Eddie Munson sweeps in five minutes early to the Friday night session, carrying his battered DM binder under one arm and a shit-eating grin that could’ve lit the whole basement. It is very late for him. Hellfire’s weekly campaign is the only thing in his life he comes twenty minutes early for.
The party is already gathered around the table: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Gareth, Jeff, and the two nervous freshmen who still jump every time Eddie slams the table for dramatic effect. They look up as Eddie drops into his throne.
Dustin’s eyes narrow first. “You’re… glowing.”
Eddie freezes. “What?”
“You’re literally glowing,” Lucas says, pointing like Eddie has grown horns. “Like, your face is doing that thing. Like you just won the lottery and got laid in the same hour.”
Jeff snorts. “Gross. But accurate. Spill, Munson. Who’s the girl?”
Eddie tries to play it cool: leans back, kicks his boots up on the table, and clutches a d20 between his fingers. “No idea what you’re talking about. Just had a good week. Campaign’s gonna be fire tonight.”
Mike crosses his arms. “Bullshit. You’ve been humming since you walked in. You never hum. And your hair looks… good.”
“She told me to squeeze it with a t-shirt… shit.”
The table goes dead silent. Eddie’s d20 slips from his fingers and clatters across the table.
Lucas’s jaw drops. “No. Fucking. Way.”
Dustin leans forward. “The bratty girl? The one who called us virgins and stormed out after Vespera’s sacrifice? The one who told everyone you couldn’t run a cult?”
Eddie rubs the back of his neck, cheeks actually flushing. “Yeah. That one.”
Jeff cackles so hard he nearly falls out of her chair.
Eddie holds up both hands. “Whoa, whoa. Boundaries, sheepies. Let’s just say… she came back for round two. And three. The point is, she doesn’t hate Hellfire anymore.”
Dustin’s eyes are huge behind his cap. “Did you make a private campaign? Like, just for her alone?”
Lucas and Mike punch him and lift their brows in silent explanation. Realization slowly comes to Dustin’s face.
Eddie’s grin turns smug. “Oh, she played. Last night. Different rules.”
The freshmen gasp in unison.
“I need therapy,” Dustin says.
Mike asks, “She’s coming tonight, isn’t she?”
Eddie checks his watch. “Should be here any minute. I told her the campaign starts at 7. Said she could sit and learn. Observe. Maybe roll a few times if she behaves.”
The campaign wrapped twenty minutes ago, and the rest of the party’s long gone. Lucas left with a sly, knowing wink, Dustin got shy and rosy, and Mike muttered something about “get a room.” They scattered without a fight. They know better than to linger when the air gets this charged.
Eddie’s sprawled in his throne, as always, legs kicked wide, one arm slung over the armrest, the other between his legs. His ripped black jeans and faded Corroded Coffin tee scream chaos, but there’s natural ease to him. His dark curls spill over his shoulders. He’s all relaxed on the surface, but you catch the glint in his eyes. He is waiting for your next move.
The lock on the door turns with a click.
You step toward him, slow, hips swaying just enough to make his gaze flicker. In your hand is the black silk blindfold, the same one he’d spun between his fingers with a devilish grin days ago, daring you to play his game.
“Hands behind the backrest, Munson,” you say with just a hint of a challenge.
His lips twitch. “Well, well, look at you, stealing the Dungeon Master’s script.” His voice is sceptical and teasing, and you are dying to teach him a lesson. He complies though, leaning back, hands behind the throne, wrists crossing. “Go on, then. Direct the scene, princess.”
You step behind him, leaning close enough that your breath brushes his ear as you tie the silk over his eyes.
The knot’s tight, no give. His head tilts slightly, chasing the sound of you, but he doesn’t speak, he just lets out a low, theatrical hum, like he’s savoring the suspense as you tie his hands behind the throne.
Eddie hears the soft click of your heels once, twice, and then nothing as you kick them off, bare feet quiet on the floor. Your fingers graze his rough jaw, light as a whisper, and you feel the faintest shiver.
“Eddie, the banished was gullible enough to drink from the bottle of wine Vespera sent him as a token of her gratitude,” you murmur, letting your voice curl around him, “and now you wake up captured. The mighty dungeon master, all that fire and flair… mine to play with.”
He lets out a sharp breath, half-laugh, half-groan. “Careful, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dripping with mock menace. “You keep talking like that, you’re gonna start a riot in these jeans.” Even blindfolded, he’s all bravado, leaning forward just enough to test the space between you, like he’s daring you to push back.
You drop to your knees between his spread thighs, and whatever quip he was brewing dies in his throat.
Your hands unbuckle his belt. You drag the zipper down. His jeans part just enough; you tug them down with the boxers and his cock springs free, already hard and flushed at the tip.
You wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and firm. His hips twitch up, and he can’t stop himself from groaning:
“Fuck… Vespera,” he starts, but you cut him off.
“Shh.” You lean in, letting your breath fan hot against his cock. “No talking. Or I will have to gag you.”
Then your mouth is on him.
No teasing, no games, deep right from the start. Your lips stretch around him, tongue pressing flat along the underside as you take half his length in one glide. His head snaps back against the throne with a thud, a hissed blasphemy slipping out before he can stop it.
You hum a little, the vibration making him tremble slightly, and start to move. Slow at first, savoring the heat and weight of him, how he gets even harder against your tongue. Then faster, head bobbing, cheeks hollowing, one hand stroking the base, the other cupping his balls, rolling them with a gentle twist.
His hands tense behind the backrest. You know he’s itching to grab your hair, to take control, but the blindfold and the tie keep him pinned and completely at your mercy. Frustration mixes with delight in his grunt.
You pull off with a wet pop, dragging your tongue underneath, then swirling around the head like you’re savoring something delicious. Back down, you go deeper, until your nose brushes the dark curls at his base. You hold there, throat working around him, and he chokes out a string of half-curses, half-praises.
“Fuck… where the hell did you… so good,” His voice cracks, and you pull off just enough to speak, lips glossy, voice husky.
“Maybe I was a virgin two weeks ago, Eddie,” you say, stretching the words. “But not clueless.”
He barks a laugh, bright and delighted, that melts into a groan when you dive back in, sucking harder, moving faster. “You little… fuck… minx,” he manages, voice tight with awe. “Gonna suck my soul out.”
Instead of an answer you take him all in again, throat fluttering. His thighs tense, hips jerking in short, helpless thrusts. The throne creaks under him.
“I’m gonna… fuck… come,” his voice is wrecked, his throat dry.
You don't stop. You double down, sucking hard, tongue flicking the sensitive spot just under the head, free hand slipping up under his shirt to graze nails across his chest.
He comes with a choked “Holy shit,” back arching off the throne, hips snapping forward, spilling down your throat. You swallow every drop, until he’s oversensitive and moaning.
You slowly rise and drink from your water bottle. Eddie hears it and silently begs you for a drink. You give him a sip directly from your mouth, then press the bottle neck to his lips. A few drops escape and you lick them away, your eyes never leaving his blindfolded face. Slowly, you reach for the hem of your top and pull it over your head, taking your bra right after and dropping it on the floor. Sitting on his lap, you bring your hands up to your breasts and squeeze them gently, sliding your palms over the curves and rolling your nipples between your fingers.
The sound of your clothes coming off makes Eddie’s ears prick. “Princess, you’re torturing me,” he rasps, his voice rough. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m looking at you,” you murmur, sliding your skirt and panties off. “And I’m playing with my boobs. My nipples are so hard right now, Eddie.”
A low groan rips from his throat. Right before your eyes, his cock twitches, hardening back up until he’s fully erect again, pink and glistening.
You smirk, straddling his lap and settling onto his thighs. You guide his thick length into your wet pussy, the stretch burning so good. You lean forward, rubbing your bare breasts against his t-shirt, tilting his chin to the side to kiss his jaw. “And now Vespera is taking her prize.”
You lift your hips and then press down, burying him deeper inside you.
“Fuck… you’re so warm… so tight,” Eddie pants, his face flushing pink.
You begin to move in a steady, grinding rhythm, the throne creaks loudly under the weight of you both. You lean back, arching your spine, your hands cupping your own breasts as you ride him.
Suddenly, with a sharp grunt of exertion, Eddie wrenches his arms forward. The hastily tied knot gives in. Before you can even register the shift, his hands lock onto your waist with a bruising grip.
“My turn to dictate the scene,” he growls against your neck.
With a feral jerk of his hips, Eddie thrusts up into you, slamming his cock in your worked up pussy to the absolute limit. Eddie pulls the blindfold away and looks at you with his eyes full of awe, an expression he will never recognize later. He kisses you with all he has got, the tongue, the teeth. The pace is his now, strong hands pulling you down as he jerks up with brutal force.
“You turn me on too much… I’m not gonna last,” Eddie chokes out, gasping like he’s run a marathon as he nears the edge for the second time. “I’m close… princess… fuck,” he reaches to rub your clit in tense circles. He somehow holds on until you come squeezing him tight. Seconds later, Eddie follows you over the cliff with a loud, undone groan, and pumps his release deep.
You collapse forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, completely spent.
“Well,” he says, still inside, “you know how to make a goddamn plot twist.” He shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Thought I had you figured out, but, fuck, sweetheart, you’re full of surprises.”
You smirk, hiding how much you love his praise, and carefully get off him. “Now Vespera will let the Dungeon Master go, if he promises never to set her up for certain death again.”
Eddie laughs loud, and yanks you down into a messy, hungry kiss. “Only if I get side quests like this often,” he mutters against your lips, one hand tangling in your hair.
Your eyes flash with that newly discovered playful glint. “Next time,” you say, “I want you tied with something stronger. Handcuffs, maybe.”
His grin is all teeth, pure Eddie. “Oh, princess,” he purrs, leaning in to nip at your jaw. “Name the night. I’ll bring the hardware.”
You kiss him again, slow and lingering. “Next time,” you whisper.
how they met:
Curse of the City Brat
PS: There is a lot more where this came from, plot included! Editing is my least favorite chore, so please let me know if you want to see the rest of their story.
dividers by @sister-lucifer and @saradika-graphics
You've bullied Eddie since the day you met. Now you've lost a bet, and your "friends" dare you to kiss him for ten seconds.
Inspired by this post. I feel like there’s a few versions and each of them is great, but I still wanted my own, where it starts like a bet, but the sky falls on genuinely unlikable bully!reader when she kisses Eddie
WC: 2100
Warnings: forced kissing, bulling
The sound of the Hawkins High hallway in between periods consists of the student chatter merging into a monotonous buzz, the rattle of metal locker doors slamming shut, and the clackety-clack of the locks spinning. Today, the obnoxious laughter of Tommy H. adds to it, echoing right behind your ear.
"Tick-tock, princess," Tommy sneers, leaning his shoulder against the painted brick wall. "A bet’s a bet. You failed, so now you pay the tax."
Carol giggles beside him, crossing her arms. "Go on. Or you forfeit. And make it real."
Your jaw tightens. Your hands are trembling slightly, but you force them into your pockets so they won't see. They picked Eddie Munson on purpose. Not just some random, spineless loser. They know you hate him, and while you never physically hurt anyone, it was your idea to slip him a birthday card reading 'Happy "Found you in a dumpster" day' last year. And you certainly watched him and his friends being bullied or beaten up, cackling.
Down the hall, standing by his locker, is the King of Freaks. He is reading ragged comics, probably about the ridiculous fantasy world. Long hair, tattoos, rings on every finger, ripped jeans, and a denim vest over a t-shirt with an unknown band making terrible noise.
"If I get mono, Tommy, I’m blaming it on you," you hiss, your tense voice cutting through the noise.
You turn on your heel and stalk down the linoleum. Every step feels like a march to a firing squad, but you keep your chin up. Eddie doesn't even have time to register you approaching.
Before he can lift his head, you lunge forward. Your fingers dig aggressively into the lapels of his vest, and with all the frustration boiling in your chest, you shove him back.
The metal locker door warps under his weight with a loud, hollow BANG.
"What the—" Eddie starts, his dark eyes widening in pure shock, but the words are instantly cut off as you smash your lips against his.
“One… two… three…” Tommy and Carol begin a loud, mocking countdown from the hallway.
You expect him to taste like garbage. You expect it to be awkward, gross, and pathetic. But the second your mouth presses into his, your brain fails you. Eddie is warm, not sweaty or hot, just the nicest kind of warm. His lips are shockingly soft, and after a split second of total, paralyzed shock, his body completely melts into the contact.
He can’t help it. You are gorgeous, your hands are anchoring him by his jacket, and you are a highly rated kisser (yes, there’s a score). A muffled sound catches in the back of his throat. His hands instinctively fly to you, long fingers grip your waist, pulling you flush against his chest with an intensity that makes your own knees go weak. For a fleeting moment, the countdown fades. It feels entirely, terrifyingly real.
“Eight… nine… ten!”
"Munson! In the office. Now!" Mr. Braun’s voice booms down the corridor, shattering the bubble.
You wrench yourself backward, your breathing ragged, your lips tingling and completely flushed. Eddie stumbles forward half a step, his chest heaving, his curls messy and falling into his eyes. His puppy eyes are open wide, staring at you with a mix of shock and a raw, dazed hunger that sends a jolt of pure heat straight to your core.
He doesn't say a single word to defend himself as the teacher grabs his shoulder, hauling him away toward the office. Eddie just lets himself be dragged, throwing one final, unreadable, haunted glance over his shoulder at you.
Tommy and Carol are howling with laughter behind you, but you stand there fumbling to reset your own locker's combination dial, still feeling the taste of cherry lip balm.
The frosted-glass door of the principal’s office closes silently when you slip in. You shouldn’t be doing this. You are supposed to be gossiping with your bratty friends, mocking the less popular kids, plotting schemes, humiliating juniors and even soft teachers. But for some unknown reason, the jitters leave your stomach entirely as Eddie is taken away for your cruel joke, and now it feels like you ate shit.
Behind the cheap, flimsy desk sits Principal Higgins, his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose as he looks at an impressive stack of Munson's disciplinary forms. To his left, sitting in a plastic chair that looks entirely too small for him, is Eddie. He has his boots crossed at the ankles, his head tilted back against the wall, acting like he couldn’t care less. You can’t help gazing at his lips.
"I told you, Munson," Higgins sighs, not looking up. "Necking in the corridors is a violation. You are already on thin ice with your attendance…"
"It wasn't his fault." You blurt it out before even knowing why you followed Eddie to the office.
Eddie’s head whips around so fast his curls hit his eyes. He stares at you, his jaw dropping slightly as you march right up to the desk and lean over, exposing a bit of cleavage that quite often helps you get out of things.
Higgins slowly lowers his glasses, his eyes snapping shut to avoid your tits in his face. You’ve been here before for minor things, but as the bright student you are, your record is still pretty clear. "Excuse me?"
"It was my fault," you repeat, your throat feeling like sand. "It was a joke. A bet. I shoved him against the locker and I... I initiated the contact. He didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Higgins."
You cringe at yourself. When someone calls you a bitch you respond with “So what?”, not play saint. Why the hell you’re saving the freak from his 100th detention?
Eddie shifts in his chair, his eyes boring into the side of your face with sudden heat. He doesn't want your charity, and he certainly doesn't want to hide behind your back.
