Description: After growing up besides Loki and having a complicated friendship with him, you visit him in his cell at night.
Warnings/Labels: None
Approx. Word Count: 1,700
A/N: So it’s been… five years since I last updated this story. Five. Years. I am so sorry. But it WILL be finished. I have an outline. I have motivation. I am no longer stalled and am diving right back in. Please forgive me and enjoy.
Story Masterpost
You’ve begun to measure your days in letters and prison visits, counting the days between and feeling empty, bored even, on days without either. You recognize somewhere in the back of your mind that you’re bordering on obsession, but you always manage to quiet that particular voice.
Your letters with Loki are flirtatious, intimate. If anyone were to find them, they would not only be evidence of a crime, but of scandal and that would be arguably worse. So you’ve taken to hiding them beneath a loose board underneath your mattress, tucking them up into the frame of the bed itself. It would be smarter to burn them, but you aren’t willing to part with them. You wonder what Loki does with yours, but have never brought yourself to ask him.
This evening, when there’s a knock at your door, you rush to let Katerina in, already feeling a heat in your face at the anticipation of what Loki may have written. When you open the door, it’s not Katerina standing there, but a regular courier instead. He gives a short bow before pulling a letter from his pouch.
“From the prince,” he states plainly. His professionalism irritates you for reasons you can’t explain. You thank him politely anyways and accept the letter.
Once tucked back inside your room, you find the letter is from Thor, which does not surprise you given the manner in which it was delivered. What does surprise you however is that it’s not a letter, but a summons.
—
You walk swiftly through the halls. You can’t remember the last time you received a summons from Thor. It’s such an official request and gave such little notice that you worry something may be wrong. Maybe he’s heard about Loki. Maybe Frigga is sick. You try not to let your mind linger on the possibilities.
When you arrive at the gardens as requested, you notice it’s empty. There are no people within them, only Thor wrapped in his cloak, fingers idly playing with the leaves on a bush. Had he dismissed everyone from the area?
“Is everything alright?” you ask as you approach him. The smile on his face as he turns to you is warm and puts your fears at ease.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he assures. “I apologize for the short notice. And for the summons. It was sent off before I could object.” You nod and let your shoulders relax, relieved. “There are plans I would like your input on and before I knew it, there was a courier already on his way to you.” He chuckles and you can’t help but join him.
“The qualms of being a prince,” you jest.
“Indeed.” He extends he elbow out for you to take. “Walk with me?” You smile at him and take his arm. He walks you slowly through the gardens, rounding through the shrubbery and colorful flowers. You sense him hesitating.
“Are you sure everything is alright?” you nudge.
“I have a question to ask of you,” Thor says, deliberately not answering you.
“And what is that?”
“What qualities do you believe a good queen should have?” he asks thoughtfully. You consider your answer for a few moments. You’ve thought about it before, everyone had, but want to find the right words for such a sensitive subject.
“I would think someone logical, but not cruel and calculated. Someone confident and knowledgeable about where she rules. I imagine she would need to be willing to make tough decisions. And of course, she would need to tell the king when he’s being an absolute fool,” you finish with a smile, bumping your elbow into his side, hoping to lighten his mood. He chuckles, but it’s half-hearted.
“I’ve found not many women have such qualities,” he admits, slowing his pace. You shorten your strides to match. “You do however.” Your blood runs a little cold and your feet stumble in their steps.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m a suitable candidate,” you say, trying to laugh it off.
“You’ve proven to have all the qualities you listed,” Thor counters. “I believe you would make a fine queen.” He says it with pride and a smile just wide enough for you to hold onto hope that he’s simply teasing you.
“You’ve been listening a little too much to the absurd rumors flittering around.” Your eyes scan the still empty gardens. Not a soul around and suddenly you desperately wish there was someone here.
“It’s not all rumors,” he admits. The cold dread returns, washing over your body.
“Thor,” you say his name seriously and grab his arm, stopping your walk and gently pulling him to face you. “What are you proposing?” You instantly cringe at your choice of words. “You’re not seriously suggesting you and I marry? That you make me Queen of Asgard?” His look is apologetic and that itself is telling. Your chest starts to grow heavy and tight with panic.
“There has been a strong campaign in your favor,” he tells you gently. “And I find myself unable to deny that you would make a wonderful leader.” You scoff and begin trying to speak, but all that comes out are short, huffed noises. You drop your hand from his arm and take a single step back, suddenly feeling as though you two are standing entirely too closely.
“And you want this? You want to marry me?” Another scoff because no matter how many times you say the words, they never sound any less ridiculous. “We’re friends,” you press desperately, as if he doesn’t already know this. He bows his head and nods.
“If I am forced to marry, and I will be,” There’s a sorrow in his voice that reminds you that you’re not the only one who this may hurt. “Then I wish it to be with someone I know, someone I trust.” He reaches out and takes your hand gently in his, stepping forward to close the space between you once more. He looks back to you and does not waver as he squeezes your hand. “I would choose you.” Your stomach rolls.
“You’re really asking me to marry you?” It comes out breathless. This cannot be real.
“I am asking you to marry me.” There’s a soft regret in his voice. You shake your head at him, but do not pull away this time.
“You don’t want to though.” His lips tilt up in a humorless smile. “What about Jane?” His smile falls and he sighs.
“I need to do what is best for Asgard. I want to. And if that means spending my years as king with you by my side,” He pauses to bring your hand up between you and place a featherlight kiss to the back of it. “Then I would consider myself eternally lucky.” His gentleness helps to calm the thoughts racing through your mind, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t let up. He studies you for a moment before his eyes narrow and he looks slightly alarmed. “You can say no,” he reassures quickly. “This is not being forced upon you.” He releases your hand and you let out a long shaky breath.
“This...this is absurd.” Without his hand on yours, you find it trembling.
“You don’t need to decide right now. Take some time,” he tells you.
All you can do is nod quickly. Without saying anymore, without looking back at him, you retreat from the gardens. Asgard seems to spin around you as you walk away. Breaths come short and quick and your feet lead you, your mind too busy rustling with worries.
You find yourself at the entrance to the prison and if you’re honest, you’re not even surprised this is where you ended up. You pass the posted guard without a look and guide yourself to Loki’s cell. The closer you get, the more the pressure eases in your chest.
You round the corner and see Loki sitting in his chair. He looks up when you come into view and his face lightens with a hint of a smile.
“Thor asked for my hand,” you blurt out before he can even open his mouth to greet you. He takes a pause and the excitement in his eyes slowly fades before he bows his head, hiding his expression.
“I suppose the polite thing to do would be to congratulate you on your engagement.” He lifts his eyes back up and you don’t like what you see; a mask. A fake glimmer that holds back an anger, a pain. It makes your heart drop in your chest.
“I haven’t accepted.” He hums in response and his smile returns, bitter this time.
“Ahh, but you will.” He straightens in his chair, sitting upright on the edge. Your eyes pull together, confused by his confidence. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d make a wonderful queen?”
“That doesn’t mean I should be or that I want to be or I ever will be,” you ramble quite loudly.
“This is not an offer one turns away from.” He stands and walks towards the barrier. He stops much further from it than you want. While you can’t touch him, his very presence brings you comfort and he feels too far away right now.
“I can say no,” you say, almost weakly as if you don’t truly believe it yourself.
“But why would you?”
The first answers that come to your mind don’t necessarily surprise you, but fill you with a sadness, a deep dread that begins to fracture the bubble you’ve been living in with Loki. Because I want you is not a realistic response. You can’t have him, Thor and politics be damned. He’s still forever locked inside a prison cell while you live your life freely. So you remain silent, trying very hard to come up with a response that doesn’t sound like a fantasy answer.
“You were always destined to be on a throne,” he says softly, eyes drinking you in and trailing down your body and you flush with his attention. “Just not with me beside you.” His words settle within you, heavy. Final.
Loki turns away from you entirely, picking up a book off an end table and returning to his chair to read as if he’s decided the conversation is over. And you realize he’s right. Because you have no more words to give and he’s left you standing at the barrier. Alone.
DESCRIPTION: You’re the resident good girl of Hawkins High. Eddie Munson is everything you’re not supposed to want. When you start making questionable decisions where he’s concerned, you have to wonder if maybe some bad decisions are worth it.
Or: Eddie Munson slowly brings you to the dark side.
TAGS: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers (Adjacent), First Time, Good Girl/Bad Guy, Hints of Corruption Kink, Unprotected Sex,
WORD COUNT: Approx. 16k
A/N: Eddie Munson has had me in a damn chokehold for the last week. This started as an idea for a quick corruption kink smut. But I apparently can’t do anything without a slow burn. Whoopies. Also it's my first Eddie fic and the first thing I've written in years. But I am damn proud of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hallway is quickly emptying by the time you approach the AV closet, everyone already funneling into the gym for the rally. You need to hurry if you’re going to get back there in time. You move quickly, sliding between the bodies, set on completing your task and not causing a delay for the entire school.
You rip open the door so fast that when you step into the closet, it hits the wall of the hallway and bounces back, shutting you into darkness almost instantly. You fumble for the light switch in a huff and flip it up.
A short shriek rises up from your throat when you see a dark figure sitting on top of the table barely more than five feet in front of you. Your hands reach up to your chest as if they’re going to stop the spike of adrenaline from rushing through you.
“What the hell, Munson?” you shout out, recognizing the figure almost immediately and taking personal offense to him being perched so casually on the storage table like he belongs there. Alone. In the dark.
“Whoa,” he chuckles, eyes moving up to you, shifting from a bored stare where he’d been twisting his rings around his fingers to something more... amused. “Easy there, sweetheart.” His smirk irritates you.
“Don’t call me that,” you tell him sharply before narrowing your eyes at him. “What are you even doing in here?” Lurking in the AV closet is weird, even for Eddie. He shrugs at you, hands stopping their fidgeting and resting down on the table, supporting his weight as he leans forward a little.
“I don’t really do the school spirit bullshit,” he says. You roll your eyes and begin to look around the cramped shelves, finally remembering why you came in here to begin with. “This is my spot.”
“So, what? You just come in here during every pep rally?”
“No.” He pauses for a beat and the momentary silence has you shifting your weight uncomfortably. “Only for the ones I can’t get off school grounds for.” His smirk widens, noticing your anxiousness. His eyes glide down your body and then back up. “Didn’t expect you to skip it though.” He almost sounds impressed and it makes you roll your shoulders back, his implied praise making you antsy.
“I’m not skipping,” you clarify quickly. “I was asked to get a new microphone. The one they have isn’t working.” With that, you start sifting through the shelves. You have no idea where it would be, having never been in here before and the organization seemingly having no logic behind it at all. There are so many wires and machines.
“Ahh, yes,” he draws out, that air of praise dissipating. “Can’t let the rally fall silent. Had to send little miss perfect to save it. Silly me for thinking you’d be doing something so nefarious.” You give another eye roll.
“Shove it, Munson.” You hate that it makes him chuckle. The noise outside the closet is trickling down, the majority of the student body already where you need to be. The sound is like your own clock ticking down. Flustered, you give the audio equipment on the shelf a shove. “Where are the damn microphones?” you snap, not aiming the question at Eddie, but looking at him nonetheless and finding him holding a microphone in his hands, casually twirling the cord in his fingers and raising an eyebrow at you. You resist yet another eye roll, marching up to him and reaching to take it from him.
“Nu-uh,” he scolds, moving the mic behind him out of your reach. “I thought the good girls were supposed to have manners,” he teases. Your shoulders sink down and you huff out an annoyed breath. You’ve never been on this side of an interaction with him, one where you didn’t have the high ground or an army of friends surrounding you. But now he’s got something you need and he’s enjoying it entirely too much.
“Can I have the microphone, please?” Better to just play along and get out of here as fast as you can. You’re practically bumping into his knees and are fighting the urge to flee from him. He grins, the tip of his tongue peeking out to touch his lower lip. You tilt your chin higher, deliberately averting your eyes from his mouth.
Without saying a word, he hands you the mic. The moment he drops it into your hands, you’re turning on your heels before you can register the little shiver that washes over you. Your sneakers squeak against the linoleum, rushing to the door.
You turn the handle and push forward, but the door doesn’t open, your shoulder bumping into the door, your momentum not expecting resistance. You look down at the handle and try again, but nothing happens. It barely moves and the door stays closed.
“What the hell?” you mutter to yourself before spinning around and facing Eddie. “What the hell is this?” His brow furrows at you just a little.
“Well, that’s a door.” He points to it and your jaw clenches at his sarcasm. “Usually, you would open it.” His grin returns. “Unless you’re looking to hang out with the school freak.”
“Not a chance,” you quip and point back to the door. “It won’t open.” There’s an exasperation in your voice that you try to calm down. You’re going to be late. There’s no question now. There are no more bustling sounds from the hall. No voices talking over each other, no shuffling feet, not even a stray locker closing.
Eddie looks at you skeptically, as if maybe your golden girl status and straight A streak is misplaced and you just don’t know how a door works. You move to the side, barely able to shift before running into one of the shelving units, and motion to the door to encourage him to find out for himself.
He moves, just not fast enough for your liking. He pushes himself up and off the table, lazily stretching for a moment and adjusting his denim jacket before finally approaching the door. He keeps his eyes on you the short distance he travels and even as he crowds your space, putting his hand on the handle. You expect the cocky look in his eye to disappear when the handle won’t turn for him, but instead he just glances down at it, tries again, and then shrugs.
“Looks like you’re skipping the rally after all.”
“Ugh!” you groan in exasperation. You plant your forearm into his chest and push him back, going for the door again. His eyes widen just slightly, surprised you’d touch him, but not offended. Putting more force into your attempt, you shove your shoulder into the door, but it still doesn’t budge.
Noticing your intense frustration and rising anxiety about the entire situation, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and leans his shoulder on the door, not to help you, no. Just to rest there.
“Relax, princess. One missed pep rally won’t kill you.”
“There’s not going to be a pep rally if they don’t have a working mic,” you remind him, holding up the microphone in your hand. “I was asked to do one thing and they’re going to think I just ditched.”
“You’ve really never skipped anything before, have you?” You don’t humor him by answering, instead glaring at the door and trying to take deep breaths, which is slowly getting harder when he leans forward just slightly, making you feel suddenly crowded in this small space. “Have you ever broken a rule?”
“No!” Your face scrunches up. “I like rules.” Everyone knows that. You’re not the kind to get into trouble. You’ve never seen the point of it.
“That’s just tragic,” he chuckles. He leans in just a bit more and lowers his voice. “Rules are way more fun when you ignore them.” The sound of his voice, low and intimate, does something to your body, sends a flush through it. You suddenly bang the palm of your free hand into the door in one last attempt to free yourself. Or maybe to shake the heat from your body. Thankfully, Eddie leans back giving you a tiny bit of breathing room. He could step back farther. There’s at least a foot of space behind him, but either he doesn’t notice or just doesn’t care. “It’s not going to budge. Just have to wait until someone rescues us.” A sharp dose of fear shoots into your gut.
“Oh, god,” you groan, realization dawning on you. “Someone’s going to see me in here with you.” That would surely get around. What would people think? What would they say? You face him, really looking at him for the first time.
