroki 「です ; desu」-> to be

= “Slowly heading towards death… that is the current Touya Todoroki.”

The particle e is a directional particle that can be translated as “toward”. Adding the particle to after it adds an emotional emphasis to the part that follows the to particle as opposed to just stating a fact, there is sympathy in this claim.

As for the claim itself - I know that a lot of people are convinced he is going to die because look! Random nameless character #47AAB7 said so, it must be true! But to be honest, I’m not even going to entertain that thought because despite all the criticism I have for this story, Horikoshi isn’t that bad of a writer. If he had wanted Touya dead, he could’ve easily killed him at the end of the last war. It makes zero sense for him to be saved and then pass away quietly and peacefully in a hospital (or whatever that place is).

Even if we were to say that Shouto managed to save him emotionally, so that counts as a win! It’s kind of a shit win if the only difference is that you now get to die “at peace”, which also could’ve been accomplished on the battlefield. At this point, it’s just inefficient and therefore, him dying at this point is not going to happen.

「........ぞろぞろと」

「ぞろぞろ ; zorozoro」-> in droves; swarming 「と ; to」-> adds emphasis

= “....In droves”

Zorozoro is used to describe several beings (can be humans or animals) that appear or move together like a swarm. This certainly is the first time the entire family is together, so it’s not surprising the rare sight is being pointed out in a joking manner, although he undoubtedly means this in a positive way as it contradicts his prior belief of no one in his family caring about him or missing him.

The fact that, upon first waking up after his coma as a teenager his immediate thought was to return and apologize, and now after ten years he finally gets the chance to talk to them and what is the first thing coming out of his mouth? Calling them a swarm. Forever and always the most relatable character.

「ハハ…観光名所じゃねぇんだよ........」

「ハハ ; haha」-> haha 「観光名所 ; kankoumeisho」-> tourist attraction; sightseeing spot 「じゃねぇ ; janee」-> isn’t 「んだ ; nda」-> explanatory particle 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle

= “Haha… It’s not a tourist attraction, right?”

If he was a tourist attraction, Hori better drop the location right now. Please. For research purposes or whatever.

「燈矢」

「燈矢 ; touya」-> Touya

= “Touya.”

「今後の話をしに来たんだ燈矢」

「今後 ; kongo」-> from now on 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「話 ; hanashi」-> talk, conversation 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「しに来た ; shi ni kita」-> came to do sth 「んだ ; nda」-> explanatory particle 「燈矢 ; touya」-> Touya

= “I came to talk about the future, Touya.”

Kongo literally means “after now” or in other words, the future.

「俺はヒーローを引退するよ」

「俺 ; ore」-> I 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「ヒーロー ; hiirou」-> hero 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「引退する ; intai suru」-> to retire 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle

= “I am retiring from being a Hero.”

He says as though he has a choice. This is also one of those “This could’ve been an email” kinds of lines.

「元より戦いが終わったらそうするつもりだったが最早自力で立つことすらままならん」

「元より ; moto yori」-> all along; from the first 「戦い ; tatakai」-> war 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「終わったら ; owattara」-> when it ended 「そう ; sou」-> so; that way 「する ; suru」-> to do 「つもり ; tsumori」-> to plan 「だった ; datta」-> was 「が ; ga」-> but 「最早 ; mohaya」-> already; no longer 「自力 ; jiriki」-> one’s own strength 「で ; de」-> with 「立つ ; tatsu」-> to stand 「こと ; koto 」-> nominalizes prior word/phrase 「すら ; sura」-> even 「ままならん ; mama naran」-> beyond one’s control; unable to do as one wishes

= “Since after the first war ended, I decided to do so, but I not I am not even able to stand on my own anymore.”

Mamanaru combines the words mama “as it is; as one likes” and naranai “to be unable to” to create a word that describes that something is beyond one’s control, one is unable to do as they wish or something is not going the way one wants it to. In other words, a great word to sum up Endeavor’s entire life story.

The way he continuously takes over conversations that are supposed to be about the entire family - aka his victims - and makes it about himself while pitying himself - in front of his victims - never fails to impress me. At least he is consistent I guess, but it would have been great to see him actually change in the end. Surely he is done, oh no, nevermind, he keeps talking-

「ヒーローエンデヴァーは焼かれて死んだ

おまえの炎は誰よりも強かった」

「ヒーロー ; hiirou」-> hero 「エンデヴァー ; endevaa」-> Endeavo 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「焼かれて ; yakarete」-> burned 「死んだ ; shinda」-> died 「おまえ ; omae」-> you 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「炎 ; honoo」-> flame 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「誰 ; dare」-> anyone 「よりも ; yorimo」-> more than 「強かった ; tsuyokatta」-> was strong

= “The hero Endeavor was burned and died. Your flames were stronger than anyone else’s.”

「そっか　ご愁傷様　事が済んでから諂うなよ…卑怯者…」

「そっか ; sokka」-> I see 「ご愁傷様 ; goshuushousama」-> my condolences 「事 ; koto」-> things; matter 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「済んでから」-> after it ended (済む + てから) 「諂う ; hetsurau」-> to flatter; to suck up to; to carry favour 「な ; na」-> na (negative command form) 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「卑怯者 ; hikyoumono」-> coward

= “I see. My condolences. Don’t suck up to me after it’s over… coward…”

Here is my beef with the official translation: they keep making Touya say the most random words and phrases, but then don’t make him say “don’t curry favour”?? “Don’t be toady”?? “Don’t be toady, Todoroki” would go so hard… wait… you know what… Here’s a little extra from me to you:

Back to business:

「そうだな　燈矢は誰のことをよくわかってる　ずっと見てたんだもんな」

「そう ; sou」-> so; that way 「だ ; da」-> be 「な ; na」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation 「燈矢 ; touya」-> Touya 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「誰 ; dare」-> anyone 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「こと ; koto 」-> nominalizes prior word/phrase 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「よく ; yoku」-> well 「わかってる ; wakatteru」-> to understand 「ずっと ; zutto」-> continuously 「見てた ; miteta」-> was watching 「んだ ; nda」-> explanatory particle 「もん ; mon」-> because; indicates reason 「な ; na」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation

= “That’s right, isn’t it. You know everyone so well. Because you have been watching continuously.”

「俺に見てほしかったんだもんな

なのに見なかった…」

「俺 ; ore」-> I 「に ; ni」-> at 「見てほしかった ; mitehoshikatta」-> wanted me to look 「んだ ; nda」-> explanatory particle 「もん ; mon」-> because; indicates reason 「な ; na」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation 「なのに ; nanoni」-> and yet; despite that 「見なかった ; minakatta」-> didn’t look

= “You wanted me to look, right? Despite that I didn’t look…”

If I didn’t know any better I would say this was a conversation with a toddler. I usually like to point out that Horikoshi really nails the sibling experience, but he is also, unfortunately, really good at accurately writing how privileged middle-aged men talk. A mangaka of many talents, but at what cost?

「俺はお父さんの子どもなんだから」

「俺 ; ore」-> I 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「お父さん ; otousan」-> dad 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「子ども ; kodomo」-> child 「なんだ ; nanda」-> explanatory particle 「から ; kara」-> because; so

= “Because I am dad’s child.”

「おまえはエンデヴァーじゃない！！」

「おまえ ; omae」-> you 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「エンデヴァー ; endevaa」-> Endeavor 「じゃない ; janai」-> isn’t

= ”You aren’t Endeavor!!”

Yes. That’s why we love him.

「誰が何と言おうと........　おまえの炎（ねつ）は俺のヘルフレイムだ

あの告発映像を毎日見続けている」

「誰 ; dare」-> someone 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「何と ; nanto」-> what 「言うと ; iou to」-> to try to say 「おまえ ; omae」-> you 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「炎 ; honoo」-> flames 「ねつ ; netsu」-> heat; rage; mania 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「俺 ; ore」-> I 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「ヘルフレイム ; herufureimu」-> Hell Flame 「だ ; da」-> be 「あの ; ano」-> that 「告発 ; kokuhatsu」-> complaint; prosecution 「映像 ; eizou」-> footage 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「毎日 ; mainichi」-> every day 「見続けている ; mitsuzuketeiru」-> continue to watch

= “Whatever people try to say… Your flames (rage) are my Hellflame. I’ve continuously watched your prosecution video every day.”