Higgins looks between the two of you—the resident degenerate and the golden-child honor student. For a second, you think your tits or your clean record will save you, that he’ll let you both off with a gentle warning and dismiss the whole thing.
Instead, Higgins lets out an unimpressed breath and pulls a second yellow slip from his drawer.
"Well, then," Higgins says, as he writes your name with satisfaction. "It seems Hawkins High has a new standard for comedy. If you are so eager to claim ownership of this... display, you can share the consequences. Room 104. Right after the final bell. Both of you."
He rips the yellow slip off the pad and slides it across the polished wood toward you.
"Dismissed."
You swallow hard, your fingers cold as you pick up the paper. You don't look at Eddie as you turn on your heel and push through the door. You’re upset to be disciplined and your parents will be mad, but the jitters are back at the thought of sitting next to Munson after classes.
You've only been in detention with your clique. It’s weird to be by yourself in a room with a tired teacher grading homework, Munson in the very back, and a few kids whose names you don’t even know. You immediately label them as Loser, Wanker, and Snotty for convenience.
Your legs carry you to the back of the room, completely out of your control. You sit directly to Eddie’s right. You really try to study for the test and not stare at how Munson's lips part when he doodles instead of doing homework. His fingers are quite entertaining, too; every ring is different, and he taps them in a pattern only he knows. You catch the movement of his neck as he notices you and looks away. You can’t read a single line. Eddie is slumped low in his seat, his long legs stretched out under the desk.
"I tried to get you out of it," you mutter quietly, wary of the unlucky weirdos. "But it completely backfired."
The tapping stops.
Eddie lets out a cynical laugh that cuts through the empty classroom. The teacher gives him a look. Eddie tilts his head to your side, his dark curls covering his face from your stare.
"Oh, you did me a favor. Truly. I’m trapped in a room long enough to actually open a textbook and get ready for that chemistry test."
“No talking back there.”
You don’t know what to say anyway. You've never felt guilty for your actions—like, what did they expect, showing off their ridiculous club shirts and nerdy chatter? Time passes, and you notice Eddie does turn to look at you, maybe twice. Your heartbeat quickens.
When the bell finally rings, you're free to talk. You have to chase him, though; Eddie is fast to leave.
"Look, I'm trying to apologize here, okay?" you snap, because something is gnawing at your heart. You lean closer, your voice a furious whisper. "It was just a stupid bet."
"A stupid bet," Eddie repeats.
The Munson grin slowly drains from his face. His jaw tightens, and his voice drops into a register you have never heard from him before—flat and bitter. He turns his whole body to face you and places a hand next to your head on the wall.
"Right. Because guys like me are just props for your little games. You spoiled kids are all exactly the same. You look at anyone who's different, anyone who doesn't wear a varsity jacket, and you decide we don't have a pulse. You wreck our week for a quick laugh, you get us thrown in detention, and then you say a and then you throw out a quick little 'sorry' that you don’t even mean."
He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce, quiet intensity.
"God forbid you stop to think that we actually have dignity, princess. That maybe I don't want to be the circus animal you poke with a stick just to see if I dare to fight back."
The absolute truth of it hits you like a physical slap. Your chest tightly contracts, a hot rush of humiliation flooding your cheeks. Because he is right, and your brain entirely panics under the weight of it. The feeling is new, but the jabs are always on the tip of your tongue.
You scoff, but your voice shakes a little—a detail that only you notice. "Oh, please! Don't tell me I wounded the pride of Eddie Munson. Since when do you care about dignity? You literally dance on cafeteria tables for attention. You play the freak for the whole school. Don't act like you have these feelings to be hurt."
Eddie doesn't fire back an insult.
“Just like I said.”
You notice it in his eyes. Big, dark, and shiny with… moisture?
He is breathing harder, his chest rising against his denim vest. Eddie turns and leaves without another word.
The silent hall closes in. You stay there, your stomach twisting into a sickening knot. You want to defend yourself, but looking at his rigid back walking away, you realize that you are dying to feel his lips again.
Eddie is smoking by his van the next day, and the Hellfire kids crowd around him.
“Man, it sucks you got detention, but… how was it?” asks Mike.
“How was detention? Try it for yourself. Boring.” Eddie takes a drag and lets a ring of smoke out.
“No, he means kissing the viper,” Dustin leans in, also curious about the experience.
Eddie furrows his brows and looks across the gravel parking lot like he wants to scrub the memory entirely.
“Like any other girl. Sweet, soft… warm. She’s a good kisser, I suppose,lots of practice. I should probably get checked, though, as I’m afraid her mouth has been on the whole basketball team, trainers included.”
The chuckle Eddie expects from the boys doesn't come. Mike shifts his weight, looking at his sneakers.
“Uh... okay,” Dustin mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What?” Eddie snaps, defensive, taking another aggressive drag of his cigarette.
“Nothing,” Lucas says quickly, uncomfortable. “Just... you usually hate that kind of gossip, man. Like…I’m on the basketball team too.”
“I don’t care,” Eddie throws the half-burned cigarette to the gravel and crushes it beneath his boot. “Are you ready for the campaign? I'm going to have your asses fried.”
The kids exchange looks.
Eddie is a little off.
He will get over it.
PS: Ok, so the mean girl wants more… but it feels like a dead end. What would you do to fix it? Or don’t fix it and just corner him in private?
Author's Note: Oh Billy... I miss you so much, but at least we have the fandom
Summery: You volunteer to help Billy Hargrove (of all people) study so he won't end up in summer school. He, of course, has other things on his mind, but you are here to make sure he doesn't get distracted... which isn't easy, because, well, have you seen him?
Warnings: 18+ only!! MINORS DNI, Smut, language, teasing/flirting, kissing, Billy being Billy, reader is a girl who likes pink, some boob play, tiny bit of spit, p in v
My Masterlist in case you need more Billy
Divider by @cafekitsune
Billy lounges against your silk, pink bedspread. A pile of lacy pillows supporting his head. His thick body sprawled out, legs spread wide, taking up the whole damn bed, and to be honest, his overt masculinity is in complete contrast with the girly decor of your bedroom.
But... let me be clear.
Your room might still hold some of your childhood in it, but you weren't at all childish. You knew what you wanted in life and Billy wasn't part of your plan. He was immature and kind of wild, drove way too fast, smoked way too much, spewed the foulest language you've ever heard, and probably carried some serious sexual diseases with the amount of girls who claimed to have slept with him.
You knew Billy Hargrove well, knew he was a charmer.
Could be so cloyingly sweet when he wanted something from you, like bringing you little flowers he picked outside your house seconds before he rang the bell, or bringing you your favorite bubble gum, saying he was thinking of you while picking up some cigarettes, or calling you the sweetest little nicknames, making you feel special. But you weren't dumb. Knew his game and you weren't falling for any of it. Besides, girls talk and Billy was a heartbreak waiting to happen.
Because you knew the truth:
Billy Hargrove wants one thing and one thing only.
Pussy.
You haven't given that to him and you were kind of hoping to keep it that way, but... you're not blind. He is the most beautiful boy you've ever seen in your life and having him here, alone in your bedroom wasn't making it easy for you to stick to your values. You did have something he didn't though, self control.
Truth was Billy thought you were different than the usual bimbos and easy girls he's used to hanging out with. Easy lays, no effort needed. You though, you're soft and lovely, kind of sweet, definitely different, in a good way, but also in a way that means he's got to work harder to get into your pants.
"Figures."
Billy snorts, picking up Mr. Squish Squish, the teddy you've had since you were a little girl, holding him up by his soft, worn paw. Your bedroom being pretty much exactly what he expected it to be. Like something out of the Sears catalog, little girls' dream bedroom section.
"C'mere, princess, keep me company."
Pats the pile of plush, cream colored blankets next to him, an invitation for you to sit, as his dark blue eyes look you up and down, stopping to ogle at your tits.
You grab your poor bear from Billy's grip and gently place him on the chair in the far corner of the room, where he'll be safe.
"Billy. We're here to study Shakespeare, not your libido."
Coming back over to him and slapping his filthy Converse off of your pristine bed. Chuckles, voice deep and kind of husky, probably from the two pack a day habit he has, but you keep that to yourself. His biceps flex a little as he moves his body, still laying down, but feet off the bed now. Of course you notice those arms, who wouldn't, wearing that stupid black sleeveless like it's the middle of summer or something. He just winks, stupid smirk plastered across his lips like he caught you staring.
"Aww, come on, pretty girl. Thought we could work on... getting to know each other better."
God he's so cringe, you can't help but roll your eyes. Do girls actually fall for his bullshit? Sadly though, you do have to admit he looks kind of cute laying there, perfect dirty blonde curls splayed out against your frilly pillows. Why's he have to be so damn pretty. Are boys supposed to be that pretty?
While you're busy staring, his thick fingers slide up over your bare thigh, then tug at the hem of your skirt.
You swat his hand away.
"Behave."
You say, and he reaches for your wrist, but you pull away too quick and walk over to the desk, where earlier you set up everything you two would need for a quiet study session.
Billy sighs out of frustration, watching you organize your pencils. Smirks to himself. You got some nice legs, eyeing them up and down, stopping at your sexy bottom, watching it jiggle softly as you organize your things.
"Like two puppies under a blanket."
He cackles, mumbling to himself, but out loud at the same time.
"What?"
You ask, without turning around, just instinctively adjusting your skirt, pulling it down a bit. Even though you're turned away, you can feel those eyes on you.
"Cut the shit." (he says your name). "Been teasing me for fuckn' weeks, walking around in those tiny little skirts and tight tops like a slutty little princess who thinks she's too good for everybody."
There it is.
Gets pissy when he doesn't get his way. Didn't come here to study at all, came here to get your clothes off, which you knew already but for some reason you decided to help him not fail English class, though he probably doesn't deserve your help.
"Billy. Be serious. If you don't pass this test, Mr. O'Brien says you'll have to do summer school. Is that what you want?"
You watch his nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge. No he doesn't want to do damn summer school, he's got plans. Job at the pool, dates at the drive-in, girls, booze, and most important... freedom.
"Fine."
Mumbles, making a point to get up off the bed noisily, sulking over to the little white desk, sweeping the neatly organized notebooks and papers into a messy pile with one arm, just to be a little bitch.
Sits down dramatically, leaning the chair back until it hits hard against the wall, picking up Romeo and Juliet, opening the book so wide you hear the spine crack.
You adjust your skirt, softly sitting down next to him and picking up your own copy.
"Lets just read the first few chapters quietly for now, okay?"
You say and you hear him mumble something.
Within minutes he's already bored. Sleepy, blue eyes flick over to the pretty, pink cashmere sweater you're wearing, the way it hugs the soft curves of your full breasts. Can see the outline of your bra through the soft, thin fabric. Forces his eyes back to the paperback in his hand, but they drift back down to your tits every few seconds. One leg bouncing rapidly, up and down, like he has too much energy to sit still.
You chance a side eyed glance and see a vein protruding on his forehead and you smile to yourself. His frustration makes you weirdly happy.
"Tease."
Mutters, and you look over at him. He really is stupidly gorgeous, something about those eyes. Lashes longer than yours and they're just so soft and pretty in the lamp light.
"I'm just sitting here trying to help you not fail... ohhh I'm sooo sorry."
You say, slightly annoyed and suddenly wondering why you care at all.
"You expect me to concentrate on this stupid ass book when you got those poking out at me."
Nods his chin towards your cleavage. You squirm a little in your seat as he eye fucks you. Looks back at your face and for a second and you both just stare at each other.
"What do you want Billy? Want me to suck your cock or something?"
You say in this soft, sweet voice, kind of a half tease, half aggravation, as you turn your body to face his. It's a voice you don't exactly recognize in yourself and you feel your cheeks suddenly getting hot.
Raises an eyebrow. Something about the way your pretty plush lips say the word cock makes his jump a little in his jeans. Leans forward in his chair, wicked little grin, flash of those perfect white teeth.
"Well, well well, knew you wanted me."
Tongue sliding across his bottom lip, then biting it softly.
"That wasn't an offer, Billy."
Smirk fades fast, eyebrows narrowing, not used to having it dangled in front of him like that. Most girls can't help but give him what he wants the second he wants it. Doesn't hurt that he looks like a movie star and from what you've heard, has a pretty big...
"Can we be serious, Billy?"
You plead and he just blinks, likes he's registering what you've said.
"Fine."
Huffs, turning back to the book.
You sit a little closer to him, writing some notes down in the little notebook you set out earlier, hoping to go over them when you two finish your chapters. Your hair is pulled back in a cute ponytail, with little wisps falling out gently around your shoulders and the sides of your face. God you're really pretty, he thinks, staring at your profile. Why do you have to be such an uptight bitch.
Even if he wanted to study, which he didn't, you were making it impossible. Pink lip gloss shining on your pretty, full, pouty lips, which look so tasty he wants a lick... just a taste.. strawberries maybe... probably cherries. Your long lashes flutter softly as you read. And that beautiful smell... so fucking good, what is it? Flowers?Vanilla... baby powder? Fuck, his dick is starting to fill out in his jeans and all he wants is to bury his face in your neck and just...
Focus Hargrove, focus
"Smell nice."
Mutters quietly into the pages of his book.
"Thank you. It's Love's Baby Soft."
You smile sweetly, honestly you think that was kind of sweet of him to say, to notice your perfume. You bite your lip unconsciously, head tilted.
You were made to torture him.
"Course it is."
Scoffs.
"Look Billy... let's make a deal, okay? If you study for half and hour straight... for real! I'll give you a surprise."
You giggle excitedly, prettily bouncing a little in your chair, ponytail wagging from side to side.
Blue eyes go wide for a beat watching your tits bounce as you bob in your chair. Fuck you're cute. WTH. Wants to rip that sweater right off you and have you smother him with your beautiful titties.
Huge grin as you watch his eyes light up like a kid at Christmas.
"A surprise, huh?"
Asks, tongue peeking out from between his slightly chapped lips.
"Yes. But you've got to concentrate first."
You remind him.
Sighs.
"Better be a good fuckn' surprise."
Turns away, brows cutely furrowed as he pretends to read.
Other than the occasional tapping of his fingers on the desk, and that leg bouncing, he's relatively quiet for the next half hour. You see him scribbling something down on the piece of paper in front of him. At first you think you've gotten through to him, but then you see a bunch of Metallica doodles, like the ones he draws all over his desk at school.
After some time he finally sits back with a satisfied little smirk.
"Times up... where's my big surprise."
Leans in close, like he's going to get a kiss, one elbow on the desk, face hovering kind of close to yours, blue eyes falling down to your pink glossy lips, licks his slow and deliberate, then his eyes fall back up to meet yours.
It hasn't been exactly a half hour yet, but fuck he smells really good, like leather and cigarettes and maybe sweat? You should be grossed out, right? But you kind of want to see what it feels like to press your lips against his, they look so pretty, bet his mouth tastes so good, soft, warm, wet and...
You take a breath, refocusing, then bend down to grab your purse, smiling all goofy. You pull out a stick of Juicy Fruit and hand it to him.
Blinks for a beat, then laughs out loud, making you jump.
"You're fuckn' kiddin' me? A piece of gum? That's my big surprise after I busted my ass studying this shit for over half an hour. What the actual fuck."