“Relax, Princess,” he drawls. “What’s the worst that happens? They think you’ve been fraternizing with the local menace?” He gives a casual shrug, but there’s a smirk on his lips that makes you think he likes the idea of that rumor. You may not be prim and proper, but you’re polished, practically his opposite. The school would have a field day with this.
He’s in ripped jeans and a denim jacket over a Hellfire t-shirt. His curls are frizzy, untamed. He’s got an air of carelessness about him that somehow translates into a little bit of intimidation. The thing you notice that surprises you, standing this close to him, is the way he smells. You’d always imagined he’d smell like sweat and smoke. Grungy. Instead, he smells subtly of… soap. As if his clothes are freshly washed or he’d recently washed his hands. And when you take a deep breath to steady yourself, you can catch a harsher scent. Leather. Earth. Something wild and strangely comforting.
You realize you’re staring and shift your weight, looking away. His lips tilt up, noticing your sudden discomfort.
“You always this jittery, or am I just special?” he teases. You scoff and go to take a step back from him, but your heel bumps into the shelves, preventing you from moving.
“You’re not special.”
“I don’t know,” he muses, brow lifting and lips turning down in an exaggeration of a contemplating expression. “Your friends like to pay a lot of attention to me. Kinda makes me feel special.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Never!” He uncrosses his arms, leans off the door, and puts his hands in his jean pockets. “I’m just the school freak.” He says it with a wild smile as if it’s a moniker filled with honor.
You decide not to interact with him anymore, but the silence grows bigger and bigger and you feel tension in your body. How long would it be until someone came and saved you? The closet is not big enough for you two to just… be here forever. You consider sliding to the side, going to the supply table Eddie was originally perched on. When you look at him again, strictly to size up how much room you have to get by, you notice he’s watching you intently, head tilted curiously to the side.
“What?” you snap, uneasy under his gaze.
“Just wondering what it would be like,” he says softly.
“What what would be like?”
“If you took a walk on the wild side.” Your breath hitches in your chest as he takes just a half step closer. “Listened to metal.” He leans a breath closer. “Joined Hellfire.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Ditched a pep rally with the school freak.” He widens his eyes and grins at you before giving another casual shrug. This one is smaller than his others, less theatrical. “If you feel like trying out the dark side, I’d be willing to help you out,” he offers, seemingly unaware that you’ve stopped breathing. “Purely out of the goodness of my heart,” he adds, lightening the tension just enough so you can take in a breath. You catch yourself before a smile tilts onto your lips. “Who knows, you might like it.”
“No.” You scoff to cover a small laugh, before clearing your throat and straightening your back. “I’m good with not obliterating my social standing, thank you very much.” You say it a little sharply, meaning to aim it as an insult, but it doesn’t faze him.
“That’s a shame.” He pauses for just a beat and his hands come out of his pockets. You have the sudden, unexpected wonder of what would happen if he reached out to touch you. “I think you’d be good at being bad.”
Before you can process the heated tone of his voice or the way it makes you squirm, there’s a jostle of the door handle next to you, snapping you back to your current reality. You turn to the door and bang on it.
“I’m in here!” you shout. “The door is stuck!”
“Hang on!” You hear Jason’s voice on the other side of the door and moments later, he yanks the door open, light pouring into the closet nearly blinding you. “What the fuck?” he asks, angry and accusatory. That fear of being caught with Eddie curdles back up. “This whole thing is turning into a disaster. Did you at least find the mic before you locked yourself in the fucking closet?” It’s then you realize he’s more upset about the pep rally than the sight of you and Eddie. You turn to look at Eddie and realize that he’s finally taken that step backwards, pressing his back to the shelving units and steeping himself in shadows of the closet. Jason doesn’t even realize he’s in here. “Jesus Christ,” Jason huffs and snatches the microphone from your hand before sprinting back toward the gym.
You’re left dumbfounded, staring at an empty hallway. Eddie hid. No one saw you. Your reputation remains intact even if you looked a little foolish for getting trapped. Eddie slinks back into the light of the doorway.
“I should go,” you say slowly, regaining a working part of your brain. Eddie nods and motions you out.
“Go on, Princess. Your friends await.” You feel like you should thank him, but decide against it. You don’t want to bump up his ego or encourage whatever just happened here. As you walk out, he grabs the door, pulling it closed again clearly still intending to hide out. Before he shuts it completely, he calls out, “Hey! Uhhh…” You look back at him, hanging awkwardly on the doorframe, door almost fully shut. “Try not to mention the hiding spot,” he says. “This is a very exclusive establishment and I don’t usually allow visitors. I’ve worked very hard on the ambiance.” He gives you a playful wink, creeping the door closer to his face. You press your lips together and turn away before he can see your lips tilt up in a smile.
~~~
Ever since the AV closet incident, you’ve been noticing Eddie. You’d noticed him before (he was hard to miss), but now you find your eyes lingering and even worse, he seems to be noticing you right back.
You lose interest in the conversation at the lunch table, fork idly pushing food around your tray as your gaze wanders. You’re sure you don’t mean to look at him, but you do it anyways. He’s carrying on a conversation with his own friends, not a care in the world. He looks so free and for a moment you feel jealousy at how at ease he seems.
It happens more often than you should admit. You never stare too long, but he always manages to look back at you as if he knows exactly what you’re doing. The second his eyes catch yours, your head is turned back to your food tray and a blush crawls up your neck. You don’t want to look at him, but it gives you a rush that’s becoming addictive.
It’s like you can’t escape him. You’ve always existed in the same space, but your interactions have been fairly nonexistent until now. Now he’s doing things like sliding into the seat next to you in class and you’re painfully aware of every move he makes.
One day, the teacher calls on him and asks him to answer a question he didn’t raise his hand for. He rests his head on his chin and happily says, “Yeah, no. I’ll just fail quietly if you don’t mind.” There are eye rolls and soft groans from the class and the teacher sighs heavily, but you? There’s a soft laugh, barely a huff of air released under your breath, but a laugh nonetheless. It’s unplanned and unexpected and when you take a glance over at him, it’s clear he noticed. He looks pleased at your reaction, a soft dangerous smile teasing his lips. You don’t look away or act like it didn’t happen. That feels like it would be worse somehow. He holds your stare a moment longer than he should before looking back down at his desk, leaving you with a pounding heart and flushed skin.
You tell yourself that you’re done with it. You’re not going to keep playing this game. But as if he can read your mind, the moment you make that decision, he leans into it harder.
You’re in the library, studying for an upcoming exam when you see him wander out from one of the aisles with a large book tucked under his arm. The library is quiet and nearly empty, but he sets up just one table away from you. He leans back in the chair, props his feet up on the table, and shoves the giant book in front of his face.
The whole scene is odd. Eddie is in the library for starters. You’ve never seen him here before and he’s just so cavalier about it, like he belongs here. With his face literally inside the book, you think it’s safe to look at him. The book, a tome really, has a dragon on the front so you assume it must be one of his Dungeons and Dragons books. Which you know this library doesn’t carry. So, it still begs the question, why is he here?
While you’re pondering, the book slowly lowers a few inches and his eyes meet yours, sharp and amused. You don’t look away, caught up in the way he smirks at you. He raises one eyebrow at you, challenging you to back down, but you don’t.
You keep looking at him as he puts the book down and stands up, approaching your table. He taps his fingers on the wood.
“We’re playing tonight,” he tells you. “If you wanted to hear music that doesn’t suck,” he adds. You don’t respond, too taken aback by the invitation. Your silence doesn’t dissuade him. “The Hideout. 7 o’clock.” Then he’s gone, leaving just as fast as he had appeared.
You brush it off, forgetting the invite as quickly as he mentioned it. You couldn’t go even if you wanted to. You have plans tonight with Jason. You two aren’t officially dating, but you’ve gone out a few times, orbited around each other at a few parties, and tonight you were going to the movies, just the two of you.
Or at least… you think you are. You’d talked about it. Tuesday night. Meet up after school, go grab some food before catching a movie. But school let out 40 minutes ago and you’re still waiting out front for him.
You check your watch again. You had the day right, you know you did. So where was he? A strange mix of emotions have slowly been filling you; fear, anxiety, and oddly, boredom. The books in your arms are starting to feel heavy and you’re about to cut your losses and leave when you finally hear his laughter.
He comes around the corner, surrounded with a group of basketball players. You feel a brief, fleeting rush of relief and straighten up. As you begin walking toward him, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t notice you. He’s fully engrossed with his friends.
“You going to Brad’s place tonight?” one of them asks.
“I gotta pick up some shit for my mom, but yeah. I’ll be over after.”
Oh.
You stop walking toward them and just watch as they glide by, a ball of incoherent conversations and arrogant laughter. There’s a hollow emptiness in your chest, similar to how it feels when you find yourself suddenly in a corner alone at a big party. It’s not unfamiliar, but it’s still not pleasant.
You stand there for a moment, not quite at the sidewalk and unsure of where to go now. Home, you guess. It would give you some time to finish reading your book at least. You wish that filled you with a little more joy than it did. You take a deep breath and head toward the parking lot.
As you get closer, there’s the sound of an engine starting and then the sharp screech of a guitar. It disrupts the quiet and your thoughts and you look at it a little angrily. One of the metalheads from school has his speakers turned up practically all the way and he doesn’t even look before he speeds out of the parking lot. As he tears away, the beat comes in as the music grows quieter. Honestly, it’s not the worst music you’ve heard. It’s just… different.
Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind.
The Hideout. 7 o’clock
Maybe different is exactly what you need.
~~~
It’s 7:30 and you’re standing outside of The Hideout, holding your jacket tight to your body. The music bleeds through the walls, permeating into the street in a muffled vibration. It’s rough and intense and you feel keenly aware that Eddie is in there somewhere creating it.
Someone exits the building and when the door opens, the music becomes sharper. A sour smell of sweat and beer wafts out at you. A voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you can still leave. Just turn around and go home. But all you feel when you think about going home is emptiness. You had planned to do something tonight. You don’t want tonight to be another disappointment.
You’re walking inside before you can talk yourself out of it. It’s dark and dingy. It’s not crowded. Actually, it looks fairly empty with most of the patrons being older drunks and a couple of metalheads sprinkled throughout. Even though there aren’t many people, it’s loud. Chatter and music bounce off all four walls. A waitress in very short shorts and permed hair passes by carrying mugs of beer in her hands. She yells out “Seat yourself!” over the music as she goes.
You walk quickly over to a corner high top table, feeling extremely out of place. Everyone and everything just looks grungy and you never thought that having a clean presence would make you feel like you stand out. Even the tabletop feels different. Though you can tell it’s been wiped down, it has a decade’s worth of stains and peanut dust on it. Oddly enough, it makes you cringe less than the sticky diner tables do.
A sharp, distinct guitar riff sounds out and you finally look at the stage. Eddie’s in the middle of a solo, strumming his guitar quickly, efficiently. He makes it look effortless, so much so that you almost wonder why it’s considered such a talent. But then you focus on his fingers. Still adorned with rings, they move quickly, but smoothly. Guitar neck cradled in one hand, pick in the other. The movements are sharp, precise. The man knows how to use his hands.
When it ends, he gives the guitar one last strum before he looks up at the crowd. You always thought he looked careless and free at school, but this version of Eddie is different. He’s in his element. He’s not under the attack of the scrutinizing eyes of your classmates. He owns this room. And he knows it. This version of Eddie is raw and real and… kind of captivating.
As he scans the crowd, wide, wild grin on his face, his eyes fall on you. He does the smallest double take, eyes almost glazing right over you before coming back and realizing you were there. His grin softens in the smallest way, completely caught off guard that you showed up. You would wonder if that meant you weren’t really supposed to have taken his invite seriously, but his grin widens again and his eyes light up, washing away that fear.
The song ends to scattered clapping and one or two cheers. Eddie takes a theatrical bow, his hair curtaining his face before he flips himself upright. When he comes back up, he’s looking right at you again. He keeps watching you, soft smile and heated eyes, as he lifts the guitar strap off his body. He only breaks the eye contact when he turns to tell his bandmate something. His bandmate nods and Eddie moves to the back of the stage. The band announces that they’ll be taking a short break and be back soon.
They exit the stage as the bar’s regular music starts coming through some speakers on the walls. You let out a nervous breath, suddenly feeling alone. You were alone before obviously, but now you didn’t even have the show to watch.
The same waitress from before comes up to your table. She’s a flurry of movement and startles you when she asks, “What can I get you, hon?”
“Oh! Umm…” you stumble through your words. “Can I just get a pop?” Normally, people order beers in bars. Was it okay not to?
“Hey, Princess!” You hear it called out from across the room. Never in your life did you think you’d be perking up and answering to that name, but it’s unmistakably meant for you and unmistakably coming from Eddie. You and the waitress both look his way and watch as he gives you a nod with his head, urging you to follow him.
“Didn’t know you were with the band,” she comments.
“Oh, no!” you try to correct. “I’m not… Not with them. I just…He’s just…” You can’t find any words to explain what you’re doing here. “Uh, excuse me.” You settle for just trying to be polite as you slide off the stool and head toward Eddie.
“You know,” he starts as you get closer. “Most people don’t actually take me up on my invites.”
“Well, it turns out I had nothing better to do tonight,” you tell him flippantly. He turns and opens the door to the back room.
“Welcome to my lair.” He smirks and hinges at the waist, waving you inside. You oblige and step forward and when you do, his hand barely settles on your lower back, softly urging you on. It’s barely a brush of a touch, completely gentlemanly and yet your breath hitches in a way it’s never done before.
It’s a small backroom, but enough space for all four of them to keep their things along with a few chairs and a small table in the middle of the room filled with beer bottles and ashtrays. The faint smell of smoke lingers in the air.
“These are the guys,” he tells you, waving his hand toward them briefly. The door closes behind you and you feel like you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. You don’t move, shift your weight, unsure of where you belong in this room. “I’m not scaring you off just yet, am I?” Eddie asks lowly, dipping his head barely to you. His hand presses a little more firmly in the small of your back. You give a little shake of your head, his little reassurance making you plant your feet more firmly on the ground. “Good.” He swipes your back with his thumb just once before stepping away and going for his guitar that’s been propped up in the nearest chair.
“What’s ‘little miss perfect’ doing here?” one of the band members asks dramatically, twirling a drumstick in his hand. Little miss perfect. Eddie had called you that before. Your shoulders tense up. Is that what they referred to you as? These boys do not like you, do they? Before you can question it further, Eddie cuts in.
“You missed your cue twice out there, Gareth,” he says, not looking up from his guitar which he’s now adjusting the strap on. “Maybe she can give you some notes on perfection.” The other two laugh at his comment and rag on Gareth a bit. As they give him a hard time, Eddie looks up at you, barely peeking at you through the curtain of his hair. You press your lips together to bite back a blushing smile. The look in his eye says he still sees it.
You look away, down at your shoes for just a moment then nervously brush your hair behind your ear. He lets the moment go, swinging his guitar onto his back before turning to his band.
He points to each of them and introduces them by name. You make a mental note to connect each of them to their instrument. Gareth – drums. Jeff – guitar. Brian – bass. You vaguely recognize them from school, but couldn’t list a single thing you know about any of them. They’re much warmer to you this time around and you give the group a polite wave.
“I’ll meet you guys back on stage,” Eddie tells them, coming back to you. “Let’s get you a better seat.”
