You and Eddie broke up five years ago when you left to go to College in New York whilst he had stayed in Hawkins. When you find out Corroded Coffin are opening for Metallica in New York, naturally you have to go and support them.
4k.- Part 2 contains smut. Previous heartbreak, exbestfriend!Reader. Ex Hellfire Club member. Rockstar!Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin made it big. Slight angst but more fluff and smut really. Song names have been ‘borrowed’ from other artists. Brief cameo from James Hetfield. A few OC at the beginning.
Eddie Munson Masterlist.
Corroded Coffin were opening for Metallica on the north American leg of their worldwide tour. Corroded Coffin, the same band that had just put out their debut album and had been met with critical acclaim and success, just as they had always deserved. A triumph of modern metal, you'd read in one magazine during your journey here, and you couldn't agree with that statement more.
You'd bought tickets mere hours after they'd gone on sale, not risking missing the event as a result of your own poor planning. The days crept closer and though you were naturally excited, a nervousness had crept in as it neared. Would he even recognise you?
Admittedly, you hadn't been keeping close tabs on the band in recent years and had missed the initial release of their album; your work usually keeping you busy enough to completely neglect your social life. Whether by fate or by chance, the poster for their show had been placed on a billboard directly opposite your office and it had immediately struck your attention on your way into work.
Ronnie, your best friend, had enthusiastically accepted to come along with you alongside her boyfriend Joel, who you also knew from college. All three of you had bonded over your shared love of rock music within the first week of meeting on campus and had been firm friends ever since, even when you officially became their third wheel after two years of them dancing around each other. Joel was particularly into metal, admittedly more of the trash side than the classic heavy metal you favoured whereas Ronnie picked and chose as she fancied, always adding in a hint of Lauper for balance. You always suspected Joel would get along with Eddie, though doubted they'd ever get the chance to meet, assuming Eddie hadn't changed too much in the five years since you'd last seen him.
Eddie Munson had been your best friend once upon a time, a millions years ago so it seemed now. You'd met in middle school, way before Eddie's signature 'look' had been founded, his hair practically buzzed back then with no jewellery and no tattoos. He'd been the only other person to share your love of rock music and shitty horror films and your friendship had formed quickly, never wavering. He'd introduced you to D&D and you'd introduced him to the magic of John Hughes movies, Eddie's guilty pleasure. Your relationship took slightly longer to bloom, both of you stumbling around each other hopelessly until you finally made your move. Luckily for you, Eddie had silently felt the same for just as long and in no time at all you were Eddie Munson's girlfriend, and proudly so.
You couldn't remember a time when you didn't love Eddie Munson, hardly able to remember a time when he wasn't one of the most important and constant parts of your life, until he wasn't.
1985, your senior year and Eddie's re-do of his own senior year. Finals were done with and you lazed all summer splitting your time between the newly built Mall and Eddie's trailer, free of responsibility and stress. Your hard work paid off when college acceptance letters arrived one after another, your options open for you to go down any path you chose. Your first choice, the number one college for the arts in New York had accepted you unconditionally, your dream finally working out.
Eddie however, had flunked once again and would be repeating his senior year again the following year, unable to leave Hawkins with you as promised.
Voices were raised, hopes of escaping Hawkins together had been shattered and the inevitable cracks in your relationship had started to show.
You'd vowed to hold off going to college, to take a year off whilst you worked and waited for Eddie to graduate so you could still keep both of your dreams alive. But then the mall burnt down and jobs around Hawkins became impossible to find, with businesses closing left right and centre, making your compromise redundant. Your parents didn't understand nor agree with your desire to hold off on your college dreams, withdrawing their financial aid completely until you were back in education, which only added another layer of complexity to the situation.
After a long and excruciatingly painful discussion, it was decided that you'd go to college and leave Eddie behind, as much as it killed you to do.
Eddie didn't want to hold you back anymore, his own dreams taking a knock too as a result of his own actions, the natural consequence to his non-con formative style. He'd talked of later resentment but you knew it was just talk to get you to leave, because how could you ever resent him?
You'd broken up the night you left for college, neither of you seeing a way of making your relationship work long distance whilst he was busy with his band, Hellfire and school, though the latter never seemed as important to him as the former. You'd be in a completely different state, starting a new life and college, meeting new people, socialising and working hard, all of the things that didn't bode well with keeping a relationship alive.
Your split was amicable and surprisingly adult, even if it did completely shatter your heart.
Right person, wrong time, Eddie had said.
You could tell he harboured an enormous amount of guilt over failing and as you drove away that night, you couldn't bear to look at his sad eyes watching you leave.
There'd been the occasional phone call and letter in the months after you left, mostly noting all the new freshman that he'd accosted into the D&D club and the sadistic campaign he was planning. You'd told him about the new friends you'd made and how much you liked it there with like-minded people and no stupid jocks around. You hadn't included the painful loneliness you felt at night without him or just how homesick you felt being away from everything you knew and loved. You missed him with every fibre of your being, the emptiness still haunting you months later when you thought of him, as you often did.
The letters and the phone calls dwindled after the first year and after a spate of no answer from him, you never called again, and neither did he. Just one of those things. Right person, wrong time.
There was one summer when you'd returned from college to visit your parents, you'd practically leaped from the car and hiked to Forest Hill's to surprise him the second you arrived back in Hawkins, only to find that he wasn't there. The band had a show in another state and wouldn't be back until after you'd already be back in New York. You were heartbroken all over again and in an act of spite you didn't return for Christmas that year, unable to cope with the potential disappointment. You'd never told him this, naturally, but it was the proverbial nail in the coffin to your relationship, the closing of the chapter. Your parents had moved away from Hawkins not long after that and in the years that followed you never found yourself with a reason to return.
Now, it had been five years since you'd last seen him and the anticipation was almost too much to handle. You didn't know if he'd even recognise you, or even more so want to see you, but the chance to watch him and the guys perform was too tempting to resist.
As the pre-show music filled the room as people continued to pile in, your thoughts drifted back to Eddie and to the guys. Hours of watching them practice in Gareth's garage, agonising over set lists and stage outfits, offering lyrics to original songs and being their Guinea pig for potential riffs. Tuesday nights spent at the Hideout watching them perform, even if it was mostly to drunks and wasters. More personally, you thought back to cozy nights in the Munson trailer whilst Wayne was at work, Eddie shirtless on the bed with his guitar draped over his lap practicing and playing absently as he sought to perfect what he was working on. The smell of weed and sex hung in the air as you lazed on the bed half watching Eddie play, pausing occasionally to wink at you or reach put and touch you, sensing his captivated audience.
The thought that the same boy you once loved was now going to be up on that stage performing to the crowd around you, opening for the one and only Metallica was unfathomable.
"Refreshments for the fair maidens," Joel smirks as he finally makes his way back to you and Ronnie in the front row, holding three beers and distributing them between you. "What's got your goat?"
You turn towards him and realise that you'd been frowning as you reminisced, focusing on the images in your mind and apparently ignoring the world around you.
"I stopped trying to get her attention three nudges ago!" Ronnie laughs, offering you another playful nudge. Apparently you really had been lost in your little daydream.
"Sorry," you say, casting a glance towards the still empty stage before turning back towards your friends, a slight pang of emotion hitting you as you see them wrapped around each other.
"Eh don't sweat it," Ronnie smiles, "if my ex was as hot as yours I'd be lost thinking about him too!"
"Excuse me?" Joel prods, pretending to be offended.
"Though no one is as hot as you my love," she says with a sickly smile, laughing as his face settles into a shit eating grin.
"That's what I thought!"
You smile at the pair, taking a sip of your drink and enjoying the atmosphere around you.
"Think he'll notice the T-shirt?" Ronnie asks after taking a long sip of her own beer. You cast a glance down to your chest and smirk, though your stomach fills with butterflies at the mere thought.
A relic of sorts, one of the many things you'd found yourself unable to part with even after so many years. You'd pulled it out of the shoe box you kept in the back of your closet that held your most cherished items, the shoe box that had 'Hawkins' scrawled on the front in black marker. Your Hellfire Club shirt. One of the OG shirts ever made, second only to Eddie's himself. The red flames above the sword had faded slightly, a natural consequence of repeated washing over the years but the overall motif was still very much visible and distinctive. It was a little tighter than it used to be, specifically around the bust but it was hardly a bad thing, your body now filling out the shirt in a way it never did before.
You were about to reply to Ronnie when the lights suddenly dimmed to near darkness, cheers erupting all around you as the gig began. There was a moment of feedback from the sound system, the sound of guitars being plugged in to the giant amps and within a few agonising seconds, the first chords began to ring out across the venue.
It was the opening song of their album, recognisable instantly by the distinctive guitar riff that you knew could only be played by Eddie himself. The lights suddenly came up to illuminate the stage and on walked Corroded Coffin. The entire venue erupted in loud cheers, screams echoing as the band dove right into the sing as they stepped onto stage, not even waiting to get their places.
You spotted Jeff right away, his signature shuffle side to side as he was playing making you smile, remembering all the times you'd watched him do the exact move before. He was wearing a leather waistcoat and nothing underneath but his shredded chest. Man he was in good shape and more confident than you ever remembered. Gareth looked completely at home behind the drums, his head banging in time with each powerful hit, his red checked shirt still worn proudly. Richie was a cathode Ray of power, his posture mirroring that of his idol Ian Hill of Judas Priest, the distinctive wide stance commanding attention.
You held in a gasp when Eddie reached the mic almost directly in front of you, his voice flowing out to the receptive crowd like a beacon of light. He was mesmerising, his passion and talent bursting out of him and you watched through tear filled eyes, filled with pride. The crowd were loving them, bouncing wildly and singing along to the lyrics with mosh pits already forming behind you.
Eddie looked incredible. He'd grown up a little, losing the last of his baby face in the past few years so that he now looked like a real man. His hair was still wild and untameable, just as you remembered, but he seemed taller somehow... grown. Hot.
You were so lost in watching him that you didn't even notice the cheers of the crowd around you as they immediately dove into the second song. Perhaps even heavier than the first, you began to ease into it, feeling yourself unfreeze and begin to move.
"There she is!" Ronnie shouts into your ear over the music, noticing your demeanour relaxing, "they're really good!" She's laughing and beaming, clearly enjoying herself. You cast a glance to Joel who's nodding in time with the beat, his head banging increasing and pausing only to drink.
"They really are!" You shout back, beaming at her, feeding off her energy and the crowd around you.
By the next verse you're bouncing around with her, trying to prevent your drink from spilling but probably failing miserably, finding yourself caring less and less. You can hardly take your eyes of Eddie, his electric energy and captivating voice too powerful for you to look away.
"Thank you New York!" Eddie's voice rings out as he takes hold of the mic after the second song ends, speaking directly to the crowd. "Now I know it's not quite the Garden, but you guys are fucking incredible!" Cheers erupt around you and you can't hold back the laugh that falls from your lips, hearing his speaking voice again making you want to sob.
"Now, we're going to throw it right back to when we were still playing the local dive bar with a crowd of about five drunks and one actual, genuine supporter. Here's Prisoner of your eyes!"
Ronnie nudges you again at the mention of you but you don't look away, screaming in excitement along with the crowd at a song you instantly recognised. The guitar only opening of the song makes memories flash behind your eyes of the nights Eddie spoke about at the Hideout and of the more personal memories of him playing the song in his bedroom to you. It was one of the first original songs they'd written and you'd loved it ever since its conception.
You sang along loudly to the slightly more melodic, softer song, supping your beer and finally feeling relaxed. Whether any of them spotted you or not you couldn't care, you were having a great fucking time.