Shakes his head, looking up to the ceiling, groaning loudly.
"Wanna see my new bra?"
You ask, surprising him, which isn't easy to do. Surprising yourself too, not exactly sure why those words just flew from your lips... and out loud. You watch his mouth hanging open slightly, voice drops.
"Fuck yeah, Wanna see a lot more than your fuckn' bra."
Whoa, what's he doing? Reaches out and brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, coating it in your lipgloss, and for a second you forget what you were going to say. Want to suck that fat thumb right into your mouth...
You pull back, clearing your throat.
"No touchies though."
His eyebrows raise.
"No what now?"
"Touchies."
You answer back.
"The fuck does that mean?"
Huffs in frustration.
"You know what that means, you can look, but don't touch."
Mumbles something you can't hear, lips pushed together tight, hot air coming out from his nostrils.
"You're killing me here, angel."
"You wanna see or not?"
You ask sweetly.
Blue eyes meet yours, you can see how frustrated he is, sits back in the chair again, big thick thighs spread obscenely wide, too big for the chair, too big for the desk, too big for the room, too much man, too masculine for this feminine space, but it's really nice and you kind of like it a lot. You want to straddle those big thick thighs and kiss him stupid. Want to throw out everything you told yourself before he got here.
"Obviously."
Mutters softly, arms folded across his broad chest.
You smile. Start unbuttoning your cardigan, little mother-of-pearl buttons coming easily undone. You instantly realize this is how to get Billy Hargrove to shut the fuck up. He's kind of cutely wide eyed, taking in the delicate lace that starts to appear from beneath the soft pink fabric of your sweater. Pressing against the sexy swell of your perfect tits. Seen plenty of tits in his time, but something about you... about those...
"Fuck."
Swallows hard, cock fully hard and throbbing uncomfortably beneath jeans that feel way too tight right now. Wishes he could adjust himself, but he's kind of too lost in the beauty in front of him.
"You like it?"
You ask, voice almost a whisper.
"Fuck. I love them, they're perfect."
Words catch in his throat, blue eyes glued to your full pretty cleavage. Pretty tits enveloped by the prettiest pink lace bra, tiny bow smack dab in between two perfect globes. God they look so deliciously soft. Whistles out low as he drinks in every detail of your smooth skin.
"I mean, my bra silly... do you like it? I just bought it at that new mall over on the other side of town."
You start buttoning your sweater back up, disappointment crossing his face.
"I mean, I'd like it better if it was on the floor right now, but yeah, it's nice."
Says, aggravated that you've covered yourself back up. You lean forward, your palms falling flat against his massive spread thighs and he gets a little sly smirk. Your hands a little too close to his rock hard cock.
"Okay. So if you study for another half hour, I'll show you the matching panties."
He glances down at your hands, leaning on his thighs, and you quickly remove them, sitting back up straight in your chair.
"Matching panties, huh?"
Chuckles like he just won the lottery.
"Okay princess, you show me those matching panties, maybe I'll let you see what's under these jeans."
Gives his bulge a little grab and squeeze, both for some relief and for effect.
"That stays in your pants."
You say and his smirk instantly fades, leans back roughly, tilting the chair back on two legs and hitting against the wall again. By the time he leaves you're sure there's going to be a big hole there from the amount of times he's done that.
"Fine, whatever."
Shifts in his seat, the chair smacking back down against the floor, hard, making a loud bang. Trying to ignore the way his dick is pressed against his leg uncomfortably and wondering why he's still even here. You're not even his type, probably a virgin... everything sweet and pink and delicate and perfect... but then he thinks about the promise of panties and his cock pulses and he picks up the book once again.
You have to admit after a while, that Billy is being a good boy. Every time you glance over at him he seems to be reading. Hopefully you can get him to be serious when you quiz him later. I mean what's not to love about Romeo and Juliet, right?
After what seems like hours, to him anyway because it was basically like 10 minutes, he slams the book down and turns his whole body to face yours.
"I've been patient as a fuckn' saint. Times up... even if it isn't."
Can't resist another second, his thick fingers reach out, touching your bare thigh, hand slowly sliding up under your little ruffle skirt.
"No touchies, remember?"
You remind him, pushing his hand away, then standing up before he can respond, slipping your skirt down your sexy legs, falling at your feet where you kick it across the room. You smile, all cute and kind of shy, head tilted to your shoulder, biting your bottom lip. Twirling around to show him the tiny pretty lacy panties that barely cover your supple ass cheeks. Matching the bra you showed him earlier, perfectly.
You stand there in front of him with your tight pink sweater and these pretty soft pink lace panties, with a tiny bow, not in the front like with the bra, but in the back, on top of a little opening showing the top part of your ass crack. Your legs are sexy and smooth, like you've slathered them in baby oil and his cock aches just looking at you. Better than any porn mag he's ever seen.
Billy is at a loss for words. Never seen anything so sexy in his entire life. You, little prissy good girl with these dirty panties on making him feel like he could cum in his jeans. Rubs his hand on his bulge, where there's a wet spot, looks down for a beat making sure he didn't actually cum, he's so overheated right now.
You. That soft sweetness lures him in, then you just so easily push him away...
Enough is enough.
Stands up from the chair, bending slightly forward, wrapping one arm around your bare thighs, hoisting you up and over one shoulder, picking you up, then throwing you down onto your bed, where you bounce softly, hair falling out of your pony tail.
Crawls over you, lowering his full body weight against you. Beautiful ocean blue eyes right there, staring into yours and your heart flutters. He's too beautiful up close. There's these tiny freckles you've never noticed before, across the bridge of his nose and dotting across his cheeks.
"I said no touchies, remember?"
Your soft sweet cherry scented breath hits his lips and his dick twitches.
"No touchies? You sure about that, princess?"
Laughs soft and low, hips grinding against your thigh, wants you to see what you've done to him. What he's been sitting with for the past hour. You do, you feel it and it makes you worry a little. You expected it to be big, but not quite that big.
Suddenly he's kissing you hard, all tongue and teeth. There's nothing soft and gentle about the way Billy kisses. Fat tongue pushes past your soft lips, deep and full of complete lust, fills your entire mouth, sloppy and achingly heady and beautiful. Kisses you completely breathless, until your head is spinning and your body is aching. Suddenly you're wrapping your arms around his shoulders and moving your hips back against his.
"Billy... we should probably slow down a little."
You moan against his lips, saying words you don't really mean. Dear Lord, how did you end up exactly where you said you wouldn't.... but his lips are so warm... and he smells so good... and his body is so heavy against yours and well... maybe you've earned a little break before getting back to studying.
"Come on, stop giving me that innocent girl shit. Wanna see my panties, Billy... wanna see my perfect tits, Billy."
He teases, mimicking your voice.
Just like his mouth is fast, his hands are even faster. Catches you off guard, opening your cashmere sweater with one fast pull, unclasping your bra like he's done this a million times before, pushing the delicate lace quickly out of the way. Your sweet soft breasts jiggling out of the cups. Mouth quick, sucks greedily on your hard peak. Other hand skimming gently across to your opposite tit, his palm is warm as he squeezes, you let out a soft little whimper.
"So soft, you this soft everywhere, angel?"
Mumbles against your tit and it tickles, flicks it with his hot tongue. Lifts his head, staring down, before spitting down onto your hardened nipple, watching his saliva pool, then slide slowly down the curve or your breast. Drags his hot tongue along the trail, lapping it up with the flat of his tongue, softly moaning at the way you taste and the soft little jiggle that happens as he licks.
You gasp, making him smirk. Can't believe he just did that.... that's weird, right? Then why do you feel all hot and dizzy?
You glance over at Mr. Squish Squish in the corner of the room and you can tell he's disappointed in you. Close your eyes against the warmth of Billy's mouth, the dampness of your pussy ruining your new panties, and you think... this isn't wrong at all, everything about this is just right.
Large palm runs down your belly, across your belly button, rough fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your delicate skin. Stops at the lace, just below your naval, tugs them down, rough and fast. Thick fingers find your slick folds, makes this sound from deep in his chest when his fingers slide easily through your soaked pussy lips.
"Mmm... fuck... this all for me, angel?"
Angel.
Why's he keep calling you that and making you melt. You are an angel and him... he must be the devil in disguise because you know this wasn't your plan when you invited him over, yet somehow here you are. Lured in by the smell of cigarettes and tight denim. Who thought you'd be that easy.
Fingers tease, circling your swollen clit with his big thumb, watching your pretty face while he does it. Cock throbbing, desperate to rush things along, but he's been patient all this time, what's a few minutes more, wants to enjoy this. Plus you're really pretty and he's enjoying the cute little faces you're making right now.
You whimper and moan. His hand making you feel like you could cum already and you kind of can't believe that he actually got you naked so fast. But all your friends warned you about being alone with Billy. He just has this way about him.
"So pretty like this... all soft and needy... ready for me."
Why's he talk like that? Say such beautifully dirty things. Things no other guy has ever said to you. His mouth is on yours again, fast and searing, tongue slipping into your mouth and at the same time his tongue goes deep, he pushes two long, thick, fingers into your tight heat, stroking your walls, feeling them tighten around his digits.
You gasp against his lips.
Thumb rubs firm around your clit, finger fucking you nice and slow, teasingly. His mouth pulls away from yours to kiss a hot trail down your neck, stopping to suck a bruise onto your soft skin. You'll worry about hiding that later.
What happened? You started the day perfectly, had these rules you promised yourself you would follow if he was coming into your bedroom, your rules... but rules that have long since gone out the window, as he adds a third finger to your tight pussy, stroking deep, nipping and licking you everywhere he can get his mouth on.
There's a heat in your low belly, coiling with this tension. He's winding you tighter and tighter with his skillful fingers and hot tongue and beautiful breath and a heat coming off him that feels almost feverish. Somehow you're completely naked and he's still fully dressed and it all happened so quickly, everything a blur of desire and lust.
You gasp, soft and sweet, these delicious little noises coming from your throat and your chest that you feel like you have no control over anymore. He's fucking you with his fingers faster, pumping in and out and, rubbing your clit harder, fingers curling and hitting against your g-spot. He's the only guy whose ever touched you there, like he was built to please you.
"Ohhh god... Billy... I don't know... I can't.... !!"
You lose it, back arches up as you push your cunt against his hand, moaning loud, body goes rigid, toes curling against your perfect pink bedspread. Your pussy flutters and squeezes round his thick fingers, your body trying to suck them in, get them as deep as possible, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over your entire body.
Groans, deep, feeling your cunt gripping his digits as he strokes and finger fucks you through your orgasm, watching your face as you cum for him.
"So fuckn' sexy, baby girl."
Sits up, quickly pulling down his jeans and briefs, thick cock pops out and you softly gasp at the sheer size of it. You heard the rumors, but you weren't quite sure if the girls in the locker room were just exaggerating, but clearly they were not.
You whimper softly, staring at the massive thing pointing straight up at you and you wonder how on earth that could possible fit inside you.
"Billy... there's no way that is gonna fit...."
You whine softly, lips parted, staring at it with big doe eyes.
"Just the tip, baby, promise, just the tip. Just need to feel you."
He says.
"You promise, Billy?"
You ask, knowing better than to trust anything he says.
"Yeah, just the tip, promise, baby."
Cock bobs heavy against his abs, thick shaft throbs and you swallow, nervous but also excited. So hard it looks painful, and the thing is huge, honestly it's the prettiest cock you've ever seen. Soft pink on top, glistening with precum that makes it kind of look like its sparkling, one long vein along the shaft. The color so pretty, just a shade lighter than his tan body.
Wraps his hand around it, stroking and you feel like you could watch him do this until he shoots his load all over you, but he positions himself quickly between your spread thighs. Fat tip nudges against your folds, sliding through your wetness and oh god it feels so good, so heavy, the pressure as he pushes against your hole is delicious.
Rocks his hips, pushing the swollen head against your hole more, feeling the slick folds part just for him. Fingers of one hand digging into your hip, fighting with everything he has not to slam deep into your cunt and fuck you stupid. Been such a tease, you deserve it.
"Oh, Billy... want you inside... please... hurry!"
You say, surprising him again. You can't take another second without it.
"Sure, baby?"
"Mmmm... yes, please."
Chuckles soft, circling his hips gently, letting the tip catch on your hole.
"So wet, baby... mmm... gonna slide right in, nice and easy."
Why's he still talking? You want it. You want him. Never been with someone so big before, how can you handle him, your pussy grips him. Can feel the size of him even though it's just the head. His body hot and heavy on yours, his hips rock soft, stretching you good around the girth of the tip, then it pops inside you, making your walls clench, gripping tight.
"Oh holy fuck!!"
You cry out. It fits snug, your body hugging him tight, the pretty delicate lips of your pussy swallowing him.
Billy looms over your, his body muscular, dwarfs your smaller form beneath him. He's quiet, but his heavy breaths wash over your face in hot little puffs, his eyes are intense.
"Fuck, you like that... sweetest fuckn' cunt."
His voice is raspy, gripping your hip hard as he slams into you, so lost in using your pussy for his pleasure.
Your face is beautiful, lost in your own pleasure beneath his heavy body, the way your tight cunt swallows just the head of his thick cock, rubbing past the most sensitive part of his dick, just under the head, before swallowing his length when he ruts, balls deep into your warmth. Could lose it in a heartbeat, but keeps his thrusts a little faster because if he goes too slow he'll cum from this perfect pussy, this perfect girl.
"More Billy... deeper... please, just a little bit."
You beg him and he chuckles. Taking your legs, holding behind your knees and pushing them down against your chest, squishing your tits. Your ankles wrapping around his shoulders as he lays his weight back on you, your legs sandwiched between your two bodies.
"Need more, baby... need more of my cock?"
Voice breathy and low. Your tight heat enveloping him, his eyes flutter close for a beat, feeling your walls stretch and squeeze around his cock.
Grip the sheets next to you, as he pounds you into the mattress, slamming into your pussy.
"You were made for this, sweet and tight, and so fuckn' pretty."
Pants, and you can't believe how sweet he sounds. Sexy, soft words spilling from his lips as he buries his thick cock deep into your cunt, again and again, setting a slow deep rhythm, sinking into your welcoming body, the head of his cock smacking against your cervix.
"Billy... so big.... feels so good... ohhhh!"
You whimper, pussy gripping his thick shaft ,tight, like she wants to swallow him. So lost in your own pleasure it doesn't really hit you how fast he's fucking into you now, changing speeds suddenly, how fucking deeply he's filling you up. You hear it, the lewd wet sounds filling your room, the pounding of the headboard against the wall, fucking into you so hard, giving you every last inch of his massive cock, fucking you good with his full length and powerful hips. He's athletic and god you can feel it.
Your second peak building fast.
"Taking my cock so well, baby. Making such a pretty mess all over me."
You stare up at him, kind of wide eyed. You moan loud as his cock fills you so completely. Swear if you look down you'll see him outlined in your abdomen. Your pretty polished nails scape along his tan skin, leaving pink welts as your hips meet his, seeking out that intense pleasure. His cock rutting against your sweet spot, your feet dancing around his neck.