He walks with you out of the room and out to the bar. He leads you to a table just in front of the stage, but away from the speakers. There’s a small, folded piece of paper on the table with the word “reserved” on it. Eddie slaps it away with the back of his hand and motions for you to sit, leaving you unsure if he had it reserved or if he just decided to ignore the fact that the table is taken. Either option fills you with something warm and exciting.
“Hey Karen!” he calls out after you sit down. You turn to look and see he’s yelling at the waitress. “Get her whatever she wants!”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just getting a pop,” you tell him hurriedly. He looks down at you on the stool, his tongue poking the side of his cheek.
“Still such a good girl.” He doesn’t sound annoyed or as if it’s derogatory. If anything, you think he takes it as a challenge, one he can’t wait to beat. “We can still get you something more exciting.” Karen hustles over to the table and looks at you expectantly. Eddie speaks up before you can. “Get her a Shirley Temple.” You raise an eyebrow at him, unfamiliar with the drink. Karen’s gone faster than you can ask about it. “It’s ginger ale and grenadine,” Eddie clarifies for you. “No alcohol for you.” His hand raises as if he’s going to touch you in some way, but he settles it on the back of your chair instead. “If you don’t like it, order a soda. It’s all on me.”
“Thank you,” is all you can think to say. You’re more out of your element than you ever remember being. You, with the straight A’s and the ironed skirts hung up in your closet, are in the town dive bar with Eddie Munson being nice to you. Your heart flutters a little in your chest.
“See you after the set?” You hesitate for just a moment. You hadn’t made a plan for how long you were going to stay, but there’s a glimmer of want, of hope in his eyes that makes you want to sit right where you are until he’s sung every last song. You smile lightly at him and nod. His grin returns and he pats the back of your chair again. “Great. See you in a bit.”
Much to your surprise, you learn two things tonight. The first is that you really like Shirley Temples. You have to stop yourself from downing the first one in seconds. The second thing is that you maybe could sort of like metal music. Or maybe you just like Eddie singing it.
The music is nothing like Fleetwood Mac or Blondie, but now that you’re really listening to it, it’s not just heavy noise like you always thought. Their songs have an addictive beat and the guitar carries the songs through the air. And Eddie? Eddie is a performer. His voice is rugged and intimidating, but it’s still warm and you feel it through your entire body.
He plays to the audience, even if it’s a small crowd. He keeps his eyes out on the bar and after that short break, he’s come back with so much more vigor. He moves around the stage more, repeatedly coming to the edge where you are, watching you, playing his solos with you in perfect view. You find yourself keeping his eyes for once. He’s intoxicating like this.
He’s at the mic singing when you’re sipping through the straw of your second drink. His eyes catch yours, but then his eyes slip down to your lips for just a moment. He smirks through the lyrics and looks away. You release the straw and wonder for a moment if you saw what you thought you did.
There’s a thrill coursing through you, a dangerous flirtation you’re drawn to. So you keep the drink in your hands and wait for him to take another look your way. You wrap your lips around the straw slower this time and suck gently, watching his reaction intently. His smirk slips ever so slightly and you think you hear the smallest waver in his vocals as he watches you. You can’t hold back your smile this time. You shouldn’t like teasing him this much, but holy shit you kind of love it.
The song ends and he turns to his band for a quick discussion. The smile doesn’t leave your face as you put the drink down and lean back in your seat. You’re sitting alone at a table in a bar and yet you’re having more fun than you would have at a party surrounded by your friends. You don’t want to analyze why that is right now. Right now, you want to keep enjoying the night.
“Alright all,” Eddie announces into the mic. “This cover isn’t normally in our set, but I think it’s fitting for the night.” There’s no pause in between his announcement and Brian strumming on his bass. Eddie steps back to let Brian have his moment, but when it’s over, Eddie steps back front and center strumming his guitar and coming back to the mic.
You don’t listen to the lyrics themselves at first, paying more attention to the way Eddie hasn’t stopped looking at you since he started singing. You’re about to pick up your drink again, ready to give him something to look at when he puts some extra emphasis into the lyrics, making sure you hear them.
Follow me now and you will not regret / Leaving the life you led before we met
He holds your eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting. Then he winks.
Your stomach flips inside of you as he continues singing, finally releasing the hold on your eyes and turning his attention back to the rest of the bar. Your face flushes and you take a quick gulp from your cup, bypassing the straw entirely, just wanting something to cool you down quickly.
He continues the song, but only with the occasional glance your way now. It gives you enough time to breathe and recompose yourself. You roll your shoulders and check the bar as if someone might have seen whatever just happened between you two. Of course, no one is paying you any attention at all.
The song tapers out and there’s a light amount of applause from the crowd. You join in, slowly clapping your hands as you watch Eddie take a bow.
“We’ve got time for one more before we wrap up for the night,” he tells the crowd.
Karen comes by, but you tell her you don’t need another drink. The band is finishing up so you expect you’ll be on your way soon enough. She shrugs and moves on quickly, not particularly caring one way or another.
When the metal fades out and the usual country twang comes back through the speakers, Eddie’s eyes find you again. He comes to the edge of the stage and crouches down to talk to you without yelling.
“Stay there,” he tells you. “Let me put this baby away,” he pats his guitar. “And I’ll be right back.” You nod to him, silently committing to waiting for him. He disappears behind the stage with a quick quirk of his lips. You check the clock on the wall. 9pm. Okay. Not the latest you’ve stayed out, but you’re going to be pushing it if you stay much longer, especially on a school night.
You don’t have to wait long before Eddie’s back in front of you, a water in one hand and a Shirley Temple in his other. He sets the sweet, red drink in front of you and sweeps himself into the chair next to you.
“So?” He lets the question linger between you. “What’d you think? Your first metal show,” he prompts after you stay quiet.
“It… wasn’t what I expected,” you answer. It’s the truth, but you realize it sounds too ambiguous, too polite. “I actually really enjoyed it.” He claps loudly, smiles wide, and pumps a fist in the air, making you laugh.
“I knew it!” he says. “I knew you were having a good time.” You nod and take the drink from where he set it.
“Yeah I did,” you admit. “Some of the songs were really good. Others I’m not sure I understand, but the energy was fun.” He props his chin on his fist, elbow on the table, head tilting just slightly at you.
“Black Sabbath,” he says.
“What?” You squint at him, not sure you heard him right.
“The song you liked,” he explains. “Towards the end. The cover we did.” Oh. That one. “It’s by Black Sabbath.” You feel your blush returning, remembering the way he looked at you, winked at you, like that song was sung just for you. “You should try listening to some of their stuff.”
“I bet they’re no Stevie Nicks, but I could maybe give them a shot.”
“Stevie Nicks?” He lets out an exasperated puff of air and stretches back in his seat like you’ve offended him. “I’ve got a lot to teach you, Princess.”
Conversation flows easily between you two, easier than you ever thought it could. You don’t have a lot of common interests, but if anything, it makes the conversation more interesting. You finish your drink and without asking, another is put in front of you, one for him as well this time. The chatter of the bar grows quieter and the lights come down just a bit, making it seem just a little softer than before.
Eddie’s drumming his fingers on the table during a comfortable lull in your conversation. He alternates between using his fingertips for a hollower sound and tapping the band of his rings down for a sharper one. You watch them, amazed at how swiftly they move, how he keeps beat so easily. Your mind drifts, imagining what that beat would feel like if he was drumming on your palm instead of the table. What would his fingers feel like on your skin? What would it feel like if he touched you?
“Careful, Princess,” he interrupts your thoughts with a low voice. He shifts his legs underneath the table and his knee brushes yours. “Keep looking at me like that and you’ll start giving me ideas.” Earlier in the night you would have instantly blushed. After having had some back and forth with him, you’re able to resist it.
“You’re the kind of guy who always has ideas.” You scoff, but don’t move your knee away from his.
“Yeah,” he admits. He leans in, his leg pressing firmly against yours and whispers, “But now my ideas are going to have your face.”
You struggle to swallow, the blush returning fiercely as your mind floods with images of him. What he might look like later tonight. Alone in his bed with his ideas. Thinking of you. That’s what he’s implying, isn’t he? You clear your throat, knowing you should move away from him. You manage to look down at the table, but you don’t shift away from him, don’t remove the pressure of his leg against yours. He chuckles softly.
“When’s your curfew, Princess?” You glance at the clock on the wall.
“Shit,” you hiss, a burst of fear hitting you. It’s 11 o’clock. “My parents are going to kill me.”
“Sounds like you should get going then.”
“Yeah.” You don’t sound convinced. It comes out in a heavy breath, drawn out just a little as if you can make yourself stay longer. You don’t want to leave. The Hideout feels like its own little bubble, one you’ve had more fun in than you have in the real world in a long time. When the sun rises tomorrow and you have to face school, this all goes away.
“C’mon,” Eddie says, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The air outside of the bar hits you harshly. Fresh, clean, cold. And yet it feels more suffocating than the stale beer smell from inside. You walk slowly and Eddie keeps your pace, not rushing you out. He lingers just like you, walking close enough that your shoulders brush as you walk.
“So, what’s your final verdict?” he asks.
“On what?”
“Your first foray into the underdark of Hawkins youth.” You laugh softly. “I’m pretty impressed with myself, honestly. I got the teacher’s pet to stay out after dark at a metal show with the school freak. All questionably bad decisions. And I dare say you liked it.” He’s looking at you intently, waiting for an answer, but you decide not to give him one. You’ve made it to your car and you fiddle with your keys as you approach the driver’s door. “That’s alright. I kinda like it.” He shrugs and moves to the side, leaning against your car near the back door.
“Like what, exactly?” You get the correct key in hand, but when you turn your head to look at him, your hands freeze. He’s so casual, like your car is right where he belongs and he looks… good. His eyes move to your mouth.
“Being the first bad decision you don’t regret.” He says it softly like a secret, but there’s a wicked glint in his eyes and his lips tilt up in a smirk that makes your knees want to give out from beneath you.
“Who says I won’t regret it?” You try to hold some semblance of integrity instead of melting to the ground in a puddle like your body seems to want to do. Something about him is setting your body on fire.
“If you do,” he shrugs again, scrunching his nose and putting back on his performance persona, finally releasing you from his intensity. “I’ll be around tomorrow. In case you need to complain about it.” You allow yourself to smile and get yourself together enough to open your door.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” you tell him, getting into your car. He bows dramatically for you and you hate how endearing you suddenly find it.
“Don’t worry,” he says, putting his hand on the open car door and stepping next to you. Leaning down, he says, “If you fall asleep in class tomorrow, I won’t tell anyone I’m the reason you were up all night.” He gives you one more devastating smirk before closing your door gently for you.
~~~
The next few days are filled with an anxious paranoia. You’re just waiting for someone to call you out, for the social consequences that should befall your actions.
Hey. I heard you were at The Hideout? Gross.
What? Are you and Eddie friends now? Are your standards that low?
There’s a party this weekend. We’d invite you, but it’s not for losers.
But no one has said a word. Which means no one saw you and neither Eddie nor his band said anything to anyone. It’s remained your quiet little secret.
Eddie has also kept his distance. Part of you expected he’d strut right up to you in the middle of the cafeteria and ask you something about the show, but he didn’t. He didn’t approach you at all. You may have been offended or thought he lost all interest in you if he didn’t keep sneaking looks at you with heated eyes.
Friday morning during homeroom, he slides into the desk next to yours. He’s done that sometimes now and just him being nearby makes your skin start to tingle. You’re actively trying not to look at him when a shadow falls over your desk. You look up and find Jason standing over you.
“Hey, we were supposed to go to the movies this week, weren’t we?” He adjusts his backpack strap on his shoulder as you stumble open-mouthed through a response. Your attention is suddenly split because you see Eddie’s shoulders tense in the corner of your vision. You don’t manage much more than make an umm noise before Jason continues. “Was supposed to be Tuesday, wasn’t it?” You freeze, desperately looking anywhere but at either boy. “What happened to that?” As if he wasn’t the one who forgot? You can tell Eddie’s head is now turned to you, paying attention even if he acts like he’s not.
“I ended up being busy that night,” you tell him, voice tense. “And I think you had a thing at Brad’s.”
“That’s right!” He nods as he remembers. If he realizes he ditched you, he doesn’t show it. “Rain check?” he offers.
“Uhh, yeah maybe,” you say just to get him to leave. Any more talk about this and even Jason might notice something’s wrong. He takes your response happily, a smile on his face and he’s leaving your desk to find his regular seat.
You take a deep breath to steady yourself before you can’t resist chancing a look at Eddie. He’s got a smug look on his face, his eyes practically smirking at you. He’s leaned forward on his desk, hand cradling the side of his face as he looks at you. His lips move, mouthing a single word slowly so that you can make out what he’s saying.
Princess.
“Oh, shut up,” you mutter as you roll your eyes and look back down to the books on your own desk. He chuckles to himself and goes back about his own business. The tension in your body has dissipated and you’re able to get through the rest of homeroom without incident at least.
You don’t see Eddie again until much later in the day. You’re walking down the hall during your last passing period when he runs out from a side hall, slightly sweaty and breathing hard. Your footsteps stop to watch him. His denim jacket is hanging half off his arm and he’s got another giant Dungeons and Dragons book tucked into his side. He makes a beeline for the AV closet when his eyes catch you.
Before he opens the door, he lifts a finger up to your lips, silently telling you to be quiet. You cock your head at him, confused. All he does is duck into the AV closet and shut the door behind him. You follow, curious and unsure of what’s happening.
A teacher calls out your name when you reach the closet door. Startled, you turn around to see Mr. Harris approaching you. You straighten up and try to act like nothing odd has happened.
“You haven’t happened to see Eddie Munson, have you?” he asks. He’s not being accusatory, simply asking you because you’re a trustworthy source of information. Or you should be. You can’t manage to get the words out though. “He skipped his last class and stole something out of my office. I heard he went this way.” His eyes are scanning the hallway in both directions.
“No,” you squeak out. Your heart is beginning to hammer against your chest and you shake your head faster than could be considered normal. “Haven’t seen him.” Mr. Harris looks at you and furrows his brow.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. You press your lips tight together.
“Mmhmm,” you mumble. “Fine.” You nervously scratch at the back of your head. “Maybe he left school grounds?” you suggest weakly. He tilts his chin up, still furrowing at you.
“Maybe,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”
“All good. Big test next period.” That’s a lie. How many lies was that in this one conversation now? Oh god, you’re lying to a teacher.
“Okay, well thank you anyways.” With that, he’s off down the hall keeping his head on a swivel for the boy in the closet behind you. You let out a heavy sigh of relief, but it’s short lived when the door behind you opens and you’re being tugged into the closet by your sleeve.
Before you know it, you’re inside the AV closet with Eddie Munson again. But this time, your back is against the door and he’s in front of you, hands flat on the wood on either side of your face, caging you in. And fuck if he doesn’t look hot like this. Adrenaline in his veins making him breathe heavier, eyes wider as he takes in your face in the dim light.
“You just lied to a teacher, Princess,” he says breathlessly. “Didn’t have to do that.”
“No. I didn’t.”
The air between you gets thick as he leans in, not pressing into your body but so close. His lips part and you find yourself tipping your chin up to him. The small motion has him biting his bottom lip, holding back a groan. His fingers shift and you can hear the gentle scrape of his rings against the wood next to you.