You watched in a trance as the intricate solo began, Eddie's fingers working the guitar like magic, so effortlessly perfect. His rings glimmered under the lights, the exact same rings you remembered from your teenage years and a single tear escaped your eye, completely overcome with emotion.
Then, just as Eddie's solo finished, a drawn out bass-led ascent into the bridge that created a slow built into the chorus, you saw his eyes open. He's had his eyes closed throughout most of the solo, his face scrunched up with the focus and effort of his motions. Those chocolate brown eyes opened to look into the crowd, reaping the reward of their cheers and feeding off the energy they were emitting.
Then his eyes flashed to you.
You faltered, startled by the intensity of his eyes raking over you. You watched as he looked equally as startled himself, apparently noticing the familiar design of your T-shirt first. You could almost see the cogs in his mind whirring, the journey to realisation playing out on his face as you watched with a rapidly beating heart. His eyes were trained on your chest, the once familiar Hellfire design too recognisable and distinctive to be anything else. He'd made that T-shirt by hand, designed it for his beloved club. You watched as his eyes slowly took in what he was looking at, his eyes flicking up towards your face to look at you in wonder, a hopefulness present within them that you were thankful to see.
You watched as his entire face lit up once it had clicked into place of what, or rather who, was in front of him, jumping around freely to his own music. The bright smile of recognition that crossed his features instantly transports you back to '84, the boyish smirk reserved only for you making butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach. It's a goofy lip-sided smile mixed with a smirk that is so distinctively Eddie that you can't help but beam back at him, amazed that he's not missed a single note the entire time. He looks around to the guys, desperate to get their attention but finds them all way to drawn into the song they're finishing and so he resorts to finishing the song, his head shaking in disbelief as he raises his lips to the mic to sing the final chorus. He's singing through a smile that won't leave his face, his eyes returning to you after mere seconds of looking away, a shared moment of intimate familiarity amongst the sea of people.
The song ends and you cheer louder than you thought possible, joining in with the enthusiastic crowd. Eddie rushes off towards Jeff as the last note still hangs in the air, bringing the guys in for an emergency huddle, much to the confusion of the crowd. It's almost comical how Jeff's head whips around towards the crowd, evidently trying to spot you at the barrier. He breaks out into the widest grin imaginable once he spots you and you can't help but beam back at him, turning your attention to Richie who's eyes are almost bugged out of his skull staring at you. Gareth holds up his drumsticks towards you, his still boy-ish face grinning ear to ear and you mouth a few words of greeting back to him.
You watch Eddie's back as he attempts to say something else to the guys, pulling their attention back as the crowd begins to murmur between themselves at the slight hold up. Then all nod with enthusiasm and you watch as Eddie turns, approaching the mic again with his grin still upon his face. He shoots you a wink and you bite your lip to stop your smile widening any further, already feeling a bit manic.
"Apologies for the slight delay, had to change things up a bit," he explains to the crowd with a smirk. "Now, New York, who's ready for the one and only FUCKING METALLICA?!"
The crowd shouts their confirmation back to him and he laughs into the mic.
"We've still got a few songs left to play first, but first here's an old song of ours! This song is called Darkness of my Love!" The crowd cheers along again and he grins, looking invincible in that moment. His gaze slips to you, a devilish look crossing his features. "This one's for the princess."
There's a divinities whoop from the crowd, even more so when they watch Eddie shoot a wink to you before the all too familiar chords of their first 'big' song play out.
You scream louder than anytime before, knowing the song inside and out, with years of memories hitting you all at once to that very song. Your favourite song, the same song that you'd jam along with any chance you could get. Sometimes stoned and always enthusiastic, you'd sing along the entirety of the song in your loudest voice, head banging and putting on a show knowing that Eddie would be laughing and flashing you the most incredible smile once you stopped. You realised you loved him after the first time you played the song together and his smile started to make sense to you. Long hot summers and rainy nights, it didn't matter, the song was a constant as was your love for Eddie.
You sang along with Eddie, his eyes hardly leaving yours as you bounced and flailed wildly to your favourite part. Ronnie flung her arms around you and you began jumping together, your hair wild as you head banged to the thump of the drum. There was a renewed vigour to their performance now, another layer of electricity that seemed to emit from Eddie as he began the solo. He was showing off now, you recognised the signs and could hardly stop yourself from beaming at him.
When the song finished, you screamed, arms reaching up as you jumped. Everything was perfect. Eddie and Jeff slipped side stage, no doubt to change their guitars or get a drink whilst Gareth played a motif on the drums that had you captivated. When the guitarists came back out, they walked with the swagger of rockstars, no longer nerdy kids.
"Now you beautiful bastards, here's Weaving Sorrow!"
"Excuse me miss," a security guard said from in front of you, making you jump. You'd been so captivated in the performance that you hadn't noticed him approach the other side of the barrier.
"Corroded Coffin would like to see you backstage. Would you like to come with me?"
You turned to Ronnie and Joel with questioning eyes but they were cuddled up and already smirking at you.
"Go!" Ronnie says with a laugh, "you're an idiot if you don't and I'll never talk to you again!"
"Yeah you're spoiling the show, get fucked!" Joel adds, urging you to go. You flip him the bird, laughing at them both before taking the hand of the security guard and leaping over the barrier, heading backstage with him.
He leads you through the winding corridors towards the dressing rooms, the sound of the stage fading further into the background, when you froze, coming face to face with James Hetfield himself as he walked through the corridors towards the stage. You knew better than the bother him, particularly before his own show but apparently it didn't faze him in the slightest.
"Cool shirt, pretty girl," he said as he walked past you, chewing a piece of gun and smirking.
You were hardly able to stutter out a 'thanks' as you caught up to the guard who was gesturing to a dressing room on the left with 'Corroded Coffin' pinned to the door. Your face was probably bright pink, your heart still not returning back to normal from your brief encounter with James, thinking of how abnormal the entire night had been.
"Mr Munson requested you wait in here Miss," the guard says as he opens the door and gestures for you to go in, which you do. The door closes behind you and you're left alone with your thoughts, your heart racing as you wait for Eddie.
Warnings- Secret relationship, BAUAgent!Reader, yearning, violence. Hostage situations, cults, themes of religion and religious manipulation. Child endangerment. Guns. Extreme violence and dark themes. Mentions of injury, physical assault, broken bones and blood. Reader is assaulted by Cult leader in chapter 2. Mentions of suicide and mass suicide, please mind the tags, No sexual assault featured. Loosely based on the real events of Jonestown and Waco, please mind the trigger warnings. Kind of going for a southern gothic thing here (despite the Colorado setting).
Tags will be updated with every chapter.
Part 1: Stepped into a church, I passed along the way. [4.9k.]
Part 2: Well, I got down on my knees, and I pretend to pray. [4k.]
Part 3: You know the Preacher like the cold. [6.3k.]
Occam’s Razor- a philosophical principle of simplicity. It suggests that when faced with multiple competing hypotheses or explanations, the one that makes the fewest assumptions and is the simplest is most likely to be correct.
[Aaron Hotchner x BAUAgent!Reader]
2.2.k.- Secret relationship, hidden relationship. Boss/Employee relationship, power play. Kissing. Rossi stirring the pot. Poor Spence. Reader went to Northeastern University for her degree (unspecified). The team finding out about their relationship.
Hotch Masterlist
You gasp as the cold night air bites at your skin, the warmth of the hotel lobby having deceived you as to the true temperature outside. It's early, not even 3am as every hotel guest pours out from the exits to gather outside in the courtyard upon the insistence of the fire alarm that was blaring even outside the building. Just as everyone else, you'd panicked from the sudden and very unwelcome wake up call and had thrown on the first items of clothing you could find before evacuating the building. Upon your descent down the stairs, you'd joined up with Spencer, Hotch and Emily before finding the rest of the team outside.
It was freezing, the wind whipping at your body and plunging your body temperature almost instantly. You fought to stop your teeth chattering, your limbs visibly shaking and you cursed yourself for not having your uniform with you at the time.
Thankfully, your favourite sweatshirt has been on hand to throw over yourself but the little sleep shorts you had on were not offering any warmth or protection from the cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the long sleeves of the sweatshirt protecting your hands slightly. You weren't wearing a bra, mainly because you're not a sadist and wouldn't dream of torturing yourself like that when asleep. The cold permeated your clothes with ease and your nipples were hard and aching, almost sore to the touch from the cold alone. Your arms covered your chest the best you could and you prayed that nobody noticed your predicament.
The team were in the same boat, with most of them in various levels of undress wearing only their pyjamas, with the exception of JJ who wore a remarkably warm looking cardigan that made you want to step forward and hug her.
It was odd, you had to admit, seeing everyone's preference for nightwear and how varying their choices were. Spencer was wearing a two piece set of pyjamas with little coloured triangles all over. Looking closer you noticed that written between the various printer triangles were prints of Pythagorean theorem across the fabric.
You'd never considered what the team wore as pyjamas before but most of them were true to character, even if it was odd to view. Rossi especially piqued your interest, seeing him in a crisp two piece set with the hotel bathrobe fastened tightly around his waist.
"What's that look?" Rossi says, sensing your somewhat amused gaze.
"Nothing," you say entirely unconvincingly, a smirk blooming on your face. "I just never imaged you wearing pyjamas."
"What did you expect? It's three in the morning," Rossi counters, humouring you.
"Honestly? I expected you to walk out looking like Hugh Hefner, robe and all," you laugh. The team around you chuckles at the vivid mental image, all of their faces lighting up in amusement.
"It was a satin smoking jacket, and I don't own one," Rossi says steadily, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
"It was silk and you definitely do," you snark, flashing an innocent smile.
Even Hotch laughs along with that one. Rossi laughs with a slight nod, his left eyebrow rising as if he is going to challenge you but instead he leans in closer, patting your shoulder.
"At least I'm wearing pants."
Your eyes flash down to your exposed legs, your shorts hardly covering anything past where your oversized sweatshirt falls. At the sight of your exposed skin you feel a shiver run over you at the cold wind biting your legs. You hug your arms tighter around your body and look up to deliver a clever retort only to find that he had slipped away from the group.
"Excuse me, " Hotch says, spotting the hotel Manager in the crowd and beelining towards him, ready to offer assistance. You only hoped that said assistance did not involve you or the team for once.
"The first night we get off in weeks and we're dragged out here in the cold at 3AM," Derek complains, standing with his hands tucked into his armpits. At least he'd had the sense to throw on his combat trousers with his FBI T-shirt.
You'd worked three cases back to back, each one of them a harder toil than the other both physically and mentally. You'd lost countless hours of sleep both due to action, scouting and paperwork and you'd finally been given the chance to go home in the morning after a night of undisturbed and well deserved sleep.
"Ughr don't remind me," JJ says, folding her arms across her chest and snuggling down into the cardigan she'd thrown over herself. You wholeheartedly agreed with her frustration. "I mean what are the chances."
"You know there's around 3,700 hotel and motel fires annually in the US, so the chances really are-."
"Rhetorical, Spence."
"Right," he nods, his entire body doing an involuntary dance to fight off the cold.
You look up as Hotch approaches once again, stepping back into the group huddle opposite you, relaying the information he'd dragged out of the manager which was practically nothing. You nod along, your eyes closing to stop them aching from exhaustion and from the wind.
"Coffees for everyone," Rossi says as he approaches the group holding two carriers of cups that he distributes throughout the team.
