#quinn smut

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[harrington-stevie]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[d0litte]

I could fix her but I like her the way she is

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[keeryhours]

teen pregnancy series - eddie munson part 1

Eddie Munson x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Teen Pregnancy Series Masterlist

Summary:

A broken condom leads to the end of your life as you knew it.

Part 2

Warnings:

Smut (18+), oral (m and f receiving), p in v, fingering, pregnancy, threatened miscarriage, drug use (weed), shitty parents, Al Munson

Word Count: 19.2k

A/N:

I am literally the most impatient person in the world so here’s part 1 early! Part 2 will be out very soon, I’m locked in. Thank you @glassbxttless for my banner and for reading this ❤️

You loved waking up next to Eddie.

The soft rise and fall of his breathing, the wild way his hair would be splayed out across the pillow, his lips parted as he snored lightly, the peaceful look on his handsome face. Sometimes you would just watch him sleep. Other times you would trace his tattoos until he woke with a smile.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he’d say, his voice still dripping with sleep.

“Good morning yourself,” you’d say back.

This was what it was like most mornings you woke up with Eddie. It wasn’t hard to sneak into his place at night. Your parents went to sleep at 9pm on the dot, all too easy to slip out your window and to your bike. You didn’t even have to sneak into Eddie’s, the front door was fine - Wayne worked nights, and you didn’t think he’d care either way. Wayne loved you.

There was nothing quite like sleeping in Eddie’s arms. It was your safe place. Warm and cozy, like being enveloped in pure love. It was no wonder you’d rather spend the night there than in your cold bed alone with parents who didn’t particularly like you anyway.

It was the alarm that woke you up this day. Fucking school day. The alarm clock blared bright and early at 5:30am - earlier than Eddie would usually get up, but it took you a bit longer to get ready.

You shut the alarm off so as not to wake Eddie up too much and sat up in bed with a big stretch and a yawn. Eddie grabbed onto your arm as you were climbing out of bed.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled, not even moving his face from where it was half buried in his pillow and covered by his disheveled hair.

“I gotta get ready, baby,” you told him. “We have school.”

“Fuck school,” he said, voice muffled.

You laughed. “Babe, we have to go.”

He shuffled closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I just wanna stay in bed with you all day.”

“I want that too,” you said, and god, you did. “But we can’t.”

Eddie groaned but relented, letting you get up. You slid off the bed, turning for one last look at him. He was sleeping on his belly, arms wrapped around his pillow. His head was turned to the side, but you couldn’t see any of his face for all the hair. The comforter rested just at his hips, and he was naked beneath it. You admired his body, his tattoos, the slightest glimpse of the curve of his ass before the blanket hid it away from your eyes. You have to force yourself to look away.

Naked yourself, you slip on one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of panties you’d packed for now. You yawned again as you walked out of Eddie’s room and down the hall to the bathroom. Wayne was asleep on the fold out bed in the living room, probably just now passed out from work. You started up the shower, the finicky faucet taking a few minutes to get to the right temperature.

When you were satisfied, you stripped again, sitting a towel on the side of the sink and then climbing into the hot water. You always kept some shower stuff at Eddie’s, god knows you were over at his place enough.

You closed your eyes under the torrent of water. At least the water pressure at the trailer was good. You were just about to start shampooing your hair when you felt a familiar pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, a head on your shoulder, kissing your neck.

You melted back into the embrace, a smile crossing your lips. You could feel him hard behind you, his kisses on your neck turning needier and sloppy, biting down every now and then. He always liked to mark you up.

“Need you,” he grumbled against your skin, fingers tightening on your body as if to prove his point. 

You chuckled breathlessly. “Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Never enough,” he growled. “You know I can’t control myself when you’re in my house, taking showers, walking around like this. And all mine.”

You gasped when he spun you around, pressing your back against the shower wall and kissing you deeply, aggressively. You kissed him back just as eagerly, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. He lifted your leg, his tip pressing against your entrance, then- “Fuck. No condom.”

“Like at all?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“We used our last ones last night. I need to buy more.” He groaned, forehead falling onto your shoulder. “Shit!”

“It’s okay,” you said, trailing a hand up his side. “I can still get you off?”

He leaned back to look at you. “Are you sure? You don’t have to. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you said, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes as you sunk to your knees. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie whispered, cock twitching as he watched you get on your knees for him. The way you looked up at him from down there was…fuck, he’d never seen anything like it. No porno in the world could ever compare.

His hand slid through your hair as you opened your mouth for him, he tapped his cock on your tongue, rubbing the underside of it there, a low groan spilling unwillingly from his lips.

“We have to be quiet,” he said, “Wayne is right out there.”

“I think you should be telling yourself that, big boy,” you teased. You wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked, and he lurched forward, free hand landing on the shower wall behind you.

He let out a low “Ahhhh”, a mix between a hiss and a moan as you took him further into your mouth. “That’s my girl.”

You moaned around him, deep throating his impressive length properly as he watched you in amazement, his eyes half lidded, lips parted. His hand caressed the side of your head as you pleasured him, like he was so appreciative but didn’t know the words to say, if there were any. Maybe the best thanks he could give you is just to enjoy it now - and bury himself between your thighs until he can’t breathe later. Maybe you’d sit on his face. He fucking loved that.

“Baby, baby,” he moaned in a near whisper, delicious groans spilling from his lips after. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

You hummed around him, making his hips jerk into your mouth. You always knew exactly how to get him going, exactly what made him weak in the knees, what made him fall apart. And oh, was he falling apart above you.

His breathing turned to pants, his slender tattooed chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand tightened in your hair, thighs beginning to shake.

“Gonna cum,” he warned you in a whisper. “Fuck, I’m- don’t stop, I’m so close-“

You didn’t stop. You worked even harder, working for what he was about to give you, showing him how bad you wanted it - needed it. You bobbed your head on his cock quickly, tongue working the underside, and his expression looked pained.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Baby, baby, I-“

He threw his head back with a cry as it hit him, his dick pulsing as he shot his cum into your waiting mouth. He quickly looked back down, watching you take it, watching you swallow every drop of what he was giving you as he moaned, seemingly forgetting all about being quiet.

When you pulled off of him, he was leaning against the shower wall. He looked like a total vision like this, lean naked body against the wall, wet hair hanging down his shoulders, breathing heavily and dripping wet. You had the intense urge to lick every inch of his body.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” he finally said, pulling you to him again and kissing you. He didn’t care that there was still the slightest bit of him still on your tongue. He licked into your mouth anyway, tasting all of you, the mixture of the two of you. “I want to devour you, baby, please.”

“We don’t have time,” you said regrettably. “But later.” A wink.

Eddie smirked at you as you both continued with your shower, washing your hair and washing each other’s bodies. Eddie was hard again by the time the shower was over, but there was no time for more.

You stepped out with a towel around your body and one around your hair. Eddie grabbed one and wrapped it around his waist. God, he looked so hot like this.

“Let me help you,” you said. You grabbed the curl cream you had bought him and put some in your hands, rubbing the product through Eddie’s hair. The poor guy had no idea how to take care of his curls before you met him. His hair was always so frizzy, and one day you were just like - “You know it doesn’t have to be that way, right?”

Eddie closed his eyes and hummed as you did his hair. He had to admit, he absolutely loved when you did this. It was so relaxing. He had never had someone take care of his hair for him. He barely did it himself before you.

When he was taken care of, you did your own hair while Eddie brushed his teeth then shaved. You brushed your own teeth then applied your makeup while he splashed his familiar aftershave on his cheeks.

He pulled on his boxers and you snuck back to his room in your towel. You knew there was nothing to worry about, Wayne slept after work until the afternoon. You searched through your overnight bag, finding the skirt and top you planned to wear today.

Eddie couldn’t handle how put together you looked. His beautiful girl. He couldn’t believe you were his.

He pulled his jeans on with a Hellfire shirt and his denim jacket. “You know you can leave some clothes and stuff over here?”

“I already do,” you giggled, thinking of the multiple bras and underwear sets stuffed in his dresser, the curling iron you kept here, the shower stuff and self care.

“Yeah but…” He shrugged. “You could keep more. Keep a whole wardrobe here, I don’t care. You sleep here more than at your own house anyway.”

“Edward Munson,” you said, lightly slapping his chest with a smile. “Are you trying to get me to move in?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked, sliding his arms around your waist.

“Baby,” you said, a slight giggle. “We’re still in high school.”

“Yeah, but we’re both adults, technically. I’m almost 20, you’re 18…”

“You still live with your uncle, and I don’t think there’s a world where my parents would allow it, Eddie.”

The mention of your parents soured the mood. Your parents sucked. They were mean, self centered snobs, and they hated Eddie. They never even seemed that crazy about you.

“Fuck your parents,” Eddie said, a sentiment he held often. “You’re a big girl.”

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. “Maybe after high school? I don’t want to intrude on Wayne either.”

“Wayne loves you.”

“He already has one freeloader,” you teased.

“Hey!” he said, mock offended. “I’ll have you know my dealing business brings in lots of money.”

The drug dealing was a sore subject. You hated that he did it, but he wasn’t willing to give it up. He made a lot of money from it, enough to help out Wayne and take you on dates and get things he wanted and needed. In his mind, it was a great gig. In your own, you saw visions of Eddie in handcuffs, Hopper carting him off to jail. You said nothing about it.

“We need to get going,” you said instead. “I don’t want to be late.”

Eddie looked at you for a moment. Finally he nodded, snatching his keys off the table. “Alright. Let’s go.”

You walked out to his van with your backpack slung over your shoulder. He opened the door for you like he always did, and you climbed in. The old van took a couple tries to start, but ultimately did.

“Need to get her checked out,” Eddie mumbled. “Could probably do it myself.”

Eddie was great with cars. And he loved them. He was the sole reason this van was still running at all, the amount of work he’d put into it was insane.

It didn’t take long to pull into the parking lot of Hawkins High. It was packed as always. You saw your best friend Robin by Steve Harrington’s car - Steve, who didn’t even go here anymore - and you smiled and waved back at her.

“Go see Robs,” Eddie encouraged as he killed the engine. “I’ve got to catch up with the guys about our campaign tonight.”

Fuck. The campaign.

“Should I get a ride home with Robin and Steve?”

“Maybe?” Eddie said sheepishly. “Or I can run you home before we start.”

“It’s fine,” you said, “I’ll catch a ride with them. You guys have fun. It’s the big one, right?”

“Yep,” Eddie said with pride. “The end of the campaign. These fuckers have no idea what I have in store for them.”

You laughed. “I’m sure it’s a sadistic as ever.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, opening your door. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, a reminder of all you’d done together since last night and all the things you would do together next time you were alone.

You hopped out and met up with Robin as Eddie sauntered into the building. “Hey, Robs!”

“Hey!” She pulled you into a hug. “Are you ready for Mrs. O’Donnell’s test?”

You groaned. “No. I completely forgot.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you study?”

You blushed. “I was a little busy last night.”

“Busy?” She gave you a look. “Girl.”

“I know! I know.”

“There are more important things in life than fucking your boyfriend!” 

“Well, now that’s debatable.”

Robin groaned, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the school. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” She turned back over her shoulder. “Bye, Steve!”

“Oh, can I get a ride home with you and Steve after school?” you asked. “Eddie has the end of his campaign, it’s going to take forever.”

“Yeah, of course. Steve won’t care. He’s like everybody’s chauffeur.”

—

You were home by yourself that night, snacking on popcorn in your pajamas - classic big t-shirt and short shorts combo. When the phone started to ring, you groaned.

“Hello?” you answered, resting the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Baby,” the answer came from the other end, and you smiled, all irritation gone.

“Hey,” you said. “How was the campaign?”

“It was great!” he said enthusiastically. “The guys actually beat it. I can’t believe it. It was awesome.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” You popped another piece of popcorn into your mouth. “What’s up?”

Eddie’s voice dropped an octave. “Wayne left for work and I was just thinking about you…”

You smirked. “Yeah? Thinking about what?”

“Baby…” he said again, and you could practically picture him on his back in bed with the phone, shirtless, rubbing his hard bulge through his jeans. You could hear music playing over his speakers in the background. “Come over. Please.”

You felt a throbbing between your legs as you listened to his low, sultry voice, dripping with desire, all for you. Your hot boyfriend, desperate for you. Wanting nothing more than to be inside of you.

“I’ll be there in 15,” you said. You heard a low chuckle from the other end before you hung up, hurrying upstairs to slip some jeans on and grab your bag. You locked up downstairs, made it look like you were asleep in your room and locked it from inside, and slipped out the window.

The night air brushed your hair back as you rode your bike to Forest Hills. You lived in a pretty nice neighborhood, your parents never approved of you spending so much time in a trailer park. It didn’t matter that you were much happier at Eddie’s than at home.

You rode the downhill momentum to Eddie’s trailer, parking it next to the front door. Eddie opened the door for you before you even reached it, a wide grin on his face. He was shirtless, low jeans exposing the V leading down below that you wanted to see more of.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, stepping back and holding the door wide for you to walk in.

“Hi,” you said. Eddie closed the door behind you. “Wanna go to your room?”

“Not wasting any time, huh, princess?” Eddie asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He kissed slowly up your neck, nipping every now and then. You melted back against him, eyes dropping closed as you moaned.

“Did you get condoms?” you asked.

“I did.” He slid the box from his back pocket, holding it up for you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Large instead of extra large?” you teased, looking at the writing on the package.

Eddie shrugged. “They didn’t have any bigger. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Eddie knew he was big, but he didn’t let it go to his head. Well, most of the time. He led you down the hall to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He was kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe, the only thing keeping him grounded to this reality. His hands roamed your body, sending tingles through your skin. Every now and then you’d break from one another, gasping for air for only a moment before your lips found each other again.

You fell back onto his bed as he tossed the condoms onto his bedside table and he kissed up your body from your ankles back to your lips, tongue exploring your mouth with an eagerness. He undid your jeans and pulled them down your legs, savoring every inch of skin he uncovered, even though he’d just fucked you multiple times last night. Enough didn’t exist for him when it came to you.

His hands slid up your top next, kissing your stomach and your tits as he uncovered them. No bra beneath, which had him groaning. His lips wrapped around one of your nipples, tongue swirling around it as he sucked, moaning against your skin.

“Eddie,” you moaned, back arching slightly off the bed. “Fuck.”

He switched to your other nipple, never one to neglect any part of your perfect body. Eddie’s hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers tracing through your soaking folds.

“So wet for me,” he commented, his voice low as he bit down gently on your skin, earning a gasp. “Love how wet you get for me. Desperate, pretty little thing.”

You could have said something about how he was just as desperate for you with how painfully rock hard he was and that you could feel it even through his jeans, but you couldn’t form words with the way he was slipping a finger inside of you, his thumb playing with your clit, rubbing circles. He slipped in a second finger, pumping them in and out while he pressed down harder on your clit.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you moaned, mind deliriously hazy, grinding your pussy down against him.

He kissed down your body, slipping your panties off and then replacing his thumb with his mouth, his tongue flicking your clit before he pushed his two fingers back in, curling them deep, pressing right against that spot he somehow always knew how to find immediately.

“Eddie!” you cried out, grabbing onto one of his pillows and burying your face in it. Eddie chuckled against you, but didn’t relent. He was determined to have you fall completely apart for him, determined to have you cumming all over his tongue and fingers.

You felt like you were floating above the clouds, Eddie’s sinful tongue taking you straight to heaven. He wrapped his free hand around your thigh, burying himself as deep into your cunt as he possibly could. He was starving for you, and he was completely content if this was how he died.

Your body was filled with liquid heat, the coil tightening in your belly. You pulled on his long hair, earning a groan from Eddie, his fingers pumping faster, lips sucking harder on your sensitive clit.

“Gonna cum, Ed,” you moaned, body writhing on the bed, the pleasure almost too much for you. Your words only made Eddie go harder, rutting his hips against the bed for some friction on his throbbing dick.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” 

You fell apart calling his name over and over again. Half the trailer park had to know what the two of you got up to on a near nightly basis, but at least Wayne wasn’t home. Eddie worked you through your orgasm, moaning as he lapped up everything you gave him, cock twitching at the feeling of you tightening, pulsing around his fingers.

Eddie pulled his fingers out of you, placing one last kiss against your pussy as he moved back to look over your naked body, chest heaving, tits and pussy on full display, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

“You look beautiful like this,” Eddie said, his own lips and chin wet with the remains of your climax as he smirked down at you. “I can’t wait to get inside you.”

You whimpered at his words as Eddie undid his belt, his eyes locked on yours. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down until his cock sprung free. He shed them from his body, leaving both of you naked.

He kissed all over your body again, sending tingles through your skin. Eddie always liked to take his time with you, liked to savor it. You fucked all the time, but it was never any less sacred to him. You reached between you and grabbed his cock, making him groan. You could feel it throbbing in your hand. He was so needy tonight.

“You ready for me baby?” he asked, reaching for the unopened box of condoms on his table. He ripped open the box, pulling out a foil packet that was smaller than usual.

“Yes,” you whined. “Need you in me.”

Eddie ripped the packet open with his teeth, examining the rubber. He shrugged, starting to roll it onto his cock. He hissed. “Tight fit.”

“You sure it’s gonna be okay…?” you asked, watching Eddie struggle to get the condom over his impressive length.

“Yeah, it’s…I got it,” he grunted, finally getting it all the way on. It technically fit, just not well. “I am not missing out on fucking you tonight.”

“I guess if it works…” You bit the side of your lip, eyeing him.

“Oh, I’m gonna make it work.” He kissed at your neck again, reaching between your bodies to line his tip up at your entrance. He trailed it through your folds, getting himself nice and wet. He pressed against your hole again. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and then drew in a sharp gasp as Eddie pushed his cock inside.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, you never get any less tight. Shit, babe.”

And he never got any less huge. As many times as you’d had sex at this point, it never got any less intense. It had actually hurt the first time - at least that went away. You hadn’t been a virgin, but damn.

He set a pace rolling his hips into you deep, fucking you slowly and sensually. Making love to you. He couldn’t stop kissing you everywhere, couldn’t control the way you made him feel like he was going to explode with how much he loved you and how good you made him feel.

