#when did boyhood first air

[belokhvostikova]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | What was supposed to be a summer vacation to your boyfriend's hometown, turned into God's greatest test of morality against you. In other words, you basically fuck your boyfriend's best friend, Eddie Munson.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mention of alcohol, drug use, jealousy, possessiveness, small violence, a threat of murder (little yandere, but not really-ish, I don't know, to be honest), slightly dark (I think, right? Maybe?) cheating, and explicit sexual content: fondling, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, degradation/praise kink, finger sucking, nipple play, face slapping, pussy slapping, masturbation (male), fingering, handjob, cum eating, squirting, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I... don't know what this is. Just take, goddamn it, there, take me for all I'm worth! Do I condone cheating? No. But did this idea make me really horny? Yes. And he's a little mean, so be warned.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Sometimes… you wished he’d never spoken those words. 

When two weeks into his summer vacation in Hawkins, Indiana was enough time spent away from the debilitating semesters of university to have his newfound room—proffered by the closest of a distant family member, because two months with the folks would just be too much—smelling of the fresh cologne of clean air and washed linen; the smell that warmed you with the loving memories of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers. 

When his navy blue comforter wrinkled under the weight of tussling bodies, because in those mere two weeks—his half in Hawkins, yours in Indianapolis—both hearts ached for the touch of one another, and he refused to deprive himself from the physical contact of his love, you. Crushing kisses, trailing hands, and connecting bodies to commemorate the rising sun, because a town miles away from the bustling city of beeping traffic and screaming pedestrians left room for the morning songs of the Northern Cardinal.

When the exhaustion of a two hour journey through cornfields and even smaller towns guided you to the place where he relished you in the memories of his boyhood; swing sets on the playground, the arcade after homework, Tuesday performances at the Hideout. Such memories came to life for you when the aluminum stock sign welcomed you into Hawkins. Sore from stiffness, your limbs crashed into the embrace of your lover, where your first night in the cursed town consisted of fucking the Friday night darkness away, until bodies glowed under the welcoming sun of the Saturday morning, where dewy grass freshened the air in contrast to the concrete slabs of cracked busy sidewalks you grew up on. 

But then… he spoke those words. 

When a stroking thumb against the hairs of your brow elicited the tired whine from your mouth, as you nuzzled your face into his naked chest to shield you from the burning sunshine pouring from the basement window. Your eyes woke to his dozy lips, chapped with pinched corners to show off the crookedness of his teeth that brought such beautiful character to his soul. Puffs of morning breath warmed your somnolent face with his morning greeting.

“I know I’ve told you this like a million times,” he croaked, “but I really am so happy that you’re here. With me.” His heavy hand landed on the apple of cheek to encourage your growing smile. “Can’t wait to show you around, can’t wait for you to meet my friends- the guys.”

Now, a new cologne of ashy darkwood and burning spices tarnished the content bubble of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers with groping handfuls and filthy intimacy. An anxious pit of guilty dread now eats you alive when the musk of his igniting cigarettes invades your being, but how can you think of such worrisome, when it’s the same scent that has your face torching with flames of desire and heart fluttering with anticipation for a new love- a different kind of love?

Other times… you are happy that he spoke those words. 

Because it led you to Eddie Munson.

-

Her diamond scintillated, shoved in your face by her persistent eagerness to show off the glowing ring that beamed under strobe lights of greens and reds that twirled from the tiny disco ball. Eric Marcher, who couldn’t give you anything more than a nod of acknowledgement when introduced—despite his intimate hand clasp and hug combo with your boyfriend, had been detailed to you as the man needed when small town goers were itching for party favors. Now, in the cul-de-sac of Mirkwood, a lively get-together of strangers, like Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels, bombarded you with the overwhelming hospitality of detailing their personal life to the woman who snagged Braun Peterson. 

A large smile matched that of her ring, beaming with a boastfulness of pride for fulfilling that suburban wife “dream” role, but you couldn’t blame her. A fat rock rested upon her finger to symbolize her everlasting love with her partner? Hell, you’d shove it in other people’s faces, as well. “It belonged to Nana Leslie before Oliver got it with her blessing. See, my daddy was never able to give it to my momma, because well, Nana never liked her,” you met her seven minutes ago, “but, anyways, it’s been in the family for two generations, and now it’s mine!” 

“Oh, wow.” You liked her and her family drama. Your hands maneuvered to twist her finger, watching how beautifully the jewelry captured the light. 

“I mean, it was kinda rash, ya’know, with the war and whatnot.” Her Midwestern accent sang. “Oliver wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but I was not about to do it in City Hall. Though, he did promise me a big wedding when he comes back from Iraq.” She longingly sighed, as you nodded along. “Ya’know, something that doesn’t involve a smelly courthouse. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “What about me?”

“Have you and Braun discussed when you’d be getting married?” 

You nearly choked on your drink despite not even having one. “Oh.” Quite the response to offer. “We’re, um, not exactly there yet. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a year.” You awkwardly laughed.

“Well, you don’t wanna wait too long!” Cheryl huffed out an airy laugh. “It’s like, when ya’know you know, ya’know?” Her attempt to philosophize the concept of love left your head nodding along to move the conversation, but Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels surely had to knack to keep talking. “And don’t you know?”

Do you know? “Um-”

“Would you quit harassing my girlfriend?” A familiar hand squeezed your shoulder, before the presence of Braun Peterson came from behind the couch, where he bent down to smile at you. 

“I am not harassing your girlfriend.” Cheryl scoffed. “And come on, I’ve been your best friend since we were babies! I know you! And I know you always talked about getting married!” She sternly punctuated. “I mean, it’s literally what made you cuter than the rest of the boys on the playground.”

Braun derided. “Okay, first of all, we were never best friends, I just had to endure being in the same grade as you.” You both chuckled, as Cheryl dramatically gasped. “And secondly, in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not a seven-year-old that’s desperate to propose to any girl who was willing to push me on the swingset.”

“Oh!” You piqued his interest. “I happen to be a great companion on the swingset, I’d love to join you.” You sweetly beamed, an endearing feature that had him devastatingly blushing with love.

“Yeah?” He whispered in your face, where you met his question with a nod, reeling him in for a kiss. 

“Ugh, see!” Cheryl’s voice had you separating with a hot face. “Marriage material! At least a proposal by the first year mark.” Her brows teased, forcing him to laugh in disbelief. 

But Braun Peterson smiled, nonetheless, and your throat had constricted. While the idea of marrying your first serious boyfriend wasn’t the most unsettling notion, the reality of it coming faster than anticipated from the opinions of those closest to him, who unfortunately were raised in the small town mindset of a white picket fence before the age of twenty-five, had your tummy swirling with queasiness. Freshly out of university, the last thing you needed was a ring waying you down by a man whose loud chewing you were still trying to adjust to. A proposal in two months was not in schedule. 

Because dinner was on Saturday. Meeting the parents was next Wednesday. Niece’s birthday party in two weeks. At least three years of dating before moving in. The fourth year, an engagement. The fifth, a wedding. Children? Somewhere long after. 

Strict? Maybe. But perfect in your mind of precision? Absolutely.

“Um, could you get me something to drink?” You interrupted the possibility of any more talks of the future. “I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom real quick.”

His hand rubbed down your back so perfectly, calming the nerves that festered in your stomach. “Absolutely.” He assured you, as always. “I’ll find us something to eat, too, baby.”

So perfect, so perfect.

Your legs had guided you away from the living room before you could muster a brief goodbye. Maneuvering around shifting bodies, you found yourself counting the steps of the staircase, feeling the utter disappointment when the last steps came out in odd numbers, but the bathroom was two doors down, and the last thing you needed was to obtain tunnel vision from the minor details that didn’t fit your standards of life.

A knock to the wooden door with a silent response lifted the weight off your shoulders, permitting you to open the door and finally receive some peace. But the breath that nested in your throat lost its chance to be of relief, when a presence carried over from behind you, shoving you into the bathroom, with a  determined slam to the door. 

A rough hand muffled any of your attempts to yell out, but your stiffened body had luckily learned to vaguely relax when the man behind you turned you against the bathroom counter, and you came face-to-face with someone who familiarly made your body shudder under his stare. 

His hands moved to grip the porcelain of the sink on either sides of you. “Eddie…” You gulped, as your chest heaved. “God, y-you scared, um, I- is s-something wrong?”

“You’re making quite the impression out there, aren’t ya?” His lip barely curled into a smile, as he stared down at you. “Everyone just fucking loves you, don’t they?”

You refused to meet his eye, trying to move from the caging of his arms, but his persistence left you trapped. “Um,” you sighed, “y-yeah, all your friends are nice-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, they aren’t my friends.” He spoke so dauntingly. “They’re your boyfriend’s friends, remember? Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “um, I should go, Eddie. I need to leave.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” He deeply chuckled, finding amusement in the panicked look of your face. “You just got here.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t know what you’re trying to do-”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m not tryna do anything, you’re the one that fucking started it.” His forehead forcefully pressed against yours, shoving your head back so you’d finally look him in the eye. “Remember?” He tauntingly cooed at you, getting in your face. “Remember you being a slut, and startin’ it? Because I sure fucking do.” He spat. “So don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing, when you started it.”

Your breath heavied, as his nose ran against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wield the strength to compose your anger, a hatred solely targeted to yourself. You were certain Eddie was feeding off of the visceral pounding of your heartbeat, getting off on the sheer panic of your being. 

And you hated yourself for loving it. 

“N-Not here.” You thickly swallowed. “Please.” Such a desperate plea, and it had him laughing in your face. 

“‘Not here?’” He mocked. “I think I can have you wherever I want, no? It’s sure as hell not like you’re gonna stop me, pretty girl.” A soft kiss planted on your cheek had your eyes opening. “God, you really are so pretty, y’know that, baby? Do you know just how pretty you are?”

“Eddie…” His eyes bored into yours, piercing your desire with a burning itch that had you intoxicated on his strong scent. You watched a smirk etch onto his face, as he watched you follow the outline of his plump lips. Do it. Do it. Do it. You were screaming at yourself to just give in. Thighs clenching, heart racing, mouth salivating for the man that enticed you like no other. Your breath shuddered, as your shaky fingers delicately placed themselves against his shaven face. 

Just a taste. Just a little.

You reached onto your tippy toes to feel the soft skin of his lips gently brush against yours. You were dictating this. He was letting you dictate this. Because when it all crashed, you started it, you’d be to blame. All it took was the shy kiss fueled by your hesitancy for Eddie Munson to consume what he wanted, and his tongue shoved past your teeth to ravage your taste. He had you gasping against his lips, nothing touching you but his mouth, but it felt like he was pinning you against your will. 

Eddie’s knuckles blurred white from the tightening grip you had him enduring, because frustration coursed through his body, as he fought the restraints keeping him from just giving in and fucking you against the bathroom sink. A guttural growl lurched from his chest, “What are you doin’?” He smashed his lips against you. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” He sneered.

His comment forced a lump to be caught in your throat, urging you to push away from his chasing lips. “N-No…” Another breathless kiss smeared against you. “Stop, Eddie, we can’t-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He interrupted with his tongue injected into your mouth. “Remember you wanted this.”

You were awful. “No!” You whined, unwilling to face the reality of your cruelness. 

“Oh, but, yes, baby.” He humiliated you with his mocking tone. “Yes, remember?” He whispered into your make out. “It was you, you fucking looked at me.” Eddie scorned. “How fucking stupid are you to think I wouldn’t do somethin’ about you lookin’ at me, huh? You remember lookin’ at me?” His kisses were becoming more aggressive. “You fucking looked at me, sweetheart!” You felt the air in your lungs burn from his resistance to letting you breathe. “What the fuck do you expect me to do when you were fucking lookin’ at me like that, huh?!” 

And you had been looking at him…

-

Three days ago, the Hideout had been an unfamiliar experience to you on the night of May 30th. It became evident as such when Mary Jane platform pumps rather distastefully met the abhorrent crunch of breaking asphalt from the gravel parking lot, where beat up cars and pick-up trucks haphazardly parked themselves with no formation, clearly lacking the etiquette for what was promised to you as a “nice” establishment. A wave of regret had drowned you in despair as you walked out of your car, immediately being met with the obscene noises coming from a drunken man nearly hacking a lung out, only to shoot his spit and mucus onto the dead bushes that once decorated the place wonderfully in the 60s. You begrudgingly passed the neglected entrance; its doors open for the sleazy, middle-aged men of Hawkins, Indiana to make themselves right at home, as they littered themselves amongst the breadth of the property, sparsely filling up tables and stools with cold beers to accompany them. A gasp of disgust had petered out of your lips, when each step you took sticky film residing on the weathered wood of the floor clung to the outsoles of your beloved heels, coating them with decades of syrupy beer that had found solace within the bar from the happy accidents that tailored the feng shui of the Hideout.

You were appalled. 

It was beyond the definitions of obvious that you had overly dressed yourself for the occasion. It was at this moment, you were mentally curing Braun Peterson for providing the wrong impression, completely overselling the bar he once played in, and disregarding the lack of formality that came with the building and its loyal customers. 

“Babe, it’s got a decked out bar, you can order whatever you like, trust me, my boy Johnny will whip it up, and it’s got plenty of tables for you to sit your pretty self down and enjoy the show. Not to mention, the nicest stage where you can watch me perform. It’s gonna be great, I promise!”

With a rush of worriment devouring you, you insecurely hugged your bare arms over yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the preying eyes of unabashed stares coming from bulky men, old enough to be your father, who proclaimed themselves as regulars and patently peering to you as new meat.

