Summary: In which you hate your roommate, Eddie Munson, and he seems to have it out for you.
Which fucking sucks since you're snowed in together during a sudden blizzard.
It can't be that bad though, can it?
Word count: 6.7k
Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors DNI! enemies to lovers, rough sex, dubcon fantasy, mild bloodplay, mild cumplay, explicit language, face slapping, biting, scratching, pet names, femdom with a bit of switching.
A/N: I’m trying to work on a Kas!Eddie fic, but she a big bitch and this idea wormed it’s way into my little head after my friend came up with the prompt. My first little foray into enemies to lovers and tbh I really enjoyed it.
——
You hated each other. There was no way around it. But your lease wasn’t up for another eight months, and subleasing was not something you could manage right now, so you fucking dealt with him and his fucking bullshit.
You dealt with the stink of weed that seemed to radiate from his room no matter how much air freshener you sprayed in the hallway to try and keep it at bay. You dealt with the heavy metal music he played at a volume level that wouldn’t get him kicked out but was still loud enough to grate at your nerves while you were trying to sleep and his insomnia was keeping him up at ungodly hours. You dealt with his snarky fucking attitude he seemed to wear like one of his band tees, abrasive and off putting, whenever you had the misfortune of having to talk to him about rent or chores, or the occasional suggestion that he wear the headphones that he literally had resting on top of his piece of junk tape deck and never seemed to use.
You dealt with all of Eddie’s stupid fucking habits and character traits that made you want to pull out your hair at any given moment, and you were counting down the days until you were able to move out and into your own place that you were desperately saving up for.
But today, he was well and truly testing the limits of your patience and it was beginning to feel like he was doing it intentionally. Like he blamed you for the sudden blizzard that had snowed in Indy for the past couple of days, and it was your fault that the two of you were forced to be in proximity to each other until it blew over. That damned music thudded through the wall you shared, and every time he left his room, he would leave his door open so it sounded just a bit louder until he returned and slammed the door closed again.
You tried to be cordial at first, knocking on his door and asking in a polite but loud voice to turn it down a bit so you could try and at least focus on your biology paper while there wasn’t much else to do, but whether or not he heard your request, he didn’t oblige and his music remained at the same volume. You’d scoffed and smacked the door angrily before heading back to your room and doing what he refused to do instead, popping a cassette into your walkman and pulling on your headphones to try and block out the noise in the meantime. Turning up the volume as loud as you could bear and cover the background noise, you got to work on your essay.
———
Two hours later, after explaining three of the seven stages of mitosis, you could feel the start of a headache beginning to squeeze behind your eyes and you took it as a sign that you needed a break. Mindful of the cords, you leaned back in your chair and reached your arms above your head in a stretch before pulling the headphones down to hang around your neck. You rolled your eyes when you heard the music coming from Eddie’s room was still just as loud as it had been since that morning. Changing out the cassette tape and replacing your headphones over your ears, you ventured out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some Excedrin to try and knock out the headache before it could grow into a migraine.
Popping the white pills and chasing it with a generous swallow of icy water, you leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment to glare at Eddie’s door, trying to think of an idea of how to secretly get back at your roommate for being such a massive dick while the two of you were trapped in your apartment. Your plans were interrupted when his door suddenly swung open to reveal him glaring at a notebook with such intensity, you couldn’t help but wonder what could possibly be on its pages that made him look so frustrated. He drifted forward, doing a double take when he noticed you occupying the kitchen already, watching him suspiciously. He gave a small smirk before clapping the notebook shut and saying something that you weren’t able to hear over Billy Idol’s Eyes Without a Face.
“Wait, hold on, a second, Jesus.”, you said, tugging your headphones around your neck again irritatedly before asking him, “Now what did you say, Munson?”
“I said, ‘What, you don’t like Black Sabbath or something, Princess?’”, he repeated, smirk widening at your visible distaste for the pet name he’d given you after one of your first disagreements.
“Don’t really care who you’re listening to, but it’s a little frustrating when it’s so loud I can’t even hear myself think, Munson. Some of us have things to do that require the utmost concentration, something that is difficult to achieve when their walls are shaking.”, you said with sneer. “I still don’t understand how we’ve yet to receive any noise complaints from the neighbors.”
“Careful room selection.”, he replied, smugly.
“Huh?”, you asked, not caring to hide your confusion at his vague statement.
“Careful. Room. Selection.”, he repeated, punctuating each word like you were stupid, earning himself a sharp glare before explaining further. “It’s not that difficult, Princess. We have a corner apartment, and my room is in said corner, with plenty of buffer space between it and the walls we share with the neighbors.”
You narrowed your eyes at him in disbelief.
“Did you seriously just call my room ‘buffer space’, you fucking moron?”, you spat incredulously.
Instead of answering, Eddie merely tilted his head up so he was looking down his nose at you, the shit eating look on his face only growing increasingly more arrogant.
The urge to say something particularly hateful rose in your mind, but you quickly clamped your mouth closed and stared him down instead. You’d already given him more than enough satisfaction at the knowledge that he’d successfully gotten under your skin so easily, and you weren’t about to give him anymore. His brand of emotional terrorism combined with the throbbing in your skull was a potent mixture that had your blood boiling to the point of you considering physical violence as well, so you gave him a tight lipped smile before skirting past him and back into your room.
Slamming your door, you threw yourself onto your bed and grabbed a pillow, shoving your face into it before letting out a muffled, frustrated scream that left your throat a little ragged. It helped soothe your nerves a bit, but your head pulsated painfully as well, sapping you of the energy to remain as mad as you’d been just a few moments ago. Rolling over onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling as you heard Eddie return to his own room as well, his door closing more gently than yours had.
To your surprise and begrudging appreciation, you heard the song that had been playing lower in volume, though not by much. But it was enough to make it so you could listen to your own music at a more tolerable level as well. Deciding a nap was needed to quell the budding migraine making its home in your temple, you switched off your lamps and pulled your curtains closed against the watery winter light before settling under your covers and closing your eyes as Andante, Andante started to play softly in your ears.
———
A few hours later, you woke up in a haze, feeling heavy and warm under your blankets, and delighted to find the headache gone as your consciousness slowly returned to you. You quickly realized your headphones had gone askew on your head when you heard the increasingly familiar bass line of Holy Diver coming through the walls. You let out a heavy sigh, but resigned yourself to deal with it, since out of all of Eddie’s band preferences, Dio was the most tolerable.
Snuggling further into your blankets, you hummed at the pleasant cocoon of warmth around you, more than complacent to remain in it for a while yet and maybe even doze off again should sleep come over you again. Certainly wouldn't hurt with odd hours Eddie had been keeping anyways, you being an unwilling victim of his sleeplessness as well.
A spark of irritation ignited in you at the realization that your roommate was beginning to occupy your thoughts more often than you'd prefer as of late, making your cheeks warm in exasperation. It was annoying if you were honest with yourself, that of all the men in your life, Eddie Munson, douchebag extraordinaire, was the one you were thinking about on a frequent enough basis that you should probably consider it a problem.
Not that you thought about him in that way. Well. Maybe a couple times. But only when you’d been wine drunk and alone because he was out of the apartment playing with his band or playing that dumb tabletop game that you overheard him talk about on the phone with his friends when they were planning a game night. But that was besides the point, because you hate him, and even you were allowed to have a couple lapses of judgment from time to time.
The couple of fantasies you’d had were more out of desire to put him in place, maybe humiliate him a little while you took physical and emotional satisfaction from it. It wouldn’t be nice, it would be mean and rough, and it would probably leave you both bruised and maybe a little bloody.
The thought made you shiver.
It only took you a second to decide that his music was still loud enough before you were sliding your hand under your sweatpants and underwear to where a different sort of ache had begun to grow in you. You found yourself already a little wet when your fingers slipped between your folds, the contact making you gasp quietly and your thighs clench around your hand as you spread your slick around your clit. Using your two middle fingers, you drew tight circles around the bundle of nerves, little jolts of pleasure running through your limbs. You closed your eyes and sighed as you continued the motions, imagining dark eyes framed by dark waves watching you, that arrogant smirk plastered on his stupidly pretty mouth, making you bite back a moan.
“Fucking-hah-hate you, Eddie. Hate you-mmmn-so much.”, you murmured with a shuddering breath, your body already starting to go taut as you saw him laugh at you darkly behind your eyelids.
You could feel how soaked your fingers were becoming so quickly, and it only urged your frustrations on further, amping up your need for release as well. Pressing your fingers into yourself, you used your other hand to grab at your tit, lifting your shirt and squeezing it, pinching the nipple roughly as you continued to fantasize about his searing gaze on you while he watched you fuck yourself out of loathing for him. It was so fucking wrong, but, God, if it didn’t make you hotter than you’ve ever felt before.
The reverie continued on, the scene changing into one where you had him cuffed to your headboard with the pair of handcuffs you’d spotted on more than one occasion when you’d managed a peek inside when his door was open. He was glaring up at you while you straddled him, silent fury pouring off of him in waves since you’d duct taped his mouth shut as well.
“Silence suits you so well, Eddie.”, you purred at him, rubbing your thumb across the smooth silver tape gag. “Should have done this ages ago.”
You could practically hear the fuck you he was no doubt screaming at you internally. It only spurred you on further. Fisting his shirt in both of your hands, you pulled them apart quickly, the soft fabric ripping until the pale skin of his chest was revealed, the dark ink of his tattoos stark against his flesh. A muffled sound of protest sounded in his throat at the destruction of his tee, making you grin down at him triumphantly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you like this shirt? Should have spoken up sooner, I guess, huh?”, you taunted as you pulled the shredded article apart to further expose his torso.
Starting at his navel, you dragged a light finger tip up his stomach and chest before laying your hand over his heart, feeling the quickened beats thump up against your palm. You raised your brows at him suggestively before you dug your nails into his skin and raked them down his chest, leaving angry red welts along the way, one of them with his nipple in path.
He gave another muffled shout as he uselessly tried to pull back from the assault, his chest caving in slightly while his shoulders pulled towards his ears, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. You giggled, leaning down and licking the salt from his cheeks while you rolled your hips against him, feeling how his own canted up slightly to meet yours.
“Ohhh, did pretty boy like that?”, you cooed down at him, noting the way his eyes glinted dangerously, anger still darkening their depths, but a hint of lust swirling around in them as well. “What do you think, sweetheart? If I took off your gag, would you beg me for it, I wonder?”
Outside of the fantasy, you released your nipple and reached towards your nightstand, pulling open the drawer to retrieve your dildo as your orgasm hovered just out of reach, the need to be filled prompting the use of your toy. You were a slave to your lust in this moment, your focus so entirely on your pleasure that you didn’t hear the door down the hall open again as a slutty moan escaped your lips while you teased your clit with the soft silicone.
Your imagination saw you caressing Eddie’s face in a facsimile of affection before you were pinching his cheeks between your fingers so you could hold him in place as you ground yourself against the growingly evident hard on pressing against your clothed cunt.
“What about it, Eddie? Do you want to feel what it’s like to be inside me? You wanna know how good it’ll feel to be buried inside me while I ride you until I come? But not you, you won’t be allowed to come until I say so, yeah?”
You watched as his expression of hatred grew colder for a few beats before it wavered just a fraction as he considered your offer, giving you all the indication you needed to know his resolve had crumbled enough to give him the chance to speak for himself. Grabbing the edge of the tape, you peeled it ever so slightly up, pulling it little by little until the corner of his mouth appeared, the line of it downturned in a soft grimace. You were gentle in your removal of the gag, or you were until you reached the middle of those plush lips and then you ripped the rest of it off in one quick movement, earning a sharp hiss from between bared teeth.
“MotherFUCKER!”, Eddie snarled, blood beginning to rise to the places where the tape had ripped the tender skin of his lips. “What the hell-”
Before he could hurl anymore profanities at you, you dove in for a taste of the crimson, sucking his bottom lips between yours and pulling it taut between your teeth as iron and salt flooded your tastebuds. His hips bucked under yours again, making you grin as you sat back on his lap with his blood coating your mouth like lipstick. You licked them clean while his eyes turned nearly black as they bored into yours.
“Alright Eds, either you can be quiet and obedient, or I can tape your mouth back up, okay? So what’s it gonna be? You gonna be a good little boy for me? Or do I need to punish you some more?”
His mouth opened for a beat before he closed it again, finally understanding his choices were slim.
“Mmm, that is a good boy. Though if I’m honest, I was hoping I might get to punish you a little more. Oh well, the day’s not over yet, is it?”, you bemoaned, sliding off of his lap and onto his shins, the feeling of his eyes on you as you unbuttoned his jeans. “Now then, let's see what we’re working with, huh?”
You had no idea what Eddie’s dick actually looked like, but something about his tall and lanky stature certainly translated to your imagined idea of what it might look like. Long with average girth, uncircumcised with a head as pretty of a red as his lips were when they were all flushed. Free of his boxers, it bobbed in front of your face before it lay twitching on his stomach, eager to be touched. It was enough to make your mouth water as you took in the sight of his nearly completely bare under you, as desperate for you fuck him as he was to hurt you for humiliating you. Leaning towards it, you blew on it softly, making it jerk upwards in response. You heard the stifled groan he bit back, not entirely willing yet to let you see exactly how much you were affecting him.
Crawling back over top of him, you shimmied off your panties, your shirt remaining so as to not give him any more satisfaction than he would be getting from you using him for your own pleasure. He was lucky you were even using him to begin with. Reaching between you, you grasped his cock, smearing the precome that had beaded at the tip around the head before rubbing your cunt against it to further lubricate it. Satisfied with your work, you glanced back up at him, smiling poisonously at how he stared at you greedily.
“Look at you, so hungry for it, aren’t you?”, you taunted before lowering yourself onto him, the length of him slowly engulfed in the clutch of your sex.
“Oh fuck.”, you moaned, pushing the soaked dildo into your pussy as you pictured Eddie’s bottoming out inside you. “Fucking hell, Eddie.”
“Well, well, well, what do we have, huh, Princess?”, a voice asked, cutting through your thoughts like a razor sharp knife.
Red hot shame seared through you as your eyes snapped open to find Eddie staring at you with a mix of surprise and entertainment on his face, his arms crossed as he leaned his shoulder against your door frame. Your cheeks flamed in shame and anger as well, as you held your blanket to your chest and sat up, flinging your pillow at his head. He blocked easily against it, holding up an arm and knocking it to the floor with a small cackle.
“Ed- Munson, what the fuck?! What are you doing just barging in here like that? Ever heard of knocking?”, you screeched at him, pulling your shirt back over your tits and glaring daggers at him, hoping they might become tangible and actually kill him.
He rolled his eyes hard, taking a few steps further into your room with a sardonic smile.
“Oh, cut the shit, sweetheart. I’m not the one who was moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear with their door unlocked for anyone to walk in. And by the sounds of it, I think you might have been hoping for a certain roommate of yours to find you with your hands down your pants.”, he goaded, moving even closer to you until he was just a few feet away from your bed.
You seethed at him, grabbing your other pillow to hurl at him, but he was quicker than you, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you could manage the throw. His smile was all teeth, the dark glint in his eyes going straight to your traitorous cunt. You swallowed hard as those chocolate orbs seemed to pin you in place.
“Hey now, no more of that, okay, Princess? If you want to fuck me, all you gotta do is ask, you know. We’re both adults, you don’t have to pretend with me”, he said, his words feeling slimy against your skin.
“Why fuck would I want to have to have sex with you? I wasn't moaning your name, you egotistical prick. If anything, you’re the one who wants fuck me, since you imagined your name coming out of my mouth in any capacity close to desire. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
“And so what if I have, hm? Hard not to when you’re prancing around in those little shorts in the summer, acting like you’re hot shit or something. But I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, okay? You’re only pretty when that smart mouth of yours is closed. Once it opens, bullshit comes out and you lose almost all the attractiveness you might have held.”, Eddie snorted.
You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, loud and fast, and before you could stop yourself, your free hand shot up and slapped him across the face. His head turned with the impact, the imprint already reddening his cheek as your chest heaved with barely restrained rage. It took him a moment to react, his face a mask of faint surprise until his eyes flicked back to you and a terrible smile began to take shape upon his lips. You shrank back a fraction at the headiness of it, unexpectedly fearful of what it actually meant.
“Do it again, sweetheart.”, he murmured, turning his face to look at you full on again.
Inhaling deeply, you pulled your other hand from his grip and wound it back before slapping the opposite cheek on the exhale of your breath, his head snapping from the force of it again. A quick glance downward confirmed your suspicions when you saw the crotch of his jeans beginning to strain under his growing erection. You swallowed again, looking back up to find hunger clouding his face, expression almost identical to how you’d imagined it in your fantasy but also darker and more vicious.
The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick and tight with unspoken weight that had you digging your fingers into your thighs until he was wrenching your wrists out of your lap and alongside your head, pinning you under him. Leaning down, he nosed at your cheek and scraped his teeth along your jaw, making you whine involuntarily.
“Mmmm, what a pretty sound. Maybe I was wrong, maybe not everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit after all.”, he teased, looking down his nose at you as you glowered back.
“Fuck you.”, you retorted, your words having less bite than you’d intended.
He tilted his head and smirked.
“That is the idea, Princess. But I wanna hear you say it first. Need to hear you beg for me to fuck you.”, he cooed.
It was embarrassing how much your body was reacting to his. The role reversal should have just infuriated you further but instead it was riling your lust further. You fought to maintain your wits, but the need for release was quickly overcoming any sense you might have had prior to his body heat and smokey scent enveloping you. Chewing on your bottom lip, you tried to find the words to get him off of you and out of your room again, but then his knee was pressing between your legs and closer to where your aching cunt was begging for the attention he’d stolen from it.
A short lived inner conflict raged in your head before you were swallowing your pride for the moment and nodding at him. Taking another breath you gave your answer.
“…Please, Eddie. I-I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”, you conceded, voice still more than a little petulant but still agreement enough to set him to work.
“Not exactly begging, but I guess that might be the best I’ll get from you, huh, Princess?”, he said, pulling your wrists together to hold them in one hand to free the other to explore your body.
Lazily, he trailed it down your neck and chest, pulling the blanket down and pausing to give your tit an experimental squeeze, tugging the nipple when it peaked through the fabric of your shirt. Another reluctant noise escaped your lips at the sensation, prompting him to continue his hand’s travels down your torso and underneath the blanket to the waistband of your sweatpants. His knee retreated enough to make room as his hand dipped into your panties, cupping your cunt roughly.
“Wow, all this for little ole me, huh?”, he said, sliding a finger between your soaked folds lightly.
You knocked your head back against your pillow in frustration before pushing yourself up as much as your pinned arms would allow so you were in his face.
“Enough with the teasing, Munson. Foreplay isn’t necessary when I’ve done all the hard work for you already. Besides the dildo I was using before you interrupted is no doubt more than ample for whatever pencil dick situation you’ve got going on anyways.”, you hissed, trying to provoke his ire with a well placed jab that you were beginning to suspect was inaccurate based on the way his jeans were tented despite their tightness.
He was bigger than your previous estimations, and the thought made your cunt clutch in worrisome anticipation.
But despite your attempt to agitate him, he just snickered and gave a faux pout.
“Oh, is the poor baby impatient? Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want here shortly. But you gotta behave, okay? Want you to keep your hands to yourself while I get myself a little more comfortable. Can you do that for Daddy, Princess?”
You nearly gagged at the little pet names and how he called himself daddy. “You’re disgusting, Munson.”
“And yet here you are under me, begging for my cock.”, he shot back, letting go of your hands.
Sitting back on his knees, he yanked his long sleeve over his head and let it fall to the ground before moving onto his belt and pants, undoing them with practiced ease until he noticed you watching him with your hands folded over your chest.
“You can take your clothes off too, you know. Or are you shy?”, he said, looking down at your shift expectantly.
You scowled, hesitating for a moment before you grabbed the hem of it and shucked off the offending article.
“It’s a little fucking cold, you know.”, you groused as you covered your tits from the cool air again.
“I’ll warm you up in a second, Jesus. Really are such an impatient brat.”, he muttered, tossing the remainder of his clothes to the floor and giving you a peek at the rest of his body.
Surprise tugged your brows up when you found him to be carrying a bit more muscle than you’d anticipated. Not defined by any measure, but you could see a hidden strength in his arms and chest where you'd expected none. And when you finally caught sight of his dick, you might have gasped just a little.
It was gorgeous.
No other way around it. Thicker than you could have guessed, but not quite as long either. It was dark and heavy between his thighs, a tantalizing thatch of hair around it that thinned into a sparse happy trail that traveled to just under his navel. When you finally pulled your gaze from it, you found his eyes watching you with unrestrained glee at your surprise. Your scowl returned and he chuckled in response.
“What was that about a ‘pencil dick’ again?”, he teased, grabbing the edge of your blanket and pulling it down to expose your legs and relieve them of the pants and underwear you still wore.
“Oh please, I’ve had bigger.”, you lied, letting him further disrobe you until you were both completely bare and staring at each other unabashedly.
“Sure you have, Princess. Whatever you say.”
Swallowing thickly, you looked away and covered yourself as much as you could with your arms before complaining about the chill again. He lowered himself back on top of you, resting on one firearm before grabbing the blanket and pulling it over the two of you to trap in your combined body heat again.
“There, better, Princess?”, he asked.
“Not really, seeing as you haven’t made me cum yet.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking needy, you know that? I'm just trying to make sure you’re comfortable and you’re too busy complaining about every fucking thing.”, he spat, looking at you with such contempt that you could feel your blood begin to boil again in response.