“My beautiful girl,” he cooed, big hands holding your thighs up against your chest. He had the perfect view of your pussy taking his cock, he could watch every inch of himself sinking into you. He wished he had a camera - he’d love to have this view to look at whenever he wanted.

“Feels so good, Eds,” you moaned, rolling your hips up as much as you could to meet his thrusts at his pace. Your bodies were working together in perfect synchronicity, a beautiful harmony of bodies and passion and love.

“Can I go faster?” he asked, out of breath from his efforts of keeping himself under control. “Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” you cried. “Please.”

Eddie began snapping his hips into you faster, harder. The sounds of your moans and skin meeting filled the small room, drowning out the soft music over the stereo. His headboard banged into the wall with every thrust, chipping the paint.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned, his head thrown back and eyes closed. You were addicted to watching the way his muscles in his neck and chest flexed, clenched. Like he was holding back.

But god, the feeling of his cock pounding into you mercilessly like this? It was unreal.

He pulled out of you abruptly, but before you could complain about it he was flipping you onto your stomach. He spread your legs slightly and mounted you from behind, slipping back in with ease.

You gasped again at the intrusion, but this angle somehow felt even better. You looked over at the mirror on his dresser, watching as he pounded you from behind, looking down at you like he wanted to devour you whole. You could see his whole body, the way his thighs clenched with every thrust into you, the slightest jiggle of his ass, the way his hands were gripping your ass so tightly it would leave marks.

“Oh, god,” you whined so quiet you didn’t even think he could hear you. 

“Doing so good, baby. That’s it,” he grunted. “Just take it, take me, let me fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You were falling apart. You felt like you were frantically clinging to the edge of a cliff, the precipice of your undoing. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum again.”

He groaned, fucking you faster. “Yeah, that’s it princess. Let yourself go for me. Wanna feel you cum on this cock.”

You grabbed onto the pillow, biting down onto it as you started to see stars, your eyes rolling back as you came for the second time.

“Ah! Ah!” Eddie was gasping and groaning from behind you, the way your pussy was clenching around him was driving him crazy. “Fuck, ‘m close.”

“Please cum for me,” you begged him. “Please. I need it, need to have it.”

Eddie groaned loudly. “Fuck! Yeah, baby, go on and take it. Take the way I’m fucking you. Take this fucking load. Shit!”

He stilled deep inside you, as deep as he could go. He moaned and moaned into your neck, cock pulsing as he came. “Ah! Fuck, fuckfuckfuck-“

You were both gasping for breath, both completely spent. Eddie didn’t want to move from on top of you - he could have fallen asleep right there. You were in such a dreamy post-sex trance, you might have just let him. Let him sleep with his cock in you.

But he had to move. He pulled out of you, rubbing your back as he did. Then, you felt him freeze behind you.

“Oh shit,” he said, clear panic rising in his voice that only set your own anxiety off. “Uh-“ He was nearly

hyperventilating. “Shit shit shit. Shit! Fuck!”

“What??” you asked, turning and sitting up in the bed, equally panicked just from his reaction.

Eddie held up the condom - the ripped, empty condom.

Your blood went ice cold. “Ed-“

“Fuck, what the fuck are we gonna do?” Eddie asked, in pure panic mode. “What if I got you-“

“That hasn’t happened yet,” you said quickly. “Some people have sex for years without getting pregnant, you know? Just because you…finished inside, doesn’t mean I’m necessarily pregnant.”

Eddie wanted to listen to your voice of reason, but it wasn’t helping. He knew the risks of what had happened. He knew how bad his odds were. You were young, healthy. Teenagers. Still in high school. And with his luck…

“Fuck,” he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He angrily threw the broken condom into the trash can before covering his face with his hands.

“Baby…” you said, your voice small. “Are you mad?”

“Not at you,” he said, turning and taking your hands. “God, never at you. I’m mad I was such an idiot. I never should have used those condoms. I’m a fucking dumbass.”

You looked at him, sympathetic for how hard he was being on himself. “You didn’t know. It’s okay.” You squeezed his hands. “We’re in this together no matter what, right?”

Eddie was quiet for a minute. “What if I just ruined your life? All because I couldn’t hold off for a day.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re…if I got you…” He looked like he couldn’t even say the word. He turned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “It’s going to ruin your life. You’re so smart, baby, you have so much you can do. My life…well, I’m on my third senior year attempt, so I don’t see college in my future. I’m a drug dealer. I still live with my uncle. I’m going to drag you down.”

“Eddie, that is not true,” you said sternly. “Don’t ever talk bad about yourself like that. You are not dragging me down.”

“Everything I said is a fact,” he said sadly. “You’re…you’re better than me, princess. I would hate myself if I tied you down with a baby right now.”

“Eddie.” You turned his head to look at you. “I don’t feel any of those things. I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if we…well, we’ll face it together if it happens, yeah?”

Eddie considered your words. Finally he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Eddie, I love you. More than anything.” You kissed his cheek.

“I love you too, baby girl,” he said, moving to kiss you again. His lips lingered against yours, the kiss lasting longer than intended. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re too good for me, you know that?” he said.

You shook your head. You heard that enough from your parents, you didn’t need him saying it too. “Not true.”

He smiled softly at you, like he didn’t quite believe you. But he didn’t push the matter, taking your hand and kissing each knuckle. “I love you.”

“And we’re in this together,” you said. “We’re in this life together. No matter what.”

A small smile. “No matter what.”

—

Three weeks later, you missed your period.

Every day you checked, looking to see if it had finally come, just late enough to give you the scare of your life and teach you a real lesson. How could we have been so stupid? you’d think, frustrated with yourselves for making an obvious mistake just to fuck each other. We couldn’t stay off each other for one night?

Eddie seemed to have completely forgotten. He didn’t mention it again, didn’t ask about your period (it’s not like he kept track of your cycle anyway), wasn’t stressed at all. You didn’t mention your worry because you didn’t want to bring him into your anxiety spiral with you. 

When your period was a week late, you came clean to Robin outside after school.

“What???” she exclaimed, way louder than you would have liked. You shushed her, putting your hand over her mouth. A few classmates in the parking lot turned to look at you, but quickly lost interest. You removed your hand once she got the idea. “You think you might be pregnant?” she whispered.

“I…yeah, I think so,” you said. You couldn’t meet her eyes.

“How could you- oh my god.” She looked like she was freaking out more than you even were. “How did this happen?”

“A condom that was too small?” you explained sheepishly. “It broke.”

She just looked at you, blinking. “Of all the risks to take-“

“I know,” you said.

“Does Eddie know?” she asked, lowering her voice even further.

“That the condom broke?”

“That you’re late,” she said, giving you a look like now isn’t the time for jokes.

You looked down. “No. I think he forgot all about it.”

“He forgot-“ Robin looked like she was about to explode with the lecture brewing in her brain. “We have to get a test. Find out for sure before you scare the shit out of him.”

A test. Your stomach hurt at the thought.

“Will you go with me?”

“Of course,” she said, holding your hand. “We can get Steve to take us to the pharmacy on the way home. Or to my place.”

“Steve?” you said, looking at her like she was crazy. “You want Steve Harrington to take us to get a pregnancy test?”

“He won’t tell anyone,” she said quickly. “He’s trustworthy. I promise.”

Eddie came walking out of the school then, laughing with Jeff and Grant. He saw you and flashed you a big smile, immediately heading in your direction. You and Robin both looked at him with awkward, halfhearted smiles in return.

“Hey, baby,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Ready to go?”

“Um, actually,” you said, “Robin asked if I wanted to go study at her house.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, surprised. Usually you wouldn’t change plans at the last minute. He looked at you with his brows furrowed, but didn’t question you further. “Okay, that’s cool. I’ll call you tonight?”

“Okay.” You forced yourself to give the most convincing smile you could. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips before he twirled his keys around his finger once and nodded at Robin. “See you later, ladies.”

You watched him get in his van and leave before you and Robin met Steve at his car.

“About time,” he said to Robin. “I’ve been waiting here forever.”

“We have an emergency,” Robin said immediately once everyone was in the car, you in the back seat.

Steve froze. “What kind of emergency?”

“A pregnancy emergency.”

Steve looked at Robin like she had grown a second head. “Robin, you’re a lesbian.”

“Not me, dingus!” Robin said, slapping him lightly on the arm. “Her!”

“Oh,” he said. He turned around and looked at you, then his eyes went wide. “With Eddie?”

You blushed, unsure what to say, but Robin smacked him on the arm again. “Don’t be rude!”

“Ow,” he mumbled. He started the car and pulled out of the Hawkins High parking lot. “So, you want me to…?”

“Take us to the pharmacy to get a test,” Robin said.

Steve nodded. It was obvious he felt extremely awkward. “Okay. Got it.”

He drove the three of you to the pharmacy, where he waited in the car while you and Robin went inside. You felt embarrassed, like every person in the store could look at you and tell what you were there for.

“I think they’re back here,” Robin mumbled, looking through the aisles. Sure enough, you found the pregnancy tests in the back with the condoms and tampons.

“Um…I guess just this one?” she said, picking up a box that said Clearblue. “Results in 30 minutes.”

30 minutes to find out if your life would be changed forever, you thought. You followed Robin to the checkout counter, where an older lady was working. You and Robin gave your best we are absolutely not dealing with the epidemic of teen pregnancy right now looks - trying to be as nonchalant as possible. The lady looked at you strangely, but said nothing at all.

Back in the car with Steve, you felt like you could breathe again.

“Got the goods?” he asked, starting the car.

“Yes,” Robin announced proudly. “It was relatively painless.”

“For you,” you mumbled.

Steve drove back to Robin’s with nothing but the sound of the radio playing. The atmosphere was heavy, or maybe you were just imagining that with how scared you were, how much you were dreading what was to come.

When Steve pulled up outside of Robin’s house, he looked at the two of you awkwardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you in the morning,” Robin said. She climbed out and you followed suit, walking up to the house with the pharmacy bag clutched in Robin’s fist. Steve called out “Good luck!” through the window.

Her parents weren’t home, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to have to explain anything, like what you’d bought, or, later, why you were having a mental breakdown.

Robin took the test out of the bag, you looking at the box over her shoulder. She opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. The two of you read the instructions in silence.

“So, it looks like you just, uh, collect the sample, then put it in these little pots, and if it’s blue, you’re pregnant.”

You nodded. “Seems simple enough.”

“I think we got it.” Robin handed the box to you. “Good luck, girl.”

“Thanks.” You gave her a look before you took the stuff out of the box. You went in the bathroom, and took the test.

Once it was in progress, you and Robin sat on her bed. “30 minutes,” you reminded her.

Silence.

“Are you nervous?” Robin asked. “No, sorry, that was a stupid question. Are you scared out of your mind?”

“Yes,” you answered easily. “Fucking terrified.”

Robin took a deep breath, as if she was the one who’s life was on the line. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. Either way, you’re a smart girl. You’re gonna figure this out.”

You weren’t so sure. If you were so smart, why were you sitting here in this situation right now? You’d think you would have known better than to use that fucking condom. “Eddie is going to lose it.”

“If it’s positive,” Robin said. “This could be nothing. Just a lesson learned.”

That’s what you hoped, but you weren’t sure you’d be so lucky. After an excruciating wait, the timer went off on Robin’s watch. She turned it off, then looked at you. “The moment of truth.”

You took a deep breath. You were pretty sure you were about to throw up all over Robin’s beige carpet. You walked into the bathroom, acting like you were in a haunted house and someone was about to jump from around the corner and scare the shit out of you.

You reached the sink. You looked at yourself in the mirror before you allowed yourself to look down. You looked scared. You just knew Eddie knew something was up, if you looked like this you weren’t hiding shit. You thought this might be the last time you saw yourself this way, as just a teenage girl with a normal life.

You looked down.

Blue.

Your heart stopped in your chest. Hot tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t know what to do - that was the first thought in your head. I don’t know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked from outside the room. “Do you want me to come in there?”

You stepped out, hands shaking where you were playing with your ring. Robin looked at you with worry written all over her features. “What’s the verdict?”

“You’re going to be an auntie,” you said. As soon as the words were out of your mouth, the walls caved in. You couldn’t breathe. You felt like the walls were pressing in all around you, trapping you, stealing your oxygen.

“Oh, jeez,” Robin said, rushing over to you. “Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe. Just breathe with me.” She started taking long, slow breaths, trying to guide you, but you weren’t hearing any of it. You couldn’t hear her over the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears, your heart racing, knees going weak as you collapsed onto the floor.

“Shit!” Robin dropped to her knees next to you, pushing your hair out of your face, lightly tapping your cheek. “Hey, look. Listen. I need you to breathe with me, okay? I need you to breathe. Jesus, you’re seriously having a panic attack.”

All you could think of was Eddie, of the future. Would Eddie leave you? He said you were in this together if the worst happened, but what if he hadn’t meant that? What if he only meant it when it wasn’t really happening? People never really know what they’re going to do in a situation until it happens to them. He was young. He wanted to be a rockstar.

You were sobbing, the kind of ugly sobs where you were gasping for air, desperate to draw something into your lungs but finding nothing. You didn’t think you’d ever cried so hard in your life. Not even when Jason Carver broke your heart in 7th grade.

Robin muttered your name. “You’re scaring me. Please calm down, babe, it’s…you’re going to be okay.”

You did your best to breathe along with her, and eventually you were drawing in shaking breaths, laying on her chest and soaking her shirt with your tears. She just stroked your hair, patiently letting you calm down. When the numbness kicked in, the tears stopped and you merely sniffled, wiping at your eyes.

“Do you want me to call Eddie to come take you home?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “Can you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Of course. Do you know his number by heart?”

You nodded. You dialed the number for her and she held the phone to her ear. It rang a couple times, and you wondered if he might not answer and what you’d do then. But finally you heard the timbre of his voice through the phone.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin said. “Can- yes, she’s here. She’s- she’s fine. Yes she’s fine. Just feeling a little sick. Can you come bring her home? Yeah. Okay. Bye.” Robin hung up the phone and turned to you with a reassuring smile. “He’s on his way.”

Eddie, who drove like a maniac on a normal day, arrived at Robin’s minutes later. You went downstairs, and Robin stopped you right before you got to the front door.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said, pulling you into a hug.

“Should I…am I supposed to tell him now?” you asked, your voice weak.

“Maybe you should,” she said. “Just get it over with. Rip the bandaid off.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You got this,” she said. “I promise.”

You left the house, walking down to the street where Eddie’s van was idling. You could hear his music playing from outside. You opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“Jesus,” Eddie said when he saw you, eyes still swollen and red, looking like hell. He quickly turned the music down. “Shit, baby, what happened?”

You let out another big breath. How were you supposed to do this? Just say it? Rock his world like that with just two words? Two little words to change his life forever. And he didn’t even know it. He had no idea what was coming to him.

“You can start driving,” you told him instead of explaining anything at all.

He looked at you with worry. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes soft. “Baby. What’s going on?”

You fought the tears back. You were not going to cry again. One slipped out and you wiped it away.

“Are you crying?” he asked. “Babe, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll talk while you drive,” you said.

He just looked at you. “Okay. Mine or yours?”

“I have to go home. My mom is cooking lasagna.” You dreaded seeing your parents, especially tonight. You weren’t telling them now, that was for sure. They were going to lose their minds.

“Okay.” He pulled away from the curb, beginning the short drive to your house. “Now talk.”

You twisted your ring around your finger - your main nervous habit. Eddie clocked it immediately.

“Is it bad?”

Was it? Yes. And no. It was both, you supposed. You didn’t really know how to answer that question right now.

“I took a test.”

Eddie looked over at you, confused. “A test? What kind of test? Not your SAT? That wasn’t supposed to be until next month.”

Something about the fact that he remembered when your SAT test was taking place warmed your heart. Sure you had talked about it, how nervous you were and how much work you were putting into studying for it, but you never thought he’d remember the actual date. Those worries felt miles away now, trivial.

“No.”

“Then what kind of test?” he asked. “Did you get a bad grade? Because baby, it’s really not the end of the world, you’re so smart-“

“Do you remember the broken condom?”

Silence. Complete, heavy silence, like a blanket over you both.

“Yes,” he finally said.

Deep breath. “Eddie-“

“Are you pregnant?” You could see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. His arms were shaking slightly.

“Me and Robin got a test. We took it and…it was positive.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered. “You’re sure?”

“I think so.”

Eddie had reached your house. He killed the engine in the driveway behind your parents’ cars. The reminder of your parents sent the nausea rolling through your stomach again. He didn’t look at you. He chewed on his thumb nail as he looked out the window.

Minutes went by without a word spoken. It scared you. What was he thinking? Was he going to leave you?

“Can you say something?” you asked when you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please.”

He looked at you. His eyes were swimming with a million thoughts. You wanted to reach inside his mind and see what was happening.

“So…you’re pregnant,” he said, a mixture between a statement and a question.

“Yes. At least, that’s what the test said.”

“Is there a possibility that you’re not?” he asked, the hope in his voice making your chest ache.

“The test said it was 99% accurate.”

His eyes closed. He blew out a big breath, then rubbed his hands over his face. He looked like he was trying to erase the nightmare. You didn’t really blame him, but there was no running.

He didn’t say anything for a while. He was looking down, like he was completely lost in his thoughts. “So you’re pregnant,” he said again.

Your turn to pause. “Yes. I guess so.”

“I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought we were in the clear. You didn’t say anything for weeks-“

“My period was late, but I didn’t want to scare you,” you mumbled.

“You should have told me,” he said. He still wasn’t looking at you, and that was starting to scare you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I was just…I was scared. I didn’t want you to be scared, too.”

It was silent. The seconds ticked on like hours as you waited for him to respond, to say anything. Every second that passed increased your anxiety, increased the fear that you’d end up doing this alone. Eddie was going to leave you.