This wouldn’t be a translation breakdown if we didn’t have a case of the furigana don’t match the kanji! Essentially what this means is that the furigana - written in brackets - show what the character says out loud, while the kanji shows what the character means. This time, when we get the kanji for flames in the second sentence, the furigana read netsu, which can meat “heat”, but also refer to “rage” or “mania” and since flames are hot, “heat” wouldn’t make it necessary to opt for a different reading, hence Endeavor is saying that the rage of Dabi was, in fact, Endeavor’s Hellflame.

「おどお゙さん見で」

「おどお゙さん ; odoosan」-> dad 「見で ; mide」-> look

= “Dad, look”

You might notice that the words are spelled differently from the normal otousan and mite. Softening the t sounds to a d sound highlights the difficulties he has speaking while being on fire. In addition to the softened t to d, the u also gets changed into an o with dakuten (the two lines on top), which only exist for the sounds that can become softer (t->d, h->b, k->g, s->j), which can’t be done to a vowel like o. In this case, the dakuten suggests that the o is said with emotion and somehow stands out from how it would be said normally.

「これからー」

「これから ; korekara」-> from now on

= “From now on-”

「毎日来る　話をしよう」

「毎日 ; mainichi」-> every day 「来る ; kuru 」-> to come 「話 ; hanashi」-> talk; conversation; chat 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「しよう ; shiyou」-> let’s do/have

= “I will come every day. Let’s talk.”

「あまりに遅すぎたけれど話そう」

「あまりに; amari ni」-> too much; overly 「遅すぎた ; ososugita」-> was too late 「けれど ; keredo」-> however 「話そう ; hanasou」-> let’s talk

= “I was much too late, but let’s talk.”

Both amari ni and adding -sugiru to the stem of a verb can be translated as “too much” and in combination place an additional emphasis on the verb, in this case, being late, which could be referencing anything from the specific instances he showed up to too late (i.e. when Touya set himself on fire on Sekoto Peak) or in a more general sense him trying to show up as a father too late (the only example would be showing up in the hospital here and the fact he has retired and plans on protecting the family from facing any consequences for all of this, although even that is still more the bare minimum of making up for his mistakes rather than being a father but I doubt he understands the difference).

「心拍数上昇これ以上は負担が」

「心拍数 ; shinpakusuu」-> heart rate 「上昇 ; joushou」-> rising; ascending 「これ以上 ; kore ijou」 - > any more; any further; any longer 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「負担 ; futan」-> burden, load 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle

= “His heart rate is rising. Any more will (be) a burden.”

The ga would normally be followed by a verb (in this case most likely kakaru = to put), but is being omitted here as the meaning can be understood regardless.

「冷　夏雄　冬美　焦凍が…　残してくれた時間で話そう」

「冷 ; rei」-> Rei 「夏雄 ; natsuo」-> Natsuo 「冬美 ; fuyumi」-> Fuyumi 「焦凍 ; shouto」-> Shouto 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「残してくれた」-> reserved for us (残す+くれる) 「時間 ; jikan」-> time 「で ; de」-> with 「話そう ; hanasou」-> let’s talk

= “Rei, Natsuo, Fuyum. Let’s talk with the time Shouto reserved for us.

Adding -tekureta after nokosu implies that someone did a favor for the speaker. Here, it means that Shouto reserved the time to talk to Touya for them.

「憎いなら…憎いと　なんでもいい　ぶつけてくれ…！」

「憎い ; nikui」-> hateful 「なら ; nara」-> if 「憎い ; nikui」-> hateful 「と ; to」-> speech particle 「なんでもいい ; nandemo ii」-> anything is fine; it doesn’t matter what 「ぶつけてくれ ; butsuketekure」-> throw it at me

= “If you hate me… hate me. Anything is fine, throw it at me…!!”

「燈矢兄私も…！」

「燈矢兄 ; touya nii」-> Touya-Nii 「私 ; watashi」-> I 「も ; mo」-> also; too

= “Touya-nii, me too…!”

「話したい事たくさんあるの」

「話したい ; hanashitai」-> want to talk 「事 ; koto」-> things 「たくさん ; takusan」-> a lot 「ある ; aru」-> to be 「の ; no」-> explanatory particle

= “There are a lot of things I want to talk about.”

This is about him getting piercings and dying his hair isn’t it. Maybe even taking off his shirt on live TV in front of the entire country. If only we could see that conversation…

「今日は止めにしましょう！！また明日にでも…」

「今日 ; kyou」-> today 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「止めにしましょう , yame ni shimashou」-> let’s stop 「また ; mata」-> again 「明日 ; asu」-> tomorrow 「に ; ni」-> at 「でも ; demo」-> or something

= “Let’s stop for today!! (You can come back) tomorrow or something…”

「最後に一ついいですか　聞きたかったことあるんだ」

「最後 ; saigo」-> final 「に ; ni」-> at 「一つ ; hitotsu」-> one 「いい ; ii」-> good 「です ; desu」-> to be 「か ; ka」-> question marker particle 「聞きたかった」-> wanted to ask 「こと ; koto」-> thing 「ある ; aru」-> to be 「んだ ; nda」-> explanatory particle

= “Can I (ask) one last thing? Because there is one thing I wanted to ask.”

The first panel or first sentence ends in the polite form using desu ka as he is asking the employee for permission to ask one more question. The second panel or sentence, on the other hand, is casual as it ends in da, so without even waiting to receive an answer from the employee, he instantly goes to directly address Touya-nii for this extremely important question.

「燈矢兄　好きな食べ物何？」

「燈矢兄 ; touya nii」-> Touya-Nii 「好きな ; suki」-> to like 「食べ物 ; tabemono」-> food 「何 ; nani」-> what

= “Touya-nii. What’s your favorite food?”

Everybody liked that. It was really great when the spoilers came out and as soon as Shouto said he wanted to ask Touya something everyone instantly knew what the question was going to be. Also a lot of pressure for Touya. Wrong answer and his little brother can pull the plug.

「......体力の限界ですね今日は眠らせてまた…」

「体力 ; tairyoku」-> stamina; endurance 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「限界 ; genkai」-> limit 「です ; desu」-> to be 「ね ; ne」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation 「今日 ; kyou」-> today 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「眠らせて ; nemurasete」-> to let someone sleep 「また ; mata」-> again

= “This is the limit, isn’t it. Let’s let him sleep again for today.”

「蕎麦」

「蕎麦 ; soba」-> soba

= “Soba.”

These lines are always my favorite to break down. It’s not easy translating such complex phrases so please recognize the years of studying it took to be able to perfectly translate this kind of high-level sentence. Thank you.

I can only imagine him going back to his classmates, looking at Bakugo and saying: “You were wrong. It’s soba.”

「おんなじだ」

「おんなじ ; onnaji」-> same 「だ ; da」-> be

= “It’s the same.”

Usually, the word same is written as 同じ and read as onaji. In itself, these two spellings have the same meaning, however, the more standard onaji would be used in the sense of something or a situation being exactly the same, for example attending the same school as someone or facing the same problem. Onnaji, on the other hand, indicates something has very similar properties and is used more in the sense of the same color, taste etc, which is why this spelling has a bit more emotion associated with it.

So Shouto is saying that it’s the same, but he says so with emotion. Rather than stating a fact, them having the same food holds meaning to him.

「これ以上は平行線だ　交わるよ　無理にでも」

「これ以上 ; kore ijou」-> from here on; any further 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「平行線 ; heikousen」-> remaining far apart; not reaching an agreement 「だ ; da」-> be 「交わる ; majiwaru」-> to cross; to mingle with 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「無理に ; muri ni」-> forcible; forced 「でも ; demo」-> even

= “From here on it’s parallel lines. I will cross, even if by force.”