One of your hands is rising before you realize what you’re doing, fingers hovering near the hem of his jacket. You manage to stop yourself just short of touching him, curling your fingers back into your palm and bringing your hand back down.
His eyes catch the movement though and he shifts his weight, straightening and coming just a hair closer. He looks back to your lips and growls, “Careful, Princess,” sending an ache between your legs. The air gets caught in your throat and you wish desperately that you could know what his hands feel like on you.
The bell echoes out in the hallway, signaling the end of the passing period. It startles you, your body tensing and your chest jumping. His eyes travel back up to yours and he softens. He leans into you, but instead of pressing against your body or pressing his lips to yours, he turns and rests his head on one of his fists next to you. His body is still caging you in, still not touching you. You manage to hold in a whimper as he takes a deep, defeated breath, calming himself down.
He pushes away from the door, from you, leaving the cold empty air to fill his space.
“Fuck,” he hisses quietly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into that.” He waves toward the hall, talking about your lie for him. You clear your throat, trying to sound calm and collected.
“You didn’t,” you assure him. You chose to lie, chose to cover for him. He didn’t make you do anything.
“I wasn’t stealing,” he says. “Well… okay I was, but I was stealing back.” He’s talking in a rush now. He spins on his heels and grabs the book he’d put on the storage table behind him. “Harris confiscated this from one of my kids. I was liberating it.”
“Your kids?” His animated nature is helping to bring you back down from the high you’d been riding with his body so close to you.
“From Hellfire. One of the newbies.” Why did that sound kind of sweet?
“In that case, I suppose I don’t regret covering for you.” He cracks a smile at you and you find yourself admiring it for a moment.
“You need to get to class,” he reminds you. Your eyes widen slightly as you remember the bell. You’re late.
“You’re a terrible influence, Munson,” you tell him, turning around quickly to open the closet door. Before you shuffle out, you barely hear the words he mutters to himself.
“Oh, you have no idea, Princess.”
~~~
The days pass in a blur. Eddie continues to keep his distance, but his silent presence nearby has become entirely too familiar. When you’re home alone at night, your mind drifts away from your homework and toward thoughts of him. On stage. Walking you to your car. Pinning you to the door of the AV closet. You try to keep your daydreams in check and not let them turn into fantasies, but more often than not, you’re starting to fail.
By Wednesday, you’re tired, distracted, and ready to go home. It’s been an awful day that started with waking up late and just spiraled out of control from there. You even had to stay late to finish a history paper that’s due tomorrow. You’re the kind of student who has papers done early, not the last minute. The stress of procrastination is wearing on you.
The parking lot is almost empty and the sun is starting to set by the time you make your way to your car. You throw your bag onto the passenger seat floor a little more violently than is necessary. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, turn the key, and… Click.
Your car won’t start.
You scream in frustration, hitting the heel of your palm against the steering wheel. This is not what you need right now.
“Stupid piece of shit!” You shout again. You try the key one more time, but it only clicks. “Fuck!” You climb back out of your car and slam the door shut, the loud bang giving you no satisfaction. You turn and lean your back on it, covering your face with your hands and resisting another scream. What the hell were you going to do now?
“I don’t want to alarm you,” a voice says from across the parking lot, slowly coming closer. Eddie. “But you look one inconvenience away from a felony.” You hear him get closer, but choose to keep your face covered. You feel your car rock just slightly as he copies your stance and leans on your car next to you. “And uh… it’s kinda working for me.” A surprised laugh bubbles up and escapes through your hands. You spread your fingers and peek through them, attempting a glare pointed in his direction. His smile is already softening. “Seriously though, you alright?” It’s much more gentle than you expected. “You’ve had that look since homeroom.”
“It’s been a bad day,” you groan, finally letting your hands fall to your sides. “And now my car won’t start.”
“Let me take a look,” he offers, already pushing up his sleeves.
“Do you even know how to fix a car?” you ask skeptically.
“Nope, not a clue.” Damn. Honestly, you were hoping for a different answer. He flashes you a wolfish grin and pushes off your car. “Pop the hood, Princess.”
You’re momentarily stunned, but shake yourself out and do as he asks. He has you do a couple of things; turn the key, try the engine. The same thing keeps happening. You get out of the car and join him in front of the hood.
He’s got one foot on the bumper, leaning inside of your car. He’s focused on what he’s doing and doesn’t notice how you’re staring at him. Your eyes start at his leg, perfectly propped up, roaming up to the curve of his ass that’s practically on display in his jeans. You linger only for a moment before your eyes drift up to his arms. He’s ditched his jacket, the sleeves of his shirt pushed haphazardly up to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare.
You knew he had tattoos, had seen them in passing, but you’d never really looked at them until now. There’s a cluster of bats at the top of his forearm, hand drawn and shifting with each movement of his arm. On the underside, peeking out near his wrist when he twists his arm is a demon-esque puppet, sharp-toothed and grinning. Unsettling and yet so very Eddie that it makes you like it.
Your gaze finishes on his hands. Veins bulging as he works, rings tapping against car parts. His fingertips are already stained with oil and grease. Something about the sight turns you on. Nimble, capable hands covered in grime and dark rings. Daydreams start filling your mind again. Fingertips leaving dirty trails on your skin. His inked demon looking down his arm at you as he reaches for your face.
He flexes his fingers, slowly. Deliberately. Then you hear a soft chuckle.
“You know, most people at least try to pretend they’re looking at the engine.” You look off to the side, away from him entirely, and tuck your hair back while giving a small clearing of your throat. “You need a jump,” he tells you, coming back out of the car and letting the embarrassing moment pass. “Battery’s dead.”
“Oh, okay.” You don’t know what that means, but you’re not about to tell him that.
“I’ve got jumper cables in my van.” He starts walking backwards into the parking lot. “Be right back.”
While he’s gone, you take a few deep breaths. Stop staring. You tell yourself. Stop fucking fawning. You get yourself in check as he pulls up in an old, rusted, piece of junk van that has loud music bleeding out of the cracks. He pulls it right up in front of your car and turns the volume down before cutting the engine.
He jumps out and calls to you, “Wanna come over here and help? Be something other than just devastatingly pretty?” He waggles his eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face.
You follow him to the back of the van and when he opens it, it’s a tangle of… things. Cords, amps, bottles, a flannel, among so many other items. He dives right in, pushing everything around until he comes up triumphantly with what you assume are the jumper cables. He shifts to the back of the van and holds them out to you.
“Hold these,” he tells you. You reach out and fumble them into your own arms. His fingers brush over yours and you force yourself not to think about it. He puts both hands on the sides of the van to crawl back out of it. You both go to the front of the vehicles and he carefully untangles the cables and hooks some ends to your car and some to his. He runs back into the van and turns it on. “And now, we wait.”
You look down at your hands and arms, now covered with a faint film of dust from the cables. He notices the look on your face and ducks into the van to pull out a rag. He hands it to you without saying anything. The dust comes off easily and you pass the rag back to him. He doesn’t just take the rag. His hand cradles yours for a moment longer than necessary, letting his fingers gently trace along the back of your hand before he takes the rag from you. It’s quick, subtle, but the gentle feel of him lingers and sends a small shiver down your spine.
You cross your arms over your chest and look around. The orange in the sky has faded and a cool colored dusk has set in. You really had stayed later than you meant to. You wonder why Eddie was here this late, but choose not to question it. Right time, right place.
You both settle into leaning back against the van’s sliding door, waiting until Eddie tells you it’s been long enough for the jump to have worked. His shoulder brushes against yours and neither of you move away. He twirls his rings around his fingers and you’re desperately looking anywhere else.
“If you didn’t know,” he breaks the comfortable silence, but doesn’t look at you. “We play every Tuesday.”
“Oh,” you mutter. You thought they might, but weren’t sure. “I wasn’t sure if the invite was a one-time deal.” He tilts his head as if considering.
“For some people it is.” Had he looked for you last night? Was he disappointed when you didn’t show? The idea that you could have been hanging out with him instead of sitting home alone just thinking about it leaves you feeling like you missed out.
“I will keep that in mind,” you tell him, feeling like jumping at another invite would be too much.
“Good.” He smiles and knocks his shoulder into yours playfully. “Let’s get your baby started.”
He has you get in and sure enough, it starts right up. You laugh in relief and hit the steering wheel in a much nicer manner than you had before.
“Oh thank god!” Eddie comes to your open door, smiling at your enthusiasm. “Thank you,” you say sincerely.
“Just don’t go telling people I’m some knight in shining armor,” he jokes, resting his forearm on the top of your car and ducking down a little to look at you. You go to respond, make a joke back to him when you see his eyes are locked onto your passenger seat. You look over and your stomach drops when you see it.
The Black Sabbath cassette tape.
You almost hadn’t bought it. It felt wrong bringing it to the cashier and making a quick comment about it being a gift for a distant cousin. I don’t know why they like that kind of music. It definitely isn’t for me. Your body itches to throw itself over to the seat and swat the tape onto the floor like you could undo him seeing it. You grip the steering wheel with both hands to keep still.
Eddie doesn’t say anything, but lets out a low, thoughtful hum. His attention drifts back to you and there’s a heat in his expression that sends flutters through your core. He doesn’t say it, but he looks pleased with you, his stare giving you praise you didn’t know you wanted until this moment. You’ll buy all of the metal music tapes if it earns you that look.
“See you tomorrow, Princess.” His voice is low, rough. He taps the hood of your car before leaning away and reaching for the door. “Don’t let me find you in a ditch.”
He lingers before he shuts the door gently, just like he had the other night. He rounds your car and gets back into the van. You take another deep breath before you manage to drive yourself away, but you get the feeling he’s still watching your car until you’re out of sight.
~~~
The next day goes much better. Your car’s working, your history paper gets turned in, and you slept great. By the time lunch rolls along, you’re feeling back to your normal self and filled with energy.
You’re pushing the vegetables on your tray around with your plastic spoon when your ears tune into the conversation happening at the table across from you. Eddie and his friends are there today. Normally, they wouldn’t be sitting so closely to Jason and the basketball team, but they all shuffled in late and it was the last table open. They’re discussing their setlist for next week when Jeff throws out, “What about the Sabbath cover we did two weeks ago? We killed that.”
And just like that, you and Eddie are looking at each other like you can’t help it. He’s resting his chin on his palm, fist covering most of his mouth, but you still see the gentle tick of his smile for you. You feel heat rise up your neck and onto your ears as you press your lips together harshly, biting back your own impulsive smile.
But then you catch movement to your right. Jason, sitting at the head of the table, is looking at you, eyes narrowed. The smile instantly dies from your lips, but the blush on your skin lingers. Jason follows where your eyes had been, to Eddie, then back to you. Silently, with only a furrow of his brow, he asks what the fuck was that?
You give Jason a quick shrug and the smallest shake of your head. What? Nothing. Your chin drops down and you’re suddenly fascinated by those vegetables in front of you. For the rest of lunch, you can feel your heart in your chest thumping just a little bit harder.
Nearing the end of lunch, you stand to discard your food and put away your tray at a nearby station. While there, you hear Eddie and his band still talking about their music. Their enthusiasm, their passion that keeps them talking about it makes you happy for them. They genuinely look like they’re having a good time.
When you put your tray down, Jason’s voice rings out louder than Eddie’s friends.
“Hey Munson!” he calls out. You stop in your tracks and Jason turns in his chair to face Eddie head on. “You freaks still pretending to play music in Brian’s mom’s garage?”
“Wow,” Eddie says dryly, not bothering to look at Jason. “That one again? Feels like you’re singing us your greatest hits of insults at this point.” He keeps picking apart a piece of bread and eating it without care. You see Jason’s jaw tighten.
“Just wondering when you’re going to grow up and get a real hobby.” The rest of your friends are tuned into the verbal spat, smiling and nodding along with their leader. You feel something brewing in your chest. And it’s not amusement.
“Funny,” Eddie comments. Finally, he turns to mimic Jason’s posture, turning in his own chair to face him. “You know, you spend all day bouncing a ball, and somehow that’s a personality?”
“At least I’ll make something of myself,” Jason retorts, his voice raising. “You just sit in your shitty trailer strumming that dumb guitar, pretending you’re ever going to be something.”
“Have you ever even seen him play?” Your voice, clear and sharp, surprises everyone. Yourself included. The noise in the cafeteria gets lighter, more people paying attention. You can’t stop yourself as you step quickly, coming to stand in front of them, eyes glued to Jason. “Because it’s fucking incredible.” You hear the words as you say them, knowing the moment they leave your lips that you’re in trouble.
“No, I haven’t,” Jason looks up at you with a hardened disbelief. “Have you?” he asks pointedly.
The moment sits heavy on your chest. You don’t look to Eddie. You can’t. You consider lying. You’ve been doing that more lately anyway, haven’t you? But you don’t want to. You want to see what Jason’s face does when you tell the truth.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “I have.” There are scoffs from your table of friends. Snickers from somewhere else in the room. And Jason’s mouth drops open just a fraction, eyes cold as stone. He has no retort for you. Your shoulders rise and fall with a breath. “You don’t have to understand it,” you tell him, voice quieter but not softer.
You don’t spare anyone else a look as you go to gather your things, Eddie included. You’re terrified of the look he may give you. You simply take your shoulder bag full of books and exit the cafeteria, trying not to let your sudden adrenaline make you run.
When you get out of the cafeteria, you make a sharp left, gravitating toward a smaller hallway, away from the main foot traffic. You take deep breaths as you go, focusing on the way your feet connect solidly with the linoleum floor.
Eddie’s voice calling your name spikes your adrenaline again. You spin around to find that he’s followed you. Only him. His eyes are wild, heated, and trained on you. His tongue is poking out of the corner of his slightly open mouth and his breathing is heavy.
“I’m fucking incredible?” he asks breathlessly as he comes closer. Eddie doesn’t stop this time. He doesn’t stop until your back is pressed against the cold lockers and his hands are sliding up your ribs. “You’re fucking incredible.”
He kisses you like he can’t live without it. His fingers grip your waist and pull you to him even though you’re already pressed against him. The moan you let out when his lips collide with yours is involuntarily. He doesn’t hesitate when he slips his tongue inside your mouth to taste you. One of his hands leaves your ribs and cups the side of your face, hooking his thumb under your chin and tilting your neck to the perfect angle for him to devour you.
You happily let him. You grip the edges of his denim jacket, fisting it in your fingers and pulling. Your body is on fire, aching for more. More of Eddie. More of this. Your back arches and you press your bottom half to his. He pulls his mouth from yours to whisper against your lips.
“Fuck, Princess,” he groans. “You have no idea what you do to me.” You lean up to kiss him again, but his hand on your jaw holds you back, twists your face to one side. “Sticking up for little ol’ me?” He dips his head to press his face into your neck. His tongue drags up the length of it and you feel your knees actually give out. His slots his thigh between yours, pushes into you even more just to keep you upright. You gasp when you feel him, grinding into your thigh. “Little miss perfect slumming it with the freak?” You let go of his jacket, a hand drifting into his hair and tangling in his curls. He kisses your neck roughly and he doesn’t even need to tilt your head this time, you’re doing it for him.
“Eddie.” His name slips past your lips in a whisper and he moans like it hurts.
“You’re such a good girl,” he praises you. You close your lips to hold back a whimper. “My good girl.”