"Where did you..." Derek begins to ask, taking a miscalculated sip of the burning hot coffee, his words dying out as he winces.
"There's a coffee cart down the street, figured we'd need something to fight against the cold. Who knows how long we'll be out here."
You sneak a glance at Hotch, seeing his brow knitted together as usual as his eyes survey the scene around you, inevitably seeking out someone else in charge. He'd already approached the hotel manager and the fire chief to ascertain the situation, finding out that a fire alarm had been raised on the fourth floor and that they were investigating it further. You quickly look away as Rossi approaches you and you thank him profusely for the welcomed warmth. You take the drink from his hands with an appreciative smile and hold it to your chest, hoping the warmth will permeate through and raise your body temperature slightly. You readjust the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt so they are hanging over your hands, the coffee cup nestled between them. Raising the cup to your lips, you take small steady sips, having observed Derek's eagerness moments before and you smile softly as you feel the liquid warming you as you swallow.
"Huh." Rossi says from beside you, drawing your attention back to him. You realise he hadn't moved on since handing you your cup.
"What?" You ask, seeing an expression in his face that instantly makes you nervous.
"Nothing," he shakes his head with a smirk tugging at his face, an ominous sight from a profiler. "I could have sworn you went to Northeastern."
You try not to react, try not to look at the team around you who are freshly intrigued by Rossi's words, their eyes all falling to you. And instantly the realisation dawns on you of the error you'd made.
In your haste to dress, you'd instinctively thrown on the old sweatshirt you had claimed as your own months prior, stolen from your boyfriend. It had become your go-to comfort item, much too oversized and old enough that it was well worn. It was huge on you and fell to your thighs, sleeves overhanging your hands by inches and a faded navy colour with a slightly frayed neckline. And most notably, cracked and slightly faded gold text that proudly read 'George Washington University, '92'.'
Which would have been fine, in principle, if the team didn't know about your exemplary record and recommendation from Northeastern University.
It may have also been fine if you weren't surrounded by the best profilers in the United States.
But it was not fine, because only one person known to this group had attended George Washington University and had infamously graduated his law degree with honours, notably in 1992.
And that man was Aaron Hotchner, Unit chief of the BAU.
The same man stood pretending not to shiver in his black T-shirt and plaid pyjama pants making a regular sized cup of coffee look comically small in his hand.
The same man who was now averting the multiple sets of eyes falling upon him, ignoring the gasps that the group emitted as the realisation swept through them and the very same man who had the audacity to be holding back a smirk.
It was then that the hotel manager appeared with fortuitous timing to loudly announce that you could all begin returning to your rooms as there was no emergency. Complimentary coffee and pastries would be offered in the dining room for anyone wishing to partake. You hardly listened to what was being said, the tension of the eyes upon you too distracting.
"Night you two, keep it down the walls are like paper," Rossi says with a smirk, his eyes flicking between you and Aaron as he shifts through the group towards the entrance of the hotel, stopping briefly to pat Aaron on the shoulder.
You were certain your blush was vividly pink by now and could only hope that the darkness of the night concealed the vibrancy of it. You dared cast a glance at Aaron, finding him already gazing at you with a somewhat amused look in his eyes and the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. His hand discreetly finds your hip and he traces your side with his thumb, a sneaky and silent declaration of love. Unbelievable.
The team slowly begins to disperse, each retreating to their rooms except for JJ and Emily who are planning to take full advantage of the free offerings in the dining room before bed. Each of the team gives you a knowing smile, a playful wink, a wiggle of their eyebrows or a small playful comment about what had been discovered. Morgan even playfully asked if he could swap rooms with you to be further away from Hotch's room, now knowing that yours would remain unoccupied. Aaron had muttered a reply and you had simply glared, though there was absolutely no power behind your glare.
"We're discussing this tomorrow," JJ whispers to you as she leaves, rubbing your shoulder gently with a sweet smile upon her face that Emily mirrors.
And then it was you and Aaron once again. He pulls you into his chest with a resounding chuckle, his body moving up and down against you as you bury your head into his collar with a groan.
"Let's get you inside," he says, reaching out for your hand and leading you back inside. With everything that had transpired you had temporarily forgotten about how cold you were until you step back into the lobby and feel yourself begin to defrost.
"My room or yours?" He asks as you wait for the elevator, an amused look on his face.
"You're enjoying this!" You accuse, shooting him a look.
"A little," he admits, squeezing your hand as the doors to the elevator open. He guides you in first, his hand reaching for the small of your back as you step in and press the button to your shared level. "Mostly I'm very much enjoying the blush on your cheeks."
You bury your face into his chest once again with a groan and he chuckles once more.
"You're seriously not bothered that they know?" You mumble against his cotton t-shirt, amazed that he still feels moderately warm.
"We've discussed this honey. It's never been my intention to hide our relationship, it was just a precaution to avoid Strauss for as long as possible. I don't mind the team knowing, though it's been nice to have you all to myself for so long."
"I'm still yours, even if they know."
He leans down to kiss you, your words clearly having an impact on him. The kiss is surprisingly intense for how exhausted both of you are, with Aaron's hands reaching down to your butt, keeping you anchored to him as his lips dance against yours.
The door opens on your floor and you're met with none other than Dr Spencer Reid, who looks like he wants to be anywhere except for here right now. Aaron clears his throat, pulling away slightly from you and nods towards Spence as he guided you out of the elevator.
"Um, JJ convinced me to grab some pastries," he says awkwardly gesturing to the phone in his hands, shifting weirdly around the two of you and stepping into the elevator.
"Enjoy," you say awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to just get to your room and crawl back into bed.
"You too," he says quickly, only to realise the connotation of his words, his eyes widening comically. "I mean, um, well I didn't mean."
"Night Reid," Aaron says definitively from beside you, reaching out for your waist to gently pull you away, no longer bothering to hide the clear amusement on his face. If Spencer sees you stepping into Hotch's room together, he doesn't say anything.
Nor does he say anything the next morning when Hotch interrogates the group to find out who had placed the 'Do not disturb' sign on your door handle the next morning.
"A passion for pleasure is the secret of remaining young.”- Oscar Wilde.
1.4.k.- SMUT. Waxing Poetic about sucking Hotch’s cock, that’s it. No plot, no shame. Oral (M receiving). Deep throating, slight cum play, power play. Office sex, semi/public sex if you squint? Male moans, Hotch whining. Pet names. Hotch biting his fist to stay quiet. Hotch can’t stay quiet.
Hotch masterlist
This was your favourite thing in the world, no doubts no exceptions.
There was no finer feeling than watching the perpetually professional and authoritative unit chief rendered empty-minded by your mouth.
You can't take your eyes off of his face, delighting in the expression you find there and his obvious battle to keep quiet. He's seated in his office chair, legs spread and suit pants pulled open just enough for his perfect cock to be exposed for you. The blinds of his office windows are closed and only a small desk light illuminates the room in a warm hue, drenching his agonised form in the most sinful way. It's late and you're alone in the bullpen but you still can't take the risk, least of all the ever professional Agent Hotchner. His previously pristine shirt has been pulled up to his waist to allow you room to work and is inevitably creasing by the second, not that either of you care in the moment.
Your fingers nails lightly trail through the patch of black hair just below his navel that is now exposed and his hips involuntarily stutter at the sensation as you toy with him. You let out a sinful chuckle at the way his hips chase your mouth, not wanting to be apart for more than a second.
It's intoxicating to see him like this. The strong leader completely at your mercy, turning to mush by your touch. The shift of power, his resolve breaking and his willing submission to you as you take control over him is electrifying. You show him your devotion by your mouth and in turn you get to see the most vulnerable version of himself, for your eyes only.
He's panting now, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts, his breathing disrupted each time you change up your technique, knowing exactly what drives him crazy. You can feel his abdominal muscles clench under your hand as you lick around the bulbous head of his weeping cock, unable to contain your moan as you taste the salty sweet mix of his precum. His head falls back once again; he's fighting the constant battle of wanting to watch you take his cock but unable to keep his eyes open long enough to watch as his head tumbled back.
You take him deeper again, the soft hair at the base of him tickling your nose as you relax your throat for him. The groan he emits is outright sinful and you can't help but glance up at him in that moment, seeing him completely relinquished to the pleasure.
His right hand is balled up into a fist, his teeth clenching around it as he fights to conceal the noises he's desperate to make.
"Fuck, honey," he moans as eyes find you again, your tongue working over the veiny underside of his cock as you alternate between licking and sucking, not giving him a moments peace. You can tell he's getting close, his abdomen tightening and the moans beginning to flow out of him no matter how desperately he's trying to fight it.
You flash him a dangerously seductive smile, your lips stretched out around his cock as you begin milking him with your mouth. It's sloppy and wet, your spit leaking out the sides of your mouth and dripping down to his balls as you suck down the length of him quickly, sucking hard and bobbing your head in the way you know drives him to the brink.
He whines. It's a broken whimper barely concealed by the balled fist in his mouth and it's the hottest fucking thing you've ever heard. Your own arousal is flowing freely and your underwear is borderline uncomfortably wet at this point, but this isn't about you.
His eyebrows are pulled together in an impossible frown so different to his usual stoicism, unable to focus on anything other than your mouth and the pleasure he's receiving. He's chasing his high and yet still denying himself, trying to hold off just a little longer, testing his endurance even during the times he's allowed to let go. That won't do.
You begin to bob on him relentlessly, mercilessly. His entire body folds in on itself, pulled taught like the string of a bow prepared to release. The moan that escapes him is unholy, it permeates through your entire body and has you unashamedly dripping into the already saturated material of your underwear. He's gripping the arm of the chair now with his left hand, knuckles white as he fights the urge to grab hold of your head and entangle his fingers in your hair. You bring your hand to grasp his length at the bottom, squeezing with the exact pressure you know he loves. Your mouth is unabating, your tongue pressing against the thick veins underneath him, your lips wrapped tightly around him and cheeks hollowed as you suck with vigour. He's a mess underneath you, gasping and moaning, practically growling as quietly as he can as he approaches his end. Your name tumbles from his lips like a prayer, his hips unable to keep still under your magic touch.
"Fuck!" He cries out, your name on repeat, mixing with the sinful sounds of you choking on his cock into the otherwise silent room. You feel his balls begin to draw up and you know you have him. He whines again and you know he's right there.
You won't deny him, you wouldn't dream of it right now.
"Sweetheart, fuck, baby, fuck," he chants, breathless, his voice strained, and you know you have him. It's polite of him to give you a warning, though you never needed it. Your other hand slips from his trail of pubic hair and slips down to cup his balls, giving a very gentle tug.
He's gone. Hurdling over the edge with a silent roar, his breathing erratic and his hips unable to keep still. You suck him through his climax, unable to take your eyes off him as his face contorts into an expression of pure ecstatic agony. His mouth parts as he pants, his brows knitted together, his eyes scrunched closed as the pleasure wrecks him.
His cum floods onto your tongue and you have to pull back slightly to capture it in your mouth, the sheer volume of his pleasure filling your mouth beyond capability. It's filthy and dirty, and you love it.
You ease off him once the aftershocks start, his cock twitching wildly as he gasps for air. You pull off him now, sitting back on your haunches and release him with a sweet kiss right at the end of his cock.
His hand reaches out for you, cupping your cheek with a sweetness that drastically contrasts your previous act. You wait until his eyes are on you, glazed with adoration and pleasure as he smiles down at your place between his knees and you smirk up at him, ready to lay down your last ace. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out just enough as to not spill what you were hoarding. He groans at the sight of his cum covering your tongue and his head drops back onto the chair in reaction, his fingers falling from your face with the movement. In another scenario he would be holding your chin in his big hands and urging you to swallow every drop, but you still hold the power here. You swallow his spend and rest your head on his clothed leg, his hand reaching back down instinctively to stroke your hair.
