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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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Eddie x fem! Reader [masterlist]

Prev | vol viii

Summary: November 1st, Steve’s birthday celebration, a new friend is brought into the mix, Eddie’s past is revealed.

Trigger Warning: no minors pls, language, drinking, reader wears Eddie’s jacket, fluff, angst.

W/C: 11.5k

@jo-harrington + @ghost-proofbaby for beta reading this a tiny bit for me

The sun is waning through your curtains, blinding your eyes with a light so bright it’s like you’re staring into a flashlight. The ominous whirring of your fan oscillates, sending a chilling breeze across your room

Silently thanking yourself for taking ibuprofen before falling asleep last night, the pounding in your head is minimal, but the scratchy dryness of your throat is a steady reminder of the impromptu karaoke singing and the toe to toe chain smoking contest you bullied Eddie into. Your former drunker self turned cockier with every drink.

“I bet you… this house! This fucking house! That I can smoke more cigarettes than you can at once,” you slurred in a buzzed stupor as you swayed your body with the faint music of REO Speedwagon, your finger pressed into his chest where the fabric v’d open.

Red eyed and already higher than Willie fucking Nelson, Eddie grins wider than the Cheshire Cat, dipping low to your ear to whisper, “game on, sweetheart, but we’re smokin reds not your menthol shit.”

News flash. You couldn’t out smoke Eddie. And your burning croaky throat was proof of that.

Feet on the floor, your cold toes inching towards purchase against the carpet for your slippers. Opening your eyes, you assess the room. The Eddie costume you proudly wore all night, was strewn across your floor, complete with the wig. A rumbly laugh reverberates through your lungs along with a horrendous hacking cough. The memory of Jeff wearing it and imitating Eddie jogs across your mind. The way Eddie pouted and glared through his lashes made you smile sweetly at the memory.

A quick glance at your body in the mirror shows that you’re still wearing the soft black DIO shirt from lastnight, but thankfully you changed into pajama pants.

Another rough barking cough against your already achy throat surrenders it’s vices and begs for water. Opening the door you are met with a freezing chill. Eyes blinking in the bright sun from the windows in the living room, you take note of the heaps of bodies snoring and drooling amongst the floor.

Mike and El are cuddled up like two little kittens against the back corner in the living room, her blonde wig used as a pillow, Mike’s Mad Hatter jacket and his arm draped over her. Finding yourself gawking at the sweetness of seeing them curled into each other, you wonder if you would ever have a great love like they did. Your stomach leaps when the one crossing your mind is Eddie.

It was wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling this way about your brother’s friend, your roommate for fucks sake! He was everything you hated about the male population. Loud, annoying, an absolute pervert. Messy beyond belief, couldn’t boil a goddamn egg. But, he was also gentle, kind, and caring. Your yearning heart ached for his touch like the day he held you close to his chest during your darkest hour.

Not to mention he was cute. Okay, that’s a lie. Eddie was hot, in that rugged ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ kind of way. Different from most guys in Hawkins, who were obsessed with their appearance, their family name. Eddie didn’t care, he was just himself. Always had been, always would be. And something about that cocky demeanor, burying the kindest heart you’ve ever come across, made your heart stutter in your chest.

Would he hold you like Mike was holding El if you were his? Would he cover you in kisses and do cliche things with you like matching couples costumes on Halloween? Something deep inside told you he would.

“Cute aren’t they?”

You jump out of your skin at the low, velvet voice, not realizing he was awake, your hungover mind foregoing the aroma and slow drip of black coffee being made. Too wrapped up in thinking about him to notice that he had approached you on your left, his messy curls swing against your cheek as he had bent down to your ear.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a chuckle.

You turn and look at him, he’s so close to you your noses almost touch. The tickling shock of nervousness from last night returns and travels up your spine, curling into your hair, igniting every hair follicle, a burning welcomed pleasure against your scalp. A quirked smile on his lips as you take a step back.

Blinking slow, you take him in. His smile could melt the polar ice caps, that goddamn panty dropper grin, you curse yourself silently for feeling the heat on your neck. He’s wearing black sweats, cut above the knee and rolled at the hem from many washes. A horrendously sawed off cut t-shirt adorns his broad shoulders. The same raw hems rolling inward, exposing a silver hoop in his nipple. The sun catching the steel ring and casting a blinding glare against it. He tips the coffee mug he’s holding back to his lips, emptying the contents in one gulp. The smell of potent orange juice fills your nose as you stare at his lips. His tongue poked out to lap up the last spilled drops.

“No, you’re fine—I didn’t realize you were up,” you explain, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Peering around him at the small wooden clock on the wall, it’s only 8:30, “didn’t know you were aware that there was an 8:30 AM on Sundays.”

“Are you always this witty in the morning?”

“It’s a gift,” you say with a smirk, “consider it a blessing, you’re late by the way.”

“Late for what?” The lazy way he smiles at you should be a crime.

A coy smile on your lips, “Sunday Service.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and grabs his side, wincing slightly, “agh, don’t make me laugh,” he groans, “I think I fucked up my back or something from falling down those steps last night.”

“…twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…”

Gareth turned his head from the spout engulfing deep breaths from the chilled night air. Argyle and Jonathan let his feet back down to the deck. Standing next to Nancy and Ash, you whoop and holler along with everyone else, cheering on the new Keg Stand Champion. Gareth, stands on wobbly legs, taking a deep breath, he shouts, “And that's how it’s d—“

Before he can finish his victory speech, he projectile vomits all over Big D. Covering him shoulders to waist in foamy chunks of party food and the cheap keg beer. Laughter erupts from Eddie, he throws his wild hair back in amusement. Clutching his stomach and choking on the smoke from the joint he had just inhaled. Karma, proving again that she’s a cunt, Eddie leans back just far enough to fall backwards down the five steps to the ground.

“Jesus down, Jesus down!” Eddie exclaimed, roaring with laughter.

Concerned, you delicately reach for his wrist and move his hand away from his ribs. A small splatter of deep purpling color against his alabaster skin suggests that they are more than likely bruised from the fall. The dainty touch of your fingers on his body sends goosebumps against his flesh, and it wasn’t because your hands were cold. He swallows hard, adoration in his brown eyes as he takes in your smell, how messy your hair was, the hum on your lips as you observe him, pressing the pads of your fingers into his skin.

Who would have thought that simple minuscule touches from you could cause a frenzy in his blood. He thought the hair washing would bring him to his knees, but this? He didn’t realize he stopped breathing until you spoke.

The hitch in his throat is dismissed by you, “sorry, my fingers are probably freezing,”

He murmurs, something along the lines of “it’s fine,” but you barely hear it.

His skin is surprisingly smooth. Women spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in their lifetime to have perfect skin, and here Eddie Munson was, baby soft skin on a metal head’s body. You take the time to admire the exposed tattoo on his ribs next to the bruises. Tracing your finger over the triangled black ink outlined in red, angry against his skin. You’ve seen the symbol before but never understood what it was. An eight laying sideways, in the overlapping section is a cross with two lines instead of one.

Seconds fade to minutes of your fingers tracing his skin. Neither you or Eddie have said a word. Unhurried migrations on your fingers skate across the alabaster, feeling for any broken bones, but only feeling the velour cream of his skin beneath your hands.

Clearing your throat, you look into his blown out eyes, “I —um,” the air is thick between you both, making it hard to breath, or it could be the fact that the caramel pools of his eyes are pouring into yours, “ looks like it’s just bruised,” you say, slowly moving your fingers away from his skin. Your nails scratching his skin casually. And a quick intake of breath hisses between his teeth.

Eddie’s voice comes out shakier than he would have liked, he licks his lips, “o-oh good.”

He casts his eyes downwards, his fingers tug gently at the sleeve of the DIO shirt you’re still wearing from last night. His eyes find yours again, the browned oasis beckoning you, “are you still mad at me for winning the costume contest?” he asks in almost a whisper, lips barely moving, his focus full on the way your soft skin under your shirt feels against his calloused fingers.

The jump in your lower belly ignited the flame within you, sending burning hot coals to your core at his ghosting fingers on your arm. You blink rapidly and scoff. Rolling your eyes to extinguish the flames, you force yourself away from him, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his chest sends more fire through your veins, a last attempt on keeping the heat blazing. “I was never mad,” you explain. Opening the cabinet with shaky hands and grabbing a white mug with tiny yellow flowers on the rim, you take a deep breath to steady your voice, turning it into a makeshift yawn, “who do you think decides who wins the contest anyway?”

Pouring the hot black coffee into the mug the aroma fills the room. Creamer sloshes against the liquid mixing merrily into a toffee colored dream.

Eddie leans against the counter, taking a piece of candy from the plastic jack-o-lantern dish and twisting the ends between his fingers, the orange hardened sugar melting slow on his tongue.

“You voted for me?” he asks earnestly, his head bowed in bashfulness, “you’re going to make me blush, sweetheart,” he coos, swirling the candy around his mouth, clacking against his teeth as he tries to hide a smile.

Sipping the piping hot coffee gingerly between your lips, you shrug, “not every day I get to see you acting so holy, thought we should capitalize on the opportunity, plus, it really was one hell of a costume.”

The bubblegum blush on Eddie’s cheeks make him look like a teenager, twisting his hair as if he just received his first kiss.

“I don’t know, I kinda liked yours,” he said matter of factly.

“That’s cause you’re full of yourself,” you say with a teasing tone, sticking out your tongue, and coughing roughly again.

Eddie’s eyebrows pull inward, a mocked scoff on his lips, “I refuse to take insults from someone who sounds like my Uncle Wayne— told you you couldn’t hang with the big dogs— but no, Tooty doesn’t listen.”

You dismiss him with a suggestive middle finger and a smirk as you sip the coffee again, “I can do anything I want, you’re not my babysitter.”

Neither of you knew that Robin and Steve were both awake, listening intently to your light banter, your giggling voices as you teased each other. The way yours pitched in a high squeal when Eddie’s hands tickled your sides and you tried to fight him off with the paper towel row.

The two friends sit side by side on the couch, smiling widely at one another, wondering when you would let eachother in.

It was noon before Gareth woke up, a combination of dried puke and drool on his face. The other four party go-ers had already left and did the sad walk of shame out to their vehicles. Both Robin and Steve give you weird looks and wide glances all morning, you even noticed Steve wiggling his eyebrows.

Yawning and reeking of alcohol. The loud snores from Gareth’s slack mouth could awaken the residents lying 6 feet under in East Hawkins. He’s laying with his head in a popcorn bowl, a poorly drawn sharpie penis crudely coloring his cheek, thanks to Eddie. The cold puke slowly oozing from the bowl onto himself has your stomach lurching.