When the words escape him, he pauses. You feel his entire body still as if his mind is finally catching up with what his body has been doing. His lips stop moving against your neck and his hands stop gripping you so tightly.
“Fuck,” he mutters. The word is filled with regret and you hate it. You give a tug to his curls to try to bring him back, but instead of a groan, he sighs. “I shouldn’t be pulling you into my shit.” He leans away and you have to stand on your own two feet again, desperately wishing he’d come back to you. “You deserve more than that.”
Through heavy breaths, he looks at you and you decide you hate this look. There’s longing and regret, but the fire is gone. Your hands are melting away from him and despite trying, you can’t seem to make any sound.
His stare dips to your lips and he leans in once more, gentle this time. He doesn’t open his lips above you or grind into you. He simply kisses you softly. When he pulls back this time, he presses his forehead to yours and both of you just breathe for a moment.
He releases you quickly, physically pushes against the lockers to propel himself back. The lights and sounds of the school come back to you. Anyone could have walked by and seen that. And you didn’t care.
“You should get to your next class,” he tells you, continuing to back away. You can hear the Princess he doesn’t say and you miss the sound of it already. You want to say something, anything to bring him back.
But instead you just watch him turn and disappear into the halls as the bell rings.
~~~
Eddie keeps his distance and you feel like it’s killing you. He doesn’t sit next to you in class and when you look for him in the cafeteria the next day, you can’t find him. The scene from the day before is now the running joke in your friend group. Did you see Munson’s face? And you! Incredible? Why would you ever say that? You got a thing for the freak?
You take it as best you can, but it doesn’t feel good. They’ve turned on you and you spend the weekend hiding out at home, wondering how you’re going to fix this. One minute you’re staring at the ceiling, convinced the whole escapade with Eddie was a mistake. Your one and only rebellious streak. You fell to the temptation and you won’t do it again. The next minute you’re rewriting the same line of a paper over and over, cursing your friends and vowing to cut them off, ready to change your entire identity.
Come Monday morning, you’re tired and irritated. No one has made a comment this morning, but you’ve only been here for a few minutes. You stop at your locker to drop off some books. When you open it, you notice a cassette case at the bottom of it, placed nicely in front. You scrunch your face before carefully picking it up, expecting it to be some kind of prank.
Scrawled on the case in black sharpie are the words “The EM Mix”. You’ve never taken note of Eddie’s handwriting before, but you have no doubt that it’s his. You look both ways to see if he’s lurking nearby, but you don’t catch any sight of him. You wish you had a portable player, because all you want to do now is hear what songs he put on this tape. You run your thumb over the case and then tuck it into your bag.
You thought maybe this meant he’d sit by you again, but when homeroom starts, he’s halfway across the room, not looking your way in the slightest. You try not to be too disappointed.
Later, during a passing period where you’re back at your locker trading out books, Jason comes over next to you and leans against the lockers with a clumsy bang. You startle at the sight of him and tense up, expecting more ridicule.
“Let me take you to the movies tomorrow night,” he offers.
“What?” Your brows knit together, not even sure you heard him right. He sighs heavily as if you’re being intentionally stupid.
“You know people are talking about you.” No shit. “I figured I’d save you from this becoming a whole thing.”
“A whole thing?” you repeat flatly, returning your attention to your locker, rearranging your books just to do something with your hands.
“Yeah,” he says confidently. “We go out together, get seen making out a little, and this whole Munson thing just… goes away.”
You can’t stop the way your face scrunches or the way your stomach twists viscerally at the image of Jason’s hands on you. It wasn’t that long ago that you were waiting for him, wanting this exact offer. But now? Now you hated the idea.
“No thanks,” you tell him sharply. The phrase was meant to be polite, but attitude slips out of your tone and he looks taken aback by it.
“I’m offering to help save your reputation.” He says it as if you didn’t understand his meaning the first time around. You round on him, spinning to face him fully.
“I don’t want saved.” You’re not raising your voice in any capacity, but you stand unwavering in your words. He scoffs in disbelief.
“You’re going to throw out your whole social standing for him?”
You think about Eddie. His hands playing his guitar. The ink on his skin. The way he put his hand on the small of your back and hadn’t let you feel alone in a new place. His laugh. His smirk. His kiss setting you on fire. You choose not to answer Jason. You close your locker and turn to walk away.
“He’s not worth it,” he warns, trying once last time to change your mind. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind and you have no intention of going back now.
“He’s worth more than you,” you throw over your shoulder before leaving Jason behind.
~~~
You find his trailer pretty easily. There’s only one trailer park in town and you recognize his van parked out front of one of the larger trailers. Some of his neighbors stare at you as you drive in, your nice car making you stick out in the most awkward way. You ignore them and keep going.
Your knock sounds too soft on the hard plastic door and you’re not sure he’ll be able to hear it. So, you knock again more firmly, louder. There’s movement inside. The trailer rocks a little and you hear his voice coming through as the door swings open.
“If this is about my parking again, I swear to god…” His voice dies out when he sees you standing there at the bottom of the rickety steps. The trailer door slams into its side. “…Hi.” He sounds unsure of himself. His eyes look around; at your car, the road, down both sides of the trailer. “You okay?”
“I wanted to see you.” Your explanation seems to confuse him more if anything, but he still steps aside, motioning to let you inside.
You expected the trailer to be dirtier than it is, which then makes you feel bad for expecting the worst. It’s fairly clean, just lived-in. There’s a smell of smoke on the walls and it’s dark, the blinds pulled down. It gives you the same vibes as The Hideout and you don’t hate it.
“Showing up here alone?” Eddie says, his voice tense despite trying to keep the words light and playful. He closes the door, but you catch him give one final look around outside first. “Pretty sure that’s how people end up in the local paper.”
“Eddie.” The sound of your voice being so firm and using his first name snaps him to attention. “Jason asked me out.” His face falls for a microsecond.
“Ah,” he muses with a sudden lack of humor. “And you’ve come here to… what?” He waves his hand around and purses his lips. He’s angry. “Let me down easy? You really don’t need to do that.” He finally moves away from the door, walking (more like stomping) over to the kitchen table to shuffle bottles and cans around as if he suddenly needs to clean.
“I said no.” He pauses his motions, carefully putting the things back down and looking at you over his shoulder.
“You… said no?” He repeats slowly. Then in disbelief, “Why?” For a moment, the only thing you can do is shrug and let out a sigh.
“Because he’s not you,” you finally whisper. He turns to face you again and laughs, defeated and untrusting.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he tells you. You don’t hesitate, simply walk up to him, slowly and deliberately. He doesn’t stop you and doesn’t move away, the backs of his thighs pressing against the table.
“Yes, I do,” you insist softly. You don’t touch him, just crowd into his space and watch his breathing turn uneven being this close to you again. “I want you.” He swallows hard and his back straightens.
“You want this?” he challenges. “Do you know what you’re asking for?” His eyes darken and he reaches to brush your hair back from your forehead. You lean into his touch. “What I’ll do to you?” His voice is taking on that low, gravelly tone.
“I want it,” you whisper, your hands tracing up his ribs to his chest. He smiles shakily and rests his forehead on yours.
“What happened to not wanting to obliterate your social standing, thank you very much?”
“I changed my mind.” His hand traces to the back of your head, cradling it before tugging your hair gently and tilting your face up to his. “Ruin my reputation, Eddie,” you plead. “Ruin me.”
“Fuck, Princess.”
He kisses you slowly, letting you feel every restrained movement. He steps forward, closing the distance between you. You lift your hands up around his neck to make room for his body to press against yours.
You melt into him and he groans softly. He barely lifts his mouth from yours. Your foreheads rest against each other, both of your eyes closed. His hand that had been on the back of your head, comes down to your jaw, tracing it with a featherlight touch. His fingers gently continue a trail down your neck and you remember what it was like having his lips there. You shiver and tangle your hands in his hair, accidentally tugging slightly at the base of his curls. He moans, completely involuntarily and needy.
“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he whispers against your lips, restraint constricting his voice. “Tell me to stop. Or I’m not going to.” You swallow. Lick your lips. Electricity shoots through you.
“Don’t stop,” you tell him. “I want it to be you.” He pulls back and for a split moment you worry you’ve scared him away. But the look he gives you is anything but scared.
“You mean you’ve never…?” he clarifies. You shake your head no. Of course you’d never had sex before. That’s not what straight A students did. “And you want me to…?” Growing impatient, you bite your lip and nod. His eyes drag down your face, to as much of your body as he can see with him pressed to you, then back up to your face. “Fuck.”
He kisses you again and doesn’t stop until he’s backed you into his bedroom with the backs of your knees bumping into the edge of his bed. You always thought you’d feel nervous your first time, but you’re not. Not when Eddie’s hands are on you, gently guiding you down onto his sheets. Not when you help him remove your clothes or even when you reach for his belt yourself.
Eddie is draped over you, face buried near your chest, deliberately keeping his hips away from yours, but sometimes with the right shift, you can feel his hard cock bump into you. It’s killing you, heat coursing through your skin.
“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to, Princess,” he whispers, peppering kisses along your bare collarbone. All you can let out is a needy whimper. If he stops, you may actually die. He keeps his attention on your neck and shoulders as one of his hands starts to trace down between your legs. His fingers are warm, but the rings he’s kept on are cold and make you twitch under his touch.
“Please touch me,” you breathe.
“So polite,” he teases back before dragging his tongue up your neck again , utterly enjoying how wrecked you sound. “You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters almost to himself. “That all for me?” His fingers stroke through your folds slowly. Your thighs tense around him and your body begs for more. He pulls away, kneeling between your legs to look at you. He notches a finger at your entrance and then waits. He tilts his head, asking a silent question. You nod frantically, giving him permission without needing to think about it.
You moan at the feeling as he sinks a finger into you. Your head tilts back, eyes screwing shut and arching up to him. It feels… amazing. It quells the fire burning inside of you if just for a moment. He chuckles lightly, keeping his finger buried inside of you, letting his rings cool your heated skin.
“You doing okay there?” There’s a smile in his words, like he knows the answer already. You bite your lip and involuntarily buck into his hand.
“Feels so good,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” He slowly pulls his finger back, greedily watching how your body responds. Your walls tighten around him, trying to keep him there and your hands twist in his dark sheets. He pumps his finger back inside you, building a steady pace as he grips your thigh with his other hand, keeping you open for him. “Just wait until you feel my cock filling you up.” His voice is low and restrained. The tips of his fingers dig into your thigh as he slowly begins to finger you.
Pleasure runs through you, spreading from your center into the rest of you. He feels so fucking good. You look at Eddie, his eyes glued to your pussy, jaw slack. You reach out and put a hand on his chest, drawing his attention up to you.
“Please, Eddie,” you beg, pushing your hips into his hand, chasing the pleasure, wanting more. He grins wickedly.
“I love when you say my name,” he admits. “If only people could hear little miss perfect begging for me.” He groans and lifts his hand from your thigh. You watch as he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it once. Twice. Then squeezes it at the base. “Can you take another?” he asks. “Want to stretch you out for me. You’re so fucking tight.” The praise in his voice makes you glow. Something deep in the pit of your core hums and you’re pretty sure he’d do anything he asked.
“Give me another.” You nod at him again. You want to keep your eyes on him, but when he slips a second finger into you, your eyes roll back and another moan leaks out. “Fuck, Eddie.” Your hand leaves his chest and grips his sheets again.
He does as he promised, spreading his fingers just enough to stretch you. You can hear him breathing heavily, controlled. When you manage to open your eyes, you see his hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, physically holding himself back. He pumps his fingers slowly, dragging out your pleasure. You’re practically writhing beneath him, wanting more, craving the full feeling you know he’s going to give you.
“I’m ready.” You hear yourself say it, whiny and small. He stills his fingers and you let out a sigh that sounds more like a whimper.
“Are you sure?” He slowly pulls his fingers out. “You could still leave. No one would know.” You watch as his eyes darken and his voice gets raspy. “Know how you let me feel your soft pussy.” He swipes his fingers up and down, reveling in your slick. Another desperate moan falls from your lips. “How you turned into an absolute fucking mess for me. Fuck, you look so good. So wrecked. I’ve fucking wrecked you.” He leans forward, replacing his fingers with the tip of his cock.
Your breath quickens before it ceases all together. Your body stills and stiffens. Eddie immediately withdraws and lifts his eyes to your face, the darkness that was in his expression replaced with something softer.
“Easy, Princess,” he coos, keeping himself in one hand and gently stroking the junction of your thigh with the other. “I can go slow for you.” You melt under his touch, muscles relaxing. “Do you want your hands on the headboard or on me?”
“You.” It comes out breathless and your hips tip up to meet him again. You don’t wait for instruction. Your hands reach for him and he hinges forward so you can curl your fingers into his shoulders. “I want to feel you.”
“I’m going to fill you up so good.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to change your mind. The small space between you feels charged, alive. You take a single breath, not out of nervousness, but in anticipation. Your body has already made your decision for you.
“Do it. Please.”
If you didn’t know him, the wolfish grin he gives you might be scary, but it’s not. It’s just so purely Eddie. He guides himself to your pussy and pushes in slowly. Even after he’d stretched you with his fingers, he feels big. The pressure of him filling you makes you tense for a moment.
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs. The pet name feels soft, intimate, and you feel yourself happily succumbing to him. “There you go.” He looks down between you, watches his cock ease into your pussy. “Taking me so well.” You hold onto him, nails scraping against his skin and leaving red marks, but he doesn’t care. “Almost there… Fuck, yes.” He groans when he finally bottoms out in you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He releases himself and put his hand next to your head to hold himself up, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
Your steady breathing turns into panting and your hands slip up behind his neck to pull his mouth to yours. The kiss is messy and raw. His tongue slips into your mouth, but he can’t keep a rhythm and it melts into both of you panting into each other while your lips brush. You feel him throb inside of you and your legs squeeze his hips in return.
“I need to move,” he breathes. “Please, baby. Can I move?” He’s the one begging now and hearing him like this does something to you. You shift your hips just to hear the destroyed moan he lets out. You lift your head just enough to bring your lips to his ear.
“Fuck me, Eddie.”
He thrusts shallowly at first, desperately trying to keep his hips slow for you. You don’t want slow though. Slow is setting you on fire and not building the release you so desperately need. So you give his hair a little tug on the back of his neck.
“Princess…” He gives a warning growl, the exact reaction you were hoping for. You find a grin on your face that rivals his earlier one as you give another pull on his hair. His hips stutter against yours and you grind back against him. “I’m already so close,” he confesses, pulling back.
“Good,” is the only thing you whisper, carting your hand through his curls.
The next time he thrusts forward, he does it harder. Faster. He starts pumping into you with a new fervor. Filth tumbles from his lips like he can’t stop it. “Fuck, baby. Squeezing me so tight. So fucking wet, Princess. Shit. Fucking made for me.” His words fill you with a twisted pride, tightening something in your center as his cock fills you over and over and over.
“Eddie,” you gasp, feeling your orgasm just over the edge. He doesn’t hesitate, slipping his hand back between your bodies and pressing his thumb to your clit and making small, tight circles. Your vision goes white as your body explodes around him. Your legs lock around his hips, hands clinging to his back as you cry out.