It's quiet again now, the only sound being your slightly laboured breathing and a secretive chuckle that you share, riding the high of what you had just done. He slowly tucks himself back in, rearranging his clothes to the point it almost looks passable, almost looks like he'd not just been blown in his office at the end of the day. But the creases in his shirt tell a very different story, along with the faint flush of his cheeks that would be imperceptible to most.
"I love you," he says quietly, honestly. You nestle into his meaty thigh in response, his big hands still stroking over your hair, no reply needed as you both bask in the afterglow. It's perfect.
Actually, perhaps this was your favourite thing in the world.
Oh supreme leader of Weasley twins smut, can I please ask for another dirty dirty rough mean degradation basically hate fucking with boys, just them using their needy wife because she asked both of them to break her when she had a bad day to relieve her stress with big fluffy after care when they’re done :,) work was rough last night.
Hi Anon, I have been summoned! Please accept this absolute filth (I think I’m ovulating). I hope your work has gotten better and you don’t have bad days anymore 🖤
Warnings: SMUT. Graphic sex, piv sex, fingering, clit play. Swearing and degradation. Dom/sub dynamics, George is a soft!dom (it’s always the quiet ones). brat taming. Reader is a brat. BREEDING KINK. cum play, polyamory, no twincest. Actual chance of pregnancy.
Word count: 2.3k
Break me.
“Get down on your knees... now."
You can hardly tell who is who by this point, your eyes clouded with unshed tears from overwhelm and overstimulation. Their figures are hazy, a blur of delicious milky skin and writhing bodies with no viable way to determine between them. Even their honeyed voices have melded together, as smooth as caramel but as harsh as a whip with their sharp words. It's a delicious juxtaposition. Their hard, unforgiving bodies, so manly and dominant compared to your soft submissive figure.
You'd done this yourself, that you couldn't deny. In your defence, not that it mattered now really, you'd just wanted to put your awful day behind you and to end the day on a high and there was no better way than this.
"Why the fuck do you still have your trousers on?" You'd huffed, clumsily fumbling with the fastenings of Fred's trousers, the tailored tweed personally offending you by still covering what you'd so desperately needed. You revel in your stubbornness, resisting their attempts to get you to submit to them. You wouldn't make it easy tonight.
"Patience is a virtue princess," Fred had retorted before pulling you into a searing kiss, still much more playful than his twin who had been watching in silent judgement with dark eyes.
"Fuck virtues," you'd almost whined, getting more and more frustrated that they weren't already naked and pounding some sense into you. "Give me sin."
"Feisty tonight isn't she?" Fred smirks towards his twin who has remained resolute, clearly not finding the same humour in your sass.
"Don't ruin my dress," you admonish with a bite, wriggling against Fred's dominant hold. He's got you pinned face down against the bed as he hovers on top of you, the curve of your ass pressing against the impressive bulge in the trousers he's still fucking wearing. As much as you hated your job right now and could daydream for hours about never returning, that really wasn't an option and so you would need the dress.
"We'll be gentle," Fred replies, his lips ghosting the back of your neck.
"Until the dress is off," George adds darkly, his first spoken words for what seems like hours. His eyes are fixed upon your body, almost degradingly so, like you were his prey to be devoured. It fills you with a semblance of something resembling fear thought it's the very best kind, entwined with an excitement for what you know is inevitably coming.
Your dress is unceremoniously peeled off of you, leaving you in just your underwear. In the back of your mind you wished you'd worn a nicer pair this morning but realistically they weren't going to last much longer regardless. You feel a kiss placed to the centre of your back once your bra is unclapsed, a gentle precursor that could in theory give you false hope of gentility. Your eyes flick to George once more and you freeze when you see that he's now entirely naked, the gentle lamplight illuminating every inch of delicious freckle spattered skin, including his fully erect cock in his hand. His hand drags across his length slowly, the foreskin catching with each deliberate swipe, a taunt of what you so desperately want but won't admit. The sight alone makes your mouth water and you're immediately closer to breaking your resolve.
There's a sudden movement from Fred behind you and a sudden pulling sensation on your body before a resounding rip occurs. You shiver as you feel your now bare pussy exposed to the air in the room, your panties having been ripped off by Fred. You're vulnerable now, your body exposed to his view behind you, your body aligned perfectly for him to just slip in, if he would just take those fucking trousers off finally.
You watch as your panties are thrown across the room, landing in George's outstretched hands. It's ridiculously hot in the moment how effortless his catch was and you hold back a shiver. He wraps your panties around his fingers and keeps hold of them as his hand returns to his bulging cock.
"What do you want princess?" Fred says, his fingers drifting onto your breasts, toying with your nipples.
"Fucking hell," you huff at his attempts to tease you any further. Surely it was fairly obvious what you wanted, why did he have to be so Fred about the whole thing?
"Two guesses," you spit, not even bothering to look up at him as you consider rolling your eyes. The swift smack to your right buttcheek echoes through the room, making you jump.
"Manners princess," Fred admonishes, tutting at you as he rubs the prickling skin of your rear where he'd struck. You sigh out of frustration, wishing for once they would just listen and not have to joke around.
"Say please," he adds mockingly, only furthering your annoyance. You're half tempted to get off the bed and finish the job yourself, though it could never compare to them.
You won't say please and you won't give in. As much as you so desperately want them, want to be fucked out of your bad mood so you can reach that heavenly headspace you so craved, you wouldn't beg.
Another smack to your bum makes you gasp, his hands striking the exact same sensitive spot.
"What will it take hmm?" He says, caressing your sore bum. You feel his hands get lower and lower with each stroke until his fingers are sweeping past your opening, catching on your sensitive lips.
You cry out when his finger breaches your weeping hole, finding relief in his long and slender digits but it's still not enough. You need his cock like you need oxygen, both of their cocks if you're honest with yourself but you're not even getting one right now. You will not say it. You will not beg.
"You're dripping down my hand sweet girl, sure you won't just give in?" Fred says, pushing his fingers deep into you. You're silent, forcing yourself not to moan, getting dangerously close to breaking.
"Little brat," you hear one of them say sharply, though you're too focused in to know who it is.
"Goes away for 12 hours at work and this is how you return? Forgetting all your manners." It's George, you think. But he sounds closer now, had he moved? You can barely bring yourself to raise your head to check, the feeling of fred's fingers in you just too much.
"Fuck!" You cry out as you feel a harsh slap on your bum, the kind that stings instantly and leaves finger marks for the rest of the night. You know that it's George for certain now.
"See? Maybe you shouldn't be allowed to work anymore," Fred says, curving his fingers up into your pussy.
"Maybe we should just keep you here, let your husbands take care of you instead. Keep you here ready to take us whenever we like," George says darkly, moving to stand in front of you, his imposing figure creating a shadow that covers and looms over you.
"Knocking you up over and over again, always filled with one of us," Fred adds.
"Give in to us darling, then you'll get everything you need," George says with a surprisingly soft tone. It's a trap, it must be.
You think, desperate for more but still not willing to give up.
"Fine, be a brat." The shadow disappears and you scramble, only now realising that you might have pushed him too far, that you might be left completely unsatisfied.
Your eyes lock as you look up, his dangerous smirk directed straight at you. He knew exactly what he was doing and had weaved you into his little trap. Now you were really in for it.
"Come on baby straddle me," George says as he positions himself on the bed, holding out his hand for you, knowing your legs were wobbly at best. Fred had completely ruined you whilst George had watched with dangerously dark eyes, his gaze electrifying you. You were thoroughly fucked, dripping Fred's cum onto the bedsheets and already exhausted but your need for George was still much too overwhelming.
"Say please," you say in a breathy voice, using the last of your willpower to torment him one last time. The look on his face tells you that he very much did not appreciate your snark.
"Get on my fucking lap before you can't sit down for a week."
You cry out at the stretch as he enters you, shuddering as your walls clench around him tightly to accommodate him, even if Fred had already worked you up before. You're squirming in his lap, his cock pressed deep inside you to the point you're certain you can feel him in your tummy. His hands hold you in a bruising grip and you can tell he's holding himself back, sensing that you need time to adjust to him. When he finally begins to roll his hips, you throw your head back at the sensation. Godric he fills you completely. It feels like he's everywhere, not a single patch of your insides not stimulated by him. You cling to his shoulders, desperately grounding yourself as he begins to manoeuvre you, guiding your hips until you're riding him with increasing intensity.
He's using you like a sex doll for his own pleasure, directing your hips and controlling the speed until you're in a trance like state. You feel yourself slipping into your own headspace, your sense of reality beginning to slip away.
"This is what you needed baby? My big cock filling you like this?" George says, breaking your slight trance. His tone is slightly condescending but it only fuels your passion, hearing his sinful and dominating words.
"Can't hear you Angel..."'
You're both covered in sweat and fluids, partly yours, partly Fred's. It's sinful and utterly erotic, your own hips canting to match his as you feel the telltale tingle of your second climax on the horizon. You let out a loud chant of his name, each thrust making you want to cry out louder and so you plant your face into the crook of his neck to conceal your desperate need to scream. Your hips rock against his and you clench as you hear his own groans of pleasure, your fingers clinging onto his wide shoulders to anchor yourself to him.
His hand leaves your hip to pull you up forcefully to look at him, his thrusts momentarily stopping.
"Don't hide from me Angel, I want to hear every single sound you make. I want to hear the way you cry for me."
He lifts you up off of his cock with his strong arms and throws you down onto the bed, hardly giving you a moment to settle before he’s lifting your hips up to him, pulling you half onto his lap and ramming his cock back inside. You cry out, grabbing hold of the duvet for support as he fucks into you wildly. Your tits are freely bouncing and you can feel George’s hungry gaze upon them as he fucks up into you without abandon. He’s close, you can sense it, his eyebrows pulled together as he fights to hold back his climax.
You’re completely exposed like this, your body freely on display and vulnerable to his gaze, it’s so erotic. You feel a presence beside you and turn your head slightly to watch Fred appear on the bed, his eyes also drawn to your bouncing tits whilst his hand creeps across your tummy and down to your abandoned clit.
“We want you to cum again sweet girl, can you do that for us?” He says, stroking your clit with perfect precision even as George rails you.
“Give us one more,” Fred adds temptingly, his fingers never faltering on your swollen bud, your climax rapidly approaching as you feel warmth begin to spread through your body.
“One more load for you sweet girl, can you take it?”
“Yes fuck, please!” You cry out, the magic word finally being said.
They share a look of victory at your pleading, each of them knowing that they finally broke you. You’re fucked out, finally letting go of your inhibitions and allowing them to take complete control.
You let out a guttural moan, so pure and erotic that you’d be slightly embarrassed if you could fully comprehend as your orgasm crests, their hands and cocks working perfectly to get you off. You clench around George’s cock so tightly you can feel it pulsing within you.
George roars as he cums, filling you to the brim with his warmth, keeping his cock tucked deep inside as he practically breeds you.
You’re floating in the ether, with all thought of logic or consequence completely gone, finally fucked to the point that you can feel nothing but bliss. Your shitty day is forgotten, you only exist in this blissful piece of time tied only to your two husbands.
When you finally come back to earth, you’re snuggled between your two loves, with George pulling you into his chest. Fred works on cleaning you up with a flick of his wand before settling in beside you.