Eddie finally woke him by shaking his shoulders violently, yelling into his face, “dude! You’re gonna rattle the fucking house off the foundation with that deafening snore, Christ almighty!”

Gareth stirred alive, swinging his arms frantically. “Fuck, man, scare the hell out of me why don’t ya!”

“Oh relax, trust me— it was either this or the Tooty method,” Eddie says with a grin motioning to you standing behind his shoulder holding a cup of cold water, a devilish smirk on your face, “seriously though, get up you smell like two-week-old rotten asshole.”

After Gareth and Eddie argue over why he has a dick drawn on his face, and Eddie swearing it wasn’t him, Gareth bumps his fist into Eddie’s and waves goodbye as he stands at the front door, and addresses you, “helluva party Tooty, hopefully I didn’t make too much of a mess and you’ll invite me again next year,” his easy smile is something you’ve never seen directed at you. Of all Eddie’s bandmates, Gareth was the hardest to read.

“Duh, you’re the reigning keg stand champion, you gotta make a return,” you smile back.

Gareth laughs, his floppy thick hair matted from the habit he wore all night, “think my keg stand days are over.” He looks from you to Eddie, watching the way Eddie smiles at you adoringly, and he starts to finally get it. Understand why his friend acts the way he does around you. You’re easy to talk to, friendly, kind, once you let your guard down. He looks to Eddie again as you turn and walk back to the kitchen, giving him a knowing glance shifting his eyes to you, and nodding his head once in approval, “see ya around dickhead,” he jokes to his oldest friend, his role model, his brother.

“Why the fuck do I have to wear this?” Eddie groans, pulling at the stiff collar on his shirt, buttoned too tight around his neck, not used to material that wasn’t leather or soft cotton, the metalhead was crabby and uncomfortable in the borrowed maroon button down shirt and black skinny tie from Harrington, “I look like a bible salesmen!”

Steve’s birthday was tonight and he requested to have dinner at his favorite restaurant in Indianapolis. He had gotten a big promotion at work the week after Halloween and was in need of a little celebration before the task of being executive director started.

Slotting silver iridescent dangly earrings you had borrowed from Nancy into your ears and adjusting the matching choker against your throat, you take the last curler out from your hair and fluff it with your fingers to give it shape. You holler from closed confinements of your room, “it’s for Steve’s birthday, not your birthday— quit being a big baby!”

Stepping your tights into the borrowed black velvet pointed heels, and smoothed down the black velour mini dress with the spaghetti straps you had bought last week from an ad in the paper about selling prom dresses for cheap. The material was snug against your curves fitting like a glove. Your makeup was darker than you would have normally done on any other given day but since this was such a fancy event for one of your closest friends— you smoked out a brown eyeshadow across your lids and added a heavy coat of mascara to your lashes with a thin line of eyeliner. Your favorite lipstick swiped delicately across your lips.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you are pleased at your reflection. A patch of doubt trickles up your chest making you question if you should change. Is it too much? Is it over the top? But all that comes to a halt when loud banging is heard on your door. Stopping your spiraling shame cold in its tracks.

“Tooty?” Eddie raps on the door, “Steve just pulled up. You ready or are we leaving your ass at h—”

For the first time in Eddie’s life he is speechless. Not counting the time that his jaw was wired shut for 6 months when he took his skateboard off the roof of Gareth’s house in middle school.

Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, dry and itchy like eighty grade sandpaper. His eyebrows are lifted, tucked beneath his bangs. It’s as if everything was going in slow motion, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, he was stunned by the drop dead gorgeous woman in front of him.

Your beauty wasn’t something that just happened in a movie with you pouncing down the stairs to some cheesy song with your friends clapping at the top and high-fiving over their “miracle makeover”. Eddie just simply wasn’t accustomed to seeing you dressed up like this.

It’s taking everything in him to not spring forward like a rabid dog and close the gap between you. Slot his lips against yours. A desperate, needy kiss so full of urgency that your head would spin. He’d keep you in the spinning wonderland until both of you were seconds from passing out. Dizzy from the floating clouds and blissful euphoria soaring around in his arms. He wants to grab your waist, wants to fist his fingers around the nape of your neck, wants to see the way your mouth would open with a gasp as he kissed your collar bone, so sweetly, so delicately— his name a whisper on your breath. He’d kiss your lips until they were chapped, sore, and tender to match his. Then he’d kiss them better, his lips the antidote, curing your craved pain.

He’d give anything— his van, his guitar, the band whatever it took— just to get a taste. In this dream land he’s everything you wanted, everything you needed. You loved him, adored him. Accepted his flaws, his past, his scars. He’d hold you tight while you slept, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, stealing sleepy kisses on your hair, enamored by the perfume of your hair, intoxicated, drugged by the lust of your skin. He’d learn how to cook, make you delicious meals, clean the house, do the laundry, be the perfect man. All for you.

He wanted to feel your body forming and molding around him. Yearned to know the valleys of your body, each curve, each beauty mark, each scar visible or not. If it weren’t for his heart hammering into his ears he would have thought he had gone deaf for sure.

You’re talking but he can’t hear you.

He’s still in the dream land, dancing on Saturn’s rings, cooling his feet in Jupiter’s springs, holding your hand and taking you higher with him. Your smile taking flight in his chest and ascending you along the majestic sights of the Milky Way. Completely gone from this world. A world where you were his, and he was yours.

The more he fantasizes it— the more the impossibility of this dream increases. His bravado falls, crashing through the sparkly dream with fluffy clouds, falling further down. Away from you. Away from the dream he wanted, craved to be reality.

He fell through the clouds, clinging to your fingers, would you reach out for him? Help him? Save him?

Would you ever want to be his? He was Eyeball’s friend, Prince of the Trailer Park, probably annoyed you more than Eyeball himself did. You were beautiful and put together, and him? He was lint in the dryer, causing house fires when forgotten about. Voted most likely to end up in prison for the graduating class of ‘85 and ‘86. A failure, a crack in the sidewalk you’d avoid to break your mother’s back as a kid.

Avoid the trailer park trash. Avoid Eddie Munson.

So he pushed the thoughts away, the ooey galaxy of cotton candy trees and rainbow lollipops— fading back to black as he fell faster harder, back to reality. The dead, decaying ashen life of shitville Hawkins, Indiana. Where reality came in the form of working long days to barely survive. A name branded to his soul, weathered and tarnished like forgotten silverware in a rich dementia riddled woman’s home.

Nothing. Munson trash. The town freak. Social outcast. Scum in the drain. Bastard child.

“Earth to Eddie!”

A snap of your fingers and the impatient wrinkles between your brow bring his soul back to his body.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, wiping his clammy palms on the thighs of the cleanest pair of black jeans he owned, “We—uh,” blush creeps to his cheeks, adamant to push it down, to the cobwebbed box in his brain that never opened, he grabs your hand and starts to yank you towards the door, a gruff annoyance in his voice, “let’s go.”

You’re crestfallen.

Oblivious to his inner intergalactic battles of hoping that he was good enough for you but deep down knowing he never would be.

Not anywhere near the suaveness of Casanova he pretends to possess on most days, motor-mouth Munson was all out of gas. Spending his last tank, last drop of fuel taking you to the moon and spinning you amongst the stars.

Steve is wearing a black suit, standing against a new SUV, shiny ink black like the velvet of your dress, and the pretty girl’s hair standing next to him, she’s wearing a purple velour sweetheart neckline dress, with rhinestone straps, her shoulders are bare until the dress continues to cover her arms, into a full sleeve. Robin is hanging out of the back passenger side window, a tie hung loosely around her neck and a white button down tailored shirt adorning her body. Waving a bottle of Boonesfarm around.

“Come on! Let’s party like it’s 1984! Before Steve had this new bitchin’ car and still half of his virgini—“

“Robin!” Steve scolds, threading his fingers through his hair, the girl on his arm shooting Robin a pleasurable laugh, her hand on Steve’s chest.

Eddie is still dragging you along, hurrying you along. In a rush but not saying a word. “Eddie, Jesus Christ, stop, I have to get my purse,” you yank your wrist from his grip and take a step backward. Silent and fuming, your arms crossed over your chest. Looking up at him with water brimmed eyes, corners of your mouth turned downward in a confused frown.

It’s the same expression he had seen during the first few days he had moved in, when he hurt you.

Shaking his head with a huff he descends the concrete steps and stands next to Robin, clutching the Boonesfarm bottle and taking a long hefty swig, wallowing in his own self pity and self doubt of never being good enough for you.

Of course this is how it would be with you. Why would you ever want him when there are people like Steve Harrington in the world. Offering you anything and everything you could ever need. And what could he offer you? Nothing. A tainted name and a ring pop replacing a diamond.

He wasn’t good enough for Chrissy, wasn’t good enough for Trish. How would you be any different? Swallowing his pride with each swig of the sugary Boonesfarm, he tries his hardest to push the idea of you wanting to be with him, wanting anything other than someone to take up space and pay rent on time, out of his mind.

“Tooty,” Steve says, waving you over once you shut the door to the house and locked it, “Eddie, this is Leighanne, my girlfriend.”

A smile breaks on your face, pure unadulterated joy for your friend. The way his face lit up saying girlfriend, the way they’re clutched together, a perfect match, him looking adoringly into her face, staring in wonder and awe as she beams a radiating light back up to him— it’s sugar sweet.

A low ache in your chest fires again, whatever had burned for Eddie was now boiling on high heat but the pot was empty.

You thought that maybe he… hadn’t he? The bitter truth stinging your tongue, not admitting it to yourself. Not allowing yourself to think any further on the subject, you extend your smile to Leighanne. Pleasantries in your voice as you push down your own worrying heart and open it up to hear all about how Leighanne and Steve met.

“Damn, new fancy job and a car to match— never seen one of these in real life before Harrington.”

Steve dives into the story of him trading in his car for the G Wagon, a year old and less than 10,000 miles. Eddie asked questions and walked around the vehicle with Steve as he kicked the tires and inspected the paint job.

The ride to Indianapolis was full of Leighanne’s bright laugh, teasing Steve and joking with Robin. Her fingers never unlaced from his. She was funny, charismatic in a way that complimented Steve. You’re stuffed in the middle in the backseat. Robin on your left and Eddie on your right, preoccupied with staring out the window.

He’s brooding, steeping like a tea bag in the heat of the sun. Only he’s cold, off putting and sulking. Not engaging once in conversation other than. Answering yes or no to Steve’s questions, giving little up.