Your back arched, his thick thumb back against your clit, your palms flat against his pecs. Overwhelming delicious pressure building in your core, moaning loud and sexy in his face as you cum again, thighs trembling, pussy milking his cock. Billy fucks you though your release, his eyes looking down to where you two are joined together. Loves watching it sink deep.
Loves how pretty you look when you cum. Loves how warm and wet you are for him, his dick twitching inside you. Overwhelms him and he loses it too.
Quickly pulls out, stroking his slick shaft.
"Fuck... gonna cum."
Hisses through his teeth, voice strained as hot cum shoots out and lands against the pretty skin of your belly, and up onto your tits. One particularly powerful shot lands all warm on your chin, making you flinch.
His hand works his shaft, mouth open with pretty huffs of heavy breaths spilling out. You watch him and god he looks so pretty. Soft eyelashes flutter, sweat on his forehead, making his curls cling there. You just sort of swallow, in awe of the amount of cum that coats your skin.
Kisses you, nipping at your already raw bottom lip, cursing under his breath, breathing heavy and hard.
Quickly rolls off, reaching across you for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. You notice his hand is shaking softly as he lights it and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly.
"You okay, baby?"
He asks. Doesn't look at you, just up to the ceiling, blowing out perfect circles of smoke, and you wonder if he's bored already.
You get up, grabbing your clothes, getting dressed, turning to him.
"Okay, you gotta leave now."
His eyebrows furrow, cigarette dangling, kind of confused. Used to being the one who makes a quick exit, the one who sets the terms. Girls always so desperate to have his attention, but here you stand, half naked and beautiful, telling him basically to get the fuck out.
Sits up slow, smirking softly around his cigarette, looking at your pretty face.
"Oh? You're kicking me out now?"
Stubs out his cigarette on your bedside table and you want to punch him. Stands up, stretching his arms over his head like he's in no hurry at all.
You don't respond, but the look on your face says it all.
"Fair enough, baby. Can take a hint."
Pulls on his briefs and jeans, buttoning them achingly slow, smirking at you the whole time as you dance around, fixing the bed and gathering the rest of your clothes.
Leans over your vanity, checking his disheveled curls, trying to tame them. He's stalling and he knows it.
"Ya know, most girls would be begging me to stay."
Says into his reflection in the mirror.
"Yeah, well, I'm not... you gotta go!"
You say and he chuckles as you push his shirt into his hands. Standing there with your arms folded across your chest.
A genuine smile spreads across his face. What the hell is going on here. Puts his shirt on super slow, you stand and watch it slip down over his head and onto that gorgeous tan body you just had your hands all over.
He's just smiling, watching you watching him.
"Yeah, yeah... you said that already."
Voice deep and teasing, grabs his keys that were lying on the bedside table, putting them in his front pocket.
"You're not a desperate little thing, begging for my attention, at least not when you're upright."
Smirks, standing there in front of you.
"Kinda like that about you, baby."
You smile all soft and pretty, pony tail long gone, hair soft and falling around your face.
"Yeah, well, Hargrove... you pass that test and maybe I'll show you what I can do with my mouth."
Laughs, running his hand through his hair again. This girl. You. Sweet and innocent looking little fawn, it's just an act, because you're a little whore, and you've got him under your spell, you just don't know it yet.
"You're fuckn' teasing me now."
Coming close and grabbing your hips, his eyes roaming over that beautiful face, a face that will haunt his dreams tonight, imagining your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.
"You know I'm not. Now get the fuck out of my room."
You tease. Pushing against his chest.
"Fuck. You're somethin' else, know that?"
Laughs low, shaking his head as he backs up, walking towards the door of your room. There's still this little reluctance to leave.
He pauses at the doorway, looking back at you. Would love to stay for another round, but knows he's got to be patient. You're going to make him work for it.
"For the record babe, read that book already."
Grins, white teeth flash as he winks and closes the door behind him.
"Brat!"
You stand there smiling, shaking your head in disbelief.
But Billy... he's already thinking about when he can see you again. Your Love's Baby Soft clinging to his shirt and making him lose his mind, knows he needs to step up his game.
You, pretty little thing, giving him a challenge, fuck that makes his cock twitch. Better go home and make sure he remembers absolutely everything in that damn book.
Too bad I can’t answer it twice. This is what happens when I read a question crosseyed and sleepy and answer immediately.
Now for real: there’s one gap in the Wild Thing main story — I never explained how they killed/sealed Vecna. So there’s a possibility of a part 4 where they go on a crawl and kill the bastard. Eddie’s not sure if she will survive when everything collapses… I’m finishing season 5 (took me a while), mostly just to know the whole canon story and for Holly/Max, Holly/Henry, Max/Lucas, and just a bit Dustin/Steve. No spoilers please.
For their life blurbs, I think I’m done, but an absurd idea can strike anytime.
One thing I’d like to explore one day would be Eddie and his son bantering about music while both being extremely passionate about their choices and Damien looking like WT is a xerox machine.
And just as I promised when I reached 666 followers on Instagram... here are my versions of Kas Eddie. And since I didn't want to just stick with the sexy vampire and repeat everyone else's formula... the dorky Kas was born. (And possibly the version that most closely resembles the real Eddie)
AN: I’m so sorry this story is getting longer and longer! I originally planned for the climax to happen in this part, but it would have rushed too many important scenes. I promise it’s coming in the next part. Right now, I'm planning on just two more parts total!
Series Masterlist
Grandma’s crescent rolls can’t fix your crushed soul, but they manage to fix your body somehow. You look in the mirror and see yourself. Mostly.
You wish you had someone to share last night's eerie events with, but you know your friends would tell you that it was a nightmare. Eddie may believe you, and that’s exactly why you don’t tell him—he will do something stupid and reckless just to make up for leaving you with Billy in the parking lot back then. It wouldn't help you; it would only hurt him, and he’d absolutely lose his mind if he knew you were voluntarily walking into the wolf’s den.
You tell your grandparents you feel better. You lay chilled cucumber slices on your eyes and put Velcro rollers in your hair. When the Camaro roars in your driveway, you look perfect—dressed in a classic style, though your cleavage shows just a tiny bit. You have a plan. A very loose plan to be charming and sweet and find out something you can use against Billy.
Billy is at your door at five thirty exactly. He’s wearing a button-down, collar just lightly open, hair pushed back, and Nena takes one look at him and says, "My goodness," under her breath, which is her highest compliment. When he greets your grandmother, his posture straightens into something deeply respectful.
"Good evening, ma'am," Billy drawls, in a smooth, polite register that makes you want to throw up.
Grandma’s face lights up in a way she never smiles for Eddie, her eyes sweeping over Billy’s broad shoulders, his clean-shaven jaw, and the eager-to-please look he's wearing like a costume.
"Well, aren't you a handsome young man," Grandma preens, her tone practically purring with approval. She glances over her shoulder at you. "You look lovely together."
Billy puts on a humble smile, but his eyes flicker to yours for a fraction of a second.
"I told her it's not a big deal, but tonight’s important for me, ma'am," Billy says, stepping back to let you pass, his hand hovering just an inch above the small of your back, and you know it will tighten as soon as the door closes. "I promise to have her back at a reasonable hour."
"Take your time, Billy," Grandma says warmly, watching from the doorway as he walks you down the steps. "Have a wonderful evening, you two."
The passenger side door of the Camaro clicks shut, sealing you in. The interior smells heavily of the pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
Billy shifts into reverse. He’s driving smoothly, no screeching tires, no reckless acceleration.
He glances at you, his eyes sweeping over your dress, your styled hair, and the wrapped ceramic dish resting in your lap. A pleased smile spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes in a way that makes him look completely human. Completely safe.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Dolled up. And you made a dessert?"
"A peach cobbler," you say quietly, clutching the dish like a shield. "My grandmother insisted."
"I like it," Billy says. He reaches over, his thumb surprisingly gentle as it lightly brushes a stray hair off your face. "You look beautiful. Seriously. Such a lady." He lets his hand linger near your neck for a second before pulling it back to the steering wheel, letting out an amused huff. "I’d lean over and kiss you right now, but I can't be ruining your makeup and hair before we get there. Not that I don't want to."
He reaches out to change the station on the radio, switching the heavy rock music to a station that plays mostly ballads. Billy’s being completely pleasant. He asks about your day, comments on the weather, and tells you that Susan made a roast beef.
For a few minutes, if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend this is just a normal Friday night with a normal boy who likes you.
The Hargrove house is not extremely impressive. You imagined something big or intimidating, but it’s so average, except the lawn is military-neat. Billy parks and walks around to your door, opens it, and offers his hand. You take it because Neil Hargrove is already on the porch.
Neil is tall, blond going gray, and he looks at you the way Billy looks.
"This is her," he says. Not this is who you've told me about. Just: this is her.
"Sir," you say.
“Good evening, welcome. Pretty," he says to Billy rather than to you.
Billy sits next to you, his posture unusually straight. He isn't leaning back with his usual lazy, arrogant slouch; he’s quiet, watching his father out of the corner of his eye.
It’s not entirely terrible. The food is good, the questions are expected and reasonable. You have appropriate hobbies, applied to a local nursing program, they compliment your dessert, and you say your grandma serves it with vanilla ice cream.
“Not all girls know how to cook well these days. Billy chose well.”
You force a shy smile and look at Neil at the head of the table through your lashes.
"Being raised by my grandparents, I’m just used to a more traditional household, Mr. Hargrove."
Neil pauses his knife. He looks up, his cold blue eyes assessing your cleavage. The stern line of his mouth twists into a small, self-satisfied smirk. He likes the respect. He likes that you appreciate the order.
"Exactly," Neil says, leaning back a fraction, looking thoroughly pleased. "Kids nowadays have no discipline. Their parents let them run wild. It's soft out here."
"It must be a huge change from San Diego," you murmur, tilting your head and holding his gaze just a second longer than necessary. It’s very subtle—just enough to flatter him, but not enough to provoke Billy. "Hawkins is so small. What made you choose a place like this?"
Neil takes a slow sip of his wine.
"San Diego was getting crowded," Neil says, casual, but he’s hiding his eyes. "Too many distractions. The environment out there... it makes it easy for things to get sloppy. We needed a place where you can actually keep an eye on things." His eyes flick down the table toward Billy for a split second, carrying stark anger. "Certain elements require a much tighter leash."
A cold prickle of realization runs through your head. A tighter leash. They didn't move for a job. They moved to contain Billy.
You nod slowly, giving Neil one more delicate smile before looking down at your food. "I suppose that makes sense. Hawkins is lucky to have you."
A few minutes later, Billy stands up, carrying a stack of empty plates into the kitchen to help Susan. The moment the kitchen door swings shut, you lean slightly toward Neil, keeping your voice low and even.
"Mr. Hargrove... Billy is really great," you start, trying to sound like an innocent girl just looking for advice. "But sometimes... he’s just very intense. Everything feels like it's moving incredibly fast, and I get a little overwhelmed. Is he always like that?"
Neil doesn't look alarmed. "The boy likes you," Neil says simply, setting the napkin down. There’s a total absence of concern in his voice. "Girls your age tend to make a big thing out of a little enthusiasm. You're a pretty girl. You'll figure out how to handle it."
"It's not just enthusiasm, it's—"
"Just don't make a scene," Neil interrupts quietly, his voice getting firmer. "We don't need any scenes in this town."
Before you can react, the kitchen door swings open. Billy walks back in, his eyes darting between you and his father.
After dinner, Neil slips into the den, and Billy goes out to the garage to smoke. You find yourself alone in the living room with Max.
You lean towards her.
"I'm so tired of walking on eggshells," you whisper, not even lying. "I don't know how you do it, Max. Seriously. Every single day."
Max freezes for a second.
“What really happened in California? Was there another girl?”
Max looks around like a cornered animal, nods, and then says, “Don’t ask me, please.”
Moments later, Billy steers you down the hallway and into his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind you.
The room is dimly lit, smelling of tobacco and his stupid cologne. You stand near the door and look over his posters and stereo system.
"See? You survived," Billy says, recovering his usual cocky, arrogant drawl as he tosses his jacket onto a chair. He turns around, leaning back against his dresser, watching you. "Told you it wouldn't kill you to be a real good girl for once."
You take a ragged breath, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to hide the trembling. "Were you in my room last night, Billy?"
Billy lets out a low chuckle. He doesn't answer right away; he just paces toward you, crowding you against the doorframe until you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"What's the matter, doll?" he purrs, probably noticing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look like you didn't sleep a wink. Had some bad dreams? Or maybe..." He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "...maybe they were erotic dreams?"
Your stomach does a sick flip.
He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. "You're dyin' to know if it was real, ain't you?"
"Just tell me," you rasp.
"Tell you what, princess," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Let's play a little game. You want an answer out of me? You gotta pay the toll."
You close your eyes for a fraction of a second. You have to know if your mind is playing tricks on you, if he let himself into your room last night. Billy will probably think you’re giving in. Yet you do it. As if in slow motion, your hand lifts to his hair, and your fingers dig into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. His eyes close and his lips part, the cruel twist leaving them completely. He breathes in with a tiny sound.
It's nothing more than he already had. You breathe in. Then you press your lips to his, and Billy immediately takes over—his hand landing at the back of your neck, another one on your back pulling you flush against his chest. He savors the victory, moving his mouth against yours, not rushing in with his tongue. He’s gentle this time, passionate like a caring boyfriend, not like the monster from the night before.
He’s breathing heavily, lips trailing down your neck, whispering:
"Yeah, I was there. Watched you sleep for a bit before I woke you up." His thumb drags across your jawline tenderly.
A wave of shock hits you, mixed with a dizzying sense of relief. You weren't crazy. It wasn't a nightmare. The terror was real, the threat was real, but your mind hadn't betrayed you.
"How?" your voice shakes, palms trying to push him away. "How did you get in? The locks weren't broken."
Billy smirks, his hand sliding down from your neck, trailing the front of your blouse.
"Ah-ah, doll," he says as his gaze turns dark. "That's another question. And you know the rules. This time, I think you owe me somethin' a little lower."
Billy's eyes flick down to the bulging front of his jeans, making it completely clear what he's demanding.
The relief instantly curdles back into pure disgust. You push his hand off your chest, and he lets you.
"No," your fingers are searching for the handle. "I'm done playing."
For once in your life you’re lucky, and the door opens out. Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you hardly catch your footing. Down the hallway in the living room, Max sits on the couch, staring at the TV.
Billy’s eyes narrow, the dangerous, metallic chill returning, but he doesn't grab you. "Suit yourself, there's always next time."
You don't wait for him to change his mind.
Driving back home, Billy has you alone again. Outside, the dark Indiana roads blur past as he drives just a little too fast and smokes out the window.
You wait until the house is dead silent, until your grandfather’s rhythmic snoring drifts down the hall, before you creep into the kitchen.
You lift the receiver of the wall phone, the cord stretching taut as you sit on the floor, pressing yourself into the dark corner between the refrigerator and the counter. Your fingers are trembling so hard it takes two tries to dial Eddie's number. Your cat, Aubergine, comes through the pet door and brushes against your shins.
The line rings once. Twice. Then a click.
"Munson residence." Eddie’s voice sounds awake, though it’s close to midnight.
"Eddie," you whisper, your voice cracking. You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob, breathing through your nose until you can steady yourself. "Eddie, it's me."