He follows you almost immediately. His thrusts are hindered by your legs locked around him, but they’re erratic anyways. Your walls squeezing him so tightly sets him off and he buries himself deep inside of you with a strangled groan. You can feel his cock twitch as he spills into you and it sends small aftershocks through your body.
He stays there for a minute, letting you both catch your breath as you come down from the high. Your bodies are slick with sweat and you notice his curls clinging to his face. You gently push the hair off his face and watch as reality comes back into his eyes. He looks at you like he can’t believe any of that just happened. You lift up and give him a short kiss.
When he finally has the strength to untangle himself from you, he steps off his bed and pulls a black t-shirt from his closet. Bringing it back to the bed, he moves between your legs again.
“It’s not exactly a warm towel,” he says after clearing his throat. “But it’s clean.” You don’t protest as he cleans you up, wiping his cum from your legs where it’s leaked out of your pussy. You lean back and let him touch you gently as you try to regain control or your body. You’re almost positive you hear me him murmur, “So god damn pretty.” When he’s satisfied, he tosses the shirt off to the side and climbs into his bed beside you.
“That was…” You struggle for the right word.
“Fucking incredible,” he fills in. You let out a sharp laugh.
“Yeah,” you agree through a smile. “Fucking incredible.”
You turn your heads to look at each other. He reaches out to your face and kisses you again. Slower this time, more gently. You let your eyes close and just enjoy the warmth of him. He gives your shoulder a gentle push and turns you to your side, curling up behind you and putting an arm around your middle, burying his face in your hair.
“Spend the night,” he mumbles after a few minutes of comfortable, recovering silence.
“What?” you chuckle.
“Wayne’s gone for the week.” His voice sounds soft, sleepy. “I could take you to school in the morning. Shit, you can climb out of my van in today’s clothes in front of everyone.” He grinds against you even though his cock is soft. “Make sure they all know where you were. That you’re mine.” You smile and hold his arm tighter to you. The idea is tempting you have to admit. You picture yourself at school, all the incredulous looks you’ll get with Eddie’s arm thrown over your shoulder as you walk down the hall. The looks of horror when you eagerly kiss him in the parking lot.
“My parents will kill me if I don’t come home tonight,” you say regretfully. He groans in a much more childish way than before and it makes you giggle.
“Such a fucking Princess.”
~~~
It’s dark out by the time you leave. You’d spent another hour lying naked in his bed, cuddling, talking and laughing about life, before climbing out and eating leftover pizza from his fridge. You can’t explain it, but you feel happier and more free than you ever had surrounded by your friends or even your family.
Who knew Eddie Munson would be the one to make you feel this way?
He walks you to your car, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and walking a little staggered, a little performative. His cadence is slow, drawing out the very short walk and you’re reminded of him doing the same thing at The Hideout.
“So, despite my earlier slightly over-enthusiastic need to claim you like a caveman,” he starts with a smile. “It might be easier for you if we lay low at school for now.”
“It might be,” you agree, nodding along with him. “But I don’t care.” His smile widens for you. “The whole world can know.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” He opens your car door for you and waves you in. “If you decide you don’t want to be stared at just yet, I get it.” Before you get in your car, you put your hand on his shoulder and stand on your toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Let them stare.” The blush that rises onto his neck is utterly adorable. Of all things, a simple kiss on his cheek is what flusters him. You press your lips together to bite back your laugh. He nods quickly and again frantically waves you into your car.
“See you tomorrow,” he tells you as you get in.
“Hey,” you call before he closes the door for you. He raises an eyebrow at you. “I hear there’s this metal band that plays at The Hideout on Tuesdays.” He cocks his head to the side, amused. “Meet you there?”
“I have an in with that band,” he plays along. He gives you a wink. “I’ll save you a seat.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not going to lie... I'm already think about doing a "Side B" to this fic. AKA write it from Eddie's POV....
Please let me know what you think. I thrive off of validation.
Friday, 1/23 (likely late afternoon, early evening) - Eddie Munson/Reader Oneshot
Wednesday 2/4 - new chapter of Sweet of the Night
February dates TBD: the new chapter of Hold Your Breath and a Geralt/Reader Oneshot.
I’m also going through my asks from the last 5 years to see if there are any requests I can fulfill. Honestly, if you have anything you want to see, send it my way. I’m officially active again!
Okay. The extreme weather caused an E-Learning day which set back my entire plan to have the Eddie oneshot posted tonight. I'm not 100% sure if I'll be able to do to tonight or if I need to push to tomorrow. I want to make sure I can edit it at least once. In the meantime, please enjoy another snippet.
~~~
“So?” He lets the question linger between you. “What’d you think? Your first metal show,” he prompts after you stay quiet.
“It… wasn’t what I expected,” you answer. It’s the truth, but you realize it sounds too ambiguous, too polite. “I actually really enjoyed it.” He claps loudly, smiles wide, and pumps a fist in the air, making you laugh.
“I knew it!” he says. “I knew you were having a good time.” You nod and take the drink from where he set it.
“Yeah I did,” you admit. “Some of the songs were really good. Others I’m not sure I understand, but the energy was fun.” He props his chin on his fist, elbow on the table, head tilting just slightly at you.
“Black Sabbath,” he says.
“What?” You squint at him, not sure you heard him right. “The song you liked,” he explains. “Towards the end. The cover we did.” Oh. That one. “It’s by Black Sabbath.”
Friday, 1/23 (likely late afternoon, early evening) - Eddie Munson/Reader Oneshot
Wednesday 2/4 - new chapter of Sweet of the Night
February dates TBD: the new chapter of Hold Your Breath and a Geralt/Reader Oneshot.
I’m also going through my asks from the last 5 years to see if there are any requests I can fulfill. Honestly, if you have anything you want to see, send it my way. I’m officially active again!
“You always this jittery, or am I just special?” he teases. You scoff and go to take a step back from him, but your heel bumps into the shelves, preventing you from moving.
“You’re not special.”
“I don’t know,” he muses, brow lifting and lips turning down in an exaggeration of a contemplating expression. “Your friends like to pay a lot of attention to me. Kinda makes me feel special.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Never!” He uncrosses his arms, leans off the door, and puts his hands in his jean pockets. “I’m just the school freak.” He says it with a wild smile as if it’s a moniker filled with honor.
You decide not to interact with him anymore, but the silence grows bigger and bigger and you feel the tension in your body. How long would it be until someone came and saved you? The closet is not big enough for you two to just… be here forever. You consider sliding to the side, going to the supply table Eddie was originally perched on. When you look at him again, strictly to size up how much room you have to get by, you notice he’s watching you intently, head tilted curiously to the side.
“What?” you snap, uneasy under his gaze.
“Just wondering what it would be like,” he says softly.
“What what would be like?”
“If you took a walk on the wild side.” Your breath hitches in your chest as he takes just a half step closer. “Listened to metal.” He leans a breath closer. “Joined Hellfire.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Ditched a pep rally with the school freak.” He widens his eyes and grins at you before giving another casual shrug. This one is smaller than his others, less theatrical. “If you feel like trying out the dark side, I’d be willing to help you out,” he offers, seemingly unaware that you’ve stopped breathing. “Purely out of the goodness of my heart,” he adds, lightening the tension just enough so you can take in a breath. You catch yourself before a smile tilts onto your lips. “Who knows, you might like it.”
“No, thanks.” You scoff to cover a small laugh, before clearing your throat and straightening your back. “I’m good with not obliterating my social standing.” You say it a little sharply, meaning to aim it as an insult, but it doesn’t faze him.
“That’s a shame.” He pauses for just a beat and his hands come out of his pockets. You have the sudden, unexpected wonder of what would happen if he reached out to touch you. “I think you’d be good at being bad.”
---
New year. New goals. Here's to my comeback year! Stay tuned for a full one-shot.
Are you still willing to right for Riddick? Because like... I could definitely use something slutty about that man 🥵 maybe you're neighbors on a planet he's lying low on and he gets a little obsessed by you? Or really anything with him!
Hell. Yes. Thank you. *please note* this is completely unedited. I didn't even re-read it before posting.
It started as a curiosity; the pretty woman living in the multi-tenant building across from where he’s crashing for a while. He needed something to pass the time and you’d caught his eye. So, he watched. Watched you as you came and left for work, as you made yourself dinner with the curtains open, as you carefully closed those curtains before changing for the night. You probably didn’t even realize when you kept the light on that it created a stunning silhouette of your body through those curtains. A silhouette that he could see perfectly. One that tempted him to creep inside and run his hands over your skin.
But he could only watch. He was in hiding and his face was far too recognizable, too prominent on the streets to risk interacting with you in any way. Not that he’d even know how to interact with you. You looked nice. Respectable. He was neither. You probably dreamed of a sweet boyfriend who would sweep you off your feet and make love to you. But him? He went to bed dreaming about breaking in and waking you up by covering your mouth with his hand the same moment he shoves his cock into you. And as much as he wanted to do that, it still wasn’t worth having the local authorities called and his hiding blown.
The only thing that changes his mind is when he realizes that maybe you’re not as sweet as you project.
He’s watching you from his window, just like always, when a man comes to your door. A man that looks too much like a merc even though he tries not to. Merc’s aren’t uncommon, but he hasn’t seen one in this neighborhood in the weeks he’s been here and his neck prickles in warning. Something’s not right.
You come down and greet the merc and Riddick’s eyes narrow, breath becoming short and angered. What in the fuck were you doing talking to a merc? You step aside, letting the man in and just before you turn to follow him, your eyes flicker to the window. To Riddick.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he whispers to himself. There’s no way you can see him through the tinted window, but that little look, the one that holds more fire than sweetness, is unmistakable. You know he’s there. And you just invited a merc over.
Fucking bitch.
~~~
Riddick waits until the suns go down. Waits until his host goes to bed along with most everyone else on the street. Ther merc has long left your place and you’ve gone through your nightly routine, settled into bed well over an hour ago. That’s when he creeps across the street and through your window.
Leaving his goggles in his pocket, he can see everything in clear detail. Your living room is casual, tidy. Staged. He hadn’t noticed before just how forcibly normal it all looks. Everything has its place, but it has no personality. There’s no pictures on the walls, no art or personal touches. He curses himself for never noticing before he starts to creep towards your bedroom.
The door is open and he stands in the frame for a moment, thinking about how often he fantasized about being right here for a very different reason. He’d wanted to strip your sheets down slow and soak in your body before making you shake beneath him. Now, he kind of wants to wrap his hands around your neck and watch the light fade from your eyes. And maybe, just maybe that thought still bleeds into fucking you hard and rough before he kills you.
He only think about it for a few moments, but it’s enough for him to lower his guard too much. It’s about a half second after he realizes the lump in your sheets is misshapen and unbreathing that he feels the gun at the back of his neck. It makes his lips quirk up in a small smile.
“Think real hard about that,” he growls out. “That’s going to make a lot of noise and one hell of a mess. Plus... I’m worth more alive.”
“You couldn’t just wait one more night?” you ask him bitterly. “One more night and they would have grabbed you up, paid me a nice finder’s fee, and hitched me a ride out of here.”
“Or that guy would have ended up dead and you would still get nothing.”
“There was a group. Not one guy. I’m not stupid enough to think one merc was going to take you.” He chuckles a little.
“One guy, ten guys. Doesn’t matter. Always ends up the same.” He cautiously turns his head to look at you from the corner of his eye, confident you’re not going to shoot him dead right here. “What’s your next move, pretty girl?” Your eyes harden, clearly not a fan of the nickname. It only makes him like it even more. “You gonna wake the neighbors by shooting me? Or are you gonna wake them when I make you scream?”
Your momentary surprise at the dark layer of innuendo in his voice gives him time to spin around on you, grabbing the gun right out of your hands and throwing it across the room. Before you can react, he’s shoved you back into the hall, up against the wall with his hand coming up around your neck.
It’s hard to explain the satisfaction he feels pressing against you, the woman he’s watched and dreamed about. The woman who apparently watched him right back and then betrayed him standing on her toes, her hands wrapping around his wrist, trying feebly to pull his hand from her throat. He smiles viciously as he squeezes. Unable to stop himself, he leans in and runs his nose along your jaw, taking in way you smell. Something sweet and bitter at the same time. Something warm.
“How-” you choke out, voice ragged and hoarse. He eases up his grip, just slightly.
“What was that, pretty girl?” he whispers in your ear. You suck in a deep breath before trying again.
“How are you supposed to make me scream if I can’t breathe?”
He pauses. Well, this just took an interesting turn. He lets his body come off survival mode to reevaluate. Your chest arching into him. His leg having slipped between your thighs, hardening cock pressing to your hip. Fuuuck.
“You want me to make you scream?” he asks. You don’t answer him, but flatten your feet on the floor, bringing yourself down onto his leg, practically grinding down on him.
The hand around your neck slants upwards to grip your jaw possessively. He turns your head sharply to the side allowing his mouth full access to the side of your neck. Shivers run down your spine when he latches on, biting sharply then sucking and smoothing his tongue over the small expanse of your skin.
You shouldn’t be as turned on as you are with a killer, a man who came here to kill you, holding you down and pressing his knee into your pussy. And yet your brain seems to have left the building, replaced by this primal desire to have him take you against this wall. A most slips through your lips.
“Set up across the street. Acted all innocent. Sicced mercs on me,” he growls your sins against your skin. His grip shifts again from your jaw to your chin, yanking your face back to look at him. “Then you thought about trying to kill me.” His thumb runs over your bottom lip, pulling it down crudely. “And here you stand still, blood and organs in your body. Limbs attached. Heart still beating.” His silver eyes watch your mouth. “I think you owe me a thank you.”
You slowly dip your head down, taking the tip of his thumb between your lips. His eyes darken, pushing his thumb further into your willing mouth, settling on your tongue. When you start to suck on him, bob your head just a little on him, he snarls almost hungrily. His other hand lands heavily on your shoulder and starts pushing you down.
“There’s a good girl,” he praises as you sink to your knees, his thumb gently popping from your mouth. His fingers slide up, fisting in the hair at the back of your head as his other hand goes to the front of his pants. There’s a retort somewhere on the tip of your tongue, but your voice has stopped working.
And once he frees himself from his pants, your mouth is on him, too full to be worried about speaking. You don’t even know for sure if he pulled you to him or if you simply opened your mouth and swallowed him down on your own. He’s thick and heavy as his hips give a few involuntary thrusts, threatening to choke you in a very different way than he had a few minutes ago.
“So fucking pretty,” he moans above you and the praise makes you even more eager. Your pussy is aching, begging for relief, but instead of allowing yourself to slip a hand between your legs, you put both hand on his thighs. Using him as leverage, you start to slide your mouth back and forth on him, sucking hard, flicking your tongue over him. You’re rewarded with him tipping his head back while he bites back another groan while he twists his hand through your hair.
He starts to guide you, roughly with that hand. He pulls and pushes you in time with his thrusts, taking back the control and fucking your face. Your eyes start to water and you gag when he hits the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop. He looks down at you, a pathetic mess taking his dick so well, and feels himself start to swell.
He pulls his cock away from you suddenly and you gasp for air you’d forgotten you need. Any trace of a smile is gone from his face as he stares down at you. People had referred to him as an animal and you finally see it. That’s all he is right now. And as you open your mouth and stick your tongue out in offering to him, you realize that may be all you are too right now.