And you were doing the same, trying hard to focus on what Robin and Leighanne were giggling about but finding Eddie’s bad mood taking you over. His pitch black aura sucking you in and consuming you. Dampening the celebratory night for your friend that hasn’t even begun because he’s irritated by God knows what. It’s the longest ride to Indianapolis you’ve experienced yet.

The restaurant is burnt brick with an old prohibition era feel to it. Low jazz music is playing by a live band in the back corner. Reservations for Harrington bring the five of you to a secluded area low lit with hues of blacks and coppers and mahogany wood filling the space, setting the ambience for a private affair. The round table is set with a cream colored silk cloth that alone probably cost more than the value of your house.

Steve pulls out a chair for Leighanne. A pinky rouge on her cheeks as she sits down delicately. Robin climbs next to her, body angled towards her, her feet on the seat of her chair.

Taking the seat next to Robin, Eddie takes the seat next to you, angling it ever so slightly away from you, his right elbow on the table, head facing away from you.

What the fuck?

Two waiters arrive holding a large round platter filled with various selections of wines, whiskey, and beers in stout glasses. Each one filled to the brim of the finest liquor ranging in black browned ale to lighter amber on one side, the others full of their house made brew, an inch head of foam in each glass, and wine ranging from white to a deep burgundy red.

Before the waiter can even walk away Eddie has two glasses of the dark colored whiskey in front of him, shooting them down like he’s at a high school party and has a curfew. “Shit man, these are for sipping, ya gotta ease into it a little,” Steve says with a chuckle. Eddie grabs another glass from the circle of the platter, sipping it slow between his lips, letting the fervor of the liquor burn his mouth, welcoming the burn.

Eddie hasn’t said a word to you all night. In fact— he’s ignoring you. Usually the first to start joking around, he’s completely sullen, sinking into his bad mood letting the veil of self loathing cover himself like a blanket, choking his insides. He’d converse with everyone but you. “Can you pass the pepper,” you’d asked after laughing obnoxiously with Leighanne about how Steve couldn’t throw a punch to save his life.

Silence.

“Eddie?” You ask again, “can you please pass me the pepper?”

Another ignored moment of silence from the brooding metalhead.

“Eddie! Hello!?”

Nothing.

A swift kick from Steve to the shins finally roused him alive, blinking his eyes slowly away from his glass, thumb moving over the condensation. “Dude—Tooty needs the pepper.”

Eddie looks at the pepper shaker with hooded, bored eyes, far from the conversation around the table. Trapped in the black box of dread in his mind. He scoots it closer to you but not enough by far. Scooting your chair back with a screech, you stand and lean across him, fully in his space. Encroaching on his doomed self with your perfume wafting into his nose. Your hairspray stinging his eyes when your hair brushes over your shoulder in front of him. It’s intoxicating. The way your necklace catches the light, as you lean over him hits his chest like a lightning bolt. b

A quick turn of your face and he catches your glare, heated and angry, but his eyes are soft, solemn, sad.

“Thanks, Eddie— really appreciate you helping me out there. Next time I’ll just lay across the table when I need something, or I could simply go fuck myself if that’s easier for you? Don’t want to interrupt whatever the fuck you’ve got going on.” you spit, venom on your lips dripping from your teeth as you aggressively shake the pepper on the salad.

Eddie stands abruptly, “going for a smoke,” he says to nobody in particular, Steve stands and follows him out, with the helping nudge of Leighanne’s elbow in his ribs.

The two guys strut outside, breathing in the night air, a flick of lighters and the burning, crinkling sound of the end of two cigarettes fills the almost barren sidewalk. A minute or so passes before Steve speaks first, “nice night out, considering it’s the middle of November.”

Eddie only nods, inhaling the smoke and trying to relax.

“You alright?”

Again, Eddie only answers with body movements, shrugging his shoulders, blowing smoke through his nose.

Steve inhaled his cigarette slow, “Tooty looks nice tonight.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip and rubs his eyes with this thumb. Smoke curling around him in a makeshift halo. “Yeah,” he finally speaks, nodding his head, a huffed chuckle on his lips, “she does, doesn’t she?”

“What’s going on, man?” Steve questions, “last I knew you were head over heels for her— now you’re ignoring her and acting like a jackass in there.” He says pointing to the door, “you’re gonna fuck this up before you’ve even let it start!”

Eddie shoves himself off the wall, the cobwebs on the box in his mind where he stored his pain, were wiped away, fingerprints on the lid, “oh give it up, Harrington.” Rubbing his hands down his face with a groan, “I’m— fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. Falling for someone like her.”

“What do you mean someone like her?” Steve asks frustrated, “fuck man you really are dumb aren’t you?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his chest puffed out in confusion, “this isn’t like some magic eight ball shaking it to see if your crush likes you Steve! That’s not how shit works!”

“You’re a dumbass! Even I can see that she’s hurt by the way you’re acting!” Steve shouts, stomping out his cigarette.

“Dude I’m not talking about this right now, back off,” Eddie pleads, flicking his cigarette into the street and attempting to walk around Steve.

“Why are you being an asshole and trying to shove her away?” Steve goads.

“I’m not.” Lid is off the box, contents exposed.

“Don’t be a douche fucking tell me!”

“Because she’s too fucking good for me!” Eddie finally screams into the night, throwing his hands up in the air.

The box is dumped out. Contents spilled out in his mind, hurt behind his eyes, for anyone to see.

He hangs his head, shoulders slumped forward, he slides down the wall and sits on the cool concrete, breathing heavily, “She’s�� fuck, she’s never gonna want to be with someone like me, man.”

All of his self doubt from earlier tonight, all the pain he’s ever felt from being a neglected child, an outcast in school amongst his peers, being cheated on, lied to— it all came crashing down around him. All the alcohol he consumed wasn’t helping matters either.

He was a failure, in more ways than he could count. Twenty-six and just freshly moved out of his uncle’s place. Twenty-six and still playing in a band at the bar on the weekends. Twenty-six and still alone. Horribly, utterly, bitterly alone. Drowning himself in groupie pussy every night before he moved in with you. He hated himself.

“Has she said that? Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks? You think it was easy for her to stay in Hawkins after her parents up and left? After Kevin was thrown in prison? After that piece of shit Chad Cunningham hurt her? If there’s anything we know about Tooty it’s that she’s a fighter, she could have left at any time, packed her shit and never looked in the rear view mirror. But you and I know that she’s too damn stubborn to let Hawkins get the best of her.”

Eddie lifts his head, looking at Steve sitting beside him.

“She needs you, man, you’re good for her.”

Mansion dreams on a trailer park budget. He could never afford the things you deserved. He loathed the thought of anyone else being able to give you the things he couldn’t, the pit of his stomach rolling.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Eddie says, timidly throwing his curly head against the brick behind him, “I saw her today all dressed up looking so absolutely gorgeous, and it hit me, I could never give her the life she deserves.”

“Come on, man,” Steve chides, knocking his shoulder to Eddie’s, “you really think I would have told you about her needing a roommate and insisting that you go and look at the house, if I didn’t think you’d be good for each other?”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders again, the self doubt creeping back, putting the box back together.

“After Nancy moved out, I knew she was scared— she’d never say anything about it, but we worried about it. She needed someone around who she could trust. Robin and I couldn’t get out of our lease, but then you told me you were looking for a place, and honestly there isn’t anyone better for her than you.”

Eddie thinks on this for a few seconds. Steve was right, he did fuck this up. “Christ, she’s probably madder than hell at me right now,” he says with a groan.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, standing and holding out a hand for Eddie, “you’ve got some making up to do.”

“Am I drunk, or is he acting weird as hell tonight, like more weird than usual?” Robin slurs, almost falling out of her seat as she whisper-yells across the table at you the minute Steve follows Eddie out the door.

“Oh, honey,” Leighanne whispers, holding Robin by her arm and guiding her back into the chair, “you’re very drunk, but also I’ve never met him, but he seems sad.”

Stewing in a pot of shame and regret, you try to tune Robin and Leighanne out. A shiver of hatred stirs in your chest, pulling at your heart strings and gnawing on the fleshy stretch cords until they’re rotting, black and withered.

How silly of you to be so nervous about wearing this dress, when Eddie only took one look at you and immediately turned sour. How stupid of you to think that he had somehow turned into a decent human being, a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on when you were desperate and needing consoling. How fucking dumb of you to be so mad in this moment that he was ignoring you, acting like a complete jerk and ruining this nice evening by being a pouty child.

Fuck him, and fuck this.

Reaching for the now warm wine you toss it back, chugging until your throat ached. It’s easier to swallow than the embarrassing way you thought that Eddie was growing to like you. Your mistake.

Won’t happen again.

By the time the guys come back, you were slightly buzzed, feeling giggling with the bubbling of the flutes of champagne that had been brought out after the dinner was cleared from the table.

Steve slaps Eddie on the back and shakes his shoulders a bit, sitting down quickly beside Leighanne and whispering into her ear, she turns scarlet red as he nudges his nose down to kiss her neck. You turn your face away, ashamed again, for wanting a love like that so bad, yet sold short.

“You okay?” Robin asks Eddie. You can feel eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, but you won’t give him the time of day. To hell with him.

He answers her back, making up some lame excuse about not feeling good as to why he was acting like an asshole all night.

“Hmm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows and huffing. Tossing your napkin from your lap onto the table, grabbing another flute of champagne and downing it instantly, crossing your legs and leaning further away from him. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Tooty?” His voice is soft, dipped in butter and spread across a warm croissant. Almost timid the way he’s barely speaking above a whisper, you pretend not to hear him.

A nudge in your side goes unanswered as you turn your face towards an almost passed out Robin. Another poke to the ribs, a ticklish spot for anyone. A tap on your hand, fervent and annoying, your name repeated in high and low tones, as you actively avoid him. He finally stops, and when he does you take a shaky breath, right as your chair is flung backwards on the back legs, and you’re suddenly upside down, peering into Eddie’s face. That cocky Munson grin plastered onto it, the one you haven’t seen all night, sends shock waves to your core, and a burn to your chest.

Goddamn him.

“Put me down,” you emphasize with bitterness behind each word.

Eddie smiles widely, “not until you talk to me, sweetheart,”

“Oh look at that everyone, the pouting child act is over, guess we are blessed after all,” you spit back, crossing your arms and trying to wriggle the chair free.

His smile is pulled back slightly, voice dipped low as he leans forward slightly, “can we talk? Privately?”

You glare back at him, venomous cold eyes peering into his, hoping he understood how annoyed and hurt you were with the bullshit he’d been pulling for hours, “Congratulations on finding your voice Ariel, but if you don’t put my chair down I’ll—“

“What? You’ll do what?” Eddie bickers back with a grin, leaning closer you can smell his musky cologne, and the burnt scent of his cigarette on his breath. He enjoys watching you squirm and get pissed off at him. Something about the way you scold him sends him over the moon.