“Rough day?” Fred says, stroking your hair. George is monopolising your cuddles but he doesn’t mind, sensing that George needs this aftercare and grounding just as much as you. You simply nod on defeat, not wanting those thoughts to re-emerge in your head.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he says gently, “you never know, hopefully this time we actually have knocked you up and you won’t have to go back there at all.”
“My thoughts exactly,” George adds, sounding on the brink of sleep.
Pairing: Fred x Reader {Established Relationship} + George Weasley x Reader.
Summary: It’s the ultimate taboo, the line in the sand you shouldn’t even acknowledge and yet, you can’t stop thinking about your boyfriend’s identical twin.
Warnings: SMUT. Taboo topics. Blowjobs, oral (M receiving) NO TWINCEST. Indecent thoughts, probably some swearing. Cock slut. Handjobs. Twins sharing a room. Cock drunk?
Word count: 1.4k
"Fuuuuuuck."
It's long and drawn out, the evidence of his pleasure, and way, way too loud.
"Sssssh!" You whisper through your smile, lips never breaking contact with the smooth skin of his cock. You feel him shift slightly and raise your eyes back to his, seeing him rub the palms of his hands across his face
You could stop, but you really, really don't want to. He looks gorgeous like this, magnificent even. The hard plains of his taught, manly body from the years of quidditch practices juxtaposed with the slightly softness of his belly, perhaps the evidence of minor over indulgence of his mother's cooking but who could blame him. He's perfect, and all yours.
You try to deny the smile that threatens to bloom across your face, your mouth too occupied and too full to really smile but if he looked back down at you there's no doubt he'd see true joy in your eyes. Your lips close around him, cheeks hollowing once more as you fight to take more of his length so that he hits the back of your throat. You suck hard, watching as his body recoils from the sensation before you slip your lips back down the length of him, keeping your suction firm until your lips reach his tip once again. You're playing with him, resting him, to see how much you can get away with before his naturally dominant nature takes over. You're rewarded with another deep groan, his breathing staggered and shaky, and most notably, increasingly audible.
Your tongue wraps around his tip from inside your mouth, blocking your teeth as your lips never leave his smooth skin. You lick across the small veins just below his tip, the sensitive spot you know could bring him to his knees if he weren't already entirely horizontal. Your own breathing is laboured, mainly because your mouth is too full to allow anything other than quick breaths through your nose. It's intoxicating.
You can see his stomach muscles contorting as you take him deep again, letting him really feel how deep you were taking him, his good girl.
He lets out a gasp that sounds suspiciously like a whine and you have to renew your efforts to stop smirking, feeling more empowered than ever at your hold over him.
He won't last much longer, you'd been teasing him for too long. Winding him tighter and tighter until he explodes, your game having been played perfectly and your prize earned.
You can see the way he's twitching, hardly able to catch his breath as your mouth works over him perfectly, knowing exactly what he needs but still denying him. His muscles are contorting and contracting involuntarily, his face scrunched into a vision of delicious agony, his full balls beginning to pull up almost threatening his release.
You pull back. His cock falls from between your lips as your hand delicately wraps around him at the base, the weight of his rock solid cock surprising you even now. He's vividly pink and swollen, his tip almost red out of need. You stick out your tongue, flattening it against the veiny underside and lick a strong stripe all the way from base to tip.
He lets out a noise that is a perfect mix between a groan and a whine, so distinctly unique to Fred, so passionate and so loud.
"There's no way a blowjob feel's that good."
A groggy voice says from across the room, sounding thick with sleep and so very deep.
You should be startled, horrified at being caught with your boyfriend's cock in your mouth and his pre-cum smeared all over your lips. You should feel the sinking weight in your gut at being caught and the shame that often followed. You shouldn't feel aroused. Despite logically knowing all of this, it does nothing to stop the way your core clenches at the voice or how it only prompts you to watch to suck Fred harder, to really give him a show.
Your eyes meet Fred's in the darkness, the moonlight pouring in from between the broken shutters illuminating the room only partially. Even in the semi-darkness you can read his expression, and he yours, the unspoken rule bending before your eyes. The taboo finally breached, a line in the sand being completely ignored.
It takes little more than a nod of Fred's head for you to move, a subtle gesture, to get off of your knees at the side of his bed where you were crouched. You miss his cock the second you move away, your mouth suddenly feeling empty and unfulfilled.
Did you have an oral fixation? Perhaps. How fun it would be to explore.
"You tell us mate," Fred says as he watches you creep around his bed and into the bed beside his. His voice is deep and thick, a hint of breathlessness and strain.
You're welcomed into the unfamiliar bed, of course you are. So familiar and yet so foreign, it's an intoxicating mix. You want to kiss him, to compare and experiment. You'd always wondered how different they'd be; would George's slightly more crooked nose bump yours a little more? Mostly you'd wondered how different it would be if you were sat on his face, but you concede that it would have to remain an open question in your mind, at least for now.
He's slightly leaner than Fred, not exactly a secret to anyone who had ever looked closely between the pair like you had, their little differences so telling to those in the know. He's also a little longer.
He tastes completely different, a heady flavour that has you addicted in mere seconds, your lips never wanting to part from his silken flesh. Your lips glide across him so slowly and deliberately, memorising his shape and the way he reacts to your actions. You find your rhythm in no time at all, the one that has him gasping and groaning in a way that can only be described as absolutely sinful.
"Well?" You hear Fred ask. It nearly doubled your arousal hearing your boyfriend's voice, knowing that it was very much not your boyfriend's cock that your lips were stretching around. Your reminded anew of who's cock is lodged deep in your throat, who's precum had started to leak into your tongue.
"Fuuuuuuck," the breathless man beneath you pants, the groan so needy that your dripping core clenches once again around nothing. Given their reactions, maybe they weren't completely different.
To say you are surprised when you feel a hand on your shoulder is an understatement, almost choking on the slightly curved cock shoved deep in your throat. You pull away out of curiosity to see your boyfriend watching you with dark eyes and slightly parted lips.
His hand runs down the length of your arm and reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers before he slips both of your hands down towards his still very erect cock.
Almost instinctively, your other hand shifts to George's cock too, not wanting to be unjust. You stroke Fred just how he likes using your entwined hands, two sets of fingers wrapping around his cock as he manoeuvres you for his pleasure. You mimic the rhythm on Fred's cock and replicate it for the other figure who is watching with heavy lidded eyes, silent but desperate for the same treatment.
You're rewarded with the most gratuitous moan that's delivered in perfect synchronisation making you feel electrified. There's a brief moment when all sense of time and space falls away and all you can sense at the two men beside you, the two cocks so heavy and pulsing in your hands. You're hardly able to discern which voice belongs to which man, so similar and so different. All thought falls away as you slip into your own personalised subspace, their cock's gliding as one through your hands. You're addicted, hopelessly and thoroughly ruined by this entire experience, the delicious taboo and the danger it brings fuelling you like the purest form of adrenaline. You're torn between never wanting this to end and desperate to bring them both to their ends and taste their cum.
You're completely at their command though you know you hold all the power. You only hope that this is not the last time.
As if to summon up my leaving. - Judas Priest ‘before the dawn’.
[Aaron Hotchner x BAUAgent!Reader]
2.8.k.- Smut. Hidden relationship, secret relationship. Soft(ish) morning sex. Boss/Employee relations. PinVSex, Fingering, woman on top. Creampie, no condoms here. Practice safe sex kids, these two clearly don’t. Making love. Slightly sad motif? Hotch is in love.
Hotch Masterlist
You wake to a strong arm around you, anchoring you tightly to his body, a hand pressed to your ribs, fingers barely brushing your breast. It's dark out, but you cant bring yourself to move and look at the time, knowing that any form of movement may compromise your current position. You know it's close to the time your alarm is set to, the birds singing outside alerting you to the approaching dawn. The warmth that radiates from his body beside yours is enough to fight off the slight chill of the room and you melt into his touch, hoping for a few more minutes peace. You can daydream then, of a day without meetings and stress, a day filled with coffee and leisurely walks around museums and parks, a meal at your favourite restaurant. He'd wear that new shirt that had you melting at the sight and you'd wear that lipstick that you know he loves, the tension between you building throughout the day until you inevitably tumble back into bed with desperate mouths and even more desperate hands.
His alarm rings out first, shattering the illusion you'd created in your mind. Maybe you'd be sad about it another time but you can't be upset when his body reaches for you the second his alarm stops. He nestles in closer behind you, his hands finding you with purpose now, his warm breath against your neck. His deep morning voice, more of a rumble, seems to permeate through your entire body as he whispers a good morning into your hair. Your neck cranes ever so slightly, subtly giving him access to your neck and you feel his lips descend on your sensitive skin within seconds. His hands squeeze you a little tighter then, your body reacting instantly to his touch.
"A good morning indeed," he whispers darkly behind your ear as your hips seek him out under the covers, your butt perfectly aligning with the very obvious bulge you knew you'd find. He lets out a little breath as your ass makes contact with his covered cock, finding that spot where it feels just right.
You want to ask if you have time but the chance of being denied right now would break you.
He lets out a stuttering breath as you begin to grind on him, his hand snaking up your sternum to grab hold of your breast.
"You always fit so perfectly in my hands," he mutters, gently squeezing your breast, his thumb glazing over the thin material of your tank top, your hardened nipple peeking through. "Perfect."
"Aaron," you plead breathlessly.
He knows exactly what you need, and in typical Aaron fashion he won't deny you. His fingers hook into the neckline of your tank top and give it a firm tug, your breasts falling out and free for him to touch unobstructed. His fingers find your hardened nipple immediately as his lips begin to kiss down your neck. You feel his cock twitching against the curve of your ass and you begin to roll your hips, realigning yourself so that your cores would be meeting if not for the thin material that concealed you.
"You're needy this morning," he mumbles, his fingers still toying with your nipples. You can hear the gentle smirk in his voice, imagine the look in his eyes if he was facing you.
"I need you Aaron," you reply, giving a firm roll of your hips so enunciate your point. He groans and kisses your neck once more before his hands begin to wander, dragging lower and lower until his fingers are creeping around the waistband of your sleep shorts. You whine when he doesn't slip his hand underneath liked you'd hoped, but instead slide down to the curve of your ass, fingers splayed over your cheeks possessively.
You're certain you're dripping for him already, your body needing no persuasion, not that it ever does when he's around. The scent of him, the sight, his voice, everything about him drives you wild.
His fingers creep over your ass and down to your aching core from behind, his fingers dancing lightly over the thin sliver of fabric supposed to be concealing your pussy. You hadn't bothered with panties, the little short and tank set seeming the most appropriate last night and right now you were pleased you hadn't, and so was he.
He curses as he reaches down and feels how damp the fabric between your legs is, and again when he feels the soft skin between your legs as opposed to your shorts, the fabric barely covering anything.
"You are needy today sweetheart," he says, dragging his fingers over your partially covered folds in a feather-light touch that makes you arch into him, hardly able to contain your gasp.
You feel his fingers hook into the crotch of your sleep shorts and slowly begin to move them aside, dangerously slowly, his fingers slipping between your folds.
You can't hold back the moan that escapes you when his fingers first make contact with your clit, so swollen and aching for him already. He drags his fingers through your folds from behind, catching the abundance of wetness presented for him as he very gently traces your folds. You open your legs wider for him, granting him access, giving him everything. He's teasing now, fuelling the fire instead of giving you relief, and he knows it. You'd never been with a man so focused on your pleasure, so willing to learn about your body and so skilled in his actions that it wouldn't matter regardless.