“Stand up,” he commands. “Hands on the wall.” You obey without a second thought, bending slightly at the waist as your palms hit the plaster. He doesn’t bother to pull your pants down, simply rips his way through the wet material between your legs. You whimper when he runs his fingers over your bare pussy. “Fucking soaked for me,” he taunts. You press back against him shamelessly, trying to angle yourself so his fingers slip inside of you, but he doesn’t allow it. Instead he pulls his hand back.
The feel of his fingers is quickly replaced by the feel of the head of his cock notching itself in their place. He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t give you warning. He slams his hips forward, forcing his cock inside of you in one thrust.
“Fuck,” you moan out, finally finding your voice. Even as wet as you are, it’s rough and he stretches you wide. There’s a twinge of pain, a bit of pressure, and you fucking love the way it feels. “Riddick,” you breathe into the wall. He answers with a growl and a possessive squeeze on your hips.
He holds you still as he starts to fuck you. Just like he’s done everything tonight, he fucks you with a mix of anger and desire. He fucks you like he craves you. And he fucking hates you for it.
“Don’t stop,” you beg him. His dick curves just right inside of you and each time he slams into you, you feel it push you closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm. “Please don’t stop.”
“I wish I could,” he grits out through grinding teeth. “Make you suffer for the shit you did.” You whimper again, afraid he may actually do it. One of your hands darts for your clit in panic, rushing to finish yourself off before he can pull away. “No, no.” He takes your hand and pins it back up to the wall. “Can’t fucking stop,” he admits, hips losing rhythm for just a moment as he leans into your back to press his lips to your ear. “You’re so fucking tight. Feel so good.” His fingers interlock with your own and you squeeze him tightly, legs starting to shake.
“Riddick.” Your voice is small, quiet and he thrusts even harder. He rips his hand away from yours and his fingers find your clit, making small, firm circles.
“Scream for me,” he demands. “Scream for me while I fill your cunt with cum.”
“Fuck,” you pant, feeling the orgasm right there.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he coaxes, hips sputtering again. “Give me what I want. Wanna feel that pussy come on my cock.”
“Oh fuck, Riddick,” you scream suddenly as the orgasm crashes down on you. It washes over you unrelentingly. Your thighs shake, his hips pinning against yours as he comes the only thing keeping you upright. He spills himself buried deep inside of you, fingers stilling against your clit and bruising your hip.
And then he pulls out slowly, holding just the tip of his dick in you before gently pushing back in. He repeats this a few times until you crumble beneath him, collapsing forward onto the wall and pulling yourself away from him. For the first time all night, he lets you.
You’re both breathing heavy, trying to let your minds catch up with whatever the fuck you just did with each other. Vision blurry and mind swimming, you turn to put your back to the wall, willing your legs to stop vibrating.
“You were trying to hitch a ride outta here?” is the first thing he says to you and his voice is much clearer than yours when you respond.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Grab whatever shit you need. We’ll leave in ten minutes.” He tucks himself back into his pants and steps away, headed towards your living room. Or maybe your kitchen. Fuck if you know anything right now.
“What?” you ask dumbly. He looks back at you and smirks, thoroughly enjoying how fucked out you are right now.
“I’ve got a ride off this planet. You coming or not, pretty girl?”
“You’re leaving?” You swear you’re normally more coherent than this, even after an orgasm. He barely contains rolling his eyes.
“Don’t have much of a choice,” he says before once again smirking at you. “Some bitch blew my cover.”
So I’m not dead... just not working on any of my WIPs because well... that’s who I am.
Instead, I’m working on a Geralt/Reader slow burn. But at more of a speed run pace. Excerpt below. This happens about 8k words in and I have at least that many more words to write. It’s also got the bodyguard trope to it.
It’s not until your finger gently passes over his nipple and he lets out a low growl that you realize you’re running your hands quite intimately over a naked man.
You recoil at the sudden consciousness of your actions, pulling away from him as if you were burned. Your instinct to duck your chin in shame betrays you as looking down through the water shows you a fair outline of his bottom half. You hold in a gasp and snap your head back up, finding yourself looking at his face.
“I’m sorry,” you say, a little wobbly in both your voice and your legs now. “That was... highly inappropriate of me.”
Are you planning on continuing The Sweet of Night? Sorry if I missed a post saying if you were stopping or something else 😅
I am! Sometime.
I’m honest with all of you when I say I am SLOW on updates. My last multi-chapter series took me four years to complete. But I can confidently say that unless I suddenly die, I WILL finish it at some point.
Eliot used to never go to bed before Parker and Hardison. He didn’t like leaving them while he slept. But over time, he loosened up as he grew confident they would be alright and the three of them fell into a routine. Hardison always crashed first and that man was always out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. Eliot followed sometime after, usually with a book in tow until he was ready to actually sleep and in the middle of the night, Parker climbed into bed between them.
But Hardison wasn’t there anymore, at least not for a while, and while they’d all been separated in every combination of the three before, this time felt different. The first night Parker came to bed without Hardison down in New Orleans, Eliot froze. She curled into his side and threw her arm over his middle and he felt the same way he did the first time she’d chosen to crawl into his bed in a hotel room instead of Hardison’s, only this time, Hardison wasn’t there across the room to get the okay from. It felt oddly like cheating, like he was simultaneously stealing Hardison’s girl and cheating on Hardison himself. He didn’t like it.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Parker mumbled into the cotton of his shirt. She unburied her face long enough to clearly and softly ask,” Do you need to call him?” She rested her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with an understanding he would have never thought she’d have when he first met her. He suspected she’d already called Hardison herself which was enough for him.
“Nah,” he told her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m alright.” She nodded once and snuggled back into him. “Night Parker.” He smiled lightly and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
~~~
Should I turn this into a thing? The new show has reignited my love for all three of them so hard.
Description: Learning Christmas is engaged was not part of your evening plans.
Warnings/Labels: None
Approx. Word Count: 3,700
A/N: Thanks for hanging in with me for this one. I had quite a bit of fun writing this. Now, there's a bit of Lacy being a bitch and I really don't portray her as a good person which I feel a little bad about but... I just didn't like her character and it was too easy to make her the "villain" of the story. So hopefully that doesn't turn anyone off too much.
Part One
Part Two
-
It’s been a couple of months since that night at your apartment. Lee officially broke it off with Lacy and almost immediately after you were both pulled into jobs. You’d seen each other and talked since then, but you never had the privacy to actually talk about what, if anything, was going on with you two. It should have filled you with anxiety not knowing, but instead you managed to embrace it and just have fun.
Nights with the boys became a lot more charged than they ever had before. The flirtations were no longer hidden or masked, though you can admit you both turned it down when Barney was around. Lee used no subtlety in making sure he was seated next to you, even going so far as to tell another of the guys to move out of the way. You, in turn, weren’t subtle about always touching him. The team isn’t dumb. They picked up on it, but most of them kept their mouths shut or only made sly comments here or there which usually earned them a middle finger or an insult in return.
Honestly, you’re just enjoying the ride. There’s a rush of adrenaline when he sends a wink your way or when he leans into your touch that you can’t get enough of. There’s more than just a whisper of a dream behind everything either of you do. There’s hope, even a promise, of something more around the corner. It’s thrilling.
Tonight, you’re at the bar, gathered around a circular table just off the small dancefloor. The night is young and you’re not even a full drink in yet when the table goes quiet and stares at the trouble that just walked through the door. The way Lee grinds his jaw tells you exactly what you’ll see when you turn in your chair and sure enough, when you do, you see Lacy standing there in a short floral dress, eyes scanning the bar and very clearly looking for a certain someone. The moment she finds your table, her back straightens and she looks away quickly, acting as though she either didn’t see Lee or didn’t care.
You can see Lee’s pissed. You’re not a fan of her waltzing in here uninvited either, but you know there’s a better way to handle it than letting her get under his skin.
“Hey,” You nudge him with your foot underneath the table. It’s enough to pull his eyes from watching her strut up to the bar. “Don’t worry about her,” you tell him firmly before flashing him a flirtatious smile. “Focus on me.” You run your foot up the side of his leg and then back down. He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t even crack a smile, but he holds your stare as he takes a drink of his beer and you know he’s in.
She sits her happy ass at the bar as if she belongs and appears to be oblivious to the questioning and somewhat hostile looks being thrown her way. This isn’t a bar you just stumble into and stay at. Lee waves off a couple of men, signaling to leave her be for now. No real reason to cause a scene. Let her have her fun and look like a fool.
Your pops hasn’t shown up yet tonight, so you don’t mind making a show of scooting your chair up next to Lee’s while Lacy orders a drink. Lee just smirks and throws an arm casually over the backrest of your chair. Some of the table shake their heads, others chuckle to themselves, but as always, no one outright says anything. You cross your legs under the table towards him and feel his knee nestle in close to yours.
Lee purposely keeps his eyes away from the bar and instead, lets you take the occasional glance her way, taking a bit of pleasure and humor at the way you smile knowingly back at him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a thrill out of being so open with your flirting and when Lee’s fingers gently brush across your shoulder, you have a hard time not just leaning into his side.
You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline, the final swig of your current beer giving you some liquid courage, or just a bursting desire to take your game a little further, but you lean towards Lee and turn your head to whisper in his ear. His fingers pull on your shoulder just enough to encourage you closer.
“Dance with me,” you tell him. When you pull away, there’s a hint of hesitancy in his eyes, but it sinks away within moments and after taking one more drink from his bottle, it’s replaced with a flirtatious wink. He stands, prompting you to follow. Gunnar chuckles are gives you both an amused, crude smile. You consider flipping him off, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and when Lee grabs your hand to lead you to the dance floor, you forget all about the table full of your friends entirely.
There’s not many people in the empty space in the middle of the bar, but that doesn’t make either of you back down. If anything, it just spurs you on. It’s impossible not to notice the two of you which means Lacy is bound to turn her head from the bar and see you with Lee.
He spins you and pulls you close to him once you reach the floor. He purposefully positions the both of you so that while he faces the door, you face the bar. He releases your hand and slips both of his around your waist as he begins to sway with the beat of the song playing. You take the chance to slide your hands up the front of him, taking the time to really press your palms over his chest. There’s a heavy heat in his eyes when you look up at him.
You’re not sure how long you dance together. You lose yourself in the feeling of his hands on your hips and the heat of him. You don’t even spare a glance over his shoulder towards his ex that you’re purposely trying to make jealous. All you can focus on is the way his eyes shade over and the flutter in your stomach that urges you to press your hips forward.
Lee’s eyes flicker to the door and you feel him start to pull back. Not quite ready to let him go, you furrow your brow in question and twist your fingers into his shirt to keep him with you.
“Your pops just walked in,” he tells you quietly. While that would normally cause you to back off as well, tonight you don’t want to. Lee’s eyes are still trained on your father, no doubt having locked eyes with Barney giving a good ol’ fashioned glare. You reach up and with two fingers on his chin, pull his attention back to you.
“So what?” His eyes widen in surprise at your response, but he doesn’t oppose. “He might as well get used to it.” You give a small, coquettish shrug and run your fingers up along his jaw to the back of his neck. He lets you easily pull his head down to yours and presses his forehead against yours. “It’s just you and me.” He holds back a small groan in his throat and then his hands are sliding into your back pockets.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers huskily. “The things I would do to you if we were actually alone.” His voice sends a deep tingle down your spine and though you manage to stop yourself from pulling his lips to yours in that moment, you can’t stop slight the tilt of your head.
“Well if we’re lucky,” you whisper, voice dry. You lick your lips before continuing. “You’ll get the chance to show me some time soon.” He curls his palms over the curve of your ass while inside you back pockets and pulls you slightly, pressing his entire body against yours. You realize that at some point, the sway of your dancing stopped and now you’re just pressed against each other in the middle of the bar. You let yourself enjoy the feel of his arms around you for another moment before reluctantly starting to pull away. “How about I get us another drink before we get carried away?” He leans in and puts his lips next to your ear.
“Or we could get carried away,” he teases lowly. His breath tickles your neck and you have to lean away from him or you know you’re going to give in and despite how much you want to, this is not the place to do it. So instead, you give him a playful push.
“Lee.” You mean to say his name as a warning, but a breathless laugh comes with it. He chuckles, but lets you go and takes a step back.
There’s a smile on your face as he walks away back to the table, probably to deal with a little more than the usual flack from the guys. Your eyes follow him as he goes, not hiding how they linger on his ass, only to rise back up when he turns and gives you another wink. You feel like you’re walking on a cloud as you make your way towards the bar.
You’d honestly forgotten about Lacy, having not even thrown her a look while you were on the floor. The sight of her at the bar, looking over her shoulder at you with an annoyed and almost disgusted stare, threatens to put a dent in your smile and airy gait, but you don’t let it. You stand a few empty seats away from her and don’t meet her eyes as you grab the attention of the bartender.
“Two more, Axle,” you request. He’s a fairly new hire; a young guy with a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. He’s a lithe looking man with little muscle definition, but you highly suspect he’s no stranger to throwing a few punches.
“Getting’ cozy tonight,” he comments with a smirk, reaching down to grab you two beer bottles. “And here I thought I had a chance with you.” You give a roll of your eyes and he laughs, popping the tops off the bottles.
“Keep dreaming,” you tease.
“Probably for the best,” he admits. “Barney would probably shoot my balls off.” You bark out a laugh and take the bottles from him.
“You’re not her type, kid,” Lacy chimes in, stirring her drink before bringing it up to her mouth. “She only goes for guys old enough to be her father,” she says snidely before sipping at the rim of her glass. Axle purses his lips and raises his eyebrows, but ultimately looks to you for a response before he steps in.
“What can I say?” you shrug. “I’ve got daddy issues.”
“Who doesn’t in here?” Axle plays along, more than happy to keep the drama and bar fights at a minimum tonight.
“Could be worse,” you say, directing the conversation to only Axle. As much as you want to help keep his night an easy one, you just can’t resist making a jab. “I could be a total bitch to the men I date.” Axle’s polite smile shifts to one side and his lips purse again. “I could cheat on perfectly fine guys for cheap thrills.” You still don’t look at her, but you can feel her bristle beside you and hear her glass come back down to the bar top.
“Hope you enjoy my leftovers,” she says a little more quietly, but still plenty audible. You laugh ironically and pick up your beers, ready to leave before you make a scene.
“A bit of advice, Lacy,” you tell her as you back away from the bar top. “People who are over their ex don’t usually show up and act jealous. Finish your drink, go home, and get on with your life.” You manage to keep your lips upturned as she rolls her eyes.
When she doesn’t say anything further, you start to walk back to your table. As you walk past her, she sticks her foot out in front of your ankles, causing you to stumble a few steps before catching yourself. The beer sloshes out of the neck of the bottle, splashing onto your hands and the floor. The chatter around the entire room dies down and you don’t have to look up to know how many eyes are watching now.
“Sorry, sweetie,” she says with a sickly sweet tone. “You should watch where you’re going.” You pause to take a deep breath, calming the bubbling anger inside of you, and let it out in a sigh. You place your beers on a table nearby and take a napkin from one of the patrons there who is thoroughly amused with the situation and gives you a go get her look.
