#nipple riffs activated

[britvarama]

[chlorinecake]

❝ MOLTO BELLA ❞ — P.JS

▹ PAIRING: soft dom! guitarist bf!jay x bratty switch! gf!reader

▹ WARNINGS: ⚠︎ BRAT TAMER JAY who puts you back in your place, f. masturbation, kind of giggly foreplay in the beginning, dry humping, titty play, finger sucking, hair pulling, rough unprotected sex in a hotel room (BACK SHOTS), cream pie, mentions of clubbing

▹ WORD COUNT: 2.1k, for @heeslomll on her lovely birthday... wishing you a very happy 19th, queen !! ♡♡♡

Just two days ago, Jay had whisked you away on a surprise getaway vacation, granting you both with a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of your everyday lives…

Clubbing was a popular activity in the area, so like most guests at the Diamond Hotel, you and your boyfriend hit up an exotic club, where flashing lights, pounding music, overpriced drinks, and swirling bodies took over your sensual fields.

It wasn’t til around midnight once y’all had stumbled back to the hotel room, tiny giggles bumping from your tipsy body as Jay helped you undress, his touch gentle while guiding you into the warm bath he ran for you…

Oddly enough though, by time the following morning came, you couldn’t help but replay in your mind the way Jay’s veiny hands looked while carefully washing away the traces of last night's revelry from your skin…

The way his touch meticulously pampered you…

If you had had the energy for it last night, you’re sure you would’ve pulled his sexy ass into the tub with you, but that chance was over and done with now…

All you had currently was this king sized hotel bed all to yourself and your two, pathetic fingers that couldn’t make you feel good for shit…

And that’s when you heard it…

Jay’s skilled fingers faintly strumming a melody from his guitar… just from a few rooms away from you…

“Morning, beautiful,” Jay greeted upon hearing your bare footsteps enter the living room where he was busy working on chord progressions at the couch…

“Morning, daddy…” you returned playfully, catching on to the little smirk staining his face right away.

“Last night was fun…” you went on, almost mesmerized in the way his thick fingers traveled lower down the guitar neck, “didn’t know you could dance like that…”

“Yea?” He chuckled, eyeing you through his bangs as you paced around the table, “didn’t know you could drink like that, either…”

You let out a scoff at his comment, “Pleaseee, I was being quite conservative, actually… didn’t wanna make chaperoning too hard for you…”

“I'm sure I could handle it,” Jay replied in a slightly deeper voice this time, making your stomach flutter slightly at his words, “You hungry, party girl?”

“Not yet… I mostly just wanted to see why you left me all alone in bed this morning…”

Jay chuckled at your words, “Sorry about that, baby… I just wanted to practice this riff for a minute, but it doesn’t matter… you make sure my fingers get enough exercise anyways…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… it means that I know you want something from me right now… with the way you’re pacing around… what is it, love?…”

You felt kinda bad for getting out of bed just in hopes that Jay would wanna fuck you, but tossing and turning on the sheets while thinking about his fingers inside you wasn’t any better either…

“Just wanna sit here, if that’s okay,” you sighed, eyes falling to his lap as he placed the guitar down beside him against the wall, leaning back on the couch a bit now so you could nestle yourself in his lap.

He gave his thighs a quick pat as you came over, straddling him now as he gave you a kiss under your ear, “Of course this is okay, princess… no need to be shy…”

You tried to ignore the feeling of Jay’s dick resting beneath your core, but couldn’t help yourself from grinding against it slightly.

And it didn’t take many words after that for your boyfriend to know exactly what you wanted from him now...

His hands fell to your hips while you kept humping against his lap, eyes wandering down to the way your nipples poked through your thin pajama shirt just as you asked if he wanted to touch them…

“Will you smack me again if I pinch them this time?”

You gasped at his words, feeling his grip on your thighs tighten as he smacked the flesh there, looking into your eyes now.

“You've helped me toughen up since then, baby,” you said with a heavy voice, “just need to feel your hands on me more than anything right now...”

“What's the magic word, love?”

You let out a sigh at his teasing, rolling your eyes as you said, “Please, Jay, would you play with my titties while I dry hump you like a virgin, pretty please?”

He chuckled at your words once again—

—with that attractive ass chuckle of his… not even hesitating to slide his hands under your shirt and start fondling with your boobs, lifting your shirt over one tit as he ran a thumb over your nipple…

He then leaned his head down to take a wet swipe with his warm tongue over your sensitive bud, sending shivers down your spine as you whined slightly.

“So needy this morning… was wondering what kept you in bed so long today…” he started with a tantalizing whisper.

“I had a dream about you… I tried to touch myself but—”

“It didn’t feel as good as this, huh?” He finished for you, rutting his hips up for a second as he tightening his grip on your tit, “already got you feeling sensitive and all your clothes are still on…”

All you did was moan at your boyfriend’s words, putting your hands at his shoulders just as his hands traveled lower, “can’t make myself cum without you anymore, Jay…”

“Then let me help you feel better, love… Do you like the way that sounds?…”

“Yes,” you nodded dumbly, letting him kiss you now as you still circled yourself in his lap, leaving a wet spot behind on his sweatpants.

He picked you up bridal style before taking you to the bedroom and placing you on the bed that still wasn’t made up after all your stirring this morning…

You already started to spread your legs for him as he stood before you, making him smirk at your neediness. “Would you close your legs for like, one second? I haven’t even pulled my dick out yet…”

“Well if it bothers you so much, why don’t you do something about it?”

He simply smiled at you again. Smugly this time, “Y’know, you say you’ve toughen up with me, but I bet you’d still start crying once I actually put you in your place…”

That’s when Jay took a hold of your hips, pulling you closer to where he stood with both your pelvises touching now.

“I’d say it’s worth a try,” you went on, looking back at him with blowjob eyes, “I always like it when you play rough with me, anyways…”

He trailed a finger from your knee, along your thigh, before finally reaching your pussy, where he tapped a finger at, knowing exactly where your clit was already given how many times he’s touched you before…

Circling your clothed clit, he applied a bit of pressure to the spot while holding your face to look at him, your tongue laving at his thumb as he toyed with your lower lip.

He felt himself twitch in his pants at the way you moaned against his finger, not wanting to waste anymore time before he said, “turn over for me, love…”

And you did just that, turning over on your stomach almost instantly, not even being able to process it when Jay swiftly pulled your shorts and panties down, the room’s cool air hitting your cunt.

You meant to say something bratty, but he interrupted your thoughts with a spank to your ass, not a painful one, but hard enough to get your attention…

To keep you in check…

“Tell me… how did I fuck you in your dream?”

“Like this,” you said plainly while poking your ass out for him, bumping against his bulge… “only difference is that you didn’t take as long to get started…”

“Oh? Well isn’t that nice,” Jay smirked, just as your ears caught on to the sound of him untying his pants and pulling them down.

You turned your head to look back for a second, quite obviously checking out his dick that you weren’t surprised to see was fully hard.

Catching onto your peeking, he pressed your face into the mattress, lining his tip up with your sopping hole before asking, “Was I rough, too?...”

You couldn’t even get an answer out before he pushed himself in, the sudden feeling of fullness making your torso tense with pleasure that traveled throughout your entire body.

“Don’t get shy on me again, baby,” Jay cooed, releasing the weight of his hand from your face slightly while keeping your shirt out of the way with his other hand, “I’m not even fully inside you, yet…”

He thrusted his hips into you again, pushing past your tightness as your walls hesitantly welcomed the rest of his length inside.

“Anggh,” you winced for a second, gripping at the sheets given the deep stretch.

He didn't care for your whining though, as he knew it was only gonna be a matter of time before you started begging him to go faster.

“J-Jay!” You cried out weakly, already too affected by his ministrations as you felt his tip reach amazing places inside you, his hand bunching up your hair as he kept your face meshed with the mattress.

“Jay, what?” He taunted in a voice so low, you felt it in your pussy, his free hand letting go of your shirt only to pin your hands behind your back, the sheets releasing from your grip with a loud pop.

“Y’know I can’t read your mind, princess…especially not when you’re going all dumb on my cock like this…”

He wasn’t going to ease up on you until you told him how you wanted him, even if your words would have to come out in tiny little hiccups and broken moans...

It was his way of teasing you… not because he was an asshole, but he knew deep down that you always enjoyed the sex better whenever he made you work for it a bit.

“I w-want it to hurt,” your voice managed to come out muffed against the sheets, eyes pricking with tears given his hold on your hair coupled with the way he kept fucking into your desperate cunt, “p-please keep f-fucking me like this...”

You almost couldn't believe you were falling apart so quickly, and neither could Jay, your knees hardly being able to stay straight given how hard he pounded into you.

Your boyfriend groaned deeply behind you, keeping your arms pinned as his hips pistoled into you at a rapid pace, your moans syncing up with each slap of skin, “you're driving me fucking crazy right now- fughhck, baby... feels so good inside you...”

It wasn't long before Jay's once controlled thrusts turned into much sloppier ones as you both drew closer to your highs, his grip on your hands releasing as he leaned over you, close enough to where he could kiss along your shoulders.

A small puddle of drool rested where your mouth was on the mattress, just as you felt his fingers tap at your cheek, making your teary eyes flutter back open.

He wanted you to look into his eyes for the last few moments he could last inside you, the tip of his cock pulsing with his heart beat as you felt his load filling you up.

A loud groan fell from his lips as he slowed down the movement of his hips, holding you down with his weight as your orgasm followed soon after his, body trembling given how powerful the sensation was.

You were a squirming mess beneath him, whining out desperate cries of him name as your walls pulsating around him like a drum, his lips finally meeting yours in a sweet kiss as you felt his length slip out of you, a string of slick connecting your bodies.

“How was that, princess?” Your boyfriend asked breathlessly, almost in a cooing manner as he brushed a bit of your hair out of the way, “feel any better now?…”

“Shut up, I feel amazing,” you said, giving him a knowing look with your eyes as your breath came out like a satisfied purr, his touch still tracing the side of your face as you looked back at him.

That's when you felt his tip sliding between your folds, making your legs feel wobbly all over again given how sensitive you still were.

“Think you got another one in you for me?” Jay asked, the head of his cock coming dangerously close to your hole now as he whispered against your neck, kissing the skin there.

Yes, you were already satisfied, but given the way he sweet-talked to you in this moment, you're sure another round wouldn't hurt.

⚠︎ Thank you all so much for reading this fic! Make sure you all wish this beautiful Italian princess a very happy birthday before the day is out, and check out my enhypen bookshelf if you’re interested in more works like this !!

⚠︎ tag list: @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @addictedtohobi @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @ot7sevenlvr

[ghostarii]

GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

[honey-flustered]

Cruel Little Vixen 7

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Journalist!Reader

Summary: The universe continues to teach you and Eddie some important lessons. Tensions rise when the world becomes aware of the rockstar’s girl. And top it all off, you and Eddie are forced to make an important decision regarding your relationship.

NO READ MORE LINE BREAK ADDED DUE TO GLITCH

A/N: It’s been a tough ass road, but I’m back. I’ve experienced challenges with the last two parts of my story being deleted and having to start over, my mental health’s hung by a fucking thread, I’ve been anxious to post because I feel like my work’s not good enough but ya know what I love writing and it keeps me happy! The series is coming to an end. Just one more part (tried making this the last one but the ending’s too damn long). I cannot wait to finish this because I’ve had so many fic ideas I’ve been meaning to share. I wanna complete requests and ask for some of yall ideas or whatever. I just want to have some fun with this. Any this chapter’s filled with slight rom com elements and tropes. It’s definitely a healing experience for both reader and Eddie. Especially Eddie. It’s a wild ride so please enjoy! Also Happy New Years! 🥳

>>>>>Series Masterlist Part 7 of 8

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: overload of fluff and 🌽, heavy flirting, idiots in love, airplane jokes, some angst, brief blood and violence, talks of negligent parents and juvenile detention, hinted abuse of a minor character, smutty smut, kissing/making out, fingering, squirting, handjob, light dirty talk, nipple play, mile high club activities, graphic language, Eddie loves drinking his respect women juice

2 years ago…

“We’re Corroded Coffin and we’re the band your parents wished you never listened to! 2, 3, 4!” Eddie shouts into the mic, counting in time to Gareth’s drumstick taps. The drums to Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” are the first to make its noise before the familiar guitar riff picks up after it.

Then, he sings and the crowd’s loving it.

The former nightclub bartender and now manager of Corroded Coffin, Eugene Neds, spotted great potential in the enigma that was Eddie Munson that night. In a band of 19-year-olds passing off as 21 to perform at a venue much too risqué for kids their age, the man only had eyes for the lead guitarist/singer. Eddie was going to be a star, he was sure of it. Eugene just needed to make sure that he would be the one to make it happen.

The music cuts abruptly. “Hey, asshole! Leave her the fuck alone, alright.” Eddie shouts on the mic, pointing over at the bar. The spotlight lands on the inebriated giant of a man towering over a visibly uncomfortable woman.

“Why don’t you mind your goddamn business?” The large man slurs.

“I’m not so sure it’s your business either, man. She wants absolutely nothing to do with you.” Eddie hops off stage, approaching the man as if he were David in Goliath’s presence.

At that moment, Eddie realized he was tired of running, tired of bullies, and tired of being picked on for being different. Those days have been laid to rest along with all his grievances of high school. The man had since gained the grit needed to face danger head on. It was the day he reclaimed the title, ‘The Freak’.

“You looking for a fight, little guy?” The large man attempts to intimidate, towering over him.

“Well, if you won’t leave her alone…then yes…I am looking for a fight.” Eddie stares daggers up at the man.

Not a second longer, the man’s fist connects with Eddie’s jaw, sending him back against a table with a few glasses being knocked over. Eddie’s wild hair covers over his face. He swipes a thumb over his lips. Blood. Blood that was now seeping from his mouth. The room is quiet, not a peep. But then the sound of laughter. It was manic. Wicked. And craziest of all, it wasn’t coming from the man who’d thrown the first punch.

It was the enigma himself.

So this was what it felt like to be punched? To taste blood? To stand up and fight instead of running? To laugh in the face of danger. And it felt so good.

The metalhead looks up at the giant man. His teeth, bloodied red. A terrifying smile of nightmares. He stands planted on his two feet again.

“You want some more, freak?” The large man says, swinging a fist in the air once again only this time Eddie swiftly ducks out the way. He surges forward at the large man, full speed, sliding from under him so that he is now right behind the man.

Eddie quickly climbs on top of the bar table. “You’re not so big from where I’m standing,” He quips then points at the liquor hose in the bartender’s hands. “Hey, could I borrow that?”

The bartender hands it over. Holding the nozzle over the giant man’s head, Eddie's famous smirk is the only warning. The man could barely register what was going on before the trigger’s pulled, beer spraying and trickling down his head.

The large man was now wet and red with anger. Eddie makes no haste with his next move, spatting blood in the bully’s face and uppercutting him with a kick to his chin. The large man goes down with a loud thud. The room is in an uproar of applause and thus the beer dumping incident became a fan favorite legend. To this day, fans of Corroded Coffin pay homage at concerts, dumping cans of beer on their heads.

The band was soon tossed out of the venue that night and although Eddie’s friends had sung their praises, he couldn’t help but to feel guilty having ruined their biggest gig.

Then, he was approached by that very bartender on his way back to his van. The one who’d soon change the trajectory of his life. The one that promised a life of glitters and gold. Eugene Neds had sold Eddie a dream. A dream that was disguised as a lending hand to the young man.

“I can make Corroded Coffin a household name.” He says, holding out a business card.

A former manager of countless failed bands, Eugene was convinced he’d finally found the kind of talent that would free him of the depressing bore of a penniless 9 to 5. Eddie Munson would be his project. His success story of taking a teenage dirtbag with the attitude and skills and molding him into a sex symbol. Thus creating ‘Francis The Freak’.

But then… YOU came along. The rockstar’s undoing. You were tearing down the walls that were so perfectly built.

Mr. Neds calls it: You’ll be the end of Eddie and his band. The only form of control Mr. Neds has now would be keeping your relationship with Eddie under wraps. He’ll be patient, though. He knows this couldn’t possibly last between you two. Certainly, you were just another pair of legs that captured his short attention span until he eventually got bored.

Mr. Neds snaps out of his thoughts at the sounds of your giggling, eyes looking at the rearview mirror from his seat on the tour bus. You and Eddie were cozied up in the back, him showing you some scars.

“So, that explains the NPC-like behavior of your fans dumping beers on their heads or asking you to spit on them,” You deduce. “I’m glad to be in the know. This’ll be great tying that into my last article.”

“Did you really say NPC? As in Non-Player Character? You little nerd, am I rubbing off on you?” Eddie teases, poking your tummy.

“Hey, I know things.” You laugh, poking him back. “But you shouldn’t solve everything with fists. I’ve never known you to be a fighter.”