Endeavoring the will to appear not so lost and clueless, you walked with your head held high, a fabricated facade of confidence, and you took refuge onto the high top table that accommodated two uncomfortable stools that shared the same layer of dust as the plastic faux wood of the table.

Yeah, you were definitely going to have it out with Braun Peterson. 

Your body felt rigid, guarding yourself from potentially coming in contact with anything biohazardous, while also feeling so small from the persistent scary stares that you felt so strongly were examining your body as if you had no autonomy. And maybe you were being a bit pretentious at this moment, but given the overflow of staggering malaise that was consuming your being and clearly placing you into an uncomfortable environment, there was an absolute negative chance of actually enjoying the night, especially after you were going to dish one out to Braun. 

Speaking of which, you caught sight of the slick-back, blond hair that was pursuing your way from a slim hallway that catered to the southend of the building, which presumably led backstage. “Hey, you made it!” Incompetent to your unease, Braun had merely stepped up and shoved you into a tight hug, a kiss swiftly placed onto your lips with a smacking mwah.

While he spoke so highly, clearly excited for his performance, you couldn’t fathom reciprocating his energy, immediately stating your concerns with a whine into his embrace. “What is literally wrong with you?”

Judging by your tone, anyone could have discerned the genuine disturbance from being in such situation, but ever the comedian, Braun merely chuckled. “That could be an hour long discussion, babe.” Your eyes flashed with disbelief at his choice to dismiss your evident worries. 

You sighed, resisting the urge to not scream in public to cater to his comfort. “No, Braun, I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of bar this was?” You pleaded, hoping he’d acknowledge your troubles rather than brushing them off. That was one thing you had quickly discovered from the months of making it official with Braun Peterson; he had quite the sense of humor, which wasn’t at all particularly harmful, but this “sense of humor” had a funny way of not knowing when to draw the line. The line always seemingly crossing your boundaries. But god forbid you spoke out. Last time you did, his roommate Josh asked you to quit being uptight on Braun’s behalf. “I look like I’m dining at a Michelin Star restaurant, not grabbing drinks at some middle-of-nowhere bar. Why didn’t you specify?”

You really didn’t want to cause such a confrontation on his first night back performing at the place in which he claimed was “the start of everything” for him but, my god, you were seething with irritation. 

“Shit,” he huffed, understanding your worries once he took a glimpse of the perverted looks the attendees were more than glad to show off. “Look, babe, I seriously didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“You said this place was nice, Braun.”

“I know, I- I just knew you wouldn’t be into these kinda bars, but I really wanted you to come see me tonight.” He sighed. “I swear, baby,” he secured your shoulders into his hand, “I just wanted you to be here with me, b-but I screwed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You heaved in defeat, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. He hadn’t been far off with his assumption; twenty-three years of a city setting in the upper east side, where renovated brownstones of contemporary decor were more of your liking rather than the casualness of a lonesome bar. 

Your lips jutted with a mumbled “it’s okay” to pass the tension. But Braun’s hands had worked their way to the fullness of your cheeks, where his thumbs delicately swept under your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” He poured his eyes into yours. “I know it’s not your scene, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, baby.” Braun leaned in to press his lips to yours, and that loving comfort was enough to ease your body into relaxation against his hold. His hands released for the brief seconds it took to take off his leather jacket and hang it over your shoulders. “Keep this on, and if anyone bothers you or-or does something, please just tell me.” He implored. “I’ll be right on stage, only a couple feet away, I’ll see you, okay?”

Huffing a sigh, you simply nodded, choosing to come to a consensus of trying to enjoy the night. It had been close to reaching a year that you agreed to be Braun’s girlfriend, and from then, he’d been dying to show you everything about himself. Following the end of the school year from university, Braun had made plans to spend the summer back in his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, where he had adamantly informed you about the band, the one in which he partook throughout his high school career, Corroded Coffin. And there was no denying it, the bubbling feelings of a blossoming relationship, one where your boyfriend had an actual desire to share the intimate parts of his life with, like seeing where he grew up, made you burst with excitement. 

Because even with his flaws, Braun Peterson had a gentle touch that filled your heart with a promising future of blissful contentment. 

“I won’t leave you out here,” his hand found its way to your thigh, “afterwards, I’ll have drinks brought backstage, where me, you, and the guys can just relax in peace. Away from these creeps.” He gripped with loving reassurance. “And- and, I promise you some of the most incredible food, okay?”

You snickered through your nose with a bit of suspicion. “From here?”

Braun laughed at your wariness. “From Benny’s Burger, got the best diner food for your pretty belly.” You arched your brow, pushing it until he gave in. “Okay, okay, Enzo’s. Seconds, thirds, all on me, baby, whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sealed your agreement with a playful handshake. 

He smiled at you, bringing a comforting hand to your neck. “Thank you, again, pretty.” His thumb caressed. “Just wanna share this experience with you. Wanna let you know how cool I was back in high school.” He teased, as you giggled. “Here, gimme kiss.”

Braun pulled you in for a sweet kiss, letting your worries wash away with his reassurement, because he always had you. “You’re gonna do great, I’m sure of it.” You smiled against him. 

“Only ‘cause I have you here cheering me on.” Braun finished you off with one more kiss. “Remember, I’m only a couple feet away, I’ll come grab you once we’re done.” 

With that, Braun Peterson left you to your own accord, securing the warm leather of his jacket around you, as you watched him disappear into the back. Disagreements and solutions. Compromises and sacrifices. This is what it meant for the man who cherished your time, and publicly showed it like no other. Everything was okay. Until the minutes passed of tugging on your lip with anticipation, and the staged lights dimmed.

Everything was okay.

But the center spotlight had rained against a figure, and you hadn’t even internalized the fact that a stranger physically made your body react with a gasp, as you merely took in the sight of him. 

Him, who caressed his warlock, fingers teasing the strings, and lips kissing the mic with heavy pants of excitement. “Nice to see some familiar faces!” He grinned, scanning the all too familiar bar that let his amateur band of misfits play every Tuesday night; the regular bar goers seemingly flooding him with memories of his youth years. But then, his eyes landed on you. Front and center. “Even better to see some… new faces.” His lips curled into a menacing smirk, drinking up your stunning face.

Your heartbeat pummeled out of your chest, heat chewing at your cheeks, as his daunting figure had you shying away with a flush state, like you were a school girl receiving her first valentine, forcing you to wrap Braun’s jacket tighter around you.

Shit, Braun!

Quickly, your eyes diverted to the man you should have been gawking at, tuning his guitar before peering up with a smile that held all the good in the world, one he solely dedicated to you on a daily basis. You mustered a shy smile back, attempting to swallow the guilt. And this is where it should have ended. It’d be quite ignorant to dismiss the reality that attractive people come and go everyday during relationships, so this is all it was. You saw something pretty, you admired it, you left it. That’s what you promised. That’s what you committed. So you blinked yourself straight, and gave small claps of encouragement to your boyfriend. 

But the eerie feedback from the mic had your head snapping to the front man, and as expected, his gaze hadn’t left your body once; a smirk devouring his face when your eyes caught his. That night, an alluring spark ignited within Eddie Munson, and he was determined to indulge in it. 

“We’re gonna perform a couple songs for old times’ sake, bring some life back into you old fucks.” He jabbed comments eliciting some laughter from the crowd that watched these antsy boys torment their ears years before. “So just like back then, as always, I’m Eddie and we’re fucking Corroded Coffin!”

The thrash to his guitar introduced the blaring cords of a song, reminiscent to one Braun typically played for the background noise of when your naked bodies dreamily slapped together. The frontman’s stage performance flooded your senses as you became mesmerized by the fluid movement of his fingers abusing the delicate strings, and his husky voice yelling the lyrics to the abrasive song. He was encapsulating the beauty of metal with such ease and grace, playing his heart out for a dingy bar filled with good-for-nothing men. It felt so utterly undeserving. He was meant for a real stage. 

Eddie.

That’s what it was. That’s all it fucking was. It had to be. You weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. The familiar tunes matching that of how Braun Peterson would rut his hips into yours was the sole reason for the tantalizing heat that was creeping within your body, not because of the man with the long hair who punctured his hungry glare against you, as he belted the grotesque lyrics of whatever song it was that you never cared to officially learn the title to. But how could you have ever found the will to learn, when Braun would consume your thoughts with the drilling of his cock to the beat of the song? Why couldn’t that be enough? Why had your hips subconsciously rolled to find some needed friction against your seat to the thought of Eddie burying his face between the warmth of your body? 

Why did it feel like he was burning you alive?

The disgusting reality of your endeavor to get off on a dirty stool to another man had hit you like a ton of bricks, rightfully slapping you in the face with utter shame for who you were, and you didn’t dare to spare Eddie another glance; eyes fluttering around embarrassingly to look at anything other than Eddie. 

Braun. Braun. Braun. 

He was right there. He always had been. 

The night dragged on for an unbearable hour, filled with the ongoing cycle of desiring something that wasn’t yours and the self-loathing hatred to follow. The burn of Eddie gaze had your body crippling with anxiety, and you engaged yourself to only peer at the man who’d brought you pure happiness for the last ten months of your life. But he was there; torturing you with his eyes that felt laser-cutting from a mile away, despite how adamant you forced yourself to refuse his attention.

You hadn’t even verbalized a word to him yet. And it was devastatingly pathetic how submissive he had you. 

The last cord of the night strung out with the fellow patrons commemorating their boys for the nice trip down memory lane. You adjusted yourself to gently cheer along, feeling awful when Braun’s brightful smile had never once dropped because of your presence in the crowd. Just focus on him. It was all you had to do. As the men walked off with their equipment, Braun’s sweaty figure jumped from the stage, heading straight for you.

You immediately jumped from your seat, forgoing the complaints of him being sweaty to hold him in your arms with such fervency. “You did so great!” His hands held your back, delicate kisses pressing into the crook of your neck. 

“Yeah?” He searched for your validation, only ever caring for your words, as he mumbled into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell that comforted the adrenaline high he was experiencing. “You, uh, you liked the first song I picked out?” His brows teased.

“Of course!” You cupped his face to bring him into a smearing kiss that he gladly reciprocated. You pulled away, staring into his soft eyes that held all innocence, and you cursed yourself for ever thinking of another man when such beauty was held in the palm of your hand. Your thumbs gently swept on the underside of his eyes, as he smiled down at you. “You were amazing, Braun.” You sincerely spoke. Overcompensating? Completely. But you needed him to be okay, and his happiness was worth it. “You always are so amazing, Braun.”

He brought you in for another embrace, and sealed it with a loving kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, too, Y/N.” He spoke. “C’mon, baby, let's go on back.”

“W-wait!” You steadied yourself within your position, holding his hand tightly. “Um, w-we can just stay out here, I’m sorry for getting mad earlier.” 

His head dropped, lips jutting at you before he landed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize where you don’t need to apologize, baby.” He urged. “Don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable for me- in fact, I won’t allow it. Not after dragging you here in the first place.”

“No, really it’s fine-”

“It’s not, baby, I don’t want you out here.” Braun persisted. “Plus, I’ve been talkin’ the guys’ ears off about you, I’m sure they’d love to put your pretty face to your name. Promise they’re not as scary as you think.”

What a fucking lie. 

A journey to the back hallway led you to the chipped door, where Braun relinquished a double courtesy knock before entering the room, where a waft of sweat and cologne welcomed you to the small dressing room that held the members of Corroded Coffin. Shifting behind your boyfriend, your eyes landed around the burgundy painted walls, littered with posters of the previous self-made artist who first established themselves at the Hideout. Where they were now? More than likely not Hollywood, given the cheesy names teenagers thought were cool at the time. 

“Hey, uh, guys, gained a new fan today, Y/N, this is Gareth, Jeff, and…” A polite smile to both identified men waving back to greet you was easy enough. “Where’s Ed?” Thank god.

Braun directed you to the couch, leather and torn, with its yellow foam of cushion peering from the tears after years of being broken in by body weight. “Talkin’ to Nicky out back by the stage.” Gareth had answered, as a hand towel harshly rubbed against his head to ease the dripping sweat from his frizzy curls. 

“Nicky’s the bar owner.” Braun intimately informed you, graciously bringing you into the loop. 

“You enjoy the show?” Jeff, with a genuine attempt at conversation, had gestured for you to engage in. Perhaps it was the blatant stiffness of your body from the wariness of sitting on the couch that surely soaked copious amounts of bodily fluids than you’d like to imagine, that got him to ask for your honest opinion. Or, the other obvious, that you clearly dress far from the usual scene that was typical for a Corroded Coffin performance at the Hideout. 

Trying to atone your ignorance to the metal scene, and whatever the hell tension that was between you and the frontman, your head awkwardly nodded in response. “Yeah, um, yeah, I did.” Braun’s reassuring hand landed on your knee. “I’m still getting used to our difference in music taste,” luckily that was receptive to a couple chuckles, “but it was great seeing him, a-and you guys out there, as well.”

Heavy footsteps from the stage announced themselves as they entered the dressing room, and your body hardened at the mere sight of his shining chest, coated in his perspiration, drenching the line of hairs of his abdomen to seep into the low hanging waistline of his pants. Your eyes snapped to the wooden floors, as Braun jumped to give a brief greeting to his friend who ultimately settled against the water dispenser right in front of you. 

“Ah, now that you’re all here, babe, this is Eddie; Ed, this is girlfriend, Y/N.” Already accustomed to your presence, Gareth and Jeff felt no need to weigh in another hello, which resulted in an unfortunate silence, after Eddie, himself, decided staring at you was the only formal approach. 