「焦凍…　ごめんな…」

「焦凍 ; shouto」-> Shouto 「ごめん ; gomen」-> I‘m sorry 「な ; na」-> used to say something emotionally

= “Shouto… I’m sorry…”

If only… Shouto had heard this… and they could’ve talked about this… that would be crazy, right? No, why don’t we focus on the main character again, instead of getting a conversation the entire story has been building up to.

「俺はここまでだわ　悪いけど気持ち変わんない　俺はもう付き合わない」

「俺 ; ore」-> I 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「ここ ; koko」-> here 「まで ; made」-> until 「だ ; da」-> be 「わ ; wa」-> 「悪い ; warui」-> sorry 「けど ; kedo」-> but 「気持ち ; kimochi」-> feelings 「変わんない ; kawannai」-> unchanged 「俺 ; ore」-> I 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「もう ; mou」-> already 「付き合わない ; tsukiawanai」-> don’t associate with

= “For me it’s (ending) here. I’m sorry, but my feelings haven’t changed. I won’t associate with you anymore.”

The particle wa is used when reflecting one’s view toward a situation after coming to a conclusion. There is a nuance of confidently affirming the phrase or regretting the situation, depending on the tone, which we don’t have here, but this reads more as a confident statement than one of regret, although it might just be a little bit of both.

「ああ」

「ああ ; aa」-> Ah

= “Ah.”

「彼女と籍入れたい　式は挙げない紹介もしない」

「彼女 ; kanojo」-> girlfriend 「と ; to」-> with 「籍入れたい ; seki iretai」-> to get married; to want to have a name entered in the family register 「式 ; shiki」-> (wedding) ceremony 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「挙げない ; agenai」-> to conduct 「紹介 ; shoukai」-> introduction 「も ; mo」-> also 「しない ; shinai」-> won’t do

= “I want to enter the family register with my girlfriend. We won’t conduct a ceremony and I also won’t introduce you.”

Normally, to talk about marriage or getting married you would use the word kekkon (suru). Here, Natsuo specifically uses the term “to enter in the family registry.” While these two words can be used to mean the same thing (= getting married), entering the family registry differs in that one person enters an already existing family registry rather than creating a new one upon marriage, which is why this can also be used for when a child gets adopted by a step-parent or if a child takes on their other parent’s last name after a divorce.

Again, this can just be treated as a synonym for getting married, but it might also be to emphasize this as an act of removing himself from his father rather than an act of love. It surely feels like an odd time to be thinking of marriage, with the current situation not having him in the right mental or emotional state for such a big step to be smart (he already did the whole “cutting my hair during a crisis” so he should follow that with dying his hair or something else that is going to affect his life less than marriage).

Let’s face it: had he said this while they were with Touya, his big bro’s heart monitor would have gone crazy before he would have broken out of that machine to talk some sense into his little brother.

Also, not to insult Natsuo because he is very sweet, but I just have to mention the irony of him getting married as a means to solve his issues when that was also his dad’s first step. It’s obviously different, but still worth pointing out.

「ああ…分かったな」

「ああ ; aa」-> Ah 「分かった ; wakatta」-> understood 「な ; na」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation

= “Ah, I get it.”

「姉ちゃんは？仕事やめたんだろ？」

「姉ちゃん ; neechan」-> big sister 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「仕事 ; shigoto」-> job 「やめた ; yameta」-> to quit 「ん ; n」-> explanatory particle 「だろ ; daro」-> right

= “What about you, big sis? You left your job, right?”

I do like the symbolism of him standing in the middle of the street, ready to use the crosswalk, while the rest of the family remain on the side of the road, but I am also worried he is going to get hit by a car.

「うんでも　生徒のお母さんが新しい職場紹介してくれてねサポートしてくれるって」

「うん ; un」-> yeah 「でも ; demo」-> but 「生徒 ; seito」-> student 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「お母さん ; okaasan」-> mom 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「新しい ; atarashii」-> new 「職場 ; shokuba」-> workplace 「紹介してくれて ; shoukai shitekurete」-> introduced me (as a favor) 「ね ; ne」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation 「サポートしてくれる ; sapooto shitekureru」-> support (as a favor) 「って ; tte」-> quoting particle (casual of という)

= “Yeah, but the mom of a student introduced me to a new workplace. So she’s being supportive.”

Similar to before, the -tekurete suggests that this introduction as well as the support is seen as a favor.

「........正直責任は果たしたと思う　罰も受けたと思う…もういいんじゃねーの？」

「正直 ; shoujiki」-> honestly; frankly 「責任 ; sekinin」-> duty 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「果たした ; hatashita」-> accomplished; carried out 「と思う ; to omou」-> to think 「罰 ; batsu」-> punishment 「も ; mo」-> too 「受けた ; uketa」-> received 「と思う ; to omou」-> to think 「もういい ; mou ii」-> that’s enough 「ん ; n」-> explanatory particle 「じゃねー ; janee」-> isn’t 「のか ; noka-> question marker particle seeking an explanation

= “Frankly, I think we’ve fulfilled our responsibilities. I think we already received our punishment. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

This line has gotten some negative attention as fan translations have this line directed toward Endeavor, whereas the official English translation has this line be directed toward the entire family. As you can see in the breakdown above, there is no explicit human subject in this sentence to clarify who is being addressed here, in addition to the fact that he has his back turned to us readers with no indication as to who he is looking at.

However, the last person he directly addressed was Fuyumi, who was also the one speaking right before this line. Furthermore, the next line is Endeavor saying that he will ensure to take the blame and whatnot from here on out so that they do not need to face any more consequences for this.

With that being said, to me this reads as him talking to the family, specifically as a response to Fuyumi suggesting that her former student’s mother introducing her to a new workplace and supporting her is somewhat of a favor. While we don’t know exactly why she left her job, there is still a suggestion that this situation has impacted her negatively and that people showing support is somehow worth noting. And yes, Japan has a culture of blaming the entire family when a family member commits a crime, however, Natsuo’s line then seems somewhat frustrated at this, feeling as though they all already faced consequences (like Fuyumi leaving her job), and that they shouldn’t have to face consequences for the rest of their lives, let alone feel overly grateful for any person that still treats them as individuals rather than an accomplice for something they had nothing to do with.

Overall, this line reads more like he wants them to be able to move past this, rather than have this now haunt them after they have already been struggling their whole lives by growing up in the Todoroki household.

「犯した罪の賠償と謝罪を一生をかけて続けていく

見ていなくていい子どもたち（おまえたち）に降りかかる火の粉をできる限り俺が受け止める　生き延びた意味があるとすればそれだけなんだ」

「犯した ; okashita」-> committed 「罪 ; tsumi」-> crime; sin 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「賠償 ; baishou」-> compensation; reparations 「と ; to」-> with 「謝罪 ; shazai」-> apology 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「一生 ; issho」-> whole life 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「かけて ; kakete」-> make; put out 「続けていく ; tsuzuketeiku 」->to continue from now on (続ける+いく) 「見ていなくて ; mitenakute」-> not looking 「いい ; ii」-> good; okay 「子どもたち ; kodomotachi」-> children 「おまえたち ; omaetachi」-> you (plural) 「に ; ni」-> to 「降りかかる ; furikakaru」-> to happen; to befall 「火の粉 ; hi no ko」-> sparks 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「できる ; dekiru」-> to be able to 「限り ; kagiri」-> limit; degree 「俺 ; ore」-> I 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「受け止める ; uketomeru」-> to catch; to stop the blow 「生き延びた ; ikinobita」-> survived; lived long 「意味 ; imi」-> meaning 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「ある ; aru」-> to exist 「とすれば ; to sureba」-> then; if so; if 「それだけ ; soredake」-> that much; to that extent; only that 「なんだ ; nanda」-> explanatory particle

= “From here on out I will continue to make reparations and apologize for my committed crimes for my whole life. I will catch as much of the sparks that fall on you kids who don’t have to watch. If there is any meaning in my survival, it is just that.”

Again, he says “you” but means “children”. The miteinakute ii is used to say that “it’s okay not to watch”, in other words he does not expect them to keep in touch with him or anything along those lines.