But, he could never anticipate what you would do next.

His hands on the back of your chair, you turn your head in a swift motion and find his thumb and bite down on it until he squeals and yelps in pain.

“…bite you,”

Instinct taking over Eddie pulls his hands from the back of your chair. And you start tumbling backwards. Falling falling, reaching backwards, you grab onto the first thing you can get your frantic hands on.

It all happens too fast, one minute you’re falling backwards, the next your fingers are gripped tight on the buckle of Eddie’s belt. Your breath hitched in your chest, as you grappled to stay upwards. In a swift motion Eddie grabs under your arms and the chair falls to the ground.

Eddie pulls you up, your body skimming his as he turns you around to face him. “Damn, I’m right here. No need to get so handsy,” he murmurs in a low husky laugh.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, sudden shock of fear fading from your body as you look into his face. Even though he’s laughing, his pupils are blown and dark, eyebrows twisted inward, and raised, pulled into concern.

“Fuck Munson,” you say, straightening your dress, trying not to melt from the heat of Eddie’s hands on your waist, “trying to kill me?” The room was spinning, you hadn’t hit your head, but maybe the rush of falling backwards mixed with the alcohol you had drank was a combination for a migraine. Definitely not the way he was lazily drinking you in, his lips stretching into a wide, pretty smile.

“Kill you?” He scoffs, hands still heavy on your waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs, sending your nerves into a fizzing frenzy of want. “I’m not the one biting others, kitten.”

Of all the nicknames Eddie has called you— princess, sweetheart, baby— kitten was a new one. And you’re ashamed at the pulse in your core and the heat in your cheeks as his eyes twinkle like brown Christmas lights back at you, the flick of his tongue against his lips almost sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Hey—“ Steve interrupts, stepping into your peripheral vision, “—don’t mean to break this up—but we have a problem.”

“Alright guys, good news or bad news?”

Steve steps through the lobby door to the sidewalk, where you, Leighanne, Robin and Eddie were all waiting for him. The chill of the night air is biting through your tights and stinging your cheeks. Even in the cozy musky warmth of Eddie’s leather jacket that he insisted on you wearing, after listening to your chattering teeth for ten minutes, “here,” he announced, stopping abruptly and shucking the jacket off his arms, and wrapping it around your shoulders, “I swear you’re gonna chip your teeth with the way you’re chattering them, it’s annoying,” he said in a faux grumble, his voice mean but his face lighting up when you hurriedly slot your arms through his jacket. Inhaling his smoke musk and cool leather combination as it dizzied your mind.

Ever since the restaurant kicked you all out on account of being too drunk, you’d been walking to a hotel. The restaurant manager had refused to let Steve get his car from the valet because they thought he was too intoxicated to drive. And also denied him from using the phone to hail a cab. There was no other choice.

So that's what led you all here. Walking fifteen blocks— in heels, dresses and fancy shirts, to the nearest hotel. Well technically thirty blocks because the waiter gave Steve the wrong directions. Everyone was freezing, tired and crabby. The drunken happy stage left about twenty blocks back.

“Bad news, Harrington hit me,” Eddie gripes.

Steve brushes his fingers through his hair, “Okay, uhh—bad news… there’s only one room available, with two beds.”

“But, there’s one… two…three..four.. six of us!” Robin counts, hiccuping loudly and letting a giggle escape her slack mouth. Maybe the restaurant wasn’t wrong in kicking you all out after all.

“No— there’s five of us, but there is a chair!” Steve chimes, “that’s the good news!”

You knew what that meant, obviously you would be sharing a bed with Robin or Eddie, and given the fact that Robin was probably a good ten minutes away before she started throwing up like she was notorious for— you were about to share a bed with Eddie.

The room was small but decent. Maroon, itchy bedspreads with pilling fabric sat atop the beds, white linen sheets and overly stuffed pillows with matching cases shoved into the perfectly made beds. A tiny tv sat atop a chestnut dresser complete with channel listings and a remote velcroed to it. Leighanne crosses the room and immediately finds the furnace, cranking it up as high as it will go and shutting the drapes, she sits on the bed furthest from it, and begins taking her earrings out of her ears. Sighing with relief as the heavy dangly bejeweled gems clink onto the bedside table. Steve sits beside her, leaning forward and grabbing her ankle, delicately sliding the strappy heels from her sore feet, rubbing them between his hands and murmuring apologies to her, kissing her shoulder.

Eddie is kicking the toe of his boot into the carpet, hands pushed into his pockets and looking downward. The awkward question of who-will-sleep-where is weighing heavy on your mind, just when you’re about to ask him what he thinks, Robin pushes between you both and makes a mad dash to the bathroom. Like clockwork.

“I’m never letting her drink again!” Steve says with a huff, “every time, she does this every single time!”

You snort out an exhausted giggle, this night went to hell in a handbasket the minute you left Hawkins. The only thing left to do was laugh about it.

Leaning your body against the wall, you carefully step out of your heels, the dingy carpet a glorious welcome to your aching feet. Stretching your toes out and wiggling them against the carpet brings a sigh to your lips.

Body tired from the constant shivering and cramped calves, you couldn’t wait to get the dress off and feel the warmth of the blanket around you, cocooning yourself like a caterpillar in a chrysalis.

Fuck.

You didn’t have any clothes with you, just the dress you were wearing, tights and a black thong. If it was Eddie you’d be sharing a bed with, what the hell were you supposed to wear? The thought hadn’t even trickled into your mind until this very second as you noticed Eddie unlace his boots.

Panic riddles your body, fuck would you lay naked next to him? Should you keep the dress on?

“Hey,” Eddie whispers into your ear, reigning you back in with his velvet voice, “there’s a vending machine by the elevator, wanna come with me?”

His lips contort into a smirk, and his hair wisps against your cheek, tickling your skin as you turn into him. Still wearing his jacket the neckline covers your mouth and nose as you nod your head yes.

The low pile fibers of the emerald and turquoise hallway carpet feels plush and luxurious against your nylon toes. A welcomed dream to your throbbing feet. You focus on the intricate leaves pattern as you walk the hallway with Eddie, his socked feet thudding along softly in tandem with yours.

The silence is deafening, and you can practically hear your heart beat out of your chest when his knuckles ever so gently, ever so delicately, graze yours as he swings his hand when he walks.

“Think it’s this way,” Eddie says pointing a thick ringed finger down a hallway at a T intersection. “I’m so hungry I’m going to eat the carpet if I don’t find something to eat.”

“Should have ate while we were at the restaurant,” you poke at him, “but you were too busy being an asshole.”

Eddie chokes out a throaty laugh, “I saved your life, Tooty— how am I still an asshole?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call me-falling-because-you-tipped-my-chair-backwards saving my life, but whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,” you barely choke out the last part before you burst into a too-tired giggle, hiding your mouth with the collar of his jacket.

His own nickname on your lips burns his insides, mocking or not he wanted to hear it again and again.

“You fight dirty, I had no idea you were into biting.” Eddie teases, his eyes bright and playful matching his smirk, the vending machine comes into view and his eyes light up even more, “oh fuck yeah, come to daddy!”

The black vending machine is lit with a flickering light over head. Eddie thumbs through his wallet and grabs out ten one dollar bills.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Eddie crooned, “pick your vice.”

Deciding on a package of orange squared crackers with cheese, Eddie buys a bag of chocolate cookies, chips, and two bags of candy.

Carrying five cans of pop from the pop machine and Eddie’s plethora of snacks, both of your arms are full.

“So back to you assaulting me—I’m going to take your dental record down to Hopper— I’m turning you in.”

Laughing harder than anyone should have at midnight, your laugh echoes off he walls and bounces around the hallway. Making Eddie’s heart soar with glee. “Turning me in huh?”

Eddie knocks his shoulder into yours, throwing you off balance slightly, “yeah, I’m turning you in, you could have rabies! And I could start foaming at the mouth in my sleep, you’re dangerous and when I get home I’m taking you to the vet!”

The flirty banter is undeniable between you, his giggles match yours as you pad slowly down the hallway. Cheeks burning, coy smiles filling the empty hallway.

Stopping in the hallway with one hip thrown out and a perfectly placed look of innocence on your face you ask in the sweetest voice you could muster, “I’m dangerous? Me?” Making sure you bat your lashes and pout your bottom lip.

Here it was, his opportunity to show you what you really meant to him. No longer laughing, his face turns very serious. Shuffling the snacks around in his arms so he has a hand free, he reaches up to your face, tracing the outline of your jaw and brushing the pad of his thumb delicately against your cheek.

“Baby,” he whispers, that velvet smooth voice on his tongue, eyes dipped in gold and yearning into your own, “I wouldn’t turn this cute face in even if you murdered that son-of-a-bitch, Mr. Derry.”

Heart rate increases, you’re sure there's a pulse where Eddie’s hand is placed on your cheek. The calloused pads of his thumbs stroking your cheek has you weak in the knees. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“Cute?” You exclaim, feigning shock, heat trickling up your neck and planting itself into your cheeks, the warmth spreading below Eddie’s hand.

His eyes are trained on yours, flicking from your lips and back up again, and you know whatever he says next 100%, without a doubt shouldn’t be taken lightly.

“Tooty,” Eddie breathes, his voice melting around you, forming to every cell in your body and holding you tight. “You’re beautiful, and not just tonight…every single day.”

No one.

Not your parents.

Definitely, not Chad.

Nobody.

Has ever uttered those words to you. The final wall around your heart falls, crumbling at the base with Eddie holding a sledge hammer to it, begging to be let in.

This menace, prick, pervert, absolutely disgusting man. Has made you fall for him and without words has made it clear that he’s falling for you too.

Butterflies tickle your stomach the rest of the walk back to the room.

Steve and Leighanne are already asleep by the time you make it back, she’s wrapped tight against his bare chest, a hand threaded at the nape of his neck and through the tufts of his chest hair. His lips lay lazily against her forehead.

Robin took the comforter from the other bed and made a makeshift bed in the tub, Eddie places a can of 7-UP next to her, rustling her hair and making sure she’ll be okay for the night.

Flipping through the channels and leaning your back against the headboard, you find an episode of the Golden Girls, opening your snack crackers and nibbling into them,a can of Pepsi nestled between your knees. Eddie runs and jumps onto the bed beside you and starts ripping open his snacks, starting with the chips, and cracking open a can of Mountain Dew. Chugging the lime colored liquid until it drops down his chin.

He lets out a louder than life belch and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Looking over at you to see if you’re impressed.

You raise up ten fingers and clap, applauding his behavior.