Eddie was spiraling. How could this happen? Well, he knew the answer to that. But what shitty luck, right? What did this mean? It meant everything. It meant his earth was turning on its axis, time was changing, he would be changing. What does our future look like? Eddie didn’t have any fucking money. He had a little from his dealing, but - fuck, he couldn’t be a drug dealer and a dad. But he’d have to do something. He’d have to start bringing in money immediately. Paying for your appointments, for the baby supplies. Then paying to survive, bills and food and a whole human baby who would need diapers and wipes and all kinds of stuff. What will this do to our relationship? What if you broke up? What if he became a single dad, seeing his kid every other weekend, paying child support, forever having to watch you with another man? And most of all - what if he wasn’t cut out to be a dad? He didn’t exactly have the best example growing up.

“Eddie, when it happened, we said we’d do it together, right?” you reminded him. “Don’t do this. Don’t get upset and push me away. Not now.”

Eddie didn’t say anything. He still wouldn’t look at you. “I think I just…need to process this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, worried. Your stomach felt like it was in knots, your chest tight again. You didn’t know what you’d do if Eddie left you. Your parents would probably be kicking you out, and you’d be homeless. Homeless and a single mom.

“I just need to think about things, okay?” he said. “I…need to be alone. To think.”

You looked at him. You willed him to turn and look at you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, that he still loved you and was going to be here for you. But he didn’t do or say any of those things. Your heart sunk to your toes.

“Okay, Eddie,” you finally said. You waited to see if he’d say anything else, but he didn’t. No goodbye, no I love you as you got out of the van and walked to your front door. You heard him driving away as you opened the door and walked inside.

The smell of the lasagna was overpowering as you walked in, and with your sensitive pregnancy sense of smell, you almost threw up on your mom’s fancy carpet.

“It’s about time you got home,” your mom said as you walked into the kitchen. She was setting the table, your dad already seated. “We were just about to eat without you.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, dropping your bag by the wall and taking your usual seat. 

“Don’t do that,” your dad snapped.

“Do what?” You were genuinely confused, but you really weren’t in the mood to deal with your parents any more than you had to tonight.

“Mumble,” he said. “It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” you said again, clearer this time.

“You weren’t with that loser boyfriend of yours, were you?” your dad asked with a snort. Your mom smiled lightly to herself - you knew she agreed.

“Eddie is not a loser,” you said, knowing it was a mistake.

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” he said. “The boy is a mess. He’s dumb as rocks, repeating his senior year for the third time. He’s always in trouble with the police. I think the boy does drugs. He’s dragging you down, and you refuse to see that.”

You were seething, thinking about stabbing your fork right in his stupid smug face. “That’s not true.”

“Honey, it is,” your mom said. “You could do so much better. I really think you should-“

“Mom, I’m not breaking up with Eddie,” you said, looking down as you poked at your food. Although, you thought to yourself, he might just do it for me anyway.

“You don’t talk to your mother like that,” your dad said, beginning to raise his voice. You could feel a headache coming on. Actually - you could feel more than that. Nausea rose in your stomach quickly and you jumped up from the table, nearly knocking your chair over in the process, and ran to the downstairs bathroom. You fell to your knees and emptied your stomach, trying to hold your hair back and not make a mess.

When you were finally done, you cleaned up and walked back to the kitchen. “I don’t feel good,” you said. “I’m going to go lay down. Thank you for dinner.”

You turned and left, hearing your dad yell from behind you.

“You better not be pregnant!”

—

After he dropped you off, Eddie drove around for a while. He wasn’t going anywhere specific, didn’t have anywhere he wanted to be. He just needed to think.

He thought about every scenario, every possibility. The good, which made his chest feel warm, made him want to turn the car around and apologize and tell you he can’t wait to do this with you - and the bad, which stopped him. He ended up back at his trailer, Wayne already gone for the night.

He didn’t know what to do. This was life shattering. He didn’t want to ruin your life any more than he wanted to ruin his own. He knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to be successful with his music one day. He was going to be letting the whole band down.

Eddie picked up the phone. He just held it for a while, debating. Wondering if he really wanted to do this. He dialed the number he had memorized.

The recording asked him for the inmate number - he had that memorized, too. He punched it in, waiting. After a number of rings, the phone was picked up.

“Hello?” the gruff voice came from the other end of the line.

“Dad,” Eddie said, his voice broken.

“Well, I’ll be,” Al Munson said, a laugh in his voice. “If it isn’t my boy. What brings you to call your dear old dad tonight?” 

Eddie sighed. “I just…something’s happened. I didn’t know who to go to.”

“Oh yeah?” Al sounded amused, like this was entertaining to him. “And what’s that?”

Eddie let out another deep breath. “I got my girlfriend pregnant.”

It was silent for a minute. Then, Al laughed. “Well damn, boy.”

Eddie felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t going how he hoped. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for, but it wasn’t this. He regretted picking up the phone. “Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t that just fuckin’ great!” Al said. “I’m gonna be a granddaddy. Well, Ed, while you were stickin’ your dick in anything that moves, I’m over here working hard, day and night, for nothin’. You better be grateful for what you have, boy, and get that girl an abortion. This is going to ruin both of y’all’s lives. Put an end to it now while you can.”

That little rant was the last thing Eddie had expected to hear from his father. He felt like his head was spinning, his chest tightening. “Dad, I- I’m not gonna ask her to get an abortion.”

“Why the hell not?” Al laughed. “Believe me, son, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret throwing your life away. You got that little band, don’t you? Don’t you want to try to make it big?”

It sounded mocking when he said it, but it was true for Eddie. He did have those dreams, as childish and far fetched as they may be. And he knew you wanted to go to a good college, wanted to make something of yourself.

“She’s my priority,” Eddie said. “If she wants this baby, I’ll have this baby with her.”

“Son, you’re a fool,” Al said.

Eddie clenched his fist. He had the sudden urge to punch a wall. “I love her.”

Al laughed, hard. “Like I said. A fool.”

Eddie hung up the phone, slamming it down onto the receiver. He was seething, taking deep breaths, his hands shaking where they were still clenched tightly. The phone call with his dad had only served to make him even more upset, now angry, at his dad, at himself, at the situation.

He didn’t know why he had called his dad in the first place. His dad had never been dad of the year. He hadn’t even seen him in person for 7 years, not since he went to prison. And before then, before Wayne, he was neglectful. Eddie cringed as he remembered Wayne shaving his head the day he moved in, his curls in mats.

His dad had never been a father. The only things he ever taught him were how to hotwire a car, how to be a good liar, how to steal without getting caught, how to deal without getting caught. His dad knew all about dealing - more than weed.

He remembered his mother. The little pieces he still had of her, at least. It made his chest feel warm, thinking of how she had loved him, how caring and kind she had been. He had no idea how she ever ended up with Al Munson. She was an angel.

Eddie knew you would be just as good of a mother as his own mom had been. He knew you’d be the best mother ever. He didn’t worry for a second about how his kid would turn out when it came to you.

But what about him? He already passed on his genes, isn’t that enough damage? Maybe he should take himself out of the equation. Run. Get away from this kid before he has the chance to fuck them up. Because surely that’s what will happen - he’ll damage them beyond repair, make them into as big of a fuckup as he is.

But no. He can’t just abandon you like that. As much as he knows this kid would be better off without him, he knew you wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave you to raise a child alone. Especially not with your shitty parents - god, how would they react to this? Not well, that was for damn sure. You wouldn’t have their support and he knew it.

There was really only one thing for him to do.

—

You cried your eyes out that night. Your pillow was soaked with tears, your eyes still red and puffy from earlier, now worse. You wondered if you could get by with missing school - your parents had heard you getting sick. But what if they made you go to the doctor? Fuck.

You woke up the next morning with your face practically stuck to your pillow. You wiped the dried tears away. You went into your bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror - you looked like hell. Your lower lip trembled, and you just knew it was going to start up again, but you were able to hold it back.

You splashed cold water on your face, helping to soothe your flushed skin. Then you turned the shower on, undressing and stepping into the hot water. It relaxed you immediately, the water beating down on your shoulders and easing the ache in your bones. You didn’t know sadness could make you so physically miserable. Or maybe it was the pregnancy. Maybe both.

When you were done with your shower, you dried yourself off, then started on your hair and makeup. You dressed like you felt, in a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Your parents had already left for work. You bounded downstairs, nausea still plaguing you.

You grabbed a granola bar from the pantry and forced yourself to eat it. You weren’t even sure how you were getting to school - was Eddie coming? Should you call Robin and Steve?

You were just considering picking up the phone when you heard a car horn honking from out front. You peered through the kitchen window, seeing Eddie’s van.

Your stomach clenched in knots. Was he here to break up with you? To tell you he wasn’t going to do this?

You grabbed your bag and walked out of the house, locking the front door behind you. You stuffed your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walked to the van. He reached across the seats and opened the door for you when you reached it.

You looked at him cautiously as you climbed in. You were trying to read his face, to prepare yourself for what was to come. He was unreadable, though. That was rare for Eddie - usually you could read him like a book.

He started the car and pulled out of your driveway. It was a few miserable, tense minutes before he finally said something.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I scared you last night. I just needed to think.” He reached over and took your hand in his right one, driving only with his left. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to do this alone.”

Tears brewed in your eyes, but this time they weren’t necessarily sad ones. “I was scared.”

“I know, baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I’m scared, too.”

“Where did you go?” you asked.

“I just drove around,” he answered honestly. “Went home and, uh…called my old man.”

Your eyes went wide. “How did that go?”

Eddie scoffed. “As well as you’d imagine.”

You softened. “Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

He waved you off, like the conversation wasn’t still eating him up inside. “It just…made me realize that I never want to be like my dad. I never want to make my kid feel the way he makes me feel.”

“You would never, Eddie,” you said softly. “You’re nothing like your dad.”

He shook his head. “I’m not so sure. I feel like a chip off the ol’ block.”

“You’re nothing like your dad,” you said again, firmer this time. There wasn’t a single thing you saw in common between Eddie and Al Munson. You’d never had the displeasure of meeting him, but you had heard plenty.

Eddie gave you a sad smile before turning back to the road. “Well, it means a lot that you think so.”

“I know so.”

It was quiet for a minute. A less tense quiet than it had been minutes ago. “I just…I’m sorry for running out on you like that,” Eddie said. “We’re partners, right? Always will be. In everything. Especially this.”

His words made you feel better. You had longed for him to come back and do this, to tell you he didn’t mean to act that way and that he loved you and this baby. That wasn’t exactly how it happened, but it was close enough.

“I love you,” Eddie continued. “I would never abandon you, I fucking swear that.”

You squeezed his hand. “I love you too, Eds.”

Another minute of quiet. The gears were turning in Eddie’s head, his mind still spinning even as he drove the familiar path to school on autopilot. “But we need to talk about it.”

“About what?”

“The baby,” he said, the first time either of you were saying the words. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do. And how we’re gonna do it.”

“Can we go to your place after school?” you asked, playing with the strings on your hoodie.

“Sure, baby.” He squeezed your hand, a silent promise that everything was going to be okay.

When Robin saw you in the parking lot, she sped over to Eddie’s van, throwing her arms around you in a hug as you stepped out. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” you said sarcastically. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“No.” You mustered up a smile. “But you don’t have to worry about me. Seriously.”

“Um, you had a full on panic attack on my bedroom floor yesterday after getting life shattering news. Of course I’m worried about you.”

You were grateful to have a friend that was so supportive and caring, but you couldn’t handle the attention right now. You already felt like you were drowning in worries. “I promise I’m okay, Robs.”

She looked at you skeptically, but accepted it. “Okay. If you say so. But tell me if you’re not, okay? I’m here with you. Always.”

You felt bad for pushing her away. Robin cared about you more than most people in your life. The least you could do was let her.

The school day passed uneventfully. Part of you had been worried that the news was written on your forehead and everyone would know. You just knew someone would be able to tell, then the whole school would know and you’d be even more of a pariah than you were for being The Freak’s girlfriend.

You were still relieved to climb into Eddie’s van at the end of the day. You always felt safe with him - being alone with Eddie was like coming home. He drove the two of you back to the trailer. Wayne was still home when you arrived.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted you when the two of you walked inside. He was dressed for work at the plant, drinking a cup of coffee with his lunchbox sitting on the counter next to him.

“Hey, Wayne,” you said with a genuine smile.

“Oh, hey, Eddie. How was your day? It was fine, thanks. How was yours?” Eddie said, pretending to be upset at being ignored.

“How was that math test?” Wayne asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Eddie paled. “We’re going to my room. See ya, Wayne!” He quickly ushered you into his bedroom while you laughed.

“How was the math test?” you spun and asked him once you were alone in his room.

“God, I don’t even want to think about it,” Eddie muttered. “I already know I failed.”

Your chest ached. “I told you I’d study with you.”

“Yeah, well…” Eddie said, “I had a lot on my mind today anyway.”

You knew the feeling. You’d barely been able to pay attention in class today. You knew this discussion was coming, and you didn’t know how it was going to go.

Eddie flopped back on his bed, and you took a seat next to him. He rubbed your back gently.

“You wanted to talk?” you reminded him, the nerves creeping up on you. What if this wasn’t a good talk?

“I just…” Eddie sighed. “How are we going to do this?”

You didn’t know. You hadn’t really had the chance to think that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah…exactly.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, tangled from how much he’d been messing with it today. “Are you sure you don’t want to…?”

“To what?” you asked. “Get an abortion?”

“Yeah.”

You thought. “I just don’t think I can, Eddie.”

Eddie continued rubbing your back. “I understand, baby. It’s okay. It was just an option.”

Not that there was anything wrong with getting an abortion - it just didn’t feel right for you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not upset.” If Eddie was being honest with himself, he wished you would get the abortion. He felt that was the best choice for you both, the easiest choice. The idea of the two of you keeping this baby scared him shitless. But he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to do with your own body.

“So…” Eddie began awkwardly. “How will we make money? To support us and the baby?”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

“Okay. Where will we live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Baby.” Eddie stopped rubbing your back, looking at you seriously. “We really have to figure this shit out.”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up. “I really don’t. I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do. I really wanted to graduate. I wanted to go to college.”

It was quiet. “Baby, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to go to college.”

Your chest ached. You could feel your future slipping from your grasp, the future you’d been building your entire life. The one you’d put so much effort into bringing to fruition in your high school years. It was falling away before your eyes.

“I…I’m gonna drop out,” Eddie said.

“What??” your head snapped in his direction. “Eddie, no.”

“Baby, I…” he scoffed, “I had my chances. If one of us has to drop out to start working so we can save up, it has to be me.”

Tears welled in your eyes. You felt like you’d done so much crying lately. “You’ve been working so hard this year. You’re so close.”

“It has to happen, princess,” he said gently, pushing your hair out of your face. “I have to take care of my family now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the couple of tears escaping, sliding down your cheeks. You felt horrible. You felt like you were ruining Eddie’s life. “Where are you gonna work?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I can get. Melvald’s, maybe. Restaurant. Anything.”

“Is stuff like that going to take care of all three of us, though?” you asked, the worry eating at you.

“It’s better than nothing, baby. I can keep looking. I just need to start saving money now.”

“Can I still finish school?”

“If you feel up to it,” Eddie said. “But, yeah. I don’t want to make you drop out, too. Maybe you could even go to college in a few years, when the baby is older.”

You smiled at that. “You think?”

“Maybe,” he smiled back. He laid on his back, hands crossed behind his head on his pillow. He looked lost in thought. “I think you should stay home with the baby until they’re older.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. People scare me. I want to know they’re safe.”

You felt the same. There was nowhere safer for your baby than with you, right? Not that you knew all that much about taking care of babies right now. It’s not like you had any siblings or even little cousins. “I agree.”

“Good.”

You laid down on the bed next to Eddie, curling up into his side. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. “How are we gonna tell Wayne and your parents?” he asked.

You let out a long breath. “That’s going to go over horribly with my parents.”

“I know.” He thought for a minute. “I…have no idea how Wayne’s going to react. He’s probably going to be disappointed in me. Which feels pretty bad.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, because he was probably right. And you couldn’t even blame Wayne. You guys had fucked up. And now your lives were forever changed.

“The guys are going to freak,” he said with a sigh.

You hadn’t even thought of the band, or the Hellfire club. How would they react? They were counting on Eddie to help make the band’s dream a reality. Eddie was the guitarist, the lead singer. How was he supposed to do that with a baby?

“I’m sorry your life is ruined,” you muttered, the guilt weighing on your chest.

“It’s not, baby,” he said. “And neither is yours.”

—

You had known about the baby for a couple of days. You were dressing for school, wearing a pair of jeans and a band shirt with a sweater. Eddie was driving you to school like he did every day.

You practically ran down the steps to meet him outside when you heard him pull up, but your mom stopped you right before you got out the front door.

“You need to stop hanging out with that boy,” she said, looking you in the eyes in a way that made you uncomfortable.

“Mom, no,” you said. “I’m not breaking up with Eddie.”

“You need to think about your future,” she said. “That boy is going to ruin your future. Whether you end up pregnant, or on drugs, or living on the streets. You’re going to be 22 years old with three kids and that boy in prison just like his father.”

You weren’t sure if you were about to cry or scream in her face. “You know nothing about Eddie.”

“I know enough.”

You pushed past her, walking to Eddie’s van with your fists clenched. You climbed in, slamming the door.

“Woah, baby mama, what’s wrong?” he asked, beginning to drive away.

“Just my mom,” you muttered. 

“Being herself, I assume,” Eddie said with clear distaste.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t listen to her,” he said. “You know she’s full of shit.”

But her words lingered in your head anyway, plaguing you the way only she could. What if Eddie did get in trouble for dealing and go to jail? It wasn’t impossible. And you were pregnant. God, you were going to have to tell her so, too.

You were distracted all through the school day, but tried your best to focus in class. You were standing up from your desk in english when Tina stopped you, her nose scrunched up like something was disgusting.

“Think you got your period,” she said, snarky as always.

You froze. “W-what?” you asked, looking at her.

“Your period?” she said. “Seems kinda heavy. Might want to go to the nurse’s office.”

She walked off, but you paid no mind to her. You looked down at your seat - and saw it covered in blood. You gasped, covering your mouth in horror - the tears started and you felt your heart shatter in your chest. No. No no no no no no.

You tied your hoodie around your waist and ran out of the room straight to Eddie’s locker, where you nearly crashed into him.