The -teiku after tsuzukeru is used to imply that something will continue from this moment forward. While he didn't make up for his mistakes, from now on he will.

「........地獄だぞ」

「地獄 ; jigoku」-> hell 「だ ; da」-> be 「ぞ ; zo」-> emphasizes the speaker’s will or opinion; can be inviting to the listener

= “........It’s hell.”

「ああダンスの誘いを受けたんでな」

「ああ ; aa」-> Ah 「ダンス ; dansu」-> dance 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「誘い ; sasoi」-> invitation 「を ; o」-> direct object marker 「受けた ; uketa」-> to accept 「んでな ; ndena」-> explanatory particle

= “Ah, I did accept the dance invitation.”

「…初めてだよ　お父さんの事　かっこいいって思えたの」

「初めて ; hajimete」-> first time 「だ ; da」-> be 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「お父さん ; otousan」-> dad 「の ; no」-> possessive particle; similar to an apostrophe 「事 ; koto」-> nominalizes prior word/phrase 「かっこいい ; kakkoii」-> cool 「って思えた ; tte omoeta」-> to seem; to appear 「の ; no」-> explanatory particle

= “It was the first time that you seemed cool.”

Natsuo has called Endeavor by many (disrespectful) names. This is the first time he calls him by the standard/polite term for father. This is not to say that he likes him now. With the whole marriage talk in mind, this feels more like him letting go of his feelings for a second to make a somewhat neutral statement. Neutral in the sense of being able to recognize and view something his dad has done in a positive light rather than letting his feelings completely take over his judgment.

「焦凍は？学校戻るんだろ？」

「焦凍 ; shouto」-> Shouto 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「学校 ; gakkou」-> school 「戻る ; modoru」-> to return to 「ん ; n」-> explanatory particle 「だろ ; daro」-> I think; right?

= “What about you, Shouto? You’re returning to school, right?”

「うん」

「うん ; un」-> yeah

= “Yeah.”

「乗ってけよ姉ちゃんも」　

「乗ってけ ; notteke」-> I’ll give you a ride 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「姉ちゃん ; neechan」-> big sis 「も ; mo」-> also; too

= “I’ll give you a ride. Nee-chan, too.”

「ありがとう」

「ありがとう ; arigatou」-> thanks

= “Thanks.”

「親父　お母さん　俺にはA組（みんな）いるから大丈夫だよ！　俺は自分でなりてえようになれるから！」

「親父 ; oyaji」-> dad 「お母さん ; okaasan」-> mom 「俺 ; ore」-> I 「には ; niwa」-> as for 「A組 ; e gumi」-> class A 「みんな ; minna」-> everyone 「いる ; iru」-> to be 「から ; kara」-> therefore 「大丈夫 ; daijoubu」-> alright 「だ ; da」-> be 「よ ; yo」-> emphasis particle 「俺 ; ore」-> I 「は ; wa」-> topic marker particle 「自分 ; jibun」-> myself 「で ; de」-> with 「なりてえ ; naritee」-> want to become (casual of naritai) 「ようになれる ; you ni nareru」-> to reach the point where; to come to; to begin to 「から ; kara」-> because; so

= “Dad, mom. I’ll be okay because of Class A (everyone). I can reach the point of being what I want to be!”

Just like before we get furigana that differ from the kanji. Shouto says that he will be alright because everyone is there, but he specifically means Class A when he says that.

「地獄でも」

「地獄 ; jigoku」-> hell 「でも ; demo」-> even though

= “Even though it’s hell.”

「おーう早かったな！！大丈夫だったかあ！？」

「おーう ; ou」-> Ooh 「早かった ; hayakatta」-> early 「な ; na」-> sentence ending particle; used to seek confirmation 「大丈夫 ; daijoubu」-> alright 「だった ; datta」-> was 「かあ ; kaa」-> question marker particle

= “Oh, you’re early! Was it alright!?”

「おなかすいた」

「おなかすいた ; onaka suita」-> I’m starving

= “I’m starving.”

「見てる人がいる」

「見てる ; miteru」-> looking 「人 ; hito」-> person 「が ; ga」-> subject marker particle 「いる ; iru」-> to be

= “There is someone who is watching.”

Me. I’m the one watching. But at what cost? The family’s two most used words have got to be “hell” and “to look” . Someone please teach them some more words.

That concludes the Todoroki family interaction in this chapter and supposedly for the story (everyone disliked that). Personally, this does not read as a conclusion so I am going to just treat this as the beginning of the conclusion, instead. And perhaps the final in the sense of the whole family not getting together anymore because Natsuo isn’t going to be around Endeavor anymore.

Personally, my biggest issue with this chapter is the fact that while it’s called final and set up as though the family and we finally get closure by everyone reuniting with Touya, it’s just another episode of self-pitying with a grown-ass man that has still not changed or understood anything despite everything. Yes, he finally managed to talk to Touya, to apologize and acknowledge both Touya’s pain as well as his own accountability in the entire affair. However, the rest of the family could have been left out of this chapter entirely since they said nothing other than “we have lots to talk about” which is obviously a beginning, but I’m sure we all have been waiting patiently to get an actual conversation not just hear them say that they want to talk at a later point, which we then won't ever get to see.

The soba part is amazing, of course, but it could and should have played a bigger role in this chapter.

People have been expressing various opinions in regards to the family’s current situation and their future, though - again - it would be great to see more of that because this chapter only briefly touched on various interesting points and then didn’t explore these points more because if there is one thing this world needs more is privileged people whining about how hard their life is and the many sacrifices they have had to make (= barely facing consequences).

That being said, we’ll see what the final 4 chapters will offer and whether we will see the Todoroki family make another appearance.

And no, Touya won’t die.

#todoroki #bnha #dabi #touya #shouto #mha #426 #translation #meta #mine #japanese #time to sleep

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fayelero · 10 months ago

Text

— NEKO’S NAME ! timeskip!kenma kozume

➥ syn : argue over a cat name? stupid!

➥ wc : 1.0k

➥ tw : none, just fluff

➥ a/n : lil drabble with my fav cat

The day was bright, the sun casting a warm glow over the city as you and Kenma walked hand in hand. Today was special; it was your two-year anniversary, and you both had decided to mark the occasion by adopting a cat. Kenma had always been a cat person, and you had fallen in love with the idea of having a little furball around the house.

As you entered the adoption center, a variety of cats greeted you with curious eyes and soft meows. Your heart swelled with excitement as you browsed the rows of cages, looking for the perfect companion. Kenma, with his typical calm demeanor, followed closely, his eyes scanning each cat thoughtfully.

After a while, you both spotted a small, fluffy kitten with bright green eyes. It was love at first sight. The kitten looked up at you both with a mix of curiosity and innocence that melted your hearts.

"This one," Kenma said softly, his voice filled with a rare enthusiasm. "What do you think, baby?"

You smiled and nodded, reaching out to gently stroke the kitten's head. "I love it. She's perfect."

The adoption process was quick, and soon you were on your way home with the newest member of your little family. The kitten, nestled comfortably in your lap, purred softly, already making herself at home.

As you both settled into the living room, you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of Kenma trying to coax the kitten out of her carrier with a toy. "She's already wrapped around your finger," you teased.

Kenma chuckled, giving the kitten a soft smile. "She's cute, isn't she?" He glanced at you, his eyes warm with affection. "So, what should we name her?"

You paused, considering. "How about Mochi? She's small and fluffy like a little mochi ball."

Kenma tilted his head, pondering the suggestion. "Mochi's cute, but… maybe something related to gaming?" He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What about Zelda?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Zelda's nice, but it's too… legendary. I want something softer. How about Luna?"

Kenma's brow furrowed as he thought. "Luna's not bad, but… I still think something gaming-related would be cooler." He looked at the kitten, who was now exploring the couch. "What about Neko? It means cat, but also sounds like a character from a game."

You sighed, crossing your arms playfully. "Neko is too obvious. Plus, it's just 'cat' in Japanese. Where's the creativity, baby?"

Kenma smiled, leaning closer to you. "Fine, fine. What about Pixel? It's cute, and it fits with both our interests."