But it wasn’t until his intentionally loud, “huh,” that pierced the silent, did your stomach drop with fear. “This is your girlfriend?” Your eyes stung at the inevitable occurrence of your boyfriend’s friend outing you in front of everyone as the girl who just couldn’t keep her eyes to herself. 

Braun’s brows cinched at his question, huffing in confusion. “Why’re you sayin’ it like that?”

Eddie had quickly dismissed him with a nonchalant shake to his head. “I dunno, what’ve pictured you with a girl like Mindy, ‘s all.” What an asshole. 

You knew it’d be hypocritical to suddenly interrogate your boyfriend on whoever it was Eddie was referring to, especially when it showed Eddie’s intentions were not the purest of them all with the mention of a certain ex. “The fuck, dude, no, that was nearly two years ago.” Braun quickly shut down, evidently not amused with whatever game his buddy was trying to pull. 

“Relax.” He chuckled, plucking a small toothpick from the table of plattered junk food into his mouth. “Only teasin’, man, y’know me. Plus, it’s good, shows good progress on your part; movin’ from small town pretty to big city pretty.” Eddie pointed a ringed finger at you. 

Braun merely rolled his eyes at the arrogant attitude he’d learned to adjust to throughout his years in high school, but when he turned to you, and saw the tight-lipped smile you gave, he leaned in to comfort you. “Don’t give him a second thought.” He whispered against your hair. “Eddie’s just… out there.”

Patting your thigh, Braun walked to join his friend at the water dispenser, leaving you to heave the tightening breaths of your chest from the sudden suffocation you felt from guilt and anxiety. “C’mon, man, lay off the comments, alright?” Braun quietly spoke to Eddie. “I don’t need you chasin’ her away when I actually love her.”

“‘Love?’” Eddie playfully whistled. “Hm, you must actually care for this girl, huh?” 

Braun confirmed with his lovesick smile that made Eddie want to hurl. Soon, Braun was leaning in close to bump his friend in the chest. “So what d'ya think?”

Eddie’s daunting eyes looked past Braun’s shoulder, connecting with your fretful ones, and a sickeningly smile creased his face. He tsked, watching your ostentatious manner refusing to touch the furniture he and his buddies called home. “Seems a little… anal-retentive.” He smirked at Braun. “But, hey, she’s cute, and y’know what, if you like, I like her.” If only Braun Peterson knew of the extent of the underlying meaning his closest friend was alluding to. “You good to her? Treat her well?” Eddie questioned. 

“Of course.” Your boyfriend was quick to answer. 

“That’s good, that’s good.” Eddie casually nodded along, chewing on the wooden stick between his teeth. “Aye, because y’know pretty girls like her will be quick to look for another man to satisfy her. Gotta treat ‘em well, so they keep their fucking legs closed.” The toothpick snapped at the sudden clenching of his teeth, before Eddie sighed a heavy breath to calm himself. “But I think you gotta good girl on your hands, Brauny, nothin’ to worry about.” Eddie dragged out, before calling to you. “Hey, that seat comfortable for you sweetheart? Need a stool or somethin’?”

A wave of nausea slapped you, as you watched his sinister smile. 

Eddie Munson totally saw trying to get off at the sight of him. 

-

His minacious laugh puffed in your face, as he loved watching your eyes crumble in self-reproach from your actions. “Yeah, you fuckin’ remember, baby?” He cooed, as your head dropped with guilt as to what you had just done. But his abrasive hand was quick to forcefully grab your face, cheeks squishing under his tight grip. “Don’t feel bad, princess, it’s okay to share a little.” Eddie smiled, as your eyes frantically looked into his. “Quit the fucking innocent act.” He advised you. “You and I both know how much of a slut you are.”

“I-I,” your thoughts had been racing with the screams of wanting him off of you, but your body was falling limp in his arms, ready to let him take what you so desperately wanted him to take. The words died on your tongue, when suddenly harshing pounding came from the door.

“Yo, anyone in there?!” A drunken voice called out. 

“I’ll be out a second!” You managed to rip through your shaky voice, while Eddie breathily chuckled, his hand refusing to let go of your face. 

Hearing the partygoer’s footsteps decline in the distance, your heart eased for the slightest moment, and suddenly your nervous system was wailing for you to leave while you could. But before you knew it, unexpectedly, the softest kiss was placed upon your scrunched lips from the man who nearly devoured your mouth so aggressively two seconds ago; you had no choice but to be receptive. “So sweet.” He gently moved his lips against you, it had your tummy erupting with the sensations of a new touch. “So fucking perfect, y’know that? Just how perfect you are?”

Every time he briefly left your lips, you whined for more attention, quickly bringing your lips back to him with a sigh of his name, “Eddie.” 

“Mm,” he moaned against your mouth. “I can see why Brauny never shuts the fuck up about you.” The mention of his name had you stiffening. “Tell me, baby, do you suck his cock as good as you kiss him?”

Stunned and repulsed by the jerk you let kiss you, you shoved Eddie’s chest back, finally getting him off of you, and before you mind could process, your hand connected to his cheek with a stinging slap. Your burning hand had trembled, as it slowly clasped it over your mouth in disbelief. Eddie slowly turned to you with a sly grin, but before he could make any movements, your feet finally found the courage to sweep you out of the bathroom with a harsh slam to the door. 

On autopilot, you quickly descended down the stairs into the lively living room that did little to ease the bloodcurdling thud of your beating heart that felt as if it was going to rip out of you. It wasn’t until a hand latched itself to the bicep of your arm, reeling you back against a body. 

“Hey, hey, you okay, hon?” Braun’s voice echoed into your ear.

“U-Um-”

“Baby, look, if this is about what Cheryl said, please don’t pay any mind to it.” He stroked your arm with concern. “She- everybody here just has a traditional way of thinking, but it’s not what I think. I promise, I’m not looking to shove a proposal down your throat when you’re not ready.” Braun had a fascinating way of calming your worries that drastically differed from the rush Eddie had just forced you through. “Hell, I’m not even ready.” He chuckled, which was able to elicit a small smile from you, at least. “I wanna take my time with you, cherish my moments with you, baby.” 

God, you were an awful human being. 

Peering behind his shoulder, you watched Eddie saunter his way down the stairs with a lingering stare that quickly found yours. “C-Can we go?” You hastily rushed out. “I’m just a little overwhelmed m-meeting all these new people.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah.” He’s quick to drop off the beers to the living room side tables that were supposed to be your drinks. “C’mon, baby, let’s just take a breather.” 

If you knew the guilt Braun Peterson felt for the sole reason of throwing you into a crowd of overwhelming people when you’d literally just kissed his closest friend, you would have pathetically begged on your knees for his forgiveness in front of everyone, and detailed the million ways he was so incredible. But this would stay quiet; suppurating within you, because the peace on his face was more important than wrecking his life. As he guided you to the front door, you looked back to meet the eyes of the man who sparked a match inside you, his arm hanging around a blonde, when you wanted to be the one held under it. Eddie Munson winked at you, cruelly changing the course of your life. 

-

For the days to come, Braun saw an immense amount of affection coming from your part. But who was he to complain, when someone as pretty and sweet as you willingly showed the world how much you loved him? Welcoming the morning sun with your tongue prodded at the slit of his tip, before ferociously waking him with the ride of his life, as your ass pummeled against his thighs, only for the cherry on top to come when breakfast was served like you suddenly became a housewife to your boyfriend. But you’d do whatever if it meant getting the image of his best friend out of your head, despite it leading to the best orgasm you’ve ever had when you pictured it was his cock you were riding, only to realize your lip had been sputtering with blood, because you refused your mouth the need to call out his name, Eddie! 

But Friday night came, and it seemed your thoughts satiated under the cuddle of your boyfriend, who agreed to a movie night that entailed buying an obscene amount of candy from the Family Video store, where Labyrinth was purchased alongside the sweets. Wrapped under his embrace, a thick woven blanket swallowed you against the rugged couch of the basement, where you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper. 

For once, peace had come, tranquilizing the tumultuous feelings that consumed you alive. That was until the basement door impetuously flung open before echoing with a slam, that had yours and Braun’s head snapping to the stairs that creaked under the incoming weight. “Mason?” He called out for his cousin.

But it wasn’t the familiar face of his family member who lent you both the basement of his house, and your stomach twisted with fear. “Nope.” He popped the enunciation, as his hair bounced with every step until he reached the bottom step. “But he let me in.”

Braun sat up with a curious look, too occupied with the arrival of his friend to notice the rash way you curled into his side. “Hey, you alright? What’s up?” His eyes followed, as Eddie dramatically plopped himself on the singular recliner next to the couch. 

“Ah, nothing.” He made himself at home, clearly lacking the regard of his intrusion to your night. “Just hangin’ around, thought I’d stop by.” His eyes glued to the television screen. 

“Not that we don’t appreciate you, man,” Braun began, “but, uh, this is kinda just a movie night… for us.”

Eddie watched the oddity of the movie for a split second, before his head twisted to the both of you, eyeing the closeness with a piqued brow. “Which one of you freaks picked this movie? Was it you, sweetheart?” He smiled, as he watched you shift uncomfortably. 

“Alright, c’mon, Ed, seriously.” Braun interjected. 

“I’m kidding.” Eddie scoffed. “C’mon, Brauny, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, the least you two could do is spare the couple minutes of whatever touching is going on under that blanket, and let me relax here for a minute.” He argued, sinking into his chair. You watched Braun sigh, for whatever reason suddenly becoming a lap dog to the friend he long admired throughout high school, merely bringing you closer as means to make up for it. 

“By the way, driving all the way here seems to be the last resort to relaxing.” Braun poked. 

“Aw, c’mon did you actually think I was thinkin’ of you, Brauny?” He wooed, his eyes briefly connecting with you, as Braun rolled his. “Was seein’ Cynthia down the street.” Eddie answered. 

“Dude, Ed, doesn’t she have a kid?” Braun grimaced, recalling the moments in which his cousin’s neighbor—three doors down with a minivan and white shutters—threw him an occasional hello with a stroller evident on her walk around the neighborhood. 

“So fuckin’ what?” He laughed, causing your stomach to churn with disgust. “That kid made her have massive tits, it’s not like I’m looking to be the stepfather.” Eddie smiled looking back at you, your eyes refusing to meet his. “Just a simple exchange of goods for services.” He proudly announced. “Speakin’ of which, I happen to give Cynthia my last couple’a joints, you got any to smoke here?”  

“No.” Braun sighed, scruffing his hair with his hand. “Haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Rick to get some, miss it, though.” 

“Then go get some.” 

Fuck, you knew what he was doing. 

“Me? This is my place you barged into, you go.” Braun retaliated to his friend’s taunting. 

“Can’t,” Eddie tsked, “kinda fucked around with the blonde Rick had his eye on a couple nights ago at Eric’s.” He laughed. “But in my defense, she never clarified, and was fairly easy, so, I mean…”

“Can you ever learn to just keep it in your pants?” Braun jabbed, forcing his friend to chuckle at the joke. 

“Priorities, Brauny, Priorities.” Eddie winked, before reaching into his back pocket, retrieving the loose dollar bills from his tattered wallet to slap against the center coffee table. “Look, it’s on me, we can wait for you here, right, sweetheart?” 

No, no, no. Your knees clutched to your chest, as you tried to steady the breaths that were already becoming uneasy from his presence alone. Braun peered down at you. “You can come if you want. Just gotta wait in the car, don’t want you meetin’ someone like him.” 

Your eyes flickered to the man who was sickeningly grinning, somehow having the power to pull a pulsating sensation from your pussy that had you swallowing thickly. “I-It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I can just wait here.” You spoke so meekly, as though you’d been the victim in this situation, when Braun’s pure smile beamed down at you. 

“Thirty minutes top, baby.” A quick kiss landed against you, before he stood from the couch. “Don’t let him burn the house down, please.” Braun joked, slamming his hand against the table to pocket the money Eddie provided. 

“Gotta good girl’s influence hanging over me,” Eddie smiled, “nothing to worry about, Brauny.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, running a soft hand against the top of your head to wish you goodbye. “Love you, baby, be right back.” 

“I love you.” You shared the sentiment, watching him jog upstairs, where the basement door closed behind him with a deafening silence that shot through you. You watched the door for far longer than needed, a pressuring sting coming from your nail digging into your cuticle to get rid of the apprehension that festered in your belly. 

Eddie laughed. “What a fucking liar.” Your head snapped, ready to scream at him that your words held truth; the deep admiration for the man who did nothing wro- “That I am.” Eddie added, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket followed by a joint. He lavished in the twitching of your eyes, flashing from anger to anxiousness under the action of him shedding his jacket to light what was brought to his lips. 

A puff of cloud escaped his mouth before he spoke. “Take a hit, baby, you’re so goddamn tense I can practically feel the stick up your ass.” He stood from his place to sit next to you, immediately rolling his eyes as he found you shifting away from him, until your back hit the far end of arm rest, feet digging into the cushion as your knees stayed glued to your chest. “Relax, alright-”

“Eddie, we can’t-”

“I’m only tryin’ to get you to relax, shut up for two seconds and take a fucking hit.” He scolded, and your eyes widened under his intimidation. His body scooted until your painted toes were trapped beneath the heavy weight of his denim-clad thick thighs, allowing him to bring the joint to your face. “Don’t wanna have to get mean, just put it in your mouth.” You wondered where the anger from your assault to his face was lingering, surely the hit had to have pissed him off to some degree. His fingertips pressed against your lips, as your mouth enveloped the end of the joint, welcoming the burn to your throat. “Look so cute with that shit in your mouth, so good, princess.” 