“Woah, babe, what’s going on?” he asked, steadying you by the shoulders. His eyes were swimming with concern.

“We have to go to the ER,” you cried. “Now.”

“Jesus- what’s going on?” Eddie asked.

You leaned in close. “Eddie, I- I think I’m having a miscarriage.”

His eyes went wide. “No. You’re not.”

“We have to go,” you said, taking his hand and walking off. You were acutely aware of the blood all over the back of your jeans, how you were probably still bleeding. What if you were losing the baby right now?

You felt on the verge of hyperventilating. Eddie ran to the van, opening the door for you and laying a towel down in the seat. “Shit, baby,” he cursed as he helped you climb in and saw the blood. His voice cracked, like he was about to start crying, too.

He drove you to the ER as fast as he could without getting pulled over. He had weed in his pocket, and in the back - he didn’t need that. He pulled up to the ER in record time, finding a spot and nearly carrying you into the hospital.

“I think my girlfriend might be having a miscarriage,” he blurted out to the receptionist, who looked up at him like he was stupid.

“What’s your name?” she asked you.

You gave her your name and info.

“How far along are you?”

“I…don’t know,” you admitted. “We just found out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re pregnant and this isn’t just your period?”

Eddie wished that were true. What a relief that would be, he thought. But if there really was a baby in there - he didn’t want to take any chances. He wasn’t going to lose it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you said, getting irritated with this lady.

They brought you back to get your vitals, finding your blood pressure high. “Probably from the stress,” the nurse said, but they brought you straight back anyway, having you change into a gown.

A tech came in shortly after. “I need to take you for an ultrasound,” she said, much more kindly than the woman at the front desk.

“Can he come with me?” you asked, holding onto Eddie’s hand tightly.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, looking like she genuinely felt bad. “But we’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

You followed her down the hall and to a room with an ultrasound machine. “Lay on the table with your legs up there, and scoot all the way down.”

You froze. “I thought ultrasounds were on your stomach?”

“Not this early,” she said apologetically. “It’s just a little uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.”

You laid on the table, feeling incredibly exposed. She began the ultrasound, the screen turned away from you. She kept pressing buttons and writing things down.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your stomach aching from anxiety. “Can I see?”

“I can’t show you or tell you anything,” she said, “we have to wait for the doctor. I’m sorry.”

You laid there, staring at the ceiling. You pretended you were anywhere else, doing anything else. You imagined you were at Eddie’s, laying on his bed while he played you a new song on his guitar. “I wrote this one for you, baby,” he’d always say.

She finished up and you were glad to put your legs back together. You followed her back to the room, where Eddie was waiting, bouncing his leg nervously. When you walked in he stood up, rushing over to you. He grabbed your arms. “Is the baby okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “She couldn’t tell me anything. We have to wait for the doctor.”

“That’s fuckin’ stupid,” Eddie said. “Why couldn’t she just say ‘yes, everything’s okay? You can stop worrying about the fate of your child’?”

Your child. Eddie caring about the fate of your baby so much made you feel a little better. You just hoped it wasn’t about to be ripped away from you like this.

You got back in the bed and the two of you waited nervously. It was maybe 30 miserable minutes later that the doctor walked in, introducing himself.

“How’s the baby?” Eddie asked as soon as the doctor stopped talking.

He pulled out some images, holding them out to show you. Eddie leaned over your shoulder to look at them. You couldn’t exactly make any sense of them - it was just a black and white image of some blobs.

“This right here,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the blobs. “Is called a subchorionic hematoma. It’s a collection of blood in your uterus. Most resolve themselves and are nothing to worry about, although the bleeding can be scary.”

Can be? You were just now breathing like normal again.

“So everything’s okay?” Eddie asked, wanting to get to the point as soon as possible.

“Yes, everything’s okay,” the doctor said, and you and Eddie collectively let out a breath. “The babies are perfectly fine.”

You felt relieved. Everything was okay. You turned to Eddie, but found him white as a ghost, staring wide eyed at the doctor.

“Did you say babies?”

You froze. Did he? You slowly turned to the doctor.

“Yes. You’re about 7 weeks along with twins.”

The ground fell out from under your feet. Your head spun, your blood felt like ice -

Eddie hit the ground.

—

Eddie woke a minute later, having been propped up in a chair by your bed. The nurses checked him over, but they knew he was fine. The doctor let you know you could leave, and you and Eddie were left alone.

“Fuckin’ - twins,” he breathed. “Two babies. Jesus.”

You couldn’t believe it either. If you had been scared before, now you were twice as scared. How were you going to afford two babies? How were you going to take care of two babies alone?

Eddie walked back out to the van with his hand protectively on your lower back, staying close. He helped you get in and closed the door for you.

“I don’t want to go home,” you admitted. “I just want to go to your place.”

Eddie smiled softly at you. “My house is your home, sweetheart. But yeah, of course.”

You leaned your head against the seat and watched out the window the whole drive to Eddie’s. You had been in the ER for so long, the sun was just starting to set. You felt relief that the baby - the babies - were okay. You were relieved you were going home with Eddie. Things were going to be okay.

Eddie pulled up in front of the trailer. Wayne was home - he was off tonight. You knew he wouldn’t question you. “Wait,” Eddie said, and he jumped out of the van and ran around to your side. He opened the door and basically lifted you down.

“I’m not made of porcelain,” you laughed as he sat you on the ground gently.

“To me, you are,” he said.

He led you to the front door, letting you go in first. Wayne was in his chair with a beer, watching TV. He looked up at the two of you when you came in.

“Hey, Wayne,” you greeted him.

“Hey, darlin’. Ed.” Wayne took a sip of his beer, looking at you both with an unreadable expression. Wayne was very closed off, it was impossible to tell what that man was thinking. “Can you two sit down for a minute? I’d like to talk to ya.”

That was strange. You looked at Eddie, who only shrugged back at you. The bleeding had stopped and you’d had the chance to clean up, so you sat down on the couch, Eddie next to you in between you and Wayne.

Wayne turned the TV off. Silence descended over the room, heavy and suffocating.

“Ed,” Wayne said, “your daddy gave me a call.”

Eddie froze. Oh fuck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wayne took a sip from his beer. “He told me somethin’ you, uh…told him?”

You looked at Eddie, confused as to where this was going. Eddie was sweating, all of a sudden it was way too hot for his jacket. He took it off, tossing it onto the floor.

“You wanna tell me somethin’, Ed?”

Eddie signed. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. But he didn’t say anything, and the way he was refusing to answer Wayne was scaring you.

Getting nowhere with Eddie, Wayne turned to you. “Honey, are you pregnant?”

Oh. Eddie had told his dad about the baby - babies, you corrected yourself again. Not that he had known that then. You looked at Eddie, who still looked panicked, but you couldn’t lie to Wayne. “Yes.”

Wayne looked between the two of you sadly. “Oh, kids,” he said, like he could see your fate laid out before you, and it wasn’t a good one.

“It’s twins,” Eddie contributed, looking at his uncle sheepishly. “Just found that out tonight.”

“Twins?” Wayne said, genuinely surprised. “Goddamn, son.” You almost laughed.

“Are you mad?” Eddie asked, scared not of what Wayne would do, but what he would think of him.

“Mad?” Wayne asked. “No. I’m just…worried. What are you gonna do?”

You and Eddie exchanged a look. “I’m going to drop out and get a job to save up some money,” Eddie said.

Wayne’s face fell. “Oh, Ed.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “But I have to. Right? I have to.”

Wayne didn’t say anything, because Eddie was right. There was no way around it that he could think of. He couldn’t afford to support Eddie, you, and a baby - two babies, which everyone kept forgetting and re-remembering. As much as he wanted to help, he didn’t make enough at the plant.

“What you have to do is stop that mess with the drugs,” Wayne said, pointing at Eddie. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

Eddie flushed. “Yeah, I know.”

“You cannot be gettin’ into trouble doin’ that stuff. Not now. I turned a blind eye to it for too long.”

Eddie nodded.

“Okay.” Wayne slapped his knees. “Well. You think you two have got this?”

You and Eddie looked at each other. Did you have it? You’d have to. “I think we’ll be okay,” Eddie said.

“Do your parents know?” Wayne asked you.

“No,” you answered. “We’ve only known for about a week. I’m not exactly excited to tell them.”

“I don’t blame you, sweetheart,” Wayne said. He knew how your parents were. They had met before, they looked down on him and Eddie for their social status, for their income, for living in a trailer park, amongst other things. “But you’ll have to tell them eventually.”

“I know.”

“We’ve got your back,” Eddie said. “If they wanna be assholes about it…”

“Which they will.”

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled you close. “It’s going to be okay.”

Conversation over, you followed Eddie back to his bedroom. He quickly cleaned up his rolling tray, papers, and baggie of weed that were laying on his bed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…smoked a little last night. I’m done now, though.”

You didn’t say anything, watching as he put his stuff away. He sat on the bed and held his arms out for you. You went to him, letting him wrap his arms around you. He laid his head on your stomach.

“I’m so happy you’re okay. All three of you,” he said. “I was so scared.”

“Me too,” you agreed. Eddie laid his forehead on your belly, his thumbs rubbing circles over it. He lifted your shirt up and pressed a kiss to the smooth skin, his lips lingering there. Your heart thudded in your chest at the display of love and affection.

“I love you both,” he said to your belly. “I’m your daddy, and I’m going to take such good care of you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or your mama.”

Your stomach flipped, and you were pretty sure you’d never felt so in love with Eddie than you did in that moment. 

He pulled you down to lay next to him on the bed, cuddled together, legs tangled. His hand rested on your belly, rubbing soft, slow circles until you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

—

The hospital set you up with your first OBGYN appointment. It was a week after the ER visit, and you’d been a nervous wreck. You hadn’t been bleeding any more, but what if you still lost the babies? You were looking forward to going just to hear that everything was okay.

You and Eddie left school early, heading to the doctor just after 5th period. Eddie stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as you checked in at reception. You found two seats together and sat as you filled out the clipboard of questions.

It asked all kinds of things. The standard doctor’s office questions about you, some awkward questions about your sexual history, and even questions about Eddie - ‘the father’.

“‘How many sexual partners have you had?’” you asked him, reading off the question.

Eddie blushed. “What?”

“It’s asking!”

“About me?”

“Yeah!”

He blushed deeper. “You know the answer to that question.”

You did. You just liked teasing him. “Remind me?”

Eddie gave you a look. “You know you were my first.”

“Oh yeah,” you smiled. Eddie nudged your shoulder playfully.

“Asshole.”

You turned in the clipboard when you were done, going back to your seat and waiting to be called. It wasn’t long before a nurse came for you, and you stood.

“Do you, uh, want me to go?” Eddie asked. He was jittery, bouncing his leg like he often did when he was nervous.

“Can you?” You didn’t know why you were nervous to ask him, you knew he would in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, of course.” He stood and followed you, trailing behind as the nurse led you to the back. She recorded your height and weight, blood pressure and temperature. You were taken to a small room with an exam table in the middle and two visitor chairs by the wall. Photos of babies decorated the walls. Eddie looked all around, seeming uncomfortable.

The nurse asked you even more questions. Some typical, some that made you blush. She asked Eddie a bunch of questions about his and his family’s health history. She left, and you and Eddie were alone.

“I didn’t realize they’d need so much information from me,” he said. “I thought this was all you.”

“You are the dad, right?” you teased, laying back on the exam table.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I better be.”

“They’re half you. Of course you matter.”

Eddie hadn’t thought of it that way. The babies were half him. And half you. There was something beautiful about how you’d come together to make something so precious as these two little babies. He placed a hand on your stomach - you had developed the smallest little baby bump - and rubbed it, smiling up at your face. He gave you a little wink.

The tech came in with the ultrasound machine. “How are you guys today?” she asked, setting up the machine. She put the gel on your stomach.

“Nervous,” you admitted. Eddie squeezed your hand.

“Don’t be,” she said. “This is supposed to be the fun part.”

She flipped on the machine and placed the wand on your belly. The image appeared on your screen, and you saw your two little blobs wiggling around in there.

“Congratulations on the twins!” she said. “There’s baby A,” she measured the smaller blob, “and there’s baby B.” The bigger blob was next to the smaller one, like they were cuddled together. Almost like it was protecting the other one.

Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of them - your first real glimpse of your babies. You glanced at Eddie, who was covering his mouth with his hand, staring at the screen with so much love in his eyes.

“And we can’t know if they’re boys or girls yet?” Eddie asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll find out at the 20 week scan.”

“How many weeks is she now?” he asked.

The tech took some more measurements. “She’s measuring about 8 weeks right now.”

Eddie blew out a rush of air. 8 weeks seemed so early and so long at the same time. “And how many weeks are there in a pregnancy?” he asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

“There are 40,” she explained. “But twins often come early, around 35 weeks.”

Eddie paled at that. How was the pregnancy almost a quarter over already?? Nothing was ready. Nothing at all. He still didn’t even have a job, and these babies were coming so soon?

You both watched the screen for the remainder of the ultrasound. She printed you a strip of photos to keep, which you held close to your chest - you would cherish these. Eddie took one to keep in his wallet. 

When she left, you cleaned the gel off your stomach. Eddie helped you wipe it up with paper towels.

“That was cool, huh?” you asked, smiling at Eddie as you pulled your shirt back down.

“Very,” he agreed, smiling back at you. “I can’t believe there’s really two in there.” He poked your belly.

“Me either.” You laid back. “Does that mean I’m gonna get like…extra huge?”

“Probably,” Eddie teased. “Beautiful no matter what, though.”

The doctor came in next, introducing herself and congratulating you both. She told you it seemed that the subchorionic hematoma had taken care of itself, so she felt it was nothing to worry about. She went over the do’s and don’ts of pregnancy, told you to start taking a prenatal vitamin, and instructed you to come back in a month.

With your ultrasound photos and appointment card in your hand, you and Eddie left the office. He helped you up into the passenger seat before getting in on his own side. “What do you want to do now, baby?” he asked you.

“I think we should go to the pharmacy for those vitamins,” you said. Your mind was entirely on the babies, wanting them to be as healthy as possible, especially after the miscarriage scare.

“You got it.” He started the van and drove in that direction, his music playing from the speakers.

You went in together when you reached the pharmacy. Eddie walked with his hand on your lower back, as if you might faint without him. You reached the correct section and found the bottles that said prenatal vitamins - you picked up one of the bottles, checking the price.

“Jesus. Why are these so expensive?”

Eddie looked over your shoulder, seeing the $30 price tag. “Shit. I don’t know, baby. But I don’t have enough for that on me.”

“Me either.” You sat the bottle back on the counter. “I guess it’ll be fine until we can afford it.”

Eddie was quiet. He felt like he was failing you and his babies. “I could sell-“

“No, Eddie,” you snapped. You did not want him selling drugs again. “We’ll figure it out. You started applying for jobs, right?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Of course I have.”

“Then you should have something soon,” you said, “and we’ll get it then.”

Eddie felt like shit walking out of the pharmacy with you empty handed. He felt like the biggest failure, just as bad of a dad as his own. He had spent some of the last of what he had on some weed - he knew it was wrong and that you had both agreed, but he was so stressed, he needed something. He felt horrible about it now, though.

He drove you back to your house. When he shut off the engine in your driveway behind your parents’ fancy cars, he looked over at you. “Are you sure you want to go in there? You know you can spend the night with me any time.”

“I know,” you said softly, almost like you regretted it immediately. “I’ll be okay. They’ll notice something’s up if I don’t come home at all. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay, baby.” Eddie leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“I know,” you mustered up a smile as he pulled away from your lips. You didn’t really want to leave Eddie, but you at least had to stay until they went to bed. They weren’t completely stupid.

Eddie watched you climb out of the van and walk to your front door. He watched until you were safely inside - only then did he allow himself to start his engine and pull away.

You could tell something was off the second you walked into the house. Your dad sat in his chair looking smug, while your mom paced nervously. Your dad looked pleased to see you when you walked in.

“What’s going on?” you asked cautiously. You weren’t sure if you were prepared for the answer.

“What’s going on,” your dad said, “is that little boyfriend of yours is finally going to get what’s coming to him.”

Your blood froze. “What do you mean?”

“I had a talk with Officer Callahan,” he said. “And he agrees that Eddie needs to be taught a lesson. They have proof he’s been dealing.”

You felt sick to your stomach, like you were two seconds away from getting sick on the floor. “Dad, no. Eddie quit, he doesn’t do anything like that anymore. He’s a good guy, please.”

Your dad looked almost pleased with himself, like he was happy to see you so distraught. “He should have made better choices. Maybe this will set him on the right path.”

“Dad, come on. Don’t do this.”

“You need to grow up. You both need to grow up. You need to find someone who actually deserves you. Someone better.”

You felt like screaming. You felt like throwing something at your father’s face.

“It’s for the best,” your mom finally spoke up. “It will scare him straight, at least.”

Was this your fault? Were you ruining Eddie’s life just by being in it? Your parents were being ridiculous, but that doesn’t mean the police department would see it that way. You couldn’t stand the idea of Eddie getting in serious trouble, especially not with babies on the way.

You ran upstairs, picking up the phone on your bedside table. You dialed Eddie’s number, hoping he’d had the chance to get back home by now.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding confused.

“Baby,” you said. “My dad did something really fucking stupid.”

Quiet. Then, “What?”

“He said the police are after you for dealing,” you cried. “He said you’re going to get in trouble.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Your dad’s a real piece of work, huh?”

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “Really scared.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said. He was always so calming to you, even over the phone where you couldn’t see his face or soak in the warmth of his arms. “But it’s going to be okay. I haven’t even been dealing lately. They’ve got nothing on me.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffled.

“I’m sure. Your dad’s just trying to scare us. He’s just a dick.”

You laughed, wiping at the tears on your face. “Yeah. He is.”

“Believe me, baby. We’re going to be okay.” You knew if Eddie were here he’d be brushing your hair behind your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You wished he was.

“Okay.” You trusted Eddie wholeheartedly, and if he said there was nothing to worry about, you were going to try to listen to him.

“I need you to get some rest, okay baby?” he said. “For yourself and for those little babies.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, babe.”