“I’d like to thank my fans, and the Pepsi company, for encouraging the best of burps, with the help of carbonation.” He bows and waves like he’s at the academy awards and you giggle along with him.

You both stay like that for a while, on top of the blankets, watching the Golden Girls and eating snacks, content with filling your stomachs with crappy food and over carbonated beverages.

The looming idea of sleeping in the same bed with Eddie is no longer something you can avoid, when a loud yawn escapes your body and has you snuggling deeper into his leather jacket.

“I—I can sleep in the chair, or on the floor.” He says quickly.

The idea of him sleeping on the floor or with a strained neck in the office chair is unacceptable to you. “No, you can sleep in the bed with me, we can—“ thinking fast for an easy solution, “we can just use different blankets.”

“Oh good,” Eddie whispers, taking off his already loosened tie, and unbuttoning his shirt, “because I would bet a million dollars that you’re a blanket thief.”

Laughing and unzipping his leather jacket, you smirk, hanging it on the back of the chair, “how do you have the vocabulary of a ten year old and a foul sailor all at the same time?”

Eddie unzips his pants and untangles his legs from the dark denim, sitting on the bed with a groan in just his boxer briefs, “I’m like a poor Peter Pan, who grew up on the wrong side of tracks, I’ll never grow up.”

Foregoing any previous thoughts of keeping the dress on, you decide to take it off, exhausted from the night, the cold seeping into your bones and chilling them made you almost delirious with needing sleep, “Can you—will you close your eyes?” You ask in a hushed voice, “at least until I lay down?”

Eddie yanks hard on the sheet and wraps it around his head in a giant makeshift blindfold. “Will this work?”

This angle gives you free range to see his body. It’s not as if you haven’t seen him like this before, but this time it felt different. Every inch of his creamed colored skin, every inky smoked out line of tattoos, the veins protruding from his muscled arms, the ruddy roughness of his knuckles, ghosting with the silver rings on his fingers and in his nipples. The fading sun colored bruises on his ribs. You could write sonnets on the way his breath expands his chest and falls back flush with the rest of his body.

It’s hard to peel your eyes away, but you manage, grabbing your dress by the bottom hem lifting it off of your body. Sliding the tights down your legs until you are completely naked besides the silk black thong. Covering yourself with the off white cotton threaded blanket on the bed, you wrap it around you and sit delicately on the other side of the bed, facing the window, and the furnace.

“I’m done,” you announce, laying your head onto the goose feather pillow and facing Eddie, curling your legs to your chest. Taking slow breaths through your nose to even out your nerves and settle yourself down, the excitement of laying next to Eddie in a bed with both of you only wearing underwear has your body throbbing.

“Finally!” He exaggerates, “were you wearing a dress from the 1800s with all those fancy layers?”

“I was having some trouble with the zipper,” you lie.

“Funny—“ Eddie preens, “I didn’t see a zipper on your dress.”

The idea of him watching you, eyes stuck on your silhouette all night, through dinner, walking to the hotel, makes you feel less bad about staring at him before you crawled into bed. You clench your thighs together.

“How would you know there wasn’t a zipper? Unless of course— you were gawking.”

Two can play this game, and what Eddie didn’t realize is that you’d gotten pretty good at bantering with him.

“Why would you say your dress had a zipper when it didn’t? Maybe you were the one gawking, I mean I get it sweetheart, I’m funny and sexy. Double whammy.”

“Good night, Eddie.” You say with a final laugh. “And I swear to God, if this bed starts jerking in any way—I’ll shave your head and bleach your eyebrows.”

He lets out a laugh loud enough that it makes Steve roll over, scolding you both, about the time and needing to get some sleep. Always in mom mode.

“Sorry dad,” Eddie whispers, giggling like a little kid as he tucks himself in, and turns off the tv and the light between the two beds.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, allowing sleep to take over your body. Sleep finds you quickly, a deep dreamless sleep, you aren’t sure if you’re awake or not when you feel a pair of lips on the crown of your hair line, a hand moving your hair away from your face, and a voice whispering to you, “good night, pretty girl.”

The next morning, Steve drops you and Eddie off at your house. The ride home seemed to drag on forever, everyone was hungover and trying to stay awake. Robin having her head out of the window for most of the drive. Still gagging from the night before.

Getting into Hawkins, Eddie turns towards you, a menacing smirk on his lips and a devil gleam in his eyes, “rock, paper scissors for dibs on first shower?”

“You’re on Munson,”

“I just don’t understand how paper beats rock!” Eddie complains as he takes a piss talking to you as you take a shower. The humidtiy from the bathroom moistens his curls, frizzing them into oblivion, “in what fucking universe does a paper lying over a goddamn rock win?”

Placing the razor against the white pillowy peaks of the shaving cream you slide it up your leg, careful to not cut your knee. “Don’t be a sore loser because you chose rock three times in a row.

“It’s the most common way to win!” He whines, slamming the toilet seat down and plopping himself on top of it. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve been freezing for 24 hours, I never warmed up lastnight.”

Rinsing the last bit of conditioner from your hair you turn the water off, throwing a hand out from the shower curtain to reach for your robe, wrapping it around you tightly, and opening the shower, you notice that Eddie looks paler than usual.

“Are you getting sick?” You place the back of your hand on his forehead, it’s clammy and abnormally warm. The twinkle he almost always has in his eyes is gone, he looks rundown. “In the nicest way possible, you look like hell.”

“I feel like shit,” Eddie complains.

“Here,” you offer, starting the water for him, “take a hot shower and I’ll go make us some food.”

When Eddie gets out of the shower the kitchen smells of sweet thick batter, sprinkled with a hint of cinnamon. The waffle iron you had bought with Nancy before Halloween worked like a dream, it was in better condition than you had thought.

Two plates are sitting on the counter, as Eddie walks into the kitchen, wearing a hoodie and sweats, he comes behind you, moving your hips gently to the side as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re making.

“Waffles?!” He squeals into your ear, “I didn’t know we even had a waffle press thing,” he says, messing up your still damp hair with a tousle, “wait is that the thing that’s kept in the bathroom under the sink?”

Racking your brain you try to envision what he’s thinking of, “no Eddie that would be Nancy’s hot rollers, for her hair..”

“Well that’s not edible,” he says walking to the fridge and pulling out his jug of milk.

Hollering over your shoulder and opening the waffle iron to carefully remove the perfect round breakfast delicacy from the iron with a fork, you announce, “that’s why they’re in the bathroom, under the sink. I bought the waffle iron when Nancy and I went shopping a few weeks ago, how are you feeling?”

Taking a big gulp of milk Eddie mutters, “better, much better, I’m just really tired.”

Plating the waffles and getting the syrup from the cabinet you set the plates down at the table, bringing over two glasses and two sets of silverware, “can you grab the orange juice, and the butter?”

Bringing the requested items to the table, Eddie sets them down, next to the napkin holder. Grabbing a knife hastily and spreading the pale yellow butter around the crispy pockets of the waffle, melting into delicious puddles of savory goodness, awaiting the courtship to be reunited with the sticky sweet syrup to combine into heavenly wedded bliss.

Cutting his waffle and diving in, the kitchen is surrounded by sound of Eddie’s satisfied moans, “fuck,” he cries with a mouthful of food, shoveling more in, “this is so fucking good, you’re a saint— no no! Wait, an angel.”

The waffles were good, the perfect amount of crispy and soft. Eddie finished both of his waffles in record time.

“So where did you get this thing?” he asked curiously, pointing to the waffle iron on the counter.

“With Nancy—oh! I completely forgot!” you say excitedly, “I got a record too, it’s by the rest of them near your record player, I didn’t want to use it and break it.”

Eddie pads over to the record player and thumbs through the stack on the shelf.

He had already been staring at the record for over a minute before you spoke again, saying his name asking if he wanted another waffle.

“Damn,” he interrupts you sniffing loudly, “I haven’t heard this since…”

He carefully pulls the sleeve from the record and slots it in place, putting the needle in place. The soft twang of Bobbie Gentry’s guitar plays as she plucks the strings, a few beats in and her sultry, smoky voice begins singing, retelling the story of the day she found out the fate of Billie Joe.

Eddie sits cross legged on the floor next to the record player, staring in awe. His socked feet tucked under his thighs. Elbows digging into his legs.

His mind drifts to a small house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the paint peeling and chipping away, a dog named Ruby running alongside him as he pedals his bike up the dirt lane.

She was standing in the kitchen, her soft brown curls waving behind her as she ashed a cigarette and cut his ham sandwich into squares, taking the crust off. She hummed along to the waning wonky tunes of the radio as Bobbie Gentry sang about Billie Joe. Her smile fading in his memory.

He never allowed himself to think of her. Despite what Uncle Wayne and the therapist at the stuffy office with the seafoam green painted walls, the cheerful posters with kids and their perfect families staring at him as he glared at the floor, toe of his converse trying to dig a hole through the tile. It only brought him sadness. It was something he couldn’t talk about, not to anyone. The panic attacks in the night when he dreamt of the day she was taken from him, right in front of his big doe eyes, would send Wayne into a frenzy. Helping Eddie breath, making the small child ground himself with his surroundings. So he moved on, throwing himself into music, and his friends. Anything to keep his mind from thinking of that day. But here in your living room, twenty years later, it was all he could think of.

Her perfume, hints of jasmine and lilac a tinge of cigarette smoke underneath. The way her glasses were perched on her head as she read through the paper. Her light brown eyes, like caramel apples you’d see at the fair. Her long fingers always thumping along to whatever song she heard. The gift of a piano player. The way she would dance with him in the living room, barefoot and giggly as she swung him around and around. Those were the good memories, the ones before she was ripped away from him.

The song finishes and Eddie leans up onto his knees, placing the needle to replay it again, this time the warm tears are flowing freely, running down his cheeks. He no longer cared if you saw him cry like a baby.

You’re standing at the edge of the kitchen watching him. You figured his mom was dead by the way he never mentioned her. Chrissy once asked him about his parents after he mentioned his Uncle Wayne, and he blew it off, like he blew off lots of things, “shit, think she joined the circus, married the world’s strongest man.” You wonder if the fib was easier for him to tell himself. Rather have her still around, happy and breathing than what she actually was. You’ve only seen him like this one other time and that was after you saw Chad at the grocery store.

Steve had told you how concerned he was when he came in to talk with you. How scared he was, how bad he felt that he wasn’t around to protect you when you needed it. And just like he did for you, you’d do for him.