You considered it for a moment, then shook your head. "Pixel? Really? That's not a name for a living creature, Kenma. It's like naming her 'Computer' or 'Keyboard'."

Kenma raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and Luna is so original? Half the cats in the world are named Luna."

"At least Luna is an actual name," you retorted, feeling your competitive spirit rise. "Pixel sounds like something you'd name a robot."

"Well, maybe I like robot names," Kenma shot back, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Besides, she's our cat. Why can't we give her a unique name?"

"Unique doesn't have to mean weird," you argued, reaching out to pet the kitten who was now watching your debate with curious eyes. "What about something like… Whiskers?"

Kenma snorted. "Whiskers? Now who's being unoriginal? We might as well call her 'Cat' and be done with it."

"Oh, so Neko was fine, but Whiskers is too much?" you challenged, your voice rising slightly.

"At least Neko sounds cool," Kenma defended, crossing his arms.

The kitten, seemingly confused by the sudden increase in volume, let out a tiny, high-pitched meow. The sound immediately caught both your attention, and you looked at each other, then at the kitten, then back at each other.

Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hit you both. Here you were, on your anniversary, having a heated debate over what to name a cat who probably couldn't care less what you called her.

You burst into laughter, and Kenma followed suit, his usually quiet chuckle turning into a full-blown laugh.

"Oh my god," you managed between giggles, "are we really fighting over cat names?"

Kenma shook his head, still laughing. "We're ridiculous, baby. Look at us, getting all worked up over this."

You leaned against him, your laughter subsiding into small chuckles. "I guess it doesn't really matter what we name her, does it? She's perfect no matter what."

Kenma wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. "You're right. Although…" he paused, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I still think Pixel is a great name."

You playfully swatted his arm, but couldn't help smiling. "Fine, you win. Pixel it is."

"Really?" Kenma looked surprised, but pleased.

"Really," you confirmed, reaching out to pet the newly-named Pixel. "It's growing on me. Plus, it'll be a funny story to tell people when they ask about her name."

Kenma pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "Happy anniversary, baby. I love you, even when you have terrible taste in cat names."

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. "I love you too, you big nerd. Happy anniversary."

As Pixel curled up in Kenma's lap, purring contentedly, you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. This was perfect - just the three of you, celebrating love, laughter, and the little joys of life. And as you watched Kenma gently stroke Pixel's fur, you knew this was just the beginning of many more happy (and possibly ridiculous) anniversaries to come.

tag : @haechansbbg

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hawkins-losers · 7 months ago

Note

yesss we want the elvira x eddie

This has been on my list since season 4 came out... Forgive me for writing it 2-3 years later (how long has it been since season 4 came out? Feels forever ago)

Happy spooky season! I miss writing for these characters

—

In girl world, Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.

Early in October, you decided to test the waters by making Eddie watch a movie with a character you had been thinking of dressing up as this Halloween. Witches were always your favorite, but you wanted to see his reaction first, see if he would like it.

Although you doubted this character left any men unbothered.

Your dress was a little risqué, the deep plunging neckline making the girls shine. It took a few trials and errors to get the makeup right, but you finally got it and made your way to Eddie’s house. His jaw was going to drop.

When he opened the door and saw the Mistress of the Dark standing there, he nearly choked. ‘’Jesus Christ," he breathed, the sight making blood rush south.

A smile of satisfaction bloomed on your lips. ‘’My appearance is kind of a shock to everybody.’’

Eddie quickly pulled you inside, not wishing for his perverted neighbor to use you as material to rub his cock and saggy balls. Those tits were his to stare at and touch and suck…and fuck.

‘’Are you trying to kill me looking like that?'' He lets out a low whistle as his gaze continues to roam over your figure.

You leaned in closer, letting your voice drop to a sultry purr. ‘’I thought of wearing her spider bra with the tassels, but figured that might actually kill you on the spot.’’

Eddie’s eyes darkened, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. ‘’The spider bra?!’’ he repeated, vividly remembering the specific scene from the movie where Elvira wears it. ‘’Fuck.’’

‘’I even practiced the twirling she does with it,’’ you added, a wicked glint in your eyes.

Eddie groaned. ‘’I’m gonna have that image in my head all night…’’ He moved closer to you and gently placed his hands on your hips as he looked down at you, a smirk on his lips as he imagined you in the spider bra. ‘’Do we have to go to Harrington’s party?’’

He would much rather stay here and have you to himself. The costume could stay on, he can work around that.

‘’Of course we do, we promised Steve we’d be there,’’ you said, taking Eddie’s hands off your body so he wouldn‘t try to convince you to stay in. ‘’And I told Robin I would help her with Vickie. I can’t let her down.’’

Eddie groaned once more. He felt like a child who got told ‘no’ after asking if they can get dessert before supper.

‘’I didn’t say we can’t find a room at Steve’s and have some…fright-night fun.’’

Your voice was laced with a suggestive promise, which made the corner of Eddie’s mouth curl in anticipation. ‘’Now, you’re talking, Mistress of the Dark,’’ he breathed, leaning in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

But before he could kiss you, you slipped from his grasp and took a step back. ‘’Where’s your costume? Steve said it was mandatory.’’

Eddie, still in his regular band tee shirt and jeans, held up a Michael Myers mask and pointed at a lump of blue on the couch. ‘’Here.’’

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you gave him a once-over. ‘’Your work mechanic overalls and a Michael Myers mask? That’s the lowest effort one’s ever made for a Halloween costume,’’ you scoffed, shaking your head.

A creative person like Eddie could have done so much better. A few weeks ago, he talked about being Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. He would have looked damn good as a rugged ranger, with a sword and medieval warrior attire. Maybe then you would have agreed to skip Steve’s party.

He rolled his eyes. ‘’Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Michael Myers is a classic, babe.’’

Halloween and its antagonist were a cult classic, but costume wise, it was unoriginal. There’s probably going to be at least three other Michael Myers at the party.

‘’If by classic you mean a very common and lazy costume, I agree.’’ You grabbed the overalls and pushed them at Eddie’s chest. ‘’Now, hurry and put it on. I need to get there before Robin starts to drink and the word vomit gets unstoppable.’’

—

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Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang @fourlokiss @eddiemattress @ghoulishlygrey @paola-carter @bubsonnobx @pauldanoswifereal @ofherscarlettwitchways @kiszkathecook @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19 @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @jenlouvre @bonked-beyond-belief2 @tvserie-s-world @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @chrisxevans-seb @satinselenite @thikkiesixx @jennilynn63 @nia-um @welcometohellfirw @strangermarvelgirl @sugar-simz @fandomloversvaries @miakatharinaa @julsss321 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @Minksblog @soph69420world @ameliakf13 @nancewheelersworld @parasadic-blog @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @ali-r3n @Luv.eddie @stephylovesmayahawke @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetheart-im-the-boss @jusstdreaaming @hoeformunsonandhargrove @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @stormyparker @thechoiceslookgrimm @ilikechocolatemilkh @bbylyneth @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy @xbreezymeadowsmunsonx @rosaliesrealwife @munsonswhore86 @eddiescvmslvt @slightlyvicked

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things

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kk-iki · 29 days ago

Text

— pouring my heart through a sieve.

pt. iii : COMMITMENT.

synopsis: you and silena go on. . .what you're not sure can be considered a date. she's radiant through it all, as she always is, but it doesn't take long for you to wonder how you could have let her blind you for so long.

word count: 5.0k

tags: fem!simon riley x fem!reader, sfw, simon is called 'silena' in this fic, even more misunderstandings, even more bad habits, mentions of periods, descriptions of blood, religious imagery, more of that seemingly one-sided all-consuming crush (on si's part, and definitely on your part too), implied hookup but there's nothing explicit, suggestive undertones in the second half, heavy-ish angst, betrayal, no comfort ending but this isn't really the ending, i promise.

notes: this part kind of hurt me to write, i won't lie. getting the slow, dawning sense that you've been betrayed as it's happening is one of the most sickening feelings in the world. i hope i did it justice here; i drew a lot of the physical sensations from my own experiences.