“I’m a lover, but I’m no pacifist.”

“You, a lover?”

“Mhm, want me to demonstrate?” His mouth attacks your neck, you squeal in delight.

So lost in each other, you couldn’t have noticed the manager’s demands to the driver to halt the bus. He had grown more and more frustrated at the sight of you and Eddie being so close. He decidedly gets out of his seat, walking down the aisle past the bandmates who could immediately sense something about to go down but all they could do was follow with their eyes as the manager made his way over to you.

“Y/n, Eddie…I’ll need you to test a theory for me. Stand beside one another.” The manager demands, breaking your moment together.

“What’s your point?” Eddie asks, squinting his eyes.

“We need to make sure that you both won’t look so ‘friendly’ with one another,” The manager explains. “The media are bloodhounds. One whiff of the hormones circulating between you would send them into a frenzy and next thing ya know you’re on the cover of yet another magazine.”

“Are you suggesting that the chemistry between us is so intense that remotely standing beside each other would give us away?” You ask, incredulously.

“Precisely.”

“Are you familiar with the term ‘delusional’?” You question rhetorically, causing Eddie to chuckle.

“Not delusional. Perceptive.”

“You weren’t very ‘perceptive’ when Eddie and I got together.” You smirk.

“I’ve suspected. I just chose to ignore it. It only became too difficult to deny when the two of you became sloppy with it.” Mr. Neds scoffs.

“We can totally stand beside each other without being ‘friendly’.” Eddie defends.

“Oh, is that so?” Mr. Neds asks, mockingly. “Because right now, right before my eyes, I see you and Eddie sat extremely close on this loveseat with his hand caressing your thigh…and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, looking down at the hand that graced your supple skin lovingly. The two of you jump apart as if burned by the other.

“See what I mean,” Mr. Neds lets out a dry laugh. “Now please stand. Both of you.”

“Fine.” You and Eddie mutter in unison.

Standing up at once, your arms knock against each other’s. Your eyes trained at the contact and how close in proximity you both were. You blush, eyes on him. He notices your flustered state, smirking down at you.

“Jesus Christ.” Mr. Neds rubs at his temple, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, they’ve got it bad.” Mel says as he walks in biting nonchalantly into an apple.

“It’s worse than I thought,” The manager groans. “You’re like magnets! You’ll need to stand at least 7 feet apart.”

“7 feet?! How the hell am I supposed to interview and complete my article from 7 feet away?” You argue.

“Anything is possible.” Mr. Neds answers.

“You’re being a real pain in the ass, Eugene.” Eddie says to the 40-something man.

“Welcome to my world,” He retorts. “If 7 feet’s such a big deal then I’ll be reasonable. 5 feet. No more negotiations.”

“This is so stupid.” Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t be so upset, brother. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder or some bullshit like that. It could actually be quite romantic.” Mel chimes in.

“Mel…get the hell outta here.” Eddie and Mr. Neds sneers together.

Mel exits, a middle finger up in the air while the other brings the apple to his lips.

“Now if we’re going to work together and keep the peace,” The manager begins. “We need to do this my way. No, ‘ands’, ‘ifs’, or ‘buts’ about it. We’ll be at the airport to catch a plane to New York soon so—.”

“Whoa,” Eddie interrupts. “I thought we were going back home?”

“Well, I’ve booked a performance for Corroded Coffin to attend. It was an offer that I couldn’t refuse. A Holiday Parade! And it won’t just be televised in Hawkins like you’re used to. It’ll be all over America. No worries about rehearsals either. Just do everything exactly how you did at Mantra•esque. Ever since that performance, word’s been traveling about the new hot band in town. You’ll have an interview with the hosts of the parade right after so please be on your best behavior.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Eddie’s voice raises.

“Well, you would’ve heard about it along with the boys if you hadn’t snuck out last night.”

“I have even caught my breath yet, man.”

“You had countless nights to rest. You spent them sneaking around with your…girlfriend. Eddie, I only ever want what’s best for you. If I hadn’t discovered you, where do you think you would’ve been?” Mr. Neds rests a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder. A visual much akin to that of a demon resting on gullible shoulders, pleading for their victim to sign away his rights. “You would have still been living in that shitty trailer park while your uncle picked up 12 and 16 hour shifts just to keep a roof over your heads. Remember, you’re not doing this for yourself. This is survival. You understand I only mean well…do you?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, a quick nod.

“I knew you would. It’s nothing personal, kid. It’s just what they call ‘business as usual’. It’ll only be for a few more days and then you could enjoy all the time you need in Hawkins before the next tour.” The manager pats his back before making his way back up front to inform the driver to get back on track.

Sitting back on the little loveseat, you climb into Eddie’s lap while your arms wrapped around his neck for a hug. “He shouldn’t be allowed to speak to you that way.”

“He’s right, though.” Eddie huffs, caressing your back.

You felt yourself becoming angry for him, pulling away to look him in the eye. “He’s wrong. With or without him, you could do anything. Anyone could’ve seen that light in you. I have. You’ve got something special and no fucking manager could take that away from you, okay.”

Eddie’s stoic expression softens into a warm smile. “Look at you being all protective. Making you my girlfriend’s made you all soft.” He chuckles.

“No one messes with my man,” You shrugged with a smile. “He talks to you like that again and I’ll knock him down a peg or two.”

“That’s very cute,” He kisses the space between your eyebrows. “But you don’t have to defend me, ya know. I’m a big boy.”

“What? You think I couldn’t do it or something?” You ball your fists into your sides.

“Oh, no. My hesitancy is more concerned with how badly you’ll hurt his ego. I still need the man to be able to stand on his two feet if he’s getting this band going.” Eddie jokes.

“But…i-is that what you want? To keep this going?” You asked, twiddling with your thumbs.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“What about taking a break? You’re going to perform in New York then you’ve got Europe in a week or so. It just seems like a lot.”

“It does seem like a lot. But if I have you beside me, it wouldn’t be so bad,” He catches himself. “In New York, I mean.”

Eddie made sure to include that last part not wanting the inevitable conversation to be brought up. Eventually, it will. As you’ve mentioned, the tour for Europe is approaching. The next time you’ll see each other again wouldn’t probably be for another 6 months. Maybe more. But what really affected him was the idea that you wouldn't think to consider going on tour with him. Especially since a little before bed last night, Eddie had asked you a question that tested everything between you two and all you could do was ignore it and say your goodnight.

“You want me to go to New York with you?” You asked.

He shrugs, shyly. “Well, yeah. I thought it was obvious. You’re fine to say ‘no’.” That response was meant for both situations: New York and Europe.

You take a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go with you…” Eddie’s eyes lit up until you finished the last part of your sentence. “…to New York.”

“Y-yeah,” He clears his throat then echoes. “To New York.”

————

It was greatly in your favor that Eddie’s manager had decided to keep up with his “5 feet apart” rule, sitting you in separate seats across the aisle from one another. Why? Because you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about “the inevitable conversation”. Eventually…you’ll give your answer. Just not now. Not when things are going so well between you two.

You bury your head in your journal not exactly writing anything of importance, simply scribbling away to keep yourself from wondering if he was looking at you. But curiosity gets the best of you, so you peek up from your journal and catch Eddie’s eyes on you, too. You both look away at once, you resume your doodling nervously.

When you went to look over your shoulder this time, Eddie made a face silly enough to make you giggle and roll your eyes. He points at the journal in your hand, gesturing you to slide it over. You check your surroundings to make sure no one’s looking before doing so.

You waited as he proceeded to write something down. Then, he turned the journal to face you. In big letters: “Hi.”

You smile, waving and mouthing a “Hi” back.

He writes something down again and turns it over to face you. “Writing you here so Neds doesn’t try to listen in.”

You nod to confirm that you understand.

He writes. “What were you writing about?”

He could’ve turned the page to see exactly that but he didn’t wish to invade your privacy. You do the honors. Turning the page to which you scribbled different drawing variations of his name. You’re a little embarrassed to show him that he’s all you’ve been thinking about. But then he smiles eager to show you what he’d been reading.

He holds up his book, opening it to the page where his thumb held it open and reveals a polaroid photo of you looking up at him and him, down at you on the Manta•esque stage. This was his way of letting you know he’s thinking about you, too.

You smiled, writing him back. “How’d you get that?”

“Junie.”

“The camera guy?”

“Yep. Begged him to take at least one picture of you for me. It’s my favorite. I was going to share it with you but, selfishly, I want to keep it for myself.”

Is this really the same guy I met in that dressing room some weeks ago?

“Lovely view we have up here.” He writes.

You shoot him deadpan stare, not amused by the airplane joke. He tugs at the collar of his shirt in feigned nervousness before gesturing for the journal again. He writes. “Okay, I can see how that aviation joke went over your head.”

Still unamused. You wrote back. “I really appreciate corny jokes but these are just painfully bad.”

“Are you saying my jokes didn’t…land?”

“Please stop. If you’re going to tell airplane jokes, at least tell the Wright ones.”

Now he’s the one to look at you unamused and confused.

You scribbled quickly to explain yourself. “Get it? Wright. Like the Wright brothers. The first ones to fly an airplane?”

“Sorry, but your knowledge of world history is lost on me. I failed that class miserably.”

“I guess you can say it went over your head.”

“You can’t just repeat my joke. Joke stealing’s no laughing matter.”

Okay, that tickled you a bit. Smiling to yourself, you hadn’t realized Eddie passing you the notebook once again, until you felt the pages brush your arm.

“Think you can meet me in the restroom in 5?”

You scoff out loud. “I hope you're not thinking about what I think you’re thinking about.”

“I wanna talk.” He simply writes.

How could three words be so frightening? So ominous? Your heart pounds hard, daring to jump out of your chest.

“Are we not talking now? What would you need to talk about that can’t be said here?��

You anticipated his reply. Leaning over your seat, trying to peek but more so averting your eyes. You mindlessly picked at the skin around your fingernails, nerves getting the best of you.

With a solemn face, he holds out the journal to you. You meet his eyes then down at his hands, hesitating to reach for the book. The regretful look on Eddie’s face gave away that he was second guessing what he’d written down. When your fingertips grazes it, it falls out of his hand with an audible slap to the ground.

The two of you scramble to reach for it, kneeling down. Your hands accidentally touch in the attempt to take the book for yourselves. Instead of pulling away, you both ceased your frantic movements. Eddie’s thumb caressing the palm of your hand. You focus on this action then look into his big brown eyes.

The bing of the attendant assistance button pulls you out of the trance. Taking the notebook, you stand on your two feet and hug it to your chest. With a stern nod of confirmation, you stride your way down the first class aisle towards the restroom.

You shut the door behind, back rested against it as you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. Eyes closed, you peel the notebook away from you. Your hands are outstretched in front of you and when you were sure it was directly in your field of vision, you opened your eyes and read.

“Europe.”

So it began. The inevitable conversation. There’s rhythmic knock and you were sure it was him, stepping away from the door and facing it. He opens it enough to let him slide through before he closing it behind him quietly.

“Hi.” He breathes out.

“Hi.” You say in quick breath as if you were scared to breathe at all.

“I guess you read the note.”

You don’t say a word, nodding tentatively.

“Y/n, I—“

“Why’re you calling me that?” You interrupt.

“You mean…your first… name?” He says, eyes squinting in confusion.

“Yeah. You usually call me some stupid pet name. What are we on first name bases now?”

“I thought you didn’t like it?” His eyebrow raises.

“It’s grown on me.” Your face grows hot as you cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Besides, do you just call me those names simply because I don’t like it.”

“At first, yeah. But I do it now because I like you.”

Your face grows even hotter, hoping he doesn’t see the effect he has on you right now. You should be upset, girl! “So, what gives? Why aren’t you calling me a vixen or a babe or whatever the fuck?”

“I just figured it’d be more appropriate for what I’ve got to say,” He explains before taking a deep breath. “I’d like to---”

You couldn’t bring yourself to hear much more of it. Okay. So he wants to talk about the tour in Europe? What exactly does he want from you? You couldn’t possibly give him an answer he’d be happy to hear.

“I’m sorry,” You cut him off again. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to forget. To pretend that there was no tour so that I can enjoy being in the present, being with you. But now I know that sometimes…it’s okay to face the inevitable. So…I think I’m ready now.”

“You’re ready?” He says, eyes shimmering despite the dimly lit environment.

“Yes,” You confirmed, lowering your head to keep him from seeing your tears. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. We should break up and—”

“What the hell are you talking about? I never mentioned breaking up. I hadn’t mentioned much at all since you kept interrupting.”

“You didn’t need to mention it. The signs are all there.”

“Really? Because I’m trying to see them for myself. They must be—I don’t know—invisible. Nonexistent.”

“You can’t possibly think I can just throw my career away to be some groupie for you.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.” He jokes.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t go on that tour with you, Eddie. I have my dream and you have yours. I can’t put my work on the line when I’ve gotten this far.”

“So long distance not a thing?”

“I couldn’t do that to you. It wouldn’t be right. You’re gonna be a star. You’ll meet plenty of women who’d want you. I don’t want to hold you back. I just won’t do it. You deserve to be free to be with whoever you want.”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, Y/n,” He towers over you. “You have no right to make these decisions for me. That’s for me to decide. I’m tired of people telling me what to do, how to feel, what to think. I may not be the brightest but I’m not stupid. What about what I want?”

“What do you want?!”

“You, woman! I want you!”

“If you want me because you think I’ll be this doting girlfriend of your dreams who’s at your side at all times, who ‘sits down and shuts up’, constantly obeying your wishes; I am not that kind of girl.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, demeanor cool and collected.

“Okay? As in…”

“Okay, as in ‘I’m not asking you to be the girl of my dreams’. You already are, goddamn it. As stubborn, self-righteous and bitchy as you can be, I admire every part of you. Good or bad. I want you to have control over your own decisions and be unfiltered as you are. But sometimes, you do need to learn when to shut the hell up and listen to what I’m trying to tell you.”

You began to seethe at his words, opening your mouth to protest only for him to put his palm over it. He shushes you, his free hand putting a finger to his lips. “I’m gonna remove my hand now. You’ll be quiet, right?” He searches your glass-like eyes. You nod slowly, your stare holding sincerity.

“Good girl,” He praises, pulling his hand away. He straightens his composure as if to prepare himself for his own news. “I won’t be going on tour. I’ll follow you.”

Now you’re shaking your head at him. “No. You couldn’t. This is your chance!”

“There’ll be plenty of tours in the future. We can have time for each other until then. Get to know each other well enough so that you’ll start to believe me when I say there’s no one else I’d want besides you.”

Your eyes, the size of saucers. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! I would never ask you to do something like that.”

“That’s the thing. It’s my choice. I’m practicing this thing called ‘autonomy’. It’s quite refreshing actually.”

“It’s stupid!”

“That’s just your opinion.”

“It’s 100% fact,” You notice him approaching you slowly and closely. He’s got that devilish grin playing on his lips. “Stay away from me. 5 feet apart, remember?”

You place a hand on his chest, stopping any attempt for him to move further. He looks down at your shaky hand. He knows it’s futile, so he laughs. “We followin’ rules now?”

“I said, stay the fuck away, Munson.” You squeaked.

“That doesn’t sound very confident,” He chuckles darkly. “You sure you want me to stay away?”

You let out a shaky breath. He bites his lip. This shouldn’t excite him as much as it did, but he was HARD. And it didn’t help that the turbulence brought his attention to your full breasts bouncing temptingly in his gaze. Even covered by your scantily clad tank top, it was see-through enough to leave little to the imagination. He grasps your wrist, pulling your hand off his chest to hold.

He knew exactly how to push your buttons. You hate to admit it, but you were turned on, too. The wetness pooling in your underwear was undeniable.

“I think you like it when I’m this close,” He lets go of your wrist, testing the waters and taking another step. This time you don’t stop him. “I’m sure you remember the way I make you feel when my hand is between your legs.”

“Eddie…” You pleaded.

“You know what else I think, you wanted me to follow you the whole time. Is that why you ask if I wanted to keep the tour going? Why you’ve made me wait hand and foot for an answer? So, you can break me.”

“Not true.” You whimpered.

“Then, you manipulate me into thinking I’m breaking up with you,” He laughs incredulously. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, little vixen. I thought you were better than that,” His fingers coil around your neck tight, but not tight enough to cut off any air circulation. “But you couldn’t get rid of me that easily. Even if you were to leave me right now, you wouldn’t be able to forget me. You’d still feel me here.”

He cups your mound and your mouth drops, knowing that your cover was blown. You were sure that he’d feel you soaking your underwear. It was a blessing and a curse that you decided to wear a skirt today.

“We shouldn’t.” You gasped as he squeezed you down there enough to feel his rings digging into your cotton panties.

Oh yes, we should!