Walking gently towards him you stand behind him, not sure if lightly touching his shoulder would cross a boundary but wanting to reassure him, you do it anyway. The pads of your fingers daintily skim his shoulders, running soft figure eight patterns. His face is hidden by his curtain of hair but you can hear him sniffling softly. A soft squeeze of his shoulder and he wraps an arm around your bare calf, holding onto dear life as you pull him into you. His death grip on your leg almost has you falling over. You find yourself threading your fingers through his wet hair. Rubbing along his scalp, his shoulders jump and shake with a deep sigh as the song finishes again. Eddie peels himself from you and turns the record player off. Standing and looking at the ground. Toeing the carpet with his sock.

“I have…,” he says, clearing his throat, trying like hell to gain composure, “I haven’t heard that song in years… it was her favorite.”

Reaching for his hand your fingers find their way into the spaces between his. Squeezing and rubbing his pointer figure with the pad of your thumb. “Eddie,” you whisper to him, your small soft voice reaching out to him beckoning him.

His eyes turn to you, tear filled and red, his body shaking with a light sob. Instincts kick in and you don’t realize what’s happening before it does, you drag him down the hallway, into your room. The same room where he comforted you in the warmth of his arms, you sit down on your bed, your back to the headboard and bring him down with you, his head in your lap. his arms wrapped tight around your bare thighs. Brushing his hair away from his face with your fingers, his body is racked with sobs, the tops of your thighs wet with his tears. You rub his back, comforting him and whispering to him that you’re sorry, that it’s okay, that you’re here for him.

The dishes would have to wait.

When you wake, you’re snuggled down into the confinements of your bed. Blankets covering both you and Eddie, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle like a child with a balloon at the fair, afraid to let go. His body is curved with yours, his light snores tickling your hair. Not waking him, you gently fall back asleep, the thought that he was right, skids across your mind.

Eddie was the first guy to sleep in your bed— and your heart leaped when you selfishly hoped he never wanted to leave it.

A/N: SEE YOU IN VOL: VIII HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED

[this message is for read more —, you big nasty, smelling bitch. Why you took me off the mf schedule with your trifflin’ dirty ass. Big bitch Oompa Loompa body ass bitch, I’m comin up there and I’m gonna beat the fuck …… (it’s a reference from TikTok) BUT TRY ME READMORE TRY ME]

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction

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manamania · 6 months ago

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Untouched: Part Four

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, smut, masturbation, orgasm denial, religious hypocrisy, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki @michele131

Word count: 6k

Lemuel drove her home, looking over at Virginia every so often. She seemed content, elated even despite looking exhausted. She was humming along to the radio that was playing Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, her head filled with nothing but the memory of what just transpired inside the cold church.

Once at her house, Virginia was helped out of the truck and swept into Lemuel’s arms again, carried to her front door where she reached out and unlocked it. Lemuel pushed through until he brought her inside.

“Couch, please.” Virginia said, nodding over to the brown, velvet couch in her living room.

Lemuel did as instructed and set her gently on it. Virginia reached over to the side table and switched on the lamp, finally lighting up the dark room. Lemuel sat down next to her, letting out a long exhale. He had underestimated what carrying a full grown woman could do to his back.

“What time is it?” She asked him.

Lemuel took a look at his wristwatch, squinting down at it in the dim lamplight. “About ten o’clock.”

“Do you think the others will think…”

“I’m their pastor, Virginia. Our absence from the celebration wouldn’t be a scandal. You are my woman now.”

Lemuel smiled at her before leaning in and giving her a kiss. Virginia was surprised, humming as Lemuel’s warm lips pressed against hers.

“Sister Slaughter was very clear about it with me.” He said when they parted.

“Oh, so she talked with you too?” Virginia pouted.

“Hope’s never really been shy ‘bout her opinions.” Lemuel said. “She’s got a keen eye for when people like each other.”

“She was asking when we were gonna marry.” Virginia giggled.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Lemuel gave her a look.

Virginia scoffed and cupped his cheek. “No offense, Lemuel, but as much as I like you, I think callin you husband would be a little too fast for me.”

“What would ya like to call me?”

Virginia thought about it. To call Lemuel her “boyfriend” would be so… Immature and unfitting. He wasn’t some boy to go on cutesy dates with, though she was sure that Lemuel was planning on dinners, walks by the river, and more so called “punishments.” He was more than her pastor, his role breaching outside the confines of performing sermons and orchestrating baptisms. Their alone time in the church just proved that. And he was clear about his affection towards her.

So, in the plainest of languages… What were they?

“I guess, I’ll just refer to you as ‘sir’ or ‘Pastor.’” Virginia answered.

“It ain’t a sin to call a pastor by his first name.” Lemuel said. “Especially by the woman he is courting.”

“I’m aware, Lemuel.” Virginia chuckled.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

He sought to ensure she was properly cared for before eventually leaving to return to Hope Slaughter’s house to retrieve Dilly. He didn’t mean to abandon his ward, but his woman was in need of some aftercare. He helped her into her nightshift, tucked her into bed, setting a glass of cool water on her bedside table.

He kissed her one last time, instructing her to say her prayers once she was alone. It felt wrong to leave her after what happened that night, but Lemuel couldn’t stay.

As he turned the ignition in his truck, Lemuel thought over what their days together would be like. He wasn’t one to let himself dream, but Virginia was very much real and very much willing.

So, what was the harm in picturing her in a white dress, saying the traditional vows, then saying the awaited “I do.” Lemuel had carried her over the threshold into her uncle’s old home, how would it feel to carry her over the threshold into his home?

She would look beautiful in the morning, waking up next to him with her strawberry blonde hair tousled from sleep as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She would be a sight in his kitchen during the morning, pouring him his coffee while he read one of his many collected books, the house smelling of bacon and dark roast.

Or Virginia sharing the clawfoot bathtub with him, her body slacked against his as his hands cleaned her-NO! Lemuel chose to ignore those impulses. Despite what happened in the church, the point was not to continue to torture himself with lustful thoughts. He and Virginia had proven themselves capable of resisting temptation.

Right?

“Fuck…” Lemuel squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back.

He was in need of a cold shower when he returned home later that night. He wrapped his calloused hand around his hard cock and pictured it was Virginia’s mouth. In his mind, she was on her knees before him, dressed in nothing but that silver chain with Christ on the cross. As he pumped himself, biting his lip to stifle the moans, he envisioned Virginia’s soft lips around him, her cheeks hollowing out as she took him in effortlessly, very unlike the virgin she was.

“Virginia…” He rasped and swallowed, his head propped up on his arm against the shower wall as the cold water drenched him. “Virginia…”

She had felt it when she was strewn over Lemuel’s lap. His hardness was poking into her while she was receiving her punishment. Virginia decided not to comment on it out of respect for her pastor, but the feeling lingered in her mind when she lay awake in bed.

She was conflicted still, even now with the confirmation of their relationship. Lemuel was a proper Pentecostal man with strict views about sex. He had chosen to refrain from giving himself release when they were together in the church.

Then again, every Christian knows that even the most outwardly chaste believers were perverts in private. Virginia’s own mother, a very prudish woman in theory, was very naughty in practice.

When she was alone in her room, her prayers said and Lemuel gone away, Virginia’s hands found their way between her thighs, desperate to touch the ache that had been burning since she was pulled over his lap. Virginia closed her eyes and breathed steadily through her mouth as she slipped two fingers down her slit, covering them in her wetness.

As she touched herself, circling her fingers around her swollen clit, Virginia pictured Lemuel’s tongue. Using her other hand, she inserted three fingers and imagined it was Lemuel’s cock, filling her up.

She imagined they were consummating their marriage, Virginia’s virginity now belonging to her pastor. His age and wisdom enveloping her in security and adoration as he pounded into her, stretching her so she perfectly fit his size.

“Pastor…” She moaned.

Virginia’s nipples peaked and her toes curled as she felt herself nearing her climax. She shifted around on her back, her ass rubbing against the mattress, reminding her of the bruises he gave her. She missed his hand, strong and calloused with age, marking her and casting out the evil he claimed was inside her.

“Cast it out!”

Virginia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when she brought herself to climax. It was long, warm, and it took the noise out of her throat as her muscles stiffened. She hadn’t come that hard before.

She breathed heavily as she came down from the euphoria, blinking herself back into reality. As she calmed down, her head no longer spinning, Virginia then felt incredibly sick. She pulled her hands away from her pussy and sat up in bed.

Filthy sinner.

Within seconds, Virginia was in her bathroom, quickly turning the faucet in the bathtub until it ran hot water. She shed her nightshift and panties and lowered herself into the tub as it began to fill up. She couldn’t stand the sight of herself, all sticky with her own arousal. She scrubbed herself repeatedly, harshly exfoliating her skin until it was red and burning.

I deserve this. She thought to herself as she winced from the burning pain.

Virginia felt incredibly defeated as she sat in the hot water, in pain and in tears. She missed Lemuel but was grateful he wasn’t there to see her, already acting on her lustful impulses right after she atoned. She feared she’ll never be cured of this evil that festered within her no matter how hard Lemuel tried to cast it out of her.

…

“This is delicious, Dilly.” Virginia said.

She had been invited to another dinner at Lemuel’s the next day. Dilly had made a roast with greens for them, along with some blueberry cobbler for dessert. If Lemuel hadn’t already set on making Virginia his woman, she would’ve found a way to befriend Dilly so she could enjoy her cooking. That's what she said to the young girl.

“Thank you, Miss Godwin.” Dilly smiled bashfully. “I can teach you some of my recipes if you want.”

“Would you?” Virginia’s eyes widened. “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

Lemuel looked at the two young women before him. He was pleased they had gotten along so well. While Virginia was closer in age to Dilly than to himself, he noticed a paternal way in which she doted on the girl. She asked after her days in school, if there were any other kids she liked, what she was mostly excited about after graduation.

“Well, I’s only gonna get my diploma then come work here in town.” Dilly said. “Sister Slaughter needs someone to help her at the station and when she’s too old, she’ll be giving it to me.”

Virginia frowned. “You’re not going to college?”

“There’s a boy by the name of Luke who’s got his eye set on Dilly.” Lemuel explained, setting his fork down next to his plate. “And Dilly’s takin to him as well.”

Dilly blushed and looked down at her food. Virginia looked between the two and stifled an amused laugh.

“You’ve got a boy?”

“He’s really nice.” Dilly shrugged, trying to repress the smile that spread across her face. “And Pastor likes him too.”

“He’s hard working and kind. And a Holy Ghost man, more importantly.” Lemuel said. “You might’ve met him at service, Miss Godwin.”

Virginia thought back to all the parishioners she met since attending church. She recalled some young faces, though she couldn’t place this Luke character.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone, Dilly. You should have him over here for dinner sometime.” Virginia immediately regretted her words, feeling like she overstepped in Lemuel’s house.