His finger circles your clit maddeningly and you moan out his name like you're pleading, though you're not certain what for. More? His cock? For him to never ever stop?
He understands.
His fingers slip away from your aching clit and you pathetically whine, only for him to shush you gently.
You feel it then, the warmth of him, the weight of him, his hard cock pressing against your folds without any resistance. He'd removed his pyjama pants whilst you were whining for him and your sleep shorts are still pulled to the side to allow him to slip his cock between your folds.
"Aaron," you say breathlessly, reaching out for him blindly as he simply rests his cock between your soaked folds, not moving and not attempting to push into you as you so desperately want.
The anticipation kills you. It's maddening and intoxicating all at the same time, knowing that any second he could slip his bulbous tip between your folds and thrust so deep inside of you that you'll see stars behind your eyes. He's a little over average size but deliciously thick, the kind that makes your walls twitch trying to accommodate him and makes you breathless from the stretch. It's all you can think about, the only thought in your head.
You love this. You love him.
This perfect moment where there's no secrets, no hiding how desperately you want him and no denying how disgustingly in love you are.
Before the suit goes on and his demeanour hardens. Before the next case presents itself, before the horrors and the emotional toll.
Before he turns into Hotch instead of Aaron.
You cry out as he suddenly thrusts into you, finally breaching your aching hole, finally filling you as you so desperately needed. His breathy moan is enough to have you clenching around him already, his hands wandering over your body and settling on your hips.
You're breathless from the stretch and he gives you a few moments to adjust, knowing how much you have to take for him. His lips ghost over the back of your neck again, soothing and antagonising all in the same breath.
He slowly draws himself out of you and then thrusts back inside harder, setting a slow but maddening pace. You can feel every inch of him, every vein and subtle curve, his balls nestling against your pussy lips as he bottoms out, the soft hair at the base of his cock. His big hands are everywhere, like he doesn't know where to touch first.
He pauses briefly then, his cock waiting at your hole just barely more than the tip inside of you.
"I want you naked," he says gruffly, whispering into your ear. "I want to see every inch of your body as I fuck you."
He slips out of you then, not giving you a second to process before his big hands come to the waist band of your shorts and tug them down your legs effortlessly. You don't put up an ounce of resistance, not that you have any desire or inclination to, as you let him strip you. His hands reach for the blankets then, tossing them back without a care so he can finally look at you, your pleasure no longer hidden underneath the covers. He curses as seeing your most intimate area presented for him, the curve of your ass and the wet, delicate folds on display for him. His hand reaches for your waist and manages to pull you so effortlessly into his lap that it should be embarrassing how seamlessly he shoulders your weight and manipulates you for his own desires.
You slide into his lap, his rigid cock sliding against your folds as you perch on him, finally able to get a look at his gorgeous face. His hair is tussled from sleep, slightly grown out and a little messy. He's beautiful, even in the very early morning.
His hands reach up to the bottom of your tank, your breasts already spilling out of the top from where he'd been playing with you earlier, and he slides it off your body, throwing it somewhere you don't care about in the slightest.
He looks ravenous, his eyes fixated on your breasts hungrily, his hands already wandering to slide his palms over your tits. His lips follow not a moment later, his mouth drawing in your right nipple whilst his hands toy with the other, grabbing and squeezing your tits together until he's practically on the verge of suffocating.
You can't help but roll your hips again, feeling so painfully empty after he'd stretched you out and filled you only moments before. He groans into your tits as your pussy rubs along the perfect column of his cock, hips stuttering slightly as you catch your clit just right. Your arms slide around his broad shoulders for security as your hips fall into a sensual rhythm, your pussy working over his perfect cock with determination. One of his hands slips away from your breasts and down your back to stabilise you, helping to guide you without any pressure.
You reach down for his cock, shifting yourself back just slightly to make room and you slowly begin to stroke him with your hand, earning a growl from him. You're good with your hands, he's told you repeatedly, and you slowly begin to guide him to your waiting hole, unable to deny yourself any longer. You cast a glance at his face, seeing him already staring back at you, watching your movements with predatory intensity.
You slowly sink down on him, feeling that delicious stretch once again. Your head tumbles back as a loud moan erupts from you at the feeling. He's even deeper in this position, filling you completely right up to the end of you. It takes your breath away once again just how erotic everything is with him, how he feels and how he makes you feel as he looks at you like that.
Both of his hand slip to your hips and briefly begin to guide your movements, though he simply rests them there as your hips fall into a rhythm, letting you take what you need from him. Your pace increases, spurred on by the obscene sounds he's making and the way his brow creases as he looks at your entire body. He's transfixed by your bouncing breasts, then fixed upon your face, smirking as you struggle to contain your moans. You're bouncing now, taking everything you need from him as your hips relentlessly roll against him, ensuring he hits that perfect spot every time.
He moans out your name, big hands reaching for you with bruising pressure as he attempts to still you, feeling his peak approaching too quickly.
He kisses you then, pulling you deep into his cock as his right hand reaches around the back of your neck to keep you impaled on his lap. His kiss is forceful and needy, the very definition of passion. The kind you only see in x-rated movies, the kind that you never believed existed until he became everything to you.
His right hand falls down to rub across your ass, pausing briefly before he pulls back and spanks you. You feel him chuckle as you gasp, crying out at the sudden sensation and tightening around him. Your hips begin to roll again and in no time at all you're chasing your high, feeling that delicious sensation in your stomach beginning to rise.
Sensing your impending high, his right hand slips away from you and up to your mouth. He brushes your lips and you part them without question, opening up your mouth for his fingers. You suck them instantly, dragging your tongue over the big fingers, your eyes rolling back as you taste yourself on him from earlier. His moan makes you clench as you continue to suck, your eyes meeting his. You get them nice and wet and he pulls them away at a slightly awkward angle to toy with your clit. The way he stretches you out has your pussy lips spread taught and by consequence, your clit is swollen and exposed.
You want to scream. You almost do. His name tumbles out of your mouth like a mantra, your hips wildly bucking on him as you fuck yourself on his perfect cock. He's groaning and moaning with you, growling curses and your name in return as he watches you take what's yours. You've never felt so sexy, so powerful, so determined as the white hot heat of your orgasm begins to surround you.
"Aaron!" You cry out, wildly grabbing at his manly shoulders as your climax erupts, hips bucking on him and beginning to loose your rhythm. He takes over instantly, sensing your inability and fucks up into you from below, harder than he'd been all morning as he tumbled over the precipice of his own pleasure.
It's loud and messy as you cum within seconds of each other, Aaron's huge hands anchoring you down onto him, his entire length shoved deep inside of you where he empties himself. His cum feels blistering hot even though you're sweating from exertion, your walls hot and swollen from the delicious torment his cock provides. You're breathless, panting, as your vision returns. You loosen your grip on Aaron's shoulders, your body quickly turning to jelly as you begin to rest more of your weight on him.
The kiss he gives you then says everything he ever wants to say without needing words. It's a declaration of love, of safety, of all the things he knows he can't give you then moment you both step out of the door. You kiss him back with equal sentiment, your body submitting to him easily as you fold into him.
"I love you," he says as you part, still a little breathless. You smile, touching your nose to his.
"And I love you."
It's never more, it's never less. The words themselves are always enough.
And then you feel it, the shift, unspoken, the elephant in the room. You don't want this to be over, you want him to stay. You want Aaron, but you can't keep him.
In twenty minutes time you'll both slip out of the shower and he'll be dressing in his freshly pressed suit whilst you slip on your formal pants and the tight charcoal grey sweater that had become a sort of uniform for you. He'll kiss you, then kiss your forehead, lingering for a few moments before pulling away.
And he'll no longer be your Aaron, he'll be Hotch. You won't be sweetheart, you'll be Agent. You'll work together efficiently, professionally, a perfectly sequenced choreography you'd perfected over the years. But you'll miss him, want him, wait for him. You'll wait for Aaron to come back to you, just before the dawn.
You and Eddie broke up five years ago when you left to go to College in New York whilst he had stayed in Hawkins. When you find out Corroded Coffin are opening for Metallica in New York, naturally you have to go and support them.
5.7.k.- Part 2 contains smut. Previous heartbreak, exbestfriend!Reader. Ex Hellfire Club member. Rockstar!Eddie Munson. Second chance at love. Corroded Coffin made it big. Slight angst but more fluff and smut really. Song names have been ‘borrowed’ from other artists. Brief cameo from James Hetfield. A few OC at the beginning. Eddie calls reader ‘princess’. THE SEXUAL TENSION. Making out, kissing, nipple play. Breast worship, Eddie ‘I love tits’ Munson. Fingering, cursing, PinV sex, creampie.
Eddie Munson Masterlist.
Your nerves were building by the minute, rising to a crescendo within you as the faint buzz of the music cut out in the distance, the telltale sign that Corroded Coffin had finished their set. You were bummed to have missed half of their show but you hoped that if things went well in the next half an hour that you'd be welcomed back to watch them next time. You considered what would happen now. Would it be Eddie on his own coming to greet you? All of them? Would it be a pleasant catch-up with old friends before they left for the next city or a brief greeting followed by awkward chatter of people that had drifted too far apart that would inevitably make you regret ever coming? Either way you were nervous.
You suddenly thought that the Hellfire shirt was overkill, that you were going to look like an idiot that couldn't let go of her first love and her childhood days, piggybacking off their newly found fame. You should have just worn an old band shirt, done a little less makeup.
You didn't know what to do with your hands, suddenly feeling like you had too many limbs. Should you stand or sit? Their personal effects were littered around the room and you didn't want to impose yourself onto their space. God you were never like this before, back when it was easy. Where had the strong independent woman gone that existed only hours before this?
Eddie. What if he was in a relationship or even married? Or worse, sampling the delights of every groupie that flung themself at him. You weren't sure you could process that, the image of the old him in your mind forever ruined.
You briefly considered just walking away, out of the dressing room and away from the backstage area completely. If you were lucky you might still be able to catch Metallica's set, standing somewhere at the back so you could find Joel and Ronnie at the end of the night. Maybe you should have just left all of this in your past and moved on, finally accepting the word's Eddie had spoken that night, realising now in a time much too late that you had never truly given up hope.
"Princess."
In your spiralling you hadn't heard the door creep open. The voice sent an icy chill down your spine but not out of fear, more of a much needed startle that dragged you back to reality. You turned on your heel, looking towards the figure leaning against the door frame. Eddie.
His smirk was infectious, no doubt harbouring the buzz of a great show. He was sweaty, his bangs slightly sticking to his forehead. Fuck he looked good.
"It's you," you say, hardly able to hold back the emotion in your voice, hearing the wobble in your tone.
"It's me," he smirks, matching your tone. Not the rockstar you'd just watched crush his show, but Eddie Munson, the kind hearted freak you knew from home. "It's you."
"It's me," you say with a slight laugh, the awkwardness increasing and your briefly silenced mind starting to whirl again.
"I'm sweaty but you'll just have to accept it," he says as he moves forward, crossing the room in only three steps before he pulls you into his body. Embarrassingly, you melt into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slips his own around your waist to hold you tightly to him. He lifts you ever so slightly off the floor and you laugh out loud as he begins to spin you, his slightly sweaty hair mushed into your face, though you couldn't care less. It's everything you'd hoped for after so many years apart, a confirmation of sorts that you hadn't imagined it all. When he puts you down, you beam at each other, seeing the eyes of the boy you'd loved all those years still relatively unchanged. He's holding you just slightly away from his body, eyes raking over you as if he's studying you, committing your face to memory.