You pushed his hand away when it became too much, trying to control your coughing from the large intake. “T-Too much.”

“Mhm, I know, baby.” He whispered, watching your lips pout, as his hand caressed your leg. Bringing the joint to his lips and hearing it sizzle, Eddie moaned against it. “Fuck, I can taste your mouth on it.”

You pushed your knee away to get his hand to fall back into his lap, where his fingers only moved to hover over the bulge of his pants, as he took more hits. Soon, his sole hand was undoing the buckle of his belt, and your brows arched against his movement, yet your mouth stayed quiet from any protest. 

Your lips parted in awe watching his cock spring against his belly, pants coming to hang around his thighs. His finger came to gently tease the head, before his hand wrapped to smear the precum that oozed from the tip. So casually, Eddie Munson began fucking his hand so casually, as if you weren’t sitting next to him. He acted as though he was in the comfort of his own bedroom, and you wondered whether the bit of anger that mixed in with the arousal that pressed against your belly was from the fact that he could get off without even sparing a glance at you. 

He smoked and jerked his cock, letting you bask in the glory of his heavy member, where his hand tugged the loose skin of his big balls to smack against his hairy thighs. As casual as he was, Eddie was itching to turn his head and watch your legs clench with need, something his peripheral could only get a glance at, but Eddie Munson wasn’t giving in. He felt your toes curl under his thigh, your body speaking for itself to be touched. 

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He twisted his palm against the slick head of his cock, before he squeezed down to his base for more tugs that had him wondering if your pussy felt anywhere near as good as his hand. You watched his fingers pull up his shirt, until his teeth bit down to hold the fabric up, and his toned toros was cramping from the sensation he was bringing himself. “Mmm!” He moaned, wetting his shirt with his mouth, as his hand became relentless against the thumping veins of his cock. 

No longer a thought of need, his fingers abandoned the lit joint to the ashtray that stayed stationed on the table with a few cigarettes, and his free fingers traveled to toy with his nipples, pulling the pebbled nubs to spark up his impending orgasm. “Ugh, mm!” His hips were gyrating upward, chasing the fleshlight that was his hand, as his speed increased, and your hands grasped onto the old couch for the needed restraint to not throw yourself onto him. 

With an aggressive jerk to his cock, and a stinging pinch to his nipple, the angry red head of his dick sputtered out his creamy cum, dribbling against his belly before the pool collected against his unruly pubic hair. 

His shirt slowly slipped from his teeth, as Eddie caught his breath with heavy grunts. “Fuck me, shit.” Taking his fingers, he dragged it around the breadth of his belly to gather the seeping cum, where he finally turned to you with dark eyes, and used his cum tainted fingers to motion you closer. 

You body mindlessly complied until those same fingers were pressing into your mouth, letting his salty spent invade your taste buds, before your throat began getting fucked. “Wanna fucking slap me and walk away, huh?” His free hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you gagging at his mercy. “Wanna get mad at me for you being a filthy slut? ‘N drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy?” You whined, holding his wrist in an attempt to ease the thrashing of his fingers down your throat. “God, so fucking pretty.” 

His fingers ripped from your tongue, but before your lungs could get a breath of fresh air, his mouth was on you, replacing his fingers with his tongue, as he kissed you with such ferocity, it nearly felt like a punishment. Teeth clashing and biting, you mewled in protest. “Eddie!” You gasped pushing away, but his hands kept your face close. 

“What, you don’t want me to?” He mocked, before laughing. “Y’know I don’t give a fuck.” Pushing you back against the couch, Eddie climbed over you where his mouth continued his assault against your lips, and your hands wavered into his sweaty curls. 

In the briefest moment your lips disconnected, “W-We need to-” You moaned, feeling his plump lip suction against yours. “Stop, Eddie, we should- ugh!” Eddie pulled away and watched your body crave more, but your eyes stung with its glassy coating of tears that were threatening to spill. “Braun…”

“Aw, he’s gonna come back soon, ‘n you don’t wanna get caught.” He whispered, as his forehead fell against yours. 

“He’s your friend.” Your voice cracked with guilt. 

Eddie huffed. “You better listen clearly.” His hand wrapped around your jaw to force your eyes to his. “Brauny’s a big boy. Yeah, he may be my friend, but Brauny’s got this pretty, little thing that I need to play with, so being frank with you, baby, I don’t care.” His nose flared with anger, as his words stung. “And I’m gonna need you to cut this bullshit sorry act, because it’s really pissin’ me off, and I don’t wanna have to get angry with you.” He hissed. “Okay, baby?” 

You stared into his dark eyes, mouth gulping to reply. “Okay.” And once again, your lips grazed his, letting him groan into your mouth. 

“Mm, you really are so pretty, angel, such a good girl listenin’ to me.” He murmured. “Looking like this, how could your boyfriend ever expect me to keep my hands off of you?” He kissed. “You gonna let me touch you- touch that needy fuckin’ clit. I’ve never touched one before, you gonna let me touch yours?” He tormented with the brushing of his fingers against your pajama shorts. 

You pouted your lips at him, brows cinching at his words. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

And Eddie Munson snuck that signature laugh in your laugh that you didn’t appreciate, but your pussy surely did. “What does it matter if I’m lyin’ to you, you’re gonna let me touch you, anyway.” His fingers curled around the scrunchy waistband, before pulling them from your legs to expose your sopping cunt to the cold air of the basement. “Fuck, look at that.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but with a hand over his where he parted your legs, you chin tucked in to delicately ask him a question. “Did you really have sex with those girls?”

Eddie smiled, tongue lapping at his lip as he looked at you. “Does it hurt your feelings if I did?” You shrugged, not really sure why you asked, though clearly agitated by the knowing answer. “Do I gotta tell you pretty things, so you don’t get hurt?”

His hand combed through your patch of pubes, tickling your abdomen in a way that had your body seeking for more. “Please, Eddie.” 

“Mm, what is it, baby?” His nails raked down the side of your pussy lips, deliberately avoiding your slit to tease the nerves of your mound. “Need your little pussy touched? It’s so fucking gorgeous.” You nodded, scratching his forearm down to his wrist to urge his movements further. “Gimme another kiss first, princess.”

You pulled him in, letting your kiss spark up the butterflies that loved to erupt in your tummy whenever you saw him. Not so harshly as before, your kiss passionately swallowed you both, with the sweet connection of saliva that strung between your moving lips. But you had an appetite for more, grossly moving the kiss into a heated direction that had him moaning on your teeth. Denying yourself from him was punishment enough, the care no longer festered, you were getting what you deserved. 

“Uh, calm yourself, baby.” He spoke between kisses with a teasing chuckle. “Look at you so desperate, shh, calm down. Be slow with me for a second, sweetheart.” You obeyed, slowing your movements into a languid interaction, before your lips latched onto his tongue, pulling it out from his mouth to suck on, as if it was his cock, because you never got the chance to fully taste his musk. 

Eddie mewled, cock twitching against your thigh, as your action had him melting with a burning desire. Finally, the squelching noise of your dripping arousal echoed into the room, as his fingers dove into the folds of your pussy. “Is that your fucking clit, baby? Listen to how wet your pussy is for me.”

“Mm, Eddie.” You sucked in a breath, as your fat bud was being toyed with.

“Moaning for me, princess, you’re moaning.” He whispered into your ear. “‘Cause you're mine right now, I’m making you moan, not him, hm. Not your little Brauny. You only moan for me, at least for right now, because you have a boyfriend.” You absentmindedly nodded along to whatever words he was feeding you, too caught up with your pussy being played with to care. “We’ll see about that.” He laughed, before nipping at your earlobe. 

“Wanna touch you, too, baby.” You whined, reaching for his hung cock, letting your hands twirl around the heated length that was circulating with enough blood to fuck you for multiple rounds. 

Eddie hissed. “Sss, what are you doin’? Grabbin’ my fucking cock?” He smiled, as you stroked him, allowing him to plunge his fingers into your tightening cunt, as both your movements fell in sync with one another. “Grab it, yes, baby, fuckin’ grab that cock!”

“Fuck, that feels so good, Eddie!” His fingers pulled out to rub your clit, before suddenly your pelvis jolted with the burning sensation of his hand coming down to your pussy. “Eddie!”

“Lemme slap that clit, lemme slap that fucking clit, baby.” Your wetness splashed against your inner thighs with each spanking of his hand. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart. Such a pretty girl, I’m fucking losin’ my control over you. Got you strokin’ my cock, while my fingers fuck your pussy, and I love it, baby, I love it so fucking much.” He babbled, teeth biting down to keep the worse words in. Your brows furrowed, as his fingers blasted within you, hooking inside to scratch that throbbing g-spot that had you wailing with want. “Smile for me, baby, smile ‘cause I’m making my baby feel so good.”

And you did, letting your head crash back with your mouth hanging open with an inebriated smile tugging at your lips, as you played with each other. His lips crashed down for another smearing kiss that had your tongues desperately pirouetting around each other. 

Your thighs began shaking under his control, pistoling his fingers in a way that was bringing you closer to your release. While looking down at your thrusting hips, he simultaneously pulled away from your kiss, leaving you to whine for his return. “No! More!”

He looked back up into those pathetic round eyes and scrunched brows with your bitten lips that nearly had him collapsing with another orgasm, as your hands pulled at the head of his cock and squeezed his balls. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that.” He warned, not ready to release his load if it wasn’t going to be inside of you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of his sweaty face, beads of perspiration invading his hairline, as his face flushed with a blushing rose that surely made him feel embarrassed with how vulnerable he looked. “Don’t fuckin’- don’t you- ugh- no, no, no, no!”

His large hand slapped your cheek, forcing your face away, leaving you gasping in disbelief. “I’ll fuckin’ slap you.” He spat, watching you merely turn your head back with a sparking revelation in your eyes that made you look even more beautiful. “I’ll slap your stupid fucking face-” Another stinging crash to you cheek that had you crying in pain, but you kept looking for more. “You like that shit?”

You hurriedly nodded, letting your tears pool from the growing pain that tightened your pussy around his fingers. “Yes, more!”

A harsh smack landed on your cheek once more, agitating your poor skin. “Mhm, like that, me fucking slapping that stupid, little fucking face.” His hand felt the wetness of your tears drenching your cheeks with every slap. “Bruisin’ that pretty fucking face, fuck! C’mere, c’mere!” 

His tongue lavished against your burning skin, bringing tingles to your body when his spit-covered tongue ran against your hot cheek to lick up your salty tears. “Get your fuckin’ hands off my cock, I’m shovin’ it inside your desperate cunt.” Eddie declared, slapping his tip to your pussy, to let your wetness pour on his dick. 

A harsh stab to your pussy lunged his thick cock into your pulsating walls, urging a screaming moan from your lungs. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His hands clamped around the front of your thighs to fold you in half. 

“Ugh, fuck! Slow, p-please, baby, slow!” You wailed. 

“Yeah?” He cooed, driving his thrust down to one punctuated one every second. “You want this cock slowly, can’t fucking handle this tight, little pussy getting fucked hard?”

Your trembling hands cupped his face, letting you bring him down for a consuming kiss. “J-Just wanna feel all of you.” 

“You are, baby, you are.” Eddie pierced himself into your g-spot. “Feel it deep inside, baby, feel my fucking cock all the way inside! Just for you! You- you fucking dirty, filthy whore!” The muscles of his ass tightly clenched to pound you thoroughly with each stroke. “Gonna let me do it faster? Huh? Fuck you into this fucking couch until your some braindead slut? Look at you taking my cock!” His hips began slapping faster. “Gonna be fucking good for me?”

“Uh-huh! Always, fuck!”

“You will?” He taunted. “You fucking will? You’ll take this cock whenever I want you to? Whenever I want this pussy of mine? In front of your boyfriend? Tie him to a fuckin’ chair, and force him to watch me fuck his pretty girlfriend’s little cunt!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me better than him!” Your hips moved to meet his slapping thighs, as you clenched around his cock to milk him with the cum you wanted in your cunt. “Want him to watch me take your fat cock!”

An animalistic growl forced its way out of chest, as the image of his best friend crying over the despair of betrayal elicited him to rut his hips into you fervently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His head dropped against your chest, reveling in the commotion of your bouncing tits that were urging to be freed. His hands pulled at your shirt, exposing your boobs that were quickly squished together under his hands, as his tongue lapped around your nipple. 

“Ugh, yes, you’re gonna make me cum!” You heaved, finding your hand had landed on his thigh at a weak attempt to slow his crashing movements into your pussy. 

“Beautiful fucking tits!” He nibbled on your pointy nipples, forcing those whines that drove him crazy to come out. “So fuckin’ delicious! And just for me!”

“Just for you! Only you!” 

“Yeah?” He pouted at you. “Fuck, fucking lick my hand, lick my fucking hand, you bitch.” His palm landed on your mouth, where you dumbly stuck your tongue out to taste the sweatiness of his hand, before that same hand came crashing down on your cheek for the umpteenth time. “Stick that filthy fuckin’ tongue out when I slap you in the fuckin’ face!”

You obliged, letting the wet muscle hang out as another slap landed on your face, forcing your head to the side. But turning your face back with the expectation of one more slap fell short, when instead, a glob of warm spit hit your tongue, one after another. 

“Fuckin’ clean that asshole from you fucking holes!” More spit. “‘Cause you’re mine! Not his! With my spit in your mouth and my cum in your pussy, you’ll be fuckin mine, right?!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as the rope in your belly was hanging on by a mere thread ready to snap. “Yes! Yes! Just yours!” You cried out. “Cleanse me! Cleanse me with your cum and make me yours!”