all my love to @hcneymooners for being such a beautiful writer that reading her substack essays inspired me to finish this chapter, and to @cagegutz for being the main source of inspiration for silena and reader's story. my blessings are going out to you both, and you'll feel it if you close your eyes.

reblogs are always appreciated. please feel free to leave your feedback anywhere where i can see it, from the comments to the tags to my inbox. my messages are always open too. i love to hear from you all and i love to know that my writing speaks to you, but mostly i just love you.

you can’t remember the last time you dreamed.

it’s a bit strange to think about, you muse briefly, but it’s true. your mother would always comment that you used to be such a happy child, and now you’re wasting your best years hiding away in an apartment building full of eclectics, draining yourself of whatever remains of your youth. nowadays, it feels like the days go by so blandly—none of the wonder of your formative years to be found. the snow falls the same, but it never kisses the tip of your nose quite right anymore.

your last dream had been the day after you moved out. something about flying, you think. it’s wholly unoriginal and for that you sometimes curse your unconscious mind for being unable to light up with creativity the way she did before. but you remember how you felt before you woke up—stomach plummeting, insides thick and sweetened like jam. leaping, boundless, a stag in the snow.

you’ve lived alone for the past few years, but you’d never felt quite so free.

and now you wake up in your mid-twenties, in a bed that’s become familiar to you after four months, and you remember nothing.

you sit up and stretch the last remaining vestiges of sleep from your heavy limbs, turning on the lily-shaped nightstand lamp at your side and fumbling for the book that sits beneath it. it was a recommendation, you recall, from silena.

silena. you suddenly feel a bit ridiculous as you thumb through the last half of the chapter you’re on, because the thought of her name wandering through your mind sends something breezy and sharp tickling up your spine, the riff of a pianist against the curve of your back. you try not to make a habit of going on your phone immediately after you wake up, but something tugs at you to pick it up and call her anyway.

she’d given you her number the morning after that first party of mactavish’s. it had been clean, almost transactional in how she’d pressed the numbers into your phone, and you would have likened it to another business venture had she not sat you at her table and made you toast with blackcurrant jam before you left. neither of you had said much—somehow, you’d felt that words might ruin the moment. you’d felt a bit silly, sitting there and eating while she watched you with her chin propped up in her palm, but it had been the most intimate meal you’d had in a long time.

you unlock your phone and click ‘call’ on her contact card. si, you’d written, with a little heart at the end of it. you hope she doesn’t mind.

she picks up before the second ring. “morning.”

“hi,” you say, a little breathless. you’re not sure what to do now—you hadn’t exactly thought this through. clumsily, you continue. “sorry to call so suddenly. i just…was wondering how you were doing.”

silena’s quiet for a moment, and then she laughs, slow and sweet. it makes something grate in your chest, like keys on a car window.

“y’ saw me last night,” she reminds you.

“yeah, but i still wanna know how you’re doing.”

“why?”

you feel it then; that hot flare of affection that bounces through your body when she engages you like this. you can’t stop a small, indignant laugh from bubbling up as you sit up a little straighter. “i’m just curious!”

“can’t say no to that, i s’pose. god, the things i do for you,” she obliges half-exasperatedly, and you get the strange feeling that she sees you for your age in this moment.

you’ve seen it before—the way she jokes that you should respect your elders despite the fact she’s only just shy of eight years older than you, the divide between what you see on your social media feed and what she sees on hers, the way she enjoys acting as though you’re so much younger that her banter with you is more like indulging a precocious child’s whims. it’s not like it bothers you, but she makes it so obvious that sometimes you wonder if it’s on purpose.

“so…” you trail off, fingers rubbing the edge of a page, “how are you doing?”

“better now,” she replies, “thanks t’ you.”

“stop,” you mumble, hoping that the exaggeratedness of your faux-irritation is enough to hide the way a shy, giddy smile blooms to life on your face. judging by the soft chuff of laughter on the other end, your efforts are fruitless.

“what about you?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. what’re you doing right now?” she asks, the grainy phone speaker doing nothing to curb the shivers that glitter up your spine.

you swallow thickly before you respond, voice so small you could almost sound meek. “reading.”

“yeah?”

god. “yeah.”

it’s seamless, the way she coaxes you open and gets you to talk—your words linger on the book for all of two minutes before you’re setting it aside and settling more comfortably into bed, chattering away about everything and nothing. at one point, you’ve gotten out of bed entirely and have started wandering around your flat, feet bare against the hardwood as you talk without pause. you don’t realize how quickly the time slips away from you until you glance at your screen and nearly choke on the tea you’d gotten up to make for yourself.

“oh, shit,” you mumble. “si, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to talk for so long, i swear. are you busy today? did you have anywhere you needed to be?”

silena laughs, and you feel something swoop in your stomach. “nah, nothin’s goin’ on today—jus’ talking t’ you. but if you’re busy…”

you flush despite yourself, your pacing picking up in speed. “well, i have the day off today ‘cause it’s a sunday, and so i thought i might go get something to eat. actually—”

you hurry to your kitchen table, mug in hand, setting it down and flipping through the mail on the surface. “miss price gave me these tickets to this show. said she’s not a fan of slow jazz, but she thought i might like ‘em.”

“do you?”

“yeah.” you’re not sure why admitting that to her feels like you’re handing her chunks of your flesh. “i don’t get to go often, though. i’m not— i don’t usually have the time.”

“well, y’ said you’re free t’day,” silena hums, and you can imagine her nodding along, that x-shaped scar over her jaw stretching and curling inwards with the movement. you vividly recall a daydream you’d had two weeks ago, in which you’d leaned over and kissed it.

“i am.”

“are y’ going?”

“um,” you respond, very smartly. “i’m not sure. i mean, there’s two of them, so—”

“i know. y’ said tickets,” silena says, “as in plural. so let me rephrase.”

you realize with a start what she’s playing at before she’s even said anything, and your body flushes with heat as you clutch the studded case of your phone a little tighter. she interjects before you can say anything about it, and you belatedly feel the tea in your stomach warm to a boil.

“are y’ going…” she trails off, deliberate and smug, “with anyone?”

you can’t help it, then—you laugh, hard enough to feel embarrassed about it. residual giggling bubbles from your throat as you right yourself, sitting down at the table with your cheek slumped against your knitted sleeve.

“no, si, i haven’t asked anyone to go with me yet,” you reply, cheeks pinked with the glow of laughter. you wonder how you must look—sound—to her; giggling like you’re nineteen and infatuated, walking through the world like you’re leaping across the surface of the moon. “but you’ve asked me a lot of questions already, so it’s my turn.”

“yeah?”

you feel half of your nerve spill out of you, leaving you rigid and trembling. “yeah.”

“go on, then.”

“would you—” you start, tongue darting out to wet your lips. you wonder why you’re always the one asking. “would you want to go to this show with me?”

silena’s quiet again—long enough to make your nerves return twofold, mangled from confidence to a shriveled trepidation. you clutch your phone tighter, until the bejeweled case digs into your flesh.

“si?”

“yeah,” she responds, and you faintly register that she sounds…breathless. almost as giddy as you feel. “yeah, i’d like t’ go with you.”

you shudder through your exhale, grasping at your phone with both hands. “yeah. okay. it’s, uh— it’s tonight, at seven.”

“i’ll pick you up at six.”

somehow, that sets your nerves alight. your voice is unbearably small when you respond, “okay.”

silena seems content to leave it at that, and you exchange a few more words before hanging up. somehow, the silence that follows feels oppressive—you blame it on the lack of insulation in your kitchen.

you wander off to your bedroom to get ready, thinking of it as nothing. surely, you tell yourself, nothing will ruin tonight.

“si, i need help. please.”

silena had picked up on the first ring, having entered the lobby of the venue where you were supposed to be meeting her. joni and kyra had all but begged to help her pick out her outfit for her little date—a notion that irritated the life out of her, considering no date with you could ever be considered little—and she’d ran a couple minutes late. but when she’d gotten there, you were nowhere to be found.

she’d been making her third comb-over of the place when her phone had rang in her pocket and she’d all but crumpled with relief right there on the hardwood when she’d seen your caller id on her screen. it was only when she picked up and your voice came through, croaking and small, that her nerves were set alight once more.