“You’re right,” you tell her evenly, wiping the beer from your wrists. “It’s important to be aware of your surroundings.” She spins on her barstool to face you, still smug about it. “For instance, you should take a look around and realize what kind of bar you’re in.” You keep your tone casual and throw the napkin onto the bar. “You’re actually lucky we were here when you strolled in because this place is full of people who wouldn’t think twice about putting you in the ground.” You watch the look of shock come over her face and twist into something defensive. “And that’s not me threatening you,” you tell her, cutting her off before she can even make the suggestion. “That’s just the honest to God truth.”
“Lace,” Lee speaks up behind you, having gotten up to interject, and speaks softly, but you can hear the annoyance in it. “I think it’s time you left.” Lacy finally takes the time to look around the room and realizing how many hostile eyes are on her, there’s a shade of fear that casts over her eyes. She straightens her back and raises her chin in an attempt to hide it.
She doesn’t say anything else, simply throws her purse strap over her shoulder and walks quickly to the door. Most of the patrons keep their eyes on her until the front door swings shut and then the typical bustle of chatter resumes as though nothing happened. You shake your head and retrieve the beers from where you’d left them while Lee gets his wallet out of his pocket and tosses some bills on the bar top.
“For the drink I know she didn’t pay for,” he tells Axle. Axle nods his head in thanks and sweeps up the money and the glass. You hand him the bottle with more liquid in it and clink the necks together with a smile, your anger easily disintegrating. “You know…” Lee slips between two barstools and rests his elbow on the edge or the bar. “When she tripped you, Barney told me I better go get a hold on my girl.” You take a long drink to avoid cringing. “I don’t think he was referring to Lacy.” You have to force yourself not to choke on your beer. It’s not as if you ever wanted or needed your pops’ blessing, and that certainly didn’t count as one, but a full-fledged acknowledgement is surprising. You both give a soft chuckle when you see Barney very purposefully not looking at either of you. “You wanna get out of here?” he offers. The hint of heat and excitement has risen back up in his eyes and makes your answer an easy one.
You leave the bar without saying goodbye to anyone and follow Lee out to his bike. You’d hitched a ride here with one of the other guys so you hop onto the back of his bike and wrap your arms around his waist. You’d been here before, getting a ride from him, but usually it was him taking you back to Tool’s or your pops’ and you’d relished being able to freely curl into his back. Now he’s taking the path back to his own place and while you still take pleasure in holding on tightly to him, it’s different. Now, you smile into his shoulder and see how low you can slip your grip on him before he revs the engine in warning.
“So tell me,” he says with a smirk, tossing his keys onto the little table by his door. “How bad did wish I’d bring you home one day?” You shut the door behind you and scoff at him, trying to hide the way his cocky tone sends shivers through you.
“I don’t know. How many times did you fantasize about bringing me home with you?” you counter, tilting your head at him. He turns to you and pokes his tongue to his cheek, contemplating how he wants to answer.
“More than you’re gonna hear me admit to,” he says. You think about playing coy, about tell him to show you around and ask for a beer, to draw everything out. But you’ve both danced around this for far too long. So, you walk up to him with slow steps and slide your hands underneath his unzipped leather jacket, loving the way he twitches under your touch.
“And what are you going to do now that you have me here?” You drop your voice down and flash your eyes up to meet his. He smirks at you again before grabbing your wrists. He pulls your hands off of him harshly and thrusts them up over your head and backs you into the hallway wall. He presses his body against yours and loosens his grip on your wrists to softly cradle them instead. He tilts his head and leans in.
“Whatever you fucking want.”
When he kisses you, a moan rises up, getting caught in your throat as your body tries to come off the wall and grind into him. He mixes gentle with rough in a way that makes your head spin. You’d always imagined him pinning you to a wall, but the way his fingertips trace down your arms and the softness of his kisses, surprise you and leave you wanting more.
“Lee?” Your voice is barely there. He moves his lips down to your neck and hums in response. “Take me to bed,” you tell him a little more firmly.
“Yes, ma’am.” His hands grip behind your thighs and suddenly pull your feet off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your hands wrap around his neck as he brings you away from the wall and starts to carry you towards his bedroom.
-
You wake up the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and movement on the mattress. You stretch yourself out, enjoying the way the smooth sheets feel against your naked body. When you finally wake up enough to open your eyes, you see Lee next to you leaning back against the headboard, a cup of coffee in each hand.
“Morning,” he greets, motioning one cup to you. You smile and sit up, keeping the sheet close to your body as you leave the little warm spot you were in. You copy him, leaning back against the headboard before taking the cup from him.
“Good morning.” You take a slow drink, savoring the heat of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lee watching you with a small smile on your face. “What?” you laugh, suddenly feeling self-conscious for the first time in years. He chuckles at you, smile widening.
“Nothing,” he assures you. “Just funny how things work out.” You smile back at him and take another drink, blaming the heat on your cheeks on the steam from the coffee. You both stay quiet for a few moments, sipping coffee and relaxing into the early morning feel. “You know…” he sighs and scrunches his face for a moment. “The bitch never even gave me the ring back.” Your mouth hangs open for a moment.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He seems a little shocked by the small glare in your eyes.
“What?” he gapes. He shrugs and looks away from you while sweeping his hand over yours resting on the bedsheets. His thumb brushes softly back and forth over your ring finger. “I was thinking about rings. The mind wanders.” Your jaw falls again, but this time your body lightens with it. The implication is, admittedly, a little much for a first morning after, but you can’t even bite back the smile that rises onto your face.
“Thinking about rings, huh?” you tease, holding onto his hand.
“Yeah.” He shrugs again and takes another casual drink from his coffee.
“For the record,” you tell him. “You probably shouldn’t reuse engagement rings.” His face scrunches for the second time this morning and he turns his head to look at you, clearly offended.
“I would never!” he defends. “I was just saying the mind wanders!” Your cheeks are already starting to hurt from how wide your smile is. He’s always been cute when he gets offended, but seeing it in such a casual way lying in bed, just makes it better.
“Rings are overrated anyways,” you tell him, giving him a shrug of your own.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you tell him. “You ever wear one on a job? They get caught on everything. They can mess up the weight of your throw if it’s big enough. It can deglove your finger.” You both cringe. “Not sexy.” He raises an eyebrow at you and slowly turns back to his coffee.
“Never buy you a ring,” he mutters. “Got it.”
“You can buy me flowers,” you offer as an alternative. “If you’re into the whole romantic thing.”
“I’ll buy you a whole damn garden,” he says bitterly, as though buying only flowers is laughable. You squeeze his hand and laugh at him before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his unshaven cheek. His rigidness melts away and when you pull away, he looks at you softly. “The hell you doing with an old man like me?” he asks you.
“Well, right now I’m trying to see what all you’re going to buy me,” you tease, making him smile again. “But mostly I’m just enjoying the company of a really good man.” Something in his eyes softens and his smile falls away, taken aback by your words. Then he leans in and kisses you, soft and passionate and if you had any doubts about this being a one-time thing, they’re erased instantly.
“How about I make you breakfast?”
~~~
That wraps up this story! Let me know if you want to see more Christmas in the future!
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In keeping with my sudden burst of writing motivation, I’m 3/4 of the way through finishing the final part of A Diamond Tint. It should be posted some time in the next few days.
Hold Your Breath – Chapter Five: Helping Hands - Draco Malfoy
-gif source unknown-
Description: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.
Approx. Word Count:
A/N: Well…hello. Yes I’m still alive and working on this story. I had a hell of a time writing this chapter for no reason at all. Hopefully now that I’ve bitten the bullet and gotten it out of the way, I can get everything flowing more smoothly again.
Story Masterpost
December 1998
You arrive to Potions just a little before everyone else. The air around Hogwarts is brisk and chilled, just how you’ve grown accustom to enjoying, so you’d woken earlier than usual to take a walk around the grounds before your first class.
You take a seat at a middle table on the far side of the room. You’ve started to avoid the back rows as it feels too much like hiding but you don’t like being front and center in lessons, so you’ve found a comfort in middle and off to the side. Unpacking your bag, you take a look at the lesson board that Slughorn is still currently prepping.
The room slowly fills with more students, a slight bustle of movement and conversation coming with it. You keep your focus on the board, already pulling out a quill to jot down notes and pulling out your lesson book to flip to the correct page.
When the chair next to you is pulled from the table, you assume without looking up that someone is taking it to make a seat at another table. It’s not until there’s a body in the chair and the person is shuffling through their bag that you realize someone actually chose to sit beside you. Your confusion at this only rises when you turn your head to see the person is Draco. He doesn’t look at you or acknowledge you in any way, but you still feel a little pull in your chest as you watch him.
Then you cast your eyes around the classroom. There are still plenty of open seats which clearly means he’s purposefully chosen to sit next to you. Your heart beats a little faster and you find that pull in your chest to be a slight fear. Is anyone watching you? Do they notice him sitting here? Do they think you’re friends again?
You give a small shake to your head and face front again. What does it matter if anyone thinks you’re friends? Besides, you’re clearly not friends when there’s no greetings exchanged, right? You’re not friends.
Draco remains silent and unbothered by you when the lesson begins. Slughorn’s lecture at least takes your focus off of him and the rest of the students as you concentrate. It doesn’t take long for you to immerse yourself in the lesson and nearly forget about Draco’s presence entirely.
You’re jotting down notes, shifting your glance between your parchment and the blackboard. It’s nearly twenty minutes into the lecture when you notice words appearing on the margins of your page that you haven’t written.
Notice he said three sprigs and the book says two? Trust the book.
You recognize the handwriting immediately and you can’t help the way your head snaps to look at Draco who is still ignoring you entirely. He’s stoic enough that you second guess yourself. Maybe you’re imagining things? Curious and apprehensive, you look back to your notes. The extra bit of advice is still there, permanently inked into the parchment. You run your finger over it briefly and you’re sure it’s his.
It’s been over a year, but you still recognize it easily. Written notes had always been how you two had chosen to communicate when you were friends. You used to have books filled with notes exchanged between the two of you. Everything from jokes to flirtations to helpful tips for classes. You’re lost in thoughts and memories when more words start to fill in beneath the pads of your fingers.
Focus. He writes. No wonder you’re dreadful with potions. You’re not sure if it’s meant playfully or as a sharp jab. You used to be able to literally read his tone, but now you’re unsure and out of sync with him. It gives you a sinking feeling somewhere in your belly.
This time when you look at him from the corner of your eye, he looks back at you. He gives you a pointed look, baffled by your eyes on him. With a sharp, but subtle tilt of his head and raise of his brow, he indicates to you to face forward and listen to Slughorn’s droning. You straighten your back, clear your throat quietly, and refocus on the lesson.
Draco continues to help you throughout the lesson. He does it mostly silently through notes and small gestures, rarely actually speaking to you. The lack of spoken words makes it feel secretive, though you don’t truly believe you are meant to be hiding your interactions. It also makes it feel more personal. Understanding his directions and critiques without the use of words only serves to remind you how connected you still are with him.
He does things as small as raise an eyebrow or tap his finger onto the table and you understand exactly what he’s telling you. As he gives a stir to his cauldron, you wonder if anyone else can read him like you do. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends. You have to assume someone has picked up on his habits and behaviors.
You don’t like the way your stomach curls at the thought.
The feeling tightens and turns to a pleasurable heat as his knee knocks seemingly casually into yours beneath the table. It’s not subtle or soft and judging by the way he ignores the contact, you assume it’s an accident. But then you notice his knee barely moves away. It drifts just enough to no longer be touching you, but you can feel the edges of your pants brush against each other and it’s enough to leave you wondering if he did anything by accident.
The lesson ends just as quickly as it started, your mind having constantly run off on its own. With a swish of his wand, both his and your cauldrons are emptied as everyone around you starts to gather their things. You look once more to Draco and find him still avoiding your eyes, instead shuffling around his bag. You stand to leave, ready to go back to your room and study and try to forget about anything Draco Malfoy related.
Before you can even sweep your bag onto your shoulder, there’s a pale hand sliding a star chart across the table towards you. Surprised, you raise an eyebrow at Draco. He taps his fingers on the chart.
“I need this back by tomorrow,” he says. “Will you have enough time?” It’s not the most polite way to ask you to review his work and you have to bite your tongue to refrain from snapping back at him with a smart remark. He releases the chart and waits for your reply.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” is all you give him before rolling the chart up and putting it gently in your bag. You turn away to leave before he can say anything more, but you could swear there’s a slight upwards tilt in his lips.
~~~
The common room is dark and empty by the time you finish your work and pull Draco’s star chart from your bag. You had completed your assignments slower than usual, finding yourself purposefully waiting for everyone to disperse before you took it out. You choose not to examine the reasons that may be for. Maybe some other time. But not now.
His chart is almost accurate, an improvement from the last time you saw him draw one. Every time he used to bring one to you, it was always wrong. Stars were in the completely wrong quadrants. Sometimes he even had stars from the wrong hemisphere depicted. You wonder if without your aid in the subject, he’s actually started researching and learning. Either that or he found someone else to copy off of. Either is possible, you suppose.
As you mark some corrections with a colored quill, you admire his work. Draco may have been dreadful with accuracy, but his charts were always so elegant and that, you notice, hasn’t changed. His lines are graceful and effortless, varying in thickness from pressure on his quill as he no doubt flicked his wrist without thought or care. Your fingers trace the dried ink and a smile tilts at your mouth.
His natural artistry is not something too many people know about Draco. What he would call the equivalent of children’s stick figures, you’d call works of art. He used to doodle little images on his work, on your notes, even on your hand once or twice and you were always mesmerized by them.
Your fingers drift down from the dark quill strokes to a small blank corner of the parchment. The little white space of nothing gives you a little pang of nostalgia. You used to conceal little messages to each other, often on homework, that the other could reveal whenever they wanted. Occasionally, Draco would draw you a small image in the corner of the paper and while you always knew they were your favorite to reveal, you hadn’t realized how much you missed them until just now. Just another thing to add to your list of emotions when it comes to him.
You sigh and refocus on correcting his work, but when you’ve finished and his chart is filled with little bits of your handwriting to explain what you’d done, your eyes fall back to the still empty corner of the page. You look over your shoulder briefly, making sure no one is in the room and then before giving yourself time to think about you, you’re writing a small message in that corner.
The moment your quill lifts away from making the period at the end of your sentence, you feel a surge of regret. You should remove it. Use a quick charm and act like it never happened. Or you could conceal it. After all, what’s the harm in doing so? He would never see it because he’d never reveal it.
But what if he did? What if he pulls it out when he’s alone, much like you are now, and casts the same revealing charm he used to and sees your little message? The brief thought slips into a daydream. If he were to even think of using the revealing charm, it would mean he thought there was a chance you’d write something, that he was hoping for it, looking for it. You can see his little, hidden smile in your mind and the way his fingertips would dance over your writing much like yours had his chart.
The draw of the possibility is too appealing in the middle of the night. You silently talk yourself into it, calling it a risk-free decision. Either he wants you to do it or he’ll never see it. You slip your wand out of the robes you’re still wearing and whisper the incantation as you press the tip to your written words. There’s a rush in your blood and a flutter in your chest as you watch the ink slowly disappear on the parchment.
When there’s no trace of the words anymore, you feel a mix of emotions; anxiety, release, anticipation. You’re committed now though. Before you can change your mind, you roll up his star chart and put it back in your bag and prepare to go to bed with the echo of your words floating through your mind.
I miss you.
---
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