His lips ghosts over the shell of your ear. “You’ve broken me, kitten. Now’s my turn to break you.”

“Let me go.” You whispered weakly.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” He says, tone rich and deep. “There is no letting you go. You’d think I’d ever let another man touch you like this.”

He rolls a thumb over your nipple, perked up for him to tend to. A small moan escapes your lips, causing you to bite them in an attempt to cease any more sounds.

“I couldn’t even begin to imagine someone else hearing those pretty sounds eaving your lips,” With the hand still cupping your face, he swipes his thumb over your full lips and caresses the slightly-healed scar. “Couldn’t even bring myself to use your moans in my songs cause they’re meant for my ears only.”

“How do you think I feel? I get nauseous just imagining you with another girl,” You admit, eyes staring up in hopeless surrender to him. You grow as intensely possessive as him. Your bodies are so close, chests flushed together. Nails digging into his shoulders, you lay a desperate kiss on his lips that makes him feral. “I’m not usually the jealous type but I want you all to myself.”

“You have me.” He whispers, biting down on your soft bottom lip as he cups your butt and guides you to straddle his thigh. Slipping your panties to the side, he presses his thigh into your now exposed core. You knew exactly what he wanted, grinding against the fabric of his jeans. The rough material of the denim against your clit was a delicious surprise to you.

Eddie slips his tongue into your mouth and you immediately suck on the appendage. It felt like you were so in sync with the rhythm of your bodies. Your moans into the kiss competing with one another.

You loved when you got to hear the effect you had on him even without him being inside you. Your hands travel down to the dip in his back, pulling him closer (if it were even possible to be closer than you already were).

You ride his thigh, foreheads against one another and eyes locked. Noticing the erection straining against his jeans, you palm and squeeze it. He thrusts into your hand, pursuing further contact. The two of you work to unbutton his jeans, lowering the zipper until the pants loosened enough. Spitting into your hands, you dip it past the spandex of his boxers and free him of his restraints. You jerk him in your hands at the same tempo you moved your hips against him.

“I don’t want anyone else to touch you like this,” You pant. “Wanna be the only one.”

“I don’t want anyone else hearing how amazing you look you cum,” Removing his thigh away from between your legs, he shoves two thick fingers into you. You gasp which then melds into a moan at the feeling of being stretched so suddenly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head until Eddie snaps you out of it, gripping your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Eyes on me, little vixen.”

The feeling of his fingers, which were perfectly long enough to hit depths that even your own fingers couldn’t reach, drove you into a level of high you were scared to reach for. You tug his cock harder, faster in your hand and feel the precum coat your fingers with added lubrication.

Your stares grew intensely along with the sounds of your heavy breathing. You were getting lightheaded, knowing that the end was soon approaching.

“Want you inside me.” You begged, not caring enough that you were in an airplane restroom.

“Unh…fuck…not here,” He grunts. “Next time I fuck you will be at my place, in my bed so my sheets could smell like you.”

He wiggles a finger in you, teasing the sensitive trigger. His fingers are shot out of you and you’re squirting before you could even recognize that you’ve come.

“Holy shit, holy shit!” You squeal, vision going white. You convulse under him, hearing him groan and the familiar sticky feeling of his essence running in your hands.

You both cling onto each other moments after, his head to your chest feeling your heart beating erratically. When Eddie finally peels off of you, your body grows cold mourning the loss of his warmth. He cleans the two of you up, taking his time, cleaning between your legs and running a wet paper towel on the palms of your coated hands. He wordlessly watches your eyes tracking his hands, before placing a kiss to your now spotless fingers.

“You ready to go out there?” He asks.

“Could we walk out together?” You curl an arm around his, batting your lashes. You know it’s a risky thing to ask.

“Sure, babe.” A big warm smile plastered on his face.

When he feels as if you’re ready, he gives you a reassuring look before unlocking the door and stepping out. Undeniably, you were sure there would be eyes on you. So, releasing a breath, you walk down the aisle hand in hand with your heads high, ignoring the hushed whispers between passengers.

As the two of you approach the section where Corroded Coffin‘s seated, Mr. Neds looks back furiously in contrast to your blissed out states.

Instead of sitting in his “assigned” seat, Eddie sits beside you, putting an arm around you and smirking at the manager.

“Something wrong…Eugene?” Eddie mocks.

“Really? In the restroom? Are you forgetting we have 15 other passengers with us in a section small enough to hear someone’s heartbeat?” He replies through gritted teeth.

“She was quiet enough. As much as she could, anyway.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“I’ll enjoy myself, too, someday. Currently, I’m thinking of how great that tour in Europe will be for you. It's a shame Y/n’s decided she won’t be joining us, though.” Mr.Neds says sarcastically.

“Don’t be surprised if that tour has no effect on me whatsoever. Almost like I’m not there.” Eddie retorts.

The two of them exchanged heated glares at one another. You sigh, sinking down in your seat.

————

It took longer than expected to arrive due to the weather conditions. A day and some hours and about 2 plane transfers to be concise. By the time you’d touchdown, it was practically evening but you couldn’t wait to get off the plane. You’ve never been to New York but you and Chrissy have talked about one day moving there together to make names for yourselves.

Despite Eddie clearly being exhausted from all the performances and trips, your joy rubbed off on him and soon he was just as determined to explore the big city as you.

Entering the terminal, you rush up to the big glass windows to stare out at the bustling streets. It’s really cold but no snowfall just yet.

You felt Eddie’s body pressed up against you, shivering enough to make you shake along with him.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Not really. I’m not dressed for this kind of weather. Guess fashionably torn shirts and tight jeans just aren't enough.My only saving grace is my leather jacket.”

You felt more bodies lean into you for warmth. The boys in the band huddling for warmth since you're the only one sporting a faux fleece coat.

“Hey! She’s off limits.” Eddie growls.

“Aw, come on, bruv. I’m practically naked in this top.” Judas says, pressing hard into your shoulder.

“Yeah, sharing’s caring.” Mel chimes in.

“If there’s anything you fuckers should know about me is that I don’t like sharing.” Eddie says pulling you into his body only for the men to follow after.

“Can’t we all just go shopping and get you all some decent clothing? Not rockstar-related?” You say, voice strained from being crushed between them.

“Being a star means sacrificing comfort for style.” Mr. Neds answers.

“That isn’t fair,” You protest. “You wouldn’t want them catching colds before their performances, would you? They need warm clothes.”

Mr. Neds stares you down then up at the boys who defensively reciprocated hostile stares at him.

“Fine. The new tour bus is awaiting us outside. We need to board it quickly or else—“

“Oh my god! It’s Corroded Coffin!” A voice rings through the terminal and soon all eyes around the terminal land on your group. There’s a beat of silence before screams and heavy thuds of feet fill the air. The fans sprint determinedly towards you.

Security immediately pushes you all outside of the terminal, blocking an entrance. The doors of another unmanned entrance burst open as floods of people come crashing through, running towards the tour bus.

You were paralyzed, shocked by the amount of people rushing over until you felt a hand take yours and tug you inside the bus. Another group of bodyguards standing between the doors to keep the crowd from hopping on top of the large vehicle. As best as they could the 4 bodyguards shoo away the crowd before hopping in and the driver quickly pulls off. Everyone on the bus, panting from the exertion of escaping.

“Look at that! Just a small town band, now your name’s being heard in even more places. Told you I’d make Corroded Coffin a household name.” Mr. Neds says proudly.

You exchanged a look with Eddie, who groaned at the manager’s lack of awareness. With stardom came lack of privacy. You felt a foreboding feeling that somehow your privacy would be compromised as well.

—————

“What do you think of this?” Eddie steps out of the dressing room, a man disguised. His outfit consisted of some light gray sweatpants, white kicks, and a basic white long sleeve shirt under his leather jacket. To top it off, his signature wilf curls had been stuffed into his black skully hat for better effect.

“You look great but wouldn’t you want to dress in coordination with your band?” You inquire.

Eddie’s bandmates had done the opposite of dressing casually. Going for the flashiest, expensive clothing.

“Nah, they’ll just end up getting us chased again,” Eddie laughs before looking over his shoulders then whispering. “I’m thinking we ditch ‘em.”

“Eddie…” You began but then suddenly you felt like you were in the mood for an adventure. “Know what…I’m ready for anything. What’d you have in mind?”

He’s taken aback. “The good girl’s looking for trouble?”

“I don’t have to look far. You’re the embodiment of it.” You tease.

“Correct as always, my dear.” He says in a silly posh accent, taking your hand and guiding you to sneak past the guards.

Then, you hear the sound of Eddie’s manager yelling from behind you. “Stop those two!”

You turn to your boyfriend, eyes wide. “Run.”

Next thing you knew, you’re both gunning it out the shopping mall, the bodyguards close behind.

To anyone on the outside, you were simply a rowdy couple caught doing something bad enough to be chased by men in black. After a couple twists and turns around the corner and a few “watch where ya goings”, Eddie leads you down the stairs of a subway station. You were sure you’d lost them until you saw them treading down the stairs a few seconds after.

Eddie pulls out a subway card from his pocket.

“Where’d you get that?” You questioned, panting as you ran.

“I swiped it off one of the guards,” Eddie laughs, also panting. “My dad was a pro pickpocketer.”

“We’ll need to unpack that sometime.”

Swiping the card in the machine, Eddie pushes through the turnstiles but when he swipes the card for your entrance, an error message shows up explaining that you have to wait at least 3 minutes for the next swipe. After a couple tries of the turnstiles not budging, you look over your shoulder and notice the guards closing in.

“What do I do?” You panic.

“Jump over!” He holds out his arms.

Grabbing either side of the gate, you hop over the turnstiles and into his arms just as the men reached you. The two of you resume running, this time having some distance from the guards.

As if your prayers had been answered, a train makes its stop at your station. Rushing in, you and Eddie gloat at the approaching bodyguards as the doors shut and the train pulls away. Clinging to the hand rail above you, you both pant in exhaustion which quickly morphed into laughter.

“You’re a bad influence.” You tease, hitting his shoulder lightly.

“You love it.” He retorts.

The words “you” and “love” in the same sentence. It is so strange that you hung onto them at this moment like they had any meaning outside of its context. But what would it be like to hear those words in a different arrangement? One where it felt more of a confession rather than a dismissive play on words.

Your hand slips caused by the jutting train, sending you out of your thoughts and straight into Eddie’s free arm.

“Geez, kitten. If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just asked,” He jokes. “You don’t have to throw yourself at me.”

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you squeeze tight, cheeks squished against his chest. “I could use one.”

He melts into your embrace with an arm around you while the other keeps you both planted to the ground. It doesn’t matter to him that you were in a crowded train where anyone could spot you together because Eddie felt like he'd taken a trip in a time machine.

He’s like a teenager all over again. Sneaking around and running from the trouble he’s caused, but most of all, he felt this way being with you. Maybe he didn’t get that chance to impress you back then… but he has you now.

So lost in you, he hadn’t registered the light tap on his shoulder until accompanied by a said, “Munson?” From a familiar voice. Eddie turns around and his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Emerson?”

“Holy shit! It is you! Almost didn't recognize you with the hat,” A more mature Gareth stood in your presence. The two boys go in for a bear hug while talking over each other in their excitement. “You look great!”

“Can’t say the same for you, man. You look like shit.” Eddie laughs.

“Fuck off,” Gareth laughs. “I just got off my shift. What are you doing in New York?”

“I should be asking you the same. Hadn’t heard from you or Jeff in 2 years.”

“We moved to New York. They say it’s where everyone’s making a name for themselves.”

“You guys still make music?”

“Hell yeah, we do,” Gareth nods. “Ya know ever since, the band got separated. We knew we couldn’t stop rocking. You wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“Good to hear that, bro.”

“And what about you? What’s gotcha in the big city? Tour, maybe.”

“Not exactly a tour. Just a performance and an interview.”

“Aw shit, man. That’s wicked as hell. Rockstar life’s been treating you good it seems. I bet you get tons of chicks,” Gareth says excitedly, ignorant to Eddie’s panicking glare. “How many girls have you—“

He’s interrupted by you clearing your throat stepping out from behind Eddie. “Hello, Emerson.”

He gasps, pointing between the two of you. “Y/n…Eddie…you two are together?”

“Yep, she’s my girl.” Eddie curls an arm around your waist.

“Wow, I’m honestly surprised considering your first article on him. But Eddie did always have a little thing for you back in high school. I’m sure he made it his mission to win you over.”

“S-shut up, dickhead.” Eddie stutters, blushing.

“You read my article?” You ask, a smile creeping up on your lips.

“Oh, yeah. Everyone’s talking about it especially since Corroded Coffin’s performance at Mantra•esque. If ever I need exposure, I’m calling you for an article on mu band. Speaking of which,” Gareth searches through his jeans pocket, pulling out a flier. “You guys should stop by at this Battle of the Bands event tonight at 10. That’s in a couple hours from now so you won’t have to go back and forth until then. It’s at this cool ass venue they call a ‘speakeasy’ in Koreatown. You’ve gotta have a password and everything to get in that shit. Jeff and I will be performing along with our new guitarist, Brody. You’ll dig him. He’s chill.”

You look in the corner of your eye, feeling Eddie tense beside you at the mention of the new member.

“Our band’s called ‘TSNP’,” Gareth continues. “Thou Shall Not Pass. Will you be there, Eds?”

“I…could try. It’s just that I’ll be busy with rehearsals. So, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it, man.” Eddie lies.

“Oh…right. Well, that sucks,” A hint of disappointment in his tone. “Jeff would’ve been super stoked to see you. Sid, too. But I understand you're a big rockstar now.”

There’s silence between them. You shake your head at the men too prideful in expressing their true feelings despite supposedly being best friends.

The rest of the trip remained this way until the train halts to a stop at another station. When the doors open, Gareth makes his way over to them, stopping in his tracks and turning on his heel to look over at his friend one last time.

“When you left, we stopped making music for a while. Just didn’t feel the same. Then, I heard your song on the radio and it brought me back. It would’ve been really great if you had some time to see us play,” Gareth scans Eddie’s features and when he doesn’t get a reaction from him, he sighs. “Have a good night.” Sending you a small wave, he steps out and train’s moving forward again.

You turn to look at Eddie, arms crossed and disappointed. ”There are no rehearsals. It’s not fair to lie to him like that nor is it fair for you not to come and support. They’re your best friends. You have your band, why can’t they?”

“It’s not like I’m the one who chose to replace ‘em.”

“I know. But it’s okay to admit when something hurts,” You give him a small smile to lighten the mood. “I’m sure it hurt them having to make the decision to replace you just as much as it hurt you performing on a big stage without them. They’re chasing their dreams, too. It doesn’t mean they don’t want you to be a part of it. He did invite you, didn’t he? It’s like he said you’re the reason he was brought back.”

“You’re right.” He sighs.

“Of course, I am. I’m always right,” You tease then solemnly say. “No one’s gonna take that bond you all share. Not unless you continue to push them away.”

He nods, not saying a word. Thinking things over until the train makes another abrupt stop. The two of you exit hand in hand into the unexplored territory.

————

You were a lot more appreciative of the quiet moments you and Eddie sometimes had to yourselves. Where you got bask in the intimacy of normalcy. Lately, ever since Corroded Coffin's popularity, it’s constantly felt as if there were people lurking in the shadows, waiting on your next move.

Although, you must say it’s hard basking in the glory with your boyfriend’s face plastered on billboards around the city.

“Your manager’s not entirely wrong,” You say, pointing at the billboard. “Look at you guys up there. You'll probably be as big as Kiss someday.”

“You flatter me…but no,” He pats your head. “They’re untouchable.”

“I mean it, though. You shook the world. I can’t imagine you wanting to leave it behind now. I thought you wanted this tour.”

“I know what you’re trying to do here and I appreciate you considering my career but I’ve got my priorities straight. It took some thinking—not much—but I didn’t need a lot of time to realize I’d rather be with you.”

You try to contain the butterflies fluttering within you. “Now who’s become soft?”

“Shut it,” He laughs, pulling you against him and planting a kiss on your lips then neck until you suddenly pull away. “Did I do something wrong?”

You take him by the shoulders, guiding him to do a 180 degree turn. “There’s Coney Island in the distance. Wanna go?”

“I’m up for it. But just so you know, I like scary rides.”

“Aw, you don’t have to concoct a scheme to get me to cling to you, baby. I like scary rides, too,” Hands clasped behind your back, you teasingly walk circles around him then ahead towards the direction of the bright lights competing with the starry sky. You look over your shoulder and say, “I’ll still hold onto you, though… you’d like.”

He dramatically fakes offense, resting a hand over his heart. “I’m insulted that you would think I’d stoop so low. When would I ever deny the chance for you to hold onto me?”