"Hey, hey, breathe," Eddie says, his tone shifting instantly from casual to hyperalert. The background noise on his end—the faint hum of a late-night TV show—suddenly goes dead as he mutes it. "Where are you? Are you safe? Did he do something?"
"I'm at home. I'm okay, I'm just..." You press your forehead against your knees, the darkness of the kitchen closing in. "I went to his house for dinner.”
“You went? Are you out of your mind? Why?” Eddie sounds angry, but he lets you explain this time.
“Billy made me… Eddie, may I ask you for a favor? You’re not sleeping early, right? Could you watch over my house? Make sure he doesn’t get in?” You don’t want to sound desperate, but you are. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to sleep knowing Billy can just let himself in somehow.
A heavy silence hangs on the line. You can hear the faint rustle of Eddie shifting on his mattress, the sharp clink of his lighter, and then a long exhale of smoke.
“You want me to come now?”
“Yes, Eddie. If you can… if you want.”
“Of course I do, but how long do you want me to stay? I’m afraid I will fall asleep in the van eventually…”
“Get in through my window. Stay here, sleep, and leave before dawn.”
“You must be really scared. I’m on my way, hold on please. Give me fifteen minutes and open your window.”
Later, Eddie climbs in and settles next to you over the quilt. You need him so badly, you can’t help shifting closer and resting your head on his chest.
“Eddie, Max told me something. His dad hinted at it, too. They didn't move here from San Diego for a job. They fled."
"Fled?" Eddie repeats. "Fled what?"
The words taste like poison. "There was a girl in California. Whatever Billy did, it was bad enough that his father had to drag the whole family across the country to cover it up. There must be a record, Eddie. There has to be a sealed file, or a transfer report, or something from his old school."
You can hear Eddie’s breathing getting shallower, a volatile edge in him rising. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "I knew the guy was a psycho, but..."
“I don't know what he's capable of. We need to find out what happened in San Diego."
"Okay. Okay, listen to me," Eddie says, his voice cutting through your panic like an anchor. It’s steady, firm, and completely fierce. "We’re going to find out. I’m going to get into the main office at school. If there's a file from his transfer, it’ll be in the back vault."
Your heart leaps into your throat. "Break into the school? Eddie, no, if you get caught…"
"I won't," he interrupts fiercely. "But I can't just throw a brick through the window, sweetheart. It needs to be planned. I need a few days. My guys and Ronnie will watch my back."
"I don’t want you to get in trouble, Eddie.” Your grip on him turns stronger.
"I will make a copy and put it back. I’m gonna find whatever he’s hiding, sweetheart, and then we've got him," Eddie says. "I hate that I can’t just break his bones. I hate that I can’t do anything right now. I need you to hold on. Just play his game for a few more days, keep your head down, and let me do this. I will get that file. I swear to God."
You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek. The fear is still there, but hearing Eddie's voice in the dark makes you feel safe.
"Okay," you whisper. "A few days."
"Go to sleep. I’m right here," Eddie murmurs softly, his tone turning very gentle. He strokes your head and brushes the hair away from your face.
The counselor's name is Ms. Harmon, and she has a poster on her wall that says EVERY VOICE MATTERS in block letters over a sunrise.
You stare at it while you talk.
You choose your words carefully. You tell her about the bathroom. About the hallways. About your room, the kisses, his hand on your mouth, and the heavy weight of his body on yours in your bedroom at night.
Ms. Harmon listens. She has the specific expression of someone who was trained to listen—the slight forward lean, the nod timed perfectly to your pauses.
When you finish, she says, "Have you contacted the police about trespassing?”
"There's literally no trace," you say, your voice tight. "I don’t know how he got in. My grandparents were asleep right down the hall."
Ms. Harmon is finally listening for real, holding her hands over her desk. "Well, that's the trouble, isn't it? Without a broken lock or something missing, the police can't really do anything. Which makes me wonder... do you know for certain it wasn't a dream? Sometimes, when we're under a lot of academic or social pressure, anxiety can manifest in very vivid, frightening ways…"
“It was not a nightmare! He admitted it!" You almost yell, but she stays professional.
"The thing is, and I want to be honest with you, because I think you deserve honesty, Billy came to see me last week. He mentioned you, actually. Said you two had become close. Could he have been just messing with you? Admitting he was there just to... well, I’m not sure why. He does seem a bit eccentric."
You stare at her. Become close. The sunrise poster blurs as tears gather in your eyes.
"Tell you what. I can call Billy into my office tomorrow during his study hall. Just a quiet, informal chat, completely between us. I'll explain to him that he needs to give you some breathing room. I'd hate for a little miscommunication to…"
"No," you say, the word slipping out fast and cold as panic spikes in your chest. "No, don't do that. Please."
Ms. Harmon furrows her brows but agrees. “I hope it works out. Please let me know if you change your mind, or if he crosses any lines.”
"Thank you for your time," you say.
You stand up and leave before she can respond.
The hallway outside the counselor's office is empty. You stand in it for a moment with your back pressed flat against the wall, wiping your eyes and forcing yourself to breathe to the count of six.
Billy drives you home as usual. You are not even surprised when he pulls onto a secluded road.
"Harmon talked to you?"
Your silence is its own answer.
"I'm not angry," he says. He sounds like he means it. "I get it. You had to try." He turns to you, his pale eyes shining like metal, and he leans closer. The Camaro feels too small. "It's not going to work. You know that now."
"Back up."
He doesn't. He puts one hand on the back of your neck and looks at you from close range. "You're so scared,” he says, almost to himself. "But you don’t need to be... I’m gonna take you back to California with me when we graduate. Leave this shit-hole behind."
"I said back up."
"I heard you." His other hand comes to your jaw, fingers curling around it. He tilts your face up. "I just don't want to."
You get your hands between you and push, and he doesn't move this time.
"Billy…"
He kisses you. It's not violent; it's patient, almost tender, his hand still at your jaw, your hands flat and useless against his chest. You turn your face away.
He lets you, pulling back just enough to look at you. His thumb moves across your cheekbone once.
"See," he says quietly. "I can be good for you."
"Get away from me."
Billy leaves you and puts the car in drive. "Steve has a party on Friday," he says.
"I'm not coming. I’m not invited anyway.”
"Yeah, you are," he says it pleasantly. "I'll pick you up at six."
PS: your feedback is especially valuable here 🖤
Series Masterlist
@ssculker
@hbkchokeme
@glitzy-girl please, let me know if I got it better
"See? You survived," Billy says, recovering his usual cocky, arrogant drawl as he tosses his jacket onto a chair. He turns around, leaning back against his dresser, watching you. "Told you it wouldn't kill you to be a real good girl for once."
You take a ragged breath, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to hide the trembling. "Were you in my room last night, Billy?"
Billy bubbles a chuckle. He doesn't answer right away; he just paces toward you, crowding you against the doorframe until you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"What's the matter, doll?” he purrs, probably noticing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look like you didn't sleep a wink. Had some bad dreams? Or maybe..." He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "...maybe they were erotic dreams?"
Your stomach does a sick flip.
He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. "You're dyin' to know if it was real, ain't you?"
"Just tell me," you rasp.
"Tell you what, princess," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Let's play a little game. One question, one desire. You want an answer out of me? You gotta pay the toll."
You close your eyes for a fraction of a second. You have to know if your mind is playing tricks on you, if he let himself into your room last night. Billy will probably think you’re giving in. Yet you do it. As if in slow motion, your hand lifts to his hair and strokes his head, once, twice… his eyes close and his lips part, the cruel twist leaving them completely. Your fingers dig into his hair, caressing. He breathes in with a tiny sound.
It's nothing more than he already had. You breathe in. Then press your lips to his, and Billy immediately takes over—his hand landing at the back of your neck, another one on your back pulling you flush against his chest. He savors the victory, moving his mouth against yours, not rushing in with his tongue. He’s gentle this time, passionate like a caring boyfriend, not like the monster from the night before.
He’s breathing heavy, lips trailing down your neck, whispering:
"Yeah, I was there. Watched you sleep for a bit before I woke you up." His thumb drags across your jawline tenderly.
A wave of shock hits you, mixed with a dizzying sense of relief. You weren't crazy. It wasn't a nightmare. The terror was real, the threat was real, but your mind hadn't betrayed you.
"How?" your voice shakes, palms trying to push him away. "How did you get in? The locks weren't broken."
Billy smirks, his hand sliding down from your neck, trailing the front of your blouse.
"Ah-ah, doll," he says as his gaze turns dark. "That's another question. And you know the rules. This time, I think you owe me somethin' a little lower."
His eyes explicitly flick down to the bulging front of his jeans, making it completely clear what he's demanding.
The relief instantly curdles back into pure disgust. You push his hand off your chest, and he lets you.
"No," your fingers are searching for the handle. "I'm done playing."
For once in your life you’re lucky and the door opens out. You hardly catch your footing and look towards the living room where Max is on the couch, staring at the TV.
Billy’s eyes narrow, the dangerous, metallic chill returning, but he doesn't grab you. "Suit yourself, there's always next time."
AN: With Geta I can explore themes I’ve never written before, like petplay (collars and leashes).
Warnings: Explicit Content, Smut, Dark Romance, Petplay, Unequal Power Dynamics, Breath Play, Rough Sex.
Word count 1500
Geta puts his favorite concubine on a leash to save her from his brother's fury, but in private, humiliation turns into something else.
You accompany Geta to a feast. The tables are full of eccentric food, the starters go, replaced by pheasants, fish and piglets roasted whole, it’s going on for hours before dessert is served. Several African birds squawk loudly.
Geta reclines on the central couch, You sit beside his feet, dressed in sheer, amber-hued silks, keeping your posture demure, his arm drapes possessively over your shoulders in between the courses . On your wrist, another present Geta has given you glistens in the flickering light of the oil lamps.
The guards announce Caracalla’s arrival. He’s not in good mood. His cheeks glow feverishly and powder can’t hide the blemishes on his face .Soon enough his sleep deprived eyes lock onto the flash of gold on your hand. He lets out a loud, mocking scoff that cuts through the music of the cithara players.
"My brother decorates his foreign filth with imperial gems now?" Caracalla sneers, gesturing aggressively toward your hand. "A bracelet fit for a patrician matron, wasted on a captive who barely knows Latin. Tell me, beast, do you even know the value of what you wear, or do you simply drool upon the gold?"
The insult hangs in the air. Geta’s jaw tightens, his grip on your shoulder growing heavy. The sheer arrogance in Caracalla’s voice snaps something wild inside you. Without being granted the right to speak, you lift your head and look directly at the senior Augustus.
“I merely wear the honor the Emperor Geta deems me worthy of,” you say with just slight accent and perfect grammar, before the gravity of your actions hits you. You bite your tongue, waiting in terror for what comes next as a cold shiver cuts down your spine.
A sharp, collective intake of breath ripples through the nearest tables. The audacity to talk back to an Augustus is a dangerous move. You feel Geta's fingers stroking your shoulder. A vicious spark of delight flashes in his eyes—he is secretly thrilled by your defiance.
"Insolent piece of scum!" Caracalla spits, rising from his couch as his Praetorians instantly reach for their hilts. "A slave opens her mouth to speak in my presence? Teach her some manners, brother, before I have her throat slit."
Geta glares at Caracalla, his massive ego flaring at the way you have defended his honor.
"She is my property, Caracalla, not yours to slaughter!" Geta barks back, his kohled eyes gleaming with a sudden, cruel inspiration to save you while saving his own pride. "She is a wild, untamed thing from the provinces—she speaks out of ignorance, like a feral cub that hasn't learned the whip."
Geta turns to his attendant, speaking very clearly in the terrified silence of the pavilion. “Fetch the imperial metalworkers. I want a leather collar and a chain forged before morning. If she wishes to growl at emperors, she will do so on a leash."
Hours later, the heavy oak doors of Geta’s private chambers click shut. There is no shortage of chains in Rome, and Geta stands by the table, holding a freshly crafted band of soft dark leather, lined with soft wool but studded with heavy gold rivets. A thick, polished chain is attached to the central ring.
"You have a dangerous mouth, pet," Geta murmurs as he walks toward you. He points his finger downward, and you kneel obediently. Geta wraps the leather around your throat and fastens the golden buckle. "It could cost you your life today. You must learn what you are."
The submissive game begins. Shifting onto your hands and knees on the thick Persian rug, you let the terrifying reality of Caracalla’s anger out of your mind. You tilt your head up, letting out a soft purr and nuzzle your cheek against his thigh under a short robe to soothe his lingering rage.
Geta lets out a sadistic chuckle and walks you by the leash over to the bed. His amusement deepens into a low growl as he watches you arch your back like a cat in heat and lick his hand, wiggling your hips invitingly on all fours . “Such a brazen little kitten,” his voice thick with lust. “Defying an Augustus… and now presenting yourself like this. You need to be reminded who owns you.”
He grabs the chain and gives it a firm pull, forcing your head up. The collar presses deliciously into your throat. Geta turns your chin and claims your mouth in a brutal kiss—biting your lower lip, invading with his tongue. When he finally pulls back, you are breathless and trembling.
“On all fours,” he orders, pushing you forward. He frees his heavy shaft and rubs the flushed head along your slick folds, teasing once, twice, and then slams into your weeping heat in one ruthless thrust.
You cry out, the sudden fullness stretching your core wide open as he buries himself to the hilt. He doesn’t hold himself. He drives hard and deep, his hips snapping against you with punishing force. Every thrust tugs the leash, tightening the leather band around your throat in rhythmic pulses that make your head spin and your vision blur with overwhelming pleasure.
You moan and pant shamelessly, nails digging into the rug, your back arched as he rails you. The light choking only heightens the feeling of being tamed, dominated by his power. He goes on and on, taken by his sick fantasy. His rigid staff reaches deeper than ever before, dragging over your sweet spot with every thrust, bumping in your cervix. You cry breathlessly as the heat builds fast and tight in your core. Geta’s free hand grips your hip hard, pulling you back onto him with every stroke.
“That’s it, kitten,” he snarls, his throat is dry from endless panting. “Surrender”
He yanks the chain again, forcing your head back further as he leans over you, his teeth grazing your shoulder. The pressure on your throat combined with the relentless pounding sends you spiraling. Your orgasm crashes over you hard, your entire wet center spasming tightly around his thick member. You gasp, choking and melt, dropping your chest into the carpet .
Geta groans loudly, his pace turns erratic. He releases the chain just enough to keep you floating on that hazy wave of pleasure and submission, until he buries his length completely and releases his seed inside you with a guttural roar. Hot pulses flood you as he grinds against your center, riding out every last throb.
Only then does he loosen the chain, letting you breathe while his flesh remains buried deep. He strokes your hair almost tenderly, scratching behind your ear as you tremble and lean back against him with soft, satisfied purrs.
Geta empties the goblet into his dry mouth. “You’re mine,” he rasps against your neck, his voice fiercely possessive. “Collar or no collar… no one else will ever have you like this.”
Next day the sun shines blindingly bright over the marble of the palace courtyard. The formal procession is fully assembled. The senators stand in pristine white togas, foreign ambassadors, and the elite guards.
The heavy bronze doors are thrown open, and Geta steps out in his crimson military cloak. In his right hand, wrapped tightly around his knuckles, he holds the shiny chain.