—

Eddie’s last day of school was nearing. He had put in his request to drop out, and had been putting in job applications all over. He was stressed, that was clear, and you felt bad, like it was all your fault.

The Hellfire Club didn’t know it was their last typical Hellfire meeting. Eddie walked in and the guys all looked up from where they’d been sitting, going over their characters.

“Well, boys, I have some news,” Eddie said, kicking one foot up onto his throne and leaning on his knee. This got everyone’s attention, and they leaned in closer, hanging on to Eddie’s every word.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asked. They could tell Eddie looked serious, and that scared them.

He held his hands out. “Well, it seems, that I…am going to be a father?”

The guys all just stared at him. “You’re what?” Jeff asked. “No fucking way.”

“No no no no no,” Gareth said, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the thoughts from it. “You’re not- huh???”

Eddie gave a halfhearted shrug. “I knocked up my girlfriend.”

“You’re not being serious,” Dustin said.

“There’s no way he’s being serious,” Mike added. “He’s full of shit.”

Eddie reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He pulled the ultrasound photo out between his pointer and middle finger, holding it up. Gareth snatched it from his grasp, the guys looking over his shoulder.

Sure enough, it had your name written at the top. But that didn’t mean it was real. “Bullshit,” Gareth said. “This isn’t a baby. And there’s two little blobs. Nice try.”

“And that’s where we come to the second part of my news,” Eddie said. “It’s twins.”

The room froze. Everyone was looking up at their DM with horror and shock. “You’re being serious?” Grant asked.

“Dead serious,” Eddie said. “Those are my little beans in there.”

Everyone looked back down at the ultrasound, trying to make sense of it, of everything. They couldn’t wrap their minds around Eddie - their Eddie - being a father. It seemed absurd.

“So…” Dustin began, knowing there was more to the story.

“So…” Eddie contributed. “I’m dropping out. Have to get a job to take care of the babies.”

That sent a silence over the group. “You’re what?” Jeff asked.

“I have to,” Eddie said. “It’s the only way I can take care of my family, man.”

“Eddie, you’ve worked so hard to graduate. You’re just going to drop out your third senior year so close to graduation?” Jeff was hurting for his friend, being one of the only Hellfire Club members to be around for so long and see the work Eddie had put in. No one wanted to see Eddie fail at his goals.

“I have to,” Eddie repeated, dejected.

“And, wait-“ Gareth said. “What about the band, man? What about our dreams with Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s heart sunk. “I…I mean I can try to still be in the band, but-“

“But your family’s going to come first now.” Gareth snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’d do this to us.”

“I didn’t get her pregnant on purpose, man,” Eddie said, getting frustrated with his best friend. “Shit happens.”

“‘Shit happens’? Really Eddie?” Gareth was getting more upset by the second, standing to face Eddie. “That’s what you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Eddie retorted. “My family is none of your business.”

“Your family, oh right,” Gareth scoffed. “I thought we were your family! I knew something was going to happen the second you started dating that girl-“

“Don’t talk about her,” Eddie said, his voice low, a warning.

Gareth was taken aback. “Jesus, Eddie. You really have changed.”

Eddie shook his head. “What, just because I love my girlfriend? Is it not metal enough for you to have a family with my girlfriend? Grow up, man.”

The guys were all speechless. This was not the Eddie they thought they knew. The Eddie who treated D&D and Corroded Coffin as the most important things in the world - his first babies. Now he was throwing them away in favor of you and the real ones.

“I understand why you feel the need to do this,” Dustin said, careful so as not to set Eddie off again, “but can’t we still have Hellfire Club meetings outside of school?”

Eddie thought for a minute. “You guys want to take it outside just so you can keep playing with me?”

“Hell yeah,” Mike said. “You’re the best damn DM we could dream of.”

Eddie cracked a smile at that. “Where could we have it?”

“My house?” Mike offered. “We have a whole basement we can use.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay. This could work. I might be a little busy, though. Being a dad and all.”

The guys laughed and congratulated Eddie - except for Gareth, who was still pissed off. Eddie didn’t miss the lack of support from his best friend. “Come on, man. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what, Eddie?” Gareth questioned, standing. “Upset that you’re ruining the chances of the band ever making it? Upset that you’re just giving up on school and dropping out on your third attempt that you were definitely going to succeed this time? How can you just throw your life away?”

“Gareth, I don’t have a choice,” Eddie said, trying to get it through the drummer’s head. “These babies are coming. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Gareth didn’t calm. He gritted his teeth, looking Eddie in the eyes. “You’ve changed, man.”

“Yeah, you have to when you become a dad!” Eddie said, waving his hands around for emphasis. “Come on, Gare. You’re my best friend. You don’t want to be Uncle Gare to two extremely cute kids?”

Gareth dared to crack the tiniest smile. “Stop.”

“Just think about how cute they’re gonna be,” Eddie continued. “Little metalhead babies.”

Gareth was softening. He didn’t like the changes this promised, he didn’t want Eddie to grow up so fast, but he had to admit to himself the image of Eddie as a dad made him feel a little proud of his friend. “You gonna have them listening to Metallica in the womb?”

Eddie laughed. “Damn right.”

“Do you really have to drop out, though?” Jeff asked, still concerned. “What’s that going to do to you, dude? You’ve worked so hard.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie looked around. It was clear he was trying not to be affected, to look like he didn’t care. He clearly cared a lot. “It’s just what needs to be done. So I’m doing what I have to do.”

Everyone was quiet. No one had a better idea, but they didn’t want to see Eddie throw away his hard work, either. 

“Okay, man,” Grant said. “Do what you have to do.”

“And congratulations,” Dustin added. “On being a dad and all.”

Eddie smiled a little. “Thanks, dude.”

“Yeah, man, congratulations,” Mike said.

Grant and Jeff congratulated him too, but Gareth still seemed upset. In agreement that the Hellfire Club would continue outside of school, everyone felt a little better, but their final campaign in the drama room was bittersweet.

—

Eddie got a job as a dishwasher at Benny’s. He hated it.

He had dropped out and was now working full time, doing something he absolutely hated - and he realized just how much dropping out affected him. He was depressed. He lost his sense of worth, feeling like the biggest failure imaginable. Took my senior year three times and still never graduated, he’d think to himself as he washed dishes until his hands were red and raw. Now look at me.

You didn’t get to see Eddie as often anymore. News was out at school - everyone knew Eddie dropped out because you were pregnant. At least you didn’t have to hide the belly anymore - you could dress normally at school. It was at home that you had to be careful.

You hadn’t heard anything else about Eddie getting in trouble, so you hoped your dad had just been bluffing. You never put it past him, though.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Eddie greeted you at the door as you reached it. He had just gotten off work and it was obvious, his eyes red and tired. He pulled you into his slender chest, his long arms wrapped around your body. You buried your face in his shirt.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it. He missed you all day while he was at work. He thought of you and the babies constantly - do it for them.

You didn’t get to see Eddie as often anymore. He usually worked late, and by the time he was getting home you were going to bed. This was the first night you’d gotten to spend with him all week.

“They’ve grown,” he said as you stepped back, placing his hand on your belly.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Word’s out at school. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it from my parents at this rate.”

Eddie frowned. He knew it would be bad when they found out. “You look cute,” he said, changing the subject.

“Thanks,” you blushed. “I don’t feel cute.”

“Being pregnant with my kids is a good look on you,” he smirked. “Maybe I’ll have to give you another one-“

“One pregnancy at a time, babe,” you laughed.

“Come on,” Eddie said, “I’m exhausted. I just want to hold you in bed.”

You weren’t arguing. He led you by the hand back to his bedroom - quickly cleaning up something on his bed and shoving it into the closet. You gave him a strange look, but didn’t push it.

He pulled his shirt over his head and laid down on the bed. You joined him, cuddled up against his chest. His fingers played absentmindedly with your hair while you laid together. Eddie turned, catching you looking at him. He smiled and pressed his lips to yours.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered against your lips.

“Missed you more,” you teased back, but his kisses were quickly taking your breath away. You were breathing heavily, his tongue pressing into your mouth and exploring it eagerly.

His hand slipped under your shirt, brushing over the bump before reaching your tits. He palmed them over your bra, moaning into the kiss. You moaned lightly, hips involuntarily grinding against his, feeling him already hard beneath his jeans.

He slipped your shirt over your head and unhooked your bra, kissing all over the exposed skin, his tongue flicking at your nipples. They were more sensitive now and had you arching your back into him, his hands sliding along your back as he sucked on your tits.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “It’s been so long. I need you.”

“I need you too,” you agreed, your panties already soaked at the mere thought of having Eddie inside you again.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked, kissing back up to your neck. “I need you bad. But I don’t want to hurt them.”

“You’re not going to hurt them,” you promised him. “They’re safe in there.”

Eddie grinned. “Does this mean I get to fuck you raw now?”

You blushed, the idea sending heat straight to your throbbing core. “I guess so.”

Eddie groaned, diving back in to bite at your neck as his hand expertly undid your jeans. He pushed them down as much as he could before his hand was beneath your panties, tracing through your soaking folds.

“So ready for me,” he mumbled. “You want this just as bad, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, writhing in your need to be touched.

“Looking a little desperate, baby,” he teased. “Do you need me?”

“Need you so bad,” you moaned. You had no shame, you were desperate for Eddie to fuck you and you wanted him to know.

Eddie groaned from low in his throat. He slipped a finger inside you, pumping it slowly. You gasped at the sudden feeling, then you were grinding your hips down, wanting more.

“Needy little pussy,” he whispered in your ear. “Look at how desperate she is to take me.”

You whined. Your mind was going hazy, you weren’t thinking straight. With Eddie’s finger pumping into you, his calloused thumb rubbing at your clit, and his mouth kissing and nipping at your neck, you were in another world.

“Need it now,” Eddie said, then he was sitting up, pushing his own jeans and boxers down and pulling your clothes the rest of the way off. His hard cock sprung free against his stomach, ruddy tip leaking.

Eddie lined his cock up with your entrance, pushing just the tip inside. He moaned, loud - his first time feeling you raw and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to last more than two seconds. He couldn’t look at you like this - it was going to make him bust immediately. He buried his face into your neck instead, rolling his hips to push his cock in the rest of the way.

You whimpered, holding onto him tightly. Everything was so much more sensitive now, you felt as if you could feel every ridge and vein of Eddie’s cock, heightening the pleasure. His hips snapped into yours quickly, as if he’d lost control and needed more and more of you.

His old bed squeaked as he fucked you, his groans muffled into your neck. You gasped, tangling your fingers in his long curls, pulling slightly. That made him shudder, tightening his grip on your thigh, a choked moan coming from his lips.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he moaned, kissing from your neck to your shoulder and all over your chest. “You’re so beautiful. Feel so good. Your pussy is so perfect.”

You whined. “Feels good, Ed.”

“Yeah?” he panted, speeding up his pace just a little. “You like that?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, eyes falling closed.

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Tell me what you like.”

“I love when you fuck me like this,” you whined. “I love your cock.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You opened your eyes to see him staring intently down at you, eyes locked on your face, his cheeks tinged pink with the exertion and his impending orgasm. “It’s so big. Fucks me so good.”

Eddie groaned, his head dropping forward. His curls tickled your breasts, moving with his thrusts. “I’m so close,” he choked out. “Need you to cum for me.”

You were close, too. Especially when he reached down and rubbed against your clit, making you gasp. Everything was so sensitive, his touch sending electricity through your veins.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I can feel you- holy shit- you’re so tight around me-“

Eddie tried his best to hold back, but the feeling of your pussy clenching around him as you came sent him over the edge. He let out a strangled gasp that turned into a loud moan as his orgasm hit him abruptly, cumming deep into you for the first time - on purpose, at least. He rutted into you with shallow thrusts as he shot his load into you, body trembling from the intensity.

After he pulled out, he flopped onto the bed next to you, his chest heaving with his breaths. You eyed the posters covering his walls, his guitar - his sweetheart - hanging across from you. It was all so Eddie. God, you loved him.

“That was insane,” he laughed, turning on his side and throwing his arm across your waist. “I needed that, baby.”

You kissed his nose, then his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand rubbed over your belly, a goofy grin on his face. “All three of you.”

You fell asleep in Eddie’s arms, cuddled closely to his chest. You slept peacefully, feeling safe and loved.

Eddie had a different experience. He couldn’t sleep, mind racing with thoughts of his life and future. He stared up at his ceiling, a sinking feeling in his chest. He was so disappointed in himself. This was supposed to be his year. He was supposed to graduate, make something of himself. Instead, here he was, a high school dropout washing dishes with soon to be two children to support.

He was a loser, just like he’d feared. Just like his dad. He had done everything in his power to keep from this fate, but it was all for nothing.

Mostly, he felt guilty for the babies. What kind of dad could he be if he could barely take care of himself? He made so little at Benny’s - it was better than nothing, but not by much. How the hell could he pay for the things two babies would need? And what about you?

He knew you deserved better. All three of you deserved better.

The only thing that got him through was the weed. He had promised you he would stop, but he was smoking more. It was a daily thing now, every second he had that he could get high, he’d take it. He was so miserable with his life, he needed the release.

You would be furious. Eddie knew that. He knew he shouldn’t still be smoking, he shouldn’t be wasting the little money he had on weed. He had even been calling out on days he got too high - which happened decently often. He knew his behavior was only solidifying his status as a total fucking deadbeat loser, but he couldn’t help it.

He had to have something to keep him going. He was so fucking depressed he didn’t know what to do with himself. If the weed helped, so be it.

Eddie crept out of the bed, careful not to disturb you. He opened his closet as quietly as possible and pulled out his stash box. He had a joint already rolled, which he plucked from the box and stuck behind his ear as he grabbed his lighter from the dresser and walked outside.

Taking a seat on the front steps, he removed the joint from his ear and brought it to his lips, sparking it up. He took a deep drag, the pungent smoke creeping down into his lungs. He held it, then released, the smoke billowing out from his lips in big clouds.

The warmth took over his body quickly. He felt lighter, happier. Every drag of the joint made those negative thoughts float farther away. He wasn’t thinking about his shitty job, or the fact he was going to be a father, or that he had dropped out of school and pissed off all his friends. There were no worries.

For that moment, everything was fine.

part 2 very soon

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[giverjoe]

raw. next question.

[ruinix]

Omygooooooodddddd. Yes, spit as lube my favo--

hey so, here’s a short and filthy blurb for while i’m away reading onyx storm for the next 48 hours.

cw: spit, Quinns got a filthy mouth, mentions of tears

he's really thinking, standing above you. your thighs spread so he can bury himself between them. he slaps his cock against your folds before pushing the head between them. watching while you whimper every time it catches on your clit.

"please," you moan, smart enough to keep your legs open and not close them so he's trapped against you.

“i was just thinking, sweet girl," he says, staring right at your cunt. "don't know if you can take it."

"swear i can!" your voice so small. he could hear the desperation, he could feel the way your body was begging him. you didn’t need to ask him, he’d give you anything.

"mmm." like he didn't hear you. eyes still trained on your pussy nestled against his cock. your eyes start to swell with tears. when he suddenly purses his lips and a long string of saliva connects them to you.

you gasp at him. he uses his cock to rub it in.

"just what you need," he mumbles. this time, he spits, the crude sound of it breaking the silence. his free hand grabs onto your hips, then he pushes into you. "yeah, there we go."

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 2 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit and very possessive, kinda dom!wally, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: this is part 2!! Part 1 is linked below <3 And part 3 soon! I had to take a moment to breath and relax while writing this cause hello????? god jesus have mercy I'm literally gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Also, thank you so much for the love on part 1!! it made me soooo happy to see you guys liked it <3333 it means the world to me!

Word count: 4043

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn, again - noah cyrus.

masterlist. part 1. part 2. part 3

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

"Skinny dipping," you repeated, lips curving into a playful grin. "Just don't get all excited to see me naked, Clark," you teased, pushing him lightly. "And hands to yourself," you added.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening a little. He couldn't help but smirk as well. He was excited at the thought of seeing you like that.

"I make no promises," he replied with a teasing grin, his raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I mean it, Clark," you huffed, rolling your eyes, though the warmth you felt bubbling up inside you betrayed the annoyance you were trying to fake.

He leaned in again, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you blame me, though?" his voice dipped lower, rougher, almost a whisper. "You look so damn pretty, I can't help but flirt a little."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him notice it. You pushed him back again, keeping the smirk on your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you drawled, tilting your head. "Am I the first girl you've ever said this to? Or the fourth? Or ninetieth?"

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. The truth was, Wally had a certain reputation, and everyone knew it. His charming smiles, teasing grins, and how he made girls feel like they were the center of his world… He never meant any of it. None of the girls he flirted with ever came close to you, to how you made him feel.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

"None of those girls were you," he said quietly. "And none of them meant anything to me."

With a dramatic sigh, you place your hand over your forehead, pretending to swoon. "Oh, Wally! How you make my heart race!"

His laugh was loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flip every single time you heard it. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he nudged you in the stomach. "Oh, shut up," he said, grinning. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

"And you love it," you shot back, tilting your chin up in defiance.

Wally didn't answer immediately. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, and it made your chest feel too tight. He took a step closer again.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice just above a whisper. "I do."

The teasing had completely vanished now. Your throat suddenly felt dry, your pulse hammering in your ears. Something in his eyes told you that he wasn't playing anymore.

Your mouth opened, but before you could say anything, he lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long, his touch light, but it managed to burn right through you.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he spoke, the way his gaze bore into you, the slight grin on his lips—it was all too deliberate, too calculated, and it made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn't lie, it was pure desire that clouded them and his judgment too. Wally had always been a flirt with everyone, and you were no exception. There had always been playful and flirty banter between you, but it was nothing more than a game. Nothing more than playful teasing. This? This felt different, it felt real. Lines were getting blurry, and your body was reacting in a way you never thought possible.

"You're trouble, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb grazing your jaw.

Your breath hitched. "Takes one to know one," you whispered back.

His eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought he was going to close the distance between you completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs, anticipation running through every nerve in your body.