“Then, what’re you standing all the way back there for? Come here and let me hold you.” You shout from behind you. Something about today made you feel extremely flirtatious. Maybe it was for the reason that Eddie was incognito, allowing you the chance to unabashedly enjoy each other’s company.

Eddie’s eyes now trained on the sway of your hips. “Just a second. I’m enjoying my view.”

You giggle. He rushes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, rocking you side to side. Your cute little game of cat and mouse comes to an abrupt end when you both enter the theme park and are met with scattered patrons all over the park with their heads buried in a magazine…with your faces on them.

“No.” You say, cupping your hands over your mouth in shock.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie voices his frustration, eyes squeezed shut.

“That bastard,” You say through gritted teeth. You would have said that it was your fault for posting the article regarding Cole’s scandal. But you hadn’t gotten the chance to publish it, yet. “He was going to post it regardless of whether I’d accept his terms.”

You spot a nearby telephone pole. “I’m calling him and giving him a piece of my goddamn mind,” You say, strutting towards the payphone when Eddie grips your arm. You sneer a “what” at him.

“It’s not worth it. He’ll just try to provoke you which’ll then provoke me.”

You groan, running your hands over your face. “What do we do?”

“The only thing we can do: accept it.”

“Should we leave?”

“No. We’ll enjoy our time here while we can because as soon as we go back. We face reality.” Eddie holds out his hand.

You take it, exhaling and proceeding forward. “Okay but as a heads up, I’m definitely going to take down that man.”

“By all means, crush him,” Your boyfriend encourages. “Now let’s make you forget.”

“How do you suppose we do that?”

“Ferris Wheel, possibly. It’s the only ride without a giant line to wait in. We could talk…and other things.”

You snort. “What ‘things’ could you possibly do on a ferris wheel?”

He simply smirks, walking ahead of you this time. The boy is a menace.

You were considerably glad no one had recognized you from the magazine despite a good amount of park goers including the person operating the ferris wheel having the magazine in hand. After waiting in line patiently, it was your turn to board the ferris wheel car and take your seats.

“Some much needed alone time.” Eddie exhales his relief, both your heads thrown back against the wall of cart in exhaustion.

Not soon after exclaiming this, you both hear the sound of gum popping which causes you to raise your heads simultaneously. Seated in the chair across was a child, somewhere between the ages of 7-9, smacking away at her gum and kicking her feet.

“Hi!” She says, cheerfully.

“Hi, sweetie,” You return the greeting. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Beverly. Also Bev. I’m 8 years old! What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/n. That’s Eddie.” You point to Eddie who seemed uncomfortable.

“He looks scared. Are you scared of the ride, Eddie? It’s not scary. See?” Beverly gestures to herself seated.

“You okay, Eddie?” You asked, concerned.

He leans over, whispering to you as not for the little girl to hear. “It’s just…little kids freak me out, ya know. They always ask so many questions, forcing me to question my own existence.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take it from here,”You turned your attention back to the little girl. “Beverly, what are you doing here all alone? Where are your parents or guardians?”

“I wanted to ride the ferris wheel. Mommy said I couldn’t ride because it was bad. But I really wanted to.”

“Sweetie, it’s not okay to disobey your mother. Especially when she means well. She’s probably worried sick looking for you. I have an idea. Once this ride’s over, I’ll help you find her.”

“But she’ll be so angry.”

“Rightfully so, sweetie. But she’ll only be mad because she loves you.”

“So I can’t stay here?”

“You can’t run away from your problems. There’s a time where you’ve gotta face ‘em head on,” You were thinking maybe you should practice what you preach considering that running is exactly what you’ve been doing. “Tell ya what? I will have a talk with your mother to smoothen things over so she wouldn’t be too angry.”

“You promise?” She says, outstretching her arm and holding out her pinky.

“Promise.” You intertwine your pinky with hers.

“So when do you think we’ll get off this ride?” She asks.

“A few minutes or so.” You answered.

“Really? Even when it’s standing still.”

“Standing still?” Your eyes bugged out, looking over at Eddie who was just the same.

“Fuck! The Ferris Wheel’s stopped!” He exclaims.

“No swearing, Eds. Let’s not corrupt the kid.”

“Did you hear what I said?” He groans, standing up in the cart and walking back and forth.

“Yes! And could you please stop that? You’re wiggling the cart around.”

“I can’t help it. I hate confined spaces.”

“It’ll be okay,” You reassure him. “I’m sure it won’t be long before help.

The sound of a safety horn rings and then the click of a bullhorn. “Passengers, we’re experiencing some technical difficulties. Please allow 30 minutes for help to arrive and another 30 minutes to repair this issue. Please stay put and be safe. Thank you.”

“Well, that’s just fantastic.” Eddie throws his hands up before sinking down to the floor, head in his hands.

You sit beside him. “I didn’t know you were claustrophobic.”

“I’m not but sometimes confined spaces remind me of a certain point in my life…Juvie.”

“You’ve been to juvie?” You asked.

“It’s okay not to be surprised,” He laughs. “But yeah, I have.”

“No, I really am surprised. I never considered it,” You assure. “If you don’t mind me asking…how’d it happen?”

“It’s because I wanted to be like my dad. Ya know, the pro pickpocketer. Well, that wasn’t all he taught me. I learned how to hotwire different vehicles, dismantle and rebuild cars, how to pickpocket, taught me the ins and outs of ‘get rich’ quick schemes, taught me how to deal drugs…the whole nine. I remember wanting to be just like him,” He says. “I never cared much when my mother wasn’t around because he was there. Maybe he wasn’t the best father figure or as present as a parent should be. But when he was there, life didn’t seem so bad. Then one day we’re having some beers on the porch—I was 12, by the way—talking shit and listening to greatest hits. The cops came to arrest me because witnesses saw me stealing parts from a car. Parts that my father begged me to steal because he was too high off his own shit to do it himself. In custody, my dad says, ‘Don’t you worry, buddy. I’ll get you outta there.’ I really wanted to believe he was telling the truth.” Eddie laughs dryly, shaking his head.

Then he continues. “That was the last I saw of him and he didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eyes and say he’s sorry. I was sentenced for 6 months. He never visited me and being in that cell, staring up at the ceiling, alone with my thoughts; I realized it was the first time in my life I knew what it meant to be alone. I found out later he’d been arrested not even a month after my sentencing for serious drug charges. Lock up practically for good. Uncle Wayne took me in even when he hadn’t spoken with my dad in years. Hell, he didn't even know I existed until the guards called him looking for an immediate family member who'd be willing to take me in.”

Your heart broke at the sound of that. To know that he had such a rough childhood but he still managed to be Eddie was remarkable.

“I owe Wayne for everything I am now. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been a dirtbag just like my dad.”

“I’m so sorry.” You say, rubbing his back.

You weren’t sure the right words to say or if you should say anything at all. The little girl, Beverly, slides off her seat, sitting on the ground along with you. Her tiny backpack in front of her as she rummages through it, pulling out a tiny pink book then holds it out to Eddie.

You both look down at it. Eddie, hesitant but otherwise he takes it in his hands.

“My dad is in jail, too,” Beverly says. “Even though I miss him, I think he’s better there than when he’s with me and mommy. At home, he was mean and scary sometimes. Mommy says he’s better now. I think so, too. He calls me princess like he used to. Once he told me that if I'm ever sad or scared, do something I like. He likes to draw. Like me.” She points at the book.

“It’s not creepy drawings of people being buried, is it?” Eddie says, fear sprinkled in his tone.

You discreetly shove his back with your shoulder. “What he means to say is, ‘are you giving us permission to look at your drawings?’”

Beverly nods, a small smile on her face.

Eddie flips through the pages and he’s caught by surprise. They were quite beautifully drawn for something done by an 8 year old. Gothic drawings of birds, spiders, landscapes and such.

“These are actually really cool.” Eddie praises.

“You’ve done these all by yourself?” You ask, also charmed by the work.

“Mhmm,” The little girl hums proudly. “Well, not all of it. Sometimes, dad starts a drawing and I finish it at home. Then, I start a drawing and he finishes it. He says it’s how we can commemorate with each other.”

“I think you mean, ‘communicate’,” You giggle. “That’s a beautiful story, Bev.”

“He also draws on people’s skin,” She adds, pointing to the matching tattoo you and Eddie had gotten. “Like that.”

You smile at your boyfriend, him, back at you in quiet appreciation; reminiscent of your time together so far.

“Hey, kid, I’ve got a friend I’ll be seeing soon,” Eddie grins. “He’s in a new band and I’d like to give him a little gift. I could use some help with creating a new logo for his band. Think you could make one for me while we kill time?”

Beverly beams. “Yeah!”

The little girl immediately takes out art supplies from her bag, taking the book for him to start on a new blank page.

“Did you mean that? We’re going to Gareth’s show?”

He nods, squeezing your hand. “Yeah.”

“Don’t just sit there?” Beverly chastises. “Gimme some ideas.”

Eddie chuckles, leaning over the page and springing ideas with her while you watch in amusement.

————

After 50 minutes, Eddie and Beverly became a close pair. You’d barely spoken with how much the two had gotten along.

“And she’s all, ‘You’re not invited because you’re weird.’” Beverly says in a mocking tone.

“No.” Eddie says in disbelief.

“Yeah and everyone in class had an invitation. She’s always been a real bully. Sometimes she shoves me, pulls my hair…and it makes me angry. Like I want to hurt her.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’ve known asshats like that back in school, too. Wouldn’t even look in my direction because I didn’t have the latest shoes or clothes.”

“Language, Eddie.”

“Sorry, I meant ‘butthats’,” Eddie says, causing Beverly to giggle wildly and nearly color outside the lines. Eddie whispers. “Some advice: don’t stoop down to a bully’s level because then you’ll become a bully, too. It happened to me. I thought solving everything with fists would somehow get people to stop messing with me but it only made me feel worse. It’s okay to stand up for yourself but it’s also okay to tell someone what you're going through. Like an adult.”

You smile at his advice, realizing that he’d listened to you.

He’s becoming really mature.

“However, she did hit you first so it’s only fair game that you get to hit her back.” He adds.

Ooh, so close.

“All done!” Beverly holds up the drawing.

Eddie takes the page, scanning it. It was of a spider spinning a web in the shape of a guitar, a giant cross in the background. It looks badas—“ You shoot him a look. “It’s really cool, kid.”

A whirring sound picks up and the ride’s moving again, the three of you erupt in cheers. When you’d finally reached the bottom, a woman full of fear stood there waiting on the sidelines. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw Beverly.

“Bev! Baby.” Her mother sobs in relief, arms opened wide.

“Mommy!” The little girl jumps into the mother’s arms.

“What did I tell you about leaving my side?! I knew you’d be here. You just don’t quit, do you?” Her mother scolds.

“Ahem.” Beverly says, clearing her throat cuing you.

“Hello, Beverly’s mother,” You waved, introducing yourself. “It’s wonderful meeting you. I’m Y/n and this is Eddie. We found her riding alone and talked about searching for you when the ferris wheel stopped.”

“Hello. Please call me Martha,” She introduces herself. “I told her that ferris wheel’s always giving up. I’m so sorry. I hope she didn’t cause any trouble with you. She can be quite the handful.”

“No. She was an angel. Even drew us a picture.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Bev,” Her mother smiles down at her. “Thank you so much for keeping her happy. She’s usually scared to ride those things alone. If there’s any way I could thank you…”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.” You protest.

“No, no. I’ve got it! If ever you need help planning an event—maybe a party or… wedding,” She darts her eyes between the two of you, handing you a business card. “That's my number right there. I’m a wedding and event planner.”

You blush, profusely. “Umm, okay.”

“Let’s go, Beverly. Say goodbye to the nice people.”

She pouts. “Will I see you guys again?”

You let Eddie have this one. He crouches down to her level and says, “I think so. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be needing a wedding planned or whatever,” You were now blushing so hard that the heat from your face could warm you enough from the cold weather. “Or maybe I could get some cool tattoo ideas from the artist herself.” He finishes, winking at her.

The girl beams. Then, she and her mother were on their way. Eddie, waving at her until they couldn’t see each other anymore.

You smirk at him. “Well, would you look at that. You’ve overcome your fear of children.”

“She’s pretty cool. Reminds me a lot of myself.”

“She’s very special. Bright, too. I think she’s helped me work out a lot up there than any therapy session I’ve had in years.”

“Somehow the universe keeps sending people our way because you and I could use a little push. We’re very stubborn people, ya know. Although, I’m a Taurus. What’s your excuse?”

You laughed. “So are we going to this show or are we going to discuss signs now?”

“Don’t you wanna debate how un-Taurus like I am,” He jokes. “Alright. Let’s go so see TSNP. Dumb name by the way. Hope Gareth didn’t come up with it.”

“Do you think we’ll make it to their performance on time?”

“I think so. But if we don’t, I’d still like to go for the support,” He smiles and curls an arm around your shoulders. “Then you and I could go back and face reality.”

You rest your head on his, walking out of the park; ignorant to the magazines with your faces on them.

Taglist: @that-idiot125 @strangerthingsstories5255 @haylaansmi @tlclick73 @chcolateeyelver @apolixyan @micheledawn1975 @maystecc @gay-weirdo262772 @itswormtrain @httpmedxsa @3m0xbunn1 @bebe0701 @lokiofasgard616 @joeyfilth @secretdryrose @sammararaven @cherrytree69 @bimbobaggins69 @nicolaj1978 @idgafboutyou @eddiesgffff @briasnow-blog @sweetdreamer1010 @sleepyghostygirl @babeyglo @idkidknemore @e0509 @brittney69 @samunson83 @hellfire-puppet @moonisu @mopeymopeymouse @lluviamg06 @shinydixon @cherrysoda444 @lovelyvivii @therese01 @keiracottreau @mirrorsstuff @eddiemunson95 @e-munson666 @munson-fixation @paradoxicalconundrum @lulukings92 @sherrylyn628 @szalipcombo @elamity @munsonswhore86 @kellsck @die-irre-blog @creoleguurl @edsforehead @munsonswhore86 @websterss @screaming-blue-bagel @ick90

[rogerina-is-hotter-than-me]

Master of Puppets: Eddie Munson x reader (NSFW)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Eddie being a dom, bondage, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls)

Synopsis: Eddie won’t give you what you want unless you say the magic word…

A/N:

I am back and thirsting after Eddie, our designated Favourite White Boy of the month. I’m not sure if anyone who follows me is still active on here but if you are I’ve missed you and I’ve missed this blog. Hope you’re all doing well. Enjoy! <3

Trailer trash.

That’s what your parents called him. And here you were, in his trailer, which was indeed full of trash—landslides of broken cassettes and heaps of unfolded black clothes mostly—yet the man before you was anything but. He sat on top of his speaker, one leg propped up, guitar resting on his thigh, fingers plucking ponderously, tenderly at the strings. Golden afternoon light suffused through his long hair, giving him an almost haloish glow. His brow was furrowed in focus, his lips moving soundlessly as he thought through the next riff, fingers masterfully repeating the refrain. You would never tell him this, because his ego didn’t need further inflation, but in that moment, he was godlike.

He wrinkled his nose—a sign that he wasn’t satisfied—and leaned over to pick up a pen. He took the lid off with his mouth.

‘How’s it going?’ you asked. Before he could answer, you dove forwards and tried to snatch the sheet of paper he was writing on. Eddie was quicker than you.

‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ he said with a grin, holding the paper out of reach. You sighed.

‘How much longer is it going to take?’

His smile widened. ‘Are you jealous?’ he asked mockingly, taking your chin between his finger and thumb. Your pulse quickened as he pulled your face close to his.

‘Maybe,’ you said, trying not to sound breathless. ‘A little.’

Eddie sucked in through his teeth. He set the papers behind him. ‘Can’t have my girl feeling jealous, can I?’ He closed the gap between you, pushing his mouth onto yours. A moan you hadn’t realised you were holding slipped out as he kissed you deeply, moving his hand from your chin to your throat. You gasped at the sudden coolness of his rings against your neck, and as your mouth fell open, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, groaning slightly as his tongue worked over yours. You kissed him greedily, sloppily. His mouth tasted of salt, yours of lipstick. He pulled away, then moved back and bit your bottom lip. A sharp shudder went through you as his teeth sank deeper, a shock that seemed to ignite your whole body. Your nipples hardened, keening involuntarily towards him as he released your bottom lip with a pop and attacked the side of your neck instead.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured, breath hot and ragged against your skin. He kissed your throat, forcing your head back against the bed, and sucked hard. You cried out, unsure whether you were feeling pleasure or pain, but not wanting him to stop either way. You could feel him smiling as he bit the skin, loving how you squirmed beneath him. His necklaces dangled down over your chest, his newly-calloused hands moving down the length of your body.