At the end of that chain, walking on hands and knees upon the hard marble, is you. The senators stare in a mixture of fascination and shock; whispers spread out like waves from a stone in the water.
Instead of lowering your eyes or showing the crushing humiliation they expect, your survival instinct takes over. You hold your chin high, keeping your movements fluid, graceful, and wildly feline. When a guard steps too close to your hand, you pause, narrowing your eyes and let out a sharp, warning hiss right at his boots, baring your teeth.
Caracalla sits upon a raised stone bench at the far side of the courtyard, surrounded by his personal bodyguards. When his eyes fall upon you on the leash, his lip curls into a cruel sneer. He watches your elegant, unbroken posture with a mix of disgust and dangerous intrigue. He can see that Geta hasn't actually broken you at all. Caracalla spits onto the marble as you pass, muttering a low insult about Geta's weakness for exotic theater, but his eyes linger on the tight grip his brother keeps on the chain.
Geta looks down at you, completely ignoring his brother's simmering hostility, with triumphant delight. He yanks the chain lightly, pulling you right against his shins as he stops before the crowd.
Across the courtyard, standing among the lower-tier officials, Senator M. stands perfectly still. His face is a cold mask, his attentive eyes locked onto the collar around your neck. He watches you play the part of the perfect, dangerous beast with such flawless wit that you have turned a public degradation into a display of absolute majesty.
The imperial reception hall is still buzzing later that afternoon when Caracalla leans over to his brother with a sharp scowl. “This is distracting, Geta. Your whore is practically writhing in your lap while we discuss matters of state. Send her away.”
Geta chuckles, unbothered. “As you wish, brother.” He tugs the leash, forcing you to look up at him. “Wait for me in my chambers, kitten.”
AN: Please note that even during the zombie apocalypse, I make sure Eddie is fed three times a day.
AN2: I actually bought the pajama shorts from Part 2, I swear this isn't a product placement!
Warnings: Gore, discussions of a difficult past, protected sex, Reader with an avoidant attachment style.
The scream of the siren vibrates right through the metal hood, and the moment shatters entirely. Your eyes snap open.
“What kind of shit is happening this time?” You cover your ears, trying to block the worst of the deafening noise.
Eddie doesn't pull away immediately. Instead, his jaw tightens, and he wraps his hands firmly around your shoulders. He pulls you into his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He’s warm, smelling of fresh laundry, and he holds you tight enough to keep you grounded while the world outside goes to hell.
"Just breathe, bun," his voice transmits directly through your temple, barely audible over the blare. " Focus on me. It’s just a noise. Just a stupid siren."
He holds you like that until the mechanical screech finally sputters, groans, and fades into a disturbing silence.
You finally let out a breath, but the quiet doesn't last. From down the main road, a rumble of engines approaches. Eddie’s grip tightens as three local police cruisers roll past the treeline, their roofs flashing a red and blue. A harsh, distorted voice cuts through the megaphone attached to the lead car.
"Attention all Hawkins residents. A mandatory twelve-hour curfew is now in effect as of 8:00 PM. Stay indoors. Lock your doors and windows. Law enforcement has been authorized to use lethal force on any moving entities. Repeat: shoot to kill. Do not leave your homes."
The cruisers roll on, leaving the driveway empty again.
"Shit," Eddie mutters, slowly letting go of your shoulders but staying close enough that your legs brush against his. "Looks like we’re stuck. Again.”
“Don’t forget to call Wayne this time.”
“He made an impression on you, right?” Eddie smirks and leads you back inside.
Inside the house, Rick is ready to lock the deadbolts back into place. He looks back over his shoulder.
“I got one guest bedroom, kids, and tons of canned food. Darling, check the pantry for dinner.”
You march into the kitchen and yank open the pantry door. It’s stocked like a fallout shelter: stacks of green beans, peaches, and Spam. Your eyes lock onto a label with a little cartoon chef on it.
“You’re well prepared for a guy who sells drugs for a living,” comments Eddie, who followed you.
You pull out several cans of Chef Boyardee, beans, and mushrooms. "Fuck you, Rick."
From the living room, Rick doesn't even look up. "I love you too, darling."
Eddie grabs a can opener, and you arrange the ravioli and vegetables into a baking pan. By the time you collapse onto the couch, Rick has rustled through a drawer and placed a baggie of green and a pack of rolling papers onto the coffee table.
"I know, the ravioli tastes like cardboard," Rick says, pulling a lighter from his pocket. "The condiment is on me. Improves the flavor profile immensely."
"Now that," Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up as he leans forward to grab the papers, "is the best business proposal I've heard all day."
Twenty minutes later, the living room is a hazy, weed smelling cloud. You’re sitting crosslegged on the couch, comfortably high, eating a ravioli casserole that actually tastes amazing. Eddie is sprawled on the couch beside you, a joint loose between his fingers.
Rick snaps a tape into the VCR and hits play. The TV flickers to life and cheesy intro music of some B-list horror movie fills the room.
Eddie blows a smoke ring toward the ceiling, staring at the wall of ammo cases and medical kits. "Alright, Rick. I gotta ask. Why the hell are you so ready for this? Normal drug dealers have a stash, sure, but you're running a whole military surplus here."
Rick takes a drag, his gaze drifting to the flickering TV screen. The Reefer edge leaves his voice for a second. "Let's just say I spent a year in the jungle back in '69. Uncle Sam taught me a lot of things. Hawkins isn't much different lately. Just colder."
The heavy mood doesn't stick around long, mostly because the movie is hilariously bad. Every time a character makes a stupid decision, Eddie yells at the screen.
"Oh, sure, go into the dark basement alone, you absolute dunce!" Eddie groans, throwing his hands up. "She deserves to get eaten at this point. Where is her common sense?"
"Says the guy who looted a vending machine during a rescue operation," you point out, scraping the last bit from your plate.
"Guess who’s going to beg me for it later?" Eddie pulls out a Twix bar out of his vest pocket and dangles it right before your nose. Rick snorts. You go for the bar and share it.
By the time the credits roll, the high is wearing off and the exhaustion is setting in. You yawn, leaning your head against the base of the couch.
Rick stands up, stretching his back, and points a finger toward the back hallway. "Alright, kids. Movie night is over. I'm going to lock down and activate the traps." He waves a hand dismissively at the two of you. “Go fuck each other."
Eddie blinks, a look of surprise instantly forming on his face as he looks at his boss. "Do you mean go fuck yourself?"
In perfect, effortless unison, both you and Rick respond without missing a beat:
"No."
The back bedroom of Rick’s hasn't seen many guests; the linen is probably from '82. There’s only one bed—a queen covered by a faded quilt.
Eddie closes the door behind you and looks around like a second bed may still miraculously appear. He stands there for a second, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Alright," he says, clearing his throat. “As a gentleman... you have the bed to yourself. I'll sleep on the couch in the living room."
You roll your eyes. "Eddie, you spent a third of last night on watch, and the morning hacking through zombies. You look like you’re about to collapse. You need a good night's sleep."
"Oh, so you're concerned for my wellbeing now?" He steps closer, playing cool, but his shoulders drop a fraction with relief. "I'll be fine."
"Get on the bed, Munson. There’s enough room."
"Fine, thank you." He kicks off his sneakers, leaves them by the door, and begins pulling his Metallica shirt up. Underneath, his skin is pale, accented by the large tattoos tracing across his chest.
He glances at you, his eyes dropping to what you're wearing. "Sorry, I should’ve asked Rick for something to sleep in... what's the dress code for the zombie apocalypse?"
"Comfort," you say simply.
Eddie pulls the shirt off completely. You reach down and unbutton your cargo pants. They’re still smeared with dried zombie blood from the arcade parking lot. You slide them down your legs and step out, standing there in just your panties and Eddie’s oversized cotton tank top. The hem falls just past your hips.
Eddie freezes. His hands stop on his belt loop, his eyes fixed on you. The playful, bantering mood completely evaporates from the room, replaced by a sudden, intense proximity.
He takes a slow step toward you, his eyes darkening as he traces the line of his own shirt hanging on your shoulders.
“Did you want to kiss me in the garage?” You ask. You desperately need a piece of control after the absolute blur of the last two days.
"I've wanted that," his voice drops into a gritty register, making your pulse spike faster than it did when you were fighting zombies. "I've wanted it since the second I saw you running by the school."
You don't back away. A small smile touches your lips, and you give him a slow, single nod. "I may have, too. Since the Sinclairs’."
Eddie doesn't need another hint. He bridges the remaining distance between you, his ringed fingers coming up to cup your jaw, his palms warm against your face. He leans down and kisses you—deep and tender, but full of a heat that has been building since you first crashed into his life.
Your hands arrange themselves on his shoulders without thinking, and you respond, matching his pace, wanting the rest of the world to just disappear.
Between kisses, Eddie’s lips linger against your jaw, his breathing heavy in the quiet bedroom. He pulls back just an inch, his thumbs gently tracing your collarbones, heat radiating off his skin.
You rest your palms against his bare chest, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heart. The silence outside is disturbing now, especially after what they just announced through the speakers.
"I have a really bad feeling about that curfew, Eddie," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. "The military taking over... it never means anything good. They aren't here to save us. They're here to contain this."
Eddie sighs, a long, rough sound. He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "I try not to think about the big picture. Honestly? It fries my brain. I'm just focusing on my next mission. My only mission right now." He opens his eyes, looking directly into yours with total sincerity. "Which is taking you home safely. Tomorrow. No matter what."
The sincerity in his gaze cuts right through your feeling of doom. You nod again, pulling him down onto the bed to lose yourself in him for the rest of the night. May the rest of the world burn outside the bedroom door.
Eddie traces the neckline of his top on you with just the tips of his fingers. “May I…”
“Please.”
He pulls the top off and waits a second before touching your breasts gently, as if you’re made of glass. You are not. You roll your hips over the zipper of his jeans, rubbing against him through the thin fabric of your panties. He jerks as if he touched a live wire, but settles back, allowing you to grind against the growing bulge in his pants. Eddie cups your breasts gently, brushing your nipple with his thumb.
Only now do you realize how much you needed an outlet. You press hard against him, the buckle of his belt touching your clit every time you mock-ride him.
“Baby,” he begs, pants catching in his throat. “Don’t make me do the laundry again, I have a condom. If you let me.”
You lean down to kiss him instead of answering, and he uses the momentum to flip you over, locking his eyes onto yours.
“Yes, Eddie.”
You reach down to his belt and unbuckle it. Eddie gets off you for a second to shimmy out of his tight jeans, digging a condom out from the selection of candy bars in his pockets.
He kisses you again, then trails down the sweet spot on your neck, your jawline, and your collarbone before latching onto your nipple. He pulls back just enough to ask, “Ready?”
“Very ready.” You reach down to stroke his cock. It’s hard as rock, yet covered in the silkiest skin. The thought of it inside has you arching your back as a sweet wave rolls up your body.
Eddie pulls your panties down, guides your knees apart, and parts your lower lips slightly.
“Ready indeed,” he murmurs, trying to sound funny and confident, but the sight of you wet and glistening for him makes his breath hitch.
Eddie dives in with his tongue, no teasing, licking at your entrance and thrusting his tongue in until you moan, probably too loudly, and grab his hair. He sucks your clit until you’re right on the edge, begging him breathlessly, “…need you inside.”
“Just a sec, I got you.”
Eddie fumbles with the condom a bit too long, and you writhe impatiently. “Eddie…”
Finally, he rolls it onto his cock, which is already leaking, and rubs the head over your swollen folds. He catches your gaze as to make sure you’re fully present, then thrusts in. Your hips buck enough to lift him, and the sound you make probably reaches Rick in the other bedroom.
“That’s good, sweetheart? Like this?”
He drags long, deep strokes in and out, building the pressure inside you right back to the edge.
“I'm not going to last, baby, want it too much, you feel so good.” He moves faster and sharper, his cock feeling even harder than before. “But I can go again.”
“Don’t last.” You flip him over again, riding him hard to chase your release while reaching down to rub your clit. “Let go.”
“Allow me, please.”He braces your hips, locking you in place, thrusting up while rubbing your sensitive bud with his thumb.
You feel yourself going to come any second and try to steady yourself, planting your palms firmly against his chest. Your eyes flicker open for a second to see Eddie underneath you, his hair spilled over the pillow, eyes closed and lips parted with a moan, and you completely fall apart on his cock. His eyes snap open as you squeeze him, his pupils blown, droplets of sweat clinging to his temples. Eddie grips your hipbones, thrusts a few erratic times, and pulses his release into the condom.
You collapse onto him, boneless, spent, and finally at ease.
The next morning the house is full of the smell of burnt butter and cheap maple syrup. You and Eddie take over Rick’s kitchen, whipping up a massive batch of pancakes from an old box you found in the back of the pantry.
Rick shambles into the kitchen, looking like a corpse himself before he gets his first cup of coffee. He slides onto a stool, eyeing the stack of pancakes Eddie proudly flips onto a plate.
"When I told you to go fuck each other, I didn’t mean scream like foxes all night," Rick grunts, digging in.
“Don’t shame me over having a good time,” you say, refusing to take the blame.
Eddie leans against the counter, crossing his arms. He looks between you and Rick, with a curious grin playing on his lips. "Alright, I gotta know. What’s the actual story between you two? Because 'boss and employee' does not cover whatever this vibe you guys have going on."
You instantly feel your cheeks burn. You look down at your plate, suddenly very interested in a piece of pancake, your usual sharp banter completely failing you. You get uncomfortable, shifting your weight.
"It's not what you may think," you mumble, looking at Rick for help, but he just chews his breakfast, totally unbothered. You swallow hard and look back at Eddie. "When I was younger, like, way too young, I got into some really heavy, bad shit. Hard drugs. It was getting ugly."
Eddie’s smirk goes away, his eyes turning attentive and quiet.
"Rick met me as a customer," you continue very quietly. "And instead of letting me ruin my life, he basically dragged me out of it. He convinced me to quit the hard stuff. Told me if I needed an edge off, to just stick to weed or a trank here and there. He gave me the truck job to keep an eye on me. He saved me, honestly."
Eddie looks at Rick with a new level of respect. Rick just shrugs, wiping syrup from his three days of stubble. "She was too young and reckless. I wasn’t exactly good with myself, and looking out for someone else helped me to avoid going down the rabbit hole of my own shit. Now stop getting emotional in my kitchen, kid, it's gross."
The curfew is off, and you two cruise to the trailer park for fresh clothes before heading back toward Hawkins High to finally retrieve his beloved van. Eddie’s hand constantly crawls to rest on your shoulder or waist. You’re not sure what to think of last night. Did you just want to feel something different than dread, or was it something bigger?
When you pull into the school lot it looks drastically different. The terrifying chaos of the night when you reevaluated your life is long gone. There are no living or dead people around, but the evidence of what happened is everywhere.
You both step out of the Ford, shutting the car doors carefully not to make a sound. Dark, rusty blood stains smear across the asphalt, sometimes trailing off into the shadows. A lone textbook lies in a puddle, its pages completely ruined. Your stomach ties in a knot at the thought that just days ago, this was just a normal school full of annoying kids, and now it’s a graveyard. Eddie stands by his van, staring at the ground, with fists so tight his knuckles turn white. You place a hand on his arm, sharing the moment of silence, before he unlocks the van.