With a smooth, effortless motion, Wally pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He knew you were watching him, and you did. You watched him, you couldn't tear your eyes away, hypnotized by his every movement, by the way the moonlight caressed his skin, his body gleaming under the soft light. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times before–he loved to work out and flaunt what he'd earned. But tonight? Tonight felt so much different. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you let your gaze travel down his chest, the way his abs tightened as he took off his shorts, kicking them aside, leaving only his boxers on. "You coming?" his voice was casual. But the way his eyes roamed over you, the way his smirk depended as he noticed the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, it was anything but innocent. "Go ahead," he added, nodding toward the water. "Get in first. I'll be right behind you."

You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you arched a brow. "Oh, I see what you're doing," you mused, propping yourself on your hip. "You want me to strip first so you can get a show, huh?"

Wally's grin became bigger, shameless, and cocky. "And if I do?" he murmured.

"Then that makes you predictable," you shot back, tilting your head trying to feign disinterest.

His smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew bolder. "Or just a man with very good taste," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. "But, hey, if you're too shy—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the hem of your white shirt and pulled it over your head, letting it drop carelessly onto the ground. His smirk vanished. It was only for a second, but you saw it, the way his throat bobbed, the way his gaze dropped, drinking every inch of you. Satisfaction curled in your stomach.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. That cocky smirk? Gone. Replaced by something you couldn't quite place, something darker, deeper. Something raw.

You stepped toward the pool, your back to him, deliberately ignoring his presence, pretending you didn't feel the heat of his gaze burning into you. "You were saying?" you teased, sliding your skirt down inch by inch, slowly, letting it slip past your thighs and pool at your feet before stepping out of it. "What was that about me being too shy?"

A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Victory. He wasn't smirking anymore—his mouth slightly parted, eyes darker, stance tense like he was barely holding himself together. You had him right where you wanted him.

But you weren't done. If he wanted a show, he was gonna get one.

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you let your hands drift behind your back, fingers working the clasp of your lace bra with infuriating slowness. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling faster.

The straps slid down your shoulders, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. And still, you watched him, letting his gaze devour you. Letting the bra drop, you let yourself bask in the way his pupils dilated, the way his hands clenched, every single vein and muscle in his arms tensing like he was fighting every instinct to move towards you and touch you.

And he was. God, he was fighting it, hard. Every demon inside him was telling him to grab you, to pull you close to him, to feel your skin against his, to claim you.

With a wicked grin, you toyed with the waistband of your lace black underwear, sliding it down, teasing him slowly. "Cat got your tongue, Clark?" you chuckled. Before he could answer, you turned your head and slipped into the pool.

When you submerged in the water, disappearing from his view, he let out a sharp exhale, the sound more like a whimper. As you resurfaced, he could've sworn he stopped breathing. You were everything he had ever wanted, and to see you there, bare, wet, and exposed? It was almost too much for him to handle.

His hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with the effort to restrain himself. His gaze didn't waver—it never left your body, exploring every inch of you.

You looked mesmerizing, the way the moonlight made your wet skin glow underneath it. He was desperate to touch you, to run his hands over your perfectly soft skin.

You ran your hands over your wet, slicked-back hair, your gaze on him. Wally stood there, frozen, eyes dark and fixed on you.

It was intoxicating, the power you had over him.

"What happened to all that smooth talk, Clark?" you teased, tilting your head, a playful smirk on your lips. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

That did it.

Wally's jaw locked, his hands clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. For a second, you thought he might actually fight it—might crack a joke, roll his eyes, brush it off like he always did, return to his usual cocky self.

But then, without hesitation, he shoved his boxers down and kicked them aside. His eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, the hard lines of his body tense with restraint, every muscle in his stomach flexing as he fought for control. And then there was the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, thick and hard, a blatant display of everything he wanted—everything he wanted from you.

A shiver went down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach as your eyes slowly flickered up to his.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, smoothly, deliberately, like a predator hunting its prey, before dipping into the pool. The water rippled as he disappeared beneath the surface. And then, he surged back up, breaking through the water right in front of you, so close that droplets splashed on your face, so close that his lips nearly brushed yours as he exhaled a deep, slow breath.

You inhaled sharply, instinctively swimming back, but his hands were already on your waist, locking you in place. Holding you right there, right where he wanted.

“What happened to all that smooth talk, sweetheart?" he repeated your exact words, the term of endearment making your stomach flip. His voice low, almost teasing. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smirk even as every nerve in your body buzzed with anticipation. This was dangerous, you knew it, and he did too.

But neither of you seemed to care.

"You think you're real cute, don't you?" his voice was low and rough, every word seemed to vibrate through your chest as his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice made your knees weak.

You grinned, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "I don't think," you whispered. "I know."

A low growl rumbled in his throat. And suddenly, you weren't smirking anymore. There wasn't a single hint of playfulness in his eyes. They were filled with pure and raw heat. Dangerous, Hungry. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him. Beneath the water, skin met skin, heat against heat. It was undeniable now, impossible to ignore, impossible to run away from. Everything you tried to ignore, every line you'd both tried so hard not to cross.

Everything was collapsing in on itself.

This was happening.

This was real.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His voice was thick with frustration, like he was holding back every ounce of self-control. Every inch of him trembled beneath your hands, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers digging into your waist. The struggle was written all over his face. He wanted you. You could see it. Feel it. He was trying so hard to hold back.

And God, he wanted to. You could feel it in the way his body tensed against yours, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his lips hovered right there, barely an inch away, like he was dying to close the distance. Dying to taste you.

You inhaled sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs. What the hell were you doing?

Stripping in front of him? Letting him see you like this, bare and exposed? Teasing him? Knowing exactly what it would do to him?

It wasn't like you at all.

It wasn't like either of you.

This wasn't the playful banter you'd always shared. It never got further than simple jokes and meaningless teasing. This? This was territory neither of you had ever ventured into. There was a thin, fragile line. You wanted to cross it. You needed to. But the fear... the fear of losing everything you had—the fear of losing him—kept you hanging on, just barely.

Wally swallowed hard, his fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your skin. "You're dangerous," he whispered again, lower this time, rougher, as if the words were ripped straight from his chest. His hands tightened against your hips beneath the water, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for hesitation—begging for it, for a reason to stop.

But there was none.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think. "Am I?"

His breath caught a subtle tremor in his jaw. "Don't tease me," he growled. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

But you did.

And so did he.

His forehead dipped to yours, his breathing uneven. Your hands slid up, curling around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his wet hair. His eyes squeezed shut like he was trying—really trying—to fight it.

But there was nothing left to fight.

You’d both lost this battle a long time ago.

"You know this changes everything," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking over the words. His thumb brushed your skin, so painfully slow, like he was memorizing you, like he was savoring this moment.

Your chest tightened. You knew he was right. You knew this was it—the point of no return.

But it was too late for second thoughts.

Your lips parted, breath shaking. His eyes darkened at the sight of your open mouth, the sounds of your shaky breath making his pulse quicken. He was undone. Completely undone. All his hesitation, his willpower, his good intentions. Gone. He was drowning in you.

"Maybe it should," you whispered.

A sharp inhale. His hands gripped you tighter, and his forehead dropped fully against yours. "You have no idea what you're saying."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Oh, I think I do."

His head lifted just enough for your eyes to lock, his pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. His mouth was right there. Just a little more...

"You don't fucking get it," he rasped, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. "If we do this—if I kiss you—I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to just pretend it didn’t happen. You know that, don’t you?”

Your pulse slammed in your throat, and you nodded, barely breathing.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, like he was trying to soothe himself, trying to keep his composure. But you could feel it—the tension radiating off him, the heat rolling off his body even beneath the water.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered.

His eyes darkened, the grip on your waist tightening, pressing into your skin, making you groan. You were sure he was going to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. 

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "You think this is a fucking game?"

“A little," you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Wally let out a strained, bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in his eyes. No playfulness was left in the smile that painted his face. “You wanna keep playing?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but there was an edge to it now, something deeper, dangerous. “Because I can play, sweetheart. But you better be ready for what happens when I stop holding back. When I stop pretending, we can go back to how things were. When I stop fucking pretending we're just friends.”

With a growl, he pushed you through the water until your back hit the edge of the pool. The impact and the feeling of the cold tiles sent a sharp shiver down your spine, making you gasp. The way he mandhandled you with such ease, his grip so possessive, the way his body caged you in completely, it made your head spin. 

His lips brushed yours—just barely. But it was enough to make your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You should say it. You should push him away, laugh it off, pretend like this was just another game, another moment of playful teasing between best friends who had spent years toeing the line.

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers crept up his neck, nails tracing the hard line of his jaw, tightening in his wet hair, pulling him closer, your body pressing against his beneath the water. You felt the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your ribs, his thumb caressing your breasts, like he was barely hanging on.

Your lips brushed against his as you whispered, “I dare you.”

A sharp inhale. His hands tightened. "Don't," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I swear, if you keep looking at me like that—"

"Like what?" you interrupted, faking innocence as your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping over his hard muscles.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Like you want this."

Your lips curled. "Who says I don't?"

A low groan rumbled from his chest, his restraint hanging by a thread. His hands slid down slowly, gripping, teasing, like he was testing himself—testing you. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," you whispered, your mouth just barely on his, so close he could feel your words on his skin. "You're the one who doesn't."

His jaw ticked. "Don't push me," he warned, his voice a painful growl. 

You tilted your head, dragging your nose against his. "Why? Afraid you'll give in?"

"Afraid I won't be able to stop."

A wicked smile danced on your lips as you leaned in, your mouth grazing the corner of his. Not a kiss—just a taste. "You know what I think?” you murmured, your teeth just barely scraping against his lips, leaving the most devastating kiss there. “I think you’ve thought about this. A lot.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you taunted him, your voice nothing but a breath, a challenge, a plea. "Just tell me I'm wrong, and we'll stop, we'll forget any of this happened, we'll just—"

His patience snapped.

His hands slid down your waist, gripping your thighs before he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around him. A choked gasp escaped your lips as you felt all of him, thick and hard, pressing right against your soaked core. A groan tore from his throat, guttural and desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, bruising you. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “You keep grinding on me like that and I fucking swear–” His words cut off into a sharp inhale as you grinded against him again. 

You rolled your hips against him, dragging your slick heat over the hard ridge of his cock, and his entire body tensed.  

A sharp, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his grip turning bruising as he slammed your body harder against the cool tile. His mouth was on you in an instant—biting, licking, claiming—his teeth scraping your jaw, his tongue lapping at the spot he just marked, soothing it just to do it all over again. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. 

You swallowed hard. The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them.

Stop.

No, you wouldn’t. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going, to touch you right where you needed him the most, to make you his, to claim you, to possess you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, on your entire body. You needed this, the release–you needed him. 

“Say. It.” His groan was raw, wrecked. His hands ghosted up your thighs, slow, teasing, so agonizingly close to where you needed them. “Tell me to fucking stop.”

You stayed silent. 

His lips curled into a dark smirk. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

His hands flexed, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging your hips flush against him, grinding against your core so hard and deep it made your breath catch.

“Fuck, you feel that?" he groaned, his voice rough dripping with need. "Feel how hard you make me? You did that, sweetheart. You."

His lips brushed your jaw, teasing, before his teeth sank into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot, only to bite again, harder this time.

"You don't think I've noticed? The way your eyes are on me when you think I'm not watching? The way your whole body reacts to me?"

His fingers dug into your hips, hard, making you gasp, dragging your body against him once more, letting you feel every single inch of how much he wanted you.

Fuck.

"You've been playing a dangerous game, baby," he growled. "Playing dumb, acting like all those little teases, all those flirty smiles, all those times you touched me without meaning to—like they didn't mean anything."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"But we both know that's not true, don't we?" His grip became stronger by the minute, his fingers slithering lower, teasing the edge of your stomach, dancing along your skin with agonizing precision. He knew what he was fucking doing, he wanted to drive you insane, the same way you drove him to the brink of insanty.

"You know it's not true. Deep down, you always knew exactly what you've been doing to me."

And he was right.

Every glance, every touch, every smile, every almost—you’d been testing him, taunting him. Watching, waiting, wondering how far you could push before he snapped.

And now? He was breaking apart.

His fingers inched lower, making your entire body arch against him, desperate, aching, starving for more.

Please, please, please.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers finally found your aching clit, pressing down in slow, agonizing cirles.

Oh, fuck.

Your head fell back against the cool tile, your breath coming out in ragged pants. This was different. He was different. This wasn't the Wally you were used to—your best friend, the sweet, flirty, cocky, Wally who loved teasing you just as much as you teased him.

This was someone else, a completely different version of him you'd never seen before. Dangerous.

"I think you know how much I fucking want you," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes dark, desperate, completely feral with need. "And you've been pretending you don't feel it, too."

You swallowed hard, but no words would come out. What could you say? That he was wrong? That this was just another game?

It wasn't. Not anymore.

You'd crossed every line, and there was no going back.

Your entire body trembled as his fingers moved harder, faster, making your entire world narrow to the feeling of his fingers against your aching core.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your breath coming in gasps, but you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when you were falling apart in his hands.

Not when you felt so good pressed against him.

So fucking good.

"And now, baby?" His tongue brushed over your lips, slowly. "Now you're gonna find out exactly what happens when you push me too fucking far."

[ruinix]

Where can I order this? Ma'am, I'm in your walls (affectionate).

Me on the left reading this and kicking my feet while also somehow crossing them coz ehem 👀... Me on the right coz my period is soon...where is my Quinn who'll eat it out and who'll fuck me...guess I'll just sob and die

Screaming, sobbing, bawling, screeching. I WANT THIS.

I like fluffy period Quinn Hughes. But I love writing feral Quinn.

Even though this is probably gross and I'll lose half my followers lmao. But horny brain is something and horny brain needs this.

Warnings!!!!!: please, I said this before with Jack blood stuff but this is even worse, don't read this if you're squeamish. If the idea of period sex, period head, period blood generally everywhere disgusts you, just don't even read a line lmao.

I went off the deep end and gave into my brain. I wouldn't be surprised if nobody likes this.

The way he'd be waiting for this every month. It's his favourite time of the month. He refuses to miss a month too. If he's supposed to be on a roadie when your period is due, he's doing everything he can to try and encourage your body to give him what he wants before your actual date.

He's constantly researching new ways to try and control it, to help it along. Doesn't care if they're false, if they're researched. He just can't afford to miss one. He has to be there personally. Facetiming and whining until you give in and masturbate on your period isn't enough.

You'd be too embarrassed, too worried about making a mess. Wouldn't give him what he needs. Wouldn't angle the camera at your cunt, wouldn't dare slide a finger in, wouldn't show him the blood.

You're embarrassed enough when he's there. He has to keep you sleepy enough to not react until he's too deep into his pleasure, until you're too exhausted to fight against his grip.

He knows you secretly enjoy it though. It happens every single month. Every single month he gives you some 'sleepy' tea. Every single month when he's trying to control the date, bringing you bowls of fruit every single day. How he's suddenly eating you out like a starved man, slowly massaging your walls multiple times a day leading up to his roadie.

The way he tries to encourage your body. To give him what he needs.

He knows you don't understand it fully. Understand why he needs this, why he feels like he'll go insane if he doesn't get to care for you in his own way. Why it makes him feral, why he needs to see you and himself covered in it.

How you don't understand that it makes him feel like he's doing a good job for you, how he's cleaning you up, how connected he feels to you, how your body gives into him.

It's adorable how you pretend that it isn't gonna happen. Even if it is a little frustrating how you put little barriers in his way. You think he won't rip any defense away? Whatever's in his way of getting to your core and the blood, he's ripping away. He doesn't care if you whine about it. He doesn't understand why you even bother wearing underwear the night before. He's here. He'll take care of it.

He's staying awake, staring at your cunt all night. Slowly trying to encourage it, eating you out for hours while you're ever so slightly knocked out. Swirling his tongue around your walls, shoving his nose against your extra sensitive little clit, desperate to help you along. Needing the first drop of the blood to come. Needing it on his face, in his mouth.

You taste so fucking good to him before you bleed. It's like your body's trying to make him addicted, to work with him.

The minute he feels the blood on his tongue, his eyes are rolling back in his head. Moaning into your cunt, tongue moving faster, rapidly devouring your pussy. Ignoring the ache in his neck from how he changes his angles constantly, wanting to be deeper. To get a better angle. To get more of you. He's never satisfied.

Your weak little protests when you stir, realising what he's doing again. The way you try and push his head away, like you stand a chance. Like you think you can separate him from you. You don't want to make this worse for yourself. He's being kind to you. He's not fully giving in to the temptation of having you ride his face.

He's pulling back to glare at you softly, his hair sticking to his forehead in exhaustion from all the hours of eating you out through the night, the blood from your cunt covering his chin, creeping up to his cheeks with how fucking messy he's being with you.

Rubbing his face against your thighs while he stares at you, rubbing it off on your thighs on purpose, giving you a little warning. The blood mixing with your arousal making even more of a combined mess.

Biting your thigh hard enough to make you yelp as another punishment when he realises blood's escaped from your cunt on the bed. You're really making him waste some?

If you want to play that game.. he'll play along. If you want to make a mess, he'll make a fucking mess. He's not afraid to make the bed look like a crime scene. Maybe you'll get the memo if he does - maybe you'll stop protesting when he's only eating you out.

Flipping you over on your stomach, laughing at how you squirm, only helping gravity out with making a mess, yanking down his sweatpants and boxers, needing to be inside you. Needing to send the message, to feel you soaking his cock. You don't need any prep - after all he's been eating your pussy out for hours on top of the blood providing the perfect lube.

The way he has to hold back from cumming the minute he pushes slowly into you, watching the way his cock drags the blood back in on his thrusts, pausing every single time he pulls back, waiting for blood to pool around and drip down before he's thrusting in again.

He doesn't need to be fast. Pausing against your cervix every single time, circling his hips gently against your ass when he's balls deep, ignoring your little whines at the pain and sensitivity.

Anything he can't push back in, he's spreading on your thighs. Making the mess from earlier worse. Painting your ass, your hips, your legs, your thighs. Anywhere he can touch, his grip tight, wanting even more leverage to fuck you deeply.