Eddie’s hand pressed down against your pelvis harshly, prompting a gushing stream of your hot squirt to wet yourself and his thighs, as you screamed from the highs of orgasmic ecstasy. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I’m cumming! I’m- FUCK!”

Nothing but heavy breaths could be heard in the basement that reeked of sex and bodily fluids. Your hands fell limp around his neck, whereas he sagged the entirety of his dead weight against your chest. His teeth grinded from the continuation of your pussy clenching around him, as your body tried to settle at the unfamiliar size that inculcated itself brutality into your cunt. 

It was quiet. It was peace. 

Until the ringing in your ears subsided, and slowly began picking up on the maniacal laugh that was coming from the man who slowly picked up his head from your chest to greet your un-whitening vision with a sinister smile, and suddenly you felt the pit in your stomach sink. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made a big fuckin’ mistake.” He chuckled, harshly pressing his forehead into yours, causing the seat cushion to dent beneath you. “Y’know why?” He tantalized, watching your eyes grow big with fear. “Because if your little boyfriend touches you after you just said you were mine,” he placed a delicate kiss to your lips that you couldn’t muster to reciprocate, too scared to do so, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He laughed. 

-

A minute and eight seconds. 

Braun Peterson had leaned the weight of his body against the counter, letting the low hum of the buzzing microwave lull his mind to ease, as the fingers of his hand shoved against his eye to wake from the tiredness of the morning day. It hadn’t been until the slap of a heavy hand against his bare shoulder jolted his eyes open to see his cousin slugging his socked feet against the linoleum tiles, before scratching the floor with the chair legs to have a seat at the kitchen table.

Mason had yawned, stretching his jaw from the bitter soreness of having to deal with a restless night of grinding his teeth. “Where’s the missus?” His nails scratched over his stubble. “Sleepin’ in?” Given your gratitude for a place to stay, Mason had spent the few days of your presence waking up to a full breakfast of all the fixins, differing greatly to the two-minute microwave food the young welder had to succumb to for his poor skills behind the stove. 

The morning had changed with the sight of Braun in front of the buzzing appliance. “Out, actually.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, couple days ago,” Braun cleared his dry throat, “she met Cheryl- you remember Cheryl?” Not exactly someone from Mason's graduating class, but given Hawkins’ small breadth of streets, a distant young face of hormonal acne and blue eyeshadow was all that could be pulled from his string of memories, as Cheryl Daniels still sported that purity ring that had long gone been switched out for an engagement ring to her military fiance, whom she could relish his fat benefits with. So, Mason simply nodded to get the story along. “Anyway, yeah, Y/N met her, and, well, you know how women are; one giddy introduction, next thing y’know they’re doing 9:00 a.m pilates and leavin’ me behind to eat some shit food for breakfast.”

Mason peered at the counter to see the empty box of his frozen food. “You asshole, ‘s that my last Hot Pocket?” His mundane voice spoke, too tired to hold any real malice behind it. 

“I’ll head to the store and buy you a whole new pack, relax.” 

Braun Peterson steadily watched the last couple of seconds tick down. “If anything, man, I deserve that one after you and Y/N kept me up last night.” Mason breathily chuckled. 

“Ah, sorry,” Braun stretched his arms, “Y’know Eddie came over, we watched a movie, didn’t realize it was so loud- which if you want any advice, don’t watch Labyrinth high, unless you wanna have a total freak out.”

“Not talking about that.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “But, aye, next time you bring Munson around and make my basement reek of weed, the least you could do is save me some.”

But Braun’s eyebrows had stayed scrunched with concern to ever consider his cousin’s future word of advice. “The hell are you talking about then?” He curiously poked. 

“You and Y/N.” Mason emphasized with a sly smirk to tease. “I mean, you guys are usually pretty considerate, but I guess the weed really got to y’all or somthing, man, you two were fucking loud last night- and I mean that literally.” He laughed. “Would’ve taken her as a quiet girl.”

Braun Peterson blinked. You had went straight to bed last night after the movie. In fact, you heavily implored him to do the same, after swifty prompting Eddie out of the door when the credit scenes rolled. “Y/N and I- we didn’t… no, we didn’t-”

The microwave beeped.

[francixoxoxo]

⋆.✧˚𓇼𝒫ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒮𝒶𝓃𝒹 𓆝𓆟

𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐗 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲.

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭

Sorry for the wait but i couldnt bear hyping it up and putting out less than my best!! This au is my baby 🤭 @milliesfishes for supporting me through this whole idea!!! Enjoy!!

The sea was entrancing.

She drew you in. She let you believe she was docile, but it wasn’t a lie. She was beautiful and generous, the sea. Frequently kind, but she was suddenly and at a whim cruel.

Billy had been absolutely in love with the sea since boyhood, growing up along the coast with his mother and brother, Joe. About as in love as a man could be with an indescribable force. A force he could not hope to understand. Understanding the sea, in his mind, was accepting that even if you were to know, you couldn’t get. He was all right with that.

Now that the sea seemingly wanted to thrash his body ‘round and drown the life from his lungs, well, he supposed he might’ve deserved it. Billy could see his life stretching before him, similar to the vastness of the same sea threatening to take that life, and frankly? He didn’t like the looks of things. He didn’t like the path he was on, a pirate on a crew of scum who did nothing but take. Take from the sea. Take from women. Take from innocents.

Perhaps, Billy thought, this was the sea gently cutting his thread short before it frayed. Letting him gracefully leave the stage, as a pirate with a reputation for violence despite his true, kind-hearted nature. Letting him exit before the former drowned out the latter.

Perhaps this was the sea embracing him as he had always embraced her.

Just a moment ago Billy had been slamming his fist into Ollinger’s jaw. That dick, Billy thought bitterly, though he didn’t want his last thoughts to be of the scraggly bastard. He’d just been begging for it, ever since he came aboard. He let the older man throw the first punch, but he was a fool to think that Billy wouldn’t fight back.

It all happened very quick. Suddenly, the wooden railing was digging into Billy’s back. He whipped his head over his shoulder, gaping at the waves rushing by the moving boat. He was scrambling to find purchase, to get back to his feet, but Ollinger made it impossible. “Bob, Bob, hey— don’t— Ollinger, stop. Don’t do this—“

Ollinger sneered at Billy, panting like a dog and obviously relishing in the other man’s panick. He snorted, rolling his shoulder to shake off the hand of a crewmate. The tussle was gaining some attention from the other men.

“Hope y’can swim, Kid.” Ollinger spat, shoving Billy into the waters below.

Oh, fresh air was freedom.

You’d certainly get in trouble with your mother for being above the surface, but that seldom worried you anymore. You felt such a powerful sense of freedom, such a compelling desire to do what you were forbidden against.

It felt like discovery.

Yes, sometimes you longed to gush to your many sisters about your findings, the breeze, the beautiful stars and the warmth of the sun. But it felt nice, sometimes, to keep it all to yourself. The secluded beach you’d lay upon, watching the sand run through your fingers— it was for you. You’ve never had anything completely and truly of your own.

Today you weren’t particularly in the mood for the shore of the nearby port town. You were laying out on some rocks a ways away instead. That was the beauty of this thing, the secret you had to yourself— you could do exactly as you pleased!

Well. Exactly as you pleased until it came to men.

You’d slipped underwater from the rocks you were sunning yourself on when the boat approached. Despite what everybody seemed to think, you weren’t that foolish. You knew that a mermaid laying on the rocks was like finding a nice steak in the middle of the desert. The thought irked you, but you couldn’t ignore the myths that every part of your body would sell for plenty in a market.

From what your mother and sisters have told you? Men were monsters. Men’d harpoon a woman like you through the chest before you could open your mouth to speak. You’d been told horror stories about sailors cutting mermaids at the hip, selling their tails and locks of their hair.

But you were certain those stories were fake, conjured by cruel adolescent girls to torment their little sister. Not that you had much of a reason to believe otherwise.

You reminded yourself of that as you held onto the rocks, peeking your eyes out of the water and watching the vessel. It was close enough for you to see the commotion on board; two men having it out, one much broader and younger, but one with an obvious thirst to see the other one bleed. It was in their nature, you supposed.

It was dangerous to be watching so close. Your mother’s reprimanding words rang in your ears. But the boat was moving so slowly, as if the tussle was begging for your eyes on it.

Before you knew it, harmless, boyish punches and wrestling turned into one man being held over the railing. The broader man was falling into the sea, the men aboard shouting their lungs out. With the size of the boat? The height of his fall and the current today? Oh, he hardly had a chance.

You waited a moment. Then another. Your eyes flickered twixt the boat and where the water rippled from the man’s fall, chest heaving with the thumping of your heart. You couldn’t just leave him to drown, you thought as you counted ten seconds underwater. It was obvious the undertow had him. You forgot the old tales about violent men— your conscience outweighed your fear.

You were swimming to him in an instant. He was still trying to swim against the current, poor thing. You wrapped your arms around his middle, clearly shocking him, because he writhed in your arms and turned to look at you with wide eyes. Oh, what pretty eyes he had. The deepest of blues, a pure and clear color, one that struck through your chest and into your heart. Before you knew it, those eyes were fluttering shut, his stiff body going limp in your arms.

Enough staring. You reminded yourself that you were supposed to be saving him.

You swam as fast as your tail could take you, gliding through the water effortlessly. You glanced down at the man, only for a brief moment, distressed to see that his eyes were still closed. God, why were humans so stupidly fragile?

Soon enough you were lifting him onto the shore, even putting the effort to haul him onto the dry sand. Maybe the heat of the sun-warmed grains would help, you thought, eyes wandering to his legs. You felt more calm than you should’ve around a human man.

You leaned over him, folding your glittering tail under yourself. The water in his lungs wouldn’t kill him, you were certain. Just to be sure, you pressed your lips to his, coaxing the fluid from his lungs. Nothing more than curtesy, you told yourself. Only because a kiss from your kind could let a man breath through water. You were careful to wipe it from his chin as he choked it out. You spooked a bit, wondering if the man’d wake, but no. He was still unconscious.

With that comfort, you leaned your face close to him, squinting at his features. He didn’t seem vicious.

You stroked your pointer finger along the slope of his aquiline nose, intrigued. He was quite handsome, really. The set of his mouth and his plush lips, he just seemed kind. Out of curiosity, you pushed your fingernail under his top lip, lifting it and finding that his teeth were not in fact razor-sharp, like your mother had told you. You hummed, pleased.

You couldn’t help stroking the backs of your fingers along his jaw, his forehead, his stubbled cheeks.. you rather liked the rough texture under your skin. Curiously, you leaned your face closer to his, narrowing your eyes at the man.

You’d been told men were dangerous. But this one didn’t seem so bad.

Your hand drifted down to lay over his chest, feeling the strong thump of his heartbeat under your palm. What a relief! Your other elbow rested above his opposite shoulder, your face hovering over his. You brushed your hair off his forehead, the dripping locks falling around your face and onto his. He was certainly more handsome than the mermen where you were from. You didn’t fight the excited smile splitting your lips.

The man’s eyelashes began to flutter, though, and you pushed yourself a bit further above him out of curtesy. His eyes opened a crack, then a bit more upon realizing he wasn’t in fact looking into the sun, but a woman, a beautiful one at that. His blue eyes twinkled, and for a moment he just stared, and you did the same.

Well, what could you say?

“Hey.” The man mumbled, his brows drawing together and a faint smile stretching his features. Oh, he wasn’t just handsome, he was gorgeous.

You hadn’t moved your hand from his heartbeat, you could feel the rhythm of it accelerating. “Hi.”

“S’ this heaven?” He asked, voice low and gravelly from the saltwater. “You an angel?” His eyes flicked downward, settling on your chest. His dark brows lifted, as if there was something surprising down there, you looked down at yourself. No, nothing special. Though you did notice that he was wearing fabric over his own chest. Maybe a cultural difference.

It wasn’t until the man’s eyes drifted further down—catching a glimpse of the way your hips melted into iridescent scales, a tail of blues, pinks and purples, colors impossible for a man to name— that his blue eyes became buggy, his brows drawing again.

“Or a mermaid?”

Billy was entranced from the moment his eyes fluttered open and you were looming over him.

It was something indescribable. Something about you, some radiant, iridescent glow hanging around you, some unknowable way about you— it was as if just the glimmer in your eyes put a spell on him. You were otherworldly.

The simplest of hellos from you was all he needed to fall head over feet, the sweet flutter of your eyelashes all he needed to be at your whims.

Billy only understood just what it was about you that was so opalescent, so undoubtably esoteric, when he glanced down to see that where your hips would’ve connected to a pair of legs, there was only a tail. A tail full of beautiful scales shimmering colors like stained glass in a cathedral, the sunlight moving over the sleek of them similar to the way the light danced over the waves washing onto the shore.

a tail. A mermaid.

Well, it wasn’t like Billy’s never heard of one. No, quite the opposite. Practically every man on his crew (his crew, the image of Ollinger brought a sour taste to his mouth,) raved about some time or other that they’d encountered a mermaid. Dick claimed to have caught one, but that it slipped away when he turned his back. Jesse said once he heard the melodic voice of one.

Ollinger, that bastard, said that on his old crew, they got one in their fishing nets. Hauled her aboard, had a good cheers, and—

“What’d you even do with her?” Billy had asked, furrowing his brow. It irked him to imagine just what pirates had to do with such majestic creatures, creatures with a heart and a soul just as they had.