“Did they shoot them all?” You ask without looking him in the eyes.
“I don’t want to find out. I hope someone made it out. Those who were not…infected.”
You both stare at a bow of green and orange, probably from a cheerleader’s hair, sitting abandoned on the blood-streaked asphalt.
"Alright," Eddie says, swallowing the lump in his throat. "We move in tandem. You follow me to the town border, then you signal me. We swap, and I follow you to your house, and we check if it’s safe together. But you can stay with me, uncle Wayne wouldn’t mind considering everything."
“I could stay at Rick’s too, but I need to check on my family, or at least let them know I’m fine.” You return to your car, and suddenly it feels very empty without Eddie in the passenger seat.
The drive to the edge of Hawkins is tense. Eddie leads in his van, and you follow close behind in your convertible. But as you approach the main highway out of town, the van’s brake lights flare bright red.
The road is completely blocked by military barricades, razor wire, and massive camouflage trucks.
Pulling up right next to the blockade are three vaguely familiar faces climbing out of a Beamer, having tried to do the exact same thing.
"Munson?" Steve yells, stepping forward, his eyes wide. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Before Eddie can answer, a heavily armed military patrol steps forward, raising their rifles. "Turn the vehicles around immediately! No one enters, no one leaves Hawkins. This is a federal quarantine zone. Turn around or we will open fire!"
“Hey! Our friend is wounded! And you stupid assholes blocked the hospital!” Steve argues, but the soldiers rack their weapons in unison.
They quickly surround the three of them, and two figures in heavy hazmat suits step forward to take Robin away.
“I’m not bitten, I just need stitches,” she begs, her voice shaking, pressing what appears to be a bra to her bleeding shoulder, but they are completely silent.
One of the soldiers offers a cold, flat reassurance. “We blocked the hospital to protect the patients. They have medics on the base. You will be ok.”
Steve tries to push past them to follow her, but he only gets hit hard in the chest with the butt of a rifle, stumbling backward onto the gravel.
"Get back in the car, we need to let Hopper know!" Nancy yells, pulling Steve back toward the Beamer before things get even more violent.
The realization hits you like a physical blow. You're trapped. You're completely locked inside a hot zone full of monsters. Tears, hot and angry, sting your eyes. As you climb back into the convertible, you finally break down, the terror of the last forty-eight hours catching up to you all at once.
Eddie is jogging over and sliding straight into your passenger seat. He pulls you into his arms, letting you cry against his vest.
"Hey, hey, look at me," Eddie says fiercely, lifting your chin. "Look at me, bun. We are going to sort this out. I promise you."
He looks out the window at Steve, Nancy, and Robin, who are back in their car, looking like they are already plotting their next move.
"Pull over," Eddie calls out to them, his voice grim but determined. "I need to get her out, or at least contact her family."
You wipe your face with the back of your hand, swallowing down the remaining tears and forcing your breathing to steady. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Eddie. I just panicked for a second. I am fine."
Eddie is dumbfounded by the sudden change in your mood. He brings up how you said you could stay with Rick instead of his trailer, and the bright flicker in his eyes fades slightly. "I know you're not. You're the toughest girl in this miserable town."
Steve taps heavily on your car window, interrupting the moment. "Hey, we can't stay out in the open here. There is a gas station a mile back. We need to figure out our next move, and whatever it is, I need gas."
The drive to the gas station is short. Eddie pulls the van right up to the pump, and you park close by. The place looks entirely abandoned at first, but the peace does not last. Steve steps out of his Beamer with his nail-studded bat clutched in his hand and starts pumping fuel, and then a low, guttural groaning echoes from the convenience store.
Half a dozen zombies appear behind the automatic glass doors that slide open as the creatures approach. Their eyes are bloodshot and their flesh is starting to show decay spots as they sprint toward the cars.
"Incoming!" Nancy yells, instantly raising a heavy shotgun. She pumps the weapon and fires, the blast tearing through the chest of the lead zombie.
Steve steps up right beside her, swinging his bat, cracking the skull of another monster, but there are too many. You pull your gun and shoot one. Eddie groans, “I’m an idiot,” and draws his machete, hacking at the reaching arms of the horde. You shoot again, trying to prove to yourself and to Eddie that you can hold your own.
Suddenly, another group of zombies swarms from the side of the building, completely surrounding Eddie’s van.
"Eddie, get in!" you scream, ducking as Nancy fires another deafening round over your shoulder.
Eddie looks back, his eyes wide with agony as his beloved vehicle is completely overrun and blocked by the creatures. He realizes there is no way to clear them out without getting bitten. "Son of a bitch!" he roars, before sprinting back toward your convertible, but the zombies chase him closely.
From the opposite side of the gas pumps, a loud, chaotic spray of gunfire cracks through the air.
"Move your ass, Munson!" a voice bellows.
You spin around to see Tommy H in the window of a lifted pickup truck, spraying an automatic rifle. He is not a good shooter, his aim wild and reckless, but the volume of bullets acts as perfect cover fire, keeping the horde at bay. His cheerleader girlfriend is behind the wheel, and they apparently need gas too.
With Tommy's cover fire, Eddie finally makes it to your passenger seat.
"Thanks, man!" Eddie yells over the noise, slamming the car door shut.
Tommy waves a hand dismissively as he rolls the window back up and crashes the heavy truck straight into a group of zombies. That allows Steve just enough time to unhook the Beamer from the pump, tank full.
Your convertible and Steve's Beamer screech out of the parking lot, leaving the gas station behind. Nancy sits in the front seat of the BMW reloading her shotgun, Steve’s usual easy attitude completely stripped away by the weight of Robin being taken by the military. You drive without any direction, simply following the BMW, while Eddie’s hand fidgets anxiously with his chain.
“Hopper might know more,” Eddie mutters.
“Let’s catch up at Dustin’s and make a plan," Steve says when the cars finally pull over down a safe stretch of road. "We also need to get the word out about what is actually going on here."
Series Masterlist
P.S. I had the idea to completely lock down the town to trap the characters about two months ago, and I swear the Duffer brothers stole it and traveled back in time to write Season 5. (In reality, I thought up the lockdown first and only started watching Season 5 after, but I'm still suspicious). Please, comment to keep me fueled , this one is labor intensive.
You just had the best hookup of your life and in the morning Eddie asks you to drop him off at the High School
WC 2700
warnings: smut 18+, minors DNI, oral f receiving, protected p i v sex, unprotected piv sex in the shower
You hadn't planned on ending up here.
The consulting gig had wrapped early—three days onsite with a client, and you'd been staring down another evening alone in a hotel room. You'd changed out of your blazer into jeans and a camisole and asked the woman at the front desk where the locals drank.
She'd looked you up and down and said, "The Hideout. Take a left on Route 4."
So here you were. Mid twenties, two gin and tonics deep, sitting alone at the end of the bar in a town you couldn't have found on a map yesterday, watching a band set up on a stage the size of a closet.
They were loud before they even started playing. The drummer kept hitting things for no reason. The bass player was arguing with someone about a cable. And the guitarist…
He was something else.
Dark curls to his shoulders, a beat-up denim vest over a Dio shirt, silver rings catching lights every time his hands moved. He had tattoos on his arms—you couldn't make them out from here, just dark shapes. He moved around the tiny stage, checking amps, tuning his guitar with the caress that made your stomach tighten. When he leaned into the mic to test it, his voice was low and warm, almost playful.
"Evening, freaks and lovely people. We are Corroded Coffin, and we are about to make your ears bleed."
Scattered cheers. He grinned—wide, wolfish, unself-conscious—and you felt it in your knees.
They launched into something fast and brutal, all crunching riffs and bass fury, and he played. His whole body moved with it, hair flying, fingers blurring on the fretboard, and every thirty seconds or so he'd throw his head back.
You forgot about your drink. You forgot about the client. You forgot your flight was tomorrow.
Halfway through their set, during a solo, his eyes swept the room and landed on you.
You didn't look away.
Neither did he.
He held your gaze through the rest of the solo, fingers still moving like they didn't need his brain involved, and the corner of his mouth curled up. Not a grin this time. Softer than that.
When the set ended, you expected the spell to break. You expected him to disappear backstage, or get swallowed by groupies, or turn out to be shorter than he looked from a distance. Instead he hopped off the stage, grabbed a beer from behind the bar, and walked straight to you.
"You're not from around here."
It wasn't a question.
"What gave it away?"
"You're sitting at the bar alone and you haven't thrown anything at us yet. That's basically a standing ovation around here." He took the stool next to you, close enough that his knee pressed against your thigh. Up close he was damp with sweat, curls sticking to his neck. You studied his rings against the beer bottle when he picked it up. "Also, you were watching me like I was doing something interesting. Most people in here just want us to turn it down."
"You were doing something interesting."
He tilted his head. His eyes were brown—dark and amused. "Yeah? What was that?"
"Playing guitar like the building was on fire and you didn't care."
That smile again. The wolfish one. "That's kind of the whole point of heavy metal, sweetheart."
"Don't call me sweetheart."
"What should I call you?"
You told him your name. He repeated it, and something about the way it sounded in his voice made your skin prickle.
"Eddie," he said, offering a ringed hand. "Eddie Munson. Guitar, vocals, bad decisions."
You shook his hand. His grip was firm. He didn't let go immediately.
———
You talked for twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. He was funny—sharp and self-deprecating and quick, the kind of person who said exactly what they were thinking. He asked you what you did. You told him about the consulting, about flying into towns like this to fix problems that could've been solved with a single competent hire. He laughed and said, "Sounds like hell."
"It is hell. That's why I'm here."
"Well," he leaned closer, "glad I could be your escape."
His hand was on the bar next to yours.
"You want to get out of here?" you said, and you meant it to sound casual, but it came out direct and low and unmistakable.
His eyes went dark. "Yeah," he said. "I really do."
Eddie turned toward the stage, where his bandmates were packing up, and called out—
"Hey! Gareth. Jeff." They looked over. "Take care of my gear. And the van. I'm—" he glanced at you, and that slow half-smile came back, "I'm indisposed."
The drummer—Gareth, apparently—looked from Eddie to you and back again. His expression said he'd seen this before.
"You owe me, Munson."
"Put it on my tab."
He slid off the stool and held out his hand.
———
You didn't make it to the parking lot.
He caught your wrist in the hallway by the bathrooms, pulled you into the dark alcove by the back door, and pressed you against the wall. His mouth found yours before you could say anything clever, and the kiss was…searing. Eddie kissed you with the same devotion he played his solo, one hand fisted in your hair. His tongue slid against yours and you made a sound into his mouth that should have embarrassed you, but his hips rolled into yours in response and you could feel exactly how much he didn't care about embarrassment either. You grabbed the front of his vest and pulled him closer because there was still too much space between you.
He tasted like cheap beer and devoured you like he'd die if he stopped. His shirt was still damp from the set. You could feel the heat of him through it.
"Your hotel," he said against your lips. "How far?"
"Ten minutes."
"Drive fast."
———
You drove fast.
His hand was on your thigh the entire drive, just resting there, his thumb tracing lazy circles that made it extremely difficult to focus on the road. He talked the whole way, something about the set and a song they'd been working on, and you heard approximately none of it because his hand kept drifting higher.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"No."
He laughed, low and delighted. "Good."
You were vaguely aware that you shouldn’t bring a stranger to your room, but then the door closed behind you and Eddie pressed you against it and every coherent thought dissolved.
His mouth was on your neck. Your hands were under his shirt, his skin hot, you dragged your nails down his chest and he groaned against your throat so low you felt it more than heard it.
"Off," you said, pulling at his vest, and he shrugged it off without lifting his mouth from your collarbone. You got his shirt over his head. He was pale and wiry, the tattoos you'd only half-seen under stage lights were right there now—bats crawling up his forearm, something darker on his shoulder you couldn’t identify yet. Eddie looked like trouble.
He pulled your camisole off in one motion, and when he saw you hadn't been wearing a bra, he stopped. Just stood there staring with his mouth slightly open, his chest still heaving.
"Wow," he breathed.
"Are you going to stare or are you going to do something?"
He did something.
He dropped to his knees.
Your jeans came off so fast you heard a seam protest. His hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs pulling your hips toward his face, and then his mouth was on you through the lace. Your head hit the door hard enough that you should have cared but didn't.
"Eddie—"
He pulled your underwear down. His tongue pressed flat against you, one long slow stroke, and then another, your hands found his hair and pulled. He moaned against you like that was exactly what he'd wanted, the vibration buzzing through your entire body, and then he stopped being gentle.
His mouth worked against you sucking, and licking, two fingers pushing inside you while his tongue circled your clit. You were loud, you knew you were loud, but he kept saying encouraging words against you like your noises were the best thing he'd ever heard. Your thighs were shaking. Your fingers were knotted in his curls. He curled his fingers and pressed his tongue down at the same time and you came so hard your vision whited out, your whole body clenching around his hand, a moan tearing out of you that didn't even sound like your own voice.
He stayed there through it, easing you down with slow soft strokes. When he stood up his chin was wet and he was grinning like he'd just won something.
"Bed," you managed.
He picked you up. Actually picked you up—your body in his arms, —and dropped you on the mattress. He stood at the edge of the bed unfastening his belt, and you watched leaning on your elbows.
He shoved his jeans and boxers down. You made a sound that was somewhere between appreciation and impatience.
"You have a condom?" you asked.
He pulled one from his wallet. "I was a Boy Scout for three weeks."
"Don't ever say that again."
He rolled it on and climbed over you. For a second he just hovered there—braced on his arms, hair falling around his face, those dark eyes on yours. He was still cocky, still Eddie, but there was something underneath it. Like he couldn't quite believe this was happening.
He pushed inside you and you both swore at the same time. The stretch was perfect.
He set a rhythm that was just this side of brutal, one hand loose around your throat, thumb stroking your racing pulse and the other holding your thigh open, and every thrust hit deep enough to knock the air out of you. The headboard banged the wall. The bed creaked. You wrapped your legs around him and dug your heels into his back and he cursed and drove in harder.
"Fuck—you feel—" He couldn't finish the sentence. You dragged him down by the neck, scratching it in despair, and kissed him, tasting yourself on his mouth.
He shifted the angle, hitching your hips up, and you actually cried out. He felt it, heard it, saw the way your body arched and he kept that angle, driving into that spot again and again. His forehead dropped against yours, his breath ragged.
"Come on," he said against your mouth, "come on, I want to feel it—"
You came again, harder than the first time, clenching around him in waves, and he groaned your name into the crook of your neck and followed you over the edge with three more thrusts, bottoming out.
For a long moment there was just breathing. His weight on top of you, heavy and real. His heart hammering against yours.
"Fuck yeah," he said.
You just panted.
"I mean—it was awesome."
"Yeah."
———
Eddie disposed of the condom, collapsed next to you, and stared at the ceiling. You lay there catching your breath, sweat cooling on your skin, too wrung out to move.
"I need a shower," you said eventually.
He turned his head to look at you. That smile again. "Want company?"