The way you cum around his dick sends him into a trance, your whines so loud as you squeeze his cock, like your cute little pussy is praising him and thanking him for taking care of it.

He doesn't think he can stop fucking you. Can he please, please, please stay inside you until it's over. The idea of flooding you with cum over and over again, the way it'd mix with you. Mixing DNA, making himself part of you. You'll make him the happiest man in the world.

On the plus side.. he'll be helping you with the pain with the constant orgasms. It's a win, win really. He just wishes you wouldn't put up such a fight.

@amourtoken you encouraged my behaviour, look what you did.

[cuteandhughesy]

Met You At The Right Time╰┈➤ QH43

summary: falling in love with quinn through your shared years at college (umich!quinn x reader)

[word count] 3.3k

warnings: NSFW! university relationship | kissing | mentions of drinking and partying | smut | loosing virginity | mentions of p in v intercourse | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: based off this request! this was so fucking fun and cute to write and now I want quinn as my boyfriend ! so hope you all feel the same

🎵 feels like by gracie abrams, constellations by jade lemac, birds of a feather by billie eilish, + live while we're young by one direction

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ღ bf! quinn hughes who you first met at the rink. one of your good friends was dating another one of the wolverines and asked you to accompany her to his game.

quinn had spotted you during the warm-ups. your smile wide and amused as you watched all the athletes warm up in their own routines. you were joking with chloe—your friend—while her boyfriend tossed you both pucks over the glass. quinn almost passed out when you glanced his way—sending him a sweet, reserved grin. he forced himself to smile back, and when that made you blush and look away, quinn knew that he had to know you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asked his teammate about you as soon as the game finished—a victory for the wolverines, thankfully. he attempted to sound nonchalant and uninterested, but his teammate knew quinn too well. he wrapped quinn up in a firm, annoying side huge and gave him a nugie, all while saying 'does huggy bear have a crush on y/n?'

quinn thought the name suited you perfectly. thankfully quinn doesn’t need to ask again before his teammate is getting your number from chloe.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who texted you the following night. at first you were confused—a random number sending you a message with no identification other than a simple 'hey, is this y/n?' curious and intrigued, you responded immediately; 'this is she. who's this?'

quinn's response was immediate, 'shit, sorry. it's quinn hughes.'

and of course that made you giggle into your palm, feet kicking like you're an oversized excited child. because quinn fucking hughes was texting you. quinn hughes, the cutie who sits two rows back from you in kinesiology class. quinn hughes who was stupid good at hockey and was looking at you during warmups the day before.

you don't even care how he got your number (he told you regardless though, obviously), all you cared about was him wanting to text you in the first place.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after a week and a million shared text messages later, you run into at a local coffee shop—where you merely miss spilling your entire iced chai down the front of his light coloured hockey hoodie.

he freezes and stutters at the sight of your flushed face, and his nerves only build when he sees that you're not nervous to talk to him. quinn quickly realizes he has some sort of infatuation with you, and before he can sike himself out he asks you on a date.

quinn asks in the middle of your scentence, but you don't even care. he's cute—he's dorky. 'would you wanna get dinner together sometime? like maybe thursday, if you're free?'

you are so free.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who picks you up at your dorm room before your first date. he lives off campus with his friends, and he borrowed his roommates car to come and get you. he brings you flowers—which you put in an empty orange juice bottle that you filled with water—and hugs you at the door. it’s kinda awkward and so perfectly quinn.

he lets his hand hover your lower back as you walk to the car, and of course he opens the door for you. quinn lets you play your music in the car, and he lets you talk his ear off—he can’t help but admire how comfortable you are around him. he thinks you’re like sunshine.

quinn takes you to a local italian restaurant, where you order chicken alfredo and he orders spaghetti bolognese. the conversation flows between you easily, and by the time desert rolls around, you’re sharing a lava cake—your respective spoons swiping at each others while playfully fighting for the same bites.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after bringing you back to your dorm, grabs your wrist before you can walk in. your roommate isn’t home yet, and you can smell the peonies quinn brought that you left in the jug by the door.

you blink at him curiously, because you’ve already shared your pleasant goodbyes and made plans to see each other again. ‘you okay?’

quinn’s palm is sweaty where it wraps around you. he’s nervous, and he swallows roughly—eyes darting around your blushing face like he can’t get enough. ‘can I kiss you?’

your answer is pushing up to your toes and wrapping you arms around his neck. that’s when quinn leans down, kissing you timidly but also firmly. he’s never felt lips softer than yours, and you’ve never had a kiss turn your stomach inside out the way quinn’s did.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you on a second date, and then a third, and then a fourth. each date is accompanied by a kiss, and another kiss—until all it feels like you’re doing is giggling and kissing like teenagers.

he’s a gentleman, and never makes advances that you aren’t comfortable with. quinn brings you to the beach for sunsets, kissing you under the glow of the setting sun. he takes you to the movies and to a local pottery class—sneaking kisses anytime your eyes meet.

he asks you to be his girlfriend on your fourth date while you’re both still in the car, hands twitching against his pants nervously. you’ve never smiled bigger, and you squeal in excitement, leaning over the centre console and kissing him.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has never had a serious girlfriend before, only stupid month or so situationships and meaningless hookups. so now that he’s got you, an actual girlfriend, he’s enamoured by all the little ‘girlfriend’ things you do.

quinn goes feral when you wear his clothes. the sight of you waking up in his cozy bed, blinking tiredly while his shirt rides up your body, revealing your underwear…quinn just about dies.

you cook dinner for him, and you always tickle his back when he’s falling asleep. you want to watch all his favourite movies, and you want to learn about hockey—which leads to him teaching you how to skate, where you inevitably fall and bring him down with you.

you’re the perfect girlfriend. and even though quinn stresses he doesn’t need you to fold his laundry or pick up his shampoo when you notice he’s out, he appreciates it more than he could ever express.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always is getting you flowers. whether it’s a pre-made bouquet from the grocery store, an arrangement he picked out at the florist, or a bunch of wild flowers from the park beside his house, quinn is giving you flowers.

when he’s at the grocery store he always picks up your favourite ben & jerry’s ice cream, as well as your favourite drink. quinn always makes sure you have water before he gets in bed himself, because you’ll be upset if you don’t, and he lets you tuck your feet under his legs because they’re always cold.

quinn is the sweetest boy you’ve ever known and he is constantly making sure you’re content before anything else.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who takes your virginity. you’ve only had one boyfriend and that was back in highschool—the farthest you’d gone with him was kissing and a little groping. when you tell quinn that you’re a virgin, he’s a little nervous—especially because he’s already hovering over you, painfully hard while your bare tits are starring at him. the only reason he’s nervous is because he wants you to be comfortable and sure. he wants it to be perfect for you.

but when you assure him in a breathy whisper, your small nimble fingers reaching out and squeezing his dick, quinn can’t hold himself back any longer. he fucks you soft and sweet, bucking into you at a pace that has your breath hitching. quinn checks on you through the whole thing, scattering kisses along your face and neck while you’re moaning in pleasure.

it’s perfect for you, and that makes it perfect for quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who plays a little extra hard when you’re in the crowd. there’s something so special about having you watching him in the stands during his games, cheering him on and jumping up and down with excitement. quinn swears he can hear you over the crowd, and that always pushes him a little bit more.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always makes sure to comfort you when you’re stressed—and vice versa.

you often get overwhelmed with your school work. you’re very smart and have a jam packed schedule, and a lot of the time if you want to spend time with quinn, you’re bringing your textbooks and laptop so you can get some work done. quinn hates the way you sigh shakily when you reach a difficult question. you’re tired and done with school, and most of the time it makes you emotional.

when you begin to cry quinn darts to you, wrapping you in a hug while you sob into his shoulder. he rubs your back soothingly, squeezing your arms and sides comfortingly. he whispers words of reassurance in your ear until you’ve calmed down, and when you inevitably get back to work, quinn helps you. even though he has no fucking clue what you’re working on, the effort makes you melt.

quinn is always the most stressed when he’s dealing with an injury or illness—because that puts a pause on hockey. you know how much hockey means to your boyfriend, and seeing him so broken about not being able to play just wrecks you. in times like that, it’s the little things you do that help quinn feel better.

making him food and making sure he’s stocked up on drinks and getting his electrolytes. massaging his shoulders and giving him head scratches. if he’s injured you make sure he’s got everything in reach so he doesn’t have to move, and if he’s sick you make sure you’re in reach, because all quinn ever wants is you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who isn’t a huge party guy. he prefers staying in—watching movies and hockey highlights until he’s falling asleep, preferably with you tucked into his side.

you’ve always been more outgoing than quinn, and mingling is one of your favourite things to do. so every now and then when you go out, quinn joins you. he loves watching you in your element—dancing with your friends and talking to anyone who will listen. and when you’re wrapping yourself around quinn, blinking and pouting up at him all pretty asking him to dance with you, quinn never declines.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has a few lovey dovey nicknames for you—lovey being one of them. there’s a few more common terms of endearment like babe, baby and beautiful that often slip from his lips like second nature. they’re the safest ones, the nicknames he’ll call you around his friends and yours like it’s no big deal. but then there’s the nicknames he reserves for when it’s just you both—honey, his girly, and your personal favourite: lovey.

your nicknames for quinn are simple—usually just babe or baby. but on the odd occasion when everything feels really soft and intimate, you’ll can him bubba.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who’s love language is words of affirmation. he didn’t realize it until after he met you that it was his love language, but anytime you praise him or reassure him, quinn’s stomach swoops and his heart flutters excitedly. he’s obsessed with the way you speak to him, and he’ll never get tired of it.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who knows your love language is physical touch. you love being close to quinn. if you’re not sitting next to him, you’re sitting on him—trying to get as close as possible at any means necessary. you love wrapping your hands around his arm, and throwing your leg over his hips when you’re in bed together.

quinn can be a bit awkward when it comes to physical contact, especially in public, and you understand and respect that. so when you’re out together and he kisses your cheek or wraps you in a hug, it makes it just that much sweeter.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who may not always go out to parties with you, but will always drop you off and pick you up if you need a ride. it could be a local bar or a random sticky frat house, quinn will be there if you need him.

he’s the most patient human in the world. guiding you to the car while you babble about nonsense—completely hammered. quinn pulls over if you feel sick, even if you has to pull over 15 times in a 5 minute ride. he helps you shower if you’re sticky, and he puts you in pyjamas before you get in bed—no matter who’s place you’re at. quinn makes you chug water and take advil, and he makes sure you’re sleeping on your side incase you get sick.

and he doesn’t even mind doing it either. as long as you’re safe and okay, quinn will do whatever he needs to.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who says I love you first. you’ve been dating for 6 months, and spring is blooming in michigan. it’s the first really warm day of march, and he’s taken you to the pier for a afternoon date.

you walk the pier and have shitty boardwalk food—laughing, kissing and talking about anything and everything. dates like this are always your favourite. just you, quinn and the comforting atmosphere.

you had been mid talking about the book you were reading, a book that was making you angry because you claimed the plot was ‘stupid’. you were telling quinn about the main character, hands moving animatedly as you talked when quinn just said it.

‘I love you so much, y/n’ he said quitley. but you heard it, and your previous ramble comes to a halt. you blinked once, and then again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. and then tears begin forming in your eyes, and quinn smiles. ‘don’t cry lovey’ he said, pulling you into his chest.

but of course you continue to cry, holding onto quinn like your life depended on it. and when you look up at him and say it back, lashes all wet and nose running, quinn thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has to be almost sneaky when it comes to having sex with you. you live in a dorm room with a roommate, and he lives in a house with four other teammates. quinn doesn’t have his own car, and neither do you. having sex is like trying to curate a spy mission.

you have to plan times you’ll be alone, which is usually in your dorm room between 5 p.m and 6:30 p.m while you’re roommate is in a clinical lab. that’s always the best sex with quinn because he doesn’t have to hold back. he holds you against the mattress with his body, and there’s a pillow shoved under your hips while he slips in from behind. quinn pounds you into the mattress until it’s creaks, and he has to cover your mouth to muffle your moans. after all, it’s still a dorm room and you have neighbours.

but there are times when you’re both too impatient and horny. his roommates are scattered through his house, half downstairs and the other only a room over. quinn’s simple and innocent kisses soon turn more heated, and before either of you can think logically, you’re exposing only the essentials so quinn can slip into your heat while he holds your legs open.

your moans are muffled with his lips, and he shoves a pillow between the wall and headboard to not give away what you’re doing.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who gets really stressed once scouts starts checking him out for the upcoming draft. you notice in the way his shoulders are tighter, and he starts to get a little distant.

of course it hurts your feelings, but you understand the pressure he’s feeling. so like the sweet girlfriend quinn knows you to be, you reassure him. you’re not too pushy, and you’re not overwhelming. you kiss him gently and whisper your confidence in him when it’s just the two of you, facing each other in bed—nothing but the moonlight illuminating you.

it helps him more than you’ll ever know.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who is a silent jealous type. he knows you’re social, and he also knows that guys love that. when you’re at parties and mingling your little heart out, lots of guys will try and make advances on you.

you ooze confidence, and your smile is so fucking pretty that quinn almost understands these guys. but you’re his girlfriend, and the sight of these boys trying to touch you and flirt with you makes his blood boil.

of course you don’t entertain them, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy that stirs within your boyfriend. you can always tell when quinn is feeling jealous because his body gets tense and he pouts like a little boy. it doesn’t matter where you are—could be the beach and strangers are checking out your body, or a grocery store and a man compliments your smile, quinn always has the same jealous reaction. and that’s no reaction at all expect that frown.

when you see it you’re instantly moving, wrapping yourself around quinn and giving his pulse point a little kiss. and when you murmur that you love him, quinn always cracks.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who even when you’re fighting, never raises his voice at you. it doesn’t matter how frustrated he is, or how pointless your argument is, quinn would never yell. most of the time is just makes you angrier, because why can’t he just put you in your place—especially when you know you’re being annoying and stupid. but quinn always just tries to problem solve in a calm, soothing voice.

but don’t worry, he puts you in your place in other ways ;)

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you to stay with him for a few weeks in the summer at the lake house before the draft.

if quinn wasn’t in love with you already, seeing you with his family would’ve had him falling. you always cook breakfast with ellen in the morning, the two of you giggling and chatting like you’ve known each other for ears. you go golfing with quinn and his dad, and even though you suck at it, jim has nothing but praise and encouragement for you.

jack and luke tease you like you’re their sister. they push you into the pool and steal your fries when you’re not looking, which always makes you laugh. you blend in with his family so well, quinn can’t do anything but smile and admire it all as it unfolds.

you sit with quinn during bonfires and movie nights on the couch, sharing quick kisses when you both think nobody is watching—news flash, somebody is always watching, which usually ends with his mom cooing or his brothers teasing. you and quinn both wake up a little extra early, stifling moans as quinn pushes into your heat in the uninterrupted hours of the morning. you swim like kids, go grocery shopping with his brothers, dance in the moonlight as taylor swift songs, make out on the boat when everyone else stays back. it’s perfect. its simply just you and quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who you sit beside at the nhl draft. he’s nervous, your hand clutched in his clammy one while his thumb runs over your knuckles absentmindedly. just before the draft starts, you squeeze his hand three times, a silent I love you. and quinn squeezes back.

his name gets called and you feel like crying. he hugs his parents first, and then quinn turns to you, a smile on his face while your eyes begin to go misty. he kisses you, in front of the cameras and the crowd because he knows you’re going to be together for the rest of your lives, and the nhl might as well get used to you now, because you’re not going anywhere.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world. 

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too. 

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own. 

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death. 

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage. 

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns. 

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath. 

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles. 

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet? 

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall. 

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight. 

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret. 

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.” 

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again. 

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you. 

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest. 

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room. 

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory. 

He softens only when his gaze meets yours. 

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter. 

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?” 

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear. 

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear. 

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—” 

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw. 

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do. 

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks. 

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself. 

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood. 

Twice, once, three times. 

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers. 

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,”  he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway.  “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,”  Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan. 

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window. 

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths. 

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?” 

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving. 

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it. 

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel. 

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you. 

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you. 

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,”  the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body. 

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.” 

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids. 

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing. 

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress.  He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life. 

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone. 

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in. 

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you. 

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor. 

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams. 

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you. 

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him. 

You find none. 

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze. 

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—” 

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks. 

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue. 

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.” 

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you. 

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender.  “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come. 

“Was it a lie?” 

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!” 

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes. 

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away. 

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat. 

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention. 

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?” 

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth. 

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity. 

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response. 

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room. 

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights. 

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist. 

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt. 

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him. 

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap. 

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering. 

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you. 

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you. 

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Cherry Stems

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

description: eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. so you use them to your advantage. piss eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. maybe.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, age not specified but i imagine eddie/reader are 20+, porn without much plot, major teasing, reader is a brat, mentions of eating food, reader has no food aversions, nicknames, reader is flirting with eddie's bandmates, jealousy, possessiveness, name calling, face grabbing, eddie is lowkey a dom, unprotected p in v, fingering (vaginal), oral fixation, eddie puts his fingers in your mouth a lot, reader gets off on being bullied, orgasm denial, cum play, cum eating.... think that's it.

author’s note: hi i wrote this in one night. i am a whore for eddie, what else can i say. i'm also down to take requests, so if you see this, hey, send me an ask. maybe i'll cave and do some. as always, thanks bestie girl @amanitacowboy for helping me with this. let's never forget how much of a whore we are for this man. it keeps me (in)sane <3

Eddie had been teasing you all night and it was really starting to get to you. 

After a pretty electric performance at The Hideout, Eddie and his friends decided that they were hungry for some burgers from the empty Shiny Diner nearby. You had already had enough of Eddie’s shit at this point, so as soon as you sat next to him in the big half moon shaped booth, you knew it was game on. 

From eyeing you while he sang filthy lyrics from the stage, to the way he was working his hand up the hem of your dress when you sat at the bar, Eddie was truly being a menace. When the band got loud in the car on the way to the diner, you decided to make your move. You had rested your hand on Eddie’s crotch while sitting in the bucket seat next to him. While Eddie loved giving a good show, he was not keen on letting his friends see you in such a way. So he brushed your hand away and gave you the ‘not now’ eyes. 