Good, this is what you wanted. You wanted mean and angry and wrong. You hated him and you didn’t want him to be soft with you. Taking your chance, you grabbed his wrists and wrapped a leg around his waist, using the other to propel you up as you rolled him over so he was the one under you now, gaining the control you sought in the conversation.
He let out a sound of resistance, but you forced all your weight into pinning him, unwilling to give him an inch.
“This is what I wanted, Eddie. You’re right, I do want your cock, but only like this. With you under me, where you belong while I use you like a fucking toy as retribution for all the bullshit you put me through. The loud music, the snark, the disrespect. I don’t think I’ve asked for much as a roommate. In fact, I think I’m a fantastic fucking roommate, you should consider yourself lucky to have me as a roommate, but no, you act like an ass at every turn as thanks for putting up with you.”
He opened his mouth to no doubt say something stupid, but you quickly covered it and shook your head down at him.
“Ah, ah, ah. No talking. If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna shut up, lay there and take it while I use you and let you use me too, okay?”, you simpered, daring him to argue with you more.
But he remained silent, dark eyes fiery as they bored into yours. Smiling victoriously, you removed your hand from his mouth slowly and leaned back to straddle him.
“Good boy.”, you crooned, reaching between your bodies to line him up with your entrance.
You gave him a few good pumps for good measure before you slid down his length, the stretch delicious as he filled you completely, already twitching as soon as he was fully seated inside you.
Eddie sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth as you rolled your hips experimentally, his jaw tensing as you began to set a slow and steady pace. You couldn’t help but revel in how despite his glare, his hands clasped at his legs, obviously itching to grab your hips and meet your pace thrust for thrust. Unable to help yourself, you grabbed his wrists again pinning them on either side of his head like he’d done to you and using the leverage to lift your hips higher before slamming them back down, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing around your room lewdly.
Your faces were close in this position, and you took the opportunity to recreate the part of your fantasy where you tugged his lip between your teeth, letting your incisors sink into the plush of it and draw blood around them. It painted both of your mouths in scarlet and iron, and you lapped at it, enjoying his answering wince before his tongue was meeting yours to fight for dominance in the only way you’d let him. You drew back enough for a thread of blood and spit connected your mouths before breaking and landing on his flushed chest.
Licking your lips clean, you dipped back down and dragged your tongue through the pink spittle before you sucked a welt in its place, the mark as dark as the ink that decorated his skin just a few inches away. A heavy groan ripped out of him as his body bowed under you, hips jerking up as you inflicted a heady combination of pain and pleasure on his body as you nipped and sucked your way up his collarbones and neck. You didn’t need him to speak to know that he was thoroughly enjoying the roughness, and you were eager to really take it as far as you could, to leave your mark on him as a reminder for him not to fuck with you anymore.
“What’s the matter, Princess?”, you crooned, sitting back up on him to grind your hips into him, the friction pushing you further to the orgasm you’d been denied for too long already. “Is Daddy being too rough with you?”
Something seemed to snap in him at the names, his hand reaching up to grasp your neck and pull you back into a ferocious kiss that had your teeth clacking into each other as you fought for control once again. His other arm slid down your back to grab your ass and use the hold to rut into you ferociously, the head of his cock hitting the sweet spot deep inside you repeatedly while you gasped and moaned into his mouth.
“I fucking hate you.”, you growled, hands fisting into his hair and tugging hard as you licked into his mouth, the ghost of his blood still flavoring the kiss, along with the subtle hint of nicotine and smoke.
You were becoming wild for it, desperate for more. Desperate for him.
“I know you do.”, he panted against your lips, his irises nearly engulfing the browns of his eyes in their dark depths. “Come for me?”
You snarled at his request, your cunt clenching around him as it sent you closer to unraveling. You wanted to come so badly, ready for it to swallow you whole and set your body ablaze from the heat of it, but you were still set on it being on your own terms rather than his. Pulling away from his mouth again, you released your hold on his hair to wrap your hands around his throat instead, squeezing ever so tightly as you continued to bounce up and down on his dick. His hands found a new place to rest on your hips, fingernails digging into the soft flesh there as he watched you, suddenly enraptured with the way you exerted your control over him so easily.
It was almost disgusting the way he looked at you, almost worshipful in its intensity; but instead of repelling you, it merely spurred you on further, your grip on his neck tightening until his face began to turn red.
“You’re a fucking freak, you know that, Eds? Dirty little slut who’s letting me use you like the toy you are while I degrade you, and you’re getting off on it, are you? You can’t even deny it because I feel how close you are, even closer now that I’m choking you.”, you sneered, enjoying the way his eyes were beginning to cross. “Don’t go passing out on me yet, sweetheart, I’m close too, and I want you to watch.”
Letting go of his windpipe, you placed one hand on his chest for leverage as you reached between your legs to rub at your clit, chasing your climax. You heard cough and gasp as he sucked in the much needed air, and you laughed as you felt yourself reach the edge you’d been working towards. His hold on your hips tightened as your back arched, your orgasm slamming into you full force, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.
“Gonna come-”, he managed to grit out, prompting you to pull off of him just before thick ropes of cum spurted out of him and onto his stomach, his dick jumping as his orgasm tore through him.
You sat just next to him, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath while you appreciated the ravaged mess you’d left Eddie in; sweat and cum coating his torso while his lips remained red with drying blood. Leaning over, you swiped a finger through the white puddle settling above his navel, streaking it up his chest before popping the digit in your mouth for a taste. You stuck your tongue out in distaste at its flavor and wiped the rest off on your sheets, uncaring at the mess since you would undoubtedly be washing them as soon as you kicked Eddie out in a couple minutes. But you’d be nice and give him a chance to recover a little first before you did that.
Looking over at you, still trying to catch his breath, Eddie gave you a smile. Not a smirk, but a smile. You felt your cheeks redden at the sight before the scowl you reserved for him took back over your face. The smile widened and he chuckled, pulling himself up into a seated position, mirroring you.
“That was fun.”, he said breathlessly. “We should do that again sometime.”
It jarred you just as much as the smile still playing on his lips and you ducked your head, averting your gaze.
“Get out, Munson.”, you ordered, barely any heat behind the words.
He chuckled again, sliding to the edge of your bed, but pausing to press a soft kiss to your cheek before grabbing his clothes and heading to the door, just narrowly avoiding a smack to the head from you as he did.
“Though next time, we should do it in my room so we can be as loud as we want. Want to hear all the pretty sounds you can make.”, he teased, closing your door just in time before your pillow could hit him square in the face.
———
The next day, you’d awoke to knocking on the front door and the muffled sounds of voices before silence resumed. Wiping at your eyes, you pulled on a thick sweatshirt before heading into the kitchen, your throat scratchy from sleep and needing a drink of water to soothe it. Eddie was already in it, almost looking like he was waiting for you by the looks of the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw you enter. You narrowed your eyes at him before shooing him away from the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.
Taking a swig first, you sighed and asked, “Who was it?”
“The landlord. Said we got a couple noise complaints yesterday. Gave us a warning and said, and I quote ‘keep the feral cat sex sounds to a minimum’.”, he explained, barely contained laughter shaking his shoulders as you choked on your water, sputtering and trying to brush the cold liquid off your shirt before it could soak in too much.
“What. The. Fuck!’, you exclaimed, glowering at him as he finally busted out laughing, holding a hand up to defend against the blows you tried to rain down on him.
Strong hands grabbed your wrists and held them aloft as he smirked down at you, the fight going out of you as a different kind of heat filled your veins at the touch.
“I guess I’ll have to stop calling you Princess now, huh? Kitten sound much more fitting after seeing your claws come out yesterday.”, he taunted, leaning down so your faces were only inches apart.
Summary: You’re getting ready for tonight’s show at the Hideout when Eddie comes over to pick you up. You dressed up just for him, but it seems he’s not a big fan of your outfit choice, much to your dismay.
(Pre season 4. Reader is same age as Eddie.)
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI! Rough sex, P in V sex, jealousy, unprotected sex, mild cumplay, mild breeding kink if you look closely, teasing, mild edging, explicit language, praise, degradation.
A/N: It feels like my main blog is shadowbanned or something; whenever I post something there it doesn't ever seem to get anywhere, so welcome to my new writing blog!
You had just finished putting on your jewelry when you heard the knock at your door. You guessed it was Eddie but you still called out a “who is it?” just in case. His voice answered back, confirming your suspicions and you let him know the door was unlocked.
“You almost ready, sweetheart?”, he asked as he let himself in.
“Just about. One sec.”
You heard him head to your small kitchen and open your fridge, no doubt going for a beer while he waited for you to finish getting ready. Checking over your appearance one last time, you smiled, satisfied that you looked exactly how you’d hoped: dark and downright sinful in your outfit for Corroded Coffin’s show tonight.
Lacy black bodysuit under a long black skirt with slits to show off peeks of your legs and your boots, accenting it all with a gold belt and jewelry. You’d also smoked out your eyes with some black and brown eyeshadow, lined your eyes, and swiped some mascara on your lashes for even more drama to really top off the look.
You felt incredibly hot and you were excited to see your boyfriend’s reaction, knowing he was going to want to show you off. Stepping out of the bathroom you found him checking his hair in the hall mirror, beer in his hand like you figured it would be, and posed with your hip jutting out, resting your hand on it like the models in the magazines at the convenience store.
“So? What do you think?”, you asked in a sultry voice.
Realizing you were behind him, he turned to look at you, a smile on his face, one that dropped as soon as he saw you. You watched his eyes drag up and down your body, a crease forming between his eyebrows and deepening as he took in all the details, making the self confidence you’d been feeling evaporate instantly.
“You’re not wearing that.”, he said sternly, in a voice you’d never heard him use before.
Irritation prickled under your skin, making you cross your arms petulantly.
“And why not?”, you asked, feeling a fight coming on.
“Because- because I-I don’t think you should wear that.”, he answered, stumbling over his words as he tried to find a reason for his objection.
You rolled your eyes at his paper thin excuse, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
“Oh please, Eddie. You sound like my dad, telling me I can’t go out dressed as I please, as if I’m still a kid under his roof.”, you seethed, unable to believe his audacity. “This is ridiculous, I don’t have time to change now.”
You headed to your room to grab your purse. He could deal with your outfit choice whether he wanted to or not, all you cared about was getting out the door and to the Hideout on time so the band could run their soundcheck before the show started. You heard him follow you, and you let out an annoyed huff at his stubbornness.
“I told you, you’re not going out like that.”, he repeated, stopping in your doorway as you whipped around to face him, baring your teeth at him in frustration.
“The hell I’m not Eddie!”, you hissed. “I can wear whatever the fuck I want, and you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear. And if you’ve got a problem with that, then we’ve got a much bigger issue than my damn clothes!”
“What the hell does that mean?”, he shot back, his voice raising in volume.
“It means if you can’t handle me showing a little more skin than usual, you can fuck off!”, you retorted, jabbing your finger into his chest pointedly.
He grabbed your wrist and pulled you against him, wrapping his arm around you so you couldn’t pull away as you tried to struggle against him.
“Let me go.”, you demanded, pushing against his chest.
“No.”, he growled, tightening his grip on you. “I’m not letting you leave this house, not like this. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to see you looking so goddamn sexy .”
You froze in his arms, the fight going out of you at the sudden possessiveness in his voice.
“What?”, you asked.
He ducked his head down to your neck, inhaling your scent as his words reverberated against the sensitive skin there.
“You heard me. No one else but me is going to see you in this. No one else deserves to.”
A shiver ran through you, your core going molten at the implications of his words, and you had to squeeze your legs together against the throbbing that started between them. You grabbed his jacket sleeve, need coursing through you with just those few sentences. He picked up on it quickly, walking you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the side of your bed and he spun you around, shoving you down to bend you over the edge of it.
You went limp as he manhandled you, whimpering as he groped your ass through your skirt. He pulled the long bit of fabric over your hips, rubbing the flesh before delivering a sharp smack against one of your cheeks, earning a cry from you. He was quick to soothe the sting, rubbing the spot gently.
You could already feel your underwear getting soaked and knew he could tell too without even touching your weeping cunt.
“You like that, Princess? You like it when I get rough with you, don’t you?”, he murmured, rubbing your other cheek before spanking that one too, the pain deliciously close to where you needed to be touched.
You moaned in agreement, unable to form the words as he ghosted his fingers over your clothed cunt. It was embarrassing how wet you were already and you heard him snicker when he finally felt it.
“ Jesus , sweetheart, look at you. Just a couple of spanks and you're already dripping for me? Fuck, you’ve got such a needy little pussy, don’t you? I fucking love it.”, he crooned, hooking a finger under your panties and pulling them to the side so he could sink his middle finger into you, curling it to rub that sensitive spot deep inside you, making your toes curl inside your boots.
You keened as he massaged the spot methodically, adding another finger while his thumb pressed against your clit, knowing the two sensations combined would make you twitch and buck as he fucked you with his hand, all while murmuring words of encouragement to you.
“That’s it, sweet girl, let me hear you. Let me hear those pretty, pretty sounds. That’s it, good fucking girl.”
Your mind was going blank as he pushed you higher and higher towards the edge; unable to think or speak properly, you just moaned and panted as your pleasure rushed towards its crescendo. But just before it could hit you, he pulled out of you, making you cry out in frustration; tears springing to your eyes as you looked over your shoulder at him.
“ Ah ah ah , Princess, no crying. You’re gonna get to come, don’t worry.”, he teased, licking the slick from his fingers and hand.
You were so desperate for his touch that you were practically burning with it, a fever raging inside that could only be quelled by him.
Achingly slow, he unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans, every movement dragged out to tease and edge you with the anticipation of him giving you your fill of his cock. Eddie dragged his knuckles over your ass affectionately and gave it another light smack as he pulled himself free from his pants, sliding his length against your slippery folds, holding the drenched fabric of your panties to the side. Your cunt clenched around nothing, more than ready for him as he continued to tease you.
You whined his name and he huffed a laugh at your pitifulness.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You want something? Use your words.”, he said, feigning ignorance to your neediness.
“Eddie, please ! I need you! I need your cock in me- I need you to make me come on your cock. Pleaseee! ”, you sobbed, begging for your release.
You could hear the smug smile in his voice as he lined himself up with your entrance and praised you. “That’s my good girl.”
He was inside you with a sharp thrust, hips snapping against yours as he bottomed out. You bit the blanket under you to stifle the shrill cry that clawed its way up your throat at the delicious stretch, your mind turning to white static again.
Eddie groaned loudly, staying still for a moment as you adjusted to him, your pussy fluttering around him in the meantime. But he didn’t wait long before he pulled out of you halfway and then slamming back inside you roughly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room as he repeated it again and again, quickly setting an unforgiving pace. His hands were on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he used them for leverage, pulling you back onto his cock to meet each thrust accordingly.
All you could do was claw at the sheets, your hands finding no purchase in the silky fabric as he fucked you into complete submission, low growls coming from behind you, a stark contrast to your high pitched whines of pleasure. You could feel how wet the backs of your thighs were, your slick running down your legs as Eddie pounded into you, pushing you further up the mattress.
“ You-feel-so-fucking-good-Sweetheart . Take-me-so-well. ”, he said between each thrust, his dirty talk making your eyes roll back into your head.
His hand slid up your back, the heel of his palm scraping over the lacy fabric of your body suit as it traveled up to your neck, his fingers circling your neck and squeezing just enough to limit your breathing, enough to make you dizzy. His rings pressed into your throat, their surfaces refreshingly cool against your flushed skin.
You were getting close to your climax, your body tensing up in preparation for it, ready to explode with it. You snuck a hand under you, reaching between your legs to rub circles around your clit to help yourself over the edge. But when Eddie took notice of this, he released your throat and snatched your arm from under you, quick to replace your fingers with his own, leaning down to your ear.
“Not so fast, sweetheart. You told me you wanted me to make you come, remember? And I fully plan on doing juuust that.”, he purred against the shell of your ear.
You moaned at his promise, reaching down again to hold his wrist where it was pressed against your stomach as he worked your clit in time with his thrusts. He slowed his pace down, sawing his hips against yours for a few beats, dragging out your pleasure even further before standing up straight again plowing back into you at full force.
You had to cover your mouth against the scream of pleasure that erupted out of you, only just remembering to do it so your neighbors didn’t think you were getting murdered. You were no stranger to rough sex with Eddie, but this was on a whole other level, the pure possessiveness of it turning you on more than anything else ever had in the past.
You tried to vocalize your thoughts, almost too far gone to manage anything besides “ feels so-uhn-good, Eddie-Ah! ”
“I know, Princess. No one has fucked you as well as I do, have they?”
You nodded, jerking under him when he started to rub your clit faster.
“And you’re mine, aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m -fuck- yours , Eddie . ”, you panted.
You could feel him shudder at your admission, his cock throbbing inside you. He was getting close too.
“That’s right. You’re my good fucking girl. And you know what I want my good girl to do?”
You keened in response.
“I want you to come, Princess. Come for me. Come for me! ”, Eddie ordered, growling your name through clenched teeth.
It was like you’d turned into a supernova, your body erupting into light and energy as you came. A silent scream burning up your throat while your cunt throbbed and constricted around Eddie’s cock as he continued to rail you through the tidal waves of your orgasm. His pace began to falter as he caught up with you, hips stuttering and stilling as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, wet warmth filling your abused cunt and seeping out from around his cock.
He hissed as the aftershocks of his own release had him pulsing inside you, laying on top of you, with his chest heaving on your back from exertion. You could feel his heart pounding through the contact, the erratic beats a matching staccato rhythm to your own pulse as he caged you under his weight while you caught your breaths.
Finally after a few moments, he lifted himself off of you and pulled out of you, keeping a hand pressed to your lower back as he crouched behind you. You could feel him staring at your fluttering hole, his fingers gathering the combined mess that had leaked out of you and pressing it back inside of your fucked out cunt and holding it there. You clenched around them reflexively.
“I’ll make you a deal, Princess.”, Eddie began, his voice smug. “You can wear this outfit to the show if you promise to keep my load inside you for the night. That way even when other guys are staring at you, you and I will both know who you belong to.”
You felt your face grow unbearably hot at the suggestion, another surge of desire filling your belly. Pressing yourself up into your elbows, you looked back at him and smiled deviously.
“I’ll do my best. But I might need a refill after the show.”, you said with a mask of seriousness.
“That can be arranged.”, he told you, fixing your underwear back into place and helping you up from the bed.
“Then we’ve got a deal.”, you purred, reaching up and pulling him into a smoldering kiss. “Now we better get going. The guys are already gonna be pissed about you being late to soundcheck. Let’s make sure you're not late to the actual show.”
He gestured to the door. “After you princess.”
Your grin grew bigger as you walked past him, still a little wobbly, and excited for him to make good on his promise later.
Last few times I tried to post fics on this account, they had absolutely no visibility despite my account settings, so I’ve made a new account specifically for this!
Find me at @irismoon94 to check out my reader insert fics there
Steve helps Eddie learn to walk again after he heals up from the bats. Eddie’s supposed to practice taking steps outside of physical therapy too, with someone’s help or with his cane. He can be stubborn about using it, and his Uncle is working doubles to cover his medical bills, so he’s not always there to help. Eddie’s apart of the group now, he kept Dustin safe, and Steve just wants to do whatever he can for him.
Eddie’s always confident with everything but he gets frustrated sometimes, and Steve has found that it works best if he stands in front of Eddie, arms hovering at Eddie’s sides just in case, taking steps back while Eddie walks to him.
It’s one those frustrating days where Eddie has tears in his eyes and sweat on his brow, leaning heavily on his cane and clenching his teeth as he makes the final step and collapses in Steve’s arms. That’s when Steve can’t help it, he just hugs Eddie so tight and presses a kiss to his forehead without thinking.
Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, he starts to aim for it. Every time from then on, he makes it to Steve with a smile on his face, waiting for his forehead kiss, and sometimes he earns cheek kisses too. Of course, Steve knows Eddie is touchy with everyone, he thrives on little affections so it motivates him more.
Eddie’s working so hard, walking further and further everyday, Steve’s so proud of him that it gets to the point where a peck on the forehead and to each side of his scarred cheeks doesn’t feel like enough.
Eddie catches Steve’s eyes falling to his lips one too many times, and he’s so glad when Eddie smirks and says, “I think I earned a little more than a kiss on the cheek, Harrington, don’t you?”
“Hm… depends. Where else do I owe you one?”
He grins when Eddie plays coy, pointing to his lips.