"You were incredible, seriously I couldn't take my eyes off you," you gush, still trying to process boy Eddie and rockstar Eddie being one the same.
He smiles again, though it hadn't really even left his face, his hands slipping from your forearms. You could still feel his hands in you ever after they had left, skin almost tingling in absence of his fingers.
"Now you know how I felt for all those years looking at you," he jokes, eyes devilishly glinting. You nudge him, laughing, at his terrible attempt of humour.
"Oh hush, it was usually me looking at you," you snort. He walks over to a side table to grab a towel and a beer, instinctively offering one out to you which you accept gratefully. He pats himself down with the towel before throwing it into a laundry bin provided, your eyes following his every move.
"Wouldn't put money on it princess."
"Remind me, who made the first move?" You asked cockily, making him throw his hands up in surrender.
"I was an idiot, I admit. But thank you, for the... yanno, I'm so glad you came."
"Me too. Seriously though you guys were unbelievable, not that I'm surprised, just happy to be proven right."
The appreciative smile he shoots you makes you feel slightly dizzy, feeling like there's an invisible string between you.
"You were always my biggest supporter, only one really."
"Pretty sure Dustin would fight me for that title." He laughs so freely that it draws your attention to him anew, remembering so many things of how it used to be.
"Between you and me... You'd win, kid's got strategy but you've got the power. Wait, don't tell him I said that though."
"My lips are sealed," you smirk.
"So what about you?" He asks, taking a seat at the table provided, offering you a seat with him. It's small and intimate, only benefitting the pair of you right now.
"What about me?" You laugh, taking a swig of your beer. "I'm not the one on tour with Metallica!"
"Yeah it is pretty sweet," he grins jokingly, earning a playful shove from you that has him laughing.
"I want to know everything that you've been doing."
"Ah short answer okay, umm work? Work and very little else."
"And coming to visit old boyfriends in bands?" He smirks.
"Yeah you'd be surprised how much of my time that takes up actually." You don't look at him immediately but almost snort your beer when you see the expression on his face before it melts away to laughter. He throws his head back with a barking laugh, exposing his throat to you and you can't help but watch how attractive his laughter still is. His hand has instinctively slipped to rest in your shoulder, his naturally tactile nature still present.
There's a few moments of silence but it's far from awkward, almost as comfortable as it always was before. You both sip your beers and smile, happy to simply exist together again, the pain of before temporarily forgotten. He looks at you for a few moments, almost looking conflicted as his eyes flicker around your face, starting intently.
"God you're beautiful," he blurts out, his hands coming up to rub at his face as he groans. You can't help but laugh at the randomness of his words, your heart swelling whilst trying to push down any hope that rises within you. "Sorry, sorry," he apologises half heartedly, holding his hands up again in a mock-surrender.
"I know it's probably weird after so long and not the right thing to say but fucking hell look at you!" He's chuckling along with his words, eyes wide and fixed to an expression of disbelief as the smile on your face broadens exponentially.
"Me? Have you seen yourself lately rockstar? I mean shit you were good looking before but now?!" He laughs in that goofy-unashamed tone that always made your heart leap, the honest sound of his unfiltered laughter.
There's a roar from somewhere in the distance, followed by the unmistakeable intro to Enter Sandman, the sign that Metallica had taken the stage.
Whether it's the raw energy of the crowd permeating through the air or something else, you suddenly feel emboldened, powerful. The spark between you and Eddie suddenly doubled, electrified. Suddenly the short distance between your bodies seems almost too far away, the looks between you both suddenly loaded.
Eddie's the first one to make a move, clearly feeling it too. You watch as he bites his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth slightly as he stews on the idea, his brown knitting together briefly in consideration. Your eyes trace his face, your eyelids feeling heavy as you look up at him from under your lashes, eyes glazing over slightly. It's all it takes, the one look.
Eddie suddenly lurches forward and captures your lips with his. It's messy and you register the sound of a beer bottle falling around you but you don't fixate on it for more than a second, nor do you care. You kiss him back instantly, hands slipping to his collar and into his hair as his settle around your waist. It's slightly awkward with the angles of you both sitting but you make do. The kiss is electric, like a live wire you were both sharing. His tongue swipes all my your bottom lip, his signature move, and you don't resist in the slightest, allowing his tongue to caress your own. He tastes of beer and cigarettes, probably the same as you but there's the distinctive 'Eddie' taste that you remembered which only feeds your desire.
Apparently he disliked the awkward angle as much as you and in a move that you could have never predicted, he lifts you with his arms wrapping around your waist whilst somehow never breaking the kiss. Your lips part with a surprised gasp and he smirks against your lips as your body curls around his. He walks over to the nearest surface, still kissing you where he gently deposits your body, your ass resting against something cold. His body is pressed deliciously against yours, your centres almost perfectly aligned with the height of the surface he'd laid you on.
It's fiery and unyielding the way his lips caress yours, his hands everywhere as if he can't decide what to touch first. His lips begin to slip down to your neck towards that little spot under your ear that he remembers essentially turns you to goo in his arms. Your breath catches in your throat, an aroused sign escaping your lips as your head floats back. Eddie notices, because of course he does, and you can feel him smirk against your neck. Still the same cocky shit you remembered.
"God you're killing me princess," he rasps, kissing his way back up to your lips. Your eyes open to look at him, seeing his eyes darkened as he looks at you like you're his prey. You want everything, want him to take anything.
"Eddie," you breathe, hardly knowing what to say. How could you articulate everything you want to say right now? You didn't know what you were asking for, what you needed. All you knew is that he was the only one that could fix you.
He understands. His eyes close involuntarily as you sigh out his name, your voice still affecting him in the same way. You can feel his hardness beneath you, the tight pants he wore not concealing anything. You roll your hips against him, watching his curse under his breath at the contact, his hands suddenly holding you even tighter, keeping you anchored to him.
"Please Eddie," you whine. It's all the needs to hear.
It takes less than a second before he's peeling the jacket from your body, his lips scorching as he blindly undresses you, as if the clothes were suddenly personally offending him. Your scramble to get his sleeveless jacket off, sharing his frustration at the material barriers between you. Your jacket is thrown off behind Eddie, in a direction you didn't care about and his jacket falls away mere seconds later.
He pauses when he sees the hellfire T-shirt you were proudly wearing, his face stretching into another smirk.
"Fuck it looks even better now than it did then," he growls, bending down to kiss at your clothed breasts. Your breasts had grown since your teenage years, your natural curves filling out the top more than they ever did. Eddie had always been obsessed with your tits, and vocal about that fact and you knew how much he'd love them even more now.
"As much as I really wanna fuck you with this on, I need to see you baby, need to feel you," he mutters into your cleavage, his fingers already sinking into the hem of your shirt. It's unceremoniously pulled away from your body within moments, leaving your bra covered breasts exposed to his gaze. You watch as his eyes widen at the sight, taking in the view before him. You're grateful that you thought to wear a much nicer bra than usual, even if you had never anticipated this to happen.
"Ho you really are trying to kill me sweet girl," he mumbles, his entire body doing an involuntary shake of arousal before he dives into attacking your breasts with his lips. He kisses you through the lace material of your bra which hardly conceals a thing. His tongue languishes your pebbled nipples through the bra and you emit a low, rumbling groan whilst your fingers slip into his hair, holding tightly just how he likes.
His hands slip down to your trousers and work to unbutton them with precision. You're needy and desperate for his touch, your hips canting on their own to seek the friction you crave.
He stands up, pulling you with him into his body as he lifts you again. Your hands scramble trying to hold on with one arm whilst pulling your pants off with the other. His own shirt is ripped off in the process and you can't help but look at the plains of his body, reacquainting yourself with the tattoos you remembered perfectly.
In no time at all, his fingers are sneaking past the lace band of your panties, seeking out the wet heat he knows he'll find there. Your own exclaimed curse is drowned out by his own as his fingers slip past your folds, finding out exactly how wet you are for him.
"Fuck baby, so wet," he mumbles against your lips, his fingers already exploring your sensitive folds, reacquainting himself with your body. His dexterous fingers begin to circle your clit perfectly and you throw your head back onto the wall, a cry escaping your lips from the delicious ecstasy it brings. If you opened your eyes, you know that Eddie would be watching your face with a somewhat-cocky grin, eyes fixed upon your face to see how good he was making you feel.
You're holding on to him like your last lifeline, terrified he'd float away or even worse, stop his actions. Your hips are canting, desperate to feel him everywhere and when his finger finally slips down towards your opening, you cry out his name.
"Again, say my name again baby," he urges. His finger breaches your dripping hole only slightly, hardly more than just past his fingernail but you're already done for.
"Eddie please, Eddie!" You beg for more.
His finger slips in, tilting upwards to find that special spot and you gasp, another loud moan falling from your lips without care. He adds another finger after the first few thrusts, which has you keening in his hold. You grab him by the hair, pulling his lips back to yours, wanting to feel him all around you.
"Doing so well sweetheart, let me hear you," he assures against your lips, your body helpless against his movements and his words.
Your climax is approaching with embarrassing speed, so wound up and played perfectly. You want to cum with him inside you, want to feel everything you'd been missing for your first orgasm with him.
You reach down, caressing the impressive bulge in his pants as you work his own buttons open. He pulls his fingers out of you, stopping to suck on the wet digits and your mouth falls open at the sinfulness of his actions.
"Still taste so good baby," he praises, "next time you're going to let me worship that little pussy." You barely have time to register his words as he undoes his pants, pulling them down to his ankles whilst you greedily reach into his boxers to pull out his length.
It's exactly as you remember and he's just as receptive as he ever was. Your hand wraps around the thickness of him and you watch as his resolve crumbles, eyes fluttering closed and head falling back with his mouth open slightly. You hold him with a firm but loving hold, just as you remembered he liked and watch in awe at his reactions, your core aching more than ever to be filled by him.
"These fucking hands," he moans, trying to watch you working him but finding it too hard to keep his eyes open.
"Fuck me Eds, please," you whine, every second he was still not inside you feeling torturous.
He leans down to kiss you one last time, a blazing kiss that has you reeling, your left hand dangling back into his hair whilst you continue to stroke him with your right. He leans in just a little closer and you use it to your advantage, the tip of his cock now able to reach your pussy through the lace. He groans at the contact and watches as his cock strokes your clit through the fabric.
He's completely captivated as you reach down and pull your panties to the side, exposing your dripping pussy to his eyes. You continue to stroke him but now you drag his sensitive tip through your folds, the sensitive underside rubbing your little swollen nub so perfectly that you're both panting.
"Are you," he begins to question, though you interrupt him quickly, anticipating his words.
"I'm on the pill," you say breathlessly, finally able to speak beyond his name.
There's a brief pause when you shift your hips up and his cock slips down to rest at your opening, both of you enchanted by the anticipation. He slowly begins to move his hips forward, your own hand guiding him into you as he slips just inside. You moan in perfect sync, the sensation of his slipping inside your heat intoxicating. You need more instantly, wanting to feel the stretch you remember.
"So fucking tight princess," he growls, his brows knitted together in pleasure.
"More Eddie please, I want you to fill me." It's a wonder you can get any words out, rendered completely silent only seconds later when he gives you everything you asked for. More of his thick cock disappears into your heat and you find yourself unable to even think about anything else other than him. The stretch to accommodate him is immense, your walls clenching upon their own accord with the effort. He gives you a minute to adjust to his size, though from the look on his face he's also taking a minute to adjust to your tightness.