Well. Probably a heart and soul of a purer kind. “Well, y’sell the tail, that’s the big one.” A cruel smile had spread over Bob Ollinger’s cheeks, one that dripped with a devilish greed that flashed behind Billy’s eyes like a warning sign. “We cut her straight ‘cross at the belly. Y’shoulda heard her cryin’, Kid, ya woulda gone green over the railing.” Billy certainly felt green then.

Looking up at you now, meeting your enthralling eyes, recalling Ollinger and by association the mortifying chill of saltwater enveloping him, he came to a sure conclusion. “I almost drowned.” Billy breathed.

You just nodded your pretty little head, eyes suddenly round and doey. He was beginning to wonder if he imagined you speaking. Billy went on, voice soft and low, meant only for your ears. “N’ you saved me.”

A shy smile overtook your lips, which he’d dare say were perfectly shaped. “I did.” There was that voice. You could speak. Oh, and something about your timbre was so unbelievably melodic, a lilted and sweet alto. But he tried to stay on track.

“Why?” Billy’s eyebrows drew together, his forehead creasing as he grimaced. He shook his head a bit, daring to rest his calloused hand over your soft one on his chest. It felt a bit like getting dirt on a diamond, his roughened, fishhook-pierced and rope-scathed fingertips over your gentle knuckles. But the warmth of it was something he wasn’t sure he could move away from.

“It just..” You frowned suddenly, those pretty eyes becoming downcast. The very ends of your eyelashes were blonde against your sun-kissed cheeks, he noticed. “Seemed like the right thing to do. I couldn’t leave you there.”

Billy shook his head, swallowing hard. The painful action twisted his face in a wince. “You could’ve.” He murmured, lifting your hand up to his eyes to squint. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Perfectly normal. Though maybe the webbing twixt your fingers was a bit longer, you could’ve passed as a human woman. Besides the long, oval sharpness to your fingernails. Certainly not like razors, but still.

You seemed to be flattered by his foggy-minded curiosity, because you twisted your hand to hold his, your fingers intertwining. “Well. I didn’t want to.” You cooed in a cheerful, nearly teasing voice.

A heart and soul of a purer kind, Billy thought.

He let a lopsided grin overtake his plush lips, and you mirrored him with the sweetest, most unbelievably beautiful smile he’d ever seen. Christ, he barely— no, he didn’t know you at all, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d throw himself back into the tide at your request.

“How’d you get me breathin’ again?” Billy couldn’t help but ask, a shiver running up his spine at the hollow memory. It had been like water invaded every one of his senses, the life choked out of him excruciatingly. How could he possibly have come back from that?

You hummed in amusement, shrugging your shoulders simply, “a kiss.”

“A kiss?” Billy breathed, his brows lifting. You just hummed affirmatively. He supposed he ought not to question it. Though he sorely regretted missing a kiss from you.

Your free hand was curiously inspecting his own hand, his knuckles, the splay of sand-sprayed hair over his exposed forearms. Maybe it was then that Billy realized you were inspecting him just as curiously as he was watching you.

“I’m Billy.” He breathed after a moment. He wasn’t sure why you’d care to know, but it just slipped out. A part of him desperately hoped that name would mean something to you.

You smiled softly, testing how the name felt on your tongue. “Billy.” You repeated. You rather liked the ring of it. You told him your own name in a lilted voice.

“Suits you.” Was all Billy could manage, his eyes greedily drinking you in, trying to commit you to memory. You shifted a bit, leaning a little further down to him, your wet tresses falling around yours and Billys faces like a silky privacy curtain. Oh, your hair smelled like amber and fresh laundry, Billy wondered how that could even be.

But he was beginning to think that questioning any bit of you was moot.

So Billy was content to stare up at you for a few moments, the sea breeze mussing his hair, sand probably finding its way into the dark locks, catching in his eyelashes. “You a daredevil or something?” It was silly of him to say, he knew, but he couldn’t help trying to draw a laugh out of you. A stupid smile overtook his own lips as a giggle spilled from yours.

“What does that mean?” You shook your head, that warm smile pushing your rosy cheeks up and crescenting your bright eyes. Billy’s mind was hazy still, his voice low and a bit slurred as he shrugged. “S’ a little dangerous, for a mermaid t’be up here, don’t y’think?”

You hummed a little thoughtfully, casting a long glance to the sea. The waves were lapping gently against the sand, cresting and falling languidly yet with purpose. “Maybe.” You pressed your lips, brows lifting. “I think it’s worth the risk.”

Billy grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes still flicking over your face, your sun-tanned and freckled shoulders, your dark tresses (poignantly avoiding your breasts peeking from beneath the strands,) and of course your tail. He wasn’t looking at you like an object to buy or sell for his own gain or pleasure. He was looking at you like a sculpture, like a temple of a religion he’d willingly devote his life to, that he’d willingly pray to and worship.

You just had that effect, you supposed. It wasn’t off putting, but it certainly put a silly, girlish feeling in your stomach and a smile on your face. It was a good feeling, how Billy was admiring you.

“I should go.” You murmured, your eyes flicking back to the tide as you tucked some hair behind your ear. Splitting the curtain. You could guess that the boat would come to port in less than an hour, and surely they’d come looking for Billy. “You should wait at the dock for your crew.”

Billy’s brows drew together, suddenly alarmed by the thought of going away from you. “Will I see you again?” His lips parted over his teeth in a grimace, he shook his head. “I don’t mean t’sound…” No. He discarded the idea of apologizing, of letting you slip through his fingers like water.

“I wanna see you again.” Billy murmured, the sincerity in his sapphire eyes striking. You’d absolutely enchanted this man.

You pressed your lips together again. Could you really trust him? Truly, really trust him enough to meet him again, and risk becoming a horror story to be told to some other little girl? Your curiosity would be the death of you, your mother had always warned. “You may.”

A lopsided smile overtook Billy’s lips, his brows raising. It was better than nothing, he supposed. It’d be silly for him to expect a single thing from you; he was only a man, after all, and you were this ethereal, otherworldly woman. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the backs of your fingers tenderly.

“Then ‘till I see you again,” Billy mumbled your name nearly reverently, watching as you slipped away from him with a sugar-sweet smile and a twinkle in your eyes. Watching as you disappeared into the tides.

It was very, very possible he’d never see you again. Oh, that thought was like swallowing an anchor. If he never saw you with his own eyes, Billy thought, he’d certainly see you in dreams.

The moment he stepped back onto the Seven Rivers he was met with Bob Ollinger’s scraggly, dog-like face. He was standing beside Jesse, who had a guilty expression. Come to think of it, the whole crew was hardly looking at Billy, like he was a horse with a bad leg or something. Like they all felt guilty for letting Ollinger throw him overboard.

“No hard feelings, Kid?” Ollinger sniffed, curling his ugly lip at Billy. He narrowed his eyes, looking twixt him and Jesse.

“Just a few.” Billy grunted, pushing a hand through his wet hair. Within moments, that strange tension dissolved from the crew, and then came the loads of questions. How had he survived seemed to be the overall sentiment.

Billy could only shrug, give the credit to God. He wasn’t sure why the notion of telling these guys about you felt.. wrong. Perhaps it was his own selfish desire to keep you to himself (though he really never had you,) or perhaps it felt like ratting you out, sending rotten men on your trail. Perhaps both.

A few torturous days passed. Absolutely tortuous.

Billy cast endless longing glances into the waves, hoping with all the strength of his heart that he’d see you. You’d stuck in his mind like glue, enrapturing every crevice with your sweet voice, your kind eyes, your opalescence.

He’d never felt like such a wistful fool. Frankly, he was beginning to wonder if you were a figment of his imagination, that in his dazy, water-logged state he’d been seeing mirages.

In his hopeless effort to hold onto the fleeting memory of you, while the rest of the crew went out drinking in the town pub, Billy stayed back to ‘watch the ship.’ In reality he was slipping off his boots and stuffing his socks into them, rolling up his trousers to mid-calf and walking along the shore.

The moonlight danced on the dark tide, the cold water and sea foam swirling around his feet. The only light was that moonlight, demure and casting the beach in an ethereal glow that was painfully reminiscent of you.

Billy was a fool to think he’d truly see you again, wasn’t he?

He treaded wearily on the sand, his worn boots in hand, his azure eyes flicking twixt the sea and his feet. This must’ve been that siren’s effect, that spell that so many sailors had warned him of. You had such a tight hold on his mind.

Billy thought he was imagining it, those first faint notes. He tried shaking it off, but the further he walked along the water the song only grew louder. An ethereal alto, a voice that could pierce through titanium and straight to a man’s soul.

He began to walk with more purpose. The voice became louder, louder and clearer, your words shining brightly through the notes. He was absolutely certain they were yours.

“And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind,”

“and you know that she will trust you, for you’ve touched her perfect body with her mind.”

“And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon—“

You stopped singing, that beautiful sound dying in your throat as you felt his presence. You shifted on the rock you’d been sitting on, jutting out from the shore and hanging slightly over the tide. Your tail shone under the moonlight, dancing on your scales and casting them nearly silver. No, not silver. Opal. Pale yet full of color. Billy could tell that much, as you twisted to look at him, dark tresses falling over your back.

Billy approached slowly, as if you’d spook and slip through his fingers again. “S’ you.” He breathed, shaking his head in a bit of disbelief. Oh, the smile that overtook your sweet lips lifted the weight off his heart.

“Little old me.” You hummed, eyes crinkling with mirth. Maybe you sung a little tune on purpose. Maybe you just wanted to lure him close, ‘cause you knew that your angelic voice would reel him in like a sunfish on a fishing line.

Billy sat on the ledge of the rock, setting his worn boots on his other side and leaning to you. You were sprawled across the length of the rock, your tail laid out and your upper half held up by your hands behind you. He twisted to you, you turned to look at him.

“I wanted to see you again, too.” You smiled, relishing in the way those puppy-dog eyes twinkled at you.

Billy chuckled a bit, shaking his head again. He was beaming. You wanted to meet him? “Aren’t I lucky?”

“Why would you be lucky?” You furrow your brows, shifting to fold your tail underneath you and scoot beside him. Billy watched you move, shrugging and trying his best to keep his eyes off your body.

“Ain’t like just any man gets the pleasure of your company.” Billy smiled goofily and lopsided, but his tone was smooth.

You hummed thoughtfully, watching him look out to the ocean. “Well, you aren’t just any man.” In his eyes, there’s not a damn thing about him worth your time. But he’s not seeing himself through yours. You find him unbelievably handsome, rugged yet kind. If you thought him anything like the stories of cruel men, why would you be here with him?

You tell him so. Billy smiles shyly, looking down at his lap and his calloused hands. “I hope m’not.”

“If you try not to be, that already means you aren’t. Not deep down.” You coo. That little smile of his grows into a grin as you reach for his hand, turning it over and pressing a smooth little shell into his palm.

In the moonlight, the soft cream looks almost an ethereal blue. Billy turns it over carefully, as if he’ll crack it. The inside is a rich purple, one that fades into a soft lavender at the edges. “F’me?”

“Mhm.” You can’t resist a giggle. You figured the best way to get acquainted would be a little gift. “If you come back, I could give you more.” You add cheekily, your girlish joy practically glowing from you.

Billy laughs a bit. As if he needs any incentive to want to see you. “Y’know, I don’t need any reason t’come back besides seein’ your face.” He chuckles, looking up at you. Christ, you really are gorgeous. More gorgeous when his mind isn’t waterlogged and his eyes aren’t hazy.

Another smile graces your lips. You bow your head, picking at your fingers in your lap. Your lap of shimmering scales— another reminder of how different you are from this man. You can’t help mumbling, “You barely know me.”

“Y’know, that’s a reason t’come back. T’get t’know you.” Billy coos, tilting his head to meet your eyes. When your brows draw sweetly he adds lowly, “I really, really wanna know you.”

A soft sigh escapes your lips. The way he murmurs those words deeply, the sincerity in his eyes, his undeniable interest in you… Oh, what trouble this could get you in!

But those lips, plush and soft, they’d been calling to you. Butterflies scattered across your stomach, an excited smile creeping across your own lips just before you burst forward and kissed him. Immediately his roughened hand came up to gently cradle your face, his forehead creasing as he kissed you with all the tenderness such a rugged man could muster.

Your lips were as close to heaven as he’d ever get, Billy knew.

You filled his every sense as you had for the past week. But this was much more real. He regretted his need for oxygen, one that you apparently didn’t know he had, since you only chased after his lips until they disconnected. Billy chuckled breathlessly.

You leaned away, a bit sheepish. “Sorry.” Billy just shook his head absentmindedly. His blue eyes twinkled with mirth and awe as you went on with a shy glint in your eye. “I’ve never done that before.”

Billy cracked a grin, a snort leaving his nose as he let his hand fall from your cheek to your bare shoulder. His callouses were a welcome sensation on your smooth skin. “You kiddin’ me?” A giggle bubbled past your lips as you shook your head passionately.

“Well, aren’t I lucky?” Billy breathes, repeating himself and wondering if he looked like a fool, with eyes so bright with admiration for you. But who could blame him? He felt as though he was in the presence of an angel. God, if he was your first kiss, he wanted to be your last.

It was a strange feeling. Perhaps an hour ago Billy resigned to never know the whimsical feeling of your attention again. A blessing, to be allowed to touch you. A blessing to know you. A blessing to be here with you.

You were a blessing of your own. The sea had given him one of her daughters, if only for a moment.