They kiss, long and sweet until Eddie gets tired of standing and Steve lifts him up in a hug so they can keep on kissing. It feels more than earned.
pairing *:·ﾟeddie munson x fem!reader
wc *:·ﾟ3.7k
warnings *:·ﾟ18+ minors please do not interact! mentions of kissing/making out, dry humping/thigh riding, oral (both f and m receiving), dirty talk, praise, slight public play, p in v penetration, nothing too detailed really, literally a whole hodgepodge of things :)
an *:·ﾟfirstly, thank you so much for 300 followers! omg i had like less than 20 when i first started posting my fics, so i am hella appreciative for all the love i’ve received for them- it literally makes me wanna cry. anyways,, this is kind of my take on a lil character analysis of eddie munson and how he would handle the different love languages, with a hint of nsfw elements for each. definitely considering doing this same thing for steve harrington, so if anyone is interested… let me know :) i hope i did these + the character justice; it was hella fun to write this! mostly unedited, so if anything jumps out at you while reading please let me know! any and all feedback is greatly appreciated <3
i. physical touch
eddie loves having his hands on you at any time of the day, so if your love language is physical touch, you’re in luck (because his is too.) on the days when you decide to sleep over at his trailer, you’ll always wake up to being spooned by eddie, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist and one of his legs pushed between yours. even when it’s too hot to cuddle, eddie always manages to find a way to press some part of him against you; be it his toes touching your foot or his knee lightly against your back or even his pinky barely brushing against yours.
when you’re getting ready, eddie always slinks into the bathroom with you, making some excuse about needing to brush his teeth or hair or something. he learned how to do everything one handed while his other is placed on the small of your back, thumb rubbing against your shirt lightly as his eyes focus on you. more times than not, this turns into him wrapping both his arms around your waist, his face pressed against the crook of your neck.
when in public, eddie either has one of his hands in your back pocket, of his fingers will be hooked into the belt loop of your pants, or his hand will simply be entwined with yours. usually, one of your hands is going to be placed similarly; you’ll have your arm wrapped around his back, hand in his jean jacket pocket, or your fingers will fiddle with the belt he always wears, or the rings adorning his hands. but your favorite place for your hand would have to be in his, and vice versa. the two of you have even created a little code while holding hands; one squeeze means i love you, and two squeezes mean i know.
eddie does especially well with showing his love for you by physical touch when the two of you are getting intimate. this boy could be suffocated in your body, and he’d be grinning the entire time. every time your kissing gets a little hot and heavy, eddie will either do one of two things; he’ll either move so that he’s lying on top of you, absolutely no space in between your bodies while he presses his hips flush against yours, his hands either in yours or resting on your hips or holding up your thighs. or he’ll position the two of you so that you’re the one on top, straddling his waist with your thighs. he’ll keep one of his hands on the small of your back, fingers spread against your shirt (or skin) as he helps guide your hips into his, and his other hand will either be resting at the back of your neck, guiding your mouth against his, or resting on the front of your neck, fingers digging into your skin ever so slightly as he commands your body.
he always, always, takes the time to kiss and lick across your entire body it seems, which in turn always leaves you flustered and whimpering for more. eddie munson is a lot of things, but the one thing he definitely is, is a certified pussy eater. the man could go down on you for hours, and he would get so drunk in your taste that it becomes a sort of drug to him. this is where the suffocating would happen, because eddie absolutely loves when your thighs wrap around his head while he’s going down on you. once again, his fingers are usually intertwined with yours, and he rests them on your hips, keeping you pinned down as he licks and sucks every inch of your dripping pussy.
sometimes, he’ll even move your legs around his next because he knows you’re hesitant to, and you’ll worry for a second about his breathing abilities, but he always manages to make you forget it with a swipe of his tongue.
ii. words of affirmation
eddie munson is very good at giving out verbal praise, even though sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s going it. that wasn’t something he received a lot around his parents, that is, until he moved in with his uncle, and so in a way, he always tries to make sure that others are receiving what he never did. and so while he never really realized that was something he did, when he learned the affect it had on you and how much you appreciated it, he ramped it up.
even with the most miniscule things, eddie makes sure to give you that praise. you passed the history exam you were stressing out over? “i knew you could do it, babe. you’re so fucking smart it’s ridiculous.” you stay up late helping him come up with campaign ideas even though you don’t fully understand the topic just yet? “i couldn’t have done this without you, princess. you’d make a wonderful dungeon master someday, thanks to my teachings.” you bought any type of new clothing? “holy shit, that looks amazing on you! you know what, though? i bet it would look even better on my floor.” (that one is always accompanied by a wink, but he makes sure to show you how beautiful he thinks you are later.)
he lays it on thick when he’s high, especially when he’s high. he always gets so peaceful when he’s under the influence, and most times, when the two of you smoke at his trailer or in your room, he props himself up on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles with his fingers steepled against his chest. you always think he’s fallen asleep; he just sits so still and is so silent for the longest time. and then he’ll randomly just open his mouth and it’s just, “i’m so lucky to have you in my life, y/n,” or “my favorite thing in the whole world is the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard,” or “i love you so fucking much.”
this very easily translates into the bedroom for him, too, as he is always very verbal when the two of you get together. that was how he realized how impacted you were by his praise in the first place; it was one of the first times you had gotten together, where everything was still kind of new and there was a lot of fumbling on both ends. you had been on your knees in front of him as he sat on the couch, his hand threaded in your hair as you sucked his cock into your mouth. as you moved up, tongue running along the underside of his length, you let your teeth graze his shaft ever so slightly, which made eddie practically melt. “oh, jesus christ, princess. you’re so good at this, yeah? it’s like your mouth was fucking made to take my cock,” he muttered in between moans, and his eyes had almost been shut, but he didn’t miss the way your eyes brightened at his words. he didn’t miss how you almost doubled your efforts into pleasing him, deep throating him for the first time that night.
his praise always come with a bit of possessiveness too, but you don’t mind. you hear it every time you’re kissing, his thigh pressed against your core as his hand helps your grind against it. “that’s it, baby. use my thigh to get your needy little pussy off. you’re doing so good, princess. i can feel you fucking soaking my thigh, jesus.” you hear it every time he’s down between your thighs, his tongue gliding through your folds. “your little pussy gets so wet, doesn’t it, baby? drippin’ all over my bedsheets just because i was kissing that pretty neck of yours earlier, huh? it’s okay, princess. you taste so fucking good, i don’t mind cleanin’ you up.” you hear it every time he thrusts his cock into you, fingers gripping the fat of your inner thighs as he spreads your legs wider. “fucking hell, baby. your pretty pussy takes my cock so well, like you were fucking made for me. god, you feel so good around me.”
you hear it all the time, and you never get sick of it.
iii. quality time
some of your previous partners had made you a little self-conscious, what with you always wanting to spend not all (but most) of your time with them. they thought it was clingy in not the best way, even though you would’ve been satisfied just sitting on the couch together doing your own respective things, so initially you had been hesitant to express that to eddie. but eddie munson is a bit of a clingy individual himself - and i say that in the best way - so if your love language is quality time, that is not an issue for eddie. he thrives being around those he loves, and he always, always, gives them his undivided attention, which is exactly what you need.
it started slowly, with you asking if eddie would like to go to the record store with you after school. then that became a weekly ritual, and you felt comfortable enough to start asking eddie to stay the night with you. he picked up on your hesitance, though, and immediately took control of the situation. soon, you were involved in his d&d campaigns; spending many afternoons together at one of the picnic tables in the trailer park while discussing the many, potential sadistic moves he could throw at the boys. and then you were attending the campaigns, even though you weren’t officially a member of the hellfire club. you sat perched next to eddie on his throne, and you always made sure to bring homemade cookies, which kept the others from complaining. and before you knew it, you and eddie were doing nearly everything together after school.
eddie never wanted to make you feel like your previous partners had, so he tried to keep things interesting. once a week, he planned an extravagant date night for the two of you. he’d take you to enzo’s and treat you to dinner, and then a stop at the record store was absolutely necessary. he’d let you pick out a new cassette, and then the two of you would drive up to the edge of a small cliff that looked over the town of hawkins while listening to it. sometimes you’d smoke, sometimes you wouldn’t, but you always spent that time talking about anything under the sun. or, if the two of you didn’t really feel like going out, he’d order pizza from the local shop in town, and while you were waiting, you’d go look at family video. you’d both pick movies, laughing at how vastly different the two genres were, and then you’d spend the night in his trailer, cuddled up on the couch after eating and binging the two movies. his uncle wayne even joined you halfway through the second movie, when he got home from his shift at the plant.
but your favorite moments with eddie where when it was just the two of you, doing the most mundane things together. the afternoons were you’d both be sitting on the bleachers going over the chemistry homework. when wayne needs eddie to pick something up from the grocery store and you tag along, holding his hand as you walk through the aisles as he mutters to himself to remember. when you’re both laying on the bed, reading, and you can hear the sounds his pencil makes against the pages as he makes note of a quote he likes before he goes back to chewing on the end of the pencil.
most of the time, though, eddie, being the man child he is, will always try to turn those moments into something a little explicit. you’ll usually be the only two on the bleachers outside, but the football players and cheerleaders might be practicing on the field below, getting a head start for the season to come. he always moves to the step below yours, angling his body so that he can cover you from their view. you think nothing of it, until you feel his fingers trail up your bare leg before ghosting over the hem of your skirt. his light touches soon turn into his fingers brushing across your panty clad pussy, making you suck in a moan as he gently runs his fingers along the seam, pressing it into your core. sometimes, he gets brave enough to slip his fingers underneath the material, swiping his fingers between your folds and moaning when he discovers how wet you for him already.
and when you’re back in his van after grabbing whatever it was that wayne needed, he’ll pull you onto his lap before you can buckle, swallowing your yelp of surprise with his mouth as he kisses you roughly. he can’t take his time during these moments, as his uncle is expecting you both back at his trailer soon, but these moments are usually for your pleasure more than his anyways. he wastes no time digging his fingers into your hips as he helps you grind against him, his mouth going down to your neck, teeth nipping gently at your skin as you rock against him until you come.
but those moments when you’re alone in your room, both lying on the bed reading, those are the moments when he can take his time with you. he’s a huge tease, and so he’ll start by lazily running his fingers against your arm or your leg, whatever’s closest and baring the most skin. and then he’ll get a little more handsy, either slipping his hand up the back of your shirt and caressing your skin lightly or nudging aside the bottoms of your pants and running his fingertips against the band of your panties just ever so slightly. by that point, you’re sick of the teasing, and so when you toss down your book to the floor, he’s immediately on you, flipping you onto your back and capturing your mouth with his.
yeah, those are your favorite moments with eddie.
iv. receiving gifts
now eddie munson may not be the richest man in hawkins (or in general, let’s be honest) but he absolutely loves spoiling you with gifts. and when he finds out that receiving gifts is your love language? oh, yeah. spoiling you makes his dick hard, so there’s no doubt about it that he’d put in the work to do so.
when you first started dating, even before he knew, he was always giving you little gifts. most of the time, it was something as simple as a flower he may or may not have cut from someone’s garden. he loved the way your eyes lit up when he told you he had a surprise for you, and that was enough dopamine for him to continue bringing you little things. it graduated from stolen flowers to flower bouquets when he had the money, and he loved how you reacted the same despite the obvious difference. it wasn’t necessarily what he got you as a gift that made your heart feel full, it was simply the fact that he had saw something and thought of you.
this progressed as your relationship grew. even though you weren’t a member of the hellfire club, there’s no way you could date eddie munson and not be somewhat involved with the game, and so his one big splurge was on a set of dice for you that matched his, so that you could practice whenever you wanted to, which you did. eddie also took note of how often you commented on his guitar pick necklace, and how often your fingers found he rings adorning his, and so he took it upon himself to make you your own necklace with one of his guitar picks. this gift made you absolutely swoon, and it led to you telling eddie you loved him for the first time. then, as a sort of promise ring, he gifted you a small silver band with a black gem situated in the middle - a ring that fit your style while also heavily resembling one of his. and you loved it; wore both pieces of jewelry every day since.
there were definitely times, though, when he gave you gifts that were more for him than anything else. there was an adult book shop right at the edge of town that sold much more than just books, its whole upstairs section carrying nothing but different type of lingerie, and at least once a month eddie would stroll into your bedroom, hands behind his back with a wicked grin on his face. you’d instantly know that a little black bag was clutched behind his back, and your face would heat up in a blush, eager to see what he would’ve brought this time.
more times than not, it was just a lingerie set he had been dying to see you in (and out) of. he’d hand you the bag, watching you keenly as you’d pull the garments out with your eyes wide. they always varied in color, but mostly he stuck to a theme - black, red, white, and occasionally a baby pink color. and then, after you examined the clothing, he’d tilt your chin up with the tips of his fingers and kiss you lazily before ushering you into your bathroom, spanking your ass slightly when you turned around. he’d situate himself on your bed, leg bouncing from anticipation, and each time you came out of the bathroom, he’d have the same reaction; his leg would stop, his hands would grip the bedsheets around him, and his mouth would part ever so slightly as his eyes took you in.
you never did last long in the lingerie after that.
v. acts of service
people may not really realize it, but eddie munson is constantly doing things for others just for the sake of doing them. he goes out of his way to open the door for people, is always checking that his friends have what they need and is always offering to go grab whatever they don’t, takes the worst looking apple so that dustin can have the best looking one. eddie may look scary, but he has such a good heart when it comes to others; he just wants to help.
and that’s what he tells you when he suggests that he can run your errands instead, when you’re stressed about having enough time to study for one of your finals. “i just wanna help you out, princess. let me go grab those things for you, okay?” and your heart will melt, and you’ll nod your head and receive a kiss on the forehead before he leaves. eddie provides no shortage of acts of service for you, because really all he wants to do is take care of you. he’s so willing to do whatever he can to help you out that sometimes it amazes you. eddie’s the type of boyfriend who would not even hesitate in going to the store to buy you tampons. will he be slightly embarrassed when checking out? of course. but does that stop him? not in the slightest.
he’ll never admit this, but he secretly loves it a little when you get stressed out, only because he knows that’ll be his time to shine. the second he notices your leg bouncing under the table while working on a project, or when he catches you picking at the skin around your nails when reading a textbook, he’ll immediately jump into action. he’s got it down to a system; he’ll make up some excuse about needing to run to the store for something or other, casually asking you if you’d want anything. you always answer no, too focused on whatever you’re doing to fully register what he’s asking you. but in the end, he always comes back with your favorite chocolate and a something else you needed but didn’t realize; a new pack of sharpened pencils, more lavender bubble bath mix, the toothpaste you meant to pick up earlier but forgot.
eddie’s always making sure your car has gas in its tank, that you never forget to bring your lunch (he either packs extras or he just buys you some food from the vending machines). he even helps you making flashcards for exams, and in a way, that helps him study too. he’s always doing things for you without you ever even asking, and sometimes you don’t pick up on it, but most of the time, you realize what he’s done by the grin he gives you, and you suddenly become less stressed and more appreciative.
and this kind of translates into the bedroom, too, as eddie always, always, always, makes sure that you come at least once before he does. be it by his fingers, his tongue, or even his thigh, he always puts you first so that he doesn’t have to worry about it after (because let’s be real, this man will immediately fall asleep after he comes…). his favorite thing to do though, especially when you’re stressed out, is having you ride his face until you simply can’t stay upright. it usually starts while you’re at your desk, leg bouncing as you focus on making something perfect, and the noise of your feet tap tap tapping away on the floor makes eddie lose his mind. he’ll stand up from wherever he’s sitting, smacking his hands against his thighs in a way that makes you jump. “that’s it, princess. you need to wind down,” he’d say, grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the bed.
sometimes you try to protest it, but eddie just shakes his head and completely ignores you as he starts to take your clothes off. there isn’t anything necessarily romantic or intimate about it initially - eddie views it, in part, as something that simply helps you relax. i’m doing it for you, he’ll remind you, his voice muffled against your wet skin as his fingers dig into your waist. if eating your pussy until you pass out is considered helping, then so be it; eddie will do whatever is necessary.
please. PLEASE. I am shouting at the artists in this abyss. I will pay good money.
dad eddie munson with bows and clips in his hair. dressing his daughter up as a bat on halloween. him tying cute little pigtails in her hair/braids/ponytails. teaching her how to put on eyeliner. hellfire club/corroded coffin baby onesies/sleep suits. bringing his child out on the stage when they get big and famous wearing little ear defenders.
PLEASE. PLEEAASSSEEE somebody make this happen. name your price.
Hiii so I have aloooot of head cannons about hair, this one is about Eddie. the first time I saw his hair my soul was pained, he has such long and voluminous hair…. And he probably uses 3 in 1 shampoo. And as a curly haired person, I consider that a crime.
Anyway, I have this little head canon that he’s dating a curly haired person and when they find out that he uses that nasty shampoo they teach him a proper hair routine and how to take care of his curls, and hen they finish he doesn’t really hate the result of defined shiny waves/curls.
Ugh yes my hair is also fairly curly and I am yet to set up a decent hair routine bc its so much effort but 3 in 1 is basically just using shampoo and that just is not the vibe.
Personally tho I see eddie as one of those washes his hair with soap
I feel like he convinces them to shower with him to show him how it works. Originally he meant it in a suggestive way but now is favourite thing in the world is getting little headscratches from his partner when they wash his hair
I feel like he ends up loving how soft his hair get that he doesnt end up using many hair products aside from that, bc "its so soft and it looks more metal when its messy anyways"
When he's older and they have a little more money i can see him really enjoying picking out shampoo that smells like your perfume
tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth
summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.
a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.
It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn’t belong in such a world as nice as this one.
But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.
When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.
That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.
Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty.
The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door.
Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does.
“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”
The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”
“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”
“Disgusting.”
He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”
And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard.
Fuck.
A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.”
And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”
Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too.
And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive.
Fuck me, he thinks.
The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks.
“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.”
Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows.
He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats.
Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.
In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”
His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”
You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”
“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”
And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved?
He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites.
Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.
“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”
“Madonna?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”
Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.
But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”
“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”
His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.
Eddie sees you again.
And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all.
Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches.
Summer has never felt so long.
Again.
Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares?
Again, anyways.
You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.
And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.
He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful.
You’re completely devastating.
You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”
Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”
“Why do I even do that?”
“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”
“You said…”
“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”
You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”
“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”
He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to.
“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”
“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”
And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes.
You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.
So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration.
“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”
Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him.
Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”
You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?”
“Only because it made me think of you.”
For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”
His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter.
“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”
“No girlfriend.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”
“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”
“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”
“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.
Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest.
Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.
“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation.
“Nope.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”
Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it.
Please.
A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.
And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?”
You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin.
He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.
And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”
You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.”
“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”
“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”
Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”
Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”
“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.
This is what he’s wanted. This is it.
And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven.
Just like heaven.
“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”
He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”
“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”
“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”
“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”
“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”
Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”
Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”
“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”
“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”
Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”
“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”
He’s earned it.
“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.
Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”
Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”
“Christ, please.”
And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks.
He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’ before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.
Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.
He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.
“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”
Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.
You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex.
Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.
“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers.
“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”
“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”
Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him.
You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin.
For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.
“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”
You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath.
Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.
He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”
“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”
“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, baby.”
You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.
He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.
You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”
“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”
“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”
“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”
And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.
“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.”
You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls.
Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”
You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”
“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”
“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”
“Please, s’too hard.”
“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”
“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”
“No.”
You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you.
You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.
“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”
You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more.
“You’re s-so big.”
Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”
“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”
“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”
“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”
Fucking hell.
You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.
How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know.
He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!
He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”
“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”
“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”
“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”
“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”
“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”
“Suits you better.”
You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away.
“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”
“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”
I adore you.
I adore you.
You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.
You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive.
He’s milked. Spent.
Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.
It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.
My good boy, you think.
“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick.
“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”
“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”
Oh. It’s a joke.
And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alive.”
“Barely.”
“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”
“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”
“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”
Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces.
“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”
A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.
You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with.
He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs.
Fucker.
“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”
You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”
“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”
You stare at him like he’s crazy.
“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”
He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.
Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning.
Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door.
And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night.
So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood.
God forbid they have coyotes, right?
But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.
Warnings: rough smut, p in v sex, fingering, unprotected sex, cum play, mild breeding kink if you squint, explicit language, jealousy induced sex, clothed sex, praise kink
Summary: You’re getting ready for tonight’s show at the Hideout when Eddie comes over to pick you up. You dressed up just for him, but it seems he’s not a big fan of your outfit choice, much to your dismay.
(Pre season 4. Reader is same age as Eddie.)
A/N: it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything and I pumped this out in less than 24 hours. Eddie just does things to me, ya know?
You had just finished putting on your jewelry when you heard the knock at your door. You guessed it was Eddie but you still called out a “who is it?” just in case. His voice answered back, confirming your suspicions and you let him know the door was unlocked.
“You almost ready, sweetheart?”, he asked as he let himself in.
“Just about. One sec.”
You heard him head to your small kitchen and open your fridge, no doubt going for a beer before while he waited for you to finish getting ready. Checking over your appearance one last time, you smiled, satisfied that you looked exactly how you’d hoped: dark and downright sinful in your outfit for Corroded Coffin’s show tonight.
Lacy black bodysuit under a long black skirt with slits to show off peeks of your legs and your boots, accenting it all with a gold belt and jewelry. You’d also smoked out your eyes with some black and brown eyeshadow, lined your eyes, and swiped some mascara on your lashes for even more drama to really top off the look.
You felt incredibly hot and you were excited to see your boyfriend’s reaction, knowing he was going to want to show you off. Stepping out of the bathroom you found him checking his hair in the hall mirror, beer in his hand like you figured it would be, and posed with your hip jutting out, resting your hand on it like the models in the magazines at the convenience store.
“So? What do you think?”, you asked in a sultry voice.
Realizing you were behind him, he turned to look at you, a smile on his face, one that dropped as soon as he saw you. You watched his eyes drag up and down your body, a crease forming between his eyebrows and deepening as he took in all the details, making the self confidence you’d been feeling evaporate instantly.
“You’re not wearing that.”, he said sternly, in a voice you’d never heard him use before.
Irritation prickled under your skin, making you cross your arms petulantly.
“And why not?”, you asked, feeling a fight coming on.
“Because- because I-I don’t think you should wear that.”, he answered, stumbling over his words as he tried to find a reason for his objection.