You were for him and him only.

It aggravated you to no end, watching him rejoin the conversation with the guys, while you crossed your arms in disappointment.

But you were going to push some buttons tonight. You were going to get him back.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were all very sweet boys. Each of them have never been nothing but respectful of you. Gareth had known you longer than Eddie and he was actually the one who introduced you two. Jeff was usually a know-it-all, but he never dared question anything you said. And Grant… he was just quiet. Always following along with the antics and very well mannered. 

While you respected all the boys back, you also knew they found you attractive and that you could take advantage of that. After one specific smoke session together a couple months back, Eddie asked them all if they had a crush on you. He only ever said things like that to make them squirm. Teasing each other was the way they showed their love for one another. He also liked to remind people that they never stood a chance with you. And they all said that of course they found you pretty, but they would not dare go after you. 

Well, for one night only, you would give them believe they had a chance. Just to piss off Eddie. 

You had done this before. A year into your relationship, you had unintentionally made him jealous and it led to the most mind blowing sex of your life. The sex was so memorable that you do not even remember how you made him jealous. 

You needed that just about now. 

You were the only group there along with the waitress and line cook, so you were not worried about making a scene. You game plan how you were going to achieve such a feat as you scan the diner menu. You already knew what you wanted, but spotting the milkshakes on the list of drinks, a light bulb went off in your brain. 

The older waitress took down the boy’s order while you sat quietly staring at the menu. When it came down to you, you look up at the white haired woman and smiled. 

“One chocolate shake, extra whip cream and cherries, please.” You hand her the menu and glance over at a confused Eddie. You usually got a Dr. Pepper and a cheeseburger value meal, hold the lettuce. 

“Not hungry, baby?” He asks, reaching out for your black painted nails. You slide your hand away, acting like you are reaching for something in your purse. 

“Just wanna try something new.”

You pull your lipgloss out, still not looking over at Eddie. You twist off the top, placing the applicator on the middle of your bottom lip as your eyes flicker over to Grant’s. He is not paying much mind to anything, his eyes looking towards the window behind you. When he takes note of your gaze, he finally looks at you. 

You swipe the gloss across your lips, smirking devilishly. 

“What did you get, Grant?”

He thinks for a beat, realizing even he forgot what he ordered. “Uh… BLT with onion rings.”

You smack your lips together, rubbing your top lip on the bottom one painfully slow. 

“You gonna share your onion rings?”

He was not expecting the question, his lips curling upward before he chuckles. You can feel Eddie’s body stiffen as you ask the question. 

Grant nods, though, “Of course. You can have some-” “Baby, you’re not gonna eat his food.” You shoot a glare at Eddie, tossing your gloss back in your pocketbook. “Grant said I could, so… yeah I am.”

Eddie’s eyes search yours, trying to figure out what you are trying to do. You disguise your pleasure at his curiosity, rolling your eyes and pointing your attention at Jeff. He’s positioned right next to Grant, fiddling with his fingers. Before you can press him with a question, the waitress comes and puts down your drinks. She’s missing your milkshake. 

“That’ll be out in just a moment,” She says, grabbing her tray as she returns behind the counter, seemingly preparing your shake. You watch Jeff fiddle with his straw wrapper and you finally decide to bother him next. 

“Is that Dr. Pepper?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Jeff always got Dr. Pepper, just like you. It’s something you two bonded over often. He just nods, taking a sip of the bubbly beverage. You look over at the waitress quickly, seeing she’s still fiddling with the milkshake blender. 

You grab Jeff’s ice cold glass, your eyes glistening with innocence, “You mind if I have a sip? I’m parched.” And of course he’s too confused to say no. You pull the drink over and once it crosses to your side of the table, Eddie’s hand presses into your bare thigh. You do not react, taking Jeff’s straw into your mouth and sucking in a big sip, your eyes never leaving his. Once you pull the plastic away, you smirk. 

“Thanks, hun.” You push the drink back to him slowly. His cheeks heat up instantly when he notices your lipgloss on the tip of the straw. Eddie’s hand only squeezes more, trying to get you to look over at him. 

He wanted your attention so bad, his body curving closer to you. You can feel his gaze stuck onto the side of your face. 

Before anyone says anything else, the white haired lady returns with your chocolate shake. You giddedly grab the glass and stuff a straw into the frozen drink. 

You use your tongue to toy with the end of the straw, pulling it into your open mouth. Your eyes flicker away from Jeff and take aim at Gareth, who’s seated right across from you. Since he’s known you so long, you can already read on his face that he knows what you are up to. He may be a nice guy, but he too loves to fuck with Eddie. 

He was going to help you in whatever way possible. Instead of you initiating conversation, he speaks up. 

“Chocolate, huh? Thought you’d like vanilla.” Your eyebrow quirks up. You know Eddie’s face is bright red next to you. The heat radiating from him is pressing into your shoulder and thigh. 

“You got me pegged as a vanilla girl? That’s a bit offensive, Gare,” You smile, calculating your next move. You look down at the pile of whipped cream on the top of the shake. You drag your pointer finger across the top, gathering the cream all around it. 

You hear Eddie whispering beside you. “You better fuckin’ not.”

You smile, bringing your finger to your lips, not peeling your eyes from Gareth. You know the tension is palpable because Gareth’s smile is only widening when you lick the cream off your finger. 

The other guys are gawking at you at this point. You were putting on a show and they could not even fathom that it was happening before their very eyes. 

Gareth finally says something, nodding at the milkshake. “And extra cherries?”

“Gareth-,” Eddie’s voice fades over yours. 

“Oh yeah! You know I can tie the stems with my tongue?”

Eddie’s rings are going to be imprinted on your leg with how tightly he’s gripping onto you. You grab one of the cherries, getting your fingers covered in more whipped cream. You lean your head back a bit, your nose facing the old tile ceiling. You drop the cherry in your mouth, stem up. Tilting your head back, facing Gareth, you pull the cherry off the stem between your teeth. It’s unbelievably sensual the way you chew the red fruit. 

You show each of the boys the stem, even Eddie. When you glance over at him, you do not believe you have ever seen him so annoyed. He’s not hiding it well. You drop the stem on your tongue, returning your gaze over to Gareth. 

You roll the stem around, using your teeth slightly to do the stupid party trick you learned in 10th grade to impress a boy. It’s not impressive when every hot girl in school could do it, too. But nonetheless, it was something you could do to layer on the eroticism of the moment. 

When it’s tied, you contemplate taking it out of your mouth and showing it off. Maybe even drop it in Eddie’s hand. Instead, you decide to just extend your tongue out and show the stem on the very tip of your tongue. 

The color drains from Eddie’s face. It’s the end of the show for him. 

He grabs your forearm, ripping you out of the booth. You look back at Gareth, who’s still smiling, all the while Jeff and Grant look even more confused.  

When the fresh air hits you when he slams the glass door open, you flick your head to the side and spit out the stem in the gravel. His grip is so tight around your arm as he drags you to the van. It’s parked on the far side of the lot, occupying a spot that’s backed up to some woods. 

“What is wrong?”

Asking such a question only pisses him off further. Once you reach the van, his left hand flings the side door open. He practically tosses you onto the shag rug that lines the very back of the vehicle. 

“Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” His voice is intimidatingly deep.

Your legs hang out while Eddie stands over you, his hand resting on the top of the van. The back of your knees feel the sting of the frayed metal that hinges the door shut. You swallow, contemplating if you should continue messing with him. With the way he’s looking at you, you felt that this was not going to lead to the jealous sex you two had before. He’s actually angry. 

“You pushed my hand away when I wanted you earlier.”

Your voice is so small and unsure. His eyes narrow at you, his mouth slightly ajar in complete disbelief. The silence hanging in the air makes your heart rate increase. 

His mouth closes and you watch his jaw clench, “So you flirt with my friends right in front of me? Even when I explicitly said you better not.”

With his free hand, he swats your bare leg as you squeeze your thighs together. “Answer me.”

You watch the red mark appear on your flesh and decide to keep playing into the game. You had nothing to lose. If he’s actually angry, you could always have amazing make up sex instead. Eddie could not stay mad at you for too long. 

You shake your head, lifting your chin up in defiance. “All I did was tie a cherry stem.”

He does not accept that answer, slapping your thigh harder this time. 

You knew then that you had him where you wanted him. His eyes were giving him away. His pupils dilated as soon as he realized that you did not yelp at him slapping you around. 

Your eyes widen, watching him jump into the van beside you and dragging you back further. He slams the door, rattling the hunk of metal. The only light being let in is from the front windshield. A hazy warm lit streetlight only lights up Eddie’s face as he’s pining you to the ground. 

He positions himself between your legs, pushing the back of your thighs up with his knees. The skirt you chose for the occasion was pretty flowy, so it slid up your hips as soon as he props you up. “You want to act like a whore in front of my friends? All ‘cause I slapped your hand away earlier?”

His voice does not even sound like his. You hear the jiggling of his belt as he asks you the question. But the more twisted Eddie was, the more aroused you felt. You were drawn to him the first moment he teased you and bullied you a bit. You got off on him being callous. 

“Words. Now.”

You look down between your legs and see his cock springing free from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. You groan, the pulsating at your core coinciding with your heart rate. “Wanted to get your attention.”

He smacks your inner thigh, painfully close to your pantyline. You moan at the action, propping yourself up a bit more on your elbows. You watch as he carefully drags his pointer and middle finger under the hem of your lace. He smirks to himself, “That’s not what I fuckin’ asked.”

His fingers dip under your underwear, gathering the slick between your folds. You throw your head back, unable to hold back the sob as he spreads you open. You were putty in his hands, always bending to him. “Yes, Eddie.”

Your response leads to him sliding his fingers inside your cunt, a wet squelching noise filling both your ears. Your back thuds against the rug as your muscles give out under his touch. He fucks you with his fingers, the look on his face unreadable. He usually takes his time with foreplay, but this was different. He was testing how far he could take you in a limited amount of time. You were in a parking lot with his friends less than 500 feet inside, he could not take his time torturing you. 

His fingers retract from your pussy, gripping onto the lace of your panties and tearing them down your legs. When he sits back on his heels, you watch his long cock bounce with his movements. It sends a smile across your face. When he zeros in on you again, he tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk anymore.”

It makes you giggle at first, unsure if he’s really being serious. But when his face does not twist up into a smirk like it usually did, you realize you were in trouble. He takes ahold of his dick, leaning forward onto you. Your mouth falls open as you study Eddie dragging his tip between your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. 

He sinks into you, raising your hips a bit to meet him straight on. The stretch is always overwhelming for you at first. You and Eddie fucked at least three times a week, but he always made you cum before shoving his cock deep inside you. Stretching you out for a couple minutes with two fingers is not enough for you. He hisses when he pulls back, his hands grasping onto you for dear life. 

He wastes no time setting a bruising pace. There’s no build up, he is simply taking his annoyance out on you. You are reaching out to anything around you, trying to find something to hold onto as he rams into you. You find a sweatshirt nearby, squeezing it as tight as you can as you breathe out to relax your pelvic muscles.

“Eddie, please-” You try to say, throwing your head forward. He shifts your hips a bit more, opening you up wider. As he does that, he rakes his hands upward, pushing your skirt up higher to your belly button. He shakes your head to your pleas. 

“Eddie, please.” He mocks, relocating his hand to squeeze your cheeks together. When your jaw unhinges, Eddie inspects your tongue as he drills into you. “Put my fingers in your mouth.”

“Ed-”

He sandwiches your face harder, cutting you off from being able to say anything. He fills your mouth with the two fingers that were plunging inside of you earlier. The taste of your own arousal is still present on his fingers as you swirl your tongue around the digits. You mewl as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. “Shut up,” he orders, his face centimeters from yours, “Now suck them while I fuck you.”

You have no way to talk back, so you do what he says. You hallow your cheeks out, lathering all your saliva around his fingers. The build up in the pit of your stomach only gets more intense when Eddie hoists your leg up over his shoulder. You clench around him, tears pricking your eyes as you vibrate his fingers with your moans. 

“Do not fuckin’ cum yet,” He warns, pulling his fingers in and out of your mouth. His hips are faltering as he chases his own climax. Your body feels like every nerve ending is about to implode under the pressure of you holding back your orgasm, and Eddie can sense that. He drags his fingers out from your lips, rubbing your own spit into your lips. He grabs your jaw with the same hand, pulling your face closer to his.

“Say you’re mine. You’re only gonna be mine.”

You nod, knocking his forehead slightly. “I’m only ever gonna be yours, Eddie.”

With your foreheads touching, you watch as he falls apart inside you. 

And with three vicious snaps of his hips, he spills his seed deep inside you. He does not let out a sound. His mouth is agape as deep heaves fan your face. 

When he finishes, he slides his cock out of you and sits back on his knees again. Him exiting your body is so frustrating, you want to scream.  

He uses one arm to hold your one leg back as spit covered fingers swipe up your cunt. His spend is leaking out of you and you know if he works his usual magic, you will cum in 30 seconds. 

“Please, Eddie. Please let me cum.”

He smirks villainously, “Why should I let you, hm?” He spreads your pussy lips, getting a good look as his cum dribbles down to your asshole.

You are getting desperate. You never had to beg Eddie to cum, ever. He was always so generous. 

“I promise I’ll be good. Please, please.” He chuckles dryly before sinking his fingers back into you. “Fine. Since you asked so pretty and promised to behave yourself.”

His fingers scissor into you, that familiar burn in the pit of your stomach returning. As his two fingers make work at your entrance, his thumb swipes your clit in meticulous circles. His bottom lip is tucked under his top teeth, watching you fall apart on his fingers. You are practically chanting his name as he brings you to your peak. 

When your chest heaves, finally relaxing from your orgasm, Eddie slides his digits out of you and brings them up to his plump pink lips. He licks them clean, just like you did with the whipped cream earlier. 

“Hm… Don’t see how Gareth thought you were a vanilla girl,” He states, smiling sinfully at you. “You, my dear, are a fuckin’ vixen.”

-

tags of friends who may like this idk (if you wanna be tagged in the future, just lemme know <3):

@hockeyhughes @pedgito @mediocredreams @the-unforgivenn

[ruinix]

Hey...hey...holy shit...quinn, you sneaky mf. I love it.

Omg i love dark!quinn so much! Can I ask for another part of the dark!quinn puts smth in the drink?

The unfortunate part of having a very disorganised writing process is that everything I write is in some kind of weird non linear whore world, but I'm always happy to keep rambling about an idea. I've always got more in the tank. Warnings: drugging, touching when you're out cold.

He'd be so curious about how much he could push drugged up you. You're just so fragile, the way you're dead weight in his arms. You aren't even reacting to him picking you up. Are you really that out of it?

Will you.. remember what happens when you're like this? Does he have free rein? How long are you gonna be out? It's his first time trying anything like this and he's not sure if he gave you enough or too little.

A few minutes? A few hours? Can he give you more to keep you out of it?

He needs you in his bed first. Still needs to make sure you're comfortable after all and he can't do much with you when he's carrying you.

He'll bring the drink up with him. You didn't finish it all and it'll be his back up plan.

He'll just.. restrain you a little. You might lash out if you wake up. Maybe just a shirt tied around your arms? Enough to give him time if you do, but little enough that he can just play dumb about trying to change you to make you comfortable.

He's just sitting there for a while, staring at how adorable you look. He's not fully sure what he wants to do this first time. Does he touch you? He's gently tracing his fingers up your thigh before he can fully think about it.

He sees you stir, instantly panicking. Taking a risk, he pours some of the drink in his mouth, grabbing your jaw forcing your mouth open, leaning his face over yours to force the liquid from his mouth into yours, encouraging it down your throat with his tongue.

You seem to daze back off, he swiftly returns his fingers to your soft, plush thighs with a sense of urgency now. Sliding them up to rest inside the band of your strawberry covered underwear, feeling the bare untouched skin. You're even softer here.

Slowly trailing one finger over to your clit, passing over it once, seeing how your hips thrust against him even when you're drugged up.

The wet patch slowly spreading on one of the strawberries.. he can't stop watching. It's like you're taunting him. He's so hungry.. would you taste just as sweet? He can't push it on this first drugging.. he doesn't have any of the drink left.

He can't resist nuzzling his face into your clothed cunt first though, moaning in ecstasy as his face is covered in you.

[fairylights-throughthemist]

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(i had to divide these into writers because i can’t tag more than 50 people 🥹)

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]

A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.

Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.

“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want. 

Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.

“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.” 

He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.

When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” 

You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t. 

He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer. 

“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.” 

You hum. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. Don’t be. 

“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.

“Shit. I left it in the van.” 

You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away. 

When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook. 

Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction. 

“Eddie…” 

“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..." 

A smile finally breaks across your face.

“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.

The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages. 

When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.

“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.

"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part. 

After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so. 

•••

The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits. 

Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.

The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists. 

“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?” 

When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawings with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed. 

It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed. 

Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.

When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter. 

“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint. 

In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately. 

After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur.

Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them. 

"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.

Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand. 

“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”

You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.

It hadn’t even taken much. 

His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down. 

“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him. 

Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet. 

Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.

Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need. 

His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement. 

“This is—” 

“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks. 

You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs. 

His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.

“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours. 

“Teddy,” you coo back. 

He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs you the most. 

His breath hitches. “Baby—”

A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.

Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit. 

Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part. 

“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?” 

Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it.

As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes. 

With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand. 

You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features. 

He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.” 

You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards. 

After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches. 

No sooner do you move forward to straddle his lap, standing on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch. 

“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours. 

“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance. 

He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. Both his hands find your hips again as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge. 

You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right. 

“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.

For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him. 

Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist in a silent encouragement. 

Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips. 

A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him. 

“Oh—shit,”  he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same. 

All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing. 

“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him. 

You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words. 

“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.” 

Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.

You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge. 

“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.  

Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips. 

You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your dewy forehead to his. 

“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—” 

The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release. 

Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place as aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness. 

A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not. 

Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but. 

Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask. 

He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes. 

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” 

He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!

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