Lemuel just smiled. “That ain’t a bad idea. We should get to know him better, see what kind of man he’ll be.”

“Yes, Pastor.” Dilly said before returning to her food.

The two women cleared the dinner table and Dilly concerned herself with the dishes while Lemuel brought Virginia to the living room. They sat down next to each other on the couch, at an appropriate distance.

“How’re you feeling?” Lemuel asked.

Virginia glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. She hoped the running water and clinking of dishes was enough to cover their voices.

“Fine, thank you Pastor.” She answered quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout Dilly. She knows we left together during the party.”

“She know ‘bout what you did to me at the church?” Virginia raised her brow.

Lemuel chuckled. “She knows I had to instruct some discipline on a fellow parishioner. The details aren’t important. And, I think it goes without saying that it’d be best if you didn’t go tellin others about what happened.”

Virginia couldn’t help but blush. The idea that anyone would find out about what Lemuel did to her made her stomach cramp with anxiety.

“I didn’t plan on it. I mean, it wasn’t like it was wrong or anything, right?”

“It’s alright, Virginia. What we do is between us and the Lord.” He assured her. Lemuel reached a hand out and lazily played with the end of Virginia’s braid. “Now, I wanted to ask you what you thought about it.”

“What do you mean?” She looked down at his hand, admiring the veins and wrinkles on his knuckles.

“It’s a simple question. What did you think ‘bout your punishment?” He repeated, his expression flat.

Virginia blinked, her brow in a knot. She cleared her throat. “Uh, I…”

She knew it wouldn’t be right to admit she enjoyed it. The point was to discourage her lustful thoughts and encourage chastity and modesty. To want to do it again meant to express no regret about sinning.

Virginia needed to choose her words carefully.

“I only ask for your honesty.” Lemuel added.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she tried to piece her words together.

“I think… That it was necessary. It was painful, but also…” she winced at her own words. For someone who had been fantasizing dirty things about her pastor, Virginia sure was bashful.

“Confession is good for the soul, Virginia. Allow yourself to be open to the Lord’s guidance by admitting your true feelings.” He said, his hand traveling further up her braid until he reached her ear, tucking some hair behind it. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Virginia smiled weakly. “Thing is, Lemuel, I didn’t want you to stop.”

I didn’t want to stop either, Virginia.

He looked into her eyes, waiting for her to continue. Virginia felt incredibly naked sitting there next to him, feeling his eyes on her body. As if his silver tongue wasn’t skillful enough, his hazel irises were weapons of their own.

“And, if I remember correctly… You seemed to enjoy it as well. At least, from what I felt.” She felt hot at the mere memory of the erection in his pants. “I was wondering, after you left… That maybe it was wrong of me to want you to punish me again.”

“Is it wrong to find pleasure in redemption?” Lemuel said.

This confused Virginia. From the way she saw it, Lemuel had taken her across his knee to beat the devil out of her and cast out wickedness. Now, such wickedness was considered a good thing?

“Virginia, you know that some nuns sew thorns into their habits?” He asked. Virginia shook her head. “They did it to feel closer to Christ. To take pleasure in physical atonement is to take part in a long tradition. In the beginning, it hurts, makes you shudder and invert. But the more you get used to the pain, one can sometimes feel… Elation or satisfaction.”

She remembered the feeling. Her body had transcended and suddenly, she was outside herself, floating in euphoria.

“The lord rewards his believers when they seek redemption.”

Lemuel’s words were beautiful as they were assuring to Virginia. Lemuel, ever the eloquent pastor. He smiled at her then took her hands in his.

“Understand me, my girl, my aim ain’t to make you feel guilty ‘bout your sins. We all carry our own crosses, think impure thoughts, or harm others, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.” Lemuel’s voice fell, his hazel eyes averting Virginia. “I have my own demons to cast out too.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, sir. But… If I want for it to happen again, wouldn’t that mean I would want to indulge myself again? To want to sin?” She asked.

Lemuel sat with that inquiry for a moment, his brow wrinkled and lips almost pursed in thought.

“Do you seek to disobey the Lord?” He asked her earnestly.

Virginia shook her head. “I never mean to.”

He could see the desperation in her sad eyes. Virginia very much wanted to be good. Lemuel wished he could wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight, keep her away from all temptation and evil.

“You said that whenever your mother beat you, it made you feel like nothing you did was right.” Lemuel recalled. Virginia didn’t understand the sudden change in topic. “When I took you across my knee, I didn’t do so with the intent of continuously making you feel inadequate. You’re a good woman, Virginia. A Holy Ghost woman now, too. And if I may be frank, darling, I’m getting a little tired of this discussion.”

“What do you mean?” She blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Goodness, no, Virginia.”

For a while, Lemuel had felt pity for Virginia. She wasn’t raised in love, she had been uncertain in her faith, and she always seemed to believe she was doing something untoward or incorrect. Virginia had her strong moments, it was the facade she put on when meeting Lemuel on the side of the road. A wall of protection she had built up over the years after being abandoned and let down over and over again.

Lemuel saw now that his task was to break it down. Make her his faithful woman and keep her pure.

“Do you trust me, Virginia?”

There was no hesitation. “Yessir.”

“Then trust I know what’s best. ” He concluded. Lemuel looked intently in Virginia’s eyes, his brow wrinkled.

Virginia smiled softly. She very much wanted to surrender herself to him. After years of depending on no one else but herself, she imagined it must have felt so freeing to just… Let someone else lead her. Underneath her closed-off exterior was a lonely woman always worrying about herself, about what God expected of her, and what others thought of her.

Lemuel expected some inner turmoil within Virginia. There would always be that voice in the back of her mind, telling her to rebel and disobey. She was human and to worship the Lord meant to limit oneself. She had been off the path for years now and even with her now converted, she still had a long road ahead to navigate.

She had her share of serpents rattling in her heart. But Lemuel was a snake tamer, and a young woman like Virginia was no challenge compared to a venomous snake.

“Now, tonight, when you say your prayers, I want you to remember how you felt when you allowed yourself to let go.”

Let the Lord fill you with his light.

Virginia longed for that closeness. She wanted Lemuel to pull her onto him, to bring her to that same euphoria that made her weak and willing. If Dilly hadn’t been nearby, she would’ve tried to initiate another punishment.

“I will, Pastor.” She said. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say-”

“I’m heading to bed, sir!” Dilly called from the kitchen. “Dishes are all done!”

“G’night, Dilly! Thanks again for an amazing dinner!” He responded casually before the sound of Dilly ascending the stairs echoed down the hall. “You were saying?”

“What I wanted to say was that I’ll miss you tonight.” Virginia said, averting her eyes bashfully. “Every night I… No, I shouldn’t say it.”

“Speak freely, Virginia.” He ordered gently. “You can tell your pastor anything.”

She swallowed, lowering her head. “It’s a bad, bad thing to do. I know that. But I can’t help it.”

“Do what?” Lemuel pressed. “C’mon, you’re a big girl. Speak in plain language.”

She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she hadn’t even brought it up in the first place.

“After you helped me to bed… I-I touched myself.” Virginia spoke slowly. “I wanted more but you were gone and then I just… I know it’s wrong.”

His expression remained neutral, which instilled further anxiety in her.

“And I prayed for forgiveness afterwards. I won’t do it again, I promise-”

“I’ll drive you home.” Lemuel interrupted, suddenly standing from the couch. He extended his hand to her, helping her up. “C’mon, it’s already late.”

“But, don’t you-”

“Don’t argue. Just come on.”

Virginia closed her mouth and inhaled through her nose sharply. Already, she was struggling with taking orders from her pastor. But, he knew what was best and she would have to get used to it. So, she smiled and nodded.

“Yessir.”

“There’s a good girl.” He kissed her cheek and escorted her to his truck.

…

To say she was frustrated would’ve been an understatement. Virginia very much wanted to be good. She had done well so far in life, keeping herself pure and never throwing herself at any man. But the more time she spent with Lemuel and couldn’t so much as get to kiss him the way she wanted to kiss him made her all the more wanton. She would focus on the lines on his face and neck, the gray in his hair, the veins on his hands, or the warmth of his hazel irises whenever he looked at her and she’d be totally his.

Lemuel, on the other hand, was too busy trying to heed the morals he’d be preaching about. About chastity and restraint. Virginia wasn’t the only one with desires. He too wanted to give into his urges and ruin her. He’d relish in watching her be broken. He pictured her face many times at night, imagining her discomfort giving way to pleasure as he fucked her.

When he brought her home, just the two of them alone together, Lemuel had to keep reminding himself that the point of being her guide was to retain a certain image. He cannot let himself falter and just give into whatever they both wanted. He was supposed to be her strength. And so, he felt it necessary to remind her.

“Is this goodnight, Pastor?” Virginia asked him when she fished for her house key in her coat pockets.

“No, it ain’t.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want to disturb Dilly.”

Virginia paused, stopping herself from unlocking the door. “Why?”

“Let’s get inside first.”

She felt the familiar ache of anticipation from when Lemuel took her to the church. Was this going to be another demonstration? Was he planning on punishing her?

Virginia’s face grew warm as she pushed inside with Lemuel following close after. Once she tossed the keys onto the dish on the nearby hall table, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back against him, her back flush against his chest.

“What’re you-”

“I’d be quiet if I were you, sweetheart.” He whispered, his voice low and bordering on threatening. Virginia bit her lip and shuddered against him. Lemuel’s lips were hovering just above the shell of her ear, his breath almost tickling the side of her neck. “First let me tell you something. Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me.”

He kissed her hair before brushing it away to kiss at her neck. Virginia whined from the touch, wanting to break free of Lemuel’s hold and pounce him.

“None of that, now.” He said with a thick drawl. “Since you seem to be having trouble keeping your hands where they’re supposed to be, I’ll have to teach you the importance of restraint.”

Another lesson. Virginia smiled excitedly but quickly repressed her obvious eagerness when Lemuel turned her to face him. He could see that daring look in her eyes, practically begging him to give her all he got.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear with you, my girl. Feeling the lord’s light when redeeming yourself of your sins is one thing. But to then immediately seek out the same pleasure you was atoning for afterwards? I’d say that is very sinful.”

Virginia wanted to protest, to explain herself. Lemuel could see it on her face as she tried to hold her tongue.

“What?” He asked, squinting his eyes.

“I knew it was wrong, Pastor. I just thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t thinking, Virginia.” Lemuel said harshly. “You should’ve called me.”

“I was afraid of disappointing you.” She lowered her eyes.