‘Please,’ you whimpered, thighs squeezed tightly together. You pulled his long hair, pushing his face down between your breasts. He turned his eyes up to you, mouth curled into a cocky grin.

‘Please what, baby?’ he said. His hands slid under your shirt, surprisingly cool, and cupped your breasts. You grunted, head tossed back against the pillow.

You weren’t going to say it, not now, not yet. It was borderline pathetic how quickly you had melted at his touch, but you were far from yielding to him completely.

‘Eddie,’ you breathed. He pulled a face, the same face he had pulled when he was struggling with his riff, and released your breasts.

‘Please,’ you said, with a degree more impatience than before. Eddie had sat back on his haunches, watching your chest rise and fall with laboured breaths. ‘Please,’ you said again. Then, with no warning, Eddie grabbed your hips, pushed back one of your legs and slotted himself between them.

‘Please what, sweetheart?’ he said innocently. You bit your lip hard, savouring the feeling of him between your legs, his hardness rubbing your clothed cunt through his jeans. ‘What’s the magic word?’

Fuck, he’s such an asshole.

He rutted his hips against yours, the rough denim burning deliciously against your pulsing clit. He grunted, quickening his pace, causing you to part your legs even further. ‘That’s it,’ he panted, as your hips rose to meet his, grinding your clit against his stiff cock. Your hands fluttered desperately to his muscular thighs, squeezing hard, willing him to give you more friction. All of a sudden, he stopped.

You whimpered in frustration, releasing your grip on his legs. He smiled down at you, cock throbbing at how needy and desperate you were, and leaned over your body. ‘What’s the magic word?’ he whispered, kissing your jaw. You pursed your lips together, as though afraid the word would jump out before you could stop yourself. He mouthed at your throat, and, pushing your shirt up over your breasts, licked between them, kissing a trail down to your trembling stomach. He pinched the skin just above your pubic bone between his teeth, causing you to cry out, then planted a hand just above it to stop you from wriggling. ‘Stay still,’ he said darkly, before continuing to suck you, nipping sharply and then soothing the bruised skin with his hot tongue.

He moved further down, gently parting your thighs. He hummed in satisfaction at the sight of your cunt, wet and ready for him. His fingers flickered teasingly between your legs, just brushing you, and your hips stuttered upwards, desperate for more. ‘Ah-ah-ah,’ he chided, pinning your hips back onto the bed with one hand. ‘Did I say you could move, baby?’ You could only shake your head.

Tentatively, you moved your hands down until they were lightly grazing his hair, afraid that he would pull back again if you were too assertive. His breath was hot against your soaked pussy. Fuck, what you wouldn’t give for him to devour your cunt with his tongue. Instead, he licked a slow stripe up your inner thigh, punctuating it with kisses and small nicks. You were practically shaking by the time he finally reached your cunt, only for him to pull back and move onto the other thigh.

You could hardly hide your frustration anymore. As he licked a ticklish trail along your pubic bone, you whined. He smiled up at you. ‘I just want to make you feel good,’ he said. The deep vibrations of his voice meant that it took a second for you to realise what he had actually said. He planted a feather-light kiss on your clit. You squirmed are the contact. ‘Let me take care of you baby. You want that, don’t you?’

You nodded, fighting the urge to thrust your hips into his face.

‘Tell me you want it.’

‘I, I want it.’

‘Then you know what you need to do.’

‘Yes,’ you said weakly.

He flattened his tongue against your pussy, licking upwards until the tip of his tongue was circling your clit. It took everything in you not to moan. ‘Yes what?’

Fuck.

‘Yes… yes sir.’

He closed his lips over your clit, sucking hard for a second or two before releasing it. You clenched emptily, desperate for stimulation. ‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Try again.’ He looked up at you, eyebrow cocked, necklace hanging down.

You said nothing. He sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You asked for it.’ And he flipped you over, onto your stomach, so your body was stretched out over his knee. Out of habit, you pressed your wrists together, used to being bound in this position. You could feel how hard he was underneath you, and wanted nothing more than to trace the outline with your fingers, to start jerking him through the fabric, to make him beg for once. Eddie hiked up your skirt in one hand, smoothing the other over your ass.

‘Fuck me,’ he muttered to himself, squeezing the perfect skin. ‘You’re beautiful, baby.’ The first slap came down unexpectedly, causing your whole body to jerk. ‘It’s a shame you’re such a brat.’

You sucked air in through your teeth, determined not to moan. The second slap came down harder, the sting only augmented by his rings. You bit your bottom lip, focusing on keeping quiet as the sharp, pink pain dulled into a throbbing ache, one that was syncopated with the one between your legs. ‘Say it,’ Eddie whispered. He smacked again, this one causing you to cry out, your entire body pitching forwards. ‘It’s okay to give in, baby.’

Your heart was racing, hands balled into fists.

Smack.

‘Please m—’ you started, stopping to catch yourself. The sound of your own voice, so fucked-out and weak, surprised you.

Smack.

Eddie smoothed his hand over your buttocks, rubbing in circles. Your thighs trembled at the intensity. You had to give in soon, your body was literally screaming to be filled.

Smack.

‘Please master!’

Eddie stopped, lowering his raised hand slowly. He rubbed the marks he had left on your ass, leaning down to kiss the small of your back. ‘Good girl,’ he praised. ‘Lie on your back.’

You did as you were told, and, knowing the ropes, pushed your wrists together and raised both arms. ‘So good for me,’ Eddie murmured, kissing your mouth as he clicked the handcuffs into place. You spread your legs, literally throbbing for him, as he kneeled in front of you, fumbling with his belt. Your heart skipped a beat as he impatiently tugged down his boxers. His cock twitched before resting against his stomach, stiff and already glazed with pre-cum. Your mouth watered as he took it in his hand. Eddie’s head rolled back, a sigh leaving his lips as he stroked himself, the head of his cock just inches away from your glistening pussy. ‘Fffuck,’ he hissed, swiping his thumb over the leaking tip.

He crawled on top of you, sealing his mouth over yours. He moaned into the kiss, deepening it until both your mouths were open wide, tongues slipping hotly over one other. His hand moved blindly above your head, towards your already bound wrists, and he closed his grip over you, the handcuffs jangling against his metal bedframe like loose change. His other hand moved to your thigh, lifting your leg until it was over his shoulder. He leaned in, causing a delicious, aching stretch in the muscles of your thigh, jutting his needy hips against your hot, wet opening.

‘Good girl,’ he said again. You could taste yourself on his lips. The hand that was squeezing your wrists was brought down between you. Eddie grasped his cock, guiding it towards your pussy, lazily rubbing the head through your soaking folds.

‘Master,’ you pleaded, as the velvety flesh of his cock rubbed against your aching clit. You abandoned all restraint. ‘Please fuck me.’

Eddie was harder than he’d ever been, hearing you say that. He lowered his body fully over yours, kissing your bruised throat. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Since you asked so nicely…’

You both groaned as he slid inside you, filling you up so perfectly that it was an effort not to cum straight away. ‘So tight,’ he grunted. ‘So wet and tight.’ His hips began moving, his hot thickness sliding in and out of you. You tried to meet his thrusts, trying to keep him inside you when he pulled out, but the handcuffs prevented you from stretching that far. They clanged traitorously against the headboard, constricting the blood flow to your hands. ‘Careful baby,’ Eddie said, noticing that your arms were strained. He scooted back, allowing you more comfort, and continued his slow, deep thrusts.

You gasped as he stretched you out, relishing the thick base of his cock as he pushed in as deeply as possible. His breath caught in his throat, something so close to a whimper that he immediately coughed to cover it. ‘Fuck,’ he breathed, taking your breasts in his hands. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful… my pretty girl…’

His words became more strained as he began pounding you, your hips slapping together with each thrust. He shifted his hands until they were just above your stomach, watching the bulge of his cock shift as he fucked you. Shockwaves flourished through your body. You gripped the headboard, needing something to counteract the snap of his narrow hips.

‘Fuck me,’ you panted, your cock-drunk voice making him even closer. ‘Fuck me master.’

‘Fuck,’ Eddie bottomed out before slamming back into you in one brutal thrust. He rubbed your clit in savage circles, trying to synchronise it with his deep thrusts. Your walls tightened around him, causing him to release a filthy moan. He took your leg onto his shoulder, needing to be deeper inside you. When he pushed himself in this time it was different; he was hitting your g-spot. You groaned, creaming around him as he hit your sweet spot again and again.

‘Gonna cum,’ you whimpered.

‘Good—good girl,’ Eddie replied, breath stammering. He looked down, groaning at the sight of his soaked shaft sliding in and out of your cunt. His fingers found your swollen clit again, causing the ache in your lower belly to throb. ‘Cum for me. Cum for your master. Good girl, good girl, cum for me.’

Warmth flooded your body. You threw your head back and moaned, not caring if anyone heard, not caring what anyone thought, only caring about Eddie, about the magic he could evoke with his fingers, his thick cock. ‘Tha—t’s it,’ Eddie growled, feeling your cunt tighten and spasm around him. He spread your legs wider, fucking you through your high, his thrusts growing sloppy, desperate. ‘I’m gonna cum,’ he panted, losing all rhythm, fucking you like an animal.

‘Cum on me,’ you said. ‘Please, I want to watch.’

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, his panting getting pitcher, almost whining. He planted one arm by your head, so deep inside you that you could see the bulge shifting in your abdomen. With one final, filthy grunt he pulled out of you, emptying himself over your thighs, your belly, your breasts, even as far as your chin. Your pussy throbbed as he coated you in hot ribbons of cum, the tip of his soaked cock red and twitching, his lithe, tattooed chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.  

When he was finished, he leaned over you again, kissing you on the forehead. You pulled against your restraints, wanted to kiss him back, properly.

‘Are you going to leave me like this?’ you asked, watching as he tugged his jeans back on. Eddie shrugged.

‘Maybe,’ he said. Then, snatching up the sheet of half-finished lyrics: ‘you can be my muse.’

[someplace-darker]

i want eddie munson to wear me like a puppet pls

Listen again | Eddie Munson x Reader

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 620

Warning: 18+ MDNI, fingering, oral (reader receiving), reader is afab but no pronouns are used

Summary: trying to listen to eddie's new music is pretty hard when his fingers are inside of you

A/N: Yeah, me too. N e ways—

There's something in the way that Eddie looks at you that always feels like he's preparing to swallow you whole, and in this case, maybe he is. His eyes are black from where they peek over your navel, his tongue buried in your cunt and he's eating you out like you're the finest delicacy this side of Hawkins. The casette player sitting on your bedside table echoes out his music, the latest tracks from his very own band covering up the sounds of your whimpers. Eddie moves his arm to lay on your hips, pressing them into the mattress to keep you from moving further than his mouth could reach.

He presses his tongue firmly to your clit, swirling slow circles over it as you keen, vision spotting white with the sheer pleasure he was making you feel. Your nipples brush against the fabric of his Hellfire Club shirt that you had slipped on the night before, the bottom hem now bunched at your waist. You’re so close, you can feel it- taste it even, the precipice of ecstasy lingering on your lips.

Eddie pulls away from between your legs, a salacious grin donning his handsome face, chin wet with your arousal. “Come on, baby, you’re not even listening. You’re gonna want to know the words the next time you come to a show,” he chastises, fingers replacing the loss of his tongue, curling inside you in a way that makes your legs shake. It’s all overwhelming- the way his fingers stop right where there are rings adorning them, the pressure of his forearm over your stomach, everything is Eddie Eddie Eddie, fuck, please, so good.

“Oh fuck, I’m listening, I promise, please just,” you raise your head from the pillow to look at him, his head tilted to rest his cheek on the soft skin of your thigh “make me cum, please Eddie.” He considers you for a second, fingers changing course to something different, almost like a rhythm. His teeth flash for a second to bite down on his bottom lip, like he’s keeping his grin from morphing into a feral smile. It takes a few seconds for you to piece together what he’s doing, the music finally processing in your brain along with the way his fingers stroke within your pussy.

He’s fingering his guitar riff.

“Eddie Munson, I swear to everything holy-”

You don’t get to finish, his head turning to bite down on the inside of your leg before returning his mouth to your clit, sucking and licking greedily, the metal of his rings brushing against your cunt as his fingers move faster. He knows he has you the second your legs clamp around his shoulders, strings of whimpery moans dripping past your lips and melding with the song- his song. You feel like you’re on fire, nerves lit up in the way he’s devouring you with a fervent lust.

It just barely registers to you that he’s shifting, rutting his cock against the side of your mattress in his torn jeans to relieve pressure. “Eddie,” you rasp out, hand fisting in his hair to pull his head up and off your overstimulated cunt “too much.” He groans at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, the same insatiable smile dimpling his cheeks “I don’t know if you got all of that song. I think we should listen to it one more time, what do you think?”

You huff out a laugh, hand leaving his hair to trail down the side of his face, thumb swiping over his lips to gather the remnants of your activities before pushing past them, letting his tongue swirl around the digit.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

[fleckcmscott]

Bittersweet

Summary: After a little prompting, Arthur tells Y/N about his first kiss.

Warnings: Angst, Past self-harm (Don’t worry - there’s love, too!)

Words: 2,652

A/N: This was an anonymous request! Whoever you are, thank you for sending it to me. Writing this was a joy. A hearty thanks to Karen for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Edit: I apologize for forgetting to thank @sweet-nothings04​ for the title! Love you, girl!

As Arthur felt the first periods of genuine satisfaction within his own skin, he discovered which activities he enjoyed the most. Performing for children, seeing their small faces beam in reaction to his magic tricks. When he was doing a comedy set somewhere and his laughter didn't occur. Working on material or listening to music. And every second with Y/N at his side.

Weaving himself completely with another person hadn't been something he'd believed possible. But during the past eleven months, his assumptions had changed. Y/N knew about the difficulty he often had interpreting people, about his illnesses, about each time he'd been remanded to Arkham. Instead of recoiling as he'd feared, she reminded him to take his medication on the rare occasion he would forget. The calendar that hung by the kitchen entrance had both his appointments or gigs and her court dates written in his scrawl. She delved into his interests by watching old comedies he rented or shows he picked out. He'd explored hers by paying extra attention to Action News and asking about the cases she was working on. And they'd gotten in the habit of watching Gotham Tonight before heading to bed. It was the repetitive mundanities of normal life, the routines and rhythms they'd fallen into, that he found most intimate.

Yet, she still had the ability to flummox him.

They were walking in Sheldon Park after dropping off their groceries and his three prescription refills at the apartment. It was a lovely evening, the temperatures balmy even though dusk was approaching. The place was more crowded than expected for a Tuesday. A group of kids were riding their bikes through the winding paths. On a nearby bench, an older man smoked a cigar while the woman he was with chattered about the day. And there were quite a few teenage couples, strolling with arms entwined or their lips locked.

Y/N must have noticed them, too, because she nudged him when they passed a pair making out on a knoll near the duck pond. "If we'd met back then, would we have been doing the same thing? All over each other without caring who saw?"

A light laugh caught in his throat. He gave her side-eye, taking a drag off his cigarette. "You already don't care who hears."

She was chuckling when she asked her follow-up, like it was the most normal question in the world. "When was your first kiss?" He halted, mouth agape as she continued on. The answer made him feel self-conscious before even giving it. It had been embarrassingly late, considering what he remembered hearing around school as a teenager.

Y/N put a quarter in the duck pellet machine and turned the crank. "I was fifteen. My ex-husband. We were at a drive-in, watching some terrible movie - Attack of the Grasshoppers or Ants or whatever." Arthur stepped towards her and put out his smoke in the nearby ashtray as she held out her hand. "I knew he liked me, but I was surprised." After splitting the feed with him, carefully pouring it into his upturned palm, she sat on the grass, legs crossed in front of her at the ankles, and tossed some in the water. "He leaned over and kissed me as hard as he could. I pushed him away, then pulled him back again."

The birds swam hurriedly in their direction, a couple of the braver ones daring to come ashore. Arthur crouched down next to her and threw some of the pellets himself. But he stayed quiet. A few minutes later, she leaned towards him. "You don't have to tell me. I know I'm your first serious relationship." Shrugging, she continued. "I just thought there might have been a high school sweetheart. Then we could share embarrassing tales."

He shook his head, throwing the rest of the food and sitting next to her, one knee up with his arm rested on it. "No," he said. "You're my only sweetheart." Normally she wasn't fond of pet names, but she let out a soft sound and scooted closer. Her arm looped through his, a kiss planted on his temple. As his lips pressed together, he wondered what she expected. She'd been surprised by his inexperience when they'd started sleeping together, seemingly unable to comprehend how he'd been single. If she'd been anyone else, he would have assumed she just wanted to make fun of him. But she'd been open about her history, and hadn't laughed at him once so far. "I was twenty-two."

"What were you like back then? Just as beautiful, I'm sure."