———
The shower was small. Eddie was not small. You wedged yourselves in under the spray and it should have been awkward but instead it was slippery and steamy and his hands were everywhere—soaping down your back, cupping your breasts, sliding between your legs while the hot water ran over both of you. You bit his bicep playfully.
He reached down and wrapped your hand around his cock, which hardened in your grip immediately, his head falling back against the tile.
"Again?" you asked.
"Again," he confirmed. "Definitely again."
He turned you around and you braced your hands against the tile wall. His mouth was on the back of your neck, biting gently, and then he was inside you again. Now it was different— no condom —and you moaned loud enough to echo off the bathroom tile.
The water ran over both of you. His hand snaked around your hip to find your clit, rubbing in tight circles while he thrust into you from behind, and his other arm was banded around your ribs holding you up because your legs had stopped being reliable.
It was slower this time but not softer. Deliberate. Each thrust measured and precise, filling you completely, his lips against your ear whispering things that made you clench around him—filthy things, explicit things, interspersed with your name in soft whisper.
You came with his fingers on your clit and his teeth on your shoulder. You breathed out his name. He pulled out a moment later, finishing on your buttocks. The water had gone lukewarm.
Neither of you cared.
———
You slept tangled together in the hotel bed, his arm heavy around your waist, his breath warm on the back of your neck. It was the best you'd slept in months.
Morning came too soon. You blinked awake to find Eddie already up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers, hair a catastrophic mess, squinting at his watch.
"Morning, gorgeous," he said when he saw you were awake. His voice was rough with sleep and it did things to you that were deeply inconvenient given the time of day. "I need a huge favor."
You propped yourself up on your elbow. "What kind of favor?"
He rubbed the pink scratches on his neck. For the first time since you'd met him, he looked almost sheepish.
"I need a ride. To, uh. Hawkins High."
You stared at him. The silence stretched.
"The high school," you said flatly. You stared at him. The baby face under the wild hair, the lanky limbs, it all suddenly made sense. He probably was eighteen. Maybe nineteen if he’d been held back.
He must have read your terror —because he put both hands up immediately.
"Whoa, whoa. I'm twenty. Okay? I'm twenty. Born 1966. Do the math. This—" he gestured at himself, the stubble, the angles, "—is just what heavy metal does to you.
You pressed your fingers against your eyelids, “I thought you were… twenty-five. At least.”
"I've been held back. Twice," he continued. "Because I was busy—" he gestured vaguely, "—prioritizing the arts. But I am a legal, consenting, tax-paying—okay, I don't pay taxes, but I'm an adult, that is the point."
He scooted closer, and his proximity still made your pulse jump even now, even in the middle of this. His face changed—dropped the showman thing, the performance.
"I'm not a kid," he said, quieter now. "I'm just a guy who's bad at school and good at guitar and had the best night of his life with a beautiful woman who's way too smart to be consulting for people who can't figure things out on their own."
You looked at him for a long moment.
"I'm dropping you off two blocks away," you said.
He broke into that grin—the full one, the one that had gotten you into this mess. "Deal."
———
You drove him in your rental car through the flat, quiet streets following his direction and sipping hotel coffee, morning sunlight slanting through the windshield. He drummed on his knees to a song only he could hear.
Two blocks from Hawkins High, you pulled over.
He turned to you. For a second neither of you said anything.
"If you're ever back in town—" he started.
"I won't be."
"If you're ever back in town," he said again, like you hadn't spoken, "The Hideout. Every Friday and Saturday. Ask for Eddie."
He leaned across the center console and kissed you—slow this time, thorough, one hand cupping your jaw. When he pulled back, his thumb traced your lower lip.
"Thanks for the ride, sweetheart." He said, climbing out of the car with his vest slung over one shoulder.
"Bye, Eddie"
He shut the door. You watched him walk the two blocks to the school entrance, all loose limbs and denim and chaotic hair, utterly unconcerned with the world.
He didn't look back.
You sat there for a full minute, engine idling.
Then you laughed and put the car in drive.
Inspired by the fact that Joseph Quinn doesn’t nearly look twenty in S4
Was meant to be a one shot but became a series
Proceed to part 2 Keep you coming for one thousand and one night
Saw a well-done blurb on my feed and it got under my skin. Not because my own writing or dynamics are worse — humbly, I think they’re better. Just feel robbed.
Do you ever feel something is wrong with you because Steddie content hurts?
Another hot evening on Palatine Hill, and you decide to return the favor of ice play to Geta, who looks so good in his red silk robe
AN: sorry ice play again, I promise I will move on.
Warning: unequal power dynamics, oral male receiving, ice play, marking, light voyeurism?
Word count 1500
The Roman summer heat doesn’t subside by sunset. The windows stand wide open to catch any passing breeze, but there is none. Geta lounges on the wide couch wearing only a loose red robe of embroidered silk, a goblet of wine in hand. You refill it from the silver pitcher, kneeling gracefully beside him. Small shards of mountain ice melt in the drink slowly.
Geta takes a long sip, sighing in pleasure as the chilled wine slides down his throat. A droplet escapes the corner of his mouth and you lean in without thinking, licking it away with the tip of your tongue. He smirks, his heavily kohled eyes gleaming.
“You’re in a playful mood tonight, my pet.”
You smile up at him demurely, placing your hand on his thigh. “Dominus… are you warm?” you ask, your voice meek and innocent even as your fingers trace upward, brushing the growing bulge beneath his robe. “The night is sultry. Perhaps I can help cool you down.”
Geta's smile is not entirely wicked. He sets the cup aside and leans back, spreading his legs wider in clear invitation. “Go ahead, my star. Cool your Emperor’s property.”
You reach into the pitcher and fish out two small, smooth pieces of ice. You take them into your mouth and roll them on your tongue until they begin to melt. The chill makes your lips tingle. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you push his clothes up and free his thick length from his loincloth. It is already hardening, twitching with anticipation.
You part your lips and show him the melting ice cube caught between your teeth, letting out a breathy moan as if you cannot wait to have him.
You start slowly, pressing soft, icy kisses on his inner thighs. Geta hisses sharply at the shock, his hand instantly flying to your hair. Encouraged, you drag your chilled tongue along the underside and swirl around the head before taking him fully into your mouth.
Your lips and tongue are freezing; his girth is burning hot. You suck gently at first, letting the icy water trickle down his length as you bob your head. Geta starts to pant when you work him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to press the remaining ice along his sensitive skin.
“Oh, Jupiter…” Geta groans, his hips jerking against your mouth. “That mouth… who taught you this?”
You hum a muffled “nobody” around him, the vibration traveling through his shaft until his whole body tenses. Chilled water escapes your mouth and drips down to his testicles. You relax your throat and swallow around him until your nose brushes the red curls at his base, then pull back to focus on the head. You suck hard, swirl your cool tongue over the silky tip while one hand twists tightly at the base.
Geta’s grip tightens in your hair, guiding your movements. You show no resistance, now grateful for the skills of fellatio Senator M. had drilled into you himself. You go from slow strokes to fast bobs not shying away from the wanton sounds you make. Another shard of ice goes into your mouth when the first ones melt, and you repeat the torment. You cool him off, then warm him with your throat again.
His thighs start trembling beneath your hands. “Keep going,” he growls, stuttering just slightly. “I want to cover you in my seed.”
His praise arouses you, and you touch yourself while blowing him skillfully, swallowing around his length, pressing the last slivers of ice right against his hard flesh. Geta curses in Latin, his hips stuttering. The grip of his ringed fingers in your hair tightens, his head falls back with a whimper not fit for the ruler. Suddenly, he pulls your mouth off him with an obscene sound, breathing hard.
“Bare your breasts,” he orders.
You obey instantly, rising up between his spread thighs and tugging down the sheer fabric of your stola to expose your chest. Geta strokes himself furiously a few times, his eyes turning dark, fixed entirely on you. The sight of you with lips swollen and glistening, chest heaving, and nipples peaked from the chilly water delights him.
With a deep groan, he comes hard on your naked breasts. A few drops land on your collarbone; another pulse catches a nipple. You stay perfectly still as he marks you, allowing a soft moan to escape your lips at the feeling of his warmth.
Geta leans over so you can lick him clean with your warming tongue and place one last kiss on the tip. He slumps back against the cushions, his chest rising and falling. For a moment, he simply admires the scene: his concubine kneeling before him, marked by his sperm, lips puffy from pleasuring him.
He claps his hands once. A young female servant, discreet and small, enters quietly carrying a basin of warm water scented with precious oils, and soft linen cloths.
“Clean her,” Geta tells the girl, never breaking eye contact with you. “Slowly. I want to watch.”
The servant kneels beside you, not raising her eyes once. She wipes the wet cloth across your breasts, carefully cleaning every trace of his release. She pays special attention to your nipples, polishing them until your skin gleams. You feel entirely exposed, displayed, and strangely aroused by the intimate service. As wet skin dries quickly, you shiver under Geta’s gaze and understand it’s probably going to be a long night.
When the servant finishes, she bows and disappears back into the shadows.
Geta pulls you up onto the couch beside him. He strokes the underside of your breast lazily, squeezing lightly.
“You’re really made for pleasure, deliciae”
He takes a deep sip from his chilled cup, then leans in to press his lips to yours, releasing the cold, sweet wine directly into your mouth from his own.
“Drink, pet. You’ve earned it.”
You swallow the wine with appreciation and rest your cheek on his chest. Geta reaches for your hand, sliding one of his own rings from his finger and slips it onto your thumb. It is far too large for any other finger.
“A token,” he says, his voice low and satisfied. “You pleased me greatly tonight. Wear it so everyone knows who owns you.”
You lower your eyes and kiss his knuckles. “Thank you, Dominus. I live to please you.”
Geta smiles, pulling you against his chest and handing you his cup. His fingers lightly stroke your hip as you both drink.
“Rest now,” he murmurs against your neck, spooning his body over yours as you drift off.
When morning arrives, the Emperor is already gone from the bed, the sheets beside you are cold. You sit up slowly, drink the contraceptive herbal infusion the maid left beside the bed, and gaze at your hand, adorned with Geta’s gift—a thick engraved band set with a garnet. It slips slightly on your thumb, but you are beyond happy. You are not just another concubine anymore.
Looking at your reflection in the full-body mirror, a luxury you do not have in your own quarters, you take account of his love bites on your breasts and neck. You arrange your clothes and hair to cover them, without trying too much.
A few days later in the grand pavilion everyone else notices too. You sit directly at Geta’s hand during an afternoon assembly, dressed in the finest silks embroidered with golden threads. Geta’s hand rests on the nape of your neck possessively.
Right in the middle of a heated debate between the senators, Geta completely ignores the speakers, turning his body toward you. He reaches into a lavish bowl, picking a soft, sweet fig and pressing it to your lips.
Every eye in the room pivots to watch. Beneath the heavy, indignant stares of the nobility, you part your lips and take the fruit from his fingers, closing your eyes in pleasure. You enjoy the attention and forget how fragile your position is.
From his side of the pavilion, Caracalla is watching. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes burning with mad anger as he tracks his brother’s ring on your hand.
A few days later, Senator M. briefly finds you at a tucked away gazebo in the garden. To a passerby or your bored guard, your encounter looks like you are merely enjoying the shade and the smell of the roses when the senator enters, causing you to politely leave after mutual apologies of intrusion.
“Things are starting to get dangerous, deliciae,” the senator mutters quietly under his breath. “People notice. People envy. Caracalla will try to ruin you just to spite his brother. Trust no one, befriend no one. Don’t mistake Geta’s infatuation for love.”
You look the senator in the eyes, without any submission or the sensual haze reserved for the emperor.
“What is love, senator?” The question comes from a place of genuine confusion rather than cynicism.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his silver-touched hair.
“I have lived fifty years and I still don't know the answer. Read the philosophers and the poets, but remember—in this palace, it will be your ruin. Don’t fall for it, columba.”
You bow just enough and leave. The senator remains in the shadows of the gazebo, lost in thought.
The sun is just starting to rise, touching the tops of the trees around the lake house. Eddie moves bloody cloth around the fire pit with a metal rod. You, dressed in his shirt and only his shirt, come from behind and hug him.
“Did they behave?” You ask and nuzzle his back.
“Kids or Steve and Robin?” Eddie turns around to kiss you, avoiding your fangs with years of practice.
The question stays unanswered. The clothes burn as you make out.
“Tired?” Eddie says against your mouth.
“Some air traffic by DC but no damage done.” You jump on him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Eddie walks to the nearest tree for support.
“You smell like murder, Fangs.” He leans over and you feel how much he missed you.
“They asked for a coyote attack crime scene. Such a mess, and wasting blood too.”
“Hungry Wild Thing…bite me.”
You oblige, and sink your fangs into his neck taking a few sips before licking it closed.
Eddie is fully hard and spreading the slick over your folds with his fingers. You moan in anticipation of his cock inside you.
He pushes in and stills for a bit.
“Steve and Robin invited us to California.”
In and out again. You gasp at the loss of contact.
“I thought. Maybe this breeding season…” Eddie bottoms out and rocks his hips once. Out. You try to hold him but miss. “…this breeding season, we skip the rubber?”
“Oh…daddy!”
He’s in again, dragging over the soft spot inside you and it feels familiar but still electric. You lock your legs around him, not letting him withdraw again.
“Wanna fill you with my baby again.” Eddie whispers in your ear, setting an intense pace.
Your whole body responds to his words with a sweet wave.
“Yes, Eddie, more…”
“Wayne will take the demobats and Karen can take the kids.”
“Karen?” You manage to squeak in between thrusts. “Can she…”
“She knows what she’s getting into.”
You’re so gone with his desire to breed you and the intense pleasure of his cock inside that you’d send the kids to “grandpa” Vecna in the Upside Down.
Eddie’s movements become erratic and especially deep, he rubs your clit to tip you over the edge and you come with a shudder and a gasp.
Eddie pumps his release into you and murmurs: “dunno what is it but I really want it, yeah.”
You wrap around him and hang relaxed, pleased and satiated. “Alright,” you say. “Talk to Karen.”
Ted Wheeler lifts his eyes from the newspaper and notices an 11-12 year old boy with a crown of wild curls, folding his leather wings away from the furniture and trinkets.
“Karen, are these grandchildren?” He keeps looking over an approximately seven year old girl with fiery red eyes and fangs.
“Yes, Ted, grandchildren indeed.”
Karen is cutting vegetables and arranging them into monster faces on the omelette.
“From whom?”
“From Eddie Munson.”
“Eddie Munson, mhm…should I take them fishing after breakfast?”
“Please do.”
Ted threads a worm onto the hook and casts the line.
“Now you, kid.”
Damien is visibly sweaty from rowing the boat, but he grins wide.
“Cool.” And dips his hand with neatly trimmed claws into the bin with live worms.
“And you, honey,” Ted encourages Dahlia.
She looks at the bin with intense disgust, then one of the worms floats in the air and arranges itself on the hook.
“Whatever works for you, darling — there’re many ways to skin a cat.”
Ted offers the children Coke from the tiny cooler.
“You rock, man.” Comments Damien when Ted’s line twitches.
PS: I really hope to end their happy story here but my inspiration is chaotic and absurd so who knows maybe I will make another epilogue with grandpa Vecna making pancakes. Thank you so much for encouraging me to save WT and staying with me on this wild journey.