You rolled your eyes at his paper thin excuse, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
“Oh please, Eddie. You sound like my dad, telling me I can’t go out dressed as I please, as if I’m still a kid under his roof.”, you seethed, unable to believe his audacity. “This is ridiculous, I don’t have time to change now.”
You headed to your room to grab your purse. He could deal with your outfit choice whether he wanted to or not, all you cared about was getting out the door and to the Hideout on time so the band could run their soundcheck before the show started. You heard him follow you, and you let out an annoyed huff at his stubbornness.
“I told you, you’re not going out like that.”, he repeated, stopping in your doorway as you whipped around to face him, baring your teeth at him in frustration.
“The hell I’m not Eddie!”, you hissed. “I can wear whatever the fuck I want, and you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear. And if you’ve got a problem with that, then we’ve got a much bigger issue than my damn clothes!”
“What the hell does that mean?”, he shot back, his voice raising in volume.
“It means if you can’t handle me showing a little more skin than usual, you can fuck off!”, you retorted, jabbing your finger into his chest pointedly.
He grabbed your wristand pulled you against him, wrapping his arm around you so you couldn’t pull away as you tried to struggle against him.
“Let me go.”, you demanded, pushing against his chest.
“No.”, he growled, tightening his grip on you. “I’m not letting you leave this house, not like this. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to see you looking so goddamn sexy .”
You froze in his arms, the fight going out of you at the sudden possessiveness in his voice.
“What?”, you asked.
He ducked his head down to your neck, inhaling your scent as his words reverberated against the sensitive skin there.
“You heard me. No one else but me is going to see you in this. No one else deserves to.”
A shiver ran through you, your core going molten at the implications of his words, and you had to squeeze your legs together against the throbbing that started between them. You grabbed his jacket sleeve, need coursing through you with just those few sentences. He picked up on it quickly, walking you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the side of your bed and he spun you around, shoving you down to bend you over the edge of it.
You went limp as he manhandled you, whimpering as he groped your ass through your skirt. He pulled the long bit of fabric over your hips, rubbing the flesh before delivering a sharp smack against one of your cheeks, earning a cry from you. He was quick to soothe the sting, rubbing the spot gently.
You could already feel your underwear getting soaked and knew he could tell too without even touching your weeping cunt.
“You like that, Princess? You like it when I get rough with you, don’t you?”, he murmured, rubbing your other cheek before spanking that one too, the pain deliciously close to where you needed to be touched.
You moaned in agreement, unable to form the words as he ghosted his fingers over your clothed cunt. It was embarrassing how wet you were already and you heard him snicker when he finally felt it.
“Jesus , sweetheart, look at you. Just a couple of spanks and you're already dripping for me? Fuck, you’ve got such a needy little pussy, don’t you? I fucking love it.”, he crooned, hooking a finger under your panties and pulling them to the side so he could sink his middle finger into you, curling it to rub that sensitive spot deep inside you, making your toes curl inside your boots.
You keened as he massaged the spot methodically, adding another finger while his thumb pressed against your clit, knowing the two sensations combined would make you twitch and buck as he fucked you with his hand, all while murmuring words of encouragement to you.
“That’s it, sweet girl, let me hear you. Let me hear those pretty, pretty sounds. That’s it, good fucking girl.”
Your mind was going blank as he pushed you higher and higher towards the edge; unable to think or speak properly, you just moaned and panted as your pleasure rushed towards its crescendo. But just before it could hit you, he pulled out of you, making you cry out in frustration; tears springing to your eyes as you looked over your shoulder at him.
“Ah ah ah, Princess, no crying. You’re gonna get to come, don’t worry.”, he teased, licking the slick from his fingers and hand.
You were so desperate for his touch that you were practically burning with it, a fever raging inside that could only be quelled by him.
Achingly slow, he unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans, every movement dragged out to tease and edge you with the anticipation of him giving you your fill of his cock. Eddie dragged his knuckles over your ass affectionately and gave it another light smack as he pulled himself free from his pants, sliding his length against your slippery folds, holding the drenched fabric of your panties to the side. Your cunt clenched around nothing, more than ready for him as he continued to tease you.
You whined his name and he huffed a laugh at your pitifulness.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You want something? Use your words.”, he said, feigning ignorance to your neediness.
“Eddie, please! I need you! I need your cock in me- I need you to make me come on your cock. Pleaseee! ”, you sobbed, begging for your release.
You could hear the smug smile in his voice as he lined himself up with your entrance and praised you. “That’s my good girl.”
He was inside you with a sharp thrust, hips snapping against yours as he bottomed out. You bit the blanket under you to stifle the shrill cry that clawed its way up your throat at the delicious stretch, your mind turning to white static again.
Eddie groaned loudly, staying still for a moment as you adjusted to him, your pussy fluttering around him in the meantime. But he didn’t wait long before he pulled out of you halfway and then slamming back inside you roughly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room as he repeated it again and again, quickly setting an unforgiving pace. His hands were on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he used them for leverage, pulling you back onto his cock to meet each thrust accordingly.
All you could do was claw at the sheets, your hands finding no purchase in the silky fabric as he fucked you into complete submission, low growls coming from behind you, a stark contrast to your high pitched whines of pleasure. You could feel how wet the backs of your thighs were, your slick running down your legs as Eddie pounded into you, pushing you further up the mattress.
“You-feel-so-fucking-good-Sweetheart. Take-me-so-well. ”, he said between each thrust, his dirty talk making your eyes roll back into your head.
His hand slid up your back, the heel of his palm scraping over the lacy fabric of your body suit as it traveled up to your neck, his fingers circling your neck and squeezing just enough to limit your breathing, enough to make you dizzy. His rings pressed into your throat, their surfaces refreshingly cool against your flushed skin.
You were getting close to your climax, your body tensing up in preparation for it, ready to explode with it. You snuck a hand under you, reaching between your legs to rub circles around your clit to help yourself over the edge. But when Eddie took notice of this, he released your throat and snatched your arm from under you, quick to replace your fingers with his own, leaning down to your ear.
“Not so fast, sweetheart. You told me you wanted me to make you come, remember? And I fully plan on doing juuust that.”, he purred against the shell of your ear.
You moaned at his promise, reaching down again to hold his wrist where it was pressed against your stomach as he worked your clit in time with his thrusts. He slowed his pace down, sawing his hips against yours for a few beats, dragging out your pleasure even further before standing up straight again plowing back into you at full force.
You had to cover your mouth against the scream of pleasure that erupted out of you, only just remembering to do it so your neighbors didn’t think you were getting murdered. You were no stranger to rough sex with Eddie, but this was on a whole other level, the pure possessiveness of it turning you on more than anything else ever had in the past.
You tried to vocalize your thoughts, almost too far gone to manage anything besides “feels so-uhn-good, Eddie-Ah!”
“I know, Princess. No one has fucked you as well as I do, have they?”
You nodded, jerking under him when he started to rub your clit faster.
“And you’re mine, aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m-fuck-yours , Eddie . ”, you panted.
You could feel him shudder at your admission, his cock throbbing inside you. He was getting close too.
“That’s right. You’re my good fucking girl. And you know what I want my good girl to do?”
You keened in response.
“I want you to come, Princess. Come for me. Come for me!”, Eddie ordered, growling your name through clenched teeth.
It was like you’d turned into a supernova, your body erupting into light and energy as you came. A silent scream burning up your throat while your cunt throbbed and constricted around Eddie’s cock as he continued to rail you through the tidal waves of your orgasm. His pace began to falter as he caught up with you, hips stuttering and stilling as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, wet warmth filling your abused cunt and seeping out from around his cock.
He hissed as the aftershocks of his own release had him pulsing inside you, laying on top of you, with his chest heaving on your back from exertion. You could feel his heart pounding through the contact, the erratic beats a matching staccato rhythm to your own pulse as he caged you under his weight while you caught your breaths.
Finally after a few moments, he lifted himself off of you and pulled out of you, keeping a hand pressed to your lower back as he crouched behind you. You could feel him staring at your fluttering hole, his fingers gathering the combined mess that had leaked out of you and pressing it back inside of your fucked out cunt and holding it there. You clenched around them reflexively.
“I’ll make you a deal, Princess.”, Eddie began, his voice smug. “You can wear this outfit to the show if you promise to keep my load inside you for the night. That way even when other guys are staring at you, you and I will both know who you belong to.”
You felt your face grow unbearably hot at the suggestion, another surge of desire filling your belly. Pressing yourself up into your elbows, you looked back at him and smiled deviously.
“I’ll do my best. But I might need a refill after the show.”, you said with a mask of seriousness.
“That can be arranged.”, he told you, fixing your underwear back into place and helping you up from the bed.
“Then we’ve got a deal.”, you purred, reaching up and pulling him into a smoldering kiss. “Now we better get going. The guys are already gonna be pissed about you being late to soundcheck. Let’s make sure you're not late to the actual show.”
He gestured to the door. “After you princess.”
Your grin grew bigger as you walked past him, still a little wobbly, and excited for him to make good on his promise later.
Pairing: Thor x F!Reader
Wordcount: 3+K
Warnings: Dungeon sex. GORE. Sex Pollen. Whump. Torture for entertainment.
Summary: Thor needs healing. You need comfort.
A/N: a lot of this is heavily inspired by lore olympus and the concept of fertility goddesses/wrath. I just had it take place with the greek pantheon omni city vibe. loki lives bc its my world, baby. no real spoilers for thor 4
Thor Masterlist
It’s a catastrophic pain. It slithers throughout his veins and makes his fingers cramp as they curl into claws. When he beats his fists against the floor, it cracks. The dust gets in his eyes, blurs his vision. He is going near boneless. The agony branches out through the web of his tissue. They had used a whip for the Gods - one built from the hide of something long-extinct. Each snap against his flesh shoots him through with a surge of excruciation. He tastes blood in his mouth. He swallows his tongue on the scream that is threatening to explode from his throat.
He would like to be weak.
He would like to be weak just once.
He didn’t intend for any of this to happen. He didn’t intend for them to be caught and taken as prisoners. He never should have come.
The four white-gold suns explode through the painted glass that consumes the palace walls. There is the tinkling of a river, the burble of a fountain. The crowd screeches and howls above it all. The colors of sapphire and emeralds and rubies. She had stared up in awe before they’d been betrayed.
“Thor,” She took him by the arm, her lips brushing his shoulder. “How gorgeous!”
He stares down at where the jewel-tone light pulses and bounces. His blood is dark berry-red, viscous as it seeps out to pool beneath him. He distantly wonders how much blood he can lose before he passes out. Abruptly, the whip comes down again, and he groans, forearms collapsing and he can no longer bear his weight. It is a blessing. He allows himself to rest his cheek against the marbled floor they have chained him to. The coolness is a momentary balm.
“Thor!” she cries, and when he lifts his head, she is still across from him. They were forcing her to endure the sight of his humiliation. It is why he refuses to scream. It would be a notch in her gut. He has to be strong for her. She depends on him.
And look what you did?
Why the fuck did you bring her?
They had gone to Omnipotence City to seek aid against Gorr, and it had failed spectacularly. Ares still had a proverbial ax to grind with him. Zeus, useless as he was, had sided with his son, and now Thor served as their entertainment. Loki and Val had been stuck in a cell while they made her watch after sensing her devotion to the god of thunder.
“How romantic for a punishment!” Aphrodite cooed, her hair like a river of spun gold as it dripped down the balcony where she sat. She leaned forward, violent eyes pinned to his girl. “It’ll be agony for his lover to watch.”
“Or we simply do it to her,” Ares proposes. “A worse fate for him.”
Thor’s stomach drops, his entire body going rigid with fear. Blue-lightning crackles between his fingertips and coils around his bones. He does not want to react too strongly because then they might just use her.
“No,” Hera snaps, her coppery gaze slanting toward him. Her crown glitters as she crosses her arms over her chest. “He will last longer under the whip. She will not.”
Thor screws his eyes shut, trying to collect himself. “It’s alright,” he pants through clenched teeth hoping his words could soothe her. “It’s - it’s not that bad.”
The minotaur snarls, bringing the whip down again. The metal tip burrows into his raw flesh. Another warm wash of blood. He’s had worse. He’s certainly had worse.
No such scenarios come to mind, but he definitely has endured worse.
The minotaur grunts and then violently reels backward so that the hooks in the metal tips shred his wounds and spread them wide. He chokes, sweat sheeting down his face. His body nearly gives out as his temple cracks against the floor.
“Had enough?” Ares bellows from his seat. Thor lifts his head, giving the stupid fucking war god a death glare that he reserves for his worst enemies. He will tear his head from his shoulders and keep it in a cabinet.
Haltingly, he begins to struggle back onto his hands and knees. He is so close to howling so he bites down his tongue until he tastes coins. He is so fucking close. But he will not. He will not for her. He sits back on his haunches - his spine cramps and everything withers. His vision swims.
Thor chuckles wetly, his teeth no doubt soaked in blood. “Try harder.”
She muffles a shriek. Her eyes widening and her expression aghast. “Thor - don’t-“
He spits red and it hits the Minotaur’s hooves.
It’s a taunt - another verbal knife he hopes will piss them off because he can’t use his goddamn fists. He has never felt lower - weaker. His skin is gradually being flayed off in front of his woman.
The one person he had wanted to protect from horrors such as this.
There is no doubt that she is completely traumatized. He tries to look at her, hold her horrified gaze to assure her that he’s okay, but it’s no use. The pain is intolerable, and he can’t hold himself steady. Her expression crushes him as she reaches out. Pleading. The silent: just fucking do it…just submit, you stubborn bastard.
He may have protected her physically, but he has certainly scarred her where it counts. This episode of violence - of torture - would sit with her for the rest of her life. He knew her good heart and her gentleness. He knew that she would consider this her fault no matter what he said.
He had failed her.
His hands slide out from beneath him as he tries to find purchase on the blood-slick marble. He feels wet in his throat - in his chest. He tastes iron and metal. His skin is molten, slick with pulsing agony. When the cool air meets his shredded back, he can feel where the skin has split. The sensation of his nerves stripped open and being splintered by the tip of a magic weapon every few seconds.
One of the men holding her, grips her roughly about the jaw, forcing her closer to Thor. He flinches when his own blood splatters across her face. “We can use it on this little one,” he warns. “If this punishment doesn’t seem like enough.”
Thor’s stomach drops, a ringing in his ears. He sees scarlet. He sees a dark tunnel collapsing in on him. Buried alive.
“If you do, I’ll fucking kill you,” he growls before the whip bites into his lower back - rocking his kidneys.
“Then scream,” Ares orders, his voice echoing within the cavernous hall. “Give in.”
He makes a low, frustrated noise through clenched teeth. The muscles in his jaw spasm. His nostrils flare.
If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t on principle. He had been a stubborn fucking child and an even stubborner man. He did not submit himself like this. He did not.
But it’s her.
He finds her eyes huge and glassy. He smiles softly, a last-ditch effort to gift her some form of comfort.
Then, he howls.
***
Thor tries pacing in his cell as he frets over her whereabouts. He manages to walk a few steps before his back forces him to sit. He hates it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You fucking idiot - you fucking, no-brain, broken failure. You’ve done it again. You’ve led someone you love to death.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Val tries to tell him through the wall. She’s stuck in the next prison where they’ve crammed her in with Loki. “They’re trying to scare you.”
“Well - it’s working.”
“She’s one of us,” Loki assures him. “An Asgardian and a rare one at that. They won’t kill her.”
“There are other ways to hurt her,” Thor growls in a cold voice before scrubbing a hand over his face. She was rare - a fertility goddess capable of healing mortal wounds and invigorating beings with insane levels of power. “And they don’t know she’s a fertility goddess,” he adds. “If they did, they’d use her.”
The Greeks had their own versions of fertility gods. The Asgardians had theirs.
“Fine, fine,” Loki says. “Hera’s always had a soft spot for her, and I highly doubt she’ll let her son try anything. This whole thing is just a little punishment.”
“Little punishment?” Thor snorted as he shifted onto his side to avoid his ruined back.
Ignoring him, Loki continues. “They’ll keep us in here a few days and then release us. They’re temperamental. They also forget quickly.”
“Unless they forget we’re in here like they did with poor Gunnr,” sighs Val.
“Is that what happened to him?” Loki asks, curious.
“You two aren’t helping.”
“We will figure this out, brother. Where’s that irritating sense of perseverance? That ridiculous positivity? Don’t you always have a plan?”
***
A few hours later, she stumbles into his cell. He says her name urgently, unsticking himself from the moist, dirty stone wall. Her eyes are huge, and she immediately crawls toward him. He has no idea why they’ve allowed her inside with him. Perhaps a new torture? Have her close until they take her away.
“Thor,” she wheezes, and he meets her in the middle, his gestures frantic as he wraps his arms around her waist and yanks her to him. He checks over her, eyes raking down her body, cataloging every piece of her as he searches for injury. His hands fold about her face as he tilts it to ensure the skin is unmarked. She closes her grip around his hands, clutching at him as more tears streak down her cheeks.
“Is she alright?” Loki asks through the wall.
“I think so…” She blinks at him. Sweat dripping down her hairline. He frowns as her chest starts to hitch, and she begins to hyperventilate. “Calm down,” he orders softly, his tone both gentle and firm. “You’re working yourself up.” His ears pick up the thunderous pounding of her little heart in the cage of her ribs, and he worries she’s going to hurl herself over the edge and into a panic attack. He grabs her by the arms and forces them above her head. “Breathe….breathe slowly and deeply.”
“You’re - they almost killed you,” she stammers, her features scrunching up into despair. “Oh, Thor, you’re back.”
“They certainly did not,” He replies in a playful voice, once more using humor to try and brush away their dire situation. “It’ll heal.”
She is silent for a few moments, chewing her lip as she searches his gaze. He meets it head-on, hoping she understands that he has survived worse. Finally, she wriggles further into his lap and straddles him, circling her legs around his waist as he grabs her hips. Thor’s thumb smooths a line down her cheek, and a broken whimper bursts from her before she throws her arms around his neck and tucks her face against his throat. His torn skin screams from the pain of being rocked backward, but he remains silent. He palms the back of her skull, making soft mouth sounds, assuring her that he’s fine.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry…I’m such a mess. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m falling apart.”
“It’s ok to be scared,” he says, sealing her body to him, crushing their chests together. He can feel the round plush of her breasts, her creeping breath against his beard. “You should have never seen that.” He sneaks a kiss against her temple, and she shivers. She’s still one livewire of emotion, pulsing with terror and grief. “You promise they didn’t touch you? Hurt you?”
She stiffens before shaking her head. “Hera kept me in a room for a little while,” she says carefully. “I think they grew distracted when someone proposed an orgy.”
“Of course,” he laughs.
She leans back to look at him, nudging the hair that has fallen out of his braid away from his face. “Thor,” she says. “I-I want to help you.”
His eyes widen, the lingering pressure of his desire for her pulsing somewhere in his belly. He knows what she’s implying. He cups her jaw. “It’ll weaken you.”
“It’ll comfort me,” she returns, her voice stronger. “It’ll - it’ll make me feel better...” She strokes his bare chest, fingers catching on the inky blue fabric of the toga he’d been given. It is a paper-thin barrier, and he’s glad it’s gentle on his destroyed skin. “I want to feel you…take you inside me.” She brushes her lips across his chin, barely missing his mouth. His cock hardens, and she grinds down on it just enough to make him groan. She jerks her head in the direction of Loki and Val’s cell. “They’re asleep?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”
Her lips quirk, and she lowers her voice to something silky. “I want your cock, Thor,” she pleads as her hand drifts down to his crotch. He is heavy. He is leaking. “Feel you alive…after watching them hurt….” She stifles a sob, choking it down, and he kisses her brow.
“Shh,” he hushes. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“You’re a liar,” she whispers as her eyes flash red. His heart leaps in his throat and he grabs her by the shoulders. She can’t lose it. She can’t go fully into a fury or risk…
He knows he must distract her, ease her anxiety, and so he clutches the crown of her head and forces her closer.
It is his natural compulsion - to comfort her and soothe her and coax her away from their current nightmare. “My love,” he murmurs, rubbing their noses together. “You did nothing wrong.”
Their lips meet. The kiss is painful and desperate. He tilts his head, tongue running along the seam of her mouth until she parts it. It swells into a new, fierce hunger. He savors the sugar behind her teeth - the bright slip of Spring and hothouse flowers. Ambrosia. He smells ichor in the air, which he finds strange.
“Please,” she begs. “Please, Thor.”
He ignores the smell and continues.
***
He guides her onto her back, tugging off the gossamer purple gown she’d been dressed in. He licks down her belly before parting her knees and hitching them over his shoulders. Like this, she is spread before him - her lovely cunt open and weeping for him. He sneaks a finger inside her, her walls tense before clenching around his knuckles. She gasps. “Don’t hold back,” he mutters against her folds, breath tickling the bead of her clit. “You don’t have to be careful for me.”
He runs his tongue along the seam of her pussy with his finger buried inside her. He pets and laps before covering her with his mouth and teasing her with soft pulses. He adds a second finger, a third, and she rolls her hips forward against his hand. Her head falls back as her heels jerk against the mess of his back. They catch on broken skin, and Thor quietly groans with it - at both her soaked taste and the shock of pain that she delivers.
He tries to be silent, but there is an audible noise as he makes contact with her soaked cunt. It can’t be helped, and he is too far gone to care.