A short giggle escaped him, his forehead rested on the heel of his hand. While he'd never been outgoing, never been half as bold as Y/N, he hadn't yet shrunken in on himself. Though he'd had his condition, his mental illnesses had only partially presented themselves. He hadn't already been committed. Life had had its challenges, having taken care of his mother seven years by then. But he'd still been naive enough to hope it could be different. That Penny might get better. That he could meet his special person.

That was too much for this conversation. She'd asked a lighthearted question and deserved a lighthearted answer. So he gave one that encompassed it all. "Younger." It had been awhile since he'd reflected on the circumstances surrounding his first kiss. His brows drew together as he tried to remember all the details. "Her name was Helen. We were coworkers in Gotham Park. At a summer carnival."

The bit of exaggeration was unintentional. He'd been hired to work as a clown. It had been new for him, but given his natural aptitude for dancing and interacting with kids, it'd come easier than expected. The boss had told him to roam the entire grounds. And he'd tried to. But it had become impossible after seeing her.

Arthur's eyelids fluttered at Y/N tracing the veins on the back of his hand. "What did she do to win your heart?"

Not a lot. They hadn't exchanged more than a couple of words, mostly pleasantries and the odd complaint about the weather. But she could have done anything, frankly. He'd been fantasizing about dating for years. What had originally been an innocent desire for attention and friendship had, as he'd grown-up, become a near constant craving for love and connection.

Helen had worked at one of the games, though he couldn't recall exactly which one. The radiance of her skin was nearly as bright as the smile she met customers with. She always wore cute, short sleeved sweater sets, ones that revealed a sliver of her mid-riff. She was kind. Whenever she talked with anyone, she'd laugh easily and be attentive. She seemed smart, too; he'd noticed the textbooks she took notes in. The moment he'd passed by her and she'd glanced up at him with her deep, brown eyes, he'd thought he'd sensed an affinity between them. It had sparked his imagination. "She was nice. And pretty. We didn't get to talk much."

"How was it?" Y/N asked playfully, her caresses flirty as they traveled to the inside of his wrist, a spot they'd learned made his breath catch.

The carnival had normally stayed open until nine. But high winds and heavy rain had forced it to close early. He'd been sprinting by Helen's booth, when she called out to him. The front closure was stuck, she'd explained. Could he help her with it? After a minute or two of trying to fix it, she'd invited him into the back. It had taken a couple seconds to decide to go for it - he'd hoped his hesitancy hadn't been too weird. Once the rope was untangled from the hook it'd been stuck on, he'd rolled down the tarp and secured it shut. Then he'd turned to her.

They'd been drenched. Probably half his clown-makeup had been washed off, leaving his pale skin exposed. Her sweater had clung to her, the silhouette of her hardened nipples visible through the cream fabric. He'd fought to keep his eyes averted. The pitter-patter of the pelting rain had surrounded them, slightly muffled by the tall trees above and the orange canvas of the tent. It had felt pleasantly hazy. She'd looked up at him and said, in the sweetest voice, "Thank you. I owe you one."

"Yeah," he'd replied lamely, when what he'd meant to say was, "I think I love you. You're beautiful. Let's go on a date." His heart had been pounding, open, plain to see, and he'd thought he'd understood her smile correctly. It was rare they were directed his way - surely it must have meant something. When she'd offered her hand for a shake, adrenaline had driven him to take it, step forward, and press his mouth to hers.

After all this time, only vague impressions remained. Her lips had been pliant, warm, and wet. How he'd imagined a ripe plum would feel if he could ever afford one. There'd been enthusiasm on his part. And he was sure he'd been trembling. He hadn't paid attention to her reactions, having been too caught up in his own nervousness and excitement. Finally, he'd been brave enough to kiss a girl. He'd been proud of himself for not laughing.

He'd attempted to snake an arm around her waist, pull her flush against his skinny frame to feel the realness of her, the softness of her breasts, the dip of her waist. But she'd backed off, pushing against his chest as their lips parted. He'd released her instantly but kept her hand. He'd tried to hold it loosely enough to hide his desperation as he felt his heart break.

She'd cleared her throat before starting in. "You're sweet, Arthur. But... This is going to be my senior year. I have to concentrate on school." White noise had filled his ears. "I think you're a little old for me. And I'm seeing someone. And..."

Halfway through her litany of explanations, he'd tuned out and slowly dropped her fingers. His palm automatically went to his abdomen, willing his diaphragm to not betray him. "I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" He'd squeezed his eyes shut as he broke off, self-disgust filling him. "Why would you like me? I-"

The reassurances she'd given him hadn't mattered much back then. They'd actually made it worse. They'd meant that in lieu of hating him, she simply didn't want him. "I'm not mad." There'd been pity in her half-smile. "It was a nice kiss."

His anguish as he'd gotten ready for work the next morning was overwhelming and unwanted. But his brain wouldn't stop going to Helen. Seeing her again would crush him. The tightness in his chest, the tension in his arms were acute - he didn't know what to do. And anger was welling in him, at himself and what he'd never have. He'd attempted to find distraction in the radio, tobacco, the nearly scalding hot water during his shower. None of it worked. Instead, as he stood in the corner of the living room by his clothes, he banged his head, smashing it into the mirror hanging on the wall.

It was the cracking of the glass that got him to stop, got him to notice what he was doing. The compulsion he'd felt and given into to hurt himself was new. Frightening. And cemented his abnormality. He'd lifted his fingers to his forehead - there'd been no blood, at least. Then he'd squinted at the mirror and groaned, annoyed he'd have to replace it. Quickly, he took it down and threw it in the trash can, not wanting his mother to see what he'd done.

He didn't return to work that day. Or the day after that. He'd stayed at home, calling out sick and missing a week's pay.

Penny had noticed his lack of absence first. Then his failure to do anything besides smoke and get off the couch to use the bathroom. She'd asked if he was okay for the first time in months. And he'd confessed, rasping softly, "No, mom. I need someone." The humiliation he felt at yearning for such simplicities grew as he went through his list. "I want to take her to the movies. To light her cigarette. To hold her." He'd exhaled sharply and flinched. "I want her to laugh at my jokes."

"Oh, Happy," she'd said, patting his arm. In his fragile state, the nickname's familiarity had both calmed and hurt. "Just smile and put on a happy face. You can't feel bad, then." She'd turned back to the television, maternal instincts quickly forgotten. At least around her, he listened and tried to paste a grin on.

Eventually, he had dragged himself back to the carnival - the bills had to be paid somehow. He'd done his best to avoid Helen. She had spotted him once, though, and given a small, friendly wave from across the way. After briefly freezing, he'd chosen to nod back at her, giving her the acknowledgment he would have wanted had their positions been reversed.

He hadn't seen her again. But he'd clung to the memory of that kiss for ages. Reminisced when he'd ached for another life and wanted to believe it might be possible. And for less chaste longings. It had stopped being a placeholder years ago, when he'd realized he'd always live with Penny. Not alone, but lonely, until he was lucky enough to check out forever.

Until he and Y/N had stumbled into each other. Repeatedly. In this harsh city.

"Kissing you is nicer," Arthur said, slinging an arm around Y/N, meeting her gaze.

She giggled. "Oh?" Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, only inches from his own. "And why's that?"

"You love me. And you want me." The touch of his fingertips went to her upper arm, guiding her to recline on the grass. "All the time," he scolded mockingly, rasp barely above a whisper. His lips tickled her, just under her ear, and he delighted in the way she squirmed and batted at his shoulder.

She locked her hands at the nape of his neck and smiled up at him, like he was the only man in the world. Eagerness sparked as her fingers slid under his sweater. "I do," she replied, low and throaty. "I won't pretend I don't." Cradling the back of her head, he bent and sealed their mouths together. She was demanding, as though she sought to capture a piece of him and hold it deep within her. He sighed as he brought his hand to the hem of her blouse, not hesitating before going in for another kiss.

Neither of them heard the hooves of the approaching horse. "Sir? Ma'am?" Arthur turned up towards the mounted police officer shining her flashlight in their faces. "Aren't you two a little old for this?"

Wide-eyed, Arthur's head snapped back to look at Y/N, nearly colliding with her as she held her hand in front of her eyes. Thank god she answered straightaway. "Sorry, officer." She sat up, pushing Arthur off her. The blush currently spreading across her cheeks made him snort. "It's such a beautiful night and, well..." she gestured in his direction. Christ, would she never find it inappropriate to brag about him? He turned away and hid behind his palm.

Y/N stood and brushed off her clothing. "We'll behave, madam. I promise." The cop shook her head and rode off. Y/N covered her mouth as she burst into laughter. "I guess this means we wouldn't have cared who saw." Arthur stood up beside her, pulling up his pants and fixing his hair. "Thanks for sharing that with me," she said.

As she reached to remove a leaf from his jacket, he stepped to her and cupped her face, melding their lips once more. "I'll share anything with you."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hi Babes! This chapter, well, she gave me trouble, but she’s written and we have progress! All my love to @dirtystyles and @bleedinglove4h! Long Live Tripod Writing!!

Chapter 5-Kekkou Desu

"No." 

Harry watched all of the color go out of Ada's face. His arm had been far from her realaxed shoulders. They were so high at the moment, he was nearly cupping one. But not in a good way, or with any comfort. Where a minute ago she had been open and easy, she had tightened up all over, gates slammed down, moats redug and walls reinforced. Everything was tense, the moment especially.

Harry had wandered into a trigger field, and his request had pressed a button he didn't know existed. Fuck, he felt like he'd just puked on her shoes again. This time without any of his usual clumsiness. She could sing, he'd heard her. Though that wasn't a requirement for this crowd, or the activity. Multiple people who had zero business had been up to sing, sometimes in a language they didn't know. Ada was clearly not going to sing, and it looked like she may walk right out on him and the rest of the night because he suggested she get on stage. The dance they had been doing was back to square one. He needed to say something, he usually cackled when he got this uncomfortable, or told a terrible joke, stunk up the air to clear the awkward fumes. Neither seemed the course of action here. "Ok," he cupped her risen shoulder lightly, ran his thumb over the knot he felt when she tightened and looked at her until she acknowledged him. It took several seconds, they felt biblical in length. Ada blew out a breath and lifted her wide eyes to him. He could still see tension at the corners, but she gave them to him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Not with me. Just have fun. I, however, allowed myself to be browbeaten into singing, again. Will you be here when I finish?" Would she be?  There was a big part of her, huge, that wanted to fuck off to her hotel room and forget this night ever happened. She really had thought she was over the singing thing. It was a childhood and adolescent wound, deep, but she had therapy, talked it to death, til she thought her trauma had covered its ears and cowered. It was upsetting to find out how deep that bruise still lived.  She'd have to go see Dr. Shiny when she got home. Two months, would she even remember it had made her tense like that? Harry seemed like he remembered, though he was doing a good job of downplaying her freak out. Harry'd done nothing wrong, and his request wasn't that out of the ordinary considering the venue. Lots of the cast or crew had sang, Ayae was currently doing Material Girl. The band plodding behind her ah, ahs! She sounded so awful Ada was charmed. There was no reason to leave, this was a good time, and she was happy to be there, even post awkward over reaction, with him. Plus, She wanted to see him sing again. The last time had been a game changer. Ada was sure anything after Nirvana would be underwhelming.

The choice though, made her curious.

She wondered what he would chose next time. His album and band t shirts suggested good taste. She loved his mix, one day Bowie the next day Britney. She would stay. To satisfy her curiosity. Her head was nodding like a happy horse, she liked her decision, but imagined she should slow down the drinks that were basically straight vodka. Even if it would help her forget her. freak out "I'll be here. Sorry, I don't really want to.." She flashed her hands in a rolling motion hoping he would understand, she wanted to stay but not explain, She hoped he didn’t press.  Ada did not want to shot him down again. Especially since he had been so gracious. His grace shown again. "Don't, it's ok, you can tell me another time, if you feel up to it. Let me go see what Kunichi has cooked up for me . I have my own ideas, something simple." The last part he muttered to himself and she felt a little smile cross her lips at him walking off. His gait somehow like a baby giraffe before it gained confidence and became cocksure and hip full. Her head snapped to the side at that. Her eyes bugged at the next move. Harry was looking down at first, but then he swooped his hair off his forehead with a little shake and pushed it back, the long curls he’d kept on top. It was an innocuous move, but suddenly he took up more space in the room than before, than his physicality required. Though he was bigger than most people in the room, in the country. He caught her watching him when she made it to the stage. Her smile transformed into a very attractive attempt to catch flies once she watched Harry make a bemused face, say something to one of the other guys on stage that started conversation, then wink at her. Her anticipation ramped up a moment later when he looked at Kunichi like he might be a genius and kissed his forehead noisily then nodded with a 40 million pound smile. Whatever Kunichi had on the stove for him seemed to be amusing all of them, and she swore that his friend had looked at her, directly, which felt almost rude in Japan, since they were simply tangentially connected strangers.Very direct and she wasn’t on stage and nobody had caught Harry or Kunichi’s look, but she felt in the spotlight. Nerves all over. Ada was at a loss, but excited, all her hair was standing on end, and she was almost irritated she'd have to shave again so soon. Though why she had shaved when she wore jeans was curious, but she would ponder that when she was ready to consider implications, like in 3 years. A synapse fired and a memory started to materialize a moment later when a simple guitar cord was struck, and Harry swiveled his hips from one side to the other in a familiar but uncharacteristic manner. At once jerky and sinuous. Who did that remind her of? All her questions were answered when the old school train like riff entered and the drum was a dull thud instead of a crash. A few screams went up and Ada wondered if she was actually at the Ed Sullivan show. His hair was wrong, much to light, and he was a tad prettier, more feminine than the man he was channeling. But someone should tell that to his voice, and his hips, and her heart. Before Kurt in her heart, right next to James Brown was Elvis Presley. And her Babe Ruth was knocking a cover out of the park. This night was ridiculous, for a man who had fallen so short of her expectations for a month, he was blowing her mind tonight. Elvis, was he fucking kidding her?

And she'd always loved this song. Not her favorite, but a classic. She was all shook up too. The first time she had heard it, she was probably 8 and she'd told her dad the lyrics were stupid and simple. Her dad had scoffed but her mom had just worn a knowing smile. They were, until you felt those feelings, weak knees, and tied tongues. Music played in her house a lot and her mom got on kicks- it was during one of those dance it out phases, when she heard Elvis with new ears. Things had gone to hell at home, her dad had moved out ages ago, but it felt like a new ending that day. Her mom had been served papers, which meant dad had somebody he was his version of serious about. So her heart was tender, but she was pushing it down to buoy her mom’s fake cheer.. To top it all off, Peter Harris had made out with her and she was definitely all shook up. All mixed up. It was exactly how she felt her mom had been right. 13 year old Ada was not in love, though that was equally inexpressible, but definitely infatuated and her was body running amok. Her head thinking about Peter’s lips and her heart aching over her dad’s refreshed abandonment. It was confusing. The worst part about that feeling, those feelings were they didn't shut down when Pete told everybody that black girl's nipples were too dark and that she didn't know how to kiss. It was her third one, how was she supposed to know what to do? There wasn’t a class at the civic center on kissing.

But she always liked the song, even if she had weird memories to it. She had lots of memories to Elvis.

And tonight was a new one with Harry Presley. Her star was a sight. His clothes did not say Elvis. But his looks said performer in the throes. His hair was wild, it hadn’t been tidy, not scene ready, since she arrived by any stretch. The dishevelment now was on another level. Because he had one hair curling into his vision. It hung like a vine and she seriously wanted to George of the Jungle on it. Then she'd be in his vision, like he'd captured hers tonight. He had tried to blow it off after one set of Yeah Yas, and it had come right back over. He’d eyeballed it, and if looks couldn’t kill, they at least amused. Ada liked this frustrated look. It made her laugh. Theoretically, he should wear something like it while they were working, but this one was more bemused than defeated. He’d flip his head back like he was saying what’s up to somebody and the hair would give Harry a moment’s reprieve, before it was right back in his eye line. Eventually, when he couldn't make the hair wither with scorching looks, he left it. “Guess my hair has decided we need to look the part!” And there was some clapping, Jeff whistled. She sighed. It was perfect for the moment. The right thing to say in the moment. She nodded and he caught her eye and smirked before a body roll up on some mmm, mms.