“‘course, love,” she murmurs into the phone, already up and alert for wherever you needed her. “where are you? i’ll come get you.”

“um—” you mumble, your voice echoing a little strangely. “the women’s bathroom. the one to the right of the lobby entrance? i’m alone.”

“there in two. hang tight.”

you sniffle, and something in her heart fractures. “okay.”

the line clicks dead, and she comes back into focus. her surroundings have become darker, sharper, marked with silhouettes with no face or name—only obstacles in her path to get to you. she walks through, watching them part for her, and makes it there early for once.

swinging the door to the bathroom open, she calls your name. immediately, she hears shifting from the middle stall, and your voice follows shortly. “si?”

she tries not to sigh too loudly in her relief. “yeah, ‘s me. what’s goin’ on, dove?”

“i—” you start, followed by a brief choke on a sob. she has to fight the urge to march over and rip the bathroom door clean off its hinges just to hold you close, to soothe your tears. “my period came when i left, and i didn’t realize it until i got here, and— and my dress, it’ll show if i wear a pad, and one of the girls who came through here gave me a tampon but i don’t know how to—”

“baby,” she interrupts, and you go quiet. “do y’ want me t’ help you?”

“...what?”

silena tries to swallow down the traitorous heat creeping up her neck. “i’ll help y’ with the tampon. if y’ want. dunno how you’re gonna get outta this mess if y’ don’t know how to use it.”

you’re quiet for a long moment—long enough for silena to shift her weight from side to side. she almost calls your name again, but you interrupt her with a mumble of a word she’s sure you’re getting tired of saying.

“okay.”

the rustle of fabric is shortly followed by the unclasping of the lock on the door, and she pulls it open perhaps a bit too quickly to fully hide her eagerness to see you again. her eyes seek you immediately.

you’re sitting there in a dress the color of a foggy morning, powder-blue clinging to your skin and shimmering palest white when your thighs shift and the fabric snags the light. your eyes are misty, mascara threatening to run down your cheeks, and you’re clutching an unwrapped tampon between shaking fingers. silena’s not sure she’s ever seen anything more beautiful than you right now.

“si,” you hiccup, “please. i need help.”

if silena focuses, she could pretend you’d said that you needed her. regardless of what you actually said, she carefully sinks to her knees in front of you. you yelp and squirm even though she’s hardly touched you, and she feels a needle of guilty pleasure at the way your face burns hot beneath the shimmery powder you’d dusted over your cheekbones.

“baby, if i’m gonna help you, i need you to open,” she says, gesturing for you to hand her the tampon. you do, but keep your thighs firmly clamped together. she clicks her tongue a little and rests a hand on your thigh, silently delighting in the way you jump at the contact.

“si, it’s—” you start, but she rubs her thumb in soothing circles against the side of your knee and you’re quickly rendered mute.

“i know. i’ll be gentle, dove,” she nods, adjusting the tampon in her hand. “but you gotta open up, okay? i don’t wanna have to make you.”

you swallow, clenching your fingers around the off-white leather of your louboutin clutch. your thighs part an inch, and silena just can’t help but let out a soft breath as she eases you all the way open.

tugging away the bloodsoaked cotton is an easy enough affair, and you mumble that you have an extra pair in your purse. she doesn’t say anything about that, only eases you open until her eyes lock on your sex, red and swollen. you’re an orchid, kissed with dew, and you flutter under her gaze. her face doesn’t twitch, and she feels your leg tense beneath your touch when you look down at her.

“you don’t have to stare,” you mumble.

“not every day m’ neighbor asks me to stick cotton up ‘er cunny,” she replies as she tugs a bit of toilet paper loose and carefully cleans what she can of the mess you’ve made.

you pluff a breath that she suspects was supposed to be exasperated laughter, and she feels your limbs relax marginally. she lets a half-smile loose as she lines the cardboard-and-cotton tube up, feeling the expression fade as she pushes it past the empty space between your legs.

“oh, oh— si, that hurts, that hurts, it—”

“i know, baby. focus on me. hold onto me if y’ gotta. try t’ relax.”

she’s methodical about it, of course, but somehow that doesn’t seem to bother you. your thighs ease a little from where they’re fighting to clamp against her grip, and your breathing goes from agonized to mildly labored.

the longer she tries to feel around for where it’s supposed to go from this angle, the more your blood dribbles onto her hand, as if offering itself up in gratitude; thick red eucharistic wine coalescing beneath her nails and between the lines in her skin arcing over her knuckles. she thrusts her hand a little more forcefully, and a strangled sound leaves you.

“easy, pup,” she murmurs, her breath flirting with your inner thigh. a drop of blood rolls down her wrist, and you cry out.

“si, i– i don’t know if i can—”

“yes you can, baby,” she says, her other hand bracing around your leg. you’re shaking like a leaf now, your clutch tossed haphazardly atop the toilet paper dispenser in favor of your nails biting into her shoulder. “you’re doing good. so good. just a lil’ more, i swear.”

you manage to nod, sweat beading along your temples and rolling down your jaw as you grasp at her desperately. she looks up at you, eyes locking on your damp skin, and feels the inane urge to lean up and lick it clean.

soon enough, she pulls back and rolls her wrist out. her palm is coated in blood—your blood—and the smell of it clashes with your perfume, mild and clean, something like lilacs. miraculously, none of it had smeared on your dress; she suspects you might have actually killed her if it did, cramps ripping through you be damned.

“atta girl,” she mumbles as she rips another length of toilet paper loose and wipes down your inner thighs. you shiver around her, and she looks up to see tears beading at the corners of your eyes. “oh, no, don’t cry. c’mon, baby. don’t cry. you did so good.”

you manage to nod weakly, fingers clutching at the walls of the stall as she stands up. silena steps out of the stall and goes to wash her hand, uncaring for how your blood cracks and dries on her palm when she stretches her fingers wide. she can feel your eyes on her back, wide and wanting as she turns the faucet as cold as it can go and lets it run over her skin until the blood flakes off and gurgles down the drain. for some reason, it feels sacreligious to wash her skin clean as if that will make the memory go away.

she hears you before she feels you, your heels clicking against the floor before your arms wrap as far as they’ll go around her waist. your weight presses into her from behind, and she’s acutely aware of how warm you are.

“thank you,” you whisper, hoarse and quiet. she wipes her hands dry before she squeezes yours.

“‘s nothin’, baby. it feel okay?”

“feels weird.”

she lets out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but comes out too much like a sigh to be fully that. “it’ll do that the first time. but y’ say the word and i’ll take y’ right back home, okay?”

you nod, face pressing into her back, and she pats your hands once. you’re unbearably warm, but the feeling of you sliding away from her is almost painful. she doesn’t say anything about it, just turns to you and holds out her hand.

“tha’s a good girl. c’mon, let’s not waste miss price’s tickets, yeah?”

you take her hand, your eyes looking up at her in a way that feels meant to undo her; seeking, purposeful, as if you’re trying to find something there.