Lemuel tilted his head and caressed her cheek. He could see the guilt in her moistened eyes. She almost recoiled from his touch, though not because she feared him, but because she deemed herself undeserving of his affection.

“Oh sweetheart.” He told her, the pad of his thumb brushing against her warm cheek. “Keepin these things from me will only hurt you. Do you remember what I said ‘bout redemption?”

“Seeking it is what separates us from the damned.” Virginia recited.

“Yes. But holding ourselves accountable by sticking to what we purvey is ‘nother thing. We can’t just ask the Lord to forgive us for our sins if we’s just gon to commit ‘em again and again.” Lemuel said.

He could feel his stomach tightening as he lectured Virginia. Knowing his own hands had done many dirty things while thinking of this young woman… He would surely suffer the snake’s venom. The hypocrisy was burning white-hot within his chest. Perhaps it was the flames of hellfire rising up within him, reminding him where he was destined should he continue this charade.

“What must I do, then?” Virginia looked up at him with the same hopeful, big eyes that begged him to tell her what to do. To make it all okay again.

Lemuel couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth open and hungry as he claimed her. She melted against him, her body weak and mind slowly growing numb. Just as she feared, Lemuel could say anything and make her his slave. A dangerous hypocrite with a silver tongue and a gentle, deceiving smile.

Eventually, he pulled apart from Virginia, their foreheads resting against each other. “Here’s what I’m gonna do to you, young lady.” He breathed. “I’m gonna take you to your bed, you’re gonna show me what you did, and then you’ll atone.”

Virginia didn’t even question the logic of this so-called punishment. She just nodded, whispered “yessir” and led him to her bedroom by the hand.

Lemuel stood at the edge of her bed while Virginia stripped down to her bra and underwear. She did so slowly, keeping her eyes down to the floor while her pastor watched with folded arms and closed lips. His hazel eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now cold and observant.

Virginia clutched at the silver Jesus that hung between her breasts, silently praying as she then climbed into bed.

“Show me what you did.” Lemuel instructed.

Her face flushed, Virginia laid back and spread her legs before him. Lemuel remained still at the foot of her bed, his head slightly tilted to the side as he observed. She bent her knees and adjusted her hips, trying to fight the urge to cover herself and shy away.

First, she sat up for a moment to remove her bra. Once unhooked, she slowly slipped down the straps then let it fall off her shoulders, exposing her mature breasts, which were pale with small blue veins. She then tossed the bra to the side, letting it slip off the bed. Lemuel’s gaze didn’t falter, his violating gaze sending shivers up her spine.

“Keep going.” He said quietly.

From how composed he appeared to be, Virginia couldn’t help but wonder if he had done this sort of instruction before? Surely not, unless other parishioners also came to him when they felt guilty after they masturbated.

She inhaled through her nose then laid back. Raising her hips off the bed, she curled her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and slid them down from her hips to her thighs to her ankles, until they came completely off and fell to the floor, off the edge of the bed at Lemuel’s feet.

Braving it, she then parted her bent legs again, with Lemuel between them in perfect view. For a second, Virginia could’ve sworn she saw his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitch. And from how his pants suddenly looked tight at the crotch, she realized this wasn’t just a lesson about restraint for herself but for him as well.

He said he had his own demons to cast out, didn’t he…

“Beautiful.” Lemuel whispered so quietly, Virginia almost didn’t hear it. Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So soft…”

Virginia was beginning to ache as she ran her hands up and down her thighs. Lemuel pressed his lips together but his breaths were deep and short. He was holding back from reaching out and touching her himself, his hands gripping at his crossed arms.

“What do you picture when you’re heated, hm?” Lemuel asked.

With her hooded eyes bashfully looking up at him, Virginia lulled her head and bit back an uncomfortable smile. “Your hands.”

“My hands?”

“When you spanked me.” She added. “How powerless I felt over your lap.”

“You were such a good girl too. A shame you then sullied your own redemption by actin like a slut.” Lemuel said almost sneeringly, though his tone was more humorous. What a tease he could be sometimes.

Virginia found she liked it when her pastor called her that. A slut. Even if it was a mean word and certainly should insult any woman to be referred to as such. But hearing Lemuel’s low, intimidating voice say such a thing only made her ache harder.

“Tell me more.” Lemuel urged.

Virginia’s hand ventured between her thighs, the tips of her fingers just barely caressing her vulva. She very much wanted more, but didn’t want to rush it. Like Lemuel said, this was all about restraint.

“When I touched myself, I thought about your voice.”

“And what would I say?”

“Tell me I was bein’ bad. You’d pray for me. Then, you’d tell me what you’d do to me.”

Lemuel sucked in a breath. Virginia was working him up. Perhaps she had power within her words too.

“So, if I were to say those things��”

Without warning, Lemuel grabbed Virginia’s ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed until her legs dangled off the edge. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise as her pastor leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head.

“If I were to tell you that… I’d take you across my knee, use my hand on you until you cried for me to stop then fuck you mercilessly like the whore you are…” He whispered, his lips hovering above her own.

Virginia slipped two of her own fingers into her slit, the tips of her fingers slick with her arousal. She moaned as she then swirled her wet fingers around her aching clit. Lemuel looked down at her hands, admiring how slowly she worked them on herself.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

He leaned back up then sank to his knees at the edge of the bed. He rested his palms atop Virginia’s thighs, keeping them spread as his head leaned in close to her sex. He watched closely as Virginia touched herself. Lemuel licked his lips at the sight of it, how wet she was, how delicately her fingers moved.

“Bet you’re thinking ‘bout how my tongue would feel right now.” He teased.

Virginia could feel his hot breath waff over her. Just the sight of him kneeling between her open legs, his face so close to her sex he could just easily lean in a few inches and taste her. She wanted him to envelop her clit with those lips of his and suck. She wanted his tongue to prod at her entrance. She wanted his fingers to curl inside her and make her squirm.

“Oh Pastor!” She moaned, her hips bucking as she felt herself build inside.

Lemuel’s hands rubbed her thighs while Virginia slowly brought herself closer and closer to release.

“You want me to touch you?”

What kind of question is that? Virginia thought. He was venturing into cruel territory now. She knew he wouldn’t want her to give in. She was supposed to be a good girl. Be obedient to her pastor and to the Lord.

“No.” She answered breathlessly.

“No? Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

Lemuel hummed, his brow knit. “That’s right, and yet you do this? You dirty slut.”

“Yes, Pastor. I’m a dirty slut.” Virginia repeated. “I love touching myself to the thought of you.”

“Hmm.” His hands were brushing up against her inner thigh, almost touching her where she wanted him. “But you DON’T want me to touch you?”

“No sir!” Virginia affirmed as she threw her head back, getting closer.

“Ah, then you should understand that when I say stop…” Lemuel then took her wrists and pulled them away from her sex, stopping her completely. “You should stop.”

Virginia looked down at him, her face contorted into a pained expression. “Why’d you-”

“Ah-ah.” Lemuel hushed her. “I said stop.”

Virginia was just about to finish! Her insides were clenching for something to fill her. Her clit was pulsing and hard. Her heartbeat was racing rapidly. How dare Lemuel do this to her!

“It’s hard.” She whined.

“Virginia.” Lemuel pulled her until she was sitting up. “Don’t think it don’t hurt me either. But we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Virginia wondered if she could get away with coaxing Lemuel into giving her what she wanted by promising to relieve him as well? But that wouldn’t be right. She had done wrong already.

“No sir.” She relented, taking in a deep breath.

It was hard, but Virginia chose to try and ignore her desire for release. She didn’t deserve a release. Not if Lemuel believed she didn’t.

“Good girl. Now, let’s clean you up and then we can talk.”

Lemuel drew a bath for Virginia. He helped wash her, reciting some verses while he scrubbed her arms and back with the sponge. Virginia even let him massage her scalp with shampoo and conditioner. It was nice to be pampered and the hot water of the bath helped calm her body down from the lack of satisfaction. Even Lemuel’s own arousal eventually subsided.

“Have you ever done this before?” She asked as Lemuel tilted her head back and rinsed her lathered hair.

“Do you think I make it a habit of watching pretty girls touch themselves?” He said candidly.

Virginia shook her head. “No, you don’t seem the type.”

“Well, I figured you’s a special situation.” He shrugged. “Being new and without a hand to guide you, you need a specific kind of attention I’m willin’ to provide.”

“Hence the spanking and the restrained gratification?”

“You’re cheeky tonight.” Lemuel remarked playfully. “Well, every pastor’s different. They have their own ways of leading their parishioners.”

“And you specialize in rattlesnakes and gettin’ me naked?”

“Is that a complaint?”

Virginia looked over her shoulder back at Lemuel, who quirked a brow at her. She then chuckled, which made him chuckle too.

“I’d sooner leave the church than complain about your methods, sir. And by the way…” She folded her arms on the edge of the tub. “Thank you. For tonight.”

Lemuel smiled at her, touched by her sincerity. “Of course, darlin’. And I wanna set a new rule. Whenever you feel those urges, I want you to get down on your knees and pray for strength. And if you really feel the need, I want you to call me. I’ll talk you through it.”

Virginia felt a twinge of rebellion within her. She’d want to disregard these new rules, touch herself anyways and tell Lemuel that she just prayed for strength and it went away. But if she really believed in the judgment of the serpent, she’d do as her pastor said.

So, the young woman agreed happily and kissed her shepherd, thanking him again for being so good to her.

Lemuel helped her out of the tub and dried her off, wrapping a soft, baby blue towel around her and holding her close. “My beautiful girl.” He breathed against her wet hair.

Why are you still fighting against this? Virginia thought to herself. There was no better feeling than when Lemuel held her. That voice in her head that kept tugging at her gut, daring her to disobey and fight back. To insult Lemuel’s authority and show him what she was made of. And as tempting as it was to Virginia, the idea of slapping Lemuel’s hand away and rejecting his generosity made her sick.

He took her back to her room, let her dress herself in panties and a white nightshift, and then put her to bed. But, instead of leaving her like the last time, Lemuel stripped himself down to his boxers and climbed in with her.

“You’re staying?” Virginia’s eyes lit up.

“I think there’s no harm in keeping yah company tonight.” He said before snuggling up behind her, spooning her with his warm body. Virginia’s heart swelled as she pressed herself against him. “Especially since you did well.”

Yeah, she thought. This makes it all worth it.

A/N: Sorry for taking forever with this chapter. My computer crapped out on me, I'm in the middle of moving, and life is a little blah atm. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan on writing two more, including the finale before the summer's over. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated, my loves <3

#walton goggins #them that follow #lemuel childs #pastor childs #this was supposed to be a one shot then i kept writing #walton goggins was so hot in this #fanfiction #fanfic

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