He pushes his face into her, dragging his nose against the mess of her sex. He suctions his mouth with hard, deliberate surges as her thighs clamp down around his head. He suckles her clit. He shoves her up higher, angling his fingers and tongue and holding her open for his greedy mouth. He feels her come, hips stuttering against his chin. He lifts himself up, his eyes raking over her as she still jerks with pleasure. The dress is lovely and transparent against her skin. Her lashes flutter, her lips part around a rippling moan. He notices gold in her hair. He notices a soft pink light emanating off of her limbs. His back begins to feel better.
They keep silent as he moves above her. His hair spills down his shoulders, the ends tickling her cheeks and brow. He isn’t sure if Loki and Val are asleep, but they say nothing. No taunts or teases or low whistling. They know he needs this as she does.
He takes himself in hand, wiping the swollen head of his cock against the dripping, raw opening of her cunt. He slips it through her folds as her knees lock against his waist. “Don’t be cruel,” she murmurs before he begins to breach her. He pushes in slow, eyes nearly crossing as she stretches around him. A tight fit. It always is. She’s hot as the sun as her sex grasps him, chokes him, fluttering around him from her previous orgasm.
She nods in encouragement as she stares up at him; the look on her face is awestruck - idolizing. She is life itself - growing and swelling with pleasure and blood and the slick of her center. Already, the pain in his back has begun to muddle to something like a bruise. The agony has been stripped down to a sore, dull ache.
His wounds are now secondary to the heat that curls in his groin. The way his muscles twitch and flex as he takes her in slow, inexorable strokes. His cock drags through her. He wants to feel every single centimeter of her perfect, warm cunt. It burns him just as the flames of his wounds hiss out to smoldering coals. He picks up his pace, fucking into her faster despite the fact that their slapping skin becomes louder, bouncing off the stone walls.
“I love you,” she declares as he grips her thigh to hold her open. He snaps into her with less gentleness. Fierce. Hard. He is rooted so deeply inside her that he does not know where either of them ends. He plants his knees, drawing his hips back before driving forward. “Oh,” she mewls. “Thor-”
“I love you,” he says. “I would-“
“You know I’d protect you,” She interrupts, gripping his face, thumb digging into his jaw. He doesn’t stop. Not for a moment. His thrusts are powerful and sharp as punches, and as his climax begins to thrum in the pit of his gut, he staggers. He grows clumsy. “I’d to anything,” she continues. “Anything to keep you safe.”
“Is that not my job?” he presses back to her before dropping his head. With his arms framing her face, he kisses her desperately. They trade in them, mouths coupling as their teeth and tongue fight their own war - as he ruts into her like an animal.
“Not always,” she gasps into his mouth. “Not always, my love.”
Her fingers slide over his shoulders, nails scratching down his back where his flesh has healed completely. There is only the itch from dried blood. See. She seems to say. See what I did.
His love for her grows. His love is too big and too much, and it scares him.
“Come for me,” she demands as she lifts her hips, hands sliding down to his ass to force him as far as his cock reach. The fist of her cunt wraps around him, milking him dry.
His orgasm hurts. It makes him shake, a broken noise emanating from the meat of his chest. For a moment, he is out of his mind. His fingers find the peak of her cunt where he rubs and strokes until she also goes tight and wet around him.
They lie there for a while. The scent of sex palpable and thick. When he eases out of her, he pumps his fingers back into her pussy to feel his seed there. She makes a startling noise of pleasure, and that pink incandescent glow blushes to a deep, florid red.
“I have something for you,” she murmurs, cocking her head as her eyes flash with excitement.
“What could that be?”
“It’s just outside.”
It takes a moment for her words to actually sink in.
“Wait what?”
***
Val, Loki, and Thor stare in stunned silence at the hall now flooded in gold ichor. There are bodies everywhere. The minotaur’s head lies forgotten in the corner of the room.
“Ares ran like a coward,” she sighs. “I only got a chunk out of him.”
She turns toward the others, and Thor wonders how he could have missed it. She must have washed away the blood. She’d smelled like a battle when he’d been above her…inside her, but he had thought it had been adrenaline from seeing him whipped. Fear. Arousal.
The walls are cracked in multiple places. There are mahogany branches of gnarled trees sprouting from the marble. Thorns. The burnt taste of fire. A shriek of a wolf somewhere. Had she summoned creatures this time?
“I didn’t tell you immediately because I needed to heal you first…I knew…I knew you’d want to escape.” She tucks her hair back, almost bashful. Heat, once more, ignites in his belly. Gods. Capable of so much violence and shy as ever. The contrast is irresistible to him.
“I got mad,” she explains as her eyes drift to the floor. Thor can sense the simmering edge of her wrath that still resides inside her. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it explodes. The world collapses, and she ruptures with it. The fold breaks. “I’m-I’m sorry if I went too far-”
Thor advances on her, his hands closing around her shoulders as he yanks her to him. He embraces her roughly, rubbing his cheek against her hair. He murmurs her name as the realization of her devotion hits him like a white light. She had said it like a promise. She had said it like law.
You know I’d protect you.
“Wow,” Val declares, kicking a guard’s head across the hall of blood. “Cool as fuck.”
Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader
Wordcount: 17K
Warnings: trauma. alcohol/drug abuse. angst. smut. mentions of hair. suicidal thoughts.
Summary: First dates. Halloween. Confessions.
A/N: so here we all at the end of all things (lol jk). wow this chapter took like two months. what is there to say? i wanted this to be good. i really did so i hope it is. i do think you would benefit from reading these short drabbles (Will, Liam), if you hadn't in order to understand some things. i have special thanks and a lil update to give out at the end of this chapter (it was turning into an essay lol).
Series Masterlist
“Something is wrong with her,” Benny announced as he stalked into Will’s basement. “She’s losing it.”
Will paused. He sat back on his stool, gifting his brother a brief glance before returning to his work. He resembled a painter, pausing mid-stroke as he allowed Ben a moment of his attention. Ben could almost imagine him with a cigarette loose between his lips and a pair of reading glasses hitched low on his nose. In front of him was a man in a metal chair, an informant for one of the Gray Skull’s gun runners that had been interfering with their routes the last month. Benny eyed the gaping mouth and the red-slick drool dripping from the poor fuck’s chin. His gaze fell lower to his stomach and…oh. Yikes.
It didn’t matter how often he had witnessed William at work; he was always shocked by just how talented his brother was at keeping people breathing past their expiration date. There was a constant smell in the basement: the distinct aroma of death warmed over - like it was a violation for someone to be kept alive past a certain point. Will was adamant about cleanliness. He laid down tarp and plastic sheets. He used bleach and disinfectant, but the stench remained as if it had sunk into the cement.
Ben had been horrified when he discovered that Santi forced the girl to watch Will break another human being. It was a dumb move and one that most likely had contributed to her current mindset. She was falling apart, and they were guilty of hauling her into a world she didn’t truly understand. It was brutal and unforgiving and grey as fuck. She’d had to adapt, molding herself into a person who could withstand the constant horror of it. Judging by how much she was drinking, Ben knew it was taking a toll. She should have been eased in rather than dumped straight in without a safety harness.
“Who’s losing what?” Will’s voice was low and perfectly calm. If Ben checked his heart rate, it would no doubt be resting at forty.
Benny wandered over to the tool rack, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to ignore the metal bowl of blood-flecked teeth on top of it. “Who do you think?”
Will’s lips pursed. Ben noticed the first flicker of emotion in his brother’s gaze since entered the room. “Yeah,” he finally sighed, twirling the pliers in his hand. “She’s been distant.”
“Distant is an understatement.” Ben lifted his baseball cap to comb his fingers through his damp hair. He was still sweating from his earlier run. Despite the frigid temperature of the basement, he felt as if he was on fire - full of heat. He clucked his tongue as he shoved his hat backward. He knew the girl liked it and it seemed like everything he’d been doing lately was to please her.
“She’s been that way with you?”
“I mean she wants to fuck,” Ben answered casually. “Like a lot.”
Will’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t need the details, dude.”
“Right - sorry,” Ben lifted himself onto the counter, kicking his legs out. They made a sharp thwack as his heels hit the metal drawers - echoing and bouncing off the thick walls. The man in the chair twitched before going still again. Ben grimaced but continued. “She’s just really frantic about everything, and then once it’s over, she goes cold.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
“Apparently, she and Liam have been close.”
“I mean I’d hope they are,” Will replied flatly. “He’s her bodyguard.”
Leave it up to his brother to be logical about this.
“Yeah, but who knows what they’ve been doing all day? Not that I think they’re fucking or hooking up or anything like that, but Leon said she’s always at The Crypt.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “A bar? I thought they went to the park.”
“Nope,” Ben returned. “I mean she does go to the park, but then they usually go to that shitty place to drink.”
Will frowned. The man moaned softly and another slick of red drool dripped onto his chest. Fucking yikes. “Santi allowed that?”
“Crypt is Cardinal-owned and close by. According to Frankie, Santi wanted to give her a little more freedom.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course, I also think he doubled the security he has tailing her. She just doesn’t know that.”
Will studied the blood-splattered pliers in his grip. “What do you propose we do about it? Force her into therapy? We can’t give her an intervention because we’ve had a hand in this whole fucking mess, Ben.” His brow creased. “Santi’s got me working overtime. I can’t bring her down here.” He gestured to the man beside him. “She doesn’t need to see any more death.”
“Woah, woah,” Ben lifted his hands to shut down his brother’s tangent. “First of all, stop blaming yourself. She’s fucking insane about you, and I think if she blamed you for what she’s dealing with now, she wouldn’t be sleeping with you every night.”
Ben wasn’t about to tell his brother that he had a point. Will had never been into a girl like this, and he didn’t want to twist the metaphorical knife any deeper by agreeing with him. Plus - him having to torture that dude had been because of Santi, as far as Ben was concerned.
“Doesn’t mean that everything we’ve done hasn’t left a mark.” Will lifted his head, regarding his brother with a unique blend of sadness and resignation. “Damage doesn’t have a specific schedule, and I don't doubt that this has been building up over months. It took months before you even started having nightmares after…you know...”
“Why is this suddenly about me?”
Will shrugged his shoulders. “Because you understand, Ben. You know what it’s like.”
Benny did not appreciate the direction of this conversation. It was veering dangerously into territory he had no interest in revisiting at the moment.
“This is about her, man,” Ben shook his head. “She’s struggling and needs to do something productive that isn’t going to the park or sitting at a bar with Romania’s top male model.”
“Someone has a crush.”
“He is objectively gorgeous, man,” he quipped. “I’m stating the facts.” Ben quickly clapped his hands together. “But I digress; we need to help her.”
“I know,” Will sighed. “If I could get her back into self-defense, I would, but she didn’t do too well when we tried again. The second I held her down, she freaked.”
“So we give her something easy… a task that won’t trigger her.”
“Sounds like you already have something in mind.”
“Yep,” Ben tapped his chin. “I have the Halloween party coming up, and I haven’t done shit for it. She could help decorate and come up with the theme. It would give her something to do.”
Will’s lips curled in what Ben supposed was a smile. In the basement, his brother had a habit of becoming utterly cold. It was as if he didn’t remember human behavior. Compartmentalize. Lockdown. He shut himself off so thoroughly that it would take him several hours to get back into the right headspace. “She’d like that,” he agreed. “Give her an unlimited budget and free reign of decorations so she can make it gruesome.”
“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Ben sighed, almost wistfully, before quickly adding. “Not a literal one.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Will said. “You think Santi will be cool with her going to it? We haven’t taken her out at night since Christo’s.”
“It’ll be perfectly safe! Our territory. All four of us. Security at every exit and entrance.” Ben lowered his voice. “Plus, if you haven’t noticed, Santi has been incredibly indulgent with her lately. I think he must have said some shit he regretted or did something dumb to piss her off.”
“Probably both.”
“Definitely both.”
***
With Tom snug in her lap, she sat cross-legged on one of the kitchen stools, idly scrolling on the brand new laptop Ben had gifted her. She’d been exploring ideas all morning, jotting down numbers and prices of different party vendors. She’d come up with the title, at least: Fright Night.
Hardly original, but Liam had vetoed her other names: Get Weird with Blackbeard, Boos & Booze, Carnevil.
“Those are all themed,” he pointed out. “Just make it easy so people can wear whatever they want.”
“Boos and Booze is not themed.”
“Ghosts.”
“You just don’t want to wear a specific costume.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to put on your dumb leather jacket and say you’re the Fonz.”
“Great idea. Thank you!”
When Ben had asked her to help him plan his club’s Halloween party, she’d been excited. Anything to stop the constant overthinking she’d been doing for weeks as she drank her weight in alcohol.
Baron was a dim presence at the back of her mind. She had no idea what he was doing or if he wanted to meet up again. She’d invited the notion. She’d found him refreshing and honest, but once she’d returned to the penthouse, she’d second-guessed herself. She didn’t really know him. She didn’t know his motives, and she also didn’t know Pope’s. Everything was too complex and messy, and she supposed that planning some ridiculously over-the-top Halloween party was, at the very least, a welcome distraction from the darker matters that had overtaken her life.
Plus, this time of year always brought difficult memories of her father’s death. Researching plague masks, skull decor, and the day rates for haunted house actors was an ideal diversion.
Ben had given her free rein and an unlimited budget. Shoving a black Amex in her hand, he'd told her to go crazy. Still - Ben wasn’t planning it with her. He was gone all day and all night, and she had hoped that this task would have meant them working on something together. She craved the days sprawled out in the media room watching movies. She missed his company in general. He’d been her friend first, and while they were still having sex, it was the friendship and conversation that she missed.
She barely saw Will though he continued to promise her he’d be more available once things calmed down. She felt pathetic for wanting him so frantically, demanding his presence when he couldn’t do anything about it. No matter how many tasks Pope doled out, Will followed through. She, of all people, should have understood that.
She might have been paranoid, but she felt like she was growing distant from both brothers. There were several moments when she feared that they were tired of her. She caught it in the strained tightness in their smiles. A wrinkle visible on their brow as they tried to soothe her after yet another anxiety attack.
Frankie was once again spending nights at Mayfair. She caught him in flashes. He’d say hello to her if he ran into her in the kitchen or the hallway, but he kept his distance. She couldn’t blame him. She’d shoved him away when he’d tried to treat her with an inch of softness.
I’m protecting myself. Don’t you understand? I’m protecting my heart because I can’t handle you ghosting me.
Then there was Pope. They had barely spoken after she had interrupted him in flagrante delicto, but he continued to keep tabs on her. Liam had told her himself.
She blew out a breath, her gaze fastening on Liam, sitting on the counter across from her. Since he didn’t have to be on guard in the penthouse, he was engrossed in the newspaper. Who even reads a physical newspaper anymore? He'd combed his chestnut hair away from his face, and she could see the fringe of his unfairly long lashes. She liked having him there with her. She had shared so much of herself with him, blindly trusting him to keep her secrets safe. He had seemingly done so.
“Liam.”
His head immediately whipped up.
She turned her laptop screen to him. “Is this too gross for the club?”
He leaned forward, squinting. His nose wrinkled. “Is that a charred corpse?”
She nodded. “Movie studio-quality,” She turned the laptop back to her. “We could get some smoke machines to give it some oomph.”
“Charming.”
“They have realistic intestines, too.”
“I say do everything your creepy little heart desires,” Liam advised. “It’s not like there are going to be kids there.”
“Pity,” she pouted. “I love scaring children.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Pope remarked as he strolled into the kitchen. He was dressed effortlessly in his starched white shirt and creased black slacks. His undone tie hung limply around his neck. He’d slicked back his curls but had kept the lower half of his face dark with stubble.
An image of him kissing that woman flashed before her: the aggression in the way he had fucked her, his generous mouth sliding up her throat as he talked dirty in her ear. She shook her head as if she could physically dislodge that memory from her brain.
“You okay?” She suddenly realized that he had moved closer, his expression concerned.
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes - sorry. Haven’t had coffee yet.”
She’d just popped a couple of Adderall so she could go to town on Google and Excel. She’d made spreadsheets of spreadsheets.
Pope smiled a little too warmly. It unnerved her. Something was up. His face was...bare. He turned briefly to Liam. “Could you give us a second?”
Oh no. He was going to talk about her walking in on him that night.
“No problem, Boss.” Liam jumped down from the counter and gave her a playful wink before striding out of the room.
Wordlessly, Pope placed a brochure in front of her. It was the one about the Degas exhibit, the one she must have dropped when she’d interrupted him fucking a chick on his desk. When she looked at him, he regarded her with a muted nervousness.
“Pope,” she murmured. “About that night-”
“Oh!” Pope exclaimed. “No-no - it’s - uh - definitely not about that. I just - I wanted to see if you’d be interested in going to the Blanc today?”
“You’re free?” She was shocked. The invitation was unexpected, and she almost didn’t know how to respond.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I set aside the afternoon. I figured I owed you.”
“Owed me?”
His lips twitched. “Don’t make me list all the reasons I’ve been a total fucking asshole the last few weeks.”
“Weeks?” She grinned.
“Months.”
“Okay,” she yielded. “Let me change.”
Fifteen minutes later, she returned to the foyer and did a double-take. Pope had also put on a different outfit.
He was dressed in…regular clothes. Not a suit. Not a white button-up. He wore jeans, a heather gray t-shirt, and weathered dark brown boots. His forearms and biceps were bare, and she couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen them before. They were sun-kissed and decorated in a dark tangle of tattoos. There was the shadowed curve of a skull, a crouching Atlas, a cross.
“What?” He glanced down. “Is there something on my shirt?”
“No,” she murmured. “It’s - it’s just that it’s a shirt.”
“Yes...it is.”
“A t-shirt!”
“I do wear clothes that aren’t suits, sweetheart.”
“Can I take a picture? Can I post it on Instagram?”
He rolled his eyes before pressing his hand to her lower back. “You’re hilarious,” he muttered as he steered her toward the door. They took the elevator to the garage, where one of his drivers waited in a deep blue Maybach. As she slipped into the backseat, she recognized the buzz cut and pinky ring.
“Hi Lloyd,” she crowed, and he replied with a curt smile over his shoulder. A man of few words.
When Pope scooted beside her, his gaze momentarily fell upon the place her sundress had ridden up before he averted it to the front of the car.
“Where to, boss?” Lloyd asked as he started through the garage before waiting for the numerous steel doors to lift.
“The Blanc. Thanks.”
The ride itself was quiet. Carole King and Sam Cooke filtered through the speakers as Lloyd tapped his fingers across the steering wheel. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Pope typed rapidly on his phone. Text after text was met with an annoyed huff before he’d shoot off another reply.
“Never a day off, huh?” She meant it as a joke, but when Pope glanced up, his brows were knitted together, his mouth turned down in a frown. “Thought you took the afternoon?”
“I did,” he replied tightly. “I just have trouble not responding when people send me dumb fucking emails about dumb fucking nonsense.”
She snorted and then tried to smother it with her hand. He dropped his head back against the seat. “I’m trying to appease two groups sharing the same port for their deliveries this weekend. They’re pissed.” He paused before adding. “I promise I won’t look at my phone once we’re in there.”
She shook her head. “It’s totally fine, Pope. Work is work. I understand.”
“I can give you a couple of hours,” he shrugged, batting her words away with a wave of his hand. She caught Lloyd’s surprised gaze in the rearview mirror - his brow lifting. Pope shot off another text before silencing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. He turned to her. “So what’s the theme for Halloween? Ben says you’ve been working on it.”
“Blood,” she replied excitedly. “Guts!”
He smiled. “Of course. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
She supposed that her recent experiences should have turned her off to gore, but Halloween had always been her favorite holiday. Plus, there was hardly a comparison when it looked as fake as it did. It was candy-red. There was nothing but plastic and latex and that very distinct cloying-chemical smell. They couldn’t capture how dark and viscous blood was when it met oxygen. The stench of raw, exposed flesh. The shrieking -
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as a bout of nausea overcame her. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to find some equilibrium in the moving car. Fuck.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’ve got your costumes, too,” she said, changing the subject swiftly. Pope glowered. “Wait - chill - that look on your face is not doing you any favors.”
“I’m not dressing up.”
“They’re masks! You can wear a stupid suit with it.”
“Fine. What am I?”
“Cerberus.”
He blinked at her. “I’m a dog?”
“You, Frankie, and Will are together,” she clarified. “You each get these custom-carved hound masks. I ordered them online.”
“What about Ben?”
“Are you kidding? He wants to be half-naked. He said - and I quote - can’t wear a mask because I’m the face of The Cardinals.”
“And what a face it is,” Pope replied dreamily, pressing his hands to his heart.
She punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not the one encouraging him, Faire,” he asserted. “His ego was enormous, to begin with, but having you has now made him intolerable.”
She felt a flush creep up her neck. He hadn’t said anything crude, but his observation had an unsaid meaning. Having you.
Having you beneath him.
Having you in his bed.
Pope seemed to sense her shift in mood and abruptly scowled. “Should I be offended that you want to cover up my face?”
“I mean, if you don’t want to represent one of the most terrifying beasts in mythology, then you don’t have to.”
He leaned back against the window, pinning her with an almost arrogant expression. It was one she imagined he utilized in all of his meetings where he held court. “It’s fine - I’ll do it,” he replied. “For you.”
Suggestion dipped in his tone as his gaze lingered on her face. “Plus,” he added dryly. “I do feed off the souls of the damned.”