Damn him. Her body was mirroring the lyrics, her heart beat a little faster. Her pulse throbbed appropriately. This was magic. It needed to make it into the movie. “Holy shit!” She was seriously wondering if she could add a scene with him dressed as Elvis. God, would he be willing to sing in a movie? Like a proper early superstar? He couldn't dance, so he wasn't a triple threat to anything but her cool.  He should sing in a movie. Their movie. She whipped out her phone and started planning. The schedule was packed. Ada wasn't even sure they had time.  She could make some, she knew.  It would be worth going over budget, especially if she could get him performing like he was tonight. This wasn't a performance, properly.  But it felt once in a lifetime. Jeff had once called him a clutch man. It was probably why he wanted to be more than just brother's from another mother with him. Harry loves to be praised. "When things start to fall apart, in an interview, or on stage, or if someone just says something that is awkward and off putting, you just have a way of changing subject, or charming the hell out of them." Harry figured Jeff found this to be a great asset for a client with ambitions like Harry. Maybe why he wanted to be more than brothers himself. Being able to roll with it, duck and dive, was useful in their business. Harry wasn't even aware of how big his ambitions were until someone handed him the moon and he suddenly wanted the stars. That first two years in the band were bewildering, but once he decided he wanted more, he started planning how. And being a good guy in a pinch had got him the manager. So, Harry was usually the clutch man. He came through. Not 100%. His batting average wasn't perfect.  If his nerves were up, things went one of two ways, he knocked the ball to the rafters, or he whiffed hard at air, even when the ball was crap. He had been doing a lot of whiffing, in clutch moments with this movie. He thought he had come through enough to not be absolute rubbish, but his ability to slide into home while everybody was watching kept alluding him, like why anybody played a boring sport like baseball let alone watched it mystified him. It felt different today, tonight. For tonight, was nothing, if not a performance.  Though he wasn't sure what was riding on it beyond his heart. But he felt like he was knocking it of the park right now. From the smile on Ada's face, it was a grand slam. She had been watching him since he caught her when she fell. He'd felt it when he walked away from her. Those big brown eyes on him. It was a change, he wasn’t exactly relaxed, but he was relieved. The secret, like Jeff said or course, was to "act good." Was that it? Which was the chicken and which was the egg? Did he act good, so she softened, or did she soften so he could act good? Harry was likely to think it was not him. She had been soft with him today on set, when she did that, was kind and quiet and direct, he performed. Hmmmmmm. It was her, she was soft pitching him today and tonight. Definitely tonight, soft beautiful eyes too. And it was making him hard. Which was unfortunate because he was on stage and the performance required him to draw a lot of attention to his pelvis.  He needed to think about the moves. Kinda, they were written on his hip flexors. He's done it a lot. When he was little he spent a lot of time, pre YouTube, he congratulated himself, watching his icons perform. It's why his Jagger impression didn't require to much work on SNL, and he was able to lay it on thick on stage with Niall. He’d been doing it for years, along with Freddie Mercury and Elton John.  Strangely after all the comparisons, not Bowie. Not David, but definitely Elvis! He'd been mimicking Elvis since his mom played him in the kitchen when she danced off bad days. She'd mimic the moves and Harry would copy her. He was about three. He reckoned when his mom found video of Elvis performing for him to watch. And then he had his own little Elvis impersonating ring, which got a surprising amount of business for a village the size of Holmes Chapel. He had at least 3 gigs. So he could do the gyrating thing in his sleep. People focused on his hips a lot, looking for that ever elusive bulge shot, he was happy tonight was a friendly get together and nobody was filming him. Well, Kunichi was, but chest up. He hammed it up when his hair grew a mind of its own and hoped that deflected pelvic attentions. It made him go down at least. He took several deep breaths and got ready for the crescendo of the song. He vocalized along, popped his lips and hips once more, and grinned, scanning the clapping hands. He'd been more focused with the eye contact that he usually was, a small familiar crowd. Ada. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him, until a lighbulb seemed to go off above her head and she’d been on her phone. She was looking down now and he wanted her attention back. He’d have to go get it. He shook himself of the persona and jumped down, taking a couple hugs on his way off stage. Hugs, from Japanese people, they were drunk. Well, that was good, worse video quality when these videos made their way to the internet and a delay without him asking for it. Bless hangovers. Harry was making his way back to Ada. He had a clear view of the table, pathway too, almost like it had been cleared. The light even seemed to illuminate the ground ahead of him. It felt like a movie moment. Her focus on him and the two fresh drinks in front of her. What a set up. The sense of inevitability he had had since he met her matched the moment and her eyes. He still saw green fields when he first looked at her on set each day, but sometimes, they were amber and dry by nightfall. Mostly because Ada did not seem to share the portent. He felt like he was destined to love her, and she didn't seem bothered by him at all. Well in the English way, she seemed plenty bothered by him in the American sense. Irritated. Not tonight, a flip had switched and all that karma for being the single minded devotion of so many when you felt not the same at all, literally didn't know they were alive, he thought had come back to bite him. He wasn't sure he believed in cosmic payback, but he knew sometimes his careless heart hurt those he cared for too. He'd sat up late one night looking at Instagram wondering if maybe he'd earned her indifference. Not directly, but because he couldn’t possibly adequately return or take all the love showered upon him. So, he’d somehow lost his claim to the love he wanted. Her indifference hurt. Some days indifference was a wish. Better than when he was afraid she disliked him. "Wow! Harry Presley! You just gave me a whole new idea for a scene!" She may not be on the same page as him, waiting for more, but she wasn’t indifferent and her grabbing his hand made him sure she didn’t hate him.  A new scene sounded exciting. And then she talked shop for an hour. It was a pleasure, felt like when somebody had a riff and he had a lyric and they fit, or vice versa. Except this time he was the instrument.  And he loved the way she played him. "So, there is already the rockabilly tradition and the karaoke tradition!" Her eyes sparkled, like really, it wasn't even the light or the make up. She wore little- her skin was just that good. Shit, pay attention. "So what if, they have a fight, like we already have planned, and to make it up to him, Henry arranges to meet Akio somewhere, more public than it should be, and he's dressed like Akio’s day dream." She paused there slightly more pensively, like her mind was already onto the next question while she posed this one to him. “And sings him an Elvis song!" He was dumbfounded, he liked it, movie magic. Licensing would be a bitch, though. She was staring. Oh, he’d wandered. He looked spacey when he was thinking. He wished he looked more like she did when pondering. "You will won't you, sing for the film?" She'd taken his hand. He's do anything then, but. "Yeah, of course”, he was already giving his truth and possible credibility. He'd sing, it bugged him the way singer‘s who acted got waved off. The other way was praised. And even Elvis’' cheesiest movies were entertaining and had great songs. She took her hands and clapped. She was a tough cookie, but she was currently fluffier than the slime he'd made with Arlo. So excited. "What song should he sing?" She eyed him, "all shook up?" "No," he pulled his lip while he thought, "it's not deep enough. Not a sorry.”

“Well, ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ could be cute, but still not a sorry, ‘Don't’ Be Cruel’ is a good one, but a little too inverted for the situation, ‘Return to Sender’?” He shook his head while he mentally ticked through the catalog. Ada's bit her lip and her brow curled and she looked at the table top. Suddenly, her large eyes were saucers, "Can't Help Falling In Love!" "No!" He almost yelled it. He didn't mean to react like that. But absolutely not. He couldn’t sing that song for this. "Oooookay," she side eyed him, but extended him the same grace he had to her. But he could see she would press later, had noticed she got curious. "That's probably a good call anyway, with Crazy Rich Asians and all." She let him off the sharing hook.

She tapped her lip. "’The Wonder Of You’? ‘She's Not You’? ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?" She was muttering, mentally scanning through hits. But she’d missed the perfect one. He almost wondered if she was letting him come up with it to boost his confidence. He shared it anyway. "Love Me Tender." Harry said with finality and Ada slapped the table. “That's perfect!" She clinked her glass to his, a dollop splashing out, and took a swig. "Now we just have to find the time to film an unplanned scene. When we are behind." She looked at him.  level and more sober than her momentary spill had suggested. "So I need you to do better Harry. Like today, but everyday.  If you could bring whatever sauce you are on to set for the rest of the film. I think this scene may be one of those ones that people remember, like Molly Ringwald and Jake Ryan sitting on the table kissing over the cake?" "I love that scene!" Harry enthused. "Everybody loves that scene." Ada playfully rolled her eyes at him. "It's an iconic scene, so good we still talk about the movie despite the racism. It’s like you singing Elvis will be, without the terrible cultural illiteracy.” "I wish somebody hadn't already done the dirty dancing lift thing. Though I suppose I got the idea from the movie." The last bit he said to himself. "Wait? What? Like the Ryan gosling thing where he picked up Emma Stone in 'Crazy Stupid Love?' His move?" She was chuckling at him. He could feel the color in his cheeks- he might be the color of a ripe tomato. "Is it so cheesy?" He kinda knew it was, he could be a little cheesy. But most people liked cheese, it was the hardest part about eating vegan for him. "I mean, you could melt it on bread and call it dinner, but everybody likes grilled cheese. "Cheese toastie, “ he corrected. He liked the way she was biting her lip. "What?" "Does it work?" Her brows flashed, and she'd leaned into him closer.  "The move." Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure how to say the next bit without sounding like a total ass. "It's always worked for me, especially if the girl has seen the movie! What? Why are you laughing at me?" Ada took a full 30 seconds to get herself together. He thought he saw a tear at the corner of her eye. "Sorry, Sorry, it's just.. why do you have a move anyway, couldn't you just say 'I'm Harry Styles’' and get laid?" "It's really not that easy, and if it is I don’t want it!" He was a little offended, but he knew what she meant. Her mouth opened a little bit and he bit his tongue when she leaned in like she was gonna share a secret. He wasn't sure whose secret.   "You like the chase?" God her mouth was really close to his, and she tasted like vodka and verve. "Um," shit if he just licked his lips it might count as a kiss. "I like to earn it." He could feel how true that was, though he wasn't sure he could have articulated it before. Like learning an instrument, or winning an audition after a long process. He knew he could have most things he wanted, and he was a little insecure about why he got things, so he liked it when he knew, no shadows of doubt, that he earned them. He wanted to earn Ada, he thought he might have a shot now. Ada cocked her head to the side, pursed her lips and nodded. Then stood up and took her hand off his, "Well, then I’m gonna need a little less conversation and a little more action."  

He should have followed her out.

Her wink on the way out the door kept him rooted in the booth.

[bisongrass]

Apr 13, 2020

Thirty-two days of self-isolation now. I am having isolation dreams -- I dreamed about being in outer space. I hate outer space. I had a sex dream with no one in it. I had a dream I was on The Truman Show. 

I went for a walk the other night on streets I have known my entire life and I saw houses in a new way -- I noticed the shape of them, I noticed things I had never seen before. Details. Why is that, I wonder: I suppose some combination of my own aimlessness/lack of time pressure, the lack of human distraction on the streets, the fact that I have no one to notice the things alongside, so I am just absorbing wordlessly. 

I told a friend that I bet people who do those 10-day Vipassana retreats are really good at the self-isolation. I used to wonder how I would fare at one of those. I wasn’t convinced it would do me good. Now I feel like I have something of a sense of what it would be like. BORING

I sewed myself a mask by hand. I used this Indonesian fabric I found in my closet, which has a pattern in saffron yellow and a bold reddish-purple. Something about it feels a bit Guy Fieri-esque. Like my face is a car with flames painted on the hood. I gutted elastic out of an old fitted sheet I had lying around. I will wear this mask to trips to the grocery store, for courtesy’s sake.

I hate looking at people in their masks. But strange how quickly one acclimatizes to the revisions to routine activities: I no longer am driven to anxiety by the sight of masked people lining up the block at spaced intervals. This is just what shopping is, now. Although I have found that enough time elapses between visits that things change in the meantime, new measures are in place almost every time, new adjustments. I shop every eight or nine days and this feels heroic to me, I compare myself to tribal peoples who eat every last part of the antelope, down to the ears and feet. Actually I’m far more useless than that, but compared to the me of two months ago, I am extremely resourceful. 

A couple of my friends were just heading out last week for their first grocery run in a month. One of these people has two children. Where did they get these fucking superpowers?

A friend e-mailed me a recipe for water pie. It’s a real thing, a Depression-era dish that calls for a filling of water, flour, butter and vanilla. (He also had a targeted ad for hormones to feed the pigs they assumed he had, because of how much time he spent on homesteading blogs. There was a tight shot on a profile of a baby pig, looking like a glitchy human being, pulling at a very human-looking nipple. No thank you.) It seems weird that someone could afford a whack of butter and not a bunch of apples. 

As a child I read this series of books set in Toronto during the Depression. The writer based them on her own life, and I have a vivid recollection of scenes like the one where they try to rid their house of bedbugs, or the one where she’s taking the streetcar with her out-of-work father when they see a man on a stretcher being taken out of the chocolate factory and so her father immediately gets off at the next stop and applies for a job at the factory, which he gets. It’s insane that I romanticized these things, but I see how it happens.

I held some notion that shared hardship led to a deepening of human connection, which I felt like I noticed on my trips to the USSR and to Cuba, though it’s hard to say how much of that was a naive glorification of something that was just new and different to me. 

But I do think that our relative privilege and ability to control our lives has meant some kind of richness has been lost to us. The sense of mortality stalking us all, combined with deprivation of contact, has changed me, and I assume I’m not alone. I feel grateful for the chance to appreciate things more deeply, although many of things I feel freshly appreciative of are still not available to me (I almost cried talking to my therapist about how much I missed walking through Chinatown -- I mean, the way it used to be). I hear people say “I’ll never take [X] for granted again,” and I think that’s probably not true, but it’s also wonderful even as a temporary state. One way I get myself through this is by fantasizing about all the things we will once again have, one day. 

Just before Christmas, my friend T. invited me to a dance party. It was a yearly occurrence, the party, and apparently it was so serious that the house owners cleared the entire first floor of furniture and had special joists installed under the floor. T. said he thought I would love it. He said the people throwing the party were old, "just so you’re prepared.” That night, we walked off the cold street and into the gnarly guitar riff of The Stones’ Satisfaction; the sweaty air had fogged up the front window. Gyrating bodies, older people who had forsaken cool and were now just doing whatever their possibly unfunky bodies wanted them to, crowded as far as the eye could see. Some younger people were intermingled. A desperately drunk woman with her shirt unbuttoned to nearly the waist put the moves on everyone. A woman in a white sequinned dress moved in a small cloud of B.O. A tall, elegant lady did a meticulous twist with her short husband. I went down to the basement at one point and saw the joists holding up the crowd and just listened to the floorboards squeaking rhythmically, the pulse of joy, the pulse of life.

[calorieworkouts]

39 Things Runners Wish They`d Known Before Their First Race

Signing for your first road race is an exciting yet overwhelming task.

A lot could fail. Chafing, defecation, and also bloody nipples are simply a few points newbie runners need to keep an eye out for on race day. If you prepare ahead, so much can go right-- like an automated PR (personal record), a significant sense of success, as well as a remarkable overall experience.

To assistance ensure your race goes smoothly, we asked running lovers, pro racers, as well as also expert runners exactly what they wish they knew before their initial time.

Hydrate and Eat Right

Go to the end of the line of volunteers at the water terminals.

Don' t obtain caught in the panic and also chaos that normally gathers around the very first couple of volunteers. It's a great deal less frantic once you surpass these people. -- Katie Dobbs, four-time half-marathon finisher

After you have actually grabbed water at a terminal, obtain to the contrary side of the course ASAP.

After my very first water station, I continued running on the inside track of the program and had cups of water thrown at me. It was a cool day and also really felt terrible. -- John Beck, two-time marathon finisher

Salt is a life pressure.

Volunteers were giving away salt packets throughout my marathon, as well as by the end of the race, I was relying upon it every number of miles to feel renewed. -- Becky Fitzmorris, marathon finisher

Bring your very own GU and also energy gels.

A great deal of bigger marathons as well as fifty percents will certainly offer GU along the means, which is terrific-- other than when you're so immersed in your race that you run best past the GU table without observing. When this happened to me, I was quite thankful to have my own GUs, as it most likely would've been a battle to finish solid without the added sugar and also high levels of caffeine kick that GU offers. — Dobbs

Is it cold? Well, your gels are going to freeze.

If you're a woman, stick them down your bra, or just enter the routine of pulling them out five mins very early and also holding them inside your glove so they're palatable when you require them. — Dobbs

Don't blend Gatorade as well as Energy Gel.

That’s a lot of sugar as well as could harm your stomach. -- Sean Lot of money, USATF Degree II running coach, owner as well as owner of Central Park Coaching

Try S-Caps (electrolyte tablet computers).

I consumed alcohol sports drinks and always got ill to my stomach before I switched over to S-Caps. -- Michael Wardian, ultrarunner

Concerning 10 mins before the beginning of the race, rev up your energy with a couple sips of Red Bull or a 100-calorie gel.

This will help surge the mind, adrenaline, and general body mood to concentrate in with stamina on the race available. -- Meredith Kessler, Red Bull triathlete, marathoner, Ironman champion

Bladder and Bowel Issues

Avoid any kind of 'riff-raff' going right into your belly a couple days preceeding race day.