[dallasgallant]

Time period post: Christmas part 2 , celebration

This’ll be part 2 of my little Christmas time period series! This post will be more focused on what people did, received and watched/listened to. Very generalized as holidays vary from family to family, person to person even today.

Crafts-

As mentioned in the previous post, there were a lot of crafty decorations at Christmas. Paper chains, paper snowflakes. A lot of ‘do it yourself’ fun upcycle (not called so then) ideas from womens and home magazines. As well as displaying whatever a child made at school, there were also sold kits or guides like what’s commonly referred to as “melted popcorn plastic”

Toys and gifts -

Was specifically requested to include popular toys in this post, the 1960s had a lot of the same style of toys that were popular in the 40s and 50s too, timeless toys. Tinker toys, Barbie (and her friends, which were new and not wiped out yet), Lincoln logs and other building toys. Guns and army men and cowboys for boys and kitchens and stuffed toys for girls… the usual, it was very gendered but at the same time there were always toys in the neutral (play-doh for example)

Train sets! American staple for ages and stuck with a good many from Boyhood to manhood, there’s the sort of trope of a guy having a full on room dedicated in his basement. (My grandpa didn’t have a set up track but collected a LOT- Lionel is king) if not trains other model kits like cars or planes, for the older demographic. You go from push toys to scale model as one ages.

The primary difference is the 60s saw a BOOM in “electronic” toys, real battery eaters or ones that needed to be plugged in. The first lite brite for instance,

Now the characters in the outsiders are teens and beyond toys, so I do want to emphasize what they’d know more from their own childhoods in the late 40s-50s would be the more “classic” and basic toys. Another interesting fact is that radio shows and tv shows has their branding and merchandise since basically the inception of the concept.

There would be special catalogs at Christmas time thick, if not thicker than a phone book filled with deals and all the items these stores had to offer. Toys to lingerie all in one great big book. It’s just as major a part of the holiday season as any, though these big books have fizzled out alongside department stores themselves and catalogs even in the holiday season now are pretty small (I still remember circling what I wanted in the early 2000s but it was a nothing size compared to what they were)

If you ever come across old catalogs or magazines I greatly recommend looking through them as they can tell you so much about time period (for any you’re looking for) from what people bought, what price, how they were advertised to, what demographic, how they dressed, spoke, what was happening etc.

Traditions and games-

Holidays have always had a bit of commercialism to them but the 1960s was really the edge of it when it came to Christmas, in fact several iconic specials even mention it being commodified. For many, it’s the last time Christmas felt truly special and magical… and I do think the season changes as we age there is some truth to that- in decoration and how the holiday was treated. Not just two days but a season, a spirit - feeling in the air.

Thanksgiving ends, December first hits and the Christmas bomb explodes. Family comes, traditions are had and cherished. Shopping, cooking, eating, card sending, photo taking etc. or you go somewhere else- usually to other families homes typically a larger gathering. It’s about that togetherness more than the gifts (though greatly appreciated lol) a chance to relax in an increasingly busy, modernizing world.

Hard candy! Bowls of it placed strategically about the house, Christmas was the time for grazing sweets and other finger foods constantly. Some families would have a appetizer/horderves Christmas Eve— constantly eating and picking and present opening and tv watching, family enjoying. Then your large meal Christmas Day, like thanksgiving usually earlier in the day. Turkey was still common but ham is a runner up (personally, ham is Christmas and Easter.)

Citrus as gifts and treats and candies were also common, apparently it traces back to the civil war when they were more uncommon. Also it’s a seasonal thing, and post ww2 a lot of fruits we now consider normal we’re still new and exciting to receive (so like getting a apple at Halloween it was actually a good thing! Depending on the kid anyway lol)

Homemade cookies, pies, gingerbread and other deserts as well. Now there were more cake mixes or premade things to be bought from bakery’s but when you could it was still a preference to make and gift homemade.

Eggnog. Spiked or otherwise, alongside a myriad of punches ranging from the great sherbet and sprite(or 7Up) to booze that would make your aunt stay another week there’s so much.

Movies, specials and music-

First mentioned this here, going over the family and limited channel aspect. Some movies we consider holiday staples, like It’s a wonderful life had some complicated copyright and weren’t played on tv yet- though might get a re-release. The 1960s also saw many of the classics we now watch release, though the Santa Claus Rankin Bass specials weren’t until 1970 and 1974.

- how the grinch stole Christmas 1966

- Rudolph the red nose reindeer 1965

- frosty the snowman 1969

- the little drummer boy 1968

-a Charlie Brown Christmas 1965

There were also new takes on classic Christmas tunes, the Ronettes sleigh ride particularly took off.

60s releases but also generally good songs-

Little Saint Nick - Beach boys 1964

Christmas (baby please come home)- Darlene love 1962

Someday at Christmas - Stevie wonder 1967 (he also sang ‘Stay gold’ for the movie)

Santa baby

Baby it’s cold outside

Here comes Santa Claus, I saw mommy kissing Santa , holly jolly Christmas , rocking around the Christmas tree, marshmallow world

Need a little Christmas

Burl Ives, bing crosby, Johnny , Perry como, nat king cole- notable classics singers

Ones gang would particularly like-

Run Rudolph run - chuck berry

Mary Christmas baby - Otis Redding 1967

Blue Christmas - Elvis (all Elvis christmas songs)

[scotianostra]

August 20th 1872, saw the death of the Scottish " laureate of the nursery", William Miller.

Miller was born in Glasgow in 1810 and spent most of his boyhood in what is now the city’s Parkhead area. His ambition to become a surgeon was ended by serious illness and he was eventually apprenticed as a wood-turner. He became a skilled craftsman, developing a particular talent for cabinet-making. Early in his life he began writing poetry and children’s rhymes, mainly in the Scots language he used in everyday life.

His song Wee Willie Winkie along with other verse by Miller, first appeared in Whistle Binkie: Stories for the Fireside, a compendium of songs, in 1841, it went on to appear in further editions of that and many, many more publications since then. However it was not received well at first, indeed the editor of Whistle-Binkie,David Robertson was not keen on the grumpy figure personifying sleep and it was received with mixed opinions by Robertson’s friends. To settle the dissent, he dispatched the manuscript to R. M. Ballantyne of Edinburgh (who had himself contributed much to the publication and was the writer of over 100 books in his lifetime) who asserted, according to the Perthshire Advertiser that:

“There is not at this moment in the whole range of Scottish songs, anything more exquisite in its kind than that little Warlock of the Nursery, “Wee Willie Winkie.”

Miller suffered from ill health throughout his life and never managed to make a career solely as a poet and continued to work as a cabinet-maker and wood-turner for most of his life, most of the time from his own house, he did however have his fans, Lord Jeffrey, founder of the prestigious Edinburgh Review, being one, another was the Countess of Selkirk, and it was during one of his bouts of illness it became known she helped the erstwhile poet out when reported in The Glasgow Herald in 1846 that…:

“We learn that the Countess of Selkirk has transmitted to Mr David Robertson of this city, by the hands of the Rev.Mr Underwood of Kirkeudbright, the sum of £2, for behoof of William Miller, the author of “Wee Willie Winkie,” &c.; her Ladyship having been impressed with a favourable opinion of the poet from having perused his Nursery Rhymes. Mr Miller is so much improved, that he is now able to pursue his occupation of a wood-turner.”

In November 1871, an ulceration of the leg forced William give up his trade. Despite the increasing frailties of his body, his mind remained as sharp as ever and he continued to write and disseminate poetry, works which appeared in publications such as The Scotsman. Learning of his condition as an invalid, The Greenock Telegraph and Clyde Shipping Gazette on the 1st March 1872 urged its readers to furnish monetary contributions ‘for this deserving old poet:

WILLIAM MILLER THE POET.

“Perhaps the most delicious nursery song that has been written by a modern minstrel for the delectation of the “bairns” in these northern regions is the song of “Wee Willie Winkie.” We are sorry to hear that the writer of it has for a long time past been an invalid, and that he is in poor circumstances. William Miller has a strong claim on the public for some help to smooth his declining years. He is now upwards of sixty, and at his advanced age, afflicted as he is with serious disease of the limbs, there is no prospect of his ever being able again to resume work. By trade he is a wood turner, and he resides in Glasgow, of which city he is a native. One who knows him says that his heart seems still young, his mind still vigorous; but he feels his position irksome and his spirit galled that he cannot now, as formerly, earn by the swear of his brow the bread of independence.”

You have to love the language of the day used in these newspapers!

The following July, Miller stayed at Blantyre for a time, hoping that the town’s airs – the settlement was 8 miles from Glasgow – would reinvigorate him. The trip proved futile and he was soon returned to his son’s house in the city, having suffered a paralysis of the lower limbs. He passed away, destitute, at the age of 62 on the 20th August, 1872.

The poet subsequently received a number of obituary notices in the newspapers lamenting the loss of this Scottish talent. The account below, in The Greenock Telegraph and Clyde Shipping Gazette on the 22nd August, 1872), reports the grim news:

DEATH OF WILLIAM MILLER, THE POET

“The death is announced of William Miller, the nursery poet. He was born in Glasgow in August, 1810. He was early apprenticed to a wood turner, and by diligent application to business made himself one of the best workmen of his craft; and even in his later years there were few who could equal him in the quality of his work. It is, however, as a poet that he is known to fame. In his early youth he published several pieces in the Day and other newspapers; but from the fact that no record of these productions was observed, it is impossible to know when they issued from his pen.

The first thing that brought him into public notice was the publication of the nursery song “Willie Winkie.” The MS. of this song was sent to Mr. Ballantine in Edinburgh, who gave it unqualified praise, as being the very best poem of its kind that he had ever seen. This led to the publication of the poem, and it at once attracted a large amount of attention. This was followed by a number of other pieces of a similar description, all of which were received with great favour, and led to the author’s acquaintance with Lord Jeffrey and other gentlemen of literary tastes.

The best of his nursery songs which have obtained for him the well-earned title of the Laureate of the nursery were all written before he was 36 years of age; but it was not till 1863 that, at the request of several friends, he collected together and published a small volume, entitled “Nursery Songs and other Poems.” It had a wide circulation and has earned for the author a reputation that will never decay.

Miller is buried in Tollcross Cemetery in a plot that does not bear his name a sad state of affairs that led to friends and admirers raising a memorial stone by public subscription and it stands in the Glasgow Necropolis, near the Bridge of Sighs.

In 2009, Glasgow City Council unveiled a tribute to the poet at his former dwelling, 4 Ark Lane in Dennistoun, erecting a bronze plaque on the wall of the Tennent’s Brewery which now sits on the site of William Miller’s house. A blue plaque in the Trongate also serves as a quirky tribute to his most famous creation, declaring that ‘Wee Willie Winkie was spotted here in his nightgown’ in 1841.

It is clear that, even now, William Miller’s pyjama-clad figure still urges children to get into their beds and sleep as a nursery song learnt and replayed the world over

Here is the Scots version of ‘Wee Willie Winkie,’ a rhyme anglicised very soon after its publication:

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the toon,

Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-goon,

Tirling at the window, cryin’ at the lock,

Are the weans in their bed, for it’s now ten o’clock?

Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye coming ben?

The cat’s singing grey thrums to the sleeping hen,

The dog’s spelder’d on the floor, and disna gie a cheep,

But here’s a waukrife laddie that winna fa’ asleep.

Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow’ring like the mune,

Rattling in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoone,

Rumbling, tumbling round about, crawing like a cock,

Skirlin’ like a kenna-what, wauk’ning sleeping fock.

Hey, Willie Winkie – the wean’s in a creel,

Wambling aff a bodie’s knee like a very eel,

Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and raveling a’ her thrums-

Hey, Willie Winkie – see, there he comes!’

Wearied is the mither that has a stoorie wean,

A wee stumple stoussie, that canna rin his lane,

That has a battle aye wi’ sleep before he’ll close an ee

But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.

[zablife]

My Martha

John Shelby x Martha & Finn Shelby

Summary: When seven year old Finn meets a kind seamstress during the war, he’s immediately taken with her beauty and kindness. However, it’s his older brother, John, who ultimately wins her favor, causing Finn to experience his first case of a broken heart. 

Author’s Note: Requested by a lovely anon who wanted a Finn fic based on the film Malena. Not a true love triangle as Finn is ages seven thru ten in the story. However, he has a boyhood crush. A new take on John and Martha’s origin story where they meet later and she lives.

Warnings: language, fighting, mention of blood, unwanted advances

1915

The air had turned crisp suddenly that autumn, the breeze blowing down the narrow alleys of Small Heath where Finn and the other boys played. The threadbare coat Polly had managed to find in a pile of John’s old clothes was not nearly warm enough to block the chill, nor were the trousers that had once belonged to Tommy. 

As a fight broke out over who had won the pile of marbles, Finn was knocked to the ground, ripping the knee of his threadbare hand me downs. Eventually the boys all scattered in different directions, but Finn remained, wincing at the sight of blood oozing from the cut he’d sustained on the cobblestones. As he leaned against the cold stone of a nearby building, Finn noticed the kind young woman who had stopped to check on him. 

“Are you alright? Did someone hurt you?” she asked, looking around to see if a bully was still lurking nearby. 

“No, I fell,” Finn said, dusting off his trousers. He felt his cheeks growing hot as he looked up at the beautiful girl with ginger hair. She was close enough to place a hand on his shoulder and he unconsciously leaned into her touch. 

“I live right over there. Let me help clean you up and sew those trousers,” the woman said with a smile.

“I dunno,” Finn mumbled.

“I’m Martha,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m a seamstress so it won’t take long and then I’ll take you home to your parents.”