***
Santi was enjoying the way the girl was ogling every portrait, painting, and bronze sculpture. It was as if she was floating from one piece to the next. Her head was perpetually tilted up. Her lips parted in awe. It made him feel things. It didn’t help that her outfit brought a blush to his skin. It wasn’t even anything particularly revealing. She wore white tennis shoes and a short red dress with pale polka dots; her purse slung over her shoulder.
It made her eerily resemble the figures in the Degas paintings they were admiring. She balanced on the balls of her feet, slightly bouncing as she gracefully fluttered between Blue Dancers and Miss La La at the CIrque Fernando.
“Fuck,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.”He does color so well.” She pointed to Blue Dancers. “He dapples that specific blue throughout the background to unify the piece - the same shade as their dresses. He contours with dark gray to make them stand out.” Her lips quirked. “They’re so lush.”
“Degas called himself a realist, Pope,” she stated loftily.
“He’s still a founder of Impressionism, sweetheart.”
“Okay, smart ass,” She sidled up to him, the heat of her bare arm against his own. “I love them all,” she continued. “I want one.”
“I have one.”
Her head whipped in his direction. “You have a Degas?”
He nodded before pointing to one of the sculptures at the center of the room - Petite danseuse de quatorze ans. One of only twenty-nine casts. He’d purchased it and then lent it to the museum. He doubted that the guys would have given it the proper attention it deserved if he’d just hidden it in his study.
She stepped toward the raised platform where the ballerina stood. Her eyes raked over the muslin skirt and satin hair ribbon - the bronze finish. “Jesus,” she said. “How much?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “About twenty.”
“Mr. Money Bags.”
“I don’t mind spending money on art. The value only appreciates.”
She straightened before turning back to him, her gaze narrowing. “I don’t believe you.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I just don’t think you buy art because of its economic value,” she clarified. “I think you buy it because you love it.”
True.
She got him. She had taken stock of him and found the softer parts. His passions. He wasn’t sure how she had done it, but here they were.
In truth, he could and maybe did, consider this a date. He’d felt fucking weird after she had walked in on him having sex. In the moment, he’d almost found it stimulating. He wanted to fuck that woman right in front of her just because he knew it would piss her off. But, afterward - he’d felt differently. He’d paid the woman, and as he led her out the door, he discovered the brochure that the girl had dropped. Instinctively, he knew it had been some form of peace offering.
At this point, the miscommunication between them was almost comical. He avoided her, and she avoided him, and no one wanted to confront the enormous elephant in the room: her past. He had so much he had to tell her though every time he intended to sit her down and speak to her plainly, there was some sort of snafu. Perhaps he was scared? She’d have to learn a few hard truths that would probably ruin this - whatever this was. But if he could explain himself, then maybe he had a shot at making her understand the reasoning behind his actions.
He’d shown her this world. He’d shown her the darkness and the violence of it. His life was about making the hard choices, and surely she had gradually begun to understand that. It was dog eat dog.
He rubbed his jaw absently, his gaze lingering on her beautiful face as she contemplated The Absinthe Drinker with an air of melancholy.
Would he have done it again?
Yes. He would have done it every time. It had been business.
No. It had been survival.
“There’s a different reason why I brought you here,” Pope told her, leading her out of the gallery and down another hallway. The museum was enormous and crowded. Tourists were shuffling into the latest art installation involving a twinkling mirror room. Their phones were strapped to their hands, no doubt ready to take boomerang photos or Instagram stories for the aesthetic.
“Jesus,” she grumbled. “How can you appreciate this when you’re so focused on your phone? Everyone wants a photo of the Mona Lisa when they have the real thing in front of them.
Pope shot her a playful smile. “Damn, Faire. Let them live.”
“I’m not trying to be a bitch, but it’s true. Drives me crazy.”
“Isn’t that your age group?”
“No!” Her cheeks warmed under Pope’s teasing stare. “Plus - age is just a number. I know plenty of older chicks who take the most ill-framed selfies for Facebook.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not like you’re that much older than me.”
“A decade is a decade,” he remarked.
“Same generation.”
He lifted a brow, the corner of his lips momentarily quirking before he threw his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward yet another white-walled corridor.
“Well - lucky for you - where we’re going, there’s no Instagram allowed or anyone else for that matter.” He rounded a corner where a man in a dark suit and glasses stood in front of a door that seemed quite ordinary. It was the same eggshell color as the walls, but the second the security guard saw Pope, he turned around and punched a few numbers into a keypad. The door swung open.
“Mr. Garcia,” He tipped his head to him and then to her. “They told me you were coming.”
“Anyone down there?”
“No, Dr. Hoffman just ran out to lunch,” the man replied, and Pope nodded. The guard’s dark glasses momentarily swiveled to her; his head cocked curiously.
Pope cleared his throat before he lowered his mouth to her ear. “C’mon, baby,” he uttered in a husky voice before dragging her forward.
Once the door closed behind them, she huffed. “What was that about?”
“It’s unusual for me to bring a guest here,” he informed her as he lifted his arm off her shoulders and slid his hands back into his pockets. His tone was careful. “I don’t think they’ve ever seen me with a girl.”
They were in a cool hallway lit by fluorescent lights. The walls were gray, the floors linoleum. Pope began to walk down it, jerking his head for her to follow.
There was an unmistakable bounce in his step that he usually didn’t possess. He always appeared weighted down - full of shadows and seriousness. To her, it seemed like everything Pope did was a chore, like his allegiance to The Cardinals and his desire to ensure that his time as the group’s king was victorious. There was an ease in his movements among art and away from his office. It was similar to how he’d been in that private room at Christo’s.
Finally, they arrived at a large steel door. Pope turned to her, his expression almost mischievous.
“Took a long time for me to get this together. Pulled a shit ton of strings to get through all the red tape.”
“What is it? Something dead?” Her eyes widened. “A mummy?!”
He chuckled. “No - you fucking, weirdo.”
He opened the door and ushered her in. Immediately, she could tell that the room carried importance. The smell of it was filtered and medicinal. Not a drop of humidity. It was heavily air-conditioned, and dimly lit LED lamps spotlighted various paintings hung around the space.
She squinted as she tried to take it all in at once. The colors were dramatic. The textures rich. The exaggerated lighting and relentless chiaroscuro present on almost every canvas. She knew the paintings from her art history books, yet she couldn’t believe they were in front of her.
“Rembrandt?” she gasped, and Pope nodded.
“Holy fuck.”
“Not in front of the paintings,” he chastised, eyes playfully widening.
There was Danae, The Anatomy Lesson, and The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.
Her gaze darted to the pieces on the opposite wall. There was Ruben’s Samson and Delilah. She could spot it immediately, with the vibrant red shining against the warm golds and browns. Her eyes traced Delilah, her milky skin ruddy with pleasure as she reclined. Samson, muscular and bare, was lying in her lap.
“The tilt of her head mimics the Venus statue in the background,” she murmured. “The old woman wasn’t in the story, but Rubens uses her as Delilah’s foil. Her ugliness and treacherous body language are meant to heighten Delilah’s beauty.”
“Why’s that?” Pope asked, and when she looked at him, she realized that he’d been staring at her. Not the painting.
“It could imply that Delilah is simply ignorant of what she is doing to her lover. She’s youthful and inexperienced.” She turned back to it, drinking in the figures. “Rubens's red is key here too. Symbolic of the passion between them and suggestive of the bloodshed that’s coming.”
He motioned to the corner of the frame. “I thought the soldiers entering would be suggestion enough?”
“Well,” she grinned. “I guess he wanted to smack us over the head with it.”
“We should make you a docent,” he proposed. “Get you out of event planning. Your mind is obviously wasted there.”
She lifted her shoulders before heading toward another wall. She abruptly stopped, her mouth again falling open as she recognized it. “Is that Judith Slaying Holofernes? Pope - how did you get these?”
“We were doing a series that mirrors the Rembrandt Exhibition of 1898. At least, that’s what initially was going to happen. I pulled some strings and was able to negotiate a few more paintings.”
“A few more paintings,” she breathed, her hand reflexively fluttering to her chest. Gently, Pope gripped her chin and forced her gaze to the next wall. “Caravaggio?” she squeaked.
“It’s taken me years,” he explained. “I’ve got family in Italy who have connections and deep pockets.” He hit her with a roguish smirk. “ Let’s say they greased a couple of important hands on my account. We’ve got them for six months - maybe a year. The exhibit will be focused entirely on the Baroque movement.”
“I’m in heaven,” she sighed, and he laughed, squeezing her hip.
“Go explore,” he encouraged. “Long as you want.”
Pope really did let her wander. He quietly followed, listening intently as she went into a long-winded analysis about every painting. There was even a Joseph Wright work that she stripped down to its roots for him. She was certain Pope already knew most of what she was saying. But he egged her on, nodding as she discussed Romanticism or the influence of Carracci, Bernini, or Velázquez.
After the last painting, he suggested getting a drink on the roof. She realized she’d been distracted for hours - fully present with Pope and the art. She had almost buried that niggling desire for alcohol. Regardless, her chest unfurled just a bit at the word drink. She tamped down the shame it brought and let Pope guide her away from the masterpieces he’d given her.
***
The roof was just as lovely as the rest of the museum. There was a seating area and burbling fountains. There were crisp, emerald green hedges. Olive trees and night-blooming jasmine. Pope bought a beer and her a glass of white wine and then led them to a bench.
“So,” she started. “A big-time mob boss has a giant soft spot for art.”
“You already knew this about me,” He nudged her knee with his.
“When did it start?”
“AP Art History in high school,” he said. “Sounds cheesy, but I liked learning about the world through art. I was a pretty visual learner, and my family had a deep appreciation for it. I minored in it at college.”
“Your dad didn’t care?”
“Hardly,” he replied. “He valued education…being cultured, whatever that means. He wanted a son who could talk literature, music, art.” He ran his hand along his jaw, and there was the audible scrape of his stubble. “This whole business practically runs on dinner parties. It’s all about establishing connections and winning over shitty, pompous fucks, and most of the time, you find that common ground through one of those things.”
“Literature, music, art?”
“And really bad action flicks from the nineties,” he added wryly. “For some reason, oligarchs love that shit.”
“And Benny.”
“And Benny,” he confirmed. “He makes us watch Die Hard every Christmas.”
She laughed. “Not surprising.”
They sat in comfortable silence. She took a heavy sip of her wine before realizing she should pace herself. She didn’t want to be itching for another drink, her gaze continuously darting to the bar behind them.
The alcohol began to loosen her tongue, and she ended up blurting out: “Do you regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“The job…the whole business.”
There was a long pause as Pope seemed to consider her question. His teeth worked into his bottom lip before his attention settled on the city skyline. The sunset rippled through the glass and metal spheres - the thin sharp buildings that jutted up like crystal geodes in the rugged bowl of downtown.
“I love this city,” he said. “I’ve loved building it up and making it better. I grew up here and learned here and lost a lot here.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But - sometimes -” he sighed, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I wouldn’t mind just not having it on my shoulders. I wouldn’t mind running away and living in some tiny apartment with some shitty finance job.”
She shot him an amused glance. “I don’t think you’d last very long. You love the finer things.”
He shut his eyes, dropping his head. “You’ve got a point.”
“Grass is always greener.”
He tipped his beer to her, and they fell quiet again. It was good like this. Not her facing him over his heavy, intimidating desk. Not them nose to nose as they spat at each other.
They were on equal ground here, finding common connections.
She twisted to look at him. “It’s not fair,” she murmured.
He glanced at her. “What isn’t?”
“You were born into this,” She opened her arms, gesturing to the whole of the city. “You never really had a choice. You just followed what your father asked you to do.”
“No longer the poor prince, huh?”
“I’ve softened,” she admitted. She knew about his parents’ death through Liam. She knew the shit he’d been dealing with.
The last few hours had been confusing, to say the least. He’d been kind to her in a way he never had before. Baron’s constant whispers and vague references had somewhat soured Pope’s previous gestures, but now she was completely puzzled.
Watching him in the museum had pushed him into a new light. She’d observed how he admired the art, his dark eyes widening a fraction with every painting. His smile had been playful. His expressions thrilled as he shared his thoughts. She could see glimpses of what he must have been like as a little boy. It made her wonder the kind of man he could have been had he not been raised in the underbelly of a broken city.
He was capable of being a good person. She believed that he wanted to be in so many ways, and yet there were various factors that consistently held him back. Trumped his every move.
“Your life couldn’t have been easy,” she continued. “I see that now.”
He appeared taken aback as he digested her words. A muscle in his jaw tightened. He was gorgeous, with the orange-red sun lapping at his dark features. His tan cheeks tinted pink.
He was studying his beer, his thumb picking at the sticky label. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“You didn’t get much of a choice with your situation.” He took another sip of his beer, clearing his throat before continuing. “I know how smart you are. You got into the country's best schools and still stayed with your mother.”
“My dad died,” she stated without missing a beat. “I don’t know. I got stuck - failure to launch and all that. She depended on me in so many ways even if she was terrible.” She inhaled sharply, wrinkling her nose to stave off the threat of tears. “The thing was...my mother could be so fucking charming. She could be fun and attentive and - and those moments were like gold to me. I couldn’t just leave her.” She glanced at him, swallowing thickly. “I mean, I started mourning her before she died - she wasn’t as together towards the end. Those moments of gold no longer existed.” She bit her lip. “But before college? When she was still very much my mother? I thought staying with her would save her.” And now you’re turning into her.
Pope’s expression was unreadable. She thought she saw a trace of pity briefly flicker across his face. Slowly he sat up in his chair; he reached toward her and possessively sunk his hand into her hair at the base of her skull. He tugged her forward. His thumb rubbed across her cheekbone as his ochre eyes searched hers.
He simply held her face like that. Oddly enough, he didn’t kiss or embrace her, and she found this gesture more intimate than anything else she’d experienced with him. It was the whole day. The camaraderie. The art. The words shared on this roof. He licked his lower lip, and his tone was resolute when he spoke.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He pulled her closer, squeezing her neck gently. Her breathing hitched. “You’ve got us, now. You don’t have to save anyone anymore. You don’t have to sacrifice your life for the people who should have taken care of you.”
It was a lot—this promise.
It hit wrong.
She averted her gaze. The words did not carry the weight they should have. She’d heard them before from both Frankie and Will. The reminder of what had happened to her afterward managed to twist Pope’s declaration into something ugly and insincere. Wasn’t she still sacrificing her life by being held under lock and key? Taking care of them to please them? She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t, regardless of how pleasant the day had been.
There was also a question that continued to prod at her with unease.
Pope wanted to save her, and she couldn’t figure out why. He could easily leave her on the street and be done with her, especially after her presence had only caused chaos.
Why do you like me? Why do you want to protect me?
Why do you feel like you owe me?
***
She didn’t understand what was wrong with her. She had felt such relief at the museum. She could breathe. She could talk to Pope without wanting to throat-punch him.
But as the car descended into the garage, she felt that familiar ache in her chest. It felt like acid reflux beginning to simmer in her esophagus, gradually rising until it tickled the back of her throat. Today felt like something close to normal. Pope had brought her to a place that stimulated her senses. It wasn’t a bar or a club or an underground restaurant. It had been a gift and one that she craved again. As the steel doors of the garage shut audibly behind them, she grimaced. Her heart thumped audibly in her chest.
Why did Pope have to mention that she could have gone to a prestigious university and lived an entirely different, better life? Instead, she had grown stiff and dull in her home.
She pinched her thigh, the spark of pain relieving her from her racing thoughts. Her palms itched - demanding the slick, cold glass of a bottle.
What did you do with your life? Nothing. What could you have been?
In the elevator, her anxiety returned to full force. The walls were too narrow, and her reflection bounced and shuddered as they flew higher. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she could keep everything inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Pope frowning. When the elevator reached their floor, she brushed past him, rushing out and toward the bar.
The penthouse was dark and seemingly empty. The only lights on were in the foyer and the glittering, illuminated skyscrapers that stood as a backdrop. They filtered a gentle glow through the enormous windows, softening the shadows.
As she maneuvered her way behind the bar top, her sneakers squeaked. She grasped a half-full bottle of whiskey she’d taken pulls from the last three days. When she turned around, Pope was there with an expression of total bewilderment. He stared down at her, crowding her space. He snatched the bottle from her hands.
“What is wrong with you?”
She blinked at him. She said nothing, which seemed to piss him off more. He hissed her name, not unkindly, but the tone was tight and frustrated. He shook his head, his tousled curls falling messily over his forehead. “I don’t get it,” he continued. “We just had a really fucking nice time, and then you went cold in the car.” His lips curled downward. “Did I say something?”
“No,” she bit out before trying to grab the bottle back from him. He jerked it away.
“Look - I understand that you are in a really bad place and that I’m the cause of it, but you have to get it together. You can’t just keep drinking like this.”
Then why did you invite me on the roof for drinks? Why did you give me wine? Why did she want him to scream at her, control her, and tell her what to do? She was tired.
How could she explain to him that her head had felt wrong the last month? Everything hurt. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t sit by herself because there would be the unmistakable creep of ghost hands around her throat. There’d be her mother in the corner. Her father was hovering behind all of it. She couldn’t emotionally carry this weight.
Pope stepped closer. “You can talk to me.”
“No,” She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes until gray stars burst and flared. She dropped her arms. “No - I can’t, Santi.”
She pushed past him and headed for her room. She had a few bars of Xanax left, and she could take that. It would tide her over until one of the guys came home. She could wait for Pope to scurry off to his office, and then she’d raid the bar. This was how she passed out. She tuned out the rest. She needed distraction.
I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak.
To her horror, Pope followed her. His expression was alarmed, his brows stitched together in an unsettling mask of concern. He shut her door behind him, stopping a few feet away from her before opening his arms. “What can I do here? How can I help you because I don’t know how.”
She realized he wouldn’t leave her alone until she told him to. She cleared his throat and faced him squarely.
“It’s fine, Pope,” She pinched the place between her eyes to relieve the budding headache. “I have a hard time sleeping, and the alcohol helps. Will or Ben will be home soon, and they can sit with me - it’s no big.” She dropped her hand. “Just go.”
He stepped toward her. “Will and Ben?”
She nodded.
“They help you sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“In what way?”
Oh.
She grasped precisely how that had sounded. She had meant that they provided her with company. They distracted her to a degree because she’d been struggling with sleeping alone. Plus, there was the sex.
Okay – so it was how it sounded.
“Company,” she answered vaguely. “Just - they comfort me, I guess.”
He moved closer, his eyes now coffee-dark. “Because they fuck you to sleep?”
“Um…I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds -”
“Get on the bed.”
She froze, her mouth parting in surprise. “Why?”
His lips curled. “Because I’ll help you sleep.”
“But-”
He rolled his shoulders, loosening up the tense muscles. His features shifted into something determined. “I told you that you had me for the entire afternoon,” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little late, but I think we can push it.”
She swallowed thickly, her eyes riveted to his pink lips.
“Do you want my help, Faire?”
His help.
The question itself was loaded. She wanted his help in so many different ways. She felt like she was drowning, barely keeping it together.
“How would you help me?”
She knew, of course. She knew what he was promising because it was burning in his gaze. His features were stark and blunt against his flushed skin.
He advanced on her, his face an inch or so away. His gaze darted down to her mouth before once more meeting her own. He didn’t shy away or draw back. “Do you need me to spell it out?” He smoothed his hand down the front of her dress, pressing against her tits before he came to rest his palm flat against her stomach. The air had changed. He was no longer frantic but deliberate. He wanted to be direct, and suddenly she saw the man who ruled The Cardinals. She saw the man who had built this city into something extraordinary. This was Pope. He received a solution to a problem, and he intended to use it.
“I thought-I thought you didn’t like me like that,” She was stalling. “You - you always avoid me.”
He grasped her hand and forced it over the crotch of his jeans. He was hard, and when she gasped, he chuckled. “I’ve felt like this since you came down in that dress.” He squeezed her wrist. “I don’t know what it is about you that’s managed to fuck us all up, but it’s something.”
He leaned in closer, and her breathing hitched.
“If you want this,” he repeated. “Then get on the bed.”
He walked her backward, and she went willingly. He had never looked at her like this before. It almost seemed as if he was in pain, his brows furrowed, and the muscle in his jaw tense. When her ass hit the end of the mattress, he lifted her into his arms and tossed her onto it.
How did it happen? How was she here? Her body was one long, taut wire strung between two posts. It shivered and thrummed as Pope eased onto the bed beside her. He rested his cheek in his hand, shifting onto his side as he regarded her quietly.
Had they not been just fighting?
She tilted her head, tracing her fingers along the side of his face, nails skimming his skin and catching on his rough stubble. She slid her hand into his hair, twisting the raven curls and tugging hard enough for him to grunt. A large piece of her wanted to hurt him, bite his flesh, and brand him in all the ways he had hurt her.
“How do you want it?” he asked softly, and she stilled. He was staring at her earnestly - intensely. He was trying to drive it into her head. What do you need? What do you want from me? What can I give you?
“Let me make you feel nice,” he murmured, slowly reaching for the hem of her dress. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered as something in her core twitched, her thighs automatically opening. Heat - the heat was riding up her legs and arms, building into a squall at the center of her chest.
The tempo changed at her consent. His approach now aggressive, more intense.
He shoved her dress up before sliding his hand beneath the band of her panties. His fingers were thick and calloused, and he groaned when he slid one through her folds. “Jesus - you’re fucking wet,” he said. “Never thought I’d touch you like this.”
“Why?” She jerked against him as he traced a circle over her clit. He was playing with her, plucking at her as he explored how her body reacted to him.