“yeah.”

your words are unfocused. dreamy. she doesn’t say anything about it, just squeezes your fingers and leads you out of the bathroom.

before the door shuts behind her, she glances back inside and spots something on the bathroom floor—a watery dot of blood, hidden under the door you’d been behind. evidence of a hormonal crime scene. a secret.

she looks away and lets the door shut behind you both.

you honestly don’t remember how the rest of your date went.

you’d sat up in a balcony with shimmering red curtains pinned to its edges, toeing your flats off to tuck your feet beneath you as you watched from high above. silena had sat infuriatingly close the whole time, her knee just shy of your thigh. you’d glanced over at her more than once throughout the night and would catch her staring down at her hands. when you looked closer, you saw your blood under her nails and had turned away for the rest of the show.

she’d offered to take you home. you had replied that you could always call an uber like you had before, and she’d mumbled something about needing to show up at your door before you had the chance to call an uber in the first place. that, for some reason, had burrowed under your skin—as many of her words did.

you’d sat in the passenger seat of her nimbus grey benz, her coat tucked around your shoulders because the dress you’d selected for the night hadn’t done much to prevent goosebumps from prickling up your biceps. it was leather, the nice kind, and smelled like incense and black tea. she’d caught your eye at the red light, her cheek lined in neon, and you’d looked away because you couldn’t bear to be reminded once more of her hand covered in your blood.

she’d walked you up to your door, and you’d felt it then—that strange, inexplicable shift in the air when she’d looked at you. you’d gazed up at her, soft and open with your hand on the doorknob as if you were ready to flee, and somewhere in you had been unearthed the courage to look silena riley in the eye and ask, “do you want to come in?”

her eyes had done something then—darkened, somewhat, or maybe it was just the light playing tricks on your eyes, ever-shielded by the rose-colored glasses you wore like they were prescription. in the throes of your fatal heartbreak, you’d later come to wonder when exactly you had begun to prefer your world doused in pink.

maybe it was because it was the only way you could ever be delusional enough to fool yourself into believing she loved you.

but she had said yes, the burn of her voice rougher than usual, and you’d let her in like you always did.

what happened from there, you recall belatedly, is something you’d rather not think about now that it’s over. her eyes hadn’t left yours for a single moment as you’d shuffled into your door and through the entryway. her hand had found your hip, warm and grounding, and you’d felt the last of your inhibitions slip away and into her arms. you don’t remember what happened after you’d nudged open the door to your bedroom and let her cradle the back of your head, lowering you onto your mattress with the same careful reverence as if she were dipping you into a baptismal font.

all you remember is that she’d been warm, almost painfully so, and her mouth had tasted like chocolate despite the fact she’d told you once that she didn’t like sweets.

you wake up, abrupt as you twitch to consciousness, and it’s cold. blindly, your hand reaches out to find her—your face is still pressed in your silk pillowcase, but you lift it when you don’t find her there.

you see her almost immediately. her back is faced to you, tugging on the sleeves of the shirt she’d been wearing beneath her blazer the night before. dazedly, you wonder why she’s in such a hurry to leave. it’s hardly daybreak, and you know neither of you have anywhere to be on a sunday morning, so—

“si?”

she stills at your call of her name, hoarse with sleep. but she doesn’t turn around, and part of you already understands before either of you even say anything. your veins curdle with dread, sour and wrong in the back of your throat, and you try to fight the nausea pooling at the bottom of your ribs as you sit up and tug your sheets over your chest.

“are you—?” you start, but the words get caught in your throat. you’re not sure when the last time you were ever rendered so dumbly speechless was.

she fills in the gaps for you. “headin’ out.”

it feels like she’d slapped you clean across the face. your voice is unbearably, pathetically small when you pipe up, “you…you’re not going to stay?”

she’s silent. that’s enough of a response for you.

“oh,” you mumble, almost exhaling the word. you suddenly feel like you’re going to be sick. she turns around to face you, and you realize with a start that she’d heard you despite being across the room.

“no, baby—” silena begins to speak, but you’re already turned away from her and tugging on your shirt from where it sits atop your sheets, discarded since the night before.

“no,” you say, too quickly. “i get it. this wasn’t supposed to— we weren’t…”

you swallow around the sudden tightness in your throat, ignoring how your heart traitorously congeals in your chest, like your blood is bursting from your veins and crashing into it in a great flood. the red sea, tucked in your ribs.

“we weren’t even…” you try again, looking away so you don’t have to see the indifference and thinning patience on her face. “we never—”

silena says your name. abrupt and short, no more ‘baby’ or ‘pup’. for some reason, that hurts more than any silence she could have offered you.

“you don’t—” she says. “baby, you have to understand. i never wanted to—”

the world tilts two degrees backwards. you feel like you’re going to throw up, again.

she cuts herself off with a hitch in her breathing, running a hand through her close-cropped hair. you’re struck with a sudden memory of your own fingers carding lovingly through it as she’d leaned over you, softness in the spaces between your knuckles as you’d cried out her name. your face heats up with shame as you look away, eyes burning.

“don’t,” you whisper. she hears that too, hand falling to her side.

“pup—”

“i said don’t,” you repeat, gathering what’s left of your shredded pride to turn your voice into something hard, something unyielding. “you don’t want me. this was a one time thing. i get it. just— just leave, please. if that’s all you wanted, i’d rather you just…”

she’d mentioned to you once that she’d shot up like a weed in her mid-20s, and now she was practically miss price’s height—but in this moment, silena has never looked smaller. “pup, you know that isn’t—”

“don’t i?” you say. you’re not giving her much space to plead her case, you’re aware. but she knew what she was doing, slipping into your bed with all the experience she held over you under her belt, and so you can’t find it in yourself to feel as bad as you probably should. “was it fun for you, at least? to feel like you won because you got to me?”

“that is not what—”

“then what is it, si?” you nearly shout. “what could have possibly led you to leaving the second you woke up after fucking me, without even trying to let me know?”

she’s silent, again. your heart splinters clean in two.

“baby,” silena tries, a hand raised as if to soothe a feral creature. your blood is still under her nails. you bristle at that—you had, more than anything, never wanted her to see you as something deranged. never wanted her to see you for what you were.

“silena,” you reply, the hurt in your expression melting away and stiffening into something angry. good. anger is safer than vulnerability when she’s looking at you like that. “get out.”

“baby, please—”

you shoot up to your feet abruptly, ignoring how your skull throbs mercilessly in protest. “i said get out!”

in a fit of rage, you grab your pillow and hurl it at her. it thumps harmlessly off of her shoulder, and you stumble forward with the effort. you faintly register your hip slamming against the corner of your nightstand, but you can barely find it in yourself to care.

“get out!” you shriek, unable to hold back the tears that hurtle down the apples of your cheeks. “get out, or i swear to god— i never want to see you again!”

your tears run cool—she’d cleaned your face of your makeup as you’d fallen asleep the night before. somehow, you feel uglier than if you’d had overnight mascara rolling down your cheeks; the picture of a heartbroken little girl crying for her mommy to fix it better. that shatters you, unduly—the fact that in front of the most beautiful woman you know, you feel uglier than ever.

silena’s eyes are darting about, from your hip to your eyes and back again, as if she doesn’t know which part of you she should look at. you feel a hot spike of anger pulse through you unbidden as you look her in the eye.

“i said,” you say, deceptively sweet, before you let it melt away, “get out.”

she says nothing this time. no more ‘baby’, no more ‘pup’. not even your name. you think that the shameful little whisper of cruelty that oscillates through you must be showing on your face, because she stumbles as if you’d driven your knuckles clean into her throat.

good, that vicious part of you says. she knew i had to have loved her to do this with her, and she used that to get what she wanted.

an eye for an eye, silena.

you watch her leave. it takes you twenty five seconds to hear your front door click shut, and then five more before you’re doubling over and sobbing into your hands.

the slow awakening of city life outside you becomes a dull ring in your ears. your hip is beginning to flare with a gradual, almost quiet pain from where you’d hit it in your haste to get her out of your sight before she could see you like this. you ignore it, your stomach rolling as you realize what you’ve done.

it takes you another fifteen minutes to stumble to your feet and do your best imitation of your morning routine. you look at yourself in the mirror as you apply your cleanser, your eyes meeting your reflection’s—dull and glazed over, like a dead fish. you can’t remember the last time you’d felt so…hollow. you’re not sure you ever have.

the rest of the day, you don’t hear from her. your phone remains silent, save for the occasional email. you get more work done than you have since you moved here. your coworker even comments that you’re doing beautifully, that you’re such a sweet daisy for picking up so much of the workload. you stomach it with a smile and try to ignore how miserable you feel.

all day, you mourn. you wonder for a moment if she’s mourning the same way you are, then refuse to believe it as soon as the thought crosses your mind. your mother had always remarked that with your tender, teary-eyed countenance, someone would eat you alive one day.

you just never expected that silena would be the one picking you out of her teeth.

copr. 2025, kk-iki.

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