You're both still for a few moments, just simply enjoying the feel of him inside you, a stark contrast to how rushed and primal everything had been so far. It's then that the sound of the stage filters back in, both of you recognising the intro for 'Creeping Death' seeping into the room. It's ironic in the most insane way, a sign of sorts. Eddie snorts and you tuck your head into his shoulder to hide your own blushing smile, a giggle threatening to spill.
"Like old times huh baby? How many times have I fucked you to this song?" He's smirking, you can hear it in his voice.
"Make it one more?" You ask, raising your brow questioningly at him as you bite your lip seductively.
His lips are on yours before you can blink, his hips beginning to pull slowly out of you before he thrusts back in with blinding speed.
"Fuck!" You cry out, not caring for how loud you were being. It really had been too long, not even just with Eddie but with anyone.
"Right there! Fuck, Eddie!" His thrusts are quick and sharp, exaggerating the pull out before he pounds you harder and harder. He's hitting the spot that he knows makes you see stars and it's all you can do just to hold onto him and take it. Your nails are dipped into the skin on his shoulder, one hand in his hair as you lead his lips to yours once again. The kiss is sinful, all tongues and spit joining together as you pant into each other's mouths.
His left hand reaches up to cup your tits, thumb raking over the pebbled nipple as he grabs it gently and pulls, making you cry out again. He rips the cup down to expose your breast and squeezes it hard in his palm. His hips begin to falter, your tits just too distracting to him.
You take the advantage and begin rolling your hips as much as you can to egg him on further, already feeling like you were hurtling towards the edge. Eddie always made you cum quickly, at least when he allowed you to. Your cunt clenches around him and it rips a spectacular groan from him, a sure fire sign that he was tumbling towards his end just as quick as you.
It's carnal the way your hips glide against each other, a primal need being fulfilled.
"I'm," he begins to pant, his eyes hardly able to stay open as he looks between where his cock disappears in you, your bouncing tits and your fucked out face.
"Cum baby," you say, sucking on the spot on his neck that always made him finish.
"Fuck!" He yells, his hips drilling into you at an inhuman speed as he takes what he needs, your own climax beginning to erupt from the toughness. You scramble to clutch hold of him, nails almost piercing the skin on his shoulders as you cunt clenches dangerously around him. You cry out his name like a prayer as he stills, his entire length filling you as he anchors your hips down onto his cock. His face is pressed into your neck, the moans and curses tumbling from his mouth directly below your ear so you could hear all the filthy things he was muttering during his peak. You can almost feel your walls expanding to accommodate his load as he fills you, the heat of it spilling inside you almost pushing you to cum again.
You're both breathless, panting and whispering unintelligible thoughts as you hold on to each other, clinging on as if you'd drift away with your thoughts. The blistering need that had originally surprised you has dissipated but what remains underneath it all it was shocks you the most. You find yourself unwilling to pull away, feeling as if he'll disappear if you do. Dark thoughts consume your mind of losing him again, even as much as you try to reason with yourself. How could you let him go again?
"What is it about Metallica that gets us like this?" He asks sarcastically through staggered breaths and you can no longer stifle your laugh. The movement of your laughter causes you to clench around him and both of you gasp at the overstimulation. He begins to slowly pull out of you and you gasp again at the sensation, feeling emptier than ever as his softening cock slips completely out of you, taking a little of his spend with him.
He leans forward and pressed his head to yours, happy to just exist in the moment. You're trying to push away the negative thoughts that are threatening your mind as you try to just live in the moment and enjoy it for what it is. His words from that night echo in your mind despite your desperate attempts of pushing them away.
Right person, wrong time.
"I don't know what to say now," he says softly, breaking the silence as you have both recovered your breath. You smile, trying to keep the tone light.
"I don't know, what do you usually say to your groupies now?"
He snorts, his laughter tumbling from him and you're reminded all over again of exactly how you got into this situation.
"Yeah right," he says absently with a snort, the joke going over your head. "We should probably make ourselves respectable," he says looking around at the clothes strewn over the floor.
"Speak for yourself," you tease, hopping down off the counter to gather your clothes, letting out a little squeal when Eddie dives to tickle your sides in repercussion for your snark.
"Your Hellfire shirt my queen," he says with a bow, his muscles contracting and giving you a delightful view.
"What happened to princess, dungeon master?" You smirk, grabbing your shirt from his hands. He smiles a goofy-lopsided grin that makes you beam back at him.
"Guess you just got coronated."
"Ah so that's what the kids call it these days," you tease, making him bark out another laugh. You're glad it's like this, like the old times, and not painfully awkward like it could have been.
"Wait, where are the guys?" You ask once you were fully dressed, only just realising that none of your other friends had yet to come backstage.
He flashes you a bashful smile, his cheeks tinted slightly pink as he shrugs.
"They wanted to give us some privacy, I guess they knew us better than we did."
"I didn't expect... this, you know, I didn't think-."
"Ah the temptress now denies her powers?" He raises a teasing eyebrows at you.
"The temptress denies her intentions," you correct, trying to lightly make it known that you didn't plan this.
"I know sweetheart," he says in understanding, reaching out to hold your chin with his finger before leaning in for a much sweeter and meaningful kiss than the ones you'd shared previously.
When he pulls away, he looks nervous, his eyes focusing on your lips and not your eyes. You hold your breath, ready to hear the lines you'd dreaded.
"We're going to Indianapolis in like 10 days, can you come? I know it's a lot to ask but I'm not ready to let you go again," he says, nervously babbling. You let out the breath you'd been holding, completely blindsided by his words, having expected the exact opposite. "Dustin will be there and Mike and I think Steve, maybe Robin. I'm sure they'd all love to see you," he adds, mistaking your penseive silence for hesitation.
You'd talked to Steve only a week ago and he'd never mentioned anything about the concert, not that it should really surprise you. The entire topic of Eddie Munson had rarely been broached between you both, the conversations consisting mostly of Steve's tragic love life and general chat instead.
You knew you had to work but the longer you looked into Eddie's pleading eyes, the more you realised that you couldn't say no. Could this be the chance you finally get to change right person, wrong time to right person right time? Too long you had focused on your career, allowing it to dictate your time to the detriment of your personal life. Things could always be moved around.
"I'd love to come," you smile with a gentle nod, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.
He beams and pulls you into his body once again, holding you tightly to his chest as your arms snake around his shoulders.
"Maybe," he begins to say, pulling apart only enough to look directly in your eyes. "Maybe you could come as my girl? We could try again?"
Suddenly his face drops and his eyes widen as he speaks the next sentence hurriedly. "Wait, are you with anyone?"
"It's a bit late to ask that Munson!" You laugh, hitting him on the shoulder. He laughs completely unobstructed, realising too late the ridiculousness of his question considering what had happened.
"I'd love to come as your girl."
His lips instantly chase yours and this time the kiss feels sentimental, a defining moment in your lives. Maybe the chapter was never truly closed after all.
"Wanna go see the rest of Metallica's set? See if we can find the guys?" He asks, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your eyes bug out of your head and you're instantly pulling him over to the door, having forgotten one of the reasons why you were here in the first place.
"Come on Munson! I'm missing Metallica here!"
"Hold up princess," he laughs, kissing your knuckles in f the hand that is not so subtly dragging him with you. He reaches for the passes he'd discarded when he walked in and tucks them into his pants pocket.
"Wait have they already played Master of Puppets?" You ask, face stricken at the thought. Eddie simply chuckles.
"I'll play it for you later if they have."
"Oh I forgot to say," you mention as you both walk the corridor towards the stage, "I saw James earlier, he said my shirt was cool! Can you believe it?"
When you look up towards Eddie he's wearing a boyish smile of sheer pride, the original designer of the shirt having come full circle from a freak to a success. He grabs your hand in his, linking your fingers together and leads you silently towards the side of the stage where he knows Gareth and the guys will be.
Maybe he was right after all, maybe it just wasn't your time back then. But now, he was more certain than ever that he'd found the right person, and he'd make it the right time now.
Epilogue
Steve feels entirely out of place as he looks around the dressing room, surrounded by photos of metal bands and walls lined with signatures. It's like the air still smells of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer and leather. The members of Corroded Coffin are dotted around the room, Gareth nervously tapping a cushion as he prepares to loosen up his movements and fight through the pre-show nerves. Jeff and the other one whose name he's not certain of are jamming with each other on one of the sofas, their instruments acoustic for now as they try out new riffs for new song ideas.
Eddie's even more jumpy than usual, unable to sit still and uncharacteristically quiet. Steve assumes that it was probably just stage fright or nerves, especially as they were in Indiana, with the ghosts of Eddie's past closer than ever.
He thought of you and how much it felt that someone was obviously missing from the group, your absence almost too noticeable. He'd wanted to tell you, feeling a deep guilt at keeping you in the dark of the little get together but it was for the best. Eddie would probably always be a sore spot for you, like Nancy was for him once upon a time. He vowed to make it up to you next time you met up, however he could.
"Eddie sit down!" Dustin exclaims, picking up on the anxiety that was oozing from Eddie, his nervous shuffling probably eroding a hole into the beat up old carpet. Eddie simply glares at Dustin in response.
"Can it Henderson," Gareth yells in Eddie's defence, pausing his tapping only briefly before resuming again.
"What's got into you tonight?" Robin asks, eyeing Eddie's unstoppable figure as he nervously paces again.
"My girl's coming tonight alright," he mumbles, flipping himself down onto the occupied space on the couch beside Mike, his signature rings clanking together as he wrings his hands.
"Oh fuck off you've got a girlfriend," Mike jokes, clearly assuming Eddie is joking with them. When Eddie turns and lifts a single brow at him, Mike falls silent and looks away sheepishly.
Steve notices that the whole of Corroded Coffin bar Eddie fall silent, all of them pretending to focus on their instruments and busying themselves to avoid further questioning.
"I thought he was still hung up on y/n," Dustin whispers towards Steve, only loud enough for the pair to hear. Steve thought so too, though he says nothing. He simply shrugs in reply, too shocked to say anything, hoping Dustin will cease him questioning if only to spare Eddie's feelings. Apparently, he doesn't quite get Steve's silent plea and Dustin and Robin begin whispering between themselves about Eddie's apparent girlfriend. Mike remains silent, fearful of the consequences if he opens his mouth again.
There's a knock on the door a few minutes later and everyone turns to look at Eddie, then towards the door. Eddie leaps up from the sofa, his nervous energy still radiating from him as he tries to briefly gather himself and fan out his hair.
The room is silent as the door creeps open, with every one of the guests watching with rapt anticipation of Eddie's supposed girlfriend.
When you step into view, cheers almost instantly erupt from the crowd, with Mike looking on wide eyed and Dustin jumping to his feet. Robin all but jumps on Steve, bashing his arm wildly with excitement as you close the door behind you, beholding everyone in the room and their reactions.
You laugh as Eddie pulls you in to him, swooping you down for a dramatic kiss in front of all your friends. You hear Dustin and Robin whooping from the side and you laugh against Eddie's lips, his own lips forming into a smirk.
When he eventually lets you up, his arm comes up to rest on your waist, keeping you anchored to him as you greet everyone.
"So ugh, when did this happen exactly?" Dustin asks the question everyone is dying to ask, his gaze flicking between you and Eddie excitedly, looking like a child whose parents were back together.
"About 10 days ago," you laugh, thinking of how the past week had been full of surprises, already feeling completely at ease in Eddie's arms, like it had always been this way. Eddie chuckles beside you, turning to press a kiss into your hair above your ear.
"What can I say Henderson, when it's the right person you just know."