“Because you’re untouchable,” he confessed, nosing at her cheek. “You walk around here in your fucking sweaters and your dresses and that ridiculous spandex…ruining my life on a daily basis.” With that, he sunk two fingers into her, and she choked, her hand flying out to grab his bicep, her nails digging into the muscle. “Shh,” he crooned. “Just ride it out - I know your pussy can handle it.”
Fucker.
He was taunting her now. His eyes glittered in the hazy light of her bedroom. She could hear how wet she was as he lazily inched his fingers deeper before drawing back just enough to make her shudder. She didn’t want him to have the entire upper hand, especially when it was so obvious how turned on he made her.
“I’m not untouchable,” she argued, her voice a little too high and strained. “I let them touch me.”
“Really?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her jaw before pulling away. He looked down at her; his lips twitched into an innocent grin. “Hadn’t noticed.”
He readjusted the angle of his hand, rotating his fingers on every stroke. The effect was devastating. Her head fell to the pillow as she tried to swallow the shriek that nearly flew from her.
“I think this is a thing for you,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Driving me insane.”
“You want to fight right now?” His mouth parted, his lids heavy with arousal. “You want to piss me off while I’ve got my fingers inside you?”
“Maybe,” she replied as her hips jumped when he brushed his thumb over the peak of her sex. “Maybe - I like pissing you off.”
A dry laugh rasped from his throat. She could see how much this was affecting him. She could feel the bulge in his jeans against her thigh. He shifted slightly, pressing his chest to her shoulder, his head tilted down as his mouth slid against her temple. He pulled his fingers out all the way before shoving them back inside her, scissoring deep, stretching her open as he rubbed the heel of his hand against her swollen bud. “You’re fucking impossible,” he grumbled before adding another finger. He dropped his head, his voice lowering to a whisper: “Now be quiet and let me make you come.”
“Jesus,” she yelped, sitting back up on her elbows. Her attention automatically riveted to where Pope’s hand was working her. He was practically four fingers deep, the band of her ruined underwear cutting into the meat of his knuckles.
She was right at the edge, ready to burst open against the pressure of his fingers. Over the cliff, into the bottom. There was the tantalizing invitation of a black hole of pleasure.
“Santi,” she breathed out, and he groaned.
“I want to take care of you,” he whispered as he continued to pump into her cunt, curling against something tender and sensitive as she bit down on her tongue. “Let me do it.”
She was clenching around his fingers, spasming, fluttering, and slicking up his hand. He pressed himself closer if that was possible. Their foreheads met, his mouth parted over hers, their breaths intermingling. “Come for me, princess,” he demanded.
She came, lower muscles cramping into something near-painful. She twisted into Pope at the over-stimulation. Her lips wetly dragged across his jaw, and he buried his face into her neck. He whispered something into her skin - soft, coaxing words she couldn’t discern but soothed her.
Her climax rippled and rippled until its intensity began to short out so she could catch her breath. Slowly Pope eased his hand out of her underwear and then petted his fingers through her puffy, slick folds as she trembled against him. It made her skin heat all over. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and yank him on top of her.
Before she could say anything, the security beep on the front door went off. She heard familiar rugged boots scuffing on marble. Abruptly, Pope sat up, practically lurching off the mattress. “Fuck,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. He straightened his rumpled t-shirt, readjusting himself in his jeans. “Fuck!” he snarled again.
“Pope,” she murmured, feeling slightly cold and bewildered.
He shot her a glance, his expression inscrutable, before he turned away. When he marched out of the room, he shut the door smoothly behind him.
***
“Shit,” she coughed as she swiftly stood up, wiping at her nose. The coke burned a little; the chemical taste caught on her tongue before it dripped down her throat. There was music blasting from a portable speaker Ben had brought into her bathroom. Tom was at her feet, his fur warm and velvet-soft as it tickled her bare ankles. Benny curled over her, snatching the tampon applicator from her hand to snort one of the six white lines on his iPad. Her eyes narrowed as another text came in from Marissa. The notification was blinking over the picture of Frankie’s face that served as Ben’s iPad wallpaper. Her heart thudded sharply in her chest. There was a familiar pinch of anxiousness, so she snatched her lukewarm grapefruit vodka and took a heavy swallow.
“This blow is good,” Ben commented, wiping his fingertip through the dregs he’d left and rubbing it into his gums. She nodded jerkily before shooting back another gulp.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. He was so tall that the top of her head only came to his collarbone. There was shiny gold paint all over his arms, and she wanted to lick it off of him or maybe fuck him quickly before they had to go downstairs. She needed to possess him before he would inevitably drift away from her tonight in order to work.
“Mmm yeah,” she replied as she took another sip. “Grilled cheese.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.” She’d managed to scarf down a few bites, at least. Her whole body had been on edge all day, skittering like a livewire. “Now - get out so I can get dressed!”
She leaned down and picked up Tom, cradling him against her chest. “Here,” she said. “Can you take him?” Ben lifted a skeptical eyebrow before tentatively taking the dog.
“He hates me,” he huffed.
“He looks very comfortable.” She wasn’t going to tell him that Tom’s small face was scrunched up in suspicion, his plump body taut rather than relaxed. “And he doesn’t hate you.”
“It’s because he saw us fucking and thought I was murdering you.”
“That was one time.”
Ben blew out a breath, readjusting Tom in his arms before a sly smile blossomed across his face. “Speaking of fucking…” He fingered the thin crown of emerald leaves she’d interwoven into her hair. “How about a quickie?”
Tempting. She thought about it, but when another text from Marissa illuminated Ben’s Ipad, it gave her a better idea.
“Save it for the club.”
He simpered, wrapping his muscular arms around her waist as he nuzzled his cheek against hers. “That’s our thing, yeah?
“Yes,” she smiled. “Always.”
***
“Inventive,” Pope observed as he watched her descend the staircase. The entire lower half of her dress had been dyed blue-black, while the upper half was the shade of blush-pink roses. Her fingers were also dark and inky - a stain that coated her up to her forearms as if she’d dipped them in oil. “Half in the Underworld, I’m guessing?”
“Yep!” She'd dusted her shoulders, chest, and cheeks in a fine gold, glittery mist. She wanted to be in bloom, and so she’d nestled vibrant flowers into her hair.
“You look stunning,” Will said quietly, sneaking up beside her and sneaking a kiss on her temple.
The gown had been expensive. It was organic raw silk. While the skirt reached her ankles, the top half was far more revealing. There were two delicate braids around the middle of her chest, the sides were open, and there was a deep v-neck. The fabric covered most of her breasts, but you could still see their curves. She’d have to be careful about leaning over.
“So hot!” Ben agreed as he poured himself another drink. “Who are you again?”
“She’s Persephone, you idiot,” Pope snapped, shaking his head. “Jesus - and my dad paid for all your schooling.”
“No offense, Santiago,” Benny huffed. “But I don’t need to know every damn detail of Greek mythology to run your business. Also - who makes you the most money?”
“My contribution is worth more than gold, Benjamin,” Frankie interjected sagely as he steepled his hand together.
Will smirked - apparently in no hurry to defend what he did for the Cardinals. He cut away the gristle and the fat - he found the weaknesses in the machine. He gave them his gifts - his intelligence at doling out pain.
“You do look really nice,” Frankie added with such sincerity that it made her bite her lip.
“Wait - I need to see you guys,” she crowed. She took a step back - her eyes raking over each of them. Frankie, Pope, and Will had their pale wolfish masks shoved up over their heads. They were in dark slacks and black shirts. The tattoos on their arms were completely visible - adding an edge to their outfits. She sighed. “If only you’d have let me put you in full gladiator gear.”
“That was an option?” Pope asked while Frankie and Will frowned.
“Ben understood the assignment, at least!”
Ben beamed. He’d made himself a very revealing toga that showed off all of his gold-slathered skin. The paint shimmered underneath the living room lighting. He’d placed a crown of coppery vines atop his head, and his hair appeared even blonder than usual. He kept switching between calling himself Eros, Apollo, or Thor, which didn’t make sense, but at least he’d put in the effort.
“Ben likes Halloween,” Frankie countered, helplessly throwing his arms in the air.
She laughed, and it was real. She felt lighter than she had in a long time.
***
Outside the club, the night was cool. The sky was gauzy with stars and full of bruise-purple clouds. It tasted like Halloween. The screeches of children were still audible from the park down the block.
The tang of spiked, spiced cider on her tongue that Ben had given her in the car mixed with the key-bump she’d done before they’d left. The rush of it melded beautifully with her buzz. She was the right amount of loose. She was at a mellow rock.
Will had his arm wrapped around her; his fingers curled protectively around her shoulders. She leaned into him, inhaling the rich bite of his cologne as he led her past the line of people waiting at the doors. She’d gone with Ben earlier to make sure all the decorations had arrived, but she hadn’t seen it entirely done.
The second she stepped past the bouncer, she gasped at the sight.
The interior of the Charnel House Club was just as she’d hoped. Like the French Catacombs, glittering gold skulls lined the walls in several rows from floor to ceiling. The black tables glistened like shards of obsidian. It was a cocoon of dark suede ceilings, crocodile banquettes, and rich red-gold lighting. It resembled a crypt - tight and tiny and exclusive. Unlike George’s, this place was intimate, with a capacity of only a couple hundred.
You needed an invitation unless you wanted to throw down a few grand for a table.
She’d gone a bit crazy with the decorations: bottle girls dressed as blood-soaked camp counselors, rotting zombies, and killer clowns scattered throughout the dance floor. A guillotine. A machete wielding Jason Vorhees. A Leatherface. Violet-blue smoke machines puffed and spat while multi-colored lasers cleaved through the mist.
“I need to talk to someone,” Will said. “I’ll meet you at the table.” He stepped away from her before pausing. “Is that okay?”
“Of course, Miller. I think I can handle walking a couple of yards.”
“Ha Ha,” He smacked her ass before disappearing into the crowd. She turned toward the dance floor lined with banquettes. She had no idea which was theirs and was about to ask one of the bottle girls when a slender arm hooked her elbow and pulled her forward. She twisted her head up and nearly got a mouthful of blonde hair.
“Theo?”
The tall woman grinned. “You looked lost.”
“That obvious?”
“You’re terrible at schooling your features.” Theo tipped her head, her bright eyes gleaming with amusement. “It’s endearing, but you’ll need to learn to control it around this crowd.”
She huffed but allowed Theo to haul her to a table directly across from the DJ booth. When Theo released her, she finally got a chance to see her costume.
She was in a fitted canary-yellow tracksuit, a katana strapped to her back.
“Beatrix, huh?”
“I made sure the katana was real,” Theo declared.
Theo pulled it off exceptionally well. She was one of the most striking women she'd ever met. Her height. Her thick fall of hair tumbled to her waist. Her sharp, predatory expression. She was beautiful and untouchable and relentlessly cool.
“Is Baron here?”
“Nope,” she replied shortly. “Ben invited me, so I came as a sign of good faith.”
Faire nodded before dropping into the leather booth. A tub shaped like a coffin, full of ice and top-tier liquor, covered the table. There was a tray of mixers and a bunch of finger food.
“You want a drink?” she asked, and Theo’s lips curled into a beguiling smirk. She was impossible to read. Faire couldn’t tell if what she had asked pleased her or not. She felt like it was easy to make wrong moves with this one. A considerable part of her wanted to know how Theo got to where she was: second-hand to Baron - The Apostles.
Had she known her father?
Theo slid beside her, swiping a Casamigos bottle and pouring a few shots. She passed her a glass, and they clinked them together. Theo downed it in a single gulp, smacking her lips, so she did the same.
Casually, Theo slipped her hand into the opening of her top; the zipper pulled scandalously low. She pulled out a small baggie packed with tiny blue pills. She took one, placing it delicately on her tongue before pouring herself another drink. The lights streaked their purple-red shades down her prominent cheekbones, her sloped nose.
Immediately, she felt that troublesome itch. There was that deep, festering craving for another tool to pad her high. She wanted to float. She wanted to consume and be consumed.
“Sharing is caring,” Faire blurted out even though she barely knew this woman. With the alcohol running through her system, she felt a little less reserved.
Theo intimidated the fuck out of her, but drugs were drugs.
The blonde snickered. “Okay, Barney.” When Theo passed the bag, she noticed the pills were shaped like stars.
“Don’t tell Ironhead,” Theo warned. “I do not need him up my ass or Pope for that matter.”
She put one star in her mouth before washing it down with tequila. The pill was bitter. “I’m not a narc.”
“No,” Theo agreed, leaning back into the booth and flinging her arms over the back of it. “You’re not.”
Her tone suggested that it was a good thing. Theo seemed intrigued.
***
The ecstasy had yet to kick in, and so she drank. She drank and drank. She felt good as she flitted around the table, bobbing and swaying to the music. The boys held court as she sat between them. Like at Christo’s, she could feel eyes on her. Security had shooed several people away from the table. She didn’t even see Marissa.
Pope had gone off somewhere to talk business with another faceless heavyset man. Dark hair streaked in white. Unruly eyebrows. She could barely tell one from another, and it felt like so many of these group members were literal cardboard cutouts of each other.
What had happened in her bedroom with Pope had remained an event that she was desperately trying to squash. She tried not to think of it, allowing it to melt away into the rest of her mistakes. She didn’t want an explanation from him. She didn’t need it.
“Water,” Ben ordered as he pressed a bottle into her hands. She took a dutiful sip before placing it back on the table. Will was sprawled out in the booth, his face glittering in places from her make-up. When he caught her looking at him, he gave her a soft, secretive smile. He lifted his hand, motioning for her to come over to him. She went, practically bouncing into his lap, straddling him without care that everyone could see. His hand found her ass, and he swatted it playfully.
“Let’s go home,” he implored, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m over this.”
She was still too off with all the noise bouncing in her head. She wanted to finish the blow Ben had in his pocket. It would be less than ideal for her to hit her high when she was stuck at the penthouse.
“Later,” she shouted over the deep bass thumping over them. She dropped her face into his neck and licked, teeth scraping along the ridge of his jaw. She felt him jerk against her, his hands squeezing her flesh.
“Jesus,” he growled. “You can’t pull that shit here, or I’m going to drag you into one of the bathrooms.”
“Or we could fuck right here?” She smirked.
“I like the privacy of my room,” His eyes raked down the revealing top of her dress. “I can do more to you.”
She shivered. Fuck.
Still - she wanted to have fun tonight. She desired to shut her mind off, do drugs, and forget. She was determined. “Later,” she promised as she kissed him lightly before ungluing herself from his lap.
Will sighed dramatically before grabbing his mask and placing it on his handsome face. It was a little creepy with its white, blank surface in the shape of a wolf. Because Will’s golden hair was pulled back in a knot, it was hard to tell that it was him.
Just as Frankie returned to the table, she crawled over the booth toward Ben. He'd shoved his mask over his thick hair; his expression irritated as he eased his way through the crowd.
“This place is a fucking mad house,” he complained, dropping beside Will. “They’re letting too many people in.”
She pressed herself closer to Ben. He was slick with sweat, his naked chest gleaming in smeared gold paint. His muscles were defined under the flashing, multicolored lights. He threw his arm around her shoulders, yanking her close so that her hand fell against his sternum.
“Did I tell you how pretty you are?” he murmured, nipping her earlobe. He was drunk - that much was obvious. Handsy and puckish.
“A million times.”
“Well - I meant it.”
“You just want to get laid.”
His lips split apart into a blinding grin. “I mean…yeah. I’m dying to fuck you in that costume.”
“You will,” she hummed. “But first…” She sealed herself to him, mouth parting under his own as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Can I have some more?”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, his teeth worrying his lower lip. He pulled the baggie from his wallet. “Be good,” he cautioned, glancing briefly at Frankie and Will before slipping it into her hand.
***
The club was packed. They had space at their booth, but it still felt as if the room was beginning to collapse in on itself with the constant swirl of people. She’d been introduced to several Cardinals that she had never met before.
“This is Francis Alpo,” Ben announced. “He’s been handling some real estate deals up in Montana.”
“This is Jenny St. Thomas.”
“This is Dora Matthews.”
“This is Reeves Fat Cat Bair.”
Her smile was stretching her cheeks. She touched it idly, fingertip skimming off her lips and slippery teeth. That pill was hitting her hard. The coke had left a stinging sensation in the wet skin of her throat. In the dark, she hoped that no one could see her pupils. She had to keep moving, swimming upstream like a salmon.
“Babe,” Ben yelled as he swung her around before dipping her low on the dance floor. “I’m fucking buried.”
“Mmmyeah,” She gritted out through clenched teeth. Her jaw clicked as it moved in different directions. She was hyper-aware of the bodies rocking against her. Hips and elbows knocked her into Ben, who kept his arm tightly around her waist.
He twirled her around and lifted her. The sea of heads bobbed and swayed. The gold paint on his chest and stomach stained her dress when Ben set her back on her feet. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
The pulsing, soaked heat of the club was alive. It was pounding and breathing and cracking against her skull.
It was alive, and it didn’t love her.
The music was beginning to feel like a threat, so she ripped herself away from Ben. She headed back to their table, where Frankie stood like a beacon.
Frankie was rigid; his arms crossed over his chest like a towering sea stack. Most people were wise enough to give him a wide berth though a handful of girls were attempting to get his attention. They lingered around him, acting as lapping waves against the monolith of Francisco Morales. He pointedly ignored them. His scrutiny flickered between her and the unruly crowd, most likely searching for threats.
Out of nowhere, she was overcome by a rush of endorphins. She felt a tender adoration for Frankie; She wanted to touch him. She tried to hold him.
Who cared if any of these people saw them together? She’d already given it up. She’d given herself to them. It didn’t matter. The rumors were worse anyway. Everyone believed she was getting gang-banged by the four of them on a nightly basis.
She strode toward him, pushing people aside before stumbling. Frankie’s hands shot out, clasping her wrists to keep her steady.
“You need water,” he gruffed.
“No,” She shook her head, leaning into him further. She shoved her ear against his chest, savoring his rich masculine fragrance and broad shoulders and the brown curls of his hair peeking beneath his ears. His heart thumped: lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. His hand reflexively went to the crown of her hair.
He said her name softly, and she drew back to look up at him.
“Frankie,” she whimpered, and his eyebrows shot up.
She was clutching at him like he was a maelstrom she could leash. On tiptoe, she lifted herself, brushing her chest with his while digging her blue-painted fingers into his shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she could discern that the women beside him had matching pinched expressions, visibly irritated at her presence. “Do they touch you like I do?” It fell from her mouth. Her filter had long since melted away.
“Faire,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not here.”
“Whyy?” The word oozed out of her, long and loose. The club had turned into the cavern of a moist well. The air was charged and full of sex. “Not in public?” She scraped her hand across his jaw, enjoying the texture of his facial hair. “Embarrassed?” She frowned, lower lip jutting out. “Are you ashamed to be with me, Frankie?”
His eyes went flat. He said something unintelligible under his breath before he grabbed her by the nape of her neck and dragged her up to his mouth with one hand. The kiss was harsh and left her breathless. His tongue stroked hers before it ran along the top of her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, and then abruptly pulled away. Still cupping the base of her skull, he led her up the steps and to their table, depositing her onto the banquette seat beside Will.
“Water,” Frankie said in a harsh voice that brooked no room for argument. He slipped his mask back down over his face, which felt like a deliberate action.
Will tugged her toward him, and she went easily, her body beginning to feel like a jello-filled balloon.
As time crept forward, everything began to liquefy with it. Pope was still gone. Benny had disappeared into the crowd. Someone was consistently pushing water bottles into her hands, and she took eager pulls from them mindlessly - sucking down the liquid while the music and the heat weighed down her limbs. She ground her teeth. Her jaw clicked. Her tongue felt numb.
At some point, she could no longer tell Frankie from Will. Their wolf masks were like flashes of marble in the dark. The eye-holes sightless as they tried to communicate with her.
She could not stop reaching for them. Frankie and Will. Even though the drugs had catapulted her senses into overdrive, there was also something deliciously powerful in being able to touch them like she was. Catfish and Ironhead were famously cold. They were monsters, according to many, but here they were, enveloping her in front of everyone.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music, but she tangled herself around the timbre of their voices.
Frankie or Will slid a hand under the skirt of her dress, a thumb circling the meat of her knee. Her head tipped back against a shoulder. Someone nudged their fingers along the curve of her breast. She dug her nails into the thigh she was perched on. One of them stroked her arms, the edge of their mask catching on her cheek. “Baby…” She thought she heard one growl, but the word swam with the music. It fluttered away. There was warmth between her legs, a budding pressure in the cradle of her pelvis. When one of their knuckles caressed the side of her throat, she unintentionally lurched forward.
Fuck. A memory raced through her head, screeching violently and leaving tire marks.
…but that’s just not gonna work. Life for a life and all that.
She was sheathed in sweat; her skin began to itch as the fabric of her dress dipped between her legs. Her stomach turned over, and suddenly, the hands on her were no longer what she wanted. Everything was amplified. She twisted out of Will or Frankie’s arms, smacking her knee into the table's edge. The bottles shook, and a glass broke.
They said something. They called to her. She felt one of them attempt to grab her arm, but she jerked away.
“Bathroom,” she muttered as she rushed down the steps and into the writhing mass of the crowd.
She had overdone it. She knew that instinctively as her surroundings began to shudder and meld together into some neon nightmare. The black light was on, turning pale fabric into bright, illuminating flashes in the dark. She felt as if she was in a flurry of floating clothes.