In the 1 or 2 days preceeding the race, less is a lot more in regards to vegetables. This will certainly restrict any kind of possible GI distress throughout the run race. — Kessler

Ladies. Peeing. You're doing it wrong.

Why pull your shorts down about your ankles when you can simply as effortlessly scooch them over sideways? A) It's quicker, and also B) not having the ability to discover a tree or shrubs for cover is no more a trouble. -- Katie DeSplinter, ultrarunner

It's worth the await the shower room.

Even if the weapon has actually already gone off, remain the in line, so your bladder is at convenience while you're running. Your race chip will certainly determine your actual time also if you do not cross the beginning line with everybody else. -- Erin Kelly, seven-time marathon finisher as well as Greatist writer

BYO toilet paper.

The bathroom tissue in the Porta John's is dreadful ... as well as goes out. I always bring my own currently. — Beck

Sh * t happens.

GI distress is a real point, and it will possibly occur throughout long races or even some much shorter ones. Test out your diet regimen and also hydration prior to race day so there are no shocks. I'll always remember needing to run to the restroom at mile 7 of a marathon, which is difficult to do after running a number of miles already. -- Danielle Wolfe, running enthusiast

Clothing Considerations

See to it your toe nails are clipped before race day.

Bloody toes could be agonizing, and they spoil your socks. — Fortune

Do a test run with the clothing as well as gear you are going to put on.

I wore a shirt I had actually never ever run in before for the very first race I ran. That was a blunder. It had no breathability, as well as I was quite uncomfortable.-- Tom Harley, three-time marathon finisher

Bring clothing you can ditch at the beginning line.

I desire I understood that you need to stand around in the cold for a long period of time before you actually begin. Everybody else had their disposable clothes, and also I was freezing my butt off. (Ditched garments at the beginning line are typically contributed by race volunteers upload race, so don't feel regrettable concerning losing your layers!). — Beck

Put on water-proof gloves in winter races.

My initial half marathon remained in January with 20-degree temperature, and also while I had three layers of coats, I had one pair of gloves. Your hands obtain cold fast when you're running for 13.1 miles while coming across barriers like water stations as well as possible spills.-- Erin Nemeth, two-time marathon finisher

Those compression sleeves people endure their arms are in fact arm warmers.

They're excellent for cool days, as they're generally sleeves that can be eliminated swiftly and quickly. Dazzling! There are numerous races I want I had known that tip for. -- Jamie Crisafulli, three-time marathon finisher and also Ragnar Relay enthusiast

Gentlemen: Wear bandaids on your nipples.

You won’t regret it. -- Christopher Lopez, four-time marathon finisher and also 60K ultramarathon finisher

Wear enormous amounts of body slide.

Crotch chafing is real. If you enjoy it, lube it!-- Molly Anne Kreter, three-time marathon finisher

Bring your own Band-Aids.

I obtained some quite gnarly sores throughout and after my initial fifty percent marathon, as well as I was happy to have actually brought a Band-Aid or 2 to aid support them as I limped to my car after the race. The clinical tents can get crowded, so avoid the lines by bring a couple of Band-Aids on you. — Dobbs

Get a Mental Edge

Do not tension concerning sleep.

Even if you are up throwing and also turning the evening before (who's not thrilled for an initial race?!), as long as you obtain sufficient sleep 2 nights in the past, research studies show you'll be great on race day. -- Marnie Kunz, RRCA-certified running coach

Be wonderful to individuals at the beginning line.

It relaxes insecurities and makes you feel much less alone. -- Dominic Grossman, ultrarunner

Mile markers can sabotage you mentally.

When I'm contemporary for a run, I can sometimes choose a while without understanding exactly how far or for how long I've been available. In races, those mile markers are merely emotional torture. I do not would like to know I'm just 8 miles right into a marathon! -- Darren Master, 60K as well as 5K finisher

Unplug (... from your headphones).

If you keep up headphones, take them out prior to the coating line so that you can hear the crowd support you on! -- Erica Tillinghast, trainer, international education supervisor at Precor, and marathoner

Conserve your favored exercise songs for the tail end of your playlist.

You will not hear them with your nerves as well as the roar of the crowd for the very first few miles. — Tillinghast

Smile when you see photographers!

Even wave, throw up a deuce, or jump for pleasure. Ham it up, as well as your race images will stand out from the characteristic unpleasant appearances of joggers, closed eyes, as well as also fatality glares. Your Instagram account will be delighted with a kick-ass race shot. — Kunz

Don't shed hope if you typically aren't doing well!

Persistence hunting is the basis of running. Sometimes when a runner removes early in the race, they may seem difficult to catch-- yet they end up collapsing, as well as you could capture them towards the end if you do not give up. — Grossman

While races are amazing, they're really simply runs.

You have to approach it with the very same calm as well as accumulated perspective as any other run. It's easy to end up being a target of paralysis by analysis. Do not overthink it!-- Desiree Linden, expert runner for Brooks and also second-place finisher at the 2011 Boston Marathon

Run the Race

Be careful of adrenaline.

It might make you begin faster compared to you could take care of-- which will certainly harm you later on. -- Joseph Mullins, half-marathon finisher and 5K enthusiast

Always pay interest at the beginning line.

It could get crowded and frantic. I when lost my equilibrium right as the gun was going off. I invested a lot of my energy attempting to catch up. The very first ONE HUNDRED meters will not win you the race however could possibly take you from it if you're not careful.-- Katie Mackey, professional mid-distance jogger for Brooks

Pile $20 on you.

Throw it in your compression sleeves, sporting activities bra, or pocket. I obtained injured throughout a race and also without money for a taxi, I had to limp home! -- Jennifer Hughes, marathon finisher

Your GENERAL PRACTITIONERS enjoy may not provide an exact speed.

Race areas are usually crowded, and also the signal might cross wires with the numerous various other GPS watches in the vicinity. Make use of a lap or stop-watch for a more precise speed reading. — Kelly

Know your option.

It's important to recognize the course you're running for a selection of reasons. You'll need to know where the water and also washroom stops are, as well as you can also let people understand where you are should something go wrong on your run. — Wolfe

Finish Strong

If you're running a marathon, take the adhering to day off of work.

Limping to and also from your office will be no fun.-- Molly Socha, marathon finisher

Your arms are going to harm blog post marathon.

You probably anticipate that 26.2 miles will leave you with dead legs. No one tells you just how much your arms (plus shoulders and also upper back) are going to hurt after turning them in time with your legs for hours. Be prepared to have trouble raising them in the two-to-six hr window after you complete. — Nemeth

Do not consume every one of the snacks they offer immediately after finishing the race.

It would certainly have been great to offer my body some time to cool after my half-marathon, before I packed a bagel, banana, hummus, as well as chips down my throat. I felt sick quickly. -- Lauren Pallister, two-time half-marathon finisher

The finishing chute could be really long.

[When you finish big races, there's commonly a long slide you'll walk with other finishers prior to you can reunite with friends or household.] I was battling back rips of disappointment since they wouldn't allow me take a seat! — Crisafulli

You'll most likely do it again.

After finishing my initial marathon, I grabbed my medal, took a seat, as well as pledged never ever to do one more marathon EVER, EVER once more. A year later on, I did my second marathon and also have actually done a couple of halves, 5 as well as 10Ks here and there. The lower line is that when you do a race of any kind of distance, at any kind of speed, you're bound to love the race ambience. — Wolfe

[caveartfair]

These Trans Artists Are Challenging Popular Notions of Strength

Jes Fan, Disposed to Add, 2017. Courtesy of the artist.

After President Donald Trump announced his sweeping ban on transgender people from the armed services in July, he said that he was doing the United States a “great favor.” Contrary to any existing evidence, he announced that transgender topics had been “a very confusing issue for the military,” which purportedly burdened the nation’s defense with “tremendous medical costs and disruption.”

Actual accounts and data regarding transgender military personnel contradict the president’s statement. “We are liberty’s light,” said transgender Navy SEAL hero Kristin Beck to Business Insider shortly after Trump’s announcement. “If you can’t defend that for everyone that’s an American citizen, that’s not right.…You’re talking about .000001% of the military budget.” With 20 years of service—including 13 deployments to nations like Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan—Beck herself is living proof of transgender strength.

Trump’s commentary forwarded a well-worn false narrative about queerness built around a stereotype of softness: the femme afraid of war, the homosexual who’ll be a liability on the battlefield. What Trump neglects is the harsh reality of queer life, the struggles for social acceptance, and the increased threat of violence that unfortunately accompanies too many transgender and genderqueer lives. Such violence forms a hurt locker, testing the strength and resolve of LGBTQ individuals far past a person’s normal breaking point. Bias like Trump’s infects social conscience, spreading throughout the world. Shortly after his election, hate crimes in some cities across the United States rose 20 percent. In the United Kingdom, attacks against LGBT people have surged almost 80 percent over the last four years, according to the charity Stonewall and YouGov polling.

Perhaps in response to the rising tides of hatred and abuse, queer artists are increasingly wrestling with themes of strength and violence. Specifically, transgender and genderqueer artists are reversing those so-called “soft” stereotypes of queerness. They’re finding strength in their identities, and marshalling visions of power that simultaneously manifest and subvert traditional ideas of macho masculinity. In the process, these artists are posing vital questions: What makes someone strong, and how do we quantify strength? And is there room for queerness within traditional notions of physical prowess?

Breyer P-Orridge, Post-op Pinhead, 2004. Courtesy of the artist and INVISIBLE EXPORTS.

Breyer P-Orridge, Pharoah, 2005. Courtesy of the artist and INVISIBLE EXPORTS.

Of course, this is not an entirely new development. The work of Genesis P-Orridge serves as one origin story for the above power principle. In the early nineties, P-Orridge and his partner Lady Jaye founded what they dubbed the Pandrogeny Project; the pair were in love, and resolved to combine both of their bodies and spirits into one.

The project wasn’t metaphorical: It applied William S. Burroughs’s cut-up technique to the human body. Both P-Orridge and Lady Jaye underwent a series of body modifications to better resemble each other, a surgical feat that the former documented in a vast series of post-op Polaroids with titles like Post-op Pinhead (2004) and Pharaoh (2005), photographs that revealed the physically brutal effects of their project. Building one’s perfect image is, in this sense, an endurance performance. But the pain it involves is also power. With bruised eyes, covered in blood and bandages, P-Orridge looks resolute, happy even.

Accordingly, P-Orridge draws h/er strength from extreme body alterations. S/he dares to acknowledge the violence implicit in surgical transitioning, aiming to reterritorialize it all as kink. Flowering Pain Give Space (1998) is the strongest example of P-Orridge’s conflation of power and pain. In the photo-collage, P-Orridge sits on a purple throne. S/he is resplendent in BDSM paraphernalia: leather straps, high heels, nipple clamps, and a long tube snaking from mouth to genitals. We may not be comfortable with P-Orridge’s intense dedication to h/er version of body art, but s/he readily anticipates that. Our discomfort gives h/er power. S/he disorients the viewer to build strength, conjuring a queer occult.

Joseph Liatela, MEMORIUM/DISTRESS SIGNAL,  film still, 2017. Courtesy of the artist.

Younger artists, clearly inspired by P-Orridge, have gone on to create monuments and memorials to queer strength—but this new generation also examines its subdued and poetic elements. A 2017 sculpture by Joseph Liatela, for example, celebrates queer resistance while acknowledging the transgender community’s significant losses: The charred remnant of a redwood tree stands tall, but shorn of its branches, its blood-red trunk exposed, snaked with padlocks and chains.

In an accompanying film, we see the tree set ablaze on the beach, a purple sunset lighting the Pacific coastline. As it burns, we hear the  words “I believe in the gay power” repeated. There’s something deeply spiritual, quasi-Catholic, about this scene, with the burning tree as a signifier of transgender martyrdom. Below it, the artist has placed 27 glass vessels filled with water from the Pacific Ocean, each one symbolizing a life lost to transphobic violence in 2016.

Increased visibility of transgender figures has coincided with an uptick in violence against them. We easily miss how dominant systems of power can literally shape our bodies, but this is a simple fact of life for transgender people. Like P-Orridge, Liatela cannot deny the connections between queer life and pain. In his 2017 endurance performance, Bound, we see the artist hoisted onto the gallery wall by way of ropes and a simple pulley system. While chest binding techniques can initially provide a feeling of security,  they’re uncomfortable; at their worst, they can be extremely hazardous, leading to broken ribs and blood clotting. When Liatela finally returns to the ground, he exposes the bloody rope burns on his chest, which align with his breast removal scars.

Breyer P-orridge, Red Chair Posed, 2008. Courtesy of the artist and INVISIBLE EXPORTS.

Other artists approach issues of queer strength with a more restrained, minimalistic touch. The Hong Kong-raised and Brooklyn-based artist Jes Fan produces sculptural versions of gym equipment; sculptures like T4T (2016) and Hard Body / Soft System (2017) transform barbells and dumbbells into soft, malleable items. (The former is made of millennial pink silicone while the later consists of soap and plaster.) Here, Fan’s desire is to obfuscate the difference between hard and soft, asking us to quantify and justify our sense of queerness as a limp thing. It’s a conceptual question for the viewer: How soft must a masculine object get to become feminine?

Here, I think Fan realizes that the ideas of softness and strength are not diametrically opposed, but exist in tandem. The artist pushes their thesis with Disposed to Add (2017), which features two dancers incorporating a silicone beige barbell in a pas de deux of flawed masculinity. Fan’s elastic barbell amplifies the pain and subsequent strength needed in being queer. Together, two dancers seek to destroy the barbell by twisting, pulling, breaking, and snapping it into small segments that are flung across the gallery floor. Fleshy and limp, these fragments somewhat resemble forlorn dildos; the idea of soft strength becomes erotic, as the performers slide, writhing, across the floor.

Cassils, Becoming an Image Performance Still No. 3 (Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Historic Casting Hall), 2016. Photo by Cassils with Zachary Hartzell. Courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.

While Fan riffs on the machinery of the gym, Los Angeles-based performance artist Cassils has a practice that involves visiting it, often.  A bodybuilder, their practice is one of sculpted muscles and ideal proportions. Cassils is strong, taut. The 2017 Guggenheim Fellow and 2015 Creative Capital Awardee uses their body to conflate and confront archetypes of hypermasculinity and gay body image. But Cassils also uses their body as an instrument of the oppressed. Their performances often involve endurance challenges that allegorize the pulverization of people under large governmental institutions. As a witness to state-sanctioned violence, Cassils wants to shock their audience out of complacency. Their playbook utilizes the unconventional “path of most resistance,” engaging in dangerous acts to convey the strength in suffering.

Inspired by the collection at ONE Archives in Los Angeles, the oldest active LGBTQ archive in the United States, Cassils quite literally boxes with ideas of strength, masculinity, and queerness in  Becoming an Image (2012–present). Wearing nude underwear and bandaged gloves, the artist launches an attack on a 2,000-pound clay block in total darkness. With a flurry of punches and kicks, they transform the clay into a site of violence and anger. The monolithic block becomes putty. As Cassils hammers away, a group of photographers try to capture their performance in pitch darkness, illuminated only be the flash of their own cameras. In 2013, the artist used the mound of clay from Becoming an Image as a mold to create a concrete sculpture, The Resilience of the 20%, which they describe as “a violently elegant funerary sculpture.” (In 2012, murders of trans men and women around the world increased by 20 percent.)

Cassils, 200 days, 200 gallons, 2017. Photo by Cassils and Robyn Beck. Courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.

Cassils, PISSED, 2017. Photo by Vince Ruvolo. Courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.

PISSED, a 2017 sculpture by Cassils now on view at Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, also belied the image of transgender people as somehow passive or weak. For 200 days since Trump rescinded the Obama-era executive order allowing transgender students to use the bathroom matching their chosen gender identity, Cassils has collected and stored their own urine. For this work, they stood defiantly on a podium high above the audience, backgrounded by dozens of orange canisters. As a recording of transgender student and activist Gavin Grimm discussing Virginia’s bathroom bill plays, Cassils began urinating into a fresh canister. With a stony stare and solemn focus, Cassils rebuked the Trump administration’s continuing attacks on the transgender community. A large glass cube stood opposite of the artist, holding even more of their urine. For a moment, one could imagine the container breaking, allowed Cassils’s urine—pure bodily resentment—to flood the gallery space.

As political agents and objectors, queer artists continue to demonstrate a steely resolve to overturn Trump’s LGBTQ smear campaign. Genderqueer and transgender people are not weak, as his administration would suppose. (Perhaps they’re even tougher than the average army recruit, given the unique adversities the community has faced.) And despite the White House’s ignorance, such artists are busily elaborating on and redefining what strength is. This combination of physical and mental endurance is a stunning tribute to persistence—whatever the odds.

—Zachary Small

from Artsy News