“Don’t have any money…or parents,” Finn explained, kicking the ground.

“Oh…” Martha replied in shock. “Well, you don’t have to pay me. And afterwards, I’ll take you somewhere to get you out of the cold.”

“But I have a home!” Finn protested.

“Of course you have. Where is that?” Martha asked gently.

“Watery Lane,” Finn said. 

“Alright, Watery Lane it is,” Martha said with a smile. Finn nodded with complete trust.

When the repairs were finished and Finn had filled his belly with Martha’s homemade pie, she walked him home, making pleasant conversation. Finally she asked, “What does your Aunt Polly do, Finn?”

“She’s a bookmaker,” he said absently, watching a bird. A moment later he stopped with a jerk. “Shit!" The word flew from his mouth involuntarily, a desperate reaction to his carelessness.

Martha’s head snapped to the boy at her side. “Is something wrong?” she asked, surprised at his sudden outburst.

Eyes darting from side to side furtively, he murmured,“You weren’t meant to hear that." 

“It’s alright, I assure you I heard far worse when my father was alive,” Martha replied with a conspiratorial giggle.

“Not the swear. I meant, my aunt’s work. She told me to say she’s an umbrella maker or something so the parish don’t take me away,” he confided with fear in his voice.

As a single woman working diligently to keep a roof over her own head, Martha’s heart clenched in her chest at his admission. She had heard of women making ends meet in ways that weren’t exactly legal while their husbands were away at war, but she wasn’t about to turn anyone into the authorities. She stopped walking, placing her hands on Finn’s shoulders so he would face her. “Finn, I won’t say a word. In fact, I’d like to learn some of your aunt’s umbrella mending techniques one day.”

“You would?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes, of course. As a seamstress, I’m always looking to expand my trade,” you reasoned with him.

“That’s wise,” Finn agreed with a nod of his head, appearing much older than his age.

Martha giggled again at his adorable nature. “Thank you, Finn,” she said with a wide grin. This was a family she had to learn more about.

Over the course of the next year she would, receiving business advice from Polly and regular visits from Finn who kept her company as she sewed late into the evenings. She insisted Finn do his school work there when she realized how it had been neglected, but she only offered gentle corrections. She wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Pol. In fact, Finn often had to stifle a giggle as Martha attempted to answer his questions with pins held firmly between her teeth.

————————————

1916

Finn hadn’t seen Martha in almost two weeks, but he gasped excitedly when he spied her at the market one summer day. Her auburn hair made her easy to spot in a crowd and today Finn was especially grateful for the bright pink hair ribbon she wore, winking at him through the crowd as she walked. Standing on tip toes to catch another glimpse, he struck out in the direction he’d last seen her, hoping to catch up to her for a chat.

Martha was the only person who actually listened to him when he talked and he’d missed her kindness. At home he was always being shoved aside with exasperated pleas for quiet. He understood that with the passing of his own mum, he couldn’t expect the same love and affection. The war had only made matters worse with Aunt Pol and the ladies at the betting shop under terrible stress with little time for his distractions. Therefore it was nice to have someone to discuss his interests with at length. Besides that Martha laughed at his jokes and never called him names like Ada did. 

In a desperate bid for Martha's attention, Finn nearly tripped in his haste to wave hello. He readied a cry of her name, but it died on his lips when he saw the woman at the vegetable stall lean forward  to observe Martha with hawklike scrutiny, grabbing her forearm harshly. “Put that back,” she demanded spitefully.

“Mrs. Patterson, I don’t know what I’ve done, but I assure you I’ve money to pay our bill,” Martha said meekly, eyes nervously darting to see who might be listening. Her cheeks were turning a rosy color in embarrassment over the misunderstanding and her feet shuffled beneath her skirts uncertainly.

“We don’t serve whores,” the woman spat. 

“Wh-what? But I’m not…” Martha began.

Mrs. Patterson clucked her tongue in rebuke as she tossed her hand aside in disgust. “Course you’d deny it, but all the girls have told me bout you. Get out of here before I call the police.”

Martha’s hands shook as she placed the carrots she held back into the crates before her, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Turning from the booth quickly, she wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks as she fled the market, avoiding eye contact with the women spreading such hateful rumors about her. 

It wasn’t until Finn had called her name three times that she finally turned, shoulders hunched in defeat. The radiant smile he’d come to know so well could not be found amongst the pain hidden behind her eyes and Finn missed the warmth that would normally spread through his body at her usual greeting.

She inhaled sharply at being caught with watery eyes, aware that the situation was far too delicate for a child’s understanding, even one as worldly as Finn. “I can’t play with you today, Finn,” she explained quickly, looking past him toward home. She wanted nothing more than to hide from everyone after what had been said. 

Sensing her hurt and wanting to protect her honor, a sudden rage overtook Finn’s small body. Without another thought, he rushed for the vegetable stand and took an armful of tomatoes, hurling them at the offending woman as she stood with her back to him. 

As she felt the gush of liquid against her neck and back, Mrs. Patterson turned in fury. “Finn Shelby! I see you, boy!” she cried out, grabbing a broom and chasing him along the street, hair and apron strings covered in the watery juices and tiny seeds of the tomatoes. She pursued him for several blocks before he finally evaded her, pressing himself against the side of a building to catch his breath and smiling at the thought of justice being served. 

However, it wouldn’t be the last of the trouble. A week later, Finn saw Martha leaving the shoemaker looking utterly dejected. She didn’t swing her basket or hum a tune the way she usually did. Instead, she gave a tight smile and nodded politely to Finn and his friends as she passed. 

The silence bothered Finn and he wondered if his antics with the tomatoes had changed her opinion of him. Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment and regret, he turned to go home when he heard a long, low whistle.

“Look good enough to eat, sweetheart. I’d love a taste of strawberry tart,” a man’s voice leered at Martha.

The hair on the back of Finn’s neck stood on end as he listened and he jumped when he heard Martha scream. Heart thundering wildly, he turned to find a drunkard pawing at her, basket tossed aside as he pushed her toward an alley. 

“Don’t fight me, love. I know what you are. How much?” he slurred.

“Leave her alone!” Finn yelled and his friends joined in, screaming and cursing, fists and limbs flying. While the man was distracted by the band of wayward children, Martha bit down hard on his hand and he released her, staggering away until he fell backward onto the ground. “Run, Martha!” Finn shouted and she tearfully scrambled to the street as the boys continued kicking the bewildered man.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Finn hurried home as well, crashing into the betting shop and running head long into John.

“Woah, Finn! What are you up to?” John asked with a sly grin. He knew his brother had been causing mischief by the guilty look on his face, but wanted to hear what Finn would say.

“John, you’re home!” Finn cried. "There’s so much to tell you!” he panted, hardly able to believe his brother was standing before him. He flung his arms around his brother’s waist and squeezed, smelling the mixture of smoke from the train and whatever new brand of cigarette Polly was sending him nowadays. 

“Alright, let me wash first and we’ll talk over dinner, yeah?” John said, ruffling the boy’s hair. 

“But it’s important! My friend Martha’s in trouble,” Finn continued urgently.

Playing along, John stooped down to Finn’s eye level and asked, “Is that right? What’s happened, a case of stolen marbles?” he chuckled.

As Polly passed by she interjected, “Not likely, Martha’s twenty-one.”

John’s head shot up at the mention of a woman his own age. Looking at Polly quizzically, then back down at Finn, he asked, “How do you know her?”

“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say, she’s a lovely girl,” Polly explained before turning to her youngest nephew. “What kind of trouble, Finn? That doesn’t sound like Martha.”

“No, she hasn’t done anything wrong, Aunt Pol! It started when Mrs. Patterson and the women at the market started calling her a whore!” Finn choked out the last words unwillingly, hating the way it sounded. “Then she was followed by a man today and he tried to hurt her,” he confessed, lip trembling at the thought of what might have happened if he and the other boys hadn’t caused a commotion.

Polly took Finn by the shoulders and looked him in the eye sternly, “Is she alright? Where’s Martha now, Finn?”

He nodded fiercely, “She ran home, but she was really scared. Will that happen again?” Finn asked, big eyes searching back and forth between his aunt and his brother.

“Not in our territory. I’ll sort this,” John said in an authoritative voice. 

By dinnertime the man in question had mysteriously disappeared and no one dared touch Martha again. The next week at the market, Mrs. Patterson had a lovely selection of her finest produce available and insisted Martha take it for free, offering up the basket with a flowery apology.

When Martha realized John Shelby had been the cause of her restored reputation, she seemed happier than ever. She offered to cook him a lavish meal to say thank you and he readily accepted. However, there was one person who wasn’t sure he liked this new turn of events.

———————————-

1917

“Finn, will you see Martha today?” Polly asked as she placed his breakfast in front of him.

“I don’t think so,” Finn replied glumly, chin resting in his palm as he stared out the kitchen window. He wanted to see Martha, but now every time he went, she talked about John.

John was still away fighting, but he and Martha still kept in touch writing letters. When Finn began noticing the stack accumulating on the table, tied up in Martha’s favorite pink hair ribbon, he knew there was another Shelby vying for her affection and possibly winning. The thought made him ill, unable to eat for days afterward, even when Martha offered her delicious rhubarb pie.

He didn’t understand why the one good thing he had in his life, the person he could call his own, was being usurped by his older brother. It hardly seemed fair when John wasn’t even in the same country. For the first time since he met Martha, Finn felt small and insignificant. Probably worst of all, it confirmed his worst fears that he was truly unlovable.

————————————

1918

“I thought you’d be pleased!” John said, scratching his head. The news of his engagement to Martha was supposed to be a happy occasion.

“Well m’ not,” Finn said through clenched teeth, shoulders tightening uncomfortably as though he might throw a punch at any moment.

“You’re mad at me?” John asked incredulously. 

“Mad as hell!” Finn spat, crossing his arms over his chest as his nostrils flared.

John chuckled at the sight of him, a tiny bull ready to charge.  “What do you know about hell, eh? You’re fucking ten years old!”

“I’ll be eleven next month,” Finn grumbled, kicking the floorboards with an indignant scowl weighing down the corners of his mouth disagreeably. Why did everyone forget he was growing up and he had a say in this family too?

“You think you’re going to marry a girl because you shit your pants in front of her when you were six? Sure, mate, that’s romantic,” John teased.

“That’s not what happened!” Finn shouted, lunging for his brother. Despite being ten, he was tall for his age, reaching John’s shoulders. A few punches managed to land dangerously close to John’s jaw before he captured his brother under his arm, subduing his rage after one last fit of squirming and kicking.

“Are you finished?” he asked the boy.

“Yes,” Finn huffed, chest heaving from exertion. John turned him lose onto the rug and flung himself into a chair, running a hand over his hair to smooth it back into place.

“Why are you so angry all the time?” John asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Why are you such an arsehole?” Finn retorted with a toss of his head.

“See what I mean? You think Martha will want to be around you if you act like this?” John asked, pointing a finger at Finn accusingly.

“She won’t be around anyway. You’re moving, you stupid git!” Finn protested and suddenly John realized what this was about. 

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he sighed. “Okay, right. I think I understand now. I’m taking her away from you,” John said softly. 

Finn looked at the floor and nodded slowly. “She was the only one around after mum died. You lot when off to war and Aunt Pol ran the shop. I know I’m too young to marry her, but she’s still my Martha. She was mine first anyway,” he said, sniffling into his shirt sleeve.

John inhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought. He’d never considered what life had been like for Finn in the years he’d been away fighting. He knew Martha had cared for Finn. In fact, it was one of the things he loved most about her, but he had no idea Finn’s attachment had grown so deep.

“Look, Tommy’s made me an offer to work with him. I’ll have to discuss it with Martha, but I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t want to stay on. Her shop is doing well and until we have a baby, she wants to work,” he explained, trying to offer a bit of hope to his brother.

“Ugh, I don’t want to hear about your babies!” Finn protested.

“Alright, no more talk of that,” John agreed, standing to clap a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Until it’s Uncle Finn!” he added with a wide grin.

“Get off!” Finn said, shoving him away with a laugh.

After a long pause John shuffled toward the door before asking, “Are we okay?” and Finn nodded in agreement.

As John opened the door he found Martha standing at the threshold ready to knock. “Have you told him?” she whispered, leaning in to place a peck on John’s lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her.

Placing a hand on his shoulder lightly, she asked, “Can I speak to him?”

“I’ll wait outside,” John answered, moving out into the street to light a cigar.

As she crossed the floor, Martha cast her eyes upon a still sulking Finn. “When John asked me to marry him the first person I wanted to tell was you,” she confided.

“Me? Why?” he asked, looking at her with utter confusion. She loved John, not him. Why would she be thinking of him during the proposal?

“I wanted to thank you, of course,” Martha said, a radiant smile painting her face.

“Why is that?” Finn asked, curiosity growing as her soothing cadence lulled him into a peaceful state once more. She had the unique ability to do that whenever he found himself overwhelmed. 

“You loved and protected me like family when I needed it most,” she said, reaching a hand up to push the fringe from his eyes. “Now we’ll be family forever and John and I will always be here for you. We both love you very much. You know that, don’t you?” she asked, searching his eyes for understanding. 

Finn nodded as she opened her arms for a hug. Finn awkwardly accepted, pushing a shoulder toward her and allowing his cheek to brush her jawline momentarily, feeling his heart skip a beat as it did. He tried not to think of it as a goodbye as he worked to push the lump down in his throat. It wasn’t the way he’d envisioned her joining the family when they met, but now he had to admit this was always meant to be. 

-------------------

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