She staggered to the bathroom, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. The blow had lit her up - shoved her heart right into overdrive. That, combined with the alcohol and the blue star birthing webs of pleasure across her nervous system, had made her a mass of sensation. She was a single flushed organism of sensitivity as she tried to navigate through the dense field of bodies. They jostled and lurched her - beaded necklaces and synthetic wigs and tulle catching on her fingers as she slid through them.
Once she made it to the dimly lit hallway, she missed the heat of all those tangled bodies. Her skin felt cold against her bones, and a shudder ran through her. The volume of the music rose, crashing against her back as the bass dropped. The floor shook. The air was smoky. There was a distinct haze from the fog machines. Everything tasted like cobwebs. She tried to catch her breath, pressing her palm flat to her chest, tracing through glitter, sweat, and black-blue paint.
The swell of a new song’s beat began, the crowd howled, and all that noise pierced her flesh, and why did it ache?
She just needed more.
Or would that be a bad idea? Would that really screw things -
“What the fuck?” There were new hands on her. The smell of cedar and mint. A blur. Her back hit the wall, and she found herself face to face with Baron. Fuck. He glared down at her. His full lips were a flat line as he scrutinized every piece of her.
“You’re on something,” he accused. The music was still pounding from down the hall. People were crowding the area - making their way around them.
She frowned. “Not really.”
“You’re chewing your lip in half.” He squinted. “Your pupils are dilated to hell.”
She lifted her hands and cupped his face. She ran her thumb across the angular line of his jaw - scraping it over his stubble. His lips were rose-pink. Girlish lashes and mouth, yet his face was so authoritative and masculine that it all evened into something startling.
“You’re so hot,” she murmured, and his gaze widened. The corner of his lips curled faintly. “Wait - sorry - that - that was - I don’t know why I said that. I’m just-just drunk.”
“When are you not?”
She bit her lip, sucking in a breath. That had stung. Shame filled her, wedging out all the rest of her high. “I know,” she replied miserably. “I know - I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” he challenged. “Take fucking control.”
How? What did he expect? She couldn’t shut it off. She couldn’t shove her finger back into that proverbial dike. She was on a runaway horse. She had left the barn. The world was on fire.
He lowered his voice. “Who gave you drugs? Ben?”
And Theo.
Her eyes focused on a spot over Baron’s shoulder. “Does it matter?
He stepped closer, his large frame overwhelming her as he sucked up the air between them. “I think so. I think it’s pretty bad that they’re feeding you drugs and fucking you into submission.”
“It’s not like that,” she protested.
“It’s not?” Baron’s palm found her cheek. “I’m not going to lie to you, Ms. Faire. I see them destroying you. You look like shit, you’re acting like a petulant fucking brat, and you’re obviously unhappy.” His grip tightened. “Or...you’re being made to believe that the attention my brother and his friends give you in the bedroom is happiness.” His face suddenly changed, his features full of concern. It elevated his usual rough beauty. It blew away all of the shadows and the grit. “My door is open…I won’t feed this addiction you’re clearly fighting,” He paused before adding. “You never know, Dolly; it might be the best thing you could ever do for yourself.”
She jerked. Dolly. Her father used to call her that. She unexpectedly felt incredibly sober, like she’d been dunked in ice water.
“How did you-”
“Your father told-”
“Mateo,” A voice - full of warning - came from her right. Pope. Baron’s eyes remained on her; his mouth twitched into a friendly smile. “Santi,” he answered.
She broke their shared gaze to meet Pope’s, who looked beyond irritated, almost flustered. Sweat beaded his brow.
“We’re going,” he announced as he offered her his hand. “C’mon, honey.”
Reflexively, she reached for it before Baron inched closer, making her pause. “They are breaking you,” he stated under his breath.
“Sweetheart,” Pope urged before snatching her wrist and jerking her toward him. She stumbled, her vision reeling as he pulled her to his chest. “Let’s go.” He glared at Baron behind her. He started striding away, yanking her with him.
She didn’t know what to do. She felt nauseous, so she let Pope guide her through the crowded hallway. They were moving deeper into the building - away from the club's main room. “Side exit,” he explained when he veered through another door and a maze of corridors.
Baron’s words were infiltrating her mind, screwing into the soft flesh of her memories. Questions. She was full of questions and doubts.
“Faire!”
She glanced over her shoulder to find Baron tailing them. His expression was determined.
“Jesus,” Pope hissed through clenched teeth. “What the fuck is his deal with you?”
Pope didn’t know about all of her encounters with his brother. He’d called her Dolly. She spotted the bright red exit sign - neon and gleaming. Pope shoved the door with his shoulder, and the chilly, October air enveloped her. It stung her skin - bit her. He called her Dolly. The ecstasy dialed the weather up to one-hundred, making her bones like glass and her skin thin as parchment. She was on too much shit. She was drunk and high. He’d called her Dolly.
Pope’s head swiveled from one side of the alley to the other. He withered. “Where the fuck is the car?” He whipped his phone out, dialing the driver, frowning when he noticed her wrap her arms around herself. “Shit - are you cold? Let me find you something-”
“I’ve got it,” Liam said as he stepped out from the shadows, easing his leather jacket off. Pope regarded him quizzically. He opened his mouth only to be cut off by the driver answering his call. He squeezed her shoulder and stepped away.
“I have paint on me,” she protested as Liam set the jacket on her shoulders. He rolled his eyes before moving in front of her to zip it up.
“It’s fine,” he assured her as he lifted his gaze above her head. “Baron,” he greeted him evenly. She whipped around to see the man stepping through the exit door. “Liam,” Baron replied. He smoothed his hair back, his eyes flicking to his brother before landing on her.
This was escalating—the whole thing. Something was brewing between the men, and it was threatening to burst.
A few feet away, Pope was growling demands into his phone. “Yeah - we’re on the side. Come get us.” He looked at Liam, purposely ignoring his brother. “Where are the others?”
“In the club,” he replied. “Ben is wrapping up.” Liam jerked his chin over to her. “Frankie and Will said to take her home.”
She sighed, rubbing her temples to stave away the migraine threatening to consume her skull's full surface. The drugs were circulating through her system. She felt swollen and on fire and also freezing at once. She was trying very hard to ignore the fact that, once again, she was in an unfamiliar alley. The poor lighting flickered above them. The smell of wet trash warped the air. The bass from the club could still be felt, reverberating underneath their feet.
Baron said her name, and she released a frustrated exhale.
“What is it?” she growled. She was tired. She wanted to curl up into her bed and watch something idiotic. No one was saying what they meant. It was a runaround. A constant runaround.
“Mateo,” Pope snapped as he stepped in front of her. “I thought we dealt with this? Called a truce. What is your endgame here?”
Baron brushed his brother aside before grabbing her by the shoulders and drawing her to him. Her hand automatically went to his wrist, clamping fiercely around the skin where she could sense his heartbeat. The black scrawl of a tattoo creeped out from his sleeve, sliding up his hand beneath his silver Rolex. These men would not stop touching her, grabbing at her, and pulling and twisting. She felt like a ragdoll and was beginning to think that was the point. Was that all she was? A chip to be played?
She squinted up at Baron - leveling his stare with her own. She didn’t care anymore. “Say what you want to say.”
His eyes searched hers for a moment. His furrowed brow finally relaxed as he seemingly came to a decision. “Fuck it,” he muttered before raising his voice enough for his brother to hear. “Ask Pope about your father.”
She blinked at him.
“Liam,” Pope growled at her bodyguard, who hovered at a safe distance. “Take her out of here.”
“Ask Pope about your fucking father, Faire.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This - I can’t - not right now -”
“Mateo,” Pope warned; his tone was a touch frantic. It didn’t sound like Pope. Not at all, and she didn’t want to press it. She didn’t want to open that fucking door because she already knew the answer.
Baron gripped her face fiercely. “What I said back there was true,” he stated. “What they do to you? What they give you? It’s not happiness. It’s fucking manipulation because they’re lying to you.”
She felt something unlatch in her chest. Everything was so heavy, like she was maneuvering through gelatin or glue. She couldn’t follow the rapid volley of this conversation. She didn’t want to do this.
“Baby,” Pope said as he tugged her away from Baron, his fingers found her chin, and he gingerly lifted it. Nausea leaped up the back of her throat. Her vision was beginning to blur, and so she screwed her eyes shut.
“Please,” she whispered. “This - I’m too fucked up for this. I can’t-”
“Look at me, Faire,” Pope demanded. She did - unable to resist how kind his voice sounded. He regarded her with that same pragmatic air. He would take charge. This was all a misunderstanding.
“Good girl,” Pope murmured. His eyes were so dark but familiar. Warm.
“Santi,” she whimpered. “I-I-”
“Look at me,” he insisted again. “It’s not - it’s not like that. Baron doesn’t know anything about us. What we do - it’s not a lie-”
She nodded. Yes. Yes. She felt him. She felt him inside her. She had seen him on the roof of The Blanc. She had seen Santiago. Not Pope. Just Santi.
“This is okay,” he continued. “You’re okay. I can fix this.” There was promise in his voice. There was unshakeable resolve in the timbre of it. “We can get you help. I have resources. I know people-”
“Just fucking tell her, Pope,” Liam snapped.
She stilled. Liam’s expression was wary, but his words were hard and edged. “She deserves to know.” The brunette’s bright blue gaze softened as they landed on her. “It’s over, Faire. You’re killing yourself daily. You’re burying it all. Let him tell you the truth, and then you can decide.”
Pope said nothing. He shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose.
“It’s because you already know, don’t you?” Baron proposed.
“I-”
“Jesus Christ, Mateo!” Pope bellowed as he pinned him with an incredulous stare. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Tell her,” he ordered. “You fucking tell her, so she has it all laid out. You and your boys can’t keep fucking her into complacency. She’s a Faire - an Apostle. That’s not what she was meant for, and you know it.”
Baron had called her Dolly. The word had felt shockingly intimate. It had warmed her insides, unburying something she hadn’t revisited in a long time. He must have been close to her father to have known that nickname. Maybe, he was on her side, and if Liam even agreed with him…
“Okay,” she relented, feeling almost defeated, feeling dazed. “Fine. What happened between you and my dad?”
Pope stepped away, his eyes sliding from her to Baron to Liam helplessly. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know what to do. She could feel Liam move behind her - feel his chest and warmth, and she trusted Liam. He had been there for her the last few weeks. Day after day. He gripped her arms lightly - his jaw brushing her temple. “I’m here,” he murmured as Baron’s gaze found Liam’s above the crown of her head. Something was silently shared between them.
Pope scrubbed a hand over his face before composing himself. His expression tightened - his lips thinning to a slash as a muscle flexed in his jaw.
It felt like minutes of heavy, overbearing silence. The club pulsed. The night tasted wet. The neon signs above them zapped. City traffic was still loud and thrumming with the baseline pumping from the door they’d exited.
Finally, Pope spoke.
“I did what I had to do,” he claimed. “I had to do it.” He looked at her, his brow drawing together. “Faire - your father died because he needed to.”
He dragged his hand across his mouth, scraping it over his stubble. He was silent for a few moments before he seemed to pull himself together. His expression hardened. The cracks vanished. “I killed him,” he confessed bluntly. “It was necessary.”
There it was. It now hung between them as a truth rather than a suspicion. He seemed to slump a little in relief before readjusting. He stood straight. He squared up, the flicker of fear vanishing as he unloaded what he’d obviously been harboring for months.
“I had to,” Santi repeated. “I’d do it again.”
He didn’t regret it. She almost wanted to tell him to lie to her. Take it back. Let me live as we did before.
She felt as if something sharp and pebble-like was trapped mid-throat. A candy. Sour and sticky and clogging her windpipe. She pressed her hand to her chest, pushing down as if she could splinter her sternum and allow her lungs to expand.
In a way, she had known this was the case. She knew what Santi had done because it made sense. They had all been avoiding it, and she had seen it in Santi’s dark eyes every time he brought up her father. She didn’t know how it may have happened, but she figured he had a hand in it.
He said her name softly - his voice desperate. She looked up at him, and he seemed distraught - certainly upset, and how easy would it be for her to forgive him right now. What did it matter? Her father was dead. Her mother was dead.
Still - a memory came, triggered by this revelation that made all the sense in the world. There’d been a knock at the door. It had been late, but she had heard it. She’d tiptoed out of her bedroom, across the hallway toward the edge of the stair's landing, and just in time to see her mother crumple like a tissue. The men in the doorway had been faceless, broad shadows in the night. Her mother howled. She had known then that her father was gone. She had instinctively known that her world had tipped on its side and rolled away from her. It had diverted violently, and nothing had been the same.
Their conversation on The Blanc’s roof now felt foolish and underhanded. He’d been the reason her life had turned out as it had. His words and promises to take care of her had been made out of guilt. There’d been hidden motivations sprinkled throughout every act and gesture. It occurred to her that Will, Ben, and Frankie had all known.
Will had known. Benny.
Will.
She made a soft, broken noise as she swayed on her feet. Her head was throbbing, and her tongue felt like weighted cotton in her mouth. Everything inside her was roped to an anchor spiraling down into the deep clutch of the sea - a lake - some empty black mass of nothing.
She began to tremble - a subtle shiver in her fingers before wrapping her arms around her torso. The leather of Liam’s jacket shifted. Could she keep everything in? She wanted to. She felt Liam step closer to her - his body radiating heat. He didn’t touch her or embrace her from behind; rather he remained still - making sure she knew that he was there and willing to support her if she needed it.
Baron slid in front of her - his expression unyielding. “Do you want me to take you?”
Take her where? Where could she go? She had no one.
“You just need some space, Dolly,” he clarified. “I can drive you.”
Was that smart? She felt like she couldn’t depend on herself. She’d felt isolated living with four men. Was it safe for her to leave all of this and be alone with her own head?
“Go with him,” Liam urged as he flattened his palm to her lower back. Pope’s eyes darted to him and then narrowed. It seemed that his patience with the man had seemingly thinned to nothing.
“Liam,” he said flatly. “How long have you been in my brother’s pocket?”
“Doesn’t matter, Santi,” Baron said. “He cares about the girl. That’s it.” He looked at her again. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t-“ The words left her. Baron was staring at her with intent - his expression eager.
She wanted it all to stop. She wanted the world to stop ringing. She wanted the voice in her head to demand less of her. She wanted to turn all the lights off, and dunk her head in a barrel of wine. She wanted to drown, find peace, and fix the cracks in her foundation. A task that seemed more and more impossible. It occurred to her that these desires were dangerous. Her thoughts were veering into self-destruction that she may not come back from.
She could tell that Pope was getting angrier. The longer she remained silent, the darker his face became. His brow became hellbent.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she finally admitted.
For her own safety.
From herself.
Pope cursed, shattering the tension. Gone was the softness he had possessed earlier. Gone were the quiet, sincere pet names and desperation.
He advanced, stopping just short of colliding with her. “Faire.” His voice was low and matter-of-fact. “You come with me right now. You’re drunk. You’re fucked up. You cannot think rationally. We can talk about all of this tomorrow.” He offered her his hand.
She stared down at it dully.
“I can explain everything at home,” he promised. He had switched his tactic to his usual defensiveness, a trait that made him seem all the more dictatorial. Things had flown off the handle. Everything was out of his control, and he was apparently trying to reign it in. “The boys are there,” he reminded her. “Will and Ben and Frankie. They’ll help you see.”
She considered his words. Was there a suggestion in his tone? She thought of sex. She thought of how she had directly told him how the guys made her feel better. He’d done the same.
I think it’s pretty bad that they’re feeding you drugs and fucking you into submission.
“This is your decision,” Baron shrugged, stepping away from them. He glanced over his shoulder as a black car pulled into the alley. The license plate had the distinct APOST12.
Do something for yourself.
You just need some space from them. Just enough to clear your head. Isn’t this why you felt like something was wrong? The distractions. The sex. You could leave and come back to them on your terms. Get your head on straight. It was all making sense. It was legitimate, especially when her brain was on overdrive and she was swaying on her feet.
“Santi,” she said. “I think-I think I just could use some time-”
“You’re not serious?”
She frowned, drawing away from him and into Liam. “It-it’s just-”
“My brother is not a good person, Faire,” Santi hissed. “I don’t know how he’s managed to weasel his fucking way into your little head, but he’s not. You’d be a fool to listen to him.”
“It’s not about your brother, Santi,” she replied - suddenly very weary. He had just told her that he’d killed her father, and he was still fighting her on this. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t stand her ground. She couldn’t yell, scream, or cut him down as he did to her. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe, it was the shock. She needed familiarity and the mundane, and for the first time in a long while, she craved her old house: her bed, her things, her memories.
She looked at Santi, nearly in tears. “I want to go home.”
“I know,” he said. His brown eyes softened as he reached for her hand. “I’m going to bring you there. Our ride is right here.”
She recognized the blacked-out SUV that began to drive into the alley. The two cars now served as a visual representation of her current predicament. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…
“She doesn’t mean the Penthouse, Santi,” Baron remarked, and Santi’s face changed. His nostrils flared, his teeth clenched as he rounded on his brother. His expression morphed into a terrifying blend of rage and frustration.
She had never seen him so angry.
“That’s fucking it,” he seethed as he stormed toward Baron. He snatched him by the lapels of his jacket, shaking him hard. “I know you believe this, but she does not belong to you.”
Baron’s lips curled. “I didn’t say she did.” He gingerly tugged Santi off of him, seemingly unphased. “I’m not the one telling everyone how she’s mine.”
Her head whipped toward him. “What?”
“No,” Santi protested. “I was declaring she was under our protection.”
“Didn’t sound like it.” Baron glanced at her. “You know he told everyone that you were a Cardinal now. Think of the optics!” He grinned lethally. “Charles Faire’s daughter aligning herself with the same man who killed him. I can tell you the Apostles weren’t too pleased.” His jaw tightened as his grin vanished. “After all, Charles loved her. If she were ever going to join the business, it would have been with us.”
She wrenched her hand out of Santi’s grip, stepping away from him. “It - I didn’t mean it like that. You are twisting my fucking words, asshole.”
“There’s also that fun little fact that you refuse to shut down any rumors about the four of you fucking her - that she’s essentially your sex slave.” Baron whistled. “Because it looks good for you, man. One more fuck you to Charles. One more way to dominate him -”
“Shut up,” Santi said in a low voice. The fight in him had seemingly been snuffed out, which told her there was a ring of truth in all of this.
She was stunned. She felt as if she’d been struck. She swayed on her feet as she stumbled away from him. There was a definite possibility that she might throw up.
Santi looked at her again. His face resigned, his eyes dark and blank, reminding her of a shark’s. “My brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said stiffly. “I want you to get in the car.”
She shuddered, curling into herself as she began to walk backward. His gaze narrowed. “Faire, if you don’t get in this car right now, I’ll fucking make you.”
It hit her like a bullet. The command punched her in the throat. He was furious with her, and she’d done nothing. She felt him dragging her in, shoving her deep into a tiny box to bury in the ground. She started to cry, and for a brief second, Santi’s reserved mask slipped, revealing unbridled panic in his gaze. His mouth parted as he reached for her, and when he stepped forward, she bolted.
She didn’t care. She didn’t give a shit what Santi had to say, so she sprinted toward Baron’s car. She yanked the door open and collapsed inside. Her breathing was ragged, and she tried to modulate it.
She could hear Santi yelling after her and then Liam trying to talk him down. He was saying her name over and over again. “It’s not safe for her. It isn’t. Come back!”
When the door slammed shut, the shrill commotion outside disappeared. Her skull fell against the window, her temple dragging down the cool glass. Her skin was on fire as she tried to stop her hands from trembling. In her head, she went somewhere else.
She was floating, rocking with the waves on the Cape with her father holding her, showing her how to swim. The sun had blackened out his face. It burned through her eyelids as she struggled to blink against it. The salt crept up her nose. Her body drifted. There was the acrid tang of sunscreen on her gums. Her father’s praise was muffled by the water covering her ears. But she knew it, felt it. She had no intention of giving up because her father’s encouragement ached in her like a restless flame.
“Look at you, Dolly! Keep kicking your legs like that.”
The reverie dissipated as Baron slipped into the seat beside her. “Go! You have the address,” he told the driver before turning toward her. His face was slack with relief as he gingerly gripped her hand, threading their fingers together. She didn’t pull away, suddenly unable to do anything at all, but stared straight ahead at the black leather of the passenger seat.
“I knew you’d eventually make the right choice.”
She couldn’t remember how to swim. There was the brine taste of ocean water filling up her mouth.
“It’s okay, Dolly. I’ll take you home.”
Author's Notes:
omg. send thots plz.
the support i have received for WYS has been beyond incredible. it has motivated me to try my hand at doing the deal and i've hired an editor so that's one step forward. i can't get out now. My utter thanks to @frannyzooey, who is an immeasurably good friend. not only did she beta this series, but she sent me cards, texts, and daily love. she's ridiculous. i hate her kindness (it's amazing). Then there is @krissology who was a source of constant encouragement and also helped A LOT with the dialogue towards the end of this. i look up to her hustleee. thanks to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa who has been nonstop in my dms offering so much support. i was doubting faire's character and the boys desire for her and she sent me (no joke) a fucking ESSAY on why they cared about her. finally to all of you: i love you and your joy and your messages. lesss go.
My poor heart is broken for Faire, even if the pain was inevitable. God this was a fantastic close to this part of the story and I cannot wait for the continuation and for the book. You can bet your ass I’ll be recommending it to EVERYONE once it releases.
Thank you for the story, Charnie! You’re KILLING it 💖💖💖
